Sandor woke early in the morning, before the first rays of the sun. It was something he was accustomed to as a soldier, and a habit he had not broken. His eyes flitted over to Straya, still asleep quietly in her bed. A smile crept over his lips at seeing her still so beautiful and asleep and a warmth filled his chest. He did not understand the bond they seemed to share, but he was glad of it. With that thought, he rose and dressed quickly in his own room before she could know he had even been there. Maybe he was weak, but she did not need to know that. She needed the Hound to protect her, the Keep, and if nothing else, by day he would at least live up to those expectations.
Riding across the open fields and through the wood had cleared his head. It was a much-needed relief after the demons he had struggled with the day before and he never felt better than when he was astride Stranger out in the fresh air. He had headed out of the Keep early, he did not even break his fast but instead had swung by the kitchens to get his skins as promised by Ol' Margy (who had delivered on her side of the deal) and took the bread and dried venison she had offered him as well.
He his goal had been to ride the old trails and move through the wood and wetlands to look for signs of any threats. He also had hoped to reacquaint himself with the terrain around the Keep so that he could have a better understanding on how to defend it if necessary. He had found no signs of trouble within the radius he rode, but he knew that did not mean much; he knew the rebels were lurking in the Westerlands and that it would only be a matter of time before they became bold enough to attack the Towers. He did run into a group of Straya's men doing their morning patrols, and it pleased him to see how thorough they were of their duties.
Clegane Keep only had two hundred and fifty soldiers to call its own (in truth, more than it had ever had in its entire existence), but they were well trained and fierce; Sandor was proud to call them soldiers of his family's house. They had been some of Lord Tywin's best, and his intent had been to help build up the defenses in the Westerlands with the Dragon Queen swearing to return for the Iron Throne. After Casterly Rock was taken by Daenerys even before the War of the Long Night started, supplies to feed and care for the soldiers had stopped. Mainly because House Lannister no longer held the Westerlands; then the soldiers became Straya's responsibility to provide for. The times had proven hard, but she managed and instead of deserting, the men stayed on to serve House Clegane for true.
He decided to ride through the wetlands not far from the Keep on his way back, it was getting close to the noon meal now and his stomach reminded him that he had not broken his fast earlier. When the land had been given to his grandfather all those years ago by Lord Tytos, it had been thought at that time to not be much of a prize. It was fields of hills hard to cultivate, thick wood and of course marshy wetlands. His grandfather, however, was a smart man and used the gift he was given wisely. He had used the hills to pasture sheep and other livestock rather than trying to grow crops on it and utilized the hillsides leading into the wetlands for growing up a vineyard. As a boy, he had heard his grandfather's wine was some of the best in all the Seven Kingdoms and had quickly gained popularity among the Nobles; however, about the time Sandor was burned, the grapes had become less important to his own father. Sandor's father did not want to be known for his wine, that was not what his vision of House Clegane had been, he was blessed by the gods with two enormous sons that were destined for greatness instead; thus, grew his desire to become the father of great knights. That became the sole focus of House Clegane then, and nothing else seemed to matter; only elevating his house to greatness through the shear physical strength of his heirs.
That worked out fucking great for you, old man. The knighted son destroyed your name and half of the Seven Kingdoms with it, and the other would not take a knighthood for all the gold dragons in Westeros. Fuck you, old man, fuck you and your stupidity for raising Gregor to power. You were not even half the man your father was.
The vineyard came into site then, and he could not help but smile upon the site of it. Rows and rows of large, round grapes ran across the wooden trellis' that streaked the hilly fields. The late morning sun was shining down hot now, and people worked busily filling their baskets before they called an end to their work for the day. Due to the sheer heat, Straya only worked her people until the noon meal, and then again sometimes in the evenings if they had not gotten enough picked earlier in the day. Often in the afternoons, her people would take on other tasks that were less brutal than being exposed to the afternoon sun. There was always something that could be done at the Keep, and it seemed that everyone here was more than happy to be busy doing it.
He sat atop Stranger for a bit watching the servants work, men without tunics and the women in their light linen work dresses. It made him laugh to think about how appalled the Nobility in King's Landing would be to see such a site. Here in the Westerlands, no one thought the wiser of bare chested men in the heat, or women in simple, light dresses; it was the only way one could get through the day. It would have been so scandalous, yet here, in the middle of nowhere it was acceptable and expected; whatever needed to happen to get the job done was what was necessary. He realized how much he had missed that, and how that had been such a driving factor in his unhappiness at King's Landing. He had grown up with the mentality of hard work and that only survival mattered, only to live among Nobility who understood none of that. They had all seemed so ridiculous to him; how fancy your dress was or what your status mattered not in the grand scheme of things in life. Those things were not going to matter when the butchers came with swords to cut you down. He laughed then.
You say that dog because you were always the butcher with the sword.
And he was. He listened to the them cry at him with no skills or abilities to defend themselves when Lord Tywin ordered their ends. They had chosen to worry about their attire, how grand their halls were decorated and how many gold dragons they possessed; they should have learned how to use a sword instead.
He shook the thoughts from his head then and started to turn Stranger back towards the Keep, when his eyes caught site of something that stayed him. It was Straya, in the field next her servant, Calla. She was dressed in her usual work attire just as the other women and her long dark hair fell in a braid over her shoulder. She had a natural beauty about her that only seemed to radiate more seeing her in such a way; she was squatted down at a vine picking off grapes from a vine that had grown low. He realized that he could not just ride off and leave her there.
As quick as a flash he dismounted, pulled his tunic off, and picked up an empty basket not far from him. Quietly he walked over beside Straya and squatted down next to her. As he began to pull the grapes from the vine, he looked over to meet her gaze; she was looking at him with a look he had never seen on her before. It looked like approval, but there was something else as well. Whatever it was, he wanted her to look at him all the time like that, every second of the day.
Straya
He is not yours Straya, he will never be yours; he loves another. Get it out of your mind, he is not going to go for a levirate marriage. Why would he.
She recited the words in her head again as she caught site of him sitting atop Stranger. Her heart had leapt at the site of him and she had to remind herself to release the breath she was holding. Quickly she averted her gaze and turned her attentions back to her work. Her glance fell to her calloused and dirt encrusted fingertips that only seemed to solidify her mantra more. She knew he loved only the most beautiful woman in all Westeros, raised a lady in every way; and here she was, covered in dirt and smelling like a hog on a hot day. Her fingers wandered of their own accord then and ghosted the scar running down her face, leaving a small trail of dirt.
Your time is over, this is all you have now. Stay focused, you need this row cleared today; you know this.
She knew it was going to be hard for her the moment the queen's Hand mentioned Sandor returning to the Keep months ago. He had come to retrieve Ageous shortly after Cersei Lannister's demise, and had stayed a few days to speak with her about the growth and position of House Clegane. Lord Tyrion had made it clear that the queen felt the Hound should be in the Westerlands but assured her that he would not displace her from the Keep. Straya had agreed, she did not know Sandor well, but she possessed an uncanny ability to read people quickly and size them up; needless to say, she liked Sandor immediately, that was the problem.
When she rode to his assistance the first time into the thickest part of the Westerlands, her intentions were as true as she had stated to Sandor that day: She wanted Gregor dead. She had heard that the Hound's great victory weeks before had come at a hefty cost and that Cersei had dispatched a small unit of men to hunt down and finish the Hound off in his weakened state. Qyburn had even given the commander of that unit a concoction he had conjured up to turn the water bitter and make the men ill, if they could get close enough to the Hound's camp and pour it in the correct spot to be carried up stream, it would give them an advantage. Qyburn's hope was that the Hound himself would drink it and become too incapacitated to command; Straya was certain that Qyburn must of have been some kind of idiot though, he was a Clegane, why would he drink fucking water? Clegane's survived solely on wine and the tears of their enemies, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew that.
When she saw him for the first time that day, she knew it was over for her. He was standing in the camp in only breeches and boots, arms crossed, arrogant and overconfident; gods he was spectacular. And he was so fucking attractive; not handsome out right, but in a rugged way. His jawline was strong and his features sharp, and his face was terrifying just as she had heard. In her youth, she probably would never have found such a man so attractive, but now a woman, seeing with womanly eyes, it was impossible not feel at least a small amount of lust. She had almost lost her reserve when she pulled her horse to a halt, but then remember what she was: a scarred, ugly, used up piece of meat that Gregor had left nothing desirable about. That realization brought her back to her sanity, and she had then been courageous enough to show him her scars and ask for her prize. Of course, then he spoke to her in that deep, raspy voice and she could instantly feel herself go wet. His touch when he had lifted her onto her horse at the end of the meeting had only made her heart race more, and she knew it would have been easier to forget him if he had truly been an asshole, but he was not. That was the problem, his eyes were kind and soft, his touch gentle and respect towards her sincere. In truth, all she could think was, "I married the wrong brother."
Like I had a choice in the matter.
After that first meeting she never really got him out of her head. Secretly she wished he would one day return to the Keep, follow the traditioned practice of taking his brother's wife through levirate marriage and they would live the rest of their lives together making love every night in each other's arms. Of course, she knew that was absolutely ridiculous in everyway possible, but after years of pain and disappointment it was difficult not to feel some form of fantasy. Living in her dreams was all she had left, as her own life had turned out very different from the girl who had wanted nothing more than to ride her horse all day and lay in the grass beside the stream near her childhood home.
Riding to his aid the second time was stupid on her part, she knew it. If Cersei had found out that she had helped the Hound she and all her people would have been brutally tortured to death. For the most part, it seemed everyone had forgotten about her and the Keep after Gregor's first death. She thought even back then Sandor might have reappeared to take his claim, but he never did; which at the time she was glad because she had never met him at that point. Her men had been tracking the four hundred Lannister men moving through the Westerlands when they realized the Lannister unit was organizing for attack. It was one of her roving patrols that discovered them and rode back to the Towers to inform her. It had been a hard decision to make, but emotions aside, she knew if Sandor died then Gregor would live. No one else in the Seven Kingdoms alive would most likely be able to kill him. She told herself that it was risky but allowing the chance of Gregor to live was risky as well; she tried to tell herself it wasn't because she felt secretly drawn to the man and couldn't bare to think about his life being forfeited.
Seeing him in action that day had only made her desire him more, and then when she heard he was really coming back to the Keep, she knew that she would need to keep her feelings in check. He could have any woman in all the Seven Kingdoms now, he had been the hero of two wars; but really, she knew that he was already in love with the most gracious creature in all of Westeros. Everyone knew of their relationship and how she alone had tamed the great Hound and brought him to his knees. He called her his Little Bird and worshiped her like no other. Straya had heard the stories and wished that she had known a love like that, but she had been stolen from her family as a young girl, and now her time was past. She would die alone, barren, and disgraced. In the eyes of the nobility, the things Gregor had done to her were scandalous and her status at court now was little better than a common whore. It mattered not that she had been an unwilling participant, it only mattered her name had been attached to the stories and rumors and now she was not acceptable to be received in any noble house in the Kingdoms.
Fuck them, fuck them all. I don't need them. I have my family here.
In that moment a large shape squatted down next to her and she was drawn out of her thoughts. Sandor was beside her, bare chested, pulling grapes off the vine. His presence had surprised her, but then she had looked at him and a feeling of gratefulness and appreciation washed over her; with a little bit of lust mixed in of course.
Maybe he will never look at you like you're Sansa Stark, but he is a good man and he will take care of the people at the Keep. It is not fair of you to ask for more than that.
Sandor looked over and gave her a small smile, "I couldn't let you out work me today, woman; you can't show me up on my first day here." He poked at her playfully with his elbow and she smiled back at him.
"You are going to have to do a little better than pick a few grapes, Hound, if plan to show me up." She kept her guard up as always.
This would be so much easier if he had a shirt on; how can a man be built like that? He looks like the Warrior incarnate.
It was all Straya could do to keep from staring at him. Gregor was the biggest man in all the Seven Kingdoms, but his build was much different from that of Sandor's. Gregor was freakishly big; his arms and legs were like trunks of a tree and muscles bulged so large that it did not look natural. His torso was so thick, and he seemed to be modeled after some kind of ancient beast of old. Gregor was raw, unadulterated power. Perhaps she should have found him attractive in his own right, but the shape and power of Gregor Clegane had seared such a frightening image into Stray's brain that all she had seen him as was a monster.
Sandor was shaped very different. He was not quite as big as Gregor, but he was very close; however, the way his body appeared was sleeker. His shoulders and back were broad with muscles that seemed more defined. You could watch him walk without his tunic on and see them ripple with his movements. Even his stomach was well packed with sleekly defined muscle that seemed to run on forever in tight waves. Straya caught a glimpse of sweat that rolled down his side and fell into the line that ran along the side of his abdomen. She watched as the drop rolled within the groove that created that perfect V-shape to his torso, and saw it catch on the top of his breeches. Her eyes wanted nothing more than to see how far that groove on his body ran under those breeches.
"See something you like my Lady?" Sandor had an amused look on his face and a smug little grin.
Fuck! You were looking to long and now you're caught!
"Was I staring? I am sorry, I was thinking about what needs to be done this afternoon when I get back to the Keep. I have a bad habit of staring when I am in deep thought." Her voice was flat and matter of factly.
He is never going to buy that, surely you could have come up with something better.
A serious look crossed his face then, "Why don't I help you, then maybe you can finish early, and we can go for a ride before supper."
That would be superb, except I just lied. You are fucked anyway, just say something provocative like you always do and embarrass him into shutting up.
Straya looked up coyly at him and gave him a small girlish smile," That would be great Lord Clegane, except I just completely lied, I really was not thinking about something important and staring, I was watching a drop of sweat roll down the muscle of your abdomen and wondering how far down that line on your side goes. - In truth." She held her chin high and refused to look embarrassed, if nothing else, she would keep her look of pride.
He leaned in so close to her she thought he was going to kiss her, "Why Lady Clegane, it goes all- the-way-down." He rasped, holding her gaze defiantly and enunciating every word slowly in his deep voice.
Please just take me now.
Straya swallowed hard and tried to change the topic in recovery, "We are about finished here; if you can wait for me to go back to the Keep and get Balerian," he cut her off.
"You can just ride with me on Stranger, unless you are afraid you will not be able to keep your hands off me. I have that affect on the ladies sometimes." He stood up and stared down at her with a devilish grin on his face.
"I assure you, your virtue is safe with me Lord Clegane, I will do my best to try to contain myself; although I am certain it will be difficult." She cocked her head to one side and gave him a patronizing smile as she stood. His hand slowly moved to her face, and he gently brushed his thumb across her cheek to remove the streaked dirt.
"All better." he whispered quietly. For a moment they both stood not moving, seemingly shocked by the intimacy that the simple act had caused between them. Then Sandor stepped back and turned towards his horse.
They walked over to Stranger and he pulled his tunic back over his head. Without warning, he quickly scooped Straya up and placed her atop the horse. She thought for a moment that she felt his fingers rub her sides but then dismissed the idea as absurd.
Sandor
Having the girl in his arms like this while bestride Stranger made his blood surge within his body; he felt hot and alive. Being close to her made him feel so many different things at so many different times, but in this moment, he had to confess, it was mostly lust. She had leaned back into him and took his form as they rode, she was easily the best rider he had ever doubled with. Not to mention the crown of her hair fell just below his chin and he could smell her scent again.
As they moved along in unison though, shifting with the horse, Sandor suddenly realized it had probably been a mistake to put the girl in front of him. He had wanted to hold her while they rode, he liked the way she felt in his arms the day before in the study when she had comforted him. Holding her had given him a feeling of peace, something that he did not know much of in his life, and he had wanted more it. Now, however, he realized that his cock was fully functional again and it seemed to have no trouble getting hard when Straya was near it.
You dumbass dog, you got so used to your sorry ass cock not working that you forgot all the trouble it has caused you.
His days in the Red Keep flashed in his mind and he remembered all the times he had trouble keeping his bulging breeches hidden from Sansa. It wasn't that he just ran around getting hard at the drop of a pin, but for some reason the Little Bird had a terrible effect on him; so terrible he had gotten drunk and tried to take her from the King of the whole bloody country. Until this point in life, it had only ever been Sansa that did this to him, but now it seemed Straya held the same power over his protruding member. The problem was, Straya was not some little naïve girl that he could easily hide something like this away from, she mostly likely knew how hard he was already. Trying to deny it at this point would be futile.
He inhaled deeply, and her scent filled his nostrils again. Something to what he likened happiness to feel like filled him.
Who gives a fuck; I am in the open air with Stranger, she is in my arms and the sky is bluer than I have seen it in weeks. Let her feel my cock and know that I am happy. She is a woman grown, she has lived through worse, she has lived through Gregor.
They rode for a long time, through the wood, across a stream, even into a ravine. They chatted about the Keep, she told him about growing up in House Alvers, her horses and about the puppy she had never seen again after Gregor took her. He told her about the war against the Night King, what the wights had looked like and the battles that took place. They conversed over the current state of the Westerlands and what each of them thought of all the events that had transpired there. They both agreed that Tywin Lannister was a cunt, but they both had a certain amount of respect for the man on how he commanded himself. They even discussed Brienne of Tarth, now Lady of Casterly Rock, and Sandor was surprised to learn that she had given birth to twins. She had become pregnant with the Kingslayer's child during the War of the Long Night before he fell in battle and knew she had returned to the Rock after the War for King's Landing, but in truth he had never thought to ask about the babe that she gave birth to. A laugh escaped his throat when Straya said the Kingslayer had twins.
"That is exactly what I thought when I heard it as well," she tilted her head to look up at him with an evil smile, "hopefully Lady Brienne will be sure to keep their bedrooms on separate sides of the castle."
Sandor laughed all the more then and tightened his arm around her waist. This was the happiest he had felt since, well, since Winterfell, and he didn't want it to end.