Heaven burns

Einen Feuersalamander
hältst du dir als Wappentier
Du bist Läuterung und Reinheit
stehst für unstillbare Gier
Aus den Haaren fallen Funken
schön'res hab ich nie gesehn
Aufgelöst in Rauch und Asche
will ich brennend untergehn

He still dreams of fire.

Sometimes it is nothing but a red angry glow behind his closed eyelids. He can't see it, but he feels it. A hot white pain shoots through him and he feels himself melting. The pain is so great that he wonders how he can be still alive. How can anybody be still alive when he is in so much pain? The smell of burning flesh fills his nose. His burning flesh, and it makes him sick to the stomach. Ash stirs and fills his lungs. He is burning. He is choking. And he fights to get away from the flames, away from the ashes. Away, away away. He struggles and kicks, his ears ringing with a terrible, shrill sound that he only later recognizes as his own voice.

He can't get away. Can't get up. Something presses him into the flames, strong and unyielding and the more he struggles the harder it forces him down. He can feel how his neck creaks and is filled with the terrible hope that his brother will break his neck and end his agony before long. His brother. Gregor.

His hand, holding him down in a vice grip, is hot too. It burns his flesh, burns itself in his skin and he is sure that will leave a mark, a mark for all to see. Flames lick at his cheeks, crawl down his throat and another sound drowns out the fearful screaming. Gregor is laughing, cold and hard and loud, so loud. It fills his ears and echoes in his head.

That's his world, a taste of ashes, a cold laugh in his ears, a hand scorching his neck and the smell of himself, burning, filling his nose.

He trembles when he wakes, feeling the bile rise and only barely manages to sit up and lean to the side before he can't hold it back anymore. His whole body cramps, cold sweat is breaking on his back. He can feel his teeth tingle and his eyes sting with tears when the acid burns his throat and nose. He retches until there is nothing left, still trembling all over, and it's only then, that he notices cool small hands drawing circles on his bare back, holding back his sweaty hair. The scent of lemon and lavender drives away the memory of burned flesh and then he feels soft lips at his temple, whispering in his ruined ear. She cradles him, rocking back and forth and he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

He's dead, Sandor. He's dead. It's ok. You are safe.

Sometimes it comes down like rain. Green and red alike it pours down on him, but not only the sky is ablaze, the ground is too and so is everything else. It seems, the world is coming to an end. His lungs are full of smoke and the smell makes his insides churn. He wants to run, to flee. Far far away, anywhere but here, but no matter where he turns, there is no escape. Only a sea of faceless shadows, blocking his path. Screaming and wailing, they reach for him. He's not sure if they want him to save or to join them but he isn't going to do either of those.

There is nothing but fear in him as he is turning in wild circles, hacks at shadows and fire alike, but his sword is useless against them. It won't save him this time.

And he begins to despair for he knows he has lost something, must find it in this chaos before it will perish in the flames, burned and broken. He's not even sure what it is, but he's needs it, hungers for it like his lungs hunger for a breath of fresh air. He snarls and growls and snaps and fights but no matter where he turns to, he can't find it. His fear is chilling as a winter's breeze. He wishes he could use it to kill the heat of the flames, but the ice inside him is so cold that it burns just like the fire that surrounds him. So he is burning inside out and outside in and he just can't find it.

He howls then, a long and broken sound. More hound than man. The masses fall silent and part before him, leaving a narrow path. He rushes through, the way before him ablaze, the heat crawling through the soles of his shoes, burning them away until he runs barefoot on glowing coals. The pain is white and hot but he doesn't stop, only runs faster, the shadows rushing alongside him.

Whatever his destination is, whatever is waiting for him at the end of this road, he never makes it. He has lost it.

When he wakes he is disorientated, the flames and shadows nothing but a blurred memory, dulled by repetition, but the despair inside him fresh and strong. There are tears in his eyes and he chokes on fear, feeling hollow. His lungs are gone, his heart too, everything and…

…and then there are fingers in his hair, stroking, soothing. A song in his ear, soft and reassuring. He feels lips pressed to his neck, where his pulse is thundering away and he remembers that he still has a heart, beating furiously in his chest, scared but alive. It's easier to breathe all of the sudden and when he pulls her against him, so tight that it's hard to tell where she begins and he ends, the heat of her lithe soft body chases the last of the cold inside him away.

I'm here, Sandor. I'm here. It's ok. I'm safe.

Most of the time he dreams of another heat though. Its flames leave no marks, none visible to the eye at least. And yet it burns hotter than anything he has ever felt before. This fire can be soft and cool under his touch, glistening in the light, or blaze like the summer sun, down in the south. Red lips leave fiery trails on his skin, dainty fingers draw patterns like hot iron and soothe them with a flick of a little pink tongue. He fears it and he loves it, this fire, for its consuming him, devouring him whole and rendering helpless. He couldn't go without it anymore. But something tells him that it works both ways.

Their bodies melt into each other, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. He is shaking and can feel how she is trembling in response, just as desperate as he is. His thumbs brush over the smooth skin of her belly, up her sides, over her ribs to the underside of her breasts and he feels her nails digging into his shoulders, breaking his skin as she arches her back. Maybe there will be marks after all. He swallows her moans, breathes them in and returns them with one of his own. They are on fire and for once he doesn't mind, but welcomes it. Teeth graze his collarbone, nipping at him, before she places kisses on his neck. He leans into her, drunken on her heady smell, and holds her tight. He wants to be closer still. Needs to.

And when he wakes she is there, her long red hair falling down and framing his face, her hands on his chest and a wicked smile on her lips that clearly doesn't belong to a lady (he likes it all the more).

We are free, Sandor. We are free. It's ok. We are safe.

Maybe he has never been afraid of fire.

A/N: Hi there^^ And yet another piece inspired by my upcoming fic "Wolfhound"... I'm not sure about this, so critique is most welcomed!

Thank you and see you around, Mag!

BTW:

The lyrics beneath the title are from the Song "Herrin des Feuers" (Mistress of Fire) by Subway to Sally (the song of the first fic was by them as well)...

It fits Sansa really well i think, though it's probably more a song for Melisandre (but i don't like her :P) or dany (but she has no red hair)

anyway.. here is my crappy try of a translation (the original is so much better).

A fire salamander

you hold as your sigil

You're standing for reformed, pure

and unsateble greed

Sparks are falling from your hair

I've never seen anything more beautiful

Turned into smoke and ashes

I want to perish burning

ASoIaF and all its characters belong to George R.R. Martin.

See ya, Mag~