Confessions of the Heart
As they stroll together under the canopy of weirwood leaves, Sandor feels Sansa's hand tremble slightly in the crook of his arm and sees her cheeks flush pink while she timidly peeks at him out of the corner of her eye. After securing the area to his liking, he takes his place beside her and offers his own prayers to the Seven in silence. When he finishes, he makes the seven-pointed star across his chest just as Elder brother taught him. Upon opening his eyes he sees the little bird watching him inquisitively. Sandor cannot help but be amused by the look on her face as he waits for Sansa to work up the courage to ask him about his faith.
"Forgive me, Sandor it is very rude to stare I know. Seeing you pray to the gods is a most extraordinary sight. I don't recall you even believing in them. You made that very clear to me in King's Landing."
Sighing, Sandor sits on a fallen log, beckoning for her to come closer to him. Holding out his hand to her, he pauses and waits for her to accept it, silently willing her to see he will not mock her.
Tentatively she places her hand in his while allowing him to seat her beside him. "Aye, that I did. I should not have said such. You needed your faith to comfort you in that awful place, lass. It was not for me to take that away from you, regardless of my own opinions."
Shrugging, Sansa pats his arm. "It matters not now, Sandor and besides you saying there were no true knights caught my attention. Many of the things you said I recalled later, when I was mature enough to hear the words without thinking of the way you said them."
"Did you now? I'm surprised you remembered any of my nonsense Little bird. I hardly remember most of it myself." Cursing himself, he acknowledges that is only half-true; there was never enough wine to make him forget entirely. Sandor remembers the worst of it and longs to forget he ever spoke to her in such a way.
A small smile appears on her lips at his words. Sansa always wondered if he would or indeed could remember, since he was usually drunk when trying to teach her his lessons. "You haven't asked me where I spent the last few years, Little bird. Aren't you the least bit curious what Joff's dog was up to?" His voice sounds more gravelly than usual and Sansa sharply looks up at the sound of the cruel boy king's name.
"Do not speak of yourself in such a way, Sandor. You were never his dog. That is how Joffrey viewed you, not me. It is true you protected him but you also many times protected me, even against his wishes." Sansa pauses, gathering her thoughts. "Of course I am curious where you went after you left King's Landing but I…I was not sure you wanted to speak of such to me."
Sandor swallows hard, struggling to convey all he has imagined saying ever since the day he left. "I…I was a sick man back there the night of the battle, full of hate and anger and wine-gods girl, you know that better than anyone. I couldn't stomach standing by and watching them mistreat you any longer. Many times I treated you every bit as bad as they did, though."
Her eyes full of tears, Sansa gently squeezes his hand sympathetically, making Sandor feel like the lowest whoreson imaginable. Clearing his throat, he tries to find the right words. "I lit out of there and eventually ended up injured along the Trident."
"Yes, yes-Arya told us that she was with you there! Lady Brienne said a brother of the Seven offered to show her your gravestone in the Saltpans," Sansa answers excitedly, squeezing his arm. "How is it you survived? Why was there a grave with your name on it? Surely the Elder brother did not lie." Sansa's lovely blue eyes are locked on his own.
Sandor can barely contain his emotion and as a result his sentences come out short and stilted. "A brother of the Seven who is a skilled healer found me-Elder brother he's called. He treated my wounds both physical and otherwise. I owe him my life, Sansa and more than that, he helped me learn a better way. I even learned a bit of healing from him, too." He glances at Sansa, waiting, wondering what is going through her mind.
"So, you found mercy among the brothers and a new skill besides! You cannot imagine how happy I am to hear this," Sansa draws in a deep breath and then continues. "I prayed the Mother would gentle your rage Sandor. I prayed she would save you…and not just from the battle that night."
Raising his eyebrow, he regards her seriously. "Prayed for me, did you? You could hardly stand to look at me back there."
"Sandor, only in the beginning did your scars scared me. It was always more your eyes, the anger and intensity I saw there that I feared most." Taking his hand into her own she looks him in the face, the compassion in her eyes threatening to overtake him. "In my worst nightmares I could have never imagined what you had been through. Ever since you told me about Gregor, your suffering has haunted me. Gods forgive me Sandor, I was too much of a child to know how to express my sentiments properly but the Mother understood and she answered my prayers for you," Sansa whispers, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Hush now, none of that. Don't waste those tears on me, girl, it's over and done with." He chides gently, her tender display profoundly affecting him. Reaching into his pocket, he hands her a handkerchief and she laughs in spite of herself, recognizing it as similar to the one he gave her long ago.
"How is it you have a grave in the Saltpans? I was most grieved to hear of your death and meant to journey there and pay my respects after the war. I thought perhaps I might even bring your remains back north with me. I longed to have you near, a place to visit you even if you had gone to the afterlife."
"The Hound's grave is there, not mine," Sandor rasps low while running his hands anxiously down his legs.
"Things may have turned out differently if I had gone with you that night, for both of us," she offers low.
"No, Little bird, do not say such, damn it. You were wise not to go with me. I was drunk and so disgusted with myself I may have done worse than scare you. I doubt you'd have ended up feeling as kindly toward me as you do now."
"You would not have hurt me, I know it," she answers, patting his hand. "I saw it in your eyes, Sandor, and when I sang for you. I saw Sandor Clegane, not the Hound. You are many things, Sandor, but never would you behave like your brother and all the Dornish sour in King's Landing could not change that."
Laughing bitterly, he gets up and walks away from her. "Don't be too sure, Little bird, I'm not a good man, never was."
Sansa places her hand on his shoulder, the feel of her touch sending tremors through Sandor's body. "Goodness has always been in your heart Sandor, or-"
Scoffing, Sandor barks out a laugh that sounds part growl and part rasp.
Ignoring him she continues, "Or you would not have been so moved to change. The Elder brother must have recognized it too. Sandor, you tried to help me in your own way, in the only way you knew how to help. I remembered your words. They served me well over the years." Sansa says softly. "You were right, you know, about the knights I mean."
"Aye, I suppose I was, though I regret you learned it the hard way, lass. A child should be allowed hold on to her dreams longer than you were able," he mutters, turning to face her once more.
"Yes, a child should," she whispers, looping her slender fingers through his own. "What is more, a child should not live with pain and fear as his constant companions." Cupping his cheek, Sansa smiles softly at him, "You may wear your scars Sandor but mine are on the inside. This pain is the common thread between us, is it not?" Her lovely eyes search his own, full of sadness and an unfamiliar emotion, warm and alive.
Choking back the tender affection she has aroused, Sandor tilts her face up to his, lightly stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. Leaning into his touch, Sansa closes her eyes, reveling in the feel of his rough skin against her face.
"Aye, that it is, Sansa. One day we will leave such troubled memories behind us."
Bitter tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head, "No, Sandor, do not wish it for then we would not understand each other half so well. I could not feel so close to you as I have in the past few weeks without it." Sansa whispers, her cheeks reddening as she boldly gazes into his eyes.
The heated emotion he sees there wholly unnerves Sandor. What is the crazy bird getting at? He inwardly curses, wondering why he should feel so angry when her lovely face reveals the answer to his prayers-that there is more between them than friendship. "What is it you want from me, girl? I might've changed but you'd better well believe I'm still not a man to fool with," he snaps, his voice rough and raspy.
Startled, Sansa hesitates, wringing her hands. Annoyed for allowing himself a glimmer of hope, he shakes his head and walks out of the godswood. Hearing the sound of Sansa's small feet hurrying behind him, he recalls he is her guard and so he stops mid-stride, allowing her to catch up to him.
"Sandor, please wait. You must forgive me; your sudden harshness startled me." Taking his large hand into her own, she quietly says, "I…I know that I want to be close to you, that I want more with you but I've been through so much I cannot help but be afraid, too."
Smirking, he leans in close to her. "Afraid of what, Little bird? Afraid that Joff's scarred dog may want more from you than your smiles?"
As she stares into his stormy eyes, Sandor's heart opens to her. He is vulnerable and once again using his anger to mask his fear of rejection.
Sadly, she shakes her head, pressing her hand against his cheek before gently running her fingers through his beard and along the edge of his tunic to his collarbone. "No, you foolish man," her voice breaks, tearing a corresponding fissure through Sandor's heart. "I am afraid to love, afraid to experience happiness with you, for once I do, I will spend my days dreading the most precious person will in my life will disappear." Desperately she throws her arms around him, drawing his head down to hers and tenderly kissing him.
"My beloved Little bird," he whispers, gathering her in his arms and clinging to her as though she holds his life in her hands. "The fucking Stranger himself could not take me away from you, you best believe that. I followed you all the way here just to see your face again. I had to show you I'm a changed man. I failed you in King's Landing, Little bird," Sandor strokes her cheek gently, "But I will never fail you again."
Bending down, Sandor hesitates and then gently presses his mouth against hers while running his hands through her hair. Sansa pulls him closer, instinctively deepening the kiss, opening her mouth to him and gasping as his tongue touches her own.
The couple is abruptly pulled out of the moment by the sound of hooves crunching in the snow and Samwell appears out of the brush cantering his large bay into the godswood. "My lord, my lady if you would excuse me there is urgent business that needs attending."
Sandor's face twists into a threatening scowl as he turns toward the young man with Sansa still wrapped securely in his arms. "Well if it isn't the maester? What do you want? No one is sick here. Can't you see my lady and I would like our privacy?"
Giggling, Sansa gently moves away from Sandor. "What is this urgent business Sam? Please, go ahead and tell us," she smiles, smoothing down her hair and skirts.
Sam gathers his courage and tries to ignore Sandor glowering at him. "Your brother would like a word with you my lady-and with you too, Clegane. Please make haste; he awaits you at your cabin."
"Do you know what this is about? I hope there is no crisis at Castle Black," Sansa politely asks, nervously exchanging glances with Sandor.
"No, my lady, he did not relate such to me," Sam answers, curiously watching Sandor wrap his arm around Sansa's waist protectively and pulling her still closer.
"It'll be alright Sansa. If your brother was ill, he would not have sent the maester here and he bloody well would not have ventured out himself. Let's go see what this is about."
Courteously Sansa smiles at Sam, though Sandor feels her hand trembling in his own, clearly alarmed by his words. "Thank you, Sam. Please let him know we will be along shortly. It may take us a bit since we travelled here on foot."
Bowing his head, Sam replies, "As you wish my lady," before turning his horse toward the village. Stepping forward, Sandor leans in close. "Don't you go telling your sister's business before first she speaks to her brother, understand? Or you'll be the one in need of a maester, I promise you."
"Yes, my lord, you have my word." Sam agrees, wheeling his horse toward the village. As Samwell disappears into the lush snow laden forest, Sansa directs Sandor over to a decayed tree stump. Curious, he follows her lead, unquestioningly sitting down. Surprising him, she takes a seat on his knee and one of his hands into her own. "Before we see Jon, I need you to understand …I do not wish to be afraid with you, Sandor. I will not hold back for fear of losing you, you must believe me." Kissing his hand several times, her beautiful eyes never leave his and he sees her expression is full of trust, hope and affection.
Stunned into silence, Sandor's long suppressed emotions threaten to overtake him once again. Pulling her close, Sandor indulges his long-held wish to bury his face in her luxuriant hair, inhaling her sweet honeyed scent as he whispers in her ear. "Nor I, Little bird, nor I. I've spent enough of my life doing just that and I would wish a different outcome for us," he finally manages, nuzzling her neck and kissing along her jawline. "What is it you want from me, Sansa? Tell me."
His tone is gentle and he is looking at her with such longing Sansa is suddenly nervous, shyly caressing his face while searching his eyes. "My feelings for you are very deep. In truth, I have never experienced such strong feelings for anyone before," she begins haltingly. Hesitating, she kisses his face tenderly while gathering her thoughts. "I want to be with you, Sandor. I want whatever you are able to share," she finishes, surprising the man with her boldness.
"What if I said I wanted you-all of you-no matter the cost?" Sandor challenges as he meets her gaze.
Stunned, she stutters, "It would make me very happy Sandor, I-"
Barking out a bitter laugh, Sandor shakes his head and looks away from her. "Still haven't learned a bloody thing about the way the world works, have you, girl? For all his letting you alone, the Lord Commander will never allow you to court a former Lannister dog, let alone marry one. He'd sooner give you to that green pup Podrick Payne. Once he gets wind of this, he'll send me away faster than you can say maidenhead." Sorrow etches his features as he speaks, belying his half-hearted attempt at humor.
Abashed, Sansa moves away from him until the implication behind his coarse words reaches her heart. "Did you say marry? Sandor, tell me truly: you would wish us wed?" She asks softly, turning his face toward hers. It has never occurred to her he would want married life with anyone, let alone seriously pursue a courtship to that end with her.
"A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a woman." Fixing her gaze on him, his former words echo in her ears yet the man before her is no longer the Hound who once scared her with those harsh words. He is Sandor Clegane, her sworn shield and friend. The man she has always believed fears nothing but fire is before her now, wearing his heart on his sleeve, his eyes betraying his deep fear of rejection.
Is it possible he desires a quiet family life with me? Could Nan be right-would he make a good husband? The revelation is startling and unexpectedly exciting to the girl. Lifting her by the waist he sets her on her feet as he stands. "What does it matter? No point in wishing for what will never be, girl, and you best get used to it." His words are deliberate, sorrowful and resigned and it breaks her heart to hear him sound so forlorn.
Moving in front of him, Sansa takes his hands into her own. "No, Sandor, that will not do-that is not an answer. You said you would never lie to me and always look me in the face. Please do not close yourself off from me now. Tell me, do you wish us to wed?"
The raw anguish in his eyes deeply dismays her. She can see has already given up on the idea of her and him, of them, even before she is able to digest his words. "How long Sandor-how long have you felt this way? Please tell me."
"Seven hells, girl," he swears, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "This bloody well isn't the time to get into this," he growls and then more softly adds, "I'll answer you, Sansa but first we find out what your brother wants. Let it go." The fear in his voice and the pain in his eyes is agonizingly reminiscent of when he sat on her bed and asked her to leave with him the night the Blackwater burned.
Though he is no longer the Hound, she senses the hardened walls returning to envelope his heart, safeguarding him from her anticipated rejection. Drawing closer, Sansa places her hand over his heart. "Don't pull away from me Sandor, please I beg of you. Promise me we will speak of this later and I will let it go this very moment. Rest assured, you need not fear my response," she tenderly kisses his face once more, "Sandor, please do not give up on what has not yet begun."
As much as he longs for her, has ached for her all this time, the man cannot help but worry by revealing his true feelings he will damage the budding sentiments forming in her heart. "Sansa, I swear I'll answer you later. But with Stannis about a man needs his wits about him at such a time as this." His tone is softer and Sandor brushes her cheek with his fingertips as he speaks.
"I have a feeling Stannis' meeting in Castle Black has something to do with Lord Snow's visit, Little bird. You must prepare yourself."
Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Sansa closes her eyes. "Gods, don't I know it. I just want to live a quiet life. Why can they not leave me be? I only want to experience a bit of peace-is that really too much to hope for?"
Wrapping his arms around her tightly, Sandor tilts her face up to his. "I'll keep you safe, even from your own kin if need be. Just say the word, Little bird and I'll take you away from here."
Standing on her toes, she gently tugs on his jerkin, covering his mouth with her own in a delicate kiss. "Thank you Sandor. I feel better, hearing that from you. Let us go talk to Jon." Slipping her hand into his, Sansa looks up at him, tenderness and something warmer shining in her eyes, offering Sandor a glimmer of hope as they walk back to the village.