Author's Notes: MANY APOLOGIES! By mistake I posted yesterday a wrong chapter, from my previous story... Thank you very much Magnus374 for alerting me to my mistake! Here is the correct chapter 3...
Sandor & Arya
"That was amazing! How did you do that?"
"Did what?"
"The move in the end and how you disarmed Jory – I have never seen anyone doing anything like that! For such a big man I imagined you being much too clumsy to move so fast!"
"Careful girl, when talking to a man still holding a sword."
"Sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way. Quite the opposite."
"I have a trick or two in my sleeve. I have had to learn. But why would you care? Young noble girls are not supposed to be watching men fighting, even if just for practice."
"I am sick and tired of what young noble girls are supposed to do. It is all so dull. Sewing, singing, practicing reading and writing, bleh."
"Your pretty sister seems to like that sort of things."
"Sansa? Yeah, she is the perfect lady. Perfectly boring too."
"She is just doing as she is told, like a proper lady should."
"I don't want to do as I am told. Septa Mordane always wants me to do so stupid things."
"Why am I not surprised? Nonetheless, now it is ME telling you what to do. And that is; go away."
"Why am I not surprised to hear that. What harm is it to you if I am here?"
"GO AWAY!"
Sansa
Sansa hurried through the quiet corridors of Winterfell, her steps energised by the audacity of her own actions. This was not the coy and obedient Sansa – this was a new her, a young woman stepping out of the shadows of her parents and making her own decisions. She felt older and more sure of herself just thinking about it.
Suddenly a dark figure detached itself from the darkness and grabbed a tight hold of her elbow.
"What's the hurry, little lady?"
Dear me! Although there could be no mistaking of who it was – not only was his low growl immediately recognisable, but who else would be lurking in the shadows like that?
"Ser, you startled me!"
"Haven't I told you I am no ser? And anyone running towards the royal chambers like that may count themselves lucky if it is only a fright they have to worry about. I could have taken your head off, or tackled you on the ground. Just so you know."
"I was not running! And I have a right to be here – Queen Cersei told me I am welcome to join the royal family any evening after they retire to their rooms after the meal. King Robert still being with my Lord Father I thought this a good opportunity to take up the Queens kind invitation." Sansa felt ridiculous having to explain herself to this man, but he was right; he was only doing his duty.
Sansa had been tempted to make the visit already earlier, but when she had mentioned about it to her mother she had advised against it. 'The Queen was only being polite. Evening is a family time for royals too.' Well, Sansa was soon going to be part of that family, and so after gathering her courage she had decided that this night was going to be it; her visit to her soon-to-be good mother – and Joffrey. She was curious to see how Joffrey behaved in a less formal setting, hoping it would help her to have a glimpse into their future life together.
The Hound didn't let go his grip but he slackened it. He was very close, so close that Sansa could smell him; leather, horse, sweat, a whiff of wine. She took a better look at him and realised that he was still dressed in his usual attire of light armour, his sword strapped onto his back as always. Another glance at where he had emerged, and in the flickering light of the lantern she was holding Sansa saw a low stool propped against the stone wall. A half-empty wine skin lay on the floor beside it.
"You may have been invited, but a wise guest chooses the timing of his visit with care." The Hound docked his head towards the large door behind which were the rooms assigned to royal visitors. In silence that followed Sansa could hear muffled sounds behind it. Shouts – someone was shouting.
"You were a disgrace! Letting that boy to beat you like that. We should be feared, not laughed at. These Starks already believe they are better than us."
"But Bran is much bigger than I. I don't mind that I lost."
"That is not a point, you fool!"
"Now now Joffrey, don't be so hard on your brother – although it was foolish, dear Tommen. Remember the dignity of the crown."
"I can't wait until we leave this godforsaken place!"
"Me too, my darling. Only a little while longer."
Sansa felt her cheeks getting hot of embarrassment and she knew it showed on her face. Could it be… could it be Joffrey speaking so ill of his hosts? And Cersei agreeing with him?
The Hound still hadn't moved but he had removed his hand. He leaned against the wall and his fingers played with the ends of his sword belt. He seemed completely relaxed, as if there was nothing more natural than to eavesdrop the royal family and hold their future good-daughter at bay. Sansa knew he was looking at her but she was too humiliated to look back.
When he spoke it was so sudden that Sansa jumped.
"The prince is in a bad mood. You may want to consider your visit."
Oh. Of course. All Sansa wanted to do was to run back to her room and try to make sense of what she had heard. Yet she couldn't bolt out just like that, without a word. Luckily the scene in front of her gave her something to say.
"But why are you still here? Surely if the family has retired for the night you could be relieved of your duties?"
The Hound laughed at that, not a nasty snarling laugh she had heard a few times, but one that sounded genuinely amused although it too carried menace in it.
"Joffrey wants his dog around. And so does Cersei."
"But…" Had he been sitting here all alone, in almost full darkness with only a distant torch in the lower bailey filtering its dim light to his post? Only a wine-skin as his company? Suddenly Sansa realised that there had hardly ever been a time when the Hound was not at Joffrey's side.
Already earlier she had made an unsettling realisation that Joffrey revelled in parading his sworn shield in front of others, enjoying that such man of great renown was at his peck and call. The first time Sansa had heard Joffrey calling him 'dog' in front of everyone she had been embarrassed on his behalf and had discreetly glanced at the object of the taunt to gauge his reaction. Yet the man's cragged face had showed no emotion as he had stared in front of him without blinking.
Despite her unease about the man's unsettling presence unexpectedly Sansa felt sorry for him. Maybe it was no wonder that he was always in a bad mood? Why would anyone treat a man in one's service like that? All Winterfell men worked hard but Lord Eddard made it his matter to give them back too; time to spend with their families or friends when the duties allowed it.
"Why even here? Winterfell is safe. And other men could take their turn as well, couldn't they?"
He laughed again. "Cersei doesn't think so. She doesn't trust anyone with her precious offspring. And what Cersei wants, Cersei gets."
His use of the Queen's first name bordered on insolence to Sansa. Somehow it was…too familiar.
The Hound was still propping himself against the wall. He had stopped his fiddling and had tucked his thumbs under the other belt he kept on his waist for his dagger. He was like a big cat, relaxed and yet oddly tense as if ready to bounce at the slightest provocation. Yes, as unsuitable as the comparison might have been for the Hound, the prince's dog, he was like a lazy big cat hiding its intentions behind an unperturbed facade.
Sansa turned around and inadvertently brushed her hand against him. He said nothing.
"If you excuse me," Sansa cut 'ser' out at the last moment, "I will go back to my room. I bid you good night."
"Lady Sansa," he growled and for a change his use of her formal title didn't sound like an affront.
