Inside Winterfell's Great Hall, seated at a trestle table a week before the dead would arrive at the gates, Sansa flipped the golden coin, catching it with one hand and placing it onto the back of the other. When she removed her hand, she observed that the coin faced dragon side up.

"Arya," said Sansa. "Go ahead, give me a challenge."

Seated across from her, in between Gendry and Tyrion Lannister, her little sister contemplated that for a moment, looking around the hall for some wicked idea. When a smirk formed on her lips, Sansa knew that she found one. "I challenge you to invite the Hound to play."

Inside her chest, her heart fluttered. And in between her legs, arousal grew.

It would be the perfect excuse to talk to him after all this time. It had been years since Sansa had last seen Sandor Clegane. Yet throughout those years, Sansa had never forgotten him. On the contrary, their time apart fostered feelings inside of her, an infatuation of sorts, with her former betrothed's sworn shield. Sansa cursed herself for not leaving with him the night he had come to her during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. However, she was younger then, foolish enough to still believe that she would be safe should Stannis Baratheon win the battle and defeat the Lannisters. But he didn't, and not leaving with the Hound quickly proved to be the worst mistake of her life.

Since then, she had been forced to marry Tyrion Lannister, extracted from King's Landing by Littlefinger, married to Lord Harrold Hardyng of the Eyrie after her cousin, Lord Robert Arryn, died, her previous marriage annulled due to being unconsummated, and nearly forced to wed Littlefinger after he had inconspiciously paid an assassin to murder her lord husband in hopes of gaining the North and the Eyrie. Luckily for Sansa, she learned to play Petyr Baelish's game, and upon finding him guilty of a plethora of charges, he had been executed.

In the month they were married, Harrold Hardyng had not been as terrible of a husband as Littlefinger would have been, but he was arrogant, cocky, and preferred Sansa to remain in bed rather than carry out duties as Lady of the Eyrie. Sansa never loved the man, she didn't even like him, and was grateful that his seed never quickened inside her womb. Each time she had to perform her wifely duties in the bedchamber, she would close her eyes and imagine someone else- the same man who had come to Winterfell with a group of others the day prior, joining their forces in the inevitable battle against the Others who marched south. The same man who her little sister had challenged her to speak to.

Despite the feelings she had come to discover for Sandor Clegane, the desire that had grown from his absence and distance, Sansa was apprehensive. A woman grown I may be, but will he ever see me as anything other than a child?

"Go on, Lady Sansa. Drink," Tyrion Lannister urged her. "Better to be sick from wine than to trouble yourself with Clegane."

I'm a woman now, not a child. He will see that...won't he? Sansa took in a deep breath and said, "I'll do it." Arya's mouth fell open, clearly surprised by her sister's acceptance of such a challenge.

Sansa stood from the trestle table and smoothed out her jet black gown, sauntering slowly across the hall towards him. He was sitting alone at the far end of the hall with his back facing her, a cup in his hand. Her breaths became more shallow with every step, feeling less and less like a woman as she approached and more like a child again. No, not a child. A woman. Once she stood behind him, she didn't know what to say, the years apart making them strangers once again. Rather than use words to grab his attention, Sansa put her quivering hand on one broad, muscled shoulder.

"What the bloody-" Sandor Clegane began to curse before turning his head and discovering that it was her. "Little bird," he exhaled once his eyes met hers, the anger in the tone of his voice melting away.

It had been years since she heard that. Little bird. Sansa once believed he was mocking her when he would call her that, but in that moment, it sounded endearing. "Sandor," she said, feigning calmness. A woman grown, but around him, I'm as nervous as a child. "Forgive me, I should have come to you sooner."

"Forgive you?" the Hound asked. "I held a bloody blade to your throat the last time I saw you."

It was true. That night the Blackwater burned, the Hound had come to her, offered to take her away, but he also forced her to sing him a song while wielding a dagger. Sansa had been terrified then, the green light from the wildfire filling the room as the blade pressed against her skin, but over the years, it was not the fear she remembered- it was the kiss. That kiss never happened, she thought, a bitter reminder. I only wish that it had. I've dreamt of it, fantasized of it, again and again, but that will make it any more true.

"You were drunk, Sandor. And the battle, the wildfire...it doesn't matter now. It wasn't right of me not to welcome you when you arrived."

Sandor Clegane looked relieved by her response, as if he expected her to lash out at him for remembering that last moment together. "You're a lady... the Lady, now. Plenty of more important things for you to do than to speak to an old dog."

The words made her sad. "There's nothing more important," she blurted, nearly blushing when it registered to her what she said. "So, we're playing a game...I was wondering if you would like to join us."

"A game?" he asked her, still bewildered from her previous response. "What sort of game?"

"It's a drinking game. I've never played it before, but Tyrion introduced it to us."

The Hound turned around on the bench to face the others. When Sansa looked over, she saw that Arya was scowling at him. "That bloody sister of yours and the Imp," he scoffed. "Who's the black-haired lad? A suitor of yours?"

Sansa thought he sounded jealous and almost smiled. "No, that's Gendry. He's my sister's...well I'm not quite sure what he is to her."

"The she-wolf has herself a lover, does she?" He chuckled wryly and shook his head. "Poor bastard. So, what is this game, little bird?"

This time, Sansa couldn't suppress the smile that played on her lips after hearing him call her that again. "It's called Challenge or Candor. Tyrion can explain it better than I can, but you flip a coin and either have to answer a question honestly or complete a challenge, else you need to drink."

"Let me guess, girl- this is your challenge?" he asked dourly.

Sansa's smile fell and she gazed at her feet, embarrassed. Just like a child. "It was, but not because I didn't want to. I only-"

The Hound stood from the bench and placed a hand on the small of her back, urging her forward. "I'm teasing you, little bird. I'll come play the Imp's game to save you from having to drink yourself into a stupor."

Walking through the Great Hall with Sandor Clegane beside her reminded her of all the times he escorted her throughout the Red Keep, years ago. But rather than feel tense with him beside her as she often did then, she felt something else, something stimulating. The two received many perplexed stares from others inside the hall, most notably from Gendry, Arya and Tyrion who watched them approach. Sansa had to bite her lip from grinning.

Once Sansa sat down on the bench, the Hound sitting right beside her, Tyrion forced a smile and said, "Clegane, we all thought you were dead."

Sandor Clegane frowned. "Don't sound too bloody disappointed."

"Not at all. Better you alive, fighting for the living, than killing our men as an Other."

"I'm disappointed," Arya added.

"Arya!" Sansa reproached her.

The Hound spat on the ground before pouring himself a cup of wine. "I bet you are."

Following the dragging silence, Tyrion cleared his throat. "All right, Clegane. Let me explain the game to you slowly ," he chuckled drunkenly, picking up the coin from the table. "I have here a golden dragon. King Jaehaerys is minted on one side, and on the other, the Targaryen sigil. If the coin lands dragon side up, you'll choose someone to give you a challenge, and if king side up, you'll choose someone to ask you a question. Now, the catch is you want to choose someone you believe will give you an easy challenge or question so they will be the ones to drink should you complete the task. If you decide to opt out, you'll need to down your cup in its entirety. Forgive me, lots of words...I know you are not a man of words."

"Sounds like a bloody game for children," the Hound said before eyeing her. Sansa thought she saw regret in those grey eyes before he turned back to Tyrion. "Give me the coin, Imp." Once Tyrion slid the golden dragon to him, the Hound flipped the coin high into the air and caught it in the middle of his palm. "Dragon," he mumbled, glancing at Tyrion. "Imp, do your worst."

Tyrion had a sinister smile plastered on his face. "I challenge you to walk right up to my brother and smack him in the head."

The Hound boomed with laughter. "Smack the Kingslayer? I'd do that without a bloody challenge."

"Smack him and insult him," Tyrion added mischievously.

Sansa had never seen the Hound move so quickly, standing up from the trestle table and striding over to Jaime Lannister who sat near the hearth with Brienne of Tarth. Before Jaime could inquire what we wanted, Sandor Clegane lifted his hand, smacked the side of his golden-haired head, and said loudly, "Fuck you, you dumb, one-handed cunt."

Gasps seemed to come from everywhere, but Sansa's quickly turned into gleeful laughter, a laugh she had not felt since she was a child. However, it was short-lived once Brienne pulled the sword from her scabbard.

"Lady Brienne!" Tyrion shouted across the hall. "We are playing a game. I asked him to do it. Clegane meant no harm."

As the Hound returned to the table, unfazed by Brienne's threat, Sansa could see a glimpse of a smile on his face once he saw that she was laughing again. When he sat back down, he was sitting closer to her than before, their arms touching one another, and the sharp arousal that followed made her cross her legs.

"Lady Arya," Tyrion said, guzzling his wine upon Sandor completing his challenge. "It's your turn."

Arya snatched the coin from in front of the Hound and sneered at him before flipping it into the air and catching it. When she looked down, she sighed. "A stupid king," she mumbled, looking at the man in front of her. "Since you're not dead, ask me something," Arya said unkindly.

The Hound crossed his arms over his chest, and Sansa could feel the muscles flexing against her arm. "Since you wish I was dead so badly, why didn't you just kill me after the Crossroads?"

Sansa had never seen her sister so uncomfortable. Arya looked at him for a short while, blank in expression, before deciding not to answer, picking up her cup and guzzling the wine inside. "Gendry, your turn."

"I'm done," Gendry slurred with his head resting on the table. "I'm like to be sick."

"You better not," her little sister muttered.

When a brown-haired, slender serving girl came by with a full flagon of wine, Tyrion took a long look at her ass before saying, "Give me the coin. I do believe it is my turn."

Once Arya slid it over to him, Tyrion stumbled picking it up before tossing it into the air and, quite craftily, having it land on the ground. He leaned over, just behind the serving girl's ass, and pressed his face into it. The girl startled, nearly spilling the flagon of wine as she sat it on the table.

"Oh, pardon me," Tyrion said innocently after picking up the gold. "It appears to be a dragon. Lady Sansa, I'll hear what you have to say."

Sansa watched as the serving girl walked away with a shy smile and said, "I challenge you not to invite her into your bedchamber tonight."

Tyrion Lannister chuckled before quickly swallowing his wine, indicating that he would not complete such a challenge. "I'm sorry, my lady. But these may very well be our last days. I intend on enjoying them," he expressed, leaning over the table to hand her the coin.

Sansa flipped the coin but when she made to catch it, it bounced off her hand and landed on the floor. Before she could retrieve it, the Hound beat her to it, reaching down eagerly to pick up the golden dragon for her. When he placed it into her palm dragon side up, their hands touched, and the sensation was exhilarating.

I should choose him to give me a challenge, she thought. When she couldn't find it within her to ask, Sansa looked over at a nauseated Gendry who was resting his head on Arya's shoulder. "Give me a challenge."

"I'm done playing, m'lady," he said weakly.

"You can still challenge her," Arya encouraged him, nudging his head. "Give her a good one. Sansa hasn't even touched her wine yet."

Gendry was silent for a moment before chuckling under his breath, lifting his mouth to whisper into Arya's ear. Her sister's eyes widened just as she looked over at the Hound; Sansa could feel her heart fluttering again, erratic and heavy. "Say it- no way she'll do it." Arya muttered to Gendry.

"M'lady, forgive me," the bastard began, almost meekly. "But I challenge you to…"

"What?" Sansa asked, growing anxious once he trailed off.

Arya groaned when Gendry couldn't continue and said, "He challenges you to kiss the Hound."

Sansa blushed for the first time in years and felt Sandor Clegane tense up beside her, the arm that was touching hers somehow burning now.

"That's absurd," Tyrion spoke up, disgusted. "She's a lady and he's-"

Ignoring Tyrion, Arya, Gendry, and all of the others inside the Great Hall, Sansa turned to face the Hound, cupped his scarred cheek with her hand, and leaned forward to kiss him.

Sandor Clegane's lips were not soft, but they were pleasant all the same, more pleasant than if they had been. Even the way her cheek brushed against his scars was pleasant, but a pleasantness of a different sort. An intrusive thought presented itself, piquing her curiosity to know what his scars might feel like on other parts of her body, the side of her neck, her breasts, the inside of her thighs...

Sansa had become so lost in her lascivious thoughts, utterly absorbed in the feeling of his lips against hers, that she did not realize until too late that the kiss lingered suspiciously long. She broke away from his lips all at once and saw that Sandor Clegane was staggered. The muttering inside the Great Hall had grown quiet after the display, followed by whispers passing back and forth between the occupants. Sansa was grateful that her half-brother, Jon Snow, was not in the hall just then, else the sound of his longsword leaving its scabbard would surely have filled the air. When Sansa looked in front of her, she discovered that Arya, Gendry, and Tyrion all wore the same horrified expression.

"Seven hells," her sister said with revulsion.

"Perhaps we should play another game," Tyrion offered, shifting uncomfortably on the bench.

"You said she wouldn't do it," Gendry complained to Arya. "I can't drink another bloody sip."

"After witnessing that, I'll gladly do it for you," the dwarf said, grabbing the cup and gulping the wine.

Sansa looked back over at the Hound who had yet to take his eyes off of her and slid the coin to him. "Here," she exhaled, discovering that she was almost out of breath from the previous challenge.

The Hound lowered his gaze from her slowly, picking up the coin from the table and appearing as if he were deep in thought before he tossed it into the air. When he caught it, it was dragon side up. "Little bird."

Sansa's heart didn't flutter, it froze. He chose me. The temptation to challenge him to kiss her again was overwhelming, debilitating even, but instead, Sansa said, "I challenge you to finish the flagon of wine."

Sandor Clegane almost looked disappointed. "Aye, let me have the flagon," he told Arya.

"That's a stupid challenge, he'll have to drink the wine either way," her sister protested.

The Hound snatched the half-filled flagon from Arya's grip and grunted. "You and your bloody mouth should watch how you speak to your sister." He drank the wine effortlessly and handed it to the serving girl as she passed by. Once he completed his challenge, Sansa began to sip the dry wine in her cup but was saved from having to finish it all once the Hound lowered it from her mouth. "Here, she-wolf," he said, tossing the gold to Arya.

Arya caught it and slammed it onto the table. "Dragon. Go on, you shit," she spat at Sandor Clegane.

"I challenge you to shut your buggering mouth for the rest of this game."

Her little sister glared at him. "How am I supposed to play if I can't speak?"

The Hound tsked and said, "You spoke. Go on and drink."

"That's not fair!"

"Sounds fair enough to me," he argued. Sansa couldn't help but giggle girlishly, and once she did, she couldn't stop.

Arya looked over at her and furrowed her brow, vexed by the two of them. Without another word, she picked up her cup, emptied it in one swig, and tossed it at the Hound's face afterwards. Despite chugging several cups worth of wine a moment ago, the Hound was agile, catching it before it could hit him. Arya grunted, displeased. "Here, Tyrion," she grumbled, sliding the coin over.

The serving girl had come by again with a full flagon, and Tyrion's eyes were fixated on her as she walked away. "I believe I will retire for the night before she does." He swung his legs off the bench and drunkenly bowed. "Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, Gendry….Clegane," Tyrion bidded farewell, eyeing her and the Hound warily.

"That means it's your turn," Arya said to Sansa, impatiently.

Sansa watched as Tyrion approached the serving girl, the girl's face lighting up when he likely was sweet talking her into his bed. No longer than a minute later, Tyrion took her hand and left the hall. "It is getting late," Sansa sighed, wishing it could be her and Sandor Clegane headed to her bed. "I suppose we can play one more round." Sansa grabbed the coin and flipped it softly into the air for the last time. "King," she said after it landed on the table.

"Do you want to fuck the Hound?" her sister asked, unchosen and unprompted. Gendry sat up tall at the question and looked at the sisters in shock. But not even he was in as much shock as Sansa was.

"Have you gone bloody mad?" Sandor Clegane roared, the Great Hall falling silent once again.

"Well, do you?" Arya asked her again, casually.

Every ear in the hall was awaiting her response, eager to know the truth. Of course I do, Sansa thought. Knowing she could never say such a thing out loud, she said, "You're crude, sister." Abashed, Sansa stood up, unable to even make eye contact with the Hound after her sister's attempt to ruin the night. "Pray excuse me."

Sansa did not look back once she departed, the Great Hall filling with mutters and whispers once again. The snow was heavy outside as she exited the hall, quickly making her way across the yard and into the main keep. When Sansa unconsciously licked her lips as she ascended the stairs, she could still taste Sandor Clegane on them. She savored it, her sex begging to be touched just thinking about the kiss. The embrace was singular, unlike any other, and their lips meeting felt like two halves of a whole coming together. Knowing her sister had ruined that moment infuriated her.

Once inside her bedchamber, Sansa fell atop her bed and felt an unmatched tenseness, frustrated in more ways than one. Before Sansa could relieve herself of these frustrations, drawing up her dress and placing her hand underneath her smallclothes, a soft knock came at the door. Arya, she knew. Coming to apologize. I should let her stay out there all night. When the knock came again, Sansa knew she wouldn't be able to pleasure herself with her sister's incessant tapping, so she stood up angrily and strode over to the door, ripping it open.

Expecting it to be her sister, Sansa was surprised when she had to lift her eyes up much higher to see the face of her visitor- the comely, half-scarred face.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered. "If someone sees-"

With one hand, Sandor Clegane tossed the golden dragon onto the floor inside her bedchamber and held up a flagon of wine in the other. "You left when it was my turn," he said, gesturing towards the coin on the ground, facing king side up. "Ask me something, little bird."