A/N: Hey, so I know this is quick since I just posted yesterday, but I've had a set of like seven chapters on hold just waiting for my sister to read through, and now that she's finally done them, I'll post one each day (minus tomorrow and the weekend because I'll be lacking computer access) until I reach the point where I'm not at the rate I wish to be at anymore. Just so you know. As for notes, first off, for those who aren't familiar with the Elder Scrolls calendar, Frostfall is the equivalent of October. And the Great War was a war fought between the Imperial Legion and the Thalmor. It was that war in which Ulfric Stormcloak gained his fame. And you'll meet him eventually. Also, for purposes not yet evident, I upped the age difference between Sansa and Robb to 10 years. And last but not least, you get the rest of The Bear and the Maiden Fair so yay! It starts where Sansa left off in chapter 17 just so you don't have to read the beginning again. It's a fairly long song. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: It's all Bethesda's and George R. R. Martin's.

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

Each day started the same. He woke, one hand gripping the pommel of his sword with white knuckles as his chest heaved with the effort of each breath. Usually, that was followed by a stream of curses as he realized he'd just woken from the same nightmare that always plagued his nights of insufficient sleep and he got up, drinking away the lingering memories until he felt awake enough to start his day. The morning of the 4th day of Frostfall was no different.

Peeling his fingers one at a time from his sword, Sandor sat up and pushed his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead, swearing unintelligibly under his breath. "Gods damned fucking bastard..." He wasn't entirely sure if he was talking to himself or the ghost of his brother that still lingered in the fragments of his scattered mind.

A quiet noise caught his attention and he looked up to see the little bird still asleep beneath the furs on the bed, one hand tucked under her pale cheek to cushion her head as she slept. She stirred slightly at the sound of his voice but didn't wake.

Rising from the floor and rolling the ache from his joints, Sandor stood and irritably fastened his swordbelt around his hips. After Sansa had fallen asleep the night before he had spoken with the innkeeper about work around town and she'd recommended the lumber camp near the marsh, so there he went.

If he hadn't needed the coin to support his constant need for wine and the whims of a highborn girl, he might've told the Redguard woman to fuck off and spent his day drowning in a bottle of sour red. Instead, he found himself chopping wood for the second time in three days, his muscles complaining with each stroke of the axe.

At the very least, he was willing to do menial labor as a way to work out his anger. There was something satisfying about watching the wood split in half with a savage blow from his axe. And it was as close as he could get to killing something.

He'd hacked his way through enough wood to make at least two hundred septims with only one break to drink a bottle of wine and peel his tunic off to enjoy the cool autumn breeze before he heard her behind him, nothing more than the gentle clearing of a throat.

"Good morning, my lord. Did you sleep well?"

Her empty chirping was irritating and he grunted by way of reply, swinging the axe down hard.

"I...I think you've worked enough, ser..." She said it with a hint of concern and didn't realize her mistake until he corrected her.

"I'm not a ser. And what would you know, girl? You've never worked a day in your life."

"I worked for Lord Tyrion."

Snorting, he turned to face her, arms crossed over his chest. He absently noted the way Sansa's eyes widened at the sight of the half-naked man standing in front of her and she hastily looked away, a bright blush painting her pale cheeks before he spoke. "You don't know what Tyrion Lannister had planned for you, do you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, my lord."

"Tywin Lannister meant to make his son the Lord of the North," Sandor answered. "You do know that your father's family once ruled in Windhelm before the Stormcloak reign don't you?"

Sansa nodded and frowned. "Yes, but, Tyrion could never be Lord of the North. That's Ulfric Stormcloak's position, and if he were to die without heirs, it would go to my brother Robb."

"And then to your cripple brother or the six-year-old, if they're even still alive. So if Stormcloak and the Young Wolf were killed, and Eddard Stark's eldest daughter were to be married..."

She paled at his insinuation and shook her head. "No, Tyrion was in love with one of the..." She blushed slightly. "Whores...at King's Landing. He would never..."

"In love with a whore?" Sandor snorted. "I don't doubt it, but no, you're right. He wouldn't. And he didn't, in direct disobedience to his father's orders. If it had truly been up to Tywin Lannister, you would have married the Imp and secured his line to the throne of Windhelm by getting pregnant with his heirs."

She was quiet for a moment. "Lord Tyrion never told me."

"No, I expect he didn't. There were a lot of things the Lannisters kept from you."

"That you know I suppose, being so close to them." It was said with a hint of derision.

Ignoring her reply, he extended a hand and waited until she realized what it was he wanted and handed him the light grey tunic on the bench beside her. Pulling it on over his head, he pushed a hand back through his tangled hair and then looked down at the Stark girl.

"Have you already broken your fast? I left a few septims on the table for you."

She nodded and hesitantly met his gaze, all contempt vanishing in the face of his reluctant kindness. "Yes, thank you, my lord." Her eyes dropped after only a few seconds and Sandor wondered bitterly why she still feared his scars. She'd certainly spent enough of the past four days staring to get used to them.

"Good. And have you spoken to anyone?"

"Just Jonna, my lord. Is it unsafe to speak to the guards?"

Sandor shrugged and starting walking toward the other side of the town. "I don't think Morthal's declared for either side of the war yet, but I'd say more than a few of the guards here are the right age to have fought in the Great War so their allegiance is probably to Ulfric Stormcloak."

Sansa seemed to perk up a bit at that comment, presumably due to the mention of the rebel Jarl and she looked up at him. "Did you fight in the Great War?"

Sandor scoffed and gave her a look of incredulity. "I wasn't even thought of when that war started. How old do you think I am?"

Sansa blushed visibly and stammered, "I...I'm not sure, my lord. Perhaps..." She hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. Sandor found it quite amusing but before she could embarrass herself any further, he snorted and supplied her with the answer. "Eight-and-twenty."

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him in what appeared to be surprise, her lips coming together to form a quiet, "Oh." That was a mere two years senior to Robb and their half-brother Jon Snow, born during the war's final year.

He ignored her and breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the apothecary's shop. Amazingly, Stranger was still tied to the post where they'd left him, albeit looking worse tempered than usual and Sandor soothed him with a murmur of praise for his good behavior. He was checking for any signs of injury when there came a call from behind him.

"Hound!"

It seemed the inevitable had happened.

Turning, he looked at the man who'd shouted his name and snarled angrily in his direction. "What the fuck do you want?"

"I heard you deserted."

"You heard right."

"Heard you took and fucked the Stark girl. Right in front of Tywin Lannister."

Sandor stared at him in disbelief. What the bloody hell... "Took, yes, fucked, no." He nudged Sansa with an elbow. "Go on, girl, tell him you're still a maid."

She stepped forward and looked at the guard. "I am ser, still a maiden. Lord Clegane has not taken me by force."

The other man chuckled and looked at the big sellsword. "And not by consent, either, eh?" Sansa flushed deeply.

"Is that all, ser?" Sandor asked flatly. "Or did you want to check the state of her maidenhead yourself?" Sansa protested quietly, but Clegane silenced her with a look that clearly said he would let the man do nothing of the sort.

The guard eyed him for a moment. "I'm the best warrior in Morthal, and that's no boast."

Sandor heard the challenge in his tone and smiled wryly. Finally, the chance to hit something. "Best warrior in Morthal, eh?" He scoffed. "My mother could beat you in a fist fight. And she's dead."

"Want me to prove it? I bet a hundred gold I can take you, bare-handed."

Smirking, the sellsword unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it off to Sansa, ignoring her warnings against what he was about to do. Whether she liked it or no, he needed this.

"One hundred. Deal."

The older man grinned and rolled his shoulders. "Just your own two hands. Weapons and magick are out. Now let's see what you've got!"

He immediately lunged forward, striking out with his left fist. That was his first mistake. One of the earliest things the Hound had learned as a boy was to never make the first move.

The blow was easily dodged by the bigger man and without warning, he snapped his arm forward, catching the other man across the nose. Blood sprayed across the ground and Sandor was vaguely aware of a horrified cry from somewhere nearby.

A crowd had begun to form around them and Sansa was yelling something to the effect of "don't hurt him!" in a panicked tone. The sound of her voice provided enough of a distraction to earn a well-placed punch to Sandor's jaw.

Spitting the blood from his mouth with a snarl, he kicked out at the other man and then ended him with a sharp crack across his cheekbone. He was down for only a moment before taking his opponent's offered hand and wiping the blood from his nose with a wide grin.

"You're a real fighter. I like that. If you ever find that you need my steel by your side, just ask. The name's Benor."

Sandor nodded curtly and rubbed at his jaw with his thumb, trying to assess the damage. "You're not so bad yourself. Next time, don't be so obvious with your punches though. I knew they were coming even before you knew you were throwing them."

Benor smiled wryly, but looked pleased to have been given advice from such a well-known warrior. Everyone from Solitude to Riften had heard of the Hound, even if his name did carry more infamy than respect. If he was going to respond to the comment, he was interrupted by Sansa as she pushed her way through the dissipating crowd to Sandor's side.

"Are you hurt?" She looked up at him with wide, worried eyes and gently touched her fingers to his jaw, frowning when he winced and pulled away.

"I'm fine, little bird. Nothing's broken, but it's like to bruise by morning."

"If you want, I can—"

He cut her off with a shake of his head and swatted her hand away from his face. "What I want you to do is go back to the inn. Enough people have seen you and at least one's recognized you as a Stark so it's best to lay low for the rest of the day. We'll leave in the morning and they'll all just forget that they saw you. Morthal's in no rush to have either the Legion or the Stormcloaks coming through, so they won't report our being here."

Sansa nodded obediently then hesitated and looked up at him shyly. "I promise I'll stay in the room while you're working, but...when we spoke to Jonna last night...she said I could sing for her and any patrons that stop by. May I still do that, my lord?"

Sandor watched her fidget under his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Aye. But stay inside until then. I'll come and get you once I'm through."

She beamed happily at his reply, looking truly happy for the first time since he'd taken her away from King's Landing. "Thank you, Lord Clegane." Not waiting for a reply, she hurried off toward the inn and nearly ran someone over in her haste to get inside.

Shaking his head and sighing, Sandor trudged back over to the lumber camp to collect his payment. He didn't doubt that Sansa would obey him and stay locked in their room all day so she wouldn't see that he was planning on spending the rest of his time drinking wine in the common room. For the first time since he'd swept her up onto Stranger's back that night of the fire, he would be alone with his thoughts and a bottle of sour red. But of course, even that would only last until nightfall.

"Oh, sweet she was and pure and fair,
The maid with honey in her hair!
Her hair, the maid with honey, in her hair!

The bear smelled the scent on the summer air!
The Bear! The Bear!
All black and brown and covered with hair!
He smelled the scent on the summer air,
He sniffed and roared and smelled it there!
Honey on the summer air!"

The sound of such a well-known and beloved song floating through the thick fog that covered Morthal attracted patrons just as Sansa had said it would. The inn was packed full of travelers and villagers alike by the third verse alone and both Sansa and Jonna had their hands full with all the men who had suddenly appeared in search of wine and company.

Sandor was seated in the farthest corner from the door, slowly draining a flagon of wine as he watched Sansa play her lute beside the bar and sing the songs she knew so well.

Thanking a man whose coin had landed on the bar beside her, she smiled brightly and continued to sing.

"Oh I'm a maid, and I'm pure and fair,
I'll never dance with a hairy bear,
A bear! A bear!
I'll never dance with a hairy bear!

The bear, the bear!
Lifted her high into the air!
The bear, the bear!"

As she sang, the crowd began to follow her words and the young ladies present were swept from their perches by the knights that had wandered in. The room filled with feminine laughter as the inn was turned into an uncoordinated and rather cramped ballroom. Sandor kept well away from the festivities.

"I called for a knight!
But you're a bear!
A bear! A bear,
All black and brown and covered in hair!

She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,
But he licked the honey, from her hair!
Her hair! Her hair!
He licked the honey, from her hair!"

I bet she would taste sweet as honey. He pushed the thought aside with a swallow of wine. The movement caught Sansa's gaze and she paused to catch her breath and give him a small smile, her thin fingers still plucking the tune out on her handcrafted lute.

"Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air,
She sang: My bear so fair!
And off they went,"

She paused briefly and looked expectantly toward the dancing couples. They seemed to know what was expected of them and men and women alike finished the song alongside the soft, clear voice of the young bard.

"The bear! The bear!
And the maiden fair!"

Sansa stopped singing, breathless with laughter and handed her superior lute off to Lurbuk who took up the next song, sparing all the guests from his singing as the young Nord weaved back through the crowd to where Sandor sat watching her. She beamed happily when he raised his eyebrow and extended a delicate hand.

"Might I have this dance?" Her cheeks were flushed from the wine she'd drank before her song and her blue eyes sparkled as she looked down at him, a soft smile gracing her full lips.

Divines and Daedra, she's beautiful. Sandor snorted and shook his head, taking a long drink of his wine. "No, little bird. Go find someone else."

She sat down beside him and brazenly reached out to lift his chin as he always did with hers, looking at him from beneath her eyelashes. "I don't want to find someone else. Don't you want to dance with me?"

Gods, she must be drunk. "I..." He swallowed down the lump in his throat with a swig of wine and then mumbled. "I don't know how."

"You don't know how to dance?" He shook his head and glared at her when she laughed. "I was never taught."

"Well then let me teach you!" She stood back up and grabbed his hands, trying to pull him up from the table but ultimately and expectedly failing.

"No, girl," he repeated forcefully, pulling away and shaking his head. "I said go find someone else."

Much to his displeasure, she did. It was mere moments before she was prancing about the tavern with a young man's hands wrapped around her waist and the joy he could never give her written across her delicate highborn features.

Scowling, Sandor turned around to face the table and drank straight from the flagon of wine. If she preferred the pretty lads, so be it. He knew her fleeting interest in him was only borne of the strong red wine.

After pausing in his drinking for a moment to wonder why he even gave a fuck, he glanced over his shoulder to see Sansa laughing as she was twirled in the air by the young knight. When the song ended, so did their dancing, but she stayed with the boy, talking with him and giving him her sweetest smile. She glanced over toward Sandor's table once, but her smile wavered when she caught his gaze and she quickly looked away, blushing slightly.

In time, another song was started and Sansa was swept off once again into the crowds. Sandor watched her twirl about from his darkened corner and ordered himself another flagon of wine when she was passed off to a new partner, this one even more handsome than the last. He was already halfway through the refilled wine when the song ended and she stumbled over to him, dizzy and breathless from her dancing. She smiled widely when she caught his gaze and he snorted.

"Aren't you just the picture of innocence?" Her nose wrinkled slightly at the smell of cheap wine on his breath and he laughed harshly. "You know, there isn't a man in this room who doesn't want to shove his cock up your pretty little highborn cunt; whether you like it or no."

Sansa's eyes went wide with fear at his words. Her pale cheeks blushed red at his coarse language and she stepped back, the grin fading quickly from her lips. Her gaze searched his face with unmasked horror. "You're horrible!"

Sandor stared at her for a moment then grunted and took a long pull from the flagon. "I'm honest. And drunk. Go on to bed, little bird. I'll be there shortly." When he caught the look of terror etched into her pretty features, he scowled. "Gods, I'm not going to rape you, girl. That was the wine talking."

Standing up, he pushed her forcefully but not ungently toward their room and downed the rest of his wine. "Shut the door after you and push something in front of it. I have something I need to do, but it won't take long."

He saw Sansa's gaze flick over to the two whores standing by the wall and she quickly looked away, avoiding his eyes. The thought of fucking another woman next door to where the little bird was sleeping did nothing to improve his mood. "Just go," he snarled.

Once the door was shut behind her, Sandor sighed and glanced over toward the far wall. A pretty auburn-haired whore met his gaze and then whispered something to the woman beside her before giving him a thorough once-over from the shoulders down, a sultry smile gracing her full lips. Although once he would've taken her without a second thought, the idea was making his stomach turn and he staggered unsteadily across the inn floor, shouldering his way out the door and into the cool night air in a feeble attempt to clear his head.

He was sitting on the edge of the dock absently sharpening his sword when he heard footsteps behind him and a moment later, Sansa sat down beside him, peeling off her stockings and dipping her bare feet into the water. She was quiet for a few minutes before a wayward torchbug flew straight into her hands and she closed them gently with a smile.

"Have you ever caught a torchbug?" Sansa asked, peering between her fingers at the glowing insect.

"No." Sandor replied flatly, not pausing in his task.

"Not even when you were young?"

He put down the whetstone and sighed, wincing when a burst of pain shot through his head. He would regret drinking so much come morning. "I wasn't young for very long."

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked with a laugh, letting the little insect crawl out of her fist and wander the length of her finger as it fluttered its tiny wings. "Everyone's young for the same amount of time. Once you're twelve as a boy, or when you first flower as a maiden, you're considered a man or a woman fit to be wed."

When he stayed silent, she frowned in realization and raised her gaze to the left side of his face. "How old were you?" she murmured quietly.

"You should get some rest, little bird," he replied gruffly, evading her question. "We leave by first light."

"Then you should get some rest too, Hound," she said softly, swinging her pale calves off the end of the dock. Sandor's gaze followed the movement and he looked away when she caught him staring, forgetting to ask if she had been mocking him.

"Fair enough." Putting his sword back in its scabbard, he stood and hesitated for a moment before offering a hand. She smiled timidly as she took it and helped herself up. Her fingers were soft and smooth in his calloused hand.

"I'll take first watch."

Sandor raised his eyebrow and looked down at her. Her pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight and her eyes danced in the shifting light of the shadows around them. "First watch? What's there to watch for, little bird? We're staying at an inn."

"Okay, but at least let me sleep on the floor first." He moved to protest, but she raised a hand to silence him. "Don't tell me it's not uncomfortable, or that it's no place for a lady. If you're so concerned for my comfort then..." She hesitated and it looked as though she might have been blushing, though he wasn't sure if it was simply a reflection from one of the torches along the dock. "Well, the bed is big enough for two..."

He stared dumbly at her for a moment and then firmly shook his head, more to clear his thoughts than to deny her statement. "That's not a proper thing for a maiden to be saying."

"I worked in a brothel, my lord," she replied with a hint of amusement, ignoring the mocking tone to his words. "I know the difference between sharing a bed with a man and sharing myself with him. I'm only suggesting the first."

Her emphasis made him cringe. At least she knew to keep him in his place.

"Aye, well, you still don't have me convinced. You'll take the bed, I'll take the floor, and only if I wake up too stiff to move will I consider a change in those arrangements at the next place we stop that has a bed."

Sansa nodded her agreement and balanced carefully on her toes as she walked along the creaky wooden dock past the guard barracks, humming quietly to herself.

"What song is that?"

Looking up at him mid-twirl, she put her arms back at her sides and smiled. "Oh. Still The Bear and the Maiden Fair, I'm afraid. I imagine the tune won't be out of my head for a while now."

Sandor nodded in agreement.

"But...it's one of my favorites you know." She said it very matter-of-factly and the sellsword was suddenly reminded of just how young she was. Still a girl in truth though she looked enough like the woman her body declared her to be.

He grunted noncommittally.

"It was the first song I learned to play on the lute. And the first song I ever danced with a boy to." She laughed and leapt gracefully ahead a few feet. "I was five at the time and thrilled at having been asked to dance by an older boy. He was a squire I think." Regarding her companion for a moment, she raised her eyebrows and slowed to meet his long but unhurried strides. "Do you really not know how to dance?"

Sandor shook his head. "I told you I wouldn't lie to you, girl. I was never taught and never found a reason to learn."

"Not even as an attempt to woo a maiden fair?" Her tone was teasing and he idly noted that the wine had made her loose-tongued.

"They never wanted to dance with the bear," came his flat reply. He avoided her gaze. "Besides, I've never had a reason for 'wooing'. Only women I've ever been with were whores." Why am I telling her this? Gods damn it, Clegane, get ahold of yourself. Perhaps the wine was having a greater effect on him than he wanted to admit. What other reason did he have for telling the girl his darkest secrets?

Sansa didn't have a reply to that so she stayed silent, walking beside him with her boots and stockings swinging gently from her hand. After a moment, she looked up at him. "I'm sorry."

He didn't have to ask her what for. He knew, but he humoured her anyway. "Sorry for what?"

She shrugged slightly. "The world hasn't been kind to you."

Sandor snorted in wry amusement. "The world isn't kind to anyone. It'll chew you up, spit you out, and if you're lucky, you'll at least land on your fucking feet."

Though she didn't reply, her expression grew thoughtful and he got the feeling that she was starting to see his words for the truth they were.

The inn was nearly empty when they returned and she quietly led him to their room, passing by the young Imperial she'd danced with earlier in the evening. She met the lad's gaze for a brief moment before opening the door for Sandor and then closing it behind her as she entered after him. Their eyes met for a brief moment in the dim light from the candle beside the bed and Sansa slowly raised herself up on her toes before brushing her lips across the burned side of his face.

"Good night, Lord Clegane. I hope your dreams are kinder."

Although he dismissed her words with a noncommittal grunt, they had their desired effect. That night was the first night in nearly one-and-twenty years that he didn't dream of fire. Instead, he dreamt of her.