Sandor stirred, someone had spoken to him, but he could not make out the words. The brume hovered close to the earth packed road and thick in the woods. Anyone could be hiding there, he thought, But I am here as well. Nevertheless, he took spurs to his horse and the animal broke into a gallop to rejoin the road and the others.
The journey seemed to stretch on without promise of an end, along with it the descent into the cold had gone from barely discernible to now ever more apparent. The skies had been the clearest blue and the air almost too warm upon departure. That had been nearly a fortnight ago, and now the air blew blustery, crisp and cruel. The heavens above had surrendered to mottled grey clouds days ago. Sandor's breath billowed around him in an icy smoke as he surveyed the skies ahead. Today the skies had reawoken with furor, the clouds surged with turbulence filling with bright cracks of lightening that etched themselves into the air. The earth reverberated with sonorous thunder, and shuddered with each violent strike of lightening.
Sandor turned his look towards the men up ahead and bellowed over the rumbling weather, "What is it then? Onwards to drown in the rain?" His mount halted and shook its powerful head, moving to rear back.
One of the men looked back at him and with thinly veiled annoyance snapped back, "Just keep your horse moving. Should be a sort of town and inn up ahead shortly, and then you can go drown in wine instead of rain…"
Sandor scowled at the man, but resigned himself to silence rather than feed hostilities. He thought of his cramped quarters and had to admit it was a damned sight better to travel on the road. It reinforced his sense of purpose, though unfortunately there was little in the way of danger or fighting, aside from the invariable drunken squabbles that rose up at night – the result of deep thirst fanning the flames of some perceived slight, that festered day long in the mind of some hot-headed imbecile.
He paused at the thought, recalling his own run-in, smirking at the memory. It had been nothing impressive to boast about, Sandor had to admit to himself. The night had been dark, as most nights are and the wine was lush and went down easily. The woods spun around him as he stumbled between haphazardly erected pavilions, tents, and ramshackle campsites when a commotion followed by a yell had caught him by surprise. He stumbled and staggered into some wooden buckets nearly planting himself into the ground.
"What do we have before us? Only boys playing at men?" The Hound barked, severely annoyed as he fought to keep his balance. He wiped his dry lips on the back of his left hand and watched as a pair of halfwits rolled pummeling at each other in the dirt and ash of a campfire, cursing at one another. Three young village girls stood together surveying the scene, crying to one another and pleading for the morons to stop, waving their hands ineffectually.
Sandor made a disgusted noise at the pitiful sight, irritated at the youthful disrespect as they ignored him, opting rather to scrap and tear into one another. Fighting like pups, he thought. Both wearing furs and velvet, looking soft and weak. If these were guards I would whip them bloody but they are gentle born so - he looked down and smiled almost gleeful, his gaze falling upon a bucket at his feet – I must suffer them…but only so much. His hand closed around the handle and without pause heaved the pail and its contents at the young men. Laughter boomed from his great chest as he saw that it had been used as a latrine during the night, their cries of disgust trailed after his laughter. The whole lot of them dripped in human waste and sickness, the boys scrambled to their feet, stupid and drunk.
"That ought to cool you down some. Boys, hot tempers do not belong with cider when all you want is a wet cunt" The Hound snorted mocking them. Boredom was already setting in and he reached for his wineskin to drink deeply amidst the cries and curses of the young whores. Footstep by footstep, the girls backed away and scampered off into the woods. Their shrieks echoed in the hollow air as the branches and twigs snagged on their skin. The boys looked back into the woods after the girls and switched back at Sandor, indignant, confused and angry.
"You…you…BASTARD! You cost us that! You cost us that bit of cunt that just ran off!" fumed one of the boys, flicking shit off the side of his face. His dark eyes searched Sandor over, but his fair weather friend nudged him, murmuring something quietly so that Sandor would not hear.
"If you hurry, you can still wet your cock, lucky for you the water in the trough will take you. Filth and all. That whore's plenty wet enough for you!" Sandor laughed and turned away to leave.
A voice called after him, "At least this shit will wash off my face! What can you say for that mud of yours?"
Sandor paused for a moment, needled. The boy has no idea how close he actually stands to me… he thought darkly, itching for his sword. Instead he took a step forward and then another. He had to expect that… don't react, dog! He scolded himself and walked back to his camp, sobered some by a feeling of shame.
The fire had nearly died at his meager camp. His great horse lingered in the dark with his pack. Sandor lay down on the grass, not bothering with a blanket. He stayed there for some time, drinking and muttering thoughts to himself for sometime before falling asleep. And that was that.
The days since had run into one another and the Royal Entry inched along the King's Road, stopping along each town for the pageantry of their respective relics. Sandor was eager to escape the foul weather as it descended upon them at last. The heavens howled, and rain fell in sheets as the court fell upon the little town and overwhelmed it.
Once again Sandor found himself in a Sept, and the scent of incense clung to him. The chanting and hymns of the Septons were nearly identical, syllable for syllable from town to town. He came to realize that he knew their prayers better than the Septon did, as he listened to the man stammering and omit passages. He had laughed at that later on in the evening as he drank lustfully and deeply from his flagon. Charters were brought out and read with great flourish and pomp, oaths were sworn and town bells pealed in celebration.
King Robert played the part of the king, present but bored. The novelty of the long days full of prayers and administration had quickly worn off after the first few stops. The nights and evening revelry brought out the vices in the King and he indulged. The wine flowed and left behind a trail of bar maidens, serving girls, probable babes, and definite bastards. Here was no exception. The King wheezed along with singers, who graciously accommodated lyrics of Robert's own invention with their pipes. Queen Cersei and the children returned to the wheelhouse, rather opting to eat supper away from the curious looks and sideway glances from their subjects as the King delved headlong into the night and up some girl's skirts. The fool.
"I want to stay with my father!" Joffrey replied challenging his mother. Cersei shot a cold, pinched look at Sandor that was expectant. The boy with the warm golden hair and the cold green eyes used to roar like a lion – wild and beastlike. Since being under his own charge the boy had changed some, casting off childhood like a snake skin. Now he commanded with charm, though it was manipulative and calculated to every last word.
Sandor placed his arm on the boy's shoulder and turned him to face his mother, "When you're older you may join your father, but now it's best to follow your mother. Tomorrow you and I will go hunt game as real men, instead of drinking and playing at it." The pout on Joffrey's face lessened somewhat at the promise and he allowed his mother to grasp his arm and guide him towards the monstrosity that was the wheelhouse. Cersei turned her golden head and stiffly nodded at him in thanks, and disappeared inside.
Now Sandor sat in the shadows, playing at being a man. Drinking, listening, and watching. King Robert retired for the evening with a girl on each arm, and one trailing behind shyly avoiding looks. The rest of the men slowly began to stumble back to their lonely campsites. He kept his eyes on the tanned serving girl, slowly collecting bowls and empty flagons to wash. Her glow caught his attention, his body tensed as he saw the spray of freckles on her face. She caught his gaze and returned a shy smile, tipping her head of dark hair before scurrying off into the kitchen. Her breasts bouncing with each step.
He was rooted to the bench, and strangely light-headed. He felt his mouth twitch as he licked his lips in thought. He made eye contact with the innkeeper, a middle aged man with cloudy brown eyes that watered. Sandor motioned him over with a nod of his head. He turned the coin in his right hand over in his mind, waiting for the innkeep to shuffle over. He thought of the tan freckles on the girl's face and wondered how freckled the other parts of her were. Another shadow fell upon Sandor's nest of shadows. He pressed a silver coin in the innkeep's soft fleshy hand.
"The tan freckled nymph you have." He rasped. The Hound was hungry.
The innkeep paused and whistled sharply. Upholding the johns' noble reputation. After a moment the he waved Sandor on and showed him to a room near the end of the hall. Sandor ducked through low doorway. This abode was no thing of beauty, but it was clean. The bed was a surprisingly solid thing, as he tested it with a knee. Clean linens as well. No luxury spared, he thought, smirking to himself. The bed held up under his weight as he sat down and removed his boots.
He was relieved to hear silence from the other rooms, there was a small fireplace in his room that crackled pleasantly. He drank deeply from his cup and stared into the fire. The added warmth crept into his stomach, and he thought of her stealing into the room coming to him with her freckles, lifting her skirts in welcome to his roving hands –
A tap at the door broke his lustful thoughts, and the Hound's attention focused on the girl as she slipped in.
"Good evening, mi'lord." She said to him, but he did not bother to correct her. Sandor nodded in acknowledgement but remained seated on the bed. He watched her tentative fingers toy with the lacings of her dress, as she shyly smiled at him and took a step forward. The nymph deftly shed her dress, stepping out of it carefully and gingerly bent over to pick it up, hiding little in the flimsy material of her remaining tunic. The Hound could see the shape of her body as a silhouette.
"How old are you?" he questioned his voice gritty with desire, taking hold of her arm and drawing her closer to him. She smelled of soap, clean. She grinned wickedly at him.
"Old enough that I should know better, mi'lord." She sucked in her breath as she raised her arms for Sandor to remove tunic, and exhaled loudly . Mouthy thing…He wanted to shred the tunic to pieces and take her then. He was painfully hard at the sight of her sun kissed bare skin. Her teats proud, ample and ripe with peaked bronze tips for nipples. The rest of her gamine and long, her curves gentle and womanly called to him. The light from the fire rippled across her body, revealing her sex and he groaned in pleasure at the sight. Her skin was painfully soft underneath his hand. He moved it lower and was pleased to hear her gasp.
He caught her look at his bad side, through the shifting light of the fire in the hearth. She flinched in pain for a moment and swallowed.
"Turn around." He commanded her, suddenly desperate for her to look away. She complied without a reply the silence long and loud as her looked at backside. His face twisted with anger and confusion.
"What happened?! What is this?!" he rasped in disbelief, rudely. The light danced across her back revealing a sickening patchwork of welts and dark bruises. Her ass was mottled with angry bright welts. He spun her around to face him, his face twisted in confusion and rage.
Her chest was heaving, as she fought to breathe through a dry sob. Sandor felt sickness in his stomach, slowly realizing that the night would not end in his favor.
She would not look at him as she spoke, big fat tears rolled down from her eyelashes onto her cheeks. "They beat mi'lord. They beat me when I refused to sleep the Lannister Imp! Oh my gods… Willis threatened to throw me into the stables for the passersby to use! Said he'd give me a taste of it, to know what to expect… He dragged me outside screaming while the Sept's bells were ringing, wrenched a switch from a tree, and beat me bloody. The Imp's men, did nothing just stood by looking bored as Willis brought the switch down over and again!
The girls eyes were wild, Sandor's stomach twisted as she retched at the memory. He sat silently, not wanting to hear anymore but she continued on before he could shush her.
"He's halfblind but twice as angry and cruel for it. He laughed at me flicking a coin in the air, and told me that I must come to you. I…I didn't see your face downstairs, you sat in the shadows like a thief." She gasped for air, "He laughed to himself and sent me up to you. Please, ser, please have mercy on me… I tried but I can't… your poor face!"
Sandor sat in silence, seeing black. The air was too thick with smoke and he could hear the wind howl outside. The Hound, clawed at his insides in a fury that Sandor struggled to withstand. The girl cowered at his feet, her face awash with mucous and fear. Sandor fumbled with the pack on the floor, and took out a gold coin and shoved it into her hands.
"Tomorrow do what you must do. Stay or go, does not matter to me, girl" Sandor rasped at her. He laid back on the bed, frustrated, embarrassed and repulsed by himself. He closed his eyes, hoping she would leave.
The morning brought with it a ferocious headache and he groaned as he realized that the girl slept on the floor at his feet, snoring lightly. He swung his feet over her body, stood up and gathered his belongings quietly. His joints creaked as he moved past her and left the room. He moved through a fog through the inn towards the door. When he opened it, sunlight poured in over him and the chill in the air had lessened somewhat.
The entire convoy tore down camp and packed up to continue the final trek to Winterfell. Sandor walked to the stable and retrieved his destrier, walking him to the road over to the wheelhouse. Joffrey waited outdoors, watching Tommen run around with a wooden sword, wildly swinging it about. The Prince joined Sandor, bringing with him his bow and horse. They rode past the Imp's pavilion and Sandor could hear arrogant laughter from within. Sandor's mouth tasted sour and he spat, trying to avoid the memories of the night prior.
In the wood Sandor quizzed Joffrey in his tracking. Showing him the trunk of a tree where the bark had been rubbed bare from antlers. Joffrey took in his lessons eagerly, touching where bark had once been. They followed pitted earth, scuffed and marked with hoof prints. They heard a noise and Joffrey sat up alert, bloodlust plainly in his eyes. Before Sandor could react, the boy brought out his bow and quiver and shot. The arrow sang as it flew through air before impaling itself into the body of the stag. Sandor stood crouched, and watched the boy smile brightly, pleased with himself. The creature crumpled to the ground with a dull thud after a moment.
When Joffrey presented the stag to his father, King Robert narrowed his eyes at the boy for a moment and looked at Sandor. Queen Cersei's eyes glowed with pride and she rained praises upon the boy. The King cleared his throat and called for his men to remove the stag to be butchered, and then patted Joffrey on the shoulder .
"Isn't it like the lion to take down the stag?" he roared and laughed. "My own wife did it, but instead of killing me she took my hand and marriage. Who's the lucky one, might I ask?" No one dared respond.
Late in the afternoon, they crossed a barren landscape, a sort of tundra, where the grass and shrubs grew only close to the ground. The wind whipped all around, screeching like some old crone. It was strange to see so far ahead, to look in every direction and see only empty plains. Are those mountains or clouds? He wondered looking far into the horizon, searching for life. He was certain he saw a wolf running towards the Barrowlands off in the distance. Its grey and brown fur shielding it from view and he did not say anything. Behind him, the wheelhouse groaned along the road.
Winterfell slowly appeared, as if rising from the stony, grey earth. Massive walls surrounded it, lined with banners fluttering almost lazily despite the forceful wind. The emblazoned direwolves looked to pounce and leap in the air upon their flags. As they crept closer to the city, Sandor allowed the wheelhouse to pull ahead of him. Stranger snorted in protest beneath Sandor. Gods be damned, even a beast can see how stupid we look!
Sandor could vaguely recall Eddard Stark, it had been years and Sandor had been younger then with different duties at King's Landing. He wondered if Eddard had gone soft and disappointing, a braggart like King Robert as they passed through the gate. Overhead he heard men yelling greetings to the Royal Entry and loud cheers.
King Robert disembarked before the wheelhouse had ceased to move. He rushed forward wheezing at the effort, his cheek ruddy from the cold. The Starks stood waiting by the Sept and Robert approached greeted them with great show. He pulled Eddard into a hug, thumping him on the back and roared with laughter. Beside Ned, quietly stood his wife as well as several boys and a girl, all with amused looks on their faces that they tried unsuccessfully to hide.
Joffrey emerged from the wheelhouse with his mother, guiding Tommen and Myrcella over the uneven ground. Sandor followed behind Jaimie with his golden armor and the Imp Tyrion. He scowled at the back of Tyrion's head, reminded again of last night's unpleasantries. Up close Sandor saw that there were in fact two Stark girls, one he had mistaken for a boy…and it was not hard too. She looked like a tomboy, her muddy brown hair hung lank and her face plain and unimpressive.
The other Stark girl took after her mother in looks. Red hair in a neat plait, piercing blue eyes and a face that looked to be fast losing the plumpness of childhood. She looked uncomfortable in her maiden's gown, clutching her shawl tightly to her chest despite herself. Joffrey smiled widely at her and kissed her pale delicate hand, but Sandor could see through the easy manners with which Joffrey conducted himself. His eyes remained cold, though he smiled and mouthed the right words making the girl blush.
A rock settled in Sandor's stomach. He glanced at this Stark girl again out of the corner of his eye. Sansa. He remembered the stag from the morning and felt a sort of pity for the girl. She ought to run far in the other direction like that wolf towards the Barrowlands.
Winter is coming, wolf girl. He thought and did not laugh. Sansa looked up as though hearing his thoughts, and Sandor quickly ducked away to avoid her gaze.
"Drink.." a voice urged, and Sandor drank. Falling into a deeper sleep free of dreams, free of memories. Winterfell faded slowly from his mind until only the wolf remained running along the barren plains.
Author's Note: This project is more ambitious than I intended it to be. Currently sitting with a binder full of pages relating to different chapters. Outlines and rough drafts. I'm double fisting two iPads while rereading and researching. I'm anticipating the next chapter will come easier, but all the while it's been a pleasure.
