Author's note: This started out as a one-shot but then I went haywire with it. You may read only the first chapter or continue if you please. Also, Sansa has been aged up. 'Nuff said. :P

Chapter 1

"The longer you keep him waiting, the worse it will go for you," Sandor Clegane warned her.

Sansa tried to hurry, but her fingers fumbled at buttons and knots. The Hound was always rough-tongued, but something in the way he had looked at her filled her with dread. Had Joffrey found out about her meetings with Ser Dontos? Please no, she thought as she brushed out her hair. Ser Dontos was her only hope. I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest.

When she emerged, Sansa walked on the Hound's left, away from the burned side of his face. "Tell me what I've done."

"Not you. Your kingly brother."

"Robb's a traitor." Sansa knew the words by rote. "I had no part in whatever he did." Gods be good, don't let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

The Hound snorted. "They trained you well, little bird."

~ From A Clash of Kings, chapter 32

They seemed to be walking forever and her slippers pinched her feet as she tried to match the Hound's long-strided pace. Sansa looked around her and realized they were in a part of the keep she hadn't visited before. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice a breathless squeak.

His only reply was the way his mouth curved downwards in a frown.

The Hound finally stopped walking and stood before a pair of large ornate doors. She stood beside him, her breath heaving. From the brisk walk or from the sense of dread suddenly making her cold, she could not say.

"The King's suite," the Hound rasped before reaching for the handle.

Inside was a wealth of opulence. Each piece of furniture was gilded perfection and each fabric shone with thread of gold. Sansa vaguely realized that before Joff had killed her father she would have given anything for a glimpse of all this splendor. Now she just stood in the middle of a plush rug and shivered, holding herself tight.

The Hound turned to look at her. "Come on, little bird. This way." He conducted her through another set of doors.

She wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted her. The king was alone in his chamber, and he looked tiny in a large ornate bed that could have slept six people. He was plopped up against the headboard with half a dozen fluffy pillows. In his lap was a tray with a bowl of steaming soup that he was slurping noisily between sniffles.

Sansa pulled her thoughts together. No matter how harmless Joff looked, he had others to carry out his bullying. "Your Grace." She fell to her knees."You are unwell?"

"Kneeling won't save you now," the king said, soup dribbling down his chin into the frothy neck of his bed gown. His nose was red and blotchy and his voice nasal. "I am well enough. Just a cold that should be gone in a few days. Stand up. You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."

"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part. You know that, I beg you, please-"

"Get her up!"

The Hound pulled her to her feet, not ungently. His hands felt impossibly hot against her clammy skin.

"Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell upon Ser Stafford Lannister with an army of wargs, not three days ride from Lannisport. Thousands of good men were butchered as they slept, without the chance to lift sword. After the slaughter, the northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."

Horror coiled cold hands around Sansa's throat.

"You have nothing to say?" asked Joffrey. His worm lips drew down in a sneer and he jabbed his spoon at her, sending drops of soup flying into her face. "You Starks are as unnatural as those wolves of yours. I've not forgotten how your monster savaged me."

"That was Arya's wolf," she said, resisting the urge to wipe her face. "Lady never hurt you, but you killed her anyway."

"No, your father did," Joff said, "but I killed your father. I wish I'd done it myself. I killed a man who was bigger than your father. They came to the gate shouting my name and calling for bread like I was some baker, but I taught them better. I shot the loudest one right through the throat."

"And he died?" she said.

The Hound jabbed her hard in the back. To keep her from saying something stupider, she surmised.

"Of course he died," Joffrey said. "He had my quarrel in his throat. You really are stupid, aren't you. There was a woman throwing rocks, I got her as well, but only in the arm." He frowned. "I'd shoot you too, but if I do Mother says they'd kill my uncle Jaime. Instead you'll just be punished and we'll send word to your brother about what will happen to you if he doesn't yield. Dog, rape her."

Sansa blinked at him, her heart seeming to slow down in her chest.

"Well," the King said. "Get to it, Dog!"

The Hound cleared his throat. "Your grace," he began. "This might not be a good idea. I could get her with child."

"No you won't. I know all about moon tea. Get the maester to brew her some later. And don't you tell me what is or isn't a good idea. I am your king! You will do as I say."

The Hound looked Sansa up and down, considering. "Here, your grace?"

The King opened his mouth to speak but sneezed instead. He sneezed three more times before replying. "Yes, here." He waved vaguely towards the rug on the floor.

The Hound did not seem impressed. "They may call me the Hound, but I am a man. I require a bed."

"Well you aren't using mine!" The king looked scandalized. "Take her to the chamber across the hall. And I want to hear her scream."

The Hound grabbed her arm and began to drag her away. Sansa snapped. "No, your grace," she said, he voice shrill. "Please, I beg you! Joffrey please. I'll be good. Joffrey-" She fell to her knees but the Hound lifted her easily and carried away. Sansa sobbed as she saw the King's grinning face disappear to her view.

The Hound dumped her unceremoniously on the bed and went back to bar the doors. He turned to look at her, his face oddly blank.

Sansa shifted away to the other side of the bed. "Please, ser. Please don't do this. I'll give you anything you want."

He slowly undid his sword belt and placed his sword and scabbard on the table by the door. "You have only one thing I want, little bird. And that is what you are asking me not to take." He walked towards her. "And I am no ser," he added, almost as an afterthought.

He sat on the bed and reached for her, dragging her towards him.

"No!" she screamed, clawing at his arm, his face, any skin she could reach. Still he overpowered her and threw her across his legs. He held her still with one hand and drew her skirt up and smallclothes down with the other. Before she could think a hard stinging slap landed across her backside, causing her to hiss in pain.

She strained her neck to look up at him, confused.

His face was contorted in a grimace. "Scream, damn you," he rasped. He hit her again, harder than before.

This time she did scream. And again when he hit her. And again. She sobbed as well. Sansa knew the tears running down her cheeks were from a mixture of relief and indignity. He's spanking me, she thought. And there was pain, or course. The Hound seemed to put everything into the slaps.

It seemed to go on forever but must have been only a dozen or so hits. When he was done the Hound gently drew her smallclothes over her abused flesh and lowered her dress. Then he sat her on the bed and stood up.

Sansa swiped at the tears on her hot cheeks and looked up at him. "Oh!" she said. "You're bleeding!" His hair was clumped together where she had pulled at it and she had scratched up the good side of his face.

He reached up to touch a scratch and winced. "You put up a better fight than I expected," he said, his voice strangely admiring.

His smirk made his mouth twitch. But his grey eyes were twinkling and she wasn't frightened anymore. She squeezed her legs together.

"Look what you've done, little bird," he chided, his hand smoothing down his hair. "How ungallant of you. You've scarred me for life."