Sandor chapter 1
He felt the tinge of sudden urgency to shake something, brake something, make something tremble in fear. He held the cloth covered in blood in his palm, the thoughts of the bastard son dying from his fingers was a sensation like no other. His eyes swayed with anger like his little bird's body swayed to keep her feet and knees from falling towards the ground like he knew she wanted to do. It was infuriating. Suddenly, the bastard yelled, and it took him all his strength not to follow through with the thoughts spurring in his mind. "Dog," He called with an angry tone, desperate to find something to humiliate, since the poor girl was too boring for the boy. "I don't want to see her face anymore." He said, his voice more quiet but with more disdain and hatred. "Bring her back to her cage." With a short laugh of mockery, he turned on his heels and left.
Swallowing hard and sudden, The Hound stayed in his position for a moment, just to keep himself from hurling himself at the bastard, crushing his little worthless neck with his hands, hearing the peircing cries he could make with that girlish throat. He would take his little bird, if he did, he would take her and bring her home, her actual cage, and let her fly around there in a wider more beautiful place she deserved. She would like that, he thought, fluttering about her homeland. She would smile at him, and thank him like a good little bird. He shook his head suddenly, telling himself that she would never do something like, he was an old ugly scarred dog, not some pretty little knight she cherished in her songs.
He crossed the chambers in two easy steps, gently as he could make, take her in his hands and guide her towards the doors. She felt like a corpse, The Hound basically dragging her across the floor as he led her. he heard the small sniffs, the little mumbles she made as they hurried through the corridors. He should have left, damn him. Left during the fight, when the green fire was roaring across the water. he should have dragged her with him, consent or no, he should have. She would be closer to home by now. Since that night, when he went to her as drunk as a simple fool, asked for a song and a kiss, or so Sansa has told him since he can't remember a bloody thing, he's been more gentle with her. At least, that's what she's said to him. He can't tell the difference.
When they got to her chambers, he opened her wooden door and helped her in, letting her handmaid, Shea, take her and lead her to the bed. The young maid was getting used to him as well, not staring at his face in disgust and untrustingness, but more of a content way, as to say that they both have one goal here. To keep the little bird unharmed. Shea started mumbling threats but soon hurried to make a bath for the poor girl. The hound, who was unsure on how to move around the little bird since the night, even though its been days since, sat gingerly next to her. "Little bird…" He started, but she threw her head back and let out a little laugh as tears fell from her eyes.
"Oh Sandor," She began, finally using his name rather than the 'ser's' and 'lord's' he never liked. "how could i be so stupid?" She asked simply, her words fleeing her lips with so much beauty he couldnt grasp the sensation he felt around her. She was beautiful, everone knew. But she was beyond the stories knights told in the brothels, in the training grounds, everywhere. She was so much more, and the times like these, he was glad he stayed. To be able to sit near her, and hear her shed the armor he saw her pull on herself, heavier and stronger than his and valaryan steel. "i'm such a stupid girl." She laughed again as tears left her eyes.
Sandor knew the plan, he would sit and listen, without a word, and watch her, as she shed her skin for him. Then she would stand and thanked him like a proper little bird, and he would stand. Then he would leave. But today was different, he figured out when she took her hand and placed it on his. The contact was a simple thing, but sent his head rolling. "Little bird…" he said once again, unsure on why he would interrupt her.
"You think i'm stupid as well," She shook her head, letting her firey red hair fall around her. "I think i'm stupid, believing such songs and stories, beleiving i would be happy with him." She sighed then, whipping the tears.
With a snarl, he haulted that simple thought. "You are not stupid." He was bad at praises, compliments or anything of comforting, and she knew that. That's why he never spoke. But she looked up at him, and shifted her head in a questioning way. "You are not stupid, little bird." He repeated.
Biting her lip, she nodded silently. "As you say," But she didnt believe it, he knew. She wouldnt believe such a thing. She made it in her head that she was stupid, to try and keep Joffrey from hurting her more. If she believed it, she wouldnt have to feel bad everytime he told her. It would be true, it wouldnt hurt. He knew the feeling. "Why would you stay here, Sandor? Why didnt you leave? You should have left…"
For you Little Bird, he wanted to hold her and scream it, to shake her and tell her that he wanted to see her home safely, where her family was and where she needed to be. She needed to be home, away from this torture. Joffrey had a new wife, but wouldnt let the poor girl leave. You need more protection than your simple suit of armor, you need someone besides the handmaid. Bloody hells Sansa.
He let her pry his hand free and hold it, let her trace her fingers across scars like she always did. "This calms me," She said finally with a gently smile. "This always calms me it seems, to see the scars on your skin." She looked up at him, her Tully blue eyes were bright with moonlight, watered down, but bright.
He scoffed suddenly, and could see her smile widen. "I dont know how little bird, scars arent meant to be calming." he felt uneasy, talking like this. He never talked like this with her, just listened.
her hand was suddenly on his face, the burnt side. He couldnt feel much, but he felt the pressure, the surge of warmth in his stomach. He wasnt used to this, never was used to this. he didnt know if he liked the feeling or not, if it was a good feeling or not. If it was a safe feeling or not. he wanst sure. "It calms me," She said again. "I'm not scared, if that's what you mean. I was at first, but i'm not anymore." She sighed, drawing her other and to his other side. "I like you face, just as it is."
He bit back a rude remark, simply stared at her as she stared. This was uncalled for, and blood hells was he getting in danger. She never touched him like this. But his stomach rolled and he was getting the urge to hold her, embrace her. He held back, he always held back.
A voice behind her startled him, but she kept her hands on him. "Sansa…." he warned, but she simply smiled, dropping her hands and standing. "You're getting too buggering brave." he mocked, standing along with her.
She simply giggled, the sound sending a chill down his spine. "I always love our talks, they calm me." Shea was standing by the door that let to the bath. "Thank you, my lord. Please have a restful night."
He bellowed a laugh, but simply nodded. "Aye, and you as well Sansa." He moved past Shea, who was coiled like a spring, ready to fight if needed. She was crazy, one day she walked in with Sansa crying and The Hound holding her arm rightly. She ran towards him with a knife hidden in her skirts. He smacked her, once, but regretted it when Sansa scolded him. She then told her that he was helping. She'd been beaten by one of Joffrey's knights, and her knees were giving way from the injuries, Sandor was simply trying to help her stand, maybe a little too roughly. But she didnt complain.
He left the two to their buisness, heading to his own chambers, feeling the warmth in his stomach fade, and the feeling of coldenss and hatred rise again. He needed to brake something, beat something. Drink something. Aye, wine. Wine makes the difference.
