"Won't you sing a little song for me little bird? A song about knights and fair maidens?" The curl of his fingers on her elbow was firm and the slightest movement of his hand forced her compensate so not to lose her balance. "Go on sing."
"You wont hurt me." Sansa revealed herself in those words. For the first time he saw her beyond the vial that her Septa had weaved.
"Sing," spoken through bared teeth in a seethe, it was animalistic and honest. Things she could seen in his face and feel in his hands.
Sansa knew she should have been frightened knowing that here in the dark hall she was alone. Knowing she had no where to go. No one to hide in to. No protectors, just him. A half burned man, that had carved his reputation in Westros with blood and bone. A half step in and he was just a breath away from her. As he took that step her heart skipped like a rabbit in her chest.
Breath held and she froze, muscles tensed like an animal of prey in the shadow of its predator. The glimmer of the whites of her eyes reflected in the torch light as she searched him. A breath out Sansa aligned herself. Defenses up. What did she need her protects for for? The Hound smelled of pungent wine and the cold steel of his damaged armor, Sansa did not fear him, not any longer. At lease she didn't want to.
"I don't know any Songs, not anymore." rallying her strength, but her voice trembled. There was something accusing in her tone. She accused him of honor. To make it fair. Now, that she was revealed and so was he. Neither could hide now. Sansa was not the same girl she'd been when she arrived at King's Landing. Harden with each betrayal, each beating and each personal thievery. "And you're no dog, no more than I am a bird." Sansa wanted to be more than bird, she wanted to be a Stark. She wanted to be a she wolf, and she needed him to recognize that. Because he was the only one here she could trust, because she held his secrets.
A hard yank and she tried to wrench herself free. Perhaps it would have worked if she done it before charged him of humanity, because now he held her more tightly. There was no getting free. Sandor was too big, too strong and too demanding. His grip would leave a mark, a blooming bruise in the shape of his fingertips on her arm. Sansa didn't care, but it didn't seem so cruel coming from him. Instead it brought some strange and unfamiliar heat to rise through her.
"I'd be stupid to play man." he spat. "Men don't live long in the Red Keep. Bein' a dog a better, and you'd be stupid, stupid and dead if you didn't repeat all those things you're Setpa had taught you. " And he gave her wisdom. Wisdom that was married to the pain she felt in his grasp. Because that was how lessons were learned.
"My Septa is dead. " her chin held high and Sansa was profoundly proud that she not flinched when he grabbed her harder. Her Septa was dead, those songs hadn't saved her, how could they save anyone else now? "I am not a bird, not any longer."
"Whats that make you then, if not a pretty thing from the summer isle? " his tongue rolled over the hard edge of his teeth. Fingers lightened on her arm, but did not grant her freedom. He liked it too much, having her in arm's reach. The struggle, the twist, engaged him in a primal game. A game Sansa could no win. "Hmm?"
She didn't want to say it. Sansa knew it was dangerous, but she knew if she didn't he wouldn't let her go.
"You'd be wise to remember the songs taught to you, do as your told, and hold your tongue. Else they make better use of you and it. " he badgered her.
"I don't care anymore." I am a Stark, I can be brave. She replayed in her head. I am a wolf, but she felt the tears burning. Threatening to fall warm on her down blushing cheeks and she knew that he could see them because they fogged her view of him. She didn't know what to expect him seeing her cry. She didn't know what he do. She knew it be cruel, because it was weak.
Sansa grabbed his arm, because crying was doing nothing. She was still a victim of Joffery, her father was dead, and her brother was a dream. None of it mattered. Not even Sandor's cruel threats.
"Crying won't save you, not caring wont either." he shook her on her feet again. "Sing,"
A stammered breath and she wanted to channel the strength of women that didn't bleong to her. She wanted to slap him, to insult his masculinity and drive out something human. She believed she that was impossible, there there was nothing human left in Sandor. With out knowing she already had. She wanted him to leave her alone. Instead she did all she could do. She twisted and struggled. Finger nails dug into the hard mail and broke. The fine fabric of tore and her carefully strung braids fell.
Sandor grabbed her other arm and forced her against the cold hard white stone wall. No matter how she fought he was as hard as the stone on her back, and her beating turned to quiet sobbing.
"I am Stark, and I am a wolf. " Words that were broken and muffled on his chest. Tears that slicked the breast plate and ow he didn't humiliate her now. He did not shame her, he did not laugh at her. He ignored her tears and gave her dignity that had been slowly stolen from her. She could smell the wine stronger than ever as he leaned his head to her. As the crooked nose pressed through the threads of sun burned hair and he spoke. The hot burn of her emotion seeped on to him. Each breath stammered breath was pressed on to him.
"Talking like that will get you killed." his tone like the sharp song of steel, unmoving. Sasnor knew he didn't need reaffirm this. "and kicking a dog will get you bit." there was some humor in his words that sobered her. He let her go and Sansa held him to him. For just a moment longer. Before he stepped away, removing her hands from him. Seeing those tully blue eyes puffy and red, knuckles with rubies of coagulated blood where she scraped them on his armor. Somehow she seemed smaller, more frail and more beautiful in her permission.
Foot steps on the round stair case. Sansa didn't know what to say. Instead she gathers the lengths of her skirts and left in a flutter of fabric.
Winking in the light on the stone floor was a coil of chain. Sandor bent and scratched the surface until he had it in his hands. He stood and inspected the silver coil in the dim light. A dragon fly with a twisted tail and green slender wings. Sadnor let his damaged finger trace over the elaborate engraving. Shoving it into a pocket along his belt as a pretty thin blithe handmaiden rushed on the scene. Her steps had been the ones that chased Sansa away. The woman was clad in a gauze summer gown and cautiously brushed passed him.
A sigh that was released with a low grumble that could have passed for an accidental growl sent the woman with hurried steps.
Inside her cambers Sansa felt comforted knowing no one else could see her tears. Sansa felt some how closer to the wolf, closer to Winterfell. She had Sandor to thank for that.
She crawled on the heavy down of her bed. Into the sheets that sunk with her steps still in her dress, fingers moving over the top of the sleeves where she felt the frayed hem. Where she torn it. She'd repair it, later. Then she realized something something, that warm feeling that hand't left her. When she closed her eyes and thought of Sandor, red and scarred knuckles that clamped on to her her, she felt that knot in her stomach grow.