Night is still young when Sansa rolls up her nightdress to watch her skin in the trembling light of a candle. Her hip still hurts but its colour is changing. Like all her bruises, at first it was black and spilled underneath her skin like wine on a table. But now she can see the purple shade turning into the colour of bile. The maester has allowed her to walk slowly to exercise her muscles a bit. In his opinion, which has been announced to the court later today, she still has a few days of recovery ahead so Joffrey wouldn't call for her for some time.
She stands up from her bed carefully. She can feel every muscle in her back and leg. She is still weak but she can't stand her chamber any longer. She needs to get out, she needs to find a place where she can breathe fully and spend some time not thinking, just trying to enjoy a moment of peace. And she knows a perfect place for that.
She puts on her cloak on her nightdress and blows out the candle. She waits for a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She knows her journey will be painful if she has to run away from the guards. Her hip isn't ready for any sudden movement yet. And she knows that the Hound won't be able to help her this time. Every third night he keeps watch at the king's door. She wonders for a second how does she know that but struggles to remember. She just knows that he is occupied tonight. A little prick in her chest surprises her when she realises it's a feeling of regret of not having an opportunity to meet him. Sansa hasn't seen him ever since he carried her out of the gardens.
She opens her door carefully and listens but there is no one in the corridor. She walks out slowly, checking her present skills for moving. When she is sure that walking slowly, annoyingly slowly doesn't cause much pain she closes the door behind her and enters the shadows that dance in the corridors.
She reaches the right hall without any problems but when she enters the staircase leading to her terrace she hears loud footsteps. She forces herself to run up the stairs to avoid being noticed but the pain is too much for her. When she reaches the terrace her face is blushed with effort and twisted in pain. Her chest moves heavily up and down, one hand on the wall helping her to balance her body, the other one protectively covering her hip.
It's how he sees her. Vulnerable and stubborn at once. Hurting and persistent. He has heard her when she was climbing up hastily, obviously in too much pain to be quiet enough to stay unnoticed. First thing that appears in his mind is anger. She again acts foolishly to come up here and it wakes up fury inside his head.
"Looking for some trouble little bird?" he grumbles not getting up from his chair.
She raises her eyes and struggles at first to notice him in the dark. There is no moon tonight that would light up the darkness. But his voice is enough. It's enough to make her feel comfortable and… safe. It's enough to surprise her and produce a spark of joy in her eyes. A spark so unexpected and uncontrolled that it hits Sandor with its purity and spontaneity.
He gets up and walks towards her. Another shocking thing for him is her hand that stretches out to meet his arm. She grips his tunic and allows him to lead her to the nearest chair. He can feel her slender body so close, so fragile. But she doesn't quiver when he embraces her waist, maybe too boldly but protectively nevertheless.
"I thought you are on duty tonight, my lord" she says weakly still trying to catch her breath.
Confusion that enters his mind is so dominant that he fails to scoff at the title he despites so much. Was she paying so much attention to him as to know when he has to look after the sleep of this pitiful creature who wears the crown? And if so, than what for?
"King's orders" he says briefly, too worried both by his thoughts and by the way she stumbles on her short path to the nearest chair.
They finally reach the one that stands beside the balustrade and she sits carefully. Only when she rests her head on the cold stones of banisters does she let go of his tunic. Sandor steps aside not sure what to do next. He watches her as long as her eyes are closed and her breath becomes even.
When she speaks he turns to face the view of the city.
"Is this terrace your private place, ser?" her voice is steady now, no pain in it.
"I have no private places in the castle." he answers trying to ignore the title once again.
"I thought, since I meet you every time I come here, that this might be your personal space. "
Personal… he hasn't got many personal belongings let alone the right to call places his own. Yet somehow he sees her point, this place comforts him. Watching the city beneath the castle sooths his nerves and mind. Or it is simply a good place to get drunk and forget about the entire world. Either way he finds it calm and quiet, very different from the rest of the castle.
"Why do you come here?" he asks, realising how harsh his voice sounds only when the words have already been spoken. He regrets it even more when he notices her flicker at the sound of his question.
"I… I'm tired of my cage. I suffocate there. And here I can finally breath again."
When he turns to face Sansa her eyes are already locked on him. He wants to smile at the thought of the times when she was too scared to look him straight in the eye. But now she is a different person. Little bird or not, she has the strength of wolves, there's no denial about that.
She wants to say something, keep the conversation going, enjoy the very few moments she has with him alone but she can't say a word. It's like he is hypnotizing her with his cold grey eyes. They don't reveal any emotions but she is sure something changes when they are alone. Something more human appears in his expression.
She suddenly wants to be closer to him. She can't even explain it to herself, she just feels this overpowering need in every inch of her body.
Not turning her eyes away from his, she stands up slowly and takes these few steps that separate them. Her walk is slow enough not to cause any pain. She reaches to his face, her movement shy but her hand steady. At first he is too shocked to react but when her delicate fingers touch his scars he grabs her wrist brutally and pulls her hand away from his face.
Pure anger is now visible in his eyes and sadness in hers. He still holds her firmly when she stretches her fingers to try to caress his face once more. She is unsuccessful however so she balls her hands into fists. Why is he so stubborn? What harm could she possibly do to him?
"Always so hateful" she hisses. Sadness is mixed with anger and disappointment in her voice. Her eyes sparkle with so many emotions that he looks breathless at the beauty she represents.
"Don't touch the dog, little bird. It may bite" he forces himself to chuckle bitterly not sure what has just happened.
He lets her go and turns around. He wants her to leave him. He wants to grab her closer and never let her go. Emotions within him are at war but no matter which side seems to take control there is always anger that conquers them all.
He has no idea for how long he has been standing like that but when he turns around she is gone. He rubs his scarred face trying to get rid of the memory of her touch, so unexpected and gentle. He knows he won't be able to forget it for a long time. Not that he really wants to.
He leaves the terrace and goes to his small chamber. His cold bed awaits him, darkness ready to endow him with the most beautiful dreams he has ever had.