Gingerly Sansa moved behind her husband, who held his swords out protectively, blocking access to her. The music in the hall was loud, along with the cheery songs sung by the northern lords. We are outnumbered, and no one will be able to hear us. Quickly Sansa said a prayer to the Warrior to strengthen their hands in the fight.

"Give me a sword, boy," Jaime muttered to Robb behind her, interrupting her thoughts as the Frey soldiers continued to rush forward. Briefly she wished he would stop testing her father's patience and teasing her brother, especially under such dire circumstances. When she glared at him, Sansa saw genuine alarm in the kingslayer's face. "Don't be a fool. There's only one reason they have come, Stark; to kill your family. Let me help you, your son and Sandor protect the women."

Stunned, she watched as her mother pulled an elegant dagger from the sleeve of her gown and placed it in Jaime's hand.

Drawing his own weapon, Robb gaped at her. "Mother-"

"If he meant to kill us, Robb, Jaime would have never told us what he suspected."

Without a word, Ned unsheathed Ice and moved beside Sandor. Both men stepped forward, and Sandor's enormous frame completely blocked Sansa's view.

"What do you buggering bastards think you're doing?" Sandor jerked his head toward Jaime. "His father send you?"

Lord Tywin? Would he really hire such men to rescue his son? She desperately wanted a better look, but she knew not to look around her husband and father or make any sudden movement. Sansa had seen this stance before from Sandor, and the sight brought a shiver throughout her body as she recalled the slaughter that followed with the Brotherhood without Banners.

"You know better than that, Hound," Jaime smirked. "He'd never send the likes of these characters, unless he knew they'd be cut down."

"You may regret this, for all your smug talk," one of the Frey men hissed, showing a mouthful of blackened teeth as he spoke. "We've got you outnumbered and that counts for more."

Sandor snarled out a harsh laugh. "Think so, do you? Then who will it be? You, big man? You look ready." He then pointed to two smaller soldiers. "How about the both of you men? Come on, who wants to die?"

Sansa nudged Catelyn, who then moved behind Ned.

"Aye, you're as good as dead, Hound," the Frey man leered around Sandor and then glanced at Jeyne's swollen belly. "Give us what we're owed and the kingslayer besides, and you might be spared."

"Sansa, Jeyne, to me." Her mother quietly commanded as she pulled a second larger weapon from a concealed pocket sewn into her gown. Robb and Jaime quickly blocked access to them from the sides while in the rear, the sound of metal scraping told Sansa that Gendry also pulled his own blade.

"I've got them, my lady." Sandor rasped low, then curled his lip into a grin at the sight of her weapon. "Sansa…"

At his word Sansa pulled the fighting knife Sandor had given her from her sash and brandished it with an expertise that startled her brother. He had given it to her the night they left King's Landing, and Sandor had patiently taught her how to use it. In fact, Sansa had already killed three men with it, though she was loathe to tell her mother she had done so. As though reading her thoughts, Sandor chuckled low, though he never took his eyes off the intruders. "Ready, wife?"

"Yes." Sansa shakily answered, determinedly holding her weapon before her.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Eddard demanded angrily. "How dare you men violate the tradition of guest rights? You come into our family's seat and make demands! By whose order did you come to us?"

"Order?" The weasely faced man smirked as the rest began laughing. "What order, m'lord? Who says we needs orders? Might be we wanted an accounting with the King in the North himself." He moved forward. "You owe us Freys that much, you know."

The Frey man leered once more at Sansa. "You denied me a wife, and my brother here as well. You've no control of your kin, Lord Eddard and yet you expect us to obey you? You, who allows this one to lie down with the Lannister dog," he gestured toward Sansa with his sword. "Offering herself up to him every night like the wolf bit-"

He never finished his sentence, for Sandor lunged forward, thrusting his longsword in a sharp downward stroke, cutting the man clean in half. The Frey man beside him made the mistake of trying to sidestep the Hound to get to Robb, who then plunged his weapon into his belly. Afterward Robb quickly returned to his place in front of Jeyne while Sandor continued his bloody onslaught, leaving a fine spray of rust colored mist in his wake.

One of the men fell forward, and Sansa hastily dispatched him with her weapon. To her utter surprise, her mother quickly joined in with her own blows. Roaring in fury, Sandor hacked the man to pieces while Sansa and Catelyn shielded Jeyne from the viciousness. When Sansa raised her eyes, she saw her father cut down two men, with Jaime and Gendry also joining the fight. Jeyne cried out in her fear, clinging to Lady Catelyn with all her might, but none of the soldiers came even close to her, with Robb guarding the women.

"Well done, lemoncake," her father grinned at her, surveying her bloody blade while Sandor beat back the rest in his wrath.

The rest of the men hurriedly retreated, but the brutality and efficiency with which Sandor fought had only begun. Inching forward, he taunted the rest of the men. "Come now, let's finish this."

His ferocity in battle seemed to surprise her brother and Gendry, but it was her father's speed that impressed Sansa. Ned briefly glanced back at her and her mother, who offered a shaky smile at him.

"Think the 'Lannister dog' would let you speak of his wife in such a way?" Sandor panted angrily. "And with her lord father and kingly brother present, no less?" Sandor laughed cruelly, the sound frighteningly cold even to Sansa. She glanced at her father, who looked surprised by Sandor's ability but nevertheless remained outwardly calm.

"You are in the home of your liege lord. You'll not leave here alive, the lot of you, and you know it," Lord Eddard stated. Drawing their weapons, the surviving Frey men glanced at one another, unsure of what to do next. Not waiting, Sandor began hacking away at the remaining men while Ned, Robb, Gendry and Jaime all dispatched the rest.

"Take these men alive!" Lord Eddard commanded, motioning to three older Frey men. "These are Walder's sons." At once Robb, Gendry and Sandor relieved them of their weapons.

"Sandor, good work. You take the women back to their quarters, and keep this quiet. Then do as we already discussed; understand?"

"Aye." Sandor gripped Sansa's arm tightly. She could feel his fear in his touch, and she knew his fingers would leave bruises, but she said nothing.

"Good show, Stark," Jaime smirked. "You know I always fancied you were a bit of a Sandor Clegane fanboy, particularly after he took on the Mountain and spared your pretty daughters the horror of seeing Loras Tyrell pay for his trickery at the Hand's Tourney."

Annoyed, Sansa looked over her husband and noticed blood seeping down his forearm.

"My love, you are injured." She began trembling as she fumbled with his sleeve.

"Tis a scratch, lass. Come now. I'll keep you safe. Safe for your father." He pointed to Gendry. "Lad, I want you with me. You handle that sword well. Guard the rear, now; don't let anyone near."

"Yes, m'lord." Gendry nodded seriously.

Sandor gritted his teeth, clenching his jaw so hard that blood seeped from his mouth, but he allow the missive to pass without comment.

"My lady, I trust you can keep up." He grinned at her mother in the same devilish manner with which he regarded her. "Little bird, you know what to do." Sandor tipped his head toward Lady Catelyn before hurriedly making his way down the hall.

"Yes, husband." Sansa defensively held her weapon in front of her as she, Catelyn and Jeyne followed behind him.

Robb and Ned shouted out orders and before long the hall was swarmed with northmen, who hustled the rest of the men away. "Greatjon, go and see Lord Walder Frey to the greatroom." Robb commanded.

"Gladly." He nodded toward Lady Mormont, who then gestured to Dacey.

"To me, daughter," she raised her axe. "Let's get the rest of those bloody bastards."


After Sandor safely left Lady Catelyn and Jeyne in Lord Eddard's rooms, he then brought her to their suite. "I've got to bring the maester to your goodsister," he panted, holding her face in his hands. "All this excitement isn't good for her in her delicate condition."

"Do you think she will go into labor?" Sansa asked, panicking.

"No, lass, she's healthy and sturdy in both mind and body," he touched her chin gently. "You women are much stronger than you're led to believe, wife. Did that bastard hurt you?" Sandor then searched her body carefully.

Rubbing her hands together, Sansa suddenly realized her hands and gown were covered in the blood of the Frey men. "I do not believe it is mine…" Her voice came out in short gasps as her heart pounded wildly still. As Sandor took her hand in his, she felt a sharp burning in her right hand.

"It is yours, lass," he held up her palm. "You're cut, but it isn't deep. Sometimes you can't feel such a wound until the fight is over. The Freys will bleed for this, buggering bastards!" Lifting her in his arms, Sandor carried her to the washbasin. "Take care and clean this out, wife; I'll take care of the maestering as soon as I return."

"Yes, love," she reached out and kissed him. "You promised no one would hurt me again or you would kill them, and once again you have made good on your words. Thank you."

His scars twisted alarmingly as Sandor's mouth pulled into a broad grin at her words. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Little bird." Hurriedly he kissed her soundly once more before darting from the room.

As she bathed her wound, Sansa heard a great commotion outside her door before it noisily burst open. "Sansa!" Arya shouted, her eyes widening at her sister's bloodied hand. "Mother said you killed that man who tried for Jeyne!"

"I did." Sansa answered calmly.

"Is he your first man?" Arya stared admiringly at her sister. Quickly she hurried toward her and began tearing linens for dressing.

"No, he is my fourth." She expected Arya to crow out her approval, but instead she silently stared at her.

"You okay?"

Yes," Sansa nodded, turning away from her. "Just a bit shaken up."

Arya nodded solemnly, then pulled her sister into a brief embrace. "Good on you, Sansa. We may be different but we're both wolf blooded, you and I, just like Father and Mother." Stunned, Sansa stared at her until Arya abruptly pulled away and began rummaging through the maester chest. "Being on your palm, this needs sewing. I'm no good at needlepoint but I can sew up wounds, Sis-that is, if you want me to."

Smiling, Sansa agreed. "I would be glad for you to do it, Sister."

Grinning, Arya handed her Sandor's flask. "Drink up, then; this will hurt a bit."