Eddard
Eddard was striding through the corridor that led to the King's solar, his mind spinning from being so preoccupied these days. Naught had gone as planned since he had left Winterfell but through the past sennight, the situation had considerably worsened. That damned pyromancer, Ned thought before sighing in despair. That philtre had seemed nothing but a fraud when he had first heard about it, a mixture more likely to be poisonous than anything else. Now though, it pained him to admit that he was starting to truly believe in its efficacy. Having seen Sansa's reaction in the Small Hall and especially how her eyes sparkled anytime that man's name was spoken, Eddard couldn't possibly continue denying the obvious. His daughter was a sweet, genteel and romantic creature and she would otherwise certainly never have had any interest in a man as coarse, disfigured and vile as Sandor Clegane.
Sandor Clegane. The mere mention of the name made Ned shudder. He had never been fond of the infamous warrior but his disposition toward him had previously been one of dislike and nothing more. It was very different though now that his young and innocent daughter was giddier than he had ever seen her before – even more so than at learning about her betrothal to Joffrey, which was no small thing – and all because of that brute. She tried to keep a straight face when he was around, still Ned had noticed how she sometimes couldn't stop herself from grinning and singing while wandering around the Hand's tower. Yet, there were other times when her melancholy was so thick he could sense it by merely glimpsing her way. Eddard was no erudite when it came to young maidens and their feelings but one didn't need to be to realise what was going on. She was in love with the Hound and by the old gods, the notion was infinitely worrying. He trusted Sansa to obey his orders and keep her distance but who was to say what that beast of a man would do if he ever found her alone? It won't happen, Ned repeated to himself for at least the tenth time today. His instructions had been very clear and his whole household knew to never let her leave the tower by herself.
As he approached the king's solar, Eddard tried to chase the thoughts of his family's personal problems from his mind. There were more pressing matters to deal with for now; that was the reason he had asked for a private audience with Robert. His biggest concern of all regarded the realm's disastrous finances. The kingdom is on the verge of bankruptcy. How can that be possible when… when…? Ned trailed off, losing focus when his eyes fell over the dark shape of a very tall and broad man guarding the solar's door. What is the Hound doing here? he wondered, tensing at once. Was Joffrey visiting his father?
His back leaned against the closed door, Sandor Clegane was looking at nothing in particular and sporting a bored scowl, his thick arms folded over his chest. As he noticed Ned, he straightened his back and a faint spark of surprise passed through his eyes, yet the moment lasted but a heartbeat and he quickly regained his usual unreadable expression.
"Come to see the king?" the Hound asked when they were near enough. He was gazing down at him with an air that bordered on arrogance and Ned felt his hands close into tight fists and his jaw set tightly.
That this man could have any sort of interest in his little girl disgusted him no end. It's not his fault, Ned reluctantly reminded himself. The Hound hadn't planned any of it either after all and had drunk the potion by accident, same as Sansa. However, thinking of one of Westeros' most feared warriors as a victim was anything but natural to Eddard and he would certainly not be able to see it as such in the event that he took advantage of his young daughter's present weakened state. The simple idea that something so abhorrent could happen sent a cold shiver down Ned's spine and he breathed in deeply to calm himself. Naught of the sort would unfold, he would see to that.
"Yes. Could you please open the door for me?" he demanded dryly.
"Of course," the Hound grumbled after a moment of silence in a way that made it sound as if he had a say about whom Robert could or could not meet and hadn't been sure he should allow him in. Unhurriedly, he moved aside and tugged the heavy door open. "The Lord Hand is here, Your Grace," the man then announced flatly.
When Eddard was in, he looked around and was puzzled to find Robert sitting in an armchair alone with Jaime Lannister, who stood next to the window, impeccable in his shiny golden armour.
Ned glanced behind him at the shutting door before walking to his old friend. "Why is the Hound guarding you? Shouldn't he be with your son?"
"Hello, Ned," the king said gruffly. "Sit down with me and have a drink of ale," he proposed, nodding at an empty place by his side.
"I don't have time for that, Your Grace. I'm here but for a moment."
"That's a pity. You don't realise how dull it can be sometimes being the head of the kingdom. It's a very lonely place and I would have wished for some company today but I won't keep you from your work," he complained before taking a long gulp from his tankard. "Since you've asked though, I've decided to change the Hound's duties and keep him as my personal guard for the time being. Joffrey has Meryn to watch over him instead. I've figured leaving Sandor Clegane with my son until an antidote to the philtre has been found could be… awkward considering that… ah… your daughter-"
"Yes, of course," Ned hurriedly cut him off, uneasiness flowing through him. As he said the words, his eyes darted to Jaime Lannister and he frowned at seeing the smirk the man was sporting. Did the Kingslayer know about the potion also? Of course he does. Everyone does thanks to those gossipy footmen that were there when we performed our investigation. "Your Grace, I came to talk to you about some very strange patterns I found in some of the realm's legal papers," Eddard began, eager to change subject. "I can't help but wonder if-"
"Oh, Ned! Don't bore me with that, will you? What do you think I have a small council for?" the king roared with obvious annoyance. "Tell me about Adelardus' progress instead."
At that, Ned sighed. He'd have preferred to handle his daughter's delicate situation by himself – it was a private family matter after all. Nevertheless, Robert was the king and as such, he had the right to interfere in any affair he wished. Resigned, the man was just about to open his mouth when his eyes were caught by Jaime Lannister, whose smirk had become even more evident. "Could we please be alone in that case, Your Grace?" Eddard demanded more sharply than he had intended while eyeing the Kingslayer with irritation.
"Alone? But we are, aren't we?" Robert exclaimed, brow furrowed with confusion. Then as if he had just realised they weren't, he jumped in surprise and turned in his armchair to glance at the Kingslayer. "Oh, you're talking about Jaime, aren't you?" he added a little too cheerfully to Eddard's taste. "Ned, you should know the Kingsguard have the king's confidence. You can speak freely."
Not convinced in the least, Eddard's face winkled in distaste. "As you say, Your Grace," he grunted before clearing his throat. "Well, I visited the pyromancer in his laboratory earlier this morning but he has not succeeded yet in finding a cure. He told me he was getting there but I doubt he was telling the truth."
"He will eventually. A man that can concoct such an incredible philtre surely has the means to create almost any potion imaginable. We only need to be patient," the king said with what sounded like both admiration and confidence in the pyromancer's skills.
It was easy for Robert to be patient, Ned reflected bitterly. It wasn't his daughter who was dreaming of the Hound just as they were speaking. Still, he kept his grousing to himself. "I truly hope you're right. Yet, I'll be honest and admit I do worry a lot, Your Grace. With your son's nameday tourney approaching, who's to say what opportunity the man might believe he could get? In a large crowd, it will be harder to keep track of Sansa. I've been thinking and perhaps I shouldn't allow her to attend. I know she'd be disappointed but-"
"Not allow her?" Robert growled, seemingly as confounded as displeased. "Ned, you can't be serious? There's no doubting the poor thing has been counting the days since the tourney was announced three moons ago. Besides, she's Joffrey's betrothed and is required to take part in his nameday celebrations. No, Ned, I won't permit you to forbid her to go. I assure you that your worries are in vain anyhow. I've talked to the Hound and you can rest assured he won't attempt anything. The man knows his place and is as obedient as the dogs of his sigil."
As Robert spoke, Eddard heard some sort of muffled snort and when he raised his stare, he saw that Jaime Lannister was looking away and he could've swore the man was biting at his lip to repress a snigger. Ned winced and glowered at him but nonetheless decided to ignore it.
"I hope you're right, Your Grace," he spat with barely hidden anger, feeling so very weary. "I truly do."
Sansa
"Let's go to the Godswood, Jeyne. I need a change of air. Father won't let me escape the tower by myself anymore," Sansa complained as she admired herself in the mirror.
Her long tresses had been braided in a very complicated hairstyle and she wore a pale silk blue and cream gown that complemented her colouring perfectly. She was beautiful indeed and she longed to be seen by the world… and especially him. In the morning, a lot of men usually practiced in the yard. Who was to say they wouldn't meet on their way? Of course, she had no intention of not following her lord father's behest but if they met by chance, it wouldn't be her fault, would it?
"I don't mind. Still, Sansa! You need to answer my questions!" Jeyne cried. "Are you truly in love with the Hound?"
For a moment, she had sounded almost like Arya as she said his name and Sansa was annoyed for it. "Will you stop harassing me? Just because you've heard a couple of maids gossiping doesn't make it true!" she lied. Sansa didn't like hiding anything from her best friend but she knew Jeyne wouldn't understand. After all, even Sansa herself wouldn't have been able to conceive that any sound maiden might possibly fall for a man as unsavoury as Sandor Clegane a couple of days ago. For now, her true feelings were best kept secret.
"Don't take it like that, Sansa! I do trust you, I swear it!" Jeyne hurriedly countered. Her words notwithstanding, the steward's daughter seemed dubious.
Sansa didn't push the matter further though and even apologised for her outburst and the two girls left her room a moment later. As they travelled through the corridor they met Arya. The younger girl was swirling and jumping, all the while kicking some invisible foe. There was no saying what she was up to but Sansa didn't care in the least to learn about it and only continued on her way. Shortly, they reached the stairs which were guarded by Jory.
"Going out, Lady Sansa?" he asked.
"Yes, Jeyne and I are going to the Godswood," she said, unable to look him in the eyes.
The young man nodded in approval. "Us Northerners need to keep our faith, especially here in the South," he stated, moving aside and opening the door for them.
"I agree with that. Thank you, Jory," Sansa answered, blushing at her hypocrisy. It wasn't that she didn't believe in the words he had said but…
"So, Sansa, it's all untrue?" Jeyne murmured enthusiastically from behind her as they went down the stairs.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, increasing her pace. She had hoped the matter had been closed in her chamber and that they wouldn't have to talk about her interest in the Hound anymore.
"The philtre!" the young commoner exclaimed, seemingly shocked that she could have forgotten their previous conversation so easily.
"Oh, that? Of course it's all untrue. Do you truly believe in magic potions?" Sansa demanded, in what she hoped was a condescending tone.
The other girl seemed to hesitate. "Well… no, I don't. Only, you've been acting so strangely for the last few days and after all that I've heard, I couldn't help wondering…"
"Of course, I understand," Sansa replied. "Still, don't believe the rumours, Jeyne," she whispered, feeling terribly soiled for the lies she promulgated.
They had reached the ground now and Jeyne sighed in relief while grasping Sansa's hand, stopping her in her flight. "Please forgive me if I've insisted. I know I shouldn't have doubted you, still it was hard not to with all the lies whispered in the kitchens." Then, after a short pause, the young commoner added more seriously, "And also, your Lord Father has expressly told me to watch over you, so I'm only being careful. You're not too mad, I hope?"
"No, of course not," Sansa breathed, feeling awful.
Yet Jeyne seemed delighted and as they resumed their walk and passed over the yard, she kept grinning as if she didn't have a care in the world. Sansa herself couldn't help her gaze from darting down but it found the place almost empty. The two girls continued on their way and soon they reached the long corridor that led to the Godswood. Sansa was disappointed about not having glimpsed Sandor Clegane, still she tried to hide it as best she could and forced a smile on her lips. It's better this way, she decided. She had promised her lord father that she would stay away from him and she shouldn't have hoped to see him in the first place.
Just as she was harbouring those thoughts, Sansa felt some sort of tickling at the nape of her neck and she immediately turned around to look behind her, jumping in place when she saw what had unconsciously attracted her attention. From the other side of the alley, Sandor Clegane was approaching her. Even at the distances they were at, she knew for certain it was him and although she couldn't discern his face, by the hurried pace he had taken, the girl was almost certain he had noticed her also. For a brief instant, Sansa's mind was completely clouded by anxiety and her body stood petrified but she thankfully rapidly shook herself.
"Jeyne," she whispered frantically, seizing her friend by the arm and dragging her past the Godswood's threshold where the Hound couldn't see them. "Please! Listen to me. I lied! The philtre is true and Sandor Clegane is coming. Please, be a friend and go somewhere else while I talk to him. Will you, please?" she implored, speaking so fast she was nearly out of breath when she finished.
Jeyne's eyes went wide. "Sansa! I don't understand-"
"It doesn't matter. Are you my friend?" the girl demanded more pathetically than she had intended.
"Yes, of course! You know that, but-"
"Then leave me so that I can meet the Hound by myself for a few minutes."
"But Sansa! Your lord father has clearly told me not to-"
"I know!" Sansa admitted desperately, throwing her head back. For a moment, she was left completely speechless and on the verge of tears. Jeyne was right of course; she couldn't disobey Father! Still, fleeing the Hound without giving him at least a word of explanation as to why she couldn't see him seemed just as wrong to her. "I need to tell Sandor Clegane I can't see him," Sansa explained to her friend, lowering her stare on her again. "Give me the time to do that, at least…"
Jeyne dithered for an eternal instant and Sansa couldn't stop her fist from tightening around her friend's arm as she waited. "All right," the girl finally conceded, clearly unsure she was making the right decision. "I'll do it for you, Sansa, but please explain afterward and most of all, don't be long!"
"Oh thank you, Jeyne! I promise I won't," Sansa cried with relief, before pulling her inside.
Both girls entered the Godswood and shortly parted ways, Jeyne heading for some bushes on the side – looking behind her with worry a few times - while Sansa continued straight ahead.
Once she was alone, Sansa walked very slowly, certain every time she heard the wind blow in the leaves that Sandor Clegane was coming her way. Yet anytime she turned, no one was there and as the seconds passed, she was slowly beginning to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. Her hands clutched together and trembling, Sansa was growing teary when a sudden louder noise was heard. Immediately, she swirled around and gasped at seeing the Hound enter the Godswood. The man's stare fell on her in the same breath – his eyes growing wide for a second – but then he halted and began studying her from afar, his gaze lingering all over her body in a manner that seemed anything but chaste to Sansa.
With the dark, worn leather garb he wore, his long, black hair and facial burns, Sandor Clegane could easily have passed for the Stranger himself. The resemblance was intimidating to say the least; Sansa was even starting to wonder why she had been so eager to see him in the first place. He still scares me as much as ever, Sansa realised, her stomach pulling into a tight knot. Still, her eyes were seemingly glued to his imposing shape, taking in every detail of his physique in utter fascination, from the impressive breadth of his shoulders to the shade of his rough skin.
For the space of a few heartbeats, it was as if a spell had been cast and time had been suspended but then, just as Sansa was about to truly believe it was so, the Hound smirked and began striding toward her. The girl flinched at the sight and took a step back, anxiety building in her so shockingly fast her breath got stuck in her throat. Thankfully, Sandor Clegane noticed her distress and abruptly stopped walking, leaving about two yards of space between them.
For a few very long seconds afterwards, both he and Sansa stayed still once more, examining each other with the same curious awe, although certainly not the same level of nervousness.
"Little bird," the man rasped, his voice cutting through the fresh air of the godswood, as sharp as the longsword he wore at his hip. "I've been hoping to see you."
Little bird. He had called her so when he had escorted her after the Hand's tourney on that seemingly faraway night. The moniker had seemed mean and derisive but now, it had lost all of its previous contemptuous connotations. She even liked it; little bird… There was something overly romantic about the name.
Taking her silence for a rebuff, Sandor Clegane stiffened and his face twisted into a scowl. "Would you rather I leave?"
"No! I… I've been wishing to see you also," Sansa cried without thinking. She regretted her words as soon as they left her lips, fearing that the avidity with which they had been spoken might give him false ideas about her intentions.
And indeed, it had, for the man's mouth pulled into a smirk. "Really?" he asked smugly, taking a step forward.
Eyes grown wide, Sansa retreated slightly from him. "No, my lord! Please! Stay away! We can't!"
"Can't what?" the Hound grunted, halting. The burned corner of his mouth twitched a couple of times, giving away his irritation.
Daunted by the shortness of his temper, Sansa hesitated for an instant. Sheltered as she had been all her life, she wasn't used to dealing with men of his sort and the roughness of his ways rendered her so very timid. "It's my lord father. He… he doesn't want me to… to see you…" she breathed, her face blushing at the implication.
Sandor Clegane narrowed his eyes at her. "And why's that?"
"Because… because it's impossible!" she let out a little too passionately. That wasn't good. Showing him the burning fervour that filled her heart was the last thing she should logically do if she didn't wish to encourage him.
"Impossible?" the Hound repeated mockingly before uttering a short, hoarse laugh. "Impossible what?"
Why would he be mocking me? Sansa wondered, feeling as if the floor had been pulled from under her she wrong? Were the gossips all false and the Hound did not share her newborn infatuation? The idea both mortified and pained her. While their love was doomed from the start and she hadn't had any intention of letting it blossom freely, Sansa still couldn't bear the thought that Sandor Clegane might not yearn for it as much as she did. Furthermore, she had just unwillingly revealed herself to him with her enthusiasm which was unquestionably humiliating if he was only to make fun of her for it. Fighting not to shed tears, the girl lowered her gaze to the ground but somehow, she nevertheless found the strength to clarify her meaning – perhaps in foolish hope that she had misread his response. "You… you and I…" she said in a whisper so small it barely competed with the sound of the wind.
Sandor Clegane snorted at that, evidently amused. She had clearly told him there would be no future between them and therefore, Sansa didn't have a single doubt anymore that he felt nothing for her. There was no other explanation for his attitude – after all, if the philtre had had any effect on him, he would assuredly have been dejected at learning the impossibility of any kind of relation between them. Losing the battle, the girl finally let tears well in her eyes, two of which ran down cheeks as hot as burning coal. A cool wind blew at that moment, brushing against her fiery face and drying its wetness and Sansa was thankful for the meagre solace the old gods were offering her.
"That's what your father says," the Hound's low, husky voice interrupted her inner self-pity, his shadow reaching her face. "Still, I don't give a buggering fuck about what's proper or expected of me."
His words sent shockwaves all over Sansa and she jerked her head up to look at him. As she did, the man crossed the last step that separated them and the girl backed off nervously, eyes wide as saucers. "What… what are you doing?" she asked, confused. She had apparently been wrong; he did want her after all but that still didn't make it right. "Leave me please!" she pleaded when he did not answer. "I told you already that it was impossible! And besides, I'm promised to another and we could never! Never…" she trailed off when her back hit the trunk of a large tree.
"Little bird," Sandor Clegane whispered, seizing both her upper arms in his large hands. "You do want this also. No use denying it: I've seen it in your eyes. And don't fight it either or else… or else I'll force it on you," he threatened, bringing his face close to hers and pulling her against him.
Terrified and exhilarated equally, Sansa shut her eyes and moved her head away but she otherwise didn't struggle against the hold he had on her. Anyhow, he was too strong and she could never win against him.
His body was as solid as iron against hers and so incredibly towering that their closeness was mostly frightening to her at that instant. What will happen next? the girl wondered, so flustered that she could barely calm her breathing and was growing dizzy.
"Careful, showing off that perfect white neck of yours, little bird," the Hound warned.
Sansa's eyes popped open at hearing his words, yet even before they could focus, the man's lips delicately landed on the skin of her neck, warming it with his soft breath. No! This is not right! she cried inwardly, outraged at her own weakness. Why wasn't she pushing him away? And why by the Maiden wasn't she making her unwillingness more obvious? There was naught appropriate about the caress of his mouth brushing against her throat... even though the burning trail it left over her skin was moreexquisite than anything she had ever experienced.
I have to shake myself and put a stop to this, the voice of reason rang in her mind but just as it did, one of Sandor Clegane's hands cupped her cheek and gently turned her head until their faces were less than an inch from each other and even before she had a chance to process what was happening, his lips met hers, unexpectedly softly. No! Sansa thought, squirming in his clutches.
Her resistance lasted but a split-second. Erelong, her limbs softened and her lips surrendered, becoming supple under his. While Sansa was horrified at the small amount of willpower she had, she neither had the energy to resist him nor the strength to fight the overpowering fluttering in her belly. Her knees were getting weak, so much so that she feared they might give out from under her. She felt as if she was at the edge of a precipice and that the sole anchor keeping her from falling into the emptiness below was the Hound's brawny body and so she increasingly leaned into him, trembling in both fright and rapture.
Soon, Sandor Clegane's mouth became hungrier and started nibbling at her lips, his fingers slipping to the back of her head, cradling it so very carefully. Complying, Sansa instinctively opened her mouth and moaned at feeling his tongue enter, the silkiness of the touch astounding her and slipping all coherent thoughts out of her mind. She could hardly remember why she had wished for the Hound to leave her alone anymore and had even almost forgotten the meanings of the words 'seemly' and 'proper'. Something so perfect and good couldn't really be wrong. The whole world had more chance of mistaking than of that being the case.
Never before had Sansa kissed and not in a million years would she have envisioned her first time to be anything like what she was currently experiencing. In her daydreams, the valorous knights she had gifted her lips to had always merely brushed their pursed mouth to hers. Their kisses had been restrained, short, as dry as paper, or in other words boringly clean. Sandor Clegane on the other hand, his were far from innocent, much more intimate and even somewhat… indecent.
Her reservations now naught more than a faraway memory, Sansa was keenly joining him in his depraved caress, sliding her tongue against his and delighting in the wonderful prickle it elicited in her. Of their own accord, her hands slid over the Hound's torso to settle over his chest, very lightly. Encouraged by the gesture, the man lowered his hands to her waist and yanked her even closer, the abrupt movement waking the girl from the dreamlike state she had been in.
As it often is for those who awake from too sweet a dream, embarrassment assailed Sansa from the moment she realised what she had been up to. "We shouldn't!" she breathed, turning her head aside and pushing her lithe hands against the man's torso in a vain attempt to free herself.
Grunting in displeasure, Sandor Clegane stilled her with hands as sturdy as steel. "Why?" he demanded, sounding irked but also, genuinely afflicted.
"I'm the Hand's daughter!" was her meek answer. Even to herself, the excuse sounded exceedingly unconvincing.
"You don't want this?" the Hound hissed between his teeth, cocking his head to the side very stiffly.
The question was too bold, too direct. "I… I…"
"Say it as it is, little bird," he spat, digging his fingers into her waist. Sansa could almost smell frustration oozing from his skin and his eyes glared down at her, dark with resentment.
Unable to withstand his stare, the girl lowered her face to gaze at her hands over his chest instead. "It's not that…" she admitted against her better judgment. The passion-filled fog that had previously blinded her having partly dissipated, she was now starting to regret how easily she had surrendered. Their love would only bring trouble to the both of them and she should have used the opportunity his doubts offered to pretend she indeed didn't want this, as he had just put it. Yet, Sansa couldn't find it in her to lie to him. "I need to go back to my room," she said in a shivering whisper, hoping that a change of subject might be enough to end the nerve-racking moment.
The Hound was breathing heavily but her excuse seemed to quell the bourgeoning wrath she had sensed in him. One of his hands moved from her waist to her jaw and raised her face to make her to look at him. "But you'll see me again, won't you?" he asked in that gravelly voice he had. He sounded sure of himself but there was some sort of pleading hint in his tone that nearly broke her heart.
It's impossible, Sansa reminded herself, biting at her lip. She couldn't agree to something so unseemly. How could she, when she was betrothed to the king's son and of far higher birth than him? Their association was simply inconceivable!
Still, while her mind thought one thing, her heart compelled her to do another and she heard herself answer the one thing she should never have. "Yes… Yes, I promise it. I'll find a way to meet you."
At that, Sandor Clegane's eyes sparkled and he once more pressed his lips to hers. Sansa briefly melted in his arms but she shortly pushed her hands against his chest. "I need to go. Please, let me," she implored. As much as his kisses were intoxicating, guilt at having disregarded her lord father's very clear directions was now starting to arise in the back of her head and it filled Sansa with a sudden and overwhelming dread.
"All right," the Hound reluctantly conceded, slightly loosening his hold on her. "But when? When will I see you again?"
The urgency of the question and especially its practical aspect only added to the girl's building awareness that she had gotten herself into something much more risky and dangerous than she had ever done in all her life. She was engulfing herself in a mess she would surely never manage to extricate herself from unsoiled if she didn't act immediately. For a heartbeat or two, she was completely lost – vacillating between two completely opposite answers - but then, she went for the only truly conceivable one. "Soon… Still, I can't say when exactly."
"Soon," Sandor Clegane repeated, obviously displeased by the vagueness of her response. Exhaling loudly, the man's face pulled into a scowl, his back becoming taut.
Sansa had not expected for him to react so poorly and his disappointment had the same effect on her as a whip cracking at her face. "Please be understanding!" she hurried to add, eager to be in his good graces again. "It's hard to predict when all my movements are watched so closely by my father. I will come here – to the godswood - as often as I can. You'll be able to find me then…"
For a moment, she was afraid the Hound would complain again, however he sighed, his lips curling into a faint, wry smile. "I guess this will have to do," he rasped without much enthusiasm. "All right then. From now on, I'll be coming to the godswood as often as if I were a bloody Northerner looking for a favour from his gods. Still, little bird, I hope that I'll be seeing you more frequently than any man does those bastards."
"You will," Sansa heard herself say even before she had a chance to think it over. She had never been so much as half as unreasonable as she had been since entering the godswood but she tried to chase the idea away for now. I'll worry about it later.
Growling in satisfaction, Sandor Clegane tightened the circle of his fingers around her waist and pressed her against him. "Now, do I get one last sweet kiss before I leave?" he whispered longingly against her lips.
Sansa couldn't refuse him. She was far too bewitched to resist but at the same time, too intimidated by his commanding presence to refuse. Submissively, she craned her neck and opened her lips very slightly. They kissed but thankfully, the Hound himself promptly left her mouth.
"I'm going first. Stay here a while longer, or else anyone seeing us leave together might come to the wrong conclusion… or the right, depending," he scoffed before striding away from her as abruptly as a gust of wind.
Sansa watched him as he went away and a moment later she was the sole person in the godswood, feeling so lonesome her core ached.
We kissed, she thought touching her lips with delicate fingers, totally bewildered. How had she ever let that happen? Sansa had never disobeyed Father before and the idea that she just had to an extent that surpassed by far even Arya's worst misbehaviour distressed her no end. At the same time, there was no way she regretted the most intense moment of her existence. If she had believed she loved Sandor Clegane throughout the past days, it had been but an illusion for her feelings for him were now painfully stronger, as gigantic as the sky above her head.
"Sansa!" a small voice came from the bushes.
The sound taking her by surprise, Sansa jumped and turned around to see Jeyne running her way. Her eyes grew wide; she had somehow completely forgotten that she wasn't truly alone.
"You kissed the Hound! You let the Hound kiss you!" Jeyne was crying out, apparently barely believing her own words.
"Jeyne! You spied on us?" Sansa answered, as outraged as she was abashed. "How could you?"
"No Sansa! How could you? It's you who kissed him!" the young commoner retorted, sounding madder than she had ever seen her. "I was told by your lord father to watch over you. He gave me very specific instructions to never leave you alone when we go out of the tower and most of all, to never – ever! – permit you to have any contact with the Hound and I failed!" she almost screamed in a mix of torment and horror.
Rendered speechless by her friend's reaction, Sansa stared at her dumbly, feeling suddenly extremely remorseful not to have considered the risks she had been taking on her behalf and the trouble she might now be in by her actions.
"You lied to me! You promised me naught would happen and that you would only tell him you couldn't see him but you didn't, did you?" Jeyne continued, her hands fisted into tight balls over her hips.
She was right of course; Sansa hadn't kept her promise and yet looking back, she wasn't at all certain she might possibly have succeeded even if she had tried twice as hard.
"Jeyne, please! You don't understand! I-"
"I don't understand? How can that be when I saw you smooching him like he was some handsome knight? I'm not stupid you know!"
"Yes, of course! And I'm not denying what I did either but please, listen to me!" Sansa cried, grabbing her friend by the sleeves and clutching at them desperately. "You can't denounce us! I love him like I've never loved anyone before in my life. If you do it, I don't know what I will do…"
"But Sansa, what about Joffrey?"
"I don't love him!" Sansa exclaimed, offended at herself for having ever believed she did.
"And yet not only a sennight ago you were telling me about the undying passion you had for him!"
"I didn't know then what I know now! Believe me Jeyne, what I feel for Sandor Clegane is stronger than the largest and most violent storms that sweep the seas of the world."
"Sansa! He's hideous!" the girl pointed out in disgust. "Have you not looked upon his face?"
"The Hound is not ugly to me. Not anymore," Sansa replied more dreamily than she had intended.
Eying her with a mix of bewilderment and concern, Jeyne relaxed a bit at that. "It's the philtre, isn't?"
Sansa sighed. "I think it is. But I don't care. I love him now and wouldn't wish it any other way. You need to help me, Jeyne."
"But your lord father has told me to-"
"I know! Still, who are you friends with? Me or him?"
Undoubtedly sensing where she was going with this, Jeyne wavered for a second or two. "With you, of course…" she grudgingly admitted.
"Then you should help me!" Sansa asserted in a voice that cruelly lacked assurance.
Exceedingly uneasy, the other girl shifted uncomfortably. "I would but-"
"But you don't value our friendship enough for that?" Sansa asked, instantly loathing herself for using such a base card. Yet what other choice did she have?
"I do value our friendship, Sansa!" Jeyne hastily insisted, rising to the bait. "Only I… I-"
"Please, Jeyne. Please!" Sansa repeated while taking her friend's hands in hers, tears pearling at the corners of her eyes.
Obviously torn, Jeyne was anxiously gazing around her as if she hoped someone would come to her rescue. When no one did, she exhaled and let her head fall down in defeat. "All right, Sansa. I won't tell," she whispered in something not far from a lament.
"Oh thank you, Jeyne!" Sansa cried in utter alleviation, kissing her cheek. "You truly are a friend!"
"Still, Sansa," the other girl said, raising severe eyes to her. "You need to promise me you won't see him again."
Sansa had not anticipated the demand at all and her heart dropped from the moment she heard it. Not see him again? she echoed inwardly, panic rising in her. How could she hold to such an impossible request? She loved him! And the Hound loved her too! They couldn't be parted! Besides, she had already given him her word that she would do everything in her power to meet him again. She couldn't break yet another promise! Most of all though, after having felt Sandor Clegane's muscular body against hers, his large hands circling her waist and kissed his demanding lips, she knew for certain that they were meant for each other. If they had both drunk the pyromancer's love-philtre, it was because the gods had willed it so and no one – not even Father or the king himself – could argue or fight against the gods' will.
Still, while Sansa was convinced of that, she easily could guess Jeyne would probably disagree with her conclusion. She really didn't want to lie again but there was obviously no way she could tell her friend the truth at once. It would need to come one drop at a time and the best course of action for now was to let her believe what had taken place today would never happen again. "Of course, Jeyne," Sansa murmured, looking away and feeling her cheeks flush red from the wave of shame that instantly afflicted her.
The other girl didn't seem to realise the falseness of the words, for she sighed in relief. "It's all for the best, Sansa. I can understand that this potion has some potent effect on you but as soon as a cure to your affliction is found, you'll be as horrified as anyone else at the thought of kissing the Hound." Then, smiling kindly, Jeyne added reassuringly, "but I won't tell anyone it has ever happened so don't you worry about it."
Worry about it, Sansa repeated derisively in her mind. The only worry she had at the moment was that anyone might ever find a remedy to the wonderful love she felt.
