Sansa hid behind the tree, trying to hold her breath to keep quiet. She listened closely for the sound of approaching footsteps, twigs snapping, anything to alert her to someone's presence. She glanced up at the sky, the sunlight streaming through tree branches high above her, and she saw him.
"Bran!" she whispered, as loud as she dared. Bran chuckled and held a finger to his lips, pointing behind the tree. Sansa shook her head but quieted. Far off, she could hear a bird chirping as a light breeze ruffled through her hair.
"GOTCHA!" Robb grabbed her arm and Sansa screamed. Her brother laughed and tickled her under her arm and Sansa tried to shove him away.
"Stop! Robb! Stop it!" she squealed, clawing at his big hands, but he just laughed harder. "Robb!"
Robb finally stopped long enough to hear the laughter above them. He wrapped his arms around Sansa from behind to keep her from running off and looked up, spying Bran perched on the tree.
"Bran!" he called up, smiling. "Get down here and help me torture your sister!"
"Coming!" Bran called back, and Sansa squirmed.
"Who are we torturing?" Arya appeared from her hiding spot with little Rickon in tow, her eyes eager. "Sansa?"
"No!" Sansa cried, half laughing, trying to wrestle free from Robb's arms.
"Oh no you don't!" he teased her, tickling her sides. Arya ran forward and held Sansa's arms out and she laughed harder. Little Rickon clapped and jumped up and down and Robb and Arya tickled Sansa half to death and Bran landed on the ground.
"It's better if you get her knees!" Called Jon, as he came upon the group as well. Sansa began kicking as Bran and Arya grabbed her ankles and spread her on the ground, quickly taking off her shoes and attacking her feet with wiggly fingers.
"S-Stop! Please! Stop, stop!" Sansa laughed breathlessly, trying to roll away from her siblings.
"Children!" the tickling ceased at the sound of Catelyn Stark's voice. They all looked up, Sansa pushing Arya and Bran off her feet gently and pulling her sandals back on. "Dinner is ready whenever you are done with poor Sansa," she said, smiling down at them. Sansa hurriedly stood up.
"I'm coming!" she called, sticking her tongue out at her brothers and sister, who rolled their eyes and followed her. Catelyn stood with Ned, both of them waiting as their children filed in past them, playfully pushing on another and ruffling each other's hair. Sansa looked back and saw her mother kiss her father, leaning back and gazing into his eyes and smiling. Sansa smiled too, but looked away, dreaming of the day she would kiss her own husband like that.
When she awoke, Sansa was surprised that she dreamt. She was more surprise that she slept. The past two nights, she had only lain on her cloak, staring at the sky. She didn't speak or eat, and it frustrated the Hound to no end. Yesterday, he even yelled at her to eat, but she just looked at him. He stopped bothering after that.
It was still dark when Sansa sat up, but she could hear soft snores coming from the Hound. She pulled her blanket from the inn up around her chest and rolled her neck, though she felt no pain. She was numb, and she had been that way since she learned that Robb and her mother were...gone.
Tears stung her eyes.
"Damn it," she muttered. If only Septa Mordane could see her now; sleeping on the ground, wearing dirty clothes, swearing out loud. She wiped her cheeks, tired of crying. Tired of being sad. Tired.
"Little Bird?" the Hound had woken up and was looking at her with concerned, but guarded eyes. "Everything alright?" he asked. Sansa pulled her knees up to her chin and rested her head, peering at him sideways.
"When I was a girl, my brothers would hold down my limbs and let Arya and Rickon tickle me. I was the most ticklish out of all of us," she told him. Her eyes were locked on his face, but he could see she was far away from him. "They would all gang up on me, every time, and I hated it. Until it was over, and my stomach hurt from laughing, and I'd almost ask them to do it again." She smiled sadly and her eyes focused on his. "Littlefinger once told me how your brother burned your face. I said I would never tell you…is it true? What he did to you?" she asked. Sandor sat up and looked down at the ground.
"Aye," he muttered. Sansa didn't say anything, but waited for him to continue. "Littlefinger shouldn't have told you."
"I'm sorry," she replied, not for knowing his secret, but for what happened to him as a child. "What were you like before he did this to you?" Sansa asked. She was close enough to reach out and gently stroke his burned cheek. He sighed.
"I was like any child," he answered her slowly. "I played with small toys and swords, dreamed of becoming a knight, I stole kisses and gropes from the servant girls," he replied, his voice sounded much different than his normal gruffness. He sounded smaller, younger. It made her want to listen closer.
"Gregor was never like that. He was possessive, crude. Where I liked to kiss the servant girls, Gregor liked to beat them. He used to play tricks on them."
"He sounds like Joffrey," Sansa murmured. The Hound nodded. "How could you stomach him? Joffrey, I mean," she asked.
"I didn't, I just imagined the day the mob would cut his balls off," he responded. Sansa barely flinched at his bawdy language. "And you needed me," he said again. She met his gaze and gave him another sad smile.
"You remind me of Robb sometimes," she noted. "He was always very protective of me and my sister."
"I'm sorry he died," Sandor said awkwardly. "And your mother."
"And Robb's pregnant wife," Sansa replied bitingly. "The sister in law that I'll never know, and the nephew I'll never meet." Sansa breathed out, closing her eyes and picturing a beautiful woman; Robb liked brunettes, shorter girls, and Sansa tried to imagine what she would have looked like. They could have been great friends; Sansa could have stitched a little dress or vest for the tiny Northern prince or princess.
"I'm sorry," Sandor said again. Sansa nodded. The stars above her burned extra bright tonight, she found herself admiring them.
"I'll kill Walder Frey," she said after a few minutes. "I may not be the one to drive the knife through his heart but I will live to see the life leave his eyes, I can promise you that, and it will be on my orders," she told him, with a newfound wickedness dripping from every word. Sandor raised his eyebrows, impressed.
"Perhaps I'll run the knife through him for you," he said. Sansa nodded, giving him her first genuine smile; small, but it was there.
"Then you would be a true knight, and you wouldn't want that," she reminded him. Sandor looked at her through the darkness and saw how she glowed in the moonlight, her eyes shimmering as the stars did far above them. He moved closer to her.
"You said I was," he growled quietly. Sansa looked at him, expressionless. He could see how hard a woman she had become, and he was not surprised given all she had to endure at King's Landing. She was his Little Bird by name, but not by nature, not anymore. "You called me your knight."
"So I did. You do not believe in knighthood," she pointed out. Sandor dared shift even closer.
"I could," he replied. "I could believe it for you." Sansa raised an eyebrow.
"You are only saying this because I am weeping and need comfort," she said, her voice turning icy, and she looked away. Something inside of Sandor's gut caught fire and he moved towards her yet again, practically sitting on her.
"I said I would keep you safe. I will always keep you safe," he said, fierce but gentle. Ever so slowly, for what seemed like an eternity, he gingerly reached a hand out to her. He caught sight of his palm in the moonlight and could see how rough it was, scarred and bumpy with callouses and cuts, tough and dirty, and he almost withdrew it. But he looked at her face, at her guarded eyes, and found himself stretching it forth again. Lightly, as though handling a babe, he cupped her cheek. She did not move, she barely breathed. She only watched him. His thumb stroked her cheekbone gently, her skin as soft as flower petals.
"I will be a knight for you, Sansa Stark, and no one else. I will protect you," he promised her, and her lips just barely parted in mild disbelief.
"You…don't want to be a knight," she replied stupidly, and the Hound reached his other hand up boldly and placed it on her other cheek, holding her face in his hands.
"Seven Hells, girl," he swore. "Don't you understand? I need you alive, I—"
"Why?" She demanded, anger flaring up in her eyes as she tried to pull away, but Sador held her face firmly. "So you can barter me for your freedom? For gold? I know what kind of man you are, Sandor Clegane, I know of your selfishness. You care only for your own skin."
"Then why would I protect you at all? If what you're saying were true, I would have had no use for you in King's Landing. I could have let Joffrey beat you, rape you, kill you, but I didn't," he barked back. Sansa looked away from him, her eyes beginning to overflow once again.
"Look at me!" he grunted, and Sansa remembered how he had once cornered her in the corridor of the castle and forced her to look at him. The day he declared her the Little Bird.
"I am looking at you," she spat, growing angry at him for thinking she was a fool. "I see the Hound before me, no knight. You have saved my life for the sole purpose of trading me to my family for safety and money, but I will not be anyone's pawn anymore!" She pulled her face away from his grip, fire burning in her eyes.
"I was a pawn to Cersei, I was a pawn to Joffrey, to Lord Baelish, to every damned noble man and lady in my own personal Hell, but I will not, I will not be a pawn to you!"
"You are not my pawn!" he yelled back. The girl was as stubborn as an ox, and hard of hearing when she was angry. "But you are my Little Bird and I promised to protect you," he gripped her wrists again, pulling her close. "And if that means becoming a knight to serve you best," he ground out the words. Both of them were on their knees, facing each other, Sansa's small arms held in his mighty grasp as she looked up at him, tears streaming down her smooth cheeks, her face inches from his own.
"So be it," he rasped, and his lips somehow found their way to hers, descending upon them so quickly she barely had time to take breath. It was not a graceful kiss or a gentle one like she dreamed kissing a knight would be, but in a way, it was better. Sansa's confused heart skipped beats and she could hear it drumming in her ears as Sandor's lips pressed against her own, not uncomfortably. Her eyes fluttered shut and she pressed her own lips back on his with as much force as she could muster, and Sandor noticed. He released her wrists and gripped her waist with both hands, pulling her closer. Sansa hands went to his face, gently cupping both sides. She felt her lips part and suddenly her chest seemed to explode with a mad heat.
All too quickly, it was over. Sandor reeled back away from her, releasing her and practically shoving her away. Sansa leaned back on her haunches, opening her eyes and gazing at him through the dark; though she could not see his face, she could hear him panting.
Without a word to her, he turned and lay on his cloak, rolling so his back faced her. Sansa lay back too, slowly, and gently touched her fingers to her lips, and even in the midst of tragedy and the continuing fight for her life, she felt a blush creep up her neck.
AN: So, yes, they finally kissed. Let me tell you that writing a kissing scene between these two is HARD because of how difficult it is to keep them in character! GAH. But I made it through and I hope you all enjoyed it! I will be out of town until the 5th so this was my "short temporary hiatus present" to you all. I love you SO MUCH and will see you in Chapter 11 :)