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Sansa watched as her little sister slept in her bed, gently caressing her cheek, her forehead, pushing the short, brown strands of her hair to the side to check if her sister had come down with a fever. The small girl looked much too large in the satin covered bed, but Sansa would not have let her out of her sight for at least tonight. Not after what happened.
She had held Arya for what seemed like hours as her little sister wept against her, until she fell asleep against her big sister. Sandor had been long gone by then, out to do his duty to the king, and cut down whoever dared to start, or part take in, a riot. And so Sansa had lifted her sister, cradled her against her chest, and took her to her room. Her sleep was troubled, throwing her head from side to side, mumbling words Sansa couldn't understand.
Arya had never been a delicate child, no, it had always been the red head that had frowned at the sight of fighting and blood. And yet, she wagered that what Arya saw while being rescued was enough to shake every child, no matter how brave, straight to the core. Pulling the blankets further up the sleeping form, she tugged them in against her body, not wanting her sister to be cold.
Sadness filled her heart as she thought about what the little she-wolf had been through, and that she hadn't been able to help her. Not really. If Sandor hadn't came, if he hadn't checked on her, Arya could have very well been lying dead in the street. But the Hound, as they called him, had brought her sister back to her, just as she had begged him to.
Sighing deeply, she remembered her words. I'll do anything you want. She snorted. Wasn't that what she was here for? To give him whatever he wanted, as long as he had the coin to pay for it? What could she offer him aside of her body? She could have told him the truth, about herself, about Arya. Maybe then, he could bring them to court, return the Stark's to the north. But what good would that do him? No, she never wanted to return to Winterfell. There were too many memories there, laced with too much pain. She had to remain in hiding.
A knock pulled the young woman from her dour thoughts, her glance flickering toward the door for just a second before returning to the brunette on her bed.
"I'll be right back." She whispered, not knowing why exactly she spoke to her sleeping sister, but feeling better having done so. Quietly, she moved towards the door, pulling it open as gently as possible, not wanting to wake Arya. And there he stood, covered in blood, the burnt side of his face an almost vicious red while his hair stuck to his head, his cheeks, and neck. He was covered in sweat, the metallic scent of his armor mixing with the smell of his body and the blood.
Sansa squeezed through the small opening she had created between the door and the wall, shutting it behind her. She looked up at the man, once more at a complete loss of words, or what to do. Why did she always feel this way around him? Why would he fight with her, then return when she was in danger, and then take off again once she was safe?
"Hows the pup?" He asked, his gruff voice for once somewhat relaxed, soft even. As if he could sense that Sansa was still troubled by what had happened.
"She's fine, thanks to you. Sleeping now." Sansa answered, lowering her gaze to the floor. "I cannot thank you enough for bringing her back to me. I owe you.. everything."
"Just doing my job." He answered, brushing her thanks off almost rudely. But Sansa knew by now that Sandor simply didn't do good with soft words, that he didn't know how to handle them, and much preferred to speak with his sword than his mouth. He was as stubborn as her father had been, in a way, though he very seldom reminded Sansa of the late Lord Stark at any other time.
"You didn't have to find her." Sansa pointed out softly, leaning against the door, still avoiding his gaze. "You didn't have to come see if I was safe."
"Lord Baelish's brothel is highly appreciated by many Lord's and Ser's alike, as you know, little bird. I was ordered to secure the area." He grunted, turning his broad back to her. She wondered if he couldn't stand the sight of her after what she had done.
"And you brought me back my sister." She wasn't going to back down, not on this. She was going to make him see that he did deserve her gratitude, her.. yes, admiration. How had this man, this good, good man turned into what he was now? It pained her to see a good soul so tortured, so bitter. So angry.
"Aye. I brought you your sister." He answered, running a heavily gloved hand over his face, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "She wasn't harmed, was she?"
"No, Sandor. You kept her perfectly safe." Slowly, Sansa pushed herself away from the wooden door she was leaning against, moving to stand behind him, wrapping thin arms around his chest, her fingertips barely brushing each other as she encircled him. Pressing her forehead to the metal armor, she inhaled deeply. He smelled of death, and battle.
She could feel his body stiffen, turn as taunt as the string of a bow, right before the arrow was released to find its goal. He didn't seem very comfortable with any kind of touch, save the two times they had touched each other in the sanctuary of her room. And yet, Sansa didn't let go of him, simply holding him close as they stood in silence.
"I prayed for the god's to bring you back to me." She whispered, not sure if he could even hear her. "I prayed for them to save you. To give you strength."
"Your god's don't give a fuck about the likes of me, girl." He spat, moving out of her grasp, still refusing to turn to her. "They never have."
"Then maybe they were merciful for me." She said, tilting her head to the side, moving past him to look him in the eye, tired of starring at his back. "They did what I prayed for. They brought you back. Safely."
"A dog doesn't need the gods help to chase away the rats." He was snarling at her again, teeth bared as the burnt corner of his mouth twitched, irregularly, as if he didn't have enough muscle left to keep it steady.
"You are not a dog. Not to me. You may call yourself that, and you may even believe it to be true. You may let others demean you in that way. But I will not, and I will not let you do it while we are together either." She spoke fiercely, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are not a dog. You are a good, and brave, and honorable man."
"What do you know about honorable men, and bravery?" He ground out, turning his face to avert his gaze. "All you know are your stupid songs you chirp so well, little girl. You're..."
"A whore." Sansa finish his sentence, shrugging lightly. "Yes, I might be a whore. I may have never been to the great court of Kings Landing, or seen a knight fight in a tournament. But that does not mean that I cannot distinguish a good man from a bad one. And you, Sandor Clegane, are a good man. Why do you fight it so? Do you enjoy scaring people?"
"No. I enjoy killing people." He growled, moving closer to her suddenly, a movement so fast and fluid she had never expected it to come from a man so bulky, grasping her by her shoulder and shoving her against the wall. "Killing is the sweetest thing in the world, little bird. And it is what I do best."
"You don't scare me." She whispered, though having to swallow hard as her back ached from the impact against the hard stone wall. "You won't hurt me."
"I'm a dog, remember? The king's dog. And you, are a little bird. The way you sing your songs, surrounded by your little friends in the garden." He growled out, tightening his grip until she whimpered out. "You know nothing of me, and you should fear me, little bird, for dogs do not like birds that try and play silly little games with them."
"Clegane." The clear voice of Lord Baelish rung out, making Sansa jump with surprise, not having expected anyone. "What is going on here?"
"Nothing, Lord Baelish." She quickly said, smiling sweetly at him as she straightened herself, nodding her head towards Sandor, who had luckily relented and released her shoulder. "I was thanking him for saving my sister."
"Ah yes, I have heard of his bravery." The slender man smiled, walking towards them. Sansa could feel the man before her tense, his hand sliding to his sword, but then thinking better of it, and simply falling to his side. "I must thank you as well, Clegane. I could not bare to see our sweet Sansa suffer such a tragic loss."
His eyes shone as he turned his gaze to her, and she smiled at him once more, the effort of keeping her smile in place, however, straining her muscles more than it should have. She was tired, exhausted really, and simply had no desire to smile at this man, or even talk to him.
"Yes, it was quite fortunate that he was here to protect us all, my Lord." She answered, trying hard to ignore the overpowering aura of the man that was still staring down at her, scowling. He wasn't pleased with her chirping, but right now, it didn't really matter. She wanted Lord Baelish to leave, to let them be, so that she could once more try to penetrate the iron walls Sandor seemed to have raised around him, that made him so rough and unyielding.
"Yes, I agree. Sansa dear, as far as I remember, we owe Clegane here a session either way, and with him saving one of ours, well.." The Mockingbird trailed off, gesturing for her room door. Right as she wanted to politely inform him that Arya was sleeping in her bed, Sandor spoke.
"I'll take another." The Hound grunted, turning away from the red head. "This one has other worries. And I've had her twice."
"As you wish, of course." Lord Baelish conceded, moving to turn from Sansa as the larger male stepped towards him. "I will make sure you are well tended to."
"You better. Was a fucking hassle to keep all your harlots safe." Sandor bit out, and without a second glance to Sansa, he walked away, leaving her behind startled and feeling nothing short of abandoned.
"Whats his name?" Arya prompted, watching her sister once more patch up a hole in her worn pants, as she had done so many times before. "Of the man that saved me. Do you know?"
"Clegane." Sansa answered, not looking up from her task, securing the patch on the considerably large hole. "Sandor Clegane. Why do you ask?"
"I want to say thank you." The brunette answered somewhat reluctant. "Will he be back soon?"
"I don't think so, Arya. He is a very busy man. He's the King's sworn sword." Sansa sighed, placing the fabric she held in her lap, starring almost forlorn at the needle in her hand. "And if he does, he might go to one of the other girls. I don't think we will see him again for a while."
"The sworn sword of the King?" Arya sounded surprised, and Sansa could understand her sisters reaction. She had been just as surprised as she had heard. "But he's not a Lord, or a knight, is he?"
"No Arya. He is not." Laying her work aside, she turned to look at the girl sitting bare legged on her bed. "But he has been with King Joffrey for a long time. Since he was born, if the stories are true."
"So he would be at the Red Keep all the time." Arya concluded, frowning at her sister, the expression in the young wolves eye causing Sansa to perk up, worried for what her sister planned to do now.
"Yes, he would be in the Red Keep. And you know that we cannot go there. That you should never go there." She said firmly, appraising her sister carefully.
"I know." Arya answered calmly, giving her sister one of her grins that reminded Sansa so much of the way her older brother and father, the same grin etched on their face when they had been up to some sort of mischief, or teasing her.
"Good. That means you won't go there." She said, placing her hand against Arya's cheek. "Its too dangerous."
"I won't go there Sansa, I promise. I won't go inside the Red Keep." Her little sister hastily replied, placing her hand on the larger one of her sisters. "I promise."
Sandor Clegane was not a patient man. He knew it, and he made damn sure that everyone else knew it as well. He was the Hound, vicious, violent, and merciless. Highborn and commoners alike knew better than to anger him, for the consequences were never anything short of disastrous.
And so, when a maid knocked at his door one night, telling him that a little brown haired boy was asking for him at the Keep's front entrance, he wondered who could actually be so fucking stupid to bother him during his leisure time.
Whoever it had been had given the girl a considerably valuable coin, one that Sandor had never seen before, silver as the moonlight and engraved with a dire wolf, a relict of the Stark family. It was only because of this token that he abandoned the full cup of wine on his table, instead filling the drink into his wineskin and securing it at his belt to go see who wanted to speak to him.
It wasn't until she saw the form he had only saved from certain death a few days ago that he realized who that little 'boy' was. Arya, Sansa's sister, the red headed whore from Littlefuck's brothel. A whore. He repeated to himself, having to force the word into his mind. He could never freely think of her as anything but Sansa, his little bird, and yet he forbade himself to think of her as anything but a whore.
"What do you want, girl." He grunted as he starred down at her, dark brown eyes sparkling with anger. Why was she here? Had her sister not told her to stay away from the Red Keep, that the presence of a girl like her was never, under any circumstances, welcomed so close to all the Lords and Knights?
He could see from her frown that the child was taken aback by his rudeness, but the Hound simply couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck, to humor this girl and the silly ideas she probably had about him, because he saved her, and returned her to her family safe and sound.
"I wanted to thank you." She finally blurted out, fumbling with the pouch she carried at her thin leather belt. Sandor had never bothered to look at Arya, but now that he had no real reason not to, he noticed that her clothes were worn, patched up in various places, the belt much too wide for her, as it was slung around her hips twice, looking so thin it might well snap under the weight of the tiny training sword she called her weapon. "Here."
Finally having loosened the straps that had secured the pouch to the leather belt, she held it out to him. Sandor growled, taking a swing from his wineskin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"And what is that?" He asked, not taking what she was holding out to him, honestly not interested in robbing a little girl from the only coin she had.
"I made it. Well. The pouch." She answered quietly, her arm not shaking as she kept holding it out to me. "One of the.." She stopped herself, perking his interest for just a second. "Someone taught me how to make them. I put your name on it. And inside is.. not much. But all I have."
Feeling almost sorry for the girl that was starring up at him fiercely, he relented, accepting the token of gratitude. And indeed, she had stitched his name into the bag, though it looked messy, far from perfect, and in all honesty simply ugly. Fitting, he thought grimly.
"I know its not good." She quickly added, shrugging as she hung her arms beside herself, kicking at a rock in front of her. "But.. with your name on it, they'll all know not to take it. The boys say a lot of people steal things."
"And you think they will not take it because it has my name on it?" He had to admit, he was almost amused by this. Maybe the girl was right, and the thief would spare a second thought to stealing something that belonged to the Hound. Maybe she wasn't as daft as he had first thought her. Of course, most of the low lives in this city couldn't read, but he doubted any of those people would ever get close enough to his things to steal this.
"If they like their head where it is." She answered quietly, but he could sense the grin on her face, and as much as he hated it, his mouth twitched into a smile as well. Shaking his head, he opened the pouch, letting the silver and gold coins, not even enough to buy a decent sour wine, drop into his hands. Taking her, to him ridiculously small, hand into his own, he placed the coins in her hand.
"I've got plenty of coin. I don't need yours. This.." He dangled the pouch in front of her face. "I will keep. Now be gone. If your sister knew you were here, she would faint."
"She's sad a lot." The girls words astonished him, and caught him off guard. "A lot more than she used to be. Sometimes, at night, she cries."
"And why would I give a fuck if she cries?" He snapped, his hands balling into fists at his side. Just the thought of that beautiful, pale face streaked with tears, the brilliant blue of her eyes clouded, like the day she had begged him to save her sister, was suffocating. And he hated himself for feeling the way he did. He was the Hound, vicious, a dog. He shouldn't feel this way.
"I don't know." Arya answered, looking up at him with a puzzled expression, as if she expected him to answer her question. When he didn't, she continued. "You cared enough to bring me back."
"You're a child. What was I going to do, let you die?" He grunted, once more taking a deep gulp from his wineskin. This evening was turning out to be nothing like he had imagined. He had wanted to drink himself into a stupor, and simply pass out on his bed, to then wake to a horrible case of being wine sick and start his duties.
"Could have left me on that tree. They probably wouldn't have found me. You didn't." Arya shrugged once more, moving to leave, but throwing him one last, lingering glance. "Thank You again. And.. If you visit her again. Come see me too. You can teach me how to fight properly. Then you won't have to save me."
A grin spread on her face, and then she ran off into the dark streets, to once more join her sister.
"Well fuck."
Sansa shrugged off her robe as she laid with a man that had been coming to her for weeks now, whispering into her ear promises of love, of saving her, of marrying her and taking her away. Sansa always had to force the laugh that wanted to slip past her lips back, smiling at him and whispering back the promises the man wanted her to make.
She had no illusion about his words. He was a Lord, and she was never going to be anything but a whore. He would never leave his wife, his family, risking his title and lands for the likes of her. But she humored him, for he paid her for exactly that, indulging the farce he seemed to enjoy so much.
He spoke to her of the beauty of the free cities, the exotic beings of Dorne, and so many other things he wanted to show her. Sansa couldn't help but giggle at the image of Arya running through the desert land's cities, completely in awe of the things she would see, if any of the things she was being told by this Lord were true.
She would have liked to take Arya to all seven kingdoms, to show her sister that the world didn't only consist of Winterfell and Kings Landing, and the horrible inn's they had been in right after escape. She wanted her sister to know the beauty of their world, and give her whatever she could ever wish for. But how would she ever be able to do that, when she was stuck here? Until Arya was old enough to go see these things for herself, she would have to stay here, with Sansa.
But one day, when Arya was ready. Sansa would give her all the money she had saved, and she would send her off, into a better life, and hopefully, a brighter future.
"Hound! Hound!" Arya cried as she caught his tall form, pushing through the horde of women that were blocking her way, making them shriek and call after her. But Arya didn't care, not when she had much more important things to do. Walking next to the man, she grinned up at him, turning to walk backwards. The man always demanded much more space than he really needed, and she was not afraid of running into anyone.
"What do you want, child? Haven't I told you to stay the fuck away?" He growled, not looking down at her. The girl had latched onto him, for whatever reason, pestering her with her presence whenever he was not in the Red Keep, following his heels like a pup that had finally found a playmate.
"No. You told me to be gone from the Red Keep. We're not at the Red Keep." She answered, entirely too pleased with her smart mouth for his taste. "We're just walking through the city."
"We are doing nothing, you bloody plague. I'm going to the tavern. You're following me." He grunted, shoving her out of his way by her shoulder. Though she stumbled, she didn't fall, and he made sure of that, not using his full strength, and shooting a quick glance in the direction he had pushed her into. He couldn't deny that Arya was smart, fast on her feet, and much wilder than her sister. And god's be damned, he liked the little bugger. She reminded him of the sister he once had... Wincing at only the thought of her, he was not at all surprised, but all the more irritated as the pup simply returned to his side. "You ain't going to give up, are you, plague?"
"What do you think, Hound?" The brunette shot back. "Why won't you just teach me?"
"Because I have better things to do than show little girls how to use their little swords." He grunted, playfully shoving her once more.
"Like drink and gamble? Sansa says those aren't healthy habits." Arya pointed out, moving to stand in front of Sandor, tilting her head to the side. "Please? Won't you just show me a few things? The boys are all stronger than me, that's the only reason they always win!"
"The reason they always bloody win is because little girls aren't meant to fight with a sword. They're not meant to fight at all. They are supposed to cook, and clean, and.. sew things." He sighed, running his hand over his face. He didn't have the nerve for this, he didn't have the time, and he certainly had no will to do this but.. Those big, pleading brown eyes just like the eyes of a pup, like his sister's eyes when she had wanted something...
"That's not true. I was better at archery than my brother!" She chimed up, before realizing what she had said, and quickly shutting her mouth. "I mean.."
"Your brother?" He asked, the brow on the uninjured side of his face quirking upwards. "Didn't know you had a brother."
"Don't have one anymore." She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. It then came to him that he had never wondered how Sansa and Arya had come to be in Littlefucker's brothel. He knew nothing of their family, or their life before his eyes had fallen upon the divine beauty that was Sansa. But he knew the pain of losing a family member, a sibling.
"Your parents?" He asked quietly, though he wagered he already knew the answer. He was certain that if Sansa had anywhere else to house Arya, she would have.
"Dead. Just like my brothers. Everyone is dead, really." She shrugged once more, her brows furrowed as she tried to blink back the obvious tears that watered her eyes. And the Hound, for once, felt horrible for what he had done. "Its just Sansa and me, now."
He sighed, suddenly aware of the men and women watching the interaction between the Hound and the child, whispering behind raised hands. Grabbing Arya roughly by the shoulder, he steered her before him, all the while scowling. For the fucking love of the seven, his heart was too big for his own good.
"Its too heavy." Arya called, holding the wooden sword in both hands, despite what Sandor had told her.
"Its that heavy so you can build up some fucking muscle, plague. If you can't hold that, you'll never be able to hold a steel sword. Quit whining." He ground out, holding his own wood sword in his hand, something he hadn't held since he was a boy. "You wanted to learn."
Arya growled, much to his surprise, thinking that he had been spending way too much time with the pup if she was starting to mimic his behavior. But he had never been able to shake the pity he felt for her since the short conversation they had about her family. She had no man to look after her, no father or brother, not that he wanted to take that role. But the only man she was around on occasion was the Mockingbird, and gods be damned, he wasn't going to leave an impressionable little girl in the fangs of that treacherous snake, allowing him to be the only male to look up to. Not if he could help it.
Every week, when he was off to spend his free day in one of the taverns, Arya somehow managed to find him, and making her swear by her own life that she would not tell anyone, he would lead her down to a platform on the coast, where no curious eyes or ears would be close enough to spread the rumor that he had taken on a pup, and teach her what he knew. She did well, for a child, a girl, though he kept these thoughts to himself. He would work with her until she was panting, sweating through her worn clothing, before sending her off and indulging in the activities he had set out to indulge in. Drinking and gambling.
Instead of visiting the brothel himself, he now let the wenches that sat in the tavern entertain him, severing all ties to the woman he seemed practically incapable of forgetting. The only thing in his life that reminded him of her was her sister, and when he watched as she charged him, fearless, he couldn't help but think of how different the sisters were, like day and night. Arya had none of the grace Sansa possessed, nor the ability to chirp sweet words. She said what she thought, even when it got her in trouble. He enjoyed her outspoken nature, the way she let him curse at her, not taking his harsh words to heart, but ignoring them, knowing, without him having to tell her, that he liked her. Although he made it a constant point of telling her the opposite. The pup would simply grin at him, or shoot back a smartass comment, making him smile more often than he liked.
Never had he thought he would ever feel so protective over a girl again, not since his sister had died, and yet here he was, feeling protective about a pair of sisters.
Stepping out of the Keep, Sandor breathed deeply. The day was barely beginning, the streets still empty, the sun only now starting to rise. He felt wine sick from the feast that had been held in honor of the Kings name day, and he fully intended to remedy this situation with more dornish wine, and gambling. He would simply have to shove Arya a little harder than normally, make her see that he was in no mood to indulge her wish to learn today. He never got far enough away from the Keep to actually do so.
"Hound!" Ser Meryn called, pulling his attention towards him, his eyes flicking over the knights form. If was what the man was holding on to that caught his eye. "Look what we've found!"
"Let me go!" Arya yelled, struggling as the knight held her by the back of her neck, obviously pressing down harder than he really had to. "I said let me go!"
"Ser Ilyn found her lurking around the doors. Thought we'd keep her until you woke up." He grinned, obviously amused with the fact that the girl had been waiting for him. "She said she was here to see you, and rumor has it you've taken on a mutt pup."
Sandor growled, feeling fury rise in his body as the corner of his mouth twitched lightly. He had told Arya time and time again to not come so close to the Keep, that she would get in trouble one of these days, but the stupid girl never fucking listened. And now she got what she had coming for a very long time now.
"Let me go!" Arya demanded once more, squirming in the Ser's grip, blinking back the tears, and the sight was almost enough for him to draw his sword and cut off the mans hand.
"She's just a child, Meryn. Why do you care what she does?" He grunted quietly, forcing his voice to sound even, not bothered by the girls obvious suffering of being ridiculed by the King's knights. "Have you nothing better to do but catch strays?"
"So its true, aye?" Ser Meryn inquired, grinning widely at Sandor. They had never liked each other, and now the man was taking it out on a little girl because of him. He wasn't sure if he hated himself or the knight more right in that moment.
"And even if it were, it would be none of your business. Let the child go. She has done no harm." He answered, feeling the scarred part of his face heating as his anger grew.
"Actually, we think she stole this." The male held his hand out to Ser Ilyn, and the man put a sword into his hand, about as long as Arya stood tall. "Must have stole it during the early morning hours."
"Bullshit." He ground out, watching as Arya couldn't hold her tears any longer. "She could barely hold the bloody thing, and you think she stole it, and got away without anyone noticing?"
"We noticed." Meryn said quietly, obviously sensing that the Hounds patience with him was running out, throwing the supposedly stolen sword to the ground. "She'll be treated as every thief, pup of yours or not."
"She ain't no pup of mine." He growled out, his hand going for the hilt of his sword. "And she ain't no thief either. Let her go Meryn, or so fucking help me, it'll be your hand she'll wear around her neck for good luck."
"Easy there, Clegane." The Ser warned, grabbing for his own sword. "Wouldn't want to be put in the kennel. What would the King say if he heard you attacked one of the King's Guard for a peasant?"
"Sandor!" Arya squealed out, now obviously distressed, the Knight's thick fingers digging deeply into the skin of her neck.
"Aye, she even calls you by your name!" The mocking tone in the male's voice made him want to shove his sword straight through his chest, and he could only resist by reminding himself that starting a fight would not save the girl. If Meryn meant it, she would lose her pretty little face long before he had reached her. "You still denying she's your pup?"
"Let her go." He growled out once more, but he couldn't keep his stare on the male, his eyes flickering to the struggling girl every few seconds, desperately wishing that she would just slip out of his hand and run, while he fought it out with the fellow Guard.
"She still needs to be punished. No worries, I'll go easy on your pup, Clegane." Meryn answered, turning Arya to face him swiftly, bringing down his hand on her, striking her twice, the slap echoing through the streets. It was more than he could bare. No one, not even a fucking knight was going to beat a little girl for doing nothing but waiting for him, the Hound.
He roared, pulling the knights attention to him for just long enough, as Arya shoved him away from her, her lip split and bleeding. He didn't have time to look at her as his sword came down on his opponents weapon, turning in a circular motion, aiming to strike the man in the back.
"Enough!" Sandor immediately recognized the voice, and lowered his weapon, just as Ser Meryn. "Why are two men of the Kings Guard battling openly in the streets? And why the fuck is that little boy crying?!"
Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, moved toward them, the dwarf's armor reflecting in the light of the upcoming sun. "You are both lucky that it is too early for many to be out, or you would have had a grander audience than any tournament."
"The girl." Meryn nodded toward Arya, and Sandor moved to stand between the man and the girl, shielding her. "Stole a sword."
"Ser Meryn, are you telling me that this little girl was able to sneak into the Red Keep, then into the weaponry, and out with a steel sword that stands two inches higher than herself, without being noticed until now?" The Imp asked quietly, quirking a brow at the knight. "Clegane, bring her to me."
Sandor ground his teeth, turning to Arya who was suddenly right behind him, still sobbing silently as she touched her hand to her lip. Gently, he placed his hand at her back, pulling out a tissue and handing it to her as he moved closer to the youngest of the Lannister siblings.
"Now, now." Tyrion scolded her as she came to a stop before him, serious eyes searching her face. "Why don't you tell me what happened, child. Do not be afraid. You will not be hurt again."
Uncertain, Arya looked up at the Hound, but he simply gave her a small nod, ushering her towards Tyrion more. Much could be said about the Imp. He enjoyed his wine and whores a little too much, and he did not know the first thing about battle, all of this was true. But he was just.
"I.. I was waiting for S-.. the Hound." Arya started quietly, uncertain what she was to say and what not. "And the Ser suddenly grabbed me from behind, dragging me here. The other one went inside to get the sword. They waited for him to come out. I swear I didn't steal anything!"
"I believe you, child." Tyrion said quietly, taking out his own handkerchief, gently dabbing at Arya's lip as the one she had been given by Sandor hung uselessly in her hand. "I couldn't have lifted it, and you and I are about the same height. Though you will outgrow me one day, of course. And I simply cannot believe that little girl like yourself could have gotten past the guards inside, much less escape their detection twice."
The kind smile the girl was given seemed to relax her enough to smile back in return, once more looking up at Sandor, who still had his hand pressed against her, making sure he stood so that none of the other men had a chance to see her, much less get to her, without him knowing.
"It seems this was a simple misunderstanding." Tyrion announced, loud enough for the other two men to hear, walking over casually, followed by his sell sword Bronn, who Sandor hadn't even noticed joining them. "Clegane had every right to protect the child. A child you struck without reason, Ser Meryn. I believe some retribution is in order. Child, what is your name?"
"Arya, my lord." The girl answered, watching as the Imp walked towards the knights, but not moving even an inch away from the Hound.
"Arya here, Sir Meryn, will from now on be welcome in the Red Keep. She will be my guest henceforth. And if anyone lays a hand on her, I will make sure the Hound is the one to make it stop." Sandor grinned with grim satisfaction. Oh how he would enjoy teaching the arrogant knight a lesson or two. But the Lord continued. "I believe some coin for her is the least you can do, Meryn. I will make sure that it reaches her. Now, off you go, all of you. And do not let this happen again."
Sandor bowed his head briefly, muttering out 'My lord' quietly, moving Arya out of harms way. Only then it occurred to him that he would not be able to send the girl home without a good explanation, one that he would have to deliver to his sister himself.
Sandor didn't speak as he brought Arya home, simply pressing his hand to her back as they walked, not knowing what to say or do to comfort the child. He had never been around children much, not even his sister, until she was old enough to come join him in his games.
How was he supposed to make the little girl feel better, when he himself felt like shit? He blamed himself, blamed himself for not making sure that she stayed away, for not being stricter with her. For getting drunk and being late. For the bruises and injuries she had sustained, waiting for him to join her.
Arya was still trembling as they walked towards the brothel together, her sobs silent, but still there. They were only a few more feet away from the door to her home when she suddenly stopped, making him frown down at her.
"What now, child?" He asked, waiting for her to answer, but instead of an actual, proper answer, a new wave of tears came crashing down on the child as she flung her arms around his legs, burying her face into his armor.
"Please don't tell Sansa! She'll be so upset at me! I don't want to get in any more trouble!"
The way those words were spoken tugged at the strings of his heart, and sighing heavily, he lowered himself to his knee's, wrapping his arms around her quivering form after a quick glance around, to make sure they weren't being watched.
"You will have to tell her, pup. She'll hear of it eventually. She should hear it from you." He murmured, wanting nothing more but to pull back as Arya latched onto him even more, her hands coming around his neck as she pressed her tear covered face against his cheek. Trying to sooth her as quickly as possible, he rubbed her back, slowly, in wide circles, and by some miracle, it seemed he had done the right thing.
Arya calmed, and after a few minutes pulled back, wiping the remaining tears off her face with her sleeve, nodding slowly.
"You mustn't worry." He said, relieved that the child was no longer clinging to him. "It'll be alright."
"Arya!" Sansa called out as her sister entered her room, closely followed by Sandor. Her sister looked roughed up, the bruises on her neck easily noticed, and her worry only worsened when she saw the busted, swollen lip. "What in the name of the seven heavens happened?"
"I got in trouble." Arya answered quietly, not looking at her sister, instead backing right against Sandor's legs, pressing her small form into him, her hand flying upward to grab his. "Sandor saved me, though. Again."
"In trouble? What did you do?!" Sansa realized she sounded hysteric, the pitch of her voice much higher than normally as she knelt before her sister, not caring that her robe slipped open, gently cupping the girls cheeks. "Who did this?"
"Ser Meryn." The Hound offered quietly as Arya didn't answer, gripping his hand with all the strength she possessed. "He grabbed her in front of the Red Keep."
"The Red.." Sansa whispered, exasperated. "Arya, didn't I tell you to stay away from that place?! I told you not to go there!"
"It wasn't my fault!" The brunette answered petulantly, finally looking her sister in the eye. "He's a bully, and he wanted to get me in trouble!"
"He thought she had stolen from the Red Keep." Sandor said, trying to pull back his hand, feeling more than uncomfortable with the child clutching on to him, but his attempt was in vain. "It was cleared up, but not before he struck her."
"Oh Arya..." Sansa shook her head, covering her face with her hands as she knelt at her sisters and the Hounds feet. She was overwhelmed with the entire situation. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Lord Tyrion said I could come back! He said I was his guest from now on. And he said we'd get coin for that man hitting me." Arya said, her voice soft, taken aback by her sisters despair. "Sansa, I'm okay. Sandor didn't let him hurt me much, he fought him! You should have seen-"
"Enough, Arya." Sansa whispered, halting her sisters words. "Go to the kitchen, get a wet cloth for your lips, and then go to your room. We will talk about this later."
"But Sansa-"
"Now Arya!" The red head repeated, more fiercely, slowly rising to her feet. "Go."
Arya looked helpless. Too small for her own good, he thought warily, gently pulling her hand from his own.
"Off you go, plague." He said, not unkindly, as he gently pushed her through the door. "Think of this no longer."
And with a last insecure glance at the Hound, Arya made her way to the kitchen without another word.
"Thank you for saving her again." Sansa said, shaking her head as she wiped away a stray tear. "I don't know what to do anymore, everything I say, she does the opposite..."
Her voice trailed off, almost breaking on her last word. Shaking her head once more, she took a deep breath to steel herself, moving up to look him in the eye.
"I am sorry you had to intervene again. God's know you have already done enough for us."
It was the way he looked at her that reminded her of the fact that she was only wearing her robe, and that it was open, showing her body freely to the man that had rejected her weeks ago. Quickly tying it once more, she moved to the small nightstand, pulling out the few coins she had been slipped by other customers, a token of their affection, or appreciation.
"It isn't much, but it is all I have." She said quietly, moving to hand her money to him. "I don't know how else to repay you for your kindness."
"She's a pup, Sansa. They get in trouble." He murmured, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. "Keep your coin."
"I insist." She answered, placing the money on the table. "You can take it, or the next customer will. I am not keeping it."
"Bloody Hell girl, what is it with you and your sister?" He growled out, taking a step toward her. "I don't need your fucking coin. I have enough of my own. Use that to buy the girl new clothes."
"I already told you I am not going to keep it." She snapped, ignoring his comment about her and her sister. "Just take it and be on your way, Sandor, I know you are sick of me."
"Sick of you?" He almost shouted, turning towards the table, bringing down his fists against the wood with a roar, breaking it in two, the coins that had laid on it rolling over the floor, falling against the stone.
Frightened by his anger, Sansa backed away from him, until the back of her knee's bumped against the edge of her bed. Wide eyed she stared at his form, his chest rising and falling heavily as he breathing was labored, as if he had just returned from a long battle.
"I could never be fucking sick of you." He finally rasped, seemingly in control of his fury once more as he turned his head towards her. Once more, she could see the pained expression she had witnessed on their first night. And as if pulled by invisible strings, she moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"You never came back." She said quietly, reaching out for his face, but he jerked away from her, snarling like a rabid dog.
"Because it isn't safe." He growled, running a broad hand through his hair. "Don't you see that, you stupid girl?!"
"See what?" She asked, moving towards him once more. "What do I not see, Sandor?"
"That bad fucking things happen around me." He shouted, moving back from her until his back hit the wall, and he had no where else to go. Sansa kept advancing on him, her heart constricting with the way his eyes darted from side to side, like an injured dog looking for a chance to escape some sort of danger. But Sansa didn't mean to hurt him, never could, even if she tried. Even if she wanted to, and oh, as he left her standing alone in the hallway she had wanted to.
But this man, so tall and strong that none other stood a chance against him in a fair battle, when he looked at her the way he was now, uncertain, pained, angry and, yes, scared... It melted her heart, made her forget that he had slighted her, and made her remember just how good he had been to her and her sister.
"Do they?" She tilted her head to the side, resting her hands against his heaving chest, letting her hands brush over his dented armor. "The only things I remember.. is the first night you came to see me, and protected me from pain. When you saved my sister from the riot. When you brought her back to me now, fighting a knight for her."
"She was only there to see me." He growled, grabbing her by the arms, shaking her, as if he meant to shake sense into her. "She wouldn't have been hurt had she stayed the fuck away."
"And I'm sure you told her to stay away just as much as I did. She doesn't listen. You said it yourself, Sandor, she's but a child. They get in trouble." She soothed, placing her hands over his, stroking the back of his hands with her thumbs. "And you were there to protect her. Again."
"Stop looking at me like that, foolish bird." He groaned, turning his face from her, his eye clenched shut, the corner of his burnt mouth twitching almost uncontrollably now. "Fucking bird with your bloody chirping."
"I'm not chirping Sandor, I never have.. Not to you." She whispered, and gathering all her courage, she dared to move her face to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Never have I chirped to you, and never have I lied to you."
"Bloody hell girl!"
And suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest so hard it almost knocked the breath out of her. His lips were on her's only a fraction of a second later, devouring, tasting her like a drowning man. Moaning in reply, her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it, pulling a low growl from him.
She was being moved over to the bed, hastily pulling at the straps of his armor, desperately clawing at the metal, trying to get rid of it as quickly as she possibly could, while he simply grabbed the back of her robe and tore it off her body, the ripped fabric already forgotten before it had even touched the ground.
She was burning for him, like a fire bright enough to reach each and every dark corner in the seven kingdoms. The way her body seemed to fit just perfectly against his, the way his hands were just big enough to grasp her breasts in the right way to cause her the most pleasure, the way he tasted and his scent.. it was all she could do to not expire in his arms right there and then.
When she finally had him out of his chest plate, she immediately pulled of the fabric hiding his muscled chest from her, hands and lips roaming over his scarred skin the moment it was revealed to her. He was panting, grunting quietly as he, in turn, ran his hands all over her body, laying her on the bed. She watched as he moved to undress completely, throwing his things carelessly to the floor before joining her, covering her body with his own as his lips attached themselves to her neck, sucking and biting, making her moan and squirm beneath him.
"Little bird.." he bit out, his hands moving to spread her legs, running his thumb over her folds, moaning out as her love juices smeared across his thumb. Bringing it up to his mouth, he licked it clean, eyes fixed on her's, making her blush. She had never felt this passionate, had never seen anything that both embarrassed and excited her so, and she couldn't help herself. She pushed her body lower, her womanhood connecting with his thigh, rubbing herself shamelessly against him. "You're already dripping for me."
Sansa could not have been able to answer the simple question where up and down was right now, mostly because she couldn't care less. Her universe had shrunk around her, and all that counted was the man that was now gripping her breasts, bringing his mouth down on her buds, as he had done before, while he rubbed his thigh against her most intimate place. She could feel her body contracting, her muscles below the waist clenching in desperate need as he stilled his thigh, pulling her upwards, pressing his burning hot cock against her, rubbing against her in a way that made her see stars.
Her nipples were now impossibly hard, and he moved lower, pulling his member back as he did, making her protest with a desperate cry, her nails digging deeply into the skin of his biceps once more. Oh, she simply could take no more of this sweet torture. Bucking her hips upwards, she screamed in pleasure as his tongue circled her clit, making her squirm so violently he was barely able to keep his mouth in place, even with his arms holding her down, drinking her fluids as she unraveled, but giving her no chance to unwind.
Her body had barely relaxed enough for her to breath as he continued his onslaught on her, making her weep tears of pleasure as she seemed to completely lose her mind, reducing her to a wanton mess as she brought her legs up to her chest, spreading them as wide as they would go, giving him as much access as she possibly could.
"Sandor, please, please, no more, need you.." She whimpered, tugging at his arms, incoherently begging him to finally push into her, to join their bodies, to stop teasing her. Her words seemed his undoing as he moaned lowly, pushing his body upwards again, one hand holding him up as his other grabbed hold of his member, pushing into her gracelessly. It was all she had ever wanted, absolute perfection and absolution, liberating her in ways she had never thought possible.
"Fuck, Sansa.. look at me, little bird." He groaned, and her eyes snapped open to stare into his, not having been aware that they had fallen shut, but now being met with the smoldering brown of his. She was unable to form words, to even grasp a coherent sentence as he drove himself into her, again and again, and she watched his every expression, the way he ground his teeth, the way the sweat that had formed above his brow ran down the side of his face, the way his nostrils flared as he thrust harder.
And then, just as she felt as if he would melt into her, that the world would come lose at the seems, she came, taking him over the edge with her, feeling as he filled her with his seed, to then slump down on her, his head resting between her breasts.
Never had she loved him more than in this moment.
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