A/N: Thank you for all your reviews, they really want to make me write more! This one was a bit later than I would've liked, but I got a new laptop, and Microsoft Office was being weird..
I hope you like it, and please review, review, review! Also ideas to what you want to happen next? I need inspiration:) Oh, and for Sandors appearance, I actually looked that up in Game Of Thrones, nerd that I am. Teehee.
When the sky coloured red at the edges, they stopped at a small pond. They would have to sleep out in the open, but they were far enough from any roads.
Sansa refused Sandors hand to help her get off Stranger, but regretted it immediately when she jumped and felt a sharp pain shoot through her right foot. She didn't make a sound, however, and that was good. She wouldn't let him see her as a helpless child. She walked away swiftly, ignoring the stabbing in her foot.
She had drank too much, and now she had to make water. But when she reached the trees that would shield her from Sandors view, his voice stopped her dead in her tracks.
'Where do you think you're going?'
His voice was rough, and harsh, but underneath she could hear his concern. He was sweet, really. Even though she hadn't said a word all night, he was still protecting her.
Remember the game, Little Bird, she told herself.
She turned around, placing one hand seductively on her hip.
'I was just going to relieve myself, if you don't mind. As you may have noticed, I was rather thirsty last night.'
He just stood there, reins in hand, mouth slightly open. Like that, he didn't seem big and scary at all. Actually, he just looked like some sort of big ugly teddy bear.
After a few seconds, Sansa arched her eyebrow.
He cleared his throat and awkwardly scratched his scars.
'Uhm, yeah, of course. Just don't go too far Little Bird.'
He turned and led Stranger away.
Sansa walked a short while before squatting down.
Walking back, she wondered how she was going to make up with Sandor without ruining the game. By the time she got back, she had a plan.
He had tied Stranger up, brushed him off and brought him some apples from a nearby tree. He had also spread out the bedrolls, far apart, taken off his armour, and assembled dinner. They were running out of dried meat, but apples and some berries should keep their bellies full enough. He would hunt later.
Right now, he wanted to be as nice as possible to Sansa, he still felt so guilty about his comment earlier. When she got back, he gave her one of the spare linens he had brought.
'I'm going to find some wood for a fire. I'll stay close, but you can- uhh, I mean, if you wanted to- uh, you can, you know, freshen up.'
He gestured vaguely towards to pond.
Blabbering fool.
However, she took the linen and smiled softly at him.
Maybe she wasn't that mad at him anymore. She was never one to be unkind. Which made him feel even worse about himself.
He stalked through the trees, collecting small branches. He collected too much, but still he was finished quite fast. He sat down within hearing distance of the pond. He could hear the soft splashes of the water, and tried not to think of Sansas naked body, of her wet hair flowing like fire down her back.
When the sounds stopped, he waited a little longer before returning.
She stood barefoot next to the bedrolls, brush in hand, her wet hair framing her beautiful face, that was now flushed by the cold water.
He quickly started the fire so she could warm up. She had also washed her green dress, which was now sprawled out on a nearby rock. Instead, she wore a plain black dress. It made her skin even paler, but she looked beautiful.
When she caught him looking at her, he quickly averted his eyes. He didn't want her to think he was staring at her. She was supposed to feel safe with him, not disgusted.
If only he could find the words to apologize properly. At times like this, he wished he could chirp like her. She would know what to say.
'Sandor? I'm sorry.'
Wait, what?
'I was being unreasonable. You were right. You have saved me, and I should be grateful, instead of rude and inconsiderate just because you said something I didn't want to hear.'
Was she actually apologising to him? Why? She had done nothing wrong!
He looked at her in wonder, and she moved closer to him, her eyes level to his as he was still squatting by the fire.
'I didn't want to hear the truth. But that's why you're better than all those knights. You tell the truth, no matter how hard it might be. And I'm sorry.'
She looked at her feet, but glanced up at him uncertainly when he didn't respond.
Had she really no idea how irresistible she was?
'Aye, Little Bird,' he grunted, looking to the ground as well, 'you know I will never hide the truth from you.'
Do you have brain damage?
Why couldn't he just apologise as well, just say after her; I. Am. Sorry.
He hated himself, for being rude, for being awkward, for not being the man she wanted, the man she deserved. After he brought her home, he should just forget about her. He would never be good enough.
No, he would never hide the truth. He was too good for that. He was truly an honourable man. Her heart stung a little when his comment reminded her of the fact that she was playing him, but she ignored it. She reached up to his face, and cradled her hand to his unscarred cheek. The skin there felt soft despite the stubble that had grown these last few days.
He raised his eyes to hers, and she saw his astonishment. She idly wondered whether anyone had ever touched him like this. She knew he had had whores, but certainly they would just pleasure him and leave. They wouldn't have dared to touch the Hound like he was a person, with a heart.
She stepped closer and hugged him. Her arms didn't fit around his broad back, but it didn't matter. She felt him tense. His muscles were heavy under her fingers. He didn't hug her back.
He smelt like earth, sweat and horses. She didn't mind, in fact, she liked it. Like his cloak had back in the Red Keep, it reminded her of home.
She kept hugging him, even though he didn't relax at all.
Eventually, he pushed her away. Gently, this time, his big hands warm on her sides.
His eyes avoided hers, and she thought she saw a tear glistening on his cheek before he stood and turned, but she wasn't sure.
They ate in silence by the fire, and then went to bed. It was very light though, and Sansa couldn't sleep at all. She knew Sandor was still awake too, because he kept shifting at every sound from the woods. His sword was beside him, and after an hour or so, he sighed, got up, and went to sharpen it.
He picked up her dress from the rock, and hung it over a branch. She was surprised to see how carefully he handled the delicate fabric. She hadn't known those huge, rough hands could be so precise.
He sat down on the rock, took off his shirt, and Sansa watched him as he worked.
His muscles rippled beneath his skin. He was covered in scars from battle. One big jagged line traced his left shoulder. Any other man would have probably lost the arm, but not Sandor. She traced her eyes over every tiny imperfection in his skin, but yet somehow, they didn't make him imperfect. They suited him.
All except the scars on his face. Those scars stained his life, she ought to know that better than anyone. He had told her the story of his brother that one night, so long ago.
She felt sad for him. He deserved a better life, one without everyone being afraid just by looking at him.
She wondered whether he would´ve been handsome. She closed one eye, and held up a thumb to cover her view of the left side of his face.
His nose was rather large, and he had sharp cheekbones. But it was his eye that caught her attention. A deep, warm grey, like molten iron, showing his complete concentration.
Yes, he would've been handsome. Still frightening, perhaps, but that was just his size.
She got up and walked to stand beside him. He glanced up at her, but continued sharpening his sword.
When she was close enough, she traced her fingers lightly over the scar on his shoulder. He stopped moving, and his head snapped up, but she kept her eyes on the scar.
It moved something in her. The rough, slightly pink skin under her fingers somehow grasped her heart, and a tear ran down her cheek.
She didn't even know what she wanted to say to him anymore, she just stood there and cried. There was no way she could ever understand the hurt he had gone through. It had made him rough, but not cold. He would never be.
The moment she thought it, he dropped his sword, and reached out for her.
She gasped as his arms encircled her waist, and he held her close, rubbing his hand softly up and down her spine.
She cried, and in that moment she knew that she would never be able to continue her game again. She would have to find a different way to feel alive.
'Shh, Little Bird, it's gonna be okay.'
Sandor always spoke the truth, didn't he?