Omg! It's been 4 months already since I updated this one! I'm so sorry! I hope you enjoy it though!
Sansa woke up with a start, sitting up in her bunk. What strange dreams I had, she mused, utterly confused. Catching her breath, she looked around herself. It was still dark and very quiet in her family's longhouse. All she could hear was her father's faint snores coming from the other end of the house. Still, from the sparse yet telltale noises which came from outside, she could tell the forest was slowly rising and that dawn was about to break.
Sansa had not slept very well. All night, she had kept tossing and turning in her bed and made the oddest of dreams. She didn't remember most of them, or only vaguely... Apart from the last one she'd had, the one she's just awakened from. That one was still exceedingly clear in her mind, troublingly so in fact.
In it, she'd been chased through a dark and forbiddingforest by a big black dog, but then the dog morphed into a white bear and jumped on her. She could still taste the terror that had assailed her at that instant, same as if the attack had only just happened in truth. When she tried to struggle herself free by turning on her back in hope to push the white bear away from her, she realised it was the Hound, that he was bare-chested... that she was naked. And instead of trying to eat her alive as she had feared the animal would, he was touching her everywhere. She was nude too, she'd noticed then, and the shock of it instantly brought her back to the real world. Now sitting on her bunk, she didn't know what to make of that dream, nor of the sweat which still permeated her brow, of the strange warmth that lingered down her core...
Gods, how very bizarre, she thought, massaging her temples. Hoping to rest some more, Sansa lied down on her bunk again. She shut her eyes and tried to fall back asleep, but her efforts were fruitless. She was too preoccupied. Because in the end the truth was, she knew very well where all those dreams had arisen from. It was quite obvious in fact.
Yesterday's events were written all over these images which haunted her. It all made very much sense. Sansa felt a bit like a tracked animal, a prey the Hound had his sight on. He was intent on winning the competition and be the man who would take her maidenhead. His determination was undeniable and that he'd allow nothing to stop him from getting to his goal was obvious. Still, the Hound had not won yet. Today, he would fight against his last remaining adversary: Arys Oakheart.
There is still hope, Sansa mused. Arys could very well defeat the Hound – if anyone could, it was him. He was a stalwart, tall and very apt warrior as he had once more proved during his duels of the previous few days. If it had to come to that, he was definitely a much more preferable Horned Man than the Hound. Arys was good-looking and well liked by all, which couldn't be said of his adversary, but most importantly, he was devout and believed in the significance of the upcoming ceremony.
Yet truth be told, Sansa had a hard time believing he really held a chance against the Hound. Arys may be strongand skilled, he didn't have the other man's freakish built and the same fury in battle. For as much as she tried, she couldn't envision anyone defeating the Hound. Somehow, she could sense any hope was worthless.
To make matters worse, Sansa was still troubled by the conversation she had overheard between a few Elders and the Hound yesterday after lunch. She had been shocked by what they had said. To hear them, the Hound had already won - they were all but congratulating him! They'd seemed genuinely delighted at the perspective of him being her Horned Man. That he didn't believe in the gods had not mattered to them and his well known contempt of their traditions and ceremonies had not so much as been mentioned. Worst of all, they already envisioned Sansa becoming his wife, as if her own opinion on the matter didn't even matter... Oh, gods...
After a half-hour of staring at the bottom of her sister's bunk above her, thinking of all that had transpired throughout the last few days and of what was still to come, Sansa finally came to term with the fact that she wouldn't fall back asleep. Sighing, she got out of bed and looked around herself. She easily found one of her dress by her bed, a loose one made of beige hide, and put it over the fine wool slip she wore. Then she fastened her white fur cloak over her shoulders, slipped into her boots and stepped outside.
From how dim it had been in her family's longhouse, Sansa would never have guessed the sun had already risen over the horizon, yet dawn was well and truly there. The few clouds which hovered in the sky went from dark purple to pink and then, to the brightest of oranges, and the shadows of the trees and longhouses stretched forever on the snowy ground. The village was very quiet still, but here and there, noises could be heard: a child's cry, the voices of people speaking softly, the clatter of a cauldron being installed on an open fire. Chicken were clucking, a pig oinked. It wouldn't be so long before the place was full of life and boisterous as it always was during daytime.
Sansa walked away from the village and the chances she'd have of bumping into someone. She didn't feel like speaking to anyone, only needed to breathe some fresh air and clear her mind. Thus she strolled aimlessly between the tall trees without paying attention to where she was going. With a distracted ear, she listened to the repetitive sounds of wood being chopped as it echoed through the forest, her gaze lowered to the snow track she followed.
Oddly, it didn't dawn on her that she was walking towards the Hound's longhouse until she caught sight of him, standing at less than ten yards from her. He was swinging down his axe to cleave a log in two, his back to Sansa, yet she recognised him from the moment she raised her gaze on him. It'd have been impossible not to. Gasping, she halted at once.
Alerted by the sound, the Hound's broad shoulders tensed and he jerked his head backward. His face was twisted in a mean scowl, but a spark of surprise passed through his eyes as they fell on her. "The Summer Maid? What are you doing here? Came to wish me good luck for the last duel, perhaps?"he rasped, his lips pulling in a smirk.
Gods, what have I gotten myself into! Sansa thought, her heart jumping in her chest. Somehow, she had managed to find her way to exactly the last place she'd have wanted to be right now. "I'm s... sorry," she stammered, averting her eyes from him. "I didn't realise I was walking towards your house. I better get back now." With that, she made to turn and stride away, yet in her hurry, she caught her feet in some harder bit of icy snow and fell onto her stomach.
The impact stunned her for a few seconds, though it didn't hurt as much as she had feared. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Hound toss his axe to the ground and swiftly head towards her.
"You're all right?" he asked.
Helping herself with her hands, Sansa rolled onto her back and propped herself on her elbows. She had not put on her mittens and her fingers were freezing now, wet with melted snow. "I'm fine," she said meekly, colour rising to her cheeks. Gods, this was all so embarrassing!
The Hound halted just in front of her and snorted a rough laugh. "Good, wouldn't look well for the Summer Maid to have a broken leg during her sacrifice."
Sansa blushed all the more and lowered her gaze to her lap. Why did he have to refer to the ceremony just now that she was alone with him, sprawled on the ground and vulnerable? They both knew he would very likely win the Horned Man title, wasn't that enough for him? Sansa didn't utter a word and only looked down, wishing she could vanish into nothingness.
"Come, don't stay there all day or you'll catch a cold," the Hound urged her, bending down and offering her his hand.
Sansa gazed at it uncertainly. It was so huge, same as the rest of him. The Hound always towered over her, but now that she was all but lying on the ground, he seemed taller than ever. Her stare darted to his bare chest. It was so muscular, as hard as steel, and covered with coarse dark hair. There was sweat on his skin even though the air was far from warm at this early hour. She wondered how it was possible that he not be shivering in this weather.
"I'm more dressed than you are, you're the one who's risking a cold," she said, regretting the words from the moment they left her lips.
Judging by the roguish grin that split the Hound's face, her cheeky comment had amused him. "I'm made of sterner stuff than a little bird like you. No need worrying for me. Come on, now," he insisted, finding her hand with his.
Sansa didn't fight him and accepted his help. His hand engulfed hers, so warm and strong, and he pulled her to her feet. It was unsettling to think that those same hands would perhaps caress her everywhere very soon, yet she chased the thought from the moment it crossed her mind, her face ablaze.
"Your hand's cold," the Hound commented once she stood up, squeezing it gently within his fist.
"I know," Sansa whispered nervously, wresting it free. "I should go now."
She made to turn but he caught her by the wrist before she had a chance to. "Not so fast," he said.
Her eyes wide, Sansa looked up at him, taken aback. His stare was fixed on her intently and she suddenly grew very aware of just how very alone they were. She tensed, fear rising in her, and glanced behind herself. There was no one at all in sight, only snow and trees. They might as well have been in the middle of the forest and not at the edge of the village. If he felt like it, the Hound could overpower her and steal her away as easily as that and no one would hear her screams. No one would notice her disappearance until it was too late. Oh gods, what have I done? Sansa wondered, her pulse resounding in her ears. She had promised herself never to venture alone away from the village again after that last time she'd found herself alone with him.
It had happened many moons ago by the hot spring. She had been washing her face and hands in the warm water on her own when she heard the Hound make some disobliging comment from behind her. They started talking and at one point, much alike now, he had approached her suddenly and seized her by the upper arm. For a few horrible seconds, Sansa had been certain he would try to take her away and make her his. Yet thankfully before it could happen, a group of young men had arrived by the spring. She had fled towards the village nearly as soon. Sansa had no hope that she'd be so lucky this morning. Why would anyone venture near the Hound's longhouse, especially at this early hour?
Her fear must have shown on her face, for the Hound expression darkened. "What are you so afraid of?" he hissed, heavy brows lowering over his eyes.
Sansa was too stunned to reply but as always, he could read her easily enough.
His mouth twitched and he brusquely released her wrist. "You're safe, little bird, don't you worry. I'm not going to do anything crazy. I've not gone through all this trouble not to see this thing through."
"This thing?" Sansa repeated, unsure she understood his meaning.
"The bloody contest, what do you think?" He snorted then, a faint, wry smile curving his lips. "The Horned Man, who do you think it'll to be? Me...? What do you say, little bird?"
"I don't know," Sansa replied, looking down uneasily. "How could I? It's in the gods' hands."
"Of course," the Hound sneered. "Well then, whish me good luck before you leave. Or even better, why don't you sing a pretty little prayer to the gods for me? Those bastards are sure to heed the Summer Maid's prayers."
That annoyed Sansa. He could make fun of her all he wanted, but being as disrespectful to the gods as to call them names was totally unacceptable. Frowning, Sansa gazed up at him again, the sternness of her features taking him off guards.
"A good Summer Maid is not supposed to pray for the contest's outcome," she stated honestly. "I won't pray for you, same as I won't for Arys and have not for any of the other contestants! The gods will decide who the winner is and it's not my place to interfere."
For a short instant, Sansa wondered if she had not managed to shut him off for the very first time, yet the Hound's surprise quickly gave way to derision. He exhaled through his nose and rolled his eyes.
"How very fair of you," he rasped, shaking his head.
His large paw rose to scratch his chest and Sansa glanced down at it furtively, her gaze attracted by the motion.
"Still, think I'll believe you don't care? I've seen how ashen those rosy cheeks of yours turned when I eliminated Loras yesterday." The Hound's stare travelled down her face, silence stretching between them for a moment. "Well whatever you think, better me than him," he added lowly. "Your gods, they don't want their Horned Man to be pretty. Doesn't matter to them. What they care about, is that he be strong, the strongest man of the clan. I am, no one can deny that, even you."
Sansa kept her eyes lowered and didn't utter a word. She didn't want to lie.
The Hound appeared satisfied with her lack of answer, for he snorted softly and resumed speaking. "You cannot blame me for the outcome of this contest. It's not like I've any choice in the matter either," he said, his imposing form leaning over her. "What is a man to do against the gods' will after all? I'm just doing their bidding, same as you."
"The gods' will? But you don't even believe in them!" Sansa let out in shock, her gaze darting up to him.
Her affront brought a smirk to his lips. "Well, you do, so how is that supposed to matter to you? I could be part of their plan - that I believe in them or not shouldn't change that."
Sansa took a step back, eager to put some space between them, and folded her arms over her chest. A shiver went down her spine. Clouds had gotten over the rising sun, casting the forest in shadows, and she was cold she realised. "The gods would never want someone like you, who has no respect for the sacred, to represent them in such a holy ceremony. It's impossible."
"So how do you explain that I'm winning?" the Hound asked, straightening his back.
Sansa hesitated. "Perhaps you're cheating, somehow..."
He laughed with genuine mirth and for a brief instant, he looked much younger than he ever had in Sansa's eyes. That brought her to wonder just how old he could be exactly.
"You're giving me a lot of credit – and very little to those old, mighty gods of yours. I'm just a bloody man. How by the buggering Others am I supposed to trick those glorious gods of yours?"
He had a point, yet Sansa was not about to admit it. "The competition is not over yet. Perhaps you'll lose to Arys."
The Hound raised his good eyebrow. "That may be, who's to say? But I wouldn't set my hopes too high if I were you. Arys, I've fought him before. He's a capable warrior, but not so much as me. I'm confident I'll eliminate him, as I did all those other buggers before him."
"You could be wrong."
He pursed his lips and shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter to him, yet Sansa had a hard time believing that. "Anything's possible. Still chances are, I'm right about this." Features hardening, he narrowed his eyes at her. "What will you do then, if I win? Go cry to the Elders and try to convince them the gods have made a mistake, that I was not meant to be the Horned Man?"
"Of course not! I believe in the gods' wisdom. I... I was wrong to say you may trick them," Sansa admitted reluctantly. "If you win, I'll have no choice but to accept it as their will and go along with what is expected of me."
"No choice," he repeated, a hint of bitterness to his gravelly voice. His face set in that so very intimidating scowl he almost always sported. "I thought being chosen as the Summer Maid was a great honour. Doesn't sound like it to hear you speak."
His remark shamed Sansa. While she knew very well that he was just twisting this whole situation to his advantage, in the end, he did speak the truth. Taking on the Summer Maid's role was an incredible chance very few young girls ever got, not some chore to execute with a heavy heart.
Unable to look him in the eyes anymore, Sansa lowered her gaze sheepishly. "It is a great honour indeed, I just didn't choose my words correctly. I'm sorry for that, if it offended you. I just meant that the outcome is not for me to decide, but I will gladly follow the gods' will."
The Hound's eyes grew wider and he stared at her for a few seconds, tilting his head to the side. "Gladly? Will you really?" he asked, his lips curving in the smallest of smiles.
Sansa glanced up at his face, her cheeks burning. He was mocking her again, she knew it very well, yet what else was she to answer but the truth? "As any good Summer Maid ought to. I'll do as I need to please the gods," she murmured.
"Well, that's good to hear," the Hound said lowly. His smile broadening, he lowered his eyes on her body, his gaze unhurriedly trailing down her curves.
"I really should go now," Sansa breathed, closing her cloak more tightly around herself. Her legs shaking under her, she turned around and walked away before he could add another word.
The Hound didn't try to stop her this time around. "Be careful and watch your steps, little bird," she heard him rasp as she strode towards the village. "We'll see each other in a few hours."
Sansa didn't reply nor looked back, yet she nodded and did as he bade her. She didn't want to fall down again, especially for as long as she was in his sight. One time was humiliating enough in one day.
She was shivering and troubled when she arrived back in the village. Thankfully, no one noticed she was coming from the Hound's longhouse. Still, that didn't save her from being scolded by her mother as she stepped in her view.
"Where by the Children have you been, Sansa? I've been looking for you everywhere!" the woman exclaimed, worry lines creasing her brow. She had been standing in the threshold of their family's longhouse in her nightgown and hurried in her direction from the instant she spotted her. "We need to get you ready! The Summer Maid cannot be late for the bouts!" she reminded her sternly.
Sansa apologised and entered the longhouse with her mother and with her help, she immediately began getting ready for the last duel of the competition.
As Mother brushed her long auburn hair, Bran, Arya and Rickon ran and laughed around them.
"Out!" Mother ordered after Rickon bumped into her and almost made her fall down. "This is no place to play, especially today!"
Sansa's younger brothers and sister knew better than to speak back or disobey mother when she used that voice. In less than a second, they were all out and the longhouse was as silent as a tomb.
It was easier to think now without their incessant chatter, but was it really desirable to do so? Sansa wasn't sure. In the end, she'd have probably preferred not to have to muse back on her conversation with the Hound. But it was no good. It kept replaying in her mind, over and over again.
No matter how much she'd have rather it not be so, she knew he was right. He would win. And he'd been right on more than that. The gods couldn't be tricked - Mother had said as much herself. And the gods, well they did ask that a Horned always be the strongest man of the clan. It was the whole point of the competition in fact, to determine who it was.
Thus in order that the gods be appeased and grant the land and people who inhabited it the summer they craved... it probably, really... really needed to be him.
Sansa sighed deeply. Had he not given his name, it might actually have been a problem. Indeed, how would the gods react if she was sacrificed only to the second strongest man of their clan? False springs had been known to be triggered for lesser affronts.
And yet those revelations didn't make the prospect of being taken by the Hound any less frightening. All will be fine, she assured herself, shutting her eyes and breathing in deeply.
Mother was pinning the Summer Maid's white veil over her hair, Sansa realised. She gulped. Oh, gods! Already?
"You're all set now. You should eat something while I dress," the older woman said, before heading for the other end of the longhouse where hers and Father's quarters were.
Sansa nodded, resigned, and grabbed some of the fried bread there was left on the table. It was a bit dry, but it did her some good anyhow.
Shorts minutes later, the whole family all headed to the weirwood circle. The place was already crowded when they arrived and people saluted Sansa respectfully. It was still strange to her; she was not accustomed to being so highly regarded. Thus far, she had only been the daughter of a respected couple, a mere child. People had never given her any true attention. But this would be her life from now on. Summer Maids retained an aura of respectability throughout their lives.
The last bout was about to begin. Robb helped Sansa up her high seat and took place not far from her with the rest of their family. As the crowd grew somewhat hushed, waiting for the duel to begin, Bran and Arya started bickering loudly enough that Father had to silence them with a severe stare. They thankfully obeyed at once, for they knew they would hear of it later on otherwise.
"Attention to all!" Orog's deep voice resounded in the clearing. He was standing near the Elders' bench, a contented grin on his old, winkled face. "The last duel, the one which will give us our new Horned Man, will soon begin. Let's all pray the old gods of the forest that him who wins is to their taste and that by the Summer Maid's sacrifice, we be granted that long and fruitful summer we all have been praying for."
Everyone cheered and clapped, the hubbub only growing louder as both Arys and the Hound appeared at the edge of the clearing. Each man took place at the centre of the weirwood circle, facing each other. They were stretching to warm up even as the priests and priestesses walked around them with their censers filled with burning sage. The scent was agreeable, calming - Sansa had always thought so – yet this morning, it did little to sooth her nerves. Her palms were so clammy and her heart was fluttering like a caged bird. The anticipation was unbearable!
As she waited for Orog to announce the beginning of the duel, Sansa studied the two men that stood before her. Arys was very handsome and while he was not as imposing as the Hound, he was nonetheless tall and very muscular. Perhaps the Hound was wrong after all and that he'll lose to Arys, she mused. Surprisingly, the thought didn't cheer her up as she'd have expected. It's because I don't really believe in it, Sansa concluded. She knew very well no one could withstand the Hound, so what use was there in hoping? Besides, what would it change? We'll just be symbols, me and the Horned Man, nothing more.
"Let the last duel begin!" Orog exclaimed at last.
From the get go, the confrontation was brutal. As always, the Hound was as solid as a tree and the blows he gave were powerful enough that they might have killed Sansa had she been on the receiving end. Yet Arys was much sturdier than her and nearly as violent as his adversary. He was adapting his style to the Hound's, Sansa realised, for she had never seen him fight with such ferocity.
The crowd was shouting and cheering as one each time a punch or kick was successfully delivered. As the Hound grabbed Arys by the shoulder, voices of men urging him to shove him into the hard packed snow could be heard booming through the press. The Hound didn't disappoint and pushed his opponent so brusquely, the man was sent reeling. Surprisingly though, just as he appeared to be about to collapse to the ground, Arys miraculously managed to stay on his feet. Then in the blink of an eye, he was on the Hound, delivering an unexpectedly strong punch to his face. The later had not expected the attack and did not have time to protect himself. He staggered backward, the view of his bloodied nose making the crowd roar.
Oh, gods! Sansa thought, gasping. Was his nose broken? It was bleeding profusely! Unlike her fellow tribesmen, she hated the sight of blood!
Arys didn't waste the advantage the blow had given him and at once threw himself on his opponent. They both fell to the ground, the Hound on his side with Arys over him, keeping his arm twisted behind his back.
He's going to win, Sansa thought, her eyes wide in disbelief and mouth slighting opened. She was totally baffled, felt a bit numb even though her heart was hammering wildly in her chest.
But then, as all hopes seemed lost for the Hound, the man literally hurled Arys from him with such force, he was projected nearly a yard away. The impact was brutal and the Hound made the most of it by immediately slugging Arys on the jaw a couple of times before pressing him hard into the snow. With all of the huge man's heavy weight sunk into him, Arys could barely move anymore. All he could manage was to struggle pitifully.
"One... two... three... four..." was shouting Orog.
The tribesmen had grown nearly silent now, all eyes on Arys as he vainly fought to free himself from the Hound.
"...Five... six... seven... eight..."
Sansa was sitting at the edge of her seat and fixing the scene with her stare, her pulse beating so loudly in her ears, it was nearly all she could hear.
"...nine... and ten!"
The crowd roared, though no one seemed all that surprised by the last duel's result. The Elders seemed content, so as the priests and priestesses, and they all nodded approvingly as they exchanged words Sansa couldn't hear. As for the Hound, he was ecstatic. A large grin on his lips, he let go of a defeated Arys and stood up. His smile looked out of place with all the blood he had on his face. There was something feral about his expression though, a wild glint in his eyes which made it impossible for Sansa to look directly at him. She feared meeting his gaze.
It's going to be him...The Hound will be my Horned Man, she mused, biting at her lip.
Out the corner of her eye, she vaguely noticed the look on her sister's face. It was one of disgust, yet when they locked eyes for a short instant, she grinned mischievously at her. She must be delighted, thinking Sansa was distraught. By Arya's side, the rest of the family was applauding quietly, none of them smiling.
Sansa looked away, ill at ease. She was so confused. It was unexpected, but unlike Arya clearly assumed, she felt... what? Relieved? Yes, that was it though the feeling had naught to do with the Hound's victory. She didn't care one bit about him and would have dutifully accepted any winner anyway, as any good Summer Maid ought to. No, it was simply that uncertainty had been nerve-racking. At least now that she knew for sure who'd be her Horned Man, she had a better idea of what was to come and could start preparing mentally for it.
But will I ever be ready for this? It seemed impossible that she ever be anything but scared to death at the thought of performing her part of the ritual sacrifice. And yet, it would be coming very soon. In only a week's time…
Sansa breathed in deeply, her previous brief moment of calm all but gone. The gods will grant me the courage I need, she tried to convince herself. She would need all the strength they could lend her and badly at that...
