Author's Notes: This was meant to be the last chapter, but it started to stretch too long and as I prefer stories with at least roughly similar length chapters, I am dividing this into two again… Besides, it means I can post this now rather than later – I don't seem to catch much time for writing lately during the week, bleh!

So one more chapter (yeah yeah, you have heard it before…).

Special thanks to all who have commented - (Olivia; thank you for lovely, lovely words!) I had a good think and asked my friends for suggestions for the name of Sansa's puppy – and then realised that the name had been staring me in the face all the time, as you can see…

Hope you like this bit!

And so started the day unlike any Sansa had ever experienced.

Dismissing plans for the Godswood they went instead to find the trappings Sansa needed for her new charge; a leather collar from the saddler, a thin rope for a leash from the keep's craftsmen, and a pillow for a bed from the seamstresses' rooms. Sansa carried the pup, feeling bad for taking it away from its mother although the Hound growled at her for it being a normal part of every dog's life.

Carrying a hemp bag filled with their haul on his back he led them to a clearing near the training yards, partly hidden behind the armoury. There they sat down next to the rough wooden fence surrounding the space, Sansa on a low stool the Hound had procured from somewhere, settling her skirts neatly around her. The puppy scrambled about examining its surroundings while the Hound patiently explained all Sansa needed to know about her new responsibilities.

Some she already knew from her time with Lady, but there seemed to be quite a few differences between looking after a direwolf in a rustic northern keep where she could roam freely and in taking care of a small hunting dog while being confided as a prisoner in the royal court. Besides, with Lady Sansa had always felt a special connection she couldn't explain – almost as if Lady would have known what she wanted even without her having to express it. And the other way round too; if Lady had felt strongly about something, Sansa had known it.

Pushing bittersweet memories from her mind Sansa concentrated on her new friend, already eager to get to know its mind. It was a delightful little thing, not the least fazed from being separated from its litter-mates, curious, energetic, all over the place… Oddly it brought to Sansa's mind her little sister and as many times before her heart constricted as she wondered what had happened to Arya. Could she still be alive? Was she with their mother, happily ensconced in the family bosom? Sansa hoped so, although a part of her was also jealous of the possibility.

However, it was not only the unexpected diversion of her normally monotonous day that made this day so different – it was also her company.

The Hound was different. The aura of bitterness and poorly concealed rage he always carried around him like a cloud of doom had lifted and for the first time Sansa saw him as a human being, not as darkness manifested in human form. The realisation was most extraordinary and sometimes she lost a track of things he was saying while being absorbed in a curious study of him.

His grey eyes were bright and wide open without the furrow of a drawn-together brows, the ragged lines of his face were smoothed in relaxation and the corner of his mouth occasionally lifted up, replacing his usual sneer. He told her of the need to start training the puppy straightaway, he told her how to teach the pup to toilet outside or on a specified spot in her chamber, he told her how to make it silent and disappear when necessity arose, he told her how make it come at command and sit and lie down when told so. He told Sansa all these things – more than she could take in at one time – and she listened to his raspy voice, its inflection, the way he almost growled at times and at others softened it to a low hum.

All this time he handled the puppy, lifting it this way or that, making it stay put or move away in an attempt to demonstrate what he meant with his words – more often than not the pup stubbornly resisting his actions or considering them only as a new exciting game. None of its antics deterred the Hound who continued to scratch its head and flanks, poking it in the ribs – gently – and letting it grip his thumb with its small teeth.

Feeling more at ease Sansa pushed ahead with the matter that had piqued her curiosity ever since they had stopped for the bitch.

"How do you know so much about dogs?"

The Hound squeezed the pup's jaws to make it release its grip of his finger, pretending to growl back at it, then lifted his head to look at Sansa. He looked somewhat abashed and that gave Sansa an impression that this side of him was something he didn't show often to anyone.

"Grew up with them. The dogs of our keep were my best friends when…" He didn't finish his sentence but Sansa understood. …when I had no other friends, when even my own father forsook me. To fill the silence she cleared her throat softly, then asked him for advice about feeding her new best friend.

After a while the Hound got up and muttered something about getting water and disappeared behind the armoury. Sansa leaned back and rested her head against the sturdy fencepost, its rough surface comforting in its solidity. She closed her eyes for a moment, not opening them even when the heavy footsteps returned.

Shuffling sounds, a solid thump like a huge tree trunk thrown on the ground. Sansa opened one eye, very carefully and only to a narrow slit, and without moving her head observed him. The Hound had settled on the ground with the ease of a soldier who is accustomed to find his comfort in any spot that presents itself; his long legs were stretched out in front of him, elbow resting upon the ground, his hand supporting his head. He seemed to pay no notion at Sansa but prodded a rough wooden cup filled with water under the pup's nose. It sniffed it suspiciously but after realising its contents started lapping at it eagerly.

The Hound watched on as it drank its fill, then got up to a cross-legged position and started to work on the leather collar he had procured. It was probably some part of a horse harness and much too long, so he measured its length around the pups small neck, cut it with a cruel looking dagger from his waist, then prodded little holes to it to fit the clasp. He worked methodically and efficiently but without hurry, every now and then fitting it to its new owner.

His hands were huge, dark hair covering backs of them up to his fingers. They were killers hands, and had once held a dagger – maybe that very same? – against Sansa's throat. Flashback to that moment of terror should have made her uneasy, but seeing those same hands holding the little dog's round head in their clasp had quite the opposite effect. He could have easily crushed the tiny skull just with a press of his fingers – but it was caresses Sansa witnessed, not only a necessary contact to complete a task. The difference was subtle, but unmistakable.

He watched the dog, his face downturned, and it was then when Sansa noticed how long and dark his eyelashes were, their shadows resting against his weathered skin. He was homely looking and wouldn't have been called handsome even without his burns, but his appearance was solid and comforting to her.

Sansa had a good look and with that stolen moment when she saw him as he truly was on his own rather than as he presented himself to others, her fear and hesitation disappeared. He is just a man. A man who had done her bad but also good, and in her eyes the good was starting to outweigh the bad. 'Folk who'll be fond of animalkind and whom animalkind are fond of back cannot be truly wicked' – a Northern saying old Nan used to say came to her mind. Not truly wicked.

She took a deep breath, silently, and made her position as comfortable as was possible in the circumstances and closed her eyes. She felt as if she had secretly and uninvited lifted the veil meant to stay low, to reveal the soul behind it - and for some reason it made her feel oddly guilty.

The day was balmy and the sun shone warmly to the clearing from a cloudless blue sky. Sansa heard muted sounds of men yelling and horses neighing from far away, from another world outside this little cocoon of theirs. Tangy smells of farmyard wafted into her nose with the slight breeze but they were not altogether displeasing. She was pleasantly drowsy, her night's sleep having been robbed by distressing thoughts of Joffrey's possible revenge and fretting about the day ahead. She could easily fall asleep now…

Bzzzzzzzz… a fly buzzed past her cheek, its sound disappearing as it moved away only soon to return. It circled around her head, back and forth, relentlessly, before settling down on her forehead. The tickling was too much and Sansa opened her eyes and raised her hand to swat it away – and found herself staring straight at the Hound's eyes.

He had finished with the collar and the pup was sound asleep on his lap, its nose burrowed under his arm. He sat erect, his back straight as a statue, and from the looks of it had been staring at her for some time – the time she had rested half-dozing in the sun. And he didn't turn away even now but kept on scrutinising her with unnerving intensity, saying nothing.

Deep red spread on Sansa's face and down her neck – she felt as he had caught her only in her shift. It was…unnerving…

She shifted, brushed her hair and skirt, lowered her gaze and pretended that nothing was amiss, reaching towards the pup. Too late she realised that it was resting on the Hound's lap and taking it from there would mean touching him near his…stomach and thighs. Sansa pulled back as abruptly as she had pushed ahead.

"Here, take this." He handed the pup to her one-handed and she clasped it gratefully, pulling it against her chest. The moment of awkwardness dissipated and Sansa exhorted herself to be more careful from thereon.

"What are you going to name it?" His voice was raspy as always but its tone was softer; sand instead of gravel, silken and yet solid.

Sansa played with one floppy ear, frowning.

"I don't really know. I have not thought to name anyone for a long time so I am not prepared."

"Your wolf was called Lady, wasn't it? You chose the name yourself?"

"I did. But I was young then and stupid. I was dreaming of stories of knights and their ladies, believed them to be true." It galled her to admit it but the Hound had been right all along, calling her a pretty little talking bird only repeating words her elders had taught her to recite. Stupid words! She felt herself flush again and hoped he did not notice.

Of course he did.

"It was those who told you that the world is a song who were stupid – not you. Don't fret about that, girl."

He left it at that, not acknowledging the past and his harsh words to her further, instead focussing back at the topic at hand.

"Will you call this one Lady too?"

"Oh no, I couldn't!" There was only ever going to be one Lady for her – and besides, there was nothing remotely ladylike in the ball of fur collapsed on her arms, overtaken by exhaustion.

"What then?"

Sansa looked at the pup again. It was fluffy and cute now, but in time it would grow. Not big, as it was not in the blood of the breed, but it would be wiry, alert, bright and commanding in a way only big dogs in a small dog's body can be. Commanding…

"I think I'll call her Mistress. She will be the mistress of my new household. The one consisting of me and her. How would that sound?"

The Hound poked the pup at its rump, it having settled on Sansa's lap, snoring. "Mistress? Hear what our mistress wants to call you? Is that you, you little mongrel?" His dark hair had fallen down from his face as he looked down, thus inadvertently revealing the burns it normally covered. Sansa saw better the craters and the tightly pulled skin and it didn't scare her, didn't repel her, didn't horrify her. As a matter of fact, it did nothing at all to her and she viewed the signs of his cruel past as she did his big hands and broad shoulders, slightly hunched as he leaned towards the pup - accepting.

The Hound looked at her then and caught her gaze on his hideousness. He flinched and moved as if to raise himself but then stopped.

Sansa should have looked away, should have respected the dictates of polite society and not stare at him, but she didn't. Like in the Great Hall, blue met grey and didn't waver.

"Mistress is fine," he finally grunted and the time that had stood still for just that special moment moved forward again. He stood up, heaved his shoulders and started to collect their scattered things from the ground.

It was time to return to the keep.