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 ;)
*Thank you very much for being the best of betas, girls: onborrowedwings, gingerbeer48, nysandra & swiftsnowmane :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.
A/N:
- I would like to dedicate this chapter to gingerbeer48 because she was always a very dedicated beta through the long months this fic has been going on, but who must now leave us. Thank you so much gingerbeer48! Ever since the start you were there to encourage me, and without it this story may never have arrived here. Thank you!
- I would also like to thank nysandra and luvxena for their undying support over a particular bit in this chapter!
19. The Maid in the Pool
If it hadn't been for the stupid invitation they received, and the confirmation they sent to Nervere, accepting the offer to stay at his house for two days, they would have had no contact whatsoever with the sodding magister for more than a week, a fact that neither Sandor nor Sansa would have minded at all. Still, during the ten days that followed the trip to meet the elephant, Arman Fucking Nervere was very much in Sandor's thoughts.
Bloody idiot, Sandor thought as he played with Stranger's muzzle the way the horse liked it. It made him silently rage that now the fucking magister was starting to take liberties in asking Sansa and him over to his house. Fucking stupid, I should've known, he thought. I should've known that once we let him inside the door, it would be hard to kick him out. It wouldn't surprise me if he invented this ball just so he could have another chance to have Sansa go to his house; to see a little bit more of how she is.
Sandor spat. He wouldn't have laughed at the magister's attempts to court Sansa if he hadn't been sure Sansa had absolutely no interest in him, of course. But since the ever courteous little bird found it in her to mock Nervere and imitate him around Sandor at times, he wasn't worried.
"What a pompous man he is!" she once remarked. "He is courteous and hasn't done anything wrong, but I do find him a bit dull."
Sansa had looked at him then, as he laughed at her words with an approving roar that made him feel like she was trying to tell him that if she found Nervere dull, it was because she was accustomed to excitement from their travels together. Or so he decided to believe.
It was dusk at present, and quickly becoming dark, yet the tallow candles all about the stable, along with the lantern outside, made it easier for Sandor to pull the stones from Stranger's shoes and for the little bird to brush Nan's coat.
The Norvoshi make fine steel, he noticed as he examined the horse shoes he'd gotten for Stranger. But that wasn't a surprise, since the Rhoynish usually were known throughout the world for it. Sandor kept casting quick furtive glances at Sansa, taking in how she pursed her tongue between her lips as she stretched to try and reach Nan's stifle and hock. If she hadn't been so tall, it would have been hard for him to casually stare at her as she ran the brush across Nan's back.
Tomorrow was the day they would be going to stay at Nervere's house, and the little bird had already packed the things they were going to need for the two days they would be away from the inn. Vintos and Frema had been ready to piss themselves in excitement when Sansa told them of the ball they had been invited to, and, of course, they had wasted no bloody time in letting them know that they were more than willing to attend. Sansa had looked at him with a pained expression when their eyes met, but she had nodded at her friends, resigned.
She had discussed with him that she felt obliged to Frema for being such a nice and true friend to her, and thus she let Frema know that her desire to see the High City could be granted, and Sandor, not wanting to appear like he feared accepting the invitation to the lamb's den that was Nervere's house, had consented in going. He would never have risked it if he felt Sansa would be danger, and wouldn't have cared what the world thought of him for that.
"But Mellario and her Dornish knights–" the little bird had protested.
"Won't be there," he reminded her. "Remember what the prick told us? They won't come to the city for months."
"I suppose so, but still…"
Sandor would rather not go at all. But he had seen how hard Sansa tried to hide the excitement that the prospect of going to the buggering ball brought to her face, and so didn't think it would be fair to deny her this chance just because he didn't feel like going to that farce. Seven hells, I had my fill of them in King's Landing. But if he had risked his skin in the thick of a riot just so he could carry Sansa to safety; dared take her away from King's Landing and her prison; given up the chance to kill Gregor sooner than he would have liked, and moved to Norvos for a time so Sansa could enjoy life, then he was damned if he couldn't be Nervere's guest for two fucking days if that would make the little bird happy.
Presently, she was humming some song Sandor had a hunch he'd heard before, but he didn't ask her which one it was. It was enough to have her near and share this moment of silence between them, considering that tomorrow they would be going to stay at Nervere's palace for two days.
Sansa kissed Nan's muzzle then, and when Sandor shot her a look, he became aware that she was staring at him intently.
"Out with it, little bird," he spat.
"Who do you think Nan's foal will take after?" she said, chirping prettily.
He shrugged, grabbing the skin of wine on the stall beside him. "Probably Stranger."
Sansa had convinced herself that Nan was carrying his warhorse's foal, despite Sandor explaining to her that they wouldn't know for many months to come.
"Nan will carry the colt for eleven months, little bird," he had told her. "We have to wait around eight months to know for sure."
And where will we be at that time? he wondered silently. He didn't expect to be here in eleven months, and knew Sansa wouldn't want to prolong her stay away from her family for so long, so at least he had about six months more to able to ride Nan as she decided where they should go to next.
"A black horse," she was musing presently, brushing away. "Can I name the colt or filly?"
"If you want to." Then, feeling slightly curious he said, "What do you have in mind?"
Sansa bit her lip in concentration. "I don't know. I'll have to give it some thought."
"Just as long as you don't expect me to allow Stranger's colt to be called Florian or Symeon," he warned her, taking a long drink from the skin.
She laughed. "Oh, I won't! Even I think it would be sad to have a colt of Stranger's called that, when his fierce father possessed such a blasphemous name."
Sandor gave Stranger a pat on his back before saying, "You're looking forward to the ball, aren't you? You like those sorts of things."
Sansa frowned, looking surprised he would ask or even notice it, but in the end she nodded vigorously.
"Yes, I can't wait," she confessed. "I haven't been able to go to one in an awfully long time, but I love dancing. Back in Winterfell, I used to love to sing, do embroidery, write poetry, play the harp and the bells, and dance so much that I–what is it?" she asked him, noticing his expression.
"A perfect little bird from the Summer Isles, indeed," he said in jest, remembering when he had first met Sansa, and the foolish girl she had once been. He had been a drunkard who teased and mocked her cruelly, while she was young and unaware of the way the world was, due to the fact that she had grown up in a family who loved her. Sandor remembered a wooden knight he had tried to play with once, and then the sickening smell of his own flesh burning as Gregor shoved his face into the burning coals of a brazier, and held him there while he screamed and screamed. I was young once, too, but I could not afford to be foolish without retribution.
Sansa stuck her tongue out at him, laughing. "Is that the way of it, then?"
She asked that in such a teasing tone that Sandor was brought back to the present, stiffening at the effect her voice had on him. The little bird began to approach him, saying, "I don't think you mind the talents of a lady so much anymore, you know. You like to hear me sing, and you liked that piece of embroidery I showed you the other day."
He had. It was fine work, and it was his since she had given it to Sandor as a token of the time when he had dabbed blood from her lip with his own, and stopped her from killing Joffrey when the bastard showed her Ned Stark's head.
She was standing in front of him now, hands on hips, and a wicked grin on her face. Sandor took a step closer to her, and lifted her chin with his hand. "No, you are wrong in that. I don't like ladies, and there aren't many little birds out there that can do all that you've just said and still be like you are."
"And what does that mean?"
Sandor remembered all the noblewomen he'd met over the years to whom he had only been a Lannister dog. Stupid women who couldn't look at him without fainting, and whom he had heard telling lies disguised as courtesies to men in order to please them and show off their fancy feathers. Cersei Lannister and crazy Lysa Arryn had been some, along with boring Lady Stokeworth, Kevan Lannister's wife, or even the wife of Stannis Baratheon–the woman with the moustache. To think the most beautiful and honest of them would end up here with me–the only one who is worth it.
"It means that you are better than all of them put together."
Sansa bit her lip, and uncertainty clouded her eyes for a moment. But she stood her ground and said, "We didn't turn out to be like we once thought the other was, did we?"
Nan neighed then, breaking the moment and sparing Sandor the necessity of coming up with a reply. The view of the most beautiful woman in the world looking up at his face like that–burns and all, was bringing into awareness the sudden tightness in his breeches.
Both of them looked at their feet then, a bit embarrassed for whatever it was that had just transpired between them, until Sansa said, stroking her arm unconsciously, "I'm glad we turned out to be different people than the ones we would be."
"Me too," he said, a bit too bloody hoarsely.
Half an hour later, they were in the living room, with the fireplace lit to drive away the chill of the night. Sandor was sitting in one of the chairs at the table, a flagon of wine in his hand, while Sansa lay on her stomach on a blanket on the floor beside the fireplace. Sandor didn't like her to be so close to the hearth, but there was no danger of her suffering a fate like his. She was reading a book written in High Valyrian, speaking some words out loud at times when they happened to be new to her.
Silence had fallen once more between them, but since Sandor was lost in thought as his eyes were fixed in contemplating Sansa and staring at the flames in the hearth, it didn't really matter. She is too beautiful and I am a man, I can't help myself. I have to look at her for as long as I can, so that I can remember evenings like this in the future when we are back among the wolves of the north.
His mind began to drift away as the sight of the shifting flames took him to his past. With the deaths of his mother, Arwyn, and his grandfather at such a young age, Sandor hadn't remembered in decades what it was like growing up in a home with people who loved him and he cared for in return. But looking at the little bird reading that buggering book, the realization that for the last couple of months he had been living (no matter if they were on the road, or at an inn or boarding house) in a sort of home with Sansa, made him stop to fucking appreciate it all once more.
She had changed his life for the better. I am not a good man, but she nonetheless sees something good in me. No matter how much I tried to tell her that I was not a ser but a killer, she still has come all this way with me. At times, Sandor missed the old days when he had nothing and no one to care about: when standing guard, killing, fucking and drinking were the only things he lived for–that, and the thought of burning Gregor with wildfire. I haven't been properly drunk in months and have only my hand to fuck, all because I am now with her, but can't have her properly. Yet he had to admit that, now, the thought of living up to the expectations the little bird had of him was both exciting and discouraging at the same time. It would be a wonder to live every day of my life with her, trying to make her happy, but it would be a fucking miserable hell if she was married to another and my efforts came second after her lord husband's.
What if there wasn't any other man around, though? a voice whispered inside him. Staring at Sansa in front of him, and knowing that she wanted to be with him of her own free will in Essos for a while longer, was happy with this life they were leading, and had been for quite long now, made him imagine for the first time what it would be like if she was his. Ignoring who she was and her bloody family and, most importantly, that she would probably never agree to it, this rare concept was not as unpleasant or disdainful as he had once believed.
Fuck, even Stranger, the most infamous destrier ever to be housed at the Red Keep, could now be forming a family of sorts. And then he imagined forming a family of his own with Sansa, and it was such a surreal thought that he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or run away. Thinking about having children with her scared him, because while he knew Sansa was practically born to be the greatest mother in history, he was not the stuff husbands or fathers were made of. You don't know that for sure anymore, though. Once you would never have thought it in you to fall so deeply for a girl, and look at you now.
Seven blasted buggering hells, why the fuck was he imagining having pups with her when he couldn't even allow himself to give in to his needs and simply kiss her? All these thoughts about forming a family–of aspiring and daring to hope for something he had dismissed as worthless because they would never be his. How could they be his when he was The Hound?–were making him vulnerable. One of the bloody reasons I accepted that white cloak was because I had no wife or lands to forsake, and no one would have cared if I did, but now so many things had happened that he wasn't so sure where he stood in that regard.
Shaking his head as it was becoming too painful to brood on the future any longer, Sandor cursed low and ran his hand across his face.
Sansa looked up from her book, her legs crossed upwards swaying slightly. She smiled at him and gave him a knowing look. "Tired?"
"A bit," he said, drinking some wine.
She closed the book. "It's late. We should go to bed."
Aye, go to bed together for the last time for two days. That was too long for him, but what could he do about that now? Cursing Arman Nervere, as he felt like hell while he tried to picture tomorrow when they would have to spend their days with the fucking magister, and feeling his insides coil as the log in the hearth crackled, Sandor remarked, "He is a follower of the red god, you know."
Sansa frowned for a moment, but quickly understood his meaning. She turned her head to look at the flames in the fireplace and looked down at the book cover, caressing it lightly.
"I know," she said softly. "We've talked about it before."
"We have, but that doesn't mean I can just stop having this bad feeling about it, does it?"
No matter how much he tried to convince himself that the fact that Nervere believed in some god, unlike Sandor himself, was of no consequence. He couldn't let it go that the one he worshiped was a fucking fire god.
Sansa sighed and gave a weak chuckle. "I am still more concerned about his Dornish connections than about the fact he is a follower of the red god."
"Get away from the fireplace," he thought, realizing a moment too late that he had said it out loud.
What a stupid thing to say. The little bird had been resting beside the hearth for a while now, so why he would suddenly fear she would get burned was a bloody wonder to him. Sansa, however, didn't comment on it. Her frown reappeared for a moment, but then her eyes softened. She stood up and walked towards him sitting in the chair. After putting the book on the surface of the table, she offered him both her hands. Sandor chuckled sourly, thinking she intended to tug him to his feet and lead him to bed, but when he took her delicate soft hands in his, her long fingers curling around his thick calloused ones, Sansa didn't pull him up to his feet. Instead, she knelt before him and rested her chin on his knee.
Looking up at him with eyes full of understanding, she said, "I know. I understand."
Sandor didn't have to ask what was it was that she understood. He knew as well as her that what Gregor had done to him was silently hanging in the air, but instead of creating a wall between them, it was bringing them closer. Fuck, she understood what was happening with me when the wildfire burned Blackwater Bay. Of course, she understands me now. It didn't make him feel ashamed, though. In fact, it made him feel a bit frustrated that she could read him so well at times, just as much as it made him feel appreciated that she could be conscious of the struggles that tormented his soul. That's it, little bird, take a good long stare at me, he thought, playing with the possibility that she was gazing up at him in consideration for a suitor. If you're going to be my doom, you better get the idea of what it would be like to have me as your husband–aye, or lifelong partner, if you decided to take the risk, so that you don't regret it afterwards. Sandor didn't lie about who he was, and wasn't about to start now just because he was aching for everything that Sansa could give him.
Sansa straightened up and reached with a casual hand to put a stray strand of his hair behind what was left of his burned ear. His eyes watched hers as she made that gesture, and though Sandor couldn't feel her fingers brushing against the melted flesh of his face, just knowing that she was touching his burns made him shudder.
"We'll be all right, big man," she assured him.
Sandor's laughter then sounded like dogs snarling at each other in a pit, but it was a sincere laugh.
"Is that how you're going to call me now, little bird?"
Sansa smiled mischievously. "Do you mind my calling you that?"
"Not at all. Be my guest, I sure am as much of a big man as you are a little bird."
"Good," Sansa said, beaming at him.
"These shall be your apartments, my lady," Urroc announced, as he opened the pair of doors into what was to be her bedchambers for the next two days. "I trust you shall find them to your liking."
Sansa followed Urroc inside, with Sandor bringing up the rear, and stopped dead in her tracks once she was inside the room.
"Gods," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as her eyes wandered up to the tall arched ceiling. Sansa Stark was no stranger to the comforts of the rich, even if it had been a while since she had last enjoyed them, but this room was just pure opulence. It's too beautiful, she thought, as her eyes fell on every expensive decoration and piece of comfortable furniture.
Two wide spacious rooms, separated not by walls but by golden columns with veils hanging from them, served as a living room and bedroom–and they were going to be all hers. In the living room, the smooth marble floor was hidden in places by deep colored carpets, and the walls had many tapestries hanging from golden pegs.
Sandor laughed as he caught sight of one hanging near the door. "See this, my lady? It seems someone told Nervere that you were fond of this one."
Sansa stepped beside Sandor to see what he was looking at and rolled her eyes at Arman Nervere's attempts at gallantry. "I see that you are right, Edric."
Urroc, Magister Nervere's steward, cleared his throat. "Indeed, I told the High Magister that this tapestry of the Seven Kingdoms before Aegon the Conqueror ever set foot in them had caught your eye, Lady Alysanne, and the Magister thought it would be agreeable for you to have a reminder of your homelands while you stay here."
Sansa couldn't hide her grin. "You were right, Urroc. Thank you for it, and I shall praise the Magister's consideration when we see him at dinner."
Arman hadn't met them at the door when they arrived. Just as before, Urroc greeted them, apologizing for his master's absence and claiming that Magister Nervere had various appointments today, but would gladly meet them for dinner. He had also sent word that after they had settled in their chambers, they were free to explore the house at their pleasure.
A large square table was in the middle of the living room, with a pair of comfortable looking chairs on each side, where one could eat or talk or read or play games. There was also a large fireplace in the room, a beautiful harp with a smooth carved wooden surface Sansa couldn't help but run her fingers down, and a tall bookshelf housing hundreds of books with thick spines and old-looking, but well-kept scrolls.
The sound of someone calling, "Urroc!" in a loud, shrill voice made Sansa turn around and see that behind her a beautiful blue and yellow parrot with a red beak was looking at them with little black eyes, from inside a pink cage as tall as she was.
"Ah, I forgot to introduce you to the Magister's trained bird, Muku. He is from the Summer Isles and can say words in three different tongues. Muku, tell the nice lady and her sworn shield how pleased you are to meet them and I will give you a cookie."
"Nice to meet you!" Muku said, walking from one side of his cage to the other, wings ruffling. "Nice to meet you!"
The sight of the caged bird made Sansa feel sick. She saw from the corner of her eye Sandor looking at her, and she knew they both were thinking the same thing. It shouldn't affect me so, but it does. The sight of this beautiful trapped being, made to chirp on command for a treat, reminded her too much of herself when she had been forced to chirp her pretty lies to Joffrey if she expected to live another day without a new bruise on her skin.
"Please," she whispered. "Take the bird away."
"My lady?" Urroc asked, bewildered. "Is Muku not to your liking or–?"
"You heard the girl," Sandor growled, scowling at the steward. "How can you expect her to sleep with a bloody bird calling out for you in the middle of the night? I bet he wants to be with his wet-nurse, so take him to your rooms, why don't you?"
"It's all right," she told Sandor, placing her hand lightly on his arm for a moment. "I am sure Urroc thought it would be a nice decoration for the room."
That's what the poor bird is for, after all, decoration. And that's what I was supposed to do at Joff's court: decorate it by looking pretty, and pleasing him by saying what I was expected to say. Urroc called for some guards to take Muku and his cage away.
The bedchamber had the biggest bed Sansa had ever seen, where ten people could fit perfectly well, and it had satin sheets and fur blankets, cushioned with goose-feather pillows. How long has it been since I've slept in a bed like that? Oh, how I've missed goose-feather pillows! Beside the bed, there was a tall wardrobe where she was expected to put her three gowns (plus her nightgown and robe), and a vanity table with a mirror framed in pure gold. The table had a vase with flowers, brushes and combs with ivory handles, pots of powder, scented oils, laces, ribbons, clips for her hair, and everything she could possibly need to make up for the plain dress she would wear at the ball. In a corner, both the chamber pot and washing table had been placed, and everywhere she looked silver candleholders had been accommodated to light up the room when night fell and the moon and the stars came out.
Sandor grabbed the ceramic flagon of wine a servant brought in, which he'd ordered as soon as they arrived, while Sansa took a glass of water in a jeweled cup. A platter with grapes, olives, bread, goat cheese, and raisins for a sweet had also been brought up.
"Outside in the garden you will find a pool and a view of both the High City and the Low, as well as of the lands beyond."
"The Magister is too kind," Sansa told Urroc, before adding in reproach. "Surely it would be best if he gave these rooms to another of the magisters of Great Norvos, or–?"
"All the magisters of the city have their own houses to return to, my lady. As Magister Nervere's honored guests, you are clearly entitled to these rooms."
Yes, but why does he take so much care to please his honored guests? Sansa wanted to know. She stepped outside to the terraced garden through a pair of glass doors, and was delighted to see a fragrant pool, a fountain, some skinny trees with limbs decorated with flowers, birds and leaves, and a balustrade encircling the garden.
Sensing Sandor behind her, Sansa walked over to the edge of the terrace, stepping off of the little path of bricks and onto the grass, rested her hands on the carved stone balustrade and made herself peer over the edge.
"Oh, look, Edric!" she said, wistfully looking at the world below her.
Since Arman's manor was near the top of the mountain, and her rooms were on the seventh and last floor, she had the world before her. She could see the High City with its towers and houses, a hundred feet below her, though it was covered in mist and fog, and further down the mountain at its very foot was the Low City, its buildings and streets barely distinguishable at this distance. They appeared as small as children's toys, and thus it was impossible for the nearby forests, rivers and fields to be more than little ribbons and bushes to her eyes. Before her, the surroundings were the Hills of Norvos that encircled the city, their peaks blocking out from view clouds and the world beyond. The wind was blowing fiercely up here, but the view made her forger that in a heartbeat.
"Nice view," Sandor admitted, his hand closing around her arm to draw her back a bit from the balustrade in caution, as she felt a cold gust of wind blow up her legs. "Just make sure you remember you don't have wings to fly away from here, little bird."
"Nor the strength to carry you along with me," she consented. "I guess we will just have to tolerate this stay."
"I guess we will."
"Lady Alysanne?" Urroc said, stepping outside into the garden.
Sansa turned away from the view to look at the bald steward. He had a tray with a couple of tiny earplugs in his hands.
"Yes?" she asked, curious.
"Since the temple of the Bearded Priests is near this house at the top of the Daughter Noyne, those who live in the High City often sleep with earplugs to avoid being woken up when the priests sound the bells of Norvos. I have some for you and your companion."
"Seven hells," Sandor roared. "I have been living in this bloody city and waking up twice each night, at midnight and dawn with no idea of these things!"
Sansa laughed. "Could we take them with us when we leave, please?"
Urroc look awkwardly at Sandor, and nodded. "Yes, of course, my lady. As many as you like."
Then they went to see Sandor's rooms down the hall. His didn't have a living room, but the bedroom was spacious, and had fine furniture and a bed nearly as big as Sansa's. Its walls were plain but for a couple of windows, and though there wasn't a garden, there was a large golden tub that could fit in two men as large as Sandor, and which drew a laugh from him. He said he liked the room well enough when she asked him what he thought of it, and supposed that was a good thing. When they left the bag of clothes Sandor had brought with him on the bed, Urroc took them all around the manor, telling them the history of the place and from which faraway places Arman Nervere had procured the furniture to adorn it.
After Urroc left them, and while they ate their meal (honey duck with orange, snap peppers, flatbread, honeyed and red wine, and exotic fruits), she and Sandor began walking around the house on their own. Sansa thought it funny that they had prepared themselves for two whole days in Magister Nervere's company, with barely any private moments between them, yet the afternoon was nearly gone and they hadn't had any sight of their host.
Sansa had resigned herself to have Sandor only as her sworn shield for today, tomorrow and the day after that, but so far, things weren't so very different between them than when they were in the company of other people. I guess Sandor will only open up when I am the only one in the room. We will only ever be able to really talk and let our minds be known when we are alone, whether we are here or in Pentos, White Harbor or Winterfell.
As the afternoon wore away, Sansa thought it best to retire so she could have time to take a bath and make herself pretty for dinner. When Sandor left her at the entrance to her apartments, he said he would also try the large tub in his room and would be back later.
"You're all right?" he asked her, grabbing her chin and forcing her face to look up at him, before she stepped inside her rooms. "That business with the bloody parrot–"
"I am all right," Sansa assured him, kindly. She squeezed the hand that held her chin as his thumb brushed her high cheekbone and jaw, before saying, "I knew you would understand that."
Sandor gave a short nod. "It's like you understood me last night with the damnable fireplace."
"It is," she told him, and he left her there.
I think I'm going to take a swim in that pool, Sansa thought, smiling as she closed her front door. Before that, she headed for the wardrobe to choose which one of the simple gowns she had brought with her would be the best to wear tonight, but stopped when she noticed that a plump girl a little older than her was already hanging her clothes in the wardrobe.
Sansa didn't feel like taking a relaxing bath with a handmaiden around, so she kindly asked the girl to return an hour after dusk so she could help her with her hair and such. Maybe she wouldn't have minded having company if Frema was with her instead of this girl, who was pleasant, but a stranger nonetheless.
Shaking her head at the memory of the afternoon some days ago when she and Frema had spent hours trying to decide which gowns would look best on them at the ball, and at how happy Vintos and Frema had been this morning as they bid their farewells, excitedly telling them that the next time they saw each other it would be at the ball, Sansa sat down on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through the smooth light fabric of her satin sheets, watching the maid go away.
She rested against the soft mattress and must have dozed off for a little while, because the next thing she knew was the high-pitched sound Nyel made; the bell that announced dusk startled her into a sitting position.
Sighing in contentment, she thought that those earplugs would indeed be necessary up here, and imagining Sandor's reaction as he was bathing and heard the bell, too, she ended up giggling.
But wondering about that turned out to be not a very wise decision, for the thought of Sandor taking a bath just down the hall sent a pleasant shiver down Sansa's back. A burning feeling was suddenly between her legs, and Sansa placed her hand below her belly, afraid at the unknown sensations within her, but excited all the same. Now that she had spoken with Frema, Sansa knew what was happening to her, and remembering the feeling of Sandor caressing her cheekbone earlier, she suddenly longed to have his hand on the spot below her belly instead of her own.
Don't think about that now, Sansa, she reprimanded herself as she stood up and began to unbutton her dress. When her gown and her smallclothes lay in a pile on the floor at her feet, she walked over to the wardrobe and covered her nakedness with her robe. Padding barefooted across the room, feeling the cold marble beneath her, she slipped outside to the terraced garden, peeking about to make sure that no one could possibly be looking in her direction.
No one seemed to be doing as far as she could see, so Sansa stepped into the garden, feeling the grass between her toes, and marveling at the sunset before her, and at the way that it threw the sky into a kaleidoscope of colors: from pink to purple, maroon to gold, and pearl to saffron, all the while darkening as the sun set behind the mountains.
Wondering how on earth she had ended up in this beautiful place, hidden deep inside the Hills of Norvos, Sansa unbelted the tie about her waist and let her robe fall to the ground beside the pool. Sitting at the edge of it, she dipped her foot quickly in its waters and smiled when she felt it was warm. Little fishes swam away as she put her long legs inside the sparkling water, and sat there for a moment, hearing the birds in the trees sing and the tinkling sound the water falling in the fountain made to announce another dying sunset.
That's how birds should live, she thought, remembering the parrot in the cage from earlier today as she put her long hair across one shoulder. They should be free to come and go when they please, and fly wherever they choose to, and sing whatever songs they desire.
Sansa laughed as the little fishes began to nibble at her legs and feet, and breathing in the cool clean air that could only be found this high up in the world, she began to lower herself into the pool.
After a few swims along the length of it, Sansa discovered a sort of marble seat carved into the pool that allowed her to sit down inside the warm water, and she sighed happily, remembering the hot springs in Winterfell's godswood.
When she was a little girl, Sansa recalled, she had enjoyed swimming with her siblings in the hot murky waters, but as she grew up it was out of the question, of course, that she could join Robb, Jon, Bran, Theon and even baby Rickon in their trips to the godswood when they swam as naked as their namedays.
It would be wonderful to rest here for the remainder of the day, she thought as she closed her eyes. And even more so if Sandor could be here with me. Or even better, if we were back at Winterfell and could spend an afternoon in the godswood together, in the exact same way my brothers used to do...
Sandor decided that he liked this golden tub. After the bath the little bird had prepared for him on the morning of their namedays, he was starting to enjoy things like this. The water was ten times warmer than the one Medra's twins back at the inn filled their baths with, and the brush they had left for him allowed him to scrub his back, and other places that were hard to reach otherwise.
Fucking prick, he thought as he rinsed his hair. At least, he hasn't showed his arse near us so far. If only this wasn't Nervere's house, Sandor would probably be enjoying staying here with Sansa, but for that incident with the buggering caged bird. Idiots, thinking Sansa would be impressed by it.
But it was a good thing to see the little bird so happy, and at least it justified his decision of giving in about coming here in case he forgot why he had agreed into this.
When he was done with the bath, Sandor put on a pair of smallclothes, breeches, tunic, leather jerkin, boots, along with his new sword belt and scabbard. He would have felt better wearing a mail shirt, but it would be out of place for this bloody dinner with Arman Nervere. Stepping outside into the hallway he shared with the little bird, Sandor thought it odd that there were no guards or servants in the halls, unlike in the keeps or castles in Westeros, where at every corner you came upon a man standing guard, sword in their belts. They only use their precious guards with axes outside in the streets to impress.
Sandor reached Sansa's chambers in a few long strides and opened the door. When he stepped inside, he instantly registered that no one was in the living room, not even the little bird.
"Alys?" he said, calling her by her false name. They may not be in the Red Keep, but that didn't mean little birds couldn't be spying on them, ready to report to Nervere.
Walking over to Sansa's bedroom, his eyes fell curiously on the pile of discarded clothes by the foot of the bed, and then he stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes glanced outside. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.
The world stopped there and then.
Sandor couldn't even think straight for a moment, he blinked several times and even drew a sharp little intake of breath. Oh, gods, he thought dizzily, registering some birds outside chirping nosily. Is this for real? Could that perfect woman really be his little bird? And by what he could see, she was the most precious thing he could ever remember looking at.
Sandor stood there staring at Sansa, taking in every curve of her body; at the way her shoulder blades became prominent when she leaned back, pushing her shoulders backwards, or at the way her long auburn hair brushed against her hips or back as it managed to cover her small waist due to its length. The day's fading light did not take away any beauty on the scene before him, and it wasn't because of the terraced garden outside that Sandor would be relishing this moment forever, but for the way the long enticing sight the little bird was.
Fuck, and I'm only seeing her from behind, his addled mind gathered. What would it be like if she was meant for me? If I could make her mine and be with her forever? It was so strange to think about such promises, considering that he had never even dared to hope he would make a woman want him for long, and certainly not someone as beautiful as Sansa Stark. Yet this was his little bird, and that changed everything, he wanted to believe. This was the same Sansa who had tried to kiss him in several occasions, and who had treated him with so much of her damned courtesy and friendship that he was starting to remember what it was like to be loved. The echoes of his childhood, when his grandfather, sister and mother had cared for him, were not so forgotten after all.
If only I could stand a chance of her wanting to be with me forever–to be sure she knew she felt something for me that was not going to fade, or change once we were in Westeros and she returned to her family and met someone whom she actually fell in love with. The only good thing he could gather about that was that sodding magister was certainly not going to be that man, seeing as how put out he made Sansa feel.
If it were me, it could be different, he dared think. Sandor would try his best to make Sansa enjoy being with him, caring not only for his needs but for hers, and for her to relish in their lovemaking forever. Bloody hells, what's happening to me? Why does she affect me so?
Sandor has seen women's bare backs before–and even more than that, yet he had never felt a thing for any of them, and certainly not what he was feeling now as he saw Sansa move a little bit, leaning over to touch the surface of the water in the pool, giving Sandor a quick glance at the soft swell of her right breast before she absentmindedly caressed it with her hand.
He could feel his desire coming on him, yet he knew going away from such beauty and purity was going to be difficult. Bugger, he thought, as his mouth began to twitch. Sandor could actually feel an ache in his chest because he could not simple walk up to where she was, and take her in his arms and kiss her and more. It's been so long that we've been together, and it is only getting more difficult as the days go by to stop myself from doing something she may very well end up regretting.
It was getting hard to try and think straight. Sandor may want her and may love her, but he could not ruin her or take advantage of her innocence. Unless she wanted me for a partner, I could never force a hand against her will just to please me. Fuck, she may not even take it kindly to me staring at her like this–like a bloody idiot who has never seen a sight like this. Only he hadn't; not really. And he was never supposed to do so. This was invading the little bird's privacy.
Leave now, before she turns around and sees you here, his mind warned him from somewhere deep inside him, as the tightness in his breeches increased. Don't you dare walk to her, unless you want to ruin things between the two of you when you don't even know how you stand in this specific bloody ground. Sandor turned around and headed for the door, feeling a desperate need to breathe as he realized his limbs were numb, from his long legs to his wide arms. He felt trapped in this room, unable to do or say anything to let the one person he cared about know that he was struggling against himself like he had never done before.
Sandor stepped outside Sansa's room, and closed the door before he leaned against the wall. After a long moment of silence, he gathered that he was once again feeling better, as he realized that admiring her like he has was bound to complicate things between them. And yet, she has become so familiar that I simply want more from her–I want all of her. All she is willing to give me and take from me.
What he had just seen ought to make him feel miserable because he may never have another moment like it, he gathered as he brushed his hand across his face in bewilderment. For if he did, it would probably be a stolen one in which Sansa wasn't even aware he was watching her, but it had felt so right to see her like that, in a moment when she had just been sitting there by the pool, her long legs inside the water, and Sandor didn't even mind much that he hadn't caught sight of more of her.
He decided he was past the point of behaving as if nothing had happened. I won't shy away from what I just saw. She is bloody perfect and I won't regret what has just happened, for I have been able to control myself around her for months and months.
After a very long time passed, and he deemed it safe to step into those rooms again, Sandor knocked loudly and long on the door to her bedroom and gave a sigh of relief when, after a moment, he heard the little bird call in High Valyrian, "Wait a moment, please."
Gulping, Sandor walked into the rooms he had just quitted some moments ago, and locked the front door after Sansa opened the door for him. She was wearing her robe now, he noticed, as his eyes took in the sight of her wet hair, and of the water droplets running down her face, neck and hands.
Sandor watched the little bird with a grin, gazing at her without shame; at the way she blushed and stammered. She bit her lip, looked quickly at her feet, then at his feet and finally met his eyes, saying, "I… I didn't realize I took so long. I… I was bathing."
And even if I hadn't seen you about to do so, it would have been obvious. "I can see that. Did you enjoy it?"
She nodded, smiling shyly at him. "Yes. Oh, Sandor, it's so lovely up here."
Not as fucking lovely as you. The water drops hanging from her lashes, hair, nose and chin were driving him almost as mad as the sight of her startlingly blue eyes staring with something akin to desire at the opening of his tunic near his collarbone.
Sansa went over to sit in the living room, in one of the chairs at the large square table. He took the seat beside hers.
"This place really does bring into sharp contrast the fact that your winnings from the tourney won't last us forever," she said, watching him pour a cup of red wine for her and then for himself.
Sandor knew what she was getting at. "I won't let you pawn your jewels, little bird."
The little bird threw him a look that reminded him of the wolf that was inside her. "I wasn't going to say that! But if I was, I don't see why you would be opposed to me selling the jewels the Lannisters gave me."
"Alys," he said, pointedly, feeling that the magic from everything that had happened moments ago was rapidly fading as they entered the practical side of life. "I won forty thousand dragons that day–"
"Yes, but we've been traveling for months now, and–"
"And we are still far from seeing the last of that gold."
But she wouldn't listen.
"I've known about ladies who are forced to sell their embroidery or their cooking out of necessity, and it does not dishonor them one bit, you know. I've wanted to talk to you about this for some days now. The man who owns the weavers shop where Vintos worked saw my embroidery the other day, and said I had great talent for it. He can pay me well each week if I manage to sell my work."
This was the first time Sandor had heard of this working idea, and he knew instantly that those buggering fools he had for neighbors were to blame. After Sansa had talked to him for half an hour, though, in nothing but what he gathered was that wet robe, he was surprised at himself for carrying on a conversation while his mind toyed with the possibility of how it would be like to run his hand down her robe.
Amidst the dizzy haze this knowledge sent him to, he had to admit that it wasn't anything degrading that could shame the Starks, or more importantly Sansa, if word were to spread somehow of what she did when they were back home. It wouldn't be wise to reject any earnings that they could somehow gain, since they were still going to need to buy their passages on the ship that would carry them home. What bothered Sandor was that Sansa would be working while he wasn't. Maybe I can ask Burnek the blacksmith to let me work with him a couple of hours each day for a wage.
But he would have to wait until they returned to the Low City the day after tomorrow for that to be settled. Sighing deeply as he resigned himself to the fact that life and problems couldn't be forgotten just because he had gazed at the purest person in the world, Sandor walked over to the doors that connected the terraced garden to the bedroom, and stood there gazing at the darkening horizon that was today's sunset.
Some moments passed before he heard Sansa standing up from the living room, and then in a couple of heartbeats, Sandor felt the little bird standing behind him, and then her long white arms encircled his waist in a tight embrace; as she hugged him from behind, she rested her head against his broad muscled back. His hands came up to hold hers, and they stayed like that for a time, swaying slightly where they stood. It almost felt for a moment as if nothing could ever break them or tear them apart.
"Sandor?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm going to miss you tonight when I go to sleep, you know."
Sandor's heart and insides clenched tightly. "Me, too, little bird. It's going to be hard for me, too." More than you can imagine.
They pressed their bodies closer to each other for a quick moment, before Sansa asked him, "Do you think that Arman would continue to seek our company if he knew we slept in the same bed?"
Fuck me, but you're right! Nervere probably didn't suspect they did, and if he somehow knew about it, then his continual desire to be with Sansa could only mean that he knew nothing really happened between them in bed at nights. Maybe it was someone at the Three Bells Inn who informed that sodding magister about how matters stood between Sansa and him. "Seven hells, bugger me if I know."
"I–" the little bird began, but stopped when there was a discrete knock on the door.
Quickly letting go of each other, Sandor went to open the door after Sansa had grabbed a hairbrush from her bedroom, walking over to sit as casually as she could at the table, trying hard to look composed.
Sandor jerked the door open and swore when he saw a bunch of maids dressed in identical outfits walk past him into the room, boxes in their hands.
He closed the door, peering about the hallway first to make sure no more scrawny handmaidens were coming, and counted about eight women in the room, all of whom were trying hard not to stare at his face. Sandor growled a low menacing curse at the nearest one, and sent her scurrying to the other side of the room. If the shrewdest of them was wondering why Lady Alysanne was wearing nothing but a robe to cover herself while he was in the room, he would never know.
"Hello, everyone," Sansa told them, trying hard not to laugh at his expression and behavior. "I'm Alysanne, and this is Edric."
A plump girl stepped forward while her companions bowed low to them. "We are sorry for disturbing you, my lady, but you did say that I should return an hour after dusk."
"So I did, but pray tell me why did you bring so many handmaidens back with you? And what's in all those boxes?"
"They are gifts from the High Magister, my lady. He instructed us to bring you as many options as we could carry, so you could have your pick of what to wear tomorrow at the ball."
"You have to be bloody kidding me," he rasped in the Common Tongue at the same time that Sansa met his eyes and said, "Gods be good! You are telling me that Magister Nervere actually took so much trouble just for me?"
All the girls nodded at the same time, and began to unpack the fabrics within the boxes. A couple of them began to move about the room, lighting the fireplace and all the silver candleholders since the room was getting darker.
Sansa frowned, looking uncertain for a moment. Then she said, "I shall thank the magister for his thoughtful considerations tonight at dinner. I am sure that some of you will be kind enough to help me prepare myself tomorrow for the event, but for now if you would please excuse me, I have to change for tonight and can manage on my own."
The servants bowed again and hurried from the room, and Sandor, with a reluctant heavy heart, followed them, telling Sansa, "I'll guard the door."
"You won't have to wait long. I'll be as quick as I can," she said.
Sandor shrugged. "Take as long as you like. I'd rather wait on you that on the lions any day. And I am in rush to go to dinner with our gracious host," he assured her, in jest.
Sansa giggled. "No more than I am, but I doubt you'll say that tomorrow night when I take a much longer time to get ready for the ball."
Sandor snorted and rolled his eyes at her before he closed the door behind him.
A/N: Reviews are love! 3 Hope you liked this chapter! :D