TOUCHING MOMENTS
They had shared a bed the night before; Sansa just thought they would do it again. But then she recalled his comments outside about how she tailed after him. She just expected that he wanted space. Sansa finished with the cleaning the bowls before putting a lid on the remaining stew and climbing into bed.
She left half of the bed untouched incase he changed his mind. The candle had been moved from the table to the dresser next to the bed. This gave just a flicker of light which eased Sansa.
Once settled and quiet she let her thoughts race about. She felt a bit puzzled by her thoughts. Thinking about seeing Sandor chop wood. His arms mostly. Sansa blamed these thoughts on her newly bloomed womanhood but found herself craving her own hand for a bit of a personal ease. Lady Margaery had explained this to her since her own mother or trusted elder could not.
She waited for a long while making sure she had the bed to herself fully. Glancing over the loft for moment before proceeding with this task.
Sansa spit in her hand and then allowed her skirts to be shifted up but remained under a sheet. Her eyes then closed and the task began. Her back arched some at the sensation passing through her and a change in breathing but no sound came from her. After all, the loft was just over her.
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An hour or so had pass between him retiring and her making her way to bed. He dozed in and out of sleep, but could not find that perfect spot to bring on the deep sleep he so desired.
He flipped over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. His mouth had grown dry from the wine and tasted sour and dehydrated. He needed water.
Rising up he made sure to be as quiet as possible when descending back down. In a haze he shuffled over to the hearth where there was some clean drinking water and he took a ladle full to sip. His eyes randomly rose up to catch movement coming from her bed. His lips pulled into a grin when he realized what she was doing, but quickly frowned when he spotted the candle flickering nearby.
The ladle was thrown and he darted his way across the room as if they were under attack and he needed to rescue her. "Stupid girl, do you want to burn us in our beds!" His fear of fire was deep and if she could see inside his mind at that moment she would see a vision of flames engulfing them while their skin bubbled and peeled from their bones. He treated her candle like it was a poisonous snake, and lifted it up by the end, held it far from him as possible and tossed it into the bucket of dish water.
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Sansa rose up quickly and gave a surprised yet mad expression across her face but none could see that now due to the darkness.
" Sandor the damn thing was a foot from the bed! Candles do not jump!" She stated in fueled frustration as she sat fully up in the bed and looked where his dark form was.
" Please tell me you are not up drinking that third bottle. " she hissed again before placing both hands on her still covered knees. Sansa took a deep breath and reminded herself who she was talking to. She recalled the story Littlefinger told her.
Sandor's outburst played in her head and she noted the fear laced in his voice. So instead of more hissing she took his hand in her own as he stood there. Sansa placed a stronger grip so he couldn't slip away easily from her.
She just sat there holding his hand till he relaxed, not even speaking till she knew he had come back to the real world. " Why don't you just lay here next to me. It might ease your mind?"
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All color had drained from him. In his world candles leap and snap. In his world fire was the monster he couldn't escape and that which he ran from. He could face a thousand swords, but damn did his hands shake when making a campfire, or being near a torch with its dancing flame.
His hand would be clammy to her touch, but he didn't attempt to pull away. Either he chose not to, or he simply was too in shock to do so. He did sit down at the edge of the bed. "You don't understand, Sansa. Until you have been kissed by fire, you will never know such a pain. It is rooted deeply and never goes away. Even now I feel it...the burn...the heat...it dwells under the scars and reminds me."
It was a mixture of drunkenness, fear, shock, desire feelings that he refused to act upon cause he was a fool, which compelled him to open up. "My father said it was a candle that started the fire in my bed that caused this." He ran his open palm over his face. "But that was a lie. He couldn't face the truth that his firstborn son was a monster dwelling in the flesh of a child. Gregor was spoiled and father gave into his whims, but revoked those pleasures from me. I will admit I was envious, I knew what he was and I hated everyone who was fooled by his charms. I was also a child then, with child wants and it was a stupid wooden soldier that I desired the most. My father carved my brother an entire army of knights, horses and soldiers to play with and all he did was break them up and destroyed them. All but one and I found it and hid it. When I knew he was away, I would pull it out and play with it, imagining that it was me and that I was some valiant knight saving the kingdom." He snorted at such silliness. "I slipped up one day and took it into the grand hall to play and sat next to the hearth for comfort and light. Gregor caught me. He yanked it out of my hands and threw it into the fire and without a word slammed me down and put my face in to follow." His last sentence was choked out as he recalled the incident as though it had just happened. He felt light headed and laid down on the bed. "It took five men to pull him off of me. I don't recall what happened after that cause the pain made me pass out. I was given essence of the poppy for weeks to keep me asleep. I heard my father wanted the Maester to overdose me to put me out of my misery, but it didn't work."
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Sansa remained seated where she was. Listening and understanding best she could. True she had never been kissed by fire but she had been scared in her life. But sitting here thinking about it made her realize she had gotten over those fears, unlike Sandor had with fire. Once he lay down she directed her gaze down on him. Their hands still latched while his free hand rubbed down the mangled side of his face.
Sansa said nothing she could say would help, but listening might. How many people had heard this tale from Clegane himself? True it rumored from person to person. But hearing him speak about it showed Sansa a side to him she wasn't sure any has seen.
Slowly the young maiden leaned over to the giant of a man, still holding his hand laid out on her covered thigh. Her mouth approached the scarred section of his face, knowing this could turn sour quickly she crept slowly. She then placed one kiss next to his right eye which was the worst section of his burn.
Sansa lingered against him as she allowed her kiss to bless his flesh. She then slowly pulled back and released his hand as she shifted back down into the bed under the sheets.
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She was the first to hear the tale from his own lips. Those that knew fragments only heard through the grapevine those pieces of the truth. His father had sworn every witnessing soul into a vow of silence over the ordeal and created the lie about the candle when he realized his youngest son was going to pull through.
His heart stopped the instant her lips pressed upon the destroyed flesh of his face. His skin in that area was rough and course and slightly cooler than the rest of him despite his claims that it still burned. No one, not a single soul living or dead had dared to do what she just did. Her hand was squeezed tight as he felt his blood roar through his veins and his brain beckoning him to take a breath or else he'll pass out. He couldn't. He remained frozen for spell.
Her hand was squeezed tightly as he came through and when he looked her in the eyes there was a fire of passion ignited behind those deep brown hues. He couldn't resist that primitive desire that had been clawing madly inside of him any longer. He needed to claim her, to feel her, to be inside of her with every fiber of his being.
Madly he devoured her lips with a deep, passionate kiss. His mouth moved expertly against her own novice movements as he inhaled her breath, and guided through her mouth with his wine kissed tongue. His mouth moved down her swan like neck, suckling the virgin flesh as his hand tore at the shoulder of her undergown. He shifted his body against hers, so she could feel his hardened manhood press against her frame, as it begged to enter her. The fabric tore, exposing her shoulder. He was mad with lust, but just as suddenly as it came did he snap back into reality. It felt as though some unseen force splashed icy cold water over him. What the fuck was he doing!
Shame consumed him. "I can't." He groaned under heated breath as he buried his face into the crease of her neck. "I won't hurt you." He whispered to her. "I won't spoil what is not mine." He rose up from her, refusing to even look her in the eyes. " I need to go." He stammered as he high tailed it out of the house and into the night's embrace.
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Sansa did not expect to be ravished the way he took her. One second she was shifting down in the covers ready to go to sleep with his troubles on her mind on how to aid him. Sansa may have had the body of a woman but she was cursed with the mind of a child still.
Her innocent kiss led him to place his own blessing of a kiss on Sansa. This led her to go fully breathless and tremble under him as he tore at her clothes. And though fear ran through her so did a desire that she barely understood. But it was too soon to voice it. Only barely hitting fifteen years old she found the idea if sex with another to be terrifying. But then she recalled something Jon once told her before he left for the wall. " You're not living if you're not scared" these words bounced around in her head as her heart rate went through the roof.
Sandor would never hurt her, he proved that. He was just a man fighting his own demons and she was temptation, but still he chose to stop.
Her eyes started to water as she lay there over thinking with her hand over her lips. His rough unshaven face had scratched against them leading them to swell. About this time was when she heard the wood door close to indicate he was gone.
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He walked and walked and walked some more. He walked till his feet were bleeding from the blisters that formed, busted and were now rubbed raw from it all. He couldn't go back and face her, yet he would be the true image of a coward if he abandoned her like this.
She was pure of heart and he ruined it by acting on his own desires. In rage, his fist wailed against a tree and smashed his knuckles open. He would slit his own veins if it meant to retract his actions. But isn't that what is to be expected of a dog? Dogs mount their bitch when they come in heat. Dogs don't care of the consequences. Dogs are beast and he was a beast too.
By morning he had returned. He slammed the door open and began collecting their things. He didn't say a word to her nor looked her in direction. He would fulfill his promise to safely arrive her to her brother. Then he would be done with her. His mind would cleanse her from his memory and he would desire no more.
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Sansa was settled at the table when Sandor came in, her hands holding to a clay cup that was filled with water. Relief washed over her the moment she saw Sandor walking back towards the house from the window. A shaken breath fled from her lungs as he walked in as if he had just gone out for a bucket of water.
One hand drifted from the cup she held and was placed on her shoulder, skimming her finger tips along the tore fabric.
" I thought you left me..." as she said this she didn't know she was fully crying till noticing the tear land in the cup of water.
Sansa hated crying, she felt as though she had used all the tears one should be given in a lifetime. Her face turned from his direction as relief washed over her that he had come back for her.
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His movements raced madly across the house, gathering whatever they had and recklessly stuffing it into their bags. As he gathered the bottles of wine, he finally spoke to her. "Get your stuff, we are going."
By the time she would be ready, the horse would be packed up and two fresh hares would be hanging off the side of Stranger's saddle with the Hound mounted and ready.
He needed to get her to the Frey's, he knew once she was reunited with her own that this current world would only be a memory to her and hopefully it, along with he, would fade into a nonexistence. He prayed he was right. It was best she forget him as quickly as possible.
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Sansa assumed that Sandor was mad with her, so she washed herself up and packed up as much of the vegetables as she could and got fully dressed before mounting her pony. She didn't say she was ready. Instead she just waited at the other end for him to ride up on Stranger. Guilty for a reason she couldn't mentally place. It had to be him sensing her resistance, and she understood. All day she thought her actions over which only made her guilt grow like a weed in an untrimmed garden.
She had lured him into bed, touched her own self, and placed her mouth on him, she felt more and more at fault to the point she felt sick. Or maybe she just was actually sick? Chills ran through her, the kind that only a fever could bring on, and then came the cough. Sansa hadn't been sick since she was a child. But she also hadn't been out in nature like she had the past few days.
