Chapter 110

More than a fortnight had passed since the three Lannister ships departed Lys and the trip could not end soon enough for Sandor. After delivering Tyrion's letters, he had left the villa that Jaime and Sansa called home during their exile, choosing to wait on one of the ships for their departure. He had little doubt they would return home, once they were able to do so, and he had no interest in remaining under the Kingslayer's roof any longer than necessary. The golden lion was visibly displeased with Sandor's presence. Not that he much cared what Jaime Lannister wanted. It was the discomfort he saw in Sansa's eyes which drove him from their home.

She had grown into the lady he always knew she would and Sandor regretted embarrassing her. She was so very proper and he knew that she must feel humiliated that he had witnessed her fucking the Kingslayer. He had not meant for Sansa to know that he had seen her in such an intimate moment. She had studiously avoided his eyes when she and Jaime joined him and Addam Marbrand in the solar to discuss the terms of their return to Westeros. And as much as she avoided looking at him, he could not stop looking at her. Not because he had seen her without her clothes – he'd seen her that way before, when Joffrey was having her beaten. Sandor's eyes were drawn to her because she looked so different.

Her appearance was not much changed, despite her growing older. She still had a youthful look about her, though perhaps a more womanly figure after becoming a mother. What struck Sandor was the change in the way she carried herself. Her mannerisms were nothing like the frightened girl he'd left behind in King's Landing. He had been wondering what had changed her when her little cub – the spitting image of the Kingslayer – scrambled onto her lap. The child was every inch a Lannister and the sight of him in Sansa Stark's arms showed just how completely she now belonged to Jaime Lannister. Of course, Tyrion had already mentioned that she'd given Jaime three children, but actually seeing one of those children in her arms had startled him. Even more startling had been meeting her daughter. Julianna Lannister was only six, but she was the picture of the Sansa Stark that he remembered – not only in her looks but in her manners. Except for those Lannister green eyes studying him curiously.

Sandor's mouth quirked as he recalled the Kingslayer's outrage at seeing him speaking to his children. Though he suspected it was Sansa that he was most determined to keep him away from. The best course would have been to travel on a different ship than the one bringing the Imp's brother back to him, but Sandor had felt an irresistible impulse to travel on The Laughing Lion. He was curious about the relationship between Lady Sansa and the Kingslayer. He wondered how the girl could have such feelings for a Lannister after all they had done to the Starks.

Sandor had mostly kept to himself during their journey, and noticed with some amusement that Jaime had gone out of his way to keep him far away from Sansa. And though he had not gone near her, Sandor had not stopped watching. She's no little bird anymore. She's a she-wolf. Or even a lioness. He'd observed her with her children and Sansa was a loving mother and her little ones were happy in her presence and sought her out, not only for comfort but when they saw something exciting to share with her. The babes seek out the Kingslayer as well. Jaime Lannister plainly enjoyed the company of his children – holding them and laughing with them.

It was a strange sight – to see Jaime Lannister happily playing with his small children. Especially now that Sandor knew Jaime's true relation to Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. The golden knight had never so much as glanced in their direction, though they were his get. Of course, Sandor had seen that Tommen was residing with Jaime and they seemed to have a closer relationship than they'd had in the past. But it was different with these children that Sansa had birthed him. The little lions clung to their father's hand as they spoke to him, their eyes bright and happy. And Ser Jaime was always attentive to them, making them laugh and hugging them affectionately.

It seems the Kingslayer – a man who was so despised throughout the realm – had carved out an ideal life for himself. A life any man would envy. In many ways, Jaime Lannister was the same arrogant man that Sandor had known for most of his life. He strode about The Laughing Lion with as much pride as he had shown when he maneuvered through the Red Keep over the years. But at the same time, when his guard was down and he held his children or absently rested his hand on Sansa's waist, Sandor saw the difference in him. Jaime Lannister was at peace in a way that he never was in King's Landing. That's the little bird's doing.

Sandor had believed that Sansa Stark was waiting, all these years, to be rescued. He had believed that she had simply made the best of her situation once the Lannisters bound her to the Kingslayer. But it became more and more apparent every day that this was not the case. She was easy with Jaime Lannister, always seeking to be near him, though not in a way that was terribly obvious. Just a slight turn of her body towards him or a tilt of her head, but Sandor noticed. Her eyes frequently drifted to Jaime, and vice versa.

The Kingslayer had noticed him watching her. Sandor didn't much care if he noticed. If Jaime intended to throw him overboard, or have one of his men run him through with his sword for looking at his wife, he could go ahead and do it. It wasn't as though there were something or someone waiting for Sandor back in Westeros.

While he had not yet resorted to violence to show his displeasure, the Lion had gone out of his way to make it clear that Sansa belonged to him. The passionate kiss Jaime had given her right in front of him the day they set sail had not been the end of it. Jaime frequently made a point of touching and kissing Sansa when Sandor was around. Sandor had even noticed a love bite on Sansa's neck not long after they set sail. He wondered if she approved of her husband's efforts to mark her so blatantly. She certainly never pushes him away or scolds him with more than a look. And a smile frequently creeps through, at that.

Sandor watched as the younger children began pulling Jaime toward the rear of the ship. He couldn't understand their words at his distance, but he could hear the excitement and laughter in their voices. As her children led Jaime away, Sansa leaned against the railing of the ship and watched them, a soft smile on her face.

More than anything, Sandor was startled by how happy Sansa was, after seeing her terrified and holding back tears for almost as long as he had known her. But her smile rarely faded when she was in the company of her children. Or the Kingslayer. There was no denying that the man made her smile.

After glancing toward the opposite end of the ship and ensuring that Jaime was occupied with the children and out of earshot, Sandor slowly moved to stand beside Lady Sansa. "Your circumstances are much changed since I last saw you in King's Landing."

She looked down then, not towards him, as she spoke. "Yes, they are. I'm quite fortunate for how the gods have looked after me…since the Battle." Sandor didn't know how she could still believe in the gods after all that had happened to her.

"It seems you were right to refuse my help that night." He hadn't meant to bring up the last time they spoke, in her bedchamber as the Blackwater burned outside, but the words slipped out, heedless of his wishes.

She stiffened visibly, twisting her hands together. "That night was…I don't believe either of us were quite ourselves." She looked at him then. "I know that the flames from the wildfire frightened you."

His blood roared at the reminder of the primal fear he had felt when the Imp set the Blackwater Bay aflame. He'd not felt so weak since he was a boy. Before he grew large and strong and learned to kill. He'd not felt so weak since that night when Gregor held his face in the fire. He'd felt such fear and desperation as he watched the flames engulf the Bay and burn Stannis Baratheon's men. More than anything, he had to get away from the flames.

While he understood his fear, Sandor still didn't understand why that fear and helplessness had sent him straight to Sansa Stark's bedchamber. He had felt so desperate. And for some reason, he thought that taking Sansa with him as he fled King's Landing – as he fled the flames - was the solution. He believed that having Sansa with him would make him regain control. He believed that she would make the fear go away.

"I scared you, didn't I, Little Bird? That's why you stayed in King's Landing. It's why you chose to stay with the Lannisters. With the people who killed your father…with that bastard Joffrey who had you beaten…rather than go with me." Leaving her behind – with no one to protect her – had tormented him in the years since he left her. Though it seems she's fared better than anyone could imagine.

"I…I thought that Stannis would win the battle. I thought…I thought I would be free that night."

"And you thought I would imprison you?"

She nodded slightly. "I admit…I did not believe your intentions were entirely honorable."

It pained her to speak such words. That much was obvious. Lady Sansa was not one to say anything remotely discourteous, no matter how true her words might be. She thought I'd rape her. Sandor knew her fears were not unfounded. He had wanted her as he had never wanted any woman. She very well may have ended up with him between her legs had she left the Red Keep with him that night. A man was capable of anything when his blood was up and fear coursed through his veins . He'd very nearly taken her right there in her bedchamber.

The only thing that had stopped him from touching her was the fear in her eyes – a fear she tried to hide - and her absurd statement that she knew he would not hurt her. After all he had done…she certainly could not have believed that he would not hurt her. But her words had stopped him nonetheless. Her words had sent him from her chamber as quickly as he had arrived.

"He's good to you? The Kingslayer?"

She smiled to herself. "Jaime…I could not ask for anyone to treat me better than he has. He's made me so very happy. You've watched us closely enough…you must see that."

Sandor was surprised that she would mention his watching her. She seemed to have acquired a bit of spunk since he last saw her. Before he could acknowledge that she spoke the truth, Jaime noticed his nearness to his lady wife.

"I'll thank you to step away from my wife," Jaime said tightly, failing to hide his anger.

"Jaime, we were only talking. He did not-"

The Kingslayer gently pushed Sansa behind him and stepped up to Sandor, his green eyes glimmering with rage. He spoke in a low tone, which was far more threatening than if he had been yelling. "I never took you for an idiot, Clegane. I've told you to stay away from Sansa. After all you've done to her – after all you've allowed to be done to her. You turned a blind eye to Joffrey's depravity –"

"He was your bastard, not mine," Sandor growled. "I was sworn to obey the king. You were in the Kingsguard. You know. Did you step up and help her uncle and her grandfather when the Mad King murdered them?"

He saw a flash of gold as the Kingslayer reached for his sword and Sansa swiftly moved between them.

"That's enough, Jaime." She sighed. "It's enough from both of you."

"Mama? Is Papa going to fight?"

The little lions surrounded them and Sansa gave them both a pointed look as she lifted one of the golden twins into her arms. "No, Sweetling, they are not going to fight."

Sandor watched as Jaime grinned at his lady wife. "The boys are learning to swing a sword…it might benefit them to see two former members of the Kingsguard do battle."

Sansa's gaze hardened. "That's not what this is about," she whispered.

"Of course it is, love," Jaime said grandly, turning his sword over so it gleamed golden in the sunlight. "Children…you wish to see us…spar? Don't you?"

The little boys nodded eagerly, though the girl seemed more reserved. Tommen had joined them to see what was afoot, and Sandor noticed the little Lady Julianna – a perfect miniature of Sansa - take his hand.

"Step back, children. A real battle takes some space." Jaime was positively gleeful at the prospect of taking out some of his anger on Sandor. Sansa and the little ones did as Jaime asked, though she was visibly displeased. He then approached his wife. "Won't you do me the honor of giving me your favor?" Sandor couldn't see Jaime's face, but he could imagine the arrogant smirk that was on it.

"Oh, Mother, you must," the little girl said, smiling brightly now. "You may have my favor as well, Father," she said, pulling a ribbon from her hair. Jaime knelt before his daughter and allowed her to tie the ribbon inside his surecoat, after which she solemnly rested her hands on his shoulders and kissed his cheek.

Jaime tilted his head up to Sansa then. "My lady?"

Sansa reluctantly pulled at a blue handkerchief that was tucked at her waist and looked at Jaime expectantly. He didn't move from his kneeling position and she sighed in exasperation at his showmanship, and leaned over to tuck the cloth inside his surecoat. Jaime caught her hand and brought it to his lips. Sandor thought their daughter would faint in her delight as she clutched her hands together and smiled, watching her parents enact a ritual that the child had likely only heard in her lady mother's songs. Jaime rose to his feet then and quickly slipped his arm around Sansa's waist, pulling her against him and kissing her soundly, before looking down at his daughter. "Kissing is permitted when sending a knight into battle," he said pointedly, leading Sandor to believe they had discussed the topic before.

Some of the Red Cloaks had also gathered round to watch their Lord teach the Hound a lesson, no doubt. He had served with many of these men for years, but the Clegane's had never been seen as anything more than Tywin Lannister's dogs, to be unleashed when particular brutality was required. Whereas Jaime Lannister had a way about him that won him the loyalty and admiration of the Red Cloaks. He was one of them while Sandor had always been something of an outsider.

"Come, Clegane. What are you waiting for? Draw your sword."

Sandor slowly pulling his sword from his scabbard. "You really wish for your children to see you beaten?" He looked at the Kingslayer's golden hand pointedly. He knew Jaime could have easily bested him before, but now that he'd lost his sword hand, Sandor was surprised he could even hold a sword, let alone fight with it. Jaime had been training the littlest cubs, though they carried small wooden swords so as not to hurt one another. Sandor recalled that he had watched Jaime spar with Tommen a few times during their journey, but the boy had never been in a battle. He had never killed as Sandor had.

These thoughts ended abruptly as Jaime's sword sliced through the air – and nearly through Sandor's face. "Don't underestimate the cripple," Jaime said in a low voice, leaning close. "I told you to stay far away from my wife. No man would have dared defy me before. Did you think I lost the ability to make you stay away from her?"

The two of them began swinging their swords, the sound of metal clashing filling the air. Sandor had no intention of allowing the Kingslayer to humiliate him – cripple or not. If he wants a fight, I'll give him one. Sandor glanced at Jaime's children, and saw their excitement at watching their father, though Tommen seemed worried. Tommen remembers all that I did at Joffrey's request. He must think I'm a monster.

He stumbled as the wall of the ship pressed against his back. The Kingslayer was a far better swordsman with his left hand than Sandor had anticipated. He wondered how much practice it had taken to train his left hand. Sandor met Jaime's eyes and saw the gleam of victory in them. He pushed Jaime back and regained his footing, advancing on him and forcing him to retreat. He would never be as elegant with a sword as Jaime or Addam Marbrand – he had not been trained in such a manner – but Sandor had brute force on his side.

He heard Sansa gasp as Jaime nearly tripped over a crate, but the Kingslayer quickly righted himself and battled back with a fury Sandor had only seen in his brother on the tourney grounds. He heard the excited murmurs from the children who must have never seen their father's skill with a sword before. I'm surprised he's never bragged to them about being the greatest sword in the Seven Kingdoms. Though, again, that was before. The Kingslayer could not match Sandor's strength – he never could have - but his skill and technique more than leveled the playing field.

Sandor managed a particularly well-placed swipe, which cut through Jaime's surecoat. He'd have a cut on his arm for his trouble, but nothing serious.

"Jaime!" Sansa moved towards them. "Enough! Neither of you are wearing armor. You should not be using live steel."

Though the sight of Jaime's blood had spurred Lady Sansa to end their fight, it had spurred something else in Jaime. The need to kill. The lion charged toward Sandor, his quick movements taking the larger man off-guard. He didn't know exactly how it happened, but the Kingslayer's sword was at his throat.

"Yield?"

Sandor turned his head toward Sansa – her worry for Jaime apparent. Jaime pressed the blade against his throat, taking his attention away from Sansa. "Aye, Kingslayer. I yield."

"Sansa is mine," Jaime hissed before lowering his sword. "I'll not warn you again." Sansa was at Jaime's side at once, fussing over the cut on his arm. "It's nothing…I've suffered wounds far greater than this scratch, Sansa. You know that well enough."

She looked back at Sandor, not knowing what to say, before turning back to Jaime as the children swarmed around them, congratulating their father on his victory.

"Sweetlings, let's go below deck. I'd like to look at this cut on your father's arm."

They trailed after Jaime and Sansa, though little Lady Julianna stopped and turned to Sandor. "You fought admirably, Ser," she said, before turning on her heel and catching up with her family.

"I did warn you." Sandor turned toward Addam Marbrand. "Jaime's not to be trifled with where Sansa and those children are concerned." He nodded absently, recalling that Marbrand had tried for quite a time to convince him to travel on one of the other ships.

Sandor had never felt jealous of any man. Not those without scarred faces, with money or power. Not those with beautiful women by their sides. But now, as he watched Ser Jaime Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, walk away with Lady Sansa by his side, and their children trotting along around them, Sandor wondered what it would be like to trade places with the man. He shook his head and turned from Marbrand to seek out some ale, knowing that there was no point in wondering. Lady Sansa was Jaime's and wishing for anything different would only end with pain and the Kingslayer separating his head from his shoulders.

…

So so sorry for the long wait. It's been difficult to find the time to write. To make up for the long wait (and this being a shorter chapter), the next chapter will post next Friday – when Jaime and Sansa reach King's Landing!