CHAPTER 1

Sansa heard the deep voice, but did not fully understand the words.

"I'll take you north, girl." The words were low and gruff, clipped, like he had little time. "Back to your family."

Her heart jumped before she could stop it. A million thoughts flooded her head; the faces of Bran and Rickon, bickering by the fire, and Robb and Jon practicing their sword fighting. She saw Arya making faces before Septa Mordane could see. And she saw her mother, intricately braiding her hair to impress Joffrey, a thought that disgusted her now. She suppressed all the thoughts quickly before the Hound could see her emotions across her face.

"I can't," she said fervently, maybe she would be able to convince herself. "Stannis won't hurt me." She willed the words to be true. Besides, she couldn't imagine traveling with the Hound. Such a thing would be more than distasteful and inappropriate, a man of his age. And no matter how many times she told herself that he had saved her from being raped and killed, that she owed him her life, the Hound still terrified her.

"Look at me," the Hound fumed, his voice rising, He grabbed her face roughly, puling it up and Sansa was forced to look into his bloodshot eyes. He reeked of wine and the disfigurement of his face was twisted into an expression of fury.

"Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world was built by killers, so you'd better get used to looking at them."

Sansa could see behind his eyes for the briefest of moments, and all she saw was pain. A life built on pain and misery; it overwhelmed her with a curious sense of empathy. What had he been before he had become a dog?

In the blink of an eye, the moment had cleared and his expression had gone back to its usual stoic mask. He shoved her face away as if he'd been burned.

"Stay and die," he said, and it sounded final to the girl. Her mind was racing, could she get away from the capital with him? If they found her they'd kill her like they did her father, but if she stayed she would most likely die anyways. As if reading her mind, the Hound bellowed,

"By Joffrey's hand or those fucking rapers. It won't matter who does it in the end, you'll still be a dead bird." Sansa shuddered. The words were true, though she hated hearing them. The Hound turned towards the door, and Sansa made a high-pitched squeak.

"Wait," he turned back to her.

"If I go with you, you promise you'll take me to my family? You will protect me?"

"Aye."

"Alright." Her voice was very small, and the Hound hardly heard the word, though he knew she'd said it. He had never expected her to agree, and now she had. Through his drunkenness he struggled to comprehend what that would mean. "Let's go, then," he said, grabbing her arm urgently and pulling her towards the door. Startled, she pulled back.

"Wait," she cried. "What about my things?!"

"No things," he answered gruffly, picking her up and throwing her over his massive, ironclad shoulder, as he had when he'd rescued her. The last thing she saw as they fled her room was the beautiful doll her father had given her, sitting on her bedside table.