A Little Unorthodox, I'll Admit.

True Knights.

"He's a liar, Sansa. A weak little prat, unworthy of the Stark name!"

Arya's yapping was primarily directed at her sister now, to Sandor's relief. It was easier to tune it out this way, at least.

More difficult to ignore was Sansa's chirping in response, insistent that it was her duty and deepest longing to marry the Prince and give him as many sons and daughters as the Gods would bestow upon them. Mounted on Stranger with the future Queen sitting sideways in front of him, her frame between his arms and all but leaning against his chest, he had no choice but to breathe in the scent of her hair; a simple, crisp cleanliness that he supposed only Northern nobility could make, and the subtlest hint of something else...some damned flower? Fuck if he knew, but it was a small blessing as they approached the forestry bordering the God's Eye. They still had a long way to go.

"And what is your truth on the matter, Sir Hound?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "You serve his family. If it please, I would so appreciate anything you can tell me of my intended."

Sandor snorted, seizing this opportunity to mock the situation, "Oh, you mean the tallest, most handsome, valiant Prince who ever lived? You're in for a real treat, Princess." he chuckled.

Arya shot him a glare at first, but was quickly overtaken with laughter of her own at his sarcasm. "I'm almost sure Sansa is at least as tall as Joffrey".

"It's Prince Joffrey, Arya. The Gods are always listening. Show some respect, you two!"

"Hah! What fucking Gods?!"

"The ones who made us all." She stated confidently.

"So you think the Gods made a monster like me, is that it? Why in Seven bloody Hells would they do that?!"

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but-"

"Oh, shove your pardons up your arse, girl!" he felt her flinch in his loose embrace at his vulgar exclamation. With one large, armor clad hand he cupped her chin and willed her face to turn up towards his, her eyes remaining averted to the ground. "Look at me."

Sansa's eyes darted directly to his and did not waver, though she stirred uncomfortably.

"Do I look like a knight to you?" he pressed on.

"You look like a burnt piece of toast!" Arya chimed in, urging her pony to gallop slightly ahead of Stranger as to avoid Sandor's reach.

"Arya!" Sansa made to correct her sister again, but Sandor held her chin in place.

"Answer me." he demanded.

"No." Sansa replied, "I mean, no, you don't look like a knight," She admitted. "But you're my rescuer. You're not a monster." she said, unexpectedly placing a hand on his shoulder.

He dropped his from her chin, drawing his flagon to take a swig of wine before he continued to speak. She withdrew her hand. "Sir Loras looks like a knight. The so-called honor of being your rescuer would have been all his if my brother hadn't tried to kill him. The only reason I'm here is because I stopped him."

"That sounds like something a true knight would do." She dared say.

"Listen, girl." he growled, triggered by her claim. "My brother, Sir Gregor "The Mountain", have you heard of him? He's an anointed knight. And happens to be the biggest monster in all the Seven Kingdoms. His status has dick to do with honor or any of your silly make believe ideals. Strong arms and steel own this world, and all the pretty little knights you dream about are either dying in the process or biting pillows in their spare time. Don't ever believe any different."