Chapter Two
Sandor laughed as he watched the girl exit in an angry huff. He went to the door and looked down the hallway at her fleeing from him, walking as fast as her ridiculous skirts would let her. He chuckled and put his hands in his pockets. That had been fun and entertaining indeed.
He had thought that morning that this party would be an absolute bore, and a buggering waste of time. But of course, the Baratheons had to showcase their wealth by putting on a barbecue and inviting almost the whole countryside, and as he was already staying at their house, he was obliged to attend as well. Sandor had no use for the courtesies practiced by the gentility, and he couldn't stand the fake and petty gallantry that the young men put on for the ladies. But the smell of food had drawn him from the library, and he had meandered through the growing crowd, which parted easily for his large frame. Most of the people shied away from him and avoided looking at his scars; a few bolder and foolish lads openly stared until he met their eyes, then they sweated and squirmed and looked away. But he was used that.
With no one in particular that he wished to speak to, Sandor had eased into one of the empty doorways and smoked a cigar, watching the swirling groups of men and women, all talking in annoyingly high voices. The young ladies were all affected and vain, strutting about with their summer dresses and smiling coquettishly at the boys. It was disgusting.
He was about to leave when he saw her.
She moved gracefully from person to person, pausing here and there for a quick word before flitting away. The girl had a bountiful of red hair that curled into soft ringlets, and her dress lay low in the front, giving Sandor a delicious view of her white shoulders and just a peek at the tops of her bosom. She was beautiful and young, pink cheeked, with merry blue eyes. He remained where he was, curious. While the girl smiled and chatted, there was something about her that was different from the rest of these petty girls, who all paled in comparison to her. She seemed distracted until she found some friend, whom she spoke with until they were interrupted by a troop of other young ladies.
Pulling on his cigar, he let his eyes wander over her figure, noting how slim her waist was. He could fit both hands around it and then some. If the skin of her shoulders and chest were so creamy and soft, he could imagine what the rest of her body was like…
He saw the girl's back stiffen, and she cast a glance around the room, a puzzled expression on her face. It ended quickly, but Sandor was suddenly determined to make her see him. He wanted her to see him watching her. So he kept his gaze heavy until her back stiffened once more, and she glanced behind her.
The look on her face had been one of surprise, then confusion, and then shyness as she realized he was staring at her. He had stayed still, letting her observe him, and enjoying the way her pretty face flushed and her pink lips parted. She turned away quickly, pretending not to feel his gaze. He chuckled, watching the other girls leave one by one. The red-head whispered to her friend, who looked over at him, then whispered back to Sansa with a giggle. The girls left soon after, and Sandor remained, wondering who she was. Clearly she wasn't used to someone like him openly staring at her, or she wouldn't have blushed and responded like that. Another woman would have either flirted back, or given him a dirty and disgusted look.
Somehow, the girl's shyness was more desirable than if she had batted her eyes and smiled at him.
He hadn't seen her again for the barbecue, and after he had eaten his fill Sandor had retreated back to the library. He had little desire to join the men in the large study room, where they were discussing politics and the up-coming war. The library was pleasantly cool and dark, and the couch was just long enough for him to lie down on while he nursed a glass of scotch.
He had just begun to doze off when he heard someone enter the library, and before he could sit up they began talking.
The boy's voice he immediately recognized as Joffrey's: no one else had such a self-satisfied, arrogant tone. The other voice was a quiet and sweet sound, and Sandor realized that Joffrey must be with the girl he had heard Cersei discussing the night before. Her name had been…something with an S….Sansa….Sansa Stark. That was it. The oldest daughter to the wealthy Ned Stark, who was good friends with Robert Baratheon.
The conversation reached the point where Joffrey let some of his cruelty shine, and Sandor couldn't resist taking a peek around the arm of the sofa to see the girl. To his utter shock, it was the red-headed goddess from earlier. She looked completely stunned and appalled at Joffrey's announcement. Sandor hid again, quickly. Joffrey was a fool. Margaery Tyrell was pretty, but she was nothing compared to this girl. Sandor suddenly became glad that this was happening, and that he was there to witness it. Not that he liked the thought of Joffrey causing her pain, but because she would now be free from the hell which had potentially loomed in front of her, and Sandor could now perhaps have a word with her… depending on how this ended.
Joffrey finished by telling the girl she was stupid, which caused him to bristle, but he waited until he heard someone leave the room. By the sniffling that started, he guessed it wasn't the girl. Suddenly something crashed against the mantelpiece, and Sandor decided to make his appearance.
His encounter with Sansa had not gone exactly as he thought it might, but it had been amusing and satisfying nonetheless. Joffrey was wrong: the girl wasn't stupid. And she was even more beautiful up close. It didn't take Sandor long to confirm his thoughts about her naivety. She was an innocent little bird, who somehow had managed enough courage to look him in the face and chirp exactly what she thought in that sweet, lilting voice of hers. He enjoyed making her flustered, as it seemed to be the way to bring out her spirit. And the more they talked, the more he decided he wanted her.
She had to know she was a beauty. She had probably heard it all her life. But Sandor doubted that she knew what her soft skin and large eyes and pink mouth could do to a man. Having consumed quite a bit of alcohol earlier in the day, Sandor felt brash enough to openly leer at her, drinking in her flushed complexion and scandalized reactions to his compliments. He was just being truthful about Joffrey, and about his own attraction to her, but apparently the girl was unprepared for such advances. Which, of course, drew him to her even more. To the point that he even told her what she needed was a man, not a boy. He wasn't sure if she had caught on to his implication, that the man she needed was him, specifically, because she refused to respond and instead fled the room.
Sandor leaned against the door frame, watching as she disappeared around the corner, grappling with the surge of desire coursing through him. He would have that girl. Sandor had always been gifted with a sense of intuition, and he knew that the girl had not rid herself of him so easily. They would meet again.
A fresh burst of shouting erupted from the study, and Sandor reluctantly decided to go join them. Now that he knew who Sansa was, he was curious to see what her sire and brothers were like.
Sansa found a space on one of the beds next to Jeyne and lay down, but she was anything but tired. The room felt hot and stuffy, and she tossed and turned, her conversation with Sandor Clegane ever present. To her surprise she realized she was not as upset about Joffrey anymore. She still dreaded all the questions and the whispers, but her heart wasn't broken like she originally thought it was. Somehow the shock of her conversation with Sandor Clegane had rattled her more than being horribly insulted by Joffrey. In fact, she couldn't even remember why she had thought him handsome before. In a few short minutes his entire character had changed before her eyes, leaving her disappointed but not devastated.
How had Sandor known about Joffrey's true nature? He had worked for the Baratheons before, so he would know Joffrey better, she supposed. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to push the image of Sandor's mocking smirk and dark eyes out of her head. He had been crude and ungallant, yet Sansa couldn't stop the small ripples of foreign delight at his comments.
Woman. He called you a woman. Sansa squirmed, biting her lip. What had he meant by telling her she needed a man? Surely he hadn't been suggesting himself? Sansa almost gasped at the thought. It was unthinkable. Sandor Clegane was certainly not a gentleman, or in any case a man of class and good breeding, and her parents would never approve of such a pursuit. Besides, he was probably too old for her. Sansa was not sure, since his scars gave him a rugged and weathered look, but she had to guess that he was close to thirty. Sansa had never thought of marrying someone so much older than her.
Then she kicked herself, groaning in frustration. Why was she even contemplating such a thing? Growing annoyed with herself, Sansa decided to put Mr. Clegane out of her mind, and resolved that if she saw him again she would avoid conversing with him.
This seemed to be an acceptable solution, and Sansa decided that she would no longer think on it until absolutely necessary.
The afternoon drifted by, and soon the ladies began wake from the naps and start freshening themselves for the dance. Some of them even changed into different dresses and adorned their necks with jewelry. Sansa tried to sneak past them but Jeyne caught her arm and pulled her into a corner of the room. "What did Joffrey have to say?" she asked excitedly. Sansa sighed, dreading this moment. She glanced around the room before answering. "He very rudely informed me that he was to marry Margaery Tyrell." Jeyne's mouth fell open. "What?" "Shhh!" Sansa gave her friend a fierce look. "Now is not the time to discuss it, and I have no desire to besides." She turned to a mirror and pretended to fix her hair and dress to avoid the curious glances from the other women in the room. "All I want is to dance and forget about it, for now." Jeyne touched her arm sympathetically. "Of course. We shall still have fun, won't we? Besides, Joffrey isn't the only young man here!" Sansa gave a strained smile, trying to block the image of a dark, brooding man leering at her.
The ballroom was one of the largest in the county, dripping in golds and reds with exquisite high-backed chairs arranged for those who did not wish to dance but still desired entertaining conversation. Servers brought around little glasses of champagne and other various drinks. By the time Sansa and Jeyne came downstairs the first dance had started, so they stood against the wall to wait. People were laughing freely and everything was so bright and merry that Sansa felt her spirits begin to lift. She was determined to have a good time, and show that Joffrey had not destroyed her day. When he whirled by with Margaery she turned to Jeyne and began to gush about the chandeliers, a smile plastering her face.
The dance ended, and two young men requested their hands. Giggling, Sansa and Jeyne accepted, and soon they joined the twirling couples, laughing and sharing secret glances with each other. The young man with whom Sansa was dancing was handsome, affable and courteous, and she found herself relaxing in his company and enjoying his little jokes and comments on the party, all the while being sure ignore Joffrey and Margaery if they ever came close.
On their third turn around the room, Sansa glanced over at a group of people socializing and with a jump she noticed Sandor Clegane staring at her. He lounged against the wall, a drink in his hand, and he was appraising her with a smirk on his face, echoing his expressions from the library.
He startled her so much than she lost her footing for a moment. The young man, Harry was his name, steadied her and asked if she was alright. "Oh yes, I am sorry, I seemed to have tripped on the hem of my dress," Sansa stammered, her cheeks growing warm. Her back was turned now, but she still felt Sandor's stare. He was probably laughing at her, and thought annoyed her more than it probably should have. "Would you like to sit down?" Harry asked worriedly. "Oh no, please, let's keep dancing," Sansa replied hurriedly. They continued around the room, rejoining the dance, but Sansa was too rattled now to pay much attention to Harry's attempts of conversation. A weed of self-consciousness had taken root inside her, and suddenly all Sansa could think about what whether or not she was drawing Sandor Clegane's attention. She felt that every movement she made was being scrutinized and evaluated, and it made her want to lash out and hide at the same time. What if he asked her to dance? The very idea made her almost stumble again.
The dance ended, and Harry kissed her hand and bowed away, no doubt looking for a new dance partner that wasn't such a clumsy bore. Sansa felt her face burn, and she retreated to a wall, taking refuge behind a group of older women who were fanning themselves and sipping wine. She forced herself to not search the crowd for Sandor's face, and instead focused on the dancing, pretending to be taking a break to catch her breath, although she had only had one dance. Hidden as she was, no young men came to find her, and Sansa began to wonder if she had lost her chance at redeeming herself. She loved to dance and was good at it, and it was shame that she was wasting time standing at the wall instead of making herself available. All because of him.
"Sansa, what are you doing?" She started and saw that Jon had joined her side. "Nothing! I just…" she bit her lip and glanced nervously at the dance floor, then at him. A warm smile spread over his face and he offered his arm. "May I have this dance, sister?" Gratefulness seeped through her, and Sansa sent up a silent blessing for Jon. He truly was one the best people she had ever met.
Her half-brother led her to the floor and they joined the dancing. Jon's easy nature made him companionable even when they weren't speaking, and Sansa felt safer with him. She doubted very much that Jon would hand her off to Mr. Clegane if the man came asking to dance with her. Jon knew things about people, and she was sure that he would agree with her opinion of the man: that he was a rude and insufferable individual.
They passed the next few dances chatting about various topics, until Jon glanced over her shoulder with a furrowed brow. "That man, the tall dark one, hasn't stopped watching you since we started dancing, Sansa." She knew who it was without turning around, but not wishing to explain how she already had met him, she glanced over as Jon twirled her. "He came into the study earlier, when the men were discussing the war. I believe his name is Sandor Clegane." Jon studied her face, and she wondered if he noticed her cheeks coloring. "He's very opinionated. Said some interesting things. Can't say I agree with him on it all, but he is definitely very informed." "Oh," was all Sansa could think of to say. "Is...is he still watching?" Jon glanced over again. "Yes." He eyed her curiously. "Maybe he wants to dance with you." "I doubt that," Sansa replied shakily, trying to laugh it off. "Why wouldn't he?" Jon asked teasingly. "Who wouldn't want to dance with the prettiest girl in Pennsylvania?" She couldn't help but laugh. "I doubt I'm the kind of girl he would be interested in dancing with," she said, hoping that would end the subject.
Jon raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't be too sure." "Why not?" "Because he's coming over." Sansa's mouth dropped and her heart stopped beating. "What…" "Mind if I cut in?" a deep voice rumbled behind her. Sansa turned and was horrified to see Sandor staring down at her before shifting his eyes to Jon. Before she could utter a word, Jon handed her off with a wink and a bow, and she found herself being eased back into the dance by Sandor.
Sansa was a tall girl, but her head was just level with his chest, and she felt incredibly small next to his imposing frame. One large hand had completely swallowed hers, and the other rested itself on her back, sending tendrils of heat through her dress. She hesitatingly placed her free hand on his shoulder and glanced up at him nervously. He was gazing at her, amused. "Enjoying yourself, Miss Sansa?" His voice was like a growl, and Sansa felt goose bumps rise on her skin. "I couldn't say," she managed faintly. Her hand in his trembled, and she wished desperately for some courage to return to her.
"Hmm." Sandor studied her, his mouth twitching. Dark hair fell over the scarred side of his face, and Sansa realized that the other side was somewhat comely. He had a very wild, untamed air about him, as if he had arrived to the party straight from the depths of the wilderness. As close as she was to him, she could smell alcohol mixed with a musky, thick scent. He had called her a woman, but Sansa felt more like a little girl, in a dress that was too mature for her age, and she blushed, thinking of how low the front had fallen. "Why are you dancing with me?" she blurted. "Because I want to," he answered simply. "Didn't you listen to your brother? 'Who wouldn't want to dance with the prettiest girl in Pennsylvania?' " Sansa's face flamed. "How did you hear that?" He grinned. "I have good ears. Only one of the reasons they call me the Hound." Sansa was confused until she remembered that Jeyne had mentioned the unusual nickname that morning. He moved to twirl her, and Sansa was surprised she kept her footing. Sandor pulled her back to him, closer than before so their bodies were just brushing.
Sansa hated the surprising tingle of pleasant warmth that spread through her, and she glanced up to meet his dark eyes watching her carefully and glinting with heat. He acts as if he knows what I'm thinking, and feeling. For a moment, the other couples melted away, and the music faded into the background, and there was only herself and Sandor Clegane, his black eyes entrapping her and pulling her into some dark and mysterious world that she was unsure she wanted any part of. He bent forward, leaning so that he could speak into her ear. "Would you like to know the other reasons they call me the Hound?" he murmured.
She never answered, for a loud shout was heard from the doorway of the ballroom. The music came to an abrupt end, and a murmur of confusion passed through the room as they all turned to see what had happened. A man stood before them, and he held a piece of paper in his hand. "I have news!" he shouted, even though the room had fallen silent. "President Lincoln has declared war with the southern States of the Confederacy!" A shockwave of shots and cries and cheers erupted in the room, and all the men hurried over to the messenger. Many people looked alarmed and began to edge for the exit. The Robert Baratheon was from the Northwest, but he had married into the Lannister family of the South, and the guests looked anxious about the announcement, wondering if it was appropriate to be inside the manse.
The dance floor turned into a swirling mass as people pushed and shoved, trying to find family members and friends. A large hand clamped on Sansa's shoulder, and she found herself being led away by Sandor, who parted through the crowd easily enough. He deposited her in front of Catelyn Stark, who was trying to keep Bran and Rickon from joining the group of men shouting excitedly. "It was a pleasure dancing with you, Miss Sansa," he rumbled, stooping down so she could hear him. "I look forward to it again." He nodded his head to Mrs. Stark, who looked at him in puzzled distraction. With a slight bow, he turned and rejoined the masses, his height allowing him to stand out. Sansa gaped after him.
It was only when they had returned to Winterfell and Sansa was braiding her hair for bed that she realized she had forgotten her courtesies and not thanked him in return.
A/N: Dun dun dun! The war is here! I apologize in advance if any of my history is a little off: I will try to do research so that facts are as correct as they can be. Also, this will mostly be a Sansa PoV story; I'm not sure if I'll add another Sandor PoV again, but I thought it would be nice to catch a glimpse of his insight before delving further into the story. Hope you enjoyed it!