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i. Sandor

What in the seven hells was the wolf-bitch doing in Oldtown? She was four years older and taller but that was unmistakably her. She had a small sword in her hands and was practising with a boy significantly bigger than she was, and she was winning. The boy would have been killed at least twice and seriously injured twice more had their match been in earnest. Sandor admired the little cunt's ferocity, even though he still hated her for leaving him to weep and die on the banks of the Trident. He had asked her for mercy and she had left him in his pain. He supposed he should be glad that she hadnt been merciful, but it wasnt as if either of them had expected him to actually live. They had both known he was going to die a slow and agonizing death. They had both been wrong, only, she didnt know it yet. He was about to go show her that he was very much alive and as pissed off as ever, the anticipation of her shock and horror making him genuinely smile, when the sight of the little bird froze him where he stood. She had grown too. She was taller and still thin, but as his eyes hungrily explored her new body, he noticed how the curves of a woman were stretching at her simple woolen dress. The phantom words of another life echoed in his head.

"Will you sing me a song, pretty bird?"

Taking in her lush body, the words suddenly had new meaning. His cock stirred in his breeches and he inwardly growled at himself for allowing himself to be weakened by her. She was too fucking honorable and too fucking scared of him to ever let the likes of him touch her. He decided that the first place he go would be a brothel. Even whores didnt pretend they liked fucking him. Why would Sansa bloody Stark? Pleasing women had never been high on his list of priorities but he wasnt exactly a rapist either. Whores suited his needs perfectly fine. There was no pretense, no romancing them. The sight of coin excited them, not the promise of some happy ending of a silly song.

He avoided the sisters and went to an inn to stable Stranger and put his things somewhere. He decided he would get a flagon of wine before he punished some whore with his presence. He walked into an inn and gave the gold to the innkeep. The woman eyed him suspiciously but took the gold anyway. He met her gaze with a murderous scowl. Seeing the little bird he had tried so hard to forget had put him in a fowl mood and he had no qualms about taking his anger out on anyone who was unfortunate enough to be in his way. This whore was going to earn her gold tonight. The innkeep brought him the wine and a cup. Ignoring the cup completely, Sandor snatched the flagon and took a long pull. As he sat and drank his wine, few enough people frequented the common room of the inn so he was left to his dark thoughts. He needed more wine. He was going to have that suspicious wench bring him another flagon when he decided that he would just get more at the brothel.

"You! Wench!" he called to the portly woman from his darkened corner. She glowered at him but he remained unphased and as coarse as ever. "Where can I find the prettiest whore in town?"

"Might be I could tell you... for a price," she replied rather brazenly.

Sandor glowered back and through gritted teeth snarled, "Might be the price is your life."

She pursed her lips but seemed to otherwise ignore the threat.

"The best place in town is by the docks," she finally answered.

He rose without thanks and crossed the room to the door. He found the brothel easily enough by the docks. It was a noisy and fairly busy place. He opened the door and stepped into the dim common room. It was more crowded than he would have liked; he was sure to be recognized. The noisy room was full of men and women, the women scantily clad and coyly chatting up the patrons. Some were bare breasted. They sat in the laps of their suitors and feigned interest in whatever it was the men were saying to them and giggled stupidly at the jokes they posed. The air was ringing with their peals of false laughter and the moans of their false pleasure. The madam materialized at his elbow and started to snake a thin arm through his when he jerked his arm away.

"Were you looking for some company tonight?" she asked him, unfazed by his reaction to her touch.

"I want a redhead," he grumbled bluntly.

The madam put on a face of mock disappointment and said something but in that moment, Sandor was incapable of hearing a word she was saying. His little bird had just walked through a door at the back of the room. Sandor stood rooted to the spot, shock plainly written across his maimed face. His eyes tracked her as she made her way across the room.

"I want her," he said pointing over to Sansa and handing the madam a pouch of coins. Sandor started to stride over to where the little bird was working her way through the room, completely ignoring the incessant ramblings of the madam who was still talking to him about what, he didnt give one buggering care.

When he had first seen her in the least likely of places, a fucking whorehouse, he had wanted to turn right around and pretend he had never seen his innocent little bird scouting for a new man to service. Then, a realization had hit him and his cock had stirred hopefully. He could have her. After his years of service to the Lannisters and the number of tourneys he had won, Sandor had amassed a small fortune. For a bit of gold, Sansa Stark could finally be his. Not that she really would be giving herself to him like he had always imagined. She would be motivated by the coin he could offer her, not by her desire for him. The idea of her desiring him was laughable but if she was a whore worth her coin, she would make him believe, at least for the night, that she did desire him. Why the fuck should Sandor care what motivated her? He would be fucking the little bird. His cock stirred at the thought of slamming into her while she moaned his name into the sheets. Sandor convinced himself that that was enough for him.

As he was approaching her, a man seated by the fire grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap. She gave him a nervous giggle and said something to him. Sandor saw her plump lips form the words he couldnt make out through the din. He wasnt sure he wanted to know what she was saying. Sandor stopped in his tracks and watched as the little bird talked with the man whose lap she was sitting in. The threadbare man grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and brought her ear down to his lips. Sandor seethed as he watched the mans other hand rubbing Sansa's thigh. Sansa's eyes grew wide as she tensed at his whispered words. She pulled back from him and made to get up as she shot back a remark with a sly gaze. Sandor was still reflecting on his disgust and rage at seeing this man with his little bird, when suddenly, the man's face contorted with anger and his begrimed hand was wrapped around her delicate throat. Sansa's mouth dropped open as she gasped for breath, her eyes wide with horror. Sandor's blood was up immediately and before anyone knew what was happening, he had spanned the small gap and bit his dirk into the mans thin skin under his jaw. He could see a small stream of blood trickle down the man's neck as Sandor snarled into his ear,

"Its going to be mighty hard to get your cock stiff ever again without any blood left in your body."

The man released his grip on Sansa's throat and she panted of air. Sandor shoved the man onto the floor on his hands and knees, sputtering curses, until he turned over and recognized the twisted flesh on the snarling face of The Hound. Sandor didnt see her when she finally looked up to him; he was too occupied delivering a deft blow with his boot into the man's side as he tried to scramble away like a beaten cur with its tail between its legs. The room had gone silent to witness the struggle; all eyes were on him but hers were the only ones he had met. He couldnt read the expression on her face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity when the noise of the common room rose back up to it's previous clamor. Sandor turned around to leave when he heard the pattering of light and hurried steps behind him. Suddenly, she was there, hugging him around the middle. She was fucking sobbing into him, her little body wracked with her shuddering breaths. He was actually afraid to touch her. He couldnt push her away and he couldnt hug her back. This woman he had just paid to fuck had him frozen in place.

She looked at him with bright eyes and whispered, "Is it really you?"

He didnt trust any of the words that were threatening to spill out of his mouth so he simply grabbed her by the shoulders. At first it was fear that flashed in her eyes as he grabbed her, perhaps more roughly than he had intended, but then when he simply sneered and shoved her aside, the fear turned to something else. It was a look that The Hound was quite unfamiliar with. All he returned was a look of disgust before pushed her to the side a strode towards the door. He didnt want her embraces. She wasnt his little bird anymore.

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ii. Sansa

The joy of seeing Sandor alive was soon wiped away by the rejection that Sansa now felt as she watched him walk out of the door. He had saved her. He had appeared out of no where and saved her from the drunk peasant in the brothel. She was somewhat used to the men getting angry with her when she told them she wasnt one of the whores and that she only brought the food and the wine. She'd never had one react as violently as the man had tonight. It had scared her. She touched her neck and could feel the tender bruises blossoming under her cream skin. Then, as if from the grave just to protect her, he had appeared with his knife at the man's throat, hissing threats in his ear.

She had dreamed of him ever since she had heard he was dead. To be honest, Sansa hadnt thought of him at all since he had left King's Landing until she had heard while in the Vale that The Hound had been killed. The wave of grief that she had felt in that instant was overwhelming and a shock to her. Why should she care this much? Because he had been her only protector in the lion's den; the only one who would tell her the truth. She had cowered away from the truth then, but she was thankful for it now. It was those truths that had helped her survive Littlefinger at the Eyrie.

Its the world thats cruel, im just honest. 

She had wept for her protector at night and dreamed blissful dreams in which she had gone with him that night when he offered to take her home. The realization when she woke that they were just dreams, was a cruel truth, often bringing the stinging sensation back to her eyes. Thats all that they were ever going to be; dreams. The Hound was dead.

Her night at the brothel was over. All of the patrons were off with the whores so there was no one left to bring wine to. She collected her piece of silver from the madam and made her way to the inn that her and Arya were staying at. The innkeep let them stay there as payment for the work that they did in the kitchens. She was tired but knew that there would be work waiting on her when she got back. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions at seeing The Hound alive and here... what was he doing in Oldtown? She hadnt seen him here ever before. She had been so happy to see a familiar face other than Arya's that she hadnt realized what she was doing. She had run to him and hugged him. He had forgone his plate armor that she had been accustomed to seeing him in in King's Landing and wore only simple jerkin, tunic and cloak. She had felt his warmth and his strong muscles in her embrace and she had cried. He had been real. It wasnt just another cruel dream. Her enthusiasm had not been reciprocated though. On the contrary, while he had saved her, he had been less than pleased at seeing her. At first she thought that he didnt recognize her, but then he fixed a scowl on her that had been dripping in disdain and she knew that he knew her. In that moment she wanted to cry for a completely new reason. She didnt know why she would expect much else from him. He hadnt been exactly warm to her in King's Landing but after not seeing each other for such a long period of time she figured that there would be the slightest hint at an affectionate word. Instead, she had been met by silence.

When she got back to the inn she walked in throught the kitchen door in the back to begin her work. Arya was still working on cleaning some dishes. She seemed to be taking out a lot of anger on scrubbing a pot.

"What has you so out of sorts?" Sansa asked her sister.

"Seeing ghosts," Arya spat out bluntly.

Sansa didnt need her to elaborate. Neither of them liked to talk about the time that had separated them and after reuniting they were loathe to dredge up the painful memories of the cruelties they had endured while they were apart. Though they had never gotten along as children, they were now content with the familiarity of family.

"Yes," murmured Sansa with a smile instead of a scowl. Sansa set to work on the rest of the dishes. As she worked, she allowed her mind to wander. That night, the night of the Blackwater burning green through the windows, came to her unbidden as she cleaned.

I could keep you safe

No, he wasnt a warm man but he had been gentle, at least with her.

They are all afraid of me

How she wished she had left with him that night, but she had been scared. He was a hateful coarse man but in the moments of fear and inebriation, Sansa almost wondered if he hadnt been pleading with her. Gently, possessively pleading. So why had he always taken such an interest in protecting her? She of course knew the answer to that question. She hadnt known then but now she was older. No longer the innocent maid. He had wanted her. His eyes had shone with the same light that the men in the brothel had in their eyes. She felt scandalized that he had looked at her that way but she also felt something else. She couldnt stop the smile and the blush from creeping up her face.

"Why are smiling like a fool?" Arya asked her coarsely, snapping her back to the present.

"Ghosts," Sansa said quietly. She didnt notice the suspicious look Arya shot her.

Once they were both done with their work, the girls retired to their room upstairs. Though Sansa didnt notice the glares coming from the shadow in the corner of the common room, Arya certainly did.

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iii. Arya

She had seen him earlier. She was going back to the kitchens to start cleaning up the evenings dishes when she noticed him stalking in. The plain rage in his face and in his step could only be matched by her own upon seeing him here. In his haste and blinded anger, he hadnt seen her.

Quiet as a shadow

How he was still alive, considering the state she had left him in, she would never know. The wound on his thigh had been rank with corruption. The last time Arya had laid eyes on The Hound, he had been dying painfully on the bank of the Trident with tears in his eyes. He had begged her for the gift of mercy. Men like The Hound didnt deserve mercy. She had never regretted not killing him then and there until now. She set to work in the kitchen when he was well upstairs, probably to get drunk and pass out in a puddle of his own vomit and piss. She was still fuming and taking out all of her frustrations on a large soup pot when Sansa walked through the back kitchen door. Sansa seemed to be in a particularly good mood tonight. After having been alone for so long, Arya took a little comfort from her sisters beaming smile. The comfort of family getting the better of her.

When Sansa inquired about her hostile attitude, Arya wanted to rave about seeing that dog in their small bubble of happiness, but would have felt guilty about bringing up something so ugly. Sansa didnt like to talk about their time apart from each other so Arya never brought it up. She could only imagine the horrors that bringing up Joffrey's pet dog would illicit in her sister. Gods only knew what she could have suffered from at the hands of The Hound. Once, while they had been traveling, he had lamented about how sorry he was for not hurting Sansa.

I meant to take her too. I should have.

It was a good thing that someone had helped her escape before Sandor Clegane had made good on his desires.

I should have fucked her bloody and ripped out her heart...

Arya shuddered. Who knows what he could have done to her if she had stayed. She was surely better off to wherever she had fled to than in the hands on The Hound. Whoever her savior knight had been could never be as bad as Sandor Clegane.

Her dark thoughts turned on her sister when she noticed the glowing smile plastered across her face. She looked a lackwit. She could stop herself from snapping at her. Her agitation and confusion rose when Sansa mimicked Arya's earlier answer with a simple, "Ghosts." Whats sodding ghost was making Sansa blush and smile like her senses had taken leave? She left it alone and finished the nights work. As they made their way throught the common room and to the stairs, she noticed a hulking shadow in the corner of the room; far removed from the comfort of the low burning ember in the fire place. An empty flagon of wine sat on the table in front of him. Though his hood was up and she had no way of seeing his face, Arya had no doubt about who occupied the lonely corner. Her blood rose and she ground her teeth. She couldnt see it but she could feel the malicious smirk emanating from under the hood of The Hound's cloak.

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The shock of seeing Sansa fucking Stark in a bleeding brothal had still not subsided. It was a far cry from the little girl he had abandoned in King's Landing. She had always been so afraid of him and his disfigured face. Tonight, she had openly and unreservedly embraced him, all traces of fear lost. What had happened to his little bird in the past years that would drive her, crying, into the arms of a monster? To drive her to whoring herself? A pang of jealousy hit Sandor with a painful jolt. What had her desperation driven her to do? His little bird.... Bile rose in the back of his throat at the images that flashed unwelcomed through his mind.

Sansa, pleasing them....

Sansa, tolerating their perversions and abuse....

He needed a lot of wine and he needed it now.

As he sat in the common room of the inn, desperate to get blackout drunk, he found himself unable to resist the thoughts and visions that came to him.

Sansa, back arched in the throughs of falsified passion....

Sansa, moaning....

Sansa, wrapping her lips around anyone who wasnt him....

Her innocence had belonged to him. He was the one who had tried to protect it. He was the one who found it so endearing. She had been so naive. He had also tried his best to steal it from her; make her realize life was not a song. He would have never stolen that innocence from her though. That he would have left pure, though he had desperately wanted to.

Sandor growled and continued drinking wine in earnest.

It was late into the night when he drunkenly dribbled the last of his wine into his mouth and down the front of his tunic, silently cursing himself for being so easily bothered. Honestly, what had he expected? He had expected to never see her again, thats what he had fucking expected. That would have been an easier fate than finding her here, like this. He was about to get up and go to his room when he saw them walk across the room to the steps leading upstairs. The wolf-bitch glared at him. She knew him, there was no doubt in his mind that the piercing looks she shot him were full of knowing and hate.

He actually smiled. He knew she couldnt see it but he twisted his face into smirk, eyes hooded with malice.

Gods she was a fiesty cunt; so unlike her delicate sister.

He watched them go up the steps. Fuck. Of all the inns, he had to choose the one that Arya and Sansa Stark were staying at.

When Sandor woke, it was still dark. His head was pounding and the nausea in his gut forced him to try to sit upto avoid heaving all over himself. As he rose, he was frozen by the bite of cold steel at the tender skin on his throat. He felt a trickle of blood stream down his neck.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Of course. The wolf-bitch.

The embers in the hearth still glowed fainly and as his eyes adjusted, he could begin to make her small frame out; looming over him with a tiny sword pointed at his throat. Her eyes shone with resolve.

"Thats a cute toy. Are you sure you know how to use it?"

She was fast but he was faster, even in his still inebriated state. He saw her grimace before she tried to bring the full length of the blade along his throat. Sandor found himself grateful that he had passed out with his leather gloves still on. The edge of her sword, if you could call that tiny little letter opener a sword, was pathetically dull. He grabbed it by the blunt fuller just above the hilt and in one deft movement he had the tiny grip in his massive fist and was aiming the point at the little wolf bitch's heart.

She didn't even look scared.

She looked furious. Furious that her best efforts were not good enough.

He smiled. "No girl, you don't know how to use it. You definitely don't know how to sharpen it."

Sandor rose and dropped the point away from her body. " Tell you what, girl. You stop trying to stick me with the old rusted steel and I can show you how to use it; how to care for it."

He didn't know why but he admired her ferocity regardless of the fact that it was usually directed at him. Few grown men would challenge him and yet there she had stood, with her measly piece of steel at his throat.

The little bitch was growing on him.

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4. Sansa

When Sansa woke in the morning, the bed was cold and empty beside her. Arya usually slept late leaving Sansa to wake early and begin the day on her own. Where had Arya gone so early? Sansa felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. Any deviation from their normal routine was unnerving to Sansa and her sister knew it.

Sansa got dressed in a simple woolen dress and did her hair in the northern fashion. Sometimes she really missed the beautiful silk gowns and elaborate hairstyles of King's Landing but she wouldn’t trade the comfort of family for all the jewels and bolts of silk in the Red Keep. She had her sister and that was a lot more than what the lost little girl from so long ago had ever expected to have again.

She had just finished tucking a strand of hair up into one of the pins when she heard the ringing of steel coming from outside and tensed. Arya often practiced swords with one of the boys around town but it was always with wooden tourney swords. They never used live steel. Sansa didn’t think any of the boys she practiced with even had real blades. Arya certainly didn't. When she heard her sister cry out in pain and anger, Sansa's heart dropped down into her stomach.

Had the fighting finally found them?

Sansa ran from their room and down the stairs to find her sister. “Arya!”

She called out to her sister and was met with only the singing of sword fighting around the back of the inn. Sansa wanted nothing more than to hide but she had to find her sister. More shouting and curses came from around the corner. Sansa steeled herself and crept along the wall of the building in between the stables and the inn. She peeked out into the small courtyard behind the kitchens and felt like the wind had been stolen from her.

Arya and The Hound were circling each other in the confined yard. Arya had found a small blade and held it out to her side in a peculiar and tensed stance while The Hound had his side sword drawn and was whirling it around in lazy circles low off to his right. He wore a smirk that twisted his face into a malicious mask. As they circled, Arya came around to face where Sansa was hiding. Sansa could see no fear in her sisters intense and concentrated stare, only angry resolve. While Sansa thought that it was stupid of Arya to sword fight a Clegane, she felt something akin to pride. Her sister was brave and Sansa wasn't. She couldn’t even bring herself out of the shadows of the barn to save her own sister.

She had to try.

Bracing herself, she rushed out towards them. “Stop!”

Sansa realized her error when Arya was distracted long enough to take her eyes off of The Hound. He made one deft movement towards Arya and with a flick of his wrist, had tossed her blade from her hands and into the mud, far out of Arya's reach. A short moment of shock flashed across her sisters face before he swept her legs out from under her and held his sword point directly at her throat.

Her vision blurred by tears, Sansa ran towards The Hound and tugged uselessly at his sword arm, begging him to spare her sister.

“Anything! I'll do anything! Please, don’t kill her!”

“Sansa!” Arya was saying her name but she barely heard it.

“Please! I'll do anything!”

He looked down at her through the curtain of dark hair, a spark in his eyes. “You said anything?”

“Sansa! Don’t fall for it. We were practicing, you idiot!” Arya said as she swatted his sword away from her with a gloved hand.

The Hound dropped the point away from her and stepped back. He sheathed his sword and pointed a finger at Arya. “She said anything. You ruin a perfect opportunity like that again girl and it wont be just practicing anymore.”

Arya scoffed at him. “Don't consider her, not even for a moment,” she said through narrowed eyes.

The tears cleared from Sansa's eyes as she gaped between them. “Practicing?”

They both ignored Sansa and instead continued to argue between themselves.

“Oh, so I can only think about fucking her if I’m going to pay her?” he growled at Arya.

“Why were you practicing?”

“What did you say about my sister?! She not some common whore you can pay to have to look at you or put up with your perversions!” Neither of them seemed to remember she was there at all and she was still too shocked to be listening to what they saying.

“Then there is something she clearly isn't telling you, wolf bitch! Why the fuck else would she be in a bloody brothel if she isn’t a whore?!” he was roaring at Arya. Arya made to grab her sword out of the mud but The Hound was too fast and drew his blade again and held it up to her. They stared at each other for several long moments before their conversation caught up with Sansa.

“I'm not a whore!” she spat at The Hound. She moved around to stand beside her sister and face him. He moved his gaze away from Arya but not the tip of his sword. He stared at her viciously.

“Then explain to me what you were doing in a fucking brothel!” his anger had far surpassed the stupid argument between him and Arya. Why did it matter so much to him anyway? It wasn't as if Sandor Clegane was a stranger to whores.

“She doesn’t owe you an explanation for a bloody thing!” Arya shot up at him.

His eyes didn’t leave Sansa's. The anger had faded somehow. Now he just looked... desperate. “I serve the wine. The madam gives me a piece of silver every night for keeping the men drunk.” She wanted him to understand.

He dropped his sword away from Arya and leaned in dangerously close to Sansa. She could feel the heat of his anger coming off of him in waves. “And how much silver does a pretty little bird like you command when you take one of them to bed and fuck him?” He stood up and reached into a pocket of his tunic. He flipped something shiny at her and she caught it in both of her hands instinctively.

“You were supposed to be mine!” he snarled back down at her.

“Now wait-” Arya started but he stalked away ignoring her completely.

Sansa looked down and opened her hands. When she saw the golden stag in her palm, the tears came suddenly and without her permission. She felt an arm around her shoulder and an angry voice in her ear. “I won't let him get away with this. He can't talk to you like that. Who does he think he is?”

You were supposed to be mine.

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6. Sandor

He couldn’t stay here anymore. Being around the girl was starting to get to him more than he cared to admit. It wasn't as if he had planned on staying here for long anyway; just long enough to charter a passage to the Free Cities.

I could take you with me.

Something was still holding him back from seeking out and paying some captain at the docks. Why would he want to stay here and watch Sansa whore herself out to men who only wanted to abuse her? He had had quite enough of that in King's Landing. It was one of the reasons he had had to run away with his tail between his legs. He couldn’t watch it anymore and he couldn’t save her, hard as he had tried.

I could keep you safe.

He couldn’t save her now.

The idea to take her to the Free Cities with him had occurred to him last night. Sansa had insisted that day that she wasn't a whore in the brothel that he had found her in. That she only kept the men drunk. He knew that there were girls in brothels that did exactly that but he had been resistant to allow himself to hope that that was all it was.

But what if that was all it was? Maybe she could still be saved from the tortures the world could still inflict on her. Maybe she was still his little bird.

You were supposed to be mine!

She would never leave without her sister, and he knew that was a problem. The wolf-bitch hated him and wanted nothing more than to slit his throat. He had no doubt that if she was given the chance again, she would surely do it. He didn’t exactly want to share a small ship with her for an extended period of time. Even he had to sleep. And get drunk.

The wolf-bitch was fierce but she couldn’t protect Sansa like he could. She could die trying but that would still leave Sansa at the mercy of any number of enemies. Westeros was too dangerous. For him and for the last remaining Starks. Sansa was the oldest and was now the heir to Winterfell. It might have been reduced to ruins but it was still the seat of the North. Ned's bannermen would still rally around the last Starks, even if they were women. That meant that any number of men would love to take her and marry her and take Winterfell and the North for their own. No, she wasn't safe here.

Sandor had always cursed himself for not abducting her the night of the Battle on the Blackwater. She hadn't wanted to come with him but she was so young. What had she known of what was best for her? She wasn't much older now. This could be his second chance at redemption. He wasn't a religious man by any means but he couldn’t help but think that she was divinely his to protect. He hadn’t found her by mistake. He had failed her once; he wouldn’t do it again.

You were supposed to be mine.

He wouldn’t fail her again. She wasn't safe here in Westeros. She needed to come with him to the Free Cities and if her bitch of a sister had to come, then so be it.

You are mine.

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Vii. Arya

There was something Sansa wasn’t telling her. There was clearly more between The Hound and Sansa than what she had first thought. He had become furious while talking about her in the brothel. For some unknown reason, the thought that Sansa was one of the whores particularly bothered him.

That night, in the kitchen of the inn, Arya washed the days' dishes and waited for Sansa to come back from the brothel. She would ask Sansa about what had happened in King's Landing. Arya wasn't eager to bring it up knowing how much it troubled Sansa to think about it and now it would seem as if it had followed her here.

Arya had finished cleaning all of the dishes when Sansa finally walked in for the night. Judging by the look on her face, something had happened.

“Is everything alright?” Arya ventured.

Sansa looked up at her with a long face and shrugged her shoulders. “Everything was fine tonight.”

“Is this about The Hound?”

Sansa looked away and Arya saw her shoulders shake with silent tears.

“Did something happen in King's Landing that I don’t know about?”

Sansa gave a huff through her nose. It was a bitter type of laugh. She looked at Arya before the tears spilled over and flowed freely down her cheeks. “Yeah, something did ha-happen,” she said through sobs. “After Father was beheaded, everything changed. Joffrey kept me as his slave to beat whenever he saw fit.”

“Joffrey beat you?”

“No. He couldn’t even do it himself. He had one of his Kingsguard do it.”

“And The Hound was one of them?”

Sansa let her face fall into her cupped hands and sank down onto the floor of the kitchen. “He was the only one who ever refused. He was the only one in that terrible place that ever tried to help me. I was his little bird.”

“His what?”

The first traces of a smile lit up Sansa's face. “He used to call me his little bird when we were in King's Landing.”

I should have fucked her bloody and ripped out her heart.

“So he never touched you or hurt you?” Arya was genuinely afraid to hear the answer.

“No! He was the only one who wanted to and never did.”

“What do you mean, wanted to?”

“Well, I know better now. I know the look now, but he never touched me.”

“Did you want him to?!”

“Of course not!”

She doesn’t mean that.

“He tried taking me away. The night of the Battle on the Blackwater.” Sansa's stare became glazed and Arya knew that she was in another time, in another place. “He promised to take me to Winterfell. He said he could keep me safe and that everyone was afraid of him. I was afraid of him then. I didn't know any better. He wouldn’t have hurt me.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” A dreamy look came over Sansa's face. “I was supposed to be his

“What was that supposed to mean?”

Sansa shook her head. “He must have meant the kiss.”

“You kissed that?”

What would have possessed her sister to kiss someone like that?

“It was the night of the Blackwater Battle. He offered to take me home and I sang for him and,” She paused and concentrated for a moment. “I think I kissed him. I've always regretted not going with him that night, you know.”

Arya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She stood staring at her sister with her mouth hanging open in shock. “How could you regret something like that, Sansa? How could that have been better than anything else?”

Sansa sighed and looked off into the empty space of the kitchen. “Someone else took me out of King's Landing. I trusted him and I thought that he would keep me safe.”

“Who was it?” She had never heard anything about what had happened to Sansa and had always wondered what it was that had changed her sweet sister so much.

“Petyr Baelish. He helped me out of the city and took me to The Vale.”

“Thats where Aunt Lysa lives!”

“He married her and then pushed her out of the Moon Gate. I saw him. He kept me as his bastard daughter and,” She shuddered and started to cry again. “At first it was kisses and touches that I never wanted. Then he would take me into his bed, but he would say our mother's name. He said I looked just like her. Sandor would have never done that to me. He lo-” She suddenly looked over to Arya, her eyes were still glittering with tears. “I have to find him Arya. I have to fix this.” She started to run through the kitchens back door out into the night.

“Sansa!” She paused and looked back around to Arya. “You don’t owe him anything!”

“You don’t understand, Arya.” She smoothed her skirt and looked at Arya with a steely resolve. “I owe him everything.”

Arya took a deep defeated breath. “Well you aren’t going to find him out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“He's staying here. At the inn. I'm guessing he is passed out drunk in the great room by the fire. Well, not too close to the fire.” She rolled her eyes. “If you are so desperate to see him, thats where you should start.”

Sansa moved over to Arya and hugged her more fiercely than they had ever embraced before. Arya huffed. “I will never understand you and these fairy tales of yours. Get off of me and go find your monstrous prince charming.”

“Arya! That’s horrible. He could be quite handsome, I think.” Sansa kissed her on the cheek and swept out of the kitchen despite the slight on The Hounds appearance. Arya didn’t know if it was being subjected to Baelish's perverse fetish for their mother or if it was just the knight in shining armor bit, but she couldn’t imagine any circumstance under which she would see The Hound as “handsome.” Sansa used to swoon over Joffrey and Loras Tyrell. Pretty boys with pretty titles. The Hound was disfigured and landless.

Arya shook her head and left the kitchens through the great room. Neither The Hound or Sansa were there so she supposed he had found somewhere else to drink and pass out. Sansa must have gone up to their room already.

Chapter Text

Viii. Sansa

The woman who ran the inn had told her that he had paid for his room and left with his things earlier in the day and that he had inquired about a ship accepting passengers. Sansa felt the tears stinging her eyes as she ran out of the inn and into the cold night. She approached the docks and prayed that she wasn’t too late. There were only three boats in the harbor; there had been five this morning. Sansa steeled herself for the bad news that she was in fact too late.

She approached a group of men that were standing around by the dock laughing but she knew better than to approach a group of rough ship captains in the middle of the night. One of them noticed her lurking around the ships, desperate and searching.

“Oi sweet tits! You lookin' for passage out of 'ere?”

Sansa ducked her head and slipped around the corner of the brothel she worked in.

“I could have showed you the world!” she heard the drunken ship captain call after her. “And a few other things!”

Sansa needed to find out if Sandor was still lurking around the docks or if her had already sailed from Oldtown and her life forever. Sansa slipped into the backdoor of the brothel and made to sneak her way through the common room and out the front door.

Maybe if she looked like a whore, they wouldn’t harrass her too much if they knew that they had to pay for it. They were the only ones who could tell her if Sandor had been around. She creaked open the door to the common room from the kitchens and found it blessedly empty, the sounds of copulation ringing in the heavy air. She crept through the room and out of the front door back into the cold night.

The sailors were still there clutching at their sides in laughter. Their faces were flushed despite the chill in the air. She recognized one from the brothel earlier. The younger one. He had made off to the back room with one of the cheapest whores the madam had to offer just before she had left. He hadn't been long. He made her and called out to her coarsely.

“Sweet tits! Come ere. We don't bite.”

She steeled herself and fought to shed her highborn upbringing. She smiled coyly and sauntered over to the boat captains.

“Aren't you supposed to be inside?” the dirty greying man asked her.

“She ain't one o them whores, Harry. She just a servin wench,” the young pimple faced boy slurred out. “I asked for her personal but that fat madam told me to fuck off.”

Sansa felt the revulsion threaten to contort her features at the thought of having to lie with this dingy crude boy but she kept her lips curled up into a pretty smile. “Maybe it were the color of your coin and not my comings and goings what kept you from warming my bed tonight.” She knew she still sounded highborn even with the filthy grammar and accent but the roaring captains were too drunk to notice.

“Oh, I like a filly that kicks,” said the greying veteran.

“You like anything that kicks. It means it's still alive,” shot the fat pockmarked sailor. They all gave a laugh at Harry's expense.

“What's the filly doin out of her stable?” the young boy asked.

“I were looking for a man.”

The sailors laughed again. “What? And you couldn’t find none in there?”

“I'm looking for a particular man. He stiffed me and I mean to collect,” she said jutting out her jaw defiantly.

“Oh ho! Little filly has got some kick!” exclaimed the fat sweating man. “What's he look like, sweet tits?”

Sansa felt the skin on her chest prickle every time one of them said that. “He were a big man. Hideous scars all over his face.”

“Oh aye. Him.”

They had seen him!

“He's not the type you want to go after, love. Nasty temper, that one. 'Bout throttled Tom 'ere when he said he ain't sailin' out until a fortnight.”

“So that bastard sailed off then?” she asked dreading the answer.

“Naw. Couldn't find nothin' could he? Took off into the brothel there,” Harry said jerking a thumb over his shoulder. You musta just missed 'im.”

Sansa's heart sank. He hadn't been in the common room so that must mean he was... somewhere else.

“You must be commanding a high price for a pretty little piece of that for someone like that.”

“No. I guess it was free,” she said dropping the pretense.

“Well, hell! If you get to fuck and then skimp out on the bill then what am I waiting for?” Harry said as he grabbed her tightly by her arm. “I get the first turn. You're last Tom. You just had a romp.”

Sansa felt her eyes go wide and her heart leap into her chest. She whimpered, to scared to cry out lest they slit her throat.

“Filly ain't got that much kick.”

“Please, sers.” Sansa begged reverting back to her highborn courtesies.

“See! I told you she ain't no whore!” Tom exclaimed.

“Highborn cunt's no different than a whore's cunt.”

“Not true.”

“Like you had a highborn.”

“Please!”

“She's tremblin' like a leaf.”

“I bet she's a maid. She's just a girl.”

Sansa had started to cry as they played a perverted tug of war with her arms. Tom had slipped his fingers down the neckline of her dress and was fondling her until Harry pulled her away and towards one of the ships. Sansa started to struggle and kick out as the hot tears streamed down her face. She cracked Harry across the face with a sharp smack but was met with a hard blow to her jaw. She tasted blood and her head swam. All fight had been taken from her as he half dragged her back to his ships cabin.

Her head was throbbing and despite how hard she cried, this salty sweaty man was still pinning her to the deck of his ship, forgoing the cabin. Tom and the fat man had joined him on deck and were helping him pin her down as he freed himself from his breeches. She felt the hot smooth tip of his manhood graze her thighs.

“She's not for sale,” she heard a rough voice growl through the blackness. Suddenly Harry was absent from between her thighs followed by a spray of something warm and wet across her quivering legs.

“Oi!” Tom exclaimed as he let go her arm. The fat man let go of her other arm and she tried to crawl away as the sounds of a struggle came from behind her as she crawled away. The noises behind her were those of agony and the sickening sound of tearing flesh.

She found her footing and ran as fast as she could to the ramp down to the docks. The sway of the boat forced her to go slow as she almost lost her footing a fell into the bay. She heard heavy footsteps behind her as she reached the dock and sprinted back towards the brothel.

The thundering of footsteps gained on her in three long strides and she was yanked back into the solid mass of a heated and firm chest. She was still sobbing when Sandor shook her shoulders and snarled down into her face. “Look at me!”

She looked up at him and saw him glaring at her. His expression was fading more from rage to worry by the second. He snatched a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the trickle of blood from her mouth where Harry had hit her.

“You are alright! Why in the seven hells are you still crying?”

Sansa was still sobbing and clung back to his chest. She hugged him fiercely though he did not hug her back. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

It was everything. She was crying because he was still here and she was holding him just like she had hoped when she had run out on Arya. She was crying because he had saved her again and she was crying because it was into some other woman's bed that he had run tonight.

Sansa, remembering where he had been, withdrew from him with disgust. “What were you doing out here?”

Sandor stared at her incredulously. “What am I doing out here? What in the hells are you doing by the docks in the middle of the night? Or do I want to know?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Consider the gold a gift. You don't owe me your services,” he said turning and walking into the brothel.