(This fic takes place after Joffrey is to be wed to Margaery. In this story, Sandor did not leave after the Battle of the Blackwater.)
….
Despite her red stained eyes, Sansa was easily the most beautiful girl at the ball. The spectacular event was held to ease the tension after the battle of the Blackwater, as well as to celebrate His Grace's betrothal to Lady Margaery. However, Joffrey wasted little time to make a toast to the fall of The King of the North. Those cold eyes looked through Sansa as his cruel words were spoken with a taunting grin. As if the girl hadn't suffered enough, she had just learned of the news only three days prior.
His Grace went on with his mockery, "I'm sure you all heard the stories about how Robb Stark could transform into a wolf on the battlefield. Well, I heard that after beheading him, the Frey's men sewed Robb's dire wolf's head to his body." He laughed. "To the Frey's!" The King held up his golden goblet, and everyone followed suit. "To the Frey's!" they echoed.
Joffrey watched to make sure that Sansa raised her own cup and toasted to her brother's death. Once she did, he was momentarily satisfied and his attention shifted elsewhere.
Sansa silently cursed the gods, both the old and new. Once, she would have dreamed and even prayed to attend the wonderful splendor of a royal ball. She would have spent hours imagining what she'd wear, how she'd fix her hair, and dancing with her Prince. No longer did she believe in such naive tales.
The man she feared, yet admired, had been right. There were no gods, no heroes, nor gallant knights. They were all just a bunch of killers.
Instead of joining in with the festivities, Sansa sat alone at one of the many empty tables as the others danced, conversed, and drank themselves senseless. She would notice the high born girls snickering about her from afar. In all honesty, she did not hold it against the young girls, for she could see her old self in them. Little did they know of the world's cruelty, and perhaps it was better to live that way.
For a moment, she got lost in her own thoughts about how things used to be… She thought of home and about how she hadn't appreciated it. The very idea was enough to bring tears to her eyes, but she had to fight them back. Now that she knew the truth, she needed to learn how to be strong. She had never been strong, not like her sister and two older brothers.
"Drink."
The sudden command snapped her out of her trance, but her light glazed eyes looked ahead. She need not look upon his scarred face to know that the voice which spoke to her was that of The Hound.
"I don't like the taste." Her voice was nearly a whisper.
"Drink..." This time his demand was more stern and frightening. It was followed by him slamming down his own cup. The crimson liquid splashed to stain the white tablecloth.
Those crystal eyes watched as the dark red liquid absorbed into the pure cloth. The very sight made her brows pull together. Once again, her eyes quaked as she thought of her family.
Seeing her somber expression made him sigh. "Come, girl, drink up… It's going to be a long night." This time, his tone seemed gentle.
After chugging her own glass, Sansa grabbed and sloshed his down as well. She knew it wasn't right for him to be indulging while on duty, but no one would dare say a word to him. Her hand quickly lifted to her lips for she nearly gagged at the pungent flavor. Something about sharing a cup was oddly intimate. After all, her lips had been where his were only moments before. The strange sensation reminded her of the tender moment they shared the night of the Blackwater Bay battle.
Sandor chuckled. "Easy, little bird. It wouldn't be proper for me to have to carry you back to your cage. Now, that wasn't so bad was it?"
At last, her eyes met with his. No longer did she fear meeting his gaze. In fact, she had come to enjoy denying him the satisfaction of having rattled her. "Behind the bitterness, it's a bit sweet. Reminds me of someone I know. And like I said, I don't like the taste." Her words snapped back at him.
His blank expression gave nothing away. "It's an acquired taste. Perhaps over time, you will learn to enjoy it." His lips expelled with a smirk. With that said, he grasped his cup and wandered away before anyone noticed that he was hovering over the Lady Sansa.
…
The night had indeed dragged on. Most of his time was spent standing around, watching The King make a fool of himself. Fucking little cunt.
It was true. He had damned The King on the night of The Battle of Blackwater Bay. Sandor could give a shit about his duty. Yet, like a good dog, he still followed orders. Why? He did not fully understand himself. Perhaps, it was because of… Her. Sandor had spent most of the night leering at the young girl with scarlet hair as if he hoped she'd catch him doing so. Yet, he never caught her looking back at him. Of course, she wouldn't.
He pressed his lips against his cup, the same spot where hers had been, while he admired the way her hair was pulled back out of her face. He did not know it was the southern style nor did he care. He just liked gawking at the untouched porcelain skin of her neck. His dark eyes followed the V-shaped cut of her dress down to her chest, until the site was broken by Joffrey's intrusion.
Joffrey's words to Sansa were unheard, but they weren't hard to guess. Surely, he was taunting her... threatening to soon have his way with her. The little shit. Sandor had offered her a way out, an escape, but she had turned him down.
Had she known that the game would have swayed in Joffrey's favor, would she have turned his offer down then? He would always wonder. Either way, his offer still stood. However, if he asked her again and she dared to refuse, then he would just take her for his own. Surely, she could not be punished for being abducted by a stray dog. At least with him, she wouldn't be beaten, raped, or worse… Of course, other than her freedom, he had nothing to offer her. He could not give her the proper life that a fine lady deserved.
"Dog!"
Before heading over to his "King," he took a moment to study him. He thought of all the different ways he could carve his sword into his body…all the parts he could hack away. When he met Joffrey's stare, he imagined how his bare hands could easily crush his pretty little face. The little shit will get his soon enough. No need to send me to the noose just yet…
Soon he was over there, standing with Lady Sansa and His Grace. "My lady has not had a dance partner all evening. I would like for you to do her the honor."
Fuck! Fuck! Fucker! The dagger would do... right into his cunt mouth. Choking on his own blood would shut him up. "Perhaps a true Ser would be a better partner, Your Grace. I'm afraid a stray dog has no other skills than killing." She'd like that. Dancing with one of those honorable knights that she loves so much. Stupid girl. Sandor did not wish to be a pawn in Joffrey's little game. His intentions were clear, to force the beautiful girl to dance with the hideous beast. What better way to bring her shame? Sansa would be the talk of all the high born girls come morning. The pricks, all of them.
"You will do as your King commands, dog!" Joffrey roughly jerked Sansa's arm and pushed her against Sandor. "Now dance…" He barked with an awful kind of scowl.
Sandor led her away from King Joffrey and found a dark corner on the dance floor. "Slimy piece of fuck…" He mumbled under his breath. "Don't think this gives me pleasure, girl… If I had it my way than I'd be drinking myself to sleep right now. Not wasting my time fluttering around with a little bird... Besides, I don't even know how." He admitted since he had never once danced with a woman or even known a woman intimately… besides fucking. But fucking did not count as intimate. At least, not the way that he did it. His hand was set awkwardly on her arm, and the other loosely grasped her hand.
"I wouldn't dare think that a man like you would even know the meaning of the word pleasure. All you seem to know is how to find the bottom of a bottle." She bit back at him as she grabbed and placed one of his hand at her waist. Her fingers tangled around the rough calluses of his free hand. Sansa slowly smoothed her other small shaky hand up the full length of his muscular arm until it rested just below his shoulder.
"Aye, but I also know how to kill a man... or woman, and that gives me pleasure." He sneered. Just then, he looked down at her as if seeing her first the first time. Feeling the warm friction of her body made him realize just how fragile his little bird was. Small enough for a hound to crush, that was for sure. "Now what? Let's get this over with…"
"Now you just sway from side to side." She muttered.
Sandor did just that. For such a good swordsman, his footing was clumsy, but at least he didn't step on her feet. Just as the music was nearing an end, he pulled her closer to him. His strong wide hand clenched hard at her waist and forced her to gasp. No doubt his grasp would leave a bruise, and he wanted to mark her... to claim her as his own. He would mark that pretty little neck if she wouldn't lose her head for it. But alas, the music did end and she was not his to handle anymore. He doubted he would ever get the chance to touch her like that again. So, for just a moment longer he held her hand and gazed down into her eyes.
Her heart was beating fast. Her head was spinning, and cheeks were flushed. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or… "Ser?" Her eyes searched about, and it appeared that The King had already taken his leave. "Would you see me back to my chamber?"
"Aye, I'll see you back to your cage, little bird." He had felt her rapid pulse and noticed the new warmth that pulled at her cheeks. She must have had more drinks than I managed to keep up with. Sandor did not believe he could have that kind of affect on her. "But I am no Ser." He reminded her.
-To be continued-