Author Note:
I'm sorry for the delay in posting another chapter. Writer's block is real and it sucks. Here's hoping this chapter lives up to expectations...
Sansa held her breath and bit her lip harder, tasting blood. The cut on her lip was becoming permanent. She broke it open so often that it never got the chance to heal. Her heart beat a little faster the longer they looked at each other. His eyes looked heavy from the drink, his body slack against the trunk of the tree. Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and continued to bite down on her lip. She had nothing to say. She never had any response to him claiming his desire for her. All she could think of was all the times she had responded, or began to, and his rejection shortly after.
"Go back to sleep," he slurred. "Dream of your princes and castles." He closed the wineskin and tossed it away from the blankets.
And so she laid down, but sleep didn't come easily. She tossed and turned, listening to the Hound drink wine and occasionally slip into a light slumber filled with loud snores. He kept his distance from her that night. When he finally settled into a deep sleep, he was on the other side of his blankets, uncovered, with his hand resting on his sword. Sansa watched him for a few moments, unsure if he was actually asleep. His breathing evened, his snores grew quiet, and only then did she feel comfortable enough to sleep.
The next morning Sansa woke before the Hound, which was more than unusual. She sat up slowly, almost afraid he wasn't alive. She couldn't hear him breathing, she couldn't see him moving. She was certain he was in the same position as he was when he fell asleep earlier. Sansa crept slowly over the blankets, her heart threatening to plummet if she found him dead. What will I do if he's dead? What would have killed him? She asked questions she didn't know the answers to as she crept closer. His back was to her so she stood and walked around to the front. He looked surprisingly peaceful for the Hound. She watched as his chest rose and fell. She let out a sigh of relief and knelt next to him. The burnt side of his face was on the ground, but she could still see the disfigurement that touched the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw. Her hand wanted to reach out, but her mind made her think twice. He didn't want her touch, her body, her affection. But I want his. Despite it all, Sansa still desired what she had told him the first night together. She desired him. It was apparent. If not by her body's reaction, but by the words that left her lips. Yet he refused to listen. He refused to give in.
Her hand shook as she reached out, suddenly feeling brave. Her hand wanted to touch him, feel the warmth of his body. Her heart hammered in her chest as she touched his cheek, the warmth overwhelming against her palm. Bliss ran through her fingertips and ignited a warmth in her stomach as she stroked his cheek with her thumb. She was shocked he hadn't woken yet.
One of his strong hands grabbed her wrist tightly and pulled it away in a heartbeat. "That'll do, little bird." Sansa let out a gasp, but stayed kneeling beside him as he propped himself up on his elbows. "Eat, then we go." You have nothing more to say to me? Sansa frowned and snatched her arm back. She stayed kneeling on the dirt while he stood and staggered out behind one of the closer trees to make water.
Her stomach growled as she ate some more bread and salted meat she found in the dead man's bag. She almost hesitated eating his food, but it was either that or starve. Food was hard to come by in the wilderness. The Hound would occasionally be able to catch something, but more often than not it was purely luck to find apples, berries or stumble across edible greenery. She ate the bread slowly and drank water, her stomach turning at the thought of wine. All she thought of was the Hound's slurred words, the way he had looked at her when he said the word fuck.
After eating breakfast they mounted the horses in silence. "There's a town a day's ride away from here," the Hound said as he turned Stranger towards Windstorm.
"You learned this from the man you killed?" Sansa asked with a hint of acid in her voice.
"Aye, I killed him, little bird. Best get over it." He tugged Stranger's reins and Sansa followed close behind him.
It was well past sunset when they reached the town the Hound had spoken of. Sansa's eyes were heavy with sleep and her legs ached especially badly. They had ridden hard all day, only stopping when Sansa begged to be let down to make water in amongst the trees. The town ahead of them was glowing orange from fires roaring inside of homes and the occasional lantern hung from a post along the main road. They stopped before the road and the Hound turned to her. Sansa stopped Windstorm and watched him closely as he looked her up and down.
"Keep your hood on," he said.
Sansa obeyed, pulling the hood even further down her face, letting the only thing in her vision being the neck of her mare and the ground a foot in front of her. "Your face will give you away," she responded. Somehow she didn't hesitate. Her bravery was coming more frequently. He won't hurt me. The worst he'll do is yell and drink.
The Hound snorted, turning Stranger to trot into the town. "Aye," he said. "Worry about yourself, girl."
Sansa followed obediently behind the Hound as they rode up the main dirt road. There didn't appear to be anyone out and about, but the chimneys of small houses and shacks they passed were billowing smoke. Where are we? Who are these people? Sansa couldn't help but feel slightly panicked. For all she knew they were heading right into Lannister territory. The Hound isn't stupid, she reminded herself as she rode behind him keeping her eyes down, only watching her hands on the reins and the ground her horse was trotting on. The ride seemed to last longer than she would have expected being on a main road, so her eyes began to slowly drift. Soon she was in darkness, her body being lulled into sleep by the gentle rocking of her horse.
"You're lucky you didn't fall again, little bird." The sound of the Hound's voice brought Sansa back to reality. Her horse was still, next to Stranger, and the Hound had a hand over hers on the reins, keeping her horse steady as she woke.
"I couldn't help it," she murmured through a yawn. She heard him snicker, but to her surprise it didn't sound overly mean. She went to begin the clumsy task of getting herself off of Windstorm when his hands came to rest on her waist.
She stopped and held her head up high enough to look into his eyes under the edge of her hood. "You take too long getting off this bloody beast," he said as an explanation as he roughly brought her to the ground. He certainly didn't grip her gently like before. Sansa's legs felt weak, her back stiff and her fingers blistered from clutching the leather. Her thighs felt uncomfortably warm. Sansa almost fell asleep standing up as the Hound tethered the horses in a stall together. "Stay close to me and don't say a word." Sansa was barely able to register his instructions through the fog of her sleepiness but she nodded all the same as she walked next to him into the inn.
Sansa's mind had not even comprehended that they were at an inn. The stables hadn't been a clue, neither had the muffled voices from behind the wooden walls. She had simply been trying to stay awake. Now she looked around her, at least the best she could with limited vision from the hood, and saw long tables and a roaring fire in the hearth. There were only a few bodies, and most of them well into the drink by the looks and sounds of it. With heavy eyes, Sansa tried to focus on what the Hound was saying to a small older man with an apron tied around his waist. Is that blood on his apron? Sansa didn't have the energy to investigate too closely, but her heart skipped a beat. Who are these people? She asked herself again.
"One room, a hot meal and two baths." The Hound sounded especially prickly towards the man. Sansa's heart began to quicken with joy at the word bath.
Sansa could only see the man from the chest down, but she could see him hold out a hand, palm up. "Gonna cost ya," he said with a thick accent.
The Hound didn't say a word. She heard the clink of gold coins as he pressed them into the man's waiting palm. His hand closed around them exceptionally quickly, rubbing them together. The sound they made was a scratching noise that made Sansa's fingers curl into fists at her sides. "Up the stairs, last room on the left. I'll see to those baths. Will your wife be eating in her room?" Sansa's heart stopped for a moment. Wife. Her stomach had a flash of heat. She didn't hate it, but she could feel the tension between them build again. A thick wall of bitterness, confusion and desire was being built between their bodies.
"She'll eat in her room, I'll eat down here. Her bath first. Mine after." His sentences had grown short and bitter. The wall was nearly built. The air was becoming uncomfortably thick.
"Aye," The man walked away and the Hound turned to Sansa, grabbing her wrist and practically dragging her behind him as he made for the stairs.
Her legs screamed as they began to climb. She slowed behind him, her wrist burning from the firm grip he had on her. "Don't tell me you can't climb some bloody stairs," he said while turning and staring down at her. Sansa couldn't see his stare because of the hood, but she could feel it. The hood felt heavy, her forehead hot from the penetrating look his eyes were giving her. She was sure he was annoyed. "Come here, girl." He grunted as he lifted her into his arms for the rest of the climb. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around his neck, her body feeling limp from exhaustion and her aching muscles.
The last door on the left was a long way down the hall. She was nearly asleep by the time she heard a key enter a lock and click loudly. It was so silent down at the end of the hallway that the sound echoed off of the walls. The Hound grunted as he shifted her weight in order to open the door and take back the key. His foot kicked the door open and the smell of hay entered Sansa's nose. There was something else too. Firewood, candlewax, blankets hung outside in the wind, ale, warm bread baking in an oven. Sansa smiled as he kicked the door shut and gently placed her on the bed.
"Lock the door behind me. Only open it for the wench with the water and food." He stood in front of her, her eyes level with his waist. Tentatively, Sansa reached up and let the hood fall off of her head and rest on her shoulders. He was looking at her with those stormy eyes and her body felt suddenly awake. She noticed he had had a hood up as well. It was pooled around his shoulders. He's trying to conceal his identity.
"You're leaving me," Sansa said tiredly. That hadn't been what she meant to say, but it was too late. And her mouth was too tired to form new words.
He rolled his eyes. "You're stuck with me, little bird." He opened the door and stood with it ajar, looking into the hallway while bringing his hood back up. She saw the glimmer of the steel at his side, the blade that was nearly half his height. "Do as I say. I'll be back when you're dreaming your pretty dreams." The door shut behind him. He didn't move until Sansa stumbled across the room and latched it shut. Only then did his footsteps grow farther and farther away.
After he left, Sansa reluctantly brought her hood back up to cover her distinctive hair. She did her best to stay awake as the serving woman knocked on the door and brought her a hot meal. The smell made her mouth water. Rabbit stew with onions and carrots. Sansa couldn't remember the last time she had a stew, a cooked meal that wasn't over an open flame in the wild. The woman came and went with pail after pail of steaming water, filling the wooden tub over by the fire. It took several trips, but Sansa ate slowly, savoring every bite. By the time she had used her bread to get the last of the juices on the side of the bowl, her tub was full and steam was wafting into the air. The girl had started a small fire in the hearth as well, making the room's air thick and warm.
"That all, miss?" the girl stood by the door waiting for Sansa to bid her leave.
Sansa looked up at her with drooping eyes. "Thank you," she said. "You may go." The girl gave a quick nod and left the room. Sansa walked over and latched the door, leaning against the solid wood for several heartbeats. She was trying so hard to gain the energy it would take for her to undress and settle into the hot water.
She walked to the tub, letting her hands submerge into the water. It was scalding, but she loved it. She unclipped her cloak and let the hood expose her hair of fire. She pulled her dress high and over her head, letting it land in a heap next to her feet. The water threatened to burn her alive as she stepped in. For a moment she just stood with her legs in the tub and the rest of her body facing the fire. Gooseflesh broke out across her skin as the heat of the water on her legs became nearly unbearable. Instead of leaving the water, she embraced it. Slowly Sansa slid down until she was submerged to her neck. The water pierced her skin, making her feel overheated and even drowsier. She slid beneath the surface, the heat of the water stinging her cheeks and making her bitten lower lip throb. As she had in the lake of ice, she worked the tangles from her hair beneath the surface. This time her fingers were not numb, they were alive with fire. She opened her eyes under the water and stared up through the surface to the wooden ceiling coloured orange from the flames in the hearth. She wanted to sleep under the surface, let it cleanse her like she had imagined before. In a way, the tiredness she felt was a relief. She was unable to think of anything else while in the water. Even when she came back up for air, she didn't feel awake or care about much of anything. She felt on the edge of a dream. Her belly was full, the dirt and grime that had built up over her skin was being washed away and she didn't have to force her thoughts elsewhere. They were already there. She didn't even think of the Hound once. Not when she convinced herself to leave the bath and dress in one of her other thin dresses. Not when she let the serving girl in again to take her empty bowl and drain and refill the tub with what looked like even hotter water, the cloak pulled over her the entire time, concealing her hair, her face, her entire identity. Sansa stood once the girl left with the last empty pail and followed her to the door, her eyes only seeing the creaking floorboards in front of her.
"I hope you and your husband have a pleasant night," the girl said with a smile. She was young, perhaps twelve years old. Freckles danced across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a dull blue, her teeth crooked in her mouth.
Sansa smiled without even thinking. The thoughts she was had not been thinking were suddenly there. Husband. "We will, thank you." The girl left with another nod and Sansa latched the door.
Sansa swayed as she walked back to the bed. Her body went limp when she was near the straw-filled mattress. Without a second thought she collapsed onto it, dreams of the Hound touching her and calling her wife playing behind her eyelids as she slept strewn across the bed, leaving no room for a dog like him. She didn't even stir when the key entered the lock and a very drunk Hound barrelled into the warm room with a bird sleeping soundly on the bed, her hair pooled around her Tully face, the blue of her eyes concealed behind closed lids. The cloak was still on her shoulders, but the hood was bunched beneath her hair. Her legs were slightly exposed. Her skin being the colour of milk made it glow in the dim light of the room. Her bare feet were curved and pointing down, almost as if she was dancing. The Hound paused and watched her chest, her breasts, move up and down with each deep breath. One of her hands rested near her cheek, the other over her stomach. In his drunken state he latched the door loudly and leaned against it. His gaze kept travelling from her sleeping form sprawled across the bed to the scalding bath by the fire. A drunk dog is dangerous.
Thoughts? Reviews are magical.