Author's Notes: Apologies for a long break between chapters! I have not been exactly lazy – I have been immersed with another writing challenge I will be publishing here when it is fully completed. And oh, yeah, there is work and life as well…
Thank you all for your patience. The plot – as they say – thickens here from now on! And once again my deepest gratitude goes to my wonderful beta Wildsky, who guards me against my horrid abuse of English language!
Summary:
"Some men don't take well to just sleeping next to a desirable woman. Some men would take action. You should be more careful, that's all I am saying." There was no mistaking it, he had moved even closer. His head hovered just above Sansa's so that there was hardly a finger's breadth separating them. Sansa took a deep breath.
"Are you one of those men?"
"Might be. What if I was?" His voice rumbled so low that Sansa felt it better than she heard it.
"What of the women who choose to sleep next to dangerous men?" Sansa didn't know where those words came from.
Sansa
Sansa found it surprisingly easy to settle into traveling with the Hound. He evidently knew what he was doing, as he always identified the best route, set up their modest camp quickly and efficiently, found drinking water even in the unlikeliest places and trapped small game to supplement their fast dwindling supplies of preserved food. He kept mostly to himself, although gradually over many evenings he started to respond to Sansa with more than only curt, one sentence replies.
Why was she so interested in hearing him tell about his life since leaving King's Landing? What did it really matter to her, besides the bare bones of his adventures that had been quickly shared? Sansa didn't have an answer to that and in truth she didn't even care to analyse her motivations. Maybe it was just to pass time.
She found herself also sharing more about her own adventures than she had initially intended. Something in her companion's quiet ways, his acceptance of whatever she said without judgment or interference encouraged her. Gods, she could hardly remember the last time somebody had been interested to hear her thoughts! Myranda and Mya, perhaps, but with them she hadn't been able to share her true identity nor her real concerns.
To her surprise she soon discovered that Sandor Clegane was much more astute and knew a good deal more about politics, war and strategies than she had previously given him credit for. Not for nothing had he stood guard to the royal family for years, undoubtedly paying close attention to what he overheard. Furthermore, it was evident that he was in possession of a quick and sharp mind. Dulled by wine and boredom, perhaps, when they had first learned to know one another, but his time at the Quiet Isle seemed to have cleared his head and swept away years of cobwebs and neglect.
Slowly Sansa started to relax in his company, helped by her early and daring suggestion about sharing the furs. It was a necessity due to the cold mountain breezes, but after the first few nights, when she tensed from his every movement, her initial anxiety receded. That he never referred to their intimate encounter was a relief to her. He must have understood that what had taken place had defied all logic and reason and was never to happen again, and for that Sansa was grateful.
Although – maybe there was another reason? Maybe he simply didn't desire her anymore once he'd had his way with her body? What if she had been a disappointment, what if she hadn't been what he had expected, not woman enough, not knowing how to satisfy his manly urges? The thought was so shameful and ridiculous that it shouldn't ever have entered her mind; the most scandalous was the notion of why she was thinking of such things at all.
Nonetheless, sometimes when she tossed on her roll and accidentally brushed against his large frame or when she pressed against his broad chest now that she rode in front of him, strange feelings and sensations assaulted Sansa. She knew them to be base and shameful; only crude reflections of improper desires. Before Myranda she had never imagined women having any such longings, but her friend had opened her eyes and she couldn't force them shut anymore.
Yet this man was in her service, still unpredictable and dangerous, and any familiarity between them was utterly out of the question. She needed his help to get to the North and he had his own reasons. Maybe he didn't want to leave Westeros, maybe he wanted a place in Winterfell. She would help him if he so desired, but her duty was to be strong and look after her heritage - and no man could come between her and that.
The village and especially the inn were a sweet sight to her sorry eyes and Sansa was thoroughly disappointed when Sandor flatly denied her the pleasure of spending the night with a roof over her head. She swallowed her frustration and settled to wait for him where he pointed her. At least they would get some fresh food. Fresh bread, perhaps, maybe some cheese… Her mouth was salivating when her hungry thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of two men, who diverted their path from wherever they had been going to come to her. Their clothes indicated them as upper class commoners with tunics made of good cloth and shiny metal buckles adorning their cloaks. The younger was blond and had barely started to grow a wispy moustache, whereas the older had a dark, scruffy beard and a big belly. Sansa didn't like his eyes, which roved over her in the most uncouth way.
She observed them warily and gave curt responses to their intruding questions. No, she was not interested. No, she most certainly was not there to ply her trade. She was a respectable woman, waiting for her husband to come back from the stores. The part about the husband came to her quickly – surely it was quite believable for her to be Sandor's wife? She talked in clipped sentences, trying to avoid revealing her nobility through her speech as Sandor had warned her.
None of that was of any help as the young man soon grabbed her, both of them laughing in her face and refusing to believe her story. What husband would leave his wife in such a place alone instead of taking her with him? Surely the duty of a wife was to carry the goods her lord husband bought? If she wasn't offering her services to passing men, why was she wandering in the seedy part of the village?
"Don't worry girl, we are decent men and we pay for our pleasures. You will have your coin after we are through with you," the man with the beard sneered. "There is a barn nearby, no need to go any further. It is empty and as clean as is needed and there we will be safe from prying eyes." He approached Sansa and revealed stained teeth in an expression approximating a wide smile.
"We'll have our way with you whether you will it or not. If you come nicely, you'll have coin at the end of it. If not…" He extended his hand towards Sansa and palmed her breasts through the dress. Sansa started to panic and struggled to get free of the grip, but it was futile. She thrashed and bucked and her heart pounded loudly in her ears. No, this is not possible, this can't be happening! Where is Sandor?
Then he dashed to her aid like the knight in shining armour he most resolutely refused to be – and yet he drove her assailants away. Relief as she had never known washed over Sansa and she wept; not only because of the scare, but because she was still so far away from her destination, because she was cold and hungry, because the mud in the puddle into which she had been shoved was soaking through her clothes, because next she had to get up and back onto their cold trail and sleep under the stars again - and everywhere around her there were only people who wanted to harm her, wanted something of her or didn't care a whit about her.
She had tried to be strong and had held any such emotions in check – and yet despite the momentary rush of confidence at the beginning of her journey, in the end she was still all alone in this world, far away from friendly faces and supportive allies.
At the bottom of her misery she felt strong arms around her guiding her to safety and heard a rasping voice promising her a warm bath, a restful sleep, a hot meal… Only when silently waiting behind Sandor as he haggled about the room price did it hit Sansa that as a matter of fact, she was not alone. He was with her. The Hound. Sandor Clegane. The man who had once scared her so much was now her safe haven, keeping everyone who wanted to harm her out.
The bath was all she had dreamt of and much, much more. Sansa soaked in it, let the hot water flush away the grime and mud, soothe her aching muscles and take her back to a time when she thought hot baths were just a normal part of life, not to be thought much of. She enjoyed it so thoroughly that she didn't even worry about the night's arrangements. Of course she had known that it would be a waste of good coin to ask for two rooms – not to mention the suspicions it might raise for a common man and a woman traveling together to ask for separate rooms.
She had glanced at the bed when they had entered the room and to her relief found it wide and spacious. She had no doubt that Sandor wanted to sleep in it. He had just paid money for the privilege of not having to lie on the hard ground; of course he chose the bed. She only hoped she could share it with him. Yes, she was sure she could. He had told her so. '…have you sleep in a proper bed', he had said.
Besides, they had slept many nights close to each other already. This shouldn't be any different. The thought made her stir, reluctantly. She had better get out and let him have his bath before the water got too cold. Sandor would benefit from it; Sansa shuddered from the thought of him laying down in his tattered travel gear, his forest stench cloaking him. She wasn't being snooty - she understood that cleanliness was the least of their concerns on the road. As a matter of fact, when she leaned against him in the saddle enveloped in his cloak, the whiff of his sweat made her feel odd but in a good way. Instead of it repulsing her she sometimes found herself breathing it in, deliberately. It was the same scent she had first become aware of on that night when…
Splashing energetically to get out of the tub, Sansa cut her trail of thought then and there.
Sansa would have agreed to anything to make him take a bath – and to be perfectly honest she had felt hesitation about the prospect of going downstairs to the common room all alone after the experience she had just gone through. As embarrassing as it was to be trapped behind the closed curtains when a naked man was bathing right in the same room, it was infinitely better than the alternatives.
As Sansa pulled the shades close, paying special attention to make sure that there were no gaps where they overlapped, she swore to herself that she was going to just sit there patiently until he called to let her know he was done. With that in mind she took a comfortable position, settling down with her knees bent under her body. She could hear the clank of metal when Sandor removed his swordbelt and hung it from a chair post, then thumping sounds when his boots hit the floor and then the rustling of clothes. She tried hard not to pay attention to the sounds or the image of him getting…well, naked.
That night…she had not seen much of him at all. Only a sight of his neck and upper chest from the opening of his loose tunic, and once when she had glanced down, she had caught a glimpse of his stomach and groin and his upper thighs. Only as much as was visible from the opening of his breeches, all covered in dark hair. That, and a vague outline of the base of his member before it had disappeared between their joined bodies. Sansa's cheeks burned hot and the familiar sensation between her legs came back to her, the same she had felt on so many nights in the Vale when she had touched herself. Except this time there was a new element, an urgency she couldn't push away no matter how hard she tried. She squirmed on her haunches and hoped that Sandor would be done soon.
It was quiet for a while bar the sloshing of water as he apparently scrubbed himself. Sansa heard him take a deep breath, then sigh. What is he doing? Did he enjoy his bathing as much as she had done?
It seemed to take forever and Sansa's irritation grew. He owed it to her at least to hurry up. Did he perhaps enjoy the situation, deliberately playing with Sansa's 'maidenly sensitivities'? He had grumbled that he didn't mind if she saw his hairy arse; maybe that was what he actually wanted her to see? Sansa's thoughts took a sudden turn. Was it hairy? Everything else about him was, why would his…behind be any different?
Curiosity grew inside her and soon she found herself justifying the actions she was contemplating. She had lain with him, and normally people who slept together saw each other naked. She wouldn't be actually taking any liberties she hadn't been granted already by default. She only had neglected to seize them at the time. So if she took a peek, it wouldn't be as if she was spying on something forbidden?
Even while contemplating these thoughts her eyes scanned the curtains to see whether there was a chance she could have a look without him noticing. Oh, she couldn't endure that! He would let out a snarling chortle and look down his nose at her, and he would surely think most horrible thoughts of her.
Soon Sansa spotted a small tear in the upper part of one of the curtains, so high that she had to stand up on the bed to reach it. The folds of the fabric hid the tear so she hoped he wouldn't see it.
Slowly she positioned her eye over the tear, swallowing nervously but determined to go ahead nonetheless. It is just a peek. I have already given him my maidenhood, what harm can one look do?
The view was perfect. She could see the bath tub and Sandor in it. He was resting his back against its side, his knees protruding above the water because the tub was so small. His eyes were closed. Sansa could see his broad chest heaving, it being quite as hairy and muscular as the glimpses she had seen had suggested. After observing him a bit longer she noticed his hand moving slowly under the surface of the water. She couldn't see what he was doing, but his expression and the steady motion of his arm soon left Sansa gulping for air. He can't!
She pulled her head back and felt a hot flush travel from her burning cheeks down her neck and chest, then concentrating at the bottom of her belly and between her legs. Gods! Almost against her will she pressed her eye to the hole again, daring to face whatever she would see next. Yet all she witnessed was Sandor washing his hair, submerging his head under the water and rubbing his scalp vigorously, then lifting it up again. Water ran across his face and hair and he looked more relaxed than Sansa had ever seen him.
It was strange. Although he looked every bit as powerful and threatening as ever, his thick neck and bulging muscles leaving no doubts about his strength and prowess, something in him at that moment made him look vulnerable. Maybe it was his nakedness? Sansa was transfixed by the sight, her eyes following the curve of his nose and the way his dark hair rested on his shoulders, sleek and glistening.
Then Sandor opened his eyes, swept his hands across his locks and took hold of the sides of the tub. He straightened himself, dwarfing the wooden vessel and making it almost impossible to believe that his long form had just folded itself into it. He was standing with his back to Sansa before stepping out and turning around. Dear gods! Sansa had been prepared to see him fully naked and yet the sight of him felt almost like an assault against her senses. Not in a bad way, he was just so…big. And hairy. And completely unabashed, not hurrying to cover his nakedness as normal people did, but stretching his limbs and flexing his muscular arms, only casually wiping the dry cloth across his body.
Sansa wanted to look away – she had had her fill, her curiosity was sated, there was nothing more to see. Yet she couldn't. Her gaze swept down his torso, the distinct curve at his waist and how it swept down from his hip in an angle towards his groin. She couldn't avoid seeing his manhood and although she was sure it was not in readiness for anything untoward, it still looked dangerous laying there thick and heavy against his thigh. For a moment Sansa shivered thinking how it was possible that that thing had ever been inside her.
She saw Sandor looking in the direction of the bed, a slight smirk on his face. Luckily his stare was directed lower, at the seam of the shades and he didn't see her. When he grabbed his smallclothes from the chair and started to pull them on Sansa finally withdrew and very, very carefully settled down again. Her heart was pumping loudly and blood rushed through her veins and she wondered if he would notice anything when she emerged to face him.
Luckily a sufficient amount of time passed for the colour of her face to return to normal before he called her, announcing that he was ready. Calmly Sansa stepped out, pretending that nothing had happened. As she passed him, she couldn't help glancing at his impressive frame for a moment longer than necessary. Suddenly she remembered the way he had looked at her when she had greeted him, her hair still wet and cheeks flushed from the heat of the bath. His gaze had been intense and directed at her body as if he had tried to see through her clothes. She had felt uneasy and turned away – now she wondered if her own scrutiny was as obvious as his had been?
Sansa averted her eyes and stared at the ground while he barked commands to the servants and hoped he hadn't noticed anything.
The rest of the evening was pleasant and Sansa tried to savour every single moment of it. How things can change, she smiled to herself. The spoiled princess who took hot baths, luxurious dinners, warm rooms and soft beds for granted, now fawning over greasy sludge, a smoking fireplace, a musty room and a lumpy mattress.
In addition, she enjoyed the easy familiarity she shared with Sandor, who once even jested with her. One more time he had come to her rescue and Sansa couldn't help feeling incredibly safe and comfortable having him by her side. Hearing his assurances that he was going to stay with her as long as she wanted him only increased her sense of security. Yes, she still had a long way to go, but she didn't have to do it alone. He would help her.
Sansa was surprised and somewhat discomfited to see Sandor unrolling his bedding on the floor. She couldn't have imagined not wanting to use the opportunity to rest in a real bed, so why didn't he? She didn't say anything though. The night had been far too pleasant for her to want to threaten it with any discord now.
Yet as she lay on her mattress and saw the large space next to her, she couldn't help thinking of the absurdity of the situation.
'Sandor?"
"Aye?"
His voice sounded drowsy and Sansa hoped he hadn't been asleep already, and that he was not angry at the interruption if he had.
"Seeing that we have paid for the room with a big bed…and not knowing when we will have a chance again… Would you like to move over here?"
The only response to her question was silence. Then he rasped, his voice muffled.
"What do you mean, girl? Afraid of sleeping on your own?"
Sansa couldn't exactly admit to that. She felt perfectly safe knowing that he was there, in the room. Yet surely he didn't prefer the floor if he had a choice of a bed? Also – and this she found hard to admit even to herself – she had already gotten used to his closeness at nights. They had settled into a comfortable arrangement characterised by mutual respect and need, and where the past was not spoken of. What harm could there be if he came to lie by her side?
"I…just thought you'd enjoy a soft bed as well."
Nothing happened. After a while Sansa accepted that this man was not like others; he truly didn't care about comforts of the world. Then she heard a deep sigh and the sounds of him getting up and taking uncertain steps towards the bed. Then the curtains were swept aside and in the dim light of the glowing embers she saw his dark form towering above her. Even though she had invited him, for a moment she caught her breath at the intimidating sight. Then she felt him landing his knee on her outstretched leg. Sansa couldn't prevent a gasp and immediately he pulled away.
"My pardons."
"Here." She moved aside and patted the mattress on the side closest to him.
Next she felt him sinking down slowly, the whole bed creaking from the vast weight placed upon it.
There shouldn't have been any difference between this night and any of the others they had shared, only a small distance between them. They were both dressed, albeit lightly: Sansa in her simple dress and Sandor in only a light tunic and breeches. Yet everything was different.
Sansa tried to ignore it, closing her eyes and willing sleep to take her. Nothing came of it though; her whole existence was focussed on the man beside her, his tossing and turning. They both had bathed and yet his scent was unmistakably his own, the intimacy of it reminding her about their moments together.
Somehow everything she had imagined, experienced or seen of him came together at that moment. Her nights in the Vale, dreaming of the make-believe Hound, kind and gentle. The harshness of the reality when she had faced him for true in the mountains. The brutality of their encounter, peppered with surprisingly tender moments. His return and the gradually growing understanding between them. And finally the sight of him in the bath. Sansa didn't know much of men, that was true, but even she recognised the undeniable masculinity and vitality he exuded. She wished… Sansa wasn't sure what she wished.
"Little bird?"
Sandor's voice was hoarse and Sansa jumped at the sound of it. She had thought to be the only one still lying awake.
"Yes?" She hated how small her voice was, how timid.
"You are a woman grown, not a naive maiden anymore. Surely you know the dangers of inviting a man into your bed?" Sansa felt rather than saw him turning to his side and facing her. He was so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
"What…dangers would they be?" Again, her voice was much too thin and fragile for her liking.
Even as she spoke, Sansa realised that she knew exactly the dangers he was referring to. To her horror, in the span of a few seconds while he contemplated his answer, she also understood that instead of shying away she embraced those dangers. The warm feeling that had flooded her earlier that day still burned high in her. More so, it was not only the sensations of that day, but the gradually built tension that had drawn her more and more towards him for many days, even against her will. It had reached its peak when she had seen him in his glorious nakedness and found him against all expectations so pleasing to her eye.
Her mind whirled – could she really want him to do something scandalous to her? How could she? That would be bold and rash and dishonourable. Still, she couldn't deny the curiosity to know more about the strange rituals between a man and a woman, acts so vulgar and crude when considered in the cool light of the day, but which made grown men do foolish things and women endanger their reputations. She remembered Myranda's excited stories and the look in her eyes when she prepared to sneak into a meeting with her latest lover. She had felt a strange jealousy then, not for any of the men her friend had charmed, but for her obvious delight and enjoyment in those encounters. Sansa had never experienced anything like that and had had a hard time imagining that something so coarse could ever appeal to her.
When she had lost her maidenhood on that mad and unreal night, she hadn't expected anything agreeable from it. On the contrary, she had bitten her lip and prepared to endure the pain she knew to be inevitable, all in a state of defiance. Yet although the experience hadn't been exactly satisfying, it had woken something in her; given her a taste that perhaps, just maybe, with the right man and in the right circumstances, there could be something …
"What dangers? You truly are a little innocent bird still." Sandor's tone was jeering and Sansa felt the slight shake of his chest as he chuckled. He was so close, how had he been able to move so close without her noticing it? The tips of his hair brushed against Sansa's shoulder and she could feel his hot breath.
She knew that surely Sandor was no more the right man for her now than he had been then - but he was good to her, and was her saviour and protector. Even better, he was the only man in the world she could contemplate giving herself to. He had had her already and yet had expressed no desire to rule over her or dominate her and her actions. He was also not a man to boast of his conquests to outsiders, she was sure of it. Nobody would ever know. Furthermore, as ashamed as Sansa was as the thought crossed her mind, he was not her equal. Maybe she could enjoy his company as she had heard some noble ladies did with men in their service?
Sansa wasn't proud of those unladylike deliberations. Yet she couldn't deny the practicality of it. She also recognised that the biggest impediment for such liaisons for unmarried maids didn't apply to her anymore. She was not a maiden and hence had nothing to lose. While she was still sorting out those dizzying thoughts, a low murmur from Sandor demanded her attention.
"Some men don't take well to just sleeping next to a desirable woman. Some men would take action. You should be more careful, that's all I am saying." There was no mistaking it, he had moved even closer. His head hovered just above Sansa's so that there was hardly a finger's breadth separating them. Sansa took a deep breath.
"Are you one of those men?"
"Might be. What if I was?" His voice rumbled so low that Sansa felt it better than she heard it.
"What of the women who choose to sleep next to dangerous men?" Sansa didn't know where those words came from. She sensed Sandor stopping his slow descent upon her and pulling away. For a moment she could only hear his breathing, then a sound as he pursed his lips and chortled.
"Well, those women only get what they deserve, I guess."
Even through the shadows she could feel his eyes on her, burning with their intensity.
"Are you one of those women, then?" Again, just a low throaty murmur.
"Might be. What if I was?" Sansa held her breath. The game they played was enticing by itself, making her lightheaded. Such male vigour and naked want, only thinly disguised, made her feel like she was petting a dangerous animal who despite being well fed and subdued in its confinement still retained an element of threat and unpredictability.
Once, when she had been a small girl, she had seen a northern bear kept on a leash, dancing at the instructions of its master. Her father had taken her to it and she had petted it and seen that its teeth had been pulled out, making it harmless. Despite that, she had been wary of its strength and wildness, knowing that a single strike of its gigantic paw would kill any man, woman or a girl, if it decided to attack.
Sandor hadn't had his teeth pulled, and he was every bit as dangerous as any beast in the forest. Sansa closed her eyes and waited. Sandor had stopped, poised for her reaction. Only his uneven breathing heaving his chest broke his otherwise total stillness. Sansa remembered how even that night he had done the same – stopped and waited for her signal. Knowing that calmed her and the momentary fear of losing control she had felt earlier abated.
Surprised by her own daring, Sansa raised her arms and pulled him closer. Strike me with your paws.
Sandor resisted only for a second, his head rigid against her grip. Then he gave in and followed her guidance, pressing his lips against her brow, her cheek, traveling to her lips. Just as they met hers he stopped, his breath mingling with hers. His hand had travelled down her side to the curve of her hip and Sansa could feel its heaviness and warmth through her dress, but it, too, stopped. Sansa didn't have to think, didn't have to contemplate.
"I am that woman," she whispered and slid her hand inside his tunic from the hem, meeting the hard planes of his stomach and the soft bristle of the dark hair she had seen earlier. "Please," she added, remembering her courtesies.
Sandor let out a muffled sound between a curse and a sigh and yanked her onto her back, descending upon her with his full body weight.