Hello everyone!
I know! It's been so long, but so many things happened since I last posted and I'm also extremely busy at school at the moment… Anyway, this chapter is the longest I've wrote so hopefully it will make it up.
Anyway, thanks everyone for your patience and I hope you'll keep on reading and enjoying this.
Sandor
The blood had definitely become embedded in his skin; there wasn't much to do about it. Should've cleaned it yesterday, Sandor mused with annoyance as he rubbed his arm even harder, crouched over the small creek he had found. Well, perhaps he should have but he hadn't had much choice and he wasn't about to regret his course of action. After the little bird had been attacked by the two damnable buggers, the wisest thing to do had been to flee and not look back. He wouldn't have risked more boats coming up the river and Sansa hurt or raped by the bastards they'd carry. Raped… The word sent bile up his throat and made him unconsciously clench his jaw. The fact that those boors had intended to take her by force as if she were prey they could hunt down at their own leisure had stirred Sandor's thirst for violence to a level it very rarely reached. If they'd known that only a few yards away, he stood watching, that the Hound was their quarry's escort and protector, the two halfwits indubitably would have rowed a little further up the river and passed by, eyes averted as if the girl was the sun itself. Sadly for them, they hadn't and therefore they had learned the brutal way at what cost a man interposed himself between the Hound and his duty. At the thought, Sandor bared his teeth in satisfaction but as he reflected on it he had to laugh at the falseness of it.
Who was he kidding really? Duty had naught to do with the slaughter that had followed and the girl's life and precious maidenhead certainly didn't need to be threatened for his blood to boil dangerously in his veins. He'd kill for less than that, far less… He'd tear out the eyes of each and every bugger who'd so much as glanced at the girl only to be assured that he was the sole one admiring her beauty. And then, I'd be the only male with sight left in Westeros, he surmised, irked by his own foolishness. The truth was he'd have to learn to live with the reality that he couldn't be the only one eyeing the little bird's curves with lust and hunger but the very notion made his skin crawl uncomfortably. Scratching his neck, the man sighed heavily. He had not always been so possessive of her; in King's Landing Sandor had barely given any attention to the looks she was getting from the males that surrounded her. She was Joffrey's little bird then and I hadn't tasted her either… She's mine now though, he mused with a slight smirk. For a heartbeat, Sandor believed his own claim but his satisfaction was short lived. Not only was Sansa not his but he was going to lose her forever very soon. Stupid dog, he scoffed, a scowl twisting his face.
His mood foul and bitter, the man abruptly stood and strode away from the creek to rejoin the girl in the clearing where they had slept. The hope that he would ever be clean again had definitely been erased from his mind; blood still stained the skin of his arms and he didn't even want to start pondering how his face might look. Terrible as always, only bloodier, Sandor wryly sneered to himself. The little bird didn't seem to agree with him however for when she saw him arrive, her pretty face lit up as if she had never longed to see anything more than his burned features.
"Sandor!" she exclaimed as she rose and hurriedly approached him.
The girl had lately taken to calling him by his name. It was a change from the 'my lords' she used to give him so plentifully. He liked the sound of his name on those luscious lips. Her voice was so soft; it sounded almost pure to his ears when she called him. Almost.
"What took you so long?" the little bird complained, her pink mouth set in a pout that looked tastier than any fruit he had ever eaten.
"The blood won't wash off," Sandor explained distractedly, too taken by the perfection of her pale skin and the glow it had under the morning sun to truly care about his own hide anymore.
"I'm sorry I used the last of your soap," she whispered with such a sad look that he barely managed not to burst out laughing.
Such a sweet girl. "Don't worry about me. Dogs are used being dirty. Better you are clean, and I am the filthy one," Sandor rasped while caressing her cheek with his knuckles.
The little bird was beaming again, eyes gleaming and all. It was baffling how his crude words appeared to fill her with joy while not so long ago she had silently disapproved of everything he said. The girl's getting used to me, was the logical conclusion. The next instant, her eyelids were shut and she was craning her neck, mouth slightly open. Sandor smirked to himself; he damned well knew what that meant. Although he still couldn't figure out why the seven hells such a beauty would desire being kissed by the likes of him, he'd be a fool not to take advantage of his chance. He lifted his hands to her shoulders and bent down to kiss her. As always, her lips were tender and submissive and Sandor wondered for a moment if she would truly oppose him if he laid her on the ground, lifted those heavy skirts and tore open that very annoying bodice...
Aye, of course she'd complain and squeak but who was to know what a woman truly meant when she said no? Anyhow, what could she possibly do against me? As long as the exchange has not taken place, she's mine to do as I wish. The temptation to take the girl, willing or not, had never totally left him; it still lingered in the back of his mind and he apparently would never be rid of it but he had already made his choice and intended to stick to his word. He wouldn't rape her… which also meant he would never have her. Stop whining, dog, you already had much more than you deserve. On the previous night, the little bird had allowed his hardened cock to rub against her firm little arse and hadn't even tried to escape. It was mind-blowing but he had been the one to flee in the end. He had had no buggering choice if he wanted to keep the promise he had made to himself. His hand had been the one doing the dirty deed in the end… again. Throughout the last few days, Sandor had fucked his hand more often than a bloody squire would. It was laughable. Well, he'd best stop kissing the girl and leave the bloody clearing before he had to do it all over again.
"We need to go, Sansa," the man muttered as he let his arms fall from around her and straightened his back.
The girl nodded but nonetheless stayed nestled into him for a time. Her eyes were shut and she was pushing her cheek and palms into his torso in a manner that reminded Sandor of a cat begging to be petted. Just as he was about to relent and raise his hands to hold her again, the little bird turned around and fled from his grasp as swiftly as a leaf twirling away from one's fingers. Sandor felt his mouth twitch and he grunted in annoyance.
"Aren't you going to put on your armour?' the oblivious girl asked, head jerking around to look at him when she was a few steps away.
"You're right. I'd forgotten," he answered almost harshly.
Hastily, Sandor headed to the saddlebag that still lay on the ground and gathered the steel pieces into a pile beside it. He sat on a dead tree and began tying the smallest parts by himself but once he got to his breastplate, Sansa neared him from behind and wordlessly took over for him. He let her do it. Why not? Wasn't she doing herself a favour more than anything else? His armour had absurdly been protecting her from him during their last days together. Without it, the contact of their skin was far too direct and therefore the danger that he might lose his control increased, as yesterday's events demonstrated. He barked a short, dry laugh. As of yet, his armour had been of more use protecting her from him than from their foes.
"Why are you laughing, Sandor?" the girl asked innocently as she buckled the last piece of steel over him.
"I don't know myself," he lied as he stood up so abruptly that she almost fell down.
Thankfully, Sandor quickly caught her by the shoulders and prevented her fall. The grateful look she gave him as he straightened her up was so moving that it might have broken the heart of the most hardened brutes of the realm - and he was one of them. Sandor snorted, irritated by his own senselessness and gently pushed her aside to join Stranger. The saddlebag was quickly settled over the horse's back and the stallion moved nervously while he waited for the last preparations to be done, obviously eager to go. Good. At least one of us has other preoccupations than fucking the little bird.
They were shortly on their way again and the girl was leaning on him as if he was a bloody pillow. What could she possibly appreciate about the hardness of steel against her back? Sandor pushed the thought aside as he would a gnat with the wave of a hand and tried to recall what truly mattered instead: Hornvale. The castle was alarmingly close. Gone was the time when he and his charge were isolated from the world like two castaways on a secluded island; people would start to sprout around them more and more. Hornvale was the seat of House Brax, one of the chief bannermen of the Lannisters. It wouldn't do to be surprised by their lord or retainers; most were likely to know Sandor and although he doubted that rumours of his demise had reached anyone's ears as of yet, the best course of action was nonetheless to lay low and pass by unnoticed.
"Oh, look, Sandor! There! A house!" the little bird suddenly chirped while pointing at a decrepit cabin not too far away.
"Aye, I saw it. This won't be the last we come by, so make sure your hood is up at all times and keep quiet," he ordered her more sternly than he had intended.
The girl nodded and lifted her hood. Three children in rags were playing around the house and froze when they noticed the travellers. Standing still, they stared with wide eyes, obviously frightened by the strangers. Their faces were all dirtied with earth and their hair had the color and texture of old straw. Those were the get of the poorest of the poor, hermits that lived on the edge of civilization, Sandor surmised. Nevertheless, even recluses couldn't live too far from a village of some type; Hornvale, in that case. Eyes narrowed, Sandor sent the tots a furtive glare and the three of them instantly jumped and ran away, yelping like mice. The man sniggered as he watched their flight but he nonetheless calmly continued on his way, never mind the reproving glance the little bird sent him.
As the day went by, Sandor's prediction proved right; hovels were getting increasingly more common and the wood was becoming thinner by the hour. Around midday, they encountered a group of woodcutters that stopped their work to eye him and the little bird with suspicion. None were as tall as him but they were a brawny lot and therefore Sandor kept his gaze on them and his hand over the hilt of his sword. The group was silent and staring, even their mules appeared puzzled by the disruption and had turned their heads around to gaze at the intruders. After a long and awkward moment of incertitude, the commoners finally gave way to let Stranger pass and bowed down. Breathing out with relief, Sandor hurried his horse forward and hastily left the clearing behind.
Hornvale's nearest village was perhaps less than an hour away and although he was getting nervous about the dangers it might represent, Sandor knew that avoiding it completely was not a viable option. They were already late enough for the exchange and circling around Hornvale would perhaps add as much as a half-day to their journey. Their current proximity to the castle couldn't be helped.
Just as he was reflecting on these facts, Sandor sighted the towers of Hornvale castle piercing through the canopy of the forest in the distance. The white and purple sigil of House Brax was flying high and proud in the sky above it and Sansa, who had sensed that his attention had been caught by something, turned her head around and gasped when she noticed the stone structure.
"A castle!" she whispered, her voice as terrified as if she had glimpsed a dragon cutting its way across the sky. Clutching at Sandor's arm, she rapidly jerked her head around and gazed up at him with eyes wide with apprehension.
He had to smile at the excessiveness of her reaction. "Aye. Hornvale, it's called," he explained, eyes protectively lowered to her. "We'll avoid it as best we can."
With a kick, Sandor hurried Stranger's pace. Throughout the next hour, he tried to keep a sensible distance between the castle and them without losing sight of its tower completely. By then, the trees were so sparse that it was as easy to keep a steady rhythm as it would've been on any regular country lane. The little bird and he were about to completely leave Hornvale's surroundings behind when the sound of hooves on the forest ground resounded from behind them. Jerking his head around, Sandor discerned the rider immediately. He was still at some distance from them but at the speed he rode, he was sure to catch up with them in no time and as the bugger obviously intended to join them, there was really no sense in trying to flee. Reluctantly, Sandor halted Stranger and turned the horse around while discreetly laying a hand over the hilt of his sword. Alarmed, the little bird gazed up at him, her eyes big and round.
"Stay still and keep your mouth shut. We'll see what the boor wants soon enough," he told her lowly, the rough edge of his voice betraying his unease.
Without a word, the girl leaned further into him, hugging herself as if she were cold while she returned her attention to the rider. The man was rapidly closing in; they would soon discover the purpose of the peculiar and unwanted pursuit. When he finally reached them, the boor stopped his horse and began boldly studying them both while catching his breath. The man was close enough to make them out clearly and although he appeared surprised by his find, he also seemed queerly pleased.
"So the rumour is true," he finally said when he was rested enough.
"What rumour?" Sandor spat with contempt. By instinct, he tightened his fingers around his sword's hilt.
Seemingly unaware of his interlocutor's hostility, the man explained himself with contentment. "Woodcutters that worked in the forest nearby came back to Hornvale with tidings that the Hound was in the area. My lord has sent me to meet you and offer his hospitality. He told me that no member of the Kingsguard and servant of the Lannisters could possibly pass by without spending at least one night at his castle."
Sandor's scowl deepened. He'd been a bloody fool to hope that the woodcutters hadn't recognised him, especially with the looks they had given him. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword; his blade wouldn't be of any help with that Brax retainer. Words were the weapon he'd need to get out of this fix but courtesies had never been his thing. Nonetheless, he'd try. "We're in a hurry. You'll thank Lord Brax for me but-"
"Why not come and thank him by yourself, Clegane?" a voice resounded from further into the woods.
Almost instantly, Sandor jerked his head around and peered in the direction it had come. Too preoccupied by the incursion of the first bugger, Sandor had shamefully not even noticed that there was another rider approaching them. He glowered, piqued by his own negligence. "And who are you?" he yelled at the newcomer.
"Give me time to join you first, please," the second rider cried out as he led his horse toward them. He was a young man of twenty years or so, with chestnut hair and a tanned complexion and the quality of the garb he wore gave no doubt that he was no retainer. "You don't recognise me, of course," he said when he was close enough. "Last time we met, I was little more than a boy but I remember admiring your battle skills in our yard while you practiced with other men of your group." Bowing his head slightly, the young man presented himself. "I am Richard, heir of House Brax. Surely nothing can be so pressing that you won't stop by the castle to rest properly."
Great… exactly what I needed; the buggering heir in person. That one will definitely be harder to rebuff, Sandor reflected while fighting the urge to roll his eyes and sigh. "I thank you, my lord, but I am on a mission that requires me to be as fast as possible," he replied instead.
The heir's stare had travelled from Sandor to Sansa and he was gazing at her with curious eyes. "A mission involving this young lady, I gather?"
Jaw clenched, Sandor grudgingly recognised that there was no point in lying about what was as plain as day. "Aye, it does," he admitted. Only then did he realise that the little bird's back was still flush against him. Discreetly, he raised a hand and pushed her from him.
The Brax lad thankfully didn't notice anything, too busy listening to the sound of his own voice. "And – tell me if I'm right - could it be possible that this mission is somehow connected to the gathering taking place near the Golden Tooth?" he asked. "Some say that Jaime Lannister has been brought up there but no one has been able to confirm it yet. We know that most of the group is from the Riverlands but that some of them have come from as far as the North-"
Sandor's mouth twitched. Are all of the fucking Seven Kingdoms acquainted with this now?! "This meeting was supposed to be a secret. Have rumours spread already?" he said curtly with scarcely hidden anger.
"No use worrying, my friend!" the young lord replied, a wide, poised grin stretching his lips. "We know of it at the castle because of the spies we keep but the smallfolk and knights of the area are ignorant of the matter, of course."
"I see," Sandor rasped dryly, not reassured at all by the boy's words.
Smiling warmly at the girl, the heir of House Brax advanced slightly toward them while continuing with his interminable inquiry. "I presume this young woman is Lady Sansa of House Stark. Which other maiden could be brought to Riverlanders and Northerners in such secrecy, I wonder? And with the hair she has-"
"You're right, it is she," Sandor impatiently snapped. He hadn't taken note that the little bird's locks weren't braided. Red curls were clearly visible, cascading out of her hood down to her waist.
With a questioning frown, the young man continued in an amused tone. "Was it judged more discreet to travel this way, with one horse only? It doesn't seem very fitting to ride double like you're doing."
Sandor snorted. Of course it wasn't proper. "No. We've been attacked by outlaws during our journey. I've been able to retrieve the girl, but not her mare nor her things," he explained, preferring not even to mention the buggering Lannister squire he had lost along the way.
"The girl? Is this an appropriate way to refer to a highborn maiden like Lady Sansa, hostage though she may be?" the lad asked in a mocking, falsely shocked tone.
Sighing, Sandor narrowed his eyes on him. "Well, perhaps not but that's what I call her," he retorted without thinking. The Brax boy and his smooth ways were definitely getting on his nerves.
The young man laughed casually at his reply. "I've been warned about your sharp tongue, Clegane. Very refreshing," he commented with a genuine smile and Sandor had to wonder at that instant if he didn't prefer the usual scorn he received than this so very bothersome friendliness. "Anyhow," the lad continued, "I highly encourage both of you to come to Hornvale. We'll lend Lady Sansa a horse and provide you with an escort. That will certainly be more seemly when you meet with your hostage's family. Let's not cloud the Lannister's reputation by letting the Northerners witnesstheir princess in such an unbecoming position."
As much as Sandor hated to admit it, the lad had a point. The little bird would certainly benefit from everything that Richard Brax had proposed. She needed to preserve her reputation and some measure of appearance and arriving at the exchange point in a faded, blood-stained dress, sharing a horse with Joffrey's dog was certainly not the way to achieve it. Anyhow, the Brax family was clearly clueless about Sandor's little misadventure with Julius and the thugs and thus there was really no risk in spending a single night at their castle. The only detail that bothered him, and it was quite a detail to be honest, was that his time alone with the girl would be ending a few days earlier than he had predicted but it was perhaps better this way. It would all have to end sooner than later anyway.
"Fine then. We'll come," he answered once he had made up his mind. "I thank you," he then added as an afterthought with an evident lack of enthusiasm.
"The pleasure is mine, Clegane," the lad replied with a smile. Bowing his head respectfully, he then addressed the little bird. "It's an honour to welcome you tonight, Lady Sansa."
"I thank you, my lord," she replied shyly. The lithe muscles of her back were tense but she had listened and was now holding her balance solely by keeping her hands on the pommel. It annoyed Sandor although it was exactly what he had hinted she should do only minutes earlier.
"Everything is settled then. You may follow me, I'll show you the way," the Brax boy announced joyfully before kicking his horse and striding toward the castle. Both Sandor and the other rider followed immediately in his wake but none spoke. Only Richard's voice resounded through the forest as they made their way, although Sandor couldn't have cared less what he was rambling about.
The group had ridden for less than half an hour when they reached the entrance of Hornvale castle. The drawbridge was down and the massive steel doors wide open. The young lord led the way in but Sandor remembered the place well enough. He had spent about a week there when he was returning from battling the rebel Ironmen some years back. The yard hadn't changed much since that time, he remarked as he scanned the place. A group of men, retainers mostly, were in discussion in one of its corners and standing in the middle of them, Sandor immediately recognised the old lord. He was a robust and tall man - although still shorter than him - with a grey beard and only the remnants of hair crowning his balding head. The old Lord Brax was deep in conversation and it took him a moment to notice the newcomers. Sandor had already jumped from his horse and was about to help Sansa down when the man came to salute him.
"Ah! So the woodcutters where no fools after all. We weren't certain that they hadn't mistaken someone else for you but I'm pleased to see they didn't err," the old lord said stiffly.
Sandor grunted and bowed his head slightly.
"I welcome you to my house, make yourself comfortable," Lord Brax went on, a tight smile barely curling his lips. "You'll have to forgive me though; I have to settle an important matter that really can't wait. We'll have the chance to talk later tonight perhaps; until then I'm certain my son will take good care of you." The man had already turned around when he finished his sentence and he hadn't even glanced once at Sansa as he talked. At the realisation, Sandor felt the unburned corner of his mouth twist in a pleased smile. If only more males were to do as the old lord did, he might not have so many eyes to tear out in the days to come.
Lord Brax was just as Sandor had remembered; polite, obliging and most of all, always eager to aid his Lannister liege lord and his retainers but he wasn't a very friendly man. Too bad the trait has skipped a generation, Sandor sneered to himself as he glared at the Brax lad. The little bird was glancing around her with apprehension when the man gazed at her again. Wordlessly, he circled her tiny waist and took her from the horse.
Her hands nervously gripped his arms as he did so. "Oh, Sandor! Do you think they'll know? About you, I mean?" she murmured warily while he brought her down.
He shook his head slowly. "Everything's fine, Sansa." As he spoke, he noticed that she was still clutching at him like a lost child. With a sigh, he stirred his arm to free himself from her grasp and took a step back.
As he left her, she smiled timidly at him but her eyes were wide and sad. The sight made something quiver deep down inside him but he only scowled and turned around to join Stranger in an attempt to stop it.
"Lady Sansa!" someone called suddenly. From the other side of the yard, the young heir of House Brax was waving a hand at her. He was heading toward them, followed by a middle-aged woman; a servant most likely, judging by the dress she wore.
"Lady Sansa, meet Anna. She'll be helping you settle into the room we've given you and show you the old gowns that my sisters left behind when they married. I'm sure a few of them will suit you well enough," the lad told her as he and the handmaiden flanked the little bird.
"We'll need adjacent rooms," Sandor rapidly interceded as he interposed himself between Sansa and the Brax boy, Stranger's reins in hand. "She's still under my care," he then added as if to explain himself.
"That certainly can be managed. I'm sure we have two neighbouring guest rooms ready to be slept in. Do we, Anna?" he inquired, gazing kindly at the wench.
"Yes, m'lord, we do indeed. I'll lead both of you, m'lady and m'lord," she proposed, while respectfully looking at both Sandor and his charge.
"Bring the… Lady Sansa there first. I'll take my horse to the stables and find my way on my own afterward," Sandor rasped, glancing at the dark beast by his side. "That one's not very friendly with unfamiliar hands. No need calling a squire unless you want to correct him and are looking for some sort of punishment." He bared his teeth in a smirk at the memory of every stable boy that now wore a scar to remind them of the Hound's horse.
The young man laughed heartily. "Do it yourself, then. I'll show you the way."
Sandor followed him in silence. He remembered well enough where the stables were from his first visit years ago but judged it useless to intervene; the lad was not likely to leave him alone whatever he said. Some instinct made him jerk his head around to rake his gaze over the yard one last time as he went. Like a magnet, the blue pools of Sansa's eyes drew his instantly. She was staring at him as the servant woman led her to the entrance and looked as distraught as if he had just abandoned her in the middle of fucking battlefield. Sandor almost immediately averted his eyes from her and barely contained himself from shaking his head in despair. Couldn't she see that she was safe?
Stranger was quickly settled in a loose box and given water and food. Sandor had just begun brushing the stallion when the Brax boy spoke again.
"I'd really like for you and Lady Sansa to join me for supper tonight. My lord father is often very busy and it would be a change to have people to talk with for once."
The burned corner of Sandor's mouth twitched. He had no intention of sharing the little bird with anyone tonight. Especially since it was the last opportunity he was ever likely to get to spend some time alone with her. "I'm sorry but she's a hostage. I can't let her wander freely around your castle as if she were a regular guest. She'll have to eat alone in her room, as she always did when she was in King's Landing," he shamelessly lied, keeping his eyes on Stranger's flank as he spoke.
"It's unheard of to constrain a highborn captive like that, much less a maiden as harmless as Lady Sansa. She wouldn't be free either, you'd be with her," the lad argued, a frown on his face.
"Order of the king," Sandor grunted, trying to sound as sorry as he could manage although he truly got some satisfaction in crushing the lad's hopes. "I'll be staying in my room too. I need rest."
"As you wish then. I'll make sure meals and warm water are sent to both of you and make the arrangements for your departure." The young lord had yielded more easily than Sandor had predicted and for that, the man was extremely grateful.
"I thank you, my lord. You can be certain I'll tell the king of your generosity when I see him next," Sandor rasped lowly, a slow grin creeping over his lips. He wasn't really lying; he could always mention the Braxs' hospitality to Joffrey before Payne chopped his head off if he ever got captured…
By some improbable miracle Sandor had found, packed in a corner of his saddlebag, a tunic that had not been worn once since his departure from King's Landing. He had put it aside, chosen his cleanest breeches and given the stinking rest to an old washerwoman. The crone had assured him that it would all be ready on the morrow and thus Sandor had jumped at the opportunity; like it or not, this was likely to be the last chance he would get to launder his garb before he set foot in the Free Cities.
The bath Sandor had taken afterward had been a world away from the ice-cold torture he had endured the previous day and the warm water and soap had easily erased every single buggering blood stain he had cursed over that morning. Now - clean, dry and rested - he lay on his bed with a skin of wine in hand as he waited for the damned meal to be brought up. Why is it taking so long? he kept wondering while he listened to his stomach rumbling its own complaint. He was starving but most of all, Sandor was craving Sansa. At least the wine was good, dark and sour as he liked. It was a relief to drink something other than water for once after days of being completely sober. The thick and delectably strong liquid made the wait more bearable; he could almost forget the cruel proximity of the little bird while it flowed down his throat, but each time his mouth left the wineskin, he was reminded of being on the wrong side of the wall. Calm down, dog, the evening's still young, he reasoned, tipping his skin to his lips again. Only once the meals were brought up would he rejoin the girl; it wouldn't do for them to be surprised by servants alone in her chamber. Until then, he'd best learn patience and keep quiet.
Just as he was taking another desperate swig of wine, the long-awaited knock resounded against the door. At the sound, Sandor jumped from his bed and opened it instantly. A wench was standing there, a large tray in hand with a plate of steaming food sitting over it. She looked terrified when she saw him, however Sandor barely eyed her; his attention had been grasped by the little bird's door, which was ajar, and he couldn't have cared less for the scarecrow that waited before him. As he snatched the tray from the wench's shaking grip, another servant woman exited the girl's room and shut the door behind her. Only then did Sandor lower his eyes to the anxious woman before him.
"You won't be needed tonight. You may both go," he informed her sharply.
Standing on the doorstep, he watched the wenches as they trailed down the stairway and pricked up his ears until he couldn't discern a single footstep. Once silence was complete again, he closed his door as best he could with his hands full and leaped the short distance that separated him from the girl's room.
"Little bird, let me in," he then demanded.
His side leaning against the door, the man listened to the softness of her steps as she strode toward him. "Sandor!" she exclaimed as she opened the door for him. Her smiling face was like an apparition in the slit of the door; the cream of her skin was so stunning against the deep redness of her mane and her lips, pink and full… She looks tired though, Sandor remarked. Her usual big, bright eyes were reddened and small and lacked the vivacity he had become accustomed to. She's probably fallen asleep while waiting for the food, he concluded. Red eyes on not, she's still the prettiest thing I've ever had the chance to behold, not to mention kiss and fondle, the man decided, smirking while he pushed the door completely open with his shoulder. Quickly, he entered and settled his tray on a large table close by the window. The chamber the Braxs had given Sansa was very much like his own, Sandor judged as he swept his stare over its length. It was roomy, with a fireplace, a small dining space and a bed in its corner. Against his will, his gaze lingered over the bed a little longer than was necessary but he hastily shook himself and looked elsewhere.
The little bird had shut the door and was slowly approaching him when Sandor set his eyes upon her again. Her slim body was covered with a loose, white nightgown that was nothing if not modest but something about the pure, virginal aura it gave her aroused him instantly. The girl herself was manifestly abashed to be seen thus; her face was all flushed and she was hugging herself in a vain attempt to conceal the inappropriateness of her clothes.
"I'm not dressed properly… I didn't think you would come-"
"Really?" He snorted. Did she truly believe he wouldn't seek her? "Well, if it makes you feel better, I've seen you in far more revealing gowns back in King's Landing." He had meant his words to reassure her but the girl's cheeks only seemed to grow hotter when she heard them.
Smirking at her oh-so-delightful timidity, Sandor caught her by the wrists and drew her toward him. When she was near enough, he snaked a strong hand around her waist and cupped her cheek with the other. The fabric of her nightgown was thinner than it had appeared, Sandor marvelled. He could almost feel her skin through the fine cloth. Grunting with desire, he let his fingers travel from her side to the small of her back and then to her ribs, eager to explore this new closeness. The girl immediately surrendered to his touch and moaned softly; she was melting into him faster than snow thrown over a burning brazier. The side of her head was leaning into his palm, her chin up in a mouth-watering offering of white skin and Sandor's eyes roved over the deliciousness of her throat with building hunger. Her neck was so thin – like all the rest of her- and it moved with each breath she took. Mouth wide open, Sandor took it between his teeth and bit lightly. To his infinite pleasure, the girl gasped aloud. I'd best stop, Sandor mused against his own will as he gently pushed her away. It was that or having her for dinner instead of the food that waited on the table.
"Let's eat, Sansa," he rasped as he led her to the table. It pained him to leave such willing prey but he was indeed hungry and the sooner the meal was over with, the sooner he could return his attention to her. He'd make the most of their last evening alone afterward and see how far she was willing to let him go, he reflected, gazing at her arse as she sat down. She hadn't even tried to flee from him last night after all, when she'd been sitting over his stiffened shaft…
"This looks really good," the little bird said with a faint smile as she glanced at her meal.
Indeed, the man mused, eyes roving over her curves. The redness of her eyes hadn't faded, Sandor noticed when he had succeeded at last in raising his stare to her face. Her smile didn't seem as genuine as it normally did either. Tired, he concluded as he took his place in front of her.
They ate in silence, him as fast as a starving man, her so very slowly. The food was good though; fresh partridge with a mix of turnips and greens but the girl was still pushing her food around her plate as a child would when he finished his. "If you don't like it, I'll eat it for you," Sandor threatened before taking a long swig of his wine.
Without an ounce of hesitation, the little bird pushed her plate over to him. Sandor grabbed it immediately and made short work of its contents. He wouldn't waste good food and furthermore, he was still hungry. Sansa was absentmindedly staring at him when he finally tossed his fork over the table. Meeting her eyes, he gazed at her for a long moment, admiring how the flat line of her lips gradually curled into a smile under his attention. There, Sandor thought with satisfaction when her face had lost all of its previous melancholy. The man drank in the sight of her for some time but then a realisation shook him. He was alone, in a room with a bloody featherbed, with the prettiest maiden he'd ever seen… and he would soon be losing her forever. Sandor wasn't about to think about that just now though –he'd have the rest of his useless life to lament it. No, tonight was the time to take everything he could possibly get from her. He'd sip every single drop she would allow him to squeeze out of her and there was not a minute to spare.
Grinning, Sandor rose and walked around the table. Her eyes wide, the girl braced herself with apprehension as she watched him approach and gasped when he hoisted her over his shoulder, no warning given. She liked being carried, didn't she? He'd indulge her tonight, Sandor mused, grin broadening. The girl's soft slippers had fallen from her feet and as he strode to the bed, the lace at the fringe of her dress was flying over her ankles. Ineluctably, Sandor's eyes were drawn to the soft shapes of her feet, covered by white silken stockings. Of its own accord, his free hand grabbed one and his fingers enveloped it completely.
He was already hard as a rock when he threw her onto the bed but he would need to control himself if he didn't want to scare her off right away. He planned on going as far as she would allow him tonight, however this would only be achieved by going as slowly as he could manage. Patience was what would allow him to push her limits the farthest. Evidently, a highborn maiden like her was far from likely to give herself completely to anyone but her buggering husband on her wedding night but Sandor could think of a few other things they might do…
As she landed on the bed, the little bird squeaked so very beautifully. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide as she tried to sit up but Sandor wasn't able to stop himself from pushing her down again and getting on top of her. In shock, she opened her mouth to speak - without success - as Sandor immediately kissed her while sliding a hand over her flat stomach and ribs. He paused to lick and bite the paleness of her neck; his hand was almost getting to her breasts-
"Oh, Sandor… Sandor, please… we need to talk…" the little bird suddenly implored, her frail hands pushing at his shoulders.
Perplexed, but most of all annoyed, the man rose slightly from her. "About what?" he managed to grunt.
The blue of Sansa's eyes was gleaming in the dimness of the room. She bit her lip, bleakness rising in her. "Tomorrow, we won't be alone anymore… and soon, with the exchange, we'll be parted-"
"I know that, Sansa, trust me," Sandor cut her off with irritation. That was exactly the reason why he wanted to talk as little as possible and act as much as he could but he couldn't tell her that. Instead, he dipped his head down and tried to kiss her.
The girl cocked her head and avoided him just in time. "Please, Sandor! Don't you want to listen to what I have to say to you?" she asked in a small, pleading voice, her distress plain.
Sighing, the man rolled on his side and laid narrowed eyes on her. "I'm listening," he rasped dryly.
The little bird wasn't smiling at all at that instant. Gone was her usual grin but she didn't look mad either, only sad. She was hesitant and kept silent for some time - precious time they didn't bloody have! "Starting tomorrow, we won't be alone anymore," she began at last. "I thought we still had a few days ahead of us, all by ourselves before we met with my family but we won't. I've thought about this all afternoon! What will become of you once the exchange is done? Don't you think that… that…" She paused. "Sandor… I… I'd like you to become my sworn shield… I'll ask my mother and-"
Sandor snorted in disbelief. "Your sworn shield?"
A shy smile crept over the little bird's pretty face. "Yes… would you like that?" she asked timidly.
Slowly shaking his head, Sandor stared at her with a mix of incredulity and annoyance. Was she out of her fucking mind? After a long wordless moment, he snapped. "The bloody question is not if I'd like to be your sworn shield or not, Sansa." Breathing in, he then uttered a brief and exasperated laugh, devoid of any joy. "Are you truly naïve enough to believe that your family would allow that? Tell me?" he hissed afterwards, more irked than touched by the unrealistic proposition.
Sansa's eyes were fluttering and she had backed away from him, all the muscles of her lithe body tense. He hadn't been able to control his outburst and now he regretted it of course, but how was he supposed to keep his composure when she expressed such stupid things?! Sandor didn't know what to do with himself because the impossibility of the situation angered him so much.
The girl was perhaps innocent as a newborn but she wasn't a fool either; she undoubtedly realised something she had said had ruffled him the wrong way. She waited an instant, eyes lowered but finally regained the courage to speak up. "No, of course. I do know you're right… I've thought about this too…" she murmured in the smallest of voices. Raising her eyes to gaze at him, the little bird continued. "My family would not agree at first… but I'm sure I could make them see-"
Sandor glowered even more. This was just too much. Was he supposed to share her idiotic dreams and hope for what was fucking inconceivable too? Did she truly think he believed in fairies and valiant knights also? "You want to make them see? What exactly, Sansa? That I'm an ugly, murderous dog?" he mocked in a snarl, rage rising in him like water threatening to boil over. He breathed in but it did nothing to calm his temper.
Sansa's eyes were filling with tears. "No, of course not!" she almost sobbed.
"Then what, little bird? Tell me? That I'm hard for you? Uh?! Is that it?" he asked, dragging her toward him so that she pressed against the hardness of his shaft. She yelped and he got a cruel satisfaction from her dismay.
"Sandor, stop it! Please!" she exclaimed. She tried to shove him away, without success.
Her eyes were lowered and she was clutching at the cloth of his tunic, scared and probably wishing she had never met him at all. Good for her. She had to learn something from all this.
Her sweet voice took him out of the darkness of his brooding as abruptly as the sun appearing after a storm on a summer's day. "All I want is for us to be together, don't you understand?" she murmured, two lone tears rolling down her cheeks.
Their sight instantly cooled the wrath in him and he felt something stir inside him, deeply buried at the bottom of his core. The sensation was queer, painful even but also… tempting, so very tempting. What had she said? Together? He raised his fingers and dried the wetness on her face. Had she really said she desired to be with him? Whatever the fuck that meant?
"Together, you said?" he lamentably repeated.
"Yes," the girl answered, a vacillating smile forming on her lips.
She wants to be with me. The idea was too absurd to intellectualize, however a part of Sandor that knew no logic was threatening to take control. Something had lit in him, his eyes had opened wide and the troubling movement in his core was increasing dangerously. It hurt but something about it was enticing, so enticing that he ended up capitulating and allowed it to be, if only for a brief instant.
He should never have permitted it. Never, but it was already too late when he realised the scale of his mistake. Like a valve, Sandor's restraint broke before he even knew it and then he lost it completely. Unable to stop himself, the words were out of his mouth sooner than he could even think. "Come with me, Sansa," he rasped with more passion than he was aware he had in him. In one swift movement, Sandor had rolled closer to the little bird and buried his hand in her hair, around the back of her head. "We don't have to go to the exchange. It's not too late," he continued, with the same pathetic fervour. "Flee with me tonight and we'll cross the Narrow Sea, go live in the Free Cities. Together." Was it really him talking that nonsense?
Sansa's lips parted in stupefaction. "But what will Lord Brax think?" she breathed so softly that he could barely make out what she said.
"Lord Brax?" Sandor snorted. "I'll kill him if needs be," he added, fingers stroking the girl's face. All his pride forgotten, the man pleaded to her like the most pitiable wreck he could think of, "Come with me, little bird. I'm begging you."
Eyes shining with emotion, Sansa murmured, "But my family-"
"A girl can't stay with her family forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to leave them." Sandor had perhaps lost every shred of dignity he had ever managed to keep but there was no stopping him now. He felt like a man trapped in a black cell for years that had finally glimpsed the sun from afar after an eternity of total darkness.
Clearly bewildered, the little bird seemed to hesitate and Sandor kissed her, foolishly hoping that it would help her make up her mind in his favour.
The girl's arms had climbed around his neck and her lips and tongue were as hungry as his. They barely had time to breathe but they still continued on. Sandor was on his elbow, one hand lost in the thickness of the girl's hair, the other grabbing one of her fine teats. She gasped but let him do it. It was too perfect to be true. The prospect that she might become his in truth was gleaming in the background as the most alluring delusion and all the while, she was seemingly inclined in allowing him to do whatever he pleased with her. Naught had ever been so perfect. Was Sandor hallucinating it all? He pressed his cock against her just to make sure he wasn't dreaming - but he wasn't - and by some miracle, he felt himself grow even harder although he wouldn't have believed it possible. Overwhelmed by lust, Sandor backed away from the little bird – his little bird - and got on his side, rising just enough to catch her ankle with his hand.
"Come with me, Sansa," he muttered as he brushed his fingers up her calf from under her nightgown. She looked about to say something – a protest maybe - but Sandor kissed her just in case he might not like what she said. The hope she had given him was too fucking beautiful to be destroyed. He was torn between his need to know and his fear of knowing. "Come," Sandor despairingly rasped again once he left her lips.
His fingers were gripping the hem of her stocking over the deliciousness of her thigh, ready to bring it down when she breathed the accursed words he was praying to the gods he didn't even bloody believe in she wouldn't. "No… no… Sandor, no…" she said.
"No? No what?" the man rasped frantically, hand still clamped over her thigh. "That…" he pressed his fingers over the soft skin, "Or 'no'… to come with me?" he asked with barely-hidden apprehension. Never had he heard his own voice sound so damnably pitiable. He couldn't stand being so weak, contempt was consuming him… but still he waited for her answer with hope. Everything about that moment of expectation was as intolerable as it was exhilarating.
Evidently as lost as him, Sansa reflected for what appeared to be an eternity. "I don't know…"she whispered after some time. Shutting her eyes, she frowned and her face became taut with concentration. Just as Sandor was about to lose his mind completely, the little bird opened her eyes and finally answered. "No, Sandor. We can't go like that," she said.
In the blink of an eye, everything crumbled. Sighing heavily, Sandor narrowed his eyes at the girl. Had he been dreaming all this? Looks like you did, stupid dog.
Then, as winter was always certain to come once summer had died, the chirping started again. "I'm sure I can convince my mother, Sandor. I know I can. We can't just flee! We have to go to the exchange as planned… but then I'll make sure you stay with me, you can count on that," she cried as she sat up and modestly drew her legs under her, away from Sandor's grasp.
Exactly as the most perfect of dreams inevitably slips between one's fingers when the sun rises, reality violently hit Sandor at that precise instant. Words: that was all she would ever give him; it was also all she had ever wished to extort from him. Now that she had ripped the confessions and pleas out of him, that she had seen him crawl at her feet, he lost all interest in her eyes and she was retreating. The little bird had reached her goal, hadn't she? She wouldn't come with him, no matter what he promised her. He'd been a bloody halfwit to believe she'd choose otherwise. He'd been an even bigger fool to let her know he dreamed of possessing her. Sandor should never have let himself go as he had just done. She'd seen him in a far too vulnerable place, he realised with sudden anger. The girl had had a glimpse of the fullness of his passion for her, of something meant for no one's eyes, not even his.
The little bird was indeed a kitten playing with a mouse; she had caught Sandor so well in her claws that he had not even noticed she had overpowered him. Sansa Stark would never be his, never flee with him and never give herself to him. She had never so much as intended any of these. Perhaps - and even probably - she had no true notion of what she had just achieved. It was merely female instinct that had pushed her to act so, to impel him to willingly open up, his insides bloodied in front of her for the sole purpose of her distraction. Men hunted animals and other men but these were the triumphs women enjoyed. Her first trophy: that's what Sandor was. Sansa had not acted with cruelty in mind, or mayhap even consciously, however she had done it and he despised her for it. Sandor hated being anyone's victim.
Red with anger, he glared at her as she sat demurely at the edge of the bed, far too pure for him. He couldn't possibly dirty that perfection with his filthy hands. How had he ever believed she would allow him to? This had been all a play. He should show her his wrath, show her what happened when you teased a man so and then he'd leave her broken and bloodied and alone. She'd learn her lesson once her maidenhead was no more than a stain on the white sheets of her featherbed. He'd flee this night for the Free Cities and let the buggering Braxs clean up the fucking mess for him afterwards.
His blood pumping, Sandor considered it for the space of a few breaths until he remembered his faults and the depth of his own guilt. Hadn't he been aware of what he was involving himself with ever since it all started? Hadn't he jumped eagerly and knowingly into the little bird's game, happy to get whatever scraps she'd throw him? She had given him far more than he had ever predicted but now he was complaining because he couldn't have it all… If truth be told, he was the real predator, not her.
Still, the knowledge of his misdeeds was not enough to soothe him completely. He did feel disgusted by his own actions and his dissolute ways but most of all, he was infuriated with himself, that he had enabled anyone to grab so much control over him. He wasn't supposed to be that weak. Perhaps the best course of action was to flee, to never look back and forget – if possible – about all this. He'd finish what he had started of course - bringing the girl to her family but then he'd disappear as soon as she was safely behind her mother's skirts again.
Suddenly determined, Sandor stood up, scowling, and grabbed his wineskin. Without a word, he headed for the door and gave the girl one last glance.
Transfixed, the little bird was staring at him with big, puzzled eyes. "Sandor, where are you going?" she cried out in a high-pitched voice, tears rolling down her cheeks.
She wouldn't get him this time. Never would Sandor fall for tears again, or anything women did whatsoever. He didn't answer her imploring calls and slammed the door behind him, intent on drowning himself in wine.