Yes, it's been a very, very long while since I updated this fic. Um...I'm sorry? ;) Really though, I am sorry that I'm so slow about writing this one. I've had a lot of writer's block with it, among other issues (not the least of which is my insanely busy 'real life'). I wish I could promise that I will update this again soon, but...I can't. Still, I will do my best to not let two or three months go by (again) before posting another chapter. Please don't hate me? :)
As always, reviews are much, much appreciated! I promise that I read and love every one that I receive. Well, maybe I don't LOVE the ones that are critical, but at least take them to heart :)
Stranger had absolutely no desire to be aboard this ship, and even less of one to go below decks. By the time Sandor had settled the destrier in his all-too-tiny box stall in the livestock hold, he could hear the cog pulling up its anchor and the shouts of the men as they rigged up the sails. He caught himself wondering where Sansa would be and grunted in frustration. After their argument first thing this morning, followed by her behavior on their ride to the pier...gods, all he knew was that he would never understand her.
He made his way back up to the top deck, refusing to go to her room and not wanting to go to his own. Not just yours, either, Sandor reminded himself, curling his lip at the fact that he was required to share a room with that arse Ser Willem. Sandor had a feeling that he would be spending much of his time 'taking the air up top', as they said.
The sun had risen much higher in the sky, but the breeze off the sea made the deck a fairly pleasant place. Knowing that they would be on a boat, Sandor hadn't donned the heaviest parts of his armor that morning, and he strode right to the rail to take in their surroundings as the ship began to slowly pull away from the pier. He had stood there for several minutes before he heard someone behind him. The man cleared his throat and then said - quite carefully, to Sandor's amusement - "Ser, Lady Sansa wishes you and I to meet with herself and Captain Marsh in the captain's quarters."
Sandor turned and glared at the speaker, who was none other than Ser Willem. "Does she now? And stop calling me Ser, dammit."
"She does. He wishes us to eat the midday meal with him, and she wanted me to tell you that if it please you there will be wine available as well. Good Dornish red, in fact," Ser Willem added, forcing a smile.
It had been quite a while since Sandor had tasted quality wine, but still he curled his lip at the thought of spending any extended amount of time with some ship captain he didn't know and this questionable knight of House Wyl. Yet much as he hated to admit it, the thought of his little bird spending time with Ser Willem without Sandor there to watch over them irked him, and so he knew that he wouldn't - couldn't - refuse the invitation. "I'm not one to turn down wine, good or no," he finally grunted. "Lead the way."
Captain Marsh's cabin was surprisingly pleasant. Not very big, but then the ship wasn't exactly large, either. The furnishings were simple yet comfortable, and the captain himself seemed welcoming enough. Could be worse, Sandor mused as he stalked over to Sansa and stood by her side, ignoring the smirkish smile on her face and the fact that she kept cutting her eyes up at him. Captain Marsh himself served Sandor and Ser Willem their glasses of wine; the little bird already had one in hand and was clutching it with something like determination. The four of them sipped their Dornish red in silence for several minutes, until the captain finally broke the awkward quiet.
"I must say that it is a surprise to be carrying you to Sunspear, my lady, but not an unpleasant one." His gaze flickered toward Sandor for half a moment, but it appeared that Sansa didn't notice.
"I owe you a debt of gratitude for certain, captain," she said graciously.
"I'm sure the waived portage fees were more than enough, compensation-wise," Ser Willem noted. Sandor watched the captain, expecting the sort of rude and greedy reaction that most men in his place would have had, but Captain Marsh merely chuckled.
"Yes, yes they were. Them, and the mere honor of having Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell aboard my ship."
These fools are too good to be true, Sandor found himself thinking - but he kept himself, and his thoughts, in check. The little bird had made it all too clear that she wanted - needed- to trust Ser Willem and Captain Marsh; for her sake Sandor simply had to remember to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open.
"I do hope that I will not be intruding on your hospitality for too long," Sansa chirped.
"Ah, there is no reason to have such a concern. But if the winds are in our favor, a fortnight at most and you will be safe with the Martells."
This time, Sandor couldn't hold back his snort, and the others quickly turned to look at him. He merely shrugged in response to their questioning expressions, and Ser Willem bristled. "Do you have it in you to speak against House Martell, Clegane?"
"Do I have it in me? I'll say whatever I want, about whoever I want - Ser," Sandor growled. "But since you asked, no, I don't mean to speak out against the Martells."
"Then what is the meaning of your insolent noises and expressions?" Ser Willem demanded.
Sandor's mouth twisted into a grimace. "Lady Sansa here won't ever be truly safe, not so long as a Lannister remains alive in this world...even if she's hidden away in Dorne with the Martells. That's why I find it so amusing that everyone seems to believe that once we reach Sunspear, she's got nothing to worry about. Mark my words, they'll quickly find out where she's got to, and with Prince Oberyn in King's Landing the Martells have already - albeit somewhat unknowingly - handed a hostage over to the Iron Throne. The Martells have always been more concerned about their own family members than anything, or anyone, else, and they certainly don't oweany allegiance to Lady Sansa or to the Starks in general." When he finished speaking, only silence permeated the room for quite some time.
"She doesn't have anything to worry about," Ser Willem finally sputtered. "You, on the other hand - "
"Ha! You think I didn't know what I may be getting myself into, when I agreed to help the li - the girl - get to Dorne? The Martells and their dreams of revenge against my brother don't frighten me."
"Death surely does!" Ser Willem practically shouted.
"I don't think so. The only thing that frightens me is fire," Sandor spat, pointing a finger at his own scarred face.
"Then perhaps I'll make sure that the Martells know this bit of information!" threatened Ser Willem.
"Enough!"
This time the shout came from Sansa. Sandor realized that as he and the foolish young knight had been arguing, they'd continually stepped closer to each other until they weren't but a foot apart. He turned toward the little bird and saw that she had put down her wine glass and leapt up from her chair. Her face had gone pale with fury and she was clenching and unclenching her hands - all in all, a most unladylike spectacle on her part. Sandor felt suddenly chastened and quickly backed away from Ser Willem, hating himself for relishing in the thankful look that Sansa gave him before she faced the young knight, a determined look about her face.
"Ser Willem, Sandor is my sworn shield and I trust him with my life. No...more than that, really, though one who was not with us in King's Landing could not possibly understand my meaning, I think. The Martells will accept him, or they will quickly lose me." At this, she turned back to Sandor, and he caught the flash of anger in her eyes before she took a deep breath and continued. "Sandor, we've had enough conversation about this, though I'm not sure you ever spoke so bluntly about what might happen to me upon our arrival in Sunspear. Still, you, ser, must learn to hold your temper." With one last withering look at the both of them, she lowered herself back into her chair and quickly gulped down the rest of her wine before politely asking Captain Marsh to refill her glass.
Sandor realized that he was clenching his jaw in anger. He wanted to take the little bird by the shoulders and shake some sense into her; he wanted to stomp out of this cabin and be alone as he'd once preferred being; he wanted to wrap his arms around Sansa Stark and kiss her until this strange new fierceness of hers disappeared and she begged him to take her there and then. Yet somehow he found himself ignoring these base desires and instead merely raising his own wine glass to his mouth again, pulling from it as if it was a jug and barely enjoying the high quality of it at all.
"Would you like some more wine, Sandor?" the little bird asked softly. She had been watching him, he understood, but when his eyes met hers Sansa's gaze seemed almost expressionless. He curled his lip in annoyance and frustration, but her demeanor did not change - she would not bend for him, not just now.
"All right," he finally shrugged. "Guess if I'm gonna be stuck on this ship with you lot for a fortnight, I might as well find some way to enjoy myself."
He'd meant with the wine, of course - at least that's what Sandor told himself - but after he spoke those words Sansa reached to refill his wine glass for him, and he couldn't help but note that the corners of her mouth twitched upwards into a smug little smile.