AUTHOR'S NOTE-
I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! A lot of you have been talking to me on tumblr and I'd love it if more of you did. It makes my day, and the sansa fandom is amazing!
/celticwanderer
Awful, clumsy, dreadful, were just a few of the words Sansa would use to describe Sandor's dancing. He moved like a bear trying to balance on its hind legs. Sansa almost laughed at the thought, but stopped herself. He was kind enough to once again, save her from the hands of Ser Meryn, she didn't want to show gratitude by embarrassing him. The other dancers noticed Sandor...struggeling, but none dared mock him, for they knew he would cut their eyes out before they could say "sorry."
As the violins, cellos, and flutes made their crescendo, the other men lifted their women into the air in unison. Sandor and Sansa stayed in their slow spin. Sansa was nervous to look into Sandor's eyes, for the feeling of his large hand wrapped around hers, and the other on her waist was making her dizzy, and the spinning was not helping. I am dancing with Sandor, she thought. It was only months ago she fantasized about doing this with a handsome boyish knight, like the one from her stories. With golden curls, soft features, loved by all, and a voice that could open the heavens. Now, that daydream did nothing for her. She no longer craved a boy, but a man. A man with rugged features, stubble on his chin that turned to longer, thicker hair on his chest. A man who's body was not slim and slightly toned, but hardened and shaped from battle. A man who was not loved by all, but loved by one. She closed her eyes, and imagined it was just them dancing. The chatter in the room disappeared, and all she could hear was the music. In her mind, they were in Winterfell, dancing at a party in honor of her safe return. They would drink wine, laugh, and later, when everyone else had gone to bed, Sansa would sneak out of her room and go to his. She would knock on his door, and he would open it, sleepily. She would thank him again, for bringing her home and place a gentle kiss on his scarred lips. Gods, Sansa, this must stop! Kissing The Hound? That thought would have once frightened her, and now it danced around in her mind like the stars when she had too much to drink. He is leaving with out you. He does not care...
She tried to focus on something else, but when she opened her eyes, they met those of she saw Lord Baelish, who was watching her intently. She looked down immediately and inhaled sharply.
"What is it girl?" Sandor asked, his voice barely audible over the music. Sansa ignored his question. "Not going to speak to me, eh?"
His words hurt. The last time they spoke, she sang to him, and he clutched at her waist like he would die if he let go. It was much too confusing.m"Why should I?" She finally looked up at him. The candle lit chandelier above them created a soft glow around his face, and just as she feared, being so close to him, inhaling his earthy scent, filled her body with the same urge she felt the night they were alone in her chamber. She bit her bottom lip hard, trying to focus on the pain instead. Sandor gave her a quizzical look. "Someone told me they saw you by the stables with bags in your arms." She spat. "You're leaving and it's not with me." She tried to pull her hand away, but before she could slip her fingers out of her, he squeezed her hand.
The song came to an end, and as everyone turned to the band and applauded, Sandor whispered. "We'll talk later," never breaking his gaze from the band. Before Sansa could protest, the applause subsided and he bowed to her, before walking away. Sansa had to stop herself from staring, and went back to her seat as well.
"Sansa." Cersei cooed. "Come here Little Dove." She looked at the seat next to her, occupied by Tyrion. He reached for the decanter and took his time filling his goblet with wine, before sliding out of his chair, and offering it to Sansa.
She smiled at him in thanks and sat down. The guard behind her pushed the chair closer to the long wooden table.
"How are you feeling?" Cersei smiled at her, as if she was truly trying to bond.
"I'm, well, I'm nervous, your grace." Sansa admitted, but not for the reasons Cersei thought.
"Why is that?" She asked, looking deeper into her eyes, trying to find whatever secrets she could. All Sansa had to do was think about her dead father to keep her eyes from giving anything away but sadness.
"I'm tired of seeing bloodshed."
"Let the men kill each other. Eventually, women will be all that's left." Cersei giggled. It was obvious she was drunker than usual.
"We would hold all the power." Sansa tried her best to play her game. It was hopefully the last time she would have to talk to the lioness, she did not want to upset her and provoke her cruelties.
"We already do Little Dove." Cersei moved her lips to Sansa's ear. "Between our legs." She whispered. Sansa blushed red. "Oh come now. You've bleed, you are ready to please a man and have his children. There is no need to be shy about it."
"You're right, your grace."
Cersei smirked at her, looking her up and down. "Surely you've had...thoughts." She raised her perfectly arched brow.
Sansa's throat went dry. She could not deny, she did have thoughts. She let thoughts of kissing in the darkness lull her to sleep many nights, but they had not gone further than that. What Cersei spoke of was reserved for marriage. Some ladies might be alright with having affairs, but Sansa was not. She wanted to be with one man and one man only, her husband. But as she recalled her late night daydreams, it was not Joffrey she imagined doing those things with. "Sometimes, you don't even need a man." She cooed. Sansa's eyes widened "Have you ever tried to pleasure yourself, Little Dove?" She asked, taking a delicate sip of wine. "No, you wouldn't, would you? You're too bloody perfect." She laughed. "Not to worry, you'll know soon enough."
"Yes your grace. Joffrey is my one true love. I hope to give him a son as soon as we-"
"You really are foolish, aren't you?" Cersei spat. "Joffrey isn't interested in you anymore. His affections lie with a golden rose. I'm talking about him."
Sansa followed Cersei's stare which led to Sandor. Oh Gods, she knows? Her heart raced, she will have him killed. Her only friend in Kings Landing.
"Yes, you and Ser Meryn will be getting very familiar." She sneered. Ser Meryn? Sansa looked behind Sandor, and saw the man she spoke of. She had already experienced his hand. He slapped her the day Joffrey forced her to look at her dear father's head on a spike, and she felt the side of his steel as he stripped her on Joffrey's command in the throne room. Cersei's words would have troubled her, but knowing she would be escaping tomorrow calmed her nerves.
I will never see any of these people again, she thought. Her eyes went to Sandor, who was concentrating of the edge of his goblet as his fingers grazed over it. Never again.
"Dear sister, might I have my seat back? My food is getting cold, and I fear Sansa's is as well." Tyrion interrupted.
"Move Sansa's food over here then." Cersei sneered.
"No, don't go to the trouble, Lord Tyrion." Sansa stood, taking the opportunity to rid herself of Cersei's unwanted company. She bowed to Cersei, then turned to bow to Tyrion, who gave her a wink.
When she took her seat next to Joffrey, he was busying himself by throwing grapes at Ser Davos, his fool, who was flailing his limbs about. Sansa began eating her potatoes. Tyrion was right, they were cold, but still, they tasted fine. She was not about to complain when she was given more food than she could ever eat, and the poor people in the lower city nothing. She wondered how long it would be before she ate on her journey to her Aunt Lysa. There was no doubt in her mind Lord Baelish was not one to sleep on the ground. They would make stops at inns, and she would have everything she needed. The thought of traveling from inn to inn with Lord Baelish put a frightening thought in her mind though. I'm sure I would have my own room...she hoped, I will be sure to lock the door and sleep with a dagger under my pillow. She decided later she would ask Shae to show her how to defend herself. Oh Shae. What a good friend she's been. So many emotions and thoughts were rushing through Sansa all at once. The tragedy of her time in King's Landing made her latch on to those who have shown her even the smallest kindnesses, and she didn't feel ready to let go. Oddly enough, the person she was most sad to part with was the one she feared when she first arrived. But he's leaving too. Most likely to find his brother.
Lord Baelish had told her the sad tale of the Hound and his brother. She knew he lusted after the chance to kill him, and Sansa couldn't say she blamed him. What he did was unforgivable, and he has to relive the horror of that night every time someone stares at his burns.
She regretted the times she starred in horror when they first met. Even when she was used to his lurking company, she found it hard to look at his face. It wasn't until one night, she was walking alone in the halls of the Red Keep. She turned a corner and he was there. She backed away from him in fear, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and held her against a cold stone wall. She could not bring herself to look at him, and in return he yelled "Look at me!" His voice terrified her, causing her body to tremble, but there was something in his voice as he yelled those words at her, she noticed. Something sad, as if it's something he wanted to yell to everyone when they looked away from him. Ever since that night, she made a point to look him in the eyes without fear, and eventually, the fear went away, and she could not imagine Sandor Clegane with out the burns.
Sandor downed his goblet of wine, then reached for Bronn's. He knew better than to protest, so he watched silently, with his usual smirk, as Sandor took his goblet and drank a few large gulps.
Sandor stared into the little bit of red liquid that was left. So this is what she saw when she looked up at me, he thought. You sure are a right ugly dog. He cursed himself. Only a fool with a face like this would think a true beauty like Sansa Stark would have any sort of interest in him. The only experience Sandor had with woman were those he payed to fuck from behind. He found no pleasure in it, just a welcome distraction, another way to take out his rage. He saw the disgust in their eyes as he picked which one he wanted. Besides that, Sandor hadn't even had a conversation with a woman unless he was yelling at her. Therefore, if a woman did look at him lovingly, he would be blind to it. He did not know what love or affection looked like. He did not know what to make of Sansa's affections towards him, or his own feelings about her. Why he was willing to go to so much trouble for a girl, when he had spent his entire life only caring about himself, he did not know. One thing he knew for certain. He was bullied as a child, in the harshest of ways, and had no one to care for him or offer him help, and now, as he witnessed Sansa suffering under the hands of all those around her, he refused to stand by for one more moment and not help her. If we;re all going to rot in the ground one day, might as well make your sorry life count for something.
"What's wrong, Hound?" Meryn interrupted Sandor's thoughts. He sat directly across from him. "Sad the dance is over?" His question received laughs from the men that sat around them.
Sandor didn't pay him any attention. He had no respect for the man. Not even enough to look at him.
"I was bitter when you stole my dance at first, I was looking forward to getting my hands on the wolf girl. But then I remembered I'll get to do far more than dance with the her come tomorrow." He laughed, and clinked goblets with his followers.
"Pray you don't get your throat sliced first." Bronn took his goblet back, raised it to Ser Meryn, and drank. "That would be a pity." He wuiped his mouth with his sleeve.
"Watch your tongue." Meryn threatened.
"Or what?" Bronn smiled. "Are you going to fight me?" Bronn leaned in closer. "I reckon you wouldn't do so well seeing as your only experience in combat has been with poor young girls."
Sandor laughed under his breath. Meryn lunged over the table at Bronn, but Sandor caught him by the collar of his shirt before he reached him. "Save your energy for tomorrow." Sandor rasped. He shoved Trant back in his seat. "You'll need it."
Sandor stood and started walking to the doors. He could feel rage boiling inside of him and needed air. He would kill Trant if he ever tried to touch the Littlebird. And he would enjoy watching the life leave his eyes.
"Clegane."
Sandor stopped short. Littlefinger stood in front of him with that same mischievous smile he always wore. Sandor clenched his jaw. What did this sodding cunt want?
"I wanted to...apologize, for our little tift earlier this afternoon." The insincere apology looked like it pained Littlefinger to say.
"I don't care, get out of my way." Sandor started walking, but Littlefinger put his hand on his chest, stopping him. Sandor grabbed his wrist and threw it back at him. "Don't lay one slimy finger on me."
Littlefinger subtly looked around, making sure no one saw. "I still think it is in your best interest to part with me on good terms."
"If I choose to kill Gregor, I'll be able to find him on my own."
"Have you so far?"
"I don't need, or want your help."
"No, but like I said, it is I who may want yours in the future." He said in a hushed tone. "I need to make sure my precious cargo is well taken care of, for it may help win the war."
"My mind has not changed. I will not help you use that girl more than she already has been."
Littlefinger was not satisfied with his reply. "Very well..." He started. "When I do hear of your brother's whereabouts, I will see to it he is well payed in exchange for guarding the key to the North."
Though Sandor knew Sansa would not be traveling with Littlefinger, that thought sent him over the edge. It was one thing for Sansa to be tortured by the lions, but Gregor? Unwanted thoughts flashed through Sandor's mind, and in his blind fury, he grabbed Littlefinger by the neck.
Gasps and yells filled the room, but Sandor did not hear them. He watched Littlefinger's beady eyes roll back. Someone grabbed his arm, but they could not tear him away. More men came, pulling at Sandor and Littlefinger, trying to part them. Eventually when Sandor came to, he let go, and Littlefinger fell back. For the second time that day, Sandor watched as he sat on the floor, gasping for air.
As the panic died down, Joffrey's laughter was the only sound in the room. He stood clapping. "Good show, dog!" He shouted. "I see The Hound is the only one who knows how to celebrate properly." Joffrey looked around the room, and others started to clap following his lead. "Unfortunately, I must send you to bed. You've obviously had too much to drink and we'll need you tomorrow."
"Aye." Sandor bowed to Joffrey, and gave one last threatening look to Littlefinger before leaving the dining hall.
As he stormed down the corridor, he decided to take his time to double check Stranger, and make sure everything was set. He would go to the Littlebird's chamber when everyone else went to bed, and they would leave. Don't get soft now. She'll say yes. He assured himself. If the Littlebird ever felt like praying to her bloody Gods, now would be a good time.
"Thank you." Sansa said softly to the server who set down an assorted fruit plate with custard in front of her. It wasn't lemon cakes, but still, it looked delicious. She pierced a strawberry with her fork, and lightly dipped it into the custard. Gods, she thought as she chewed, this is wonderful.
"What are you smiling about?" Joffrey asked, his tone laced with malice.
Sansa swallowed before answering. "The dessert is most acceptable this evening my lord." She smiled.
"Hmm, yes." Joffrey popped a grape in his mouth. "It must be nice, to be so easily pleased by something as meaningless as fruit."
"I only wish war and death pleased me as much as it does you. I am envious of your happiness." Sansa fired back.
"You will learn to let it please you, for you will be seeing a lot of it." He hissed. "I will make you."
Sansa dipped another strawberry in the custard. "I look forward to it."
Joffrey swung his arm, and Sansa thought he was going to strike her, but instead he hit her plate, sending it spinning to the floor, shattering as it landed. "My lady did not like her dessert!" He announced to the room. "Ser Meryn. Escort her to bed."
Ser Meryn stood, and stumbled a bit on his way to the door, thanks to the wine. "Yes, your grace."
Sansa stood and bowed. "Good night your grace."
Joffrey waved her away in disgust. Sansa made her way to the doors, avoiding Ser Meryn's stare as he waited for her.
"Bronn!" She heard Tyrion call.
"Aye." He ran over to him.
"Go to my study please, I require...a book." He said oddly.
"A book? Now?" Bronn asked.
Silence passed between the men before Bronn understood. "Of course." He bowed and followed Sansa and Ser Meryn out the door.
Sansa walked as quickly as her attire would allow, not wanting to spend another moment in the private company of Ser Meryn.
"What's the hurry my lady?" He mocked.
Sansa did not answer his question, she only quickened her pace.
"Didn't your mother teach you it isn't polite to ignore someone?" He pressed.
"Her mother probably taught her not to talk to mad men." Bronn interjected.
Sansa smiled. His sing-songy voice put her at ease.
"I believe the imp's study is the other way." Ser Meryn hissed.
"That it is! But I rather fancied a walk and thought I'd take the long way."
Ser Meryn shook his head, and licked his top lip. "I certainly hope we meet tomorrow on the battlefield."
"As do I! What fun that will be!"
Sansa laughed under her breath. She admired the way Bronn was able to show no fear, he was so confident in himself and seemed as though he did not fear death. Arya would have like him, she thought. Her sister did not fear death either. I used to, Sansa thought. But that was when the world was a good place and I was with the ones I loved. Death would've taken me away from that. Now, after all that I've been through, if it comes soon, I might welcome it with open arms.
"Let me get the door for you." Ser Meryn offered. He stepped in front of Sansa and opened her chamber doors.
"Thank you, ser." She muttered, keeping her gaze on the floor.
He put his hand under her chin. "Look at me when you speak, girl."
She slapped his hand away. "Do not call me girl. I am Sansa Stark. Do not put your hands on me." She said, sternly.
He raised his hand to slap her, but Bronn interrupted. "Hit her, and I'll slit your throat."
Ser Meryn lowered his hand, but the rage inside him did not seize. "I will be seeing you tomorrow." He said to Sansa.
"Both of you." He eyed Bronn before heading back to the dining hall.
They watched as he left, his cloak swaying with each step. Once he was out of sight Bronn turned to her.
"Thank you, ser." She said.
Bronn put his hand up. "Don't thank me, you've done enough of that now." He smiled.
Sansa nodded. "I will pray for you tomorrow, Bronn." She turned to close the door. "Good night."
"Lady Sansa."
She opened the door. "Yes?"
"He will come for you tonight."
Sansa did not need to ask who he spoke of. "But, you said he was leaving-"
"I was wrong." He admitted. "He will come for you. Make sure you are ready." He warned.
"Why are you helping me?" Sansa asked, truly touched. She was no longer used to the random kindnesses of others.
Bronn searched for an answer in his silence, but could not find one he felt good enough to give. Instead he put his hand on her shoulder. "Goodbye, Lady Stark." He smiled, and left, whistling a joyful tune.
After Sansa's hand maidens changed her into her night gown and left her chamber, Shae quickly took it off, and dressed her in a simple wool dress. She walked around the chambers, double checking Sansa had everything she needed. It reminded her of her mother. "I went in the kitchens and packed food in your bag. It's not much, but-"
"Shae." Sansa cupped her face in her hands. "Thank you." She smiled.
Shae gave in to the moment, for only for a second. "Oh." SHe bent down, lifting her dress. She unbuckled her dagger from her thigh and handed in to Sansa. "Keep this on you, all the time." She narrowed her eyes. "And do not be afraid to use it."
Sansa took Shae's gift. She took the dagger halfway out of it's sheath. She couldn't imagine using it, but agreed, if she had no other choice, she must do it. She thought of her sister for the second time that evening. Even though they were never interested in the same things, they always had a little competition with each other. If Arya could do it, I can.
"Promise me you'll use it."
"I promise." Sansa put the blade back in it's sheath, and lifted her dress. Shae helped her buckle it around her milky white thigh, comfortably, but tight.
Sansa sat in front of her mirror, and Shae brush out her long red curls.
As she styled her hair in a simply long braid going down her back, Sansa couldn't help but smile at her reflection. I'm leaving this place. Sandor is breaking me out of my golden cage.
"There." Shae finished, and met Sansa's eyes through the mirror. "Perfect."
I'm going home. Sansa smiled. Her cheeks burned, for it was the first real smile in a long time.
Satisfied with everything, Sandor tightened the last bag onto Strangers saddle, and threw a blanket over him, hiding all evidence of his long journey. "I'll be back soon." He whispered to his only friend. "You are to be on your best behavior in the company of the lady." Stranger let out a huff and stomped his front leg.
Sandor let out a deep chuckle and fed him an apple. He suddenly felt dizzy, and decided it was time to head back. The sooner they left, the better. Outside, all he could hear were his footsteps, and the rustle of a rabbit in near by bushes. Other than that, it seemed deafly quiet. Good, he thought. It will be no trouble getting the Littlebird to Stranger.
As he walked down an open grey stone corridor, he looked out one of the large windows that faced the sea. Countless catapults stood tall and ready for battle. Though he hadn't killed anyone in a while, and ached for the feeling of moving his steel through the flesh of the enemy, Sandor was certain he'd have plenty of opportunities to do that on the long journey to Winterfell. No matter who won tomorrow, Stannis, or the Baratheons, it would not be in his favor. If he stayed here, he would forever be the dog of the brat king. It was a title that gave him power, gold, and fear, but he no longer wanted those things. He did not get the same joy out of watching Joffrey torture people after Sansa Stark came to King's Landing.
Sandor turned the corner and stopped short. Littlefinger stood in front of his chamber door. For a moment, Sandor thought he saw two of him, but shook his head and his vision went back to normal.
"Come back for more?" He mocked. Littlefinger stayed silent as Sandor approached him. "Out of my way."
"Not to worry, this will only take a moment." Littlefinger smirked.
On his command, five men in armor were behind Sandor, their swords out and ready.
Sandor laughed. "You really think five men the size of string beans is a match for me?"
"I said this once, and I'll say it again." Littlefinger started. "I do not like it when people move my pieces. I've tried to reason with you, Clegane." Sandor's head started throbbing. "But you made it too difficult."
"Piss off." Sandor reached for the handle of his sword, but one of the men grabbed his arm. Sandor usually would have been able to shrug him off and snap his neck like a twig in a second, but when he tried to move his arm, it was numb.
"Feel strange?" Littlefinger asked.
A terrible feeling rushed through Sandor's veins. Poison? "You cunt! That's a cheap way to fight! How?"
"You made it surprisingly easy when you got up to dance."
Sandor tried to attack Littlefinger again, but was too weak. He stumbled back and fell to the floor. "Not to worry." Littlefinger stood over him. "It's not deadly, it's just to knock you out until morning."
Sandor wanted to kill him! He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a low growl.
"Do not try to play me, Clegane. You will never win."
He glared at Littlefinger, but blackness started to surround him, and in a moment, all was dark. All was silent.
Sansa sat on the edge of her bed. She had been waiting for hours. She knew he would wait until everyone was in their chambers, but Gods, he was taking too long.
Shae yawned and rubbed her eye. "Would you like me to put another log in the fire, my lady?" She asked. She was kind enough to stay up with Sansa, but by the look of the moon, Sansa could see morning would come soon.
"That's alright, Shae." Sansa looked down at her lap. "You should go to sleep, I'll be fine."
"Are you sure my lady? He could still be-" She started.
"He isn't coming." Sansa blurted out. Disappointment rang clear in her tone.
Even Shae didn't have any comforting words. She had the same feeling. She kissed Sansa's forehead. "As much as I hate him, the snake will take you away tomorrow. You're still leaving this place."
"I know." Sansa mumbled. I just wish it was with Sandor.
Shae left her chamber, shutting the door quietly behind her, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts.
He's not coming...