Disclaimer: I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.
A/N: I have always envisioned Sandor and the Hound to be two different persona's embodied within one character. The Hound is the cruel, vicious character that has been descried to us throughout the series but Sandor is still the son of a Lord and consequently had all the education and manners of any gentleman. We all know he has a soft spot for Sansa, in my story, he lets it show.
Lessons were something Sansa had been accustomed to for the entirety of her life. Whether it was basic sewing or stitching, intricate needlework, sums, letters or even just learning manners, she had always enjoyed them and felt it her duty to take all her lessons to heart and learn to complete them to a point of perfection. She took great pride in this. She never thought where her lessons would come from after the death of her Septa and certainly never thought this would be one of them.
"You will be a proper wife. You will know how to please me come our wedding night. Yes, my mother says I still have to marry you," he stated, despite not being asked the question, and rolling his eyes in the process. "You have no Septa, no sisters and no mother. I think it proper that a Hound teach a bitch to fuck," Joffrey shouted loudly and with a sneer quite evident on his face.
She couldn't believe the words, despite them being confirmed by the absolute silence in the room. Cercei's face blanched at her sons' words, Tyrion dropped his goblet, only Littlefinger and Lord Varys kept their stony demeanour. Even the Hound himself looked affected. She wasn't sure what his expression meant, but considering his reputation, she felt every good reason to be afraid.
"Well? What do you say to that? We'll make sure no traitors' blood spills on my wedding bed."
Sansa breathed in deeply to steady a voice she knew would be shaky, "if it pleases Your Grace." She kept her composure; she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her fear.
"It does please me. Hound, you are to start with her tonight. If she does not please me, you will both answer for it. But don't even think of giving this wolf bitch any pups."
"Yes, Your Grace," the Hound rasped before dismissing himself.
"Lady Sansa," it was Tyrion who had piped up, for which Sansa was thankful. He had always been kind to her and she was told he had a fondness for both her bastard brother and her broken brother. Her mind must have wandered. She snapped back to attention when he called her name a second time, "Lady Sansa, I am sure you will want to prepare for your new...lessons. You are dismissed to your rooms. Ser Meryn, please escort the lady to her chambers. She is not to be harmed. We have matters to discuss with the King before he retires for the afternoon."
Sansa curtsied, as she was expected to and made sure she kept far enough ahead of the Kingsguard that he could not touch her.
As soon as she reached her chambers, she dropped the crossbeam and fell to the floor, tears pouring over her cheeks, soaking into the fabric pooled about her knees.
This was how Shae found her moments later. With very little prodding, Sansa had spilled the whole sad and sadistic story.
"He will ruin me. I won't be able to marry honourably," she cried even harder into Shaes' shoulder.
Shae hugged the young girl tightly. "The King ordered it; he will know you won't be a maiden."
"He won't marry me! He is playing with me, I know he is. He will ruin me and set me aside. I am a pawn in his game, no more than a toy! He hates me and knows I hate him," she sobbed, with anger now. "Besides, my brother might still make it. What then?"
Shae pursed her lips. "If your brother is as honourable as you say he is, you will have nothing to fear. He will make you an honourable match," she promised. "But until that happens, I don't know much about noble marriage but I do know much and more about what goes on in the marriage bed. I will help if I am able." Sansa nodded in acknowledgement. "For now, let us get you ready to meet your teacher. I will heat up a bath for you, m'Lady."
Shae lead her into the adjoining lavatory and started pouring water into the copper tub while Sansa fussed with the laces on her dress. Shae took the dress and her underclothes from her and placed them on her trunk before returning to the bath.
Sansa was standing naked next to the large tub, stooping slightly to test the temperature of the water. "The king is a stupid boy, m'lady," Shae stated, smiling at Sansa. "The Hound should consider himself a lucky man."
"What do you mean?" Sansa asked, covering herself with her arms before turning to face the other girl, a red flush spreading down her shoulders.
"Look at yourself," she said, grasping Sansas arms and turning her to the mirror. "If word is true, you've your mothers' hair and the wildlings would say you've been kissed by fire." The words seemed a great compliment when spoken in Shaes' exotic accent. Sansas' blush only deepened. "Your skin is as milky white as a statue of the maiden herself," she continued, running her fingers along the length of Sansa's arms, "and your breasts, they still hold the firmness of youth. Any man would be wanting of them," she said, reaching under Sansas' arm and taking one in her hand to squeeze gently.
Sansa was as red as her hair. She smacked her handmaids hand away. "That is enough Shae, please," she pleaded. "I will call you when I need my hair to be combed."
Sandor stormed out of the small room too angry and indisposed with his own thoughts to speak with anyone. He went directly to his chambers. The bastard king had gone too far and Sandor hated to be played as a pawn. He slammed the heavy doors behind him before fighting with the buckles and other fastenings of his armour and throwing them to the floor. He paced the room in an attempt to taper his fervour. He may be the hound but he still had his honour. He couldn't give a shit for the honour of knights or Gods or damn near anything else but could still honour himself and what his father taught him.
"She's a LADY, Gods be damned!" he yelled to the stone walls, anger rising again. "I would gut that bastard before following an order to rape a lady."
He carried on with his ranting to no audience beyond the furniture in his rooms until he could control himself and come up with a strategy. He had a soft spot for the little bird and didn't like how afraid of him she was without him ever causing her harm. She would wish him dead a thousand times over if he forced himself on her. He wouldn't.
When he had his ideas sorted and settled, he ordered a servant boy to pour him a bath. The boy stood dumbstruck as though it was the most absurd request in all of the Seven Kingdoms until he threatened to box the lads ears. The very least he could do was to show up clean and properly dressed.