Author's note: Remember, fanfic authors get payed only in the form of reviews. :)

Chapter Four

"Look at this," Joffrey said. Sansa looked. It was a blade like she had never seen before. Gleaming and curved with a lacquered green handle.

"It is very beautiful, your grace," she said.

"Beautiful? Is that all you can see? This is a Dothraki arakh, and it is the perfect blade to use while on horseback." He swung the blade back and forth, testing it. "The steel is not Valyrian, but it holds its edge well enough." He swung the arakh towards her neck and paused just before it touched her. He then slowly brought the blade to her throat, scraping it down her neck.

Sansa flinched at first but then held herself still. She looked into his shining jade eyes. His pupils were dilated and his mouth was parted. He was breathing as audibly as she was, but she did not think it was because of fear on his part.

"Maybe I'll use this on your brother when we meet in battle," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over her ear.

Sansa said nothing. There was no point in dissenting any more, was there? Ser Dontos never did send her a message, never did try to meet her again. She closed her eyes and told herself to stand still.

It will be over, she thought. One day, it will all be over.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking the silence and causing her to jerk. The blade nicked her and she gasped at the pain.

"You stupid girl," Joffrey said, annoyed. "I could have killed you." He threw the blade aside so it clattered against the wall.

"I am sorry, your grace," she said, rubbing her throat. The blade had merely scratched her.

It was the Hound. He was leaning against the door watching them, his expression almost bored. When had he come in? "That blade will only be of use if the Young Wolf forgets to put on armor," he rasped. "You are better off with a longsword. Steel that can pierce armor and cut through a man's heart." He looked Joffrey up and down. "When you are strong enough to wield it, of course."

Joffrey bristled. He was sensitive about his build. Though he was a few months her elder she was now taller than he by many inches. Nowadays she found herself bowing her neck so she would not have to look down at him.

"I will be strong enough one day," Joffrey said. "And one day I will wield my father's warhammer and defeat you in the training grounds."

The Hound smirked. "Aye, your grace. Perhaps one day you will. But not today. The queen wants you."

Joffrey looked annoyed. "Ugh I hope the small council is not with her. They bore me to tears." Before leaving he stopped to look at the Hound. "Where is the brooch I gave you?"

The Hound's cloak was fastened with his usual tarnished silver pin. "I'm saving it for special occasions, your grace."

"Hm," Joffrey said, sauntering out.

The Hound fell in step with her as she started making her way towards her rooms. Sansa looked up at him.

"Hound…" she began. She bit her lip and thought how to phrase her words.

"What is it, little bird?" he rasped. "Spit it out."

"I will not make it to the godswood today."

He did not speak, but the expression on his face made her elaborate. "I am unwell," she blurted out.

He stopped walking. "You look well enough to me," he said.

"No I… I have pains. Women's troubles. I was abed but Joffrey insisted on showing me his new blade."

He laughed. "To call them women's troubles you have to be a woman, girl," he said, grinning at her. "Stop pouting at me. Run along to your bed now. Your tree will live one day without your prayers."

The Goathead Tavern in Flea Bottom was crowded as always. Sandor ordered his meal and wine and made his way towards the back corner of the room. After a few threatening glares the occupants of his usual table crept away, and Sandor sat with his back to the wall.

When his food arrived Sandor muttered his thanks and paid for it. He looked down at his bowl of watery, lumpy stew. Stirring it found him a few small pieces of meat and a few more of turnip. As he was accustomed to eating his meals at the keep he had almost forgotten that the rest of Kings Landing was rationing its fare.

"I haven't seen you for a long while, Hound," said a low husky voice from above him. "Where have you been hiding yourself?"

"Tara," he said in lieu of a greeting. He spooned some stew into his mouth and chewed. He was a rough man in most ways but he liked to eat his food slowly, thoughtfully. "A man my size doesn't really hide," he rasped.

"Truly? It looks to me like you're hiding right now." She reached out and pushed the hair away from his burnt face. She sat down before him, propping her chin up on her fist. "So is it the King keeping you so busy?" she asked.

"Aye, the king," he replied. Sandor looked at her as he broke more bread. She was wearing paint on her lips and kohl around her eyes, but there was no hiding the lines on her face or the strands of grey in her hair. She was still a handsome woman though. And although she took his coin he was as pleased today as he had been the first time she had approached him.

She smiled at him, that secret sort of smile she had. As if she knew the thoughts flitting through his mind. "I saw you the other day, when the King and his people were visiting the Great Sept. You looked very fine in your kingsgaurd cloak. Where is it now?"

"Being laundered again. The damned thing soaks mud and dust like nothing else."

She laughed. "I had never thought of that," she admitted. "The King is very handsome. And the girl with him, the one with the red hair, is she his betrothed?"

He gave a curt nod in reply.

Tara sighed. "Such a lovely girl. Hair like that is not common. Not naturally anyway. They will have such beautiful children."

He looked at her, into her obsidian eyes, crinkled at the corners with age and laughter. Beauty. All this obsession with beauty and beautiful things. How pathetic they were, people like Tara and he, to place such value to it.

She watched him eat for a while. "Will you come upstairs today?" she finally asked, trying but failing to keep the desperation from her voice.

Times were difficult, Sandor knew, especially for an aging whore like Tara. And Stranger knew he was tempted. "Not tonight," he instead said. He did not know when he had made the decision, but he would be going to the godswood anyway, just in case the little bird changed her mind.

Before leaving he slipped several dragons Tara's way. For old time's sake.