Author Note:
Thank you very much for the positive responses. And so it continues...
"Little bird," she heard a murmur. Something out of focus was speaking. Her eyelids fluttered but gave up and stayed shut. "Come on, little bird." Again the voice was close, but somewhere far away.
"Mmmmm?" her voice was nowhere to be found.
"That's it," he spoke almost softly, "come back now."
From where? She wondered. "Mmm…Hound…" her voice drifted off as her eyelids opened. It was getting dark, the last red streak of a sunset sweeping across the sky above her like a red stroke from a paintbrush.
Her eyes then focused on a face hovering over her. "Good," he muttered before getting up and walking out of her field of vision.
Sansa slowly rubbed her eyes and began to sit up. Her back felt like a slab of wood, stiff and resistant to any movement. Her head felt like one giant heartbeat as she sat. She winced against the pain and pressed a hand to her temple. Once the pain began to dull, she opened her eyes again and took in her surroundings. A stream lay at her feet. The water was crystal clear and running swiftly. Trees taller than giants stood around her, their leaves beginning to turn. Winter is coming. She thought about the words of her house, the words her Father told her time and time again. A slight breeze raced through the trees and chilled the back of her neck and lifted her red hair from her shoulders. To her left were the horses, loosely tied to a branch with ample room to roam, drink and wander to the patches of grass beneath the tree. Stranger didn't seem to mind the company of the gray horse.
Sansa looked to her right and saw the Hound. He was drinking from his hands, the water of the creek running through his fingers before he raised his makeshift bowl to his mouth and drank greedily. "How long…" Sansa tried to speak but it came out as more of a croak.
The Hound took another scoop of water in his hands and splashed it over his scarred face. He rubbed the dirt and grime away and stood, shaking his head, sending water droplets through the air. Like a dog, Sansa thought. "Long enough," he said while peeling off his armor. She watched him with wide eyes. The armor fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He rolled his shoulders and lifted his arms above his head. The bottom of his tunic lifted above the waist of his breeches and exposed a stomach of strength and a trail of dark hair. "See something you like, girl?" he sneered as he stripped off his boots.
Sansa shook her head and blushed an embarrassing shade of red. "Apologies, s-
"Don't you dare," he said with an edge to his voice that cut through her embarrassment. She turned back to face him as he walked over to her. Fury was written in his eyes. "Look at me, girl." He kneeled next to her and grabbed her chin. "You aren't in a castle anymore. You're a traitor now, same as me. There's no place for your pretty songs here."
She bit her lip. He was right, she knew that much. He was not a ser, he was not an average man; he was the Hound. He was Sandor Clegane, brother of the Mountain. She tried to form a sentence, but ended up continuing to bite down on her full bottom lip. She watched as his eyes looked down at her mouth and almost soften. There was something off about the look he was giving her. He looked lost. He watched her mouth for a moment more before looking back at her eyes. He growled in his throat, something primal. He let go of her chin and stood up, stalking away from her.
"Get your fill, little bird." He said as he walked to where his pile of armor rested. "Have to wash the day off." He said no more as he stripped his shirt. He paused and watched her watching him.
Sansa looked away quickly. Not before her heart began to hammer and fingers tingled. The Hound had always stirred something in her. He was harsh, brutal, and fearless. Yet he never lied to her. Men lied, but the Hound told her the truth. He watched her grow. He observed her maturity into a young woman. His eyes never strayed from her when they were in a room together. When Joffrey used her, when Cersei mocked her, when the guards beat her, when fools lied to her, he was always the voice of reason. Best do what he says, girl. Her cheeks were on fire as she thought back to all the times in King's Landing that she had caught him watching her. Her neck burned crimson as she remembered all of the times she had been caught watching him. Whenever she was called to see Joffrey, her heart was always lightened by the notion of seeing him among the crowd. It was an unspoken secret they shared. Both of them knew they would search for one another, but neither dared speak it out loud.
In one of her braver moments, he escorted her back to her room in the Red Keep, her cage he called it, and she felt fierce. At her door, with no one to witness, he backed her into her room and closed the door behind him.
He raised an eyebrow at her as she looked panicked. "I'm used to that look," he had muttered. "I'm even used to stares."
Sansa had gulped. She had known where the interrogation was going. He had noticed her watching him. He had felt her presence, her eyes lingering on his face, his body, and his hands. "I'm not sure what you mean," she had retorted, backing up until her knees hit the side of her bed.
He had reached out and run his hand through a lock of her hair. "Little bird," he had begun, gently, "stop your stares before the bastard notices." She had looked up and met his eyes at that moment. She was not surprised to hear him call Joffrey a bastard. She was surprised that he had not used his classic term, cunt.
She had felt brave in that moment. "I don't care if he sees."
He had laughed at her. His laugh was a mock though. It stung more than she cared to admit. "You will one day," he said. "You will when I'm not there when he hurts you."
The realization had hit her. "You're the only one here who would never hurt me." She wanted to sit on the bed, let herself go limp. The close proximity to him had made her body feel like pudding. Her brave demeanor was melting away.
He nodded and leaned in close. She could smell the wine on his breath. He always seemed to be drinking wine. She had noticed he seemed to drink more when he was around her. "Aye," he began, "I'll never hurt you, little bird. Even though I want to sometimes. In different ways than Joffrey." He had looked her up and down, his mouth an inch from hers.
Sansa had felt a burn in her belly the moment the words left his lips. Her breath had stopped, her eyes had widened. She began to close her lids, let her eyelashes begin to kiss her cheeks before he had grunted and turned towards the door. He didn't even look back. The door slammed shut and he was gone. The only thing that did not disappear was the sensation in her body for hours afterwards.
Sansa turned her head back to the water and watched as he pulled his breeches down. He was naked. She turned away again and tried to stand. Her legs trembled, barely able to hold her up, but she was determined to walk away. Her entire body felt aflame. Her fingers had their own heartbeats as they tingled and surged with energy. She took a small glance back as he winced while walking into the chilled water. He was waist deep in the creek before she walked to the horses. Stranger eyed her curiously while Windstorm, the name she decided to give to the gray mare, nuzzled her hand and welcomed the attention. She kept her hands busy with rubbing the ears of the creature and running her hands along its silky neck.
She heard the splash of the water and her body tensed. She took a breath and turned. There was a small fire set up over where his armor was. Further than that were their sleeping blankets, rolled out in a cave in the side of the rocks by the water. It looked small. She watched as the Hound dunked his head under the water, rubbing his hands against his head with his eyes shut. She took the opportunity and walked swiftly past him bathing and into the small cave. She could still see him, but here she had the opportunity to lay down and stare at the cave wall. This was easier on her.
After she got over her the immediate discomfort of him returning to the cave with just his breeches on, she turned and looked up at him. Silver scars ran over his chest and water droplets glimmered all over him. His hair was wet against his forehead. "Hungry?" he asked almost gently.
Sansa nodded. She had been trying to gain some courage since waking from the fall off of her horse. It kept escaping her like sand between her fingers. "Yes," she answered. The sun was nearly gone, but that did not stop the Hound from wandering into the forest to trap a meal, leaving Sansa with the horses and the open water.
Before he left to hunt, he had come back to the cave, armor on and longsword at his side. "Don't do anything stupid," he said.
Sansa nodded. "I won't," she said quietly, watching him give a curt nod and turn to go into the trees.
When she was certain he was gone, she looked longingly at the water. Her hair was matted, her body sticky from sweat, and her hands covered with grime. Her fingernails looked ghastly. She wondered how Arya could so easily accept being filthy, then her heart sank. Arya. She's alive somewhere, I know it. A wolf knows when a pack member is gone. After waiting longer than necessary and pushing aside thoughts of her family, Sansa gathered her dress and lifted it over her head, letting it fall into a small heap by the pile of sticks that would soon be a roaring fire. She sucked in a breath and began to walk into the water. It froze her toes the second they touched the liquid, but she bit her lip and continued until she was half into the stream. She couldn't feel her legs, and her stomach cringed as the water lapped against her exposed belly. Her breasts perked and her nipples hardened against the cold. Determined to be clean, Sansa took the plunge beneath the water. I am a child of Winterfell. I am the North. I am a wolf. Yet, despite being all of those things, the cold shocked her system. She opened her mouth beneath the surface and it felt like icicles flew down her throat and constricted her lungs. When she rose to the surface, her hair clung to her back, the red dark with water looked like a luxurious crimson velvet. Before she could flee from the water she scrubbed her body with her hands. Everywhere she could reached she scrubbed. Her legs, her hair, her face. She scrubbed until she felt almost raw. She let herself fall beneath the water again and work her numb fingers through her hair until it ran smooth, no longer tangled.
When she emerged from the water, the air felt hot compared to the chill of the lake. Her teeth chattered as she sprinted to Windstorm and opened the saddle bag where she had stuffed a few belongings. Among them was a cloak from Winterfell. It was made of rough gray wool, with a direwolf sigil embroidered across the back with black leather. She wrapped it around herself, absorbing the water droplets from her skin. She hung it from a branch once her hair was mostly dry and her body crawled with gooseflesh as she quickly threw on a simple dress from the saddle bag. It was dove gray with lavender embroidery. She smoothed it over her skin, forgetting any small clothes and not particularly caring.
She took it upon herself to soak the filthy dress in the lake. She wrung it out and watched the brown droplets fall into the lake, carried downstream. King's Landing was being washed away from her and it lifted her spirits. Once she had draped the fabric over a branch on the tree the horses were tethered to, she returned to the shelter of the cave. The moon had risen and kissed the surface of the lake. A chill was creeping into the air. Once she sat on the blankets, she tucked her legs beneath her chin and watched the horses drink, eat and look at one another. She stared out to the gap in the treeline where the Hound had vanished, willing him to return. What will I do if he doesn't come back? She asked herself. The notion terrified her. He's the Hound, he'll come back. He said he would keep me safe. She reassured herself the best she could as she waited in the small cave. Another thought tickled her mind. Of course he'll come back. I see how he watches me. She smiled softly. It's the same way I watch him.
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