A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;)
*My betas, swiftsnowmane, onborrowedwings,gingerbeer48, nysandra: have I told you before that you mean a lot to me, girls! Thank you for the support and help in every aspect of the fic I struggle with :D
- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show from now on.
17. The High Magister
Gods, no! Oh no! This cannot be happening to us! Were Sansa's first rational thoughts after the meaning of what Arman had just said finally settled in. She gulped. No, no, no! If she had been holding something, she surely would have dropped it. Forcing herself to remain calm was the hardest thing she'd done in months, but in the end all the training of lying and hiding her true emotions or thoughts from her time spent in King's Landing after her father was beheaded, was what saved her. For after Arman had informed them that he was related to a woman so closely connected to and affected by what Sandor's brother had done during the Sack of King's Landing near the end of Robert's Rebellion, Sansa surprised herself by not instinctively looking at Sandor; nor did she gasp or appeared frightened at all, she thought.
As composedly as she could, and without a hint of fear or uncertainty in her voice, Sansa managed to say, "The Prince of Dorne's wife? Mellario, you said?"
Arman nodded. "You have heard of her before?"
Sansa stifled a gasp. It's a small world after all. "Only in conversations." Cersei never fell for my lies, yet I was able to survive my time with Joffrey well enough with them, Sansa remembered desperately, in an attempt to convince herself that lying like she had grown used to would work this time. "Where I am from we do not learn much about what happens in Dorne, I am afraid."
"Of course," Arman replied, sighing contently as he threw a look around his terraced balcony. "Yes, well… as I told you the day before last, I'm afraid she has not lived with her children and husband back in Sunspear for several years now. I believe that is one of the reasons why she prefers to retire to her isolated estate in the hills of the Nizzis for half of the year. She likes for her memories to keep her company, even though she takes all her court and guards with her. She even takes into that special sacred place some knights from Dorne that Prince Doran sends for her."
It was starting to become harder to remain unperturbed, and to keep no emotion to her tone. Does that bit about the Dornish knights mean there aren't any here in Norvos at present either? Sansa knew she was supposed to reply, but couldn't. Her mind searched desperately for something to say, but Sandor must have known what was happening to her, for he spared her the need to speak by asking, "And is your aunt at her estate with all her people now?"
"Indeed," Arman said. "She has been living half a year on the Nizzis and the other half here in Norvos, and nothing really ever sways her into returning to the city before that time. She departed about a month ago, so I am afraid that, knowing my aunt, you will not be able to meet her in the near future, Alysane."
Oh gods be good, she almost whimpered, trembling slightly. Her hand was shaking a little bit, so she hid it under the table and searched for Sandor's hand beside her. Her hand first landed lightly on his leg but in the blink of an eye he took hold of her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She hoped he knew she was thanking him for saving her just a moment ago with his question. They both rested their entwined hands on his thigh, which even under these circumstances, Sansa wondered, is my heart beating only because of the danger we may have just avoided or because I have my hand on his leg?
Trying to look disappointed was difficult, but not as hard as not looking at Sandor. She managed both, though, and now that she was feeling capable of talking again for her frantic hear was finally settling down, she said, "I'm very sorry to hear that. I am sure she is wonderful."
She isn't coming here, thank the old gods and the new! That she isn't in the city is some small mercy, Sansa supposed. After coming so far it would have been too much to fall into such an ironic fate. One of the reasons we could not head down to Dorne back when we were in the Kingswood, and had to cross the Narrow Sea instead, was because the Martells still loathe the Cleganes even after all this time.
Just then, the servants arrived, carrying trays with flagons, bottles and golden cups for them. As they settled the bottle of tart persimmon wine in front of Arman, Sansa took this opportunity to cast a quick glance at Sandor, and saw him arching his neck to the side, as if he was curiously studying her and Arman. They released each other's hands then.
"Since I gather that as a High Magister it's bloody likely that you are familiar with what's happening in Westeros, has anything of importance happened in the war over there?" Sandor rasped suddenly, grabbing his wine cup with the hand she had just been holding, and taking a long deep drink. For a moment, Sansa admired almost absentmindedly the way Sandor's muscles worked as he gulped down the wine.
"Well, how long has it been since you heard of the tides that have befallen the Sunset Kingdoms?"
Sandor shrugged. "Couple of months."
"I shall be honest with you. The Sunset Kingdoms are too far away to concern us here in Great Norvos. The last news I heard of them was a long time ago. So old that I fear they are stale. It was about how Lord Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark were fighting against the Lannisters as a new mad- king sat on the Iron Throne; a boy born of incest. We also learned of the manner in which Renly Baratheon was killed, just as his mighty host was about to defeat Lord Stannis's. Is any of this news to you?"
"No," Sandor growled, as Sansa, with a sad heart, tried to not to appear too disappointed by the lack of knowledge regarding the outcomes to the war. "We had heard all of that before."
"I promise you that if word reaches me of something of consequence regarding your homeland, I shall inform you at once."
Sansa thanked him kindly, after taking a sip of her white Lysense wine. It was very fine. A moment later, Urroc the steward stepped to the terraced balcony and clapped his hands in respect.
"The meal is ready, magister."
"Good!" Arman said, looking over at Sansa excitedly as yet even more servants brought in the food. "I hope it's to your liking, my lady. I had the cooks know that there were going to be special guests visiting me today, and I've been told she tried her best with the food."
Sansa smiled, puzzled as the first course of food was laid in front of her. Why does he go through so much trouble for us when he's only met us twice before? "We are honored, Arman, yet I would call your fellow magisters with whom you were with but moments ago the true honored guests you had today."
Arman made a face. Even when he did such a thing, he was still one of the most handsome men Sansa had ever seen. "I see them almost every day, Alys. Some of them are good friends while others are wise or foolish or droll, yet I am privileged to be considered one of them. But I was not wrong when I called you and Edric my honored guests for today, for I believe I will enjoy talking with you infinitely more than hearing even more distressing rumors about the east."
"What's happening in the east?" Sandor rasped, looking down at the food he was being served. The first course was roasted mushrooms soaked in butter and garlic sauce accompanied with some crusty bread.
"Much and more. Slave revolts, sacking of cities, gossip of three-headed dragons that belong to a Targaryen, the glass candles are rumored to be burning in the house of Urrathon Night-Walker in Qarth… The list goes on and on."
Sandor said, "A fucking living three-headed dragon and a Targaryen?" just as Sansa exclaimed, "But there are no more dragons in the world, or Targaryens. Everyone knows that."
Arman sighed before he finally took a bite of the mushrooms. "I'm afraid that we've received too many rumors to call this news idle gossip. The Targaryen that is stirring up the cities around the Gulf of Grief and Slaver's Bay is believed to be Daenerys Stormborn, the daughter to King Aerys, the last dragon king to sit on the Iron Throne of Westeros."
"Isn't she supposed to be the Beggar King's sister? The one who lived in exile?" Sandor asked.
"Indeed the very one."
"And you are actually telling us that she has a three-headed dragon?" Sandor rasped, incredulous.
"Well, to be sure, the reports cannot agree if there is only one dragon with three heads, or three separate dragons. But you are in Essos now my friends, and anything can happen in these lands."
Sansa delicately chewed her delicious tender golden mushrooms, tasting the flavors of capers and peppers before washing it down with a drink of white wine. Dragons were hard for her to believe in at this age, yet this Targaryen might be another matter. You've been wrong about what to expect from life before. What if Arman is right? Would this Targaryen mean anything in the future with regards to Robb and his war with the Lannisters if his cause was successful?
Sansa, wondering both about if there were truly dragons once again in this world and of how she still felt ill at ease that Arman was related to the Martells in some way, remained mostly silent throughout the meal, letting Arman prattle on about everything and nothing, with Sandor at times laughing aloud in Arman's face to show him what he thought of his table-talk.
She watched helplessly as well as Sandor threw Arman snide remarks for almost every word he said, and decided she would let the magister handle her friend. She was both amused and appalled at what Sandor said or did at times. Though she knew all along that she had to play a part today, and even if she was still concerned about Mellario of Dorne, at present she could not help but relish every bite of the food served at Magister Nervere's manse. I have not tasted anything this good since the days when I first arrived at King's Landing. She thought that surely after the way Sandor was behaving towards him, Arman would never again invite them to his house, but the only thing she regretted about that was not having such wonderful food to eat. Old Gage at Winterfell and even Medra cooked well enough, but this is just perfection.
Several courses later the lamb, with a salad of raisins and tender carrots drowned in sweet sauce and wine, with hot, flaky bread covered with honey to accompany it, tasted just as delicious as the mushrooms had. Sansa didn't have to pretend to be really enjoying her food. The hard part was not gobbling everything down like she wanted to. I'm a lady. I must remember my manners. Sandor had a second serving of everything she had, and when they finally finished everything laid before them, Sansa felt like her tummy was about to burst. When Arman asked her if she wanted anything for dessert, Sansa was so stuffed that she could not manage more than a single silver cup of iced milk sweetened with honey and cinnamon seeing as there were sadly no lemon cakes to be had.
When all three were finally done, Sansa gathered that she ought to start playing the role of being gracious to their host and grateful for his unending kindness. He is the most powerful man in the Hills of Norvos and besides interrupting me when I was about to ask Sandor to kiss me, he has not done anything wrong I suppose. She was a Stark and a Tully after all, and had to honor her houses no matter if she was far away from her family- or that the man she had to impress was not even aware of her true identity.
"Arman, I must confess that I cannot recall the last time I had such wonderful food!" she told the magister, truthfully. "It was simply exquisite."
"I'm pleased that it was to your liking, my lady."
Sansa looked for a brief moment at Sandor before crossing her hands on her tummy and saying, "Your steward Urroc told us that you have quite a fabled animal menagerie?"
Arman laughed. "He did, did he?" He cast a look in Urroc's direction, who was standing beside the glass doors. "Would you like to see it?"
She nodded, smiling as she stood up. "Yes. A walk through your gardens would be lovely right now."
As she walked through the palace walks that guided one's way thorough the gardens with Arman Nervere at her side, Sansa could feel Sandor's presence just behind them. Since he was her sworn shield he was guarding her just as he had once done with Joffrey, silently. It was unsettling that she could not turn around and ask him what he thought of the place because she had to talk with Magister Arman. I know Sandor doesn't care one bit about how beautiful this place is, but I still want to tell him what it is that I find special here.
"I'm quite impressed at everything I've heard you've achieved despite your young age," she remarked to Arman as they stopped before a pond were a couple of beautiful black and white swans were swimming.
Arman stroked his chin, saying, "I believe I do not deserve such praise. All my wealth I owe to my father and mother who came from prominent families themselves, and my connections were the ones to gain me a place within the council of magisters."
"But did they also win you the title of High Magister at the age of …?"
"Two and twenty. I've been the High Magister for three years now. As to your other question, I can only say that I am honored and blessed to have so many people trusting me enough to make a difference with this city."
"Make a difference?" she asked, as they crossed a small bridge over the swans and the pond. "How so?"
"Great Norvos is old and proud. The Doom fell on the Freehold of Valyria long ago, but its colonies still survive. The magisters and the Bearded Priests cling to the old ways though, and the people of the city wanted a change. I agreed with them so I believe that's why I was elected as High Magister."
"A wise choice, I'm sure," she told him, hesitantly as she saw a white peacock at a distance. Sansa knew it would be polite to engage him further about what changes he was working in Norvos, but something in his tone gave her pause. He doesn't want to speak any more about that.
Sansa glanced back quickly at Sandor. The beauty of the garden was indeed lost to him, for he was simply staring straight ahead, with an angry brooding scowl on his face. He is hearing every word we say. The Magister and Sansa could hear his laugh, half a growl at times, to let them know he thought their conversation empty.
"At the end of this maze lies the animal menagerie," Arman put in, as he let her enter the labyrinth first. "My lady, pardon me, but I was wondering if I could ask you something of a personal nature?"
Here it comes. Brace yourself. Keep your tone light and your expressions unconcerned. "Of course, Arman."
"I have no intention whatsoever to give offense, but I must admit that I was stricken the first time I saw you and your friend the day before last."
Sansa laughed. "Stricken by what?"
"The sharp contrast between the two of you. It was not until you spoke that I recognized you came from the Seven Kingdoms, yet even before that it was evident that while your friend was Norvoshi, you were of a high and noble birth."
"Indeed? How so?" If he wants to know about me and Sandor, I will at least hear him say so.
"Your face and poise for one; the way you hold yourself and speak with courtesy. And you did not seem surprised that I was from a noble house either when you asked me who I was. It almost seemed as if you had known many noblemen before and could therefore not react to my revelation the way your friend or her husband or your kind innkeeper did."
Sansa knew what he meant. After all, everyone had always told her how much she resembled her mother, and Lady Catelyn was nothing if not beautiful and elegant. Sansa could feel Sandor drawing closer to them as they turned to the right in one of the labyrinth's passages where a large tree hosted nightingales and other birds. She knew he would not give any sign as to what he thought of the fake revelations she was about to tell Magister Nervere.
Arman leaned closer to her and whispered, "And I have yet to hear about a poor maid who can claim to have a sworn shield as fierce as yours to accompany you all the way from Westeros. A man who didn't seem impressed by my position anymore than you did."
Sansa laughed again. "I see… You know, it was the kind innkeep who informed me a little bit of your own history. You made quite an impression on her."
Arman looked at his feet then as they finally stepped out of the maze. The tall hedges of the labyrinth surrounding them from every direction had a path that now lead to a glass house decorated with some benches and masonry that was being threatened to be overgrown with weeds. "She was very hospitable, I remember. And skilled no doubt since your cut has healed well."
Sansa lifted her hand to lightly touch her wound. In a couple of days it will fade away completely. "You are a clever man, Magister, for I was honored to be born into a noble and proud house as well. House Mallister of Seagard. Have you heard of it?"
"Mallister?" Arman repeated, as a frown appeared on his forehead. "No, I am ashamed to admit I have not. Is it in the South?"
Sansa smiled. "Oh no. It's closer to the North than to the South. It is near the Riverlands, for my family are banner men to the Tully's of Riverrun."
"Ah! I have heard of the Tully's. Haven't they declared for the Stark king?"
"I would think so. But I must admit I cannot be sure. I left the Seven Kingdoms before the war began, so I cannot be certain."
"May I ask you why- ?"
"Did I leave?" Sansa interrupted. "I am afraid I do not like to talk about that. I understand why you would want to know, since you are the High Magister and seek only for the safety and welfare of the people of this city. But I assure you Edric and I are not a threat to Great Norvos. But maybe I will tell you one day."
Arman smiled genuinely. "Oh to be sure! I did not mean to offend you, my lady. Everyone has secrets, and we have but barely met."
"I am relieved you understand."
Arman turned to Sandor. "Does your family all serve the Mallisters of Seagard as well, Edric?"
"I am a Goodbrook," Sandor spat in a voice that was rough and hard as an iron grasp. "We serve the Tully's." He caught her eyes and looked away.
He doesn't like to lie, she thought, sighing. "Yes, Edric is a Goodbrook and the fiercest fighter I know."
Arman opened his mouth to say something, but never got a chance to continue since a loud and frightening animal howled then.
"That was the bloody tiger, wasn't it?" Sandor rasped.
"You have a good ear, Edric. That is indeed Tigra, my spotted tiger. I believe she's caught our scent."
Sansa was starting to feel excited about seeing the exotic animals that Arman had in his menagerie. She almost asked if there was danger in getting near these animals. A spotted tiger is dangerous enough, Sansa thought as she recalled Old Nan telling her and her siblings about the lands beyond the Narrow Sea and all the wonders they had.
It turned out that though spotted tigers were usually perilous, Tigra could not have been more different. The moment the animal saw her master stepping into her enclosure, she ran to him and began to bite his hand playfully. Lady used to do that with me. When Arman bid her and Sandor to get closer, Sandor put her behind him and said that she could not touch the beast until he made sure she was trustworthy. In the end Sansa wanted to take all of Arman's animals. There were hairy apes from Sothoryos, enormous turtles from the Rhoyne and lemurs with purple eyes along with Tigra, as well as great elks from the Forest of Qohor and striped black and white horses of the Jogos Nhai.
"Which one is your favorite?" she asked Sandor as Arman walked over to one of the caretakers of the great elk to tell him something.
Sandor shrugged. "I suppose the tiger would not have been so bad if she had only had some fucking balls."
"Sandor!" she whispered, scowling. "Don't say that. And Tigra is a girl. She… she doesn't need-"
"She is a spotted tiger, little bird. She was meant to be mean and wild. Cersei Lannister has more backbone than this bitch. It's not good to lock up animals and turn them into something they were never meant to be. It's disgusting." Sandor's eyes looked her up and down before continuing. "I would have thought a little bird like you who seems to relish being free again after being locked up in a golden cage, would understand."
Sansa threw him an angry look. Why does he have to bring that up now? He was right in a way, yet his words hurt her. She hadn't meant anything by wishing she could own all the animals herself.
Sansa leaned closer to Sandor as they sat together on a stone bench and hissed "Thank you for reminding me of it. I am sure I would have forgotten had you not pointed it out…"
"Wrinkle up your face all you like, Sansa," he growled. "I know you didn't mean anything by your words just as you know that I'm right, so spare me this. This bloody Nervere can brag all he wants about these animals, yet in the end he knows their affection is a feeble thing, for they have no other choice once they are taken from the wild."
They sat in a sullen silence for some moments, until Sansa asked, "You've seen an animal menagerie before?"
"Aye, in Casterly Rock. Though I'll give the man this," he said, nodding towards were Arman stood. "At least he keeps them in the open air. Tywin Lannister kept his animals under the bowels of the Rock for his own pleasure till they rotted away inside their cages. Bugger me if I know why he didn't shut away the Imp down there as well. That little shit was the strangest rarity he owned."
"I'm sorry for leaving you like this," Arman said then, as he approached them. "I had to settle something."
"All these animals would be better off back were they came from," Sandor said. "After all, they were meant to be bloody wild beasts, not imitations of cats and dogs and sheep."
Sansa looked down at her hands quietly, wanting to hear what Arman would say to that.
"I could not agree with you more," the Magister replied. "I am a staunch supporter of taking all the care that is required of the beasts that roam the grasslands and forests of the world. That is why I only take in injured animals, or those who have lost their packs. I rescued Tigra for example from some corsairs, when I was visiting the cities around the Jade Sea. And last year, when I was in my state at the outskirts of the Forest of Qohor, an injured Hrakkar was seen in my lands trying to escape a Dothraki khal and his bloodriders. The Dothraki are fond of hunting the white lions to use their skins as pelts in some traditions of their faith, so I had to persuade them to leave the animal alone with some valuables inside chests as an exchange. I've been informed the animal has now healed well."
Gods be good, Sansa thought. Sandor was looking at Arman as if Tyrion Lannister had just appeared before them, capering on his arms and legs while Moon Boy threw roses behind him. She almost laughed at the way Sandor gazed at Magister Nervere with disgust and incredulity, for she had a pretty accurate idea of what he must be thinking. Something along the lines that Arman can't be for real.
"How nice of you," she told Arman, suppressing a smirk, trying to keep her features relaxed. "Pray excuse me, but do you have any other animals beside these ones then?"
"Yes, one more," Arman replied. "My favorite one in fact. Nezza, a big grey elephant."
"What?" she asked, incredulous, unsure she had heard correctly. "An elephant?"
"Fuck off," she heard Sandor say under his breath.
"What is it?" Arman asked, puzzled.
"It's just that…. Well, I have been longing to see one up close ever since Edric and I spied one down by the river Noyne some weeks ago."
Magister Nervere smiled, as he unconsciously swept his curls out of his face. "Down by the Noyne, you said? Was it alone or- ?"
"It's yours, isn't it?" Sandor remarked.
Sansa turned to look at him quickly. "How do you know?"
"Because I think he is the man we saw beside the elephant that day."
"Yes, it must have been me. There are no elephants in Great Norvos, and such a big creature cannot live here since it would take years to get her up the mountain. So instead I had a house build by the Noyne were I could keep Nezza, and were she would have the river at hand to bathe in whenever she so wished it. I visit her more than thrice a week. In fact, the day I met you, I was back from visiting her."
Sansa's mouth was hanging open a little bit. "Oh, how lucky you are indeed to have an elephant! They look so beautiful and imposing in the distance."
"Yes, they are creatures whom I have found can- "
"Magister!" a voice called, interrupting Arman.
Urroc the steward was walking towards them.
"Yes, what is it, Urroc?"
Urroc bowed to Sansa, Sandor and Arman after he stopped in front of them. "Forgive me for intruding on you like this, but Quallo has arrived."
Arman's eyes caught Urroc's quickly at that, Sansa saw.
"Has he? Did you take him to the solar?"
Urroc nodded vigorously. "I did, Magister. He said he would wait for you."
"Very well, thank you, Urroc. Please send some refreshments his way and tell him I will be with him shortly. I will just escort my honored guests back to the front of the house."
Urroc said he would do so and went back the way he'd come from. Arman turned his head to look down at her and Sandor, sitting on his stone bench, and gave a loud sigh.
"My friends, I am terribly upset by this, but I fear I must leave you soon. There are other- "
"Bugger that. We get it," Sandor said, standing up. He offered Sansa his hand to help her up. The moment she straightened up he let go of it quickly. "Don't say anything. It's getting late. We have to go."
Sansa looked up at the sky. It does indeed look like dusk is approaching. A day ago, Sandor and I were at the little clearing by the river, and tonight it seems there will also a storm.
"Thank you for inviting us to your house, Arman," she said. "It was a lovely day and it was nice to get to know each other better."
"I could not agree more, my lady of Mallister."
Sandor locked the front door of their house, and gave a contented grunt. They were finally home and he had a skin of sour wine in his hands. What a bloody long day this was. He wanted nothing more than to forget it, but that was not possible. It was a good thing that Sansa had managed to convince Vintos, Frema and Medra to wait until tomorrow to hear what had happened, for he didn't feel like reliving it all as Sansa tried to praise Nervere before his fucking admirers. Bloody idiots. They had even gone about asking him what the High City looked like.
"That was an interesting experience," Sansa said as she began to take off her jewelry, and as loud thunder was heard outside. Medra had left the brazier and hearth lit, so the house was warm.
"It was what I expected it would be. A rich idiot showing off his house as he tried to behave like he was a white innocent sheep, only that this sheep seems to be very interested in us."
"I know," she agreed, as he followed her to the bedroom and she took off her shoes, leaving her jewelry on the surface of the table by the bed. "It's unnatural, nobody can be that good and honest."
"Glad to see you know that, little bird."
"How could I not, after King's Landing?"
She suddenly stopped and Sandor almost bumped into her.
"What is it?" he began to ask as Sansa turned around and threw her arms around him.
"Oh Sandor," he heard her whimper, her voice muffled by his mail and armor. "I know he said that his aund and her Dornish knights were not in the city, but I was so afraid when he said who she was, and for a moment I felt lost. How can we be sure she won't come back and see you? Why did she have to be related to Arman?"
Sansa. "Shh, it's all right, little bird," he assured her, hugging her back.
She shook her head. "Do you think he believed our stories about who we are?"
"I don't think he knows exactly who we are, so your story will give him pause."
Sansa looked up at him, her eyes wide with concern for him. "I didn't like your acting as only my sworn shield today."
"Aye, and that's just what I wanted you to realize. That we won't always be as we are now. When we go back to Westeros, this will be how we will have to live our days unless your brother doesn't take me into his service."
What Sandor would do then, he didn't know. He wasn't so sure if he would be able to ride away from the little bird if he couldn't be her sworn shield, and Sansa would certainly prefer to remain with her family than live in exile with him.
Sansa shook her head. "You don't know Robb. If I talk to him and tell him everything you've done for me, I am sure he will understand. He will take you in. He isn't like the Lannisters. He is a good man and he won't mind if we are close friends."
Sandor broke into a laugh. "So you think your brother will allow us to share the same bedroom?" he jested.
Sansa paled and stepped back. "I meant… Robb won't mind it if I ask it of him to have you sit with us at supper-"
He snorted. "So you intend to beg your brother for the charity of letting me sit at the table with your family, along with-"
"Don't talk like that! Please don't' be hateful," Sansa interrupted. The look in her eyes was full of a fire Sandor had never seen before. The little bird threw back her shoulders, her face turning red.
Sandor didn't want a fight right now, so he drew her closer to him and instead, "You knew your brother, you don't know King Robb."
They stood there for a time, with their arms loosely hanging around the other as they looked at each other's faces.
"I won't let anything change between us, Sandor. Believe that," Sansa promised. "I want things to go back to how they were just yesterday."
Sandor took hold of Sansa's chin and lifted her head up. "Me too, Sansa."
Sansa smiled and grabbed his hand. His chest hurt in a strange way as he saw her bring his hand to her cheek so she could brush his knuckles against her soft skin.
"Little bird," he began to say, but Sansa whispered to him to remain silent. She led him to the bed, her eyes never leaving his face as she gestured for him to sit on the edge of the bed, and when she saw his uncertainty she nodded, letting him know that nothing was wrong. Sandor sat, gulping. Arman Nervere was now the furthest thing in the world from his mind, as he thought, Bloody hells! What is she- ?
Her mouth parted a little as she knelt on the floor in front of him, her long hair cascading down her back as she tipped her head back so she could look at him. She took his right boot in her hands. His leg was heavy as hell, so she needed both hands to lift it up high enough to bring it to her knees. Sansa began to undo the laces of his boots, revealing her intent. The sight of his mud-covered boots ruining her green dress was just too much for Sandor. She is a fucking princess, not some squire or whore to take your boots off and rub your feet after a long tiring day.
He grabbed Sansa by the arms and said, "Sansa, don't- don't do this. It's not- "
Sansa looked up at him, as a frown appeared on her forehead. "What is it? I am just taking off your boots."
The way she said it- as if this was the most natural thing in the world for her- irked him in some way. He tightened his grip on her arms and rasped, "Don't do that. You don't have to do that."
Sansa smirked at him with a little grin. "I know I don't have to. I want to do it. What is so wrong about that?"
"Little bird, you don't bloody-"
"Oh Sandor, stop making such a big deal about this. This is not wrong. I mean, I let you brush my hair, don't I? You don't have to do that but you do it nonetheless and I like it. You let me take off your armor as well back in Pentos. So now let me do this."
That she would bring up the fact that he did like to brush out her long red curls shut him up all right, like she fucking knew it would.
"Just this time," he growled, in a low menacing tone, as he let go of her arms.
Sansa nodded. "All right. Just this time."
So Sandor watched her remove his dirty boots- first the right one and then the left one- until he was wearing only his socks. Those too she took off with delicate gentle hands, and then his bare feet were resting on her legs. The sound of the heavy rain outside gave this moment an intimate feeling which he found he relished in, as he felt her hands brushing over his feet. During all the long years before the little bird came into his life, Sandor had never dreamt having a woman take off his fucking boots would be like this. Camp followers and reluctant squires may do it for the knights they serve, but he would never have imagined a great lady would do this.
But being here now with Sansa, it just felt bloody right.
"You big man, you teased poor Arman appallingly today, you know," the little bird remarked, as her hands began to rub his feet.
After realizing that she had called him "big man" which he liked, Sandor snorted.
"It was nothing more than he deserved, and not enough to shut him up unfortunately."
Sansa giggled, and that sound along with the feeling of her long elegant fingers on his feet started driving his body and his mind into dangerous places.
"It was such a pity he didn't know anything about what is going on with the war in Westeros, but what did you think about the bit with a Targaryen princess and the dragon?"
"The girl is real enough, but I'll be damned if there are dragons in this world again and she managed to hatch herself one or three or a bloody hundred."
"How do you know she isn't just a pretender?"
"Because the Mad King's son and daughter managed to escape Robert's wrath, unlike their nephew and niece who were killed by Gregor and Armory Loch. Stannis was the one who let Mad Aerys's children slip through his fingers, and for that Robert gave Storm's End to Renly."
Sansa began to massage his left foot now. "I remember Joffrey telling me on his nameday that the Beggar King was dead. I assume it's his sister we are talking about, but if her brother was a beggar how could she have managed to- "
"I heard around the time that your father became the Hand that she had married a Dothraki Khal who had a large army. Most likely the beasts she has are those men. Not dragons."
"Oh," Sansa said: she looked at the ground, remembering. After a moment she asked, "And if King Robert knew about them, why did he let her live? You've just mentioned his hatred for Targaryens."
Sandor sighed. "I believe he had Varys orders his spies here in the Free Cities to kill the girl. It appears they failed."
"Was my… did my father agreed to it?" she asked, looking up at him.
A fucking honorable man like Ned Stark agreeing to the murder of a child? Not likely, Sandor thought, with a slight contempt. But instead he said, "I don't know, little bird. I wasn't in the room when the Small Council had their meetings."
Sansa brought her hand up to his knee and, as she straightened up and looked at his face, burns and all, she whispered, "I miss him so much."
Of course you would. Fuck, he had no respect for men like Ned Stark, but this was Sansa's father. She isn't asking me what I think of him though. She is telling me that she misses the man she knew; the man who brought her up. For some reason that made him remember his own childhood with Arwyn and his grandfather.
"I know," he said, understanding her. He grabbed the hand she had rested on his knee and ran his callused thumb across it.
She ended taking off his armor as well, just as she had back in Pentos. There hadn't been a need for it till Nervere appeared, Sandor gathered sullenly.
Some time afterwards, they fell asleep in each other's arms, keeping each other warm as the fierce storm raged outside.
A/N: I can't express enough how happy your reviews make me, guys! Thank you thank you so much to everyone who reads this from the bottom of my heart, & your thoughts on it are what keep this story going! Thank you!