A/N: This is how I have originally imagined the SanSan bedroom scene in "Blackwater" to pass, based on some of the interviews, mainly the one where Sophie Turner mentioned her singing. Of course, it went completely different in the actual episode, so I'm writing out this little piece to satisfy my inner craving for more bookish SanSan in GoT. Still, the majority of characterization is based on the TV series, especially in regards to Sandor (I mean, do you realize that "Blackwater" is the first time we see him drunk? He's in his cups half-of-the-time in the books and delivers some of his best lines, too, but in the series, he's stone-cold sober).

Content notices: mentions of violence

Disclaimer: G.R.R. Martin is the mastermind behind the series itself and Benioff and Weiss are the ones responsible for the TV adaptation. This is merely a fan venture, I stand to gain no profit from it.

Sansa felt like flying as she hurried through the halls and corridors of the Maegor's Holdfast towards her room. She had calmed the ladies of the court with her well-meant lies but there was no one to lie to her. She had heard Ser Lancel telling the Queen the battle had been lost, she had seen Queen Cersei's dark look as the older woman had left the rooms and Sansa knew it was only a matter of time before Ser Illyn came after her to do his grim duty. Or, if she was lucky, Stannis would reach her first. The Baratheon King was said to be a just man, she had to believe the talk was true.

She pushed open her door and ran into the room, breathing quickly from her flight and starting to relax before she remembered to bar the door. It was made of a thick wood and should hold up for a time, if anyone tried to break it down to get to her. Crossing the room towards her dresser, Sansa started to rummage through it, looking for a candle, not due to a lack of light - the lantern on the table provided enough of that - but needing to do something, anything, to distract herself.

"The little bird flew back to her cage," a rasping voice sounded from the shadows and Sansa whirled around, her heart picking up the pace again as the large form of the Hound moved in the darkness of her room beyond the small circle of light being cast by the lantern. He was sitting at the foot of her bed, his slumped shoulders giving him a defeated appearance.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa blurted out, shocked by his presence. He laughed bitterly at her question.

"Damn me to hell if I know," he replied and raised something - a flagon - to his lips, taking a big gulp of some liquid. From his weird mannerisms, Sansa assumed it was a wine. He was drunk. The Hound was drunk.

"Is- is the battle truly lost?" Sansa asked timidly. She couldn't imagine what else could have driven that stern, frightening man to drink.

"The battle? Might be," he spoke quietly, the grating of his voice gentler somehow. "I don't know. I left. I left them all to burn. Everything was burning, the ships, the men, even the river. The Imp set them all aflame."

Sansa felt a sudden sympathy as she listened to him. She remembered the story she had been told, about the Hound's brother and the fire. To have gone through such a thing and then have to face the fire again, see the burning men, hear their screams of pain... She couldn't even begin to imagine how the Hound must have felt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and his head snapped up suddenly as if he had forgotten she had been there.

"You're sorry, little bird?" he rasped before lurching to his feet and crossing the room, towering over her as she shrank back from him, suddenly afraid. He must have noticed because the next thing she knew, one of his large hands landed on her shoulder and dragged her closer to him. "Am I scaring you, little bird? Huh?"

Sansa averted her eyes but that seemed to make him even more angry. He shook her once before he let go of her shoulder and grabbed her chin, forcing her face up.

"Look at me!" he ordered and Sansa obeyed, staring at his bloodied face, his scars even more vivid than usual. But it was his eyes that made her gasp involuntarily. They were wide, the whites more prominent than she had ever seen. He grimaced at her. "Not a pretty sight at all, little bird, am I right? Take a good look. This is what fire does to you if you're so unlucky as to survive. Ugly enough to make children cry. And you think a sorry will make it all go away? You think you can just chirp some words and the world will become a better place? The world never gets better, little bird. It only gets worse."

Sansa swallowed hard to stop herself from crying. The utter conviction in his voice, the desperation in his tone, it tore at her. She was helpless before him, having no words of comfort to offer. And she wanted to comfort him, she realized. He had been kind to her, in his own gruff way, several times before and she wanted to return that kindness. But she couldn't. She had always relied on her pretty words and they failed her now, when she most needed them.

"Nothing to say, little bird?"

Sansa shook her head mutely and the Hound let go of her chin but didn't move otherwise. He looked almost lost, standing above her awkwardly, staring down at her with his frightened eyes. She couldn't say what moved her to reach out but reach out she did and cupped the scarred side of his face gently, tenderly. And then she opened her mouth and started to sing.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, soothe the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way."

Half-way through the song the Hound closed his eyes. Sansa sang on, letting the wetness that seeped from under his lids pass unnoticed, her own feelings giving the song a haunting beauty of forgiveness.

"Little bird," the Hound murmured when she finished and he opened his eyes, calmer and less scared. "You asked what I was doing here. I'm leaving tonight, before Stannis arrives. I could take you with me. I would keep you safe and take you home. You want to go home, don't you?"

Sansa could scarcely breathe. He had meant it, she knew. He would take her away from King's Landing and take her home. But, where was her home? Was it Winterfell, far in the north? Or was it wherever Robb had his camp and army? The roads were full of dangers, too, no matter which direction they would take. She didn't doubt Hound's words, she knew he would do everything in his power to protect her but he would be better off without her. She would only burden him. It was safer for both of them if she stayed and waited for Stannis. Stannis was just, he would send her home, she had to believe that.

"I..." she started, unsure how to speak her refusal of his offer but the Hound seemed to understand what she couldn't bring herself to say.

"The little bird is afraid to flee her cage," he sighed and Sansa looked down in shame, feeling as if she had failed him somehow.

"Stannis is winning. And he is just. He won't hurt me," she stumbled over her words in her haste to explain herself.

"No, he most likely won't," the Hound agreed before grasping her wrist gently and taking her hand away from his face. Sansa hadn't even realized she was still cupping his cheek.

"I know you wouldn't hurt me, either," she blurted out to cover her embarrassment. "I know you would protect me. It's just... it's better this way."

He looked her over, taking in her whole appearance as if committing it to memory, his eyes lingering on her face and hair. When he leaned closer, Sansa thought for a moment he would kiss her - a farewell kiss - but he only tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and then locked his eyes with hers.

"Goodbye, little bird," he rasped and let go of her, turning his back on her and striding out of her room, pausing only to unbar the door. And then he was gone and Sansa was left alone.

Moving slowly, she went towards one of her clothing chests. She had to pull out several garments before she found what she was looking for. It was a large white cloak, made of coarse and scratchy wool. Wrapping it around herself, Sansa sat down on her bed and stared at the door, waiting for Stannis to come and send her home.

THE END

A/N 2: Yes, it's Sandor's cloak from episode 4. In my headcanon, Sansa kept it. Maybe I'll write out how and why later.