Hokay SO. November is going to be a seriously insane month for me, which means the chances of this fic seeing an update at any point between now and December are basically nonexistent. And I apologize in advance for that :) But for now, enjoy two quick non-porny chapters?
Gods, but he hated himself for having to force the little bird back to her own bed. Could she ever understand how very badly he wanted to wrap his arms about her and sleep with her as they'd been used to doing? But it didn't matter - couldn't matter. Not now that they were back in so-called 'proper society'.
It was bad enough that they'd done what they'd done with that snoring fool of a maid in the room. Mere feet away from them. True, he'd not thought he could feel his pleasure so strongly just by pressing himself against Sansa, unable to share kisses, she unable to even reach around and touch him due to the position in which he'd arranged her. But he had peaked as strongly as ever - perhaps it had been even more intense than other recent times.
She surprised him every day, this little bird - his little bird.
The memory of their little - err - adventure - during the night kept Sandor awake quite a bit longer than he'd wished, and when morning finally arrived he felt heavy with exhaustion despite having slept under a roof and on a pallet for the first time in weeks. You must be alert, ready to grab her and run the moment something - anything - seems amiss, he reminded himself.
And so many things could still go wrong. For instance, once they were on a ship they were completely at the behest of the Wyls, who could very well send them anywhere but Sunspear...and what was to stop them doing so, other than their claim of loyalty to the Martells? The Martells, who had been at odds with the Lannisters since Robert's Rebellion...
Therefore, what truly mattered was whether the Wyls were more apt to be loyal to their own ruling house, or to the house that was supposed to have rule over all Westeros. This was not something that Sandor cared to leave up to chance, yet the idea of broaching such a subject with Lord Wyl - or even any of his men - seemed impossible.
A kitchen wench came knocking not long after dawn, carrying a tray spread with fruits, cheeses, the same bread they'd eaten the night before, and nearly parchment-thin slices of a salty pink meat. A pot of cold tea steeped with mint leaves was there as well, and though Sandor nearly spit the vile stuff out when he took a sip, Sansa seemed to enjoy it just fine. At least, she smiled at him when he shoved his little clay cup of it toward her, and drank that as well as her own.
After placing the tray down for them, the kitchen wench and Sarai bent over the hearth in an attempt to coax flames from the long-dead fire, but Willem the guard appeared at the door to their chamber before the fire had time to begin crackling merrily in its grate again.
"There's been a stroke of something like luck in finding you passage on a ship, my lady," he said with a curt bow. "Not three days past a small cog had to make an unplanned stop at our port to attend to damage one of its masts received in a storm. They finished their repairs yesterday and will be leaving with the morning tide. Lord Wyl has graciously waved their portage fees in return for their carrying us on to Sunspear, as they were sailing 'round that way to stop in Old Town anyway."
Sandor supposed that he should be pleased at such news, but his mind had locked on to just one word that had left Willem's mouth - "us". "What d'ye mean, us?" he growled, though in doing so he suddenly realized how uncouth he sounded.
"At the moment I happen to be the highest-ranking guard of the Wyl household," Willem replied blandly. "As such, I am the only one to whom Lord Wyl feels comfortable delegating this task."
Though he wasn't quite sure why he felt so uneasy about the idea of this Willem accompanying them, Sandor still couldn't help but open his mouth to spit out a retort - until the little bird kept him from doing so by placing a hand on his arm and giving the guard one of her sweet smiles. "Lord Wyl must be informed that we are honored to be given such an important member of his household for our escort."
"You can tell him yourself, my lady - Lord Wyl has already made his way to the docks. He awaits us there, and means to see us off…so we should be leaving the holdfast as soon as possible, if it please my lady."
Sansa was all smiles. "Very well. If you would give my sworn shield and I leave to finish our breakfast and gather our few belongings, we will be ready to depart shortly."
But Sandor had a few other things in mind, and with as capably as Sansa had acted yesterday he was surprised that she was forgetting to ask so many questions. "Where does this ship - and its captain - hail from? And will we be able to take my horse?" The thought of leaving Stranger behind irked him, considering all he'd been through with that damned animal. All we've been through, he reminded himself, glaring at Sansa.
Willem merely waved him off. "Somewhere in Essos; I can barely understand the man, myself. As for your horse, there is a small area for livestock in the hold of this cog and thankfully they have few animals aboard. They'll take him, though you'llhave to control him." The guard's eyes darkened when he spoke of Stranger, and Sandor chuckled.
"So he gave your men some trouble, did he?"
"Yes, if you must ask - he bit three of them and kicked one. You could have warned us of his temper, ser."
"I'm no ser," Sandor replied flippantly, feeling much more generous to this man now that he knew how much havoc Stranger had wreaked in his stead.
The guard raised an eyebrow at Sandor's comment, but seemed to think better of responding to him. Instead Willem turned back toward Sansa and gave another bow, less curt than the first, more fluid and meant to flatter and please - even Sandor could see as much, and he felt a hot rush of jealousy. "We will await you in the yard." Willem flashed a handsome smile at Sansa, then cut his eyes toward Sandor with a look that could only be described as mocking. Sandor let loose a low, rumbling grow, but before he could step toward the other man and show him what happened to those who mocked Sandor Clegane, Willem had spun on his heel and disappeared through the door.
"Must you be so tetchy toward those who are trying to helpus?" Sansa asked, obviously exasperated.
"Well my pardons, little bird. I've no reason to trust these people completely - not yet - and neither do you. We're better off keeping them all at arms' length. Even if Lord Wyl means you well, who's to say that the captain of this ship - or fair Willem himself - won't turn around and sell you back to the Lannisters? Mark my words, if they truly believe that the Imp murdered Joffrey, they're out for you as well."
For a moment Sansa had the intelligence to look frightened, but then it was as if a mask dropped down over her features and she gave him a stony look. "I'm sure you're right," she admitted, "but I cannot spend the rest of my life trusting you and only you, Sandor."
"You'd be better off if you did," he rasped, hoping that she would hear the snarl hiding beneath his words and take it for the warning that it was.
She didn't. "Is this the way things will be, then? Forever and ever? Me just trying to make it from one day to the next, and you thwarting me at every turn with your...your...uncivilized behavior? I won't - no, I can't - have it, Sandor! In case you didn't notice last night, my courtesies, which you so clearly despise, gained us access to this stronghold, a warm and comfortable place to sleep, good food...and a ship that will bring us to Sunspear! None of that, none of it, is thanks to you!"
A small part of Sandor felt chastened; the larger part of him was merely angry. He was a grown man, and a dangerous one at that - pretty little Sansa Stark never would have gotten this far without him, yet she spoke to him as if he was a child.
Or a servant.
"Maybe none of that is thanks to me, little bird, but I hope you don't think you made it all this way of your own accord. Still, if you'd rather fine Ser Willem keep you safe from here on in, I'd be more than happy to oblige," Sandor heard himself growl. Gods, shut up, you arse, you don't want that, any of it, don't want to leave her side and don't want her to rely on that thrice-damned Ser Willem.
Yet somehow he could not bring himself to say as much, not even when Sansa gazed up at him with a trembling lower lip and eyes brimming with tears. Of course, she did not take back her awful words either; both of them were simply too proud to do anything of the sort just now. They gathered their very few belongings in silence, and Sandor wondered if, after such a row, the little bird would be inclined to actually dismiss him from her service.
It's probably for the best, anyway. Deep down, he was sure of that much, at least.