What goes up must come down . . .
…
He was restless. A wild animal trapped in a cage. The afternoon dragged on while he felt nothing but pent up anger. There was no outlet here beyond swinging his sword at a tree. It wasn't the same as striking a man. He'd started taking his meals in the great hall days ago but today he skipped the evening meal and sat in the sick house letting his frustration brew. He didn't want wine and he didn't want to ride. He wanted to fight or fuck. Something physical to leave him drained of everything and neither option was available to him.
Fucking whoreson Elder Brother! Coming to him earlier to snoop and meddle. He loathed talking about his past. There was not one damn thing of worth in it and no good to come out of talking about it. Speaking about the past always dredged up memories that he could never set to rights.
He had a special place of bitter hatred in his heart for the time his brother had burnt him. The betrayal of both the men of his so called family ate away at him everyday. The loss of the women of his family crushed him. He fucking hated to be reminded of the rage that he could never settle inside him.
He had forgotten the wrath for a short while as he healed and Idla had given him her attention. But just as things had started to go well for him she had left him. Not entirely. She hadn't left the Isle. Only the room they shared but the loss he felt cut deep. Then he'd gotten stronger and more independent. She grew busy with other projects and her life no longer revolved around him. He wanted to break his leg all over again if it meant she would come back. He was aggravated enough as it was but then the Elder Brother had come to the sick house. The cunt had wanted to talk to him of his past and future.
He'd been staring at a wall for awhile, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. He didn't notice that Idla had entered the room some minutes ago until he felt the bed move. She had taken the chair nearby and propped her feet up on the bed, skimming through a book and chewing her lip. She looked up from her reading when he turned and smiled at him. She always fucking smiled. Her smile gnawed at the anger inside him. He didn't understand her, or the Elder Brother, or the entire fucking Isle. They all acted like there was nothing wrong with him. Everything was wrong with him and they all had their heads so far up the arses they couldn't see it.
And she was the worst of them all! Smiling at him like he made her happy. Teasing and talking and always fucking touching him. As if she wanted him to do the same to her. It drove him mad. She was watching him now and he realized she was on his right side. She did that a lot. Sat to his right to address him. He was beyond rage now. How fucking dare she keep looking at it like it was nothing at all? Constantly rubbing his nose into the fact that he'd never have anything he longed for. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Having a good look at it?" he spat at her.
She immediately looked worried and confused, "Sandor, I don't under-"
"My face, bitch! Are you having a good look at it?" he was shouting now.
She didn't know why she was getting yelled at and it irritated her. If he wanted to talk that was fine but there was no need to start off screaming at her for nothing.
"What's gotten into you? I look at you all the time," she raised her own voice.
"Shut up! You're always there but you never ask. Everyone asks. Or stares. You don't. The fuck's wrong with you?"
Now, she was getting a better sense of what was going on. He'd spoken with the Elder Brother earlier. She knew from her own talks with the man that sometimes one could be left feeling hopeless and heated for a time after. The Brother dug into past wounds that some would rather let be. But the devoted man's probing was usually for the best in the end. Apparently the conversation had circled around his burns and now she was left to clean up the mess. She had a sinking feeling in her gut. The man she knew, Sandor, wasn't with her anymore. A Hound had taken his place.
She kept her tone as calm as she could and her eyes firm, "I don't stare because there's nothing to stare at "–he snorted- "and I never ask because it's not my place. You want to tell me, go ahead. If not, it changes nothing between us so stop being an ass."
He was breathing heavily while giving the bed linens a murderous look. She'd never seen him so enraged. He was shaking. She wanted it to stop. She didn't know how to help him. She felt weak and powerless. She tried her best.
"I can tell they're burns," she started, "I am a Healer you know. The skin looks like it healed long ago so you were young when it happened. They're deep. And with the damage to the ear I'd say you were either trapped or forced to endure it, yes?" He didn't answer and she didn't need him too. "I don't ask because I already know enough. If there's something else I need to know I assume you'll tell me when you're ready to. I'm not the Elder Brother. I don't pry."
She got up and sat next to him on the bed. He could feel the heat of her arm next to his. He wanted to kiss her and make her stay with him. He wanted to hit her and make her understand his pain. He kept his hands clenched and told her how he was burned years ago. He kept it short and simple. Much like the version he gave the wolf bitch. It made him feel just as empty telling her. His father's betrayal was always the worst part to get through and when it was over he sat fuming, waiting on her judgment.
She was quiet for many minutes. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. He turned his face to look at her and saw tears shining in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling. She touched his arm and added, "I know what it's like to lose a father's love."
"Piss off!" he sneered, shrugging her hand off of him, "What, he didn't buy the Lady a pony? Didn't find you the right suitor? You know fuck all little girl."
She stood up fast and smacked him across the face. He was stunned. He'd never had a woman do that before. It stung. Her eyes smoldered with contempt. He stood up as well and was going to push her out of the way so he could leave but she opened her mouth to speak.
"Don't you dare tell me I don't know loss! You don't know anything about me. You think Sandor fucking Clegane is the only person in all of Westeros to feel pain?" she screamed at him.
"I watched my mother and brothers die in front of me! Who do you think was next on the raider's list once Maidenpool fell? I was hog tied and gagged like an animal and put at my father's feet. They tied him to a chair and made us both watch while ten of them raped my mother." She gulped for air and continued, "They slit her throat and then I had to watch as one by one they took my brother's eyes, ears and tongues. They bled them all out in front of us and left!"
She was crying now. He felt something heavy in his stomach and he burned with shame. This wasn't at all what he had thought would happen.
She kept on yelling at him, "I had to lay there in my family's blood for an entire day before we were found. They let me live to torture my father. To show him his legacy was dead. He has no heirs and no wife to give him more. Only me and I'm not enough!"
She had dropped back onto the bed and was sobbing now. He stood still and useless. He'd never known how to handle a crying woman and this was beyond anything he had ever experienced. Maester Ulchard came rushing out of his quarters. The old man gave him a terrible look and took her by her shoulders trying to calm her. She kept on bawling. Huge wracking sobs mixed with sorrowful wails. He felt like the lowest piece of shit in all the Seven Kingdoms. The Maeseter got her to her feet and lead her back to his chambers. The old man shut the door and Sandor was left alone with nothing but the sound of her weeping to keep him company.
He could hear the Maester trying to soothe her. He heard clinking and more crying. He sat on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He'd fucked that up properly. There'd be no more smiles for him. He swallowed thickly, stamping down on his disappointment and grief.
After a few more minutes the sobs stopped and the Maester came out of his room. Idla didn't follow him. The old man bent down to a low, dust covered cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. The drawer produced two small glasses and a bottle of pear brandy. The Maester poured and offered a glass to Sandor. He took it gratefully and tossed back the small portion. All the fight had left him the moment she had started crying and now his belly yearned for the burn of liquor. He looked to the Maester with questions in his eyes.
"She's resting," the older man told him, "I gave her tea with essence of nightshade in it. She should sleep for a few hours." The Maester sat himself down in the chair nearby and sighed.
"In a way you did her a service," the elderly man explained. "I was the one who found her and her father. She's never talked about what happened in Scuttleton. Not that I'm aware of. And I've never seen her shed a tear over it. It was high time that she let go of some of her heartache."
He frowned and took the bottle of brandy from the Maester's hands, pouring himself a much larger serving this time. He drank it in two large gulps and reached for more.
"You went about it entirely the wrong way of course," the Maester scolded him, sipping at his own drink, "That was no way to talk to a woman. You should be ashamed of yourself."
"Don't you think I know it?" he roared at the man. "I am. I will be." He downed the third glass and growled when the Maester wouldn't give up the bottle for a fourth.
"If that is true, when she wakes, ask for forgiveness and move on," the old man tried to council him.
"She won't talk to me. Not after this!"
He threw the glass down and watched it shatter. He marched out of the room, his features stern. He was so furious he forgot to put on his boots and stormed to the kitchens barefoot. He barked at Alva to bring him a wineskin. The bakestress hastily did as he ordered and he drank from it as he stalked off to the horse fields. By the time he made it to the clearing he was half drunk and his feet were bleeding. The rocks that paved the paths of the Quiet Isle were sharp as knives. He didn't care. It didn't hurt nearly as much as his chest did. He dropped down to a wooden bench near the fence and continued to drink.
….
It was the two little scholars that came after him several hours later. He hadn't moved from the bench other than to take a piss on one of the fence posts. He'd hit the wooden stump a few times while he was there, breaking the skin on his knuckles. The wineskin had stopped giving an hour ago and he was seriously close to being sober again. It had gone dark. There was a light drizzle coming down and he was starting to get wet. He probably would have stayed there all night if they hadn't come. He didn't know if the Healer was still at the sick house anymore. He assumed she was and that he had no where else to go.
They both tramped right up to him. Maddox held his boots out to him. "She's crying again," the bolder one told him.
"She yells at us too," Quintin chimed in, trying to sympathize, "when we deserve it. But she always forgives us and then hugs us."
"Doesn't work like that between a man and woman," he told the shy one.
"Yes, it does," argued Maddox, "It works exactly the same. Put your boots on and come back."
The boy had balls, he thought. Standing up to the likes of him and ordering him about.
"Don't think she wants to see me," he sighed to the lad.
"She's crying because she's worried about you," Maddox told him slowly like he was dull. The impertinent little shit was rolling his eyes at him now!
He found it hard to believe she was shedding tears over him but he put his boots on anyway. He had to face her at some point. He was acting the coward by hiding out in the rain. They made it back to the sick house and he braced himself as he walked through the door.
She was sitting on his bed, big pools of tears swelling in her eyes, while she twisted a handkerchief in her hands. She leapt up when she saw him and dashed across the room. He found himself all but strangled as she jumped up to hug him around his neck. What in Seven Hells was going on?
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice soggy and broken, "I'm sorry I shouted. I'm sorry I hit you." She squeezed tighter. He decided that he would never understand women. He had no idea what to do. Her body was pressed close against his and if she didn't move soon his cock was going to have something to say about it. Eventually, he brought one hand up to touch her back and she let go seemingly satisfied. She was smiling again and his pulse took on a life of its own. It was going so hard and fast he was sure it was now its own being outside of his body.
"Told you," Maddox chuckled.
He cuffed the boy on the back of his head without much force. She had drawn back from him and looked him over with concern in her features.
"You're wet," she stated and, catching site of his hands, added, "and bleeding! What did you do?"
He shrugged and grunted.
"Never mind," she told him, "Go sit by the fire and warm up. I'll get something for the cuts."
"He cut his feet too," Quintin chirped.
She shook her head and pushed him towards the fire place. Maddox pulled on Quintin's sleeve and the two boys left the house. He took a seat and waited for her to join him. He was still utterly confused by the past few minute's events so he sat in silence. He had been the one who had done wrong hadn't he? Then why was she apologizing and making amends? It made no damn sense at all.
She gathered up a bowl of water, some bandages and a sticky green unguent good for lessening pain and healing small cuts. She'd been so worried about him. He had pulled dark, hidden anguish from her. She was furious at first but once she'd had time to compose herself, she was grateful he had done so. If anyone could handle her outburst it was him. She instructed him to remove his boots and saw him grimace as he did as she asked. Foolish man.
Gathering up her supplies, she sat herself down at his feet. He looked like that lost little boy again. She took his hands first and wiped them clean before applying the paste to them. She moved onto his feet, using a new cloth to gently wash them first.
This was all wrong he thought. She was kneeling at his feet like he was a God to be worshipped. He hadn't even apologized and she was back to treating him kindly. He was profoundly sorry for being the cause of her sorrow and she deserved to hear it. He would try to do better for her.
"Idla," he said, using her name to get her to look at him. She paused in her work and did so.
"Shouldn't have yelled either," -she still looked at him so he plowed on- "Wasn't angry with you. Wasn't right of me to take it out on you. I'm . . ." he paused and looked at her hands on his knees, ". . . sorry for it."
Was he supposed to feel better? He didn't. He felt vulnerable and exposed. What if she didn't accept his apology? The last of the wine turned sour in his stomach.
She moved one hand from his knee at a deliberately slow and measured pace. Placing a finger under his chin she pushed and bid him to look at her. She had that funny look in her eyes as she spoke.
"I know. I forgive you."
He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. She dropped her hands and went back to her work. Shifting in his seat uncomfortably, he watched her working. She was taking extra care with his feet, her touches feather light as she smoothed the healing unguent on his abused skin.
"Why?"
The question left his mouth before he could stop it. She kept on working, her brow wrinkled while she bit her lip. She didn't look up when she answered him.
"Our memories may not be the same but that doesn't mean they aren't equal in pain. Yours is not any more or less than my own."
It was his turn now to feel tears collect in his eyes. He blinked frantically so they wouldn't fall. She made him weak but he didn't feel resentment over it. She humbled him which was not something he was used to feeling. He never felt judged by her. She sat quietly when he needed silence and pushed him when he needed to be broken. She fought just as fierce and loud as he did. He was far more lost than he had first thought. He was going to drown trying to keep her.