Days were spent either seated at her table or busying himself with chores around the yard and household. He liked working with the animals best. Helping to load and unload supplies was also an appropriate fit for him. Collins, the kitchen master and Stallton the wagon runner appreciated the ease with which he could heft armful after armful of crates and barrels to their destination. Anything to keep moving and try not to dwell on the times he had to remain still at her side.
Three days into Sandor's new position, Captain Holloway had returned from his scouting mission. The battle experienced man was the last person to complete Sansa's council. Sandor didn't much care for the ginger beard that reminded him of Trant but the man's attitude was well enough. He found the soldier to be much like Bronn. His mouth certainly ran as much as the sellsword's.
She'd asked him to talk in private again after that meeting. The room cleared and he was once more the only one to hold her full attention.
"So, is it Brother Clegane that I should address you as now?" she spoke.
"Pfft, call me what you will. Brother is a title I was given. I didn't choose it."
"Hound, Ser, dog, Brother. None of them you chose. What is that which you want me to call you?" she bid him. Her words were as tempting as a whore flashing her wares. He wanted a single word more than any of the flesh he'd ever paid for. Did he dare to ask for it?
"Sandor," he mumbled quietly. And, Gods, he wanted to sink under the table.
She smiled warmly at him. "Very well, Sandor, tell me about the Quiet Isle. Did you truly find God there? I wouldn't have thought it of you. It doesn't surprise me but still . . . Sandor Clegane, a holy man? It has a bit of irony to it."
His name seemed to roll off of her tongue with such ease; like she'd been practicing for the moment years in advance. He didn't know why he hadn't asked for the favor sooner. It was enough to make him bite his tongue to keep a few tears at bay. She had no idea. None at all at how easily she could break him.
"Don't know about God. Found myself is all," he grumbled.
It made him think on how it seemed that she had found herself, or a new version of herself, as well.
"When I was at the gate with the other men, the guard said you'd send out supplies. Was that the plan?"
"No, I told Bullis and his men to do what needed to be done."
"And what was that?"
"To turn the snow red with your blood. Either you were raiders in need of justice or you were suffering men who deserved the gift of mercy."
"The Little Bird's got talons now."
"And you've lost yours."
"Not lost. Hidden."
"I don't enjoy being this way. Giving orders like that."
"Neither did I."
"Ah, then you did lie to me once!"
He looked at her puzzled.
""It gives me joy to kill people,"' she growled, trying her best to impersonate him. It was a terrible attempt and it made him bark out a sharp laugh. But then he grew reflective and answered her softly.
"I didn't lie to you. I lied to myself."
…
Outside, near the livestock pens, the Elder Brother and he were spending their afternoon tending to the estate's drift of hogs. The sound of heavy footsteps came up behind them and he turned directly into the oncoming fist of Brienne. The blow cracked him across the jaw, causing him to stumble back a step into the wooden fencing. It stung all the way up through his nose. He sneezed and groaned while his eyes watered. There was the salty, game like taste of blood in his mouth. The inside of his cheek had managed to catch and tear between his teeth. That was going to hurt tomorrow.
"Fucking bitch!" he swore, gaining his footing. He was furious. What right did she have to go at him like that out of no where? He'd take a swing at her face and see how she liked it.
"Sandor!" the Elder Brother shouted, "Calm down!"
He gave them both murderous glares. Staying clam was all well and good until someone challenged him. Then it was an even larger struggle to keep his temper. He pinched his robes between his fingers.
"This buys you one hit, Copper-bred," he snarled. "Hope it was worth it. Try it again and, woman or not, you'll be spitting teeth."
"You were supposed to be dead!" Brienne yelled at him and then turned herself to the Elder Brother, "And you lied about it! I ought to hit you as well!"
Her accent reminded him of the Lannisters. Highborn and laced with gold. It made him dislike her all the more.
"I didn't lie to you," the Elder Brother stated. "The Hound is dead just as I said. Perhaps you haven't met one of my most esteemed Brothers yet?
Sandor snickered. It was a nice change of pace to see someone else dangle from the Elder Brother's words. It was almost worth getting belted across the face to watch this unfold. Brienne didn't seem to find any humor in the man's words.
"That's the Hound," she argued.
"This is Brother Clegane, a repentant and mostly peaceful man," the Elder Brother smirked. "Did you ever find the man you were searching for on your quest?"
She nodded her head in answer.
"And who did you find at the end?"
She scowled at the Brother but pointed to Sandor and answered, "Not him."
"And there you have it. The man you found was no more the Hound then the one that stands in front of you now."
Brienne stepped close into Sandor's face. He stood taller and matched her stare. He didn't know what he had done to anger the woman.
"She cried over you," the tall woman told him. "Years of it I had to listen to when I told her you were dead. If you ever disappear on her again, I'll feed your heart to the crows."
"I never asked for her tears," he snapped. "She's put me up on a pedestal she built herself. I didn't have anything to do with it. I thought staying dead was the best thing I could offer her."
Brienne shook her head and gave him a pitying look.
"You've no idea do you? None at all?" she sniffed in disgust at both men as she backed away to leave. "Don't leave her again. I'll be sure to find the right man next time if you do."
…
Sansa had excused everyone that evening but had asked him to stay behind. This was becoming a habit of hers he both loathed and loved. He didn't often like the direction their talks would take them in but it was time spent by her side. It felt odd to complain about it. He should take what was offered and be glad for it.
His party of desperate men had arrived at her door step a week and some days ago. It felt like years already to him. He'd been away from her for far too long. Life had been dragging him along but he hadn't truly been living until he crossed her gates. Now moments with her turned into hours in his mind. Days became weeks while he spent them lost in thought; the afternoons stretching on and on until he had a chance to see her again. It was pathetic. It was humbling. It was right.
There was a small table off to her left, behind him with wine and glasses. She poured two cups and offered one to him. He shook his head.
"Don't tell me Sandor Clegane has lost his love for the red?" she snorted. "I'm certain the world would end if that were true."
She didn't understand how deep her words cut at times. He hung his head to answer, "No. I'll have a cup or two every so often, no more."
"Then have a glass now," she said, trying to press the cup into his hand.
"I said no," he growled.
"You're being ridiculous," she chided, once again putting the wine to his fingertips.
"I don't want to drink!" he shouted. "Not with you!"
There was an eerily silence between the two of them. They both looked around the room avoiding each others eyes. She was the first to speak.
"Why not?" Her voice had gone small with a bit of a pout. The Little Bird of King's Landing was back.
"You know bloody well why not," he countered. Her chin trembled and he cursed a thousand times over at himself in his head.
"You honestly believe you would hurt me?" she breathed.
"Don't know," he shrugged. "Best not to test it. You and wine don't mix well for me."
"It was a long time ago."
"Doesn't matter."
She sighed loudly. It was long and drawn out. She wanted him to hear her frustration. She downed the ruby liquid in her cup and his eyes widened. He'd never seen her drink before. She tossed back the sour red as easily as he had done once. At least she poured the other cup back into the glass decanter though. The wine didn't hold her captive as it had done to him. She put a hand out to him.
"Come with me," she commanded.
"What for?" he asked suspiciously. Queen or not she was still a Little Bird to him and he wouldn't be ordered about by her.
"I'm sick of looking at your guilt. I can see it trailing behind you every where you go. You wear it in place of the cloak you left behind. It's in your eyes every time I look at you and I can't stand it anymore." She drew in a breath and stood up straight. She shook her hand at him bidding him to take it.
"I wanted to wait. Let you settle in for a bit longer, but I need to show you something." She kept at him until he gingerly took her hand and rose from his seat. He wasn't sure about her intentions or purpose. He tried not to think on how warm and soft and so fucking small her hand was in his.
"Where's Brienne?" he questioned. He actually wanted to see the large woman right now. She'd knock some sense into both of them.
"I relieved her of her duties for the evening. Come," she said again, pulling on his hand and leading him out of the room. She led him through a few doors to a stairway. His stomach churned and his heart sped up.
"Where's that go?"
"To the North Tower."
"And where's your room?"
She had the good grace to blush but answered him quickly.
"Not in the North Tower."
…
I feel just like the dramatic chipmunk.
HUGE thank you to L4a for all of the help with questions, questions, questions.
Copper-bred - WOW! It took ages to settle on a word Sandor could use as an insult that wouldn't be a true curse. Copper-bred is my GOT spin on the word nickel-bred, which is basically a nice way of describing a worthless, piece of shit horse. And given Brienne's description a horse comparison sounded right coming from a pissed off Sandor. Don't worry though. They'll find each tolerable eventually.