Sandor – day 2
"How old were you when you got your scars?" Sansa blurted as soon as he opened his eyes. Sandor had to squint to chase out the excess of the sun.
"Six," he said, not conscious enough to think of anything else but the truth. "What is it to you?" he tried to growl but his voice lacked strength and conviction.
"Nothing," she said from the edge of the bed where she'd been seated, and buried her nose deeper in her laptop. However, he could swear that she'd sighed in relief.
How long had he slept? He'd intended to stay awake until she would return. What if something had happened to her? What if there were people like Gregor running around the bloody palace at night? What if...? Sandor Clegane was wide awake and on his feet in an instant. His leg was still throbbing, but he thought he could walk better.
Sansa Stark wore a fluttery linen suit, pink as the cover of her computer. A white top with ultra thin straps over the shoulders protruded under the semi-transparent jacket. Her hair was down and completely combed for a change. She smelled of cleanliness and perfection. Or she would be perfect if she didn't all of a sudden wear an expression of true shock plastered over her face.
"Something in the news?" he asked trying to sound casual.
"Nothing special," she denied it, but he could see that there was something.
"Found out anything?" he pried further, opening the smallest of his suitcases to find something he could wear for breakfast. He'd love to have breakfast in underwear but it probably wouldn't be appropriate. The bloody Dornish might think of castrating him for lack of decency. Where was Oberyn anyway? He should have arrived the night before. Somehow he expected a late night visit with knives before the sleep tricked him. His stomach howled. He was so hungry that if he didn't get any food soon, he was bound to try eating Sansa. The thought stretched further into the areas he didn't want it to go, into the fantasy world where pretty girls like Sansa fell in love with friendly monsters. He obsessively focused on his suitcase and his miserable attempt at conversation.
"Yes," she said, sounding guilty for not discussing business first, he guessed, "I saw Mr Baelish and the man who attacked me, not Brune, that other one. Mr Baelish said that in six days Dornistan will be wiped out of the map."
"I see," he said, taking a good whiff of the room. They were alone, for the time being. And whoever was behind the move they were investigating, was not joking.
"I mean, seriously," she said, unable to hold her tongue when something bothered her, as he had learned during their rather short acquaintance, "what kind of weapons do you need to do that?"
"Those that Dornistan doesn't have. We have them in the western world, and their Asian neighbours have them as well. Even those who are lying that they don't have them. All the tsunamis in the Indian Ocean. At least some of them come from testing the stuff."
"You mean the-"
"-the bomb, yes," Sandor Clegane interrupted her. "What else?"
"Mr Baelish seemed eager to protect me from... From you."
Sandor Clegane laughed, not caring how ugly it made him. "Yes, and? Anything else of import?" he continued his questioning.
"The man who attacked me said he believed that Mr Baelish liked birds. There were photographs of birds all around, for the exhibition tomorrow..." she continued dryly.
"Did you check the exhibits?" he asked.
"No," Sansa blushed. Luckily, she didn't apologise. "There was no time," she added, in her defence.
"I see," he said. They knew as little as when they started. "Best grab some breakfast then. We have to search for more clues."
They were among the last ones to arrive.
The kind man with a sword on his hip showed them to their table. They shared it with Joffrey's father Robert, Stannis's brother, and his cunt of a wife, Tywin's daughter. Despite gnawing hunger, Sandor Clegane considered that fasting would have been more to his taste. Or having a smoke in the garden. Most unfortunately, he had stopped smoking. And drinking. And having sex. He could stop breathing as well with all the good stuff he stopped doing, he thought sardonically. Robert was having whiskey for breakfast, and Cersei fought with a boiled egg whose skin evaded her ladylike attempts to peel it. Her dress was poisonously green. Poison ivy at work, Sandor thought, a genuine one, wolfing down several pieces of toast with ham and cheese.
"You must be Sansa, my darling," Cersei said, sounding just like her son. "Joffrey has told me so much about you on the phone."
"Yes, Mrs Baratheon," Sansa said.
"Mrs Lannister, my dear," the older woman admonished. "I've never changed my last name, I find it such a barbaric custom to do so. We live in modern times, after all."
"Mrs Lannister," Sansa said politely. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"How could you?" Cersei exclaimed. "The barbarians from the global south took care to stamp our husband's names on us both..."
Sandor noticed Sansa spying on the name tags. They mentioned Cersei Baratheon and Sansa Clegane in golden letters on orange paper. The tablecloth was white damask but the floral arrangement in the middle had red, orange and yellow flowers, the colours of fire and of the House Martell.
"Your father owns Stark industries, right?" Cersei asked. Robert belched. "Gonna get another one," he told his wife and lurched to leave the table, unsteady on his feet." Cersei waved a hand, as if she were chasing away the unpleasant odour of liquor so early in the morning. Truth be told, Robert didn't stink that much. She stank way more with the unpleasantly sweet French perfume she applied. And it was definitely too early for wearing so much make up as well, or Sandor didn't know shit about how women were supposed to dress for different occasions. Sansa looked like an angel compared to Cersei.
"That is correct, Mrs Lannister," Sansa said and lowered her eyes to her plate. It contained a raw carrot and a piece of brown bread with pumpkin seeds on top. He'd die of hunger pretty soon if he ate like a bird, Sandor thought.
"More is the pity," Cersei said, staring at Sandor for a change. "I never figured why some women have it in them to like brutes..." Sandor Clegane did not flinch. The bitch could call him anything she wanted.
"Your husband seems to be a strong man as well," Sansa sang like a little bird she was. Her comment didn't appeal to Cersei.
Before Tywin's daughter could reply anything, a steward called from the door.
"His Excellency Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell!"
Oberyn strode in as a king, not a prince. His gait was more regal than that of the Queen of England. Long black hair covered his back. He doesn't have to brush it over his face, Sandor thought absurdly. Oberyn led a beautiful short woman inside. They both wore elegant white suits, one male, one female, in stark contrast with the golden brown of their skin.
"Where is my brother?" he asked the steward, quietly. "Is he all right?" Sandor could only make the words due to his superior hearing abilities.
"His Excellency Prince Doran is indisposed," the steward informed, "it's his illness..."
"Is he well guarded?" Oberyn wanted to know, and the Hound committed the words to memory.
"Captain Hotah is always by his side," the steward said.
"Good," Oberyn's black eyes circled the room like the eyes of a hawk.
Sandor Clegane endured his stare and waited for the storm. Sansa chatted with Cersei Lannister as if they were old friends, not noticing a thing. The tempest was not long in coming. Oberyn lifted a hand. A guard of twenty men burst in, all dressed up like parrots from some old film. They wore doublets, and bloody tights like the man on Prince Doran's door, but instead of a sword, at least five of them had guns, Sandor counted rapidly. Their colourful uniforms were all wrinkled. They came directly from the airport, all of them, see the difference between business and economic class, he thought, comparing the elegance of the prince and his partner with the raggedness of their bodyguards. Sandor stood up from the chair, not wishing to cause a fight in the dining room. Varys taught him not to break property and kill people unless it was absolutely necessary in his initial training. He noticed Sansa stood up as well, clutching her computer instead of a purse. He had no idea why she took that to breakfast to start with. And she was still hiding something from him, he could tell.
"Sandor Clegane," Prince Oberyn said with venom. "Would you and your lovely wife do me the honour to accompany me to the garden? I hear it is most beautiful now at the end of summer."
"I would love it! Thank you, Your Excellency!" Sansa sang further. For a short moment, the loathing in Oberyn's eyes was replaced by sheer confusion. Soon, hatred returned to them.
"Escort them," he hissed at his ridiculous guard of honour. They took Sandor and Sansa to a shady niche on one side of the garden. There were three mermaids depicted on the tiles, guarding a small rounded fountain in front, their tail blue on blue rocks. Sandor thought absurdly that one of the mermaids had a face like Sansa, except the colours were all wrong, the plain white and the blue of the dead enamel.
Admiring art was not his thing and it cost him the second it shouldn't have. Before he knew, the ridiculous guards were on him like worms. There were hooks on the wall next to the mermaids' heads and tails. He ended up tied as St Andrew on his cross, arms and legs spread wide. He could probably yank the good leg out, with the danger of twisting it, but he could not break out.
"Please, Your Excellency!" Sansa tried to say but no one paid her any attention.
Damn you, Varys, he thought, you and your diplomacy lessons. I should have thrown the table at them with all the dishes and insisted we talk in front of the other guests. He was ashamed Sansa could see him helpless as a little child, but as bad as the day looked, he was not afraid. It was perhaps time to have a conversation long overdue. If he could explain himself, for once, he could live the rest of his days without Elia's shadow. He wanted to talk... He wanted. It doesn't matter what you say, the little voice said. It never did. He wanted to talk and he could not. As always, his lips remained sealed. He gave Prince Oberyn a look of defiance.
By then, Sansa was paler than the mermaids he was hanging on. If her hair turned blue, she would truly look like one of them. Her hands shook clutching the stupid pink computer. As if that was going to get him down or give them the clues of what the hell was going to happen in Dornistan in five days. The coward in him took obscene pleasure from looking at her face. She is worried about you, dog. He reminded the little voice in his head that he was not the dog. Sometimes he was sorry he wasn't one in truth. It seemed way easier than to be a man.
"Ask Captain Hotah to join us," Prince Oberyn instructed the steward who also joined their little garden party.
"Won't you serve us drinks first?" Sandor said aloud. "I thought we were all guests here."
"Later," Prince Oberyn said, "when the dishonour you committed by accepting my brother's invitation is washed away."
To his servant, he said. "Make sure that Captain Hotah brings his axe."
"But, Your Excellency-" "Do as I say! My brother will still be alive if we borrow his bodyguard for half an hour!"
The servant scurried away. Sansa tapped Oberyn on his shoulder. "Excuse me, sir, what is the meaning of this?" she asked sweetly. "How did my husband offend you?"
"Bring the false priest!" Oberyn ordered his guards. They brought forward a friar in brown robes, head shaved on top, hempen rope around his waist. It was Varys's friend from abroad, Sandor knew him from the last Christmas party in the service. What was his name? Elder Brother... Varys liked the man well enough.
"A good friend of Dornistan and of House Martell brought this man to me as soon as we managed to land this morning! This false monk made a pilgrimage to Padua only to perform a false marriage so that you can crash my brother's party! Where is the servant who checked on Mr and Mrs Clegane last night?" Oberyn yelled at his household. Very soon, a short boy was brought in. And a broad shouldered grey haired man came of his own accord, carrying an almost six feet long axe. The Hound had never seen the likes of it.
"Did they have sex or not?" Prince Oberyn asked the boy.
"Your excellency, I have not seen a thing, but I sure think I heard a thing or two coming from the bathroom, if you know what I mean-"
"I don't," Oberyn said. "But it'll do. By the laws of Dornistan, coming to the party unmarried is punishable by the penalty of death."
"As if you have ever married your concubine!" Sandor could stand a lot, but he hated lies. It was public knowledge in high circles that Prince Oberyn never wed his partner, Ms Ellaria Sand, even if he loved her fiercely and much more than most husbands Sandor knew loved their wives.
"That is beside the point!" Oberyn was angered by his saying at first, but than his lips curved in a smile, as if Sandor's words could actually help him in what he wanted to do. That was not good. He shook his legs and arms in chains, but there was no way he could break out. He cursed his stupidity, his weakness for Sansa, Varys and the damn stone mermaids. "The princes can do as they please. In Dornistan and elsewhere," Oberyn said, "but I am not entirely without mercy and I will take you plea in consideration."
"Captain Hotah," Oberyn said sweetly. "I believe that the laws will be satisfied if Mr Clegane loses the limb with which he offended the honour of my brother..."
Sandor Clegane swallowed. That was not what he had in mind. Talk, you idiot, the voice said. Tell him. He won't believe me, the Hound thought. No one ever will.
Luckily, the captain was undecided. "Your Excellency, we should consult your brother. Let me bring him before the justice is carried out. He is our sovereign!"
"All right, all right!" prince waved his hand. "Fetch my poor brother. The laws are the laws. He cannot change them."
"Mr Martell," Sansa said, more confident. "Please, take a look, you are making a big mistake."
She had her laptop open and she was pushing it in front of the darkened face of the Dornishman.
"What?" he said, "I am not a catholic! Why are you showing me this squabble over who will be named as your new saint! Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"
"Your Excellency," Sansa continued politely, and loudly, so that all people present would hear. "You have to listen." Sandor noticed that there were more and more people attracted by the commotion. Some Yronwoods, Baelish, the little girl, Ermesande, with her doll, a few other guests...
"This is not about the saints," Sansa continued. "Yes, this news article mentions how Mrs Selyse Barathoen witnessed a miracle performed by a holy woman called Melisandre in Rome after the Pope wouldn't concede her a private audience. She apparently healed her ill daughter. But that is beside the point. The point is, the Catholic Church has appointed Father Lancel Lannister to write a report about Selyse's claims. Then they will look at it, and most likely nothing will come out of it. Few saints are born these days. The point is, it was Father Lancel Lannister who married us in Padua. Not this poor friar you have mistreated. Please, Your Excellency. My mother has taught me that princes do not mistreat people. Was she wrong to teach me that?"
Prince Oberyn was speechless.
Sandor Clegane processed what she had said and compared it with everything he didn't notice since they met Father Lancel on the road. Fuck me, he thought. I should have seen it instantly! Not even Varys could orchestrate the building of a church in fifteen days since we heard of this task. He is a man, not a sorcerer. Or rather, the Hound purposefully neglected to notice the obvious signs that Lancel Lannister really became a priest against the wishes of his father. Because a beast deep inside him fancied being married to Sansa Stark. Even if it lasted only for five days.
"Is it true?" Oberyn yelled at the friar. The Hound noticed that the man's mouth was taped. Oberyn removed the tape.
"I never married them," the Elder Brother said. "That much is true. I don't know about the other priest. I would have told you that much if you let me speak."
"There were witnesses," Sansa hammered the last nails in the coffin of Oberyn's intentions, looking more flushed and less like a bloodless mermaid with every word. "Mr Joffrey Baratheon, Mrs Selyse Baratheon and Miss Shireen Baratheon. Furthermore, if you do anything to my husband, Mr Martell, I shall have to ask for diplomatic protection. You will find that my father is a powerful and rich man in the States. It may bring trouble for your already troubled country."
Oberyn flashed her a puzzled look when she said the last sentence. So he knows something about the threat to his country as well, Sandor thought. Yet he chose to act on his passions and crucify me first, before asking any questions. The Hound felt more at ease realizing he was not the only one who sometimes reacted like that. Luckily, Varys's training helped controlling such unnecessary urges in almost all cases. Almost all. He could not stand woman beaters. Whenever he witnessed unnecessary violence done to women, the perpetrator was lucky if he escaped alive. The service provided cover and excuses for such occasions. It was the benefit going with the profession forced upon him for the good of the community. And they were still saving money, he guessed. In his line of work, it was unlikely they would have to pay him pension. He hoped Robert Baratheon would not slap Cersei in his presence, and the two men who kidnapped Sansa were only alive because Varys had begged him not to kill too many people on a foreign soil. Diplomatic scandals and all that. And he could only listen to that because they only put her in the bag, they didn't harm her in any other way from what he saw.
"I guess that the apologies are in order... Mrs Clegane," Oberyn conceded. "But we're not done yet," he told Sandor between his teeth. "Get him down!" he motioned to the guards.
"I didn't think we were," the Hound muttered as he felt the chains being removed. He found himself standing in front of Sansa, as blood slowly returned to his arms and legs. "I'm sorry you had to witness this, love," he told her flatly.
"It was not your fault, honey," she said. "Was it?" Her look was very inquisitive and it made Sandor feel unpleasantly naked.
It turned that the morning's fun was far from over, and the woman's arrival helped him to better ignore Sansa's question.
A serving woman stumbled over her skirt in front of Prince Oberyn, running breathless from the private residence of Prince Doran, whose glass panes could be seen reflecting the bright sunlight above the garden, on the side opposite the niche of the mermaids.
"It's your brother Prince Doran, Your Excellency," she breathed out. "He's been murdered, sir. I just found him head forward in the pool closest to his favourite terrace. He was stabbed by a pitchfork."
xx
A/N A fast update. Any good?