When he woke she was on the far edge of the bed. He preferred waking up with her limbs intertwined with his or, her cuddled into his chest.
Despite their distance from Ragman's Harbor, unfamiliar noises and tongues could still be heard through the tavern's walls. Whether it be from the women in the kitchens below, or the beggars, merchants, and common folk from outside.
This new world was strange and unfamiliar. Sandor reached out for the woman who was supposed to be his wife and drew her close to him, nestling his face in her auburn hair. She smelt of tallow soap, the straw bed, and sweetness. In a place a place totally new, she was the only thing familiar to him. Outside the word was bewildering and dangerous. But, inside the sun filtered through their dirty window slowly, streaking sunlight across the floor.
She was his constant.
"Sandor?" She murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
"Didn't mean to wake 'ya little bird." He replied, half embarrassed.
She rolled over in his arms and said, "good morning."
"Good morning."
She with heavy lidded eyes, and he, more alert than she, looked at each other. Underneath the sheets it was warm from the heat of their bodies. Sansa felt content and cozy. Less weary even from her travels after receiving a good nights rest. She assumed Sandor had been awake for a while, judging by the clarity of his voice. Always early to rise, she thought.
His hair was matted from sleep and travel, and his whiskers thick. The ruined side of his face was towards her, and she took a moment to take in his scars. She had never looked at them this intently. Even when she was in King's Landing never had she studied the details of his face, avoiding his scars as a whole.
The burns stretched from the edge of his ear to the side of his nose, part of his eye socket, the corner of his lips, to the side of his chin, and across his jawbone. They were a dusty shade of pink. And the scars were more raised, and gruesome by the side of his head than by his nose and lips. They're not that horrible anymore, Sansa remarked. Once she could only see his burns when she looked at him, as if he had two different faces. Two different people. She looked at his face as a whole now. When he was not scowling, or angered, his face was quite comely, with a heavy brow, hooked nose, and pronounced cheekbones. He has grey eyes like fathers, Sansa remembered suddenly, memories flooding into her mind.
When she tried to conjure the face of her father she found herself unable. It was the same with her lady mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Arya. She could only remember fragments of them. No longer could she conjure the the exact color of her lady mother's hair, or the pitch of Arya's laugh, or her baby brother's smiles. Or Their absence was a void, Like an echo in a long, empty, great hall, where feasts and guests were held no more. It filled her chest until there was barely any room for the walls of her heart.
Opening her eyes, all she could see was Sandor Clegane.
She was distant, it was plain to see. While she was far away Sandor took the opportunity to simply lay by her side. In moments like these, Sandor was unsure whether or not he should reel her back into the present. He wanted to pull her into an embrace, to cover her form with his, to fill the spaces between them. He had wished she was his lady wife in truth.
Instead, he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She blinked.
Sighing, she spoke, "What shall we do today?"
"What would the little bird like to do today?"
"Explore perhaps, there is so much we haven't seen."
Sansa could get used to his tenderness.
"Aye. We can do that." Sandor said, getting up from bed. "But first, lets eat."
For breakfast they ate loaves of bread with salted butter-cream and a fruit jam.
After dressing and eating, Sandor washed his face, and ran his fingers through his knotted hair.
Seeing this, Sansa asked, "Sandor?"
"What is it?" He could see her face had turned a lovely shade of pink. Raising his eyebrows he asked again.
"I was wondering if I could," locking eyes with him she continued, "If I could brush your hair for you. It seems it's gotten quite matted from our journey and.."
Sandor let out a laugh. Even now she was politer than ever. "Is that it? Don't you have enough hair of your own to brush?"
"Yes but, I thought that you might want your hair brushed."
"If you want to brush an old dog's hair, be my guest."
"You're not an old dog Sandor," she spoke firmly, he wooden brush in her hand.
"If not an old dog, what am I?" He retorted. He was surprised by her response but did not show it.
You're Joffrey's ex-sworn shield, The Hound, an ex-King's guard, a non-ser, the Lannister's traitor dog, a burned and godless man, a killer, and my lord-husband.
"You're Sandor Clegane," she replied simply.
He sat on the edge of the bed, and Sansa placed herself behind him. Taking a section of his thick hair in hand she began brushing from the ends to the roots, humming whilst she worked. His hair had grown well past his shoulders since they had left King's Landing. Once it was completely brushed it was as glossy and dark as a raven's wing.
She thought of Jon Snow.
Removing herself from the bed, she stood in front of him. Gently, she took the hairs that fell before his eyes, and with the same tenderness that he showed her before pushed his hair behind his ear to reveal his face.
"There," smiling at her work she says, "much better."
"If you say so little bird."
Braavos seemed like a busier city than King's Landing. Even in the early morning, the streets were filled with people weaving in between one another, going about their morning business. Sandor spotted a girl wearing rags pushing a cart filled with shellfish. At first glance, the small, lanky girl could be mistaken for a boy. She shouted out her goods in the Common Tongue, Braavosi and some other languages he could not discern.
By the ports, exotic stalls and stand up shops had opened up for the day, selling goods from the Free Cities and beyond. Sandor knew Sansa would adore the shops, so he took her there.
One shop sold leather wears: boots, dagger sheaths, vests, bracelets, and gloves, all elaborately decorated. Sansa ran Myrish silk and lace through her delicate fingers, in awe of all of its colors. There were shops that sold wine, gemstones, potions, weapons; Anything a man could ever think of, it was in Braavos.
As many as there were goods, there was food. Sandor bought them a roundish fruit, with a smooth bright orange, red, yellow and somewhat green skin from a Summer Islander. He had never seen the girl grin so wide when he bought the fruits. He'd shower her with presents everyday if she'd smile for him like that every time.
After touring all the shops, they spotted a bridge with a stone seat, and made their way to eat their nameless fruit there. Adorning the bridge's face were carvings of sea shells, fish, mermaids, and sea-plants. Every bridge in Braavos seemed to have similar carvings.
Sandor cut the fruit for them. On the inside the fruit was perfectly ripe, and the prettiest shade orange the couple had ever seen. It smelled just as lovely, and its juices dripped all over their fingers and faces when they ate. The nameless fruit was sweeter than any lemon cake Sansa had ever tasted.
After eating, Sansa tried to wipe the juices off her lap with a handkerchief.
"Need to get you some new dresses," Sandor commented, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"These are fine, they're thick and they'll last," Sansa said, lightly touching her lips with the handkerchief.
"You shouldn't be dressed in rags-"
"They're not rags."
"They're rags compared to the fine silk dresses you used to wore back in King's Land-"
"We're not in King's Landing anymore are we?" She chided, her eyes cutting into him like steel. She wanted to forget King's Landing. It was worlds away.
"Besides, the girl who once lived in King's Landing is no more. I'm no-one now, and rags are good enough for her."
Even so, Sandor knew she deserved better than rags.
"Does no-one have a name?" He asked.
She pondered deeply for a while and responded, "Alyssane."
It suited her.
"And you?" She asked in return.
"You're the one with the creative names, although I'm no Jaehaerys."
She thought about it for a while, staring at him, studying his features.
"Cederic?"
"Common name enough."
He'd play the part as a sell sword from the Reach bringing his lady wife to the Free Cities to give her a better life. Their story was true enough.
Author's Notes:
I think I'm finally getting the start of this whole "writing" thing. Hopefully you've noticed a change in the quality of writing since the fanfics humble beginning. It's become easier now since things have become less "plot-y" and I feel like I have more room to explore characterization and what not.
Keeping them in character is the hardest. It's easy as a writer to "forget" the Red Wedding (not really but, If you get what I'm saying then..) But when I'm trying to get into the head of miss Sansa Stark, it's very immediate and still very real to her. She's very damaged psychologically, whether it be from her emotional/physical abuse by Joffrey and the Lannisters, or the emotional trauma from the Red Wedding. I don't intend to "fix" her by having Sandor "love her." I also don't plan for her traumatic past to just disappear now that she's in Braavos. I feel like this is something that I didn't develop in earlier chapters because 1) I didn't have the skills to 2) The previous chapters were a lot of plot build up 3) I am more sure of what direction I want this fanfiction to go in.
As for Sandor Clegane, he will be addressed the same way Sansa is in due time.
(Thank-you for taking your time out to read these author's notes!)