Sansa

When news of Lord Renly's death reached King's Landing Joffrey ordered a large celebration. Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister did his best to talk to the wild King out of this plan and Sansa was sure that a lot was going on behind the scenes to try and persuade him otherwise that she could not see. She even overheard the Queen Regent trying to speak with Joffrey as she was taking a walk around the castle. Queen Cersei's words had been cut off with the undeniable sound of slapping skin. Joffrey whispered harshly and there was a slamming door. Moments later Joffrey came storming around the corner, the Hound close behind, his armor clanking with each step.

She moved away, pressing herself against the wall to let them pass. Joffrey snarled at her, but by the grace of the Gods, old and new, he did not stop. Once Joffrey was passed she looked to the Hound, her cheeks turning red as she did. He did not look at her as he past and kept his eyes straight ahead. She stared after him, her eyes on his back. She wondered if Joffrey would truly give her to the Hound. Perhaps a few months ago she would not have been so skeptical. When the Hound was repulsive and terrifying to her she would have had no problem believing Joffrey would give her to him to be raped. But now, with her feelings for him slightly changed she was not so sure. It would all depend it seemed, on Joffrey's belief in how she viewed the dog. The more abhorrent it would seem to Sansa, the more likely it was to happen.

Sansa chewed on her bottom lip a moment before continuing on through the castle corridors. The Queen had given her leave to move about the castle at will and she took advantage of the permission most often at night, when the halls were quiet and she could not sleep. Every hall she entered she would touch the walls, wondering if her father had been in this room. Her fingers smoothed over the hard stone, the cold seeping into her fingertips. She pressed her cheek against the cold stone, letting out a slow, shaky breath. It was soothing, calming, relaxing. Her eyes fluttered closed and she pressed herself against the cold stone. She reached out and felt the warmth of the stone warmed by a nearby torch. She found herself enjoying the cool more. I may look like a Tully, she thought to herself, but I am still a Stark. She felt closer to her father in that brief moment.

"What are you doing out at this hour bitch?"

Sansa turned, ripping herself away from the cool stone to see who was standing behind her. Ser Meryn stood there, a twisted grin on his face. Sansa pressed her back against the wall and swallowed hard, glancing up and down the hall. She prayed for the Hound to reappear, but she knew he would not. Wherever Joffrey had gone the Hound would be as well, far away and unable to protect her.

"The Queen… she told me I could –"

"It's the King's word that matters," he interrupted her. "He gave me no such order."

"Then please, ser, I will return to my rooms –"

"We will see what the King hopes to do with you," he said and was on her in a moment, placing her wrist in a painful vice. She cried out in pain as she was dragged through the halls, struggling to get free of him. As they passed the Queen's rooms she called out, desperate for her protection. The Queen was conniving, cunning, and had the capability of great cruelty, but she was not so evil as to simply enjoy someone being beaten for no purpose. As long as Sansa played the part requested from her the Queen would do no harm herself. She was not so ignorant as to believe Sansa loved any of them any longer, and not so unhinged as to believe that she should.

But the Queen did not come. She must not have heard, or was too angry to care. She was dragged up a winding staircase. If it were not for the punishing grip Ser Meryn had on her she would have fallen down the winding steps. When they arrived outside the King's chambers the Hound was standing outside. He glanced toward them as he saw them approach, and when his eyes found Sansa's red, tear stained face he straightened and positioned himself in front of the King's chambers.

"The King does not want to be disturbed," the Hound bit out at Ser Meryn. Sansa felt some hope swell in her chest.

"I found this one wandering around the castle," Meryn said, bringing up Sansa's wrist to show him.

"As did the King and he passed her without incident. Do you think I am going to disturb the King to tell him what he already knows?" he asked incredulously. "Let the girl go."

"The girl was trying to escape!" Meryn yelled and Sansa shook her head, trying to keep her voice quiet and her tears at bay so Joffrey would not hear within and come out to see what was going on.

"I wasn't! I swear ser, I wasn't!"

She saw the Hound bristle at the title but looked back to Ser Meryn.

"Let the girl go, Trant," the Hound rasped and leaned back against the King's door. Meryn blustered.

"But she –"

"Is a little girl," the Hound cut him off.

A little girl you have brought to bed, and would do so again by your own admission, Sansa thought.

"Let her go."

Meryn let go of her fuming. Sansa gently rubbed her wrist and stepped away from Meryn, stumbling backward toward the Hound. He steadied her, placing his gloved hands on her arms and kept her at arm's length. Her back was to him, for she did not want to take her eyes away from Ser Meryn until he was out of sight. She listened as his armor rattled with each step down the stairs and only turned to face the Hound once she could no longer hear him.

"Thank you," she said softly, making sure to leave off the 'Ser' this time.

"Ever since that fool imp gave the boy some whores for his name day he's been doing foul things to maids. I can't imagine what he would do to you," he replied, looking her up and down from head to toe slowly. "He'd probably use his sword on you."

Sansa shivered.

"Well… thank you for making sure that didn't happen," she said and bit her bottom lip. When all he did was stare back at her she turned and began walking away. She just got to the top of the stairs, just a few feet away, when she paused and turned around. "It would be polite to say 'You're Welcome.' It's the proper way of replying to a thank you."

"I will give a proper welcome when you give me a proper thank you," he rasped and she colored.

"I thanked you politely and cordially, ser, if that is not the proper way than I –"

"How would Jonquil thank Florien, I wonder," he mused. "Calm yourself little bird I do not demand a kiss. I only want to remind you what I am. If you do not wish to thank me as a heroine does her hero, than cease pretending I am one."

Sansa was silent, unsure what to say. Her mouth set into a hard straight line as she held eye contact with him. She felt a surge of defiant anger course through her and her feet began to move toward him. His face and eyes gave absolutely no sign of what he was thinking, but when she came before him and placed her hands on his shoulders he tensed underneath her touch. She lifted herself up onto the tip of her toes and pulled him down the rest of the way. She placed her lips to his cheek gently in a chaste and gentle kiss. Her body trembled slightly, but she reminded herself she had let him inside of her body just weeks ago. When she took her lips away from his cheek she stared him right in the eye, his face still hunched toward her.

"I would have my welcome now," she said firmly and he gave her a little half smile.

"You are welcome, Lady Sansa," he rasped and she turned to leave. "But I think it telling, which side of my face you chose to kiss."

She did not turn back to face him and instead went on her way, her face reddened with anger. Why he had to make things so difficult she could not say. He was infuriatingly difficult. He made her feel guilty for not gracing him with a kiss, as a lady was supposed to do her shining knight, and then made her feel guilty when she did. And for not choosing to kiss the scar on his face? Parts of it were open and weeping. Though perhaps not weeping exactly. The skin beneath the charred flesh was wet and raw and it seemed to Sansa that it must be painful. When she had touched his cheek the other night he had hissed in a breath. The skin that still contained nerve endings was bare and vulnerable. Why would he want that touched?

She shook her head and got into her rooms, passing her maids and going directly into her bedroom. She shut the door behind her and sighed. He was a cruel man with little feeling. He shamed her into giving him a kiss, though it was to his cheek and no more than was expected of a lady for her chivalrous knight. He had taken her virginity, though she had asked him of that as well. But he had openly admitted he would ask for her as a boon and what good knight, good man for that matter, would do such a thing? She had no doubt he wanted her for sexual purposes. His claim to keep her safe was just a pretense.

Only an hour before the prospect of being given the Hound had not been pleasing, but it had not been repulsive either. It had just become so again and suddenly it seemed like a very real possibility. He was a mean, cruel, drunk of a man who would never care for anything other than killing, drinking, and whoring and he meant to have her as his own personal whore. He might wish to keep her unharmed, but only for his own personal desires.

She threw herself down on her bed, pressed her face into her pillow, and screamed.

Sandor

The skin on his cheek tingled where his little bird had pressed her lips. The cool, soft brushing of her tender lips burned his skin and it had his chest constricting and his stomach twisted in an uncomfortable bundle of nerves and desire. When she had walked toward her he felt his heartbeat rise and when her hands went to his shoulders and gently pulled him down his brain went blank. His eyes were on her beautiful, perfect face, her sparking blue eyes and stunning red hair. Her beauty rocked him and for the smallest of moments he could forget who he was, what he was, and the state of the left side of his face. But when he saw her face tilt to the side, moving away from the thick, red and black scar tissue that disfigured his flesh, he could not help but be reminded.

Her lips were hot and cold at once, freezing and burning him to the bone. His jaw tingled, the hair on the back of his neck rose, and his loins tightened with desire. Such beautiful innocence should have been disgusting to him, it normally was, and most simpering little ladies at court never knew that he reviled them as much as they reviled him, but somehow Sansa was different.

His little bird was how he thought of her in his head. Not a little bird, not the little bird, his little bird. Until the breaking of Joffrey's engagement to her he had thought it impossible to ever possess the innocent creature he had watched beaten, degraded, and taunted. The night she had come to him to steal her virginity from Joffrey had been heavenly, but he had been far too drunk to remember it all properly. Though she might not have known any better, his hands had fumbled, his movements were sloppy, he acted on his basest instincts and when he awoke the next morning, with only parts of it in his memory he had cursed himself.

After he had done what he could in the city, avoiding the greater parts of the fires that had been lit, he started to drink again. But this time he stopped and found himself marching to his little bird's room. Her maids he found with out, but one glare from him and they scattered. That had angered him. Any man could barge into her room and have their way with her if they wished, and no maid would say a word to raise an alarm. He doubted Joffrey would even punish them.

But the moment he opened the door and saw her in the bath basin, her white, naked body stretched out under the bath water, her red hair wet and draped over the back of the rub, he had let out a deep, quiet breath. Everything in him demanded that he go to her, rip her soft body out of the water, drag her into her room and ravish her on her bed. He wanted to feel her softness again, smell the sweet smell of her hair, hear her little moans.

He felt his loins tightened, his breathing quicken. He lifted a heavy boot and took a step toward her, his plan made up, his decision made. She had given herself to him once. She was no maiden any longer. She had no claim to virtue. But when she spoke, her soft voice, a voice he so desperately wanted to hear singing for him, meeting his ears he froze. He remembered the fear in her face as the men had reached for her, the sound of that voice as she called out for help. It stopped him in his tracks.

He had made his decision up then. He would have her. He would just need to be patient, be a good dog, and he'd have his bone. He told himself this as he watched her disappear down the staircase. As his cock strained against his breeches and his thighs burned with desire he assured himself that someday, somehow, she would be his. The thought got him through the last few hours of his watch outside the King's door and when he finally returned to his rooms, he fell into bed, lying down on the spot he had set Sansa down weeks before, a flagon of wine in his hand. As he searched for the bottom of that flagon he fell asleep, images of blue eyes and red hair swirling in his head.

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A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! They are amazing and make me want to write more!

So, I just want to say as I continue this story, that my interpretation of Sandor Clegane is that while I believe he cares for Sansa and does not wish to see her hurt or hurt her himself, I do not think he is a righteous or particularly moral man. Just a warning.

Thanks again everyone! Enjoy and please review!