Author's Notes: Here it is – the last chapter, pheeew! 500 word challenge grew up to be 10,000 – oh well, it isn't the first time and who knows, maybe not the last either… I acknowledge my esteemed colleague and friend SimplyLucia for the concept and phrase uttered by the Hound about 'nobody's woman' - thanks!

Thank you all who have followed this story and a special thank you for all the lovely comments – they really do make my day!

Bye until the next time…

They walked back to the keep in silence, but this time it didn't lay heavy and suffocating between them but rather as a companionable airy presence, allowing each of them their own space but not forgetting the other. Sansa carried Mistress in her arms, its heavy breathing indicating that it was out of this world in the dreamlands of little puppies. The Hound carried the bag still and directed them towards her chambers.

He stood outside her door while she settled her new companion to its bed and got ready for the dinner, the day already being that late. How the time had flown so quickly when she had expected the opposite was a mystery to her but one that didn't matter.

On their way to the hall they came across the future queen's entourage, young ladies in bright reds and greens and pinks trailing at her wake. Lady Margaery herself was dressed in a revealing but beautiful blue silk gown with white roses adorning its hem.

"Sansa!" Her hands pressed softly on Sansa's shoulders, her lips brushing a kiss on her cheek, breath scented with sweets. A conspiratorial whisper near the shell of Sansa's ear. "Joffrey was mightily froth with you last night but I settled him and now he thinks it was he who thought of putting you two together!"

Then she pulled away but didn't break her hold. Her smile filled the corridor with its brightness and Sansa felt drawn toward its warmth, making her desperately want to disregard the undercurrent of uneasiness nestling inside her. Her hands still on Sansa, Margaery threw a curious look at the Hound who was hulking at the back of the group.

"I see you have to play your role to the fullest so I leave you for now. But soon we have to meet again and you have to tell me all about this day, and all about you! I will send a servant to fetch you. Oh, I can hardly wait to get to know you better, sweet Sansa!"

A quick squeeze, a flurry of silken skirts and she was gone. Sansa was left standing in the middle of the corridor still feeling the touch of her lips on her cheek, staring mutely at the retreating group. A loud Hrrrrmmmpppph! brought her back and she continued towards the hall, for some reason feeling vaguely embarrassed.

As before, the Hound stood stiffly behind her chair, not moving from his spot throughout the whole meal. A few times Sansa glanced behind her shoulder and caught him sullen, his face morphed back to that of a king's dog. A scowl hardened his expression to an image of abject vehemence, and she almost doubted her own recollection of the events of the day. Had it happened, had she peeked through his façade after all? Could this be the same man?

On the dais she saw King Joffrey staring at their direction a few times only to be distracted by his betrothed sitting next to him in the place of honour. Lady Margaery pointed at them then and said something, laughing brightly, and the king's dour contemplation changed to one of mockery. Since then whenever he looked at them it was with an expression of smugness.

Sansa knew that she should be thankful for Margaery keeping her word, as the more satisfied Joffrey felt about the success of his cruel plan, the safer she was – they were – from his revenge. But the Hound didn't know about any of that - how did he feel about being publicly mocked and ridiculed? Food turned sour in Sansa's mouth, made tasteless by the cold anger emanating from his silent guard.

Once, when Joffrey had turned away to address his other guests, Margaery caught Sansa's attention with her direct gaze. She winked and raised her eyebrow, flicking her fingers through her hair coquettishly and only when the king turned to her did she look away, leaving Sansa confused, her mouth hanging open. What was Margaery's game? Could she really trust her?

A quick look behind her told her what she already suspected – the Hound had noticed. What he thought of it was another thing as his face didn't give anything away.

As soon as it was prudent Sansa excused herself and left the hall. She didn't need to check – her non-knight was still with her, trailing behind like a giant shadow. Her steps didn't falter and her head was held up high when she passed small groups of people, nodding politely to those she knew. Many of them turned to stare at them as they passed and half-whispered jokes and crude laughter hanging behind them told that the king's japes had been well noticed. It was Sansa's turn to practice her mask, that of courtesy which had helped her at least as much as the one the Hound wore.

Yes, they were indeed both two mummers in the grand stage of the court.

Her door was the barrier across which they could not pass together; that would not have been proper. It was late but not so late that the corridor would have been busy with others seeking comforts of their rooms for the night.

The absence of curious eyes made Sansa feel better. The hard stone walls and far-away sconces burning in the distance became the edges of a cocoon that encased them in its fold, just like the wooden fence of the yard had been earlier.

"It is time for your duties to end. I won't be needing your services anymore as I'll be retiring now." Sansa's voice was shaky and despite the comfort of privacy, the loss of odd companionship they had shared during the day rankled her. It had been only an illusion, she concluded now, a peculiarity brought on by unusual circumstances. Nothing more.

"My obligations are not over. Command and I'll obey," the Hound rasped. He leaned against the wall in an unexpectedly informal pose, long limps relaxed and yet the tension in him obvious – he would have never done that in front of King Joffrey or Queen Cersei. Sansa wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.

"No, truly, I have nothing more. It has been a long day, and I do thank you most sincerely for your services." Sansa was earnest and hoped that he understood it. She would have never gathered the courage to ask for a dog and had never even known about the opportunity had it not been for him. Yes, she was genuinely thankful.

He regarded her, almost as before, solemnly, thoughtfully. With a twinge Sansa remembered the mockery over the dinner and felt compelled to address it.

"I am sorry about the whole incident and how you were forced to it, and the consequences. It must have been unpleasant and I think it was wholly unjust that you had to go through it."

Raise of eyebrows, astonishment.

"What the hells are you chirping about?"

"You know, the people. How the king laughed at you, and Lady Margaery and the others. You did not deserve it."

Once more a loud chuckle, but the tone of this was different, bitter.

"Oh that! I don't give a fuck about those gnats! And do you think I care a whit about what Joffrey thinks of me?" He stared at the wall behind her with unseeing eyes. "There was a time when he cared what I thought of him – but those days are long gone."

His eyes focussed on her again and he seemed to return to present leaving Sansa wonder about what had been between him and Joffrey before, and how had it been for him to see his charge growing up to the youth he was now.

"No, better for Joffrey to laugh and think that he got the better of the situation. I wanted him to think that I was miserable. Had I shown up smiling like a cat who licked the cream what do you think he would have done?"

The mental image the Hound raised was so bizarre that without being able to prevent it Sansa smiled.

"Is that why you were gawking at me with your face getting sourer each time? Thinking I was miserable?"

Too embarrassed to admit it Sansa decided to ignore the question with her best rendition of indifference. So…he really wasn't as mad as I thought? Her relief at hearing it was unexpected in its intensity.

"No more of that. But I told you that my duties are not over – not at all. So ask me."

"I thank you, but I really have nothing else for you to do. It is late and my dog needs me." The words rolled out of her tongue full of possibilities; 'my dog'. What they really meant was 'my friend' – someone who needed her for her own sake, not for her position or her birth right. "This is her first night without her mother and siblings so I want to be there."

"I didn't mean only tonight. Ask me."

Sansa had gathered that the rules in this regard were somewhat vague; the duty was due to finish either in the evening or in the morning, depending of what the tasks assigned to the auctioned knights by their 'owners' were. Remembering the whispers from Dorne she blushed – luckily the torchlight was so dim the flush on her cheeks went unnoticed, she hoped.

"Ask me."

Force of his plead startled Sansa. She started to get uneasy about his tenacity.

"Honestly, I have nothing. Or…maybe I could turn to you later if I still have questions about training Mistress or anything such sort? Could I do that?"

The Hound stretched and folded his arms in front of his chest, pushing himself away from the wall.

"Sure you can. You know…" He stopped and stared at her, then continued with deliberate intensity. "When she gets older and goes into heat you have to be watchful for all the dogs that come sniffing around."

Sansa was mortified. She knew how things were with dogs and farm animals; she had heard about practicalities of breeding in the North where the lord's halls were not so removed from his people that a touch of real life would not have entered them. And yet, to bring it up like that …

"Good thing with the dogs is that they bother bitches only when they are in heat. Unlike people."

Gods! Why to bring up such things now, Sansa wondered. These were not things to say to a lady, especially to a maid. Oblivious to her discomfort the Hound continued, not looking at her, almost as if addressing no-one in particular.

"A woman cast aside by one is free game for the others. When she is nobody's woman she is everyone's to claim."

Was he talking about her? Sansa had an uneasy feeling that he was. She had been so relieved about the breaking of her betrothal with Joffrey that she hadn't truly thought of what came next - but it seemed that he had.

"I see the way men look at you; knights and lords, even ordinary men-at-arms. Men old enough to be your grandsire and boys still wet behind their ears. They vie for you and what is yours and it is only a matter of time…"

No need to continue the sentence, Sansa had already grasped his meaning fully and its implications sank in heavily at the bottom of her belly. She swallowed but had no words.

"And not only men. Lady Margaery seems very fond of you too."

Was it sarcasm in his tone? Sansa glanced quickly at the Hound but his face was expressionless.

"Yes, she has been very good to me. As a matter of fact, I owe her for deflecting the king's ire from me - from us. She told me that she has turned his wrath away from us and made him think that his plans of humiliation have succeeded manyfold." The Hound snorted at that, the sound loud and abrupt in the quiet of the night.

"A debt she undoubtedly plans to collect. She likes you fine enough." He leaned closer, towering over her, his shadow blocking the distant light. "She likes beautiful maids."

Sansa stared at him, uncomprehending. Why would he care if she had finally found a friend in the court? And why to bring her up with these others…

Oh!

The Hound pulled back, sneering. Sansa didn't know what to think – surely it could not be what she had just thought of, surely…

He straightened himself to his full formidable height. "Ask me, little bird!"

Postponing for later the disconcerting thoughts raised by the Hound's insinuations Sansa was seriously confused by now. Ask what?

"I am not sure…" she started, then was jolted by the crack of his clenched fist hitting the wall near her. It was loud, it was brutal, flesh and bone meeting hard stone.

"Bloody hells girl! I pulled a dagger on you, I held it on your throat! I pushed you down on your bed – gods only know what you thought was going to happen! I owe you. Ask me!"

Frustration kept in check for a long time unfurled and he was fire, he was fury. Bloody scrapes in his knuckles trickled rivulets of ruby red blood down to his wrist but he disregarded it and stared at Sansa, eyes narrowed, expectantly.

Sansa was at loss. What could she ask? She was a prisoner, there were limits to what she could do and there was not much more he could ask of him in the circumstances.

And then she realised.

He had come to her once and offered to take her home, take her to North – as clearly as he could in his state of terror and drunken stupor. She had declined him; not in so many words but declined him nonetheless and he wasn't going to ask her again. And yet…

He was a tightly wound ball of entangled threads and if she thought she had picked one to unravel there were a dozen or more she could not see or untangle. What did he really want?

There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath Sansa extended her hand and softly touched his arm, that of his still bleeding hand.

"Will you take me home to the North? Will you take me to my family?"

That stilled him, halting the clenching and unclenching of his fist. He blew like a horse and shook his head, focussing his gaze back on Sansa.

If he was still truly the king's dog, this was the time for him to let her know that in no uncertain terms, to assuage her of her foolish notions, maybe to warn her away from such dangerous trails of thought. His wrath was still upon him but Sansa refused to look away, determined to see through whatever may come - but gradually his expression changed. It relaxed and softened, a touch of relief shown on those plain features.

"Aye. I'll take you home – or wherever you may want to go. I'll protect you from everyone who tries to harm you." She felt his muscles tensing hard as a rock under her fingers as she leaned on him, but his tone was calm, his voice a low rumble – and it was the sweetest music to Sansa's ears. The coiled spring within her, tightly wound in the span of just a few moments when waiting to see his reaction to her request, sprang open and she floated in air, the door to her freedom being yanked ajar and calling her.

"And the pup," he continued and cocked his head towards her room where the pup, apparently woken up by their voices, let out small yaps. It broke the spell and Sansa returned to the present. It was strange - she didn't even have a mind to ask about practicalities; when, how, what should she do and how to prepare. None of that mattered. She had asked and he had promised.

"A few days. I will let you know what you need to do to get ready, and come to you when the time is right."

It was not even a time for profuse expressions of gratitude; they would come later. So Sansa only nodded and squeezed his arm one more time before letting go, almost stumbling at a loss of support of his solid frame before gaining a hold of the door latch. Without a further ado the Hound turned on his heels and strode away, his tall body throwing long dark shadows against the wall.

Sansa didn't step into her room quite just yet but stared after him for a long time. The best impulse of her whole life - that on the spur of the moment bid for fifty gold dragons she didn't even have.

THE END