I don't own anything about these amazing characters or the plot they come from! Everything is owned by GRRM!
He stumbled up the steps to the Little Bird's room and fell through the door, louder than he had wanted to. It made no difference since a blurry glance around the room told him there was no Little Bird to startle in this cage. He didn't like that. What was happening to her, unprotected, and in Cersei's claws? Better than Joffrey's. Probably better than his, as well.
The Hound closed the door behind him, harder than he had wanted to, but it made no difference.
"Not much makes a difference, these days," he mumbled audibly. He hoped the Little Bird would have been here to chip at him, to tell him, shyly and politely, that he was wrong, that every action made could make a difference somewhere, for someone. He wanted to believe her-that was why he was here, wasn't it? He was here to be a difference for her.
The battle was still going on. All he could see was green fire. Bugger that blasted dwarf. It was a smart move for the war, but a stupid move for the Lannisters. It was a stupid move for him. He could not face the flames; was faced with flames once before and learned that this dog could not beat the heat. He was burning now, thanks to that damned Imp. His loyalty to the Lannisters, a cord that had been fraying ever since the Little Bird came into his life, was burned away already. The Imp's dragon fire lost the Lannisters their Hound and, he hoped he would have a chance to rub his face in it one day, just as his own face had been rubbed into the fire all those years ago.
His throat was burning while he drank another flagon of wine. His legs burned, so he sat on the Little Bird's bed, sulking in the shadows.
"I'll be waiting at the foot of your bed, just like a good dog, Little Bird," he slurred to no one.
She burned. Her hair was fire. Her eyes were fire-the blue at the root of the flame. She burned him constantly. But, with her, he wasn't the Hound terrified of the flames. With her, he was the moth, seeking the flame. A good dog obeys his masters, but a moth just wants to be absorbed and possessed by the warmth and glow of the flames. And that was what Sandor was now, a moth.
A snarling, drunk, angry, bitter, blood-hungry moth. Such an interesting moth, indeed! the Hound thought, dreamily. Bugger me, where is the Little Bird? I am in no state to look just yet. And so, Sandor slept. He didn't mean to fall asleep at the foot of the Little Bird's bed, with a battle raging around him and a misplaced bird not at home. But it made no difference. He was still alone, no Little Bird fluttering or chirping in sight.
Sansa fled back to her rooms, wishing she was safe in Winterfell. She would have settled for feeling safer, period. Unbidden, her thoughts turned to the Hound, as they always did when she thought of safety. He was dangerous and he was rude and he was terrifying. But he never hurt her. He called her "Little Bird," and she was grateful to be his Little Bird. He was out there, now, fighting. Hacking through bodies that once had families, had memories, had dreams, had names. The Hound would be happily in his element. She hoped for his safety even more than for her own. With the Hound alive, she may have a prayer for her own safety. Maybe just the illusion of her own safety, but it was an illusion she did not want to let go of just yet. A dead Hound, on the other hand-
"No." Sansa stopped herself. She took a breath at the door, trying to steady herself, then pushed open her door.
Her room smelled faintly like battle. Blood, smoke, sweat, vomit, all these smells reached her in the darkness of her room as though they were far away. She heard the sounds of battle in hushed whispers-like she was high above it all, soaring in the clouds. Sansa was familiar with this feeling. It was how she spent most of her days in court. Only the Hound could touch her. Only the Hound could bring her down and back to the present, back to reality.
Sansa was thinking of the Hound when she turned toward her bed and saw him there, unmoving. He was covered in blood and grime. Is he ok? was her first thought as she rushed towards his figure. She was afraid he might be dead, but, as she got closer, she saw the subtle rise and fall of his chest, under his armor and chain mail. Asleep or unconscious then, she thought as she looked over his huge form. She could see no injuries- he was covered in the blood of others, as it should be.
What does he want here? Should I wake him or leave this place? Is he a danger to me tonight? Was he sent here by Joffrey or Cersei? Why isn't he fighting anymore? What has happened that he is asleep in my bed...
A strong hand, sticky with blood, grasped her arm and pulled her out of her racing thoughts. The Hound pulled her down to the bed and covered her mouth with one hand and pulled her close to his side with his other. She felt his nose nudge her hair, sniffing it gently.
"Don't move; don't chirp, Little Bird" he breathed into her hair. "Just listen. Drunk as I am Little Bird, I am seeing clearly. You can trust me. You need to fly your cage Little Bird. Lannisters, Baratheons, it does not matter who wins today because we have both already lost. You need to fly your cage and I mean to set you free. Take you away from here. Keep you safe." He said all this quietly into her ear, his voice rasping like a lullaby. All gentleness, none of the rudeness or harshness that she usually received from the Hound.
Need to fly my cage? she thought, my heart is already soaring! To hear the Hound say these things made her come back to life, back to the world around her. She knew she could trust the Hound, but she was confused. Why does he want to help me? What does he hope to gain? And how? How can he get me out? All these thoughts running through her mind, but the only word she could manage to mumble into the Hound's hand was, "Why?"
"Little Bird, I've failed you. I've watched you suffer and I could've stopped it. I could've stolen you way sooner. Could've given my life for you by becoming a kingslayer. Bugger that, I like being alive for now. But that has been the problem. Until tonight. Until the flames. Now I see clear. It's time to fly your cage, Little Bird, with my help. Right now."
The Hound stood abruptly. His speech had become clearer and louder while he had been speaking, the words sobering him.
He started gathering things around the room: clothes, blankets, jewels, and other small things of value. He worked around Sansa, who still lay on the bed dazed. What is he saying? I consume him? What does that mean? What does he want from me? Does it really matter? Sansa knew she was a piece in the game and the Hound is the only person in the game who refused the rules." I am no Ser." He had told her this many times. He refused to be knight. He breaks the traditions, will not conform. Who better to take me out of the game than another rogue piece like the Hound? Or is the Hound using me to play, just like everyone else. Sansa quickly decided that, whether he was truly just trying to help her escape, or if he was trying to help her escape so he could advance himself in the game it did not matter. What mattered was that the Hound was here and he was taking her out of Kings Landing.
I owe that buggering Imp, the Hound thought angrily as he pushed Stranger faster up the Kingsroad. The Imp's plan to burn the Blackwater led directly to Sandor's current position-pressed up close to his Little Bird. Her slim figure was flush up against his front. Who would have thought that the Imp's damn fires would be the best thing that ever happened to me?
The Hound didn't bother feeling self conscious or ashamed about his obvious arousal. His blood was high from the battle and the drinking and Sansa's intoxicating presence. He could smell her hair through the smoke and the blood. It was delicious. He wanted to lean down and kiss her head, but he stopped himself, choosing to focus on Stanger's path and looking out for any possible enemies in his way. There would be time for Sansa later, he hoped.
I don't deserve such sweet torture. The Little Bird is too pure, too good for me. I bloody well need to start getting control of myself before I fuck up everything and ruin her. She probably doesn't even know what a man's arousal feels like. Doesn't understand what she is doing to me, stupid, naive bird. Sandor tried to get his cock to go down. He tried to ignore the Little Bird's backside as it rubbed against his front with every stride Stranger took. He tried to ignore the sweet smell of her hair. He tried to ignored the fact that he could see down the front of dress. He mostly tried to ignore how tightly she pressed back against him, how tightly she held on to his arms. He failed miserably, but he tried.
They rode on through the night and well into the next day. Stranger could take it. The Little Bird could not. Toward the end of the following afternoon, Sansa was whimpering every few feet, clearly unused to riding. Sandor knew they had to put as much distance between King's Landing and the Little Bird as possible, but he worried about her health and well being. His Little Bird was so very delicate, after all. They stopped well off the King's Road. Sandor found a cave that was well covered, close to a stream. When he helped Sansa from Stranger's back, she fell limply into his arms and cuddled herself close to his chest. She breathed deeply and sighed. Sandor almost spent in his breeches. She was so trusting and so familiar and so close to him. Bugger me, this is going to be impossible. You're a stupid dog. You should have left her to the lions or stags. They would have used her to fulfill their whims out of their selfishness, but I'll break her out of love. Love. I'm going soft. Get a hold of yourself dog!
Sandor knew they were far enough away from King's Landing and common roads. Their cave was sheltered and easily defended from outlaws. If they were lucky, no one would notice the missing Hound or his Little Bird for a little while still. They could spend a full day here and let Sansa regain her strength. Sandor took out his cloak and laid it down in the cave. He very gently placed Sansa on the cloak and tucked it around her. She was sound asleep and whimpering to herself every once in a while. Sandor could not stop himself from brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. He couldn't stop himself from gently tracing her cheeks and her jaw and her lips. Couldn't stop himself from leaning down carefully and giving his Little Bird a soft kiss on the top of her head. Bugger me, I'm turning into a proper lady myself. With difficulty, Sandor left the Little Bird safely in the cave, saw to Stranger, and started hunting them some food.
The entire ride from King's Landing was a painful blur in Sansa's mind. She remembered the smoke and the blood. She remembered the Hound cutting down men as he rode. Mostly, though, Sansa remembered the feel of the Hound's strong body behind her, his arms around her, keeping her safe. Sansa had felt more safe in the midst of killing and dying than she had since her father's head rolled in front of the Sept of Baelor. Sandor. I need to call him Sandor. He is no hound to me. To me, he is my savior. I owe him everything. Even if we cannot make it to safety, he has given me more in the past two days than anything I've had in a long time.
Too soon, though, Sansa's body began to ache. She was not used to riding horses and Sandor was riding Stranger hard to put distance between them and the fighting. She thought Sandor would stop the first night but he kept going. She didn't want him to bark at her, she was feeling so grateful to him, so she didn't say anything to Sandor, just leaned further back into him to try to relieve the pain. There was something hard pressed up against her back, though, so it was difficult for her to find comfort there either. Finally, she passed out from sheer exhaustion.
When Sansa woke up, she was warm. She opened her eyes slowly and saw that she was in a cave, wrapped in Sandor's white cloak. Sandor himself was by the opening of the cave. There was a fire started close by him with some rabbits roasting. Sandor was sitting and sharpening his sword with a stone.
Sansa couldn't tear her eyes away from him. His body was outlined by the sunlight filtering into the cave. He had removed his armor and was shirtless, wearing only his breeches. Sansa had never seen a grown man without his shirt before and Sandor was astounding. Years of fighting had left him scarred in many places, but he was solid muscle. The strength in his arms was obvious with every stroke of the stone against his sword. He was so big and so impressive. Had she really never noticed how attractive he was? What am I thinking? This is the Hou-Sandor. He is one of the most fearsome warriors in the Seven Kingdoms and his face is so troubling to look at! Although, any woman would be lucky, really, to have someone so strong to protect her. And he has always been so careful with me, honest to the point of cruelty sometimes, but loyal. Gods, look at his chest! Sansa could not keep her thoughts together. She had never experienced these feelings. She got all hot and flustered and she could not stop her eyes from roaming over his upper body over and over. She followed the line of his stomach down and found herself wondering what the rest of him looked like when she noticed that he was staring back at her.
"See something you like, Little Bird?" Sandor snorted at her.
"I'm sorry, I was lost in thought." She replied, blushing furiously.
"Aye, and what were you thinking about so hard?"
"How much I owe you and how grateful I am to you. Thank you so much, Ser, for taking me away from King's Landing. I don't know how I can ever repay you this kindness."
"I am no Ser, Little Bird. And you can repay me by convincing your brother not to have my head when I return you to him. Come, girl, it is time to eat."
Sandor served them some of the rabbit and saved the rest. They ate in silence. Sansa couldn't figure out what to say to him. Her courtesies would do her no good here. She had so many questions in her head, but she couldn't bring herself to ask any of them. After dinner, Sandor brought Stranger to water again and told the Little Bird to make water close by in the trees. When they got back to the cave, Sandor told her that they would be riding hard again tomorrow evening and that they both needed to get as much rest as possible.
"We won't always be able to find such a good place to rest, so we need to get as much as we can while we can. Stranger will be right outside the cave and is as good as a guard dog in case anyone wanders too close. We will both get some sleep tonight." With that, Sandor moved away from her and laid himself on the cold ground, his back to Sansa and facing the mouth of the cave. Sansa laid down on his cloak again but found that she could not fall asleep. She was cold and uncomfortable. After about an hour of tossing and turning Sandor grumbled at her.
"Stop all that moving, girl, or I'll never get any rest."
"I'm sorry! The ground is just so hard and it is so cold here." Sansa's teeth chattered as she spoke.
"Poor Little Bird. I'm sorry the lodging isn't as proper as you are used to, my Lady, but it was the best I could do. Would you rather have your head hanging from a spike? Or would you rather be warming some soldier's bed, broken and bloody? Would you rather be with your beloved Joff?"
"That is not what I meant! Why must you be so hateful? I am grateful to be here and to be with you. It is just hard for me. Can't I-" Sansa stopped herself before finishing her question. It just was not proper...
"Can't you what, girl? Spit it out!"
"Can I move closer to you? For the warmth. You're so big and we can share the cloak." Sansa was blushing as she asked this favor. Her mind wandered to the image of a shirtless Sandor. She was heating up from the thought of it. But she knew his presence would help her get to sleep sooner.
"Aren't you worried that I'll do something horrible to you, girl?" Sandor rasped out.
"You promised to keep me safe and you have so far, why shouldn't I trust you?"
"Stupid bird, you shouldn't be so trusting. Especially of a man. But have it your way." With that, Sandor stood up and slowly walked over to Sansa. He laid down next to her. "I need to face the opening of the cave, just in case. You're going to need to turn on your side in front of me."
Sansa turned herself according to the Hound's specifications and found herself flush against him again. They were both in their smallclothes. She spent a minute trying to get comfortable before Sandor gathered her into his arms and stroked her arms minutely.
"Stop all the fluttering, Little Bird, and get some rest." He whispered into her hair. The sound of his voice sent shivers through her body and they ended with a tingling in between her legs, at her woman's place. She had never felt such a strong feeling before and wished she could lose herself in it. Is this what you feel when you are with your lord husband? There must be something wrong with me to feel this way about Sandor.
Sansa was starting to dose off when she became aware of something hard pressed up against her backside. It was the same thing she felt when they were riding. With a shock that woke her up again, Sansa realized that that must be his manhood. She did not know much about full grown men, but she knew that they got hard when they were aroused. Women were supposed to get a wet feeling. Sansa blushed and gasped quietly as she realized that she was wet in between her legs. She shifted slightly and felt his hardness rub against her backside. She grew even wetter. Keeping her eyes closed, she did it again, a little more forcefully but still gently. She hoped the Hound was asleep. She hoped he thought she was asleep and she shuffled once, twice, three times more.
Suddenly, a powerful hand grabbed her hip. Sansa gasped out loud as Sandor brought his face close to her ear.
"Do you know what you are doing to me, girl?"