"You're still bleeding." She said after a moment. Her nose wrinkled as she made a face. "Man's blood smells so strange. Some of us drink it. I've never tried it. They say it makes you mean."
Sandor didn't understand a word she was saying. He shoved her off of him and looked down at his legs. A nicely sized piece of wood stuck out of the side of his thigh. Looking at it made his entire leg burn with pain, and he hissed out a curse, laying down flat and trying to relax for a moment.
"Why didn't you tell me I had this in my leg?" He growled.
"I thought you knew." She pressed her fingers into it. "Can you not feel it?"
He cursed again and flung her hand away from him. "Yes, I can bloody well feel it." He lay still, breathing heavy and trying to calm down. "I need your help. I need you to pull it out, but be-" Searing pain flashed across his whole body as she pulled the bit of wood from his leg without an ounce of tenderness. He cried out against the pain and fisted the sand next to him until his knuckles ached.
"It's out. What do I do now?"
"You stupid little fish," He grunted, sitting up to examine his leg again. Blood flowed freely from his thigh, and he ripped off the sleeve of his tunic to bandage it with. "Useless. I imagine all you know how to do is bat your eyelashes at men before you skin them."
"You're very rude. Maybe I should've left you out in the middle of the ocean with the sharks." She lay down and pressed her cheek into the sand. Her face was free of expression. "Or I could've given you to one of my own. I didn't do any of those things, though. I helped you, and I don't want to kill you."
"Maybe you should just leave me alone." He felt the deep scowl forming on his face.
"Do you know where you are?" She asked, her fingers playing in the sand.
He looked around. "An unnamed island somewhere on the sea."
"Do you know which sea?" She licked some of the sand off of the end of her thumb. His lips curled with disgust just watching it.
"No."
"Do you still want me to leave you all alone, on this unnamed island, in a sea you don't know?"
"Fine. Stay, then." He used his arms and uninjured leg to drag himself backwards into the shade of the trees. She followed, having to drag herself too. She had a much easier time than he did. He noticed her arms and shoulders were made up of lean muscle. He figured this was typical, seeing as she spent most of her time swimming around being… whatever it is that she was.
She would not stop touching him. Her fingers ran over his feet, examining them like she'd never seen a pair before. He kicked her away but she would return again and pull at his toes. Finally he growled at her enough that she stopped and only stared at him.
He drifted off again, and when he woke she was gone. The sun was sinking into the horizon and he knew he'd be plunged into darkness again soon. The thought filled him with panic, and he realized he would have to start a fire. He knew how to start a fire, he only didn't like to. He'd rather deal with starting a fire than deal with the darkness again.
He managed to stand on his sore leg and dug a pit near the center of the island. He filled it with broken branches from the trees and the driest leaves he could find. He had no flint, and he could not find any other sort of rock, so he had to rub sticks together to start the fire. He knelt near the pit, rubbing the sticks until it was dark. Then he kept on through the darkness until he smelled the smoke. Soon he fire was lit and he was warmed.
He was about to doze off again when he heard her dragging herself towards him once more. She crawled on her elbows, grunting with the effort, and held a fat red fish in his face. It slung water on him when it flapped helplessly in her hands.
"Oh, you made a fire." She noticed, dropping the fish in his lap. "How delightful. I don't see them very often. The fish is yours, by the way." She turned herself over from her stomach to her back, sitting up proper like a lady might. "I thought you'd be hungry."
And he was, so much so that he felt weaker from it. He asked her to find a long, sturdy stick and clean the sand off of it, and she managed quite quickly. He skewered the fish on one end, and stuck the other end into the sand by the fire.
"What does that do?" She asked him, watching it crack and roast near the flames.
"Cooks it, you little fool." He grunted. "I can't eat it raw. That could kill me if I'm not careful."
She scoffed. "Men die so easily. Don't you get impatient waiting on it?"
"Yes, but I don't have much of a choice."
She dragged herself off, and did return until he was halfway through with his dinner. She had caught her own fish. It was the same kind as his, but a bit smaller. He watched as it flopped in her hands. She patted it lightly, staring up at him with a grin, before biting into its stomach with a crunch.
His stomach turned and he lowered what remained of his own fish. He looked away, swallowing hard and making up his mind that he was not about to retch in front of his stupid little fish girl. That little stunt had been a jape at his expense, and she wanted him to react, but he wouldn't.
"You waited so long for your fish to cook." She poked at his leg. "Eat. I'm eating with you. We're having a meal together. Don't you men do that?"
"I don't." He looked away from her, taking smaller bites of his own food and having a harder time swallowing it. Damn her.
"Why not?" He heard another crunch and was almost dizzy with another wave of nausea. He wondered if his leg was making him react more strongly than he usually would.
"Usually companions or families eat together." He shrugged, digging another chunk of meat out of the cooked fish and popping it into his mouth, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut. "I have neither."
"I don't either." She responded without a second of hesitation. "Now we have each other." Her slick hand brushed his leg and she tossed the remains of her fish behind her into the water. He flinched away from her touch and threw what was left of his fish into the fire.
"I found some things." She said to him, dragging herself closer and laying across his shins. The way she touched him, as if they were familiar, bothered him. It bothered him even more because of the feel of her skin. It was unnatural. She was beautiful to look at, she smelled like salt and sea, but her flesh felt disgusting. She was a monster.
"The things I found are from your ship, I think. They don't seem very interesting. I could bring them if you'd like." She yawned, and the thinner fin at the end of her tail flapped noisily.
"Ruined by the water or the fire, most like." He grunted. "What sort of things did you find?"
"A crate with bolts of cloth. Metal things. Long and sharp, and some that are small and flat. Cold things, that are shaped strange. I think there is something inside of them. They make a nice sound when they bump together."
"You could bring those things, if I asked?" She did not even know what most of them were, and her descriptions were so strange that he did not know either. "Are you strong enough?" She might've looked strong enough to drag herself about, but she did not seem like she could bring a crate full of wet cloth to him.
"I am." She glanced up at him shyly. "But you must tell me your name first. I will tell you mine. It is Sansa."
"Sandor Clegane." He doubted she had heard the horror stories about his family. "Men call me the Hound."
"What is hound, and why are you named after it?"
He grimaced. "A hound is an animal that lives on the land… They fight for their masters, defend them until they die."
She made a face. "Is that why they call you the Hound?"
"I fought for the King and Queen." Suddenly he realized how stupid all of this might sound to her. "I was loyal. I did what they told me."
"Even if it was wrong?" Her voice sounded small. She was a fearsome creature, she could kill him at any second, but she made herself sound so vulnerable. She was toying with him. He tensed, making his leg ache horribly.
"Yes." The word fell out of his mouth before he could help it. She shoved herself away from him and he heard her splash into the water. He frowned at the fire, shaking his head. She was just a stupid fish girl; she had no right to judge him.
All was quiet and calm after she left. He was warm by the fire. The familiar sound of the waves lapping against the shore lulled him to sleep.
Sandor woke up to the sound of her sobbing. He found her where she had pulled the things left from the shipwreck up on the beach. She had gotten herself tangled in the plants near the base of the trees, and could not free herself. He looked down at her, and he knew her for what she was. She was a siren, a mermaid, and could kill him if she wanted. She could tear his skin from his body and leave him floating in the salt water to die.
This monster was tangled up in vines, crying pitifully. Her skin was pink and irritated. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her scales looked as if they were about to flake off.
"Please, water, please," She begged him in a hoarse voice. He reached out and grabbed her arm, and realized just how dried out she was. Her flesh felt human. "Please, please, please," She mumbled it over and over again.
He untangled the vines from around her fin and her arms, and carried her to the waves. He shouldn't have. He should've let her die, but her pain was something sad to behold. She was a monster, but she had not killed him. She had helped him and touched him like no one else ever had. He could not fault her for what she was.
As she swam in the shallows, wetting herself again, he drew his hand up to his scar on his face. He was a monster too, and an ugly one at that. She had some enjoyableness about her. She was pleasing to look at, and had a sweet voice too. He was ugly inside and out. He was not pleasing to look at, listen to, or speak to, and however many men she had killed, it was unlikely that it was more than he had killed himself.
He used his bare hands to dig out a trench for her. He built a solid path around the little island, and with every crash of the waves on the shore, water flowed in through the trenches. She cried out in delight when she discovered what he had done. He had hoped the promise of water would keep her farther away from him, but she dragged herself up past the trenches and forced herself into his lap.
Her skin was slick and warm again. He felt like he would never be able to wash her slime off of him. She rubbed her face against him like a cat and hummed low in her throat. "I'll sing for you now." She said, and she did.
She sung some strange song in a language he did not understand. At first, the words seemed guttural and were almost a pain to his ears, but as the song went on they sounded sweeter and sweeter. A strange calm washed over him, and he didn't notice when his arm went around her as she held herself to him. He didn't want to sleep, it was not that sort of calm, instead he would've been content to lay with her and listen to her song until the end of his days.
And when her song ended, he let out a long sigh. His palm moved up from her lower back to between her shoulders and he froze. Her skin felt the same. It was the same warm moisture as before, but it no longer disgusted him, quite the opposite. The texture was interesting instead. It was new, and the warmth was pleasant instead of feverish. She no longer felt slimy, but instead like she was covered in a thin layer of sweat.
He wanted her. He was railing against the thought. It was a trick, a spell. She was a witch and a monster and she was tricking him. He would have to kill her now. He'd have to wrap his hands around her pretty throat and-
Her eyelashes fluttered against his neck and she let out a little breath. He realized she was sleeping. He was disgusted with himself for thinking of killing her. The most harm she had done him intentionally was her little jape with the fish.
No, he couldn't kill her. She was a sweet thing, pretty and patient. She wouldn't have ever even looked at him if she had legs. She would've forgotten his face or worse, had nightmares about it. Instead, she curled up in his lap and sang him sweet songs and slept against his chest. He couldn't kill her. He couldn't even hate her.
He was glad he had her, even if he was stranded on a pathetic excuse for an island in the middle of nowhere.