297 AC

Lenna XV

She seldom called for him. Maybe six times in the following year. While he had pressed his lips and huffed that she didn't need him, she disagreed. She did need him. Though he had allowed them to settle back into their old ways of looks and smirks and quiet words around the princess, it wasn't enough. Even knowing he was there watching from the shadows over the Sept wasn't enough. She craved contact, lonelier than she had ever been before.

He'd appeared only once of his own volition, startling her and sending a full-bodied current of fire and ice through her. On her twenty-second nameday, he'd stepped into the circle of her lamplight, a parcel engulfed in his rough hand. It was the first time he'd slipped the package into her hand himself, and she had felt a flash of pleasure when his calloused fingers touched hers as he gave it to her. It was wrapped in plain parchment and twine, the same as all the others, another ribbon for her collection. Only this one was a dark crimson, like wine or blood, a complete departure from the cooler colors he'd brought her before. It made her flush, feeling there was some significance to the color she didn't quite understand. She had tied it into her hair at once, not missing the intense look on his face as he watched her take down the knot, letting it stream around her shoulders before she plaited the scarlet against the dark tresses with nimble fingers.

He'd stood so still she would have bet ten golden dragons that he'd wanted to touch it, and she knew that if he'd reached out she would have let him.

She didn't if there was any truth in the old adage about absence making the heart grow fonder, or if it was just that his absence made her realize how much he meant to her, but with each passing day the strange, quivering feeling in her belly grew and rose up, coursing through her until it was seated in her breast. She didn't want to name it, was in fact terrified to. Whatever it was felt impossible, and it could only make her more wretched.

He was still invaluable. When they would talk, she would often ask his advice in. He always seemed to have some idea of what to do. After Tyrion's banquet and their return from the North, she had been terrified that she would make some catastrophic misstep. However, once she'd proved willing to talk and Tyrion had left, it was like she'd never been sent home at all. She resumed her duties with the princess, the routine reestablished. Sandor convinced her that the best thing she could do was nothing, but rather watch and wait. As he did.

One curious thing did happen, though. One afternoon she had been studying in the library, reading about the Rebellion, actually, when Jon Arryn had walked into the library. He had gone directly to the shelves where the family histories were stored, not paying her a bit of mind. She let him look, but it became evident that he was frustrated in his search.

"Can I help you look for something, my lord?" she asked. He turned abruptly, his cold blue eyes looking back at her shrewdly.

"Lady Helenna," he said feebly. She felt a bolt of concern looking at him. Jon Arryn was not a young man, in fact he was older than both her father and Tywin Lannister. His cheeks were sallow and his sandy hair thin and wispy.

"If there's a book you want, I could help. Or ask the Maester."

"Don't trouble Pycelle," he responded quickly. He looked her up and down, the expression in his eyes still grave. "There's a lineage missing."

"Which one?" she said, curious. She rose from her table and crossed the space to him, crouching down to look at the shelves where the book of family lines should be.

"Maellon's book," he said quietly.

Lenna quickly scanned the shelf. She'd seen it there before, but the old lord was right. It was missing.

"It should be here," she said, laying her fingers in the gap.

"Has anyone taken it?"

"Not to my knowledge, my lord," she replied. "And I'm here more than anyone else. Could it be being updated? Recent births? If I see it, shall I bring it to you?"

Arryn looked down at her with calculation in his gaze.

"Your father. What does he really think of you being here?"

Lenna rose slowly from the floor. She and Lord Arryn were roughly the same height. It seemed to her that he was not a well man, but his voice had gained strength and he was looking at her in such a way that she felt he saw straight through her.

"What would think of your child being called away and not allowed to return home?" she countered softly. "You know my father, I think you can guess."

"Yet here you are," he replied.

"I could not deny the queen's orders any more than you could deny the king's, my lord."

Arryn exhaled a sour breath. "If you see it, bring it to me. Have a care to be discreet."

"Of course, my lord."

He nodded to her abruptly and wheeled about on his heel.

Lenna was left feeling shaky. She had answered none of his questions, but he seemed to understand her. She knew she had said too much, but she wasn't sure how much. His interest in the book was odd, especially if he was keen enough on it to ask her to bring it to him.

When weeks passed and nothing was said, she began to breathe easy again. Then, one afternoon as she was looking for a romance to while away some time, her fingers landed on something solid tucked behind the row of spines. It took some effort to draw the book out, and when she did, her heart began to speed up.

The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children

Without another thought, she tucked it back behind the romances, taking the book she had wanted, and returned to her seat. When she rose to leave for dinner, she left the red book on the table, praying that he would see it that day.

She wasn't disappointed. He was already there when she arrived that night. His legs were stretched out to their full length as he sat on the window ledge, his hair falling about his face. He heard her come in, his gaze meeting hers as soon as she stepped into the little pool of light.

She felt quaky and off-kilter, and it must have shown on her face. In a trice, he had crossed the room on his long legs, standing just an arm's-length away.

"What's wrong," he asked lowly. "What has happened."

She looked up at him carefully. "Several weeks ago Lord Arryn came here-"

"Why did you not tell me before?" he demanded, his voice a sharp bark.

"I didn't think it was important," she replied. "People do come in here, you know."

He grunted, but his face was stormy.

"And?"

"He was looking for a book. But it was missing."

"What sort of book?"

"A lineage."

"A what?"

"It's a list, of the noble houses. It has the members' names, important dates, descriptions of their appearances and deeds. He was looking for one begun by Maester Maellon, but it wasn't in its place."

"Where was it?"

"I didn't know, until I found it today."

"Where?"

"Tucked behind the romances."

He smirked, but it was short lived. "You and your damned foolish knights."

"Sandor, he asked me to bring it to him. If I found it." At the time, it hadn't seemed that much of a request. Now, finding it hidden, not just misplaced, and she felt sure that it was important, perhaps even dangerous.

His eyes hardened. "Jon Arryn did?"

She nodded solemnly.

"What does he want with it?"

"I don't know, it isn't exactly interesting reading. Here," she said, turning to the stacks. She knelt in the row, removing the other books carefully before drawing it out. It was enormous, the thick stack of vellum bound in thick bundles to prevent tearing at the spine. She replaced the books that had concealed it and brought it to her table.

"See? It's just a list of names, of details." She turned the pages until she found her house. Her father and brothers were listed, as was she. "Here I am: 'Lady Helenna Manderly, born 276 AC in White Harbor. Dark of hair, green of eye. Resident of King's Landing from 290, tutor to the Princess Myrcella Baratheon.'"

"Not interesting at all," he retorted, but his voice was rich.

"I thought at first it had been taken to be updated. See, there's still room here for entries. I wonder if you are in here."

She flipped back to find House Clegane, the running black dogs of his sigil in sharp contrast with the yellow the scribe had used to illustrate their arms. It was a short entry, no more than six items long, but there he was. "'Sandor Clegane, born 271 at Clegane's Keep, Westerlands. Dark of hair, gray of eye. Burned. Bodyguard to queen Cersei Lannister, afterwards also to the royal children.'"

He looked uncomfortable when she'd read the word 'burned.' It had made something flare in her as well. Her eyes flicked to the entry on his brother, but she decided she'd rather not read it. He cleared his throat.

"What would Jon Arryn want with a book of lineage?" he asked.

"I have no idea," she replied. "I thought you might."

He shook his head. "It's important, if he wanted you to bring it to him if you found it. But I don't know why."

"He wanted to talk about my father, also," she said lowly, hesitantly. She was wary of his reaction.

"Did you?" he asked flatly. The expression on his face had gone steely.

"I answered as simply as I could. He is the Hand of the King," she replied lamely.

To her surprise, he nodded. "Jon Arryn is a good man. It's best not to lie to him."

She felt relieved to hear him say it. "How shall I get it to him?"

"I'll take it to him," he said lowly. "After the little grace's lesson tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"No one questions me," he answered. "They might wonder at you being in the Tower of the Hand, though."

She smiled up at him, and his features softened. He rose to leave, but she seized him by the elbow.

"Since you're here," she began, moving to the table. She'd brought a flagon of Dornish sour, knowing it to be his particular favorite, along with two goblets. She poured him a glass of the wine and then one for herself. "Stay a while. Please"

He nodded, taking up a position on the window ledge. He leaned his back against the casement and stretched one leg out to the floor, the other drawn up slightly on the cushions. She felt daring, wanting to be near him, knowing he sat like that so she couldn't get close. It made her heart thunder, but she wriggled in beside him and leaned against his shoulder. His arm wasn't really embracing her, but she could pretend it was. He kept his palm flat against the ledge, and she could see him pressing his fingers viciously into the stone.

He wants to touch you, she thought vaguely. You're playing with fire.

She knew it was cruel to both of them, though she wasn't sure how cruel it was to him. She knew that she craved his warmth, the feeling of his strong shoulder beneath her head, the subtle movements of muscle in his chest. She wanted to smell him, feel the rise and fall of his breathing. It made her feel real pressed against him like that, even as the disconcerting ache filled her belly and moved lower, even as her breathing became a little shallower and her cheeks a little hotter. She'd had so many dreams of this since they'd returned from White Harbor, her unconscious mind calling out for that intimacy they'd had on the ship, the way he'd let her burrow against his warmth.

He didn't move away. He turned his body just a tiny bit to allow her to sink back into the curve of his torso. She shivered against him

"What are we reading, then?" he asked lowly. She shuddered just a bit at the feeling of his breath stirring her hair. He settled his head so that his cheek was grazing, but not quite touching, her temple. She could feel the whisper of his beard. Every part of her was calling out to him, willing him to close the distance and touch her skin to skin.

She could have been the one to do it, but she didn't have the courage. Instead, she cracked open the book and began to read of the knights he hated, dragons he scoffed at, and the ladies that made him go strangely still and silent, his breath hot against her cheek.

Sandor XV

He knew he shouldn't have let her lean against him like that. If someone were to walk into that library and find them, innocent as it really was, they'd both be punished. He didn't want her to be punished because he had no control over himself, because he wanted her pressed against him even if it was in such a childlike way. When she had settled against him, almost snuggling into his shoulder, he had wanted so badly to wrap one arm around her waist, and turn her face to him with the other. He wanted to spread the palm of his hand along the side of her face, to feel the lines of cheekbones, her jaw beneath his skin. She would be at such the perfect place for him to lower his mouth to hers. They would be inches away, her eyes so close to his, her breath on his cheeks, his lips, and he would only have to lean down ever so slightly.

Worse, he'd stopped being able to chase away those imaginings with thoughts of her rejecting him. He felt crazy to think it, he was sure he was delusional, but he was quite sure if he had tried to kiss her she wouldn't have pushed him away. That was even worse than believing that she would, his self-control hanging by a thread. Something in her eyes had changed, and there were moments where she looked at him almost bashfully. It gave him heart even as it gave him pain.

It wasn't the only change. Since their return, she had become a capital lady. She had taken to wearing her hair up, which he didn't like, but which he grudgingly admitted suited her. The curve of her long neck exposed to all, the sharp angles of her collarbones, the milky smoothness of her skin. He wondered if she knew she was beautiful now. She'd been a pretty girl when she'd come to King's Landing, but not showy like the court ladies. She still avoided rouge and kohl, though he didn't mind it when she did use them, in fact they made her mouth more alluring and her eyes more striking. She still dressed in her dark colors, but he had noticed that she'd begun wearing his red ribbon more than the green she'd previously favored. It had felt like a risk buying her something that color. It represented lust to him. When she wore that crimson gown, he was haunted by thoughts of it pooling on the flagstones of his room for days afterward. It was good that she wore it infrequently, or he would have long ago done something unpardonable.

It had been a year since he'd admitted to himself that the feelings he had for Helenna Manderly could be called love. As much as he hated himself for being so weak, so vulnerable to such a frivolous feeling, it also made him fierce. He'd always been protective of her, but now the very whisper of her name on rough lips was enough to raise murderous rage. Especially since he wasn't the only one who had noted that she'd grown into a bit of of a beauty. There were whispered comments in the barracks, and he'd punished more than one city guard for saying things he shouldn't.

Another lady, the queen even, and he'd have done nothing. It was only where she was concerned that he was stirred to violence. No one seemed to notice, except for Barristan Selmy.

The old knight had seen him knock about a city guard one night in an alehouse after he'd said something lewd. The boy had fled to attend his purpling eye, and Sandor had sat down on the bench with a scowl that would terrify the gods.

"The lady is lucky she has such a champion," Barristan had said drily.

Sandor looked at him from over the rim of his tankard. "He was out of line."

"Most men are in alehouses after duty."

"Doesn't give him the right to talk about a lady like that."

The old knight chuckled, knowledge in his eyes. "I didn't know you were so concerned with honor, Clegane. I'm surprised. Pleasantly so. I wonder, does the lady know?"

Sandor hadn't responded, and the old knight had drained his cup with a smirk and a chuckle. When he passed Sandor on his way out of the alehouse, he clapped him on the shoulder in a familiar way that made Sandor's blood boil in anger.

It was boiling now, too, not in rage but in anticipation. When she left him the night before, he had yearned for her warmth beside him. He'd returned to his bunk and tried to recall how it felt to have her curled up against him. She frequently laid her head on his shoulder, but this had been different. She was seeking comfort, not because she was upset, but because she wanted to be next to him. It made something in his chest grow until he thought he'd burst from it.

She smiled brilliantly at him when she entered the children's breakfast room the next morning. She was wearing blue, the red ribbon wrapped around her hair. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were sparkling, and she looked happy. He wondered if he had anything to do with it. He hoped he did.

The morning passed uneventfully. After he had borne Lenna back to the nursery with Myrcella, he'd returned to the library and tucked the book under his arm and hefted his cloak over that shoulder.

He wasn't quite sure what he was doing. When Lenna had told him that Jon Arryn had come looking for something, suspicion had fallen over him like a mantle. He liked the Hand, thought him a just man, but he didn't want Lenna tangled up in his business. She was a Lannister woman, and he'd not have the queen getting wind that she had aided the King's Hand, even if it were something so dull as bringing him a book.

He rather hoped his appearance with the book would be enough of a warning to Jon Arryn as well. Whatever the man wanted with the book, even if it was innocent research, he wanted him to know that Helenna Manderly was off limits. Arryn would know immediately that Lannister eyes were on him if it was the Hound who delivered the tome and not the girl.

The guards stood aside for him without question, just as he'd known they would, and when he entered the Hand's study, Jon Arryn looked up at him in open confusion, whipping his spectacles off his nose.

Sandor scowled down at him, but he turned and pointedly shut the heavy door. When he turned, Arryn had stood behind his desk and his face was ablaze with indignation.

"What business do you have here, Hound?" he demanded, leaning over his desk, resting on his knuckles.

Sandor didn't speak, but he pulled the book out of his cloak and threw it on the man's desk without dropping his eyes. He pointed to it with his gauntleted hand.

"Delivery."

Jon Arryn looked down at the book, and a creeping realization spread over his face.

"She sent you?"

"I sent myself," he replied. He approached the Hand, getting so close to the man that the only barrier between them was the desk itself. He could feel the edge of it digging into his legs. "Leave her be."

He saw a flash of intimidation in the old man's eyes.

"Don't threaten me, dog," he said lowly.

"I'm not threatening you, my lord," he replied deliberately. "I'm simply telling you to leave Helenna Manderly be."

"The girl-"

"Is servant to the queen. Do you want to get her in trouble, treating her like your librarian? You want something, get it yourself."

"I didn't ask Lady Helenna-"

"Not what she told me," he replied, his voice deadly quiet. The older man straightened up. "I don't know why you wanted it, and I don't really fucking care, but whatever it is, keep her out of it."

The other man looked at him stonily.

"I would hate to let it slip to the queen that you were asking her daughter's tutor to sneak around for you."

It was a threat, and he knew it, but the Hand didn't react to it. The older man looked at him with ill-concealed disdain. It didn't bother him, many people people looked at him that way. He didn't even mind threatening the man, even if he admired him. His job was to keep her safe, and he didn't trust the Hand enough to believe the man wouldn't talk.

"Did she show you?" the man asked.

Sandor cocked his head. "Show me what?"

"What is in there."

Sandor nodded. "She did. Found herself in there, and me. Don't know why you went to such a length for a book of lineages."

"Did you read any of the other entries?"

"No," he replied. "Should I have?"

The Hand regarded him warily. Sandor continued to look back.

"Well," the old man barked. "You did what you were bid to do. Best run back to them, now."

"Who is 'them'?"

"You know very well who I'm talking about," the Hand replied. Sandor frowned and nodded.

"Very well."

"Good boy."

The Hand was lucky Sandor Clegane didn't consider him a worthwhile opponent. Another man, and armed man, would have paid for that with at least some blood, if not a limb or his life. He yanked the door open and let it slam against the wall, striding out down the passageways and back to Maegor's Holdfast. His thoughts were a morass. He wasn't comforted by his brief tangle with the Hand of the King. Something was very wrong, and there was something very significant in that book. He cursed himself for not reading through it, trying to suss it out, but he had been so concerned with keeping Lenna out of it that he hadn't even thought to look.

On the other hand, he didn't want to know. The less he knew about the machinations of the powerful, the better he'd be able to protect her. He didn't want to be wrapped up in their business any more than he had to be. He missed the days when his greatest worry was whether or not she would catch him looking at her. Now he had to worry about whether she was being used as a pawn in some bigger game that neither of them understood.

Jon Arryn had confirmed one thing, however. There was something going on between the Lannisters and the Crown. He wondered if King Robert were even aware of it, doubting it greatly. The man, genial as he was, was a drunk and a layabout. He left most of the serious business of statecraft to his Hand, spending his time whoring and hunting and swilling beer. Whatever it was that was brewing wasn't an external threat, rather it was coming from inside the walls of the Red Keep itself.

Time, he thought. Only time will tell. It frustrated him that there was nothing he could do, that he was forced to simply wait. He thought again about Wyman Manderly's hurricane, thinking that he could see the darkening edge of the stormwall looming, but it was still just out of his range of vision.

A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who is writing reviews! And to those who are have followed and favorited! This has been a rough couple of weeks, and seeing your kind words and interest has been a bright spot in my personal hurricane. I love feedback, period, and you all have been so extraordinarily kind. Keep reviewing. Pretty please!

Ya'll- bear with me for approximately five more chapters to bring our friends where we want them to be. In the long game, the waiting is necessary. I wasn't kidding, I have this thing plotted through Season 7. Not trying to dangle a carrot, but...definitely dangling a carrot. Do they count as spoilers if they're about your own work? Anyways, apologies if those hints ruin anything for anyone.

Review! Please! Y'all are amazing.