"The King could shaft his sword into your belly, watch virgin blood spill across your legs, and you'd still see the world as beautiful. Its not." He bared his stained, crocked teeth into a snarl.
"And If I don't cut your wings, Sansa, you'll never grow into a wolf."

His words rattled with venom. If he'd been a Snake and not a Hound, she would surly be dead. Sansa, wrought with the madness his tongue imposed, felt only the insidious onslaught of disrespectful words, and not the meaning behind them.
"Shut up, shut up. You're so hurtful." The tears fresh in her eyes again.
"Aye, good to see you finally got it, girl. I'm a hurtful dog, doing hurtful things to hurtful little girls. You'll do well to remember that."
Silence fast grew strong between them, brutally so, until she spoke, scarcely a whisper.
"What do you mean...I'm not hurtful."
The Hound looked over his shoulder at the ground, so she could see him side face. The laugh that escaped his lips were naught much a chortle. It sounded, rather, like a tangible defeat, riding the waves of his breath out into this world.
"No, little bird, your not hurtful, not intentionally." She opened her mouth to rebuttal but found naught the words, and so the silence overtook them again. Only minuets passed before the Hound gargled and turned to her in the slowly dying light of afternoon.
"I can't stand it anymore."
His thick hands reached to her neck, and for a moment Sansa thought he meant to strangle her, but with large fumbling fingers he pulled the collar taut, restricting her breath even more, before unlatching the prong and slackening it by two clicks. The relief and extra rush of air was more exhilarating then she thought it might have been.
"I'd loosen it more so, little bird, but if someone were to see..." he threaded the end through the frame and tucked it in place. His big hands lingered, nailing at the collar.
"I understand." She nodded, gently bringing her hand up to rest under his elbow, and cupping the frame of his arm. It was meatier then she presumed, more hard with muscle.
He didn't shy away, and they stood for a few seconds longer, imprinting the stolen moment in memories that would no sooner become years and years old.
"In the morn, I'll have to.."
"I know."
He nodded sadly, dropped his hands and stood apart from her again.

The two spoke no more, and the Hound maintained his stony aptitude, especially upon Tyrion's abrupt appearance. A meek Shae followed behind, but ran to Sansa quickly, the worry apparent in her eyes.
"Oh, sweet-harrt." She cradled Sansa's head to her chest.
"Shae" It was the first proper smile the girl had expressed all day and she leaned in to her confidante.
"You poore gurl." Shae began rubbing her hands down Sansa's arms before wrapping her in a hug. Sansa could feel the Hounds eyes on them. Jest, it would seem Shae felt them too, for she turned to face the hulking figure, unafraid.
"Oh, sod off. You carnt hurt me." The anger quite unforgiving upon her foreign tongue.
"The King said -"
"I don't care what that orefull King said. If you hurt my girl, I stab you." She hissed.
"Shae!" Sansa's voice high pitched with amusement.
"Wat?"
"That was very un-lady like."
"I'm no lady - enyway, I'm not schard of him. I keep you safe."
Tyrion cleared his throat, and Shae looked sharply too him.
"Your handmaiden cares for you very deeply, Lady Sansa."
Sansa rather erratically built the walls up high around her before facing her betrothed. She pulled her shoulders back and curtsied.
"Yes, my Lord. Shae is very special to me."
Tyrion gave a glazed smile, and an awkward silence evolved between them.
"Um. Is, Is there anything I can do for you?" She asked.
"What? What? No, God's, no, child." He seemed slightly confused upon snapping out of his reverie. Sansa shared a look with her handmaiden whom shrugged with a coy smile.
"I've come to offer my sympathies and return you safely to your chambers. Joffery has had his fun."
"I'd...I'd rather not, my Lord." She chose her next words carefully. "His Grace, the King, is a true and just person. If I am here, it is because he judged it of me, and I am in deep deserving of his punishment." She recited, remembering the Kings threatening breath at her ear, and thin lips on her skin.
"This isn't punishment, child. You're not being punished, you're being humiliated. As the only Stark left and heir to Winterfell, he wants to break you. Take your pride and crush it. Slowly. And painfully. He's sending a brutal message to the North. Even if he does hide behind his mothers skits."
Sansa breathed deep.
"My Lord, King Joffery requested I stay here until it pleases him. I am but his loyal servant, and I wish it not to disobey." She looked past the little Lord, unable to summon the courage to look directly at him, the shame becoming too much. Just leave, she wished. Please, just leave and let me be.
Tyrion sighed. "I shall fetch a cot for you then. And I shall be talking to my nephew upon his return. At least you might be comfortable for the night. And I shall stay with you, if you wish it."
"Thats...very kind of you, my Lord, but I fear that it might be...indecent, for we are not yet husband and wife."
"Nonsense, I can still keep you company." He said with enthusiasm, but dutifully all the same. He wanted not to marry her as much as she to him. His actions were simple cortices, the kind Sansa chirped away all day herself.
She swallowed hard at the thought of having to keep up her walls.
"My Lord, Ser Sandor is quite the conversationist."
Tyrion turned to examine the brute. The Hound didn't nod in courtesy. In fact he bore no acknowledgment of Tyrion at all, choosing to keep his face forward. Emotion blank. Stale. Cold.
"I can just imagine." He turned back with a grin, only to find Sansa's cheeks flush red and the tears welling, threatening to spill down her face.
"Ah, I can see when I'm not wanted. Don't worry, I'm used to it." But he sounded quite hurt indeed.
"It's not that, my Lord. I just. Look at me." Her tears fell for the umpteenth time that day. "I thought my father's death day was the worst I could have ever lived, I know that today is the beginning of many more worse days. Please. I'd rather be alone."
Tyrion's eyes pleaded with her, but he had lost his words.
"I'm sorry, my lady, I shall be going then." He spent his formalities.
"Well, I'm not gohing enywhere. Fuck him." Sansa turned to face her friend.
"Shae," her voice broke. "If someone found out that you were here - brining me comfort, and - and told the King. It would surly cost you your head. I, I couldn't bare it, Shae, not you too. I'm already all alone."
"Oh, Sweet, gurl." Shae wiped the tears from Sansa's cheeks, and nodded. "Okay, okay, don't cry now. It'll be all right." She kissed her lady's forehead, let go of Sansa, and strode to the Hound, pointing a finger at him.
"You. Keep my lady safe. Or I burn the other side of your face off." She threatened. Tyrion made a peep, as though he were about to interrupt, but then thought better of it. Sansa didn't blame him - the two were equally scary within their fierceness.
The Hound did nothing but stare at her, eyes bulging, appearing only just slightly dumbfounded - naught many people could evoke such a reaction in him as that. Shae nodded, turned and curtsied at Tyrion, before gliding from the room.