"Sterlan?" I gasped in response.
"What is he doing here?" Sterlan said in a garbled voice, pointing a finger at the man standing beside me.
"I'll take care of him" Sandor muttered behind me.
I raised a hand to stop him mid-step, my eyes refusing to leave the clearly drunken intruder.
"Did he hurt you?" Sterlan asked.
"You need to leave," I said firmly. "Find yourself some water and get some rest."
"Not until you tell me what he's done to you!" Sterlan bellowed. "What are those bruises on your arms?"
I glanced down at the fading green-ish yellow and purple marks under my skin. Sandor had indeed given me those finger-shaped bruises shortly before my flogging, but he had been intending to help me rather than hurt me.
"Did he tear open your back as well?!" Sterlan continued, his voice getting louder with each word. "Did he rape you?!"
"Do not imply that Sandor would ever hurt me," I replied coldly before Sandor himself could react.
Sterlan's eyes searched my face for a moment, his chest heaving along with his shallow breaths.
"You really have been fucking the dog this whole time, then," he stumbled forward. "'Sat why you won't marry me?"
"We've never—"
"Don't explain yerself to this cunt," Sandor growled. I could almost feel his anger bubbling. He was obviously holding himself back for me. "He doesn't deserve it."
"Please leave, Sterlan," I implored through my teeth. "We can forget this all happened."
"No," the drummer shook his head, his eyes ablaze.
"Leave, boy, or you'll wish you did," Sandor threatened.
Sterlan was silent, his eyes shifting from my own to the brown pair looming over my head. Tension had fallen over us all like a thick blanket. And then with a loud grunt, Sterlan lunged forward.
"Stop!" I jumped up as Sandor dove out to meet the smaller man. "Please!"
My cries fell on deaf ears. I watched as Sterlan swung his fists. Whatever he had drank earlier must have made him think he had a chance to do some damage.
But Sandor was much stronger and much quicker. He grabbed Sterlan's wrists and shoved the drummer's back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Sandor whipped him around, letting go of his wrists, and delivered a blow that threw Sterlan to the ground.
I darted out in front of Sandor and grabbed his forearms before he could do anything else. Sandor looked at me as if I was mad, fire still in his eyes.
"The fuck you doing?" he hissed.
"Don't hurt him anymore," I shook my head, glancing down at Sterlan as he sluggishly writhed on the floor. "Please. For me."
Sandor stared down at me, breathing deeply. "Fine," he grunted.
Then he straightened his body, his arms relaxing in my tight grasp. I let go and he nudged me out of the way to stand at the drummer's feet.
"Yeh tell anyone what you saw tonight and it'll be the last time yeh see anything," Sandor threatened, reaching down to pull Sterlan up by his collar.
Dazed, Sterlan nodded, an ugly bruise forming on his face.
"Yeh got off easy this time, boy," Sandor shook him a little.
Sterlan's nodded again. He was returned to his feet and then shoved to the door by Sandor. Sterlan fumbled his way to the latch and slipped away into the darkness.
"Thank you," I whispered, staring at the door after it closed.
"Should've let me kill that nance," Sandor told me, turning to sit on my bed. "Only way to keep him from talking."
"I don't care if he talks," I shrugged and pivoted to look at him. "I'm not ashamed of being with you."
Sandor's eyebrow twitched. I could have sworn that one of the corners of his lips raised a bit too.
"'Snot about pride or shame," he sighed, reaching down to pull off his boots. "If word gets back to the queen and you keep annoying the piss outta her…"
A knot appeared in my throat as my mind flashed back to the purge and Cersei's quiet wrath.
"I didn't think about it that way," I wrapped my arms around myself.
"Course you didn't," Sandor cracked his neck and pulled at the strings of his shirt.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I furrowed my brow, for once not tempted to glance down at his chest.
"Been telling yeh to be more careful as long as I've known yeh. How many times have I had to remind you that yeh're not in the North anymore?" Sandor asked in frustrated tone. "Yer wolf lord was as noble and righteous as they bloody come and look what it got him. I held up his fucking head not ten seconds after it left his body. My squire'll be washing yer wolf lord off my boots for weeks."
My lip trembled and I looked down at the floor. His words stung worse than Meryn Trant's whip, but I knew I needed to hear them.
"You're right," I mumbled, looking up after a few breaths of silence.
"Come here."
Sandor's eyes had softened, as had his voice. I stepped around my bed and stood between his knees as I had so many times before. He grabbed onto my hands and sighed again before speaking.
"I'm only trying to keep yer head where it's meant to be, girl," he said.
"Thank you," I nodded, a smile creeping onto my face. "I appreciate it."
Sandor tugged me closer, his hands finding a new home on my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck and melted into his warm chest. He placed a kiss on my shoulder and rubbed circles into my sides with his thumbs.
We stayed like this for a long time, savoring the feel of each other's bodies against our own. My insides fluttered madly as his hands slid down to squeeze my hips.
"So, am I to assume this means you're going to stay here tonight?" I asked, leaning back to look in his eyes.
He shrugged and smirked a little. "Someone's got to keep you safe from nighttime intruders."
Sandor Clegane didn't sleep much that night. But how could he have been expected to? he wondered, looking over to his side.
The moonlight that poured through the songbird's window illuminated the angry scars on Fallon's otherwise smooth back. Much of her pale skin was on display in the flimsy white nightgown she had on, not that Sandor was complaining.
Rolling onto his side and resting up on one elbow, Sandor remembered the first time he had seen Fallon wearing it. It was the night he had come to her chamber to retrieve his bloody wineskin.
Though he was never known to be a ray of sunshine to those around him, he'd been in a particularly angry mood that night. And for many reasons—the largest of which being his visit the night prior. He had gotten himself drunk enough to enter her room when she wasn't there and wait for her to return. All just to ask her why she wasn't afraid of him, the simple question that had been plaguing him for so long.
She had grabbed his hands and told him she trusted him. He had pulled her so close that he could smell the soap on her body; so close that he lost himself for a moment and almost kissed her.
He spent most of the next day stewing over his behavior and wishing he had never left his own fucking room. He found that having left his wineskin in her chamber, instead of having it at his side to nurse throughout the day, only made matters worse. By the time he had arrived at her chamber he was irritated beyond belief.
And then she had to open the door in that fucking nightgown.
Her face had gone bright red when she saw him staring down at her. His eyes wandered down the lowcut front and his lack of self-control made him angrier. He had been a right arse to her, nearly mowing her down so he could grab the wineskin and leave before he did something else he might regret.
She wouldn't have any of it, though. She gave it right back to him, where others would have cowered and kept their mouths shut. She was brave, he remembered thinking, or stupid. Or both.
Definitely both.
Though she had proclaimed her trust in him the previous night, she had proven it to him while she sat there in that distracting, irritating, stunning damned nightgown. Curled into herself, she had told him of her sordid past, crying and stammering the whole way through. He didn't know how to comfort her. He only knew that he had to make her despicable cunt of a father pay for what he had done to the songbird that Sandor cared about so much.
And while she had been a sight to behold that evening, standing at the door with her hair hanging long and her body unmarred, he couldn't help but think she was even more beautiful as she was beside him on the bed.
One of her legs was stretched out while the other was bent, the inside of her thigh flat against the mattress. Her face was turned away from him, only showing the uneven mess of brown hair hanging from her scalp. Her arms were bent at awkward angles beside her and her mostly naked, scarred back was in full view.
He yearned to reach out and touch her, but he didn't want to disturb her slumber. He was content to lay beside her and listen to her steady breathing instead, he decided as he rolled back onto his back and closed his eyes in vain.
No, Sandor Clegane didn't get much sleep that night. But how could he have been expected to?
My stomach felt tight as I watched the bearded man sit on his haunches and ready his psaltery. The traveling troubadour named Marillion looked nervous to be singing before the new king as he held court. He had been caught singing a not-so favorable song he'd written about recent events in King's Landing and was asked to perform it again.
"The boar's great tusks, they boded ill," he sang, plucking at his instrument in the otherwise silent hall, "For good King Robert's health. And the beast was every bit as fat as Robert was himself."
"Fucking idiot," Elras muttered in my ear from beside me.
We were standing behind a pillar off to the side with Vernyn and Ruban. Sterlan hadn't made an appearance, which I was quite thankful for. He must have heeded Sandor's warning and not spoken a word about what had happened last night, as none of our fellow musicians said a thing to me about it.
"Our brave king cried, 'Do your worst, I'll 'ave your ugly head. You're nowhere near as murderous as the lion in my bed'."
Uncomfortable watching Marillion as he played, I turned my head and found a familiar person not too far away from us. Sansa Stark was standing at another pillar, by a set of stairs that led down to the court, looking tall and beautiful in her mauve-colored gown. Her auburn-hair was twisted over her head in the pompous Southern-style she had adopted in the past few months, but I could tell from her body-language that she longed to be as far away from King's Landing as she could be.
"King Robert lost his battle and he failed his final test. The lion ripped his balls off aaaaand…the boar did all the rest."
"Fuc…king…idiot," Elras repeated himself slower as the hall echoed with whispers from the court.
King Joffrey started to clap his hands lazily, initiating applause from the simpering lords and ladies standing behind poor Marillion. The young king was smiling with his bottom lip between his teeth, but I had a feeling he was only pleased with whatever punishment was brewing in his head, rather than the troubadour's song.
"Very amusing," he said once the clapping had faded. "Isn't it a funny song?"
Joffrey had raised his voice to the audience, but no one responded. He grinned and leaned against one arm of the Iron Throne and filled the tense silence.
"Thank you for your rendition. I imagine it was even better-received at that tavern."
"I'm so sorry, Your Grace," Marillion interjected as he got to his feet. "I'll never sing it again. I swear."
"Famous last words," Vernyn whispered on the other side of me.
"Tell me, which do you favor—your fingers or your tongue?" Joffrey asked, his tone still playful, for lack of better word.
My stomach felt even tighter. And though I knew she couldn't see me, I could only imagine Cersei was deriving great pleasure from me witnessing this.
"…Your Grace?" Marillion gulped.
"Fingers or your tongue. If you've got to keep one, which would it be?" Joffrey explained, his tone finally revealing his ire.
"Uh…uh…" Marillion stammered.
"Or I could just cut your throat."
"…E-Every man needs hands, Your Grace."
"Good," Joffrey murmured, a smile creeping on his face. "Your tongue it is."
"Your Grace, please," Marillion begged as two guards strode towards him and grabbed his arms. "I won't—Your Grace."
"Ser Ilyn, who better than you to carry out the sentence?" Joffrey leaned forward.
"Don't! I beg you! Please!"
I clasped my hands together tightly as Ser Ilyn came forward, unsheathing a dagger with one hand and taking out a pair of pincers with the other. Marillion grunted loudly and struggled against the guards while the King's Justice stepped over to a brazier to prepare his implements.
"Your Grace, please! I beg you, I'll never sing again!"
"I'm done for the day," Joffrey stood up from the throne as Marillion continued to holler.
The king took off his crown, designed to look like it was made of antlers, as per his dubious father's sigil. He handed it to Sandor, who stood beside him in his new golden armor.
"I'll leave the rest of the matters to you, mother," Joffrey said to Cersei, who was in her own chair on the dais.
"YOUR GRACE, PLEASE!" Marillion shouted hopelessly as the king casually strolled down the steps and away from the Iron Throne.
He was followed by Sandor and Meryn Trant as he walked between the pleading troubadour and Ser Ilyn at the brazier. They came up the stairs that led to the pillar whereby Sansa stood and Joffrey approached his bride-to-be.
"You look quite nice," Joffrey said, despite the grisly scene behind him.
"Thank you, my lord," Sansa said in a wavering voice.
"Your Grace," he corrected. "I'm king now."
"NOOO-H-H-HO-HO-HO-HO-HO!"
I could tell that Sansa had looked over Joffrey's shoulder. Her long neck tightened as Ser Ilyn approached and Marillion used the last of his voice. I was eager to watch the interaction between the young lady and the king so as to ignore what was happening below.
"Walk with me," Joffrey continued on his way past her, the musician's voice now horrifyingly garbled behind him. "I want to show you something."
I grimaced as I heard the sound of the King's Justice's dagger cutting off Marillion's tongue. I tried to focus on Sansa, who hadn't yet moved from her spot. I watched as Sandor came to stand before her, staring intensely at her.
"Do as you're bid, child," he gestured towards Joffrey's retreating figure.
Sansa looked at him with wide eyes, no doubt still afraid of the man she knew as the Hound. She turned on her heel and followed after Joffrey.
Sandor hazarded the subtlest glance my way and I nodded my head the tiniest bit before he continued up the stairs, Ser Meryn Trant at his elbow.
"…Suppose we should check on ol' Sterl, shouldn't we?" Elras said, nudging me in the ribs.
"Ah, let the man rest," Vernyn grinned. "You saw how much he was drinking last night."
I gulped.
"Are you coming, Fallon?" Ruban asked.
"Er, no, I can't," I lied, not wanting to be anywhere near the drummer. "I just remembered, Princess Myrcella wanted me to sing for her. 'Flowers of Spring'."
"We have no requests at the moment," Ruban furrowed his brow.
"She didn't formally request it," I shrugged. "We crossed paths earlier this morning and she asked me to come sing for her after court."
He narrowed his eyes at me, but he didn't press the matter, fortunately. "Then I guess you should hurry off."
I bobbed my head and whipped around, picking up my skirts. I could tell their eyes were on my exposed back, but that was the least of my worries. I soon disappeared into a corridor and took a deep breath.
I couldn't get Marillion's screams out of my head as I meandered through the castle. I remembered Sandor's words about keeping a clean nose. I could only imagine that Cersei was waiting for an excuse to do something like this to me and I vowed not to give her one.
Having no idea how long I was wandering, my heart skipped a beat when a door I was three paces away from started to open. I hoped it wasn't a member of my troupe. Or worse, a member of the Lannister family and their army. But when I finally saw who was storming through, I breathed a sigh of relief.
There was Sansa, a kerchief balled up in her fist. She halted when she saw me staring at her. I noticed there was a fresh cut in her lip, dressed with drying blood. She gulped before me, her red, puffy eyes searching mine. New tears fell down her pale cheeks as her face crumpled. Then she fell to her knees and wept.
Without a moment's hesitation, I knelt down and held her close to me. I rocked her shaking body gently, letting her tears soak the front of my dress.
"Shh, little lady," I murmured. "You're alright. I'm here. You're alright."
After spending so much of my life taking care of her younger sister, I never would have expected to find myself comforting Sansa Stark. I had known her since she was a babe. I had watched her grow. I had never been the fondest of her and she had never been fond of me. I had mirthfully listened to stories of Arya sewing sheep shit into her mattress. I had always thought of her as a prissy spoiled brat.
But now in this moment, I saw her for what she truly was. She was a young girl discovering just how shitty this world really was. She was finally learning that princes and kings and castles and knights in shining armor were not all what the songs and stories had led her to believe. She was a lone wolf surrounded by a vicious pack of lions. She had lost her family. She had seen her father beheaded before her, ordered by the boy she thought she loved. She had no one.
No one but me.