Sandor & Arya
"You took your time!"
"What of it? Didn't know I was supposed to follow some fucking plan."
"I saw you riding along the alley already a long time ago."
"Well, I had to take care of my cover story. Or do you think it to make sense for the shield of the King to visit some bloody cook's help in a whorehouse?"
"I saw you. With her."
"Uh?"
"With Aline. I sneaked into the storeroom above the main solar and saw how you demanded her, although Leya presented to you all her most beautiful girls. She probably wanted to please the member of the stupid Kingsguard."
"So there is no hiding from your snooping even here? And what is it to you who I chose?"
"Nothing. It is just that she has a red hair and blue eyes, the only one of Leya's girls. And she was already with another customer, the fat merchant. Why did you want her that bad? She is new here, came after I did. So you must not have seen her before."
"I am not discussing my taste in whores with a little girl who should know better."
"I know why you wanted her. She looks a bit like Sansa! You like her, don't you? I saw the way you used to look at her, like a dog looks at a juicy bone."
"Fucking hells! I didn't come here to be interrogated or accused of moon eyeing some highborn's get!"
"I am not accusing you! I just thought you should know that I know. And I don't mind. Better you than that horrible Joffrey."
"Shut up about it already!"
"Fine. If you are going to be so touchy about it I leave it be. Now, did you see her? What did she say?"
"I saw her and she knows the plan is to get you both out of here as soon as possible. I know how to get a hold of a recruiter for the Night's Watch, Yoren is his name, and I will seek him out tomorrow. All going well you both can leave with him as soon as he gets his motley crew together. Lady Sansa is a good little lady and knows how to behave until then."
"I know how to behave! The cook likes me and gives me sweets when I do my errands well."
"That makes the only one…"
"What? What did you say?"
"Nothing that concerns you. Now, you stay put and wait for my further instructions."
"Hey, what did you say – 'you both? Aren't you going to leave with us?"
"No, and I told as much to your sister. It is bad enough that I risk my neck for no reason whatsoever, when I think of it. I would be a bloody fool to leave my life here behind on behest of some wolflings. Why would I do that?"
"I know exactly why you would do that. I told you already."
"Shut your mouth. The sooner you leave and are out of my hair, the better."
"No it's not. You should come with us."
"I am leaving now. Anything you need? Do I need to have a word with cook?"
"No. I'll be fine. Just come with us."
"Forget it."
Sansa
Since the Hounds visit Sansa's nights were filled with hope and her days with despair. Every day under the crushing tyranny of Joffrey was agony when she thought of the freedom looming in front of her – if only the Hound was successful in his attempts.
She sought his eyes whenever she saw him in the court, but he looked away, ignored her or simply stood emotionless behind Joffrey with such hostile expression on his face that Sansa didn't dare to seek his attention any more.
The news of the Young Wolf's progress reached the court in regular intervals and Sansa was the one to suffer from them. Joffrey was not shy of using his Kingsguard to punish her for real and perceived transgressions and many evenings Sansa nursed a broken lip, a painful bruise or humiliation to her dignity. Was it all empty promises by him? Did he seek only to make me suffer more by first giving me hope and then denying it?
Sansa didn't think so in truth, but she found it harder and harder to maintain her courage as time went by.
The torches along the corridor had almost burned out by the time Sansa was escorted to her chambers. The king's dinner had been tedious and boring but at least she hadn't have to endure Joffrey's wrath that evening, he being occupied with visitors from the Westerlands. Even more unusually he had waved his own shield to take Sansa away, seemingly determined to stay until late in the Great Hall.
Sansa walked fast in order to keep up with the Hound. Whether he was pleased or angry about the task was not obvious from his stance, passive as always.
Sansa burned to ask him how Arya fared and how their preparations were progressing, but she was wary about ears in the walls. Yet as they finally stopped in front of her room she couldn't contain herself anymore. Once the door was open and her escort stepped aside to let her pass, she took a deep breath, glanced around the corridor for any signs of life and grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room with her.
It must have been his surprise that saw him follow her without resistance – it certainly was not her strength. Whatever it was, as she pushed the door closed there he was, standing stiffly just inside the room. His presence seemed to fill it thoroughly and Sansa's heart started hammering loudly.
"Pardon me, but I have to know; how is my sister? Is there any news? When can I leave this horrid place?" The words gushed out in rapid succession when she couldn't contain her anxiety anymore. Then she took a deep breath and stilled herself to wait for his reaction.
The Hound's expression didn't change. He was seemingly resigned to stay where he was but he didn't look happy.
"The little wolf is fine. She has food and shelter and she knows that it is not easy to snatch one of the most valued hostages away from the crown."
Sansa's frustration and resentment grew in response to his dismissive reply. It is not easy to stay as the most valued hostage either! Hot tears of anger swelled in her eyes. What did this man know about her pain and suffering? He was not the one who was humiliated daily, if not always in deeds but in spirit. Joffrey's cruel words, the beatings by his guard, simply the knowledge that she was held by her lord father's killers and her house's truest enemies…
For the first time since leaving behind her childhood tantrums Sansa Stark lost her self-control. In a moment of rashness something inside her broke, years of schooling and armour of courtesy disintegrating and leaving behind only a young maid, hurt beyond belief. She threw herself against the hard wall in front of her; against the man that had promised to help her and then denied it, thwarting her dearest desires and hopes after first raising them.
Her fists rained upon his chest when she threw herself against him sobbing loudly, releasing all her bent-up frustrations upon one unmovable object. She didn't stop to think or care about the futility of her actions, nor that the man she was assaulting could swat her away as easily as a child does a buzzing insect. No, her mind was closed from everything else besides her grief, her exasperation and her distress.
"I want to go home! I want to leave! Take me home!" Sansa hiccupped and hated herself for that, fully aware how infantile her conduct must appear in the eyes of the cold killer, but helpless to control her actions nonetheless.
As she should have known, her outburst didn't sway the Hound the least, he remaining standing rigid and unmoving. He wasn't wearing his armour but even without it he was as solid as a rock and Sansa's feeble punches against him didn't make him as much as flinch. Yet as Sansa's rage started to wane and she felt the shame of her behaviour flooding her, she felt some movement. His arms, so strong and so capable of inflicting harm, rose and hovered unsurely in air for a moment before wrapping around her – initially hesitantly, but then more firmly. One large hand against her back, the other curving around her shoulder. His hold was stiff and to her immense surprise Sansa sensed him trembling, but there was no mistaking his intent to hold her true rather than only to restrain. That he was woefully inexperienced in holding another human being so close to him was clear to Sansa, who had grown up in a family where physical contact was a natural expression of affection – and the sadness of it stung her deeply.
Oh to be held by strong arms; to be embraced by someone – someone who must mean well for her… Sansa welcomed the gesture and nudged closer to him in her desperate hunger for kindness. She too wrapped her arms around the Hound, and in need of a real contact her fingers reached upward and found the plane of his powerful back and the ends of his long hair, relishing in their surprising softness.
For the longest time they stood still, wrapped against each other. Sansa twirled her fingers in his tresses and rested her cheek against his firm upper body, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her flushed skin. She felt good. For a moment it was almost as if she was held by her father – so safe and comfortable it was.
And suddenly it wasn't.
The large hand on her waist started to move; first almost imperceptibly, but then with more assuredness, traveling down and sideways to reach the curve of her hip. Sansa jolted and her first reaction was to pull away, but something made her stay still, the hardly audible gasp being the only sign of her disquiet. He heard it of course – or maybe he simply sensed how her body stiffened, as he immediately stopped.
Sansa didn't move away and neither did he, and after the moment that followed Sansa became increasingly aware of not only the warmth of his palm against the small of her lower back, but of the other points where their bodies touched. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her shoulders and cheek likewise, her long legs so close to his that when he shifted his stance ever so slightly, she felt it. And how warm he was under her hands…
Although Sansa couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that was so different in this embrace, she realised that when she had been held by her father she had been curled within herself and had drawn succour from him - but in the Hound's arms instead of just him holding her, she was equally holding him. It was a weird and wonderful sensation. A stranger, a dangerous man, the two of them so intimately wrapped into each other. Her heart started to race again, but this time not from anger.
Gradually those powerful and tense muscles started to relax under her fingers - and Sansa felt it and her body responded to it on its own accord by instinctively pressing closer. The countless times she had caught him watching her rose to her mind and even her lids closed she remembered that look and finally understood what it had always held; a raw need, a longing for something real but unattainable. It had always been so much more than simple admiration by a gallant courtier.
Slowly she raised her head and looked up, meeting those grey eyes and the look exactly as she remembered it. The Hound's jaw was clenched and his expression stern, but he didn't let go his grip nor his gaze and she didn't mind that at all.
Another eternity passed until he finally dropped his arms and cleared his throat.
"I'll do my best, little bird. I have made contact with the man who can take you away. It will take some time but bugger me if I don't get you out of this court as soon as possible."
Sansa reluctantly let go of him and stepped away. Suddenly she felt ashamed of her ingratitude.
"I…I do apologise for my behaviour. I know you are doing as much as you can. I promise I will be more patient in the future." She wringed her hands and feeling heat rising on her cheeks she refused to look at him, and so she heard more than saw him turning around and reaching for the door. A low "Lady Sansa", a turn of a latch and he was gone.
For the rest of the evening Sansa oscillated between shame and embarrassment of her unladylike behaviour, and an odd feeling of flutter and excitement the Hound's embrace had made her feel.
