Chapter 4.
Sandor Clegane was enjoying his hot bath.
He did not even remember when was the last time when hot water and soap touched his skin. Maybe, he thought, it was still here, at this damned cold Winterfell, before the battle against the Dead started, when everyone in Westeros joined their forces to defeat our biggest enemy in history. As if it all had been centuries ago…
It was so comfortable, lying in the water, in the middle of a warm room, lit by a cheerfully cracking fire and a dozen candles, doing nothing but relaxing, feeling nothing but amazing warmness around his body, like a huge, warm blanket. Finally he did not have to worry about anything. There was no bone-breaking cold, no blade-sharp wind, there were no enemies around him. He knew that no one would visit or disturb him except Lady Stark. No one wants to look at me or to talk to me, he thought, everyone is still scared of me and they all hate me and my being here. To be honest, he did not care about their feelings or thoughts, just as no one cared about him and whether he was alive or not.
He was terribly exhausted – not only physically, but mentally as well. He did need some rest so badly, some time to recover and regain his strength, but he would have never allowed anyone to know about that. He did not trust anyone, he never had. Tough months were standing behind him and for the first time he felt his own age deeply in his bones and flesh. He was tired of fighting but that was the only thing he was competent in and that he enjoyed most of all. He was never afraid of anyone or anything – except fire, even though since he returned to life, even his fear from the flames became much smaller. He felt he could sleep forever.
He had no intentions to come to Winterfell. Things had just happened.
That afternoon he walked away from the hut and he followed the route where his feet took him. He did not think about it. One day he found a stray horse eating the grass sleepily and when the horse was found dead one morning, he continued his journey on foot again. He had nothing but his clothes, his sword and his eternal anger. When he found some fruit or when he could catch an animal, he ate. When he found a brook or a river, he drank. When he was about to meet people, he did his best to avoid them and pretended to be invisible.
When he was surrounded by a bunch of armed people on the riverbank, he had no idea where exactly he was, but those men were so eager to inform him immediately that they belonged to Lady Stark's warriors and he was on the territory of the Northern Kingdom. Sandor had to smile hearing their proud words: so he reached the little bird's empire. He fought with all her warriors but he did not injure them seriously. He did not want to kill them – what he wanted was to meet Lady Stark. Maybe it was something that he had always wanted, he smirked. He had not seen her since he had left Winterfell before the Fall of King's Landing.
When Sansa Stark knocked on the door politely, then entered the guest room, greeting him in her elegant style, Sandor Clegane was still lying in the steaming hot bath tub, with his wild eyes closed.
His muscular arms, covered with thick hair, were resting on the rims of the tub and she could see an ugly blood-red scar running across his broad hairless chest above his heart. It looked so freshly cut, but as she stepped a little closer, Sansa could realise that it must have been at least a few months old. The water and the steam flying above it glued his long dark brown hair to his skull and his shoulders, and small drops of water were beaming on his forehead.
The servants had done a great job: the fireplace and the bath made the room comfortably warm, the deliciously prepared dishes were waiting on the table, smelling so fine, and the complete clean and new pieces clothing had already arrived, piled on the chair next to the bed.
- Shall I stand up, Lady Stark? – Sandor Clegane smirked at Sansa, watching her with his left eye.
Sansa's face remained expressionless.
- Please, Ser, you do not have to move. Enjoy your bath as long as you can.
He could not wipe that naughty smirk off his face and out of his voice.
- It seems to me that you do want something from me. Do you want to watch me while I am having my bath? Peeling the dirt and the mud off my skin? Is that so interesting for you?
Sansa still did not blush although she felt rather uncomfortable. She wanted to question him and not to be questioned by him.
- My intentions are other kind. May I ask you some questions?
Sandor shrugged and looked at her with both of his eyes open.
- Why the hell not?
She tried to ignore his complete boredom and rude style.
- I would like to know why you came here. Do you have any special plans or tasks to do?
- I didn't come to you, I was just caught by your brave warriors.
- My warriors are to defend my people in my land. What were you looking for near Winterfell?
Sandor's face showed nothing but disinterest, however a little naughty smirk was lurking in the corner of his mouth.
- I just happened to be there.
- Quite a distance from King's Landing.
- Quite a distance and quite a change of surroundings.
Sansa grew tired of his talking beside the point and not replying to her questions honestly, but she didn't want to be insistent.
- Did you fancy a little riding in the north?
Sandor Clegane's grin became more alarming as he leaned forward in the tub and the light fell on the burnt half of his face and his mouth, contorted and surrounded by scars.
- Your tongue has become much sharper than your little wicked sister. What happened to the sweet little bird I knew in King's Landing?
- To tell the truth, I would have liked to ask about that as well, Ser. – Sansa did not even blink while returning his deep glance. - What happened to you in King's Landing? A lot of stories have been going around Westeros that you had fought with your brother and both of you had fallen into the depth, into the fire.
- Would you be happier if I were dead? – he rasped and leaned back into a lying position again. There was a little change of mood on his face and a flash in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
- I did not say that. – she sounded offended a little. He ignores my question or attacks me simply, she thought with a growing impatience, that will lead nowhere I would like to go.
- Just reply. – Sandor demanded with a command in his voice.
Sansa did not let him scare her.
- You know very well how grateful I am for you. Why should I be rejoicing at the news of your death?
Sandor shrugged negligently.
- Who knows? I have no idea. Women can have such a cruel heart. Even the young ones.
She did not know whom he was hinting at, and she was not really interested, but she wanted to make him tell his story.
- Be honest with me, please. How could you survive such a horrible fight and fall?
- I am always honest with you. – he sat up, replying on a spiteful voice and his long fingers were grabbing the rim of the tub so hard that his skin looked white above his bones. Sansa felt how much he was annoyed by her, but she was completely sure that he would have never attacked her physically, even though based on his eyes and expression, he seemed to be about to jump out of the tub and strangle her. - A dog never tells lies. I have told you that so many times.
- Then please, tell me…
Sandor Clegane did not move, did not even seem to breathe, still his deep voice sounded more frightening now than before.
- Go out of here, Lady Stark. I am tired of this conversation.
Sansa knew that she had to go. She was disappointed and a little annoyed as well, but she did not want to push him further.
- I am sorry for the inconvenience of my questions. Goodbye – she turned around quickly, reached for the doorknob, opened it quickly and stepped out of the room as fast as possible.
While she was leaving the room, Sansa was almost sure that she heard Sandor Clegane rasp "fuck your regret, little bird".
One thing Sansa was perfectly sure was that Sandor Clegane had been travelling to the North not because of the beautiful winter scenery or for fun.
Everyone is afraid of him or hates him, she thought, no one wants him near their homes because of his past. His past is his burden just as my past is my own burden. He is not that young fighter anymore, he is nothing but a battered old warrior with an ill fame and an much more ill-famed brother. Maybe he looks for a peaceful place to live his last years even though his anger and rage spoil every chance for that. He came to Winterfell… why? She thought that he was much prouder than to ask for help and support for his past service. But maybe his pride was defeated by hunger and fatigue by now, she wondered. She wanted to help him, especially for all the good things he had given to her and to Arya.
The other possibility, that Sandor arrived to fulfil some horrible schemes for someone in a higher rank to obtain Winterfell or the Iron Throne, sounded rather terrifying to her and she hoped that it was not the case. Somehow she did not want to be disappointed in him, after all his good deeds for the Stark-girls. However, it was strange and fairly obvious that he was concealing something from her and he did not want to reply the two most important questions she had towards him.
There is something that he does not want to tell me, she thought shaking a little inside, and no matter how hard it will be but I must find it out. Will the fighting never end?
She told Andrew to take care of Sandor and to make sure that he would be given everything he wanted to, whether it was food, wine or warm blankets. Then she decided to continue her day as if nothing special had happened. Her people and her books were waiting for her, and she also wanted to visit some sick people in the nearby villages. She had things to do: she was the Lady of Winterfell.