I have to warn you guys that this chapter is a bit slow and has very little dialogue. In fact I'm not really pleased with it at all. But it needed to be written and this is the only/best way I could think to do it, so there ya go. I hope you enjoy anyway! And reviews are always appreciated...even/especially if they contain constructive criticism ;)

What was it about this girl, that he could desire her so much and yet not even consider ravishing her every which way he knew? He wanted her to find her pleasure at his fingertips, under his mouth. When she cried his name with her release, everything in him broke asunder and mended together all at once.

He would take Sansa Stark away from this place, and soon. He would take her to Clegane Keep, perhaps, if the time came for them to leave and he still thought it the last place anyone would look. And after...when things were safer for her, for them, perhaps he would take her North.

Take her home.

When Sandor slept beside the little bird, he did not experience the nightmares that so often plagued him at other times. When he was with her, he did not keep her safe out of duty or some misplaced sense of loyalty, as he had with Joffrey - he kept her safe because he wanted to keep her safe, because she deserved his protection far more than he deserved her company or her sweet words, her touches, her kisses.

More than anything he wanted more sleep, after they'd pleasured each other in the misty dawn of the godswood...but Sandor knew that this wasn't possible, knew that he had to return her to her chambers.

To her husband.

The thought annoyed him, but also made him impatient for reasons he didn't quite understand. Sandor stood and brushed himself off, tied his laces and straightened his clothes. The little bird looked up at him with sad eyes. "We should go," he said, a bit too gruffly.

"I know," she said softly, averting her eyes.

"The wedding is tomorrow. We...we should be ready to leave, to slip out during the feast when they're not like to notice us do so or realize that we are missing for some time."

"I know," the little bird repeated, and Sandor had to clench his jaw to keep himself from telling her not to be insipid.

Soon enough they were on their way back to the apartments she shared with Tyrion Lannister, though when they arrived that man was not there. "Surprised he's not still abed," Sandor snorted when he saw the chamber door swung open and the bed within it still pristine from being made the day before.

"He often doesn't come to bed at all," Sansa informed him, the relief in her voice a near palpable thing. She turned to Sandor and buried herself against him; for a moment he didn't think, couldn't think, and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her...

...and all too soon realized what he was doing. Sandor extracted himself from her grasp as quickly and smoothly as possible. "Little bird, I'm sorry, we...we can't...not here..." Gods, he was apologizing...when was the last time he'd done that?

Had he ever done that?

"Yes...I...of course..." The little bird seemed almost confused, though whether it was due to his words or to something else, Sandor felt he would rather not know.

"Pack some things. Any coin or jewels that you can take without anyone noticing they're gone. A couple gowns, a warm cloak, good shoes. Nothing...fancy." He knew that last bit sounded strange coming from him, but she had to know what he meant. Nothing a highborn lady would wear.

Sansa nodded. "I will see you tonight?" The hope in her voice damn near broke his heart.

"I'll be here to guard you and the Imp, as usual," he replied, his lip automatically curling in distaste. She gave him a tremulous smile, and before he could ignore his better judgment and take her in his arms again, Sandor gave a stiff jerk of his head in farewell and stalked out of the room. He needed wine, or ale...and a cold bath.

How he got through the rest of that day, Sandor never knew. He checked on his horse, snuck some food from the kitchens, packed what he could manage of the rest of his tourney winnings along with a couple different sets of clothing. He barely made it back to Sansa and Tyrion's chambers for dinner, but other than a raised eyebrow from the Imp and a worried glance from Sansa Sandor received no chiding for his lateness. He could feel the little bird glancing at him far too often as she ate, and he knew that she wanted him to acknowledge her...but he couldn't. They must keep up appearances, how could she of all people not understand that? He finally gave a small shake of his head, his eyes still fixed on the wall beyond Sansa Stark and her husband.

After that she did not look at him any more, and though Sandor knew that this was for the best he still felt their lack of contact far more than he would have liked to do.

A messenger arrived toward the end of Sansa and the Imp's meal, but surprisingly his words were for Sandor. "The king would see you. Immediately." Sandor nodded his agreement and followed the man out of the little bird's chambers. He could feel her eyes on his back as he left, but he was certain the Imp was watching him go as well...and in that case, he knew that he should not turn to look at her.

Osmund Kettleblack and Balon Swann were guarding Joffrey's door tonight. It was all Sandor could do to not snort in disdain; two of the newest members of that order assigned the same watch? He wanted to wonder what fool had come up with that idea, but considering the general idiocy of Joffrey's reign, what did it matter anyway?

"Dog," the king greeted Sandor when he entered the room. "I've heard some interesting news today."

"What's that?" Sandor mumbled, wondering just a bit too late whether it was smart of him to continue not using the proper courtesies that he'd never before used with Joffrey.

But the boy merely leaned back in his chair and looked at Sandor with narrow eyes and a shit-eating smile. "I was told that you spent the night in the godswood with my good-aunt."

Silence stretched between them for several long moments, but after the initial skip of a heartbeat that Joffrey's words caused Sandor knew it would be best to keep his mouth shut. There's no way he knows, or the little bird and her dog would both be dead already.

Finally Joffrey sighed, curling his lip in distaste. "Well? Is it true? And if so...did you hear her say anything?"

Treasonous, Joffrey meant. Did you hear her say anything treasonous. Well, and they'd both said many things, most of which were treasonous. Sandor almost wanted to laugh. "She prayed," he grunted instead.

"She prayed. About what, dog?"

"She prayed that her lord husband would find her marriage bed so that she could be his true wife and bear him children," Sandor lied, the words coming to him far more easily than he cared for because he knew what Joffrey would want to hear. He was right; the boy's response was a cackling laugh. "And she prayed for you, that you would have a..." here he paused a moment. What would the little bird pray for, were she so inclined to actually pray for Joffrey? "A...beautiful..." he had to force that word out, but yes, it was something Sansa Stark would say, "wedding to Margaery Tyrell on the morrow. She also asked that Myrcella would write to her, and said something else about Tommen and kittens."

Joffrey waved him off. "I've heard enough. Gods, she's just as stupid as ever. I suppose it's a good thing after all that Mother and Grandfather insisted I marry Margaery. She's not so pretty as Sansa, but she's a good deal smarter."

Sandor bristled at this, but forced himself to hide his reaction deep inside. It wouldn't do for Joffrey to see him take Sansa Stark's part...no, it wouldn't do at all.

Again there was a period of silence, but Sandor was afraid that if he spoke he would reveal something that he shouldn't. Joffrey wasn't the sharpest sword in the armory, but he wasn't stupid either...and at times he had an uncanny knack for seeing people's weaknesses. Eventually the king rolled his eyes and snapped, "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, dog, but you're becoming just as stupid as Sansa Stark. Go. I'm certain I'll see you standing behind my uncle and good-aunt at the feast tomorrow. Perhaps I'll toss you a bone."

Sandor inclined his head and backed out of the room, wanting nothing more than to be gone from there before he said or did something he shouldn't. Used to be it wasn't so difficult to ignore Joffrey's nastiness, to even laugh at it sometimes. But there was no denying that things had changed when Sansa Stark had come around...

His sleep that night was so fitful as to be almost nonexistent. Sandor supposed he should be used to that by now, and of course he had quite a few reasons to find rest difficult to achieve at the moment...but at the same time he cursed the lack of it for the sake of the need for it. His head felt fuzzy and his eyes were burning as he arrived at Sansa's chambers to escort her and the Imp to Joffrey's wedding breakfast. She looked radiant, and she also appeared to have slept far better than he. They shared a quick look when Tyrion's back was turned, but knew better than to prolong it or to speak. Her smile was tremulous yet hopeful, and for a moment Sandor wondered if he could ever possibly live up to the man she thought him to be.

The wedding breakfast was something of a bad jape, though Sandor wondered how he could be surprised at that. He tried not to look to the little bird too often, and instead watched her little lord husband choose wine over food again and again. The only time Sandor started from his reverie was when Joffrey threatened to visit Sansa's bedchamber...at this point Sandor had to focus on the wall and force himself to breathe, remind himself that he would be taking the little bird away from here today, that he would do as he promised and keep her safe, that her maidenhead would not be taken by any Lannister.

He refused to think about the fact that she may even want him to take it.

Sandor almost felt bad for the Imp when Joffrey hacked that obviously costly book to pieces, yet what had Tyrion been thinking giving a gift like that to a boy like the king? It was shocking that the Imp kept his temper after that, and as soon as the time came to make for Baelor's and the wedding Sandor dutifully followed the dwarf and the little bird, keeping his distance when the Dornishman and his consort came to walk beside them, striding along behind their litter and knowing that his presence at least kept the fool peasants from throwing dung at Sansa.

The ceremony itself was nothing to Sandor, except that it bade him recall the last wedding he'd attended and all that had transpired after - and because- of it. Had Sansa not married Tyrion, he never would have gone to the godswood with her, and mayhap she never would have kissed him...

He shook his head, glad to be standing in the shadows at the back of the sept where he wouldn't be seen. What good had come of that wedding for Sansa Stark? Certainly not taking part with you, dog.

And then there was a kiss and a proclamation and none of it mattered half a shit to Sandor, who followed Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark back to their litter, followed their litter back to the Red Keep, and waited outside their chambers as they readied themselves to go to the feast. When they finally emerged the little bird looked so exquisite that she nearly took Sandor's breath away. She even greeted him, a mumbled "Clegane" and a bow of the head that caught the Imp's attention, but not as Sandor worried it would. Instead Tyrion took to watching Sansa with a bemused expression, and finally, assured that this one man would not note his own gaze on Sansa Stark, Sandor allowed himself to watch her as well.

She was, in a word, perfect. Even when that little witch of a woman, Olenna Tyrell, fiddled with Sansa's hair net and insisted on chatting with the little bird. Sandor didn't like the woman at all - she was known for speaking her mind, this 'Queen of Thorns', yet when she wanted to keep her true thoughts to herself she did so, and quite easily. Just now as Lady Olenna talked to Sansa, Sandor could see the false courtesy plain on her face.

He wondered if the little bird could see it as well.

More pomp and show ensued once they entered the hall, with Tyrion and Sansa taking their seats and Sandor finding his place behind them. Course after course, singer after singer, and he could see that Sansa was pointedly avoiding looking at him, though she must be thinking just as he was - when, when, when is the right time?

Eventually the Imp was drunk and the king even drunker. Soon, Sandor knew, but then the doors opened and admitted...jousting dwarves? Oh, the Imp will love this.

Yet Tyrion seemed to take it as well as his obviously drunken self could, even letting fly a few quips of his own when Joffrey tried to make him joust with his little likenesses. Sandor thought perhaps he could take a breath and hint to Sansa that they should go, and soon, when suddenly the king was between him and the little bird...and throwing wine at his uncle. The only thing that spared more of a scene was Joff's being called away to cut the pigeon pie, and when the king strode back to their seats to confront his uncle again, it was clear that all eyes would once again be on Joffrey and the Imp. Sandor finally caught Sansa's eye and mouthed Go.

She did. He lingered, not wanting anyone to see him leaving the hall on her heels, yet he could have - should have - gone when Joffrey started shoving Tyrion's pie into his own mouth. Sandor should have gone when the king started coughing, should have gone when it was clear that Joffrey was in fact choking. Instead he stood as if transfixed as his former charge died right in front of him, as Cersei clutched at the boy's body, screaming, crying.

Only when a thin black dog appeared at the side of the dead king did Sandor suddenly come to his senses. No one was looking at him; many of the guests had fled already and those who remained were milling about in disorder. The noise in the hall was like a roaring in his ears, and after taking several slow, deliberate steps backward Sandor finally turned on his heel and walked purposefully to the doors. He did not look back, not once, for he knew where Sansa must be and how much time was of the essence.

Though she'd kept him here once with just a few sweet words, tonight the little bird would teach him how to fly.