Sandor

"Things seem to be very different between you and your beautiful wife from when I last saw you both," Tyrion commented, accepting the glass of wine Sandor handed him.

Sandor collapsed into the chair beside Tyrion's facing the warm fire. He stretched his long legs out before him and drank deeply.

After a while of silence from Sandor Tyrion chuckled, "very well, I suppose the business of lovers belong with them."

"We are not lovers. Nothing has changed."

"Oh I don't think so," Tyrion quipped, a smile in his voice, "Sweet smiles, gentle touches, content closeness with one another, a tender kiss goodnight? No, that speaks of love, my friend."

Sandor scowled into his cup but remained silent. It was true he and the little bird were more…intimate. Gods be damned he knew it – he loved the girl. How could anyone not? But how was he to know her feelings? She was soft and tender to him, kissed him eagerly and enjoyed spending time with him. But sometimes he wondered if that was all there would be – it was much more than he had ever dreamed of. But late some nights, desire flooded him at the thought of her and he could only find relief by his own hand. He hated himself for it, disgusted that he would think of the little bird so. He wanted her. With every breath she took he wanted her, to devour her. He dreamed of kissing her creamy skin, tasting her mouth again and again, moving within her and whispering words of love to her. But it would never be – he knew that. He was a brute of a dog and she a thing of the heavens. Though she kissed his scars and looked upon them with a smile, he knew he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve her. He was content with just having her near, no matter how many times his heart swelled from her smiles, the sound of her laugh, the soft press of her lips.

He was snapped out of his brooding by Tyrion's arm swatting his. He jumped a little and looked over to the dwarf, ready to smack him right out of the chair when he noticed Joseth standing before them, a letter held in his hand.

"An express just arrived, sir," Joseth said, holding the letter out to him, "from North."

Sandor frowned and took it, nodding his thanks to Joseth who left the room.

North. Why would he be receiving an express from the North? His first thought was something had happened within the Stark family – but surely it would be addressed to Sansa if that was the case?

He broke the seal and opened the letter to find another inside. He hissed a sharp intake of breath when he saw it was addressed to Joffrey Baratheon.

He frowned at it, turning it over to find the seal already broken…but when he pushed the two half's together his blood ran cold. The letter was sealed by a sigil with three dogs – his house sigil. He looked over to his desk where his letters and ink sat – the ink stamp beside the pile of paper, abandoned by him earlier. It was the only one of its kind and was locked away in his drawer every night, the only way it would be imprinted on the seal was if…was if the letter had been sent from here, by him.

But gods be damned if he had ever or would ever write a letter to that golden haired brat.

He tore the letter open and read it in silence. He felt Tyrion's eyes on him all the while but he cared little, his eyes ran over every word, every line then when he was finished he red the name of the writer and felt bile rise in his throat. His eyes scanned the letter over again. And again. And again. Until he snarled, hurtling the letter from him like it was on fire and stood, pacing about the room.

"Gods, man, what on earth has happened?" he hard Tyrion exclaim and move to the letter, silence rained as the imp read it and stayed when he was done.

Sandor balled his hands into fists as phrases from the letter ran through his head in her voice, 'my beloved Joffrey'…'all is going according to plan'…'when shall you rescue me from this dull place'…'when he is dead we can be together at last.'

The letter was signed by her. He had seen her write many times – she wrote poetry, songs, letters to some shops in the town for materials, foods, letters to her sister – he saw because for letters of business she came to him for his seal – his sigil.

He felt like the entire house had risen and landed on his shoulders, pushing him into the ground. He felt heavy and collapsed into a chair, rubbing his hands over his face. The letter was in her writing – he knew her writing; neat and elegant. It was in her writing.

He didn't believe it. He muttered so out loud and was surprised to be met with Tyrion's silence. He looked over to the Imp who sat studying the letter carefully. He stood then, waddling over to the desk on his short legs and found a letter signed by Sansa that he would send in the morning – ordering some new fabrics for a summer dress. He looked from that letter to the other, studying it with his mis-matched eyes. Then he waddled over to sit back next to Sandor, sighing deeply.

"Look, Sandor you know I am a friend. Joffrey is a little prick and he'll hurt Sansa the first chance he gets because he gets his balls tight from doing so. And you know I adore Sansa. But even I have to say this letter seems the real thing."

Sandor didn't want to listen to him. He wanted to throw the letter into the flames and forget it ever happened.

"It doesn't make sense. Who sent this - it must have been copied-"

"How? Even if this forgerer managed to copy her writing perfectly how could they copy your seal?"

They were silent for a time.

"I saw genuine fear in her eyes. Whenever Joffrey was even mentioned the little bird would shake like a leaf. No one is as good an actor as that. It doesn't fit."

Tyrion thought for a while, "I don't believe this of Sansa – but I have been cheated and betrayed before. The evidence is there - I don't want to believe it either! Sansa is very dear to me and I can't believe this of her. I think you should speak to her of it in the morning. But this is all very strange."

Sandor's mind calmed and more of the letter came to his memory. She mocked him for his sister. She told Joffrey about their treasure hunt. She told him how pathetic it had all been. Only Sansa could have known all of that.

He felt sick. In the back of his mind he was aware of Tyrion retiring for the night, leaving him alone in the room. His mind was a storm of thoughts, stabbing him like swords. His fists clenched and unclenched as he tried to make sense of it all but failed miserably.

He drank deep into his wine until he left numb and the room swam, but still he drank.

V