I swear, not all chapters are going to be about Sansa going to the club and seeing Sandor. Really.

Thank you for the feedback, I love it!

Oh, by the way, of course all rights go to the one and only GRRM.

"What do you say we go to King's Landing tomorrow?" Margaery asked.

Sansa stopped reading the book she had in her hands and looked at her friend. Their first time at the club had been almost a week before, and no day passed that Sansa didn't think about it. It had been a truly magical night.

She nodded enthusiastically. "Is Loras going to come too?" she asked, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Margaery smiled a little sadly and Sansa internally scolded herself for coming out as so interested. Now her own friend pitied her for wanting Loras. But why couldn't she have him? He was single and very nice to her. Why wouldn't he like her as something more than a friend? They had similar tastes and got along very well. There was great chemistry between them and they looked so good together, like a prince and a princess. Why couldn't she live her own fairytale?

"He has plans for the weekend," Margaery said.

At first Sansa was disappointed. She loved being around Loras.

But then she remembered that night at the club. Loras hadn't joined them. He hadn't even talked to them once since they stepped through the gates of King's Landing. He had only seen them safely inside the cab but hadn't returned home with them. He would stay at the club, he had said. What was so interesting about this Renly anyway? Had the two of them been apart from each other for so long that they had a lot of catching up to do?

She realised that her thoughts were unhealthy and venomous, so she shook her head in an attempt to get them out of there. She couldn't blame Loras for wanting to spend time with his friend. He had been ever the true gentleman to them in his flat, but he had a life. He had other friends, friends of his gender with whom he could talk about men stuff, friends of his age. Besides, she had spoken with Renly a little before she and Margaery left the club, and he had struck to her as a good man. Sansa had thought that he was one of those people who always had a jest on their lips and a smile on their face, people that it was hard to get mad at.

She smiled. Margaery was her best friend, and a girls night out with her was always great. A girls night out with her at King's Landing would be absolutely awesome.

Saturday night finally arrived, and Sansa Stark welcomed it wearing a white dress that clung to her body and pointed out her soft curves. Her feet were warmed by black high heels shorter than Margaery's, yet Sansa still stood a little taller than her friend.

She was as excited to be there as she had been the first time, even though now she had her arm around Margaery's instead of Loras's. The two of them were siblings and looked so much alike (some said they might as well be twins) that Sansa sometimes felt almost attracted to her roommate.

Margaery was wearing a pale green dress, shorter than Sansa's, and the two of them walked like nothing could affect them, like they owned the world. Margaery bathed in the admiration of the people around them, whereas Sansa felt flattered but uncomfortable as well.

The illusion shattered when they reached the door and Sansa saw the bouncer. She had chased away all thought of him, convincing herself that he had simply been a bad dream. And yet there he was, just like the first time, guarding the door. He was just like she remembered: over six feet tall, dark hair almost brushing his broad shoulders, one side of his face ruined by fire.

He looked at her from tip to toes, and she felt a shiver through her spine. His eyes on her did not make her feel flattered. They only made her feel uncomfortable. Notably, not as much as she might have expected.

"Well well well," he rasped in that deep voice of his that she couldn't get out of her head. "The little bird has come back."

She remembered the nickname he had given her as well. It was like she had locked everything that had to do with him in a little box inside her mind, vowing to herself that she would never unlock it, but now that she saw him the box broke open and all its contents were spilling out.

Courtesy had helped her once, so she decided to play that card again. "Could you let us through, please?" she asked, daring to meet his grey eyes for a few heartbeats.

The fact that she had managed to hold his gaze, even for a little while, seemed to amuse him. He grinned, the burned side of his mouth twitching slightly. "The pretty little bird is always so polite," he mocked her. He opened the door and let them pass.

She smelled alcohol on his breath as she went by him. She frowned when she had her back on him. He was an employee, not a patron; was he allowed to drink when he was still working? She guessed not, but she also guessed that very few people would have the courage to go and tell him what he could and could not do.

As they stepped inside, Sansa let the music pierce her ears and her heart. The lights caressed her like a long-lost lover. Hand in hand, she went with Margaery to the bar.

When the bartender placed a Meyer Lemon Rosemary Gin Fizz in front of each, Margaery looked at her and smiled mischievously. "He likes you," she said before taking a generous sip of her drink.

Sansa blinked. "The bartender?" she wondered. He had barely even looked at her.

Margaery chuckled. "No, silly. The bouncer."

Sansa's lips parted. "I doubt it," she said and sipped at her drink.

"He has named you little bird."

"It's meant to be offensive." Margaery was a clever girl, surely she could see that. Couldn't they just let the matter go and talk about something else?

"He called you pretty," Margaery insisted.

That he had, although at the time Sansa had believed that that was meant to be offensive as well. But if it wasn't, why should she care? Why would she find it nice that this beast of a man thought that she was pretty?

She wanted to turn the conversation to a different topic, but instead she caught herself doing the exact opposite. "Who is he?" she asked.

"I don't know his real name, but I'm sure he has one," Margaery replied. "He is known as The Hound."

The Hound. Sansa repeated it in her head a couple of times. She supposed that it was a good nickname for a bouncer, even though that was the last reason why people would be afraid of him.

"What happened to his face?" she inquired, taken aback by how intrigued she was all of a sudden.

Margaery shrugged. Sansa thought that she saw something glimmer in her brown eyes; was it amusement? "No one really knows, sweetheart. I've heard a few stories but I don't know which one tells the truth, if any. Ask around, and everyone will tell you a different version of what happened. Now drink up, girl; I want to dance and flirt, not sit around and talk."

So Sansa drank up, almost absent-mindedly. She didn't even notice as Paris Hilton passed her by, telling her friends that the club was hot. Sansa's mind was somewhere else entirely. She thought of that terrible man outside, who drank when he wasn't supposed to, who insulted her and called her pretty at the same time. What was the true story of his scars?

And why was she so interested anyway?

She followed Margaery to the dance floor.