AUTHOR'S NOTE: First of all, I do not own any of these characters mentioned in this silly little story. I'm merely borrowing them for my own pleasure. I'll put them right back, GRRM, I promise. Second, I'm so glad many of you liked my first SanSan story. So here's another. And this one won't be just a one shot. I have plans for this one. I hope you like it! Let me know.

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She had been so foolish back then. Head full of silly songs and love stories that would never come to pass. Joffrey had been kind at first, whispering little sweet sentiments to her, protecting her from his Dog. If only she had known then that she needed protection from him.

Her skin had once been creamy and smooth and free from any blemishes to mar its surface. Now there were cuts on her legs, welts all over her body, fading yellow bruises with some purple fresh ones intermingled in. She could no longer bare to look at herself in the mirror while getting dressed. She didn't want to see what new wounds she carried.

At night, she would be tortured by dreams and nightmares. The dreams were almost worse because she would wake up happy, only to be cruelly reminded of the hell her life had became. King Joffrey taunted her, had her beaten and disrobed all for his pleasure. His uncle saved her once. The King had taken extreme caution after that so they wouldn't get caught again.

One time she dreamed she was back in the North. It was a different Winterfell from before, after all it had been destroyed. But this one was rebuilt and it was glorious and it felt like home. A feeling she wondered if she'd ever have again. Arya was there with a young man whom Sansa didn't know. Rickon and Bran were there! And then she was there. With the Hound.

She woke up the next morning with a headache, wondering just what her dream meant. Rickon and Bran had been reported dead. Arya was long gone and quite possibly dead too. Though, knowing her little sister as she did, she imagined that Arya would outlive them all if her temper didn't do her in first. A smile appeared on her lips for the first time in Gods knew how long. She didn't know what the Hound was doing in her dream, but it made her feel safe, another feeling she was no longer familiar with.

Sansa found herself revisiting the dream whenever she was being beaten, trying to keep a grip on reality and failing. It was the only thing that got her through the day, the thought that she may dream again of that crazy world that she wished was real. She found herself seeking out the Hound every time she was in a room with him. He was the one that frequently escorted her back to her chambers after her beatings and while she was usually in worlds of pain by then, his presence reminded her that for now, it was over.

After a particularly brutal beating, Sansa found herself dizzy and limping and gasping for air. One of the men, she had lost track of which one, had kicked her numerous times in the ribs and now she couldn't breathe properly. It was making her head spin. She could feel the Hound's eyes on her as she inhaled sharply, pressing a hand against her ribcage.

"C'mon, girl, hurry up."

"Please, ser, I can't breathe." She gasped, holding out a hand to stay him. He stopped moving, coming closer to her. There was actual concern in his eyes.

"Little bird." He rasped and she looked up at him just in time to catch his gaze before fainting. She never hit the floor.