Author's Note: As always, thank you so much for the kind comments and reviews! This new chapter will be mostly from Sansa's point of view with a Jaime snippet to finish things out. I'm going to be adding in more of the Sansa/Hound storyline and this chapter is the first step in bringing that romance more to the forefront. I hope you all enjoy it!
"Not too close, Little Bird, or you'll singe your wings."
Sansa jumped at the sound of the roughened voice warning her away from getting too close to the blazing fire. "I'm cold," she excused her proximity to the flames without heeding the order to back away.
"You'll be more miserable when your skin burns due to your stupidity," Sandor informed her with a growl before wrapping his arms around her waist and yanking her back to a safer distance. His touch lingered a moment longer than necessary before he dropped his hands and stared at her with a look that defied her to try once again ignoring his advice.
Feeling too weary to argue with the stubborn brute, Sansa dropped to the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust as she settled in a comfortable position. She hadn't spoken much in the past several days since the heart wrenching reunion with her mother, shunning the attentions of those around her, including her cousin who had tried to give her what comfort she could in the wake of Catelyn's final passing. It had pained her to shut out Amarah's care and concern, but she had needed the time alone to properly grieve the passing of one she loved so much.
However, sitting here in the firelight with a snarling, provoked Sandor Clegane at her back, she felt a sudden longing for a connection to another human soul. Glancing back to see him still standing with a posture borne of rigid annoyance, she gestured for him to join her on the ground. "Would you like to sit with me?"
Choosing to remain mute at first in the face of her invitation, he sent a telling look towards the blazing warmth which now resided several safe paces away. "Why would you want to keep company with me? You never seemed very eager for my presence before." Though he addressed her, Sandor's gaze remained firmly locked on the leaping flames.
Sansa didn't reply until the slate colored eyes finally moved back to lock with hers. "Because you make me feel safe." Once she might have whispered the words quietly, so as to keep others from hearing the surprising admission, but not now. The words sounded loud and clear in the night air, giving her voice a confident edge that she did not truly feel. He did make her feel safe as she had claimed. Safe from those that wished her harm, from unseen dangers that might lurk nearby in the darkness.
But despite that sense of safety his presence granted her, he caused in her uncertainty as well. Uncertainty in herself and her ideals for gallant knights that she had so long nourished in her dream filled heart. Instead of a handsome knight in golden, shining armor who gifted beautiful roses to his lady to show her honor, her thoughts now occasionally drifted towards a gruff, surly hound who ripped men apart like a savage barbarian to protect a defenseless girl.
"I make you feel safe, you little fool?" Sandor's harsh words promptly dispersed the images in her head. "You would feel safe with a coward like me?"
Sansa saw his gaze once more return to the fire, a look of wild fear darkening the grey color of his eyes. Without awaiting permission, Sansa reached up to grasp his cold hand and give a little tug, forcing his attention back to her. "That day in the capital," she reminded him in an urgent whisper, "you saved me when I had been abandoned and left to my miserable fate. Even that night in the capital when you came to me, you were sick with fear. I could see it. Even then you thought of protecting me. I was too cowardly then myself to realize that of all the knights in the kingdom, you were the one who would protect me best. I didn't realize it then, but I do now."
Sandor looked down at her then with a softened look, though he made no move to sit beside her. "Are you asking me to be your knight, little bird?"
Sansa listened for the trace of mockery in his voice that so often lurked below the surface, but she found nothing there. "I'm asking you to sit with me," she finally answered without directly addressing his inquiry about her intentions.
"Hounds don't keep the company of well-born ladies," he replied, continuing to be stubborn, but Sansa had learned to be stubborn as well.
Using both hands to pull on his captured fingers with a surge of strength she hadn't known she possessed, she managed to catch him off guard long enough to unbalance his large frame and knock him into the dirt alongside her. Once Sandor had recovered from the shock of his fall he turned his prone head to level a disbelieving stare at her petite form.
Sansa returned his incredulous gaze with a delicate shrug. "I did ask politely," she made sure to remind him.
Sandor rubbed his smarting side that had made hard contact with the solid earth before pulling himself upright. He made no attempt to stand, but he scooted himself far enough away to put a comfortable amount of space between them. "You've been spending too much time around that cousin of yours," he accused with a pronounced grimace.
Sansa knew he hadn't intended the statement as a compliment, but she took it as one all the same. "I admire my cousin very much. She is a great lady."
"She's a troublesome pain in the arse," he offered as a quick rebuttal to her claim.
An amused smile pulled threateningly at the corners of Sansa's mouth, but she kept it at bay out of loyalty to her cousin. Though she might be a bit more headstrong than most, Sansa had learned to admire Amarah's strong will and tenacious spirit.
Ever since the encounter with Lady Stoneheart, Amarah had been true to her word, making plans with Sansa to return her to the North where she belonged and restore her to the family seat of Winterfell. She had even convinced Jaime Lannister to assist her in her plans. Though it appeared to Sansa's eyes the man needed no great amount of convincing. He seemed willing to do anything her cousin asked.
With that thought in mind, Sansa cautioned Sandor to take care where Amarah was concerned. "If Ser Jaime hears you insult my cousin he might cut out your tongue without a moment's thought."
"That would be no great loss," he humphed in reply. "And Kingslayer would be fortunate to land one blow against me."
Sansa gave him a skeptical look. "Was I misinformed that he defeated you in a recent bout of swordplay?"
"I was out of practice," Sandor quickly defended himself.
That smile was dancing around the outer edges of her mouth again, but Sansa still managed to keep it contained within. "I'm sure you are right."
He had been gazing steadfastly towards their source of light and warmth throughout the conversation, but detecting a hint of humor in her reply, Sandor looked at her with a raised brow. "You really aren't afraid of me."
Sansa's tongue darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, and when his eyes dropped to take in the small action, she felt a hot blush creep up from her neck to her ears. She only hoped the fire wasn't bright enough to expose her reaction to him. Gathering her courage, she voiced the question that had been on her mind since seeing him again in Jaime Lannister's company of knights. "Do you remember the last time we were together in the capital?"
His brows lowered as he contemplated her question. "When I ran from the city like a fucking, pathetic dog with its tail between its legs?" he asked for her clarification. When she gave a small nod of affirmation he continued on. "I've tried not to think about it. No man likes to remember what a coward he was when his fear got the best of him."
Her disappointment at his answer must have shown on her face because he didn't drop the subject as she expected him to do. "What is it I'm meant to remember about that night, Little Bird?"
Sansa opened her mouth only to have it snap shut once again when she momentarily lost her courage to voice the thoughts floating about in her head. When Sandor's steady gaze made it clear he had no intention of filling the deafening silence, she tried to begin again. "Do you ever think about when you kissed me?"
She worded the tentative question so softly, she didn't think he had heard her at first because he said nothing in reply. When she was finally brave enough to look up, she found him staring at her with an inscrutable look. Just when she would have stood and fled in embarrassment at his silence, he finally spoke. "I never kissed you, Little Bird. What business would I have forcing unwanted attentions on an innocent, little creature like you?"
Sansa could not keep her shock at his reply from showing on her face. "But– but you did kiss me," she stammered in reply, unconsciously inching close enough to latch onto his arm as she tried to make him remember. "Just before you left. I remember it."
She reached up then to press her fingers to the cruel mouth she remembered so vividly pressing against hers in the green shadowed dark of her bedchamber. The mouth which was even now pressed into a line of implacable stubbornness. Just before her fingers could brush against his lips, he reached out to still her hand. Imprisoning it inches from where she wished it to be.
"There is no such thing to remember," he informed her though his denial was tempered by a faintly tender look that belied his words. "You forget yourself, my lady."
Sansa's gaze briefly wandered from his then to take in their surroundings. They were still in camp where they had resided ever since the encounter with Stoneheart and the Brotherhood. Though they remained in the heart of the Lannister company, the other soldiers milled about a good distance away, granting them some semblance of privacy. Sansa turned her gaze back to his then, determined to make him remember what she could not forget.
"I remember perfectly who I am and who you are," she insisted, inching her hand closer to his face despite his wish to keep her from him. "A man who chose to act as the protector to the a frightened, little girl who didn't know enough to see you as the loyal knight you are."
He still seemed determined to thwart her attempts to think of him as her champion. "Loyal?" he spat out the word as if it were poison. "I wasn't loyal enough to brave the fires of King's Landing to defend my king."
"But you were loyal enough to face that fear in order to come to me," she insisted, her hand now finally reaching its goal as she reached up to trace her fingers along the hard lines of his mouth. Though as she traced the soft skin there, she began to doubt her claims that she had felt these lips on hers before. Had she truly only imagined his kiss? Had she wanted something so much that she couldn't bring herself to admit it? Had she created something in her mind to appease that desire without having to admit to such feelings?
As her certainty wavered, her touch did as well, but just as she began to pull away, he reached out to recapture her retreating fingers. "I'm not the worthy knight you suppose me to be, girl."
"I don't believe that," she defended him against his own accusation. Slowly she leaned forward as the space between them disappeared. He looked at her uncertainly but didn't move away. When her lips were only a hair's breadth from his, she hesitated for a moment before changing her mind and placing a gentle kiss on the scarred, ugly skin above his eye before moving to place another on his cheek.
"Allow yourself to be a better man," she whispered in his ear before retreating once more. This time as she moved away he did not try to stop her. Slowly, Sansa stood and brushed the dust from her clothes. "I bid you good night, Ser."
Just before she turned away, she thought perhaps her eyes had caught a trick of the light as the flames danced across his ravaged face. She had imagined in that brief moment that an unshed tear glimmered in his eye. As she left him, the sound his farewell followed her into the darkness. "Good night to you, Little Bird."
As Jaime approached Amarah's tent he found her standing at the entrance, staring past him at something in the distance. When Jaime turned to see what sight she found so arresting, his eyes found Sandor Clegane sprawled across the ground like a toddler waiting to hear a bedtime tale as he watched the young Sansa Stark return to her own tent. Not thinking much of the sight, Jaime looked back to find Amarah gaze now focused on him.
"Are you simply entranced by my beauty, princess, or is there something you wished to say?" he asked with a mocking smile as he passed by her to enter the tent.
A soft laugh met his arrogant question, and the sound felt like a soothing balm as it fell on Jaime's ears. She had been ever so somber since the interlude with Catelyn Stark, devoting her attention fully to the task laid before her of returning her cousin to the Stark seat of Winterfell. Jaime hadn't tried to stop her. He understood better than most the need to channel the anger and grief born of personal tragedy into accomplishing an important task. It was the very way he had managed to deal with the loss of his hand.
All the same, it was a small relief to his troubled mind to see the faint smile gracing her lips. "What is it, Princess?" he finally asked then in a more serious tone.
Amarah gestured towards a crumpled missive in the palm of her hand with a nod of her head. "It's about Winterfell."
Jaime's humor abruptly faded away at her words. "What news do the ravens bring?"
"The Bolton's hold the fort," she informed him with a grim look, a frown now firmly in place where the smile had resided mere moments ago. "And my uncle has gone to retake the fortress from him."
"Stannis has left the wall then?" Jaime asked surprised. Last he had heard, Stannis journeyed north after his defeat at the capital to join forces with the men of the Night's Watch. Apparently, he had not received the support he wished for and had moved on to deal with other matters. Now it seemed they would have two obstacles to overcome in retaking Winterfell. It was hardly a welcome realization.
"You don't have to go with us, Jaime," Amarah drew his attention with the unexpected statement. "I'm certain I can make peace with my uncle with the right words. It shouldn't be too difficult to convince him to restore Sansa's home where it rightly belongs."
Her words of dismissal cut him deeply, but Jaime managed to hide his reaction with a lazy smile of indifference. "So eager to be rid of me, are you?"
Jaime almost regretted his words at the stricken look on her face after they were spoken, but he couldn't deny some slight satisfaction at eliciting the same reaction she had struck with him. "I'm trying to keep you from getting killed!" Amarah defended her suggestion of sending him away. "What's to be gained from you helping us return to the North? Nothing. It will do nothing to further your family's holdings in the kingdoms. There's no reason to risk your life with the Boltons and my uncle simply to help fulfill a bargain you did not make. The burden should be on me to fulfill that task. Not you."
"I won't leave you," Jaime answered softly, reaching out to pull her to him and cradle her curly head against his shoulder. He hadn't realized how disturbed she was at the thought of him accompanying them North until her shoulders began to shake in his embrace and wet tears rolled from her eyes onto the cloth of his tunic. "Don't ask me to leave you, because I cannot."
"But what of your family?" she questioned, her voice muffled by his shoulder as she continued to cry. "What of my uncle? He'll never be persuaded to help you."
Jaime pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear before attempting to put her fears to rest. "I don't need him to help me. I suspect that he'll be much more in need of my help than I will of his."
Amarah lifted her head then to look him in the eye as she began to grasp the meaning of his words. "You intend to propose an alliance with my uncle to defeat the Boltons."
"A temporary alliance at best, but, yes, I intend to offer him my help to restore the little wolf pup to her home."
"But what if we succeed?" Amarah persited. "What then? My uncle has no love for the Lannisters. He'll surely kill you if he can succeed in the task."
"Then I'll have to ensure he doesn't succeed," Jaime replied, reaching up with one hand to wipe away a stray tear that had dripped from her nose onto her chin. "I much prefer to be alive than dead."
Amarah didn't smile at his joke. "Be serious, Jaime," she implored him. "I can't bear to see you hurt because of me or Sansa. You would be safer with your family at Casterly Rock or in the capital."
Jaime didn't bother to mention that he had no desire to rejoin his sister in the capital or his other relations at their family seat. Instead, he dropped a kiss on her wet nose before pulling her close to him again. "I am with my family, Amarah."
He felt her squeeze him a bit tighter at those words. "I love you, you know," she whispered between little sniffles into the shoulder of his tunic. "I only want what's best."
"This is best, Princess," he tried to reassure her. "We'll bring the little wolf home, you and I, together."
She didn't say anything after that, but Jaime suspected she wasn't entirely convinced of his words. He wasn't completely convinced as to the truth of them himself, but he didn't intend to share his insecurities with her. She had enough things to worry her mind without constantly fearing for his life. Despite his silent misgivings, there was one thing he was entirely certain of. He would help restore Sansa Stark to the North just as he had promised. For once in his wretched, selfish existence, he intended to keep his word. Even if that promise came at the cost of his life.
Keep reading to find out what happens next! I've already started the next chapter, so fingers crossed I can get it posted some time this weekend or maybe even sooner! Thanks so much for reading. Any comments and reviews will be as much appreciated as always!