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 ;)
*For your truthful supporting help in this chapters my betas, I thank you: onborrowedwings, 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.
*I would like to thank luvxena for her help with this chapter as well :D
*Warnings: Sub-con and then consensual
22. The First Kiss
The sun was merciless as it cast its light upon them all. Sansa was on the marble steps outside the Great Sept of Baelor, waiting for her prince to grant her father mercy. Despite the brightness of the day, the people around her- the queen, Joffrey, the members of the small council, the Lannister guards, and the crowd in front of her- were all shadows to her; dark shapes that shifted and changed as she tried to discern their faces.
Not all their faces. Sansa could see two people. The executioner and the man condemned to judgment. When Ser Ilyn drew Ice from the scabbard at his back, she suddenly knew–no, remembered–how this would end.
"No! Stop him! Please, stop him!" she screamed with all her might, as a shadow behind her suddenly grabbed her arm in a vicious unyielding grip that just wouldn't let go. I'm dreaming. This is a dream. I've lived this before. If I just close my eyes it will be over.
She was about to do so, but in that moment her father turned around to look at her and Sansa felt her knees going weak and her will shatter as she screamed, "No!", for instead of her father, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane bound and on his knees, the one who was awaiting death. No, I said I would protect him! This can't be happening! I promised him I wouldn't let anyone hurt him ever again.
"Sandor, fight! Please, do something, please, please," she screamed, even as Ser Ilyn turned around to face her, a hideous wicked grin on his face. "Take me instead, Ser Ilyn, just don't hurt him!"
She trembled, tears sliding down her cheeks, for she saw that it wasn't really the mute knight who was holding her father's sword, but a man with tattoos on his face in the shapes of flames. In one swift movement, Ice struck Sandor's head off. The floor shook and shattered as the head hit the floor, blood flying in every direction, and that was the last she knew before she fainted.
Sansa woke up with a sharp intake of breath. Her chest was heaving and in that mad timeframe before realizing that it had been a nightmare, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Blinking in the darkness, she took some deep breaths to try and steady her wildly beating heart. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real, calm down, Sansa Stark.
She squinted through the darkness and touched her forehead. Her fingers felt light drops of sweat, which was odd because she was shivering. I can't remember what the nightmare was about, she realized. But it had certainly been as bad as the ones she'd had about the mob attacking her the day Princess Myrcella had been shipped off to Dorne.
After a few more moments of trying hard to recall what she had just dreamed without sucess, Sansa rested her head on the pillow, sighing. How I wish Sandor was here, she thought, gazing at the lonely pillow and place beside her. He would always comfort her whenever she had a bad dream, and it would always appear to Sansa as if he were saving her once again from the man with the garlicky breath who had sought to hurt her long ago, in the streets of King's Landing.
Feeling goose pimples on her arms due to a chill draft, she realized that she had been sleeping in with the gown she'd worn at the ball. Oh, well, it isn't as if I were going to keep it anyways, she thought drowsily as sleep took hold of her once more. When she woke up once again in the morning, Sansa had no recollection whatsoever of waking up in the middle of the night or of the nightmare she'd had.
Sansa sighed, content, as she stretched out in the bed, replaying the memories of last night over in her head. The ball was certainly a success for Arman, she gathered. And I did enjoy some of it, I suppose. Yet the important thing was that Frema and Vintos had looked as if they were having the time of their lives. It would be so nice if Vintos and Frema could come along with Sandor and me the day we head for Westeros. Yet that would be too much to ask of her friends. Their lives are here, but that doesn't meant I can't wish it could be otherwise.
I'll have to settle with Sandor and I going for a short time to the village where Frema and Vintos were born, in order to get away from Arman, she guessed, for no matter how nice and pleasant Magister Nervere tried to be, Sansa could not feel completely at ease with him. And least of all now that I've met Quallo, she remembered. The red god follower, and former slave from Volantis, had scared her so much that Sansa didn't want to see him ever again.
If it hadn't been for the memory of what she and Sandor had shared once he brought her back to her rooms, the night of the ball would have ended sadly for her. Yet last night was not a waste. For Sandor finally had let his guard down with her, so they could finally share an intimate moment together, and he had also sort of danced with her, and it had been marvelous. Well, it wasn't really a dance, but it was definitely better than any other dance I've had before.
The feelings that had assaulted her had been both new and familiar, and so intimate that Sansa could not stop from biting her lip wickedly at the memory as she blushed fiercely. I felt his need so strongly this time, and he didn't push me away when I pressed myself against him. No, instead, Sandor had brought her even closer to him, and the desire they felt for each other had finally taken over most of their senses as they forgot the world and everyone in it. In those precious moments when they had held each other, all Sansa was able to think about was how good and right it had felt, and she'd wished the moment could last forever- and could go further than just clinging to the other.
She knew Sandor too well by now not to realize that he would prefer things to remain as they were between them, but Sansa wasn't so certain about wishing to let yesterday's experience go unmentioned. She didn't have any illusions or hopes about what Sandor would do once he came to her rooms, to tell her it was time to start the day. I doubt he'll mention what happened last night. So, she had to be the one to speak of it.
Sansa sat up amongst her rumpled bedcovers with her arms around her knees, thinking. Why does it always feel so nice to do such unladylike things with Sandor? Or why do such wonderful sensations have to be forbidden? It was not merely a matter of Sandor not being her husband, but of the sensations she had enjoyed beyond reason. Feeling his desire for her only fleetingly once before when Sandor had kneaded the muscles of her back many weeks ago in their house at the Three Bells Inn, had been one thing, but last night, the way Sandor's body had betrayed his desire for her had felt so perfect that it had taken her breath away and clouded her senses, and the only thing Sansa had been able to do was cling tighter to him, giving herself up to whatever he decided. In those moments, even if her reason and conscience had left her, she had known all along that she was still as safe in Sandor's arms as she had ever been.
Now that she thought about it, the grey walls of Winterfell and Sandor Clegane's arms were where she would love to spend the rest of her life in. It was growing harder to remember at times why it had seemed so important to recall that it would be Robb's wish to marry her off to someone, and that it was her duty to listen to her brother and king. Sansa knew Robb wouldn't marry her off to someone who was not kind nor good, and yet… her father had made a mistake in his decision who to betroth her to. She imagined the future and being in someone else's embrace rather than Sandor's, and it was just too much for her. I want Sandor to share such things with. She had come to know and trust him so much, and it felt like an evil crime to recall that she was destined for someone else.
After all, didn't she also have a duty to her heart? Being a Stark was a great privilege and a responsibility she could never forget, but it didn't seem right to Sansa to sacrifice what she wanted for everyone else's wants and expectations. I want more than just a nice stranger whom I come to appreciate with the passing of time, she decided. I want more of Sandor. I want all of him. And he wants me, too, I think.
She didn't know how long she sat there in bed, staring at nothing, lost in castles in the air and serious thoughts. I should bathe and change, she gathered after a time. Sighing contentedly, Sansa got off the bed. Somehow, she couldn't put out of her mind the hope of today being the beginning of a promising change between her and Sandor. Maybe that was why she suddenly began to twirl around and dance across the bedroom, her bare feet sliding along the cold marble in the morning breeze. Afterwards, Sansa took off the expensive gown that had been a "gift" from Arman, folding it neatly and caressing for one last time its fabric.
She took a quick bath on the pool, and when that was done, she donned on her green woolen dress, gathered her clothes into the bag she'd brought with her two days ago, and went to sit at her vanity table. She began to brush her hair, singing songs she had learned during her childhood.
That is how Sandor found her when he walked into the apartments she'd been given by Arman Nervere. She turned around, and the mere sight of him standing by the door stopped her breath. They stared at each other, taking in the sight of the person they had shared those intimate moments with last night, and Sansa thought she saw the strong features of Sandor's face soften as he realized what song she was singing. It was Florian and Jonquil.
He began to walk over to her, and when Sansa noticed that he was wearing mail and the gifts she'd given him on the celebration of their combined nameday, her heart beat wildly inside her chest. How dear you are to me, she thought as his brooding countenance changed into a grin and he gave a snort. It took all her resolution to remain where she was, sitting in front of her mirror, brushing her hair, singing, "You are no knight, I know you well. Many a night I've heard in my father's hall the tale of the man whose armor is made of motley..."
She watched Sandor's every move as after hesitating for a moment, he quietly walked over to stand behind her. Sansa turned around to face the mirror before her, but instead of looking at her reflection, she searched his face and their eyes locked in a long gaze that lasted as she sang the tale of the fool and his love. She smiled at him in encouragement and gave him a tiny nod, and a moment later she felt Sandor's calloused hand on her shoulder.
For a moment, she stopped brushing her hair, wondering if he would like to do it for her, but he shook his head and rasped, "Go on," as he caressed her arm encouragingly up and down with his other hand.
So she did, focusing on how warm and big his hands felt upon her. A moment later, the hand he had on her shoulder blade disappeared in all the wet hair that fell down her back as he brought it to rest on her neck. When he brushed his thick fingers along the sensitive skin there, Sansa drew a small intake of breath. Bringing her free hand up to meet the one he had buried in her hair, they held hands until the song ended with, "And so this tale has reached its end with tears and broken hearts, for never again was there seen in the world a love like the one fair Jonquil had, nor has there ever been seen again a man as honorable as the motley knight…"
A long moment of silence followed, wherein they tried to communicate through many different emotions through their eyes, until Sandor's eyes fell on their entwined hands.
"I have kept my promise," she told him.
His eyebrow arched as he growled, "What promise?"
"Regarding the song you talked about last night," she said lightly. Before he could do anything, Sansa stood up from the stool of the vanity table and turned around, throwing her arms around a startled Sandor as she hugged him tightly to her, burying her face into his chest, the mail pressed firmly against her.
It took a couple of heartbeats before Sandor would encircled her as well with his arms, but when he did, Sansa sighed against him, feeling as if she had come home. She closed her eyes and tried hard to hear his heartbeats through the mail.
Sandor's hand began to caress her hair, and then he said, "I've been thinking, Sansa, and you're right."
She looked up at him, frowning slightly. "About what?"
His mouth began to twitch as he rasped, "Despite the prospect of having to bear being trapped in a small village with Vintos' family, I think it would be better if we do go and stay with them in their village, and quickly. The sooner we get away from fucking sodding Nervere the better."
She beamed at him for that, wondering if he would pull away if she just stepped up on the tip of her toe to kiss him. Maybe in the village something can happen between us. Sansa felt so happy in this moment that anything seemed possible.
"Yes, thank you!" she told him, laughing. "I know you will enjoy it, Sandor, even if you declare a thousand times that you won't be able to stand being with Vintos and his family in a little village for only the Seven knows how many weeks."
Sandor didn't seem to find that prospect as amusing as she did. "And the sooner we get away from this house the better, little bird. Have you finished packing?"
She drew away from Sandor's arms and headed towards the bed where she had left the bag that contained her three gowns, beside her robe and nightgown, patting it. "I have. And you?"
He grunted just before someone knocked on the door. Sandor tensed and strode over to open it.
"You," he spat, with a nasty grin.
"Good morning," Urroc, the bald steward answered. He stepped into the living room, bowed to her and ignored Sandor smirking beside him. "I trust you had a pleasant night, Lady Alysanne?"
Sansa smiled. "Yes, I did, thank you."
"That is good to hear. And did you enjoy the ball?"
"I did. Edric did as well."
"Magister Nervere will be pleased to hear that. He bid me inform you that you can stay in his house for as long as you so wish it, but that before you leave, please wait to meet him, because he has some very important matters to tell you."
"You wouldn't happen to know the nature of those matters?" she asked, growing curious.
"I am afraid not, my lady. The Magister didn't mention them to me."
"Very well, I'll seek him soon. We won't be staying long. We have things to do."
"As you wish," Urroc said, and then he seemed to remember something. "I almost forgot. I met your friends on my way here, and they asked me if it was proper for them to break their fast up here with you. I told them that it certainly was, but that I would ask you nonetheless."
"Oh, yes," she exclaimed happily, smiling at Sandor's expression. "That would be lovely."
"I'll tell them and will see to it that your breakfast is ready soon," Urroc assured her. When he was done, Sandor cursed loudly and sat heavily on a chair in the living room.
"What is it?" she asked him.
"I wonder what matters the bloodless lamb wants to speak about with you," Sandor answered, running his hand across his face tiredly.
A sudden wary, dreadful thought crossed Sansa's mind. She took a step closer to him and whispered, "You don't think he knows who we are?"
Sandor looked at her with a hard gaze. "No, the steward would have behaved strangely if we'd been found out. No, it will probably be something about Westeros and the war. I can feel it"
Sansa gulped. Please, she prayed fervently. Please, don't let it be anything bad about Robb or Mother.
"Something bad?"
Sandor shrugged. "Don't know."
Sansa turned around, bringing her hand to cover her mouth to stifle the sob that wished to escape her. She then hugged herself, wondering what matters Arman wished to discuss with her, and didn't hear Sandor standing up and walking over to where she was. Yet she did feel his arms hugging her from behind. It felt so nice to be hugging yourself while held by another.
"It may be nothing, little bird," Sandor told her in a soothing tone. "It was just a thought. But no matter what it is–whatever it is that has happened, don't forget that we are together in this."
Sansa nodded, still too worried for words, and let herself lean back against his wide chest, allowing his strength support her as she tried to ease her mind and heart. When Frema and Vintos came to join them to break their fast, the exclamations of approval and laughter on the news of Edric and Alysanne joining them for the trip to the village provoked the married couple made her smile. She even forgot for a short moment her worries about what Magister Nervere wished to talk of. Besides that, the moods amongst their little party were quite varied. Vintos was feeling sad because he had to leave Arman's manor, while Frema was very happy at the prospect of the little trip, and she began planning along everything they could do once they reached the village. Sandor was brooding, just like her, about what was going to happen when they saw Arman, but was also angry because he would have to wait longer before they finally left this house. The happiness Sansa had felt this morning when she woke up was threatening to disappear.
When they were finished with the food, it was time to leave these rooms forever. Sansa took one last look at the place where she had lived for the last couple of days and did not regret leaving the opulent grand apartments. Right at the main entrance to the manse, Urroc was waiting for them, along with some servants.
"My lady, Magister Nervere is in a meeting at the moment. Yet he said that the moment you were ready to leave that I should take you to him."
"Very well, here I am," she told the old bald steward.
"A palanquin is already waiting outside to take your friends back to your home at The Three Bells Inn. I am sure you won't be detained too long and will be joining them shortly."
Sansa only needed Sandor beside her in this moment. So she turned to Frema and her crestfallen husband, and smiled a little, taking their hands. "We'll go home in a moment. Could you tell Medra to have the house ready for our arrival?"
"Of course," Frema assured her, winking.
"Please, thank the magister for his hospitality," Vintos told Urroc. "We will never forget it. Tell him the ball was very grand and that–and that he shall always count with us for anything if–if you please."
Urroc smiled, a little amused. "I will certainly do."
Her friends were gone, followed by the train of servants and two guards from the Bearded Priests, their long sharp axes gleaming and sharply polished, and only Sansa, Sandor and Urroc were left standing in the hall; the steward said, "If you would follow me, my lady."
It was just like the first time they had come to this manor. Urroc led them down the same rooms and halls, and they reached the terrace where they had once shared a meal with Magister Nervere. Arman was having a meeting of sorts now with all the members of the Council of Norvos that Sansa had met yesterday, at the ball, she saw through the glass doors. They are a cautious sort, she could not help but think as her eyes fell on the pair of guards standing behind every magister. Arman was the first to see them, and his serious expression at a magister's talk broke into a wide smile.
Sansa smiled back a little, and tried to tell herself that Arman wouldn't be smiling if he had bad tidings to tell them. The doors to the terrace were open, so when Magister Nervere stood up, she and Sandor heard him say, "My friends, this interests me greatly, but if you will excuse me, I must part from you for a moment while I have some words with Lady Mallister here."
The magisters of Norvos had all seemed either puzzled or annoyed by this interruption, but when they turned around and saw her waiting for Arman, all of them rose from their seats to greet her. Oh, no, she thought, dreading greeting them all in turn. There were five and ten, and it would take longer than she cared to if she had to bid them good morning. Sansa could already feel Sandor shift angrily beside her at that prospect as well.
Luckily, they were spared that because Arman said, "Please, my friends, don't trouble yourselves. I am sure Lady Alysanne can see you from where she stands."
Sansa nodded in agreement and waved at all the nobles, hoping that would suffice. Arman finally reached them, and his eyes quickly looked her up and down approvingly before he kissed her hand as he bowed to her.
"Alys," he said, straightening up and meeting her gaze. "Edric, good morning."
Sandor didn't care to answer him, so Sansa spoke to make up for her sworn shield's silence, "We do not wish to intrude upon your meeting."
Arman laughed, and even rolled his eyes at his fellow magisters as Urroc walked away from them to resume his duties. "Don't worry, it wasn't a meeting. The magisters and I were just talking about a horse race happening a month from now."
"Oh," she answered thinking that Stranger would win that race if he was in it, as Sandor said, "Wonder if you will be using any of your little treasures for it?"
Arman regarded Edric for a moment, before answering, "The High Magister can't participate. If my horse were to win, people could think it was an arranged race."
Sandor snorted. "How convenient for you."
Magister Nervere ignored that. "Alys," he said, offering her his arm, which she took. "I have some news to share with you."
"Is it about the Seven Kingdoms?" she asked, as Arman steered her over to the living room beside the terrace.
"Yes."
Sansa nodded and turned back to look quickly at Sandor. His face betrayed nothing, but when he winked, she knew it was his way of reassuring her that everything was somehow going to be all right.
Arman and Sansa sat down on a wide expensive golden bench, while Sandor stood beside a column, leaning on it, his hand protectively touching the hilt of his sword.
"What have you heard?" she asked, unable to contain herself for long.
"It isn't very recent news, I'm afraid. I broke my fast with an envoy from the Iron Bank who heard it nearly half a year ago."
"It doesn't matter," she said, looking again in Sandor's direction. "What is it?"
Arman took a deep breath as he sat beside her looking tall and handsome. "The only thing he said that was new to both you or me was that the boy sitting on the Iron Throne became engaged to a lady from House Tyrell, whom I believe to be the widow of Renly Baratheon."
For a moment, Sansa Stark forgot to breathe. Is that it? Was that everything? She felt curiously light-headed. Gods be good, that was not bad compared to what she had been imagining. Of course, the combined powers of the Tyrells and the Lannisters could not be any good for Robb, but at least the news had not been about any ill befalling him or our lady mother. Sansa could feel Sandor and Arman's eyes upon her. She raised her head and was met with a pair of shining sapphire-colored eyes. They held no appeal for her.
She searched for Sandor's grey ones instead. He looked bored, as if he had not a care in the world. The face I show Arman must look as if this does not affect me greatly. After all, it doesn't really change anything, does it? The news was almost half a year old, and who knew how matters stood now in the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa didn't feel anything about Joffrey marrying someone else. She only felt sadness for Margaery Tyrell, who would now have to be the one to kiss Joffrey and bear him children. At least she was spared giving him her maidenhood. How horrible it would be to lose a kind husband like Lord Renly, only to end up as Joffrey's bride, regardless of whether that made her a queen or not.
"Indeed," she finally said. "Well, this is certainly unexpected."
"The Mallisters are fighting against the Iron Throne, aren't they?"
Sansa nodded, still a little lost in her thoughts.
"I shall pray to R'hllor that nothing good comes out of this for King Joffrey, then," Arman said in a firm voice. Having heard him say the name of the boy who had once been long ago her golden prince brought her back to the present.
"I thank you," she said, once again staring at Sandor. I wonder what he thinks of this new alliance. Gods, how I hope Robb beats them all.
"So, now that you've heard the news, I must confess I was very anxious to hear what you thought of the ball."
"Oh, it was very splendid and marvelous," Sansa said truthfully, as they all heard the group of magisters in the terraced beside the living room breaking into loud laughter.
Arman looked thoroughly relieved by her words. "So it was to your liking then? You were wonderful last night, and I wanted to thank you for bearing with me as I introduced you to everyone."
Well, at least he noticed that it wasn't pleasant for me after being introduced more than twenty times over to different people. "I was honored to have met so many high and noble lords. And I was surprised that they remembered me just now."
Arman laughed genuinely, his two little dimples appearing on his cheeks. The sound seemed to annoy Sandor greatly, for he began to laugh mockingly, and the sound was iron scraping over stone. But it warmed her heart all the same.
She tried to hide her grin as Arman said, "I wasn't. Many of them have been asking me about the charming lady from the Sunset Kingdoms that accompanied me last night."
"And have they not said anything about me?" Sandor asked, laughing.
Sansa shot him a pleading look for him to stop teasing Arman, fearing that she would break into giggles, which would be quite rude. And it is better if no one asks about him. It's more dangerous for a Clegane than a Stark to be here.
"I am afraid not, Edric, but do not despair. You are hard to miss in a crowd."
"Wouldn't have noticed if you didn't remark upon it, Nervere," Sandor answered with a nasty grin.
"Yes, as I was saying, you can really be proud of yourself, Arman. It was a beautiful night," Sansa said, trying to steer the conversation away from the riffle between Sandor and him.
"I could not find you when the fireworks began. Did you have a chance to see them?"
Sansa allowed herself to smile now as she recalled last night, and what she and Sandor had done. "Yes, I did. I was already readying myself for bed, but thankfully I did manage to see them."
"And your friends? Have they told you what they thought of the ball?" Arman asked her. "Urroc said that they seemed–"
"For fuck's sake," Sandor interrupted loudly. "I'm going to go take a piss. Hopefully by the time I get back it will have entered your thick head that the bloody ball was all right, Nervere."
Sansa's eyes had gone wide as saucers as Sandor rasped that, and she turned to look at him, blushing fiercely; he was already striding off in search for a chamber pot. Oh, gods, she thought, a little embarrassed. It was funny to see the momentary surprise in Arman's face at Sandor's words, but it was still not a proper thing to say.
She turned to face him, and saw that he was still staring in the direction Sandor had walked away. His eyes looked hard, yet his voice was softer as he remarked with a chuckle, "Edric doesn't like me much."
Sansa opened her mouth and closed it again. What can I say to that? "Don't take it personally," she lied. "Edric isn't very fond of people. Poor Vintos at times doesn't know what has struck him when he is talking to Edric." That made her smile, for despite Sandor's exasperation with their nosy neighbors, she knew he had grown to like them–at least a little.
"Yet he likes you," Arman pointed out, meeting her eyes, with a questioning look that dared her to deny it.
Gulping, she blinked and looked away. It was good to hear from someone else that wasn't Frema or Vintos that Sandor was fond of her.
"Thank goodness, or I can just imagine what a poor situation I would be in, fearing the man who was set upon to guard me," she said, trying to make light of the conversation.
Sansa's left hand had been resting on the surface of the golden bench they were sitting on, between her and the Magister, yet suddenly Arman placed his long warm fingers over hers. She quickly looked at his hand, boldly pressing hers to the bench, as he said, "Alys," in a firm tone.
She frowned and tried to pull her hand away as she looked up again at Arman, who was now drawing closer to her, as he admitted to her, "He isn't the only one who likes you, you know. Nor the only one who can keep you safe."
"Arman, I- I really don't think-" Sansa began to say, realizing what was happening, but Arman then took her hand in both of his.
"Alys please, listen to me. Since the moment I first saw you in the streets of this city, I- I really could not believe my eyes. You were the most precious thing I had ever seen. And now that I've known you and seen how good and kind and sweet you are, I have fallen in love with you, my darling Alys. Can you blame for it?"
As Arman spoke Sansa could only stare at him as a blush crept up to her cheeks, wishing Sandor could come back and take her away soon, as he mouth hang open a little in disbelief. No, I think it's better if Sandor doesn't come. If he hears Arman saying this it could not be a good thing.
"I know this probably is not the best way of telling you this, but I just can't restrain myself anymore. I don't want to try and figure out ways that would enable me to see you again for a day or two when we could be together forever. All my life I've felt alone, with no I can really be able to trust but Quallo. But when I'm with you I feel you understand me. Please make me the happiest man in this world and marry me," Arman finished, kissing her hand.
Sansa stared at Arman, feeling a little sad that she had to break up his illusions, but the time to put an end to this acquaintance had arrived. "Arman, I- I am deeply honored by your proposition. Truly, I am, but I could not possibly agree to it."
Arman stared at her with sad deep blue eyes, and did not let go of her. "But why not? I could make you the happiest woman in this world. I offer you everything I have. I would give you my love and protection, my wealth and my life. I promise to strive to be always worthy of you. I would give all of myself to you, and one day our children could-"
"Arman please," she interrupted him standing up, feeling that despite how beautiful and promising the Magister painted their future together, she would not never feel at home with him in this house. Maybe she had been born to be a queen, but these days the simple comforts she had come to know as she lived with Sandor were more valuable to her than all the riches in the world or anything that Arman promised her. "I do not really know you. I do not feel the same way about you and you do not know me either, or you would know that the things you can promise me do not move my heart the way you think. You've drawn a concept of me that is wrong, and have expectations I do not intend to fulfill."
Arman's eyes quickly looked behind her before meeting her Tully blue ones again and he stood up as well. "I know you do not feel for me like I do for you. And maybe you see me as a friend now, but with time things would surely change, and for the better. Please my darling Alys, trust me."
Before Sansa could draw back, she stood there for the space of a heartbeat in shock, but it was a moment too late that encouraged Arman to lean forward and kiss her.
Sansa gasped in surprise and tried to pull away, but Arman placed one of his hands on her cheekbone, pleading with her silently not to draw away, as his free hand went to the small of her back. For a stunned moment, Sansa gave in into the sweet, gentle kiss, despite her not even closing her eyes, before wrenching free from Arman, turning away and letting out a cry as she remembered that this had just been her first kiss, and it hadn't been with Sandor. She brought her hand to her mouth, as she whispered, "No, oh, no! No. Why?"
She only caught a momentary glance of Arman's face. He was looking down at her confused, obviously surprised by her reaction, before Sandor's rough voice loudly cursed, "Fucking thrice-damned bugger!"
Sandor's sudden appearance made Sansa jump, startled. She saw Sandor striding past her and reaching Arman before he grabbed the High Magister of Norvos by the front of his robes and with one hand he lifted him up from the marble floor, while from somewhere Sandor produced the same dagger he had once pointed at her throat, only now it was the neck of Arman Nervere it was giving its steel kiss to. Sansa whimpered, for Sandor's face was contorted with a horrible spasm of murderous anger which she hadn't seen in a long time.
"You have no idea how much I've longed to do this," Sandor told the Magister. "I'm going to kill you now."
Sandor had decided that the little bird was right. Going for a time to stay with those buggers in their remote village would probably be the best thing to do in order to get away from Arman fucking Nervere. And it was nice to think of moving on from this city to somewhere else, even if the price for it would have to be being day and night not only close to Vintos but to his whole family. Frema, Sandor supposed, was all right, but sometimes he just wanted to punch Vintos in the face. Fat chance his family won't be like him, I guess.
When he had entered the little bird's room to find her already awake and singing, he had felt his breeches growing tighter as her sweet unreal voice lured him to her, and he knew that being with her in some Norvoshi village was worth enduring anything. As he stood behind her while she sang that bloody song of the fool, Sandor had not been able to restrain himself, and so he had laid his hands on her, caressing her soft long neck and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
Bloody hells, what have you done to me, Sansa? he'd wondered again, willing to sell his soul on the spot or die a thousand times if that could always keep her safe. This won't last long. Sooner or later, his resolution and iron will would snap and only the bloody Seven knew what would happen. I want to protect you, little bird, but will I always be able to protect you from myself? She was so young that Sandor couldn't stop wondering if the novelty of what they were living was what attracted her, rather than him as a possible partner.
The memories of last night crossed his mind once more, treasured moments he would never forget, and the proof he could use to fight back his impulses to draw away from Sansa. It was all so maddeningly confusing; Sandor wondered if he wasn't probably being unjust to the little bird. She isn't the young foolish girl you first saw in the courtyard of Winterfell. She's grown and seen how the world is truly like, and has had many opportunities to draw away from you, yet she keeps getting closer-getting under my skin. It would be so fucking sweet if Sansa ended up wanting him as much as he wanted her.
Still, there were other things to consider. When the buggering steward had informed him that the sodding High Sheep had something to tell them, Sandor had sensed that it would be about Westeros. He just knew it in his guts. But it had been a mistake to tell Sansa that, for he had worried her more than she cared to admit. We can't hide much from the others now, he gathered. Thankfully, it hadn't been anything regarding the Young Wolf or her mother, because Sandor knew that Sansa would simply not be able to bear it. Sure, this marriage between Mace the Whale Tyrell's daughter and Joffrey wasn't good for the King in the North, but at least it wasn't Sansa who was enduring the lions now. That's what I call a wretched life, Sandor had thought of Joff's new bride to be, as Arman Nervere began to go on and on about how his fucking ball had turned out. First married to her brother's lover and now to that sadistic little shit.
This wasn't the time to think about what this marriage would mean to him and Sansa and everyone else; Sandor couldn't even think straight when he started to feel the urge to piss as that idiot didn't simply shut up. At least this is the last time you'll have to see his face, Sandor reminded himself. That thought made him happy, so he decided to insult the High Magister to his face before he went for a piss. Sansa may be willing to endure him, but I'll be damned if I am.
As Sandor unlaced his breeches, he began planning ahead. We should leave the city in about two days, I gather. And I'll tell Vintos and Frema not to tell the fat innkeeper about it in case she spill the beans on us to Nervere. We'll tell her we are heading for Pentos or somewhere, and hope that leads the bugger off our scent.
When he was done, Sandor walked back to the living room where Sansa was enduring Arman's prattling, and began to hear outside the terrace the laughter of the magisters who had goggled at the little bird like stupid buggering fools. His hand brushed against the pommel of his sword, and he wished he could stick it through all their bellies to see if that would wipe the smirks off their faces.
He chuckled at that, only to stop dead in his tracks by the sound of Nervere's voice saying, "But why not? I could make you the happiest woman in this world. I offer you everything I have. I would give you my love and protection, my wealth and my life. I promise to strive to be always worthy of you. I would give all of myself to you, and one day our children could-"
"Arman please," the little bird interrupted and made a noise that told Sandor she was standing up. Sandor's heart seemed to stop beating as he waited to see what Sansa would say.
"I do not really know you. I do not feel the same way about you and you do not know me either, or you would know that the things you can promise me do not move my heart the way you think. You've drawn a concept of me that is wrong, and have expectations I do not intend to fulfill"
Sandor felt a grin forming in his scarred face at hearing Sansa's refusal. So the little shit finally found the balls to propose to the little bird? Well, piss on that. She'll show him what she's made of. He peered around the doorframe to see what was happening inside the living room. Both Sansa and fucking Nervere were standing up, and now the bloody Magister was looking like a rejected rat as he said, "I know you do not feel for me like I do for you And maybe you see me as a friend now, but with time things would surely change, and for the better. Please my darling Alys, trust me."
And before Sandor could even blink that bloody shit actually kissed his little bird. Sandor saw red. He stood there, too stunned to believe what his eyes were confirming; after a moment, Sansa wrenched free from the Magister, and he caught a glimpse of her face, and saw that she was just as surprised as he was, but she was also blushing and looked ready to cry. Her lip trembled and her eyes grew scared as Sandor heard her trying to convince herself that it hadn't happened. He saw that she was feeling just as disgusted as he was, and in that moment all the anger and hate he had lived with year after year of being the Hound came back, and he slid into a cold rage that didn't even allow him to think about the consequences of what he was about to do. He strode right up to that cockless wonder, who was gazing up at Sansa with a soft look on his face that drove Sandor mad.
"Fucking thrice-damned bugger!" he shouted, grabbing Arman by the front of his tunic and lifting him up so that this face was on level with his burned one.
Ignoring Sansa's cry, Sandor brought out his dagger and put it against the Magister's neck. "You have no idea how much I've longed to do this," he whispered to Arman, who looked back at him with a stony look on his face, betraying no hint of fear. "I'm going to kill you now," Sandor promised him.
"Edric, don't! Leave him be," the little bird screamed beside him, but Sandor wasn't listening. He pushed the tip of his blade against Nervere's neck, and felt content when he saw blood spilling.
"Piss on that," he rasped. "I'm going to kill this fucker right here, right now. Let's make him understand that you mean it when you say you want nothing with this bugger."
"Please, stop this! Leave him alone," Sansa was begging beside him, and when a man shouted, "Get your hands off the magister!" he turned around to see all the other fucking magisters rushing into the living room. They had probably heard him curse out loud at Arman. They all looked shocked or scared, but it was the little bird beginning to cry what hurt him.
I should have let you kiss me that night in that inn when I had beer on my foam, Sandor thought fleetingly, before he saw that the living room was also filled by guards trained by the Bearded Priests, their sharp axes out and ready to strike off a head or a limb in defense of the man that ruled over them. Seven hells, how good it would feel to slit Nervere's throat, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do that. What that would mean for him and Sansa was not worth thinking about.
Arman was looking deeply into his eyes as he said, "Let me down, Edric. I promise nothing will happen to you or Alys if you put me down." Then in a loud commanding voice he told the guards, "Let them walk away without harm once this man puts me down. It is my fault. I behaved wrongly. I am sorry, Alysanne."
"Please," Sansa whispered beside him, placing a trembling hand on his arm, willing him to lower down the dagger as she ignored Arman. "He'll do as he says. I know it. Let's get away from here, Edric."
Sandor's mouth began to twitch in revulsion when he finally took the blade away from the fucker's neck. He threw Arman across the floor and spat at him before he turned around, grabbed the little bird's hand, and dragged her away from there.
The bloody bald steward was waiting for them outside, beside the palanquin, oblivious to everything that had just happened.
"Ah, you're leaving now, then? I wanted to wait and bid you goodbye, Lady Al–what is the matter? Why are there tears in your eyes?"
"It's–it's nothing, Urroc," Sansa chirped, in a trembling voice. "Good-bye."
Sandor hated using the litter that belonged to the man he wished so badly he could kill, but if they didn't take it, then they would probably be reaching the inn till well past dusk. So instead he rasped, "We won't be taking the litter. We'll borrow a horse and one of the stable hands can come along with us. When we reach the inn, he can ride back with the animals."
Urroc was looking confused, but agreed. They were Nervere's honored guests after all, and a horse couldn't be denied to them. So Sandor grabbed Sansa a little too roughly by the waist and placed her on the horse, before getting on behind her. A skinny boy appeared beside them suddenly, on a smaller horse, and they started riding away from this blasted cursed place towards the streets of the High City, and then down the Sinner's Steps until they reached the Low City and the inn of The Three Bells.
Neither he nor Sansa said a word all the time they were riding. Sandor felt like shit. He felt that Arman had stolen something from him, but could he really blame the bugger for kissing Sansa? She was fucking beautiful, and it was only for some mad reason he couldn't remember at present that he had been able to contain himself from kissing her. Yet it was bloody stupid to expect that Arman would do the same. I guess I thought the bugger didn't have it in him. Propose to her yes, but not force a kiss on her. Sandor snorted angrily. Proves how fucking wrong you can be. He wasn't angry at the little bird, but he was angry at himself for not having stepped in before so he could have avoided that kiss. He was anxious to get back to the inn so that he could leave her there and go get a drink at some wine shop where she couldn't follow. If he stayed at the house, she would want to talk and he wasn't ready yet for that. No, better to get drunk. It's been too bloody long after all.
He supposed things hadn't changed between them since it had only been a sodding kiss, but it still hurt him that he had not been the man that had been kissing her. And that was when the real reason for his anger hit him. Fuck me, if this was just a kiss, what is going to happen to me when she marries another? When he puts his cloak around her shoulders and claims her as his and I can't do anything about it? When he realizes what a wonderful good woman she is and ends up bloody loving her beyond reason?
His insides coiled tightly as he replaced Arman with another man in his head, some northern lord, kissing Sansa. When she is wed, I won't be able to be present unless she asks me to, and then it would be because she knows full well she would be a widow before she was bedded. Bloody hells, life before the little bird had sucked, but at least it had been less complicated.
When they reached the inn, neither the innkeeper nor Frema or Vintos were anywhere to be seen, so Sandor dismounted and helped Sansa off the horse. Her tears had dried upon her cheeks, but she wasn't looking at him. Sandor threw the reins of the horse to the young servant that had tried hard to keep up with their fast pace, and took her hand again, leading her across the cobblestone courtyard to their house.
He wrenched the door open as he let go of Sansa's hand, glaring at her. She finally turned to look at his burned face, but he couldn't bear the hurt in her eyes now. You weren't the one that hurt her, he reminded himself.
"Sandor," she said in a voice full of emotions, "I–we have to talk."
"Don't, Sansa. I can't right now, so spare me. Get inside. I'm going for a drink."
The beautiful little bird shook her head. "No, stay here. I–we needto talk about–"
Sandor regarded her for a moment.
"I'll be back later," he told her roughly, before he turned around and walked away from her, trying to ignore the look of hurt and anger in her face. Seven bloody buggering hells! When things were looking up between us, this had to happen, he thought as he briefly glanced over at the stables to see that his warhorse and Sansa's mare were still there. I just need some fucking wine.
Sansa stood on the threshold of the house she shared with Sandor, looking at his retreating figure in disbelief; she felt something breaking and yet smoldering inside her. What is happening? Why is all of this happening? She asked herself. This can't be real. She could feel tears on her eyes, so she closed the door, resigned to wait for Sandor to return.
"What a sad homecoming," she said out loud, bitterly. There was a note on the table from Frema in the dining room that said Medra had thought it wise to light up the fireplace and brazier, as well as the tallow candles. Vintos will be taking me to have dinner at a nearby inn, the letter read in the Valyrian spoken in Norvos. We will talk tomorrow morning. I hope the Magister didn't have bad tidings from your home. Sansa crushed the letter before feeding it to the fire.
Going to her bedroom and sitting on the bed, she played everything over and over in her mind, from the moment Arman had proposed to her to the moment Sandor walked away from her, trying to understand men as she hugged her knees. Why did Arman have to kiss me? Oh, gods, I hope I never have to see his face again. If he had only proposed to her and accepted her refusal, then everything would have turn out to be all right because he probably wouldn't have looked for her again, but no, he had to go on and kiss her.
Once Sansa would've been thrilled at the prospect of such a handsome man being the one to give her first kiss after declaring his feelings for her. But now she wanted to hit him for it. The kiss had meant nothing and yet it had ruined everything. It had been too brief for any sort of emotions aside disbelief to take hold of her, but nonetheless Sansa found herself recalling the moment when Arman's lips had softly kissed hers with clarity. She thanked the old gods and the new that he did not try anything further. She hadn't kissed him back or opened her pursed lips, and she really had felt no pleasant emotions stirring in her belly, despite it being soft and gentle. No, Arman doesn't make me feel anything. The man who does is Sandor, and he is angry with me right now.
Sansa threw a pillow at the wall in anger. Why is he angry at me? It isn't as if I had wished for this to happen. I am the one who should be angry at him for never being brave enough to kiss me, even when it was clear that I wanted him to. Countless times she had been so close to getting her heart's desire, and somehow here they were, still strangers in this important sense even if they were familiar in almost every other aspect of their relationship. And then, just now, instead of trying to talk to her and listen to what she wanted to tell him, he had gone off to get some wine. That made Sansa bite her lip so hard she tasted blood.
The distinctive taste of it brought back the memory of Sandor holding Arman by the front of his robes, drawing the Magister's blood with his dagger. All the magisters and their guards had rushed inside to see what the commotion was about, and Sansa had suddenly felt as terrified as whenever she was told Joffrey was going to punish her. For a moment, she believed that either Sandor would get himself killed, or that Arman at least would certainly wish to avenge himself on Sandor for the humiliation the moment Sandor released him. So as much as she hated feeling weak because it reminded her of the time when she had been helpless to do much else due to the lions, she could not stop the tears from sliding down her face as she begged Sandor to leave Arman alone and get away from there, before it was too late. I couldn't have born it if anything had happened to him because of that meaningless kiss.
That was strange. Why was Sandor reacting so angrily because of a brief kiss? There has to be another reason for him to behave like this, Sansa concluded.
When she recalled how happy she had woken up this morning, she felt dismayed. It seemed so long ago. Would things change for the worse between her and Sandor now? We were so close. Could fate really be so cruel as to ruin things between us? Maybe if I get some sleep, by the time I wake up it will all have been a bad dream. She closed her eyes for a moment and ended up drifting off into a dreamless rest.
When she woke up long hours later, she could tell that it was well past dusk due to how dark the bedroom had become, even with a dozen tallow candles lit up all around her. Why does my head hurt so much? She wondered, and all the memories came rushing back. She quickly stood up and went to see if Sandor had returned, but he hadn't. Her heart fell heavy. A cold breeze passed through the window and Sansa went to close it, trembling. She saw that the moon was black tonight as she gazed up at the dark sky, wondering where Sandor could be.
She felt very lonely and very wretched. I don't even feel hungry, Sansa mused as she warmed her hands before the fireplace, remembering that the last time she'd had some food had been this morning.
When I see him, I'll hug him and confess that it was really him whom I wished to give me my first kiss, she told herself at one point, before she changed her mind. She bitterly laughed because it was silly to suppose Sandor didn't know that already. No, better if I let him know that I'm hurt because he left me here when I needed him so much, when instead he went to find some comfort from a skin of wine. I'm the one who was kissed by someone I never wanted to kiss me. I'm the one who should be drowning my sorrows. Sighing deeply, she went over to sit on the couches of the living room, waiting for Sandor to come back safe and sound.
When he comes back I am going to make him listen to me until he believes me- until I can make him feel how true my words are. He did return about an hour later. Sansa had been wide awake, staring at the wall before her, as thousand questions flowed through her mind and trying to find a solution to this mess, when she suddenly became aware that he was back. He could barely stand, and his presence had brought a sickening strong smell of wine into the room.
She suddenly felt a little scared. Sansa had not seen him drunk since the night they escaped King's Landing, when he had come to her bedroom in the middle of the night as a battle raged outside and green fire lit up the sky. Many months had passed since their nightly encounters in Maegor's Keep, and on those occasions he had scared her. But you have come to know him, and you have both changed. And so she stood up and said, loud and clear so he would understand, "You're drunk."
Sandor's laugh was half a growl. "Tell me something I don't know, Sansa."
"Why?" she asked him, walking up to him. "Why did you leave me here when I needed you? I didn't want that kiss. Surely you know that. You can't blame me for what happened."
Even before she was finished, she could already feel Sandor's snide remarks coming, and he didn't disappoint.
"Should I blame that handsome fucker then? I bet kissing him was a real ordeal for you."
"You should blame yourself," she told him, her anger rising inside her. "After all, Arman wanted a kiss and he took it, unlike others I've known."
Sandor threw back his head and laughed, and in the sound was like the snarling of dogs in a pit. "The little bird has a mouth on her, I see."
His grey eyes raked her up and down in a way Sansa would have once long ago thought as rude, but which was now somehow exciting. Sandor began backing her towards the wall. He was so tall and powerful that she felt herself yielding in to where he wanted to lead her to. "And that noble prick is a bloody lucky bastard for having the balls to take what he wanted, is that it?"
He had gotten so close to her that Sansa could smell wine, leather and horses on him, as he suddenly pressed her against the wall with his menacing body. The candles Medra had lit up all around the room allowed her to gaze clearly into Sandor's grey eyes, presently drunk and sullen with anger. They were the eyes of someone she had not encountered in a long time: the Hound. She could feel her heart beating once again very fast as Sandor brought his hand to grab her chin in an iron grip. He began to roughly caress her jaw, before he slid his hand to her neck, and then further down to her chest, right above her heaving breasts. Her cheeks flushed by the wash of the heat as if by a lover's kiss when she once again felt the need that such close proximity had aroused in him.
The way he was caressing her was making her knees grow weak, yet she wasn't blind to what he was doing. He is twisting my words. He doesn't even believe what he is saying.
"Let me go," she moaned, trying to muster her courage, even as she didn't really wish he would do so, and even as the sour stench of wine hit her strongly, making her briefly lower her face. Fleetingly, she wondered how all of this would end and realized that she didn't want that to happen.
When he didn't let her go, she pushed the hand he had on her away in protest to provoke some reaction from him. The motion indeed startled him, for in the blink of an eye, and in quite a swift movement for a man who was drunk, he had caught hold of both of her wrists, and had slammed them against the wall, trapping her within his long powerful arms; those arms that had felt like home so many times it was hard for Sansa to think of them as anything else, even now when she was quite startled. She wasn't scared of him hurting her, but she hadn't expected him to press her to the wall like this. The hold on her wrists was painfully strong, but she found herself with no desire to struggle against him.
"Why are you looking at me like that? Are you scared, little bird?" he asked her mockingly, clearly misunderstanding her expression.
"No," she said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
"You should be," he told her.
This proximity was driving her mad. She was looking at Sandor Clegane's burned face as the sudden instinct to draw closer to him took hold of her. Of course I'm not scared of you. I'll never be scared of you again. You said you would keep me safe and have done so... But I am scared for you.
He was staring at her with big wide eyes seeming to find it difficult to focus on her face. And then she knew. What are you waiting for? Here is your chance. Sansa didn't care that he wasn't in his right mind. The way the man she wanted was now gazing at her told her that he was realizing what she was about to do as his eyes momentarily flickered to stare intently at her lips. He doesn't trust himself to start this for some reason, she realized as his eyes grew confused and even scared. His hesitation was letting her know that whatever happened next was up to her, and that was all Sansa needed to stop caring about being a Stark and surely meant for somebody else. She stopped caring that he was drunk or that they were having a row of sorts. She forgot about everything and anything that wasn't the man before her, whom she had grown to care so deeply for. She closed her eyes as her mouth finally searched for Sandor's because it was what she wanted more than anything now.
The moment her lips touched his, Sandor hungrily kissed her back, devouring her mouth with an urgent need that was hard for Sansa to match as he pressed his heavy body against her, pinning her between the wall and himself, in a way that was too overwhelmingly new and surprising to bear. His scarred lips were demanding, their teeth clashed, and then he opened her mouth with his willful tongue, suddenly making the kiss something wet and even more passionate than before. Sansa moaned into Sandor's mouth when his tongue touched hers, barely believing that this was happening at long last, as they started fighting to possess the other, as if their lives depended on it, with their tongues, their limbs, their bodies.
Sandor still had her arms pinned up against the wall, but now his hands were holding hers in a warm, comforting gesture. A moment later, he had brought his hands to the back of her head, and she began running hers along his back, curling them around his armpits, clinging to him as a drowning person clings to a wooden raft in the middle of a storm out at sea. Sansa could not even feel the strong pressure of his hard mail on her chest, as her breasts were pressed against his chest while she stood on tip-toes to try and reach as much as she could of him after she had dragged him down towards her. The sound of Sandor groaning into her mouth took her breath away, while his hands caressed her hair and waist, her hips and back, making her legs grow weak as she bent slightly, but Sandor supported her as he plunged deeper and almost ferociously into her mouth. The actual feeling of his tongue against hers and his lips nibbling on hers was better than any kiss she may have heard in a song.
It mustn't have lasted long, yet while it was happening, Sansa felt blissfully caught in a never-ending moment, as Sandor's arms encircled her around the waist at one point, arching her body into his and driving whimpers out of her, while her hands fluttered to his chest, to his shoulder-length hair, to the back of his neck, before settling on the burned flesh of his jaw and cheek. They had both longed for this moment for so long that they took their time to finally let things slow down. As they did so, they naturally drew out off the process, prying apart as Sansa bit Sandor's lower lip, and he brought his body to lean down on hers, pressing her close to him as his hands caressed circles on her hips and waist. Neither of them wanted to let go.
And so they just stood there, and the only sound to be heard was that of them trying to catch their mingled shallow breaths, adjusting their minds to what was happening. The taste of wine was now on her as well, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the way they were staring into each other's eyes, confirming to their unbelieving minds that they had finally kissed after so long. She almost felt dizzy and was about to nuzzle against his neck like she had done last night after the ball, but didn't because in that moment he brought his nose to rub against hers, after his eyes roamed her body with a burning desire that matched her own. That gesture and his kiss–long awaited open declarations of how strongly he cared for her–had moved her beyond belief. She met his eyes, and his gaze was so intense she could almost feel the struggle inside of him.
"Oh, Sandor," she said breathlessly, as he pressed his forehead on hers. "We can't pretend that nothing is happening between us. He means nothing to me. But this–this means everything. It's all that matters."
Sandor's mocking smile cut like a knife as he rasped in a thick voice that was full of torment, "Will you say the same once you have to marry, Lady Stark?"
Before Sansa could even realize what he meant, he went on, while his mouth began to twitch and one of his hands went from hugging her to her waist. "When your kingly brother presents you to your lordly husband, and he turns out to be a good decent man, will you still look me straight in the face and tell me that he means nothing? Fuck, do you even expect me to be present during such a time? I fucking want you more than ever, but I won't have you and then stand aside while you marry another."
Sansa's heart was breaking in two as the true meaning behind Sandor's anger dawned on her. The deep sound of his voice made something inside of her shiver pleasantly; for a moment, she stood silent, staring once more into Sandor's grey and hard eyes that looked like a storm from the North trying to find the right words to say, feeling overcome by her feelings for him. They were still pressed together, their bodies fast against one another. One of her hands still held on to the hair on the back of his head, and one arm were still around hers, while the fingertips of her other hand caressed the burns on Sandor's face, as the hard stubble of his cheek tickled her wrist.
Unfortunately, her momentary silence must have been misinterpreted by him, for he snorted bitterly and without another word, he stepped back from her. He left her there alone in their house once again, slamming the door shut behind him. Sansa hadn't even moved. She was still resting against the wall, breathing loudly, as she brought her hand to her heart. It's happened. They had both now confirmed what they felt about each other, and there hadn't even been a need to hear the other say it. No, instead the way her raw lips were feeling was the constant reminder of Sandor trying to tell her how he felt about her.
She slid along the wall to the floor and knelt there, feeling detached from reality. The kiss had been more than she could ever have hoped for, and it had been the most intimate and beautiful thing she had ever done or felt. Sansa touched her lips, pressing upon them the way Sandor's had moment ago.
To remember the kiss she had shared with Arman was now a laughing matter. That had been no more than a peck on her lips, and yet that soft gesture had been what triggered this burning passionate kiss that meant everything. Sansa touched her lips, pressing upon them the way Sandor's had moment ago. So many emotions had been born in her now–things she didn't even know the heart could feel–and it had been Sandor the one to make her aware of them; the one who had made her know herself better than she had ever thought possible, her strengths and limits, her courage and her vulnerability. The look of hurt in Sandor's face when he spoke about the man she would have to marry had only made her feel more acutely that she didn't want to marry anyone unless that man was Sandor.
It was so hard to believe that almost a day ago they had been holding on to each other tightly as fireworks decorated the night sky. The turmoil and dilemmas of her mind were suddenly disappearing, and she saw now with much more clarity the motivation for Sandor's behavior today.
He doesn't want anything to happen between us because once we go back to my family, we will be forced to behave as if none of this had ever happened. I will be expected to marry and he to only guard me. Knowing now what was tormenting Sandor stopped her from breaking down in despair. If he is jealous, it is because he wants me for himself and thinks that I will end up giving him up when the time to choose comes around. The future didn't matter right now. He wants me just as much as I want him, we both felt it. That precious kiss and that precious truth were the beacons of hope that would guide her through this ordeal with a clear head. When he comes back, I am going to make him listen to me until he believes me. No matter if he is drunk or sober, rude or ashamed. No matter what this means for my family, we can't let ourselves be beaten by this or anything else ever. We will be different now.
Sansa stood up and walked swiftly to her bedroom, towards the little wooden table where she had her figurehead of the Maiden and the Warrior. She knelt before them and lit a candle, praying that Sandor would come back soon to her.
You know what is happening between me and Sandor, she began fervently. Please, gods, help him; help me; help us. I thank you from my heart and soul that we finally shared that kiss, but now let him come back to me so that we can once and for all properly set things straight. We can't go on like this anymore. We can't ignore what we make each other feel. Please, dear gods, you heard my prayers before when you spirited me away from my golden cage in King's Landing, and when you saw fit to grant me safe passage aboard the Summer Bird when I crossed the Narrow Sea. You can't expect me to believe that everything that has happened between me and Sandor doesn't mean anything, or that it is isn't strong enough for us to survive this triumphantly, because it is. Please, gods, bring him back to me…
Suddenly, a bell tolled across the city. It was Narrah, the bell that announced midnight. Soon now, Sansa told herself, believing it in her heart. Soon. Yet by the time Noom announced the dawn, Sandor still had not returned to her.
A/N:
- I thank you for reading and can't wait to hear your thoughts on this. Always make my days better :D