Lenna XXVIII
Sandor returned late the following week, bearing back a sulky Prince Joffrey. The boy was in a temper at dinner, stabbing at his meat with his knife and casting scowls at everyone who dared look at him. Sandor had stood behind him as usual, flicking his eyes to Lenna every once in a while. Instead of the expected annoyance or even humor, Lenna read something different in his gaze, something intense and urgent. She hoped that he would tell her what it was that made him look at her that way.
She waited for him in the library for a long while. She was on the verge of giving up and going to bed when he finally slipped in just as the oil was about to sputter out in her lamp.
"I kept you waiting," he said apologetically. "He was being-"
"Himself," she supplied with a bright smile. Sandor huffed in annoyance, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was pleased to see her, that quirk playing about his lips. They stood looking at each other awkwardly for a moment, then Lenna crossed the floor between them, not hesitating to wrap her arms around his neck. She rose up on her toes, gratified when his arms came around her, one hand burying itself in her hair.
"I missed you," he rumbled, ducking his head with an expression of pleasure on his features and a trace of flush in his cheeks. It amused her to see how uncomfortable it made him, saying things like that to her. He was so free with his hands, but his tongue was another foe entirely. It was more used to curses than soft words, and she reckoned it always would be. She certainly didn't expect him to suddenly become effusive. If he did, he'd not be Sandor.
"And I you," she replied, kissing him soundly, happy to see a true smile stretch across his face as he drew back from her.
"I have something to show you," he said quietly.
He had not been able to change clothes, and he reached his hand into his armor and withdrew the pouch that he kept there. She knew her handkerchief was in it, she'd seen it winking out when he'd given her Renly Baratheon's antler, but now he drew out a piece of parchment. Odd for him to carry such a thing.
He held it out for her to take, and she looked at him quizzically. A beaming smile unfurled as she read its contents.
"It is as you hoped," she said looking up into his face. It was as if someone had lit a fire within him, his gaze burning and earnest as he looked down at her. The effusive joy in her breast intensified and coalesced into a much quieter understanding. Her next words were nothing but a whisper. "Holdings of your own."
"Aye, and none can take them," he replied lowly. "A keep and lands. Away from here."
As he spoke, he was looking at her in a different way, a sharper way, and she felt in an instant that she knew what he was thinking. A keep and lands meant he wasn't just some sell-sword or bodyguard anymore. He wasn't a knight, but he was someone with a role outside of the capital, should he ever choose to play it. To his heirs, or assigns… He had holdings to pass on, if he had anyone to give them to. Their impossible situation became just a little less daunting.
"Sandor-" she began, her chest swelling with hope, eager to speak of it.
"No," he said lowly. "Not now."
She understood. It was new, and precarious, and he would not speak of it until he had a more solid understanding of what it could mean. He would not get his hopes up, or hers. As much as Lenna wanted to simply dream for a bit, she decided not to press him. She was sure she was not mistaken in understanding his reasons for showing her the king's grant. He was thinking exactly as she was.
"Someday," she said, and it was less a possibility than a promise.
"Aye," he replied, pressing his forehead to hers briefly before he collected the parchment and slipped it back into the safety of the pouch.
His eyes were full as he looked down on her. The elation she felt for him was replaced with a much more potent feeling, one she didn't have a name or words for. Instead of speaking, she slipped her hand in his, surprised when he lifted it to his mouth and kissed the back of her fingers, eyes still locked on hers.
The lamp sputtered, nearly burning out as the light flickered around them. He cocked his head, his gaze regretful as he pressed her hand between his two rough ones.
"I'll see you back to your rooms," he said lowly, the unscarred lip rising just slightly.
She wanted to smile back, but she couldn't. Whatever had just passed between them warranted something much more serious. Instead, she nodded gently and picked up the lamp, leading them out of the darkened library by its feeble light.
The passageways were deserted, but Lenna blew out the flame anyway. His hand found hers in the dark, esconcing her fingers in his warmth, the rough skin of his palm rasping against hers in a way that made her shiver. He leaned so his lips nearly touched her hair, close enough he could speak softly and no one would hear if they were spotted.
"Why are the Stark girls still here?" he asked.
"I don't know," she replied simply, a little taken aback at the change of subject. It had surprised her when Sansa and Arya appeared at dinner as usual three days after her conversation with Lord Stark, and she had not heard another word on the matter from Lord Eddard or from loose-lipped Sansa. She, of course, had no cause to question the Hand about it, and decided that perhaps he'd thought better of his decision to send them back to Winterfell. She disagreed, of course, but it wasn't her place to say so.
"How have things been since I've been gone?"
"Quiet," she replied. "At least, from what I can tell. The queen has been in a surprisingly good mood."
"The King is away," Sandor replied wryly.
"Aye," she replied, twisting her lips ruefully. There was no love lost between the monarchs. "But she was in a bit of a state yesterday afternoon. Took three glasses of wine for her to come back to herself. You know how she can be."
"What happened?"
"No idea," Lenna replied. "She went out for a walk right as rain, came back in a fury."
It was true. Lenna had been with Myrcella, as usual, and Cersei had come into the study radiating discontent. She had stood behind the princess, running a hand over her hair again and again, silently downing the wine as she did so. Lenna had looked at her in question, but the queen had shaken her head. Lenna knew better than to do anything further.
"How have you been, then?" he asked. Lenna knew the question for what it was. Sandor Clegane didn't make small talk, and he wasn't inquiring about her health.
"Better," she replied.
That was true, too. She was still bothered by her reaction to Lord Stark's offer, how she had gone to the queen to report on him, but things had died down. Nothing seemed to have come of the book, and the queen had not said another word to her about the whole incident. It seemed to Lenna that the whole thing had been forgotten, except on her part. She thought about it everyday, but was beginning to understand how right Sandor had been.
Things in the Keep were quiet. Too quiet. The courtiers were speaking in more hushed tones than usual, and the banquets were solemn affairs instead of parties. Lord Eddard did not attend them, and Sansa was often the only Stark who made an appearance during the daily goings-on. Lenna saw the snubs as clearly as anyone else, and she doubted Cersei was particularly pleased about it.
"Good," Sandor said softly, bringing her back out her thoughts. They were standing in front of her door. There was so much they could say to each other, but she knew he would not come in. She saw him glance quickly around to make sure they were alone, then he raised his hand to her face, drawing his fingers along her cheek.
"Goodnight, Sandor," she said, deciding what she wanted to say could wait.
"'Night, Lenna," he replied.
He took a step closer before ducking his head to he could kiss her. The embrace caught fire, his hands plunging deep in her hair, her arms twining around his neck as he pulled her tighter to him. It wasn't until she nearly dropped the lamp that they both realized what they were doing and where, and he reluctantly pulled away, tracing his fingertips under her jaw has he turned to leave. On a whim, she blew him a kiss, pleased when he cocked an eyebrow at her in response.
That night, she dreamed of him. Dreamed that she woke up with him beside her, much as she had that morning in the library, only they were in her old room in White Harbor and he was stretched out in her bed next to her beneath the quilts. It was a peculiar dream, she simply looked at him. He was asleep, the unscarred side of his face turned to her, his features relaxed. He looked older, despite being asleep, but so at ease. She did nothing except snuggle closer into his chest, her nose buried in the hair there, his arm tightening around her in his sleep.
She felt peaceful when she woke, dressing and going to Sansa Stark as she usually did in the mornings. The girl had not begun attending Myrcella again, but the queen had still asked Lenna to go to her. She was subdued, but she said nothing of leaving again.
They were sitting and sewing in the warm morning sunlight on the balcony when an out-of-breath messenger arrived.
"Lady Helenna is requested in the queen's chambers," he huffed.
Lenna rose in consternation, looking at Sansa.
"Whatever is the matter?"
"I was only sent to bring you, my lady," the lad answered.
Lenna put aside the hoop and needle, squeezing the Stark girl on the shoulder as she made her way out behind the messenger.
When she arrived in the Holdfast, the household was in disarray. She found her way into Cersei's solar to find the queen striding from one end to the other, the children gathered around her.
"Where have you been?" she cried when she saw Lenna.
"With Lady Sansa, your grace," she replied. "Whatever is the matter."
"The king," Cersei said. "He has been wounded. Stay here with the children. I must got to him."
"Of course, your grace," she said quickly.
The queen flew from the room then, and Lenna was left with the prince and princess, a green young guard looking terrified at his post by the door. Myrcella and Tommen simply sat, staring into nothing, their eyes wide with concern. They remained there for some time, Lenna coaxing them into half-hearted games as they waited for news.
With a bang, the door was flung open and Sandor came in. He was out of breath, and Lenna realized he must have sprinted the whole way.
"Bring them," he said shortly, holding the door so they could all pass through.
He led them down the passageways and into the king's chambers. Lenna had never crossed this threshold before, and she was immediately hit with the stench of death.
The king was laid out on his bed, a bloody, blackened bandage around his substantial gut. Joffrey was sitting in a chair by his bedside, the queen next to him. She looked at Lenna over Joffrey's head and Lenna thought she seemed far less distressed than perhaps she should. Joffrey, on the other hand, had clearly been crying. Ned Stark was standing by the window, looking blankly out.
"Let me see them," the king said weakly. His eyes were bleary.
It was Myrcella who pulled herself together and went to her father first, looking like a little queen with her shoulders back and her chin up. When the king reached for her hand, she extended it and sat down on his bedclothes, tears on her face. Tommen followed close behind, his little shoulders hunched.
Cersei looked at Lenna and then at Sandor, nodding to the door with a wan smile on her face. Still, she seemed calm.
Once outside, Lenna took a deep breath. The air was fresh as spring water, and she had to stop a moment and hold on to a pillar to gain her footing.
"Is he-"
"Aye," Sandor replied.
She turned to look at him and was not comforted by the look on his face.
"What will happen now?"
"We will have a new king," he replied. They looked at each other and a current of understanding passed between them.
"Oh gods," she sighed.
Sandor XXVIII
The King was dead. Sandor was standing outside the door to the King's rooms when he went, and as soon as the prince and the queen walked out of the chamber he knew. Joffrey was pale, looking like the boy he was, but his face was alight with something that wasn't grief. Cersei's features were similarly illuminated, satisfaction and something a bit more sinister lighting up those green eyes.
"Attend me in the throne room, Clegane," Joffrey said. Sandor hesitated for the briefest instant.
"Do as your king commands, Hound," the queen said, and he warily did as he was told.
The throne room was empty. He figured that the news of the king's death would begin to circulate through the Keep and he wondered what the reaction would be. He had not been there when Aerys Targaryen had been killed, when Jaime Lannister had slit the Mad King's throat, but he could imagine the scene, the royal blood rich and crimson as it spilled down the very stairs he now climbed.
The boy- the king- took his place on the Iron Throne, settling into it as if it were upholstered in silks and furs, his skinny fingers caressing the blades that made up the armrests, his eyes gleeful. He looked like a child on his nameday. His mother took the chair to his right, and with the barest tip of her chin she indicated that Sandor should take the place to Joffrey's left. He watched as the room began to fill with guards, the gold cloaks of the city guard as well as Lannister men in their red regalia. Along the base of the platform the white-plated Kingsguard assembled, their helms in place but their eyes all wary. Ser Barristan Selmy looked about watchfully, his face tight with suspicion.
Fuck.
Silence settled on the assembly, not even the king or his mother speaking as an interminable waiting stillness settled about them. It wasn't long before the members of the small council were brought into the room, escorted by members of the city guard as well as Eddard Stark's own men.
Lord Varys, the eunuch, looked around the hall with a sharply cocked eyebrow, his hands hidden in the folds of his robes as usual. Sandor thought he looked distinctly uneasy, his painted brows betraying his apprehension. Petyr Baelish, on the other hand, could barely conceal his unpleasant, puckish smile behind that pointed moustache, and Sandor's hackles immediately rose.
Something isn't right.
The only person who seemed calm was Eddard Stark, standing tall among the others with his gaze levelled directly on the boy-king.
Joffrey smirked at them all. Sandor knew the boy had been looking forward to this moment for most of his life, the moment when he would be able to tell them to do whatever he liked. The prince had been a shit, and he had no expectations that the king would be any better.
"I command the council to make all necessary arrangements for my coronation. I wish to be crowned within the fortnight," Joffrey said, drumming his fingers against the throne. His face was calm, but then his mouth pursed as he looked at the party before him. "Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors."
There wasn't a sound in the room, and none of them moved to be the first. Sandor wondered at it. Surely, one of them would take the initiative and bend the knee.
Ned Stark shifted his weight, looking at the floor, and then produced a roll of parchment from a pocket. He took a step toward Selmy, extending it toward the captain of the Kingsguard.
"Ser Barristan, I believe no man here could ever question your honor," Stark said. Selmy took the parchment, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"King Robert's seal, unbroken," he said clearly. Without preamble, the old man broke the seal and unfurled the scroll.
"Lord Eddard Stark is herein named Protector of the Realm to rule as regent until the heir come of age."
Sandor felt that storm of disquiet spiral into a hurricane. He could imagine no circumstance in which the queen would allow Eddard Stark to become, for all intents and purposes, the king while her son grew to his majority. The Lannisters would not take kindly to Stark being named regent over herself or even her father.
"May I see that letter, Ser Barristan?" she asked, her voice melodious.
She's fucking enjoying this, he thought warily.
"Protector of the Realm?" she queried. "Is this meant to be your shield, Lord Stark? A piece of paper?"
With graceful movements, the queen took the parchment between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and slowly tore it down the middle once, then again, and then again for good measure. With an outward fling of her fingers, she let the pieces flutter to the floor as the room looked on.
"Those were the king's words," Selmy said, and Sandor nearly groaned.
"We have a new king now," the queen said, a smirk twisting her lips. She folded her hands and took a step toward the edge of the dais, her green eyes fixed on Stark. "Lord Eddard, when we last spoke you offered me some counsel. Allow me to return to courtesy. Bend the knee my lord, bend the knee and swear fealty to my son and we shall allow you to live out the rest of your days in the gray waste you call home."
Sandor heard the latent threat even as he turned his eyes again to watch Stark.
"Your son has no claim to the throne," Lord Eddard said levelly, carefully enunciating each syllable. Sandor wanted to shout at him to leave off.
"Liar!" cried Joffrey, spittle flying as his voice cracked.
"You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lord Stark," the queen replied, her eyes narrowing in pleasure. "Ser Barristan, seize this traitor."
Selmy looked conflicted for a fraction of instant, then he set his jaw and approached Stark. As he did so, Stark's men went to draw their swords.
"Ser Barristan is a good man, a loyal man, do him no harm," Stark ordered.
"You think he stands alone?" the queen asked, her eyes meeting Sandor's. He did not hesitate, drawing his own sword and holding it ready.
"Kill him, kill all of them, I command it!" Joffrey screamed.
"Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Escort them back to their royal apartments and keep them there under guard."
"Men of the watch," the gold-cloak captain said, and immediately the city guards took a defensive position around Stark's band.
"I want no bloodshed," Stark continued. "Tell your men to lay down their swords. No one needs to die."
For a tense moment, no one moved, simply watched and listened.
"Now!" someone cried. Sandor wasn't sure who it was, but the effect was immediate. Instead of attacking the Lannister guards, the city watch surged forward, spears thrust into the unsuspecting backs of Ned Stark's own men.
Didn't see that coming, Sandor thought warily.
One of Stark's guards surged forward in the direction of Joffrey, and Sandor didn't hesitate. He took the man down with a slash across the belly, running another through who had come to the aid of the first.
The scuffle was brief, the combined force of the Kingsguard, the Lannister guard, and the City Watch destroying Ned Stark's band in less than a minute. When it was over, Stark stood still in the middle of the floor, his hands raised in surrender as Petyr Baelish held a dagger to his throat.
"My daughters," Stark croaked.
"No harm will come to your children, Lord Stark," the queen said. Sandor didn't believe her for a second.
"Take him to the Black Cells," Joffrey said eagerly. Ser Barristan and Meryn Trant stepped forward to flank Stark on either side. Ned Stark looked at them both in disbelief, but he followed them without further fight.
"Raid the household," the king said. "Leave none of his folk alive."
"My king-" the queen began.
Joffrey rolled his eyes. "Fine. Lock the little sluts up in their rooms. Kill the rest."
The king rose, sweeping out of the throne room with a smirk on ferret-like face.
Preston Greenwood stayed with the king, but Sandor knew he was to go with the others to the Tower of the Hand. He could think of nothing but getting to Lenna first. She spent mornings with Sansa Stark. He groaned to realize that she'd be there now.
"Hound," the queen called. He spun on his heel.
"Lady Helenna. She'll be with the Stark girl. Bring her to me. Immediately."
Sandor didn't like being grateful to Cersei, but he dipped his head and loped off as fast as he could, trying to head the raiding party off before they reached the Tower.
He took the steps three at a time, grabbing a servant and demanding to know where Lady Sansa was. The frightened girl shook violently, but managed to point in the direction of the Stark girl's rooms.
He threw open the door, startling them both. Lenna was on her feet in an instant.
"Lady Helenna," he bit out. "The queen wishes you to come with me."
She looked to him, startled, her eyes widening when she saw him arrayed in his plate and helm.
"San-Clegane," she replied. "Whatever is the matter."
"There is no time, you must come now. Lady Sansa, bar your door."
"Surely, I can-" Lenna protested, clearly wanting to stay with the girl.
"You are to come with me. Now," he repeated, almost bellowing. Lenna dropped her embroidery hoop and crossed the room.
"Do as he says, Sansa," she whispered. The Stark girl had gone completely white where she sat. "Come now."
The girl followed them to door, and Sandor was relieved to hear the tell-tale thunk of the bar as it dropped into place.
"What-" she began, looking up into his face.
"There is no time to explain," he replied. He could already hear the sound of steel clashing in the yard below. "I have to get you out of here."
He grabbed her roughly by the elbow, pulling her down the stairs behind him. He could only focus on keeping her out of harm's way. He didn't hesitate to draw his sword when a Stark guard came barreling toward them. Lenna didn't shriek, but she did jump as he ran the man through. The guard was still writhing on the stairs when he pulled Lenna roughly over him as he fought their way out.
There was nothing for it. He kept her beside him and behind him as they made their way through the thick fighting of the courtyard. Several Stark men recognized him as they went, trying to engage him only to find themselves laying in the warm pool of their own blood. The battle-fury rose in his veins, and he hardly thought about what he was doing, but he kept her close, peripherally aware of his purpose even as he cut the other men down without hesitation or preamble.
By the time they made it back into the Holdfast, Lenna was looking wan and pale. The front of her gown was spattered with gore.
"What is going on?" she demanded, her voice stronger than he expected.
"Lord Stark has been arrested for treason," he said flatly. He used his cloak to wipe the blood from his sword. Lenna visibly gulped.
"Oh gods, the girls-"
"No," he said forcefully, sheathing his sword and grasping her by the shoulders. "You are to say nothing about them. Don't try to go to them. They will be safe."
"But they must be so afraid," she said. He wondered if she was talking more about herself than the Stark girls.
He grunted, pulling her along, this time with her hand in his. His heart was beating violently, a combination of the thrill of fighting and the remains of the devastating fear that she would be hurt, or worse, killed in that raid.
"Where are we going?"
"The queen asked me to fetch you."
She nodded. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly.
"Do what she says, say what she wants to hear. Do you understand me?"
"Of course, Sandor," she said quietly.
He deposited her with Cersei in her study, the little princess sitting at her table as if completely unaware of what was going on.
She probably is, he thought darkly.
"Thank you, Clegane," the queen said, ushering Lenna into her chambers. Then she levelled her beryl-bright eyes at him. "Do your duty."
He nodded curtly, whirling on his heel to return to the Tower and do what he did best.
It was past midnight when he went to look for her. He knew she wouldn't be daft enough to go to the library that night, but he checked anyway, relieved to find the cavernous room completely dark. He went to her room as quietly as he could, softening his step and rapping just once.
She opened the door and he didn't hesitate to cross the threshold.
"Sandor," she breathed, quickly shutting and barring her door behind him. "What is going on?"
"Are you well?" he demanded, his hands on her shoulders. He was still in his armor, blood-stained and dirty, helm still on.
"Aye, as well as I can be," she replied. He nodded in return, dragging his helm off and running a hand through his sweaty hair. "Sandor, please. Tell me what is happening."
He shut his eyes briefly against the note of pleading in his voice.
"I told you already. Lord Stark has been arrested and taken to the Black Cells on charges of treason."
"What? That doesn't make sense, he's the Hand-" she protested, her voice rising with each word.
"Not anymore," he said brutally. "He was Hand to King Robert. We have a new king now."
Lenna went still, looking at him as if trying to figure out what he thought about the whole affair. The truth was he didn't rightly know. On the one hand, Joffrey was king. On the other, Ned Stark was no traitor. He knew the rumors, had even believed them, but it didn't matter now. Joffrey was the undisputed heir to the Iron Throne, owned by King Robert as his own son, and to try and say anything different would result in bloodshed.
It already has.
"What charges could they bring against Lord Stark?" she asked quietly, her eyes dark in the lamplight of her room.
"He claims that Joffrey isn't the rightful heir, that the throne should instead go to King Robert's brother." He fought himself about telling her, but decided in the end she would hear it anyway. Better from him than someone else.
"Renly?" she asked, her brows furrowing incredulously.
"Stannis," he replied.
She shook her head.
"But how could Joffrey not be the heir? He's Robert's son-"
Sandor looked at her flatly. He saw realization spread across her features, followed quickly by disbelief.
"How could Lord Stark possibly think that the queen would do such a thing?"
Sandor didn't answer, preferring her naivete to the truth. It would do her better to believe the queen incapable of adultery, to believe that Joffrey was the heir whether she liked him or not. He knew better, he knew that the queen and her handsome twin were closer than brothers and sisters should be. He still did not want to sully her ears with such.
"He must have had his reasons," he said lowly.
"What do you think?" she asked sharply.
He thought about his answer carefully, turning it over in his mind as he looked at her.
"I think that it doesn't matter one way or the other. Joffrey is the king, and nothing is going to change that. And since he is the king, I am his servant."
"Just as I am," she spat.
"Aye," he replied harshly. "I am glad you remember it."
She looked at him with narrowed eyes, almost like she was angry with him. A spark of ire lit in his blood. This is no time for foolish ideas of virtue.
"What do I do then?" she asked dully, her jaw tight and her teeth clenched.
"What you have always done," he replied, taking care to soften his tone. He took two steps toward her and slid his hand into hers. "Bear up and do your duty."
She seemed to grow two inches at those words, straightening her spine and setting her shoulders in much the same way he'd watched her do the first time he'd seen her. That had been a much more innocent time, and there was a determination in her jaw and in the way her eyes looked steadily into his that she hadn't needed before. Lady Helenna Manderly looked back at him, her face becoming a mask. He did not like having that carefully blank expression turned on him.
"How long?" she asked quietly.
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Until the war comes," she replied evenly. "How long?"
"I don't know," he replied. "Soon. Very soon."
She walked to her desk and sat down purposefully. If he didn't know better, he would think she was just about to go over daily accounts, or perhaps write a letter for a friend. In the circumstances, however, his stomach plummeted into his boots.
"This must go to White Harbor," she said, drawing out a piece of paper and dipping her quill in the inkpot.
"Lenna, it is too risky."
"If you will not carry it, I shall," she replied. He wanted to believe it was a bluff, but the Helenna Manderly that held the pen, her fingers livid white against raven's feather, this woman was full of a terrible rage. There was no telling what she might do.
She looked up at him, the lines of her face severe. Suddenly, she looked very tired, her face crumpling though no tears came.
"Sandor," she whispered. "I'll probably never see them again. Am I not allowed to at least say goodbye?"
His heart thumped painfully in his chest. It had been a great risk years ago, but now it was even greater.
You will deny her nothing.
"I'll come back," he conceded. If he could get it out tonight, before too much notice was taken by the people, before news of Stark's arrest spread, it would not attract too much attention. It was risky, but it was possible.
"Stay," she said, not looking up from her paper.
"Lenna-"
"Stay. Please," she said, her voice so miserable he couldn't in good conscience leave her. The Keep had quieted, and if he made his way to the alehouses after this errand, no one would be the wiser.
He nodded, looking around for a place to sit, settling on the sturdy chest at the foot of her bed. He refused to sit on the bed itself.
For a long while was nothing but the sound of her pen as it scratched across the paper. He was surprised that she didn't cry, not even sniffling as she wrote. At last she finished, folding the papers together, beginning to melt the red wax to seal it. She hesitated, then handed the papers to him.
One was to her nieces, another to her brothers. The last was to her father.
Dearest Papa,
The months since I saw you in Winterfell had dragged by. I have missed you all so terribly, and know I will only miss you more as time goes on. I am so grateful that we had our time together in White Harbor those years ago, and in Winterfell, and it is comfort to know that we were able to be as we had been when I was young. I have so many fond memories of you, of home, of our family.
This letter will worry you, and I am sorry for it. I mean nothing by it, only to say that I am thinking of you all. I assure you I am in good health and am well looked after. You know I have dear friends here in King's Landing, and they will see me through. I keep you all in my prayers.
Love,
Lenna
"Have I included anything objectionable?" she asked unemotionally.
"No," he replied. "But they will know."
"Aye," she said, turning to look at him. Her eyes were full, but not with tears. "We Manderlys are an intuitive lot. They'll know as soon as they arrive that something is afoot."
"Always saw through me," he replied.
Lenna furrowed her brow and he sighed.
"I'm convinced that your niece knew that I-"
"She did," Lenna said, a small smile lighting her eyes. Just as quickly it was extinguished. "She told me the most alarming thing, that first night in White Harbor."
"What?" he breathed.
"That you would die for me." Her voice was near a whisper, and from the look on her face he'd wager she was figuring something out, something he didn't really want her to know.
"Aye."
"And what is more," she said, pausing. "That you would hand the knife to me and hold still while I killed you myself."
He gulped. She looked at him slowly, and he knew that she was fully aware of just how much risk he would take on to do what she wanted. How much power she had over him.
"Sandor," she said, and it was a little cry instead of a word. "Tell me that isn't true. That you wouldn't lay down your life-"
"I can't," he grumbled. "I can't do that."
She took three steps and seized the parchments from his hands, flinging them into her fireplace. When she turned, he saw anger in her face, but when she came to him she threw her arms around his chest and buried her nose in his throat.
"Why did you-"
"It would have been a knife, wouldn't it? I could have killed you with it. Stupid pieces of paper, a girl's fancy. And you'd have done it, damn you."
He smiled when her little hand thumped on his chest. Aye, I'd have done it. He brought a hand up to the back of her head, marvelling at the delicacy of her skull beneath the thick hair. Such a fragile thing, he thought, such a powerful, fragile thing.
She backed away from him and he looked down on her warily. There was a ferocity in her eyes that he hadn't seen before. She took two steps from him and barred the door. When she came back to him, her little fingers began to work loose the straps of his armor.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Forgetting," she replied.
He let her go about her task, removing his plate piece by piece until it was piled on the floor and leaving him in his tunic and trousers. He stood there stupidly as she ran her hands over his shoulders, his chest, her fingers tugging the hem of his shirt to indicate he should take it off. His breathing had become labored and he was painfully aware that he was straining against his trousers, but he made no moves of his own. He did as she wished him to, sitting heavily on the end of her bed when she pushed him in that direction.
She came to stand between his legs, and he looked up at her in bemusement. She ducked her head and caught his mouth in hers, and he groaned when her tongue pushed beyond his lips. Her hands were in his hair, tugging at it the way he liked, and then they were trailing along his arms, down his ribs and across his abdomen. He gasped when they suddenly cupped him through his trousers, and he seized her wrists.
"No," she said lowly. "I'm going to do for you what you do for me, Sandor Clegane. And you're not going to stop me this time."
"Lenna, you don't have to-"
"I want to," she said fiercely. "Don't you understand, Sandor? All that you would do for me, I would do for you in return."
"I don't want your gratitude," he said flatly, his nostrils flaring, insult like salt in his blood.
She kissed him hard. "I'm not quite sure what you think gratitude is," she said with a smirk. "But this isn't it."
He groaned when she placed his hand on her breast, pushing herself against him.
"I must be extremely selfish if this is my way of showing gratitude," she teased, her own fingers loosening the ties of her gown and letting it fall open. His head buried itself against her chest, his tongue playing over the thin material of her chemise. She mewed when he found her nipple, his fingers coming up to tweak the other.
His hands became more demanding, trying to pull her down beside him. He was all too aware of how dangerous it would be to have her next to him in a bed, but he wasn't thinking all that clearly.
"No, love," she said quietly. His heart ricocheted painfully against his ribs at the endearment. He thought for a moment that she was rejecting him, but it quickly became apparent that she was doing no such thing. She started by kissing him again, then trailed her lips across his jaw and down his neck as he did so often to her. It thrilled him, the way she was taking control, just as she had done those few times in the library when he had forced his hands to stay still against the ledge. She encouraged him to touch her, but she made sure he understood that her focus was him, not on the pleasure he could give her. Each time he made to move to that part of her, she drew away. It must have been for him just as it had been each time he had pushed her away all those months.
He stood suddenly, and it threw her a little off balance. His hands went to the tie of her chemise, pulling it free and baring her breasts. He ran his fingers over the sensitive flesh, growling to hear her whimpers.
"Take down your hair," he said, more a demand than a request.
She took a step away from him, the chemise falling to one side, gaping open almost to her navel. She smiled at him.
He watched in rapt attention as she uncoiled the thick rope of hair from around her head, pulling the pins out one by one. She left them in a neat pile on her desk, stepping toward him again and turning her back to him.
He wondered how she knew, but he didn't care. He ran his fingers through the braid, separating out the strands until it hung about her in a loose curtain. It clung to his fingers warmly, and he could have stood there and touched it for hours, but she turned to him again. He missed her fingers undoing the drawstring of his trousers, and he sucked in a breath when they fell to the floor.
She stepped back with a wicked little smirk on her lips that inflamed him. He watched as her eyes flicked down his haunches, his thighs and calves, coming at last to rest between his legs. He felt himself twitch under her scrutiny, a flash of pride at the slightly stunned look on her face. Sandor knew he had nothing to be ashamed of when it came to that part of himself.
"Well?" he rumbled, and she looked up at him. He stayed standing with his hands fisted at his sides, looking down on her with an eyebrow cocked.
She raised her own in return, turning her attention back to him as she hesitantly ran a finger along his length. He hissed.
"Does that hurt?" she asked. There was no concern in her voice, he noted with amusement, just curiosity.
"Not exactly," he replied, his jaw clenched.
She did it again, and his hips flexed forward, his cock twitching. Suddenly, she wrapped her whole hand around it, fingers barely meeting around the girth.
"What should I do?" she asked, the barest hint of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
He couldn't speak, and he thought if he was grew any more tense he might snap entirely. He wrapped a hand around hers and showed her how to move against him. She mimicked his movements, and he couldn't stop the sounds that poured from his throat, colorful expletives sprinkled liberally with her name. His hands raised to her shoulders, bringing her back toward the bed with him.
He sat down heavily, her hands still on him, groping behind for a pillow. He threw it on the floor between his knees. She smirked at him, but before he knew, she was kneeling in front of him.
She smiled up at him as she continued to touch him. He watched her as she inspected his length, his width, the pearly bead of white at the tip. Time seemed to stand still as she looked at it. Curiously, she ducked her head and flicked her tongue out to taste it.
"Fuck," he rasped, and it was nearly a shout.
She did it again, covering him with her mouth as she continued to stroke him. He thought he would die that very moment, and happily. He'd thought about this, of course, but he never imagined that she would actually take him in her mouth like that.
"Lenna, you don't-oh gods," he growled, his hands pressing into her hair as his hips shot forward and he convulsed. He didn't last long, spilling himself like a green youth against the back of her throat. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever felt, and his vision went white as he let out a shuddering groan.
His hands relaxed on her and she released him, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. He looked down on her feeling forlorn, disappointed in himself.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, seeing the confusion in her face.
"For what? Did I do something wrong?"
He barked out a hard laugh. "No. No, you did nothing wrong, it's just-"
"What then?"
"I wouldn't expect a lady to-"
She quirked an eyebrow at him, looking down at herself.
"Did you like it?" she asked.
"Fuck yes," he responded guilelessly. She smiled widely, and he returned it.
"And if I want to do it again?"
He darted his eyes at her, pleased to see a playful glint in her expression.
"You'll have no objections from me," he replied.
He knew he shouldn't stay, but he couldn't resist pulling her to him as he leaned against her headboard for just a little while. Her hands were still roving, playing in the hair of his chest, tracing the ridges of scar that crisscrossed his torso and arms.
He thought back on their earlier conversation, about how Wynna had seen right through him. Wyman Manderly's words to him in the courtyard at White Harbor had been swirling around in his head since Robert Baratheon had slipped that piece of parchment into his hands. Until that moment, he had refused to entertain the notion that Manderly had meant that. He felt undeserving. But not that he had his own lands, a keep to offer, the Lord of White Harbor's promise had lit a beacon of hope in his breast even as they prepared for war. He had labored or whether or not to tell her, to know what she thought about that exchange he'd had with her father. He decided that he wanted to know. He hadn't intended to bring it up, not yet, but after seeing her spattered with blood that afternoon, there was an urgency to the conversation that he could not deny.
He drew a deep breath and gathered his courage.
"Wynna wasn't the only one," he said softly.
She stirred against him, leaning up on her arm to look him in the face.
"What do you mean?"
"She wasn't the only one who saw that I- and you-"
She raised her eyebrows at him in question.
"That day we left," he said, refusing to look at her, instead focusing on window beyond her shoulder. "Your father said something to me in the courtyard."
"Aye, I remember. I'd often wondered what he'd said."
He was slightly stunned by this, wondering what she had thought had happened, but he gathered himself quickly.
"He told me-" he began.
"Yes?"
"Let me fucking finish?" he retorted with a smirk, looking down at her. "He told me that if I could make sure you were safe through whatever it was that he would give me anything I asked for that he could give."
Lenna went incredibly still at that.
"Sandor," she said lowly. "You know that he meant-"
"Did he?"
"Yes," she replied in a whisper. "Yes, he did."
Sandor looked at her slowly. Her eyes were large, the dark green liquid in the firelight. He didn't exactly regret bringing it up, but neither did he know what to say.
"Then I'll have to keep you safe, won't I?" he said at last, settling for deflection.
She smiled at him lopsidedly, leaning up to kiss him again, and he looked at her again he saw his own hope reflected in her face.
A/N: I'm the worst about pacing these things. If I get a chapter out and I'm satisfied with it, I can't wait to post it. Let me just tell you, these kids are doing weird things now. I think I may have lost control over them. I think I know how a chapter is going to go, but nope. Honestly, it's pretty fun.
Thank you, as always, for all of your kind words! Especially those of your who wouldn't normally comment- Guest, I'm looking at you...you aren't one of *those* people any more! Just know that your words are valuable to me, and your ideas help my ideas have ideas, if that makes sense. I'm getting more used to the "pushing T" bits, as well. Thanks for giving me courage. If we thought the first 28 (wtf?!) chapters were a roller-coaster, things are about to get much bumpier. That's not a spoiler, because we all know what's going to happen...right?
Looking at about another week before the next bit goes up. Forgive any and all typos. Each one mortifies me, and I'm going to go through and fix them eventually. Again, please read and review!