Author's notes: Surprisingly I found a bit more time for this than I expected – we haven't made the big move yet, only started packing and dismantling and cleaning and all that sort of preparatory work…Next week is the big heave-ho. So here we are, continuation of where we were so conveniently left the last time!
Sandor & Arya
"Well, what happened?"
"Hand me that string, over there."
"Well?"
"It is your turn to gut the game from now on. This a good day for you to learn it, and squirrel is as good start as any."
"I don't care about the squirrels! What happened with Sansa yesterday evening after I left you?"
"None of your business, little wolf."
"It is! Especially after how Sansa behaved this morning. When she got up she was all upset that you weren't around. Kept on asking if I knew where you had gone and when I said I didn't, she just shut down completely. When I asked her what had happened, she refused to tell my anything."
"Clever girl, she is. And a lady."
"Not so much of a lady – she shoved me away when I insisted. Like really pushed; I almost fell on my back! She hasn't done it since we were little kids and argued over something stupid. That is not very ladylike and she surely wasn't a lady then."
"Nonetheless, she knows what is her business and what is not. Look, you start by making a nick into the skin, not too deep so it doesn't puncture the stomach."
"Aaaarrrgh! I know something took place! Did you kiss her? Did she kiss you back? Did you do something stupid, you big oaf?!"
"Mind you own bloody business, I said! With squirrels you can then just tease and tug the nick larger – you could skin the thing but for now we leave it on. I only want to remove it further away from the opening I am making into its gut so that it stays cleaner."
"You did it. I am sure you did it. Only something like that would make her to behave so strangely. And she blushed! You were not even near and when I asked if something happened between you and him she turned red as a beetroot. Did she not like it?"
"Listen now. Something might or might not have taken place but it is not up to me to tattle on it. Lay off her back – lay off my back. Or you'll regret it I swear."
"Ha-ha, you don't dare to touch me! If you do, Sansa will be angry at you. Come on, you can tell me! Did you do it? Did you only kiss or did you…"
"Fucking hells! Don't even think about finishing that sentence or I swear I gut you! She is a lady, what part of that you can't get into your thick head?"
"Oh well, she would be much too prude for anything else I guess. Septa Mordane always gave us sermons about a maiden's virtue and all that…"
"Do you want to learn how to cut a squirrel or not? Am I wasting my time here? And stop rolling your eyes like a village idiot."
"Of course I want! Make a nick, tear the skin off the stomach, I get it. What then?"
"Lay it flat and make a line lengthwise along the stomach. Again, don't go too deep – you only want to open its stomach, not spill its guts."
"I will get it out of Sansa one way or another. It is only three of us, and I know how to pester her so that eventually she gets exasperated and just gives in."
Sansa
Sansa didn't know what to do with herself. She had woken to find Sandor's bedroll empty and no sight of him within their camp. After the restless night she had had, and after the fragmented and blurry dreams that had invaded her broken sleep, to see only an indent where his heavy bulk had rested was disconcerting to her. A quick glance towards the trees near which they had tethered their horses assured her – Stranger was still there, nibbling the scarce grass at his feet.
For a moment she felt guilty about her uncharitable thoughts. How could she have doubted for a second that Sandor could have done something as horrid as deserting two defenceless girls alone in the forest? Especially after…
He must have gone to check the snares, that's all, she told herself while pulling on her shoes.
Arya was quick to rouse and as soon as she saw their companion's absence, she started to pester Sansa with questions about what had happened the previous evening. How could she guess that something of worth might have happened, Sansa couldn't understand. Had Sandor said something to her? How could he have? Then she thought that Arya might have heard them, but if she had, she wouldn't have had to ask so many questions - so it didn't really make any sense.
Yes, Sansa knew that Arya would realise soon enough that things had changed, but she wanted to be absolutely sure of it herself first. Although she couldn't really believe that Sandor would back away from his word, there was still a difference between what is said in the darkness of the night and what is confirmed in the bright daylight. She needed to see Sandor again and gauge his reactions to make sure that she hadn't dreamt the whole thing.
So after first establishing that Arya wasn't any wiser about Sandor's whereabouts, Sansa brushed away her enquiries, staying tight-lipped and evasive. Her little sister didn't give up so easily - she never had – and Sansa's already strained nerves made her abrupt and impatient. To her own disappointment she eventually snapped and Arya gave up on her in annoyance and ran into the woods – undoubtedly to find Sandor and barrage him in turn with her queries. Regretting her harsh actions immediately didn't improve Sansa's mood.
Yet she couldn't prevent pleasant shivers traveling down her spine at the thought of what had happened. Unbidden her lips turned into a smile – only to be stifled when restlessness overtook her again. She scanned the woods around her in search for the only person who could restore her peace of mind, but saw only ancient trees and young striplings competing of space in a jumble of branches, foliage and fallen twigs.
She pulled down the sack containing their food, which Sandor had tied to hang from a tree branch to keep it safe from hungry animals. She counted its contents and set three pieces of bread and a chunk of hard cheese on a rock near the ashen pit where they had cooked their meal. Then she collected their water bottles and checked their levels to see which of them needed refilling. She walked here and there, picked up an item or another, only to put it down again.
Eventually her own edginess started to irritate her and sighing Sansa sat down on her bedding and rummaged through her saddle bag. She found what she was looking for; one of the few luxury items she had brought with her from King's Landing, a hair brush her mother had given to her as a nameday gift many years ago. It had been the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, made of hard Northern birch and exquisitely shaped and carved, its bristles the finest boar hair.
She started to work along her long tresses and hummed to herself as she did so. Stroke after stroke, even and firm, and after a while she could feel the brush starting to flow smoothly through the disappearing tangles. With that she felt as if she was also unravelling the many knots of her own situation.
Every now and then she stopped in the middle of a stroke just to stare into nothing for a while as she thought about the previous evening. More often than not she smiled and blushed deeply before resuming her actions. She had never behaved like that before, never been so presumptuous, so headstrong – and never had she been rewarded with so many heady emotions as a result. Her mind flitted back to their kiss – her first real kiss – and what followed after…
When they kissed, Sandor was hesitant at first, his lips only ghosting hers. Sansa's breath quickened and her mind was filled with a maelstrom of emotions; thrill, excitement, trepidation, nervousness. She knew she shouldn't be doing this and at the same time she was painfully aware that she wouldn't, she couldn't stop.
It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Shy kisses she had exchanged with Joffrey when she had thought to be in love with him hadn't made her heart race so fast or invited a cloud butterflies to flutter at the pit of her stomach.
His lips were dry and somehow not quite what she had expected. They were warm. Firm. She felt rigidity of the scarred side and it only made it more real. I am kissing the Hound flitted quite irrationally through Sansa's mind when he deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open. The jolt she felt when his tongue brushed against hers first shocked, then excited her.
Sansa felt awkward, not knowing where to put her hands or whether she should move closer or stay where she was. Sandor wasn't helping, sitting stiffly on the tree trunk with only his upper body turned towards her, his arms resting on his sides holding onto the wood. Only when Sansa pulled back to draw some breath did she notice how his knuckles had turned white from the strain and how unnaturally still he was.
She looked at him then, cheeks flushed, a strange sort of joy welling inside her. He kissed me! He wants me! It was the most natural thing in the world to reach for him again, this time raising her hands and letting them slide up to meet the sides of his thick neck. His beard was coarse and rough and felt real under her fingertips.
Then it all changed. Abruptly Sandor's hands grasped her sides and squeezed her hard and he yanked her against him. Sansa stumbled and would have fallen had she not been already held up by him – held up and seized so hard that she felt her ribs crushing under that iron clutch. The kiss – it changed too. Where it had been cautious and hesitant, it suddenly turned ravenous and hungry, his mouth devouring her and sucking breath right out of her lungs.
By reflex Sansa struggled to free herself from that overpowering grip, but it was futile. She felt helpless and all of a sudden panic started to build inside her; it was too much, too fast, his hold on her remorseless and suffocating. Sansa tried to hang on to the exhilaration she had felt just moments earlier, but as Sandor's hands travelled down her body and pulled her on his lap, her fright made her turn her head and let out an involuntary yelp.
And then she was free.
Sandor dropped her unceremoniously into the ground, bolted up and turned away, panting hard, his shoulders heaving violently. Sansa gained her balance and stared at him still on her knees, too stunned for words.
"I bloody thought so." Sandor voice was raspy and strained, his words muffled.
Sansa blinked her eyes, still shocked. "You though what?"
He took a few steps away and stood there, his whole body recoiled, his shoulders slump and head bowed down. He didn't reply at first but finally muttered in a low voice.
"Nothing. Too much. It doesn't matter."
While Sansa was still trying to gather her thoughts and her composure after such a rapid turn of events, Sandor straightened himself to his full height, his back still towards her.
"I'll move my bedroll to the other side of the camp. Won't be bothering you with my presence."
He squared his shoulders and started to walk away. Sansa was confused but even in that dazed state she realised that if he walked away now, she would lose him for good. And then, quite unexpectedly, from somewhere deep inside her she found strength and determination she hadn't even been aware of before that moment.
"STOP! Sandor Clegane, stop right now and come back here. NOW!"
Sansa didn't care to keep her voice down anymore. She didn't care about anything but the necessity to prevent him walking away from her. She struggled onto her feet and stood up, willing him to stop with her stare.
Sandor halted on his tracks, in half stride. He didn't turn around though, but the tension of his body was clearly visible from the way his fists clenched down by his sides. Sansa swept loose strands away from her face, then brushed her skirts in an attempt to calm herself. She called after him again, more restrained this time.
"Please. Come back. This is important."
After one more moment that was probably only a few seconds but felt like a lifetime to Sansa, he turned around, slowly. His eyes searched hers at first but then quickly looked away. Yet he did come back, finally standing gingerly in front of Sansa. She had to crane her neck to look up at him.
"Sit," she whispered while lifting her hands on his shoulders and pushing him down gently. To her relief he gave in and sunk slowly, allowing Sansa to look down at him. It made her feel better and in more in charge of the situation, although in reality she knew that her control was tenuous at best. He was so much bigger and stronger; if he wanted to order her around there was nothing she could do about it. Just like moments before, when his hunger had grown and he had seized control of her and her body…No, she had nothing with which to hold sway over him. Yet she had to try to understand what had just happened – and what it meant.
However, before she found the words, Sandor spoke.
"You saw yourself what kind of a man I am – are you happy now? I am not a bloody maiden's companion and you are not safe with me, not with that sort of behaviour."
"I always feel safe with you. It is just that…I don't know about these things. It all happened too fast. I am a maiden still and you were so… unrelenting. I panicked. I apologise." Sansa felt a bit silly. After all, they had only kissed. Yet the moment of panic was still with her and she had to make him understand that.
"Bloody hells, girl! It was not you, it was me. What were you thinking, letting me to do that to you? Less brains than even a bird has." He shifted and cursed under his breath.
"I didn't allow you to do anything to me, I wanted it too." Sansa hissed and took pleasure in the expression of surprise on Sandor's face. "I wanted to kiss you. But I am innocent in the ways of men, I don't know how to do it properly – and I may not be quite ready for anything else. Is it my fault? Why would you be angry at me because of that?"
Sandor had settled at the end of the trunk, away from the fire pit. Sansa stepped nearer as she spoke, hoping to achieve some of the closeness from earlier. He avoided her gaze but she reached for his chin, coaxing him to lift his head.
"Look at me. Please."
He did, and in his eyes Sansa saw not rage but same wariness as displayed by a dog who expects to be kicked at any moment. Her heart swelled – but then she remembered her fright.
"Was there something more that you expected from me? Was the kiss not enough? Did you want from me the same thing you wanted from that redheaded girl in the place where Arya was hiding?"
He flinched visibly and swore softly under his breath.
"Bloody hells! Why the hells did she tell you about that? I swear I'll wring her neck, your little sister or not."
Sansa felt inexplicably better seeing his anger. "It slipped out, she didn't mean to. I am not stupid, I know what men search in those houses."
"Do you?" Sandor lifted his eyebrow.
"I know enough," Sansa replied dryly, afraid that the discussion was running away from her. Sandor didn't seem to be in an immediate flight risk, so she gathered her skirts and sat down, still peering at him from the corner of her eye.
"Is that all you wanted? Because if it is, I would rather know it now than later."
"NO! I mean, I wouldn't decline, but… Listen girl, I know you are a maiden, and more. You are the sister of the King in the North, a maid from of a noble house. I am a dog. I piss on noble houses but you were born to all that bullshit and that is all you know." His tone grew more fervent as he spoke and Sansa followed his every moment and expression with fascination. She had never seen him talking so passionately about something, about anything.
"You'll go back to your family and they will marry you to some lord or knight as you were always meant to. Fuck if I know why you kissed me just now but whatever it was, gratitude or maiden's misplaced fantasy, you'll forget that soon enough once you get back to your own kind. And then you…"
"No." Only one word, but it was enough to pause Sandor's tirade. He looked at her, puzzled.
"No what?"
"I will not forget that. I don't want to forget that. It is not gratitude, although I am surely indebted and grateful to you, nor is it a maiden's fantasy. I know what those are; I used to dream of handsome knights and gallant sers, but I have grown out of that."
He scrutinised her long and hard as if trying to ascertain the veracity of her words. Then he sighed and muttered another muffled curse.
"Whatever it is, nothing changes because of that, and this big sodden world we live in is still the same. It is what it is. What you or I think doesn't matter."
"It matters to me." Whatever trepidation Sansa had felt earlier had left her and she felt only sad. Sad that the outside world still stretched its long hold into something that should have been only between two people. It was not fair! For a moment she felt forlorn, but then she remembered the softness of his kiss before it had changed. She had felt so alive then, flustered and happy – she couldn't just deny that it had happened. Even with what came after.
Sansa let her hand travel across the short distance separating them and let it timidly rest on his arm. Touching him gave her courage and her resolution from the earlier returned.
"It matters to me," she repeated. "If we can't speak our mind here, deep in the forest where we are the only people, where can we?"
"Why should we speak about any of it?" Sandor's tone was still gruff but not as angry as it had been.
"Because we must. And because we can." Sansa's hand crept along his arm until it reached his wrist, stopped there for a moment, but as he didn't pull it away, she took it as an encouragement and reached to grip his hand in hers. His was large and calloused and completely covered hers when he took it. Sansa squeezed it and he returned the gesture, but neither of them moved.
The night was quiet bar the rustling of the creatures of the forest in the undergrowth. It was half-moon and although the last remaining embers of the fire had died, the pale silvery moon shed enough light for Sansa to see his profile. His hooked nose, his high cheekbones. He stared into something only he could see – but he didn't let go her hand. For a long time neither of them spoke, but silence was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, Sansa thought there was something reassuring in the way they just sat there, so close to each other, holding hands.
Finally Sandor cleared his throat.
"So, what do we do now?"
'We'. He said 'we', was what Sansa's ears first picked up. Where just a short time before there had been two individuals, each struggling with his or her own issues, now there was only one. 'We'. It made her happy and the bond she already felt with him became stronger with just that one word. She squeezed his hand again.
"We rest, then we get up in the morning and continue our journey to Riverrun. We are careful and cautious, and eventually we'll get there. And along the way, maybe we might get to know each other a bit better. There is still so much I don't know about you, and you know precious little about me."
"There is fuck all to learn about me. You'll be bored out of your brain soon. I haven't done anything a noble maiden might find interesting." Sandor shrugged his shoulders but he turned to look at her and Sansa could see the whites of his eyes in the dim light.
"Anything you have done I will find interesting because it was you who did it. I want to know, not only about you but also about your world. As you have been so wont to remind me, I don't know enough about the real world. So tell me." Sansa scanned his face, trying to detect disdain or reluctance on his part. Yet all she saw was solemnity and seriousness.
"Why do you want to know about the world? It is ugly."
"Because I am living in it, and whether I want or not, I will be moved by it. I don't want to stay a stupid little bird any longer, doing only what my elders tell me to do without thinking about the consequences myself. Besides, if there is anyone dying of boredom it will be you. My life is so uneventful and uninteresting, and anything I have done you will scorn upon I am sure."
Sandor didn't reply but took her hand into both of his and rubbed the back of it with his thumbs in slow and steady movements, staring at it as he did so.
"So it means that when I ask you a question or try to discourse with you, perhaps you might try to answer me with more than one syllable?" Sansa felt brave and only a little bit mischievous.
"Aye."
Sansa huffed and after getting his attention, raised an eyebrow. A small pull in the corner of his mouth suggested that Sandor had got her meaning, his next words confirming it.
"I will. Answer you with more than one syllable. Maybe even with more than one sentence. Happy?"
"I will be," Sansa smiled back.
After that there was no need to do anything more but to retire to their bedrolls. Sansa crawled under her blanket first, and as before, Sandor laid his own on top of her. When Sansa tried to decline it he shushed her protestations away and lay down next to her. All the tension between them was gone but it still took a while for sleep to come.
The last thing Sansa registered before finally losing herself to slumber was Sandor's restless tossing and turning by her side.
Sansa finished with her hair and tucked the brush away in her saddle bag. Putting aside her earlier anxiety she started to gather their bedrolls and blankets and roll them into a tight bundle as Sandor had shown her on the first night. She had progressed to the last of them when she saw her companions approaching through the bushes. Arya was carrying three squirrels hanging from a rope, gutted and beheaded, and looked pretty proud of herself.
Yet Sansa spared hardly a glance to her sister or their dinner for the night but only sought Sandor's tall form. As they approached she studied him as if seeing him for the first time, but now instead of then, what she noticed the most were his massive size, his broad shoulders, his proud bearing and his grey eyes. She hardly registered his scars anymore – or to be fair, she saw them but they had become just one part and parcel of the man who he was. His long hair, still combed over the burned side, his coarse beard that travelled down his throat and merged with hair peeking from under his collar… Sansa's heart started to race and she acknowledged to herself that there was not a thing she saw in him that she didn't like, and she flashed her broadest smile at him.
When they were close enough he noticed her. He raised his hand to quell Arya's chatter and hastened his stride. He looked straight at Sansa and after an initial moment of uncertainty and hesitation she saw for the first time the sight she had longed to see for a long time now – Sandor Clegane actually smiling.
Admittedly the stiffness of his other side of his face made it an odd looking smile, but a smile it was, reaching all the way to his eyes. Sansa dropped the bundle in her hands and walked to meet him.
"Good morrow to you," she said shyly. "I can see that it has been successful to you so far with such a fine catch."
He didn't reply, only staring at her intently as if he was seeing her for the very first time as well. For a moment Sansa's confidence faltered. Had she read him wrong?
"Are we ready to continue our journey soon – our careful and cautious travel?"
"Aye. That we are. Ready to continue this fucking pony show. As my lady wishes." Sandor's smile returned - for all intents and purposes he was veritably grinning.
Sansa had never heard him respond to her with so many words and with such a grin on his face, and a flush of relief washed over her. No, she hadn't imagined anything. It had been all true; the new closeness they had found and an admission that it might just be something even more.
She laughed out loud and in front of Arya's stunned face she reached for Sandor's hand and he took it, and together they walked back to the horses, hand in hand.
