4. Bleak and Burdensome
Sansa's heart was beating wildly, a drum procession gone out of control. She lifted her hand to knock again, repeating his title and name louder this time. Her fingers were shaking as she did so. A slamming against the door was her reply, and she was so terrified and shocked that she dropped her candle to the floor where it petered out and went dead before she could recover it. The hall was swallowed in darkness, black at every angle. Her heart leaped up into her throat as she pulled the cloak around her as to shield herself from the bleak nothingness swirling about her.
"Lord Clegane!" She managed to cry out, again. Her determination was growing with her, even as her spirits were shrinking away. She didn't know why she thought it was intelligent to wander about the Keep looking for the loathsomely frightening Sandor Clegane-what part of her felt so tied to him? What stupidity made her think that he would buckle and fall onto his knees when he saw her? She'd been thinking her stupid fairy stories again, and had turned the beast into a prince.
What did it matter? It was too dark to turn away; her options were completely shot through. She backed away from the Hound's door and watched as the faint light that was radiating died away, darkening the hall completely. Lightening pulsed outside, silver streaks throbbing beneath the door. Thunder banged about, and heavy footsteps rushed towards the door.
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She'd know his rage before she saw his face-whoever she was. He blew out the only light he'd allow himself and didn't hesitate. His rage was surging in tidal waves, a deluge of all of his hatred directed at the door-whatever wench was stupid enough to come looking for him in his quarters deserved to feel the brunt of all of it. She couldn't possibly be smart-the dumb girl should have ran as soon as she was brought to the keep. Disturbing him was enough to make his ire swell to uncontrollable proportions.
He took a few long, heavy and drunken steps towards the door and audibly growled.
"Leave me be!" He barked, at least giving her the chance to run.
"I-I cannot-I dropped my candle! Please help me!" The voice on the other side cried out. He knew he was too drunk-for a moment he thought that the voice sounded like her voice. This wench was taunting him-some sickening magic that turned his stomach. He threw the latch of the door free and pulled it open.
Another crack of thunder coursed through the halls-booming and echoing off of the walls, a deafening sound. He reached out into the darkness, grabbing the shadow figure from the hall, pulling her into his chamber.
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The overly strong hands on her shoulders dug in deeply, and she cried out. A shock of pain ran through her, and a black terror rose into her stomach.
"Please!" She cried out, her eyes searching through the darkness to see him.
"Why have you come to disturb me? Seven fucking hells girl, you'll regret it!" He screamed, lurching towards her. His hulking figure bore down on her as he shoved her further into the room until her back hit his bed post.
Sansa had tears streaming down her face and she was shaking. It was confirmed, she'd been a fool to wander the halls alone. She braced herself, remembering the beatings she'd taken in King's Landing. She realized he'd never struck her because he'd never been ordered to. She drew the cloak around her and tried to ready herself for the back of his hand or a fist. What a fool-she'd nearly imagined him to be kindly.
"Please, Lord Clegane-please, I thought you'd want me to come to you-" She whispered, steadying herself against what she was sure was to come.
"Why the fuck would I have wanted that, wench?" He yelled angrily. She sobbed audibly, shivering in terror. "Who the fuck are you to come here? Who?"
"Your betrothed." Sansa murmured, confused. Who?
"What is your fucking name, girl?"
"Do you not know me?"
The Hound paused and drew in a breathe; his own hands were shaking hard against her shoulders clothed in his discarded cloak.
"Of course I don't know you, wench. You were sent to taunt me. Why were you sent to taunt me?" He spat out through gritted teeth. His rage had thickened into a disenchanted sadness-a desperation that would have broken his heart had it not already been ruined, like his face-his life, his anything and everything.
"You do know me." She whispered, as lightening illuminated the room-turning everything silver for a moment, everything but the black rage in his eyes. Everything was suddenly clear. "My name is Sansa. Sansa Stark."
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Sandor's hands dropped from her shoulders as he tripped away from her, he suddenly was the one that was terrified. For a moment in the lightening he could see her clearly-every feature illuminated by the crystalline electricity of the storm. She looked as pale as a spirit.
"How could you be here? What has happened? How?" He cried out, more like a goaded animal than an angry beast.
"I was sent here, my lord-" Sansa whispered, her own fear melting away from her. She was relieved that nothing horrid was to come-she had nothing to shelter herself against now. The sound of rain was plinking hard against the windows, the wind howling outside of the keep.
He didn't respond. She couldn't see him, her eyes couldn't cut through the darkness.
"Sandor?" She whispered his name, barely audible. She repeated his name again. "Sandor Clegane, do you loathe me for being here?"
"Seven hells, she says my name. I must be seeing ghosts." He muttered to himself, backing away until his own frame was pressed against the wall. "What tragedy happened? I didn't save you-" He whispered, a low moan in the back on his throat.
"Sandor, please. I can't see you. Come back." She urged, wishing that she could will him to be nearer-the emptiness of the darkness was more horrible than his violence.
He took a cautious step towards her, followed by another and another. He took enough steps until the tips of his boots were touching the tips of her slippers. He knew he was drunk, but this was too much. How could this be? Without warning or suggestion her tiny palm was cupped against the ruined side of his face, her soft fingertips lightly touching his skin. His spine was suddenly caught, his stomach began to roll. A feeling of sickness ran through him. He'd not eaten for days and he'd been binge drinking-the weakness that was working its way through him was now completely apparent.
"Little bird-" He whispered, his throat tightening. Within mere seconds she'd managed to undo and decimate him, converting his strength and severity into a sad, lolling weakness.
"I'm scared." She whispered, realizing that the moment of peace that she felt was a mere illusion. There was a cold fear so deep in her it was painful to think on it.
"Please forgive me, Little Bird." He whispered in return, worrying about how he'd forcefully yanked her into his room. His hands had managed to touch her again-and had brought her a measure of pain. "I'll take you back to your room so that you can sleep." He offered, meagerly.
"No-please, no. I can't go back there. I can't. It is too awful and frightening." She shook her head adamantly, letting her tears fall as freely as a river runs. Salt water tears ran down her cheeks, enough to drown a mouse or a small bird. The storm was rolling as freely, the world seemed as though it were made of water and this keep was only a bobbing island on a sea of desolation. Her hand remained on his face, unmoving-they were toe to toe, her breast was heaving heavily, his breathe was coming in pained intervals. The cruel rain crashed against the windows, another roll of thunder sounded across the empty and flat moor.
"What do you want, Little Bird?" He whispered, so thoroughly mesmerized and totally lost to her. All of his hope had been dead and this resurrection felt violently sudden. It felt like a cruel joke, a dream or hallucination he'd break away from when the sun rose. He'd be alone and without any possibility when the storm broke, he was just sure of it.
"Let me stay with you."
