Chapter One

Damn it was bloody cold, Sandor shifted against the cave wall of the Brotherhood's hide out, worming his way closer to the fire. Everyone else was talking or sleeping and here he was having a chicken leg before he rotated off his shift. Gods but he hated winter.

"…Did you hear about our little Arya?" he heard from the fire next to his.

This was another reason why he hated the Brotherhood; too many fucking fires. Nevertheless his ears perked up at the sound of the little wolf-bitch. The hate that coursed through his veins in a constant torment flooded through near his skin. Sandor ground his teeth together before insisting on eating another bite of the accompanying tough bread.

"She's back at Winterfell, according to my brother," the man ripped into his own bit of rationed meat before gulping from his wine skin. "Lucky little shit was gushing about how her sister was back. Drooling he was, over her firm teats."

The other men laughed before huddling closer than before. Sandor gave up any pretence of eating his food as he listened. The hate halted under another emotion. The little bird had flown the cage down south? She had made it to Winterfell safe and sound? A little tightness in his chest that he hadn't realised was there eased.

"Aye I heard the same," another claimed through a mouthful of food. "They say that the Lady Sansa looks exactly how the Lady Catelyn was back when she was a wee lass."

"Yeah but not exactly right in the head," one snorted, chucking his bones into the fire.

The group nodded.

"Not right?" a younger one interjected.

Yeah, what the fuck was that meant to mean? He glared across the flames waiting for an explanation.

"Well, her ladyship was married to that Ramsey Bolton," he shuddered. "He was one sick fucker that one."

Dread pooled in his stomach and Sandor almost grabbed the lad by the throat to get the rest of the story without this anticipation.

"I mean," they all leaned closer again. Sandor strained his hearing over the crackling of the flames. "You know that new young recruit? He escaped from the Battle of the Bastards but before that," he visibly swallowed. "He lived at Winterfell under Ramsey and said that he could hear Lady Sansa's screams all through the night, every night-"

The Hound stood abruptly. All the men at the fire silenced, eyes wide at the sight of his face. He didn't know what it looked like but he could guarantee that it probably looked murderous.

"I'm leaving," he announced before striding to his pack.

He had enough time playing around. Clearly the little bird still had her summer plumage on when she escaped north. He may only be a dog but he could guarantee his pelt was a lot warmer and more resistant to poor treatment.

Good thing that the loyal dog was on the way.

…o0o…

Sansa rubbed her temples trying to appease the ache that was banging like a drum. Letters from everywhere rejecting sending more men for the war against the White Walkers. If this was how Jon felt all the time no wonder that he went to see the Dragon Queen. She wished she could too if only to escape another form of hand cramp.

Sighing she leaned back in her seat closing her eyes briefly. Grain was still too low, enforcements against Cersei, should she make an appearance, also too low and weapons? Don't even talk to her about the lack of winter armour that was being prepared. Winter was here and Winterfell was vastly under prepared.

Exhausted and a little cooped, Sansa shoved herself away from the desk and strode out to the courtyard in time to see the commotion at the gate and Arya's tell-tale brash voice. Holding in the urge to roll her eyes she quickened her pace. If she was bullying the lords again-

Not that she could exactly offer a lot to diffuse as she made her way to the bitterly cold walkway. If all the lords weren't sided with Queen Cersei they only really wanted to side with Jon if Sansa's hand in marriage was on the table. Luckily when Jon was around he insisted that she wouldn't be married to another man if he wasn't the one she wanted and trusted implicitly.

Although the warning to the other lords of the North was waning as the days turned to weeks without Jon.

"How the fuck are you alive?" Arya cried out and there was the sound of steel being unsheathed.

Gods what was it this time? Heart pounding Sansa rushed to the railing so she could view the archway that led into Winterfell and found that her own heart stopped with her feet stuck to the ground below when she saw the familiar burnt face. Sandor Clegane, the Hound. How was he alive? Brienne confirmed she shoved him off a cliff. Arya said she left him for dead.

Her blood hummed and she couldn't help the flush as his dark eyes glanced over Arya's head to where she was standing, still like a deer caught in the gaze of the predator. Her heart fluttered in her chest and her palms sweated inside her gloves.

"Hound?" Brienne gasped, her own sword coming out in a flash, rushing down the steps without her mistress.

Sansa managed to hold in her jump. She had forgotten her trusty sworn shield in the presence of her old one. Hastening down Sansa stood behind her sister not looking away from the Hound as he continued to stare at her. Was there something on her face? No, he was taking in all of her apparel but still did he have to look that intensely at her?

"The one and the fucking same," he growled.

His eyes finally released her and it felt like her heart plummeted down to her feet. Taking a step forwards she finally managed to step so she was beside Arya who she could tell was frothing at the mouth to spill some blood like a savage dog.

"Lord Clegane," Sansa folded her hands in front of her. "My thanks for seeing to my sister's safety."

His eyes claimed hers again and it took all her diligence to keep her breathing steady.

"I don't want your fucking thanks," he spat.

"No? You want your head on a fucking spike?" Arya snapped.

"You would like that wouldn't you," Sandor snarled

"Arya!" Sansa berated before turning her attention back to the Hound. "I heard you died."

"Fucking close to it."

"You are in the presence of a lady," Brienne took a menacing step forwards.

Sansa cut her off with a hand held high.

"We have nothing to give you in thanks, winter is here," she folded her hands in front of her again. "If you have something to demand go to our Maester to make a note of it until after the war and winter is over-"

She turned on her foot, her head a little dizzy. He was here, he was here, he was here, her mind ran in circles at this new development. Why was he here?

"Sworn shield," Sandor called to her back.

Pausing, her heart fluttering like the birds that were so common in the south, her cheeks red not from the bitter cold. How did his voice still command attention still? She was Queen of the North she didn't have to give into any man. She swallowed. Flicking a glance behind her she saw he stood now with his shoulders straight, his hand on his sword.

"How dare you-" Brienne began.

"You would leave one form of servitude for another?" she arches her brow. "That does not seem like much of a reward to me."

"A dog without an owner is a dog without a purpose," he shrugged. "At least in your service I know I'll be killing the right enemy."

"Why would I gift you the honour of being my sworn shield when I have my own here?" she turned to face him gesturing to the tall woman next to her. "I heard she beat you."

Many of the men around them sniggered. Sandor snorted.

"Yeah by using a fucking cliff when I was infected with a bite protecting this one," he nodded his head towards Arya and rolled his shoulders. "If it was a fair match I would beat her easily."

"Defending me is never going to be easy," she countered.

"No," he grinned, the burned side of his face barely moving with his smirk. "But if I remember correctly the terrain inside your castle is flat and I have no injury to my person so I should be able to manage all the Brienne of Fucking Tarths coming to kill you."

Glancing to her sworn shield and seeing the bags under her eyes, Sansa bit her lip. It was probably very tiring to continue the long days of guarding her. Another would be better and as much as she hated to admit it she had seen both of them fight and while Brienne had the ruthlessness to defeat Sandor, Sandor also had the masculine strength that would be more advantageous in a fight.

"So you are saying you could beat her here and now?" Sansa asked.

"Fucking of course."

Nodding, she turned to look where all the armour was being beaten.

"Outfit Ser Clegane," slanting a glare at him to halt his swear that he wasn't a 'bloody lord' but seeing her stare he shifted on his feet. "A fight to first blood."

Striding so she stood in front of him, she stared up at him, taking in all the glory of his burns.

"If you win, you become my sworn shield," she declared. "But if Brienne wins," she stepped closer her tone stony. "You are sworn to Winterfell and when we call on you for the upcoming war, you answer."

Nodding, Sandor slid a glance towards Brienne.

"Shall we fucking get to it then?" he unsheathed his sword finally, swinging it expertly.

Alarmed, Sansa glanced at Brienne to see she too was warming up.

"Don't you want any armour?" she asked, a slight trill coming into play.

With his one eyebrow that was still there she saw him quirk it up.

"I don't need it," he growled, striding past Sansa so he was in the centre of the courtyard facing Brienne.

A hand grasped her elbow and she gasped before stiffening when she saw it was Littlefinger.

"My lady might I suggest that you stand off to the side," he said as he guided her through the throng until she climbed the stairs to stand above them all.

She wanted to complain that she didn't need to lord over the rest of the community from a high vantage point but all the words drained from her throat at the masterpiece in front of her began. It was vicious. And deadly. And Sansa ended up praying to the gods hoping that they would spare both because both looked like they wanted to murder the other. Or at least settle for a limb lost.

With every clang as the swords met her heart beat raced harder, pounded in her ears and she could only remember feeling true fear like this when…Ramsey was there.

Kicking the legs out from under Brienne, Sandor took his advantage by punching and punching and punching until Brienne managed to kick his between his legs. Roaring, he gave one last punch but the blood was there.

He had won.

"First blood, first blood," she called frantically when it looked like Brienne would run him through with her sword.

Clambering to his feet, Sandor offered his hand to Brienne who despite the scowl took it and stood side by side as they looked up at her. Like she was a queen to pass judgement and with a jolt she realised that was her position here.

"Ser Clegane," she saw him swallow back a remark for which she was grateful. "You drew first blood and as such you have earnt the right to be my sworn shield as a reward for rescuing and defending my sister."

Sansa nodded to the blacksmith who walked up with recently created armour, meant for the other northerners had he not been there. But he had and Sansa couldn't help but feel the happier for it.

"Do not disappoint me."

With that declaration she spun on her foot to go back inside to begin her respondents hoping that sitting down would still her heart and the flush she felt through her body when she saw Sandor Clegane again.