"We have done all we can for them, my lady," the maester told her solemly. "They are now in the hands of the gods."
The older man offered her his arm as they left the ground floor of the Guest house facing Winterfell's courtyard. The wounded men had been laid out on pallets and bedrolls and young boys were watching the fires while older women sat with the soldiers to give them water or to call the maester if he were needed again. The dead had been taken outside the walls to what remained of the winter town to prepare for burial where the ground permitted.
Sansa tried not to lean too heavily on the maester though she was exhausted almost to dumbness and could offer no words to him but only a grateful nod.
"Let me call someone to see you to your chamber, my lady. I believe Lady Mormont is in the Great Hall with Lord Umber.
But Sansa only shook her head until she remembered Sandor. "My sworn shield, maester: Sandor Clegane. I never saw him treated amongst the wounded-" she began.
"I will see to him now, my lady; I was told he remained in the hall to discuss matters of strategy with your great-uncle and the other lords present. A soldier bid me come to him when we were done with the others," he winced as he stretched his back now.
"I will accompany you," Sansa spoke quietly but firmly and the man led them across the yard.
In the Great Hall, Sansa immediately saw Sandor sitting at a table by the hearth, surrounded by men. When he saw her, he looked her over with an unabashed appreciation that shocked her. Sandor had never been careless about his feelings for her or compromised his reserve in front of others, and she was relieved to see that most were listening to the Greatjon recounting battle stories. As she moved closer, she noted that his face was flushed and his eyes wide and that there was a slick sheen of sweat on his forehead and upper lip.
"Commander Clegane, I have brought the maester to examine your injury. Have you tended the wound with boiled wine?" She was unnerved by the smirk on his face.
"I have tended myself with wine, my lady," he lifted his goblet, "and it has sufficed."
But as he set the goblet down, he knocked it over and the one-eyed man who had led Stranger through the gates reached to set it upright again and wiped the spill with his sleeve.
"P'rhaps if I off that bandage fer ye, Commander," the man offered respectfully even as he kneeled to do so without waiting for Sandor's permission. Sansa realized that she had seen the man before.
"Forgive me, but you are from the winter town, is that not right?"
The man nodded and answered her: "I am, m'lady: I'ze a cooper an' offen times brung barrels to Winterfell. I grieve fer yer lord father an' lady mother, m'lady, and the King in the North; but I was right happy t'hear ye and th'young lord'd be back. It weren't safe for folk wit' 'em Krakens an' Boltons: it's Starks we needs in th'North, m'lady, an' I'll fights fer ye-"
"Damned good fighter he is at that," Sandor grabbed the man by the shoulder and squeezed hard, "killed many a man out there, including the one that came at me." He pounded the man's shoulder now but the cooper barely flinched.
"I am grateful for your service to House Stark, and to my sworn shield," Sansa told the man sincerely.
The maester had kneeled to examine Sandor's leg while he was distracted and wrinkled up his nose.
"It is not so deep but should be cleaned and bound else it may not heal properly. Gods but much flesh was cut away here," he remarked almost to himself. "You seem feverish as well, Commander: I would advise bed rest and cool cloths. If someone would help me take him to his chamber..."
The Blackfish and the one-eyed cooper stood to bring Sandor to his feet and help him from the hall and out into the yard to cross to the keep. Sansa followed with trepidation, listening to his heavy, rattled breathing and occasional fits of chuckling as he muttered things she could not hear to the men holding him steady. When they lay him down on his bed he again looked at Sansa with heavy-lidded eyes and a hungry smile and so she excused herself to fetch cool water and what clean linens could be found. Since their talk in the Godswood, she feared that any indiscretion or sign of affection on her part would anger him or make him leave; she had not thought to fear such signs from him but she realized that he was wounded and feverish and even somewhat drunk and so he was not in full control of himself.
When she returned, they had stripped away his jerkin and boots and breeches and left him only in his shirt and tunic which fell past his hips to preserve his modesty and Sansa's. The Blackfish propped him up as the maester poured boiled wine on his thigh. Sandor grimaced and gnashed his teeth but never once cried out and Sansa admired his strength and felt a glow of pride that she loved such a man. He smiled his twitching half-smile at her as she stood with her basin and towel to tend him.
"This Stark girl will not leave me to die," he rasped jeeringly, referring to Arya at the Trident.
"You have watched over me these many moons, Commander; I will see that mine own sword shield is properly tended," she assured him levelly.
"Always a proper lady…" he chuckled.
The maester took offense at his jibe. "Our own Lady Sansa helped to nurse many soldiers in the Guest house, Commander: she is as kind and gentle as she is dutiful and hardworking. You are fortunate that she takes an interest in your care," he reproached Sandor as he tied on a fresh bandage.
"Thank you, maester," Sansa told him. "But I believe it is the fever and recent battles that are loosening his tongue," she lowered her voice to say. "I will bathe him with cool water so that you may return to the soldiers or to your own chamber to sleep. Surely you must be exhausted by your ministrations, and you are like to be needed again before the night is over."
The old man drew himself up with dignity as he looked down upon Sandor. "We will leave the door open, my lady; you have only to call if you should require…assistance." With those words he left with the cooper and the Blackfish.
Sansa sat on the side of the bed and sunk the cloth she held in the basin of water.
"Imagine if the old fart knew you've had my cock in your mouth, my lady," he rasped hoarsely.
"He is an old man, Sandor; mayhaps he would not be so very shocked as you would think," she suggested mildly.
"You're the maiden made flesh to them, girl. If they knew I had ruined you, they would slit my throat and call it a victory: for the North! Seven hells, even the bloody cooper is like to think you're too good for me."
Sansa shook her head stubbornly even as she bathed his forehead and neck. "It is men like him, and yourself, and all the other soldiers that will save the North, not me. I only wish I could ride out with you-"
He grabbed her wrist and grinned a lustful sneer. "You can ride me now, girl: even that cold water can't keep my cock from getting hard at the sight or the touch of you." He tried to push her hand under his furs but she pulled herself away.
"Hush," she hissed at him. "The door is ajar; and you are always admonishing me not to speak of…such things. You are wounded; and I- I have my moon's blood," she stammered to say.
He let go of her now and rested his head back against his bolster. His eyes widened again and then he seemed to calm. "You took the tea then," he rasped in a quieter voice, and she nodded once.
"Good girl," he breathed and she resumed stroking the cool cloth on his temples. He watched her work and she saw from his heavy eyelids that he was growing sleepy. After a long and awkward silence he spoke again, sounding slurred.
"I only want what's best for you, little bird; you know that, don't you? Only the best. That can't be me, little bird…jus' not poss'ble…" He closed his eyes.
Sansa's chin quivered at his words and she stopped bathing him, instead leaning closer so as not to be heard.
"Don't you love me anymore, Sandor?" she whispered pleadingly, abandoning the vow she had made to herself. "Please, my love, don't let another man take me for his own; I am yours and will do anything to be with you."
As she waited for his answer, she realized that he slept. Sansa sighed in resignation. Mayhaps it was for the best that her outpouring did not reach his ears for surely his own words were a result of his fever. She dunked the cloth in the basin once more and wrung it out before laying it across his forehead and stroking his now matted dark hair away from his face.
"I sat with a boy who died," she confided though she knew he did not hear her. "I held his hand and sang to him; not the Mother's hymn, of course: he would not follow the new gods here. I- I gave other men the gift of mercy when they asked for it. Help me, my lady, they begged, and so I did," she recounted with tears streaming down her cheeks. "It was not easy to do but it was the right thing, was it not? It was all I could do for them; there was naught else to be done and they would only have suffered longer, and died anyway and for me, Sandor, for my house and my family. And so I must do what I can for them as you say," she swallowed as her voice squeaked and trembled. "It will be like a dagger to my own heart, my love, but it will be the right thing, will it not? Promise me that it will be…" She took one of his hands in hers and rubbed the back of it against her wet cheek. "If only- if only you would love me until then, Sandor. I am braver with you by my side: so long as I have you…."
Sansa dropped her forehead against the hand she held now and cried.
"Sansa?"
She jumped at the sound of her name, and turned to see her great-uncle, Blackfish Tully, standing in the doorway. She wiped her tears from her face with the back of her hand as he walked slowly towards her.
"Are you alright, Sansa?" he asked in his smokey voice as he reached out to put his hands on her shoulders.
"Forgive me, great-uncle Brynden," she sniffled. "I am very tired and…I watched men die-"
He swept her into a comforting embrace. "There is nothing to forgive, Sansa. You are kind-hearted and gentle and you have a great deal of responsibility, as much as your father once carried and your brother Robb," he looked at her concernedly. "You need sleep now; let me see you to your chamber." Without another word, he leaned to pick her up and carry her in his arms but when she made to protest, he hushed her. "There's no one about to see; the guard on this hall needed the privy and so I said I would stand for him until he returned. From the pained look on his face, I wager he will be some time," he remarked.
Sansa giggled; she could not help it. The Blackfished smiled indulgently.
"Now I know you are exhausted, if you find that amusing," he told her. "Here we are."
He nudged her door open with his foot and they saw Rickon and Osha asleep across her bed, Osha sat up immediately as she heard the door and reached for her spear until she recognized them in the dimness. Shaggydog raised his dark head, alert.
"Sorry, m'lady, but the young lord wanted to know about Commander Clegane. 'E wouldn't go t'beds until he knew e'd be alright," she explained.
"Do not wake him then," Sansa whispered as the Blackfish set her down near the bed. "Help me remove his boots and get him under the furs. We three can all sleep here tonight," she insisted, "I do not think I wish to be alone after today."
"Aye, m'lady," Osha agreed easily, "We'll stay with ye, then."
Sansa gave another weak smile in gratitude and Shaggydog lowered his great head onto his paws again and closed his bright green eyes.
