Heart of Fire
Sansa/Sandor
Before the Battle of the Blackwater Rush, changes the events. No copyright infringement intended.
Sansa Stark stood before her looking glass and examined the dress her maid had picked out for her. It was grey, the colour of Winterfell and House Stark with pearls inlaid on the collar and cuffs. It was almost two inches too short for her, her bosom was tight across her chest and she felt exposed.
"Isn't there anything else?" she sighed and her maid shook her head. They weren't allowed to speak to her, on orders of Queen Cersei, the mother of her husband to be. Joffrey would not be pleased with her gown, he hated to be reminded of the traitor blood she bore in her veins. Her maid finished lacing her into the gown and Sansa tucked a stray strand of hair into the hairnet her mother had given her before she had left Winterfell. It was inlaid with mother of pearl chips and glinted whenever the sun caught the stones. She pulled a thick brown woolen cloak over the dress and waited for a member of the Kingsgaurd to fetch her. She hoped it would be Ser Borus, he was one of the few who still held a scrap of honour, refusing to beat her when Joffrey commanded it. The knock came. When Sansa opened the door she found the Hound waiting for her, the White Cloak of the Kingsgaurd hanging awkwardly from his shoulders. His features were locked into an expression of anger and he motioned for her to follow him. Sansa complied, ignoring the looks she received from the knights in the Courtyard and the whispers that followed her wherever she went. She was not well loved in King's Landing, the daughter of a traitor and another mouth to feed while the poor went hungry. She hurried her pace to match the Hounds and felt her heart skip a beat as he placed his hand protectively on the small of her back. She looked up at his hideous face and felt herself shivering in fear. She had tried many times to convince herself that some scrap of good still remained in Sandor Clegane but she had been unable to find it.
"Why so scared little bird? I won't be the one to hurt you today." he mocked, removing his hand from her back and fingering his sword. Sansa held herself still but followed as he resumed his fast pace towards the King's chambers. Ser Boras was on guard duty and he gave her a timid smile as she approached the door. She could hear Joffrey within, discussing loudly with his councillors. Sansa wondered what she had done to merit an invitation.
"Welcome Sansa. Won't you sit with me and my councillors?" her betrothed rushed to meet her as the door opened and she and the Hound stepped through. The council chambers were cold, the windows flung open to admit the crisp autumn air. Sansa felt glad she had decided to pull on a cloak. Joffrey offered her a cup of sweet wine and she sat nervously in the seat beside her husband-to-be. Maps were spread across the table, spear points marking the points of the major armies. She wondered which one was fronted by her brother Robb, the self crowned King of the North. She felt a small twinge of hope as she considered the map. Joffrey as if reading her thoughts, pointed to a dagger by the coast.
"Your brother Robb is leading a raid on this port. He is collecting supplies. We plan to cut him off from the rear and lead an assualt. I shall bring you your brothers head as a wedding gift." Joffrey promised with an evil glint in his eyes. His blonde hair was freshly washed and brushed and shone like spun gold. Sansa could remember a time when she had felt compelled to lace her fingers through that hair, a time long ago when she had considered Joffrey a true knight. Now she found herself looking towards the Hound as she replied courteously, her face masking her emotions. Joffrey would be displeased, he was eager for a reaction but Sansa found herself lost in the burnt flesh that scarred half of Sandor Clegane's face. He was watching her warily and she could feel the tension that crept through his muscles, forcing him to stand straight instead of slouching away from her gaze. The next thing she knew, she lay on the floor, her belly aching. Ser Meryn stood above her, his fist clenching and unclenching as he regarded her lying there, his cold eyes emotionless. She could hear Joffrey's laughter and the timid laughter of his councillors. Only the Hound did not laugh as she picked herself carefully up from the floor and dusted herself down. She felt defiance rise in her and she reached for the fastener of her cloak and pulled it free, the grey dress revealed beneath. Joffrey drew in a shocked gasp and Ser Meryn's fist found her stomach again, her muscles aching with fire as his blow connected. She could hear protests from within the room, whispered comments and she knew that Joffrey's face which she had once found so attractive, would be painted a vivid crimson at her defiance. She felt herself smiling.
Soft arms picked her from the floor and carried her back to her chambers. Ser Meryn had finally been commanded to leave her be, after the third blow had sent her scrambling into the corner, her hair dangling loose from her hair net and her dress torn to reveal her budding breasts. The cloak had been used to cover her modesty as her eyes flickered and attempted to adjust to the light. She was being carried up the stairs to her chambers and the face above her was flickering in the light from the torches. She could see the fire in his eyes. The Hound carried her as if she were a delicate child, his hands soft around her and for a moment, Sansa forgot how much he loathed her and leaned her face against his stomach, breathing in his musky odor. She heard him drew a ragged breath and she pulled away quickly before anymore blows could fall. He took her into her chamber and sent the maid for hot water, laying her carefully on the bed. Sansa's heart was racing and she couldn't find anything courteous to say.
"Thank you." she whispered and felt the cloak fall from her body as she reached up to caress his face gently. His eyes fell on her breasts and she realised with shock that he desired her. His hand reached down to caress her tender nipple and she felt a moan rise in her throat. His finger was cold as it ran across her milk pale flesh and she felt herself gasping, not quite with pleasure but not without it.
"Don't." the word escaped her lips before she could register its meaning. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to stop but the look on his face made her aware that she had hit her mark. The Hound had returned, as angry as ever.
"Stupid little bird." he muttered angrily, rising from the bed, his white cloak swirling and then he was gone, only the echo of his words remaining.