The Warrior had blessed him with strength, not the Smith. Lifting heavy stone, and carrying and mixing cement wasn't hard work, but, day in and day out Sandor felt more like a working bull than a skilled swordsman. He wanted nothing more than to beat down some green boys or thrust his sword through a vile drunkard.

Wiping his brow, he let out a sigh. It lightly rained most days, and on days of heavy rain he didn't need to come to work. Although the rain was often cold, by the end of the day he'd still be drenched his own sweat from the physicality of the work. Everyday he'd tie up his hair away from his face so that it wouldn't cling to him as he worked. The sight of his face made the other men on the job site keep their distance from him.

While removing his tunic, he caught the gaze of a washerwoman walking by, who immediately turned her face away from him, and scurried away. Sandor watched her body move under her dress that clinged her form. She was plain of face and hair, and Sandor unexpectedly felt himself grow hard in his breeches.

"Bugger this, bugger her," he said, ashamed, and took a long swig from his water skin to calm his nerves.

At noon they'd have an hour lunch break, which Sandor always looked forward to. Rounding the corner to find where he left his packed lunch, he saw his current employer talking to his former employer.

"Cederic? I can't believe it!" The round, silk merchant came waddling up to him, greeting him with a brotherly embrace.

"This man used to work for me!" Said the silk merchant to Rhyco.

"Did he now?" Rhyco said, his voice plain and serious, as it always was.

"He kept my stall safe, he was like my bodyguard. Until one day he killed two men in broad daylight!" He laughed and nudged Sandor.

Sandor had wished he hadn't said that. Rhyco's eyes widened, then narrowed, but didn't push the subject further.

"So how did you meet my brother?" The round man asked, putting his arm around the architect, who seemed chagrined by his brother's affection. Sandor was shocked to know that the two men before him were brothers. They were like day and night; the silk merchant was round and boisterous, while his brother was quiet, and stern. Sandor knew how different siblings could be.

"The same way I met you," Sandor replied simply, and after a few minutes of watching the two men converse Sandor went to leave.

"Cederic, wait!" The silk merchant called after him, "I have news from Westeros, if you are interested."

"What is it?" He asked, as he walked closer.

"The golden-boy king of Westeros is dead."

Alyssane and Rhyco's wife, who later introduced herself as Marga, got along very well, which made work a pleasant affair. Marga was a handsome woman, with a handsome voice, and loved to both tease and coo over Sansa. As they worked, they'd converse in both the Common Tongue and Braavosi.

"How do you say-," the Marga pronounced a word that Sansa had heard before, but hadn't know its meaning.

"Zaldrizoti?"

"You know, winged beasts, the conquerors rode them.."

Sansa suddenly remembered supping in the inn, and how the men uttered the word in hushed tones.

"Dragon."

"Dragon! Soon there will be the uncloaking festival, have you heard of it?" Marga asked.

"I have not," Sansa replied.

"Its a grand festival that happens every year to celebrate the anniversary of the uncloaking of our free city."

Sansa had then remembered one Maester Luwin's lectures about how the Targaryen conquerors never "found" Braavos. Until one day hundreds upon hundreds of ships left Braavos to sail across the word to "reveal" the city, which had been a haven for those escaping the Targaryen dragon-riders.

The other young girls in shop began to chatter about the dresses they had been working on for the festival. One girl said that she had only one dress prepared, and the other girls were shocked because, "who would think of wearing the same dress for all ten nights of the festival." Afterwards, they went back to giggling and talking about men and other girlish fantasies, which Sansa didn't care for much anymore.

Once the other girls were dismissed for the day, Sansa always helped Marga close up the shop.

"I'm glad you've came here Alyssane."

The comment made her smile. Smoothing her skirts Sansa asked, "why is that?"

"Well, as you may of heard over and over again," Marga rolled her eyes, "the other girls who work here will be soon marry, and will leave this shop to manage their husband's household.

Sansa's lips parted to the shape of a little "O."

And until I find others, work becomes slow, but you-" she smiled, "you have been such a help, it seems that my customers only want the things made by your hand."

Hearing this, Sana felt her chest swell with pride. Her skills had become useful.

"But even still, I must ask- are you Cederics lady?" Marga's eyes narrowed, and Sansa felt like she understood what the other woman was trying to ask.

"Well, yes.. but we have never, uhm-" She felt as if her face was burning.

"You mean you've never lain together?" Marga asked in disbelief.

"No!" Sansa squealed, covering her face with her hands.

"Oh child," she laughed so hard she bent over to hold her stomach, "you are the queerest girl I've ever met!"

Putting her arm around Sansa, she led her inside.

"How did you a Rhyco meet?" Sansa asked curiously.

"It was an arranged marriage of course," she began, "I was about your age when my father arranged my marriage to Rhyco. At that time, Rhyco had just finished his architectural studies, and I couldn't be more unhappy with the match!"

"Why?"

"I thought my father was marrying me off to a cold, boring, intellectual. And when I met him for the first time that's what he was: a cold, boring, intellectual. I'd had hoped my father would give me a more interesting match. He laughed at none of my jokes, and for the time I swore he thought I was an idiot!"

"But what changed?"

"Well, we got to know each other. It turned out he was intimidated by my forwardness and too shy to share his true feelings. But now we can laugh and joke together, and although I know nothing of architecture, the thing he loves, he still thrills me like nothing else."

"How do you know if you're in love with someone?" Sansa had accidentally blurted out loud. Marga furrowed her brows and chose her words carefully.

Do I love him? She asked herself. What she knew was that care and love, and duty and love were not the same things. Sandor did not thrill her the way Rhyco seemed to thrill Marga. When she thought of Sandor Clegane there no butterflies in her stomach, her palms did not grow sweaty, and her tongue did not tie with the feelings she did not know how to express with words.

Does he love me?

"When you no longer have to ask yourself that question," Marga replied.

"How was work today?" Sansa asked, as she did every night before and she and Sandor retired to bed.

"I heard news from Westeros," he responded flatly.

This prompted Sansa to sit up on the bed. She looked at him with curiosity, and fear, and he watched as she thought of all the possible things he could say to her flash across her eyes.

"Joffrey is dead," he finally spoke, it sounded like a lie.

"What?" she gasped.

"Killed at his wedding to the Tyrell bitch. Apparently the Imp poisoned him."

Her eyes grew wide until they welled up with tears. She then threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

Joffrey is dead.

He would never torment her again. Sansa Stark had finally been let free.