Hello everyone! New chapter! :)
As always, I'd like to thank everyone who takes the time to read this and comment, as well as my beta wildsky_sheri for her constant help.
,Sandor
Sandor was already wide awake when the sun finally rose from its sleep. The poxy little village in which the little bird and he had spent the night was slowly coming alive with cooking noises and children's cries but no sound was coming from the girl's hut yet. Sandor had no cause to worry though; his back had stayed glued against the small habitation's outer wall from dusk to dawn and he hadn't let anyone enter apart from the ugly wench who lived in it and her two children. No one had so much as dared to gaze in its direction all through the night. The girl is tired and it's no wonder; she's not used to travelling that much. It wasn't such a bad thing that they had come across this village after all, Sandor grudgingly admitted to himself. Crummy as it may be, it still had put a roof over the little bird's head and filled her belly with proper food for once. The fresh meat had been a more than welcome change for both of them from the dry beef and stale bread that they were now sadly accustomed to. These buggering peasants know how to hunt and poach, Sandor mused with a hint of surprise as he shifted in his position, the hut creaking too loudly as he did so. They're lucky the region's noblemen have their backs turned on them, busy as they are with their little war. It was far from rare that recidivist poachers would get their heads chopped off and the good lords that ordered those executions didn't give a shit whether they were ridding the realm of seasoned brigands or depriving hapless children of their fathers. Whatever the motives behind the wretched bastards' actions, the end result would always be the same.
To the little bird's displeasure, Sandor had alerted the villagers to the risks that they were rashly taking – he had done them a favour really, but the girl had read his words of warning as buggering threats. Threats, he repeated to himself in an incredulous sneer. The girl has no fucking idea what threats sound like when coming from me, he decided, almost insulted by his charge's lack of acuity in that matter. Anyhow, denouncing these sorry people to Tywin Lannister would be the apex of stupidity coming from him, given that his ancient liege lord had perhaps already put a price on his head if word of the Hound's desertionhad reached his ears. How will the old lion react when he hears about this? The previously so-faithful dog, abandoning the cub and fleeing with the wolf, Sandor wondered as amusement seeped into his usual gloom but his smirk was quick to sour. He was not truly fleeing with the wolf. More like escorting her back to her pack, he reflected bitterly. He had gone through all this trouble but in the end, the outcome would be the same fucking one that the Lannisters had planned all along: the girl would slip through his fingers and he'd have to watch from afar as she rejoined her family and regained her life on the same occasion. What's left of mine though? he pondered grimly. By his recent actions, Sandor had become an outlaw and his future was far from assured; all he knew for certain was that he would need to disappear from the surface of this damned continent as soon as possible.
This has been bloody madness all along, Sandor admitted to himself for the hundredth time while letting a short mirthless laugh escape his mouth as he crouched further against the hut. He'd been a fool to abandon the Lannister boy with the thugs. In the heat of the moment, he had been blinded by the overpowering urge to put the girl over his shoulder and flee as far as he could from all those buggers he despised so much. He had had enough of them all – whiny boy and bloody false righter of wrong equally. His lone goal had been to recover what had been stolen from him and to protect his charge as he had promised himself he would no matter the price to pay. Naught had mattered to him in those numbed hours; the gold that he had amassed throughout the years and left in the capital, the comfortable existence that he was leading and the enviable status that he had merited with his hard work and devotion, he had pissed on it all. The girl was worth much more than all of those trivialities – that's what he had figured just then - but Sandor had overlooked one extremely crucial detail: Sansa Stark wasn't his, she was only on loan. It was laughable. For a mere loan, no matter how alluring it was, Sandor had forfeited his whole life. Crazy buggering halfwit dog you are, he muttered to himself with building scorn over his own senselessness. All this for the pretty eyes of a maiden who doesn't give a rat's arse about you.
Or did she?
Well, he was not foolish enough to believe that the little bird truly cared for him more than she did for a fine dress or a little pet but the level of her interest in him didn't truly matter in the end. The fact was that the girl was growing increasingly more at ease in his company and generous with him, offering him coy smiles and soft kisses as if he was a regular buggering suitor. Sandor snorted at the absurdity of it. He would never be the one to remind her that he was in truth the exact antitheses of a regular suitor. Better to train with the rabid hound you'll soon be rid of and never see again than with the valorous knight you'll want to impress when the time comes, Sandor concluded sardonically. He had witnessed Cersei as she practiced her seductions with squires when Jaime was out of town. Maidens did these things, only Sansa had not chosen her prey very wisely since Sandor was no green boy and no one would be there to stop him if he lost his control with her. She was like a kitten learning to hunt with a rat twice its size, or even better, a tiny, defenseless bird trying to overpower a vicious, hulking hound. The image was so utterly adequate that Sandor couldn't hold back a wry and hoarse laugh from reverberating through his throat as he tried to picture the scene it would make. Head thrown back with eyes shut and mouth twisted in an ugly grin, Sandor abandoned himself to his mirth for a short instant, but then his jaw set tight and his eyes abruptly opened as he realised how things truly stood.
The bird wasn't as helpless as she appeared. In fact, she was even doing a pretty good job subduing the hound, judging by the way that Sandor had crawled at her feet the previous night, begging for her pardon like the worst pitiable bloody wreck he had ever heard of. She'll do whatever she wants with you in the end, dog, he realised, a pang of dread stabbing him viciously as the burned corner of his mouth unconsciously twitched. How had he ever become so weak? It wasn't like him to lose his ordinarily imperturbable composure for the sake of something so evident, predictable and common. Women's power, he mused with contempt as he distractedly stroked the burned side of his face with his hand. It was humiliating and even slightly infuriating to be so like all those bastards that he had witnessed and judged so severely over the years for yielding to pairs of teats as if to mighty gods. Even worse, Sandor had already almost surrendered completely to the girl but he had not even so much as touched those damned teats! Seven hells, he was pathetic. It was plain as that.
Sighing in anger at himself, Sandor briskly rose from the wall of the hut and headed toward the woods. He badly needed to get a change of air and to take a piss; he could also go see how Stranger was faring and perhaps this short walk would help him clear his head. The girl was safe in the hut anyway, he didn't need to stay at his post and guard her; for all he knew, she might not even notice his absence.
When he got to the wooden structure where Stranger was stabled, Sandor's temper hadn't improved but at least he felt a little less numbed and was now eager to leave that damned mockery of a village behind him. The dark stallion had scared off the peasants' mules; the stupid beasts were grouped as far as they could get from the fierce horse who had seemingly not even noticed them. The sight drew a smirk from Sandor; he and the stallion were much alike, he realised not for the first time with a certain level of pride. As he strolled back to the little bird's hut, determined to wake her up immediately so that they might decamp from this twice-damned shithole, Sandor got some cautious salutations from the smallfolk to which he only grunted but when he finally reached the girl's hut and saw that its door was wide open, the man suddenly grew suspicious of all these strangers.
"Sansa? You're there?" he rasped, but got no answer.
Hastily, Sandor turned around and scanned his surroundings. His gaze fell on a skinny woman that was busy bathing a child a few yards from where he was; he narrowed his eyes at her and whistled for her attention.
"You, there!" he then yelled at her. "Where's the lady?"
"I don't know, m'lord. I only just got out of my hut."
Mouth twitching, the man cocked his head and scowled at her. I leave the girl for a mere moment and she vanishes almost instantly. "Bugger that. Where is she?" he hissed as he approached the woman.
The wench's eyes widened in panic and she clutched her sodden toddler against her breasts. "I'm not lying, m'lord! I truly have no clue!"
"She's at the creek with Bert, m'lord!" another woman cried out from behind her hut.
Without a word, Sandor gave the wenches a barely noticeable nod and stalked away from them, striding immediately toward the stream. As he neared the water, he heard the little bird's soft laughter ripple through the air. At the sound, he slowed his pace and relaxed. Pathetic dog, those smallfolk are more harmless than the bloody goat they roasted for us yesterday. They would never do the girl any harm, especially with the likes of you looming over their heads.
"Thank you again for everything, Bert," the little bird's voice resounded again, this time louder as Sandor neared the creek.
Curiosity getting the better of him, the man became careful with his steps and kept his eyes wide open as he noiselessly tried to find the girl's exact position. It wouldn't hurt to stay hidden for an instant and eavesdrop on her conversation with that wench she was with, he figured. They weren't very far; it took him only a couple of seconds to locate them. Thick bushes separated him from the creek but between their branches, Sandor could now discern both women's shapes; they were sitting side by side on a dead tree not far from the water, their hands busily mending what appeared to be old garments.
"It's nothing, m'lady," the peasant woman was replying as Sandor pricked up his ears. "It's an honour to serve a daughter of Winterfell and if there is anything else we could do to help you further…" the woman trailed off, her voice filled with insinuation as she uttered her last words.
"No, I'm perfectly fine, Bert," the little bird answered sweetly while smiling at the wench.
"Are you certain, m'lady?" the woman hesitantly asked, her face suddenly taut and serious. "That Hound you're with," she added in a whisper. "Does he… I saw him yesterday with you, he-"
Clearly ill at ease, the girl flinched and breathed in. Her cheeks were aflame as she hurriedly interrupted the woman, "Oh, that was nothing, Bert! I… Don't worry for me, I'm perfectly fine," she insisted as she timidly lowered her gaze to her hands.
"Lady Sansa, you don't have to lie to me. We may be poor folk but we're brave people nonetheless and we'll help you if need be," the wench affirmed insistently while settling her hands on the little bird's in a reassuring, motherly fashion.
Snorting in annoyance, Sandor pushed the branches aside and swiftly strode toward the two women. You'd best intervene before the girl changes her mind and decides she'd rather be rid you, he reflected as he joined them at the creek's bed. "The lady's perfectly fine with me, wench," he snapped at the woman who jerked her head up to glance at him with consternation. "Now, bugger off, will you?"
At seeing him appear so suddenly, the little bird jumped and her lips parted in surprise but she quickly shut her mouth and frowned at him instead, obviously displeased by his attitude.
Sighing, Sandor reluctantly turned his head toward the peasant woman again. "If it pleases you, of course," he added with poorly concealed irritation, jaw clenching. You're really losing it, dog.
With a look of concern, the wench turned her gaze on the little bird in a wordless inquiry to which the girl replied with a tight smile and a small nod. The woman took her time standing up, as if she didn't believe the girl's response to be genuine. Impatiently, Sandor followed the woman with a glare as she unenthusiastically left them by themselves but he was quick to lay his eyes back on his charge when the bloody intruder was at last gone from his view. As elegantly as if she was having tea with the queen, the little bird was demurely sitting on the dead tree and her loose auburn hair was gleaming in the sunlight in many shades of red and crimson. Her cheeks were flushed a beautiful shade of pink as she shyly raised her stunning blue eyes to him and smiled.
It took a moment for Sandor to find his words. "They want me far from you, little bird," was all that came to him.
Timidly, the girl whispered in an apologetic tone, "Bert only wants to help me."
Grunting, Sandor considered the evidence. "Of course. Who wouldn't?" he acquiesced, as he stepped toward her. In a trail that his hands had longed to follow for a very long time, the man unconsciously let his eyes rove over the girl's curves. Only then did he realise that instead of the grey wool dress that he had become accustomed to, the little bird had draped her body in an old brown roughspun gown. "Where's your dress, Sansa? This one's little more than a rag," he rasped pryingly.
"It's drying on a tree, just there," the girl replied while pointing at her regular dress, which was hooked on a branch a few feet from them. "Bert cleaned it for me and lent me this one instead."
"Is it dry yet?" Sandor inquired roughly, his face darkening as he could already guess the answer he would get.
"Of course not! She only just cleaned it," the little bird exclaimed. Not blind to Sandor's building irritation, the girl lost her smile as she added in a murmur, "We'll have to wait here until it is."
Eyes narrowed at her, Sandor hissed in disgust, "Wait here? For how long?" With a sigh, he shook his head in a mix of disbelief and annoyance. "Weren't you supposed to be eager to meet with your family again, little bird? We'll never make it in time for the exchange if we linger every time you feel like it."
Her eyes wide and sad, the little bird rose from her seat. "We'll be in time!" she cried out. "If not, my brother and mother will surely wait for me. But understand, please, I only have one dress, I had to clean it! Don't be mad at me…" she pleaded, her gaze imploring as she stared up at him while laying a delicate hand over his upper arm.
In an instinctive gesture, Sandor possessively caught it between his fingers. "I'm not mad," he lied, as he grasped her by the waist with his free hand.
The little bird gave no resistance and leaned into his touch while offering him a relieved smile. It was still fucking hard for Sandor to believe that such a goddess would willingly let him hold her and so he tightened his grip on her and pressed her further against him as if to make sure that she was no illusion.
"I'm glad we came across this place, I also got to bathe last night," the girl added happily after a moment as she raised her free hand to rest against Sandor's torso. "Perhaps you could use this time to do the same-"
"Are you trying to send me a message, Sansa?" the man growled with a hint of amusement.
A shred of horror instantly covered the girl's dainty features as she heard his assumption. "No! Of course not! I was only thinking that you might want to make this spare time useful."
Staring down at her, Sandor couldn't hold back the sniggers that shook him as he drunk in the sight of her delightful embarrassment. She's not wrong, of course. It's a miracle she still lets me touch her with that stench that I carry with me. They would both have to live would his stench for a bit longer though.
"I'm not taking off my armour with these strangers surrounding us, nor am I leaving you alone or unguarded. We'll be reaching a tributary of the Red Fork very soon; I'll clean up then."
"As you wish, Sandor," the girl whispered while untangling herself from his grasp and reclaiming her place on the dead tree.
Irked by her abrupt flight from his arms but also queerly transfixed by her natural grace, Sandor studied the little bird for some time as she resumed her mending. She was keeping her eyes dutifully lowered on her work but her grin betrayed the attention that she was truly giving him. With a smirk, Sandor sat next to her and lazily stretched his long legs in front of him, throwing his head back to stare at the greyish sky as he did so. After a moment, he tilted his head and gazed at the little bird, narrowing his eyes at her. "What are you doing? Did that wench put you to work, or what?" he asked with disdain.
Furtively glancing at him, the girl replied in a melodious tone, "I'm helping. It's only natural, don't you think?"
"Want to know what I truly think, little bird? I think you're too generous…" Sandor rasped under his breath as he snaked an arm around the little bird's shoulders and curled his free hand around her waist. "But I won't complain," he added in her ear as he buried his face in the crook of the girl's neck and lightly bit the silky skin there, eliciting a barely audible moan from her. Even in the middle of these buggering woods, she smells as sweet as she did in King's Landing, Sandor mused, his mind clouded by desire and his cock stiffening dangerously as he lifted his head and went searching for her mouth. Her plump lips were smooth and docile under his and they willingly parted as his tongue met them. In a heartbeat he had claimed her mouth as his; if not her body, at least she was freely giving him her lips and tongue. A throaty groan escaped him as he left her mouth to breathe in but just as he was about to nibble her bottom lip, the little bird gently pushed her slender hands against his breastplate and jerked her head back.
"We had better stop. What if they see us?" she whispered worriedly as she glanced around them.
"So what?" Sandor replied as he jealously clasped the girl's waist, pressing her further against him as he went to kiss her again.
At the last instant, the little bird managed to avoid his lips before she vainly tried to recoil from him but Sandor didn't give her a chance and only tightened his grip on her. "Please, let me go," she finally uttered. "I'd hate for them to catch us like that again."
For a moment, Sandor didn't react and only glared down at her but then he reluctantly loosened his hold and freed her. See how she controls you, dog? Soon, she'll have you jumping and sitting on cue, he thought, angry at himself for letting her go when she had obviously enjoyed herself before she remembered those stinking peasants. Would she truly have minded if he had kept her in his arms by force? He doubted it. I'd best get used to losing her though; soon she'll be fleeing from me forever, he thought with a pang of apprehension.
Although… what if he didn't bring her back to her family? Deep in the wild as they were, the girl would never notice if they switched direction and headed toward Saltpans instead. From there, they could board a ship for the free cities and the little bird might even believe him if he told her that it was heading for Riverrun. She wouldn't know until it was too bloody late and then she'd have no choice but to accept being his completely.
His heart suddenly beating faster, Sandor considered this new tempting plan for a few minutes but his hopes quickly dissolved as he discerned its primary flaw. He wanted the girl and had desired her for longer than he dared say, that was true enough but if he had ever had any design of forcing himself on her, he could have done it a hundred times since they stepped out on the road together and she'd have had no chance against him. Not a soul would have heard her cries for help, deep in the woods as they would've been at that moment. Gods, he could have easily taken her maidenhead against her will back in King's Landing and he wagered the poor girl would have kept their shameful, dirty little secret to herself. No, what he was so eager to steal and claim for himself wasn't only the little bird's physique but also the smiles that she was giving him so plentifully as of late. He yearned to keep her exactly as she had acted with him for the last couple of days, not as she would become once she'd be his captive for real and he her tormentor. He could never bear to see her cry, to discern hate in her eyes as she looked at him and he couldn't rape her either. Or could he? It would be tempting to take her by force after she refused him, of course, but once the deed was done he'd have killed everything that attracted him to her and put out for good the dim spark of respect that he still had for himself.
No, he couldn't abduct her; there would be naught to gain from it apart from more misery to bear on his shoulders. In the end, Sandor had to concede to himself that he had but one viable option; to lead the little bird back to her family and afterward, to cross the narrow sea and start a new life in the free cities. There was no denying though, that he would come off that ship a changed man, and not for the better. He could feel it already, deep in his core - that damned void that bloody Sansa Stark was slowly creating in him, that empty, dark hole that she would leave behind once she'd rejoined her kin. She would leave him dried out from the inside and burning with unfulfilled lust, lost in emptiness for the rest of eternity and there was naught to do about that fate. What am I thinking again? Lost in emptiness? For the rest of eternity? This is beyond ridiculous. Dog, you've reached a new peak, a desolating, pathetic new peak, he reflected wryly as a humourless laugh uncontrollably escaped him. At the sound, the girl raised her gaze from her work and turned curious eyes on him.
"What are you laughing at, Sandor?" she asked softly.
"Nothing, little bird, nothing at all," he whispered as he lifted a heavy hand and caressed the girl's jaw with his knuckle.
He had never been more truthful, he realised. He was veritably laughing at nothing, at the nothingness that she would leave behind when she flew away from him. The thought made him snigger even harder and the little bird obliviously joined him in his mirth, and although her laughter was genuine and devoid of any trace of nastiness, Sandor couldn't help but feel as if she was truly mocking him and laughing in advance at the pitiable state in which she would soon abandon him.