A Friend in this City

"You want a friend in this city? Get a dog!"

― Harry S. Truman

Sansa could feel them looking at her. Curious looks, friendly looks. Looks that were a little bit scared and those that were a bit angry. But most of all she felt the weight of the hopeful ones. Looks that said "Pick me, I'll be good! I'll love you! Pick me, me, me. Please!"

Sighing she turned and gave the attendant, who looked more and more irritated by the minute, an apologizing smile. "Sorry, I just can't decide. There are so many of them…"

That wasn't it though. To Sansa they all looked the same. Greyish white fur, soft as velvet under her fingers, and amber eyes that seemed to spill over with soulfulness. Hasty she shoved the thought away. This here was not about Lady. This was about forgetting Lady (Deep down, though, she knew she never could) and making a new start.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the impatient taptaptap of the attendant's shiny shoes on the tiled floor.

"It would be easier if You had any idea what kind of dog You would like to adopt, Miss…" She glanced at the form in her hands, "…Stark."

A little sheepish Sansa looked at her own shoes, no high-heels, like she used to wear, but Chucks. A little bit dusty but comfortable. A new beginning in every way. She was painfully aware that she was, what one would call a difficult customer, something she wasn't used to. The old Sansa Stark was a nice and friendly person, who never made anything difficult for anyone.

'And now look where that got you' she thought and straightened her back, raising her gaze. 'A new beginning, remember? Better get used to being difficult.'

She took a deep breath and looked into the kennel to her left. It held a fuzzy little creature - all shiny brown fur and big eyes - that seemed to be about to die from excitement. A Toy Spaniel, her mind supplied while she watched as the dog barked and jumped and whined. Lady never did that. She had always been glad to see her after a long day, but you had to know her to see it. Her eyes would shine and her tail would wag ever so slightly…

"Oh, that is Margaery. Very nice dog, really. I would take her myself if I could. Excellent pedigree too. She is from the Tyrell line, very famous. Poor thing had such bad luck. We actually had found an owner for her before, after the nice young man she belonged to first died in a car accident. These streets can be tricky when it's dark, You better be careful. Anyway, her new owner died about a month ago as well - food-poisoning of all things, would You believe it? Otherwise she wouldn't be here, she's such a good soul. She's gonna be Your best friend."

'Yeah…' Sansa thought observing how the little dog eagerly licked the attendant's fingers. 'But she is going to be everyone else's best friend as well.'

Maybe it was selfish of her, but she wanted her dog to love her exclusively, or at least more than anybody else. Her relationship with Joffrey had robbed her of her trust in people, but she could bring herself to trust a dog, she thought. After she had been stripped of every sense of self-worth or –respect her soul hungered for a bit appreciation and it would be so good to come home and have someone who was genuinely happy to have her back. Dogs loved unconditionally and truly. Everybody knew that.

Turning her back at Margaery and ignoring the annoyed look at the attendant's face Sansa peered through the bars on her right. This dog, a whippet, its coat solid black with a grey muzzle, wasn't jumping around or whined. But he pressed his nose through the bars when Sansa crouched down before him, wagging his tail and watching her with pale grey eyes. Something about them made her feel uneasy.

"That's Pete," the attendant supplied, watching how it licked Sansa's fingers. "A sly one, but harmless, really."

Sansa just nodded, her eyes fixed on the dog. It looked… hungry. Somehow she had a feeling that it nothing to do with dog food. Slowly she withdrew her hand.

"Aren't there any more?" she asked, standing up and wiping her slick fingers on her jeans. She could feel how desperation began to creep up on her. This was the third shelter already. She only wanted to adopt a dog. A perfect dog just for her. Surely this couldn't be so difficult? The Stark's always had had dogs and now that she was living alone she didn't plan on changing that. It would do her good, she thought. Being responsible for another living being.

The attendant beside her hesitated. "Well, there would be our hard cases. Those who have difficulties finding a new home, with fitting in, You know? I doubt You would want one of those though…"

Difficulties finding a new home… Sansa could relate to that. After one year with Joff, she had problems with finding a place to belong, too. Afterall that had been why she had decided to create one for her own in the first place. And she kind of liked the idea of taking someone in, who knew exactly how she felt.

"Actually, that sounds perfect."

xxx

Sansa felt the difference as soon as she entered the last corridor. It was quiet here, the barking of the others distant and muffled. The dogs in this part of the shelter weren't jumping or waging their tails. Most of them weren't even looking up as she walked by - just lying on the ground, head between their paws, and stared into space. Their hopelessness nearly broke her heart.

Those who were looking, however, observed her with a silent attentiveness that made her slightly nervous. Sometimes Lady would have a look like this too, when she was watching the neighbor's cat dozing on the fence. Waiting. Measuring.

When one of them, a grey and white bulldog, suddenly threw itself against the metal bars, growling and snapping, it was the attendant that shrieked, not her. Unfazed she followed the way down the corridor, leaving the young woman behind to calm the furious dog.

"Boros, will you stop it? Down! Down, I said!"

The noise had still to die down when Sansa reached the very last kennel. It was dark here, the tube above her head flickering and bathing this part of the aisle in a trembling twilight. Squinting, she stepped closer and tried to spot its inhabitant. It stood on the darkest corner of its cage, glowing eyes on her, unmoving.

It was huge, that much she could tell. Big with long shaggy fur, as dark as the shadows surrounding it. Scanning the card on the wall next to it for information she took a step closer. It didn't hold much.

Irish wolfhound mix, 2 years, male, black...

No name, no history.

Sansa crouched down, one hand on the bars. The dog stood higher than her now, still watching her with an air of wary hostility. Even though she couldn't make out any details in this twilight… If she wouldn't had known better she would have said it was sneering at her, something she up to now had thought dogs not being capable of, only cats. What a curious creature.

Steadying herself she reached into the cage, offering her hand, hoping to lure it out of its corner. The dog shifted, but did not step any closer.

"Ah, Miss Stark. Not this one. Better take a step back."

Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin when the attendant laid a hand on her shoulder and drew her up, gentle but firm, her voice nervous and strangely hushed. The dog threw her a side-glance so disdainful that Sansa couldn't help but smile. Seemed like he shared her opinion of her guide (though she would have never shown it so openly. Or maybe the new Sansa would?)

Ignoring the request to step away, she turned halfway, leaning against the bars and her arms crossed.

"Why not? What's wrong with him?"

The attendant made a face and fiddled with her clipboard.

"He's… difficult. We got him a year ago, the police brought him in. An Eviction of one of these houses in the suburb. The house owner was wanted for assault and robbery. Well, they didn't find him, but instead were greeted by him…" At this she pointed at the dog who was slowly etching closer, one step at a time and still clinging to the wall. "Half starved, the poor thing. And so wild… Took four men to get him into a transportbox and the vet had to narcotize him so we could get him out and do a check-up. We fed him up and he calmed down a bit after this, but there wasn't much we could do about..well..this."

Sansa frowned when the attendant made a vague gesture towards the dog behind her without looking, her face pulled into a slight grimace. Confused she turned around, only to discover, that the occupant of the cage had stepped out of the shadows and stood only about a foot away from the bars now.

It took Sansa a moment to understand what the woman had been referring to, simply because it was so terrible, that her mind had problems to process it. "Oh my god..." she whispered, shock evident in her voice, "Oh my god, what did they do to you?" And now there was not only shock, but also rage on that poor creatures behalf which looked back at her with a strangely defiant expression on its face.

Its face! Eyes, gray as storm clouds, regarded her with a mixture of distrust and anger, staring at her from a destroyed, longish face. A burn scar, beginning at the left side of its neck, covered a good part of the dog's face, its left ear almost completely burned away as was the fur at this side of its head. Gnarled flesh, black and red, twisted itself, distorting the shape of its head into something that reminded Sansa of a melting candle. With a gasp she realized that this was what most likely happened.

The dog duck its head slightly, turning sideways as if to hide the scar, and only now she noticed that the damage did not stop there. The shaggy black fur was crisscrossed by a mass of scars, the shoulders, its back…

Whirling, she faced the attendant, who seemed oddly focused on anything but the dog. "What happened?", Sansa all but demanded, startling the young woman with her suddenly fierce tone. Shuffling her feet, she fumbled with her clipboard before answering, her gaze straying back and forth between Sansa, the ceiling, the floor, anything but the dog, who had all his attention still focused on them, even though he avoided to face them head on.

"Well, You remember how I told You about his former owner? It seems he was some big-shot when it came to dog-fighting… that's where he got the ragged ones at his legs. We are not exactly sure, what caused …the scar on his face.. but the other wounds are most likely the result of being hit repeatedly with something… like a crop maybe…or a stick. To make him angry and put up a better fight, most likely. There are more burn scars too. Cigarettes probably." She pointed and the dogs flank and Sansa crouched down again, squinting her eyes.

Indeed, there were holes in the dog's coarse dark coat, almost as if somebody had tried to draw a pattern. Sansa tasted bile in her throat and forced it down. The dog was looking at her again, almost as if challenging her to turn away from him in disgust.

'Like everyone else does', she realized, glancing at the woman at her side who made a big show of checking her notes.

'Like everyone did, when it became clear that Joff did'nt want you anymore', she added in her mind and returned her attention to the dog, taking him in completely.

His face was a ruin, the scar making it hard to focus on anything else, but his gray eyes held an intelligence she found intriguing and the way he held himself spoke more of defense, than aggression. She could see his nose twitching in her direction, his one ear flicking, when she began to mumble soothingly under her breath, offering her hand once more. He sniffed, eying her hand distrustfully.

"Probably should have put him down the moment we got him. Would have been the kinder thing to do, really. I don't think we will ever find someone for this one. I usually don't say things like that, but this one is an ill-tempered, unpredictable monster. Only knows how to kill and…" continued the attendant oblivious to her advances, still looking at her papers.

Sansa tuned her out and moved closer, slowly, carefully keeping an eye on him. Under his coarse, scarred pelt she could see his muscles twitch, hinting on strength and speed. And fast he was. She had not even begun to retract her hand when he lunged. Sharp white teeth flashed and a ferocious snarl echoed in the small place, making her catch her breath despite herself. The attendant shrieked once again, yelling at her to move away, and after a moment she complied, but slowly and with a smile at her face.

Because while he could have easily swallowed her hand full… he had decided to stop an inch or two before his teeth would have met her fingers. A warning, not a killing attempt.

She looked him over once more. He certainly was not cute, like Margaery for example, and definitely not nice. Neither did he possess the same quiet friendliness that Lady used to radiate. This one here would take quite a bit of work, his trust would not be earned easily, but Sansa found that she did not want it any other way. Something told her that he could be a quite reliable and interesting companion, if someone would only give him the time to actually find out who he was under all that anger and fear. Everyone saw the scars and concluded that he had to be some wiled, untamed beast… which probably was, which he had to be in order to survive. Until now.

"… so really, I think your best option would be Margaery. Or Pete, he seemed quite taken with you. Do you want to take another look at them? I could…"

"No", interrupted Sansa and flashed the stunned attendant her most brilliant smile. "No, I'm not taking any of those. This one will be perfect!" She glanced at the dog, who had retreated a bit after his outburst and eyed her now with something that may could have passed as curiosity. "Right…Sandor?"

A/N: ...And they lived happily ever after *coughcough*

...This idea began when i wrote the prologue to Wolfhound, but unfortunately I could not really do it justice, I fear. (the fact that I know next to nothing about dogs and shelters did not really help...) So yeah, some 'what if we take King Robert's suggestion a little bit more literally?'

(Sansa should probably invest in an muzzle and Joff may train his tree-climbing abilities... Someting tells me that Nymeria's attack will seem like a cute little puppy gnawing on your shoes in comparison to Sandor defending his little mistress)

BTW:

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin.

See ya, Mag~