They had stopped by a stream to set up camp for the night, both their bodies aching from the strenuous days of what seemed like endless riding. Her hair is messy auburn tassels. Even though her dress was stained, her hands and face dirtied, and still very obviously a highborn maiden, something about her looked wild. If she had been dressed all in furs and pants he might have mistook her for a wildling spearwife. He remembered how he heard someone say that wilding's call people who have auburn hair "kissed by fire" and are considered lucky. But, Sansa Stark was far from lucky. Kissed by fire, my ass, he thought.

He thought about how if they stayed in King's Landing, and became man and wife as they were expected to. She would probably be with my child by now, the thought flashing across his mind. The thought caused something to swell inside him, an emotion unknown to him. He quickly grabbed his wineskin and took a last sip, then dropped it to the forest floor. Thoughts like that often come to him moments before he enters sleep, and startle him awake.

Sandor remembered how Sansa asked him if he didn't want to be married to her. The little bird couldn't fathom how badly he wanted her. All of her. The feel of her skin under his calloused fingers, her naïvety, her lust, her maidenhead, her song. But Sandor knew better than that. Those things were never meant for him. At birth when she came out cockless it was fated that she'd marry some buggering highborn northern lord. She was promised to the heir of the Iron Throne. She was supposed to be queen and raise princes and princesses, but instead got a vicious monster. And now him.

He was rough, rude, and probably the ugliest man in all of Westeros, next to the Imp of course. But he was no Joffrey. He was unworthy, a scarred old hound. The small council knew this and forced them to marry anyways. The only one who objected was Littlefucker, the name burning in his mind. It was no secret that Littlefinger loved Catelyn Stark as a boy, it was practically common knowledge at this point. But Sansa was no Catelyn. She's far more beautiful, he thought. He probably intended to steal her away himself.

He knew that in King's Landing she would be comfortable, with her feather bead, lemon cakes, and silks. But not far from safe. All Sandor knew was that as long as she was with him, he'd keep her safe. It was his duty as her lord husband, the title "lord" making him internally snort, but ever since he saw her at Winterfell two years ago he felt the unexplainable urge to protect her. She was weak, and he knew so many that would feel great satisfaction in hurting her. Joffrey took pleasure in making her life miserable, and if they had stayed Sandor knew that it wouldn't end there. There was still Cersei, Ser Ilyn Payne, Blount, Merryn, Tywin Fucking Lannister, and Gregor. Once Gregor heard the news of their marriage he would rush to King's Landing to get his hands on the little bird. He'd rape her and kill her. There would be nothing worse than that, unless he let her live.

I'll keep her safe.

He vowed it on his wedding day and everyday afterward. I'll keep her safe.

Sansa was thrown into the game without volition, only to return to the madness once she was reunited with her mother and brother at Riverrun. He thought about telling her they'd be going to Riverrun but actually just take a ship across the narrow sea to escape the war of five, now four kings. They would reach Riverrun in a fortnight, it would be over then.

When they got to Riverrun the little bird would without questioning ask him to stay even though their marriage would soon be denounced. She'd probably ask him to be her sworn shield like the buggering knights in her songs. He would save himself some pain and say no and leave her life forever. She'd be Lady Clegane no more, but no longer Lady Stark soon after. She'd be wedded and then bedded to create an alliance to strengthen the Northerner's cause. She was only a pawn in the game, but he couldn't tell if whether he was a pawn or a player either. He'd leave Riverrun, find Gregor, kill Gregor, and then probably leave westeros for good. That was his plan.

"Will we be reaching an inn anytime soon?" She asked.

"You ask that every bloody day and my answer is the same: There should be one up the road, and even if there is one, it would be too dangerous to stop because of the possibility of running into Lannister men or someone identifying us. You can wash up in the stream just fine." He lectured her.

"Please. I have not complained this whole trip, and this is all I ask of you my lord. We could both benefit from a hot meal, a proper bed. and a bath. It has been so long since I've had a bath."

"We've only been riding a little more than a week, you'll survive without a bath.

"But Sandor, please!"

Both of them were surprised at the sound of his name. She had never called him by his first name before, only "my lord" and sometimes "ser." To others he was "The Hound" but never Sandor. Sandor was surprised in that she even used his name in desperation, and he also couldn't recall the last time even called him by his first name. He was "Clegane" or "The Hound" or "Dog." She was truly desperate for a bath.

"What did you just call me?" He strode over to her.

"Sa-Sandor." She stammered at first but said his name curty. Sansa looked up at him towering over her, for a moment she was frightened, but her expression relaxed and she continued with a unsweetened tone: "That is your name isn't it? Are you going to say I can't call you that? Or would you rather me call you the hound?"

He took a step back, shocked at the little birds words, his face twisting into an ugly grimace. The burns on his left side twitched uglily. She just fucking told me off. Sansa fucking Stark may have some wolf in her after all. But he wasn't in the mood to be tested at the moment, and grabbed her sharply by her forearm and pulled her close to him. "Don't try to be wise with me girl. Your sigil may be a direwolf but don't think you're some tough she-wolf bitch now that you've been on the road a time. You have as much wolf in you as Joffrey does stag, remember that." With that he let go, walking away. Tomorrow he forearm would bear a big purple bruise, she was sure of it.

"You're awful." Sansa choked, walking back over to the stream where she sat for hours until the sun left the sky.

They rode for the next two days in silence.

He knew that he maybe was overly harsh with her, but he had to be. It wasn't him to be as sweet and polite as a lemon cake. The world was awful, and Sansa Stark was learning that to slowly. Life wasn't a song, and by the time she realized it, it would be too late. After everything she had been through, she didn't deserve to be treated that way, but if The Hound ever knew about gentleness and kindness, those feelings were long forgotten. When his face was shoved into the brazier he did just not loose half of his face, that was for certain.

As if the god's were giving an opportunity to redeem himself to the Stark girl, a town came into view, Sandor had stopped there many times before. The Ivy Inn on the Kingsroad was no stranger to him. He sighed. He could try to redeem himself now, or never. He didn't choose the latter.

When they stopped in front of the inn, and Sandor unhorsed, Sansa smiled genuinely for the first time in a long time. After seeing that Sandor felt that the danger of stopping here would be worth it.

Sandor barked at the stable boy to not touch Stranger, and that he'd be down to take care of him after they were settled.

"Pull up your hood, don't look at anyone, don't let anyone see your hair, do you hear me? Don't talk to anyone, let me do the talking hmm?" He said as he pulled up his own hood, shrouding his features in a dark shadow.

"I understand."

With that holding their bedrolls and saddlebags under both arms, Sandor kicked the Inn door open with his foot. Sansa almost giggled aloud. Kicking seemed to be his prefered method of door opening.

"I need a room for two, and a hot bath for m'wife." He said.

"It'll cost you-" The innkeeper said, Sansa unable to hear the last part over the roar from the Inn's long dining hall table.

They were brought up to their room, and a soon as they entered Sansa rushed to the bed and jumped face first onto it, squealing with happiness, kicking her feet into the air. For a moment, Sandor just let himself watch her as she rolled around and giggled on the bed. It was no featherbed that was for sure. It was filled with hay. The entire room felt slightly damp and smelled musty but Sansa Stark had not a care in the world. The room could smell like horse shit and she'd think it smelt like roses picked from Highgarden as long as it meant a hot bath and somewhere to sleep that wasn't the outdoors.

"I'm here with the bath m'lord." One of the Inn's maid's said. Sansa's bath was brought in and a fire was lit in the hearth.

"I'll be downstairs. Be done in an hour, I'll bring your supper up for you. Lock the door, and don't open it for anyone." With that he turned on his heel and closed the door behind him. Sasna walked over to the door and locked it, and turned to her bath. Quickly, she removed her cloak, riding boots which were caked in dirt and mud, stockings, dress and smallclothes, then walked straight into the bath. She didn't care that the bath was a little too hot, or felt grimy. It felt good. And for the first time in a while Sansa was able to enjoy an hour of solitude and quiet by herself. When she had scrubbed herself pink and raw, and the dirt freed from her hair, she left the tub, and took out a fresh pair of clothes from the saddlebags, dressed and waited for Sandor as she brushed her fingers through her long auburn locks.

There was a knock on the door, "It's me, open up." Sansa heard Sandor say. She got up and unlocked the door. Sandor handed her a plate of warm food and a goblet of wine. Give me your soiled clothes, I'll have them washed." Sansa placed the food and wine on the small table, and handed him her dirty clothes. She was left alone again.

The meal consisted of greasy chicken, mashed potatoes and onions, a modest meal. This is probably better than what the smallfolk are eating right now. They're probably just eating potatoes, or onions, Sansa thought. Once she finished her meal, Sandor knocked on the door again to let him in.

"You finished with you meal? Give me the dishes to leave outside to door."

"Yes." Sansa gave him the dishes to leave outside.

"Are you going to bathe my lord? The water is still warm." Sansa asked.

"Are you trying to tell me I smell like a disgusting old dog girl?"

"No! I just thought after all this riding you might want to bathe too.. It felt very nice to take a bath after so long." Sansa said, blushing at his brusqueness.

"Just say it, I fucking stink."

"You.." Sansa paused "You don't smell very pleasant." Sansa said, blushing at her own rudeness this time. He laughed heartily in response.

"What!" Sansa retorted, "You said to be truthful and I was! You should take a bath!"

Sandor roared with laughter. "Aye, aye. I'll take a bloody bath if pleases you little bird. I still won't allow you to leave the room though, are you sure you want me to take a bath?"

"Yes." With that Sansa pulled one of the creaky dining chairs to the window so that she could look out as the big, foul-smelling, hulking man in the room could enjoy his bath.

He removed his cloak, then his mail and armor, riding boots, breeches, and undershirt until he was down into nothing but his smallclothes. Lifting his arms over his head, he stretched out his body, his spine popping in multiple places, his neck cracking each time he moved it to the left or right. His smallclothes followed suit. These popping and cracking sounds were common to Sansa, often hearing them every morning when he rose, and after a long day's ride before they went to bed. Sansa forgetting that he was undressing, cocked her head towards his direction. Her neck seeming to lock in place.

Sandor's back was towards her, and Sansa was thankful that he didn't catch her in the act of accidentally peeping on him. His back was wide and covered in thick, toned muscle, and he was covered in hair. From what she could see at her angle he had more hair on his chest, stomach and legs than he did on his back, and arse, but he was very hairy. Sansa knew that men had body hair, but her brothers were too young to have body hair that she would have seen, and Sandor's hair was so thick and black. He was definitely a man. Sansa turned her head away, her face as red as a pomegranate. She wondered if Ser Loras had hair like Sandor's, no, most likely not. Once she heard him lowered himself in the tub Sansa exhaled, feeling like a weight was removed from her chest.

"You can stare all you want girl, I don't mind." Sandor chuckled.

"What! I was not staring at you, I was looking out the window!" Sansa replied. His back was towards her how could he had known?

"I felt you staring. Have you never seen a man naked before little bird?" He teased.

"Of course not!" She started, feeling the heat rising across her face and chest once more. Sandor chuckled and then murmured something to himself, and continued to enjoy his bath. When she heard him rise out of the bath she made sure her eyes stayed fixed on the window. She heard him dress, and heard the bread creak under his weight.

His arms were above his head, and he was wearing a fresh pair of breeches and a tunic. His breaths were even and his eyes were closed. He looked peaceful. Although he may not admit it, he's probably very glad he stopped here, she thought. Delicately, Sansa lifted herself off the chair and blew out the candle so that the only light in the room came from the hearth and moonlight from the window. As gently as possible she went under the covers to try not to disturb him. She remembered how Robb told her to let sleeping dogs lie, so she did.

Notes:

Whew! This is my longest chapter yet, coming in around 2,600 words total. For me, I love reading longer chapters when it comes to fanfiction, but boy, when it comes to writing them it sure is a process I'll tell you. Give extra kudos to any fanfic that you read that has super long chapters the next time you read one!

Also, I want to give a shout out to queen_sansastark who has recently become my beta, and helped proofread/edit this chapter. She also went back to previous chapters and edited them for mistakes, so previous chapters will be re-uploaded.

This was the first time I really tried playing around with Sandor's internal thoughts and emotions, which was pretty hard because he has two completely different sides to him: Sandor and The Hound. On one end I want to show how, yes, he obviously cares about Sansa without making it mushy (because we all know Sandor Clegane ain't a mushy man). On the other hand, "The Hound" is his external facade, where he acts more rough, harsh and just downright awful towards Sansa. He has his strengths and good qualities about him but they're mostly covered up by his strong emotions of hatred and anger. What I think Sansa can do as a character is bring his good qualities out of him. It's also hard to balance both of those personalities because their relationship is currently very underdeveloped. As a "ship" SanSan is very dysfunctional and an unhealthy relationship (or at least should be portrayed as in fanfiction) in my opinion anyways. In this fanfiction I hope to address what works and doesn't work about this ship, and hope to create a relationship between the two characters that seems real and less OOC and AU.

Sorry if any of you feel very strongly against body hair, but Sandor Clegane is no Knight of Flowers as you know. I also feel that Sandor wouldn't be ashamed of his body because he's a fricken warrior and warriors have really nice bodies as you know too.