Sandor skipped breakfast. He'd sooner have his stomach digest itself than face Sansa after last night's humiliation. He cursed his slow-wittedness in deflecting her and stewed in his dark mood. He was well aware he'd intended to make his interest known but he'd wanted it to be on his terms, not when he was cornered by her in her bare feet. He kicked himself for not taking charge of the opportunity - again - but, damn her, she'd caught him off guard - again - and he'd stood there quaking like a squire.
By late morning he was starving and, figuring he'd avoided Sansa successfully, went in search of food. He rounded a corner and almost collided with her. For fuck's sake.
"Good morning, Sandor," she said with a smile.
"Lady Sansa," he replied out of habit.
He made to continue walking but she was looking at him as though waiting for something.
"Is there something you need?" he asked apprehensively.
"No."
Still with the looking. "Did you eat?"
"Yes."
Sandor wasn't used to so few words from her. "I haven't."
"I won't keep you then."
"Lady Sansa," he said again with a nod and then walked into the great hall. He took fewer than five steps and turned around. He should have asked her to join him.
But she was gone.
While he ate, he decided enough was enough. He'd find her and ask her to spend some time with him. She hadn't gone running just now so, if she did realize he liked her, she wasn't avoiding him because of it.
He was just about to get up when Sansa reappeared next to him.
"You must have been hungry," she observed with a smile.
Sandor had no idea how long he'd been sitting there. The hall was nearly deserted, given the off hour at which he'd eaten. "I suppose I was," was all he could think to say in reply.
Sansa smiled at him again. Her nearly flawless features quickened his pulse. One of her eyebrows arched just a little higher than the other. He'd never noticed before, but this tiny asymmetry appealed to him.
"Let's go for a walk," she said, and got up.
He followed her out, pleased with this turn of events. "Where to?" He offered her his arm and was gratified beyond measure when she took it.
"Somewhere private."
Sandor stopped. "Is there more you want to talk about?" If there was, he'd sooner not waste the shoe leather just to hear another recitation of his shortcomings.
"You've always been honest with me, haven't you?"
"Aye," Sandor responded cautiously.
"I've always appreciated that about you."
It sounded like there was a caveat coming so Sandor didn't say anything. Instead, he let her lead him outside toward the godswood. Not too far in, there was a bench that Lord Stark made use of whenever he came to pray to his trees or however it worked. All these years and Sandor had never talked to his lord about it.
Sansa guided them to the bench and fluffed out her skirts, sitting regally and with a grace that made Sandor want to ravage her. To avoid having her read his thoughts as she'd seemed to the night before, he sat beside her and looked out at one of the spring-fed pools. Wisps of steam rose from it and disappeared among the leaves.
Sansa seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Sandor's mind raced. He had her alone. He should say something to preempt anything that wasn't going to result in her knowing that he wanted to get to know her better.
"Sandor . . ."
"Lady Sansa -"
"Just Sansa is fine."
"Sansa," he said slowly while looking her in the eye. The nearness of her was dazzling. To his delight, she blushed. He spoke before he was afraid to. "Whatever you were thinking last night . . . you were right."
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She held his gaze and Sandor was sure she could feel the air crackling between them just like he could.
"I was?"
Sandor nodded.
She continued to meet his eye. He leaned toward her. She registered the motion and didn't lean away so he moved in closer. He'd known she had blue eyes but never before had he appreciated how perfect the shade was. The shape of her nose, the curve of her cheekbones, the lush plumpness of her bottom lip. He breathed in the sweet smell of her. He'd never been this near to her face before. She was even better up close. He shut his eyes and made to close the last few inches of distance between them, his blood thrumming through his veins.
"Not here," she said quietly, her breath light on his lips.
He opened his eyes. "Here, then," he said and leaned forward again, ready to kiss her on the cheek and then her ear.
Sansa gave a nervous giggle. "Not here," she said, giving a meaningful look at the trees. "It's holy."
Sandor stifled a groan. "Then why did we come here?"
She blinked in surprise. "Oh! Sandor, surely you don't think I brought you here to . . ."
Gods damn it, she was so fucking cute. "I do think it, little bird. I think you lured me out here to have your way with me. I've done all I could but only a fool would pass you up."
Sansa's eyes flew open in horror but then she realized he was teasing her. All Sandor could think was that she hadn't run screaming from him. She'd known he was going to kiss her, and she hadn't moved. He grinned.
"The old gods are watching."
"Let 'em," he said and leaned in again.
"Sandor!" she scolded but with a laugh.
Sandor's mood was soaring. He loved teasing her.
"My chambers then." Blood was surging to his groin. He thanked the gods for cloaks.
"Not yet."
"When?"
"Maybe we should . . . get used to the idea."
"I'm used to it. I've thought of little else."
"Have you? You took me by surprise."
"I thought you liked surprises."
"I do."
"Then what's the problem?"
"There isn't one."
"My chambers then."
Sansa smiled but it wasn't a smile he liked. It was the one she used to placate children. "Let's take a walk."
Sandor groaned. "This was the walk."
Sansa stood and faced him; her hands clasped in front of her. "I'd like your arm, please."
Sandor's disappointment nearly crushed him. He'd been so close. He should have just leaned in and kissed her. But duty was duty and the lady had made a request, so he stood and offered her his arm.
They ambled out of the godswood, Sansa making polite conversation and Sandor not attending to any of it. As he tried to keep his mood in check, he was suddenly struck by a much better thought. All he had to do was get her to a place where she would allow him to kiss her and it was as good as done. Suddenly, he was feeling positively ebullient. He stole a look at her and imagined running his hands over her curves.He relaxed a bit and let her lead him.
"Where are we going, little bird?" he asked when no destination became apparent.
"We're just walking. And talking. And enjoying each other's company." She smiled up at him, the sun catching the highlights in her hair.
Sandor let out a breath. He wasn't usually satisfied with half of anything but apparently he would have to be satisfied with this. She was keeping a steady pace and didn't seem inclined to find another bench.
"What were you going to tell me?"
"Hmm?"
"You asked if I've always been honest with you. You said you appreciated it. What were you getting at?"
"Oh." She looked away and seemed to gather her words. When she looked back up at him, she was more serious. "I trust you, Sandor. I believe you have always tried to do right by me."
Was she reproaching his attempted kiss? He didn't want to think about all the ways he'd blundered in trying to get to this point, but she could be referring to those, too. All he could think to say was, "Aye, I have."
"If I'm right in what I was thinking . . . would you still do that? Behave in a way I could trust?"
It pained him that she could think otherwise. He looked down at her. She was still young and naïve, and he wanted to reassure her. "Come here."
He walked them quickly behind a storage shed where they could have a little privacy. He turned toward her and put his hands on her waist. It was uncomfortable for them both, but he didn't want it to be. He stood still, like he would with a skittish horse, and waited until they both settled. When they stopped being so aware of Sandor's hands, he said quietly, "If I don't, you take this sword from my hip and run me through."
She smiled. "Be serious."
He moved a little closer but not so close that he couldn't bend down to kiss her, which he fully intended to do. "I am serious, little bird. Haven't I always looked after you? If it pleases you, I'll even pretend singers who sound like scalded cats have voices to rival the Seven."
Sansa laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled against his chest.
Sandor was mildly disappointed that he didn't get to kiss her, but her touch flooded him with warmth. He'd not had a true hug since his sister was alive. He was nearly overwhelmed by it. He hugged Sansa back and heard the sounds of someone approaching. He ran his hands down her arms and took her hands. He gave them a squeeze and asked, "Where to?"
When she said, "Anywhere," his knees all but gave way.
They ambled along chitchatting. Since they knew nearly everyone they passed, their conversation was constantly interrupted. Tiring of that, Sandor eventually steered them outside the keep. Sansa must have noticed because her conversation began to touch on more private matters. "How is it you've lived here so long and yet I feel I know nothing about you?"
"There's not much to know," he said easily.
"Ser Gregor still lives in the westerlands . . ."
"He does."
"You've never wanted to visit?"
Sandor gave a cold chuckle. "No."
"But why?"
"You know my brother's reputation. Would you go visit him?"
"But you're his brother."
"I am."
Sansa didn't understand and Sandor didn't care to explain.
"But you grew up together, didn't you?"
"That was all a long time ago, little bird. I left home, joined Robert's Rebellion, he asked your father to train me, and here we are."
"Yes, here we are," Sansa smiled.
"The north suits me."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"What else are you glad about?"
"I'm glad you're talking to me."
"I've always talked to you."
"It's different now."
"Better?"
"I like it. Sometimes you seem so angry. Or sad. Or both. I'm not always sure."
"Do I seem that way now?"
Sansa looked up at him. "No, right now you seem . . . content."
Sandor laughed. "Close enough."
Sansa gave him a confused look.
He felt like a fool but he had to say it. "We should do this some more. You and me. Away from the castle and Jeyne and your septa and all of them."
She favored him with a smile. "I'd like that."
He blew out a breath. "Lord and Lady Stark wouldn't." He didn't want to address it but he had to. If Sansa was going to be with him, she needed to know what that really meant - that she would have to defend her choice to her parents.
"There's nothing wrong with us spending time together."
"It's not spending time that they'd object to."
Sansa pulled in the corners of her mouth.
"I want more. Of you. Sansa." Gods help him, it was out there now. Stuttered, but out there.
Sansa stopped walking and looked at the ground for a moment while Sandor's heart threatened to clog his throat and suffocate him.
"I want . . . to try."
Sandor's pulse was pounding in his ears so loudly he wasn't sure he heard her correctly. "Try?"
A flush was creeping down Sansa's neck and chest. "I . . . I would like to know you better. But it would be best if we were discreet."
"Discreet. Aye. We can be discreet." Sandor felt drunk. She'd actually said she wanted to know him better.
Sansa looked up at him shyly and with so much trust that it hit him like a fist. Even as she constrained him, it was so much more than he'd hoped for.
"It's just that . . . people would talk. Highborn girls . . ."
"I know, Sansa."
"I'm sorry. I know you understand."
"It's not your birthright I like."
She gave a small smile. It stoked the fire within Sandor even higher.
Even though they were alone, he was practically whispering when he said, "Why don't you come to my chambers tomorrow?"
She hesitated.
"It's the least holy place I know . . . " he said, hoping she'd laugh. "And there's no chance we'll run across Lord or Lady Stark. Discreet as silent sisters."
"That wouldn't be proper."
"Bit late for that."
"To talk?"
"We could drink and shoot dice, if you'd rather."
"I've no head for numbers, remember?"
"So you'll lose. That's no problem for me as long as you bet high."
"You're very funny," she said dryly. "I'd never noticed."
He took her hand. "Sansa," he said, "I'll be in my chambers tomorrow after midday. If you want us to get to know each other and you want to be discreet, it's the best place."
"And if I don't come?"
"Then I'll wait until you do."
It took hours and hours for Sandor's heart rate to return to normal. Every time he thought of the day he'd just had, his blood would surge, his breathing would grow shallow, and he'd wonder again how it had all come about. She hadn't exactly agreed to come to his chambers, but she hadn't said no. She'd said she wanted to know him better, know him better, know him better, know him better. The sweet sound of her words echoed in his ears.
Sandor ruminated over what was to come. They would be all alone and he'd kiss her. She'd like it and kiss him back and, at last, he'd become familiar with her in all the ways he wanted to.
The problem was, he had no idea how to make her like it. The kitchen maid had directed him, knowing exactly how she wanted to receive her pleasure. As for Sandor, he'd been halfway there as soon as they'd gotten alone. But that wasn't his problem. His problem would be pacing himself. He assumed Sansa didn't have much experience. He hoped not anyway because his stomach iced over when he thought of her with someone else. He decided that the best approach was the fast one. No more awkward dithering. She'd had ample opportunity to decline his advances and she hadn't, aside from that modesty before the old gods that Sandor would have roundly scorned had it been anyone but Sansa claiming they were watching. She seemed sure. Kind of. He hoped she was because, after all this, if she decided against him, he wasn't sure he could withstand the disappointment.
Sandor had pulled the night shift and a horde of Dothraki riders could have come thundering over the hills and he wouldn't have even noticed. He seemed, at long last, in spite of himself and against all probability, on the verge of being with Sansa. His nerves were jangled, like he was going to compete in a tourney on the morrow. Eventually, the sky lightened and he saw Sansa in the great hall. She blushed and looked away when his staring finally paid off and she met his gaze. He wrote that off as her being nervous, too, though he wished she wasn't so damn demure. Maybe it wasn't nerves; maybe it was compassion for his impending disappointment. After shoveling in some food, Sandor hustled to his room, bathed quickly, and fell into bed for a few hours of sleep.
Sansa didn't know if she wanted to go to Sandor's room or not. She had told herself she wanted to see where things went with Sandor, but she hadn't expected them to lead to his bed chambers. She was certain he'd been going to kiss her in the godswood and the reality of it had alarmed her. She wanted to get to know him, to know he understood the gravity of her decision. She feared being treated like a conquest or making a fool of herself or embarrassing her family, or even of getting Sandor in trouble. He seemed free of those worries and that made her worry even more. When they had just been walking along, chatting, she'd felt relaxed and happy. Memories of him hugging her made her feel warm and squishy inside. That had been her favorite part of the day. He had made her feel safe and cared for, and not just because she was Sansa Stark.
Currently, she was feeling less secure. She had no concerns that he would force himself on her. This was Sandor, after all. It wasn't as though she was slinking off to the winter town with a man of ill repute. Still, she was nervous. Logically, she saw the wisdom of Sandor's argument. His chambers were surely the most private place they could meet, though it was not quite enough to overcome the years of lecturing from her mother and her septa. A meeting like this was inherently improper and Sansa could not be entirely at ease with what she was doing, despite being intrigued by Sandor and the feelings he'd somehow aroused in her. She reasoned that her choosing to be with anyone would be new and uncertain, though she knew, deep down, that her lord father and lady mother would not be overjoyed with her choice and, for now, discretion would probably be best. Such thoughts didn't stop her heart from thumping loudly as she knocked on his door.
Sandor opened the door but seemed more interested in surveying the hallway than looking at her.
Now what? Sansa thought as she stepped into his room.
She hadn't looked around the last time she was here but now she took it in. The room was spare. No decorations. No garlands of dried flowers on his mirror like she had in her room. No mirror, for that matter. No fluffy white pelt on his bed. No pillows and candles and sachets of herbs. No special mixture of lemon-yellow paint for his walls, one of which was just exposed stone. Does he like it like this? she wondered. Where is the comfort? It was clean and neat, that didn't surprise her, but it lacked personality. Sansa narrowed her eyes. "Where are all your things?" she asked, wondering what the lack of personal touch in the room's decor should tell her about him.
Sandor didn't even bother to look around. He simply stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. She looked up at him and suddenly felt crowded. He looked determined and that intimidated her.
"You wanted to come."
Sansa nodded. Now didn't seem the time to voice all her concerns. She didn't have the breath anyway. She wanted to buy herself a moment but her mind was slip-sliding all over the place and couldn't land on the words.
Before she could delay him, he bent down to kiss her and bumped her nose with his. She tried to turn her head, but he turned his in the same direction. They both over-corrected and then Sandor took her face in his large, rough hands and, holding her gaze, slowly bent down to kiss her. She knew it was unkind but she couldn't stop her eyes from darting to his scars. The roughness of them against her lips caused her to stiffen for just a moment before she registered the soft half of his mouth that sent a shiver of pleasure through her. It was too late, though. He sensed her hesitation and immediately let her go and stepped away, something close to outrage on his features.
"You didn't like it," he accused.
"No, I -"
"Seven hells, why'd you come here? You must have known this is what would happen." His anger seemed to be mounting by the moment.
"I just wasn't -"
"You weren't what?"
She winced. He was disgusted with her.
"You felt my scars, is that it?"
"No. I mean, I did but, it wasn't that!"
He turned away. "Liar."
Sansa's jaw swung open. "I've never been kissed before. I wasn't ready!"
He cast a disparaging look at her over his shoulder. "Right. And I'm Jaime Lannister."
"I'm not lying."
He swatted the air in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever you say."
"What is wrong with you? I've never lied to you, or anyone else!"
He rounded on her. "You expect me to believe no one's ever kissed you? Not Cley Cerwyn who's always around, with his smooth lips, or that singer with his silver tongue?"
Sansa drew back in horror. How could he say such things to her? Where was the Sandor who'd held her and said he'd look after her? She certainly felt like running him through with his sword now. "Yes, I expect you to believe it because it's true!"
"What about," he made his voice mocking, "dreamy King Joffrey? I bet a broach isn't all he gave you."
"Shut your mouth!"
"It was shut until you pulled away."
"What is the matter with you lately?!" Sansa shrieked, her face hot, tears rolling over her cheeks.
Sandor took a step back, crossed his arms over his chest, and straightened to his full height.
"Why did you say that?!" she insisted. "Why do you have to ruin everything?!"
"Maybe you're the one who ruined it. Ever think of that? I'd think you'd be used to my face after all this time." The corner of his mouth twitched.
She glared at him. Coming here was a mistake. She was irritated with herself for ignoring her instincts and flouting the decorum that had always served her so well.
"No courtesies for that, girl?"
With all the calm she could muster, Sansa said, "I thought we were going to get to know each other."
"I thought you wanted to kiss me."
That was too much. Sansa quickly wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and shot him a murderous look. "Not anymore!"
MOMENTS BEFORE
Sandor lay on his bed, so preoccupied with whether or not Sansa would come that he didn't hear her footsteps in the hall. His heart nearly stopped when he heard her knock and he crossed the room in a bound, lest she be caught standing outside his door. To his relief, no one was gawking at her in the hall because no one was there but her.
In accordance with his plan, he stepped forward and put his hands on her waist. She looked up at him and his heart flipped over. "You wanted to come."
Sansa nodded and it was all the confirmation he needed. He bent down to kiss her and, after some frustratingly squire-level maneuvering, Sandor took her face in his hands, held her gaze, and slowly bent down to kiss her. He'd just registered her softness when he felt Sansa purse her lips in a flinch. He instinctively knew why, and it crushed him.
"You didn't like it," he said, each word flaying his soul.
"No, I -"
"Seven hells, why'd you come here? You must have known this is what would happen." She could not have dashed his hopes at a worse moment. He wished he could take his sword to something.
"I just wasn't -"
"You weren't what?"
She made a face.
"You felt my scars, is that it?"
"No. I mean, I did but, it wasn't that!"
He turned away. She could chirp whatever she wanted but he knew what he knew. "Liar."
"I've never been kissed before. I wasn't ready!"
He cast a disparaging look at her over his shoulder. The odds were squarely against that. At least one of the young men who were part of the parade through Winterfell must have taken a shot. "Right. And I'm Jaime Lannister."
"I'm not lying."
If that were true, he'd just ruined this for her. But he still didn't believe her. If she truly objected to his scars, why had she let things get this far? That's what really bothered him. He'd never thought she was a tease. He swatted the air in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever you say."
"What is wrong with you? I've never lied to you, or anyone else!"
Sandor rounded on her. He knew he should shut up already, but his insecurities gushed obscenely out of his mouth. "You expect me to believe no one's ever kissed you? Not Cley Cerwyn who's always around, with his smooth lips, or that singer with his silver tongue?"
Sansa drew back in affront. Her posture reminded Sandor of Lady Catelyn, as did her righteous expression. "Yes, I expect you to believe it because it's true!"
"What about," he made his voice mocking, "dreamy King Joffrey? I bet a broach isn't all he gave you."
"Shut your mouth!"
"It was shut until you pulled away." Though it wouldn't have been for long.
"What is the matter with you lately?!" Sansa shrieked, her face a brilliant red, tears rolling over her cheeks.
He wished she would leave, even if it was running away in misery, but she stubbornly stood there, seeming to demand an answer from him. There was no way to tell her that she was the matter with him, not when a simple kiss threw her into fits of revulsion. It was time to go on the offensive. He took a step back, crossed his arms over his chest, and straightened to his full height. She wasn't cowed in the least.
"Why did you say that?!" she insisted. "Why do you have to ruin everything?!"
"Maybe you're the one who ruined it. Ever think of that? I'd think you'd be used to my face after all this time." The corner of his mouth twitched. He tried to make it stop but couldn't. A chronic frustration.
She held his gaze and looked more hostile than he'd ever seen her.
"No courtesies for that, girl?"
"I thought we were going to get to know each other."
"I thought you wanted to kiss me." His admission sounded cocky rather than conciliatory and he could tell right away that it had gone over badly. She looked insulted, like he'd made it sound like he was doing her a favor.
Sansa quickly wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands and shot him a murderous look. "Not anymore!"
Sandor was still standing where she left him long after she was gone. Not anymore? Had that meant she'd actually wanted to? Sandor let out a growl of frustration, grabbed the flagon from his table, and hurled it against the wall. He eyed the jagged shards covering his floor with satisfaction and headed for the door.