-Author's Note-

Hello readers, thank you for checking this out. If you haven't already seen my other fanfic, it's also a Sansan and takes place after season 7 at Winterfell. It is completed, and it's also pretty detailed about the final season, what happens in the realm, etc. It's called I Am No Knight. This story is first person perspective and will focus more on the love story between Sandor and Sansa.

Please follow, review, and favorite!

-Sandor-

I always hated that shit city, but there was never a time I loathed it more than that night. The Blackwater was on fire, and I fucking hate fire. I realized in that moment—when my men were covered in green flame and Stannis' soldiers kept coming—that it didn't matter anymore. The battle was lost, but more than that, I was just fucking done. Done being the King's dog, done fighting for people I fucking hated, done being surrounded by wildfire. I wanted peace—peace just for a moment at least, to get away from everything. I wanted wine. I wanted her.

Why did it always come back to her? I'd tried everything to get that pretty little Stark girl out of my head day after day, night after night, yet it always came back to her. When they beat her I hated myself for doing nothing, I hated the way her cries seemed to tear me in two. I was supposed to be a killer, supposed to not give a shit about anyone or anything, yet that damn redhead always had me feeling things.

It's not that I'd never had feelings before her, but I'd always buried them, always pushed them away to a darkened part of my soul. But I couldn't do that with her. Every time I was in her presence I felt things—hatred, attraction, anger, self-loathing—feelings that I couldn't place or fully understand, and it frustrated me. Yet here I was again, going back to her.

I couldn't say why I'd gone to her room after telling off the king. It's the only place I wanted to be, and for the first time in my life I was taking what I wanted. I had snatched wine from the kitchens and some hastily packed food for the journey, but I had to see her before I left—had to see if she'd come with me. It was a longshot, I knew. The girl hated me. She hated my scars, hated how harsh I was around her. A part of me always wanted to be nice to her, to speak softly and draw a smile out of her, but in the moment I'd always revert to my habits. I was gruff and rude and cruel—that had always been my way since my brother had fucked my life over—it's what got me through everything. Until her.

When I entered her chambers, her scent was overwhelming, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in it. Sansa Stark was intoxicating, and though I wouldn't have admitted it to myself then, I loved how I felt when I thought of her. It was the only time I came close to being happy. I pushed away the thoughts of what she would do when she found me there—probably scream and cry. Why wouldn't she? I was the king's dog, a hideous, scarred beast who served her enemies.

Still, I couldn't suppress the hope that maybe—maybe I could convince her to join me. She wanted to leave after all, I told myself. Of course, she would hide behind her words, her perfect words that were her only armor, but I knew she didn't mean them. I knew she hated that cunt boy king as much as I did—maybe even more. He'd taken her father's head, then paraded it in front of her. He'd beaten her for nothing, taunted her. Surely she hated him as well—at least, I convinced myself as much when I curled up there in her room on the floor, waiting. I convinced myself that she would at least hear me out and hoped beyond anything that she'd be willing to leave with me.

~Sansa~

I couldn't remember feeling such terror before that night. I'd been frightened often before then—worried about beatings or whether my family were still alive—but this was different. This fear seemed to crawl under my skin and shake me to my core. I had given up trying to settle my stomach since we'd first learned that Stannis was approaching, but once the Queen fled Maegor's Holdfast, a new fear had gripped hold of me. We were lost. We would be raped and killed, surely. The thought of rape—the thought of that horrible time in the streets of the city when those men had nearly taken me—it was awful and I was shaking from head to toe. When Shae told me to go to my room, I feared that I'd faint right there. The only thing that gave me strength were the prayers I mumbled to myself as I ran—surely the gods would hear me. Surely they cared—if no one else in the whole world cared, surely the gods still did…

I never realized just how far away my chambers were from the holdfast until that moment. I felt certain I'd be attacked around every bend, every time I entered a new hall or passageway, I was sure I would be seen by an enemy. They'd corner me, sneering, and rip my clothes off, hitting me, hurting me—unless, he saved me again. The Hound.

I didn't know why he'd saved me that time in the streets. I'd supposed the Queen had commanded it since I was a valuable hostage, but still his face had been—different. There had been something else there, I was certain. I had overheard Lord Tyrion thanking him and the Hound had responded by saying, "I didn't do it for you." Gods, how I'd puzzled over that sentence after that. Did he mean that he did it for me? No, surely not. I was just a stupid girl to him. Still, I'd prayed for him earlier tonight, to the Mother. "Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him."

When I reached my chambers, I breathed a sigh of relief—I had been so certain I wouldn't make it there safely. I closed the door behind me and for the first time that night, the sights and sounds of the battle below reached my ears. The screams of terror, the wildfire—it was dreadful and I felt so alone. The doll my father had given me was lying on the dresser and I snatched it up, inhaling the familiar smell and the sense of comfort that it gave me in that moment to have something from him—to feel that he was there with me, in my heart and my memory.

Then I heard his voice. The Hound was there, in my room! I couldn't even say what he'd asked, I just knew he'd startled the life out of me and I was frightened. "What are you doing here?" I asked him, breathlessly.

"Not here for long," he responded. "I'm going."

I was confused. Where could he possibly be going? So I asked him, and he replied, "Someplace that isn't burning."

Yes, I remembered then that he hated fire. Of course he hated it, his brother had brutalized him with it. He continued from his position in the darkness, crouched in a corner in my room. He said that he might go north. North!

"What about the king?" I asked, foolishly. Of course he wouldn't have cared about the king. I didn't care about the king either, but I was afraid of him.

"He can die just fine on his own."

Did this mean that he was done—for good—with the Lannisters? With my captors—that horrid family who lied and schemed and were crueler than I ever thought anyone could be? But then, why was he here, in my room?

It was like he heard my thoughts, for in the next moment he answered them. "I can take you with me, take you to Winterfell," he said. My heart did a queer little flip in that second, but I couldn't have said exactly why. Was I afraid of the prospect? Excited? I wasn't sure, but he continued.

"I'll keep you safe."

Yes, he would keep me safe. I believed that, though he had broken into my room, a place he should never have been while alone with me. I believed him even as he stood and approached me, edging me toward the wall. I clutched my doll closer, feeling absurd—like the child that I knew he saw me as.

"Do you want to go home?"

Gods, yes! I wanted to go home more than anything! But, no—not like this—it wasn't right. He drew closer to me and all I could think of was what my mother would say if I left that city alone with a man like him. It was foolish, I know, but I couldn't help thinking it at the time. It seemed the most important thing in that moment.

"I'll be safe here," I lied. "Stannis won't hurt me."

Why had I said that? I had no idea what Stannis would do to me. It was just more of my pretty words, the words I repeated to myself and others to protect me from further harm, like the little bird that he always called me.

"Look at me!"

He barked the words out, so gruff and coarse, and I was frightened of him in that moment, just like I used to be. He was covered in blood and his eyes were so—intense. He made me feel things that I couldn't explain, but I was uncomfortable. His voice gave me thrills and I couldn't decide if they were pleasant or unpleasant ones. I only knew that they stirred inside of me strangely.

He said that Stannis is a killer, that everyone is a killer, and that even my sons would be killers. I knew he was right, of course, but he said it so plainly, so ugly. They wouldn't want to kill, my sons. Even my family, they only killed because it was their duty. At least, that's what gave me comfort to believe, so that's what I told myself.

"The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them."

Suddenly I understood. He wanted me to look at him. Not because he was a killer, or because he thought I was afraid—he wanted me to see him for a person, not as a killer. To see past the scars that marred one half of his face to the man beyond them. I can't say how I knew that, it was just the clearest thing to me in that instant. He wanted to know if I saw beyond his words, beyond his gruff appearance, and I did, and I knew.

"You won't hurt me," I said, after that truth had dawned on me.

But why wouldn't he hurt me? What was it that made him different—or that made me different to him? I didn't know, but I realized with some discomfort that I wanted to.

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

His words twisted inside me and my breath hitched in the moment, overthinking what he meant by them. He had spoken with such kindness—gentler than I'd ever seen him be. The man looking down on me with sweat and blood covering his face was so full of sorrow when he spoke those words, as if I'd broken his heart. I didn't know what I'd done, but it must have been something wrong because he left my room after that.

And suddenly I realized that I didn't want him to leave! That thought surprised me—even scared me. I had thought for certain that I wanted him gone, but when he actually left my stomach jolted terribly and I felt somehow—empty. Why had I let him go? He'd walked out of my world and I'd done nothing! He would be leaving the city and I'd never see him again, never be able to look for him when Joffrey and his Kingsguard frightened me or beat me.

I'd been a fool and I knew it.

-Sandor-

Of course I would never have hurt her. I just wanted her to understand that she wouldn't be any safer with Stannis than she was with Joffrey, but she was so damned blinded by her courtesies, by her ridiculous idea of the world that she actually believed he'd keep her safe. I would keep her safe—I was probably the only man in King's Landing who would. Why I would, was something that I still couldn't admit to myself. I told myself that it was because I was better than those men, because even though they were knights and I was just a dog, I could care for a maiden properly, while all they could do was hurt her. But it was more than that, and the knowledge made me uncomfortable.

Still, I'd failed to convince her, and I had nothing left. I'd be leaving the city alone. I'd been alone my whole life so what would it matter to be alone again? I told myself that the despair was fatigue, that the pain in my heart was just nerves. My life had been one big disappointment, what was one more?

"Ser!"

It was a heightened whisper, sounding determined from somewhere behind me, but I knew that voice. I turned around to see her crouching along the passage, her back against the wall, clenching a small sack in her little white hands.

I was dumbstruck. For a moment I was entirely at a loss for words, but I wouldn't let her see how she unraveled me. I marched back to where she crouched and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward me roughly.

"You're coming then?" Damned wine always made me courser than I meant to be.

"Y-yes," she faltered, still having trouble looking at me. I gritted my teeth. She'd have to bloody well get used to it if she was going to be spending every day and night with me on the journey north. Shit, that thought excited me far more than it should have.

"Then stay close, girl, and do as I say!" I rasped at her. I'd probably frightened her half to death, but the girl had better grow some thick skin if she wanted to survive this. We would both end up on the Lannister's most wanted list for certain—if we managed to get out of the city alive. I dragged her along behind me toward the stables. To my surprise she didn't complain, and managed to keep up well enough.

Just as I thought they would be, the stables were deserted. I found my destrier, Stranger, and began saddling him quickly. She was looking at me as I worked, as if she desperately wanted to ask me something, but was too frightened.

"What is it, girl?"

She looked about her nervously, then fixed her gaze back on me. "Will—will we need to ride together? Or shall I prepare my own mount?"

Again, I was surprised. "Do you ride?"

She made a face as if it were a stupid question. "Of—of course I ride you rode south with me from Winterfell."

Shit, that's right. Not like it'd be easy for me to remember that, she'd spent as much time as possible in the wheelhouse being pretty. But, now I thought of it, I did remember her riding more than once. Still, if she rode her own horse, what would keep her from riding off the first chance she got?

"I'm not planning on running off on my own, if that's what you're thinking—I'm coming with you of my own accord." She moved into the next stall and began sweet-talking the mare, before eyeing me again. "I know I wouldn't survive the Kingsroad without you."

I shrugged and continued with Stranger, though I was more pleased than I let on. It seemed she wasn't as stupid as she sometimes acted in that fucking keep. Bloody hells, she even knew how to saddle the damned thing. I suppose her father had ensured his children knew how to do such things on their own—he was a practical man, even if he had been a self-righteous prick who got himself killed for honor. I winced at my own mental description of him, remembering how he'd swallowed his pride at the end and lied for his children's sake, for all the good it had done him. It wasn't his fault that Joffrey was a cunt.

I glanced at Sansa again as she worked, her delicate, feminine hands easily managing the straps and saddle, before tying her pack to it.

"Do you need help to—" I was going to say mount, just as she did so. She just looked at me prettily (if not smugly) from her position in the saddle and shook her head. This Sansa was almost a stranger to me—certainly not the frightened, stammering girl that walked timidly with her head down along the halls of the Red Keep. As curious as I was to discover more, there would be time for that later.

I swung up into the saddle and fixed her in a serious glare. "Stay close." I saw that she'd had the foresight to bring a hooded cloak, which she wore now. "Good, keep that hair covered. I'll keep you safe, but you have to do whatever I say, do you understand?" I was harsh again, but I needed her to comprehend the seriousness of what we were doing.

She nodded, the fear apparent in her eyes, but she wasn't crying or doing anything stupid. Good, maybe we'd actually get out of this alive. I spurred Stranger on and the hoofbeats of her mare sounded in my ears directly behind me. We plunged ahead into the darkness toward the gate that I knew was minimally guarded, if not altogether deserted by now. The city shrunk away behind us, enshrouded in an emerald glow of flaming death.