'No little bird, I won't hurt you'.

His voice had a near-imperceptible trace of softness that she'd never heard before. He had leaned right down so that he was almost level with her face, and she steeled herself to hold his gaze, which she couldn't quite read, smelling the wine, and the fire, and death. He reeked of it. His face was coated in blood, drizzling down his burnt cheek and smeared in his brows. There were patches of blood on his chest mail, and on the armour on his shoulders. His hair dangled thickly in clumps in front of the burnt side of his face. Though the moment lasted only a breath, she felt suspended, paralysed with fear and indecision. The thought of going with him, out there, into the battle-fury, and then – beyond.

She imagined them riding into woods that disappeared into darkness, and being swallowed whole. But - what would happen if she stayed here? Would she simply be another trophy for another ruler? Or if the Lannisters somehow triumphed - how long would she last as Joffrey's tortured plaything if he wasn't there, like he'd sneered in the corridor that time, to come between her and 'her beloved king'? But that was here, within castle walls, eyes at every corner. What would happen when it was just the two of them? She was still scared of him: his hulk, and his unpredictability, lurching from something nearing a gruff chivalry to drunken monster in a second. She swallowed. Her awkward sound seemed to break something unspoken. The Hound breathed in suddenly and gutturally, and he straightened, towering over her again, his face setting. He turned stiffly and walked to the door, reaching for the latch.

'Wait -' He froze, and slowly turned.

'I'll – I'm coming.'

For a moment, his face lost its hard edge. Then he nodded, curtly. 'Get some things together. A small bundle, no more.' He looked down at her frame. 'Your plainest dress. If you have one. There'll be no highborn ladies on the road.' His grin was slightly cruel, and then he was serious again. 'I'll fetch horses. Latch the door. Don't let anyone in. I'll knock four times.' And he was gone.

Sansa ran to the door and pushed up the bolt. She leant her back against it, her heart hammering high in her throat. She could hardly breathe. Underneath her terror she felt faintly excited: a heroine, stealing away in the dead of night. She would be brave. She would make it back to Winterfell.

Quickly, she gathered up some things. A brown woollen dress too hot for King's Landing. A spare smock. She tumbled her jewels – two necklaces, a bracelet, a charm with a direwolf on it – into a square of cloth used for her moonbloods and wrapped them up. She pulled a coverlet from the bed and began to place her clothes on it. Suddenly, her door rattled. Someone was outside, pushing against it. Sansa's heart stopped. There was a frantic light knock on the door and an urgent whisper.

'Sansa! Let me in!'

It was Shae.

Sansa exhaled, and rushed to the door. 'He said I'm not supposed to let anyone in,' she whispered.

Shae slipped into the room. 'Who says?' Her eyes caught the clothes on Sansa's bed. She turned urgently towards her. 'Sansa. What is happening?'

Sansa's eyes dropped to the floor. 'The – The Hound. He's leaving. He's taking me to Winterfell'.

Shae's voice hardened. 'Is he.' There was a silence. Sansa's eyes flickered upwards for a second, and seeing Shae's penetrating gaze, fell quickly down again. She gulped, and nodded. Shae grabbed Sansa's chin and forced it upwards, looking at her fiercely. 'Why are you blushing?'

'No!' Sansa protested. 'I'm – I'm not, it's just – you're making me blush. I know what you think. And I don't care. It's too dangerous for me here. He's right. I need to go'.

Shae's eyes softened slightly, and her hand moved to Sansa's cheek. 'You're right.' She gazed at her. 'It is too dangerous here for you. But that man – he is a monster. You don't know what men are – '

'I do know. I do know what they are like, don't you think I've seen it? Joffrey, Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, Littlefinger, those men who attacked me – they are monsters. The Hound – I know he's horrible, but he's never hurt me, never been cruel, except in words. I've seen it. I – I think he can be kind.'

Shae inhaled, and breathed out heavily, putting her hands on Sansa's shoulders. 'They are all the same. They all want one thing. Why does he want to take you away when he can be much faster on his own?'

There was a sudden heavy knock, and another, and then two more. Shae glanced towards the door, and back at Sansa.

Sansa gulped. 'That's him.'

Shae's jaw clenched and she let her hands fall. Sansa went to the door, and suddenly the Hound was in the room, seeming bigger and bloodier than ever. He was carrying a large bundle. His eyes steeled as he saw Shae, who jutted her chin out defiantly, holding his look.

'I told you not to let anyone in.' The Hound didn't move his eyes from Shae's.

Sansa spoke as calmly as she could. 'It's Shae. I trust her.'

'You shouldn't trust anyone,' he said, viciousness creeping into his voice.

'Apart from you?' Shae jerked her chin up at him fiercely. 'What makes you so special?'

The Hound ran a hand through his hair with impatience. 'I don't have time for this.' He turned to Sansa. 'Do you want to come or not?'

Sansa took a jagged breath in, and held it. 'Yes.'

The Hound went to the bed, and gathered up her things into a pile in the coverlet. 'Then for all the Gods' sakes let's go, before the whole damned castle falls in.'

'Sansa, please don't go with this man.' Shae had a measured note of pleading in her voice as the Hound took a thin leather cord from a pocket and wound it around the bundle.

'Leave off, woman,' he said, shaking his head. 'She can make up her own mind.'

'Shae,' Sansa pleaded. 'He – he won't hurt me. I know he won't.' The Hound straightened up with the bundle, looking at Sansa and taking in what she'd said.

Shae looked from one to the other. She tilted her face up to the Hound and narrowed her eyes. 'You do anything to her, I'll kill you'.

He leaned down to her, impassive, a slight smile on his lips. 'I'd kill you first.' He looked at Sansa. 'I've a boy waiting with the horses. I'd like to get to him before he has his head removed.'

Sansa turned to Shae, her eyes filling.

Shae shrugged, with a small, wondering shake of her head. 'Do what you must do.'

'Thank you, Shae.' Sansa turned to the Hound, who reached for the door latch.

'Wait – ' Shae grabbed Sansa's arm. 'Wait outside,' she instructed the Hound, giving him no option.

'Hells,' he sighed fiercely under his breath, and left the room.

Shae shut the door behind him, and leant down to her ankle, pulling up her skirts. She took out the dagger from its hold on her lower leg, and held it in her mouth. She untied the legstrap, and quickly lifted Sansa's skirt and tied it round her calf, before taking the dagger from her mouth and slotting it into place. The blade pressed coldly onto Sansa's skin.

Shae straightened up. 'Anything happens, you use it. Don't hesitate.'

Sansa gazed at her wonderingly. 'Who are you Shae, really?'

Shae shrugged, and smoothed her hands over Sansa's hair. 'I'm no one.'

'Will I ever see you again?'

'I don't know.'

'When it's all over, you could - come to Winterfell', Sansa said, though she knew it to be untrue.

'I don't like the cold,' Shae replied simply. Sansa felt hot tears welling up again. Shae wiped one away. 'We may yet see each other again. Who knows what lies in our futures.' Sansa fell, sobbing, into Shae's arms. Shae stroked her hair. 'Goodbye, precious child. Don't trust anyone. Be brave. Be a woman. And be careful.'

Sansa pulled back, her eyes full of concern and fear. 'What about you?'

Shae smiled calmy, looking stronger than ever. 'I'll be alright. I know how to take care of myself. And now you need to learn. Go.'

Sansa took a deep breath, then, looking past Shae to her dressing table, went over and grabbed the doll that Father had given her. She gave a last glance to her lady's maid, and opened the door.