Author's notes:

Just a short, transitional chapter, not much happening here. Thanks to everyone who let me know about their thoughts about this story.

Chapter 7: Waiting

The Hound hadn't come back to the house for three nights in a row.

Sansa wasn't too upset about it the first evening, still smarting about the way he had treated her despite her best efforts to please him.

She spent a nice evening in Betsy's company chattering amiably while sewing some hangings for the windows and walls and afterwards had the luxury of the new featherbed all to herself

When he didn't come the second night, Betsy started looking at her accusingly, because it obviously had to be her fault "the master" was steering clear of his own house. Conversation cooled off considerably and after the third night, Betsy didn't talk to her at all.

Fed up with the silly girl's silent treatment, Sansa grabbed her cloak and wandered aimlessly around the city for a while until she found herself back in the Street of Silk, knocking at the door of Sibyl's establishment.

After the fiasco of three nights ago, she had decided not to visit Sibyl again. For one thing not to bring Clegane's ire on Sibyl as well, for another because her lessons had been far from being helpful. But once again she found herself in need of someone to talk to.

Sibyl looked as tired as last time, but welcomed her much more warmly than before. She offered her a seat in the room that seemed to serve as her office, brewed some tea for them and asked her how she had applied her newly acquired knowledge. Apparently it was all the prompting Sansa had needed to pour out the whole story in all its sordid details.

"And?" Sibyl inquired after she was done, looking at Sansa with honest curious. "Could you tell?"

"He was almost completely quiet," she said with a sigh.

"Some men are," Sibyl said, resting her chin on her folded hands. "Mostly those who have grown up as soldiers from an early age. They haven't known much privacy growing up, so they have learned to be very quiet when they come. Others perceive it as a weakness to let a woman know what they are feeling. So, since he came and so fast at that, you can be pretty sure he enjoyed himself."

Sansa shook her head.

"But he was so angry afterwards!"

Sibyl shrugged. "Who knows what goes on in their heads sometimes. Most men would've been mellow and nice afterwards, but your man seems to be a special case. There's naught to do but try to find out what pleases him."

Sansa got up to stare out of the window, mutinous. Why should she exert herself trying to find out how to please the man, when he didn't make even the slightest effort of being nice?

"Speaking of trying," Sibyl said, pushing herself up from her seat at the desk. "How's your cunt?"

Still not quite inundated to Sibyl's overly coarse way of putting things, Sansa winced before she turned.

"I think my … my lady parts are much better, thank you."

Sibyl cocked her head to the side, obviously not convinced.

"No trouble walking or sitting down?"

"No."

"Burning while peeing? Itching?"

An almost painful blush started creeping upwards from her neck to her face.

"No."

"Does it still look inflamed or bruised?"

The question had her gaping for a moment, but then she closed her mouth with an audible snap and raised her chin.

"How am I supposed to know?"

Sibyl chuckled.

"By looking at it?"

"What?" Sansa cried, scandalized.

Putting her hands onto her hips, Sibyl huffed.

"Girl, I have quite enough of your high and mighty bullshit!" she said. "You are selling yourself to this man, whether you like it or not. You are selling your pretty face and your nice hair and you are selling your cunt. Now I am pretty sure you spend a lot of time in front of a mirror prettying up your face and hair, but since you are selling your cunt as well, you should damn well know what it looks like."

Tears of shame welled up in Sansa's eyes as the woman positioned a chair in front of a large mirror and motioned for her to sit.

"Don't make such a fuss," Sibyl said, not unkindly. "I promise you'll thank me for the lesson one day."

Taking a deep breath, Sansa finally walked towards the chair, rucking up her dress as she went. Sibyl was right after all, there was nowhere lower to go than she already had.

Sibyl gave a low whistle when Sansa finally sat – utterly exposed with her legs apart – on the chair.

"A true redhead, I see", she said, "Nice pink lips, a real beauty. You could've become quite rich and famous at a place like Alayaya's."

Sansa sighed. If there ever was a compliment she could've lived without...

"I think it ugly," she said, not seeing the appeal of her exposed flesh.

The woman who eyed the mirror with unwavering attention laughed quietly.

"See it from a man's point of view. For them, it's the door to paradise. They love looking at a nice young cunt like yours, knowing it's theirs to do with as they want."

With a violent shudder, Sansa remembered how the Hound had looked at her two nights past. Well, at least that explained it.

"Putting their cock into it, touching it… some even like licking it."

She froze.

"Licking?" she repeated tonelessly.

"If you're lucky," Sibyl said with a wide smile. "Never heard of 'The bear and the maiden fair'?"

She had, but it was just a funny little song about a maid falling for a bear because he could dance so well. Most men found it hilarious, she still remembered how King Robert had been red in the face at hearing it performed, slapping his meaty thighs with mirth.

"He licked the honey from her hair…" Sibyl sang softly and decidedly off-key.

Sansa glared at the woman's reflection.

"You just ruined that song for me," she complained.

Sibyl's lips quirked, then she snorted and finally burst into laughter. The absurdity of the situation could not be denied and before long, Sansa had joined her, almost doubling over with hilarity. She didn't know if she had ever laughed like that in her life and if, it had to be a long time ago.

"Can I get decent again?" Sansa asked after she had calmed.

"In just a moment," Sibyl said, wiping tears from her eyes. "See that little bundle of flesh right atop your opening?"

"Yes."

Sibyl gestured for her to pull her skirts back down.

"That's your sweet spot," she explained. "If you're in the mood, touching it will bring you more pleasure than you could imagine."

Sansa nodded obediently, not believing a word. None of things she had learned from Sibyl so far had been even remotely pleasant.

"You seemed to have healed nicely," Sibyl gave her final verdict. "Probably wasn't half as bad as it had felt to you. It shouldn't hurt when he takes you again, although you shouldn't expect pleasure either, it takes a bit to get used to this."

Sansa almost snorted at the thought that not being in pain would be pleasant enough for her taste. She put a few stags on Sibyl's desk since she had taken some of her time once again. When she turned to go, Sibyl stopped her, scrutinizing her with narrowed eyes.

"No," she said. "Can't let you go like that, there might be a thing or two you still need to know."

...

When she came back to the street where she now lived, she marvelled as always at the peacefulness of the mundane life around her, at the joy of just seeing people going about their various tasks and chores, of children playing in the street, unafraid and heedless of the bustle around them.

This time, however, a couple of figures disturbed the serene scenery, men who somehow looked out of place with their military bearing, only very badly concealed under civilian clothes that looked rather too fine for a district like this one.

They tried to give the impression of being deep in conversation, but nonetheless peered at Clegane's house every now and then and looked anxiously up and down the street.

She couldn't even begin to guess whose men they were. Probably not Joffrey's, he could always just order Clegane to bring her back. There was a chance they were sent by someone trying to help her, but that sort of help never came without its own price and since she was already paying for protection and not entirely unhappy with her current circumstances, she had no inclination to find out whether she was right or wrong.

Let her protector sort out this mess, she decided, lowered her head and drew her big cap deeper into her face before marching purposefully into a shop right next to the house that was now her home. As it turned out, the shop's owner was husband to the young mother she had helped on her first day here. They helped her climbing the wooden fence that separated their backyard from hers.

Betsy almost dropped the bowl she was holding when Sansa made her dishevelled appearance from the back entrance.

"My lady," she gasped when sufficiently in control of herself again, but still flustered enough to have forgotten she wasn't speaking to her. "You almost gave me a heart-attack, what happened?"

"Maybe it's nothing, just me being paranoid, but there are some strange men lurking outside the house," Sansa explained her unusual entry.

"Spoke to one of them," Betsy said, nodding. "He asked 'bout the master and if this 'ere was his house and whether a woman lived with him and some such."

Sansa's misgiving hadn't been unfounded then.

"What did you tell him?"

Betsy shrugged.

"Told 'im I'm just minding the house and don't know who it belongs to and that no one lives here besides me."

Sansa smiled.

"Clever girl."

The words brought a glow of pride to the girl's cheeks.

"I'd like you to go the Red Keep and give a message to the... master. Would you do this?"

"'course, my lady."

Sansa ran upstairs to fetch some writing utensils from her belongings, but then it took her quite a while to come up with what to write.

Strange men outside the house, come quickly!

No, that sounded like a command. Besides, if someone were to intercept that message, she might as well have given her full name along with it. She had to think of something that sounded more harmless, like a message a wife would just write to her husband or something.

Please come home.

She pondered that one for a while. It didn't get across that the situation was urgent.

Men are watching your house, what do you want me to do?

Just as useless as the first one.

Please come home.

She shook her head, annoyed with herself for coming back to that again. Besides, this wasn't her home. Her home was Winterfell.

We are in danger, need your help.

If anything would get him to drop everything and come running to her aid it would be this, but what if she was misjudging the situation and there was no danger at all? He'd be furious with her and she had had quite enough of that.

Please come home

Just to rid herself of the thought she wrote it down to see if it looked even more ridiculous on paper than it sounded in her head.

It didn't. The rest wrote itself.

Please come home, but be careful. S.

...

Betsy came back about two hours later, having done some shopping on the way.

"And?" Sansa asked as soon as the girl stepped inside the door.

She had been pacing almost the entire time, alternately envisioning a dire fate befalling either Betsy or herself in the meantime. She imagined the men outside suddenly deciding to storm the house and kidnap her, imagined Betsy being tortured for information about her whereabouts, imagined Clegane being commanded to stay with Joffrey for the next several weeks.

"Gave him the message," Betsy said and then winked at her. "Must have been quite something naughty you wrote to him," she continued. "His good ear turned all red and he cleared his throat a few times and then barked at me to hurry back to you and await his return."

"It was an open piece of paper," Sansa said, indignant that Betsy thought it had been some sort of love missive. "You could've read it, there was nothing naughty about it."

"Can't read," the girl said with a shrug. "Just telling you what I saw."

...

tbc