Sansa

Sansa's dreams were becoming impossible to bear. Prior to the tournament her dreams consisted mainly of the mob attack, only the Hound was not there to rescue her. She was gutted, raped, and left to die in the street. Sometimes the Hound would come back for her, though those dreams were much more rare, but no less horrifying. She looked on him as her hero, her savior, but by saving her from the crowd he stood took her for himself. She would awake in cold sweats, her body trembling, and her skin deathly pale.

It had become so bad that she would wake her maids with her crying and moaning. In the beginning they had tried to be kind, and understanding, but as the dreams grew worse and more frequent, their understanding began to fade. They had tried to get her sleeping draughts, more for themselves than for Sansa's own peace of mind, but the Queen ordered nothing be given to her, should she attempt to kill herself and steal her worth from the king. Sansa felt no need to point out she hadn't the strength for suicide, no matter how frightened of something she might be. She tried to tell herself she was too strong to give in and attempt to end her miserable life, that she was a fighter like Arya, but deep down she knew the truth. She was too much of a coward.

But recently, she had watched the Hound win the tournament with such little trouble, there was a third element to her dreams. Dontos was trying to get her from the city when the mob came upon them. Dontos fought them back gallantly. In her dream his valiant efforts were not as strange and unbelievable as they would have been in real life. She looked at him with awe and admiration as he cut through her attackers.

It was when the Hound came upon them that Dontos' courage failed him. He was always covered with grit, sweat and blood, his sword in his hand, poised to kill and slick with the life's blood of his victims. The Hound loomed over them, his strength, his size, too much for Dontos to handle. In some dreams Dontos turned and fled, in others he fell to his knees and yielded and in others he would try and fight, but they all ended the same.

In the dreams in which Dontos stayed the Hound would gut him with a vicious thrust of his sword, his face snarling like a dog's. Instead of raising his sword to knock the fool unconscious as he had in the tournament, the Hound would raise his blade and sink it into his soft flesh, yanking it to the side with an unforgiving jerk, spilling the putrid smelling intestines onto the ground. Sometimes she would be relieved by the Hound's presence, other times horrified, but he always stalked toward her, the human side of his face covered by hair instead of the monstrous. She could see the outline of his teeth against the sunken flesh of his mangled cheek, his eye looking just too large as his lower eyelid sunk with the weight of the scar tissue.

"How does Jonquil thank her Florian?" he would ask with a snarl.

Whether she reached out for him or tried to scurry away he would force her to the ground. She cried as he raped her amidst the smoke, dirt, and blood and he would whisper in her ear, his breath hot and wet against her cheek.

You're mine now.

When she awoke she could still hear his deep, rasping voice against her ear, the words echoing in her brain. She replayed the words over and over in her head so often that she sometimes forgot the words had never been said to her.

You're mine now, she would hear him say in her head when she saw him in the halls, or in the throne room, or in the training yard. When news of her brother's victory over another Lannister army reached them and Joffrey ordered her stripped in front of the court she had looked at him, her face flushed and wet with her tears. She wanted him to go to her then. To protect her and make them stop their horrible treatment. But he remained still, looking straight ahead, his face like stone.

You're mine now, she heard him whisper when he finally walked toward her. In her humiliation she was wise enough to fear rape, and when Lord Tyrion ordered her covered, and the Hound approached, her dreams came flooding back. She could hear the screaming of the mob, feel their hands clawing at her form the horse, saw the Hound fighting them off and putting her back onto her horse. She felt his gentle hands on her face, his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth. She had been watching him when Lord Tyrion ordered her covered. The moment the command left the dwarf's lips he started toward her, his step a jolt of energy as he began to move toward her.

Suddenly she had seen Dontos gutted by him, felt her body forced down to the hard unforgiving ground, and felt the pain of his violation.

You're mine now, she heard when he dropped his white cloak around her shoulders. The weight had her shoulders hunching, but she pulled it around her shoulders tightly. She could feel the warmth from his body on her bare back. It comforted her, and even as Lord Tyrion came toward her to help her to her feet, she gazed up at the Hound. He did not meet her eye, instead looking to the ground beside her, his back to the King. He stood close, his body looming over her, seemingly offering her what little protection he could without being disobedient. His scar was covered by his hair, his face twisting in discomfort. Sansa could not say it was anger exactly, nor disgust, or any specific emotion, but she knew he was upset, and she knew he was upset on her account. It warmed her some.

He jerked his head to the side curtly and she looked away from him. She saw Lord Tyrion offering her his hand and she took it, thanking him softly. It took everything in her not to glance back at the Hound as she left, but she did not want anyone to think she was looking back at the king. That would be seen as a direct challenge.

A maid came to her late that evening stating that the Hound had come to request his cloak back. She still had it wrapped around her shoulders when she had come in, but she gave it up to her maid to return to the Hound. She wondered as she stepped into her bath, if he would feel her warmth in it as she had his.

She struggled to reconcile the Hound in her dreams and the Hound she knew. He had never tried to hurt her, never tried to rape her, and so she was not entirely sure why she was having those dreams. She wished more than anything to have someone interpret these dreams. It might make her own confusing feelings more clear to her.

In her most recent dream when the Hound forced her to the ground she felt a startling pain in her back. When he forced himself inside of her she felt an explosion of pain in her lower abdomen. She cried and wept and he whispered and panted. But the pain was new. Never before had it felt so vivid, so real. When she awoke with her normal cry she was covered in cold sweat, her entire body trembling. The pain remained though. She ripped the blankets off and for a horrifying moment she thought it must not have been a dream this time. The Hound must have come in the night and raped her while she slept and she only thought it a dream.

The thought passed though. No matter her dreams, the Hound would not hurt her. That she knew. He wanted her, he would kill for her, but he would not rape her. She knew it deep in her heart, rooted in her chest, and unbudging in her mind. No she knew what the blood was, where the pain had come from. She felt herself choke out a sob. Her maids did not come, assuming it was just another nightmare.

She knew that Joffrey might still wish for her in his bed to torture her now that she had flowered. She flew from her bed searching for a knife to cut out the stain. She worked in a haze trying to burn away the evidence. Perhaps, had she been thinking more clearly she might have succeeded in hiding the truth, but she was too terrified. When her maids saw the smoke they came running in but they could not stop her. She pushed them away blindly, burning anything red she could find.

"Quick, go get the guard on duty, he will stop her," one of them ordered but they all fled the room. Sansa sobbed loudly as she went back to her mattress. The hole had been completely cut out and she tried in vain to flip the mattress. Still it would not budge. She was not nearly strong enough. She cried for a maid to help her but none came. They were not loyal to her they were loyal to the Lannisters, and the queen would know of her flowering. She did not see the flames of the bloody fabric grow, the black smoke turning lighter as the flames grew. She might have lit the entire room on fire if the maids did not return with the guard. She was vaguely aware of the rattling of armor as the guard stomped out the flames with a rasping curse.

"Idiot girl," she heard as she wept, still trying to lift the mattress up. She felt warm, powerful hands on her arms hold her still and she fell back into a powerful chest. She tried to fight away, but he held her arms strong and eventually she collapsed against him. "What were you doing foolish little bird?"

She looked up over her shoulder at the Hound, gazing up into his cold eyes.

"I didn't want… I didn't know what to do," she breathed. "He can't know. Please, you must help me, ser. Don't let them find out."

He spun her around, gripping her shoulders hard and gazing at her intently. He looked to the hole in the bed, then at the black fabric. The blood was no longer intelligible under the black char. But when he looked back at her, his eyes sweeping over her night gown, he spotted the blood. His lips parted and slowly his eyes went back to hers. She felt any hope he would not go to the queen flee from her body at once. Instead she felt a cold resignation sweep over her. He was loyal to the Lannisters and would only ever go so far to protect her.

She looked down at his feet, tears dripping onto his dirty boots, leaving a dark streak of black where the dust was wiped away by her tears. She felt his hands tighten on her shoulders. She looked back up at him, their eyes locking. She could see the heat in his eyes, the desire she had seen on the night she went to him. His lips twitched, but not to smile. Her own lips parted with understanding. The message in his eyes was clear, evident to anyone who wanted to look at them. But only Sansa looked into his eyes. Her maids were to busy scrambling to clean up her mess. They were throwing open windows, hoping to clear smoke from the room and taking away curtains, sheets, and dresses to try and save them from the smoke.

Sansa's lips trembled as she looked up at him, trying to beg him silently not to go to the queen. If Joffrey was to find out, he might call her to him on the guise of wishing to bed her, and torture her in the way he had tortured those whores. They may have been rumors, but the depravity of it rang true to Sansa. But if they were to find out he might decide it a fitting punishment to reward her flowering by giving her to his dog. What would be a greater humiliation?

"Please don't," she whispered, but his eyes did not change. The message in them was clear. He released her arms and she moved to sit on the bed. He gave her one last look before turning away and leaving the room.

You're mine now, his eyes had spoken what his lips did not. She ignored her maids as they tried to comfort her but she sent them away. Her tears dried up as she sat on her ruined bed, waiting to hear footsteps on the stairs. The queen would send for her, she had no doubt, but she did not know what the future would hold. She could only pray that who's ever bed this new development landed her in, it would not be the king's.

()

A/N: So either the next chapter or the one after that will be the battle of blackwater and then the story will stray further from canon. I am going to try and keep it as close as I can, while still in keeping with my Sansa/Sandor story. Hope that makes sense…

Thanks so much for the reviews! Keep them coming.

I think this chapter might have been a little confusing. I tried to go over it a few times. Sansa's and Sandor's feelings and where each of them thinks they stand will be addressed again in more detail.

And one note: Sansa has physically matured but had not gotten her period until this point. My sister was almost completely developed physically before she ever started bleeding, so I am kind of thinking that was how it went for Sansa. Because though she is very young I don't want the Hound to be a pedophile. (Also keep in mind medieval standards of womanhood and age appropriate intercourse)

Happy Reading!