Unexpected Healing

Disclaimer: As usual, all the important bits like the Hound, world, etc (pretty much everything but the situation) are not mine – GRRM owns it all.

I've already pre-ordered the next book. Roll on July! Now if only we had HBO down here, it would truly be a good year. Oh well, maybe the DVD will come out soon...

Chapter 3

At first Sandor drifted in the dreamless sleep he so craved – a sleep equally devoid of memory and of desire – but after some time he slowly began to surface from his reprieve. Eyes still closed, more asleep than not, he listened to the sounds of wind and rain, and tried remember where exactly he was.

This wasn't his room in the Red Keep for it was little more than a windowless cell and the stonework far too thick for him to hear even the worst weather. An inn or brothel, perhaps... But no, the smell wasn't right. Instead of the familiar odour of ale, unwashed bodies, and lust all he could detect was the musk of incense and drying herbs. He breathed deeply, letting the fragrant air soothe his raw throat.

It came back to him in fragments – leaving some tavern and making his way back to the keep, seeing the herbalist's still alight and settling in to wait in front of the fire. Waiting... he was still waiting for the girl. The peaceful feeling faded as his impatience began to resurface.

Falling asleep while he waited had been foolish. His skill was such that even deep in his cups he had little to fear from anyone living or dead, but asleep he was vulnerable. If his brother's men found him asleep, all his prowess would count for nothing. A quick death would be a blessing but not one he was likely to be granted were they to happen across him while he was so vulnerable. It had been a stupid mistake, and not one he would repeat.

With that thought, came an awareness of someone nearby – very near. He felt something brush the burned side of his face. The sensation, while not painful, was unsettling. It was a faint pressure, a breath of warmth and contact, more sensed than truly felt.

One hand dropped to his sword hilt while the other snaked out to grab at the offending arm. His eyes snapped open and he was surprised to see it was the healer he held, not one of his brother's men. Unable to rise without upsetting the table or the girl, he kept his seat but readied himself to move quickly should there be a need. He could handle a mere girl, but he didn't know what she was about and that made him cautious. A little caution had helped to ensure he stayed out of his brother's reach so far. He wasn't about to forgo it now simply for a pretty face.

"What the hell are you doing?" The grip on her wrist was sure but his voice was thick and unsteady to his own ears.

The girl sat close against him and her hand cupped his ruined cheek. Sandor pulled her hand away so he could focus on the face so near to him. His head was still thick with wine and it made everything seem unreal, like some fevered dream. He didn't know what the girl was doing or why she was touching him, but he was sober enough to know he did not like it.

The young woman didn't take her eyes off his scars, even when he gripped her wrist tighter. There was no fear, no disgust, and no malice in the gaze riveted on him. Just an avid expression he couldn't identify.

"Most of this is well healed, but some spots are barely covered over. How long ago were you burned?"

The question was not what he expected to hear – not at all. "What do you care?" The threatening snarl seemed to wash over his captive without notice. Neither did she acknowledge the tight grip he had on her arm.

"I'm a healer. I want to help."

Sandor snorted loudly."You're no healer, girl. Only a swindler or a fool would tell me they could heal this." He tossed his head and lank, dark hair fell back revealing the hole where his ear should have been. The scar tissue extended around to the back of his head and down his neck like a gorget of twisted flesh.

There was no shock or revulsion on the girl's face when she looked at the features normally hidden behind thin, black hair. His attempt to cow her had failed and it only served to stoke his anger. Not like Joff's pretty little song bird with her cowering and tears.

"I never said I could heal it, but I know something that might..."

"Stop it!" Unable to bear the contact with her any longer, Sandor thrust her arm away from him. He wasn't naive enough to think that his face could be healed. Not any more. "Bullshit. There is nothing you can do." He lurched to his feet, breathing heavily. His frustration was palpable as he loomed over the girl on the stool and watched her finally recoil from him.

The feelings of disillusionment and hopelessness he buried under a mountain of indifference were being unearthed by some stupid girl's insistence that she could help him. They hit him harder than he expected after all this time.

For years, he'd held onto the hope that maybe something could be done to lessen the damage to his face. Something that would help to lessen the fear and revulsion he saw in others' eyes when they looked at him. He'd sought out every healer, greenwoman, and maester he could find. Plenty of them had said they could help, for a price of course, so he had paid and paid and paid, but not a one of them had done anything that made a bit of difference. Some of the 'cures' he'd tried had probably caused more damage to the already injured flesh, but he'd kept hoping until at fifteen years of age he tried a draught that the healer assured him would help the scars fade. The drink had left him violently sick for days. Once the vomiting and cramps had passed, his scars were bright against the pallor of illness and no better than they had been before. After that experience, he refused to hope any longer.

The girl steadied herself and looked up at him. "There's nothing I can do about the scarring, but the other spots... I know they still pain you." She spoke softly and calmly, trying to soothe him with her voice, like she would a snarling beast or a frightened child. "The rawness and the pulling, it gets worse when it's cold out, or when your face is in the sun," she continued when he didn't move any further away. She shifted her gaze briefly to the leather dog's head on his tunic. "You're probably outside a lot with your work... Look, it won't be pretty, but if I can get the reddened places to thicken up, they won't be so tender."

Mellowed by the wine and the warmth, Sandor couldn't hold onto his anger. The girl was nothing if not persistent, he would give her that. It was rare enough that anyone looked him full in the face; for someone to do it with such an earnest expression was not something he knew how to respond to. She wasn't asking for coin or favours, just a chance to ply her trade. The request for more might come later of course, like with the first woman he'd had after the tourney, but somehow he didn't think she would make such an appeal. And if she wasn't after his coin, then she actually thought she could help.

He considered telling her exactly where to put her concern, but his shoulder wasn't going to loosen up quick enough on its own and he knew he wouldn't find anywhere else at this time of night. While he neither wanted nor needed her concern, he did need her skills.

"Fine." He dropped heavily into the chair without taking his eyes from the healer. "But keep your bloody hands off me."