Sansa – day 3

Her guilt could move the mountains.

I should have checked who Mr Baelish was, indeed, she thought.

Instead of doing the sensible thing and finding out everything there was to find out about the man who knew about the imminent destruction of Dornistan and thought of it as slightly funny by the mocking tone of his voice, Sansa had spent almost the entire day of confinement to quarters checking online for any information on Sandor Clegane. As if her life depended on it. For any information on her partner, her husband in the eyes of god and her... She was unable to finish her own thought about what he had become.

Sansa believed in god. Her mother was a catholic; she liked songs and rites, and windows of coloured glass, they invoked the greatness of god. Her father belonged to one of the reformed groups; for him god was only in words, not in images. But the marriage traditions were the same for both. This marriage can be dissolved if we don't... well...if we don't go further than kissing, Sansa tried to comfort herself, but the thought brought no consolation at all.

A serving lady in Martell orange and yellow brought her coffee. It was 7am and too early to have breakfast. The electric lights were still on. The morning was a dim pink glow over the distant garden. Sansa was one of the few guests awake that early. Two police agents paced up and down in the far end of the dining room, making everyone feel on edge.

Sansa had left Sandor asleep. She needed coffee in her system to clear her mind. And to double and triple check her findings. Just like the day before, Sansa could not find that much information on Sandor. A wasted effort. The service must have hidden it because he's a spook, she thought at first. She established he was 12 when he killed his brother and ended up in a juvenile prison, but there was no mention of any girl he or his brother may have raped as the video in his phone showed... She could find so very little about him as if he had no existence before he met her.

And then he had shocked her with the story of his burns.

She couldn't deny the truth in it. It was not a sweet lie boys used to tell her to get into her panties or into her father's company board. And Sandor was not a boy by any definition. She tried to tell herself she kissed him only to comfort him. That it didn't mean anything. But it was not so.

Sansa developed a connection with this man, despite his past or because of his past, she didn't know, in only a few days that she had known him. When he was not angry and rude, he seemed so... well... plain and honest. People are not honest, she reminded herself. People are after your father's money. She realized that Sandor made her feel safe and he made her feel on edge... She couldn't tell of what.

"Mrs Clegane!" Cersei Baratheon seemed delighted to see her when she barged into the dining room and into Sansa's thoughts. Sansa did not share the feeling but she was a good girl and she did her best to be polite.

"Would you like to sit down, Mrs Baratheon?" Cersei's well-shaped behind slumped on a chair before Sansa could finish extending the invitation. She wore crimson red trousers and a flimsy top made of golden silks. It was so early in the morning and her husband was suspected of murder. Instead of being tired, or sad, Cersei was beaming.

"I am so sorry about your husband being arrested," Sansa said, wondering if it was a right thing to say.

"Don't be," Cersei said. "Robert didn't do it." She sounded as if she wished that Robert actually did kill Prince Doran. "He'll be out soon enough," she sighed. "Let's' talk about merrier things, shall we?"

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Sansa said, wondering what Mrs Baratheon considered as "merrier". Sun was rising above the garden in tender tones of orange and gold. It was a lovely sight.

Mrs Baratheon didn't seem to pay any attention to the weather. "You are a fine young woman, my dear," she said. "Joffrey would have done well to ask you out."

"But I'm married," Sansa protested.

Prince Oberyn Martell joined his guests at that moment, sauntering toward a place of honour in the middle of the room, in front of a large tripartite window of the loggia, overlooking the garden. Mrs Ellaria Sand was with him. Unlike Mrs Baratheon, they both looked sad and tired. Mrs Baratheon followed them with an insistent gaze.

"Sansa, if I may call you so, little dove," Cersei said, "our charming host seemed most fond of your husband yesterday."

"Fond?" Sansa stuttered. "It's kind of you to say so, but I don't think that-"

"You will be a most beautiful widow, my darling," Cersei concluded. "I will most certainly remind Joffrey to give you a call when that occurs. True friends are needed in such hard times."

Joffrey was the most important agent in the service. Judging by the designer clothing and jewels Mrs Baratheon wore on a daily basis, he seemed to have enough money of his own so he wouldn't need Sansa's, and Sansa believed that her parents might approve of him. Her mother for sure. She wasn't that sure about her father. He might even prefer... Sandor. Her partner's name felt queer in her mouth, like a taste of a last night kiss.

"Please, excuse me," Sansa said, "I want to pay my respects to our gracious host."

I have to get those security codes tomorrow at the latest, she thought as she glided toward the central table on too high heels Sandor had bought for her in Padua. Tomorrow is the last moment to counter the threat if their system will come under attack in two days. In her shoes, Sansa was an inch taller than Oberyn. She hoped he was too distracted by his brother's death to notice it.

"Your Excellency," she said carefully. Oberyn's wife, Ellaria, was the first one to take a good look at her. Sansa felt embarrassed and lowered her eyes.

"Yes?" the prince said, impatiently.

"I am sorry for your loss," Sansa offered. After a pause, she continued, ignoring the fact that Ellaria was undressing her with her eyes. "I understand that you are now the Supreme Commander of the Dornish Armed Forces. I should very much like to evaluate the security of your main defence portal if you would let me. I did a lot of theoretical work in this area and I'd be happy to submit a detailed CV to illustrate my area of expertise.

"Theoretical," Prince Oberyn sounded venomous. "I am no stranger to theories myself. However, I abandoned my science studies when I understood the futility of most assumptions..." Sansa noticed how the prince had noble, brown eyes which drifted away toward the garden. "I wonder," he said, "what did my brother said to you the day before he died?"

"Prince Doran had been most courteous," Sansa said.

"Which means he didn't tell her anything at all," Ellaria said with a prominent Dornish drool. "That's so much like Doran, may he rest in peace."

"I may allow you access to our country's defences," Oberyn said and Sansa sighed with relief. "On a condition," the prince continued, and his lips thinned in a morbid smile, which made him look older and way less refined. His dark eyes focused on Sansa's shadow which took form behind her and grunted. "Darling, I was beginning to wonder where you were," Sandor said, yawning. He didn't even put a hand in front of his mouth, but he did put both hands on Sansa's waist from the back.

"Hi, honey," Sansa reacted. "I got up early. I couldn't sleep." It was the truth. She turned her head to face him, and gave her husband a bright smile. His hands were warm on her tummy.

"Newlyweds," Ellaria said sardonically, and His Excellency Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell only spared them a disgusted look. "Come Ellaria," he said, "we have two exhibitions to open pretty soon. Mrs Clegane, Mr Clegane, please do not miss the inaugurations. We shall continue to discuss my conditions once we are done with the programme for today."

"What was that about?" Sandor asked when the new ruler of Dornistan left.

"Nothing," Sansa muttered. She could see that her answer did not please him. "What?" she asked, brutally, as if she were talking to Arya, her sister. She remembered instantly that Sandor wasn't her sibling.

Sandor Clegane made a most hideous grin she had ever seen on him, and guffawed. "No pretty words for me?" he asked. "I'm not a prince, am I?" he said, not expecting any answer. He lifted her off the ground, and kissed her loudly and greedily. A Dornish couple whistled from one of the window seats. Yronwoods, Sansa thought. He is huge and she is pretty. Like us. The last thought thoroughly scared Sansa. Do Sandor and I really look like a married couple? She could feel her cheeks growing tremendously red.

"Let's go to the bloody exhibition, shall we, my dear?" Sandor grunted merrily, enjoying her embarrassment. "The birds are waiting!"

The birds waited indeed.

The havoc Sandor and Sansa had caused the night before gave more fruit than they intended. A dozen couples competed with each other in trying to return the moved exhibits to their previous place. Most of them Dornish, the Yronwoods, the Dalts, the Daynes, Lady Blackmont and a few others. Cersei Baratheon got hold of an egg of a rare kind of wild goose, carrying it to the spot it occupied a night before. Two couples were tailing her as if they were her guards of honour, the Plumms and the Crakehalls. They looked as if they wanted to assist her in a most difficult feat of hauling an egg.

Sandor seemed to amuse himself no end. He was everywhere. In perfect gentlemanly behaviour that was so unlike him, he tried to be most helpful with all who needed help. He took a photograph of a stork from Lady Blackmont's hands and set it firmly to the wrong place before she could object. He was one step ahead of the Daynes when they tried to return a stuffed crow. The crow stayed where Sansa had put it the night before. He kissed Cersei Baratheon's hand to retrieve the egg she had been carrying and place it where he wanted it. Sansa's eyes were full of tears of laughter when he did that, even if Joffrey's mother was undoubtedly a beautiful woman. Little dove, Cersei had called her. Maybe I am a dove, Sansa thought, a grey bird that no one would notice if it weren't for my father's shares.

But before running after the Plumms or the Crakehalls to retrieve the same egg Cersei had wanted, Sandor kissed Sansa on her mouth, and gave her that crooked ugly smile only Sandor could produce. Morning sun shone through the regular square windows of the upper floor of the palace and Sansa wished it were evening. She looked around when her husband left her again. Lady Nymeria was talking to Prince Oberyn and his wife. Sansa was both glad that she was safe and sorry to see her in good health. If someone else is murdered, we will be confined to quarters, a shameless thought caught Sansa unawares. There was a bed in their room... God! She immediately censored herself. What am I thinking?

Sandor was talking to Mr and Mrs Dayne from Starfall about nature parks in Europe where you could watch birds. Simultaneously, he gently patted a swallow nest in Mrs Dayne's hands and stuck it in his pocket like a thief when the lady was not watching. Sandor, my husband, Sansa thought. He was wearing a dark blue shirt and a matching pair of trousers. Semi-casual, he looked more at ease then ever since Sansa had met him. He almost didn't look like an older ugly guy prone to brooding or killing people on the side roads and throwing them in a ditch. He almost looked like an important secret agent as Sansa had imagined them before Jon gave her a call.

Sansa forced her thoughts back on track. The bird exhibition turned funnier than expected. But the downside of it was that they had about 20 suspects who might be trying to sell the anti-missile shield code to the enemy of both Europe and Dornistan. But they had no idea whatsoever which one of the guests was interested in buying.

Very annoyingly, Mr Baelish tried to approach Sansa on several occasions while Sandor was playing the gallant helper of the ladies and the gentlemen, chasing bird parts from one room to another. Sansa managed to avoid him every time. Ever since her solitary night stroll through the maze of the Martells mansion, she didn't feel at ease in the presence of her mother's old friend. He spoke kindly to the man who attacked me. He knew about the threat to Dornistan. A short online search on Mr Baelish during her early breakfast gave no spectacular results either. He was a CEO of a minor company selling dog food, working jointly with a larger industry owned by Mrs Baratheon's father, Tywin Lannister. And this Mr Lannister may have had something to do with the video recording Sansa had found in Sandor's phone. Somehow she knew that if she asked Sandor about the video, he would not just tell her what happened as he did with his scars. He would go really angry because she watched his private stuff. The company of Mr Baelish claimed it was open to new challenges and areas of doing business, but their website never mentioned what those challenges were.

"My husband is waiting for me," she told Mr Baelish last time he tried. At that moment Sandor was complimenting Lady Yronwood on her hairstyle and removing a loose silver duck feather from her hair. Sansa didn't even know where they had put the duck feather the night before. Neither did Sandor, it seemed. Nonplussed, he walked to the open window, rubbed his eyes against the excess of the sun, and dropped the feather on the outside when no one was watching.

A cocktail was served to replace a lunch, in the middle of the palace on the second floor. Between salmon snacks, and ham snacks, and juicy cakes made of lemon, lime and orange, Sandor whispered in Sansa's ear when they had a moment of privacy.

Newlyweds, Sansa parroted Ellaria's words in her head, fighting a shiver which went all the way down her spine.

"Too many people know about the shield," Sandor said pensively. "I should report to Aemon on that."

"By all means," Sansa smiled. "Now I only need to get access to the Dornish defence and see that it is strong enough."

"You better do that," Sandor said, "because our buyer will have noticed the confusion."

"What will the buyer do?" Sansa inquired.

"Find a new suitable target in the US or in Europe," her partner said. "God knows that there are plenty of them."

Sansa shivered with premonition at his last words.

Well-fed, the guests started to move forward, from one exhibition to another. From birds to arms. Sansa was still sipping a glass of white wine. Wordless, she studied Sandor who was gulping the last drops from a glass of Dornish red.

"Dornish," he joked, "sweet women and sore wine."

Light played tricks on his scars. At one moment they looked soft like little duckling feathers, and at another leathery like wings of a bat. He noticed being stared at. He took the glass from her hands and put both glasses on a tray carried by a huge bold man. His arm sneaked around her waist again, as if it belonged there by rights. They were the last guests to move on.

Late Prince Doran's collection of old weaponry was at the same time less and more impressive than his birds.

Why have men invented so many different ways to hurt each other, Sansa thought, observing the exhibits in mute terror. Shells, bombs, pistols, guns, rifles, spades, sables, swords, knives, daggers, spears, lances, bows, crossbows, arrows, and many more smiled at Prince Doran's guests from the white washed walls. Sandor studied all of them intently. He forgot to kiss Sansa in the presence of so many deadly tools. They are his element, she understood, and Sansa had to content herself by holding his hand. At first he tried to relinquish her grip, but she wouldn't have it. She felt victorious when he flexed his hand over hers and kept it there as they walked.

"The guns are loaded and the blades are sharp," Sandor whispered to her. His words were serious but his tone sounded as a declaration of love. Sansa thought that Prince Doran's murderer probably didn't know this, or elsewise he could have killed the poor prince with something more elegant than a pitchfork, with a noble looking sable or an old sword. Sandor continued watching the weapons, and Sansa noticed that Prince Oberyn was watching them. It made her feel uneasy so she tried to focus on exhibits.

Of all the weapons she had seen, Sansa could use only one. An old rifle. Her brother Jon showed her how to load it and fire it. It was several years ago when she visited him in Canada. He was doing some peculiar survival training for the service. The trainees were allowed to use only those old rifles to shoot a moose, if it appeared in the back yard.

Finally, there was nothing else to see. The last ones to arrive to the second exhibition, Sandor and Sansa were among the last ones to leave.

Prince Oberyn stood at the exit. With a friendly smile, he reminded all his brother's guests that the dinner would be served in the garden that night. Under the stars. He played the amiable host all the time, but his eyes were black like tar. Haunted. Troubled. His wife smiled for him when he could not. Captain Hotah stood behind him, the butt of his long axe parked safely on the floor.

He truly mourns his brother, Sansa thought and her heart went to the noble prince in his sorrow.

Sandor wanted to sneak out past the princely couple, but Prince Oberyn caught Sansa by the wrist. "Mrs Clegane," he pronounced the name with acid, "I will give you what you seek on one condition."

"Oh," Sansa said, surprised that it was that easy in the end, "thank you so much. May I ask what is you wish of me?"

"Not of you," the prince shook his head.

Prince Oberyn looked to Captain Hotah for help. "Are you sure about this European custom, captain?" he said. The older grey bearded man nodded. He grasped his axe with one hand, and put the other one in his pocket. Mutely, he gave Prince Oberyn a pair of black gloves. Ellaria caught her husband's arm. "Darling," she said, "don't," she pleaded, "you told me you wouldn't."

Prince Oberyn threw a glove into Sandor's face.

This is not happening, Sansa thought about the books she loved as a little girl, the duels no longer exist in our time.

Sandor shook his head and his hair as a wet animal after bathing. "What do you want?" he asked of a prince. "My head? I have no intention to give it to you."

"A pity," Prince Oberyn said, "then your lovely wife will not get the passwords and the instructions she needs. Dornistan may burn. But so will some other place in your oh so civilised part of the world, if I'm not terribly mistaken."

"What do you want?" Sandor snarled. Sansa caught his right arm and squeezed it, hoping to calm him down. She didn't like him when he was angry. Whatever the reason behind it, Prince Oberyn and Sandor were able to bring out the worst in one another.

"Don't you know your own culture?" Prince Oberyn was flabbergasted. "A glove in your face means a duel."

"Tomorrow at dawn," the prince added eagerly. His suffering eyes sparkled with dark life for a brief moment. "Choose your weapon and your witness and wait for me in the garden."

"To the death?" Sandor asked, flatly.

"To the death," Prince Oberyn sounded as if he couldn't agree more.

xx

Thank you to all who reviewed so far. To the last guest review: indeed this story is intended to be fun and light hearted in many of its aspects, especially in the occasional playing with minor asoiaf characters and their possible roles in modern world. I hope it's fun to read and that it might merit further reviews :'))