Chapter 4 The Morning After
In the morning, Sansa awakened to find she was alone once more. The coverlets had been tucked securely around her body, so much so that she could hardly move. Sandor must have done it to preserve my modesty, she smiled to herself, though she had no idea why a man who prided himself on not being a knight would do such a chivalrous thing. I wonder how much of my body he actually saw.
The thought of the Hound ogling her nude body while she slept brought a deep blush to her cheeks. He isn't the Hound to me anymore; no, thanks to Joffrey and that drunken septon, he is my lord husband. Pulling the covers up to her chin, she let out a nervous sigh. Where is he? Rubbing her eyes, Sansa sat up and looked around the room. Her husband was nowhere in sight. Glancing over to the floor, she noticed the Hound's clothes and boots were gone.
Resting back on the pillows, the events of the previous night came back to her mind. Sansa could hardly believe that one of the deadliest men in all of Westeros had curled up beside her like a child, wanting nothing more than to be close to her. How will he act when I see him? Will things be different between us now? Will he expect more than an embrace this evening?
The maid knocked at the door, startling Sansa from her thoughts. "My lady, is there anything you need?"
"Yes, Shae, do come in."
"Did you have a pleasant evening?" Shae raised her eyebrow suggestively at Sansa, a small knowing smile playing across her lips.
"Yes, most pleasant," Sansa blushed deeply, remembering the gentle way he held her.
"Did he hurt you?"
"No," she answered honestly. "He did not."
"Good," Shae let out a relieved sigh, her determined tone sparking Sansa's curiosity.
"What you have done if I said he did?"
"I would make him stop," Shae patted her legs. "Did he seem pleased with you?"
"Yes," she whispered shyly, remembering his compliments.
Shae smirked knowingly. "I have no doubt of that. Come milady, I have your bath drawn and your gown set out for the day."
Sansa twisted the blanket in her hands, wondering what she meant. "Has it been let out again, as I asked?"
"Yes, but Sansa, you really need new gowns. Tell the Hound to buy you some-he has plenty of coin."
This was brand new information to Sansa. "He does?"
Shae nodded. "He is quite well off, I understand."
"How do you know this?" Sansa suspected Shae met Tyrion in a brothel before becoming her maid and she knew that he kept her in his rooms. A queasy feeling settled in her stomach. Had Shae entertained him in the past?
"It's not important," Shrugging, Shae started to turn away but Sansa suddenly reached out and held her arm firmly.
"Please, tell me."
"You know not every girl grows up a highborn, my lady," Shae gently began.
Sansa nodded, holding her breath.
"He has patronized a few of my friends, that's how I know. I doubt he will continue to do so now that he has you."
"Oh," Sansa absently replied, letting out the breath she did not realize she was holding.
Shae busied herself unbraiding Sansa's hair. "Are you feeling jealous for your lord husband already?"
"Don't be silly," Sansa jerked away from her with a frown.
Shae giggled as Sansa felt a telltale heat flooded her cheeks; sometimes she wished she was not quite so fair, and that her complexion did not betray her every emotion.
"He's got quite a purse from his tourney and gambling winnings over the years as well," Shae offered, deftly changing the subject "Tyrion told me he earned one of the largest purses in the history of King's Landing at your father's tourney."
Why would Lord Tyrion tell her that? Sansa had assumed Sandor was poor, and she knew Sandor intensely disliked the Imp. The idea that the Hound had money of his own surprised her almost as much as his promise to keep her safe.
"You needn't look so scandalized, Sansa," Shae laughed while helping her into the tub. "Men often talk when they are…happy. You'll see soon enough."
Sansa felt there were so many things she needed to learn about her husband, they had not been wed a full day and already she discovered many qualities in the man that she never expected to find in the rough, brutal Hound. It was her duty, after all, to learn her husband and make herself agreeable, though Sansa felt ill-equipped for the task.
Shae stood staring at her, waiting for a response, and so Sansa replied, "Well, perhaps I will mention I need a new gown once we get to know each other a bit better."
"You best not wait for that, milady," Shae snorted with a shake of her head. "Some men will never learn a woman beyond what he sees on their wedded night."
What did she mean? Curious, Sansa leaned in close and whispered, "Do you think Sandor Clegane is such a man?"
"I do not know," Shae shrugged. "Men also have a way of surprising women from time to time."
She means Tyrion. Suddenly uncomfortable, Sansa changed the subject. "Would you please bring up a breakfast tray for the two of us, Shae?"
"Certainly, my lady. What would you like to eat?"
Sansa thought for a moment. She had no idea what her new husband ate to break his fast; one thing of which she was certain, however, is that the Hound required a lot of food. Sansa gleaned that much about him from the way he ate during the feasts at court.
"Just bring up plenty of everything, Shae, and set the table for us. Also, would you send a message to Sandor that I will be expecting him in an hour hence?"
"Of course."
Sansa hurriedly bathed, brushed her hair to a fine gleam, and then dressed in the gown. Despite the alterations, the material pulled tightly across her chest and constricted her breathing. Still, she told herself she would ask nothing of him until she was certain it would not anger him.
Carefully she laid out the meal on the table, setting the larger portion of food in the place she set for him. An hour passed, then another half of another before she heard Sandor's heavy footfall outside the door.
Sansa darted into her seat and carefully smoothed down her skirts. Will he remember the promises he made last night? Did he discover I was awake when I put my arms around him? I hope it did not anger him. Will he behave differently?
Scowling, the Hound entered the room, carefully avoiding her gaze as he did so. "What's all this?" He gestured toward the table and surveyed the meal warily.
Sansa studied his face to gauge his mood, but as usual, his expression told nothing, and the young woman began to wonder if breaking their fast together had been a good idea.
"There is no need to be so cautious, it is only breakfast," Sansa giggled softly. When he remained stiffly standing beside her, she added, "It is no trap, my lord, I assure you. Please, sit and take your ease."
"Why?" Sandor frowned, his face twitching sharply. "Why would you want to eat with the likes of me? I'm sure one look at this will spoil your appetite," he spat out, pointing to the scarred side of his face.
"I beg your pardon?" Sansa offered him a roll, the young woman trying in vain to swallow her mounting fear. A lady always remembers her courtesies, she repeated to herself.
"Quit your chirping," Sandor clenched his jaw and snatched the roll from her hand. "Answer me. Why did you do all of this?"
"I-I was hoping we would share a meal together," Sansa stammered, anxiously smoothing her skirts. "Perhaps we could get to know one another for a bit before you return to your duties. I-I did not know what you like to eat and so I ordered a bit of everything."
Frowning, he heaved a sigh and slumped into his chair. "As you say, little bird."
"Are you feeling quite well this morning?" Sansa asked politely, taking in his pale pallor. She handed him a cup of tea, and abruptly he took it from her.
The Hound barked out a laugh. "Always so courteous. Do you mean am I still wine sick?"
"Well, yes," she looked down and nibbled at her roll.
"Aye that I am," he allowed. "The roll and tea will help, though."
Sansa smiled brightly at him, hoping his words would be the start of a real conversation. "I am glad of it."
Instead, Sandor silently sat eating his rolls, all the while watching her closely.
After a long pause, she tried again. "Will you guard the king all day?"
He nodded, his eyes growing sullen and angry. "Yes, until Meryn takes over at supper."
"Will you-will you join me for supper?"
Sandor studied her for a moment. "Aye, if it pleases you."
His voice didn't sound quite so angry to her. That is better; perhaps my courtesy will work on him after all.
"That pleases me greatly," Sansa smiled again, encouraged.
"I'm sure I'm just the dinner companion you've always wanted," he sneered, his eyes glittering angrily.
Her face fell but Sansa remained silent, struggling to hide her disappointment.
"So, you're no longer afraid of me, is that the way of it?" Sandor averted his eyes, fingering the handle of his short sword.
Sansa shifted in her seat as he slowly raised his eyes and looked her straight in the face once more. Sadly, she looked him levelly in the eyes, remembering how he wanted her to look him in the face. "Truth be told, I am still a bit afraid. Please, forgive my rudeness," she paused. "Although my fear is-it is not the way you think."
"It's not rude to tell the truth, little bird." He laughed harshly, leaning over to her and gripping her chin. "So, how is it, then? Tell me."
Do I dare tell him? Sansa puzzled over her words until she saw his eyes begin to simmer once again. "It-it is your eyes that frighten me." Not your scars, she added silently, staring into his face
The burned side of his face twitched sharply; and after he swallowed hard, he let go of her face. "And what would you have me do about it, wife?" The Hound spat out the last word like a curse word. "Tell me how you expect me to suit your delicate nature."
"Please do not speak the word wife to me in such a manner. As you said yesterday, neither of had any say in our current situation, and the least we can do is try to make the best of it."
"You didn't answer my question," he rasped low.
"I would have you remain exactly as you are," Sansa offered after a moment. "Only less angry with me." She leaned forward and rested her hand on his forearm.
He flinched at her touch but did not move away.
"I heard you last night. I heard your promises, and I am most grateful to you," she whispered. "I want-if you will let me, I want to try to be a good wife to you, despite everything."
Sandor jumped up with a start and slammed his fist against the table. "You don't know what you're saying, Sansa, believe that," he hissed in her face. "I'm no fool; you don't want the likes of me, so quit your damned chirping." With that, he stormed out the door.
How did everything go so wrong? Sansa tearfully wondered. I remembered my courtesies, I tried to reassure him that I will go along with this marriage and he insults me! Whirling around, she kicked the footstool in frustration and burst into tears.
Shae knocked on the door. "Is everything alright, Lady Sansa?"
"Yes, no-please, come in, Shae," she tearfully called out, quickly wiping her face with a handkerchief.
"I saw Lord Clegane leave," Shae rested her hands on Sansa's shoulders. "I trust your breakfast did not turn out as you hoped."
"No, and he is no lord-insufferable man!" Sansa petulantly cried, kicking the footstool once more for good measure.
"Indeed he is a lord, my lady. Lord Tyrion told me the king announced it this morning in court."
Puzzled, Sansa sank into the chair. When the septon pronounced them Lord and Lady Clegane, she thought it was another of Joffrey's cruel jests. "Why would he bestow a title on him? I suppose it is a reward for making me miserable."
"No, I am afraid it is to prevent your brother from having the marriage annulled. It also forces him to renounce your claim to Winterfell or else risk having it fall into the hands of the realm."
Of course, Joffrey would think of that, Sansa heaved a heavy sigh. Robb was their father's son, and Sansa knew he would relinquish her inheritance and leave her married to Sandor Clegane rather than risk Winterfell ever falling into the hands of the king. Now, no matter what Robb did, she would be stuck married to the Hound, a man who seemed determined to stay perpetually furious with her. She wondered how long it would take for word of her marriage to reach Riverrun and Winterfell.
This is what Joffrey meant when he said he stripped me of my family name and inheritance. Sansa had underestimated him, and hatred washed over the young woman at the realization. What was even worse, she lost everything because of her sham of a marriage to Sandor, and he acted as though he didn't even care.
"Do you know what he did? I lowered myself and agreed to go along with this marriage to keep the peace and the Hound threw it in my face!"
"Did you expect him not to?" Shae asked carefully.
"Well, I-" Sansa was not sure what she expected, now that she thought of it.
"The boy he has protected from infancy has just used him ill; he married you to the Hound as a punishment, to degrade you. The whole court is laughing at you because of him, and his scarred appearance. He knows you are bound to hate him, knowing what the marriage has cost you. How do you suppose all of that makes him feel?"
"I had not looked at it in that manner," Sansa halting answered, suddenly ashamed of herself. "It would hurt anyone terribly, even a man as hard and unyielding as the Hound."
"Men have a ridiculous amount of pride, and he is a man after all, in spite of calling himself a dog. Do not take his growling too personally," Shae advised, slowly running the brush through her hair. "He was most upset by the appointment as well, Tyrion said, and he stormed out of the throne room shouting and cursing at the top of his voice."
Sansa nodded. "He hates knights and titles, and spits on their vows. The king did not punish him for his ungrateful behavior?"
"Tyrion said the king was furious but the queen calmed him down and afterward he thought better of sending men after the Hound."
"He doesn't want to risk anymore men of the Kingsguard, no doubt. Did Tyrion know where Sandor went from there?"
"No," Shae sighed. "He probably was in some dive, in the middle of drowning his indignation in Dornish sour when he received your note."
"No wonder he was in no mood to hear me." Turning to her handmaiden, she implored, "Please, tell me how to get through to him."
"It will take patience, but I think if anyone is able to reach the Hound, it is you."
"What do you mean?" Sansa's cheeks flushed hot, and briefly, she wondered if others might know the regard he spoke of the night before.
Shae laughed and shook her head. "I mean to say that he treats you better than anyone. That must account for something."
That was true; for all his shouting and growling, Sandor treated her gently, almost reverently. Her mind went back to his childlike embrace the night before; she marveled how contented the fearsome man seemed merely touching her face and holding her in his arms.
"Perhaps," Sansa finally allowed.
After Shae left, Sansa made up her mind that she would find a way to reach him. That evening, she prepared an elaborate table for the evening meal but Sandor did not come. Once again, she lay in bed nude, waiting for him to return. Finally, after the second quarter he staggered in, undressed, and held her in his arms, just as he did the night before.
Silently Sansa submitted to his attentions while her mind replayed Shae's words. Of course, he is miserable just as I am. It is unthinkable that Joffrey and the court mistreat him so. He served Robert so loyally, and he all but raised Joffrey. Even though she did not really want him as a husband, she would never have used him so ill. After a while, she encircled his shoulders with her arms and unable to contain herself, Sansa wept silently for him and for herself.