Sansa started at the heavy knock on her door. She set down the embroidery she was working on and took a deep breath, steeling herself against whatever cruel purpose Joeffrey might have for calling on her.
She opened the door, and felt a small bit of relief to see the Hound. He scarred face was twisted into its habitual angry scowl, but he was less awful to her than the other kingsguard. "Lady Sansa, your presence is requested in the royal solar."
"Yes, of course." The Hound led her down the hallway. "Do you know what my grace is summoning me for?"
"It's not the king that's asked for you. He is off practicing his crossbow in the yard. Myrcella and Little Tommen sent me to fetch you for tea."
"Oh." It was strange that the Hound was not with Joffrey, but maybe that duty fell to some other member of the kingsguard today. "Well, that should be nice."
"Aye, little bird. A good bit nicer than you were expecting, I'd imagine." He said softly. Sansa tried to catch his eye after that, but the Hound stared resolutely straight ahead as he led her to the solar.
"Lord Tommen and Lady Myrcella, I present Lady Sansa."
Sansa embraced Mycellera and kissed her cheeks in greeting. Then she stooped to hug Prince Tommen. His unguarded smile made her think of her own brothers, and she felt a pang in her heart.
"It was too pretty a day to spend inside. We thought we could have a picnic in the gardens."
"Joffrey didn't want to come. He said that picnics are stupid."
Sansa thanked the gods for small mercies. "I think a picnic sounds lovely. It was very kind of you to invite me."
"Mother said we can go to the gardens all by ourselves, without grownups." The basket sitting on the table looked like it could contain a picnic for ten men. "Sandor, come along." Only Myrcella ever called the Hound by his given name. It sounded strange to hear, but it made Sansa think better of her than the rest of her family.
The Hound nodded and picked up the basket. It seemed incongruous, him standing there with his longsword and boiled leather and a wicker basket full of sandwiches. But he followed them out to the gardens with the same impassive expression he wore when on the king's errands, without any look of anger or annoyance at his task. And neither Mycellera or Tommen seemed to think it odd have him to do so. She thought of her own family's guards, like poor Jory, and how they'd almost been like family themselves. She had a hard time imagining the haughty Lannisters as being warm or familiar with their servants, but the Hound had been in their service for a long time. And he had always seemed indulgent with the children when he was around them, in his own gruff way.
Myrcella seemed to have a specific destination in mind, and she led them to a small grassy square in the gardens. It was walled in by tall rose hedges that held both buds and fully bloomed flowers. Set inside at the corners, small apple trees stood, their fruit not yet ripe. In Kings Landing, it seemed to, impossibly, be always just coming into summer. Sansa wondered at the gardeners' skill.
Myrcella began to unpack the enormous basket, removing a thick quilt that was neatly wrapped around a set of plates and teacups. And then waterskins and several parcels wrapped up in cloth and tied with string. Finally, she removed a teapot and strange metal stand that she sat upon it in the grass. She picked up one of the smaller bundles and unwrapped it. There was a brick of charcoal, kindling, and a fire starter in it.
"This was a gift from my betrothed," she explained to Sansa, "it is a Dornish tea kettle. It has its own stove to keep the tea hot."
"I want to light it! Let me, let me!" Tommen reached out for the firestarter with his chubby fingers.
"Ok. Come here and let me help you with it." Myrcella patiently helped her little brother set up the stove and light the kindling. "Sansa, could you fill the teapot?" Sansa picked up one of the waterskins.
"The tea is also Dornish. Trystane writes that in Dorne everyone drinks tea all day, so I should try it and see if its to my taste. He also sent sweets. And some books and other things. I'll have to show you the dresses and jewellery. They are beautiful and so different from the style here."
"What thoughtful gifts. A taste of Dorne before you arrive." Myrcella's excitement about her engagement and upcoming trip to Dorne was obvious. It reminded Sansa of herself, a year and a lifetime ago. She tried to force down the bitterness she felt welling up. Myrcella was kind and gentle girl, and she hoped that her fate in Dorne would be nothing like her own in King's Landing.
Sansa helped Myrcella unwrap the food as the tea brewed. There were peaches and grapes and roast nuts and a massive stack of different kinds of dainty little sandwiches. And berry tarts and, Sansa was pleased to see, lemon cakes. "I know you like them, so I made sure that the cook made some."
Myrcella opened a box. "Try a Dornish sweet. These ones are my favourite. They taste like roses." The sweets were strange little cubes, dusted white with fine sugar. The ones Myrcella pointed to were a faint pink.
Sansa smiled and took one. It was soft and very sweet. She hadn't been sure about the idea of eating roses, but the taste was delicate and pleasant. "It's very good."
He finger and thumb were white with sugar. She didn't have a napkin, so she licked the tips of her fingers. As she did so, she glanced up and saw the Hound watching her. She looked away quickly, embarrassed to have been caught doing something so unladylike.
Myrcella served the tea, handing out cups."Would you like some tea, Sandor? We have an extra cup."
"I'm here to guard you, my lady, not to drink tea."
"You can guard us while you drink tea. Here, try some."
He shrugged and accepted the cup. It looked like a piece from a doll's teaset in his giant hands. He sipped. "Not bad. Shame your Dornish prince didn't send you any wine."
Myrcella rolled her eyes at him. "The presents are for me. If Trystane sent wine, Mother and Tyrion would just drink it all up."
The hound laughed at that. Sansa smiled, too. Tyrion and Cersei did drink a lot. So did the Hound, though. But she had only seen him drunk late at night, when he wasn't supposed to be guarding Joffrey. Tyrion and Cersei seemed to drink wine all day long.
Myrcella insisted that Tommen had to eat at least one sandwich before he had a tart. The food was very tasty. And the day was pleasant, sunny with a gentle breeze which kept it from being too hot. As they ate, Sandor stood a little ways away, still as a statue, the end of his white cloak waving softly in the breeze.
"Are you very excited for your trip to Dorne?"
"Oh yes! Tyrion has lent me books about Dornish history and books of stories by Dornish singers. There's so much to learn about." Myrcella was clever and bookish like her uncle, unlike the rest of her family.
"Did you know that in Dorne, the eldest child is the heir whether they're a girl or a boy?"
Sansa nodded dutifully. That would mean, if it held for all of Westeros, that she and Myrcella were both second to the crown.
"Also, they're they were the last to join the seven kingdoms. They were never conquered. They married into the kingdoms less than 200 years ago."
Sansa worried that it would be treason to say it, but Myrcella was not her brother. And she couldn't let it pass. "The north was also never conquered. Torrhen Stark bent the knee to save his people."
Myrcella nodded, and placed her hand on Sansa's. They were both quiet for a moment.
Then Myrcella's face became playful. And," she said, "their culture is very different from ours." She leaned forward conspiratorially, "Trystane's uncle Oberyn's daughters are all bastards. They call them the Sand Snakes."
Sansa couldn't imagine a royal family full of bastards. She started to form a question in her mind, but she was interrupted before she could ask it.
Tommen looked sullen and put down his half-eaten tart. His lower lip trembled. "I don't want you to go!"
Myrcella stroked her little brother's hair comfortingly. "Tommen, don't be sad. You'll be able to come and visit me. Won't that be fun? We can play in the water gardens that I told you about."
"Can I go with you?"
"You don't want to leave mother, do you? Or uncle Tyrion? And don't you want to train with Sandor?"
Sansa was surprised to hear that the Hound was Cersei's choice as Tommen's teacher. But this seemed to have been a topic that had been discussed before.
"But that's not for a whole year!"
"Your next nameday is less than a year away now."
Tommen seemed to sway to this argument, but he remained petulant. "I want a real sword. Like Joffrey," he said sulkily.
The Hound cast a long, wide shadow across the middle of the picnic blanket. Sansa tried to look up at him, but the sun behind his head dazzled her eyes, so she looked to Tommen instead. "You don't need a real sword until you learn to swing a tourney sword properly. We'll talk to your mother about getting you a horse, though. You'll not learn to joust on that fat pony of yours."
Tommen was placated by the promise of future presents. "And I want a big shield with a lion on it. And a deer for daddy."
An awkward silence fell over them.
Myrcella turned to the Hound, shielding her eyes from the sun. "Sandor, have you eaten?"
"I'm fine, my lady."
"Please, we have far too much food. No one is going to harm us in the gardens. Come sit with us."
Sandor looked at her dubiously.
"I order you to come here and eat sandwiches," Myrcella smiled up at him. "And cakes."
"As you bid, my lady." The Hound's smile in return was ugly, but it bore no malice. He approached the edge of the blanket and lowered himself to the ground. His sword and armour clattered and creaked as he folded himself cross-legged. He reached for the sandwiches, picking up several at once. He stuffed one into his mouth. He chewed slowly, laboriously, his face twisted toward his shoulder on his burnt side. When he finished, he nodded at Myrcella. "Good. Thank you." Sansa realised that it was a struggle for him to chew with his mouth closed. Embarrassed for him, she looked away.
"Have as much as you want. There's too much for us to finish."
Sandor grunted in assent. Sansa also reached for another sandwich. He is their dog, feeding on their tablescraps. We both are.
His tart finished, Tommen returned with enthusiasm to the topic of things he should have because his sister was leaving. "After you go, I want a kitten."
"Tommen, Mother said that you can't have a kitten."
"But why? It will be so lonely without you. And then I'd have someone to play with."
"Wouldn't you rather have a dog?" The Hound suggested. "A dog's a good pet. Useful, too."
Tommen looked down sadly. "I wanted a puppy. But Mother says that I definitely can't have a dog because they are too noisy and smelly. But she didn't say I definitely couldn't have a kitten. Did your parents let you have a dog?"
"Aye. But don't you tell your mother I said you should have one." Myrcella and Sansa smiled at each other over the Hound's wary look.
"What was he named?"
"She was a bitch. And she was named Wenda."
Tommen was thoughtful. "A bitch is better, because then you can have more puppies. Did she ever have puppies?"
Sandor looked down, "No, she never had puppies." His scarred mouth twitched, as it often did. Sansa had the horrible thought that Gregor had done something to that dog, as he had to her owner. And she thought of her own poor Lady.
Tommen prattled on obliviously. "When I grow up, I'll have lots of dogs," he pronounced. "But first, I'll have kittens. So Mother isn't angry."
Myrcella poured everyone more tea, looking from Sansa to the Hound and back. She seemed very aware that this wasn't a happy topic for conversation.
"Another lemoncake, Sansa?" Sansa really didn't feel hungry, but she could tell Myrcella was trying to cheer her. "Just this last one, thank you."
"You have more, too, Sandor. Please. We'll just have to carry it back if we don't eat it."
Sandor picked two lemoncakes off the plate and put one in his mouth whole, covering his face with his hand. The other soon followed it. He leaned back, picking his teeth, and looked up at the sky. "Looks like rain."
Sansa looked up. The sky was cloudy now. And the clouds coming in from the sea were low and dark.
Mycellera looked disappointed. "I suppose we should go in soon. There's still some tea left. Does anybody want some more?"
The Hound shook his head and turned his cup over. But Sansa graciously held out her cup. Myrcella served her and Tommen and poured the last of the tea into her own cup. Then she carefully emptied the embers and ash from the stove onto the grass before sitting back down to drink.
"Have you ever been to sea, Sansa?"
"Only once, when I visited White Harbour. But not for very long. We just went out on a fishing boat for the day."
"I've never been on a long trip at sea before, either. But I love the ocean. Do you swim?"
"Oh yes, I love to swim."
"How did you learn to swim in the north? It's freezing."
Sansa turned to the Hound to answer his question. "There were pools in our godswood that are fed from hot springs underground. They are warm enough to swim in even in the dark of winter."
"I remember," said Myrcella. "They were beautiful with the mist rolling off them." Sansa realised that the Hound would not have seen them. There was no need for guards in the godswood.
It was noticeably darker by now. "We should go," Sansa said. She helped Mycellera put the plates back in the basket. They threw the few remaining sandwiches towards the hedges for the birds. Between Tommen and the Hound, the cakes had all been eaten up. Myrcella was carefully wrapping up her tea set when the skies finally opened.
She quickly tucked it into the basket. Tommen lept up, ineffectually covering his head with his hands. "It's cold," he complained. The rain fell heavily, and the wind driving it off the water was fierce.
The Hound stood and doubled the quilt they'd been sitting on over. "Get underneath," he rasped, draping it over Myrcella, standing by the basket, and Tommen, who'd run to her side when the rain started. "Go inside," he gave Myrcella's back a shove. They ran, an awkward, lumpy animal lurching towards the garden gate.
Sansa laughed. She was outside of the reach of the thrown blanket, holding Tommen's discarded teacup in her hand. The Hound picked up the basket. "Come here, girl," the he said, and lifted his cloak in his other hand. She was soaked by the cold rain already, but she gratefully ran to his side and tucked herself under his arm.
She heard him muttering curses under his breath. He'd let his arm fall some, and she was tucked under his shoulder, his cloak draped over his forearm like a hood . She held on to the Hound's thick torso to let him lead her. His cloak held back the full force of he rain, but his jerkin was wet and slimy to the touch.
She could barely see in front of her, the rain was so heavy. She looked up at him, because he was the only thing near enough to see. From so close below, he was even more gruesome than he usually looked. His face was frozen into a grimace by the cold rain. His hair was plastered to his face, clinging to the crevasses of his scars rather than hiding them. Gods, he is hideous. She immediately felt bad for thinking it. He'd been kind to her, trying to protect her from Joffrey's rage. He couldn't help what his brother had done to him. Feeling guilty, she looked down at her feet instead.
She was too slow and clumsy, she guessed, because the Hound wrapped his other arm around her waist from the front to pull her along. A loud clap of thunder rang out behind them. He crushed her body into his side. "Hurry up, little bird. We'd best get inside." She tried to run as best she could. But her silk slippers slipped on the wet grass and his long strides were hard to keep up with. He was nearly dragging her.
Finally, they were inside, standing in the hall. He let her go and took a step back. They both looked out towards the garden gate. The footpath was a stream by now, and lightening flashed over the ocean beyond the hedges, followed quickly by thunderclaps.
The Hound was looking at her now. She could feel his breath moist on her face. It smelled like tea and cake this time, instead of wine.
When she looked up at him, he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was struggling to undo the brooch on his sodden cloak. "You'll be needing this," he said, swinging it off of his shoulders and wringing it out as best he could. They both stood in the puddle it left on the floor.
She took the wet, cold cloak from him, "Thank you, that's very kind."
His harsh, barking laugh rang out in the hallway. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her closer. His eyes raked up and down her body. "Wrap yourself up good. Anyone with eyes can see straight through that dress."
Sansa looked down and saw that it was true. She felt the blush creep over her as she pulled her arm free of him and wrapped the sodden wool around herself. When she looked up at him again, the Hound's smile was hungry and ugly. "Don't think I'm so kind now, do you?"
Sansa just turned without answering, settling the cloak around her shoulders. She walked down the hall, back straight, and didn't look back