Author's Notes: This is an expanded fic of the originally Livejournal sansaxsandor Sansan Russian Roulette challenge, written for the prompt of amazing starbird1: "Westerosi bachelor auction. Sandor has to participate. Sansa has to bid. (Up to you if it's on him or not.) Would prefer more depth than just a description of Sandor walking out on stage and Sansa nervously placing a bid. Prefer canon-era and not modern AU."

The actual challenge is limited to about 500 words and the original fill of 536 words can be found in . . This is an extended version - let's call it a 'directors's cut' (or director's extension?). Hope you enjoy!

Once – seemingly long, long time ago - Sansa Stark would have enjoyed nothing more than admiring a procession of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms parading in front of her eyes in their shining armours, steel and precious stones of their expensive trappings sparkling in bright daylight.

Yet now – only a short time later – she wished nothing more than for the foolish auction to just finish. Her feet felt like lead after standing still for what seemed like hours, and she suppressed an impulse to shift her weight back and forth to gain some respite. Ladies don't fidget, Septa Mordane's voice echoed inside her head.

"It is going to be so much fun!" Margaery Tyrell had gushed to her ladies and anyone within earshot, eager to make her mark in the court where she had been so suddenly elevated into a position of the highest status. Apparently not wanting to deny his new bride anything - especially when the said bride had arrived at the head of a victorious army and a large convoy of much needed supplies - King Joffrey had agreed to her whim.

One after another the knights who had volunteered to this outlandish and not just a little bit scandalous scheme had walked up to the dais and strutted back and forth while the auctioneer had sung their praises. Esteemed lineage of the noblest houses of the realm, battle prowess, accolades achieved in tourneys and prestigious positions in the court were touted about each of the candidates. What was left unsaid but still as loud as if shouted from the top of the room was how well-groomed and handsome these men were, all in the prime of their life.

Not that the latter should have mattered the least. However, Sansa had heard whispers that in frivolous Highgarden and in Dorne, where the practice of Auction-a-Knight had first risen, these attributes were considered of highest importance. The occasions when the most handsome knights were on offer apparently easily reached a bidding frenzy otherwise seen only in sales of the most renowned war horses or hunting hounds. It was also rumoured that the services expected from the knights could involve activities not publicly listed but only murmured in quiet undertones - and that free-spirited ladies and even maids did bid freely.

Nothing like that however in this solemn court, still recuperating from the recent brush with war when horrible green fire had engulfed defenders and attackers alike. No, in the Red Keep it was respectable matrons of noble houses doing the bidding, either at their own initiate or as instructed by their lord husbands, men being forbidden to partake in the auction by the light-hearted rules of the game. The knights were subsequently expected to be at the peck and call of their 'owners' for a day, be it arms training for their sons or household men-at-arms, escorting high-born ladies on their excursions to the city or countryside or simply for parading around in front of the proud winner as a sign of their success in the novelty event organised by the future queen.

The auctioneer's voice reached a high pitch in his excitement at the conclusion of yet another sale.

"…and the last bid of the day is also the highest; 20 gold dragons offered and accepted for Ser Loras of House Tyrell! Congratulations Lady Brax for an excellent choice!"

Ser Loras smiled smugly at the tittering older lady who had beaten everyone else in her resolve to win the most distinguished knight of the day, saved for the last.

"And this will conclude our auction for the day…"

"Not so fast," King Joffrey interrupted the vociferous auctioneer, raising himself into a better position on his throne where he had lounged looking bored for most of the auction. He looked alert now and even excited in an odd sort of way. "There is one more left."

He raised his arm in a royal wave and the guards who had clearly expected the signal rushed to a small side-door at the back of the room. As the door opened a tall figure stormed through, striding determinedly straight in front of the Iron Throne.

The whole hall fell silent and Sansa swallowed, nervously. The Hound!

"Your Grace. As you commanded." Almost imperceptible nod from the huge warrior acknowledged his master. He was dressed in a dented armour and bore no insignia of the Kingsguard but only somewhat tarnished colours of his own house, black and yellow of House Clegane.

Sansa's legs almost gave up on him and she swayed on the spot. 'Sing for your life, little bird'. Green glow reflecting from smooth metal, cold steel of his dagger biting softness of her throat. He had come to her that night, promised to protect her, threatened her, demanded a song…and yet she had felt his hot tears under her hand.

Much later, huddled inside his discarded cloak, feelings of terror and pity had clashed in Sansa's mind. She understood that it was not the battle or drink that had made him act so, but the fire. The fire set upon him and he broke.

After the Battle of the Blackwater the Hound had been found in a wretched condition inside the keep, leaning against the wall in one of the many meandering corridors. That it happened to be the very corridor where Sansa's chambers were located had seemingly missed anyone's notice though, and better so. Ever since then he had been shunned as a deserter and swiftly dismissed from the Kingsguard, the king seemingly having taken his disappearance from the battlefield as a personal betrayal.

Did he stay because of me? Sansa had wondered more than once. Was it because I didn't go with him? She hadn't exchanged a word with the man or even seen him since that terrible night and wasn't sure how she would react should she suddenly find herself in his presence. Luckily the crowd was large enough for her to safely hide amongst it.

Joffrey smirked and nodded at the auctioneer who had moved cautiously to the other side of the dais. Recognising the king's gesture for what it was, a royal command, the man's eyes bulged in shock and fear. The Hound, who had so far ignored the crowd, glanced at the man and seeing his fright and nervous clearing of his throat, finally noticed the audience – and flinched.

Sansa caught the meaning of the scene unfolding in front of her at the same time as the rest of the audience and gasped. Joffrey wants to humiliate him. It was clear from the way the king grinned after seeing the Hound's reaction. He might not have dismissed his sworn shield from the court outright but he hadn't exonerated him either. The kings apparently didn't simply forgive and forget.

The Hound cursed silently, glanced at the crowd darkly and then turned as if to leave, but the guards moved quickly in his way blocking his exit. He turned this way and that, seeking a way out, but seeing that there was no escape he finally stilled and just stood there, absolutely motionless.

The crowd stared at him in morbid fascination. Sansa glanced at the faces surrounding her and recognised the same enthrallment that captivated spectators in bull baiting; that of people gaining sick pleasure from seeing a magnificent beast brought down. Murmurs filled the air when people speculated who – if anyone – would dare to bid for the Hound.

"Any bids? Anyone? Starting from one gold dragon, a trifling coin for a man of his stature." The auctioneer had recovered his composure and entreated the masses, anxiously. He made sure that he was as far away from the Hound as possible by walking back and forth near the front row, desperately searching for a raised hand or an assured nod.

The Hound's scowl deepened. His broad shoulders heaved as he took in a deep breath of air and closed his eyes.

A long silence ensued, the shuffle and scrape of people's feet on stone floor being the only noise.

Suddenly Sansa couldn't stand it any longer. Maybe it was the way he had squeezed his eyes shut in a quiet surrender that pierced her heart and prompted her to act without thinking, maybe it was something else – but the next thing she heard was a loud voice breaking the silence.

"FIFTY GOLD DRAGONS!"

Had it really been her own voice?

Every face in the room turned towards her confirming the horrible realisation that yes, it had been her. Yet Sansa ignored everyone's gaze but his. Grey eyes, opened wide in surprise. When he looked at her all the others disappeared and it was as if they were all alone in that great big hall. Then a mute query emerged from the dark depths of grey.

Why?

Trembling from the shock of her own audacity, thunder of her own heartbeat pounding loudly in her ears, Sansa stepped slowly forward. The auctioneer's mouth hang open and his staff was poised halfway in the air on its way to thump the floor as a sign of an accepted bid. Without bothering to call for other bids the man just stared at Sansa and finally croaked, "Sold…to Lady Sansa Stark…for fifty gold dragons." Thump.

Sansa was almost at the dais, still not breaking the eye contact with the Hound.

Because you meant kindness to me.

Then she stood right in front of him, not sure what she was supposed to do. The other knights had descended the podium to meet their new masters, bowing and offering their arm to the ladies in a courtly manner, but surely she could not expect anything as chivalrous from him?

And yet the mighty warrior bowed, his gesture conveying his acceptance of the invisible leash from her hands. And Sansa knew then that he felt it too, just like she did; the extraordinary connection they shared. Knew - and accepted it.

Sansa turned and smiled, a tremulous smile, as she walked off the dais, hearing the heavy footsteps of the man she had just bought behind her. The crowd in front of them opened like a flock of chicken and as they walked ahead they left behind them a wake of astonished faces and headshakes.