A/N: So, this fic will be focused mainly on the books, but some aspects of the show will be brought in. Just little things that will make the story flow a little bit better. I kind of combined the scene from the book and the scene from the movie of the bread riots for example, but it is still more book than TV show.I will make sure to make a note at the begining of the chapter when I am replacing a part of the book with a part of the show, (for example again I am going to use the part of the show when Sansa get's her period and the Hound is the one that tells the queen, instead of Sansa trying to burn it all). Hope that makes sense!

I hope you guys like it and I did my best to keep everyone in character. Let me know what you think!

Sansa

Sansa had fled the throne room drowning in humiliation. She wept as the memories of the Hound's laughter continued to play over and over again in her head. The laughter of the court she could handle, the sneer from Joffrey she could withstand, but the dog's laughter… it was too humiliating. How foolish she must look now. She had taken initiative for the first time in her life, took a risk as Arya was always doing, and it was all for naught. It ended as she had always thought such actions would, blowing up in her face.

Her maids tried to comfort her and tell her everything would be alright, that Joffrey might even change her mind but she ignored them. They were fools if they truly thought her tears were from loosing Joffrey. That was all that made this situation bearable. What would happen to her now was still left a question, but at least she would not be sent to Joffrey's bed. Who knows what type of terrible things he would do to her behind closed doors.

The next few days seemed to pass in an endless blur. She responded to conversation but scarcely knew what was being said or what her sounds her own lips were forming. She was given no audience with the queen, Joffrey sent no one to beat her, and by the grace of the Gods, the old and the new, she did not see the Hound once. She had heard him spoken of in passing. The Hound did this, Joffrey made the Hound do this, and each time she did she was once again overcome with humiliation.

Until this point in her life Sansa had always believed that humiliation and shame were the same emotion. She now knew that this was not so. She felt no shame for having done what she did, but she felt humiliation all the same. It was a complicated feeling, but she decided to accept it rather than understand it.

When Myrcella was sent off to her future husband, and they were to walk through the streets to see her off, Sansa made sure her eyes never landed on the Hound. He rode to Joffrey's right and but he was easily seen over the King's head, and so she had to make a conscience effort to keep her eyes off of him. She gazed over the faces of the people instead. She saw anger, hatred, desperation, and devastation written all over their haggard, gaunt faces.

When the taunts started she felt her stomach sink to her toes and she looked toward the Hound against her will. It was an instinct that she could not overcome. He seemed anxious as well and his eyes scanned over the crowed. Slowly his hand moved to the pommel of his sword. Despite the feeling of foreboding around her she remembered the feel of those hands on her. She looked away from him and back to the crowed. She could see people staring at Joffrey, but she always felt eyes on her. Eyes filled with hate and malice. It sent a chill of terror through her and she wished the Hound were to her right instead of Joffrey. He would keep her safe if he were. That was something of which she was sure.

When the cow pie landed on the side of his face Sansa knew immediately that there was no good way out of this. Joffrey began to scream, Tyrion the Imp began to shout, the Hound was getting off of his horse and heading toward the crowed. Her horse reared and she fell to the ground. Joffrey and his men galloped off to safety, knights began cutting people open, the Hound started to slice into people like butter. She cried out, choking on her voice. Men began to descend on her, yelling and shouting , yanking and pulling. She tried to fight them off but she could not. She heard the sound of fabric ripping and knew it was the skirts of her dress. She cried out again but this time the choke cut off in her throat.

The point of a sword exploded through a pants forehead. Another man's head went rolling away and next a man's arm was separated from the rest of his body. She did not need to look up to know who it was. She reached up on instinct, searching for him in earnest. His hands touched her waist and he lifted her up like a sack of feathers. Her arms moved to wrap around his neck, hoping to cling to him for safety, but she was pushed upward instead. She was back on her house now and soon the Hound followed. He pushed her back so he could take the spot on the saddle in front of her to better maneuver through the crowed.

She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed herself to him tightly. People reached for them but the Hound cut through them back to the castle. She could hear him rasping heavily, could see sweat coating the back of his neck. His chest heaved under his leather and steal. So he is a man, she thought as she watched a bead of sweat drip beneath his armor and out of sight. When they were let back into the gates Sansa could still hardly breathe. She did not want to let go of the Hound. She pressed her nose to the center of his back, squeezing him hard. Two knights were needed to pull her away from him.

"The little bird is bleeding," she heard him rasp. "Bring her back to her cage."

"Well done, Clegane," Tyrion Lannister commended him in his normal condescending way. She looked up at the Hound through tears as maids came to her and lifted her to her feet.

"I didn't do it for you," she heard the Hound reply. Her lower lip trembled and she looked away from him. "Why was she even there? She's no longer the King's plaything…"

His voice faded away as she was lead away but she found her chest tighten as she heard the words. She did not allow herself to think that he cared for her or her safety, and instead told herself that it was only because she still had some value. The Hound would do anything that would benefit Joffrey. He was no doubt angry that he had had to risk his own life in the pursuit of saving hers. But still, the angry and indignation in his voice gave her a weak warmth in the bottom of her stomach.

Sansa's bruises and cuts were seen to by her needs and she was placed into a hot bath. The hot water was soothing and Sansa sent her maids away. She could not stand their questions and attempts at soothing her. Silence was what she wanted and she ordered them all out. The looks on the men's face that had attacked her continued to make their way to the forefront of her mind, but soon the anxiety and fear that had winded its way around her heart and stomach like a snake loosened. The water was cold when her hand maiden's returned, and as Sansa listened to the door open she kept her eyes closed.

"I would like to go to sleep directly," she told them as they entered the room. Her head rested on the back of the brass bath basin and her face was angled up toward the ceiling.

"Shame, I could think of a fair better idea than sleep," he said and Sansa lurched. Her eyes popped open and she saw him standing there in his armor, his sword at his side, his hands coated with drying blood. Cold water sloshed from side to side in the tub, spilling over the edge. Her arms moved to cover herself but she knew that from the time between the door opening and him speaking he had plenty of time to appraise her openly. Still, he looked at her with his wide white eyes, dark with desire and the near crazed ferocity of a man who had just exited battle. His eyes lowered to her body, raking over her slowly, before looking back at her, a little half s mile settling on his mangled lips.

"They say the city is a fire," he told her.

"You should not be here, ser," she tried to tell him so with confidence and authority, but she knew by the look on his face that he had heard the shake of her voice. She was unsure if she was imagining it or not, but she thought she saw the muscles move on the burnt side of his face as he smiled. It is just the play of the lights, she told herself, he still has flesh, as burnt as it may be.

"Relax girl," he rasped and sat down on one of her maid's chair on the far side of the room. His hunched forehead, his back bent. "I would hardly think a girl who was nearly raped would like to be bedded so soon after, no matter how strong my charm and good looks."

"This is improper, ser, I would ask –"

"Like you asked me to fuck you?" he cut her off. "I have seen you before."

"In the dark," Sansa murmured stupidly. He grinned.

"I came for a better view."

"You say you respect the trauma I have gone through. Why must you taunt me?" she asked, tears brimming her eyes.

"I did not come to taunt you, little bird," he said softly.

"Then why have you come? To point out how my plan has backfired? How I ruined myself to no purpose?"

"Ah, you bring it up not me," he rasped. "And please, I was present at the ruining. I believe I deserve some of the credit."

"Is my suffering funny to you?" she snapped and his face darkened.

"If it were, do you not think I would have let the crowed have you? Let them have the honey I have tasted?"

Sansa brought her knees up to her chest and narrowed her eyes. No words came to her lips though and she merely stared at him.

"I want a song," he told her and looked down to his sword. He unsheathed it and rested it on his knee. She could see the dark stain of blood on the edge. She wondered if any of the blood belonged to the men attacking her.

"Florian and Jonquil?"

"How about Ser Dontos and Sansa?" he asked, his eyes moving to meet hers. She felt the color drain from her cheeks and she pressed her back against the tub. "I want to know how it ends."

"Ser Dontos is a fool," Sansa said, seeing no sense in denying the truth to the Hound. He would not like to be lied to. He said nothing and looking back at the blade.

"The king is angry with me," he told her but she did not know why. She began to shiver in the cold water but could not move or reveal herself to him. "I should have been protecting him, he says, not you."

He pointed the blade at her lazily.

"He is right," she replied and he laughed bitterly, his tongue pressed to the back of his teeth.

"He'll be pleased with me again soon enough," he rasped and leaned back. "And when he offers the Hound a treat for being a good dog I know what I will ask for."

He stood and as he did he slowly brought the blade of his sword up, pointing the bloody blade at her.

"You."

"He won't-"

"Won't he?" the Hound asked. "What are you now but a traitor's sister? The boy hates you you know. He wants to fuck you, it's true, but he hates you. His mother and the imp are behind the broken engagement, it was not the King's doing."

He looked at her, his eyes shining in the torch light. She watched him glance toward the flamed for only a moment before his eyes found her again, but in that moment she saw fear, anger, and pain.

"I have my prize, the boy has his revenge," his voice was quiet. "Lady Sansa, fucked by a dog."

"Why are you doing this?" Sansa asked him.

"You should be glad," he said and moved toward the door. "I will keep you safe. All I want is what's between your legs and hanging from your chest."

"The queen won't allow me ruined!" she called as he opened the door. The Hound glanced at her one last time.

"Little, little bird, you are already ruined."

Sansa watched him leave, heard the door slam shut and stared after him. Then, slowly, she lowered herself under the water, praying the cold water would wake her from this terrible, terrible nightmare.

A/N: Please, please, please review!

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review. You are the best!