Author's Notes: This is where this little tale starts to deviate from the canon more drastically - changing some of the subsequent events, but not all.


Sandor & Arya

"I hate you! How could you! I should have believed when everyone said you were no good and a monster!"

"Seven hells! What's gotten into you, wolf girl? You could have hurt me with that flagon!"

"I meant to! I wanted to crush it into your thick skull but of course you had to duck!"

"Did you expect me just to sit quietly while you hammer me, then? Is that the way I have been teaching you, to let the attackers get you that easily?"

"I expected you to suffer, that's what I expected!"

"Well I am, if that makes you any happier. That flagon was full of good Dornish red and now I have to go back to the kitchens for more. Bloody hells! Why in such a bad mood anyway?"

"Do you even have to ask? You know why. He was my friend!"

"Who?"

"Mycah."

"Who the hells is Mycah?"

"The butcher's boy, the one you slaughtered in cold blood although he had done nothing wrong! How could you?!"

"Oh, that boy."

"Yes, that boy. I heard what you said to the king, and when I went to the common room afterwards I saw his clothes and the wooden sword there on the floor, bloody."


"Are you crying, girl?"

"No… *snif*No I am not. I am just so angry I can't speak…"

"That'll be the first time."


"Come on girl. Stop it."


"Fuck it. If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone? Not a soul, as it can get me in deep trouble."

"I will certainly tell to everyone then. I wish you hanged!"

"Oh, look who is back. That's not a very good way to make me tell you anything – even though it is about that butcher's boy. Something you might want to hear."

"Something I want to hear? Tell me then."

"Only if you promise to keep your big mouth shut."

"Very well, I promise."

"I didn't kill your friend."

"What…? But you said so, and the blood…"

"I never said I killed him. I said that I took care of him. That's different."

"And his clothes and the blood on them? And the sword?"

"I took a squire's clothes with me and told the lad to take them and give me his. And that stupid sword. Trapped a hare on the way back."

"What did you do to Mycah, then?"

"Gave him a few coppers and told him to get his fat arse as far away from here as possible and never come to bother the royals again. Told him to try his luck in Winterfell. Your lot seemed the kind who could take in a wanderer."

"But… why?"

"I don't mind killing in a battle or when it is a fair fight. Or even an unfair fight as long as the opponent is worth it. My duty is to look after the safety of the prince. Somehow I don't see that lad coming back and threatening to slit Joffrey's throat – do you?"

"No, of course not!"

"So there. I did my duty, case over and closed. Yet I don't want the king or worse, the queen, to know about it. So you see why you have to hold your trap shut?"

"Yes. I…thank you for saving him. He was innocent to all of this."

"Innocents are the ones who usually suffer the most. That's the way of the world. Like that wolf of your sister."

"Lady… it was terrible. Poor Sansa has been crying her eyes out ever since."

"It's a shame that the king didn't hand the killing of that beast to me. I would have taken care of her a bit differently than your father, the noble and honourable Lord Eddark Stark."

"That is not fair! Father had to do it, he didn't want Ser Ilyn to kill her."

"Your sister was very fond of that wolf, wasn't she? Deserved better, did she?"

"Yes…."

"Well, if you have given up trying to crack my skull with that flagon, can I have it back to get some more? The day has been bad enough without letting it end with a dry throat."

"No, let me. I…am sorry I shouted at you and tried to hit you."

"Nevermind. I doubt the kitchen wenches would give young daughter of Lord Eddard wine without wondering why she needs it. Your likes have your own servants to do these things. I go."

"I am still sorry."

"Not as sorry as you will be if you don't scoot away. Go and see your sister, she just lost her wolf. Maybe a wolf girl can console her."

"She hates me! She thinks it is my fault Lady is dead."

"Mayhap it is. It doesn't mean you shouldn't try."


Sansa

Sansa could still feel the soft fur of her beloved companion under her fingertips. Only a little bit of imagination and she could close her eyes, take a deep breath and imagine that all was well and Lady was lying next to her in bed within an arm's reach. Sansa knew how distressed she would be to hear her cry as she did, muffling her sobs to her blanket lest everyone hear her. The walls of the room were thin and she felt exposed – she couldn't let her whimpers reach the ears of the rest of the company. Her grief was too raw and her wounds too fresh and she wouldn't even be able to raise her usual armour of courtesy for her protection.

So she cried in silence, and every time when her tears momentarily dried, she thought of Lady and fell back into a quivering heap. Sansa knew some people thought it odd to grief so much for a pet – but her wolf had been so much more than that. Their relationship had always been special; nothing like when a few years ago she had adopted a kitten from a stable cat's litter and kept it in her rooms as her own. She had loved the little cat, its silken paws and cute whiskers and the way it had purred against her – but in time the kitten had started to spend more and more time in the stables where its duty lie in chasing rats and mice. Sansa had let it go and although she had missed her friend, it had been nothing like the hollowness left behind by Lady. It was as if a part of herself had been torn out of her soul and Sansa felt the new emptiness acutely.

She regretted siding with Joffrey, she regretted setting to the woods with him, she regretted feeling relieved when Joffrey had ordered the Hound to stay behind… Had he been with them, things might not have escalated as badly. Yes, she regretted everything.

Sansa longed for her mother's embrace to soothe her pains away. Her father was too awkward to approach her, probably not knowing what to do with a distressed girl, and Arya she had shooed away with angry words. Hateful words, blaming her for Lady's fate, for attacking Joffrey and for being the reason for the whole incidence in the first place.

The sisters had wrought a careful balance of mutual tolerance on the road, silly squabbles of the past having been put aside. Both of them had escaped the confines of their childhood and both had found new interests. Sansa had new friends and thus was hardly in a position to grudge Arya's, no matter how unsuitable they were, be it the butchers boy with whom she had ran around since the beginning of the journey or even the Hound. Yet what had happened had destroyed it all. Sansa hated her sister for causing her wolf's death and Arya returned that feeling with a vengeance, blaming Sansa for all that had transpired.

They had not shared a single word that evening and undoubtedly would have preferred not to even see each other, had they not been forced to share a room. To Sansa's relief Arya had however soon left – where, she didn't care – and she didn't have to endure her hateful presence.

Sansa knew that Arya was upset as well, especially after they had heard about the fate of her little friend. Passingly she felt a pang of guilt about not caring about the boy as much as she did about Lady – but then she felt her wolf's trusting eyes peering at her from darkness and it was as if the fresh wound had been prodded open and a new river of tears broke free of all restraints.

The worst was that it had all gone so well until then. Traveling in the royal procession had been exciting; so many new people around her, so much to see, so much to talk about with the ladies of the court. During the evening meals she had sat in the high table with the royals and had felt immensely proud to be in that position.

She didn't see the Hound often, but instead of making her pleased she for some curious reason found herself trying to find him whenever she passed the prince's entourage. Usually he was easy enough to spot, towering over other men, but as she never had anything to say to him they never interacted. Nonetheless, at the end of the day when the royal party gathered into the biggest room of one inn or another her eyes wandered down the tables towards the furthest corner where most valued soldiers and captains sat, and more often than not she found him staring at her.

Later, as even Sansa got tired of sitting inside the stuffy wheelhouse and ventured to join some of the ladies on a horseback, she noticed him glowering at her intently whenever he was near. It should have frightened her or at least made her nervous, but to her surprise she didn't mind. Why the man should pay such attention to a mere girl she wondered, until it dawned on her that since her betrothal to Joffrey it was probably his duty. Yes, the sworn shield protected first and foremost the prince, but surely he also had to guard his future bride? Yes, that's it. He watches over me because I am soon to be Joffrey's wife, she concluded and that made her oddly disappointed.

The next time Sansa caught his eyes she met them squarely and even forced a little smile on her lips. The Hound looked surprised at first but then his usual sneer returned and he turned away, however giving Sansa a momentary satisfaction of unsettling such a rough warrior.


The darkness had sneaked in a long time ago but Sansa had still not undressed, not caring about such things in her sorrow. Suddenly she heard the door creak and saw a beam of light entering from the torches burning in the hallway. She heard soft steps and in the shadows she recognised Arya's thin form.

Sansa pretended to sleep. Arya shuffled to her own cot, where the sound of rustling mattress indicated that she had sat down, followed by a deep sigh. Yet she didn't lay down but shifted back and forth. Another deep sigh and she got up. Sansa hoped she would go again and leave her alone. No such luck; Arya's footsteps neared her.

"Sansa?"

Sansa was quiet, but Arya had never been fooled by such tactics.

"Sansa, I know you are awake. I can hear it from your breathing."

"So what?"

"I…am sorry. I truly am."

Had Arya said that she had decided to give up her unladylike pursuits and become a septa, Sansa couldn't have been more surprised. Arya never apologised!

Yet she didn't react, not wanting to let Arya see how much she was hurting. The next thing she knew was Arya propping herself in the foot of her cot.

"I really am. Please forgive me. I never meant any harm. Had I known that Lady would suffer from something I did… I thought only I will come to harm."

"I doubt you thought of anything. You never do. And even if you had, you know that it's not the nobles who suffer – it is always the innocents. Like my Lady." The tears threatened to break free again but Sansa forced them back.

"I know. The Hound said the same. I didn't know but I should have."

Arya was surprisingly subdued, the anger and frustrated rage she had shown earlier having left her.

"Innocents, like your friend," Sansa repeated, wanting to rub the salt in Arya's wound and expecting a reaction. Yet none came.

Sansa couldn't understand this Arya; her sister putting aside her own anger and behaving almost as she wanted to comfort her. She turned on her side, propping an elbow to support her head and eyed Arya suspiciously.

"Why do you talk to me this way? I thought you blamed me for his death."

Arya sat there, worrying her lower lip but saying nothing. Unusual uncertainty showed on her face, but after a while she pursed her lips together and leaned closer to Sansa.

"If I tell you something really, really big, can you keep it a secret?"

Sansa looked at her apprehensively. "What kind of a secret?"

"A big one. So big that it could get another person killed if you told it. And then it would be on your head."

"What do I care?"

"Maybe nothing, but I do. Promise?"

"Very well. I will keep your confidence, although I don't know what good is your crappy little secret anyway."

Arya pressed her hand next to her mouth and whispered into Sansa's ear. "Mycah is not dead."

Sansa threw her head back in surprise. She had been in the hall of the castle herself when the Hound had brought the news. She had felt nauseated at the sight of bloody clothes and any comfort she might have once felt about the Hound's presence had disappeared in an instant.

"What do you mean he is not dead? The Hound killed her, I heard him say so myself."

"No, he said that he 'took care of him'. That's different."

Sansa's head span and she stared wide-eyed at Arya.

"He gave him different clothes and a few coppers and told him to run away, to Winterfell. And then he killed a hare and bloodied his clothes and wooden sword in its blood."

"Why did he do such a thing? The king and Joffrey ordered him to kill the boy."

"He doesn't care about killing those who don't deserve it. He also said that Mycah is unlikely to be a threat to Joffrey – which is true, of course."

Sansa stayed silent for a long time. That explained Arya's calmness and lack of anger.

"Why did he do it? Did he do it for you? Are you such good friends?" The word tasted strange in her mouth. Friends. The little girl and the brute.

"I don't know. He wouldn't have even told me about it if I hadn't whacked him in the head with a flagon of wine. So he certainly didn't do it as a favour or trying to impress me." Arya spoke matter-of-factly but her tone betrayed her bafflement.

Unbidden the image of the fierce Hound yielding in front of Arya's attack with a flagon came to Sansa's mind and despite her distress she couldn't prevent a nervous laugh.

"He also said that the king should have given Lady for him to kill rather than to Father. I think he would have done the same to her, he would have 'taken care of her'. Released her into the woods where she could have joined Nymeria. At least they would have had each other." Arya stared blankly ahead of her and Sansa remembered that she too had lost her wolf.

"It is not fair. Father had to do it."

"He didn't have to do anything. He chose to do it, just to please that stupid fat man and that evil queen!" Previously Sansa would have stepped up to defend King Robert, Queen Cersei and their father, but now she was too tired. The thought of the Hound taking Lady… he could have saved her life.

"I wish… I too wish that Lady would have been given to him." Sansa started sobbing again and when Arya curled her arms around her she let her. She still missed her mother but having Arya comfort her felt surprisingly good. Embracing each other the sisters sat there for a long time without speaking – and eventually Arya climbed into a cot with Sansa and they slept together as they had only done when they had been little, years and years ago.


The next day Sansa's head was heavy and eyes swollen, but luckily most people left her alone. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, not even to her father. And so she froze her expression and blanketed herself with an impenetrable armour of polite indifference and moved amongst others inside her own little bubble. She deliberately avoided the Queen's and Joffrey's company and rode a small distance away from everyone and when they stopped for a midday break, she sat alone.

When their procession got ready to move again and Sansa walked towards her docile mount, she saw the Hound saddling his black beast not far away from her.

He worked methodically, first throwing a saddle blanket on the shiny back of the horse, followed by a heavy saddle. A few adjustments, and he reached for the saddle strap and fastened the many buckles, working remarkably fast for such a nimble task. Sansa knew everything in him was big, but when he rested his left hand against the neck of the horse she could see how huge his hands really were. A trail of dark hair up to his first digits, his fingers were yet long and slender rather than short and stubby as Hodor's were. As Sansa observed him he scratched the mane of his beast and the animal turned to its master, its soft muzzle seeking for something.

Sansa felt like an intruder watching something she didn't have a right to see when the man angled a piece of dried bread from his pouch and offered it to the horse. It disappeared quickly, but even after the Hound's palm was empty, the horse nibbled at the few remaining crumbs, earning another pat and a few soft-spoken words. She was too far to hear what he said, but his tone was soothing. She knew it was ridiculous to see herself as an eavesdropper; they were in a public place and what of a man giving a treat to his horse? Yet to see those gestures of kindness he extended to his horse felt…out of place. Just like what she had heard from Arya the previous night.

Sansa couldn't stop staring at the man and the horse, still slightly stunned by the news how this man, the epitome of loyalty, had so blatantly gone against the specific orders given to him by his masters. Then he turned and his grey eyes caught hers and this time neither of them gave in. Sansa didn't have the strength to pull away and although normally she would have been embarrassed to be caught with a puffed face and red-rimmed eyes, somehow it didn't seem to matter now.

The Hound didn't say anything but cocked his head as if trying to figure Sansa out. Gods! Sansa was still in no mood to talk with anyone, but she couldn't shake away the knowledge what this man had done. For no reason whatsoever, he had done kindness to her sister and might have done one for her as well had he been given a chance.

"I thank you…" she started and too late realised that she was not supposed to know. Would Arya get into trouble? At the last moment she tried to change the topic.

"II thank you for looking after the prince so well. I regret you were not accompanying us into the woods, as I believe much harm could have been avoided if you had." Sansa was proud of herself, having so nimbly avoided breaking Arya's trust on her.

"You do?" was all he said. His eyes burned Sansa and once again she was bewildered by the effect this man had on her. She felt exposed, as if he saw right through her courtesies, her position as the noble lady and the future queen, all the way into her core. His intensity was disturbing but she still hadn't figured out if what hid behind it.

Seeing him face to face Sansa noticed his beard had grown longer and his hair looked unkempt. There were dark shadows under his eyes and not for the first time she wondered how difficult it must be to serve as Prince Joffrey's sworn shield, to be at his beck and call at all times. Joffrey could be quite…difficult, she had realised, although due to loyalty she felt she owed to her betrothed she still tried to explain it by the heavy burden placed on him as the heir of the realm.

Hastily excusing herself in case she should otherwise reveal even more, Sansa retreated and left the Hound standing there, next to his monstrous horse. Two beast, two monsters, and yet both capable of unexpected tenderness as she had just witnessed.