A/N: No notes. I guess it makes sense that there would be less as we go on. Most of the recurring things were in the first round of chapters.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM and Bethesda.

Rating: M for strong language, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol

Sandor sighed impatiently and crossed his arms, absently blowing a lock of hair from his eyes as he waited for Sansa to reemerge from their room. He was about to knock on the door when it opened and she slipped out, giving a quiet apology for the wait. Waving it aside, he put a hand to the small of her back and steered her toward the door.

"We need to get as far as we can before nightfall," he explained as they walked out. Sansa nodded and let him lift her up onto Stranger's back before he swung up and settled behind her in the saddle.

"Do you have everything you need?" Sandor asked gruffly as he adjusted the white cloak fastened around his broad shoulders. Sansa nodded again, but she looked a bit distracted, and rather pale. He frowned and grunted. "Good."

After hesitating for a moment, he wrapped his right arm around her waist and nudged Stranger in the side, walking him toward the stone bridge that led across the Karth River. They were met there by the young Breton woman who had helped Sansa earlier that day and Sandor murmured a quiet command to Stranger when she approached.

"I had hoped you hadn't left yet. Faida told me to give this to you, Cat." The Breton girl handed Sansa a crudely carved hunting bow and the younger woman took it slowly, her confusion evident in the look she briefly cast toward Sandor. He shrugged, trying to keep his face blank as a surge of anger rose in his chest.

"Just in case you find that you need it for anything. Bows are always helpful on the road." Her eyes flicked briefly toward the large sellsword and he scowled, glad that Sansa was too naïve to realize what the girl was implying. As if a hunting bow could kill him. He'd survived more battles than he could count; a seventeen-year-old maiden was not going to lead to his end.

"Thank you," the Stark girl said politely to cover her confusion, smiling and then setting the bow across her lap along with her lute as the innkeeper's assistant returned to the inn.

Spurring his big black warhorse forward again, Sandor frowned down at the girl in front of him. "Cat?"

"She asked my name. I...told her it was Catelyn. I didn't think I should use my own."

At least she's half sensible. "So you used your mother's? That's the second worst thing you could've done. You have the Tully look, little bird, and Catelyn Tully is a well-known woman. Next time someone asks, say something a little less likely to get us both killed."

Sansa wilted slightly and looked down at her hands. "Yes, my lord. I...I'm sorry...I...didn't think about it like that."

Sandor snorted. "Just be careful. I can only protect you when I'm around. If you're on your own, that's your own damn job."

"Is that what you are?" She asked after a moment. "My protector?"

No. A protector wouldn't think of you as I do.

Sandor shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm just a dog, girl. I follow orders. Right now all I'm doing is getting you back to your brother and collecting your ransom. I can't do that if you're dead."

"Why do you need to ransom me to Robb? You won the tourney that was held in Solitude last winter. If I recall, the reward was more than enough to let you live a good life for several years." He could see her jaw tighten and she continued stiffly. "Or did you spend it all on wine and whores?"

Some, but not all. "I was robbed." Clegane replied bitterly. "By some buggering outlaws on the road from Whiterun. The only thing they left me with was Stranger and the clothes on my back." He was lucky to have even made it out with that much, so drunk at the time that he had barely been able to stand, let alone hold his sword.

He detected a hint of amusement in her tone when she answered and glared darkly at the scenery before them. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't know."

Sandor's scowl deepened and he slowed Stranger down a bit when they approached a fork in the road. "Do you remember which way to turn?"

Sansa frowned and looked right and then left before slowly turning her head back to the right again. "That way..."

Narrowing his eyes, Sandor looked down at her and raised his eyebrow. "Are you sure? I can get out the map again. I don't want to turn the wrong way." That seemed to make the girl hesitate. He knew she wanted to get to Windhelm as desperately as he wanted to get her there, but in the end she stuck to her initial choice and Sandor nudged his courser to the right with a noncommittal grunt.

The road was strangely quiet and it put Sandor a bit on edge, though he tried not to show it. If the little bird had any reason to fear, she'd only be more trouble than she was already, and the last thing the Hound wanted was more trouble. In fact, he was already sincerely beginning to regret taking Sansa with him. Particularly every time she unconsciously moved her ass against his groin or moved her cloak to allow him an unhindered view down the front of her low-cut dress. It took what little self-control he had not to groan in frustration. She, of course, had no idea of the effect she was having.

The knowledge that she'd be worth more if she was still a maiden was the only thing that kept Sandor seated firmly in the saddle, grinding his teeth and tightening his grip on the reins every time she shifted between his legs. That, and the fact that he would never be like his brother.

After riding in silence down the road for the better part of an hour, Sandor stopped Stranger abruptly and sighed heavily. "This doesn't look right."

Sansa looked back at him and raised her eyebrows, her face contorted slightly in pain. "What?"

He frowned at her expression, but chose to ignore it. Knowing her, she had probably just sprained an ankle running to meet him at the mill. Gesturing to their surroundings, he replied gruffly. "The area. I don't think this was the right way."

When he admitted as much, Sansa looked about ready to cry and he looked down at her in confusion. "What the fuck is wrong? I'm not going to hurt you, little bird. We'll just check the map and then turn around if we need to."

She nodded and looked away, curling into herself and huddling over the lute and bow in her lap. Sandor watched her then shook his head and sighed, reaching down to retrieve the map from Stranger's saddlebag. After studying it for a moment, he sighed heavily and turned his courser around, increasing their pace to make up for lost time.

"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered after a few minutes of silence. When Sandor grunted, she elaborated. "For steering us in the wrong direction." Her voice was laced with pain and he just shrugged noncommittally, covertly looking her over for any sign of injury, but finding none.

They rode in silence back to the fork and this time took the correct path, trudging onward until Sansa suddenly and rather violently doubled over with a sharp cry of pain. With an exasperated sigh, Sandor pulled Stranger to a stop and ignored it when the big black warhorse snorted and pawed the ground impatiently. "What in Oblivion is wrong with you, girl?"

Sansa looked up at him and unconsciously shrank away from his gaze, murmuring quietly. "Nothing, my lord. Could we just...stop for the night?" She gestured toward a small cabin nearly hidden by the surrounding forest off to their left and waited for an answer.

Sandor frowned. "No, we can't stop. We already lost time getting turned around."

"Please..." she all but begged, a look of desperate pleading in her big blue eyes.

Sighing in impatience, Sandor threw his hands up and gestured vaguely in her direction. "Maybe if you tell me what's wrong, I can help."

On the verge of tears, Sansa shook her head. "No, my lord, there's nothing you can do. Just...please, can we stop?"

"No," he snapped, a bit harsher than he'd intended. "Not unless I know a bloody good reason why."

"Fine. If you must know, it's...it's my moon blood, my lord," she stammered, her face flushed in embarrassment as she met his gaze.

Sandor blinked. That was one aspect of a woman he had never had to deal with and he couldn't say he had ever wanted to. "Bloody hell..." he muttered under his breath, not expecting Sansa to snap back harshly. "Yes, it is a bloody hell, now please, can we just stop for the night? I should be fine by morning."

He nodded and steered Stranger onto the worn path that led to the small shack. "Aye. We can stop."

When they reached the shack, Sandor dismounted and walked inside, hand resting on the hilt of his sword in case it had already been settled for the night. There was a man asleep on the bed in the corner and he slowly approached him, frowning when he stood over him and got a good look at his face. It was quite obvious that the man was dead, but not for long because the stench of death had yet to permeate the air. For that, at least, he was grateful.

"Close your eyes!" he called out, hefting the body over his shoulders and carrying it outside. He checked to make sure Sansa had closed her eyes before walking behind the shack and hiding the body behind a patch of bushes. As much as the thought of seeing her reaction to the dead man amused him, he didn't want to hear her complaining all night.

The Stark girl still had her eyes tightly shut when he walked over to Stranger and she only opened them when he placed his hands around her waist and lifted her not ungently to the ground. She stumbled slightly when her feet hit the dirt and one of her hands dug into the armor at his shoulder to steady herself. She leaned into him for support and he found her face close to his, turned up to meet his eyes. They stayed that way for a moment before she pulled away.

"Thank you."

Sandor grunted and gave a curt nod, following her into the ramshackle cabin and sighing when she looked around.

"You can take the bed tonight. I'll sleep on the floor."

Sansa looked up at him and her pretty forehead wrinkled with worry. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, little bird. We certainly aren't sharing the bed. Besides, the floor is a place for a dog, not a lady." Picking up the iron dagger that had been stabbed into the top of the small set of shelves beside where he stood, he handed it to her. "Take this. It's easier to use than a bow. Quicker too. Might need it someday."

She nodded and lowered herself onto the bed in the corner, settling back against the flat pillow before asking for the saddlebag and withdrawing a book when he retrieved it and handed it to her. She left it sitting on her lap as she picked a twig from her curly auburn hair and brushed some dirt from her gown. Sandor laughed at the look of revulsion on her face.

"You're not much one for the world outside a castle are you, little bird?"

Sansa blushed and shook her head. "It's all just so...dirty."

Sandor snorted. "That's because there aren't maids to clean it." When she looked down at her hands in embarrassment, he shook his head. "I'll go get Stranger settled in for the night. If anything happens, just..." He sighed. "Scream."

Stranger was already nibbling contentedly on a patch of grass outside when Sandor went to join him and the courser whickered quietly when his master laid a heavy hand against his neck. He lifted his nose from the grass long enough to meet Clegane's eyes then shook his mane and pawed at the ground before resuming his dinner.

"I know," Sandor muttered. "I miss the battlefield as much as you do. Been too long since I've killed a man." He undid the saddle and tossed it into the shack, earning a yelp and then an embarrassed apology from the girl inside. Snorting in disgust, he shook his head and led Stranger down to the expansive marsh area that lay within walking distance from the shack, ignoring his protests at having been removed from his grass.

The warhorse quieted down a bit as he leaned down to drink from the water at his hooves and he nudged his nose against the mud when Sandor cupped some water in his hands and rubbed down the horse's legs.

"Tomorrow we'll be back on the road again," he promised, carefully inspecting the big courser for any sign of injury. "And then she'll be gone before you know it. How does that sound?"

Stranger turned his head at the sound of his master's voice and snorted. Sandor frowned. "Do you not want her to go? What's gotten into you? I'm the one collecting her ransom, not you. What's your excuse?" He'd been surprised by how relatively gentle the normally ill-tempered horse had been around the Stark girl. To be honest, it bothered him a bit.

Once Stranger had had his fill of the water, Sandor led him back up to the shelter and tied him just outside the narrow window, patting him on the rump before leaving him to continue his eating and walking back inside the shack.

Sansa had been reading on the bed in his absence and when he entered, she looked up, giving him a small smile. As friendly as she appeared, he could tell that her eyes were fixed on the right side of his face and he scowled, retrieving one of the bottles of ale from the saddlebag and sitting down on the floor beside the bed to drink.

The girl watched him for a moment before speaking hesitantly. "Are you going to get drunk?"

Sandor snorted and didn't bother to meet her gaze. "Might. If I'm lucky. What's it to you?"

"I just...if we're going to leave in the morning..."

"I can sleep it off tonight," he growled, and then took another drink. "Are you hungry yet, girl?"

She shrugged and thumbed at the corner of the page she was on. "I could eat. It might help with the pain a little."

Sandor nodded and got to his feet, walking over to the shelves against the wall. They held enough food for dinner that night and a bit more for the road. "How does stew sound?"

She sounded surprised when she responded. "That would be good, my lord. You...you can cook?"

Snorting, he nodded and put the one leek, one gourd, two carrots and clove of garlic he found in a separate pile before taking a rabbit down from where it hung from the ceiling. "Enough to be able to eat when there aren't cooks around. Can't you? Surely a lady knows how to make her own food." He already knew what her answer would be so he let a mocking tone creep into his words.

"No," she responded quietly. "It was always made for me. Perhaps you could...teach me?"

"I have better things to do with my time," Sandor responded flatly, lifting the large pot in the corner and leaving her alone as he trekked down to fill it up with water. Returning to the spot outside the cabin, he hesitated and stared down at the ground for a minute before looking toward the shack.

"Girl, get out here."

She appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the doorframe for support as she raised her eyebrows.

"Go gather some sticks. We'll need to make a fire. Can you at least do that?"

"Yes, my lord, I...I think so. I've watched my handmaidens before."

Sandor shrugged and waved her off, pulling the dagger from his belt and retreating back inside to chop the vegetables and skin the rabbit. He was almost done when Sansa returned and she set to making the fire while he finished. Thankfully, she was able to get the fire started and he directed her in making a spit from which to hang the pot so the water could boil from a safe distance away.

"Could you help me, my lord?" she asked after a moment of struggling with the heavy pot. Sandor stared at the fire for a moment then forced his feet to move as he assisted her and then hastily moved away.

He could feel Sansa's curious gaze on him and he turned away, hating himself for showing his fear of the flames in front of her. "Once it's boiling, add the meat and vegetables," he said gruffly, handing both to her and scrambling for an excuse to get away from her stare. "I have to piss."

Stalking away to a more heavily wooded area, he sighed angrily and beat his fist on the trunk of a tree as he relieved himself against it.

It was humiliating to be bested in some way by an innocent little girl who still believed that the world was just as it appeared in her songs and books. He hated the way she stared at him, when she even had the nerve to look at his face. Not for the first time in the past one-and-twenty years, he wished his brother had just finished what he'd started.

When he returned, the stew was well on its way to completion and Sansa was sitting against the wall of the shack, book in hand.

"What nonsense are you reading now?"

"It's not nonsense," she replied defensively. "It's a history. Julienne let me have it. It's about Ulfric Stormcloak."

Sandor snorted and took the book from her, flipping to the last page and reading aloud. "In jeopardizing the treaty that so many sacrificed for during the Great War, the Empire was wrong. But what choice did they have, I ask you? Against the Bear of Markarth, Ulfric Stormcloak, "no" is not an answer." He tossed the book back at her and shot her a withering look. "What a kind and benevolent man you follow."

"He would make a great king," Sansa retorted. "He will."

"It sounds like you're in love with him."

When she blushed, Sandor laughed loudly, though not in amusement. "So that's it, eh? You'll follow a man to battle just because he's a pretty little lord? You really are a stupid little bird." Sansa's face was contorted in anger and she looked about ready to say something when Sandor interrupted. "If that's not it, then why do you?"

"Because...because..." She floundered for a moment then clenched her fists and rose to her feet. "He's fighting for our people! Everything he did was what was best for Skyrim and her people. Us!" She gestured angrily between them and then continued. "The Empire had no right to outlaw Talos worship. Ulfric was only defending the faith we've always kept."

Sandor grinned and he could tell that the sight put Sansa on edge. "Eight Divines...Nine. I don't give a fuck either way. The gods don't exist, little bird. If they did, surely there wouldn't be men like me in the world."

She looked about ready to agree, but merely stepped closer and poked an accusing finger against his breastplate. "So why do you fight for the Empire, then? You're a Nord, and you're fighting to rip apart Skyrim."

"Ignorant, little bird," he snarled. "I didn't choose to fight for the gods damned Empire. I was forced to. What difference did it make to me? I could kill people no matter which side I fought for."

He could tell that she hated every word he was saying. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

Laughing, Sandor shook his head. "No, it gives me joy to kill people." He could feel the corner of his mouth twitch when he talked and he leaned down closer to the young woman in front of him. "Killing is the sweetest thing there is."

Sansa let out a choked sob and then threw the book at him before yelling at him and running away in tears. "You're a monster!"

Sandor watched her go and then swore, stalking back into the shack.

So you've finally figured it out, little bird. That's all I am. A hideous and disfigured monster.

He almost went after her then decided against it and picked up the ale he'd abandoned earlier, drinking it all and then tossing the bottle aside as he retrieved the next.

It hurt as much as the first time he'd heard it, when he was seven years old, forced to play with the sons of his father's liege lord. Jaime had laughed at him, mocked him, teased him, called him names until he was left crying alone in the corner of his room back at Clegane Keep, trying to keep his sobs quiet so Gregor wouldn't hear.

He could hear the girl's crying now, somewhere outside the cabin and it only served to fuel the bitterness that festered in his chest. At least now she would know the truth. The world wasn't full of knights and fair maidens, it was built of killers. Perhaps he'd taught her a lesson. She would've had to learn it eventually. Otherwise, she'd be burned as he had; forced to see the world as it truly was. As much as he hated her, even she didn't deserve that.

No one did.