She had always heard of tell of Doran Martell's cautious nature, but the ease of their arrival and how kind that man had been - especially in regards to Sandor - was a pleasant surprise to say the least.
Ser Willem had been sent back to the ship to gather their few belongings - including Stranger, and Sansa could see that the idea of the young knight having to deal with the wild stallion amused Sandor to no end. When Ser Willem finally returned to the stronghold, the Prince of Dorne saw to it that they were given the sand steeds he'd promised them, as well as silks to wrap about their heads. "Protection from the sun and blowing sand," Prince Doran noted, "and from prying eyes, as well." He glanced at Sansa's hair and Sandor's face, but she could not be certain whether his grimace was for them, or in response to his obviously painful gout.
Their ride was not a long one, but it was hot, hotter than Sansa could have expected after the cool days and cold nights she'd been used to both in King's Landing and throughout her and Sandor's travels. By the time they reached the Water Gardens, her hair was plastered about her face and neck and she felt as if she was fairly coated in the gritty sand of Dorne.
"The children will have vacated the pools by now," a maidservant told her as Sansa removed her silken veil and picked at her gown, which was sweaty and dusty in turns. "You may use them to bathe, if you'd like."
"That sounds wonderful," Sansa admitted. The maid nodded, then brought out a thin, dark gray shift.
"Wear this, my lady. The pools are not meant for private baths and there's no telling who might be wandering about."
Sansa smiled her thanks and donned the simple shift. It felt light and cool against her skin and fluttered about her as she followed the young woman to the pools.
"I must leave you to yourself, but you are safe here," the servant promised. Sansa tipped her head in acknowledgement before practically running to the nearest vat of water and slipping down into it, relishing the feel of the grime washing from her skin.
Safe. It seemed such a simple word. She'd known safety all her childhood in Winterfell, and had never questioned its continuance when she left that place. When had the feeling of being safe ended? Was it with Lady's death, or her father's imprisonment, or when he was beheaded? She couldn't quite place it, yet at the same time she knew that losing Lady had torn her asunder, and that even her happiest times in King's Landing had been nothing more than a lie.
Wanting to drown such thoughts, Sansa let herself slide down until she was fully immersed. She held her breath as she'd been taught to do in Winterfell's hot pools, and only broke the surface again when it felt as if her lungs were about to explode from lack of air. She sputtered a bit and rubbed the water away from her eyes, and then her heart leapt into her throat when someone spoke to her.
"If you mean to drown yourself, you're not trying very hard." It was Sandor, and Sansa turned to glare at him.
"I'm having a bath, thank you," she retorted. "I know how to swim, you needn't worry about me."
"Didn't look like you were swimming."
Sansa opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. "Leave me be," she finally said, abruptly turning her back on him.
"I don't think I will. You're clothed, and I need a wash just as bad as you. They told me I'd best take advantage of the pools now, as they'll be filled with the brats of lordlings and merchants come first light." Sansa heard rustles and scrapes as Sandor removed his own clothing - hopefully not all of it, she thought desperately - and then a splash as he entered the pool with her.
She couldn't help but glance his way. The water blurred his body from the waist down, so Sansa could not tell whether he had left his breeches on - but what she could see of his body was certainly bare. The sight of his scarred yet muscular chest and his massive arms covered with dark hair - hair that was, she recalled, surprisingly silky and soft - made her blush. She turned away again.
"Is the little bird embarrassed at the sight of my naked chest?" Sandor growled. But Sansa heard no anger in his voice, and she realized that he was actually teasing her. Will he open up to me again, now that we know that the Martells will protect us...now that they've made no move to separate us?
Will I let him open up to me again?
"Of course I'm not...embarrassed," she whispered, though she kept her eyes locked on the rippling water rather than meet his gaze.How could he not understand how she felt, when she'd stood before him and bared her soul?
"Could've fooled me," he chuckled, but when she did finally look at him she saw that he had closed his eyes and sunk up to his chin in the water. He looks almost peaceful, Sansa mused, and somehow seeing him like this annoyed her. He thinks I'm still a child, she knew. I suppose I might as well act like one.
Sansa lifted her arms and used all of her strength to send a wave of water splashing over Sandor's head. Startled, he leapt to his feet, swearing. She watched him scan the area, but his gaze quickly came to rest on her. "What the fuck was that for? I was half asleep! I thought..."
"Why Sandor, what did you think?" Sansa asked sweetly. "Surely if someone had come to attack you or I, there wouldn't be any sort of splashing involved. Not like that, anyway." She smirked at him, her expression growing ever more mirthful as his face went red with anger. He was clearly fighting with himself over how to respond to her, and part of Sansa almost hoped that...
What? What do you hope for, or why does it matter what you hope for, when he will only push you away again and again and again?
"I thought nothing," was his eventual response. "We have arrived in Dorne, and Doran Martell has agreed to keep us safe. Forget it. Forget it all." Sandor turned to step out of the pool, but before he could do so Sansa slapped her hands against the water, hard. Though this splash was far weaker than the previous one, it still caught his attention - and when he glared at her over his shoulder she stood up as well, heedless of the thin wet shift clinging to every curve of her body.
"All of it?" she snapped, thrilling at how quickly he lost his focus and let his eyes wander over her partially-exposed form. "You truly expect me to forget our times in the godswood, those nights on the road, what happened in the bedchamber at the Wyls' stronghold? I have kept my distance since that first day on the ship, and when I've had to face you I've been nothing but courteous...yet you persist in this folly. Did you hope that I would dismiss you? Because I will not. If you no longer want to be by my side - if you want to leave me - you may do so at any time...but I will not tell you to go. I cannot tell you to go. Don't you see? I - "
"There you go again, little bird, chirp-chirp-chirping. I don't want to hear it. Any of it."
"Then why are you still here?!" Sansa cried, her hands clenching themselves into fists, seemingly of their own accord. "To taunt me? To torment me?"
"You may want to be a bit quieter than all that," Sandor chided, looking behind him to see if anyone was approaching.
Sansa scoffed at him, but then thought twice about being so loud and used his advice as an excuse to step toward him. As evening stretched into night, the air had grown much cooler, and under the thin fabric of her shift her nipples were hard little buds. She saw Sandor's eyes flick toward them and felt something within her grow tight with desire in response. "What do you want of me, Sandor? Why are you here?" she repeated.
The burnt corner of his mouth twitched. She hadn't seen it move like that in some time, and just now it was almost...endearing.
Until he spoke.
"I'm here to protect you, girl. No more."
I will not cry. "It seems that I do not need your protection," she retorted, gesturing around them. "I am safe here, Sandor. Prince Doran has all but given me his allegiance, and no one knows where I've gone, anyway."
"Yet," he snarled.
"Yet. Yet? I do not understand you, Sandor...I do not understand you one bit. You have kissed me, you have pleasured me, you have taken your own pleasure from me. Yet now you deny me, you mock me, and you constantly tell me that I should continue to be afraid. I will not tell you to leave me, but it is past time for you to make a choice. You'll either have me or you won't, and if you won't...if my presence is such a bane to you...then you should ask yourself why you stay."