Sandor wasn't sure how much time had passed on the island. It had been a long time. He managed to construct a makeshift lean-to where the trees were thickest. Fruit he had never seen or heard of grew on the island. They were bright red but their juices run clear. He hated the taste of them, but ate them anyway sometimes.
He was capable of catching food on his own, but Sansa usually brought him things anyway when she found her own meals. Everything she brought to him was still alive. She brought him a crab once and laughed like mad when it pinched him.
He was glad for her companionship, otherwise he might've gone insane alone on the island… or he might have never made it to the island in the first place. She had been the reason he survived when the ship burned. She had kept the sharks away, and probably took him to the island while he rested.
She had saved his life, brought him food, and kept him company despite his temperament. She coddled and caressed him with her long webbed fingers like he wasn't the ugliest man she could've possibly picked up at sea. She was such a beautiful monster, too.
He figured she would kill him whenever she was bored with him, and he found himself untroubled by the idea. He didn't much like being stuck on an island, but he didn't have anything to go back to in Westeros. There was only the war, and he was seen as an enemy by one side and a traitor by the other. There were no women who willingly touched him in Westeros either, or even looked at him.
She touched him a lot. It bothered him at first, not only because of the strange feel of her flesh, but because no one liked to do that. Before he went to sea, he had whores, but not often. A visit to a brothel meant he hated himself intensely the next morning. No woman had ever laid with him without being paid first, and even then he was the one that did most of the touching. His tumbles with whores had been quick, though. He satisfied his need and went on his way. Other than that, no one touched him except with a blade.
She touched him willingly, though, from the very first moment, but it was so different. It was not meant to inspire lust; instead it inspired some sort of strange comfort. The thought that she might actually be fond of him was shamefully ridiculous. She had no reason to be. He had done nothing for her.
There were times that he found himself wanting, though, but he did not know how to even go about that. She did not mind when he touched her in return, but he had never been too bold. He was afraid of what she might say if he reached under the rags she used to cover her chest. He assumed she had breasts under there, but he was not entirely sure and that made him even more uneasy. And what if he did become bold enough to fondle her, and she did not reject him, he would not know where to continue. He knew women liked being touched between their legs but she had no legs.
Sometimes he thought about simply kissing her. He had never kissed anyone before, human or half-fish. He had never wanted to. He wanted to kiss her, though. He felt stupid for it sometimes. She wasn't some pretty maiden he could kiss and touch and love. She wasn't even human. He had been so disgusted by her touch before, what if she was disgusted by his? Her hands were soft and moist, while his were dry and rough with cracked callouses.
She was sweet to him, excluding the tricks, although gods knew why. She could easily swim away and leave him there to die, or even kill him herself, but she didn't, though he had constant reminders that she could.
She always returned to the sea a few times a day, but she spent most of her time on the island with him. He had become used to it, so when she disappeared into the sea and did not return for days, he worried endlessly. She spoke of others in the sea who wanted her dead. If she never returned, he did not know what he would do.
She was gone a little more than a week, and when she returned she had blood under her scales and deep underneath her fingernails. He was going to ask, but she gave him a look that told him not to speak of it.
"What if some ship finds me here, and I leave with them to escape this place?" He growled at her. "What will you do then, once your entertainment is gone?"
She gave him a cold look. "Perhaps I will sink your ship and kill all the men once they are in the water."
"Is that what you did with the last ship?" He realized something suddenly. "Was… Was that you, a few days before the ship caught fire? Was that you laughing outside of the ship?" She grimaced at him. "It was you. Why in the seven hells were you following us?"
"I was only curious." She became timid, toying with the fabric around her waist. "I like humans. They have good stories, and they are kind to me."
"Only because you didn't spend enough time with them; the longer you know a man, the more you'll see the blackness in his heart."
"I've seen no blackness in yours." She leaned her head against his chest and the dampness of her hair seeped through his tunic.
"That's because I don't have one." He grabbed her hair and tugged her head back. His grip was not hard enough to hurt her, but it was firm all the same. "Did you set fire to my ship?"
"No." She replied. Her jaw was set.
"Did you kill the rest of the crew?"
"No." Her hand went up and gripped at his hair the same as he held hers, except her grip was hard and was meant to hurt. "Would you like to know how many men I've killed, Sandor? Is that what you want?"
"Tell me, then." He released his hold on her hair but she did not let go of his.
"Three." Sansa leaned in close to his face. She was angrier than he'd ever seen her. "I've probably lived longer than you, and over all of those years I have killed three men. One of them was an accident. Another was trying to kill me, so I had to kill him… and the third…" Her hand was out of his hair and she turned away from him. "You boast about being a killer, but being a killer was a choice you made. I didn't have a choice. I've never had a choice until now. I'm not going to kill you, Sandor. I won't kill any men who get you off of this island, either. That was a lie."
His temper flared. "What's the point of lying to me? It's not as if I could leave."
Her voice was quiet. "Do you want to leave?"
"I grew up in a keep ten times the size of this island. I worked for people who provided me with the things that I needed. If I was sick or wounded, there was a maester. If I was hungry or thirsty, there was food and drink. If I was tired, there was a place to sleep." He told her. "And what of here? I tend my own wounds and hope they don't fester. I eat fish every day and drink from a pool of rainwater. I sleep in the sand. But I left the keep and I left the Lannisters long before that ship sank. Wanting to leave won't make a ship sail in to take me back, anyhow."
"I'm sorry." She said.
"And what are you sorry for? What did you do?" He gave a short bitter laugh. "You've done nothing but help me, and I've done nothing but growl at you. Best get used to it, that's all I know how to do."
She frowned, and then turned her face out towards the sea. It was sunny and warm, and there were few clouds in the sky. "Do you know how to swim?" She asked, changing the subject.
"I know how to not drown." Sandor replied.
She smiled warmly at him. "I could teach you how to be a stronger swimmer."
"You couldn't. Swimming is different for you than it is for me. You can't teach me how to swim like you, and I can't teach you how to walk like me."
"Well then, you must practice." She pushed herself up and crawled out closer to the sea. "Come swim with me."
He groaned and pushed himself to his feet, wondering how bad of an idea that actually was. His leg had long since healed, but remained stiff and sore from the newly formed scar. She had pushed herself into the water and was waiting for him. He walked into the ocean fully dressed but for his boots.
She giggled and waded out into the deeper water, and slowly but surely, he followed.
"You're so slow." She was laughing at him.
"Well, I'm not exactly as skilled at this as you are." He sneered, and then her arms were grasping at his. He barely managed to get a breath in before she dragged him under the water.
The water was clear but it stung his eyes and made it difficult to see. She was stronger than she looked, because she grasped his arm tightly and swam down deeper into the water.
"Look," She said, pointing. He could hear her voice surprisingly well under the water. "Have you ever seen anything like it before?"
It must've been a sort of reef. It was dark green and he thought he could see fish swimming near it, but that was all he could make out. His eyes were blurred and burning, and he needed to breathe. She made to drag him down deeper but he fought against her grip until she finally let him go. He swam as hard as he could toward the surface.
He coughed and sputtered after he took the first breath. He hadn't realized just how far down she had taken him. He gulped the air down his throat and quickly swam towards the shore, crawling to the sand. He had not been so grateful for that island since he washed up on it.
"What's the matter with you?" She had followed him, and dragged herself to the shore beside him. "Why'd you leave? Didn't you like it?"
"I couldn't see whatever it was you were trying to show me, and I can't stay under the water as long as you." He took another big breath of air and turned over on his back.
"Why not?"
"Why not?" He rasped. "I'll drown and be dead. I can't breathe underwater. Stupid little fish, didn't you know that?"
Her face turned bright red with humiliation. "Oh, no. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I should have known."
"Yes, you should've." He shook his head. "That's the last time I go swimming with you."