Warning for some violence against women.

Special thanks to littlebirdhound for her beta skills.

Sandor watched as the trio left the cabin area, knowing they would be back, and he could then put his plan to work. He had been watching their comings and goings for several days, and had decided that tomorrow would be the day to make his move.

It unsettled him to see Sansa here. Since first hearing the news that Petyr Baelish had a bastard, Sandor, for some reason, could not shake the feeling that something was off about the story. Though he had no evidence, his suspicions grew once he had figured out the timeline of the little bird's disappearance, and the sudden news of Littlefinger's bastard daughter.

Looking back, he might have known all along. He felt sick when he had come to the conclusion that he left her in a desperate situation that led her to flee with him. Littlefinger. Of all the fucking shite in King's Landing, it had to be him.

Sandor remembered the Elder Brother warning him not to go, that he should stay at the Quiet Isle where it would be safer. When the Elder Brother had said the gods would watch over Sansa, that's when Sandor cursed the damned gods who had put her in this situation in the first place.

He could not stay, and had told the Elder Brother, in a few words, that in no good conscience could he leave her there, and stand idly by. Not anymore. And not if he was given a chance to protect her and keep her somehow hidden away until they could come up with a plan.

In the end, Sandor eased the Elder Brother's doubts, and had agreed that if Lord Baelish's daughter was, indeed, the missing Stark girl, that she should be given the choice to stay put or leave with Sandor. "Do not take her by force, brother," Elder Brother had said, "If the girl is Sansa Stark, she would have, no doubt, been through many hardships and pain. She needs to know that she has a choice to go with you freely, and not to be yet another captive."

Sandor had nodded in agreement, bid farewell to the man who had helped him find some peace, and headed out to the Gates of the Moon.

When he arrived, Sandor had kept himself hidden away amongst the trees so he could observe the coming and goings of the inhabitants. For two days he watched, and on the third he saw three riders coming out from the gates, and by the way one of them was riding sidesaddle, and though she was covered by a hooded cloak, he knew it was the little bird. She had looked stiff and uncomfortable.

He left Stranger tied away from the main road and followed them from afar. Since they left deep prints in the snow, it had not been hard to keep track of them. The party then veered off and had followed a tree-lined trail. Sandor cursed under his breath the whole way as he struggled in the thigh-deep snow to find where they had gone. The path they had traveled looked as though they had been there the day before, with the snow packed down with a fresh,thin layer atop.

He continued to follow them to the end of the path, when he saw the party had come upon what looked to be an abandoned cabin. Sandor knew this was their spot by the familiar way the man, who he had recognized as Lothor Brune, had tied their horses beside the cabin and how the dark-haired woman in men's garb, laid out a blanket. He watched as they sat conversing, though it had mostly been the woman talking. Lothor, he saw lain on his side, watched them.

Sandor had noticed how Sansa, or Alayne, as he had heard them call her, was quiet, but her smile seemed genuine enough which made him think that perhaps she actually might be happy and safe. I wont force you from here, little bird, he had thought as he watched her, noticing how primly she sat on the blanket, She has grown, not so little anymore.

He frowned when he had noticed Lothor and the woman rise and make their way to the cabin, leaving Sansa alone. He gripped his fists together tightly in anger. Fucking fool. Leaving his post for some cunt. Anyone could come along and harm the bird. Sandor scowled deeply, and had watched as Sansa stood up and wandered over to a log and brushed off the snow. So tall. She sat with her back to the water and looked had around at her surroundings. Good girl. At least you are being somewhat watchful. From where he had been hiding, he was able to watch her plainly, and watch her, he did.

She had taken off her hood and the first thing he had noticed was the change in her hair. Oh, little bird, what have you done? He thought as he remembered her rich auburn. He was drawn to her eyes as she looked around. Sandor had noticed that as she became more comfortable with her surroundings, that her face had changed. There was no smile anymore and her shoulders, which were poised straight, had slumped, and her eyes; dull and sad. He watched as she clasped her hands tightly on her lap and she looked, almost, to be praying. In the quiet, she closed her eyes tightly and had looked as if she was holding back tears. Just a little bit longer, little bird. I will get you out of this place if it's the last thing I do.

Soon enough the 'lovebirds' had come out of the cabin. Lothor went to the horses and got them ready, the woman had walked over to Sansa, and Sandor could not help but notice Sansa's face had turned bright red. Almost like she is an innocent maid hearing about a good fuck for the first time, Sandor had thought. The Imp surely had his way with you. He had ground his teeth together hard as he thought of the stubby fingers touching Sansa's delicate skin. He shook his head to rid the thought and then watched as they had left.

When he had been sure they had gone far enough ahead, he walked to the cabin and went inside and inspected the dismal shack. There had been one window that faced the small lake, and a gap in the back wall that he could use to leave the cabin. He could see the log where Sansa was sitting, and a perfect view of the path from there to the door. It was towards the back of the cabin even though it was a one room. There was no pallet nor furniture, just some old furs thrown on the floor. The fireplace was crumbling and was of no use, though he would not light a fire anyway least he would give himself away. Once satisfied he walked out and had left to fetch Stranger. He had not been worried about the horse being a give away. He had given Stranger the battle command for silence, and the horse, wild as sin, would always obey his master.

Sandor sat on the floor of the cabin that night, his back leaning against the wall and he thought over his plan for the next day. He knew he would have to take care of Lothor and his woman. He was not planning on killing them if he could help it. The way the little bird acted around them, he was sure she might harbour some kind of affection for them, and he knew that if he killed them, she would not be happy about it. Best knock them out and leave them tied in a sleeping lovers' embrace, he thought with a smirk. That'll teach the Ser not to leave his charge and chase a release. Your master, the Lord Protector will surely deal with you, his loyal subject, for allowing his prize to be snatched out from under your nose.

Sandor looked to the wine skins he had filled just the day before, and the bundle of worn clothes he had stolen from a farm boy, and frowned. There's no other way, I have to make it look real and horrible. The little bird will not like this at all. He shook his head at the image that was sure to leave her shaking and disgusted. There's no other way. It has to be done to keep her safe, he convinced himself. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself to shield from the cold and fell into a troubled sleep.

The next morning, Sandor was up before the sun and he set his plan in place. He tied the wineskins to his sword belt and left the bundle of clothes beside Stranger. He was very careful not leave noticeable footprints, never stepping out the front door, but instead, would find his leave through the tight gap at the back of the cabin.

As the morning went by, Sandor sat patiently on the floor, resting, sharpening his long sword and daggers, and from time to time he slowly chewed on a piece of willow bark that would help dull the pain in his thigh. The pain would always be there, a small reminder of his past life. Not that he needed one. He went back in time with his thoughts and reminded himself why he was doing this.

He knew what he did to Sansa that night was wrong. He had cried to the wolf bitch, thinking he was going straight to the seven hells, and she had been right when she said that he did not deserve the gift of mercy. But after she fled, he had been given mercy by the Elder Brother and he had lived. The time that he lay in bed recovering had led him to countless hours alone with his thoughts; thoughts that he could not drown in the wine, of which he demanded repeatedly, but being too weak, he could not get up and fight for it. Those long days and nights he had tossed in a disturbed sleep. Green fire was everywhere, her voice trembling and afraid, singing those words over and over, then the look of sheer terror he saw in her eyes would wake him up in a burning sweat.

He knew he would never find peace from this until he found her and begged for her forgiveness. Yet, could I beg? He would question himself. He was not the same man as before, but yet a piece of that man still lived in him. Those dark demons would always be there, hiding and ready to break out when he needed them. Could she forgive me? I don't think she could and I don't think that she should. He told himself. He pulled his head from these thoughts as he heard horses coming closer. The time has come.

Sandor quietly crept to the window and peered out. He saw the three coming towards the cabin and watched as Lothor tied the horses. He watched them as they sat and ate and he could not take his eyes off Sansa. You sit like a lady, little bird, you're going to have learn to be a true, lowly bastard.

Finally, after some time, he saw the dark haired woman stand up and take Lothor's hand. Sandor slowly backed away from the window and hid in the dark shadows of the cabin under his black cloak. His sword was already drawn and he waited, to take them by surprise.

As expected, they burst through the door and slammed it behind them. Their breathing was heavy and he heard them bang up against a wall. He peeked out from behind his cloak and watched as Lothor lifted the woman up, her legs wrapping around his waist. It's like she is starving, Sandor thought as he watched. Suddenly, thoughts from his past washed over him as he watched them in their passion, and he could feel that familiar anger creep over him. Never had a woman kissed him with this much passion. He had been kissed, or more like forced a kiss, by a whore now and again, but there was no passion, just a mummer's smile and an extra coin for the whore's service.

He tightened his grip around his sword and bid his time. He watched as they ran their hands over each other, gripping hair, never stopping, just pulling each other closer, moaning into each other's mouths. Finally, he could not take it anymore. He stood up and as quick as a wink, he was behind Lothor, bringing up the heel of his sword handle and hitting the man hard on the back of the head. Lothor collapsed instantly with the woman crumpled on the floor beneath him. Sandor jerked Lothor's limp body off her and yanked the woman up. He did not like to hurt women, he was not his brother, but he had to protect the little bird. He shoved her roughly against the wall, and pinned both her arms with one hand as she tried to struggle, grunting when she kicked him hard in the leg. He dropped his longsword then, and pulled out his dagger, pointing it right to her throat.

Her eyes were wide open in fear, he saw. Sandor looked down at her and shook his head. "Not a word," he said in a deathly quiet and calm voice, "or you're dead. Understand?" She nodded, and Sandor used his weight to press her against the wall to keep her still. He sheathed his dagger and retrieved a strip of cloth from under his cloak, shoving it in her mouth. He looked over at Lothor, Still out. Good, he thought. He pulled the struggling woman down to the floor beside Lothor and tied them together, face to face. A real lovers embrace, he smirked.

When he was done, he squatted next to the wench and looked her square in the eye. His face was covered by the black cowl so he was not worried that she would recognize his face. He had never seen the wench before but if she described it to her companion, Sandor had no doubt that Lothor would know, instantly, who he was.

Sandor spoke in a low voice, every word accentuated. "You both failed your charge, now I am going to leave you here, go out there, and kill her. It'll be a bloody mess," he sneered. "And when I am done with her, there'll be nothing left. And your master will be left to deal with the both of you, if anyone ever finds you, that is."

The woman's eyes were filled with a new, sheer terror, Sandor noticed. Whether it was for Sansa or for herself, he was uncertain. Good, let her feel this fear. He stood up then, and stepped out of the cabin.

This bloody well better work.