Sandor

Sansa lay snugly in his arms as he stared up in the ceiling, her lithe, naked body pressed warmly against his. A delicate arm was daintily draped over his middle, a light head with a mess of auburn hair lying across his chest, her soft cheek pressing against his skin. His arms were around her, keeping her close to him. It was well past sun rise and Sandor had awaken an hour or so previously, but he could not bring himself to wake his little bird. He knew they had to get on the road if they were going to get to the Twins within the next two weeks, but he did not know if he would ever have her in his arms again. Not like this.

As he lay in bed with her his mind began to wander to a familiar fantasy. He imagined living with her alone in a little cabin, hidden away from the word, in the woods, by the sea, wherever the world could not reach them. He'd have her whenever he wanted. He'd hunt their food, chop their firewood, and when he came home she'd be there waiting for him, welcoming him into her arms and into her bed every day, morning, noon and night. He could take her across the narrow sea, to the free cities. She could not escape him there.

He gently trailed his finger tips over her spine, remembering the night before. After he had laid her down on the bed her hands had moved over his chest and arms, her delicate hands trembling under his powerful muscles. They had trailed down, reaching into his breeches and gripping his erection eagerly. He remembered the feel of her hands on him, stroking his hard, aching flesh as he pressed mouth to hers, trying to consume her completely.

He almost wished he were more like his brother. He would have no trouble stealing her away, earning her hatred. But he could not. The way she looked at him last night as he worked inside of her, the way her hands felt on his face, his burns, it would last him the rest of his life. It would do him more good to remember the look in her eyes last night than have her in his bed every night with her hatred.

She shifted against him and her breasts pressed more firmly against his side. He could take his time going to the Twins though. He could go as far east as Maidenpool and then start North West again for the Twins. He could approach the thickest part of the Trident and then attempt to find a more plausible area to stop. He could add on as much as two weeks to the journey and his little bird would not be the wiser. She did not know the land. If he told her they were moving so slowly because of weather, or in order to avoid outlaws, she would not know the truth. But every day on the road was an extra threat to her safety and an extra strain on her heart.

But deep in his chest was the dread he felt at having to leave her for good. Even afterward, when he laid next to her last night, placing gentle kisses to her hands, and cheeks, and hair, she had asked him to stay as her sworn shield. In that moment he was tempted to swear it to her, just to make her happy, just to know he was not going to have to leave her when they reached their destination.

But once she was back with her family he would lose all hope of ever possessing her completely. He was the younger brother of a lesser lord. And even should Gregor die he would never inherit now, not when he left the Lannisters, stealing away Sansa Stark with him. He had nothing to offer. She would be sold to a lord that Robb Stark needed an alliance with. Even if he were allowed by the King in the North to stay on as her sworn shield he could not accept. He'd kill the first man that tried to touch her. He'd slide his sword through her lord husband's chest and fuck her on their wedding bed.

He felt her shift again, a little moan leaving her lips. He considered rolling her over and taking her again. A woman could not lay with a man at night and refuse him in the morning in good faith. She had touched his face so often last night that he wondered if she would do so again. The skin around his eye was thick and calloused, numb to the touch, but the area by his jaw and cheek bones were sensitive, though not painful. She was the first person since his old maester to have ever touched his ruined face.

He lowered his face to hair and his member, already half mast since he had woken up, sprang to life. She was naked, he was naked. All he had to do was roll her onto her back, roll on top of her, and he'd be inside of her. She had been so wet last night he had slid into her with no resistance, like she was made for him. Her body molded to him perfectly. It would not hurt her, though she might not be, sober as she would be, accepting of him.

He was about to move when he felt her hands move to his chest, her finger tips trailing down in a controlled motion. Her fingers trailed down a vein in his bicep down to his elbow, and stopping at his wrist. He waited and she turned her face to look up at him, her eyes still glassy and blood shot, little circles under her eyes. He thought she was beautiful.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Morning," he answered with a rasp.

"My head hurts," she said, her voice scratchy.

"I am not surprised."

His hand ran over her back a few moments longer, feeling the velvet skin, before he removed himself from her and slid from bed. She could feel her eyes on him as he dressed, pulling on his undershorts and then his breeches. He sat down on the bed as he yanked on his boots. He turned to look over his shoulder when he felt her finger tips glancing over the skin on his lower back. It was in the area he had a particularly bad scar, red and white raised skin trailing from his mid spine down to his hip. It had been in one of his first real battles in the field.

"I am sure your husband will not be so scarred," he grunted and stood, moving away from the sweet feel of her delicate hands. She said nothing, but as before he pulled his shirt on over his head he saw the hurt on her face. He picked up his tunic, his eyes taking in the black dogs of his house. He was grateful to those dogs. Had they not saved Titos, he never would have been in the position to meet his little bird. His sweet little bird who was going to make some man a wonderful, loving wife.

"It is late," she mused. The window, boarded up though it was, had the bright sun streaming in through the windows.

"We won't get far today," he told her.

"What does it matter, an extra half day, when we are going all the way to the Twins now," she said sadly. Sandor said nothing as he pulled his jerkin on. He would bring her straight to her mother and brother. If only to see her smile.

"Not much I don't think," he answered.

"Can we eat before we go?" she asked, sitting up. She held the blanket to her chest modestly. He only nodded.

"Come, get dressed, I'll need assistance with my armor," he told her.

"Hand me my dress," she said and he gave her a harsh look. She blushed and gave him a little smile. "Please."

Sandor glanced over to where she had thrown her dress.

"Get it yourself," he told her and turned his back. He could nearly feel her balking at him and it brought a little smile to his lips. He turned to looked at her. "Or is the little bird scared for the dog to feast his eyes on her in the day light?"

He watched her jaw set stubbornly and she threw the blankets off of her. His erection returned full force as he looked her over, her perfect pale body, the auburn nestle of hair between her legs, her growing breasts. In his attempt to tease her he was torturing himself. She walked across the room with less than grace than he thought she desired and pulled the dress on as quickly as she could. He had pulled on his leather gloves by the time she was dressed and was finishing the last tie of his jerkin.

"I do love my dress," she told him. He glanced up from his jerkin to look at the dress again.

"You wore blue the day of the tournament, when I walked you back," he told remembered. "And that first day… the first time I ever saw you. You looked like a little cherub. You've grown much since then."

She walked toward him and he handed her his leather bracers. They tied at his wrists and extended one inch below his elbows. They were simple brown leather, beaten and weathered from years of use, but tough and strong. He had similar leather bracers for his forearms that protected the space between his vembrace and pauldron.

"How do you move in all this?" she asked him, struggling with a buckle.

"I wear less than most," he told her, though that was not really the answer to her question. He lifted the breast plate up himself, but lifted his arm so she could fasten the leather buckles underneath. She felt her hands press to the side of his chest, where his jerkin lay uncovered, before removing it.

"It is getting much colder," his little bird mused. "You have all this to keep you warm."

"You have your cloak now," he told her. She was done with the armor now and they stood in the center of the room, looking at each other. She was only a foot or so in front of him, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

"I might still get cold," she said softly and stepped away from him. She tied her cloak around her neck and looked to him. He grabbed his sword and put it over his shoulder.

"Don't dally while we are eating," he told her and stepped past her and out of the room. He made sure to grab the flagon Sansa had not finished last night.

"I don't dally," she responded as they moved down stairs. A man was leaving the room beside theirs and gave them a wicked grin.

"Didn't think you'd be walking this morning," he said Sansa then looked at Sandor with a toothy grin. "Good on you, friend."

Sandor punched the man in the chest, sending him back through the door behind him and colliding to the floor with a hard thud. Sansa turned to look at him, her skin burning red, and horror on her pretty face.

"You are quite uninhibited with a flagon of wine in you," he told her. She lowered her gaze toward the ground and did not look up all throughout their meal. He asked that some boiled water be brought to them and had her drink it.

"I want to go," Sansa said and Sandor looked up from his food to hers. She still had half a bowl of stew left and her entire loaf of bread.

"We can take the bread, but you have to eat the soup," he told her.

"I just want to leave," she mumbled into her bowl. Sandor frowned.

"I promise we will ride at a brisk pace. I'll walk Stranger when it gets dark and continue on if you want, but we must keep going."

"That's not why I want to go," she said and he had to lean in to hear her, she was speaking so softly and straight toward the table.

"What's wrong?" he asked and looked around. "Do you see someone you know? Has someone recognized us?"

He gripped the hilt of the dagger sheathed in his belt.

"No…" she said and looked around. "They know."

"Know?" he asked.

"That man…" she trailed off.

"Embarrassed, little bird?" he asked and slid the dagger back into its home fully. A teasing smile came to his lips. "Last night I would have thought you wanted the world to know. I am surprised you haven't gone hoarse –"

Sansa stood and Sandor let out an exasperated sigh. He grabbed up the bread and followed her out of the inn and toward the stables.

"You honestly think you were the only girl making noise last night? Even if we hadn't fucked last night they all would have thought so anyway," he said and she stopped halfway toward the stables and turned to look at him.

"Why?"

"You think these people don't think you're my whore?" he asked her, surprised at even her ignorance. "Little bird why else would you be with me?"

She said nothing and only stared at him. He moved past her and toward the stables to collect Stranger.

He helped Sansa up onto the horse and swung up behind her.

"You had no problem playing my whore last night," he spit out bitterly after a near half hour of silence. He caught her around the middle before she could jump off the horse and she squirmed against him.

"I want to walk," she snapped.

"I want you to ride," he answered. "So you can get to your mother and brother sooner. The gold cloaks won't be far off now either. We have already wasted too much of the day."

Sandor uncorked the flagon of wine and took a swig. Sansa frowned.

"You wonder why I don't want you to touch me," she pouted. Sandor raised his eyebrows and looked at the side of her face, releasing his grip on her waist. He waited a moment, his arm hovering around her to make sure she was not going to jump.

"And why is that?"

"You make me feel like a whore afterward," she told him. "You use me and then degrade me."

"I'm not a man of pretty words, little bird. If you want that go find your knight of the Flowers."

She looked up at him.

"You do not think that then?"

"Think what, little bird?" he asked, growing impatient with her.

"That I am acting like a whore?"

"I have not paid you," he replied. Her face flushed red in anger. She fell silent, grinding her teeth together. He did not know what she expected of him, to express his undying love? He would hardly do so only to deliver her to her brother and in a sense, her future husband. He would not abandon his pride. Still, when he saw her lower lip tremble slightly he felt a little pull of guilt.

"You are not a whore," he rasped lowly. "No one could call you such."

"I meant what I said last night," she told him. "I wish you would stay."

She glanced up at him.

"I'll miss you."

He felt his resolve weaken again and for a moment he could only look at her, a terrible, hollow, excruciating pain taking root in his chest.

"We still have a week or two," he said gruffly. He would not tell her he would miss her. He would not tell her he cared for her. He would not tell her how badly he wanted her, and not just her body, her heart and soul. If he thought for a moment he could get away with asking for her hand as his reward for bringing her home he would, but he knew it was not plausible. No man would give such a treasure away to a dog like him. He wasn't worthy.

How many times had he tried smiling at a young beautiful girl growing up, only to see her look away or stare back in horror? How many times had he attempted to flirt with a girl, only for her to excuse herself and run away to the safety of her handsome suitor? He had given up quickly ever finding love, and he knew that those girls were nothing compared to the little bird in his arms. If they would not have him, why would she? But he remembered her last night, trailing her fingers over his marred flesh, placing her soft lips to his burnt eyelid.

"They aren't so bad," she kept telling him. It had felt the same as if she had told him he was the most handsome man in Westeros.

"A week or two to change your mind?" she asked him, a little smile on her lips. He tried to smile but there was too much hurt in his heart.

"Perhaps," he lied.

The rest of the day was silent, both lost in their thoughts. Sandor did not speak again until he asked Sansa when the sun was beginning to set if she wanted to continue on through the night. She told him she would rather sleep and he found a little place for them to make camp. She curled down before their fire, choosing to lie down beside him instead of on the other side of the flames. He sat up and brought the flagon of wine to his lips.

Last night had been both amazing and terrible. It had made him believe, at least for a few hours, that she wanted to be with him as he wanted to be with her. When he awoke this morning and held her in his arms he came back to his senses. She would never be his. She was out of his reach, as close as she was. He took the flagon of wine and drained it as quickly as he could, hoping to make the most of the single flagon. It did its job. He swayed, the world blurred, and he felt warmth course through him. He lowered himself to the ground beside her. His world went black before his head hit the ground.

When he awoke the next morning, it was with a knife to his throat.

()

A/N: Sorry for those who wanted a full lemon! One will be occurring soon I promise and I will go into greater detail.

I hope you still like it. I'm not a huge, huge fan of this chapter, but I really wanted to get to next chapter. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! You guys are amazing!