It had been at least a fortnight since Sansa had been inspected by the septa. Word had travelled quickly through the kingdom of her intact innocence and Sansa had felt relief. Joffrey had fewer reasons to seek her out and when he had, her usual punishment was not as severe. She was able to sleep a little more soundly at night. The gossip surrounding her and the Hound had died in return, allowing Sansa to once more return to the shadows and maneuver silently through her day as she had done before.
Sansa had seen the Hound more frequently than she had ever remembered. She found herself passing him in the godswood, on the ways to meals, even on her occasional strolls through the gardens. Each interaction between them had consisted of darting glances and the occasional blush on her side. Sansa found it of extreme difficulty to maintain her composure around him, especially when she was not accompanied by the other ladies of the court.
One evening when Sansa had been walking back to her chambers after meeting with the maester concerning her moonblood, she had come across the Hound among a dimly lit corridor. He had been sitting on a bench inspecting his sword. Sansa watched the way he stroked the glimmering metal, his grasp on it delicate for a man with such large fingers. He seemed much more relaxed in this moment than she had ever seen him before, yet it was short lived. The Hound had looked up as she had gotten closer to him, his expression turning stern and tense as if he were displeased to see her before him.
"How are you this evening, ser?" Sansa had smiled toward him, trying her best to lighten the tense air between them.
The Hound had peered at her as if she had grown a second head and she found herself patting her hair down, unsure if she appeared unsightly. When he returned his attention back toward his sword in his lap, Sansa continued once more refusing to give up just yet, "I wanted to say…"
"Quit your chirping, girl." He had snapped at her. At once, he stood. Sheathing his sword, he turned to look at her momentarily before storming off down the corridor. Sansa had been left staring like a fool at his retreating form. Straightening her spine, she stood tall before proceeding. The opposite direction.
Sansa hated when he referred to her as "girl", it made her feel like a child. She was a woman grown, fully blossomed and yet he treated her as if she were still a babe suckling at her mother's teat. Sansa found it hard to consider how he could call her a "girl" yet he had been able to touch her as she assumed a man did toward a woman.
At night, Sansa found herself immersed in dreams of him. Dreams where he touched her as he had before, dreams where he kissed her, dreams where he had promised to take her away. She would usually wake sweating and wanting, feeling a strange emptiness deep inside of her. She was unsure where this desire for the Hound had come from but now it was all consuming, she could barely go a few minutes without thinking of him. She knew she should be repulsed by him, by who he was but she could not convince herself enough. Her strange attraction to the Hound was only growing.
Sansa had heard through rumors that her brother Robb's army was growing in capacity. Everyone in the capital was becoming agitated as new word of her brother's expanding successes in war reached the kingdom.
Sansa was upset with her brother, he had seemed to have forgotten why he had even begun the war. Her father was dead, she hadn't seen Arya since before his execution, yet Sansa still remained a prisoner in King's Landing. It seemed to her that Robb could not care less for the safe return of his sister, he only cared to advance his military to battle.
The possibility that Sansa would die in the capital only grew more likely with each passing day. Death would be her true escape from Joffrey. If she were to marry Joffrey, she would end her life before she would ever be his. She would never live under him as his wife.
Joffrey had taken to visiting Sansa's corridors most nights accompanied by a small number of his kingsguard. Meryn Trant would always lead the forces inside followed by Joffrey. The Hound would never be there, she noticed. She wondered on whose accord that was because of. Joffrey would taunt her of her brother's looming death at his hands. He truly believed he would be the one to swing the sword to end her brother's life. Sometimes, Meryn would strike her, not enough to cause her to bleed but enough to bruise. Oddly, Joffrey had not ordered her to be hit any more than that. She knew that if it were up to Joffrey, he would allow her to beat to a pulp but something was holding him back. That made her feel even more worried.
As Meryn Trant opened her door, Joffrey greeted her with a toothy smile. She had once swooned for that particular smile but now, all she felt was sick to her stomach. He was wearing a golden robe with blue embroidered flowers sewn delicately into the stitching. A brown velvet sash crossed his chest ending at his side where he kept his sword tucked into it's holster. For decoration, Sansa knew, for he had most likely never used it a day in his life. Joffrey breezed past Meryn, his sleeves flaring with each movement, and reached for Sansa's hands grasping them tightly in his own. Sansa met his cold eyes with hers and smiled warmly with her practiced gaze of nobility.
"Your grace, what do I owe to be granted the pleasure of your company for yet another night?" Sansa bowed awkwardly before him as her hands were still wrapped in his. Joffrey withdrew his fingers from hers and Sansa's arms returned to her sides. She was grateful he had stopped touching her, she would have to wash once more before the day's end.
Sansa eyes followed the King as he stepped around her and walked through her room, seemingly inspecting it. The doll her father had given her days before his beheading was picked up and thrown onto the floor behind him. Sansa watched it hit the floor, flinching as the last thing she had of her father was disregarded by Joffrey's prying gaze. He ran a hand through the dresses in her closet and even picked up the hairbrush placed before the mirror. Sansa couldn't help the confused expression that coated her face at his actions. The air in the room suddenly changed as he pivoted his footing and met her eyes once again.
"Meryn, send for my dog." Joffrey waved him off and just as quickly as he had spoken, Ser Meryn was gone. Sansa's lips parted. She sucked a large gulp of air down her throat. The need to sit down overwhelmed her but she fought it even as her knees buckled.
He couldn't know, could he? Sansa had been reckless, she had been stupid to do what she had done with the Hound. Joffrey would surely kill her.
"We have treated you very nicely, Lady Sansa, for a traitor's daughter and a traitor's sister." Joffrey traced a finger along the ledge of the fireplace. He inspected it before wiping away the dust between his fingertips.
She nodded furiously, "Of course, your grace. Too well for a traitor's daughter." She added. In her flurry of panic, she hadn't realized her body had become so tense. Joffrey had come to inspect her, she realized and here she stood, reflecting her guilty conscious and falling right into his trap. She willed herself to relax her posture yet still focused on maintaining a sense innocence and fragility. Sansa had found from her many interactions with Joffrey that he enjoyed feeding off her pain. Consequently, he also did not enjoy her happiness. Sansa forced herself to become unreadable and impassive to the King's actions, it was best to keep her true feelings hidden deep within her.
"Your brother continues his march on the capital. Him and your traitor mother's heads will decorate my wall. You know that, right Sansa?" A protest threatened to break past Sansa's lips at his words. But who would that help? He reached out to her and delicately drew his knuckles across her cheek. He was waiting for her to move but Sansa would not lean away, no matter how unwelcome his touch would be. She had learned this the hard way.
"Yes, your grace. They will be lovely decorations amongst your chambers."
"Oh, no Sansa, they will not be adorned in my chambers." He leaned forward until she could feel his breath along her ear, "But in yours, my lady."
Sansa bit her tongue. How dare he say these disgusting things to her. Curious enough, Sansa found herself uncaring of his grotesque words. She knew Robb and mother would never die at Joffrey's hands. This gave her peace in her response, "I await the day, your grace." She smiled her best smile, the one where even her eyes glowed as well.
Joffrey's eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a loud knock on her chamber door. All evidence of Joffrey's displeasure melted away at the sound and he smiled gleefully once more.
Ser Meryn opened the door and stepped through, the sounds of clinking metal following behind him. Sansa watched the Hound enter her chambers, his eyes flashing to hers before looking to Joffrey for further instruction. As he walked across the room, Sansa noticed his scars were enunciated in the light of the torches, he looked scary under this lighting. And not for the first time she wondered how different his life would have been if his brother had never inflicted that inhumane torture on him. His armor clinked and clanked as he came to a halt before the boy-king. The Hound looked massive next to Joffrey and Joffrey in turn appeared foolish next to him.
Did the Hound know why they had both been summoned to her room? Joffrey would not punish the Hound for his part, she knew that. It would all be placed upon her shoulders and Joffrey would punish her accordingly. She would not be killed as she was the only pawn that could control her brother's movements but that didn't mean what they did to her wouldn't hurt.
"Hound, doesn't my lady look lovely tonight?" Sansa was unsure of what Joffrey intended to happen. But she knew for whatever was about to happen, she would surely not leave the night unscathed. The Hound let out an affirmative grunt in response to Joffrey's question. He kept his face unwavering and his eyes trained forward. Joffrey was evidently upset by the Hound's lack of well… anything but continued on, directing his words toward Sansa.
Joffrey clasped his hands together, "Lady Sansa, how would you feel about my Hound taking a turn with you tonight? I do believe Ser Meryn deserves a break for the evening. And my hound could definitely use the exercise." Joffrey patted the Hound on the back, admiring his strength. Sansa's gaze flicked over to the Hound but he remained still and unfazed by his new assignment. Taking a deep breath, Sansa swallowed her fear and spoke.
"Whatever your grace decides is proper." Joffrey scoffed at her response. He was evidently annoyed at her lack of fear.
"Hound, beat fear into my lady." The Hound took a step forward and finally he met her eyes. He was completely vacant. There was no sign of the man she had encountered outside of her room, no sign of the passion or any sign of emotion other than the constant annoyance the Hound wore on his face at all times. He stopped in front of her and Sansa met his stare dead on, refusing to back down. She was tired of being seen as weak and fragile, it only egged Joffrey on. He would no longer be able to break her anymore. She could do little to stop him but Sansa did hold power over herself.
"Go on, Hound." Joffrey chided on. Yet, the Hound remained still. His eyes had not left hers and still, he made no effort to advance on her. Sansa was sure her face wore the confusion she was experiencing. Even the Hound seemed confused by his own unwillingness.
"Hound!" A screech from behind her echoed the otherwise quiet room. He had not budged at Joffrey's call. He still continued to watch her. If the Hound did not strike her soon, she would be condemned to a fate much worse at someone else's hand. Sansa pleaded with him through her eyes. She hoped he would be able to understand what she was asking of him. The sooner he complied, the sooner it would all be done.
He made to look as if he would turn away before his arm outstretched and his palm collided with her cheek. The strength of the blow was enough to send her tumbling to the floor, pain blossoming in her behind from the sudden impact. She clutched at her throbbing cheek but made no attempt to look anymore toward the Hound, Joffrey would be displeased. He might even consider her seeking comfort in the Hound. Instead, Sansa kept her eyes downturned and unfocused. Joffrey would most likely already be upset by the Hound not following his immediate orders.
Sansa pushed herself off the floor and wiped at her dress before standing straight, staring at those who found joy in her pain. She hoped her expression reflected the building steel on the inside. She would not cower as Joffrey expected. The room had become deathly silent at her unusual behavior, the only sound she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears. Resilience was what Starks were made of. In her remaining days, she would remember the strength of her family.
She watched the Hound's mouth part slightly before Joffrey quickly pushed him out of the way and gave her a hard shove. Sansa fell once more to the floor, the crack of her shoulder pushing an audible grunt out of her chest. Joffrey turned his head and gave a single glare toward the Hound.
"It seems to me that the Hound doesn't want to follow his King's orders. Why would that be, Lady Sansa?" The sneer that escaped Joffrey's lips made Sansa's stomach curdle as if she had drank sour milk. Sansa kept her lips sealed and watched him grow impatient by her refusal to participate in his games. Just as Joffrey began to advance on Sansa once more, the Hound spoke, immediately halting Joffrey.
"Without the fucking, there's no fun in it." The Hound spoke. Sansa thought she could hear bitterness coating his words but she hoped Joffrey would accept and think no more of their underlying meaning. As quickly as the Hound had spoken, Joffrey threw back his head and let out a roaring laugh. Sansa supposed Joffrey admired the Hound's bluntness. And as much as she didn't care what Joffrey thought of her, she let out a breath of relief that her relationship with the Hound was no longer being questioned.
"Well put, Hound." Joffrey turned and signaled toward Meryn. With a simple nod of his head, Meryn began to step toward Sansa. Sansa watched him approach her as she was still sitting on the floor beneath all three men who stared down at her. Meryn raised his foot and gave her a hard kick pushing Sansa onto her side. Sansa was used to this part. She knew soon Joffrey would grow bored and she would grow numb and he would order Meryn to stop beating her. Sansa had little care for who he moved on to next as long as she would be left alone.
Meryn reached for his sword and Sansa knew he would use the golden hilt to deliver the punishing blow to her abdomen. She should feel fear but yet she had an odd feeling of just wishing it to be over. Her body relaxed as she awaited the inevitable pain.
Meryn did kick, hard. The force of his sword colliding with her mid region had her gagging at first contact. She felt bile rise in her throat and she fought the urge to spill her stomach onto the hard stone floor.
Blow after blow, he continued and continued. Her mind began to drift as her body grew numb from the pain. She found herself remembering the day in the throne room when the Hound had wrapped his cloak around her after Meryn had delivered a similar punishment to her at the King's orders. Yet, she could barely remember the pain or the humiliation she suffered that day. Her fingers clutched at her dress, and she remembered the weight of the Hound's cloak when he had wrapped it around her. The smell of alcohol and a scent that was so him had filled her nostrils and she had calmed immediately before being escorted out of the throne room. She was still so unsure as to why she had felt solace in the Hound's presence.
"Enough," A voice boomed through the room drawing Sansa out of her thoughts. Sansa's eyes widened as she looked upon the Hound who was staring at her. His gaze seemed pained and tense as if he were fighting a battle within. Sansa was sure she looked pathetic spread along the floor clutching at herself, desperate to protect her body from any continued harm. Yet the Hound seemed initially unaware that he had even spoken out loud and Sansa watched him in his final attempt to save both of their skins. He regained his composure, "It is getting late, your mother should be expecting your presence by now." The air in the room was still tense and it seemed everyone was unsure of how to proceed, especially Joffrey.
But it was still Joffrey who spoke, "You are right. We shouldn't keep my lady mother waiting any longer." He brushed his fingers down his long robe, straightening out the wrinkled fabric. Sansa imagined in the process he was also trying to recompose himself, not just the material.
Joffrey quickly strode out of the room followed by Meryn Trant. The Hound exited last but before he closed the door behind him, his eyes found hers a last time. But as quickly as he had, he was gone.
Sansa could not sleep that night. She was growing tired of tossing and turning. What had happened that day continued to replay before her eyes and with each play, Sansa grew more unsure of what had actually happened. The longer she thought about it, the more bold she became.
Sansa pulled herself from her bed and quickly threw a sleeping robe around her shoulders before retreating from the safety of her room. She knew where the Hound slept and before she could even process what she planned to do, she was standing outside his door, her hand slightly raised preparing to knock on the old wood.
She knocked lightly, the power and boldness she felt a moment ago began to dissipate. A minute passed by and Sansa began to think her actions foolish. The actual realization of where she was and who she was seeking hit her like a rock. Just as she was about to turn away from the door, it swung open. There before her stood the Hound, shirtless wearing only his briefs.
She opened her mouth to speak but all she could let out was a small gasp before the Hound pulled her into his room, slamming the door behind them both.