A/N: This chapter might feel like I am skipping over a lot of stuff, but that is because I do not want to write down what is the same in the book. It seems unnecessary to me. After this chapter things will be a lot smoother. I promise.

There is some dialogue from both the book and the movie. None of that is mine.

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The arrangements for Sansa's marriage to whoever the king decided to give her to were delayed thanks to the news that Stannis would be arriving at the city any day. What the king had decided, to the disgust of even the Queen, who had verbally denounced the idea was demeaning to all woman kind, was that a tournament would be held, the winner's prize being Sansa. The king had overruled her, as it was not a matter of state and therefore not within the Regent's power to override. Luckily, with the walls needing to be defended, the tournament was put on hold and Sansa momentarily forgotten.

She saw less of the Hound, as most of his time was divided between protecting the king and surveying where he was most likely going to be fighting when the time came. And though she was thankful that she did not need to see or speak to him, she felt oddly alone. Her maids tried to talk to her, but of nothing of any importance. The ladies at court would have nothing to do with her out of fear of being punished or having their husbands punished by the king and she did not even have Lady to seek solace with.

She spent a lot of her time weeping, hugging her pillow close to her and burying her face in the cool fabric. When she was not crying she would try to read or drink tea like a proper lady should spend most of her time, but it never lasted long. Instead her mind drifted to the Hound, what he might be doing in that moment and if he was thinking about her as well. From the days since her flowering she was frightened of the Hound, wanted him to stay away from her, and prayed that he would not get his way. She wanted to be a knight's lady, not a dog's bitch. It did not matter if the Hound kept her safe, or protected her or cared for her. He was not good enough for her, even now.

But then something peculiar happened. She had been taking a walk around the castle grounds alone, hoping to clear her head, when she heard some soldiers discussing the Hound between training sessions. Her curiosity made her stay in her place and she listened, hoping to learn something knew about the mysterious man. What she heard instead was some admiration about the amount he could drink without falling asleep and the amusement at the amount of gold he was charged for a whore.

"It's 'is face. No woman wants to look up at that ugly mug…"

"What about that little think last night? She didn't even try to pretend she was happy about it…"

Sansa turned and resumed her walk, leaving the soldiers before they could notice her. She felt a little tightness in her chest and an ache in her stomach. It took her nearly five minutes to realize that the uncomfortable feeling that was raging inside of her was jealously. Why the thought of him taking another woman to his bed upset he she could not come to terms with, but she felt oddly betrayed. She had the ridiculous thought that he had not come to her to even try to sleep with her again. Was he no longer intent on having her for his own? Though she did not want him the thought bothered her.

She walked up to the North wall, hoping to be able to gaze out and spot the Hound among the clatter of people. She scanned the ground for yellow, hoping he was in his surcoat today, but could see nothing. Still he was not so difficult to find. He loomed over everyone else, and though he was nearly four steps down from where the imp could be seen standing, he still towered over him. Even from this distance she could see his strong arms folded over his powerful chest and could see that he was in only his mail, a jerkin over that, and thick wool hose and boots. His sword was slung over his back but the Hound looked anything but anxious as he stood there, looking out at the sea.

She watched for only a minute before turning away, trying to suppress the jealously she was feeling. It was irrational to feel this way, when she knew that if it were her choice she would not have him. When she finally got back to her family there would be nothing that would keep them together. He was the younger brother to the heir of a minor house. He was gruff, rude, and abrasive. He would offer nothing to her brother Rob that would suggest he would sanction the match, and Sansa did not find him attractive. He was nothing in comparison to Ser Loras, but still, the thought that just last night he lay with a whore sent that painful feeling of jealously coursing through her.

She lay in bed most of the day thinking about the Hound, against her own will that is. She tried to fantasize about Ser Loras coming to save her, whisking her away from the battle on his glorious white steed. She tried to imagine his perfect face, and soft lips as they came toward her in a gentle kiss, imagine what it would be like to be his bride, but it always came back to the Hound. The beautiful face of her brave shining knight turned rough and scarred, the kisses turned hard and demanding.

She thought she was dreaming when the first horn rang through the cool air alerting them that Stannis' fleet had been spotted. When the second horn rang through the air she jolted up. At that moment two maids came running into the room with a dress for her. She felt fear and anticipation grip her as she was whisked away to the red keep. She looked around for the Hound without thinking, knowing she would feel safer if she knew he was there, but instead all she saw was Ser Ilyn Pane. She jumped when she heard her name come screaming from Joffrey's lips. She spun around and too anyone else who saw, they would think she was relieved to see him. In reality, it was the guard walking behind him that brought the smile to her lips.

For a fleetingly brief moment Sansa thought that, perhaps, in this light, the way his hair fell over the left side of his face his bright yellow surcoat draped over his armor, he almost looked handsome. The thought that he was going off to fight, and perhaps die, sobered her immediately

"Your grace," she said and gave Joffrey a little curtsey.

"You king rides forth," he said, leaning back with the arrogant swagger of a boy about to play soldier. She glanced up at the Hound and said nothing. She knew that he was how a real soldier looked before battle. Stiff, stone faced, but calm and prepared. There was no bragging or show boating.

"You should see him off with a kiss," he said and unsheathed his blade. Sansa clenched her jaw as he looked at the blade. She was anxious for him to find a new bride, so he would stop targeting her for his ego stroking. "My new blade. Heart Eater I have named it. Kiss it."

She glanced up at the Hound but he would not meet her gaze. Instead he stared off over her head, his eyes fixed on the torch flame a few feet away. Slowly she lowered her face to the blade, pausing to think up a small curse, and pressed her lips to the steal. She watched him slip the blade back in its scabbard, claiming that his uncle's blood would soon coat the steal. She fought back the reproach and annoyance from her face.

"So you will slay him yourself?" she asked. For a moment, when she saw the Hound look away from the flames and toward her, a little twitch lifting up his lips, she thought she might have gone too far. But Joffrey only reacted like an offended little boy. She pressed on, feeling protected with the Hound standing there, but ceased her subtle taunting when she saw the little jerk of the Hound's head. She back peddled slightly, but felt proud when he stormed from the room in annoyance. She was lucky he had other things on his mind.

The battle was terrifying. Smoke filled the air as the bay outside the tall towers went ablaze and boats along with it. The sound of men screaming, shouting and dying filled the air. Battering rams shook the castle. Through most of the battle she stared at Ser Illyn Pane, fear numbing her body to any other sensation. The queen's words rang through her head over and over again, each time causing her anxiety to raise just another level.

It was amidst the ladies terror and the Queen's drunken stupor, that Sansa slipped from the main room they were all staying in and hurried to her rooms. She knew if she could lock her door and keep Ser Illyn out, that Stannis would not kill her. And if Joffrey won, there would be no reason for Ser Illyn to kill her. She locked the door and swung over the arm, lodging it in place securely. She let out a deep breath, feeling suddenly very much at peace. She would be safe, she would be unharmed, she would live. She said it over and over again in her head, pressing her forehead against the door in front of her.

"You shouldn't have done that little bird," a voice came from the darkness and Sansa whirled around to find it. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and she hastily looked around the room for a torch and something to light it with. It seemed she had not thought that part through thoroughly enough. "Now no one can get in to save you."

Sansa saw him sit up on the bed, her bed, and look at her, his chin slightly raised, his eyes hooded from exhaustion and drink. She watched him reach out a gloved hand to grab the flagon by her bed and take a long swig.

"Same me from what, ser?" she asked softly, her voice trembling. He smiled, a twisted cruel smile that told anyone who saw it this man had only ever known pain.

"Me," he said and stood. She pressed her back against the back of the door and looked around, searching for a weapon, anything she could use to hit him.

"I do not need protecting from you," she said when she could find no weapon. He laughed but she went on anyway. "You protect me."

"Protect you? Am I protecting you right now girl?" he asked and he slammed a fist into the door by her head. She flinched and he held it there, looming over her. His breath reeked of alcohol and she could see the blood that covered him. Splotching his cloak, his surcoat, his face was blood. Blood of the men he had just killed that knight. It sent a shiver down her spine. "Tell me, what other purpose would I have here?"

"You won't hurt me," she whispered with more conviction than she felt. Inside her heart pounded, her mouth was dry, and her stomach quivered, but she raised her chin and gazed at him defiantly.

"No little bird, I won't hurt you," he breathed. She flinched as he brought up the hand not perched against the wall and bit his glove off with his teeth. Spitting it to the side he gently ran his fingertips over her cheek bone. When he spoke next his voice was quiet. "Everything's on fire."

"Not here," Sansa said softly and he laughed again, bitter and low in his throat.

"No, not here," he agreed. "Will you sing me a song, little bird? Sing me a song about handsome knights and the fair maiden's that love them."

"Ser please –"

"Sing!" he shouted and pounded the door near her head again.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray,

stay the swords and stay the arrows,

let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women,

help our daughters through this fray,

soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

teach us all a kinder way."

When she stopped the Hound was silent and his head was hunched low, nearly at level with her own. She stared at the crown of his head, watching as the hair fell, revealing the bald burnt skin of his scalp. She swallowed her and brought up a hand, reaching out to touch it. She froze when he looked up, his dark eyes pinning her in place. After a beat she reached out and touched the side of his face, the hot wetness of tears and blood meeting her fingers.

"I'm leaving," he rasped.

"Back to the battle?" she whispered.

"No, I am leaving King's Landing," he told her and she felt suddenly like she was trapped in a tomb. A cold feeling of dread fell over her and her mouth, already dry, turned yet dryer.

"Where will you go?" she asked him.

"North might be," he rasped. "Somewhere that isn't burning. I could take you with me. I could bring you home."

"We'd never get past the gates –"

"Who will stop me?" he asked. She let out a cry when she felt a knife pressed to her throat. "When I have this? Or this?"

He motioned to the sword slung over his back. The knife was slowly lowered from her throat.

"Are you scarred little bird? I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them."

Sansa hesitated. She could hardly believe it was true, but his words were said with conviction. She gently rubbed her thumb over his cheek, feeling the bloody tears beginning to dry.

"If you are caught they'll kill you," she whispered.

"I'm dead if I stay," he rasped. She did not know what he meant by that but she nodded slowly.

"Sandor," she said, his name funny on her lips. "Take me home."

He stepped back and ripped the cloak from his armor. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled up the hood to cover her face.

"Be silent and do as I tell you," he told her sternly, suddenly very sober. She nodded but said nothing and struggled to keep up with his long strides, as he spirited her away from her prison.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Means so much to me! Let me know what you think!