"What is all of this for?"
"You need a bath."
"Planning on bathing me, little bird?"
Sansa ignored his tease. "I can't imagine you can do it all by yourself in your current situation."
A wooden tub was brought to the room and filled with hot water by one of the brothers of the Faith. Along with it came a shallow basin with a stool to place inside, a small pitcher, scented tallow soap, and a sea sponge. Sansa thanked the brother as he left the room.
"What is all this for?" He asked her, sitting himself up on the bed.
"Instead of bathing in your own dirt, you'll wash before you can soak in the tub."
Sansa thought it best, since there was still the slight possibility of his wounds becoming infected again. Before Sandor had awoken, Sansa had tried her best to wash the sweat away from his body, mostly his face, arms, and chest, but there were many places she couldn't possibly reach. Without leaving time for herself to second guess her choices, and to feel embarrassed, Sansa immediately set out helping Sandor lift his tunic over his head, being mindful of his wound. She then unwound the bandage and set it to the side and then removed the one on his leg, ignoring Sandor's scoffs the entire time.
"Remove your small clothes and sit on the stool," Sansa directed him.
Sandor laughed, as he removed his smallclothes, while Sansa busied herself with checking the temperature of the bathwater.
As naked as his nameday, Sandor Clegane unceremoniously plopped himself down on the stool, and waited for Sansa to face him.
Sansa held the pitcher, filled with bathwater in one hand, and the soap in the other as she turned to face him, only looking at his face, and ignoring the rest of his body which she was about to wash all of.
"Do you like what you see, little bird?" he teased her.
"I can have one of the silent brothers come wash you if that's what you'd like," Sansa replied flatly, pouring the water over his head and body as she spoke.
He was a heavily muscled man, tall and strong, with black hair that covered his chest, abdomen and legs. He knew that most women would have found his body type attractive, but his burns overshadowed everything else about him.
Sansa had been up close to his body for the past fortnight, and noticed how his skin was covered with countless, pale scars. Some short, some deep, some hidden by body hair, some oddly shaped ones, and some so faint she'd have to look really hard to see. While he slept, Sansa tried memorizing each scar: how it felt, where it was, and mused about where she think the scar came from. She wondered how his most recent wounds would scar. Horribly, she knew. To Sandor, each scar is probably a trophy, proof that he's lived through, and killed so many men. Sansa had scars herself, from when Joffrey sent his Kingsguard to beat her. I had once thought scars to be ugly things, but not anymore. When Sansa looked at her scars upon her porcelain skin she felt empowered. She survived, at a price. Sandor had so many scars, and for every scar he had, she knew there were an innumerable amount more that were under the surface of his skin.
"You never answered my question, little bird," Sandor spoke as Sansa poured more water over him.
"Hmm?" she murmured as she reached for the soap on the edge of the tub.
"Do you like what you see?" He asked her again, catching her gaze. She blushed prettily as he knew she would, and scurried behind him to lather the soap on his back.
"Yes," she whispered, and continued at her task.
Satisfied, he closed his eyes and exhaled, relaxed by Sansa's steady movements.
When she finished with the broad length of his back, she continued onto his front. She rubbed the soap in smooth circles over his chest, arms, underarms, and legs, thoroughly covering his body with a layer of soap, all the while avoiding Sandor's nether regions. Rubbing the soap in between her two hands, she applied the soap in his hair and used her fingers to rub the soap in deeply, which received a contented groan from Sandor. Sansa remembered how she had handmaidens help her bathe in King's Landing, washing her hair, scrubbing her skin until she was pink and raw. However, nothing could begin to compare to Sansa's fondest memories of her mother brushing her auburn curls after her bath until it shone like silk.
Next, she took the sea sponge, and began scrubbing his body with rigor. Sandor could hear her grunt as she put her full strength into removing the dirt and sweat from his body. When she finished she wiped her brow with her sleeve, and he could see that she was sweating.
"You missed a spot," he teased her again. Throwing the sponge at him, she replied: "You're capable of washing that yourself."
With a hearty laugh, he washed his nether regions, and lifted himself off of the stool and into the steaming tub.
Notes: My fondest memories of when I first started reading sansan fan fiction was reading bathing scenes, and coming across bathing fanart (I still love that stuff *cough*) and always wanted to write a scene of my own. And things have started to heat up slightly between these two, but be wary this is a slow burn. Why doesn't Sansa marvel in how hunky Sandor Clegane is? She's still a sexually immature 14/15 year old, that's why, and much of her quote on quote "affection" for him comes from her "duty" towards him. If you want mature scenes, you'll just have to wait, because I'm keeping these characters in character as much as I can.