Chapter XIII

Sandor

The next day, I manage to wrap up the ship's business and my own. Although I'm running a bit late, I have to return to the bazaar to pick up my garments. Sansa has asked me this morning to come get her so she could see the bazaar again, but I have refused. I didn't have a good feeling about these alleys, and I didn't want her there if something were to happen.

And when I get there, some treachery happens just as I had expected.

As I stand near the table, inspecting the garments which have been dyed satisfactorily, I feel something brush against my side, almost like a tickle, and when I reach instinctively to touch my leather purse coin, I find that it's gone. I turn around quickly and spy a slight's man silhouette, dressed like so many in a pale tunic and trousers hurrying through the crowd, and I go off after him right away.

I don't bother to hide my pursuit, and he must have heard my heavy pounding footsteps, as he starts to weave in and out, scurrying like a rat does. He has a good head start on me and while I'm not nimble as him, my legs are much longer than his and I'm a Hound who never lets go of the scent in the hunt.

It takes three turns of these alleys before I manage to catch up to him as he enters a very small courtyard surrounded by blind walls. I grab him from behind with a hard arm, while he struggles and protests plaintively, yapping without end. I ignore his words, as I feel he wants to distract me with them. Then I spy two others coming at us with knives raised, looking so much like the thief that they could be fucking brothers. I realise then that he has led me here on purpose as to bring me into this ambush. It makes my nostrils flare with rage.

The one on the left opens his mouth, speaking with the signing accent.

"You, you leave him unharmed, and maybe we won't kill you."

I spit at them contemptuously. I'm watching for any miniscule change in their movements and eyes. I see nothing. They hide their intent better than western men. Some kind of instinct makes me grab the thief by the scruff of his neck and the seat of his pants, and I just have time to lift him up to my height like a shield before I hear the knives whistling and feel the impact of the blades burying themselves in his body with a wet sound. He gurgles. I sway for a moment, and I regain my balance as I release my hold on him and let his body fall to my left side.

Their eyes, which have been become rounded with shock, now start to fill with fear as they realise their predicament. I'm still blocking their only means of escape, and now they are weaponless. I laugh mockingly as I advance on them, unsheathing my sword. They keep babbling like their counterpart and I pierce one in the belly and on the next move strike the other in the chest, and then it's done.

I kneel on one knee amidst the spilled blood and turn the first corpse on its back. The two knives are embedded close to another; one on his forehead and the other at his throat. This could have been me if I hadn't obeyed my instinct. Good knife throwing. I pat down his body, finding a suspiciously hard bulge in the pants' pocket, and reaching in I retrieve it. There I've found my coin purse, cut from its belt. I pocket it, wipe my blade on one of his pants' leg, sheathe my sword and return to the alleys.

I walk slowly in the direction of the seller stall, swaggering deliberately through the crowd as to make myself appear even bigger, a scornful set to my features. People give me more space. When the seller spies me approaching his table, his eyes become fearful and then I fully understand the treachery: he had set this up beforehand with the thieves! That makes me grit my teeth. I act nonchalant though, asking him about what I owe him. His hands gesticulate wildly before his face.

"A mistake great lord! I apologise for everything, nothing to pay! You owe me nothing."

"Good, as you won't need money where I'm sending you."

Before he has time to react, I lean over the table and grab his head between my hands and twist his head sharply on his neck, creating a great grinding and popping of bones. I haven't used a weapon this time, as I don't want any blood spilled on my new clean garments. I let him go and he falls backwards, sliding on the wall of the booth and ending down on the pavement behind the table.

I let out a long sigh and turn around quickly, and as I have expected I find myself surround by men with eyes narrowed, these wicked curved knives having appeared in some hands. Without pause, I unsheathe my long sword with my two hands and gripping it, I give a mighty swing and cut an arc with the blade though them, making blood fly. Then everything turns silent.

Everybody looks at me fearfully, and as I gaze at them back with the bloody sword still in gripped in one hand, they start to retreat and then some even run. I laugh again. While keeping a close watch, I gather my garments and put them in the leather pouch, which I swing on my shoulder. I start to walk back with my sword still out and I turn around regularly to check if anybody is following me. When I arrive at the end of the alleys, I sheathe the longsword, and stride faster to the harbor.

Well, that settles it then for Volantis. I would have no fucking peace there, and I'm already too well known. Also, they talk too much. I just hope that the other cities won't be like this; but this has just confirmed my view that the word is a dangerous place, that I have to learn new things and adapt to a new way of thinking. I just hope that there will be elephants somewhere else, as I would really like to see one closer and examine it.

As I get on the ship, I spy Sansa and Booka, who follows me around now and whom I had left to guard her. Booka had told me not long ago that he wanted to follow me when I would get off the ship to settle someplace. It was true that he had started to develop some special loyalty to me soon on the journey; he had never flinched from the sight of my burns, was good natured and friendly. I had asked him what he thought that he could do for me on land.

"Guard your house and your lady while you're away, assist you in your endeavors, even be your sworn shield, like you say in Westeros."

That had made me laugh. As if I needed one! However, he was getting along fine in his training, having natural abilities with weapons. I thought if he got good with a knife and a sword, he'd be quite dangerous: fooling people into thinking that he was harmless with his sunny disposition.

I had wondered at how he would feel about not travelling on the sea anymore, and he had replied that he had become a sailor to explore the world, had seen a lot of it and was ready now to settle down, working for somebody worthy. He had been good with Sansa after I had killed off her attacker, and she seemed at ease with him too. I had him play his instrument to her while she was on the deck with me, and she had been entranced. She has even asked him if he would teach her songs from the Summer Isles.

Both are waiting at the bottom of the stairway. She has put on the green tunic and flowing pants and the contrast with her hair reminds me again of these colourful birds from Southern Isles. What a wonderful sight after what has happened. Being this late in coming back, I'm not surprised that she's looking very worried. When she sees me, her face lights up with an expression of deep relief. She moves as if to hurry toward me, but I stay her with my hand.

"Sandor!" she cries out. "You took so long in coming back, I was afraid something bad had happened to you!"

It makes me chuckle. "No, I'm alright, but something bad happened to some fucking thieves who thought that I was fair game, being a foreigner to these parts."

I'm walking in their direction and it's only then that she notices the stains of blood that are all over me. Her hands fly instinctively to her mouth to stifle a gasp, and I come no nearer.

"I told you that we had to be careful in these alleys. They must have spotted me yesterday, and when I came back today, they probably couldn't believe their luck." And I had been distracted yesterday, pleased with her delight in everything and throwing money around carelessly. I hadn't spotted them.

Booka looks at me, an excited spark to his eyes. "How many where they?"

I don't think that Sansa needs to hear this, and I bid her to go back to the cabin and say that I'll be along shortly. She obeys silently, and when she has ascended the stairs and closed the door behind her, Booka raises his eyebrows expectantly at me. I can't help but to shake my head at his eager expression.

"About fifteen, but not all at the same time." He whistles at this, much impressed, and I tell him the details and he's grinning. I never thought that this mild and good natured young fellow was so bloodthirsty.

Then I ask him to bring me a bucket of water to the privy, and as I look in the mirror there I find that I look like I've been in a battle. Spots of blood are everywhere: on my face, my hands, arms and plate; even in my hair. I remove the armor, the belts with the weapons and the mail, thinking that I'll clean them later. With a big cloth and looking in the mirror, I rub the blood off my face, hair and hands. Being quite thirsty, I take welcome gulps of the cool water. I gather my gear in a big bundle and then I go back to our quarters, feeling uncertain as I open the door to the cabin, not knowing what reception I will get. I know that she's always been horrified at how easily killing comes to me.

She must have been in the chamber. As soon as I close the door, she flies through the open doorway of the chamber, and I fling my heavy bundle on the divan as she literately hurls herself at me, her hands on my chest and her face looking up at mine anxiously. This throws me off, as it's not exactly what I had expected.

"Sandor, I was so scared that you were not coming back, that you had died!"

I look down at her with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "You wasted time worrying about me. I was the meanest dog that they had ever encountered in their lives. Don't fret."

She buries her face in my chest, and my arms come around her hesitantly, as I get a disturbing sensation that I'm dangerous ground; feeling like I'm teetering on the edge of some abyss. Now, I don't want to listen to this; I ignore the feeling and push down it fiercely. I stroke that wonderful, silky copper hair and she sighs contently. She looks up at me, one hand climbing up and caressing my bearded throat and chin, in slow strokes that make me feel immediately very lightheaded. I rest my forehead against the top of her head.

"Stop this..." I beg in a raspy tone. "Stop me!"

She gazes at me with that ghost smile again; this smile that makes me want to lose myself in it and believe that I can forget all that's bad and ugly. I take her head between my hands and look at her intently. I sway on my feet and crush her against me, one hand grabbing the back of her neck and lowering my head. Kissing is something that I don't know... Whores don't kiss, and I hadn't felt the need for it. But I find that it comes naturally; I kiss her at first gently; just a brushing of lips, some delicate nibbling, then more. She parts her lips without resistance against my probing tongue, and I drink of her mouth as a very thirsty dog would drink of some potent wine from his bowl. Gods, this is so good! It lasts so long that when I wrench my mouth away, I'm breathing hard.

Her arms go around my neck, and deep moan involuntary escapes from me. I hold her tight against me. I kiss her hair, her face; devour her mouth again and again. My hands slide up and down her slender body, like mad creatures that have been freed suddenly, feeling the heat of her skin underneath the thin fabric, the delicate bones, and all of the enticing curves. I can't seem to stop grunting and groaning loudly. In a sudden movement, I lift her up and carry her to my room, still kissing her.

I sit her gently on the edge of the bed. Standing up again, I remove my tunic and boots. As I approach, I kneel down in front of her, slide down her flowing pants, leaving her with the tunic. I take off her slippers, caressing her feet and kissing them, my mouth moving up slowly on her calves, knees, thighs.

"Lie down, Sansa."

I lift off the tunic and part her thighs slowly with my hands, lifting them up on my shoulder, gazing at her womanhood, the copper hair that is there too. I lower my face. An intoxicating scent fills up my nostrils and my head and I bury my face in the delicate folds, licking and tasting ravenously. Seven hells, I'll never get enough. As I hear little sighs coming from her, my body tingles all over, I open my mouth wider taste more of her and my hands grab her hips hard. She gives out a yelp of pain and I stop, raising my head. Slow down, gentle now. I rise from my knees, raise her arms to remove the tunic and lifting her, I lay her down in the middle of the bed, then I get on it, resting on my side, feasting my eyes on that beautiful slender body. Gods, her skin! It has the texture of a creamy pearl, smooth and softly glowing. I slowly stroke her small waist, her arms, belly and breasts, sucking on the rosy little buds. I lower down my head to get even more of these delicious silky kisses, and then I can't wait anymore; shifting, I lower myself on top of her, my elbows and forearms supporting most of my weight. I lower my breeches and part her thighs with a knee, whispering against her forehead.

"I'm sorry little bird; this will hurt, but only for a while. Don't be afraid."

But she is. I have already felt her body stiffen with the dread caused by the sudden weight of man bearing down on her, my hard part pushing against her soft part. Her blue eyes look fearful. Tensing up my hips, I give a sudden lunge, entering in one swift stroke. She whimpers and arches her hips against the pain. I feel badly about causing another hurt, and kiss her forehead, the tears on her lashes. I don't move, letting her get used to the feeling of me inside her, and when I feel the stiffness leave her limbs, I start with slow strokes, trembling at the wonder of it. She looks directly in my eyes, her gaze never wavering from mine; her fingers entwine themselves in my hair and that creates a most exquisite shivering all over my skin. I groan and move quicker, an unbearable tension building up and I can't stop the explosion, the release that comes with such a piercing sweetness that I grunt like a man fighting for his life.

I roll off to free her from my weight and rest on my back, keeping my body close to hers. I'm panting so hard that I can't move for minutes, my chest rising and falling swiftly. I close my eyes. She has turned on her side; I can feel her soft breath cooling my upper arm, some strands of her hair on my arm.

Then something shifts in me, something cold. An unnamed dread compels me to keep my eyes shut, making me unable to open them and look at her. After another long moment, when I do dare to look, her own eyes are closed and she seems to sleep. I don't know what I had expected, but it doesn't feel right somehow; my heart sinks. How can she have fallen asleep so quickly? I keep looking at her and her eyes remain closed. The wellbeing evaporates instantly; doubt and turmoil start to gnaw in me. She probably can't bear to look at me anymore. A little hand comes to rest on my forearm, such a natural trusting gesture that I feel a lump forming in my throat, but I fight the feeling because I know it's not true! It's the gift of pity! The pain in my throat moves rapidly to my chest, soon engulfing it completely, constricting it heavily. NO! The feeling that I had buried is coming swiftly upon me; this teetering on the edge of the abyss that I had sensed earlier returns savagely, and except this time, I feel myself falling into it.

I have to get up! In spite of my growing panic, I move slowly as not to disturb her and cover her with the bedding. I get up from the bed, putting on my tunic and boots again with frantic speed. Taking a lighted candle with a saucer, I walk silently to the door and close it carefully as to make no noise. I lock the other door and sit down with my back resting against it like a guard dog, the candle next to me on the floor. I cross my legs and rest my arms on my raised knees, bending my neck. I'm breathing hard again; my chest feels like it's going to crack open, and sobs start to come out of my throat.

I'm falling into a black dungeon, where my darkest and deepest fears lie. I'm sensing that the old hard knot of anger in me has started to loosen. I don't want it to, not when I need it now more than ever! But I can already feel the hard layers melting off one by one, leaving me naked and vulnerable. I can't run anymore from it, and now I see it all... What a supreme irony! All the battles, the fighting, facing death every day; they were nothing! It all had come so naturally and easily to me, and yet I had been so proud of it all, thinking that I was fearless, hard and invulnerable! Never having had let anything touch, me except anger, killing and drinking; never being again like the little boy that I was, defenceless helpless...

But there had come another danger yet, unexpected in its nature, appearing in the deathly guise of beauty and innocence; a lure that I had been unable to resist. As soon as I had seen her at Winterfell, I had known that I wanted her. I had felt hope, thought that with a desire this strong she was fated to be a gift for me; regardless of rank and circumstances and my horrible scars. Even though her fear and revulsion of me were the hard truth, and were expressed every time that she was in my presence,I had obstinatelyclung to that hope like a madman - the hope that wasn't hope anymore but some kind of disease that had taken a life of its own. But it had never been meant as a gift for me, but a curse of these mocking gods! These gods that she had almost started me believe in.

But she had only accepted my help because she was desperate and willing to do anything to escape from the King: finally looking at me without flinching. Being forced to depend on me for her survival and safety, wanting me to continue protecting her; she had changed how she behaved toward me. Being a woman now, she had gotten smarter, sensing the weakness that I had for her, and had started to be sweet to me.

And it had worked. Her every gestures of sweetness, however hard I fought them still found their way in, gradually crumbling away at my defenses, seducing me, each one putting me closer and closer on the edge of that damn abyss, and like a fucking dimwit, I had ignored reality; now it was coming back to bite me in the face.

She had hidden her natural horror as to give me what she knew I wanted and then she couldn't bear to go on for another moment, having been this close to me, my scars. That's why she was pretending to sleep...

NO! I can't stand this! What will follow after? An expression of revulsion in an off guard moment, and then a frantic covering up of it... Lies... More revulsion more lies... And then I will die a much worse death than by physical means; I will shatter in a thousand pieces, rotting from the inside like a dead tree and like it, I will be lifeless while still standing up.

And what will happen when we find somewhere to live on this continent? Being so beautiful and a lady, men, handsome and richer men will become enamored of her and offer her everything that she's ever dreamed of, will seduce her with the pretty words that she likes and having no use for me anymore, she'll fly away, leaving my hands empty once again... I can't stand the thought of it and that of another man having her!

Terror leaves me, replaced by a fury that boils like thick dark blood in my head, rushing through my limbs. My dagger... I get up and walk to the divan, fumbling through the pile of gear on it until my gaze finds it. I feel the need to lift it from the belt, to hold it. I unsheathe it from the scabbard, taking it in my hands, admiring its cold metallic glint, slowly turning it around...

I warned you not to lie to me, and still you have, with every sweet false gesture and smile. Killing you will be the sweetest thing...

It will be easy to walk to my chamber, to open the door and stealthily approach the bed, kneeling down over her. I'll put the dagger against her throat and let it rest there for a moment, and then I'll point it at her heart. A swift plunge and there won't be time anymore for betrayal. This torment will stop once and for all.

I can see it all through my mind, these images bathed in a green light coming from strange emerald clouds that I see through the window... The knowing of my intent dawning on her face, her eyes pleading with me but knowing that it's too late. I realise now that the seeds for this were sown on our first meeting at Winterfell; all the burning anger of these last two years building up inevitably to this moment...

I move slowly with the dagger in my hand, making my way to the room, the door a black rectangle emerging from the shadows. Images appear on the surface of the door: I see Sansa with her face ravaged by tears and despair after a beating; I hear her asking me to stop hurting her while I grasp her wrist roughly; I remember when days after her father had been executed, the King had ordered me to get her out of her bed and I had lifted her up from it like a broken doll.

I'm rooted to where I'm standing. The spell breaks and I'm brought up from the depths of my madness. What was I thinking of? The dagger burns my hand; I sheath it and slide it fast in a shadowed corner of the room. Am I such a spineless coward that I'll kill a helpless girl, this precious girl that I've tried to protect, because I cannot stand fear, even these fears?

I return to my spot near the door and sit down again. I'm so shocked by what I almost did that it breaks my resistance, and finally I let myself surrender to the terror and the emptiness that have shadowed me for so long. I blow out the candle, take a cushion from the divan and bury my face in it to muffle the deep racking sobs that come up instantly. There is no thought anymore, just this sea of pain and terror, the howling vulnerability... Each sob wrenches from my chest like it's tearing it apart, burning with the same brazier fire in which my face was shoved in by my brother. The tears burn my eyes too, like some poison inside of me is coming out. It is excruciating, unbearable and yet I endure it; as it pours out of me I see other things that were yet hidden deeper inside of me. I'm remembering that as hard she tried to pretend and lie in order to protect herself nobody believed it; that's why she kept getting beaten. Even I had told her how bad a liar she was; that a hound could smell lies... But I hadn't sniffed any, except for the little white ones, since I had caught her from her flight... Yes, she had been terrified of me and repulsed by my burned face in the past, but this had changed; only I was so full of mistrust and fear that I hadn't dared to believe it...

Then the despair returns and tells me to stop deceiving myself again and I feel engulfed in it like a small ship in a stormy sea. I fight it by trying to keep thinking that everything cannot have been a lie, it cannot... If it is, let me die...

I don't know what makes me realize that it has stopped. I must have dozed off for a bit; I feel much disoriented as my gaze circles blindly in the black room. As much as I strain, I see nothing, hear nothing and smell nothing. I feel like I'm floating in a dark void where time seems to have stopped and nothing exists. Am I dead already? Have I killed her? I don't know anything anymore.

The door at the end opens silently, eerily, with a light emerging, candles inside a lamp carried by a slight barefooted silhouette covered in a long green tunic. The light blinds me and I cover my eyes. I feel the footsteps coming nearer, and I wonder if this is death coming to me, to finally release me.

I uncover my eyes and look up at the vision, which looks exactly like Sansa Stark, the perfect mix of child and woman. Is the Stranger appearing to me in the guise of this girl that I love? She kneels in front of me, putting the lamp down carefully on the nothingness. She gazes at me with such complete, deep compassion that I'm filled with shame and remorse. I avert my face from her gaze, sobbing again. She has come back from the dead to bring me with her, and I want to go...

"Sandor, look at me. Look at me." What an irony it is to hear my own words flung back at me, but in a much gentler tone!

I find the courage to do it, and she brings out one of the gossamer scarves that we bought yesterday and gently wipes my face with it. Then I sigh deeply.

"I killed her... I knew that she let me bed her because she was grateful and felt pity for me. Not that I was not thankful for it, mind you. But I went mad."

She shakes her head. "Stop that! Nobody could ever pity you; you're so strong, brave and fierce. She feels safe with you and cares about you."

"She shouldn't!" I whisper. "I'm a killer."

"Shhh... I was dreaming, a strange dream with green clouds and I heard strange sounds. When I woke, you were gone and I realised that sounds had been real, coming from this room; from you. You had a nightmare, that's all."

So strong in some parts and yet so fragile in others! We complete each other. She comes nearer, leaning down and embracing me, while she brings up a hand to rest against the right part of my face and head; the burned half full of twisted, pitted burned red flesh. Her fingers are caressing and stroking softly and it feels like a healing balm on this untouched, most repulsive part of me. Silent tears leak out of my eyes, and when she stops, I feel humbled, like a broken down old dog. I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it.

"Sandor, our two destinies are joined now. Never forget it."

She gets up and extends a hand to me.

"Come. You can rest now."

I get up obediently and she takes my hand. I let her lead me without any resistance, feeling like the little boy I was, the boy who has been given a chance to finally walk away from that brazier.

EPILOGUE

In the morning, when I wake up in the cabin at sea, lying down in the bed with my little bird nestled against me, I'm finally sure that this was not a vision and that we're both alive. But I know that from now on I'll have to protect her from me too.

I know that all of the feelings of last night will come again; I've just started their release. But I've managed to survive facing them and have stopped struggling against them. Maybe I'll speak with Thoren about them when they return. He's always been good to me.

I know now that the gift was for me, as I had madly hoped it to be. Life is not so awful after all.

I have slept deeply, and it is later than my usual rising. In my groggy state, a long buried memory suddenly emerges; a memory that had been lost in wine and time, and I've not remembered it until now. Now I understand why I had forgotten it – I must have gotten very drunk as to drown it into oblivion.

I see it all vividly as if it had just happened, even if it's four years in the past. I'm again at this feast, a grand Lannister feast with the lights, the noise, the tents and the games and all of the people. I have a break from my sworn shield duties. It is night. A foreign woman with colourful clothes and kerchief comes out of a tent and beckons me to her. I look away.

"Come, warrior! I felt your presence and seen your fortune in the cards."

I snort in disdain. "I have no use of such things, fortune teller. I make my own way."

She smiles knowingly. "I know; you're the most feared fighter in the West! Come, what I have to tell you is important."

"You'll not entice with your lies; I don't believe in that fucking nonsense and I have no intention of paying!"

"You won't have to. When I do a real reading, I don't charge anything. It's the price to keep the gift."

I give in, as I realize she won't let me go, and I have nothing to lose. We enter her tent, and she makes me sit across her from a small table where cards are displayed in an obscure pattern. She smiles at me and I let out an already exasperated sigh.

"Go on with it then, woman!"

My impatience makes her chuckle. A rare one who looks at me straight in the face and who's not scared of me... Maybe she has something worthy to say. She looks at the cards, then she shifts her gaze on my intently.

"In the future, I see a division in the path that you've walked all your life, a new fork. If you choose to continue following the old path, you'll lose everything and wander off without purpose, on a futile quest. You'll die prematurely young, a miserable death full of loneliness and regrets. If you choose the new path, you'll be with the love of your life."

I should have known it.

I laugh bitterly. "The love of my life? You really must think me a fool. Have you looked at my face? And I'm even worse than I look."

"No matter, there will be a fair, innocent maiden from the north. She will love you. Not at first, not for a long time, as she will fear you and run from you, until the day that she'll start to appreciate you as you are; for your strength, your true qualities and faithful nature. She'll need your help and this will be dangerous. But taking that new path will be harder for you than to keep to the old one, as you will have to reject all the old rules of obedience and duty that you've been taught and have followed; leave your old life behind. You'll also have to let go of your armor, the one inside that is a lot thicker than the one outside. But in doing so, you'll be able to heal from the past, live with your beloved far away from here, know some peace, and still be able to have the adventures and violence that your nature craves. In saving this girl, it's you who will be saved. Choose wisely.

I have.