At court there are always plots. Sandor shifted his weight from one leg to another as he stood behind Joffrey and listened to them talk about marrying Sansa to Tyrion. Joffrey was tense, his shoulders humped. He was in a mood. He didn't like this idea, Sandor could tell, because he hadn't thought of it. Cersei was explaining to the foolish twit that Tywin himself had decided it and there would be no discussion about it. Sansa Stark would be married to Tyrion before the week was out. It was the only way to control the North. She left the room in a flurry of scent. Joffrey got up excitedly and began to walk around touching ornaments and babbling to his Hound.
Sandor listened without answering, this was their routine now. Joffrey treated him like a beloved pet. Sandor looked at him, amazed, that he did not sense how much he despised him and his Lannister blood. Lions, shitty mangy creatures with foolish delusions of grandeur. Give me dogs any day, he thought. As Joffrey raged about his mother, Sandor was thinking about killing Sansa Stark to save her from the hell of marrying Tyrion bloody Lannister. He would kill her painlessly and then kill himself. It was the only decent thing to do. He glared at Joffrey's floppy blond hair and weedy neck and thought about throttling him. Soon you little shit, he thought, soon.
There was a banquet that evening. Some ridiculous entertainment the Tyrell girl had dreamt up. Of course, Joffrey was playing the part of the gallant lover, so he had agreed to everything. The palace was awash with masked idiots drunk on wine and lovemaking. It was repulsive when corpses still lay, unburied in the streets. Stannis still plotted to take this city and the little King ignores it all in favour of play acting with Margery. The Hound snorted angrily as he followed Joffrey through the corridors to the great hall where the feast was being piled up in huge mounds of food that no-one would eat. The Hound had worked her, that simpering Margery, out in minutes; a clever, knowing, wise creature who would wrap Joffrey around her buggering little finger. Sandor looked around for Sansa. She clung limply to a pillar, her long, lean body wrapped in silver silks. She looked like a dejected flower. The Hound cursed himself, for thinking such a poetic and ridiculous thing.
As the evening went on and more wine was drunk, Sandor realised it was only the younger members of court there. No Cersei, no Tyrion, no Tywin. He couldn't blame them for avoiding this mummery but it was strange that no-one was here to control Joffrey. The idiot was drunk and was ordering people around imperiously, goaded on by the Tyrells. There was something in the air, an ominous feeling. Sandor moved to the side of the dias where Joffrey was sat with Margery.
'Dog!' Joffrey chortled. 'My loyal dog. Come, sit by my feet like a good dog.' He waved his arm expansively around. 'Look at all my loyal courtiers. Have you ever seen a party such as this, dog?'
Sandor looked at the courtiers, many of whom were shedding their gowns and falling into each other's arms. 'No, my grace, it a celebration like no other.'
Joffrey grinned, 'That is so and you, you saved my life did you not?'
Sandor, his face remaning impassive, nodded.
'You should be rewarded, shouldn't he Margery, he should get a big reward.' Margery smiled and nodded, smiled and nodded. 'Later, my love, not yet,' she said.
Sandor felt the King's madness, it was keen as any blade. What was he planning? He could order him to be killed at any moment, perhaps he was still harbouring a grudge for being insulted on the battlements. Or maybe he was sentimental and foolish about his dog. Either way, Sandor wanted to kill him more than ever. He sat at Joffrey's feet, listening to him sweet talking the Tyrell bitch. All around the tables people were fucking, drinking, eating. All except Sansa, who was trying to blend into the wall near the back of the room, silent and still as a birch tree.
In the moving, heaving room she stood out, a slim streak of white and red. Sandor's eyes were drawn to her again and again. It seemed Joffrey's were too.
'Sansa!' He shrieked, 'Bring Sansa Stark to me now.' The guards hurried to obey him, shoving her down in front of the steps below the dais. The musicians stopped playing and laughter rang out. Her small, white hands were centimetres away from the Hound's foot. She raised her eyes and gazed straight into his fuming grey pair. She didn't shiver, or flinch but turned to look at Joffrey who was shrieking excitedly above them, like a parrot stuck in a bag.
Sandor heard Margery Tyrell whisper, 'Now, do it now.'
What plot was this? Sandor felt rage and fear surface within him but he simply stood up to stand behind the King, a good dog knew his place but the Tyrell slut reached out an elegant hand and grabbed his arm, 'No, you are needed here Clegane. This is your reward.' Her smile was only in her lips; her eyes were as flat and cold as an adder.
Joffrey was delighted with himself. 'Everyone, this is no simple feast I have organised. This is a wedding!' The crowd went silent. Every single person was thinking, what would Tywin do to the people at the wedding? What would Joffrey do to us if we leave? The atmosphere was thick like congealing blood. Sansa moaned, just once, a defeated and soft sound.
'She's yours Dog, yours for the taking. You can take her right here on the steps in front of us all, in fact I insist. But first you are going to marry her so no-one can alter what I have ordered. I will decide who Sansa will marry. Me! Not my mother or grandfather, me…' Joffrey's voice broke off into a babble of nonsensical gibberish, smiling at Margery. The Tyrell woman was watching the events unfold; this was her doing, this helped her cause somehow.
Joffrey kicked the prone form of Sansa. He grinned widely as he ordered the Hound to pick her up. Tears were falling down her cheeks, she was limp like a doll, and Joffrey loved it. This was cruellest punishment he could imagine. His dog fucking Sansa, marrying her to him, forcing her live her life as a lowly Clegane. Ruining his grandfather's plans. A fat Septon, not the High Septon who should have overseen a noble marriage, was ushered in. He trembled, sweat trickling down his ruddy cheeks, this was a man in fear for his life.
Sandor thought about killing everyone, killing the whole room but he felt a desire creeping up his furious spine. Marriage, to this lovely, sweet girl. Joffrey thought he was punishing her but he, Sandor, could ruin his plans by marrying her and helping her to escape. If he didn't consummate the marriage she could be free, free of Joffrey. There was no way Sandor could kill this girl to save her from King's Landing but he could marry her.
Sandor held onto the slender, swaying form of Sansa. She leant into his side, she did not protest or scream but repeated the words she was supposed to and bent her head as Sandor flung his heavy white cloak around her shoulders, making her his in the eyes of the world.
'Kiss her!' Screeched Joffrey and the Hound bent his broken face towards the silken skin of his young wife. He expected her to be repulsed but she held her face upwards like a flower turning towards the sun and she said, almost just shaping the words not speaking them, be gentle. Sandor felt a great grief wash over him as her small hand took his, so trusting, so perfect; he had to save her from this. He would not take her in front of this mob, in front of this insane bastard. Sandor gritted his teeth, turned his huge shoulder towards Joffrey and pulled Sansa to his chest so her face was hidden from the crowd. He easily lifted her so her feet were off the floor.
Sandor roared, he bellowed at the crowd who all took a step back and then he addressed Joffrey. 'My King, this is the greatest honour because I know you want her to be fucking punished, as you have long told me, for her traitors blood and believe me I will punish her hard.' He growled again and shook Sansa. Joffrey raised his arms and cheered like a capering fool. His eyes glowed with blood lust and Sandor longed to kill the buggering blond idiot, but he had to be cunning, save the little bird who was limp in his arms. They had to leave, because Tywin would be here any moment and he would take her from him and kill him without a second thought.
'My King,' he repeated more softly, 'Give me this one thing, for saving you that night, let me take her to my room and begin my punishments tonight. I work better alone.'
Joffrey looked at the towering bulk of his Hound and he did not doubt for one moment that he would hurt Sansa. Joffrey felt sentiment for his Hound, the reminder of that fateful night he was saved brought out a maudlin generosity. 'Yes,' he breathed, 'Yes Dog, take her and get her full of puppies.'
The Hound didn't wait to hear another word, he scooped Sansa up and ran from the room, his armour clanking, the unconscious form of the girl small in his huge arms and he took her straight past his room and on towards the stables.