Chapter 10: The Hound
Sandor and Linette train for what feels like months. She knows it's actually only a couple of weeks, but the number of bruises on her body says otherwise.
Hues of purple, blue, green, and yellow cover her skin. Her limbs constantly ache. She has to walk stiffly with her shoulders hunched. Sandor, of course, thinks it's hilarious. She supposes she shouldn't be too irritated with him, though. He's only trying to prepare her as best he can. She only wishes it didn't hurt so much…
Though Linette is the one who comes away from their fights with the worst of it, Sandor isn't totally unscathed. She's gotten better in the short time he's been teaching her. Before, she could barely land a hit, but now it's not unusual for Sandor to have a bruise or two as well.
She looks at him now. He's sitting on the bank of the small creek they found yesterday. His bare back faces her, his green tunic drying out on a rock beside him. Her handiwork. She snickers quietly to herself and turns back to the water to finish washing out her hair.
"What're you laughing at, girl?"
Her smile widens at his irritated voice. "Just admiring your tunic."
He growls lowly, "The damn thing's gonna be wet all fucking day."
"I'm sure you'll live."
She giggles when he starts cursing.
"You better hurry the fuck up," he warns, "I'm tired of waiting on you."
"I'm almost done."
"That's what you cunts always say..."
"Hey!" She spins around and raises her hand over the water threateningly. "Stop being so rude! I'll splash you again if I have to."
"If you do, I'm turning around. Wouldn't mind a peek at your tits again…"
"Don't you dare."
He chuckles deeply as she spins around, her arms wrapped over her bare chest. Though she's pretty sure he won't actually look at her, the threat is enough to make her hurry. She scrubs furiously at the dirt and grime on her skin, double checking that all the leaves are out of her hair, before she wades toward the shore.
Her clothes lay spread out behind Sandor. She tugs them on quickly. When she's fully dressed, her sword once again on her hip, she walks up behind him. Grinning, she gathers all her hair in her hands and twists it directly over his neck. The cold water drips onto his skin and rolls down his back.
"Bloody hell, woman!" He spins around and pushes her away from him. She smiles widely at his glare. "You keep it up, and I'll leave you to bathe alone next time."
She shrugs cheekily, "I could handle it. You've taught me well enough."
He grumbles, not expecting the compliment. Linette flashes him a smile before walking toward Stranger where he stands drinking from the creek.
"So, what's the plan for today?" she asks over her shoulder as she digs in the saddle bag for their food.
"No plan." Sandor groans as he stretches out to lean against the rock. Linette retrieves a wineskin from the bag. The sound of the earthy scented ale sloshing gets Sandor's attention. He gestures for her to toss it to him. She does. He catches it easily and begins to drink. After a long gulp, he sighs in satisfaction.
"New plan," he says, stretching his large arms out on the rock behind him, "Sit here. Drink some ale. Get drunk."
Linette rolls her eyes and sits down facing him. Her knee brushes his thigh as she leans over to drop their bundle of food on his lap.
"We have enough for that?" She pops a grape in her mouth and raises her brow at him. He shrugs before taking another generous sip, his Adam's apple bobbing as he chugs. His arm falls to the ground when he's done.
"We'll see, lass," he grins widely before letting out a loud belch with no attempt to cover his mouth.
Linette twists her face in disgust. Then, wiping the crumbs off her hands, leans toward him, her hand held out. Sandor eyes her curiously. She wiggles her fingers.
"Let me try some."
There's amusement in his eyes as he passes the wineskin to her. It's large and heavy. She has to hold it in two hands. She peers apprehensively into the hole at the top.
"Careful, little bird," Sandor says, his voice rumbling with humor, "Don't drown."
She sticks her tongue out at him before putting the wineskin to her lips. Before she can change her mind, she tilts it back. Warm alcohol fills her mouth. It burns. Her eyes water. Wincing, she swallows quickly then immediately starts coughing as the burn spreads down her throat.
"That's strong!" she says through her coughs, all too eager to hand the wineskin back.
"Aye," Sandor chuckles and takes the ale from her, "I'm a big fucker. It's gotta be strong."
She laughs loudly in agreement. "You sure one is enough? I can go get you the other one?"
A smile pulls on his lips. He shakes his head. "Nah, lass. You stay right here."
He raises the wineskin to her in a salute before drinking again. Linette chuckles in amusement when some of the ale drips from the corner of his mouth and onto the scruff on his chin. He doesn't seem to care, so she doesn't say anything.
She settles into the ground instead, laying down on the shore beside Sandor with her head by his calves. The sun streams down pleasantly through the trees above. She closes her eyes and lets it dry her skin and hair. Sandor continues to drink beside her as she lays there, occasionally reaching up on his lap to take a bit of food.
The day stretches on peacefully. The sound of the water and the trees around them relaxes her. That, and seeing Sandor in such spirits. It's rare for him to go so long without frowning. A contented sigh passes her lips and she begins to hum. It's a familiar melody. Linette's mother used to sing it to her as a child as she's sure every mother did. The tune puts a smile on her face.
Sandor's leg suddenly jostles her. She stops humming and opens her eyes to look at him. He's stopped drinking. His eyes are soft, if not a little glazed over, as he gazes down at her.
"Sing the words, little bird," he says, "Let me hear."
She smiles and shakes her head in amusement. The big man continues to watch her, waiting. She lets her head fall back down and closes her eyes. Then, she sings.
"A bear there was, a bear, a bear!
All black and brown, and covered with hair!
Oh, come, they said, oh come to the fair!
The fair? Said he, but I'm a bear!
All black, and brown, and covered with hair!
And down the road from here to there.
From here! To there!
Three boys, a goat, and a dancing bear!
They danced and spun, all the way to the fair!
Oh, sweet she-"
"- was, and pure, and fair," Linette's heart stops. Her mouth snaps shut as the throaty voice picks up the song. "The maid with honey in her hair! Her hair!"
The bushes to Linette's right shake, a crashing sound echoing from the trees. She quickly scrambles up. Sandor is already standing, the food that was on his lap now littering the ground. One hand grips the hilt of his sword. The other grabs Linette's arm and yanks her behind him roughly.
"Aw, don't stop singin', lass! Didn't mean to frighten you."
A small group of men emerge from the trees. There's six of them. Linette's heart races when she sees their familiar armor, red and dull gold. Lions. They're all grinning. A wall of crooked teeth and grime. It's suddenly hard for her to breathe.
"Fuck! You really do got a bear don't ya!" The man who'd spoken before startles at the sight of Sandor who stands protectively in front of Linette. Her eyes flick toward him. His heavy brows are furrowed in a glare, his broad chest bare and every inch of his muscles tense. That paired with his scowling, burned face makes him look absolutely fearsome.
The soldier halts in his step, the others behind him. He scratches lightly at his bald head before throwing his arms out.
"Eh, makes no difference to me," he smiles, "I'm sure you wouldn't mind sharing, mate."
He takes a step forward. Sandor meets him with a large step of his own.
"Go back to wherever the fuck you came from," he growls.
The bald man holds his hands up. "Woah, big man. That ain't no way to greet us. We're friendly."
"Like shit you are." Sandor leans forward slightly, a dark glint in his eye. "Fuck. Off."
"You better watch your mouth!" Another soldiers shouts and stalks up to flank the first man. He's smaller than the other, thinner too. Sandor eyes him, clearly not impressed.
"You better watch yours," he sneers and leans toward the little man, towering over him, "or I'll cut it out of your pretty, cunt mouth."
The two soldiers' hands rush to their swords. Linette's does too. Sandor's blade is halfway out of its sheath before one of the other soldiers calls out, making everyone still.
"Wait! I know you!"
Sandor's jaw tightens. He turns his eyes to the third soldier with a perfect air of apathy. The soldier grins. He's stocky and tall with a head full of dark hair. A proper soldier unlike his friend. He walks slowly toward Sandor, shaking his finger with a look of recognition in his eyes.
"Yeah, I do know ya, don't I!" His face breaks out in awe, "You're the Hound!"
The other men all startle. They look at Sandor, glimpses of fear and admiration in their eyes. The ones closest to him take a small step back. Linette frowns in confusion, no idea what just happened.
"It's the fucking Hound!" a soldier with unruly, greying hair exclaims, grinning widely.
The bald one shakes his head. "Well fuck me. Who knew I'd stumble on you today?"
Sandor looks beyond irritated.
"You wanna suck my dick or something?" he glares at the men in front of him. They all recoil at his abrasive tone.
"Course not," the smaller soldier scoffs before setting his beady eyes on Linette, "We wanted the bitch."
The grey haired soldier pulls the small man back roughly as Sandor growls deep in his throat.
"Ain't fuckin' happening," he spits.
"Now, now, I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement," the bald soldier holds his hands out diplomatically, a sly grin on his lips.
Sandor leans down so the smaller man feels his hot breath on his face. "The only agreement we have is that you fuckers leave before I cut your necks wide open."
The bald man pales.
"Nah, we're not leaving."
Everyone turns toward the man who'd spoken. The dark haired one. He's grinning slyly, his fingers tapping gently against the hilt of his sword.
"See, I heard some stories about you, Hound," he says, walking slowly, "I hear you left your duty at the Battle of the Blackwater. They say you tucked tail and ran. Like a scared pup."
The bald one laughs now, all fear gone.
The dark haired man smirks. "I'm sure the King wouldn't mind seeing you again. Might even pay me a pretty price for bringin' in your head."
"Fuck you," Sandor's lip curls in a vicious sneer, "and fuck the king."
The soldiers tense, their hands curling tighter over their swords.
"Didn't know Joffrey's dog was so stupid!" a blond soldier says harshly, no humor in his voice whatsoever. The others nod in agreement.
Linette frowns. Joffrey? The king? She's even more confused than before.
Sandor's glare heats, his grip curling tighter around the hilt of his sword.
"Yeah, you are stupid," the dark haired soldier nods, "You don't see how this is gonna go, do you Hound? You abandoned your post, abandoned the king, and we found you. The kingsmen. With your bitch no less-"
"Ha! The Hound has a bitch!" the scrawny man cackles madly. Linette grits her teeth as the soldiers' eyes all settle on her. Sandor takes a step to his left, cutting off their sight. She hears the dark haired soldier chuckle.
"Yes, we found you with your bitch alright. Now, we can do one of two things, Hound: Give you to the king, or have a go with your girl and let you on your merry way. We'll have her either way, mind, but it don't have to be anything against you. Not if you cooperate that is…" he pauses, "So, what's it gonna be?"
Linette's breath picks up sharply. She holds even tighter to her sword. All the muscles in Sandor's back tense, rippling with anger.
"I think I'll bleed each of you cunts dry."
There's a single moment of stillness. All eyes are on Sandor, waiting for what he'll do.
The second Sandor's sword comes out, all hell breaks loose. Blades are drawn immediately. Linette sees four soldiers charge him and her heart lurches. She shouldn't be worried though. He takes one down almost instantaneously, his blade carving through the little man's shoulder and down to his ribs. Momentary relief fills her, only to fade back to fear when the other three men attack him again. She's about to run over and help when she hears the dark-haired soldier's voice coming up behind her.
"So, you're the Hound's bitch."
She tears her eyes from Sandor and spins around, her hair flying out around her. The tall soldier stands to her right, his dark eyes crinkled in amusement and his sword hanging lazily by his side as if he has no use for it. She raises hers immediately. He smirks.
"There's some fight in you," he nods, taking a step forward, "Guess there's got to be though if you're hanging around that ugly fuck."
The insult to Sandor brings Linette's blood to a boil. She curls her fingers tightly around the hilt of her sword. The man takes another step toward her.
"Let's make this quick, lass. Just watchin' you's makin' me hard."
She doesn't wait for any more disgusting things to come out of his mouth. Without so much as a warning, she attacks. The soldier isn't prepared for it. He clearly doesn't expect her to come after him so quickly, and even less does he expect the skill with which she wields her blade. He lazily moves to block her blow, which gives her more than enough time and space to punch him soundly in the jaw. He stumbles backward cursing, holding his bleeding nose.
"Fucking bitch!"
He charges at her, swinging his sword mightily. She ducks and rolls out of its path. He comes at her again, but she's too slow this time. The blade slices through her left arm, ripping through skin and muscle from shoulder to elbow. With a pained cry, she kicks her foot out, catching his and sending him tumbling to the ground. She staggers to her feet. Blood flows down her arm, dripping off her fingertips and into the dirt.
The soldier begins to raise his sword to her again and, without thinking twice, she slams the heel of her boot into his groin. He screams loudly and lets go of his sword. The idiot. Her blade sinks into his chest before he can make any other sound. His eyes widen in shock, his hands fumbling at the blade in his heart, before his body stills.
Breathing heavily, Linette spins around, ready to help Sandor, when she's struck in the face so hard she sees black. Her head snaps back and she stumbles. Another fist slams into her stomach and she doubles over, her knees hitting the ground.
"Little cunt," the voice of the bald soldier growls before her sword is knocked out of her hand. He takes a handful of her hair and yanks her head up to meet his gaze. The right side of his face is covered in blood, a whole slice missing from his temple to his jaw.
Linette chuckles through the blood in her mouth. "Sandor got you good."
His scowl deepens and, before she knows it, he backhands her hard across the face. Her body flies to the side. She lands clumsily in the dirt, her face stinging. She catches sight of her sword where it lays not far from her in the grass.
Her fingers just graze the hilt when the bald man's weight suddenly falls on her back. It's painful. She struggles to breathe as his hand grips the back of her neck, forcing her face into the dirt like he's trying to bury her there. His hot breath hits her cheek. She feels his lips on her ear, nibbling at the skin. She struggles even more viciously, but he only chuckles.
"I'm going to ride you like the bitch you are."
She snarls and thrashes beneath him, but he's stronger than her. The hand on her neck tightens painfully. She feels his other hand on her waist, yanking her tunic up to her neck and dipping beneath the band of her trousers. Angry tears fill her eyes when his disgusting fingers glide over her skin.
"I promise I'll fuck better than the Hound," he laughs before howling like a dog at the moon.
His touch dips lower and lower. Linette grits her teeth and stretches her hand out as far as she can. Her fingers curl around the hilt of her sword just as his weight disappears from her, the hand in her trousers with it.
She scrambles to her feet holding her sword in front of her. She's about to run the asshole through, but the sight before her makes her stop. Her heart lurches with relief. She pants heavily but doesn't relax her grip on her sword.
"You alright, little bird?" Sandor asks gruffly, his raging eyes focused only on the bald man who dangles, red-faced, from his hand. Streaks of crimson blood cover Sandor's bare chest and arms, but Linette sees no wounds. The bald soldier begins scratching uselessly at the massive fingers wrapped tightly around his neck, strangling him. He kicks out, his feet dangling at least two feet from the ground.
"Linette!" Sandor barks roughly at her silence, his eyes on hers now, "You alright?"
She swallows thickly before nodding, feeling everything other than alright. His eyes run over her quickly. His jaw tightens when he sees her bleeding arm and tousled clothes.
"Which hand was he touching you with?" He turns back to the bald man, tightening his grip even further. The man wheezes.
She falters for only a second. "Th-the left."
In the blink of an eye, the man's left hand is lying in the dirt. He opens his mouth to scream, but the lack of air just has him opening and closing his mouth like a fish, pure agony on his face. Sandor kicks the severed hand away with his boot as if it's nothing more than a stone on a path. He raises his bloody sword to hover between the man's legs.
"Scream, you cunt."
The blade disappears into the man's body, right up the center of his legs and into his chest. Sandor pulls the screaming man closer, relishing his silent cries, before he yanks the sword up and out.
It's suddenly quiet. Too quiet. Linette feels dizzy.
The bald man's body falls to the ground, a vicious cavern of red now carved into his chest. Sandor slams his boot into the dead man's face, his body heaving with the force of each angry breath. Other bodies litter the ground around him, yet none are as mutilated as this one.
Linette lets her sword fall from her hand. It clatters to the ground, and Sandor quickly turns his head to her. His eyes meet hers, full of rage and carefully concealed concern. She allows herself to smile a little, but it disappears when she catches sight of the blood in his hairline.
"You're hurt," she rushes toward him and takes his free hand. She tries to pull him to the water, but he resists, yanking her to stand in front of him instead.
"I'm fine," he says gruffly, letting his sword fall to the dirt, "You're hurt more than me, girl. Let me look."
His hand takes hold of her chin and turns it up to face him. He wipes the blood off her split lip with his thumb, an action so gentle it seems strange coming from the giant of a man covered in other people's blood. She holds his hand tightly in two of hers, wincing, when he begins to poke at the tender skin around her eye and nose, already bruised.
His eyes are a storm as he looks her over. He drops her chin to gingerly take her elbow, raising her arm up to inspect the still bleeding gash.
"Needs to be stitched," he releases her and walks briskly to where Stranger is wildly pulling at his tether. "Go sit. I'll bring the shit to you."
Linette nods dumbly at his back. Her fingers curl protectively over the wound on her arm as she heads toward the water. She winces as she lowers herself to the ground. Her body aches everywhere. She sighs and sinks her arm into the cool water. It slowly turns red. She watches the color spread, drifting downstream in finger-like tendrils.
"Sit up."
She turns toward Sandor's voice where he appears by her side. He offers her the wineskin. She pulls her arm out of the water and takes it. Without hesitating, she puts it to her lips, gulping down as much as she can stomach. There's a weak smile on Sandor's lips when he takes it back, but it disappears as soon as he kneels beside her. A large, hooked needle sits in his hand, a long thread attached to one end.
"I'll be quick," he promises, meeting her eyes firmly. She nods. He takes that as his go-ahead and rips her sleeve off in one, clean tear.
Linette doesn't react as he cleans her wound with the ale, and she doesn't react when the needle pierces her skin. She feels the sharp pulling, but keeps her eyes steady on the water before her. It's a peaceful sight, but she feels only anger. Anger and a dark, hollow feeling that sinks lower and lower in her gut until it seems it'll eat her whole.
"Sandor…" she whispers suddenly, her face to the water. His hands still immediately. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth before taking a big breath in. "I'm tired of this, Sandor."
He's silent for a moment.
"Tired of what?" His voice is rougher and more harsh than she expects. She turns her head to him, tears in her eyes, to see him watching her, his jaw clenched as he holds the needle tightly in a white-knuckled fist.
"I'm tired of them," she waves her hand weakly toward where the bodies lay. The tenseness in Sandor's body eases only slightly. She meets his eyes, hot tears spilling onto her cheeks, "I'm tired of them thinking they can do whatever they want. Trying to do whatever they want… I don't want them to touch me anymore."
Her voice shakes. She lowers her face quickly, not wanting him to see her cry. He's still for a moment before his hands return to sewing the gash on her arm. His touch is even more gentle than before. She bites her lip as she cries silently.
It's only a few seconds before he finishes. He ties the stitches tightly, expertly, then drops the bloody needle carelessly in the dirt.
"Linette..." he says, his gravelly voice so gentle it startles her. Though she wants to, she doesn't look at him.
His hand reaches forward to tuck her hair behind her ear before softly settling on her jaw, his fingers resting on the back of her head. Though his skin is covered in blood and his massive hand wraps almost all the way around her head, she feels safe under his touch. She leans into his palm with a sniffle, her tears quickly drying.
"Look at me, girl."
Sandor guides her face toward his. She goes willingly. Her grey eyes meet his hard brown ones. He leans toward her until his broad shoulders cut off her view of anything other than him.
"No one is gonna touch you again," he growls, his hand tightening its hold on her head, "I'll kill anyone who even tries. You're safe with me."
His eyes are so unbelievably, beautifully sincere. Linette's chin trembles before she throws her arms around his neck, holding him tightly as she presses herself to him. He tenses. She buries her face in his neck anyway. It may be selfish, but she needs the closeness.
"Thank you," she whispers, her breath brushing his weathered skin.
She's about to pull away when his arm slowly wraps around her waist. It's wary at first. He seems hesitant to touch her, but when she tightens her arms on his neck, he gives in and presses her firmly against him. His hand curls over her hip, his fingers splayed over her stomach.
It's not a full hug. Only one of his arms is wrapped around her, the other hanging down by his side, but it's more than enough for her. His massive frame dwarfs hers, his thick arm crushing her to his chest. She breathes him in. Iron, leather, and ash. Warmth spreads in her chest.
She suddenly wants, more than anything, to make this man feel as safe as she does. She knows she could never protect him as he does her, but she wants to give him something...
She pulls out of the embrace a little. His arm loosens just enough to allow her to move but still keep her near. He watches her closely, his face carefully pulled into a blank mask. She smiles softly. Her hand raises to brush away the curtain of hair over his face. He doesn't try to stop her this time, but his eyes close slightly, a wince, as his face is completely exposed to her view.
She takes him in. He's actually quite handsome, this dangerous, broken man. His burned face is hard to look at, not because it disgusts her, but because she knows it's the source of so much pain for him. He tries to hide it. Both his burns and his pain. Himself really. Yet, seeing him now, his whole face under her gaze, she likes what she sees.
Her fingers sweep over his burned skin. Her fingertips just barely touch him, gliding, until her hand rests against his face. She leans in and, without an ounce of hesitation, presses her lips to his cheek. Right over the burns.
He inhales sharply. All his muscles tense. Linette's lips linger on his skin for a second more before she pulls away. She lets her fingers rest against his jaw, cupping his face in both her hands.
"Thank you," she repeats. A whisper of sincerity.
She thinks she feels his hand begin to shake on her hip, but it's gone too quickly for her to know for sure. His arm drops from around her. She keeps hold of him. A smile creeps onto her face the longer she looks at him. He's working hard to keep his face blank, but she sees how his eyes soften. How his lips part slighty in shock and disbelief.
"I'm very glad I met you, Sandor," she says, "and not just because you're protecting me. I like knowing you. You're my friend... Thank you. For everything."
And just like that, his mask slips. She sees him clearer than ever. Pain and uncertainty fill his eyes, but now, flickering somewhere deep, is a small light. It's soft and warm. She's not sure what it is, but it makes her smile.
His hand comes up to completely cover hers where it lays on his cheek. He presses down, making her hold him more firmly.
"You're welcome, little bird."