She could still remember his cold grey eyes as they bore into hers. She had just wanted to thank him for saving her life. Every night she would have nightmares of those men and their grimy hands ripping her dress off, the way the one had hated her so much she could feel it when he hit her. The nightmares persisted and she thought that maybe thanking her savior might cure her. But it didn't make much of a difference.
She had let him pass her in the hall before working up the courage to open her mouth and let the words spill out as if they had been kept inside too long. "Beg pardon, ser. I should have come to you after to thank you for saving me. You were so brave." She said in a meek voice, her knees shaking. His look was not as warm as she had known it to be.
"Brave? A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats." The words seem to fly out of his thin lips and slap her on the face. Her legs felt fragile as if she would drop at any second, but a lady does not falter at the sight of knights and lords so she held her head as high as she could.
Does it give you joy to scare me? She wanted to ask, but did not want to seem frail in front of him. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"
"No, it gives me joy to kill people. Spare me, you can't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."
"It was his duty, he never liked it!" She barked back, disgusted that he would speak so ill of her late father. Why was he being so mean? Did he hate her now too?
"Is that what he told you? He lied. Killing's the sweetest thing there is." The insult cut deeper than swords. Sansa reeled back at his words, looking him over to wonder if this was the same man who had been so kind to her every night since her father went to join the Old Gods.
"Why are you always so hateful?" The second the words left her she regretted them. He was not always hateful, yet his attitude left her longing for the softer man who visited her nightly, who held her when she cried. She wanted her friend back.
His eyes met her as he delivered the truth she needed to hear. "You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when you're queen and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved king." The realization hit her as his venom leaked into his words; this was not Sandor standing in front of her, but the Hound. She did not have enough fight in her after countless sleepless nights and sadly took her leave of him. Behind her, the Hound stared longingly after her, cursing himself for letting her go.
The nightmares came back with a vengeance after the Hound had dismissed her so coldly. In them he did not save her. She would wake just as the man who slapped her began to remove his trousers, usually in a cold sweat. But not this night.
As usual the men chased her into the alleyway and pinned her down, slapping her and ripping her dress apart. But instead of releasing himself from his trousers, the man atop her pulled a dagger from a sheath on his belt, glared hard into her eyes and as she screamed, the blade came down into her chest.
Sansa awoke with a start, tears dripping down her face and neck and into her hair which pooled on her shoulders. Her lungs could not inhale enough air and she clutched at her throat. Once her heart settled, she felt a warm wetness between her thighs. Fearing that she had relieved herself in her sleep, she pulled the sheets back, then her nightgown, only to find a pool of blood staining her pale thighs. Again air was not enough to calm her lungs, and she let out a terrified sigh.
"No… oh no!" Jumping from the bed, only to see that the sheets beneath her were stained as well, she hurriedly grabbed a knife from the nearby table and stabbed at the sheets, willing the stain to disappear like a bad dream. If anyone found out that she had her moonblood, she was now able to wed Joffrey and bear his children. Bile rose in her throat at the idea of bedding the monster that had once so enraptured her. Her fingers ripped at the sheets and she whimpered when she saw the stain reached the mattress underneath. She could not cut it out. The door's creaking alerted her to someone's presence, but she could not see through the veil of tears. Not a word had to be spoken for Shae to understand the situation.
"It's alright. Give me that." Shae's warm fingers took the knife out of Sansa's trembling hands and laid it on the bedside table before holding the noble girl's shoulders.
"If the Queen sees… I can have Joffrey's children now!" Panic thickly laced her voice. Tears were streaming down her face and choking her voice. She didn't know what to do anymore. Shae looked between Sansa and the bed then seemed to have an idea.
"Help me flip it over." She worked quickly, grabbing one side of the bloody mattress while Sansa held the other. Before they could complete their task, the mattress bent halfway, one of the Queen's handmaidens walked in, giving a quick glance to both noble and maid, and turned on her heel to report back to Cersei. Shae ran off after the maid, leaving Sansa standing next to her bed in a daze. Part of her wished that the girl would not be harmed, she was merely doing her duty, but the fear inside her screamed for her to die so no one would know her secret. Her legs finally gave out from under her and she collapsed on the trunk at the foot of her bed. The sound of her sobbing alerted Sandor as he passed by the door and he rushed in, fearing the child's safety.
"Is everything alright, my lady?" The gruff voice pulled her from her stupor. Sandor Clegane stood in the doorway, eyes fixed on the damning evidence painting her nightgown and mattress. A choke escaped Sansa's lips but nothing more. She had run out of ideas but not of tears, which began flowing down her cheeks. This is how Shae found them when she returned.
The resulting talk with Queen Cersei was not nearly as bad as Sansa had predicted. As usual the Queen was courteous and smiled a lot. But after sharing tales of her own past births, there was something that caught Sansa off guard, something she thought she would never hear anyone say, least of all the Queen.
Her Grace had sat opposite Sansa at the table, a plate of fruits between them. The morning's events had scared her appetite away and the sight of food made her sick. When the Queen spoke, her voice was like honey, thick and sweet but suffocating.
"Permit me to share some womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. The more people you love the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool to make them happy, to keep them safe. Love no one but your children. On that front a mother has no choice."
"But shouldn't I love Joffrey, Your Grace?" Sansa questioned. Cersei's advice shocked her. For all her worth she tried to be the courteous lady and no matter her feelings, feigned love for the King.
The pity emanated from Cersei like shadows. "You can try, little dove."
The next few days passed in a frantic blur. Stannis' ships were expected to arrive by nightfall and Sansa had hardly seen Sandor since the start of her moonblood. There had been talk of battle plans, of where the noble ladies and their children would go, and one word had stuck out that Sansa did not understand: dragonfire. Luckily Joffrey had not called for her, whether it was due to the battle plans or because he viewed her now as "unclean", she neither cared nor questioned it.
As night drew closer, the Queen called for all the noble women to join her in Maegor's Holdfast, the safest place in the Red Keep. At least from Stannis' army. Sansa's other handmaidens had fled back to their families, all but Shae. Together they packed a few of Sansa's belongings in a small satchel; her hairbrush, spare sets of smallclothes, her prayer book, and the stained and tattered handkerchief that Sandor had used to wipe away the blood from her lip the day Joffrey had her father beheaded. This she hid at the bottom of the bag in the cover of her prayer book. It was her own silent prayer that he would make it out of this battle alive and she would find him at her chamber door once again, smiling at her. She placed the bag inside the trunk at the foot of her bed for safekeeping, should she need it later.
While squires and stable hands rushed through tight alleyways running last minute errands for their masters, Sandor found himself mindlessly wandering towards the tavern where he could hear that damned Lannister drinking song, The Rains of Castamere. Inside he found Tyrion's sellsword Bronn holding tightly to a naked whore, the rest of the men fondling their own scantily clad women. The room hushed as he and his squire took a table in a far corner that the previous inhabitants so willingly gave up for The Hound and his squire, a silent boy large for his age. Sandor was quite fond of him. He did as he was told, said nothing, and drank plenty. Bronn however didn't know to keep his mouth shut.
"This round's on me." Sandor ignored him. He wanted to drink in silence, lest this be the last drink he ever had. The sellsword muttered something to the whore on his lap and stared at him. Sandor stared back, waiting for the man to break as most men did but the tension just continued to rise.
"You think you're a hard man?" Clegane slammed his flagon on the table. His blood was boiling for war and he couldn't wait to spill a man's blood, anything to make him forget how he had pushed away the little bird. He had not seen her smile in many nights and it was wearing on his patience.
"Oh I know it." Laughter burst across the room at Bronn's arrogance. "It's warm in here. We've got beautiful women and good brown ale. Plenty for everyone. And all you want is to put one of us in the cold ground with no women to keep us company."
"Oh there's women in the ground. I put some there myself. So have you. You like fucking and drinking and singing. But killing, killing's the thing you love. You're just like me," Clegane stood, revealing his full height, his body covered in expensive armor that was stained with blood and dirt and sweat. "Only smaller."
"And quicker, eh?" The sellsword smirked, looking around him at the men who smiled at his jokes but lost their courage when the Hound cast his eyes over the lot of them.
Clegane was getting tired of these games. He wasn't one for words and insults. Swords and death were what he dealt in and this game could only go on for so long. Either they fought it out as men and killers or the man could shut his mouth and let him drink in peace. Clegane knew it was going to be the first. "Your lord Imp's going to miss you."
Bronn patted the whore's ass as he stood, showing that the Hound towered a good foot or more above himself, but he was indeed smaller and most likely quicker in his leather jerkin. His hand reached behind his back and stayed there, most likely grasping some sort of knife he kept handy. "Aye. I expect he will one day." With challenge excepted, both men waited for the other to make the first move. Large, armored, and skilled with a longsword versus small, unburdened, and quick: this would be the fight at the Eyrie all over again for Bronn, but his opponent would put up a far more difficult fight since he had nothing to lose. Then the bells rang signaling the oncoming storm. Bronn's fist loosened against the shaft of his knife. "One more drink before the war? Shall we?"
Inside the Throne Room, Sansa and Shae wandered aimlessly while soldiers and nobles alike ran around like frightened hens. The frantic chaos was somewhat calming to Sansa. It was a different atmosphere from the past few days and here, no one seemed to even notice her. The large torches surrounding the pillars in the hall kept the cool night air at bay and danced off of Sansa's pale skin and fiery hair. As she stopped to admire the beauty in the flames, Lord Tyrion waddled up beside her, extending his courtesies.
"Lady Sansa. And Sheila?" He tried addressing the handmaiden. "Shae," was the retort. "Surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor's Holdfast?" The Imp seemed to be sweating already clad in his golden armor that seemed too heavy for such a stunted figure. Across the hall Joffrey was yelling for her.
"She has, my lord. But King Joffrey has asked me to see him off." He shouted her name again, beckoning her. As she strode towards the King, she quickly turned on her heels to deliver a final courtesy before leaving the Lannister behind. "I will pray for your safe return, my lord."
Tyrion seemed confused at this. The girl was not cruel yet she obviously bore no love for her Lannister captors. "Will you?"
"Just as I pray for the King's." Sansa could just see a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips as she turned to face her betrothed.
"Sansa! Your king rides forth to battle. You should see him off with a kiss." He embellished the reveal of a new sword, still glittering as if fresh from the forge. It had not yet tasted flesh and Sansa doubted it would ever while still in the hands of its current master. "My new blade. Hearteater I've named it. Kiss it." The command oozed out of his mouth through curled lips. Sansa hesitantly bent down, wincing when her lips were mere inches from the blade. She half expected him to slice her throat. As she hesitated she could see the cloud of her breath on the blade and slowly touched her lips to the cold steel before quickly reeling back away from the killer and the sword. "You'll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle's blood."
"Will you slay him yourself?"
"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me." Joffrey huffed.
"So you'll be outside the gates fighting in the vanguard." Her hopes were rising at the thought of some unknown Baratheon soldier putting Joffrey to the sword or spear, or perhaps his own men would see what a vile creature he was and throw him off the battlements and claim the loss to Stannis.
Joffrey seemed at a loss until he spit out his usual insult. "A king doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls."
Sansa merely reveled in the fact that there was still a chance that he would not be walking back through these halls again. "I'm sorry Your Grace, you're right, I'm stupid. Of course you'll be in the vanguard. They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting's thickest. And he's only a pretender." This quelled Joffrey's rage for the time being.
"Your brother's turn will come. Then you can lick his blood off of Hearteater too." He stormed past her without another word and she looked after him to the large man following swiftly behind who had not so much as glanced down at her while she bantered with the boy king. Had she truly lost him? Did he view her as a disgusting piece of meat after those men touched her? She had the rest of the night to think and pray with the other ladies in Maegor's Holdfast.
"Some of those boys will never come back." Shae's voice was unexpected in the growing silence of the throne room. The handmaiden looked yearningly to the figures leaving into the darkness.
"Joffrey will. The worst ones always live." Shae hushed her and they both walked in silence the rest of the way to the center of the Red Keep.
On the battlements the drums on Stannis' ships could be heard over the constant buzzing of men and horses. Sandor stood behind the idiot king while he bantered with his Imp uncle, even being forced into their stupid game at one point. Then, just as the enemy fleet broke through the fog that plagued the night sea, a single ship went out to meet them. Sandor was more concerned than the Imp was, fearing that if that was all they had to spare, the fighting outside the gates would last hours and they would lose a lot of men to this poor planning. But when the signal was struck and a single flaming arrow was sent out into the bay, Clegane barely had time to realize what they were doing before the green flames lit a trail towards the ship. Dragonfire.
"Sansa!" The Queen sat on a raised dais in the middle of the room, clutching a glass goblet filled with red wine. Sansa quickly picked up her skirts and tiptoed around the other women and children toward the platform. "I had wondered where our little dove had flown. Is your red flower still blooming?" Sansa nodded. "Fitting, isn't it? The men will bleed out there and you will bleed in here." Before she knew it a goblet was placed in her hand and she was ordered to drink. This would end up being a very long night for all of them.
Near the door stood Ser Ilyn Payne, the royal executioner. Ever since her first run-in with the man he had frightened Sansa. Perhaps it was his lack of tongue or the stone-cold look he gave her, but she did not trust the man. "What's he doing here?"
"Ser Ilyn? He's here to defend us. When the axes smash down those doors you may be glad to have him." Something in her voice did not sound right. Sansa couldn't tell if it was because the Queen was lying or because she was getting drunk.
"But we have guards to defend us."
"Guards we have paid. Should the city fall they'll be the first ones out of the door." As she finished, a City Guard came in, speaking of three commoners who worked in the palace looting. They were sentenced to a beheading without a single thought. Their heads would serve as a warning to those who wished to follow in their footsteps.
"The only way to keep the smallfolk loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy. Remember that if you ever hope to become queen." She nearly sang the last sentence, swinging her goblet from side to side. The vicious look in Cersei's eyes stopped Sansa from saying anything more to the Queen. She silently retreated back to the other ladies who sat on rugs and pillows and prayed. It was the only thing left she could do. Pray for her safety, the safety of the ladies around her, and the safety of Clegane out on the battlefield.
The blast sent even those on the battlements reeling from the heat. The emerald flames engulfed at least twenty ships if not more. Bursts of the green fire fell from the sky, raining down on the remaining ships. From across the bay, the screams of dying men could be heard, splashes as those on fire wished to extinguish themselves. Those who had the misfortune to come into contact with the wildfire and survived would come out of it horribly disfigured, should they keep their distance from the shore and the awaiting army there.
Sandor closed his eyes at the sight, the disgusting smell of burning flesh and wood reaching his nostrils, a smell he was all too familiar with. Fuck the fire. What the fuck was the damn Imp thinking? He thought, listening to the dying howls of drowning men. Images of a younger Gregor flashed behind his eyelids, remembering the exact pain those men felt though he was far younger than them but the utter feeling of hopelessness was all the same.
He could hardly tear his eyes away from the sight of slaughter while the Imp looked on slightly horrified and the boy king stood there grinning like an idiot. The lust for death suddenly escaped him and Sandor had half a mind to turn tail and run back to the Keep, to the warmth of Lady Sansa's rooms and the comfort of her arms. She knew what he had suffered. The night of the tourney in a drunken haze he had told her of Gregor's abuse, the hot coals of a brazier pressed into his face, the suspicious deaths of his father and sister. She was the only one who knew and he had pushed her away. In the distant the empowered shouts of men could be heard. Stannis, you fool.
Inside Sansa had seen the sudden burst of green light and could hear the screams of pain. Terrified, she gathered some of the ladies around her, kneeling on pillows and began to silently pray for the men outside the walls.
"Sansa! Come here little dove." Her eyes shot open and she sighed, rising and slowly making her way towards the Queen's dais. Her knees were sore from praying but she rationalized that this slight bit of discomfort was nothing from what the men outside were going through. She forced them to bend to a curtsey as she mumbled her courtesies.
"What are you doing?" The Queen used her goblet like a hand, pointing with it. The entire evening it had not left her grasp and the effects were evident on Cersei's breath.
"Praying."
"You're perfect, aren't you? Praying… What are you praying for?" Her words were slurred as she eyed Sansa cautiously, as a viper would a mouse.
Sansa had been praying for the safe return of Sandor Clegane but she quickly lied, saying, "For the gods to have mercy on us all." This struck a chord with the Queen as she raised the attack. The next few minutes was the Queen in her drunken state trying to scare Sansa, whether to test her or just for her own enjoyment Sansa didn't know. She quietly sat through it, answering only when questioned. She motioned for her handmaiden to bring an extra goblet again, forcing Sansa to sit, drink, no, drink more!
"I should've been born a man. I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens." Cersei's voice was loud enough for every woman and child within the hold to hear but no one would dare speak up or acknowledge the lack of tact. Except Sansa.
"They're your guests under your protection. You asked them here!" She found it incredulous that the Queen would express such a notion, especially such a noble one as protecting the innocent.
"It was expected of me as it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey's queen. If my wretched brother should somehow prevail, these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits." The mockery that laced her tone made Sansa take a long hard gulp from her goblet, the sour taste of wine coating her dry mouth and warming her belly.
"And if the city should fall?"
Cersei's shoulders slumped forward, her eyes narrowing and her face getting closer to Sansa. She was a shadowcat ready to pounce on the unsuspecting dove. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience but this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance seducing his horse." Sansa's mouth was gaping open and when the Queen noticed, she quickly had another taste of wine. "Have I shocked you little dove? Tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it. Drink." Again, Sansa obliged. Hopefully if she was as drunk as Cersei the barrage of insults and scare tactics wouldn't seem so bad.
"Do you have any notion of what happens when a city is sacked? No, you wouldn't, would you? If the city falls these fine women should be in for a bit of a rape. Half of them will have bastards in their bellies by morning. You'll be glad of your red flower then. When a man's blood is up anything with tits looks good. Precious thing like you will look very, very good. A slice of cake just waiting to be eaten." Sansa quickly finished her wine.
Sandor watched as the fires on Blackwater slowly died down and in their shadows boats filled with Baratheon troops rowed for shore. There were more than could be counted and in the darkness no one was quite sure how many boats there were. The Imp called the command to have the archers ready and the boy king was nearly pissing himself with fear.
"Hound, form a welcome party for any Baratheon troop that manages to touch solid ground." Tyrion commanded, barely glancing back at the sworn shield. Sandor was more than happy to leave the devastating sight and without a word rushed down the stairs to the courtyard that stood at the bottom, a tiny spit of dirt where hundreds of men were crammed in awaiting orders.
"Let's go! Stannis is sending us fresh meat!" The men riled at the grating sound of the Hound's voice and began to shuffle about. Except Lancel Lannister who stood at the bottom of the stairs, sulking as if awaiting warm milk from his mother. Clegane shoved him in the chest to get his attention. "You too." He spied the archery commander and grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt. "Any of these flaming fucking arrows come near me, I'll strangle you with your own guts!" The man quickly nodded as Clegane walked off towards the Mud Gate, his men trailing behind.
On the other side of the wall the sound of falling arrows could be heard and the softened thunk of bodies hitting the marshy ground. As the battle cries grew closer, a chorus of rocks hitting shields, armor, and bones joined the fall of corpses. Clegane gave a curt nod to the gate keeper and the doors were pushed open in front of him.
"Any man dies with a clean sword, I'll rape his fucking corpse!" His men feared him far more than they could ever fear Stannis Baratheon's troops and it showed in the quickened outpour of soldiers. The two armies met in a great clash of swords and shields. Blood of fallen warriors became a mist as swords convened with flesh and bone on both sides. Clegane was barely breaking a sweat with these greenboys, his longsword cutting a man in half, his boot shoving the man's upper half to the ground before turning on another man.
The Queen continued to drone on about her personal life in her drunken state with Sansa slowly sipping at her wine, keeping mute. A moment of silence alerted her to the change in the Queen's demeanor. She was looking directly at Shae who sat on a small bed, watching her Lady.
"I don't think I know this one. Pretty. How long have you been in Lady Sansa's service?" Cersei questioned. Sansa and Shae shared a quick glance at each other. Sansa knew that her handmaiden came to her under questionable circumstances. She had never bothered to ask, but if the Queen found out, it would not end well for the Essos girl.
"A few weeks, Your Grace." Her accent was thick, betraying her parentage. Cersei noticed.
"And when did you leave Lorath? I had a Lorathi handmaiden once. But she was a nobleman's daughter. You're not. When did you come to Westeros?" The smile that had played upon Shae's lips fell. If she was to get out of this alive, she must play upon everything she had learned.
"Ten years, Your Grace."
"From Lorathi commoner to the Red Keep in ten years. I imagine it's a very interesting story. What's your name?" Sansa's eyes never left Shae's face which was as cold and hard as a statue.
"Shae, Your Grace."
Before either could continue, the door to the room burst open revealing an injured Lancel Lannister. He rushed to the Queen and quickly divulged news of the battle outside. He made it sound hopeless, but Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and knew that as long as Sandor was out there, they stood a chance. As long as he did not fall.
After a hushed argument, Lancel left quickly with Cersei resuming her talk with Sansa.
"When I told you about Ser Ilyn earlier, I lied. Want to know the truth? Want to know why he's really here?" She held out her goblet for a maid to refill, barely sparing a sideways glance. "He's here for us. Stannis may take the city, he may take the throne but he will not take us alive." Sansa found Ser Ilyn staring right back at her, the same terrifying glance that he had given her the day they met. Just please let Sandor still be alive. He will save me.
The battlefield was like a training ground to the likes of the Hound, the men falling just as easily as straw soldiers. The fires from the bay and the flaming arrows was slowly creeping towards the wall, blocking Sandor in with their horrendous memories. As he felled a man, blood painting his face and blurring his vision, a sickening sight froze him in place. A man on fire, flailing around as if trying to put out the flames was heading straight for him with not a man in the world to stop him in his path. No amount of strength could make his legs work as he let the man barrel straight towards him.
The burning man suddenly stopped, an arrow sticking straight out of his left eye. Clegane watched as the mall dropped at his feet and once he found the courage to look away, it was Bronn who held the bow, looking as smug as he always did. He continued to look as Bronn deftly evaded an oncoming attacker, moving faster than his opponent and making several cuts along the man's exposed flesh before slicing open his throat.
The area around him was a massacre, and not of Stannis' men. Men were on fire as well as the marsh. Surrounding him were his fallen men and enemies accounted for more than half of those still left fighting. All was lost. Without fear Clegane began to walk back to the gate with shouts of "Retreat!" and "Fall back!" echoing around the small spit of land. Inside the Mud Gate, his squire was next to him when he called for a drink. Realizing its lack of alcohol, he spit it out, demanding wine. This his squire had as well and Sandor drank the entire bottle in mere seconds.
"Can I get you some iced milk and a nice bowl of raspberries too?" The Imp was mocking him, but if the little shit knew what was really happening on the other side of that wall, he'd turn tail and run.
"Eat shit, dwarf. I've lost half my men. The Blackwater is on fire." This last bit was more for himself than anyone else, though most could surmise why this was a problem. However, the royal Lannisters gave less than a golden shit about the wellbeing of their army.
"Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight!" Joffrey's high pitched squealing grated on Sandor's ears. He sounded like a child throwing a temper tantrum, which was often the case.
"You're Kingsguard, Clegane. We must beat them back or they're going to take this city, your king's city." He had had enough of dealing with the little prick and his high and mighty family. It was time someone knocked the shit boy king down a peg.
"Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city." He inhaled before finishing, knowing full well what it would mean once the words came out of his mouth. "Fuck the king."
Joffrey looked at him as though scared to speak. He may be a sworn shield and Kingsguard but the king feared him more than anyone else. He knew he had enough time to seek out Sansa before leaving the city for good.
In Maegor's Holdfast the women were getting anxious. It had been hours and no word from anyone on the status of the city. Until Lancel Lannister came in to see the Queen. All Sansa heard was Lancel tell Her Grace, "The battle is lost, Your Grace." Some of the women heard this and started to panic, children began to weep into their mother's skirts. After hushed words, Cersei made a jab at Lancel's wounds and he fell, Cersei leaving the room with Prince Tommen in tow. Before she knew what she was doing, Sansa began to formulate a lie that spilled from her lips like water with no effort to stop them.
"Don't be afraid. The Queen has raised the drawbridge, this is the safest place we can be. Joffrey's not hurt, he's fighting bravely. The knights have rallied behind him. They will save the city. Shall we sing a hymn? Gentle mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war we pray."
The women all joined in the prayer, but Shae quickly spun Sansa around, her face inches away as she whispered words of warning.
"You must go. Run to your chamber and bar your door. Stannis won't hurt you, this one will." Her head nodded towards Ser Ilyn who stood vigilantly at the door, his eyes forever fixed on Sansa. She feared who else might be waiting for her once was out the door.
"Come with me." Sansa pleaded, seeing that the maid did not intend to follow.
"I need to say goodbye to someone." Sansa looked around at the group of women, silently wondering who it was exactly that Shae needed to say goodbye to. Hoping to persuade her, she reminded Shae of what the Queen had said about all the women being raped should the city fall. "No one is raping me." Shae lifted one side of her skirt to reveal a dagger holstered to her tanned thigh. "Go. Run!" Sansa obliged and ran through the door and down winding pathways. She crossed the throne room which was now silent and empty, no king on the throne and no Hound beside him. Her feet continued to move her forward until she was at her chamber door. Once inside, she barred the door as she had been instructed and leaned on the cold wood.
Inside a candle still burned inside a lantern from where she had left it. Picking up the light, she walked towards her chest where her belongings still lay and noticed the doll her father had brought for her soon after they had moved to Kings Landing. Gently, she lifted the doll up, gazing at the painted eyes and lips and let a tear roll down her cheek at the memory. If he was still alive, none of this would be happening, she thought.
"The Lady is starting to panic." The gritty voice made her nearly jump out of her skin. She had not noticed Sandor sitting on the opposite side of the room in the shadows. Furious that only now he would pay her a visit, she snapped back at him.
"What are you doing here?"
He was drunk. Too many bottles of wine. "Not here for long. I'm going."
This shocked her. She was mad at him but she never expected him to just leave her. He was supposed to be her savior. "Where?"
"Someplace that isn't burning. North might be, could be." The look he gave her was hopeful. He meant for her to leave with him.
"What about the king?" She cursed herself for asking. She honestly didn't care about the king and hoped he was already dead or dying. She just wanted to delay his leaving, get him to admit to her what he really felt. But a cold man like Sandor Clegane had spent years building up walls that were not so easily torn down by silly girls.
"He can die just fine on his own." He took another swig of the wine he held in his hand. She was only now started to realize that his stench filled the room. Sweat and wine, blood and steel. It was a sickening combination, mixed with the smell of burning flesh that was wafting in through her window. "I could take you with me. Take you to Winterfell. I'll keep you safe. You want to go home?"
Her breath hitched in her throat. She wanted that more than anything in the world. But If this was how he was going to act, was she truly safer with him out in the open, being hunted, than to just stay put and pray for Robb to come save her?
"I'll be safe here. Stannis won't hurt me."
He was in her face faster than she could blink. "Look at me! Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer. Your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers. So you better get used to looking at them."
And she did look at him. Sweat covered his face and there were flecks of drying blood on his cheeks, though it was hard to tell where his burnt flesh ended and the blood of his enemies began. His jaw was a hard line but in his eyes she saw the softness that he held for her. The tension in her back released as she sighed, longing to reach out and cup his cheek and tell him that everything would be alright.
"You won't hurt me."
He let out breath he didn't even know he had been holding. On the inhale he could smell the perfumes and incense Cersei used in her chambers but underneath was Sansa's favorite scents: lilacs and lemon. He backed away from her, his armor clinking like the sound of bells. "No, little bird, I won't hurt you." He turned on his heel to leave, and as his hand reached the bolt of the door, Sansa had an idea.
"Wait."