Disclaimer: I do not own ASoIaF, or any of the characters. They belong to GRRM, who seems to take sadistic pleasure in killing off almost all of the characters that I care about.

Title: In The Night
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Sansa/Sandor
Rating & Warnings: PG, Spoilers for 'Feast of Crows'
Word Count: 1122
Summary: It had been so long since she saw him, she was beginning to think she imaged the kiss they shared.

- x x x -

Sometimes on the nights when Sweetrobin did not come and disturb her, or when her father left her alone, Alayne would become too stifling. And for brief, brief moments, Sansa would be back. And it was only then, lying in the relative safety of her bed, that she allowed herself to think - think back to the days where everything was normal, she would be at home in Winterfell and her family would still be alive, when she still believed in knights and charming princes. But after everything that's happened, she wasn't sure she believed in them anymore. The Hound would've laughed at her if he ever found out that the little bird had stopped dreaming.

The Hound.

The first time she saw him, she couldn't help but stare. Not even the handsome young prince, who was riding beside him, could tear her eyes away from the mass of scarred flesh decorating the left side of his face. As if he felt her scrutiny of him, he turned his gaze onto her. Grey eyes met blue. She flushed and quickly jerked her head towards the prince. Her mother had warned her not to stare; it was not polite for a lady. And she had to remain courteous, especially in front of the prince and the rest of the royal family. She fixed her attention solely on the blonde boy and refused to look away from him once.

She didn't like him at first. But whenever he was around, she could always tell. Whenever he entered the room, there was always a prickling feeling at the back of her neck, making her uncomfortably aware of his presence regardless of whatever activities were going around at the time. It was probably his face, she concluded. She was used to everything being pretty and perfect, and his face was anything but. And besides, he was rude. Nothing like how a knight should be.

It had been so long since she saw him, she was beginning to think she imaged the kiss they shared. Even without closing her eyes, she could remember that night clearer than anything else in her life. The smell of smoke from the fires below. Her terror when something stirred behind her and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist. She had tried to scream but his hand clamped down on her mouth.

"Little bird. I knew you'd come."

It was funny how as soon as she saw that it was him, and not anyone else, she had felt less scared and uncertain. If only for a split second. He had also been drunker than she had ever seen him. Drunk, and covered in blood. She had never felt more terrified in her life, and yet…

And then he spat out about how he was going, and suddenly, her mind only registered those words. Going. Leaving. From here. She found her voice eventually, reasoning with him that he couldn't leave (her) and he wouldn't be able to get out. He brushed it all aside.

"Why did you come here?" she remembered her thin voice asking.

"You promised me a song, little bird. Have you forgotten?"

No, she hadn't forgotten. But she couldn't. She was scared, and people out there were dying–

"Look at me."

She did.

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to his chest. She closed her eyes in fear and something else, thinking that he would kiss her then. But he didn't.

"Still can't bear to look, can you?" his voice rasped softly, almost painfully. She opened her eyes in confusion. Then just as suddenly, his grip on her wrist tightened, causing her to wince from the pain. He didn't know, but the bruises he left there had refused to fade for almost a fortnight. He had flung her down on top of her bed, and for a terrifying moment she thought that he would rape her. The smell of blood and wine filled her senses and she almost retched. But fear stopped her as she felt the sharp point of his dagger pressed against the flesh of her neck; not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make her fearful that if she breathed too deeply, it just might pierce her skin. He loomed over her, his body pressing hers down onto the bed, giving her no chance of escape.

"I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His breath was hot against her ear. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

So she did. She couldn't remember how to sing Florian and Jonquil. So when her mouth opened, another song came out. But as she sang, her voice wavering in fear, there was still that small part of her mind that knew that he wouldn't hurt her. As her voice trailed off, a silence fell over them. She found herself slowly raising her hand, pressing her palm against the scarred and pitted cheek covered in blood and something else that was wet and splashed onto her cheek.

"Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone.

And then he kissed her. It was funny how she could remember everything else that happened so clearly, down to the last detail, and somehow have her memory fail when it came to the most important thing that night. She closed her eyes and tried with all her might to remember what his lips felt like against her own. He would've been rough, not caring about whether or not his lips would bruise. He might've nipped at her lips - he was a dog, after all.

She slowly closed her eyes. His hands would've slid down the front of her dress, ripping apart the laces which held it together, not caring that it was one of her favourites. Her hand slid down her dress as she bit her lip, unfastening the front and shrugging it off. His hands would've made their way down her body until his fingers are pressing against her core. Sansa slowly dipped her fingers into her heat, gasping as she pictured the Hound's face, almost feeling his hot breath against her ear.

Suddenly, a loud cry came from outside her room, causing Sansa to jerk her hand away, her cheeks burning. And then just as suddenly, Alayne is back, and Sansa disappears again.

It must be Sweetrobin, Alayne thought as she pushed herself out of bed, tugging her dress back onto her shoulders. She made a mental note to take a bath as she stepped out into the chilled halls.