Chapter 6

Sansa tried to catch his eye, but again he ignored her. All day yesterday she had tried to talk to him while he maintained his gruff silence. They had camped outside at night, and when Tommy fell asleep she had given him a tremulous smile. A smile of encouragement, she remembered and blushed. But he had simply snorted and told her to go to sleep.

She cast her eyes at him again and worried her lip. She wondered if she had disgusted him somehow.

She slowed down and waited to ride beside Snowy, the white horse. She had finally named the horses yesterday. Her brown horse she called Dancer, and she had to admit he was a sweet, gentle thing. He would eat pieces of apple from her hands without any desire to eat her fingers as well. When the Hound had seen this in the morning, he had finally spoken to her. "You'll rot his teeth," he had growled.

Sansa sighed, trying to shake the Hound out of her thoughts. "Tommy," she said, leaning forward to pat Dancer's mane. "You never told me how you came to squire for the Hound."

Tommy considered her for a moment. His little nose always wrinkled up when he was thinking about something, and it was very wrinkled right now. "Well, I suppose there's no harm telling you the truth. What with you being the Hound's wife and all... I am a Clegane bastard."

Sansa gripped her reigns tightly, looked into his clear gray eyes, and wondered how she hadn't noticed this before. "Not... not the Hound's?" she asked.

"No, not the Hound's. My mother was a washer woman at the keep and Ser Gregor raped her. She died giving birth to me. My grandmother always blamed me for it. Said it was because I was too big and it ripped my mother apart getting me out. My wet nurse told me that wasn't true though. Said I was a normal sized baby." He spoke in a calm, steady voice. "I was bent on joining a traveling circus when the Hound made a detour to the keep on the way to Casterly Rock. Someone must have told him about me, and he said I could squire for him. He's been good to me. He does most things himself, doesn't beat me, feeds me well, and keeps me in warm clothes." His eyes were hard and determined when he turned to look at her again. "And he said he will teach me to fight when I am older."

Sansa was quiet for a while. "I am sure you will make a great warrior," she said to Tommy. But her eyes were watching the Hound's back.

***

"We'll be needing two rooms if you have them," he said to the innkeeper, placing coppers on the table. "One for me and the boy and one for her." He pointed his thumb at the little bird. "And bring us food, two mugs of ale, and a flagon of wine."

A comely wench brought them a tray laden with soup, bread, and a roast chicken. "There you go milords, milady. I'll be back with the wine and ale in a bit."

Sandor grabbed the wench's arm before she left. Her brown eyes widened when she looked into his face. "Make sure the wine is a good vintage," he said, pressing a few coppers into her hand.

"Of course, milord," she said, gripping the coppers, her pretty mouth curving in a smile.

He broke the bread and started working on his soup. Tommy was already slurping noisily. But when he looked up at his little bird she was just sitting there, her eyes wide on him.

"Eat," he said, "before it gets cold." She lowered her lashes and picked up her spoon.

The wench returned with their drinks. "Here you are milords, milady," she said. When she placed the wine before him she bent more than she had to, smiling up at him as she gave him a good view of her ample teats.

He smirked at her when she stood straight. "What is your name?" he asked.

"Everyone calls me Dolly, if it please milord," she said, curtsying and smiling impishly.

"Well, Dolly, have you had news from north of here?"

"Hm, let me see," she said. She touched a finger to her mouth lightly as if in thought. Sandor thought it more likely to draw attention to her lush curving lips. "Well we had a man from Acorn Hall. He said the rivers and streams were flooded because of all the raining. And he said that many of the villages on his way were sacked, but that the villagers were rebuilding." She shook her head and looked sad all of a sudden. "All this war, and with winter right around the corner. You'd think the mighty Lannisters and Baratheons would think of preparing for it rather than fighting each other."

"You are wise beyond your years, Dolly," he said, raising his glass to her.

She dimpled. "Well if milord needs anything, anything at all, he just has to ask."

"Oh, he will," he assured her, returning his attention to the food.

There was a clatter and a crash and he looked up to see his little bird standing. "Excuse me," she said, her face red. The lap of her dress was covered in soup. Bits of meat and vegetable were sliding sluggishly down the gray fabric.

"You're supposed to eat it, not wear it," he told her as she swiped ineffectually at the mess with a small handkerchief.

"I know that," she countered sharply, glaring at him.

"Oh deary," said Dolly walking up to them. "Come, I'll take you to your room and bring you hot water so you can wash up." She took the little bird's arm and led her away. "Such a pretty dress, I was just telling my sister in the kitchens. I'll help you get the stain out."

***

Sansa washed up as quickly as she could. There was a small mirror above the washbasin and her face in it looked wild eyed and panicked.

She rummaged through her bag and brought out the yellow dress the Hound had made for her and pulled it on. She tried as best she could to smooth out the wrinkles but it was no use. Instead she loosened her hair from it's braid and brushed it out. He had seemed to like her hair when he touched it and... well sniffed it in her room at King's Landing.

She closed her door and made her way through the darkened hallway. Should have brought the candle, she thought, feeling the wall for the turn the hallway took. She stopped abruptly when she heard footsteps and saw the glow of a candle approach.

"Milord, retiring for the night already?" asked a female voice. Sansa recognized it as Dolly.

"Aye," the Hound rasped. "I have a long day tomorrow."

"Want me to warm your bed tonight?"

He snorted. "My squire will warm it soon enough. The boy sleeps as much as a housecat."

"Well if boys is what milord likes..."

"Watch yourself, wench," he said. "The boy is my nephew."

"I was just japing," she said. "You're a big man," she purred. "Are you big everywhere?"

He laughed. "I suppose I am. Does my face not disgust you, Dolly?"

"Well you won't be fucking me with your face now, will you? Not unless you are a very good boy." He laughed again. "Come back down, milord. I know where my father keeps his Arbor red."

"Your father has Arbor wines?"

"Isn't that what I just told you?" she said in a teasing tone. "Sweet wines, sour wines. I'll let you have a taste... if you want."

The footsteps and the glow of the candle retreated, leaving Sansa in the dark. After a few moments she felt her way back to her room.

There was a knock on the door and Tommy walked in. "You didn't eat so I brought you bread and cheese."

"Thank you Tommy," she said, taking the plate from his hands. "Is the Hound still downstairs?"

"Yes. He's drinking with some men. Buying them rounds. He wants to find the best route to take from here."

"Is... is Dolly with him?" she asked.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another.

"It's okay, Tommy," she said softly. "You don't have to tell me."

He nodded. "Good night, Sansa," he said, making his way to the door.

"Wait," she called out. "Show me to your room."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because I am his wife and I am meant to share his bed, not you."

"But the Hound said-"

"I don't care what the Hound said, Tommy." She was on the verge of tears now.

"Don't cry, Sansa!" he said. He looked alarmed. "It's just that the Hound is drinking a lot right now..."

"When is he not drinking a lot?" she asked, swiping at her eyes.

She lay awake in the large bed for an hour or two. When she heard the door open and shut she sat up and pushed the hair from her face. He was walking around unsteadily, trying to take off articles of his clothing. He finally noticed her and stood still, his eyes glittering in the firelight.

"What are you doing here," he rasped, scowling.

She got out of the bed and walked towards him. Her nightdress was thin and her skin prickled in the cold air. "I sent Tommy to my room. Let me help you undress."

He pushed away her proffered hand. "I'll do it myself. You just shut up and go to sleep."

Sansa watched him struggle to take his mail off. She remembered another night when she had watched him thus. It seemed so long ago, their wedding night. "She's a very beautiful woman," she said.

"Who?" he asked, looking blearily at her.

"Dolly," she replied, her voice a whisper.

He looked at her with a quirked eyebrow for a moment before understanding dawned on his face. Then he threw back his head and laughed. "Is the fine little bird feeling jealous? Is she feeling inadequate compared to a buxom barmaid? This is too much!"

She slapped his face hard. And then she immediately recoiled, taking several steps back, a look of horror on her face.

"What is your problem?" he asked, all laughter wiped off his face.

"I know that you don't want me, Hound," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes. "You have made that abundantly clear. But to mock me like this is too much, even from you."

"Don't want you? Don't want you?" he asked, his voice rough. He stalked towards her, his face furious. "Stupid little bird. Always so polite. So courteous." She gasped when he pulled the hand that had slapped him and pressed it to the bulge between his legs. "Always peering into my face when any other woman would have looked down and noticed this long ago. Would have mocked at it." He rubbed himself lightly with her hand and groaned. Sansa felt an exquisite pain shoot down to her nether regions, and felt herself grow uncomfortably wet. "Little bird," he rasped, his voice a curse or a prayer. "Sometimes I wonder how I can even walk from wanting you all the time. I think of fucking you every way imaginable. Of spreading your legs and taking you hard, of you riding me with your teats bouncing above me, or me pushing you to the ground and taking you from behind like the dog I am." He laughed a harsh laugh, his face terrible in the firelight. "But you know something, little bird? It's a secret. Can you keep a secret?" He grabbed her hair roughly and kissed her hard, his mouth tasting of sour wine. "I may be a dog," he whispered against her mouth, "but I am also a man. And sometimes a man wants to do the honorable thing. Don't ask me why. It's like a sickness I can't purge myself of." He pushed her away in disgust. At himself or her she could not tell. He sat down on the bed before continuing. "In a week, or in a year, or in two years, you will come across a handsome knight who does not want to beat you bloody. Despite what I said to you, such knights do exist..." He trailed off, his expression pained.

"Do you really think so little of me?" she whispered. "I love you," she said, her voice cracking.

"Aye, maybe you do. Or maybe you mistake gratitude for love." He shook his head. "You are so young. What do you know? When I was an ugly pup your age, even I had my head full songs." He laughed his rattling laugh again. "You, of course, are more likely to have your happy ending. Hang on to your dreams, little bird. I won't let you throw yourself away on the likes of me." He looked tired all of a sudden, his shoulders sloping.

Sansa just stood there. She wanted to take him in her arms. Show him what she could find no words for. But she was suddenly afraid. What if he was right? The Hound always did this to her. He always said things that confused her thoughts, made her feel stupid and unsure. She held herself instead, her body trembling.

He was quiet for a long time. And when next he spoke his voice was low and slurred. "Just know that if you are my wife in truth and not just in name when you meet your handsome knight... I will kill him." He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. "But first I will kill Gregor," he mumbled before falling asleep.

This time when she covered him with his cloak, she made sure to leave his face bare. She went one step further, pushing the hair out of his eyes and pressing a kiss to his ruined mouth.

She prayed late into the night. She stayed kneeling long after she had run out of words and out of gods to say them to. When she could kneel no more, she walked on aching legs to her side of the bed, lay down, and closed her eyes.