The White Sword Tower was still. The wineskin was empty and the Sandor Clegane's mind was elsewhere for the moment.
Piss on Joffrey. Piss on that pompous Lannister scum. He was a broken man, and loyal because of it, but of late his allegiance had been warring with him. A slender little thing appeared in his minds eye, all auburn hair and white skin. His little bird had always been a cheerful chirper with courtesies coming out the ass but now the young thing was haunted, and her wings clipped. His hands curled into fists as the sound of her jagged breathing filled his ears. The wineskin tore.
Suddenly he heard the door open. His brothers. The punishment Joffrey had given him was meant to weaken the man, remind him of his place but Sandor Clegane did not have the same shame as other men. He knew his place. He was a loyal dog and a plaything of the lions.
He had expected a drunken ruckus and instead he heard quiet. His brothers were unusually still.
"Awfully quiet for ones so drunk" he barked, rising from the table unsteadily. The wine had gone to his head but he was a big man and could hold his liquor well enough. He approached the door, wary of the ghostly silence. Had another punishment from the king been sent his way?
The little bird stood in the doorway. She was a slip of a thing, uncloaked and shy, her arms wrapped around herself. A small burning torch showered her with dancing light and turned her auburn hair to flames.
"Ser Sandor," the girl said quietly and quickly looked to her feet.
"You are not my brothers." he breathed heavily, and his brow knitted.
Surely he was in some wretched stupor from the drink. Why else would the Stark girl come here if this were not a dream to torment his cock. She was too much to look at. He felt his dick twitch.
"No, ser Sandor." the little bird replied in a murmur. Ser, he noted. He felt the need to spit. The scarred side of his face tugged tightly. No. This was not a dream. His dreams of her were always so much more graphic.
"Stop calling me that." he rasped. A deep burning anger was rising within him. Or was it something else? He drew breath and then: "I am no knight, little bird."
"You are a knight of the kingsguard." her voice quailed.
"I am a man of the kingsguard." the Hound snarled.
Silence passed over them and then finally: "What are you doing here, child."
"I am a woman grown." she responded meekly.
"Bleed a little and that makes you a woman?" Sansa Stark had always been a pretty little thing. On the Kingsroad when she couldn't bear to look at him he'd always looked at her. Such a small little thing, innocent as a child. But he knew she was no longer a child. His eyes raked her frame. All hips and teats now. Sandor Clegane became uncomfortably aware of the tightness he felt against his breeches. It would be so easy to force himself upon her. To take what should be his. He could picture her under him, writhing and crying.
Another uncomfortable silence spread between them. Fuck. He thought. She was not looking at him. She would never look at him. It wasn't just the Kingsroad it was every waking moment.
Away with you, Dog.
"I was... frightened." the little bird cooed.
"Frightened was it? So you come looking for something more terrifying is it?"
"I was frightened and you... you stopped the King." She would never look at him.
"I misspoke." Sandor Clegane corrected. He neared her, his feet heavy with drink. The girl said nothing but kept her eyes down. Frightened, no doubt. A little bird has so much to be frightened of. So many monsters in the dark. "What is it so interesting about your shoes you won't look up?"
The girl looked to the wall. Still and quiet. The light cast shadows on her pointed face and he felt a sudden burden on his chest. The White Sword Tower was nothing but white. Pure and knightly and he did not belong. He wanted to wrench the torch from the wall and extinguish the room. He grabbed her firmly by the jaw.
"You look at me." Sandor commanded. His breathing was rapid. He could feel his anger growing and growing. Her eyes followed the scars on his face, stopping here and there to measure the grotesque thing he was. But then she looked beyond. Suddenly she met his gaze and he felt naked. He let go of her quickly and turned from her, shaking.
"Anything pretty to say, little bird?" he exhaled. She had looked. But what had she seen? "Any songs to sing me?"
Nothing. Sansa Stark said nothing. And the anger flooded back. He would never be anything to her. He would only ever be a monster "Go, girl." He was defeated.
Despite his bark he did not hear her flee from him. He had gotten what he wanted, a look from the pretty maid. Now he wanted her gone.
"GO!" he turned, and his anger released from him. He was shaking. Every part of him felt ready to tear.
"Why must you be so mean? I've done nothing." Nothing but look. "Please, se- Sandor."
"NOW." he grabbed her by the arm tightly and walked with her to the door. With his spare hand he opened it and sent her through. "Do not come back."
He stalled by the door for a moment. Her courtesy had slipped and she had called him by his name. Her pained expression. Her plea.
He felt himself grow limp as an uncomfortable feeling of guilt washed over him and he returned to the table. He lifted the wineskin only to find it torn and empty.
She had looked at him. She had called him by name.