Tonight's ball was at the Westerling's estate.

It had been almost a week since the day at the Tyrell's and Sansa was very nervous. But with Arya's hand in her's pulling her onwards she felt a little better.

The Westerling family was very close to the Starks after Robb began courting their eldest daughter, Jeyne. It had only been a few weeks, having met at the Baratheon ball, but Sansa had never seen Robb happier. He danced with her at every party since and visited her and her family often. Sansa liked Jeyne very well; she was well educated and always kind to Sansa. And she had a lovely smile and dark eyes.

They emerged into the ballroom and Sansa's eyes scanned the room for any sign of him.

She saw Cersei dancing with Jaime on the floor, Tyrion sitting with a man with dirty brown hair drinking heartily. She saw Myrcella dancing with Loras. But him. She sighed relieved when her eyes couldn't find him.

Then Renly's face was before her, grinning and he pulled her to dance.

She went with him, glad of the distraction. This was one of her favorite dances. You would dance with your partner, then the ladies would circle them, then join hands with each other – whoever was beside you at the time – then change partners and begin all over again, going all around the hall until eventually back with your original partner. It was lively and fun and Sansa was soon laughing as she was spun by Renly then joined hands with Jeyne, smiling at her as they spun together, and then moved off to dance next with Loras.

By the end of the dance, Sansa was smiling, quite forgetting everything that had been plaguing her thoughts for so long.

But then a voice spoke up behind her.

"May I have the honor, Miss Sansa?"

She turned to find her mother and aunt Lysa's childhood friend standing before her. She knew him as Mr Baelish. But many called him Littlefinger. She accepted and allowed him to lead her on the dance floor. The dance was a slow march, partners would walk together holding hands, then the ladies would spin under the arm of the man, then join hands and turn, then waltz, and then begin again.

"I can't help but notice, Miss Stark, Mr Clegane seems to look at you a great deal."

Sansa started at his words and as subtly as she could glanced around the hall until her eyes met with grey ones. She quickly looked away, face burning.

"What do you know of him?"

"I know that his reputation is not as bad as his face," he chuckled as he spun her under his arm, "many stories surround him but I am one of the few who do not believe such lies. I know the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"Well, what have you heard?"

She glanced over to him as Baelish pulled her close, waltzing the few steps – the huge man sat drinking his wine, speaking to no one unless spoken to, glaring at those around him. Could she trust Baelish with what Joffrey had told her? No. But the need to find out the truth was strong within her.

"I was told…that he has killed." Baelish gave no reaction, keeping his face blank, edging her to continue.

Sansa took a deep breath, keeping her voice low so only Littlefinger could hear her, "I was told he…that he killed his parents. And r…raped his sister." Sansa swallowed past the sour taste in the back of her throat at saying those words out loud.

Still Littlefinger said nothing.

"…and that, his brother tried to stop him. Tried to save her by pushing him into a fire – that's how he got his burns. But Clegane was enraged and…killed him too."

Petyr nodded and Sansa felt her stomach drop, but he looked at her smiling almost like he pitied her, "what you have heard is not true."

Sansa did not know why she felt so relieved.

"It was his brother who killed his parents and sister while Sandor tried to stop him. I believe that is also how he got his burns. The Baratheons were connected with his family – Clegane's father bred their hunting dogs – so they took him into their care. But he is always angry. It is understandable. No, the man is no angel, but he isn't as cruel as many believe."

Sansa's head was a rush of information. Littlefinger had a reputation for lies but she felt the truth in his words – besides he would have no gain from lying to her anyway.

"Let me guess, Joffrey told you otherwise?"

Sansa's eyes widened and she stiffened, almost stumbling mid step in the dance, but Mr Baelish was there, keeping her right.

"Don't worry; I know what he is like. I suspect you do now too?"

Sansa could only nod.

"It's better that you do. It would be a shame if you had continued courting him."

She felt ill. She couldn't hide from it anymore. Joffrey truly was a horrible person. Now she knew it was true. And Clegane was not such an awful man as she had first let herself believe.

It was too cold for her to go outside to clear her head.

She climbed the stairs to the second floor of the house quickly and was relieved to be away from the noise, light and people. She leaned against the wall in the darkened corridor and tried to calm her racing heart, dragging air into her lungs to clear her fogged mind.

She couldn't understand how Joffrey was so different to her now. He had been everything good and kind and gentle to her once. But now, he was completely changed. She couldn't believe she had never seen it before.

But she hadn't wanted to see it. Even though he kept his façade well, there were still moments he showed what he was truly like. She had been too blind to notice.

And Clegane. If all Littlefinger told her really was the truth – she felt very guilty. She had ignored him, refused to speak to him, turned her back on him all because of a lie. She shook her head, everything was too confusing now, and she didn't know what to think anymore.

"Ah, there you are."

She turned at the sound of that slightly slurred voice and her blood ran cold when she saw him there leaning against the wall for support, a mug of wine in one hand. Glazed green eyes glared at her through golden hair.

"Joffrey." She stood straight, ready to run if she needed to.

He nodded and took another drink from his wine. "my beautiful lady" he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

"do not call me that anymore."

"ah, the lady thinks she can run from me?" his hand darted out, gripping her arm and pulling her close her face was almost touching his. She winced when she smelled the sour reek of wine and vomit from him.

"All I want from the lady is a kiss."

"Let me go! Joffrey, please!" she struggled but he held her fast. The mug clattered to the floor and his arms shoved her hard against the wall. He held her wrists and squeezed so hard she cried out.

His sweaty hand clamped over her mouth.

"Keep quiet! If anyone finds out about this I'll kill you" he hissed, tightening his grip on her painfully. "When I let go, you will keep quiet?"

Tears fell down her cheeks and she suppressed a sob as she nodded. After a moment he removed his hand only to clamp it around her throat, the other moved to her breast and she jerked but forced herself to stay quiet, terrified of what he would do. His face moved closer and the smell of him grew stronger. All she could see were those wet, wormy lips moving closer.

"Joffrey."

He froze and his head whipped around to the owner of the voice. Sansa turned her head slowly and saw her savior.

"Go away, Dog, this doesn't concern you!"

"Let her go, boy."

His eyes were cold and hard and his tone dared Joffrey to defy him.

"You can't order me arou-"

"-let her go, or I will cut that pretty face of yours." His words came out in a hiss, his hand reached into his pocket and drew out a dagger. He looked terrifying standing there; eyes a blaze, his scars exaggerated in the shadows.

Nothing happened for a few moments; Sandor and Joffrey remained glaring into each other's faces.

Sansa let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding when she felt Joffrey's hands release her. Glaring at Clegane he turned and staggered off, fear in his eyes should his dear mother be told of his antics.

Clegane watched him go until he disappeared down the stairs, only then did he turn back to her.

"Are you alright, little bird?"

She couldn't move, paralyzed in fear of what had just happened. She was trembling violently and she felt sick.

A warm, large hand gently touched her arm. She flinched but didn't pull away.

"Come."

He swept an arm under her legs and lifted her gently. Her head fell into the crook of his arm and she leaned into the broad chest. His arms were strong but held her gently, like the fragile little bird she was. He carried her into a room close to them and he set her down in a large chair.

He knelt on the ground before her, lighting a candle and setting it on the table beside her. The soft glow illuminated them in the dark room.

Her breathing was ragged with suppressed sobs, fear still pulsing through her blood but she calmed slowly.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Did he try to defile you?"

She flinched at his words but shook her head.

"He…he said he…just wanted…a…kiss" she managed to say, fighting to speak past the lump in her throat and the shuddering of her body. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard.

Sandor reached into his pocket and drew out a handkerchief. It was no silken handkerchief of a gentleman but it was welcome. He ran it across her cheeks gently, wiping the tears away. The rough fabric felt good against her skin that felt numb from her tears. His touch was gentle and tender and over too soon.

"He'll be wanting more than kisses from you, little bird." His voice was soft but she heard the strain within. "That boy has foul tastes; delights in paining others and most of all you."

"What…what can I do?" she whispered, fear making her grip his arm and lean forwards to look in his eyes.

"I can't escape him."

"You must try; remove yourself from his presence at all times-"

"Wherever we go he is there. Things are expected of me! My family mean for me to marry him. I cannot tell them what he is really like – they would not believe. His family has too great a reputation." She felt the panic inside her grow at her own words.

He remained silent, watching her.

She ripped her eyes from that face and studied her hands where she found herself clutching his handkerchief.

"You should return. Your absence will not go unnoticed."

She nodded and let him help her to her feet. She had stopped shaking but the thought of having to go back downstairs and act like nothing was wrong made her sway on the spot.

His hands were there, steadying her gently.

"Thank you."

He looked like she had just slapped him across the face.

"For being so kind to me."

He looked at her for a long time then nodded.

"Come, back to your cage, little bird."

V