A/N – This is a San / San chapter. It starts the night after the last race (on Saturday)- so we're jumping back in time a few days from Arya's last chapter. Hope it's not confusing!

"Your clothes are very boring," Margaery sulks as she rummages through Sansa's closet. "Pretty, but boring."

"They aren't boring," Sansa responds. She snatches a cream dress from the closet. It's a sheath dress that falls right above her knee. "What about this?"

Margaery eyes it with disdain. "Not only is that the most miserable color, or lack of color, in the world, but that shape does absolutely nothing for your figure." Margaery steps away from the closet, her mischievous eyes sparkling. "Come on. Let's go shopping. We should both look our best for dinner tonight. It's about time Joffrey decided to take Loras under his fold."

Sansa and Margaery have been close friends for months now, and Margaery has confided multiple times that she is trying to get her brother into Joffrey's good graces. Loras loves racing, but he also wants a position with Baratheon Corporations where he can start bringing in more money. "I don't know," Sansa says. "I shouldn't spend the money."

"Sansa, what's the point of having a rich fiancé if you can't take advantage of his credit card every now and again? I'm sure Joffrey would be more than happy to buy you something pretty, especially if he doesn't have to take the time to pick it out himself."

Joffrey does like it when I dress more risqué, Sansa thinks, knowing that she always picks out her tightest, shortest dresses to appease Joffrey's temper. Sansa relents. "All right, we'll go to the mall, but this isn't a shopping spree. Just a dress each for tonight and that's it, okay?"

Margaery smiles. "Of course. I wouldn't dare take advantage of Joffrey's generosity."

It's almost six o'clock by the time Sansa and Margaery leave the mall. They're both laden with heavy shopping bags, and they've had their nails and hair done. Margery is beaming happily as she throws the bags in her red convertible. "Come on," she says, "let's go back to you place to dress. I wouldn't want to be late for dinner."

Sansa eyes the thick piles of bags. "I think we may have overdone it. I hope Joffrey won't be mad."

"As soon as he sees you in that dress, all thoughts of money will leave his mind. I can promise you that."

Margaery drives them back to Sansa's apartment where they both get dressed. Margery wiggles into a tight dress that drapes dangerously low into her cleavage. Gold and green flowers adorn the fabric in subtle, twisting patterns. Margaery spins in the mirror twice before admiring her reflection. "Perfect," she says. "Go on then. Put your dress on."

Biting her lip, Sansa pulls the dress out of the bag. It's by far the most expensive article of clothing she has ever purchased. But the shimming, silver fabric immediately attracted her attention in the store. The dress has a modest length, cutting off near the knee, the sleeves run down to her wrists, and it doesn't expose any of her cleavage, but the fabric is skintight. It takes Sansa a few minutes to pull up the dress, but once on, it's surprisingly comfortable.

Sansa looks towards the mirror and turns back and forth. The dress catches the light and shimmers beautifully, and the material clings to her each and every curve, accentuating her breasts and waist. "Wow," Margaery breathes from behind her. "It's even more beautiful than in the store."

Sansa can't help but smile. "Yes. I like it very much."

"Like it very much," Margaery mocks. "You're so proper, Sansa. You need to relax or one day you're going to explode."

It's hard to relax when you're engaged to the devil himself. It's hard to relax when you hold the fate of your entire family in your hands, Sansa thinks. She looks at Margaery and tries to give her a genuine smile. "I am relaxed. There's nothing wrong with having good manners."

"Yes, but being bad is much more fun." Margaery grabs Sansa's arm. "Come on, let's do our makeup. We're going to be late."

Everyone is already seated by the time Margaery and Sansa make it to the restaurant. It's a large family dinner. Everyone is there. Joffrey is sitting next to his newly acquired friend, Loras, but Cersei, Jaime, Sandor, and Tyrion are also at the table.

Sansa seats herself next to her dwarf, uncle-to-be, and he smiles gently at her. "How are you, Sansa? It's been much too long."

"I'm very well. Thank you," Sansa responds politely.

"Might I say, that new dress is quite a spectacle. You might make sure Joffrey contains himself until dinner is finished."

Sansa blushes lightly. "Thank you." She pauses. "I think."

She glances at Joffrey who is staring at her with lust in his eyes. At least that's better than anger, she thinks. They haven't been very intimate lately. Sansa tries her best to find excuses to avoid him. They used to sleep together all the time, before she discovered his cruel interior. Joffrey raises his glass. "Sansa, Margaery, I'm so glad you've managed to join us. May I say you both look beautiful tonight?"

Margaery beams happily. "Thank you, Joffrey, and might I return the compliment to yourself? You're as stunning as a rose." She winks, and the entire table laughs, Joffrey included.

Thank god he seems to be in a good mood tonight, Sansa thinks. "Where is your father?" Sansa asks.

Cersei turns to Sansa, her face cold and impassive. "Robert couldn't make it. I'm afraid my husband has decided to fly off to Hawaii for the weekend. Said he needed a vacation after working so hard."

Tyrion snorts into his almost empty wine glass. "Yes because guzzling down food and drink is so tiring to the mind."

Sansa keeps quiet. Although Robert is better than has ill-tempered son, he still isn't the most respectable man in the world. He's drunk most of the time, and when he isn't drunk, he always has a foul temper.

"Perhaps," Jaime says, rising his voice above Tyrion's, "We might toast to Robert's health. Owning a multi-billion dollar company does tend to be straining."

Tyrion rolls his eyes but raises his glass with the rest of the table. He leans over and whispers in Sansa's ear. "My brother Jaime does all the work and lets Robert take the credit. Now, my dear, would you call that gallantry or idiocy?"

"I'd call it intelligence," Sansa whispers back. "Wouldn't want to bite the hand that feeds you."

"Yes, but what if the hand is rotten and old? What if the hand just needs to be chopped off?"

Sansa doesn't respond. Instead she looks around the table. Sandor catches her eye. He's staring at her, hard and cold. His eyes never venture from her face, and Sansa shivers under the unwavering attention. She knows she needs to talk to him, and soon. To ask for his help. But how will she manage to learn self defense from a man who scares her almost as much as Joffrey?

"To Robert," everyone is chiming around the table.

Sansa mouths, "To Robert," and takes a small sip of wine from her glass. She doesn't like getting drunk around the Baratheons and the Lannisters. It's better for her to keep her wits when they gather like this. It's no time for loose tongues.

"So," Joffrey says, turning his attention to the entire table. "As you all know, my sweet Sansa and I have been engaged for over a year now." He turns to Sansa and smiles. The smile only fills Sansa with dread.

"A wonderful year it has been," she replies, hoping her voice doesn't sound too cold.

"And so," Joffrey continues. "In front of our family and new friends, tonight, my darling Sansa, I propose we set a date for our wedding. One month from this day."

The entire table erupts into excited applause, but Sansa's stomach drops. One month? That's too soon. Too fast. She knew she'd have to marry him eventually, but she never imagined it would come this quickly. Sansa tries to clear her throat. She feels as if she can't breathe. Stay calm, she tells herself, stay calm. "Joff," she replies. "One month. That's hardly enough time to plan a wedding."

Joffrey smiles. "When you have enough money, it's plenty of time."

"But-" Sansa stalls, trying to think of any other possible excuse. "But there's just so much to do. Let's not rush into it."

"Rush into it?" Joffrey asks. Sansa can see the rage growing in his eyes. "We've been engaged for a year. I'd hardly call that rushing into anything." He narrows his eyes. "You do want to be married, don't you?"

The entire table is staring at her, and Sansa tries her best to control a calm demeanor. You are stronger than them, she tells herself, you are smarter than them. "Of course I want to marry you," she responds. "You just took me by surprise. That's all." She forces a smile and takes a sip of wine. "Oh my. One month. I'm so excited, now, Joffrey. I just don't know what to do." She makes herself giggle and turns to Margaery, begging her friend will help. "Oh, Margaery, you have to be my maid of honor. Please, please."

Margaery, perhaps smarter than anyone at the table, immediately grasps Sansa's hand and smiles. "Yes, of course I will." She smiles broadly and starts chattering in a high-pitched voice. "Oh, we have to go dress shopping next week, and what flowers should we have? What about cake? What type of cake do you like?"

Margaery continues to ramble until Joffrey cuts her off. He's smiling, but his eyes still look cold. "Well, that's settled. One month from now, we will be married." He raises his glass. "To Sansa Baratheon."

Everyone at the table raises their glass. "To Sansa Baratheon."

A cold pit of dread grows in Sansa's stomach. She sips her wine and prays it will stay down. Sansa Baratheon. The name tastes like poison on her tongue.

The rest of the dinner goes by in a blur for Sansa. She can't concentrate on conversation. She nods and smiles whenever someone addresses her, but besides that, all she can think about is the fact that in one month, she will have to marry Joffrey. For the hundredth time that night, she glances at Sandor. As usual, he hasn't spoken a word during the dinner. He simply sits silent and watching.

He'll have to teach me to defend myself, Sansa thinks, and soon. There's no way I'm marrying Joffrey without a little protection.

As soon as dinner ends, the party starts trailing out of the restaurant. Sansa lingers behind and lightly grabs Sandor's arm so that they are left alone at the table. He looks down at her, black eyes suspicious. "What?" He asks, practically growling.

"I need a favor," Sansa whispers. "Could you come over to my apartment tomorrow morning?"

Sandor steps forward. Sansa has to crane her head up so that she can meet his eyes. "Why?"

"I don't have time to explain, but if you agree to help me, I'll pay you."

"Fine," Sandor grunts.

He starts to turn around, but Sansa grabs his arm again. This time she grips the muscled skin more tightly. She stares at his thick arm, wishing she would be that strong. "Don't tell Joffrey," she whispers. "You can't."

He narrows his eyes, a hint of maybe even admiration in them. "Fine," he repeats before turning around and stalking out of the restaurant.

Sandor knocks on her door at ten in the morning. Sansa has already been up for hours. She's dressed in yoga pants and a tank top. She isn't sure what people usually wear when they practice fighting, but she's hoping her workout clothes will be good enough.

She takes a deep breath before walking over to the door and answering it. "You should ask who it is before answering the door," Sandor growls before stepping into the apartment.

"Right," Sansa says. "You're right." Sandor is already teaching her before she's even asked for his help.

Sandor strides further into the apartment and stands in the middle of the room. His bulk makes her apartment seem tiny in comparison. "How's your cheek?" He suddenly asks.

Sansa is touched, surprised he thought to ask. Sandor doesn't seem like the compassionate type. "Better. Thank you."

Sandor grunts in response. She stares at him for a few moments longer. He's wearing long, dark jeans and his worn, leather jacket. His scarred face looks softer in the morning light. He catches her gaze and stares her down with those unyielding, black eyes. "What do you want?" He asks.

"I need help." Sansa spent all of last night deciding how to broach the topic with Sandor, and she decided that honesty was her best bet. Sandor isn't the type of man that can be easily deceived. "Joffrey, as you know, has the tendency to be abusive. And I want to learn how to defend myself against him. I thought you might be willing to help me, seeing as how Joffrey isn't exactly your favorite person in the world. And I will of course pay you."

"Why?" Sandor asks.

"Excuse me?"

He stares at her. Even from across the room, it makes her shiver. Every time he does that, I feel like he's looking right through me. "Why?" He repeats. "Why are you going to marry someone who hits you?"

Sansa can feel her hands starting to shake. She didn't expect him to ask that. She didn't expect him to care enough to ask. But she can't tell him the truth. He might spread it around for the right price. "It's complicated," she responds, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's complicated and very personal."

"Why should I help you if you wont tell me the truth?"

"Because I'll pay you."

"Why else?"

Sansa looks down at her hands. "Because," she whispers. "I have no one else to ask."

Sandor is silent for a few minutes. He paces around the room, eventually ending up by the window. He stares out of it as he speaks, "I'm no teacher."

Sansa's heart leaps. It sounds like he's about to relent. "I know, but you are a fighter, and that's good enough from me. I know you can help if you try."

"I'm not promising anything." He turns from the window and looks at Sansa. "But I'll help if I can."

Sansa smiles, relief flooding through her. She strides forward and grabs Sandor's hands grasping them tightly, "Thank you," she says. Sandor immediately pulls away from her grip, as if her hands had burned him. He stares at her with an unreadable expression.

Sansa clears her throat. "How much should I pay you?"

"I don't want your money."

"But-"

Sandor looks down at her, hard eyes unmoving. "I said, I don't want your money."

"Okay," Sansa says softly. She's confused. Why would Sandor help her without getting paid for it? What's in it for him? Her stomach knots with anxiety. What if he tells Joffrey what she asked for? How does she really know she can trust him?

But the decision has already been made. She's placed her fate in his hands. "Can we start today?" She asks.

"No. I have to run some errands for your fiancé. I'll be by tomorrow." He steps forward and looks at Sansa, eyes studying her body as he slowly sweeps over each and every curve. Sansa tries to stay still, but her body feels heated with his eyes on her like that, attentive and unwavering.

"What is it?" She finally asks, crossing her arms, trying to hide some of herself from his penetrating gaze.

"You're small," Sandor finally replies. "If you want to start practicing without me, I suggest you try lifting some weights and strengthening your thighs and calves." Again, his eyes sweep over her legs. Sansa is suddenly very aware of how tight her yoga pants are. How he's almost staring at her exposed. "You won't be able to beat Joffrey without power behind those punches and kicks."

"Okay," Sansa says. "I can do that." She takes a deep breath. "I can be stronger."

A/N – I quite liked this chapter. I'm not sure why, but I was feeling it as I wrote it. I hope you guys liked it too.

As always- thank you for reading and reviewing. It'll be another Arya x Gendry next chapter!