Sandor & Arya
"Mmmmpphh!"
"It's only me, you can let go that pitiful turnip peeling knife of yours. I really should find you a proper dagger."
"Don't! Sneak on me like that! I could have cut you!"
"With that? And with broken fingers?"
"I could have… But why are you here, why didn't you come to the house?"
"Because I didn't feel like it."
"You could have gone with Aline again. She wouldn't have minded. She told me it was not nearly as horrible as she thought - she said that there were compensations to your ugly face. I am not sure what she meant as she refused to say more, but she was giggling quite stupidly."
"Bloody hells! Did you have to talk about me with that wench?!"
"We are friends, she is nice. She is of same age as Sansa and although she is not as smart as her, she is kind. Did you like her, was she 'to your satisfaction'?"
"What would you know about any of it?"
"Oh, I know a lot. I am not stupid, and the girls like to talk with someone who is interested in them and not trying to get into their smallclothes for free. I know much about what goes on between men and women now. But I bet you liked her. Even though you wanted her only because she looks like…"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! I didn't come all the way to these bloody markets to talk about whores!"
"No need to shout! What did you come to tell then? When are we leaving? How is Sansa, have you seen her?"
"She could be better. That whoreson Joffrey has taken a liking to tormenting her. Nothing she couldn't handle, but the sooner you leave, the better."
"'You'? So you haven't changed your mind about coming with us? You really should. Robb would reward you well I'm sure. Maybe he would even give you Sansa's hand if you asked?"
"For someone who says she is not stupid you talk remarkable stupidly at times. Lords and kings don't give their sisters away to dogs. Even if I asked - not that I would."
"How would you know? And Sansa wouldn't mind."
"What? Why would you say such a thing?"
"She likes you, I think. She didn't use to, back in Winterfell and first on the road. But then you saved Mycah and would have saved Lady, and she saw that you are not so terrible after all."
"Did she say something to you?"
"Oh, not with so many words. But he always defended you if someone said horrible things about you, and she told me she thought you were not a bad person. And I know many times she wanted to know where you were in the Red Keep, always asking me if I knew. Not that she actually tried to find you, I think. But she asked after you in any case."
"She asked, did she? That doesn't mean anything. Likely she only wanted to be sure I was there to protect her if need be, that's all."
"She never asked after Ser Meryn or Ser Boros, not even after Joffrey."
"Hhmmmmphh!"
Sansa
The loud rip of a fabric torn echoed across the great hall, expounded by the complete silence that had fallen over the court. Sansa's cheeks reddened and despite the throbbing pain on her belly and at the back of her thighs, the shame of being so indecently exposed in front of the crowd hurt even more. She tried to gather the pieces of the broken bodice to cover herself, but her hands were shaking uncontrollably and the flaps fell away from her grip. She prayed through her tears that her ordeal would be over soon.
"ENOUGH!"
Even through her despair she recognised the voice, and her heart jumped into her throat. If the Hound stood up for her so publicly, what would it mean to him? What impact would it have on their plans of escape? Joffrey hardly ever faced opposition to any of the sick acts he entertained himself with – how would he react to his own sworn shield trying to spoil his fun?
This was the first time he defended her in public, despite his clear distaste for the games Joffrey's liked to play with Sansa. He had never struck her – Joffrey had never asked him to – but every time when a gauntlet or an open fist of one of his Kingsguard brothers made contact with Sansa, it was as if he himself had been hit. A flinch, a slight recoil. It had taken Sansa a while to notice that, focussed as she had been in her own pain, but when she eventually did, it gave her odd sort of comfort.
She had prayed silently that he wouldn't show it too openly, as any suspicions could only harm their plans. Every now and then she had tried to capture the Hound's grey eyes, but her only reward had been a stony glance, a slight burrowing of his brow and a quick turn of his head. Yet it made all the difference and Sansa drew strength from him and the knowledge of his discomfort - and from that moment when he had relaxed under her arms and pulled her closer… Yes, those things had carried her through her ordeals.
Now she dared to steal a glance towards the dais and Joffrey, who was sitting in the Iron Throne. His face expressed anger but also confusion, and he looked around the hall and at Sansa before turning back to the man standing tall next to him.
"Enough, you say?"
The Hound didn't reply but stared ahead, not looking at Sansa nor his king. Joffrey waited for his reply a little while longer before completely unexpectedly bursting out laughing.
"Enough indeed! The traitor's daughter deserves more than this petty show. I have a mind to make it a public spectacle, to show everyone how those who defy the crown will be treated! Maybe I'll have her finger cut off and send it as a gift to her king-imposter brother? And whatever is left of their father's head." Joffrey turned to face the crowd, his lips curled into a mockery of a smile.
"Take her away! I will think later what to do with her. My dog is right, this doesn't send the right message to my enemies, as much fun as this is."
One more wave and Sansa was brusquely pulled to her feet by Ser Meryn, who hardly waited until she was up before pushing her forward. Sansa stumbled but luckily didn't fall, and after gathering her dignity along with her tattered clothing, she walked away with a bowed head, ignoring the snickering that had erupted after the King's announcement. Just as they left the hall she chanced a quick peek behind her shoulder and saw Joffrey talking animatedly with the men nearest to him. Only the Hound stood still, silently staring at the back of the hall.
A soft scratch on her door alerted Sansa just as she was about to succumb to a restless sleep. The indignity of the evening's proceedings had been swept away by worries for the future. Had Joffrey been serious? He often made threats which he failed to execute, either because he forgot, it was too much work or because he thought of something else to replace the original peril. Would this be one of those – or was she truly going to be publicly humiliated and mutilated?
"Enter," she called in low voice, knowing that only one person could be at her door at that time of the night. She hadn't seen the Hound privately since the time when he had embraced her – or had it been the other way around? Yet he hadn't been far from her mind at any given moment. Sansa hadn't been able to shake away the feeling that something had changed then, something subtle and yet important.
A large figure entered through the door and slipped in quietly. That he could move so silently still unnerved Sansa, but mostly she was grateful for it.
Instead of staying at the back of the room he walked purposely straight towards the bed and soon hovered above her. Sansa had gotten up to a semi-seated position and craned her neck to look up at the tall shadow.
"We have to leave, and soon. Joffrey is determined to do as he said, even Cersei can't change his mind this time." The Hound's voice was hoarse and tense.
Despite her shock at the news Sansa's mind attached itself to the first word he had uttered. We?
"Was he angry at you for defying him so openly? Will it have consequences to you?"
"Aye, he wasn't too pleased. I knew that right away but he had to save his face and hence he pretended to agree with me. He is not completely stupid – unfortunately." They had spoken in whispered voices and in order to hear her better the Hound leaned over her. Instinctively Sansa moved aside and it was maybe also an unintentional reflex on his part that saw him sitting down. Deep furrows on his forehead spoke of his unease.
Sansa slid her hand along the blanket towards him and stopped just before she reached his thigh, torn between wanting to reach across the space that separated them to lend him some comfort, and terrible uncertainty of whether her gesture would be well received.
"You did say 'we'. Does it mean that you'll be leaving too? Is it your only choice now that you challenged him so publicly?"
The Hound stared at her hand and in the dim light filtrating through the window Sansa saw him blinking, as if he didn't know how he had ended up on her bed, being almost touched by her.
"I'll be leaving. I have had enough. King Robert was a drunkard and a lecher, but there was still some sense in the court when he was around. Now it is all…" he shrug his broad shoulders.
Joy started to bubble inside Sansa at his words. He is coming with us! The prospects of their escape looked immediately brighter. And not only that – now that she knew he was to join them, Sansa admitted to herself how much she had hoped for it. It made sense, of course; better to have a capable warrior protecting two defenceless girls on the road…and yet there was more to it than that. Much more. She wanted it to be him rather than anyone else, more than even a small company of trained soldiers.
Sansa's fingers acted almost as on their own and touched his knee, and she was suddenly startled by her own audacity. The Hound almost jumped up and turned to look at her, sharply. Sansa averted her eyes but didn't remove her hand. She searched for something to say and settled for the truth.
"I am truly glad to hear it. I wished you could come with us but I understood I couldn't ask you that after all you have already done."
He didn't reply, only scrutinising her silently. Sans took a deep breath. "When do you think we shall leave?"
"It has to be tomorrow. We won't have time to wait for the recruiter to the Wall as I had planned, it has to be just you and me and the little she-wolf. I'll make the arrangements first thing in the morrow."
He hadn't shaken her hand away and encouraged by that Sansa inched a bit closer. Why she felt so compelled she didn't know. All she knew was that he was breaking his bond with the house he had served loyally since his youth – and why? For the sake of the Northern cause? For the friendship he felt towards her wild little sister? Sansa had had plenty of time to think about this strange man and she had started to wonder if it had something to do with her. The notion felt a bit scary – and yet more exhilarating than frightening.
With a jolt Sansa realised then something she hadn't dared to admit even to herself; she cared about the Hound. She truly cared. He was strong and brave and gentle – in his own kind. He would never hurt her or the ones she loved. Even his appearance had stopped perturbing her. Yes, his burned face was a ruin but his eyes were beautiful in their grey intensity and the rest of his face and his hooked nose were striking more than ugly - and he was tall and broad and muscular. He reminded her of the men of the North; not pretty and charming in a superficial way, but men who were true to their word and who could protect their own.
The full realisation of the truth that had been lurking under the surface for a while now made her speechless. She really liked the Hound…no, Sandor. She had never called him by his name, even after… everything. She decided that at least she should fix that omission.
"Sandor…" He flinched and looked up. Sansa swallowed.
"I am happy that you are coming with us, I truly am. You have my gratitude for all your help – and for your kindness."
The Hound – Sandor – stared at her as if she had sprouted another head. Then his expression softened and Sansa smiled, encouraged by his reaction. Suddenly she felt extremely comfortable just sitting there, not the least worried about being clad only in her shift, in the middle of the night, with a full-grown man sharing her bed. This time his gaze hadn't even wandered down her body as the last time, his focus being on her face and her words. Emboldened Sansa let her hand travel higher to reach his arm, feeling his firm muscles tense as she reached his shoulder and squeezed it lightly.
"I'll make sure that you will be well rewarded once we reach my family. My brother will make certain you have no reason to regret your decision to leave the Lannisters."
As soon as the words left her mouth she realised her mistake. The Hound – Sandor - tensed and withdrew from her.
"Not doing this for a reward." He stood up abruptly and turned to leave. Sansa stared at his back in despair.
"No, I didn't mean that you would! Please, you must believe me!"
He was almost at the door when he turned. "Be ready to leave at a moment's notice. Don't know yet when and how but keep your eyes open. Pack anything you absolutely have to take with you, but keep it light." His tone was neutral and Sansa found herself missing even his mocking, his ire, anything but this cold tone.
The door closed behind him and Sansa was left alone to face the implications of her new and unexpected discovery.
