Chapter 4
He wakes up and the first thing he sees is her smiling face. Obviously, she's been watching him for a few minutes, lying on her side. She's not confused, nor frightened. She isn't even blushing. Her small hand rests on his chest as if it was its place. It seems odd, but as she grew more confident during the night, he got flustered. When he realizes his hand is set on her waist, he feels like a green boy. He has twice her age, has seen many things in his life, but it doesn't matter; the embarrassment and fear of being turned down he experienced with girls when he was fourteen are back. It's even more painful because he cares for her, whereas those girls meant nothing for him. She doesn't want to move and buries her face in his cloak. And now, he wants her.
"Look at your tangled hair" she says, touching a lock.
He could try to kiss her, but chooses to frown as if he was offended. She laughs, her face half hidden by his cloak. She's so beautiful he aches for her, even if he knows it's impossible. This girl could lead him to his ruin and he would follow her without hesitation. She giggles, tips her head back and he eyes her intently. Now tell me who's the prisoner. She stops laughing; she must have felt his greedy look and therefore blushes. Self-confidence goes from one to the other with a rocking movement: when he's ill-at-ease she become daring and when she goes bright red he regains his composure.
"Your dark hair..." he starts, "is it going to faint?"
She nods shyly, then replies "I could wash it, I suppose."
"We're almost out of food and I think Strongsong is not so far. I need to buy bread and wine there. I could get some soap too."
"That's very kind of you, but Strongsong's castle belongs to House Belmore. They're faithful to my aunt Lysa and if they learn where we are..."
"They won't. We'll go in the village next to the castle and we'll be careful. Besides, I'm not sure your aunt wants to find you. If she's clever enough, she doesn't want you by her new husband."
She nods but seems thoughtful. Suddenly, her face shines and she asks "You're worried about my dark hair, aren't you?"
/
Strongsong castle stands on a rocky spur by the river; the village is set down below. Small houses that look like hovels clutched to the hill and barefoot children running through the muddy streets are the first sights they get from the place. They walk side by side: her hood hides her hair and face while he watches the area carefully, holding the reins of their horses. He stops by the inn and tells her to wait for him. The tavern is almost empty; only two old men sip their ale in a gloomy corner. They seem so dazed they don't notice his presence. The innkeeper, a pot-bellied red-headed woman, tries to rip him off, asking twice the price for the food she sells him.
"Do you have some soap?" he finally asks, after clearing his voice.
She looks at him with a suspicious frown. "Soap?" she repeats as if was a kind of exotic goods, coming from the Free Cities. She mumbles something and waddles to a large chest. Soap seems to be precious in those lands.
"There you are," she says. "So you try to make yourself handsome, huh?"
That's a good question. Maybe he should try to look more presentable, though his face will always cause fright and disgust. After those weeks wandering in the Crownlands and the Vale, he probably stinks as badly as Flea Bottom's pigsties. However, the most urgent thing to do is to find some hot food for her: he asks for fried fish and leaves the inn relieved from a silver coin. She smiles when he comes back to her and nearly burns her hands with the fish.
"I should feed you like a child," he says, blowing on her delicate fingers.
She stays close to him and puts her hood back in its place as they go down to the river.
/
The river surroundings seem quite welcoming and they stop earlier than the other days. Once she's find kindling and branches for the fire, she asks if it's a good place to take a bath.
"A bath?" he rasps, almost shocked.
"Of course, I want a bath. Otherwise, how can I wash my hair?"
"Do as you want," he replies. "I'll be waiting for you right here, I'm thirsty."
She shrugs at his strange answer and leaves. As soon as she's out of sight, he goes to get one of skins he has just bought. Alcohol is what he needs right now: when she talked about washing her hair, he didn't understand she meant a bath. He agreed on removing the hair dye; that was the plan. But thinking of her, naked in the river is more than what he can stand. Gulps of cheap wine would soothe him, he thinks, and make him as stunned as those old men in Strongsong. Maybe the influence of alcohol could paralyze him and stop him from doing her anything wrong. He takes big gulps of wine, trying to forget why he's sat by the fire, drinking. The skin is almost empty when he realizes it doesn't work. All he can think about is the curve of her waist where his hand rested during the night. She snuggled up to him and let his hand linger there: between his callous palm and her skin, there was only the broadcloth of her dress. She's a hundred feet from where I'm standing and she's naked.
He feels like his blood is boiling, literally, and wine isn't behind this. His memories of the night before and above all, the thought that she's there, not so far from him, drive him mad. The dwarf saw her naked as the day she was born and he didn't touch her. Could he do the same? Suddenly, he understands that she makes him weak: the slightest thing she does can elate him or throw him into turmoil. He can't even behave properly when she's here. He remembers what happened in the tower of the ruined castle, a few hours after her abduction: she nearly laughed at him when his head hit the frame. As tall as he is, he's used to avoid lintels and exposed beams, but he was clearly distracted. That's the way it is, when she's close to him. He becomes a green boy again. A green boy, mad and half-drunk.
She's back and he understands he can't make it: he can't pretend when he sees her damp hair and goosebumps on her bare arms. She's only wearing a long shirt, carrying her dress and boots.
"Get dressed," he says, trying to keep calm.
"It was so cold out there," she replies, kneeling by the fire. "Soap is here, if you need some, by the way."
"Get dressed!" he commands.
She's astonished; after a second of surprise, she obeys and puts her dress on. But he knows it's not enough; quietness won't come so easily. The rope is just there, behind him. Frightened and motionless, she watches him getting up, coming to her, then grabbing her arm.
"What are you doing?" she asks as he drags her towards the trees.
She doesn't resist, though. He ties her fists together, makes her lean against a trunk. She could struggle with him or try to move, but instead of defending herself she stares at him. Ignoring her and gritting his teeth, he seizes the end of the rope, ties her to the tree. When it's done, she's crying silently and he runs down to the river. Now I know I won't do her any harm.
Water soothes him more efficiently than wine. He can't feel any pain in the icy stream. However, he can't stand the idea of her crying under a tree: he rushes out of the river, dresses up as fast as he can. She's not sobbing, nor saying anything when he arrives, out of breath: when he remove the rope, she wipes her tears and tries to decipher his expression. He takes one of her fists, despite her gasp of surprise and gently strokes it.
"I'm sorry," he says in a repentant tone. "I won't do that again."
"Why?" she asks, shaking.
"I'm mad. Everyone knows it."
Once again, her insistent look makes him feel uneasy. What does she see when she stares at him? Is she able to guess at what he's been through? What he experimented at war or when serving the Lannisters? Does she have the slightest idea of what he felt during Robert's rebellion, when he first met the fury of battlefield and the sensation of his sword piercing a man's chest? Maybe she knows instinctively a part of his life. No matter how mad it is: sometimes he feels she can read him like words on a page.
/
They eat in silence and he feels so stupid he can't say anything. I can't even apologize properly.
"Why did you do that?" she says finally. "Was it to remind me I'm your prisoner?"
"No" he gasps. Maybe he's wrong about what she sees in him.
"Because you don't act as if I were your prisoner, most of the time. I know what it is to be a prisoner, out there in King's Landing and that's not..."
"You don't know anything, girl," he answers softly. "I did something stupid and I'm sorry. I mean it. But don't try to understand why I did what I did. I spoil everything... That's the way I am. There's nothing to say about what happened. I did that because I wanted to."
She swallows, then asks, whispering "What is that supposed to mean?"
Thank you, everyone for following and reviewing! This week, there's two new chapters: I hope you'll enjoy both of them.
To blueSands : Choosing Sandor's POV was a serious challenge so your review means a lot to me! Anyway, getting into the skin of Sandor is very interesting.
To atiketook: Thank you. Hope you'll like this chapter and next one!
To Xarine: I'm glad you like it. Depicting Sansa is sometimes a bit difficult, but next chapters will show how determined she is.