The sound of his breath and the low crackle of the dimly lit brazier were the only sounds in the dead silent room. Sandor Clegane was no stranger to difficulties and the past few months had been more complicated then he preferred, but today had been particularly trying.
He had been getting used to the monotony that went along with being a Kingsguard to a boy King. Sandor had guarded the selfish little twat since he'd been shitting himself, guarding him with a fancy white cloak on was no different. That wasn't entirely true before he was a prince he had no true power. Sandor was still in no place to tell him, no, but there were others who could have. Not that they ever did, he supposed that was how the Seven Kingdoms wound up with such a twisted little cunt on the Iron Throne in the first place.
Sandor peered out the window towards the gradually dimming light that fell over Kings Landing. He grabbed the wineskin from the ring on his belt, biting off the cork and taking a healthy gulp in a swift well-practiced motion. His lips pressed into a thin line at the thought of the wretched day he'd had.
It was a typical beginning; he was summoned as the King awoke. His squire came and strapped him into his dark armor; he agreed to wear the ridiculous white cloak Sandor refused to walk around looking like a complete and utter nance in the White Cloaks scaled golden armor. Fuck that shite. It was a late start to the day, which he had no complaints about. The later he started the day the less time he'd have to spend with that miserable little twat.
Joffrey, being the nasty little cunt he was, was bored so he requested the company of his Lady to take a foul little stroll through the promenade that he had the severed heads of his enemies displayed. Joffrey had laughed and Sandor left, keeping his mouth sealed shut. It was not his place to question Kings.
He hunched forward resting his elbow on his knee after taking another swig from his wineskin.
Little Bird.
Sansa Stark…
She was a child, but it was clear she had inherited all the grace and beauty of a Tully. High cheekbones, vivid blue eyes, and sleek auburn hair; Sansa Stark was a frail delicate little thing left all alone in this den of lions. It was too bad her daddy went and got his head snipped off. The honorable Eddard Stark would never allow his daughter to marry someone as cruel as Joffrey. Fuck, if Eddard were still around that vile little cunt wouldn't even be on the throne. Stannis was a cold boring twat, but at least he had seen battle. He had some idea of what it meant to lead men, that was more than could be said for Joffrey the sniveling little cunt.
When he had arrived outside her room her door had been left wide open. He'd heard the sound of frantic sobs accompanied cutting of fabric. She'd been crying, he thought she was injured. When he'd entered the room Sansa Stark turned to him and froze wide eyed, tears streaking down her cheeks and trembling like the little bird she was. She was clutching a knife in her dainty little fingers, blood stained her nightgown; it was clear she had flowered.
Gods what he would've given to not see that. Of course, he knew it was only a matter of time before she has her first blood as well as the implications that came with it. She was still just a child in his eyes the same as Joffrey. He also hadn't expected to involved in this aspect of the young Stark girls life. Sansa didn't beg, she didn't even speak; she merely crumbled to the floor still clutching the knife in her bone white fingers and cried. Her raven-haired handmaiden tended to her while the 'Hound' had done what his masters expected of him.
He took another deep gulp from his wineskin, the business with Little Bird had been unpleasant, but he had no real choice in the matter. Sandor had tried to shield her from some of life's cruelties but there was only so much he could do without his own head meeting a spike along the outer wall of the Red Keep.
After giving Cersei the news of Sansas' first blood, he resumed with his regular duties. Joffrey wasn't all too disappointed with Sansas' absence. He decided to hold court until late afternoon, which was always insufferable for Sandor. He had stood by his side along with another one of the Kingsguard the new one, Ser Balon Swann.
Balon seemed a strong young man and Sandor considered him to be competent and honorable which was more than could be said for most knights. Swann had yet to lay a hand on Sansa Stark and until he did he would be better than his predecessor, Preston Greenfield.
It was a rather uneventful day; Ser Ilyn Payne had only brutally dismembered four people two right hands a tongue and a foot. The foot was a rather odd, punishment, but again Sandor was in no place to question Kings. He had no desire too either.
When Joffrey tired of squishing ants he had retreated to his Royal quarters Sandor and Swann alongside him. It was odd to not have at least one of the others with them, though Sandor was glad for an afternoon free of Trant and Blount. How those two became Kingsguard let alone Knights was beyond him.
That nasty business with Sansa Stark had been one thing. He felt bad for the girl but at the end of the day the Queen would've found out she had flowered one way or another. From his understanding, it seemed it would be a difficult thing to hide.
But seeing her like that in the Royal Apartments and being unable to do or even say anything about it… It was almost too much to bear.
For a moment he hadn't recognized her, but he would know those eyes anywhere. Sandor had found himself searching for them more often then he cared to admit in the past few months. He knew his Songbird had been injured during the riot more then she cared to admit. Her battered face was clear confirmation of that.
He remembered everything vivid detail about her as though Songbird were there fluttering in front of him right now. A small stitch ran through her right brow and a decent sized scab rested on her temple. Deep purple bruises had set in around her stormy grey eyes from the broken nose he had suspected. Pycelle may have been a craven lying cunt of a man but he had done a damn good job setting it, though still swollen he could tell her nose was less kinked then before. His eyes had darted to the curve of her chest, he'd felt guilty for ogling her like that, but Gods was he glad he did. Her breasts were two taut mounds begging to be conquered by him.
He felt himself stir at the thought of them. Sandor knew Songbird wasn't as shapeless as she tried to appear, but he hadn't expected her to be so well proportioned. She was svelte but sturdy. Her toned arms were covered in a multitude of scars of varying levels of severity that she had no doubt obtained through numerous battles. The scars, the bruises, the wounds none of it was enough to make him lose his heightening attraction towards her.
Chestnut brown hair hung in several loose braids draped over her shoulder. Her tawny collar-bone was bare, exposing some nasty scars he had never seen before. Despite her apparent injuries Sandor had still found his eyes wandering to the swell in her chest that her typical clothes usually kept hidden. When her eyes had first found him Sandor could hardly stop himself from pressing her against the table and taking her right then and there. Though that desire had temporarily been driven to him upon remembering their present company.
He had been both alarmed and relieved when Songbird mostly sang along to the tune that Joffrey would have expected. Sandor was stunned with himself when he showed incredible restraint by not bashing Joffrey pinched little head in for even alluding a late night visit to her one of these days.
Even as she sang her songs to Joffrey songbirds eyes had kept landing on Sandor. She looked at him the way she always did. Most avoided his direct gaze, not her she commanded it and he would give her nothing less. He had wondered if it was another silent cry for help like that time in the tavern.
Was it disgusting that despite the circumstance he had still felt an ache in his loins from looking at her in that pretty little dress she had undoubtedly been forced to wear? Sandor knew she would never walk around unarmed and so vulnerable willingly. She wasn't the sharpest of mind, but when it came to weaponry and defense she kept surprising him. It had taken more restraint then he thought possible, but Sandor had been able to remain composed while seeing her like that. He couldn't very well go pawing at her after how he had acted towards her following the riot. He hadn't heard anything himself, but he could only imagine there were nasty rumors about him taking her to bed. Songbird was pretty, but she was just another woman. He had told himself that over and over since meeting her and yet, he still found himself helping her.
Sandor couldn't deny the blood that had continued to rush to his groin long after he had seen her like that. Even just thinking back on her now excited him. He had been thankful for his armor and annoyed that Jofrrey had not dismissed him earlier. He'd stood outside Joffrey's room for what felt hours, wanting nothing more than to tend to his itch. By the time Blount came to relieve him, Sandor was close to boiling over. He sat alone on his bed draining the rest of his wineskin with a sharp sigh. Tonight he needed more then his hand could do.
It was nearly sunset when he made his way towards the Street of Silks. There was still a curfew in place, not that it mattered to him. Sandor was Kingsguard even if he was no one dared to tell him no; aside from her, of course.
When he reached the brothel, Sandor clutched his coin purse. He still had a lot left over from the 40,000 Gold Dragons he had won at the Hand of the Kings tourney. Nearly a year had passed and he had made only a small dent in his earnings. He had paid 25 Gold Dragons for his black courser; Stranger. The rest he had lost track of. He would drink, and sometimes let out poison in one of the finer establishments of Kings Landing where a few Gold Dragons bought him all the sex and booze he could possibly want. Sandor was a man, but he took no joy in fucking women who were dead in the eyes. Not that any of them ever looked at him. They would sing their pretty little songs and writhe their bodies against his they way they were expected too, but Sandor was no fool. No woman in her right mind would ever willingly bed him, Gregor had ensured that the day he pressed his face to the fire.
Sandor arrived at the Peach, a whorehouse he had been to several times in the past. The headmistresses stiffened as her eyes fell on him. He knew that look he saw in the eyes of every woman whos eyes dared to fall on him; fear, disgust abhorrence. Everyone had that look in there eyes when they found him, except for Songbird, she had never looked at him with such disdain. She would glare and scowl and shout but it felt different. She was showing contempt for his actions, not him.
The headmistress cleared her throat, gaining his attention. Before the woman could speak he pulled out a handful of coins from his pouch. Her eyes lit up at the 5 Gold Dragons he held towards her.
"Welcome back, we're so glad to see you again. It's been far too long. Shall I bring in the auburn-haired ones for you? The girls with light eyes? I have a pretty little thing_"
"No, I want a brunette." Sandor rasped. The woman quirked a brow before nodding, she led him to a large empty room and beckoned him to sit down on the bed. Sandor waved her off, he much preferred standing. "Eyes like a storm." She paused for a moment in the doorway pressing her hand to her mouth as she thought.
"I believe I have just what you're looking for Ser…" His stomach churned when she called him 'Ser'. He highly doubted she would have anything close to what he wanted, but whatever she did have would have to do.
He made his way to the table and poured himself a cup of wine. Sandor shut his eyes while quickly draining the glass. It was good wine, very high quality not that it mattered much to him. As long as it would get him drunk, he was content. Sandor had three more glasses before the headmistress returned with several brown haired women.
Some were younger then he would have preferred some much older. Before he stood a line of pretty little birds, had he seen them months ago Sandor was sure he would've been more than pleased with any one of them. As he had expected not one whore lifted their gaze to meet him. The all stood, quivering in fear with their eyes fixed on the ground before them. This was how it always was. He always imagined the great relief of the other women who he didn't choose. Sandors disappointment mounted as he inspected them, none were anything like Songbird. The one who was the right height was too curvy with a nose that was slightly too small for her face. The girl who was the right height was far too slender; she looked as though she would blow away with the smallest breeze.
Towards the middle was one woman who was almost passable. The hair wasn't quite right, an ashen brown instead of a chestnut, but it draped over her shoulder in soft waves the same way he imagined songbirds would've had it not been kept in braids. She had icy blue eyes that in this dim light could almost be considered grey. Sandor sighed, it seemed this would be the closest he would get.
"Leave us." He commanded with a dismissive wave, the other women ran out of the room so fast one might think there was a fire. The girl he selected stayed frozen in place her eyes fixed downward. Sandor drained his cup once more and made his way to the bed. He wondered what Songbird would say if she saw him right now. No doubt she would mock him. She always did like to have her little jokes. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a smile that soured as soon as his selected whore came into view. He brought his hand towards her, running his fingers through her curly tresses. It was much smoother then he imagined songbirds would be.
The woman cringed under his touch, Sandor quickly drew his hand back and glared down at her. The women took a step back, keeping her gaze meekly glued to the ground.
"Would you like wine milord?" She asked softly, Sandors eyes snapped shut at her gratingly weak voice. That was all wrong too, he longed for Songbirds confident, sincere voice. Sandor nodded, the girl shot towards the table before pouring a glass. Sandor felt contempt brew in him, even from across the room he could the whore trembling. He had no doubt the girl thought he was going to brutalize her. Other men in the Kingsguard undoubtedly had before, why wouldn't a mean looking fucker like him do the same?
He snatched the cup from her shaking hand, draining it in one gulp. The woman let out a nervous laugh and sat timidly beside him for a moment before placing her hand on his lap. His member, which had been aching all day, seemed to shrink in an instant under her frail dainty touch.
"Don't fucking touch me until I tell you too," He snapped, far more harshly then he had intended, her eyes grew wide with fear as she quickly withdrew her hand. "More wine, just bring the bloody pitcher." Sandor sighed. She nearly ran to heed his order, before she could pour anything he snatched the pitcher from her hand and began to drink directly from it. She went slack-jawed, Sandor imagined she viewed him as some sort of animal with the way he was behaving. Not that it mattered; he was just a nasty old dog after all.
He was paying good gold for this whore, he would be damned if he didn't get some relief from this. Sandor nearly drained the pitcher before slamming it on the nightstand beside the bed.
"Alright get on with it." The womans' shaking hand made its way towards his groin once more. Sandor shut his eyes trying to imagine her delicate grasp belonged to someone else. Though that was more difficult then he had anticipated. His songbird wasn't a frail coward like this woman. She looked him in the eyes when they spoke; when she grasped at something she did it with a purpose. He pushed his thoughts of her further, trying to imagine the taught breasts that lay beneath the bodice he had seen her in.
He stayed limp even as the whore took him into her mouth. Sandor reached for the pitcher once more and continued to drink as the whore halfheartedly bobbed her head up and down moaning softly as she did so. Lies, all of it. How dare this slut sit there and pretend to enjoy it. The more noises she made the more rage filled him. As he continued to remain soft the whore stopped glancing up towards Sandor, fixing her gaze just past him.
"Do I not please you, milord?" He glowered down at her. She was just the same as everyone else looking past him not at him. A sudden sense of disgust filled him as he quickly rose from the bed, shoving the girl from his path.
"No, you don't." Her brow furrowed in confusion, he supposed she thought it odd that a man with a face like his would be this picky. She quickly shook herself from her thoughts and lunged towards him nearly grasping his dingy white cloak. Sandor turned and scowled down at her.
"Wait! Where are you going it's alright I can_"
"Shut up whore, you'll still get your coin." He snapped, throwing two gold on the floor beside her before storming out.
"Ser has she_"
"Fuck off." He slurred while stumbling out of the establishment, frustrated he was still feeling an ache in his loins. He was embarrassed, it wasn't often he found himself unable to perform even when he drank a great deal he had always been able to maintain himself while with a whore. Sandor tried to convince himself that to much wine was the reason for remaining flaccid even as the pretty young girl took his cock into her mouth. The sun had already set when he left the brothel, he was thankful for the streets due to the new curfew. Sandor stewed as he returned towards the keep. It seemed his hand and thoughts of Songbirds' bosom would be his only company tonight after all.
"I'm no whore you fool, now step aside. I told you to step aside, now release me before you do something you'll really regret." Sandors ears perked up, he'd recognize that fierce tone anywhere.
"You're in no position to talk to us that way,"
"No wonder you look the way you do. You sure are mouthy for a whore. You're lucky I don't kill you where you stand for breaking curfew you cheeky little bitch."
Clegane approached from behind, Songbird was still wearing her pretty little dress. He felt the fabric of his trousers tighten once more at the sight of her, all he could think was how thankful he as for not removing his armor earlier. The closer he got to her the more he sensed something was wrong. Her braids were disheveled and judging by the rapid rising and falling of her shoulders she was out of breath. Without thinking, Sandor grasped her shoulder in his hand. She glanced over at him, her stormy gray eyes seemed to soften upon seeing his face. His lips twitched into a brief smile as he felt her body relax under his grasp. His face quickly fell as he noticed her eyes were wet and heavy as she stared up at him, it seemed she was fighting back tears.
"She's with me." The men lowered their gaze and let them pass without another word. "Come on hurry along inside Songbird." He walked behind her, enjoying the way her hips swayed when she walked, but also noticing a grimace with each step she took. After following behind in silence for some time Sandor had enough of this nonsense. He pressed her towards the wall like he had so many times before; surprised she didn't fight the way she usually did. As he looked at her in the torchlight he noticed deep crimson seeping through the fabric of her dress and the faint trail of blood that followed her. Sandor removed his grasp from her and took a step back
His heart sank with her gaze; his Songbird only looked away when something was wrong and she was too proud to admit it. He glanced to the ground near where she stood, taking in the slowly accumulating puddle of blood at her right foot. His expression hardened as her eyes stayed fixed on the ground just beyond her. She was bleeding but acting as though she were fine. Even if Songbird were a good liar, which she wasn't, it was plain to see she was freshly injured.
"I suppose I should say thank you for having them let me into the Keep." Sandor stepped towards her without thinking, his arm outstretched. Her dark brow furrowed slightly as she deftly stepped out of his grasp. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to get you somewhere more private." After the words left his lips he was aware of what that sentence may've been interpreted as. Though that wasn't his primary reason, he certainly wouldn't say no to it. Not with her, especially since the whore back at the brothel had failed to soothe his ache.
"Wh-Why?" Her voice cracked, his face dropped at the sound of it. Of course, she wouldn't let him have her in that way, of course, he could always force himself on her. She was a fighter, but she stood no chance against him. He felt a pang in his gut at the thought. That wasn't the way he wanted to have her.
His brow furrowed as he glanced down at her unusually pale and trembling form. Sandor pressed towards her, songbird pushed her back to the wall. He leaned in close to her, the sweet smell of lilac filling his nose as he reached for her skit. She stiffened, clasping her hand over his. Sandor raised a brow, while she shook her head ever so slightly. He ignored her silent plea and hiked up the hem keeping his eyes locked with hers as he did so. His expression hardened when he saw a dagger had been firmly embedded into her smooth thigh. Streams of blood stained her leg. Sandor shut his eyes for a moment before releasing the fabric from his grasp. Only she would go strutting about with a dagger sticking out of her and act as though everything was ok.
"I know pain when I see it Songbird." Without another word he scooped her up and placed her over his shoulder. She winced then stiffened for a moment under his grip, but she didn't fight him. She remained silent as he carried her through the dark castle halls towards the White Sword Tower where his room resided.
(A/N: I found it ironic that someone expressed interest during the last chapter of knowing what Sandors thoughts were considering this was the next chapter I had planned. Took me a bit longer than expected considering it takes both elements of Isolts last chapter and her next one, there were a lot of small details I wanted to make sure I got right. Thank you for your continued love and support. I appreciate every one of you who continue to read/follow/favorite and review. Now I know I always say this but I really mean it this time, the next chapter should be up super soon (considering I was doing a lot of work on this one and the next one simultaneously). Also for those of you who like this chapters title I kinda (maybe) stole it from a song I'm currently obsessed with (doesn't have much to do with the story at all, but it's still a good song) It's by a band called Knocked Loose if you feel so inclined to check it out.)