The great oaken doors to the bath opened and closed with barely a sound. But he heard. No amount of hot water and burning incense could dampen his senses enough to a point where he could truly relax. Even now, with his body stiff and sore, immersed in the calming waters and his head laying on the edge of a large, sunken stone bath, he was alert to the world around him.
It was her. Again. He could smell her perfume mixed with sweat and toil, mud and herbs. There was a small rustle of fabric and he let one eye creep open to glance her way. He couldn't help it. If she was going to insist on bathing in the same room as him and for fucks sake undress in front of him he was damn well going to look. No harm in a peek. He'd timed it wrong though. The shifting of cloth he had heard was merely her struggling to heft that great bag of tonics and salves she took everywhere with her over her head. For a fraction of a second he was disappointed she still had her robe and smallcloths on. Then he realized his disappointment and grew angry with himself, huffing a bit in irritation.
She looked over at the noise, caught his eye and smiled. She fucking smiled at him. Why did she always seem so damned glad to have his attention? Only the Seven knew and he was too tired to think on it any further.
"Is your shoulder well today?" she asked brightly, as he tried not to hear the concern in her voice. This was her duty. She was sworn to heal those in need not to care about the crumbling structure of a tired, old dog.
A slight movement from the joint in question and a grunt was his answer. He sat up a bit and swung his arm in a circle to show her that indeed his range of motion was coming back. He would never admit it out loud, of course, but the massage techniques she had been using for the past weeks were working. He could now move his right arm faster and with far less pain since the day they had first allowed him to hold a sword again. As he reached the top of his watery swing a muscle seized and clenched causing him to grimace a bit. She noticed. Her trained eyes always bloody noticed.
"Still a bother, eh?" she pressed him for an answer and he shrugged. It wasn't his place to complain or want or need. She waited a moment to give him time to reply. When he didn't, she sighed and huffed in that way that said she was irritated but not truly. Dragging her bag behind her, she made her way over from her preferred bath to his in the corner, away from any others who might enter the room.
"Come on then. Move up a bit," she instructed, pushing on his back lightly with her foot. He obliged slowly, sitting up farther and moving to the front of the low bench submerged beneath the water. She sat on the ledge behind him, parting her legs just enough to give her the space needed to work on his back. She rooted through her massive leather satchel for a moment, Gods knew how she kept it all organized, her small hand coming out of its depths clutching a dark amber vile. She deftly opened it one handed and poured some of its contents into her palm.
The scent of mint and earth filled his nose and as she began gently rubbing her hands over his right shoulder to warm the muscles up he had to stifle a groan. It wasn't natural to feel this much pleasure from such a simple touch he scolded himself while trying to think of anything other than her skilled hands digging further into his backside. He was not successful. As her hands continued their journey over damaged, knotted and tense flesh, his eyelids drooped shut and he inhaled deeply.
At first these sessions were unwelcome but even then he couldn't deny the pleasure in feeling his shoulder pop and crackle and give for the first time in years. She had insisted they continue and he was too weak to say no, though he had drawn a line at her wanting to rub at his injured leg as well. Her fingers were small but strong and they made quick work of finding all the hidden places of abuse from wielding iron that he had long ago forgotten about. He didn't know how long she worked. There in the dark, behind his eyelids he found that place that would only claim him when in her presence and he lost all track of time.
She patted his shoulder to signify she was finished. It had ended too soon. It was always too soon and he was too much of a coward to ask for more. The Little Bird was wrong. He wasn't brave now that there were no longer any rats to chase. He opened his eyes and shook his head a bit trying to clear it. He straightened up on the bench, looking over his shoulder but not meeting her eyes and giving her as warm a grunt as he could manage in thanks.
She stayed in place behind him which was odd. She would usually rise at this point, perhaps touching his shoulder one last time and excuse herself to her chosen bath. They would not speak much again until the final meal of the day or even later. But she didn't move this time. It was making him nervous and he lifted his eyes to find her chewing her bottom lip and staring at her bag.
"Spit it out woman. You'll chew through it in a moment," he all but ordered. She was breaking the routine. No good could come of this and he would rather face it head on and deal with it. A soldier through and through.
She let loose a soft, breezy laugh and let her lip go. "I'd like to try something different," she started, "but…"
He looked at her like she had gone mad. He was beginning to feel the tight squeeze of panic take him. He was naked in a bath. She was in a thin robe and small clothes that were already wet to her knees. What in all Seven Hells could she possibly want to do besides something that he was certainly not at all prepared to deal with now? Of course he had thought about it. Many times over if he was honest about it. But here? Now? In the bath? He wasn't ready for this. He'd fuck it all up like everything else in his life and Gods he just wanted to enjoy this small glimmer of happiness he had found before it was snatched away to burn to ashes that would choke him.
"Don't look so horrified. I'm not after your maidenhood," she tried to sound reassuring by using one of her favorite shared jests with him. "But I do need you to trust me."
Now she really had gone mad. He was sure of it. Trust her? Didn't she know by now he'd run a sword through his own fucking dead heart if she demanded it? He kept his gaze fixed forcibly on the water ahead of him.
"What would you have me do?" he asked thanking the Seven that his voice didn't waver.
"Just lean back a bit that's all," she said softly while tugging on his shoulders and drawing him back between her legs which were now spread wider than before. She put a hand to his forehead, gently pulling his head back and down. Down, down, down until his unblemished cheek was pressed tight against her leg and his head was cradled between thigh and there.
Fuck the Maiden and the Mother and the whore Crone as well he cursed. If he turned his head to the other side he'd be nose deep in her.
"That's perfect. Stay still and close your eyes," she instructed him, a hint of mischief and honest happiness in her voice. He did as she bid, trying to keep his breathing steady and his cock in line. It was already starting to grow hard and whatever it was she had in store he did not want to interrupt it by disgusting her with his own body's wants. There was a few seconds pause, the sound of trickling water and then warmth spread across his scalp. The same sound, the same warmth and wetness trickling down through his hair. His eyes flew open.
"Don't," She warned, "or you'll end up with water and oil in your eyes."
"The fuck you doing?" he barked, yet closing his eyes all the same.
She laughed at that and spoke as if she were explaining something very simple to a child, "Washing your hair. I don't think I've ever seen you do it. When was the last time you bothered to do so properly?"
A life time ago he wanted to say. When I was a flea ridden Hound and forced to put on heirs for an incestuous born king. But he knew that she knew it had been a long, long time and that she wasn't seeking a true answer from him.
"Stay still," she shushed at him again.
There came the sound of her hands digging through her bag, a stopper being forced from a bottle and her hands rubbing together. This bottle smelled of rosemary which mercifully covered up the other scent he had taken note of in this new position. Logically he knew what was coming next but he was still shocked to feel the pads of her fingers twist through his hair to find his scalp. He sucked in a breath and just as quickly exhaled it trying to gain control over his breathing again. His cock lengthened in approval of her actions.
Above him, her brow crinkled with a bit of worry but she continued at her task. He didn't take care of himself properly. She could see it in the way he carried his body when he thought no one was watching. She could hear it in the bark he used to keep others at bay. Could sense it in his breathing now as he struggled to enjoy the comfort she offered. She cared for him deeply and if he wasn't willing or able to treat himself well than she, by the Seven, was honored to take on the task.
Slight, delicate fingers began doing what they had always done before on his back, now on his head and he found it be fucking glorious. Burnt skin or whole it mattered not to her as she continued to draw tiny circles across his scalp. It was an entirely new sensation to him. To be handled this gently. To be given this comfort. Shown this much mercy. He didn't deserve it and he had not a bloody clue as to what he should do with the ache and the burn that twisted his guts into gravel. He was suddenly and desperately thankful that they did not share the bathing room with anyone else this evening.
He was utterly lost as she started to rake her nails through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and sending goose flesh down his arms. He was confused, horribly and sickeningly so. No one had ever treated him this way and he was left to drift on an endless rolling ocean of feelings he couldn't even begin to try and pull apart. Lust, sorrow, and joy all battled within him. His body was trapped between wanting to grow rock hard and needing to turn and weep into her skirts. He wanted her to stop. He never wanted her to stop. It had became too much and his body reacted in the only way it could, sending him into shakes and twitches that he recognized from battle as shock.
Her hands stopped their ministrations. Something was wrong. His steady, even breaths and the growing hardness of his manhood that she could just make out through the murky water were signs of happiness. But once she had started to scratch at his head, lightly of course, his brow had knotted together in a painful looking way and he had started shaking. His teeth chattered against her thigh and his body tensed. This had gone wrong. It was her fault. He was private and she knew by now he was in some ways green and she'd gone too bloody far. She cursed at herself internally before finding her courage. She had brought him to this. It was her task to call him back.
"Sandor?" she tried, her voice calm and sure. She placed a hand to his marred cheek, "Alright?"
The memory came rushing fast and brutal in his mind.
He was small and the world was so very large. He couldn't have seen more than 5 name days. His face was still whole. His father had deemed him enough of a man that day to begin helping with the livestock. He was the happiest he could ever remember being in his short life thus far. Today, he would assist in carrying bucket after bucket of feed and water for the cows and horses. As he trotted after his father, down the lane that lead from home to the barns, his too large boots had caught on a root and he had tumbled down.
Like most of his clothing the shoes had been Gregor's once. He wondered if he would ever be as big as Gregor who was a great mountain of a lad even then. His own strength and size didn't present itself until he was nearly fifteen. He had actually yearned at that age to one day be able to fill his older brother's boots. He had been innocent once. Before the flames and the stench of death that no young child should be made to smell coming from their own body.
The fall was short but painful. He had cut his knee on a rock. It had sliced straight through his breeches and deep into his skin. He bled. He'd never seen that much of his own blood before. Alarmed, he cried out and when the blood didn't stop he began to shed tears in earnest. His father turned a bit to see what the matter was and observing him relatively unharmed, tried to stop his bawling in a gruff paternal tone.
"Up lad," His father barked, "it's only a scratch. You wanted a chance at being a man. Men get up." And father continued on the path to the barns.
Father didn't understand. It wasn't the pain that upset him. It was the blood. His life was slipping out from his knee drop by drop and why wasn't it stopping! He'd never seen this much blood come out of anyone ever. It wasn't right was it? And just as he found himself ready to howl in fear, he was aware of soft white hands coming round him. Strong, feminine arms lifted him up and his world smelled of freshly baked bread and spring flowers. Mother had scooped him up and placed him on an old tree stump. She pressed a clean cloth to his knee and used her other hand to wipe away the tears on his face. She was his Mother.
"Sandor," she had cooed while running a hand down his cheek, "alright?"
He sat bolt upright from her lap, taking in great gulps of air as he tried to stop the flood of sensations overtaking him. He had been cared for once. He had been loved. And she was close now, giving those same words of comfort and love. She had been giving them to him, silently, all along. Fast as lightening his mind made connections between the memory and all that she had been showing him during the past few months.
It was one thing for him to care for another. The Little Bird had taught him that the warmth inside hadn't died many years ago as he had thought. It was small and it was fragile but it was still there tucked deep and hidden. He had come to peace with the knowledge that there remained a part of him still capable of something other than covering his hands in blood. However, it was quite another thing to realize someone might care for him in return. He startled himself when a quick sob escaped his throat. In trying to stop the first a second broke free as he lowered his head into his hands.
She was behind him in an instant. Robe, smallcloths and all were splashing clumsily down into the water. She spread her legs wide and pinned herself between the tub's wall and his backside. Her little arms snaked their way under his own and lay to rest on his great barrel of a chest. Her finger tips barely grazed one another across his sternum. Her cheek pressed firmly between his shoulder blades and she sat quietly. He sent a silent blessing to the Gods for her presence. She was calm and still as he continued to try and gain control of himself. Sobs still wracked through his frame every few breathes. She didn't hum or sing. She didn't fuss over him and say meaningless trite words and he was so fucking grateful for it that he wept at her understanding. She was serving him best by simply being there to see him through.
He was making a fool of himself like one of the boy king's bizarre public shows meant to prove power. He knew it and he grasped one of her hands while taking a deep long breath, using her fingers as a focal point. His breathing was still wet and harsh but he no longer wept, thanks be to the Seven. She gave his hand a squeeze and stayed where she was. Eventually, his breathing returned to normal and he dropped her hand.
She let go of his chest and eased back from his body but did not leave him. He swore he could hear her chewing on her lip again. Get it over with he thought. Scold the mongrel for carrying on like a still suckling babe.
But she did no such thing. Instead, her forehead returned to rest on his back and her lips left a ghost of kiss on his shoulder. "Not used to kindness," she said and he could feel her breath on his skin. Her tone implied both a statement and a question.
"Aye," he replied back. There was no use in denying it now. He felt her brow furrow on his back and she let out a troubled sigh.
"I don't like that" she stated bluntly and half a smile crept to his face. She was direct and honest just as he was and that was good. She stretched her neck as far as she could to bring her mouth close to his ear and whispered, "I'm going to change that."
"Fuck me!" he shouted both surprised by her oath and intrigued by what exactly it would entail.
"Not in the bath!" she countered, laughing at her own words. And then she bit him. It was only a small scrape of her teeth to the meat of his shoulder but it made him start in his seat. She wanted to play and he was undoubtedly finished with games. His now softened cock twitched back to life and decided perhaps it wasn't done for the evening after all.
"Girl," he warned, letting his voice drop and turning the right side of his face towards her, bearing his scars. It was his last feeble attempt at turning her away. He tried to remind her how rough and damaged he truly was.
"Boy!" she teased right back still giggling. The look he sent her over his shoulder stopped her laughter. "Oh," she breathed, her eyebrows rising. "Oh!"
She waited a few heartbeats before continuing, "Right. Not in the bath. Soon. Is that alright?"
No, it wasn't bloody well alright his mind screamed. She had shown him tenderness and something else -not love, can't be love his mind begged- and now she would stop after she had fucking bit him like an animal? He ground his teeth.
"When?" he demanded. Oh yes, he was done with games.
"Soon," she said once more and hearing his teeth continue to grind she tried again. "Tonight?"
He grunted an affirmation and she quickly rose from the bath not wanting to anger him any further. It hadn't been her full intent to arouse him. She had meant to distract him with banter and a playful nip but he was too far gone in wanting to take such things lightly. She saw this now and vowed he would find both kindness and pleasure in her arms.
She walked quickly back to her side of the room, her clothes streaming water behind her the entire way. She put her bag on a bench and turned to face him. He was still staring at her with hungry eyes. She shivered a bit and began to disrobe. She knew he had watched in the past. He had opened an eye when her back was turned, feigning rest but she knew he looked. They all looked. This time was different. He was not trying to hide the fact that he watched. He wanted her to know he was watching. Usually, she would turn her back to him in a vain attempt at modesty. This time she held his gaze and ignored the fluttering inside her as she let her robe drop to the floor. Her sodden smallclothes were harder to remove but she managed without falling over. She kept her eyes on his as she stepped down into the tub till the water went past her breasts and then she sighed in happy contentment. She didn't believe that he had blinked the entire time. He hadn't said a word since asking her when they would fuck. It was starting to unnerve her.
"Don't forget to rinse your hair," she cautioned trying to gain some leverage, "you've still got oil in it. I won't have it making a mess of my sheets." With that last remark she placed her head against the ledge of the tub just as she had found him earlier. She heard him sniff his disapproval.
"You'll come to me. I don't need all the fucking household hearing you scream," he corrected her. She found she had no reply at all and closed her eyes, pointedly ignoring the deep aching warmth that was growing in her belly. Her nipples had gone hard and she was not going to think about how much of her could fit into his hands. The time for that was later. If she gave attention to it now they would never make it out of the bath.
"And I'll do as I like in my own sheets." he groused while she shivered again at his words. But she soon heard splashing as he sunk below the water and her smile grew wider. Tonight he would take and she would willingly give.