Sandor had noticed her dead eyes once she had awoken from her faint. Sansa Stark, the once innocent girl that had first come to Kings Landing from the North was long gone, replaced by an empty shell held captive by the Lannisters with no family or friends in sight. He grimly remembered when that little shit who called himself King had decided it was best to show her her own father's head on the spike sitting atop the Red Keep's wall. When she had finally snapped, dropping her shield of courtesies and insulted Joffrey to his face, Ser Meryn (Sandor could hardly call him that without a snigger in his voice) was commanded to hit Sansa and Meryn was never one to hold back, woman or not. That slap hurt Sandor just as much. He had grown fond of the little bird with her sweet ways which were a nice change from the filth and lies normally found within the capitol.

As he stood passively by, keeping his fists clenched at his sides to stop from striking the king himself, he saw the glint in Sansa's eyes as she saw just how far the fall was from their place at the top of the battlements. She took a single step forward and his instincts kicked in. Sandor grabbed her shoulders and whipped her around, quickly ripping a piece of cloth from his Kingsguard cloak as an excuse to have stopped her. He gently dabbed at her busted lip and handed her the cloth, claiming that she will need it later, knowing full well that this will not be the last time Joffrey or his Kingsguard will have Sansa Stark beaten. She quietly thanked him for his kindness, but her words are empty and her eyes don't make it past the clasp of his cloak on his shoulders. She can't even bare to look at me, he thought sadly, but knows that her empty gazes are more than any other woman will spare him. Besides¸ she is the kings betrothed. Best not get feelings for the little song bird. He sulked away after Sansa as Meryn escorted her back to her room.

His rounds that evening seemed to take longer than normal as he could not get the thought of the sweet girl out of his head. Finally, as it neared the hour of the owl, Sandor dared venture towards her room knowing full well that the rest of the castle was either asleep or comfortably cradling a wine goblet or lover, or both. No one would dare disturb them, especially with his reputation as a ruthless killer. The wine in his belly didn't hinder this bravery to go see the little bird.

Sandor could see her door just at the end of the hallway. He reached for the flask he kept on his hip during these night watches. A final swig flowed down his throat to strengthen his reserve. He rapped on the door three times before a diminutive handmaiden opened the door just so her eyes could peer out to question the nighttime intruder. Sandor could just make out the corner of her white linen nightgown and a faint glow of a candle near the back of the room, telling him that Sansa was still awake.

"What is it, ser?" she whispered, daring to let her entire head out to look down both sides of the hallway. Sandor wasn't sure if she was looking to see if he brought other Kingsguard with him to harm the Lady Stark. She would find no one, friend nor foe.

"I'm no ser. I've come to check on Lady Stark. May I see her?" Thought he tried to keep his tone smooth and unwavering through his slight buzz, it came out as a severe gruff command more than a request. The handmaiden let out a small cry between her thin lips and rushed behind the door to admit him in. Sansa seemed just as surprised by his intrusion as Sandor did himself.

"Ser Clegane, to what may I owe the pleasure of your visit this evening?" she coolly asked. She was sitting up straight in her bed, a candle on her nightstand and a book in her lap. Her beautiful auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, half of it burning red in the candlelight. The small cut on her left cheekbone was still red with the remnants of her blood. As he entered he noticed her discreet attempt to pull the covers further up her body to hide her improper dress. A lady's nightgown barely covered what was proper for a man who was not her husband to see.

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright, Lady Stark. And I'm no ser. Clegane will do." He growled, aware that Sansa Stark was near naked under those sheets and he just a few feet away. His eyes shifted to anything and everything but her form.

"Fine. Clegane. And I'm doing just fine, no thanks to you or your fellow Kingsguard. I'll be alright." Her tone came almost to a snarl.

Sandor could do nothing but sigh and run his hands over the mass of burnt flesh that was half his face and through thick black hair further back on his temple. He knew he was no handsome knight that she desired and he just about the last person in Westeros, quite possibly the world that she wanted to talk to right now. But out of all the people in Kings Landing, he was the only one who gave two shits about her well being.

"I want no part in what Joffrey commands." He barked.

Sansa's eyes found his, her brows furrowed as she scrutinized every part of him. His armor was well made steel but filthy from use, small cuts running up and down from swords swung true. The white cloak of the Kingsguard that hung from his shoulders was dirtied and she could find the small corner that was missing on the right side, her mind wandering to the small piece of cloth that was just underneath her palm inside the pages of her book of prayers. Sansa nodded for her handmaiden, who still stood shivering by the door to close it. Once done she beckoned the large beast of a man with the half burnt face towards her bedside, motioning towards the chair that sat at a small wooden table. Yet he continued to stand.

"What is it exactly you want, Clegane?"

"I just want-"

"To ransom me to the highest bidder? To rape me and take my maidenhead? What?" Her back was rigid against the headboard and her knuckles were white with her nails digging into the leather cover of her book.

"That's not it at all! If you would just shut your mouth for one second, maybe-"

"Don't you dare speak to me that way! I don't care if you're the Kingsguard or Tywin Lannister. I will not be made a fool of." Sandor was not sure where this brave woman came from, but it floored him. He didn't have a smartass retort that came so naturally to him. So he said the first true thought that came to mind.

"I want to help you, little bird."

Sansa blinked. There was no way what was just said had come out of the Hound's mouth. Surely this was a jape and Joffrey and Meryn wait patiently outside her door, ready for more penance for her or her family's doings. But no one joined them for the castle was as quiet as the grave.

"You better not say a word of this meeting to anyone or I'll have your handmaiden added to the spikes." His threat was as empty as the flask on his hip. He knew it was to keep up the appearance of the Hound for the shivering girl in the corner and not the lady in front of him.

All cruelness that Sansa knew to be a part of the Hound's nature was not present in this man who stood in front of her. This man, though he wore the same face, was not the man who slaughtered the butcher's boy or dreamed of killing his brother. This man had kindness hidden somewhere behind those stormy grey eyes. A man who might be her greatest and only ally in an otherwise venomous pit from which she could not fly out of.

Sansa beckoned for her robe to cover herself up with. As it was brought to her, Sandor remembered a lady's decency and turned his back while she gingerly stepped out of bed and wrapped herself in the woolen robe given to her by her lady mother. The smell of snow and smoke still lingered in its folds. Sansa deeply inhaled before tying the sides together and tiptoeing to placing a soft hand on Clegane's shoulders. He merely turned his head over his shoulder and stared at her beauty for what seemed like ages. In dim candlelight she was magnificent and the shadows danced across her pale skin, showing off every curve of her figure and the dips of her collarbone.

Sansa Stark gave him a gentle nudge to turn him around so they were mere feet away from each other. Even with his height towering above her, she could still feel his warm breath hitting her cheeks. It reminded her too much of her father and Winterfell.

"Clegane, I don't know what your true intentions are or if you have ulterior motives. But I assure you, I am no child that needs watching." The tremor in her voice was hardly detectable as Sansa stared down the man she knew could kill her with one swift flick of his wrist.

"I know that, Lady Stark. I'll leave you be. I'll be back tomorrow." And with that he turned on the heel of his boot and ripped the door open, the hinges creaking violently against the strain. There was no promise of what his next visit would bring, but Sansa knew it would be just like tonight's. Just a lady with her handmaiden and Westeros' second best warrior. And she could tell he would either be her salvation or her downfall.