Author's Notes: Sorry about the break again… I am taking this story very seriously and indeed, trying out a different tone of a story – we'll see how it goes!

Summary: The strongwine had warmed Sandor's blood nicely, and the knowledge of his impending fate had rendered him at a stage where nothing mattered anymore. Aye, if he was going to die on the morrow, he might as well enjoy his last moments on earth. The girl had been foolish enough to come near him despite specific warnings not to. She had only herself to blame, really.

Sandor

Sandor wolfed down the food, his strong teeth biting hard bread and tearing meat off the bone. Every now and then he glanced at the girl, took a swig from the wineskin and offered it to her. It amused him to see her drink in dainty little sips.

He rubbed his wrists to ease the pain resulting from them having been tethered for the best part of the day. He had been caught unawares sleeping in his camp, and almost before he had fully woken he had been tied and trussed like a pig bound for a slaughter. Stranger had kicked and bitten the men who had tried to take him and only their threat of killing him on the spot had made Sandor calm the horse down so he could be made to follow them. He wondered where his horse was and what they planned to do with him.

His thoughts and gaze flickered to the girl. She seemed to have enough patience to wait until he had had his fill. The Northern girl. The little bird. He hadn't thought of her for a long time, as buried in his past as the Lannisters, King's Landing and the whole bloody court.

Aye, she had been a pretty little thing and was even more pleasing to look at now. At first Sandor had thought her to be stupid, but soon he had realised that she was much smarter than she appeared. One proof of it was that she had allowed Cersei and Joffrey to keep on believing that she was only a foolish simpering girl. Sandor had however seen through it and had recognised that her cleverness was as subtle as it was sound.

He had tried to help the girl as much as he could. Why, he couldn't say. Mayhap only to spite Joffrey and Cersei, who didn't fight fairly. The way they had done away with her father didn't sit well with Sandor. Lies, more lies and deceptions, he hated all that.

When the girl had started to become a woman, he had noticed that too. The way her dresses had tightly hugged her new figure, the strained necklines that drew men's eyes naturally towards her teats. Aye, he had paid attention to her and had wanted her, like any sane man had. Sandor had also been realistic enough to recognise that she was way out of his reach, being such a noble lady, prisoner or not.

That night of the battle when he had stolen into her room and made his hare-brained proposal to whisk her away – what the fuck had he been thinking? Probably that, Sandor snorted, remembering her small body under his weight when he had pinned her to the bed. He had been mad from the hellish green fire, drunk as a dog, hadn't thought clearly. Just as well that the girl had declined; if she hadn't, gods know what would have happened. He would have probably had her, gotten tired of her whinging and left her in a village somewhere to defend herself as best as she could. Hells, the life of a fugitive was not for a highborn woman.

So she had stayed, married the Imp and if the rumours carried any truth, murdered Joffrey with her husband and left with Littlefinger. After all that, here she was now, sitting next to him brazen as anything. Aye, not such a little bird anymore.

"So, what do you want to know?" Sandor finally growled, wiping his hand across his mouth after finishing the last remaining crumbs of his meal.

"Where is Arya?" Her face was full of concentration and once again she leaned closer, her hands demurely crossed in her lap.

"Don't know. Don't care. The last thing I saw of your bloody sister was when she rode away, leaving me to die on the roadside like a bloody mongrel." At Sansa's surprised expression he told her everything from the time the Brotherhood Without Banners captured him, how he in turn kidnapped Arya, and how they had almost stumbled into the Red Wedding. He didn't leave out anything, not even parts where Arya had attempted to smash his head in with a stone, or he had wrapped and tied Arya in a blanket to prevent her running away. He didn't want there to be any misunderstandings; when he had known Sansa before, her head had still been filled with stupid stories of knights and fair maidens. Bloody hells, he wasn't going to give her an opportunity to cast him into one of those tales as the gallant protector of her runt of a sister.

Sandor told Sansa about the fight at the inn and how he had been wounded. Sansa stared at him unblinking the whole time, not interrupting or asking questions, or bursting into tears as he had feared.

"After that, I have no bloody idea where she might have gone. Mayhap across the sea? That seemed to make sense at the time," he concluded, knocking back yet another mouthful of strongwine.

"And you?"

"I was found by someone who was equally gutless to give me the gift of mercy. The brother from the Quiet Isle took me in, patched me up and looked after me. I stayed with him afterwards as his loyal dog."

"You are a dog, aren't you?"

Her words surprised Sandor. "The little bird has learned a new tune, has she? Where are your polite words now; did you lose them in Littlefinger's bed?" he mocked, offering the skin to her. She shook her head.

"Where do you think? Somewhere along the road from Winterfell to the Vale. Courteous words are a luxury one can live without." Something about the way she said it, so matter-of-factly, made him clench his teeth. Aye, the little bird's feathers had been truly ruffled and plucked.

"Not that it matters, but I am no dog anymore. The Hound is dead and buried, but some whoreson took my helmet and spread destruction that was all blamed on me," he said bitterly. Not that his reputation could be smirched much more than it already was, but still it irked him.

"Oh, it wasn't you then? I sometimes wondered." She looked away. "Not that it matters, but I was on my way to the Quiet Isle to be examined by septas to prove that my marriage with Tyrion was not consummated. That proven, Petyr planned to get it annulled."

Sandor was left speechless. Tyrion didn't fuck her? Littlefinger didn't fuck her? Seven bloody hells, a juicy little treat like her!

He didn't know how to respond so he asked something else instead.

"Do you know what they plan to do with me?"

Sansa looked at him and he thought he saw a flicker of pity in her eyes. "They are going to kill you, after you tell them all you know about any plans regarding the Vale made by the Lannisters or by Littlefinger."

Sandor spat on the ground. It was one thing to guess it was going to happen, another to hear it. The way the girl had said it was disconcerting; no sugar-coating, no bashful attempts to hide the truth. He had to bow his head to her - the girl had grown indeed.

"How the fuck would I know anything, having hidden behind the skirts of brothers of faith for so long? I just left them, got tired of their gods and prayers. The Elder Brother tried to make me one of them but that didn't work out." He snorted, remembering the many hours he had sat with his mentor, who had tried to turn his mind away from his old life. At the Quiet Isle his restraints had not been literal - no chains and manacles - but his life had been restricted just the same. The continuous silence, the monotony of physical work, seclusion and his feelings of not belonging there had made his life there untenable.

He didn't mind hard work. He enjoyed straining his muscles, and digging graves had been good for him. He had also learned to respect the man who had saved his life, which made his frustration at not fitting even worse. Seeing the dedication of the others to their thrice-damned gods and knowing that he could never share it had finally convinced him that it was time to leave.

Fully healed, Sandor knew he could find work as a fighter. Rumours going around about Littlefinger reinforcing the Vale had made it seem as good a place as any other. He had no love for Lord Baelish, the sly schemer, but he knew that the man would pay well and would have no scruples about hiring him despite his desertion of the Lannisters.

Gods, it had felt good, the first few days on the road. Just he and Stranger, his well-worn armour and his weapons that the Elder Brother had kept for him – as if knowing that one day he would need them again. They had been the first things his captors had taken away, and despite having worn a sword on his back only a short while, already he missed its weight. Suddenly Sandor was even gladder about the wine. At least his last moments would be dulled by its familiar effect.

Strangely the thought of dying didn't faze him. He had always known that he was not meant to make old bones, cold steel ending his life long before that. It only annoyed him that he hadn't even had a chance to get back to real fighting. He sighed and lifted his gaze back at the girl.

"What about you? Plan to stay here and start popping out little mountain brats?"

Sansa shifted her position and he could feel her arm brushing against his. She was so close he could smell her, and he inhaled deeply, absorbing the evoking combination of clean hair, woollen cloth and the unmistakable scent of a woman.

"I don't know. I am sure Petyr has sent men looking for me, but I doubt they can get to me as long as I stay here. I also know that I can't remain here forever, or I will indeed find myself in the predicament you so eloquently described." She extended her hand towards him and he handed the skin to her. She drank, a good deep mouthful this time, and didn't flinch at the taste.

"Timett tells me that he could send me to the North with a group of traders going that way. Mountain clans are not traders themselves, but every now and then some brave merchants come here to do business with items the clans need in exchange for furs and valuable stones. Some of their warriors protect them when they are here, and if I get a ride with them I could go at least to the Neck and from there find my way to Winterfell."

"For what? The last I heard the whole North was in chaos, Winterfell's ownership unclear and nothing but scavengers there fighting over it. King Tommen sits on the Iron Throne but in truth it is bloody Cersei and Mace Tyrell calling the shots, and they are not in a hurry to get the North pacified." The girls was talking rubbish – and Sandor had almost believed her to have grown up! Sansa looked at him as if he wouldn't know what he was talking about and it raised his anger.

"Besides, none of those options are any good for a lady and bloody maiden to boot. If Littlefinger gets you, he may keep his breeches on until you get that bloody annulment, but take my word, then he is going to marry you to one of his puppets or to himself, and he is going to fuck you and fuck you hard. If you stay here – well, you already know what will happen. Some hairy beast drags you to his tent and takes you as his woman and then it is nothing but one kid after another until you are an old, shrivelled hag. If you go with the traders and their brave protectors… you may be a Stark, but the Starks are nothing in the new North."

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. If I get there, I can find my father's bannermen and they will help me." She pouted her lips and a stubborn expression spread over her face. Sandor cursed.

"If you get that far. You'd better choose the meanest and biggest bastard in the group and twirl him around your finger, as then you may be saved from being passed around as a plaything for all and be fucked only by him. I have seen what happens to women who have no protector and who travel with a group of men – and it isn't pretty." He enjoyed seeing the look of horror on her face. She wasn't quite so tough after all.

The strongwine had warmed Sandor's blood nicely, and the knowledge of his impending fate had rendered him at a stage where nothing mattered anymore. Aye, if he was going to die on the morrow, he might as well enjoy his last moments on earth. The girl had been foolish enough to come near him despite specific warnings not to. She had only herself to blame, really.

Sandor moved quick as a lightning, grabbing Sansa's wrists with both of his hands and pulling her closer. His chains rattled but followed his moves, not slowing him down enough to matter. She went rigid under his touch but there was nothing she could do to resist him, and soon he had moved both her hands into one of his and pushed against her shoulders with another so that she fell back on the pallet. He followed her movement and collapsed on top of her, placing his calloused palm on top of her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

"What do I have to lose? What do you have to lose, little bird? I'll be doing you a favour, really, if I take you now. One man only, instead of many. They say the first time hurts, and losing one's maidenhood to many must hurt even more. You know that is what is going to happen if you plan to go to the North with these savages."

Her eyes were big as saucers as she stared at him, her mouth and nose completely covered by his large hand. He expected her to flinch, waited for those big blue eyes to turn away from him in fright. Disturbingly he saw no fear in them, only astonishment. Sandor pressed his body harder against hers and felt how it yielded under him. I could fuck her. Take what I didn't take when I had the chance.

"After I am done with you, not even a blind septa could find you a maid anymore and the marriage Petyr plans for you will not come to pass. You will become Lady Lannister in truth. Wouldn't that be pretty? If Tyrion never shows up, you'd be his little widow and could get his money to rebuild Winterfell – if you ever get there."

His eyes fell on her throat and down her bodice, revealed as her cloak had fallen away from her shoulders. The simple woollen cloth did nothing to hide the smoothness of her skin or the red flush spreading across her collarbones. He pressed his lips on her, hard, and took his time licking and biting her throat and shoulder, sliding down all the way to the hollow place between her breasts, whispering as he went. "I'll be truly doing you a favour. Would you like that, little wolf?"