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 ;)
- The title for this chapter was inspired by the song of the same name by Clannad
*Thank you betas, you make this story possible by helping me out with it so much: 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.
23. I Will Find You
An hour after dawn, Sansa could not take it anymore. Something must have happened to Sandor. She knew that he would not simply leave her, least of all now that they had finally kissed. But if he hadn't left her to fend for herself, why hadn't he come back?
Oh, gods, where is he? she wondered for the hundredth time since midnight, looking out of the window again. She had been impatiently walking across the dining room for quite some time, sitting on a chair for a moment before she stood up to look out of the window, and once again resumed her pacing. Her nerves were already starting to break. Maybe he drank so much wine that he just fell asleep somewhere? That was a silly notion, but preferable to the one that had been haunting the back of her head–the one involving Mellario of Dorne having somehow learned that a Clegane was in the city. Whatever had happened, she had to find him, but for that she herself needed help first. Now that the first light of day had come, it would be easier to locate him, she gathered. And so Sansa put a shawl around her shoulders and stepped outside into the chilly morning, looking around to see if the towering form of Sandor would appear from some corner. She headed across The Three Bells Inn's cobblestone courtyard covered in morning mist, to Vintos and Frema's house, and taking a deep breath, she knocked on her friend's door, trying to keep her tears from sliding down her cheeks.
Several moments later, she saw Vintos peering through the curtains of the window beside the door. When he saw her standing outside, he blinked and mouthed, "Alys?" before unlocking the door. "Goodness, what's happened?"
"Hello, Vintos, I'm–I'm sorry for waking you up so early, but I need your help," she said in a quiet voice, hugging herself.
Vintos could sense that something was wrong. "Alys, what's the matter? Where is Edric?"
"I don't know," she said, lips trembling. "That's why I need help. He–he didn't come home last night."
Vintos' eyes became worried. "Come inside," he told her, stepping aside so she could enter the house.
Frema was walking out from the bedroom, wearing a robe over her nightgown, and stopped when she saw the look on Sansa's face. "Alys darling, what's happened?"
Sansa could not bear it anymore. She knew she had to be strong in these moments, but she had lived through so many things in the last day that it was just too much. Her nerves were strained and now she didn't even have Sandor to see things through with. She threw herself in Frema's arms and began to cry.
"Please, Alys, tell us what is going on!" her friend exclaimed, hugging her back.
"Edric didn't come home last night," Vintos explained.
"Oh," Sansa heard Frema answer, as she patted her back.
"I'll go and change," Vintos told them. When he was gone Frema took Sansa by the shoulders and said, "What happened?"
Sansa shook her head. "Everything. Yesterday, after you left Arman's home, he told us something about Westeros and then he started going on and on about what we had all thought of the ball, and when Edric went to relieve himself the Magister kissed me–"
"Alys! Magister Nervere did that?" Frema asked mouth wide.
"Yes, but it was nothing, though Edric saw the kiss," she answered, sniffing. She went on to tell Frema quickly everything else that had happened, and when her friend asked her why Sandor had walked away after they'd kissed, Sansa was forced to say a lie of sorts and pretend it was because since the Mallisters were considered better born than the Goodbrooks, Edric didn't think they could have a future together. When she was done, Frema said, "Wait here. We'll look for him."
"Frema," Sansa said, drying her tears with the back of her face. "I don't want to make Vintos lose his wages. Doesn't he have work to do today?"
Frema shook her head. "No, he asked leave to skip work for three days due to the ball. He returns tomorrow. I'll go change now and we'll all go out and look for him."
Sansa nodded and dried her tears, feeling anxious but reminding herself that she had to be strong once again. Having hope would help her survive until she was with him. I will find you no matter where you are. I have to. I must. She went to the window to see if Sandor was anywhere to be seen. Her heart felt heavy in her chest, but she stared out of the window at their little house, recalling all the nights they had slept under that roof. She remembered all the times they had been together in each of the little three rooms–the time when they gave each other their nameday gifts in the dining room, or when they had spent nights talking on the couches of the living room, or the countless nights they slept in the same bed, warming each other, with the certain silent reassurance that come morning light they wouldn't have to face a new day alone. His absence was taking an invisible blindfold off from her eyes. How could I not see what living with him day after day would lead to? It was inevitable that a strong bond would grow between them; a bond that was not going to be easy to set aside. She wondered then about the night she had asked Sandor in Pentos to stay in Essos with her for a couple more months, so she could enjoy her new found freedom. Had it not been wiser maybe to go back to Westeros instead of coming to Norvos? No, it wouldn't have. Given the choice, I would wish for everything I've lived with Sandor to happen again. This time with him has been the happiest I've ever felt.
"Let's go," Vintos said behind her, as his wife followed him out of the house, with Sansa bringing up the rear as she said, "Let's not tell Medra or her children about it, please." She liked the innkeeper, but the woman had such a loose tongue that Sansa felt a little distrustful of her.
After walking a couple of still pretty much deserted looking streets beneath the rising sun of Norvos, and at seeing no sight of Sandor, Vintos stopped and said, "I think we should break into two parties. You girls go to Burnerk's house. Maybe Edric went to stay with him–or pretty much anywhere you can think of. Since Alys said that he was a–he was drunk, I'll go and see if the wineskin shops have any knowledge about him. He is a man who won't be forgotten easily. I brought some coins with me. Take half to loosen any unwilling tongues."
Sansa and Frema nodded to everything Vintos said, a little in awe at how resourceful he was turning out to be in such a moment. I thought Frema would be the one to know what to do.
And so they went in search of Sandor, to every single place Sansa could remember them having visited in this city. Everywhere except the river Noyne. Going so far from the inn would've taken all day. Gardens, bathhouses, shops, guild halls, markets, and squares, they went everywhere, but Sandor was not to be found. Sansa was feeling more and more upset with every passing moment. She felt detached and didn't speak much with Frema as they walked from one place to the other, gazing through the crowds that were appearing as the day passed by. She did clutch her friend's hand for support, but her tummy felt ill and knew that the moment she opened her mouth she was going to be sick.
By midday, they returned to The Three Bells to see if Vintos had found Sandor, but when they reached the inn neither Vintos nor Sandor were there. Frema threw a worried look at Sansa, but she just stared blankly ahead of her, wondering why this was happening to her. "Darling, go to your house and rest while I make you a cup of nili tea. You are looking so pale. When was the last time you ate some food?"
Sansa didn't feel like eating anything. She shook her head and said, "Yesterday morning, perhaps."
Frema gave her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll go get the tea. Please, rest at least for two minutes. It looks as if you were about to faint."
Sansa did as Frema advised, walking into her empty house starting to feel weak and heartbroken. She went to stare for some moments at their bed and then at the place where they had kissed, as she touched the space of wall she had rested against while they proved their feelings to each other. With a little shake of her head, Sansa went to sit in the dining room, tapping her fingers against the wooden surface of the table before her, thinking. Where are you, Sandor? Oh, gods, please make him come back. I won't bear much longer not knowing what has happened to him. She hadn't felt so bad since the days when she was a hostage to the Lannisters.
After Frema came back with a mug of tea, two cups and a tray with bread and butter, Sansa had no choice but to accept a cup herself and nibble at the bread. It tasted like ashes in her mouth, but she didn't want to refuse her friend's consideration after the way Frema and Vintos were helping her out.
"Alysanne, can I ask you something?" Frema asked her when silence had reigned between them for too long.
"Of course," Sansa said, letting out a sigh, her eyes shifted from the door to the window.
"You said that after you and Edric kissed, Edric went away angry because back in your homeland everyone would deem him too beneath you to marry, is that it?"
Sansa nodded, smiling sadly. I don't care about that. We'll find a solution to everything, just come home Sandor, please.
"Has your family promised you to someone else? Or have they already done that and that is the reason why you crossed the Narrow Sea?"
Sansa closed her eyes, trying to remember the face of the boy who had once been her golden prince, for the first time since Arman told her the news that he was probably married now to Lord Renly's widow. That is, unless Robb hasn't defeated them already.
"I was promised to a boy once. I thought he loved me, but he showed me how wrong I was. Edric helped me get away from him. When I go back to Westeros, my marriage alliance to him will already be broken, not because I eloped but because our families are fighting against each other in the war that is destroying the Seven Kingdoms. But when I do go back home, I am sure my family will expect me to marry somebody else."
Frema was listening intently, while her expression softened at times or her forehead frowned. "I am sorry, my friend, that the boy you were going to marry proved to be false, yet by what you said–that you eloped with Edric… forgive me, Alys, but that sounds as if when you first came to Essos, you and Edric were already–"
She shook her head, a gesture which made Frema stop talking. "No, we were more like friends back then. Somewhere along the way after that is when things started changing between us."
Sansa remembered the days in the Kingswood, when she had thought of Sandor as the Hound, and then the night they had spent at the night of the inn of The Stormed King. She remembered their perilous voyage aboard The Summer Bird, and their days in Pentos before traveling along lonely Valyrian roads. And then she recalled the most recent memories of them in Norvos. How can I explain to Frema when I started thinking of Sandor the way I do now? When did my heart stop being at ease unless he is beside me? When did "Sandor" and "little bird" become the names I cherish most in this world?
"Alys," Frema said, in a serious tone as she clasped her hands together. "I do not claim to know how the houses in Westeros work, and I am not going to say this for some selfish reason so I can get what I have been hinting about for some weeks. I am going to ask you this because I can't see how you and Edric can go back to your home, feeling for each other as strongly as you do, without letting it be known to your families or the world that you two want to be together. That is why I am asking you, why you won't consider staying in this side of the sea forever, living with Edric, forgetting who you used to be?"
Sansa finally wrenched her eyes away from the lonely entrance to her house and looked at her true friend. She chuckled bitterly. "Living here with Edric while Arman rules over all of us from his High City?"
Frema wasn't amused. "You know I am not talking about living in Norvos. Whether it was in the village where I was born, or in Myr or Vaes Dothrak, I do believe you two have a greater chance of finding happiness here–at least together–than if you go back to the Summer Kingdoms. You could make a living from your embroidery and Edric could lend his sword, or become a blacksmith or something."
Sansa Stark didn't want to think about all that now for so many reasons. Sandor has to come back first before I worry about that. When the time comes to think about that, we'll both find a solution to it. I can't give him up for Mother or Robb, but could I give them up for Sandor?
"Frema, I–" Sansa began to say hoarsely when Vintos suddenly burst through the door, panting heavily, his cheeks red to show them he had clearly run all the way to here.
The girls stood up instantly, asking Vintos what had happened, what he had he learned.
"Did you find him? Did you learn something" Frema asked her husband while Sansa said, "Where is he? Is he hurt? Is he all right?"
Vintos rested a hand on a chair for support, and answered, "I went to all the taverns and wineskin shops I could find, and not one knew anything about a tall man with half his face burned. But when I remembered that I had introduced Edric to Yuru's tavern, because they served the best wine in this city, I went and asked Yuru and it took me some persuasion, but–"
"Why? Oh, gods be good, Vintos. Please, tell me what has happened to Edric!" Sansa pleaded anxiously, going pale.
"Yes, of course. Well, you see, Alys, apparently Edric was at the tavern all afternoon yesterday, drinking wine all the time he was there. Before midnight, he went away. A man heard me asking about Edric, and told me after I gave him some silver that he saw how a dozen guards of the Bearded Priests suddenly stepped from the shadows and ended up taking a man away with the descriptions I was speaking of, but not until the tall man managed to kill two of them and stab one in the leg. I think Edric was heading to Burnek's because he was caught barely five streets away from the blacksmith's house."
Sansa was hearing a loud humming inside her head. She blinked at Vintos when he was done, unable to believe what he had just told her. Sandor was taken? Where? Why? Was Arman's aunt behind this?
Frema was asking some of those questions to her husband, but Sansa felt utterly lost. What have those guards done to him? How could Mellario's people learn where he was? What could she do to set him free? Why had they taken him away in the first place?
"What can we do now?" Frema was asking Vintos.
He scratched his blue mustachio, frowning. "The guards of the Bearded Priests only take men to the Hall of Punishment. We have to go and see if they took him there."
"Gods, what could he have done to earn being sent to that prison?" Frema whispered, her hand going to her heart.
Her husband caressed her cheek as he said, "A family friend who works there maybe can help us learn."
Vintos went on talking, but Sansa wasn't listening to him anymore. The moment he said Hall of Punishment, Sansa shuddered and closed her eyes. The name of that place sounded so dreadful, but at least she now knew what had become of Sandor. I have to get him out of there–if he is there.
"Let's go there, then," she told them, with a blank expression on her face.
The Hall of Punishment was an ancient building located in a place of Great Norvos Sansa had never been to before, and she deemed it too grand to be in the Low City. The Norvoshi were so careful about putting all the pretty buildings up in the High City, and she found herself asking her friends why was this.
"The nobles do not want to keep their prisoners all crammed up together up there with them," Vintos explained, and Sansa could not say she was surprised. When they reached the wide tall doors of the prison, she groaned at the sight of the long line of people waiting to be attended by the officials working at the Hall.
Vintos took the girls to a corner of the entrance hall, and told them to wait there while he went off to see if he could find his family's friend. Sansa stood beside Frema, looking at the relatives of the men taken as prisoners, gathering that her face was probably looking the same was as theirs; anxious, sad, angry, tired. There were many people in the entrance, which made her silently begin to pray to the old gods and the new that they could somehow be listened to before everyone else. Frema started saying some things to her to ease her mind, but Sansa wouldn't have been able to really listen to her friend even if she'd tried to. Her heart was at her throat the whole time Vintos was away, and they had to finally sit on a bench after a long time of waiting.
At long last, Vintos came striding over to them with an old man at his side. Frema and Sansa stood up and were introduced to the official whose name was Galente.
"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Mallister. Vintos here has told me what has happened, and because his father has been my friend for more than twenty years, I confessed to him that we indeed received some time after midnight a prisoner with the traits he has described," old Galente said, in a tired voice. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his grey hair was quite unruly, making it plain to them that being an official in the Hall of Punishment was no easy task. "Besides being tall and powerfully built, the scars that cover half his face I think are not easily mistook by another's. And the gaoler appointed to him has remarked that the man spoke some words in the Common Tongue of Westeros."
"Yes, that's Edric!" Sansa exclaimed, stepping forward to Galente. "Oh, please, tell us what has he done? There is no reason for him to have been arrested in the first place. Isn't there anything I could do to set him free?"
"You are wrong in that, Lady Mallister. I have been informed that this man attacked the High Magister of this great city, Arman Nervere. That affront clearly must be answered for."
Sansa blinked and stared at the man in disbelief. It was a good thing that Mellario of Dorne apparently didn't have anything to do with this, but the magisters of Norvos were a powerful bunch who could very well stand as a threat to her and Sandor. And if Arman was the one to order Sandor's arrest, could that make things worse?
Gods, why didn't we leave this accursed city the moment we left his manse yesterday? She had known as she watched Sandor grabbing Arman by the front of his robes, before drawing blood from his neck, that it could not bode well for them, but after they left his house, she had been left alone and then she and Sandor has kissed at last, and then he had disappeared. She had forgotten about the retributions Arman could take as other matters took hold of her mind. She felt a sudden rush of hate towards Magister Nervere. Why did he have to step between Sansa and Sandor? Why did I ever allow him to enter into our lives?
Frema gasped beside Sansa; Vintos looked at his feet, rubbing his jaw.
"So Magister Nervere was the one to order the arrest?" Sansa asked the old official.
"I do not know exactly who signed the warrant for the arrest, but whoever did was powerful and had the right to imprison him. Yet there is also the matter to consider that when the guards of the Bearded Priests went to arrest him, your friend ended up killing two of them and wounding one quite beyond repair. They are sadly taking the young guard's leg as we speak."
Sansa should feel sorry for the guard, but she couldn't. The only things she was feeling were a desperate anxiety to see Sandor and assure him that everything was going to be all right, as well as a strong feeling of hate towards the magister that had ruined everything.
"Can't I see him, please?" she asked Galente.
The man looked touched by the sadness in her voice, but nonetheless said with a heavy sigh, "I am afraid that the prisoner can't be allowed to see anyone. He is not accused of stealing a piece of bread, my lady. What he did was quite bad."
"He only didn't it because Magister Nervere did me a wrong," she told the silly old man. "And don't call him a prisoner. He isn't a criminal."
Westeros wouldn't have agreed with her. Sandor was a killer and he wasn't afraid of boasting about his dark deeds, but that was the Hound to her. Sandor was so dear to her that whatever he had done before didn't matter to her. Their pasts had to be forgotten if they wished to try and live a better future. The question she had to mind right now was how could she help Sandor get out of this place. What can I do?
"And how long is he going to have to stay here?" Frema asked Galente.
"Not long. His trial has been moved for tomorrow. He will be judged by the Council of Magisters of this city."
"But prisoners can't be judged barely two days after their arrival here," Vintos protested. "Two days is not enough time to gather–"
"Someone of importance wants this matter to be settled as quickly as possible, and even if it is not tradition to have his trial set for tomorrow, the officials of the Hall of Punishment must listen to those who live in the High City."
Galente smiled a little knowing smile at her, and she saw pity in his little eyes. That gesture made her shiver in disgust. She didn't need this man's pity. She was going to take Sandor out of this place no matter what and she now knew how.
"We'll be back later," she promised Galente, before walking away from this wretched hall, stifling a sob.
Frema and Vintos walked quickly behind her, trying to tell her that everything was going to be all right somehow.
Sansa stopped suddenly and looked at her feet before she whispered with a heavy heart, "They didn't even let me see him."
There was so much that she wanted to tell Sandor, and now that they needed to comfort and assure the other, fate didn't want them to be together. It was unbelievable. But she wasn't going to give up.
"What are we going to do now?" Frema asked her husband and her friend.
"We are going back to the inn for the horses," Sansa answered in a firm voice. Sandor was in trouble and needed her to do whatever it took to get him out of that place. He needs me to be strong for him. "If there is one person who can help us then that is Arman Nervere."
Frema gasped beside her. "Alys darling, but–but–but he is the one who sent Edric to prison!"
Sansa didn't need to hear that. She had to rely on the hope that Arman wasn't going to be resentful towards her if she could just talk to him and make him free Sandor. He was the best and only hope she had, and she wasn't about to let it go. And I have to see him now, before it is too late, if the trial was indeed set to happen tomorrow. Would Sandor stand a chance if he was judged of attacking Arman by his fellow magisters, despite Arman being guilty?
"Arman is a reasonable man. I am sure he won't turn me away. If he believes he has the right to kiss me and to throw Edric in jail, then he should better believe as well he has the duty to hear me out."
Now that she had a plan, things seemed slightly better, but first she had to be sure she could count on her friends. "Will you please accompany me to his house?"
They exchanged looks. "Now?"
She nodded, resolute. I am not going to let Sandor stay in some dungeon for a moment longer than he has to.
"Very well," her friends agreed, and so that was settled. They headed back to The Three Bells, while Sansa wondered what Sandor would bring along were he in her place. When they reached her house, she headed to the bedroom and searched for the dagger with the pretty pink stone in its hilt she had taken from the dead archer in the Kingswood months ago. They will never think I'm wearing one, but Sandor will be proud of me for remembering to wear it.
Attaching it to her skirts, she then walked out of her house without a second glance, with Frema and Vintos at her heels. Heading for the stables, she stopped to look at Nan and Stranger. There was no question about which one she would be riding. Nan was her horse and could be ridden without fear, but Stranger was Sandor's horse, and besides needing to feel the warhorse's fierce strength near her for what she was about to do, it was evident Stranger would allow her to mount him before he ever did Sansa's neighbors. So she ended up saddling Stranger by herself. The big black destrier looked into her eyes, as if remembering her, before he allowed her to put the saddle and reins on him. Her mare was a sweet thing, but Stranger was the fiercest warhorse and Sansa had never been very good around horses. She said a silent prayer to the gods that the horse wouldn't end up throwing her off him, making her break her neck. She gulped and accepted Vintos' help to get on the horse. For a moment, she just sat there, tense as she heard Sandor in her mind telling her that this was not safe for her, but dismissed that with a shake of her head.
"Do you mind sharing Nan between yourselves?" she asked Frema and Vintos.
They didn't, so Sansa set the direction to the Sinner's Steps, whispering encouraging words to Stranger, assuring the horse that they would get Sandor back. When they finally reached the steps, her eyes fell on some caged bears that were going to be made to dance in Rozzo's Square. She looked away, feeling ill, and spurred Stranger onwards up to the Sinner's Steps. When they had gone all the way up to the golden gates, two tall guards with axes in their hands stepped forth to block their way, just as they had done the two times she had come this way. The older of them asked who wished to enter through the Golden Gates of Norvos, as his eyes looked them up and down, with a frown on his face. He recognized me, she realized, her heart fluttering wildly.
Sansa sat up straight from her high seat on Stranger's back, remembering who she was, and said, "Lady Alysanne of House Mallister, from the Seven Kingdoms. I am a friend of the High Magister, and was but yesterday his honored guest at the ball he threw in honor of Magister Umeren."
"Wait a moment, please, Lady Mallister," the guard replied, before he turned to his companion and they began debating whether or not to let her in.
Finally, the youngest of the guards said, "You may enter, Lady Mallister. But your companions are not allowed to do so."
Sansa blinked in surprise. "Why?" she demanded.
"Because we are not used to letting people of the Low City enter through the Golden Gates."
She could feel her anger rising inside her. "These good people were the Magister's honored guests as well a day ago."
The oldest of the guards stepped closer to her, and said, "What is it that you wish to do in the High City, Lady Mallister?"
"I am going to pay a visit to Magister Nervere."
"Do you or your friends have an invitation by the Magister?"
She shook her head, meeting the guard's eyes. "Because this is the High Magister we are speaking of, and because we are aware that you are indeed his friend, we will send two lads to accompany you to the Magister's manse, but we will not break the rules of the Golden Gates by allowing so many people through them when they do not have an invitation."
"Gods be good!" Sansa exclaimed desperately. She had to get through those doors! The thunder of determination was loud in her ears and these guards would not stop her. She turned to look at her friends, who were gazing with wounded pride at the guards. She spurred Stranger towards them, not knowing what to say to them.
Vintos spared her the need by saying, "We can wait for you here, Alys."
Frema nodded vigorously beside him. "We don't want to leave you alone."
Sansa's heart went out to them; gods knew how long this task she had to do would take. "I thank you for everything, but please return to the inn. Arman will surely send a litter to escort me home, so there is no need for you to wait here."
Her friends nodded and smiled sadly, assuring her that they would take care of Nan, before they turned around and went down the Sinner's Steps. Sansa walked over to the gates, and had to wait a few moments for a pair of young looking guards to saddle their horses so they could escort her to Arman's manor.
When at long last they arrived at Magister Nervere's house, Sansa was ready to face the man. I thought I had seen the last of you, she thought as her eyes took in the sight of the seven-story manse.
Sansa thanked the guards for their trouble with ill-concealed grace, and led Sandor's warhorse to the stables herself. The stableboys looked unwilling to help her out with the black horse, which they clearly remembered was quite a ferocious animal.
"I'll be back," she promised him in soothing tones, caressing his cheek. Stranger snorted in reply, and she took that as him wishing her good luck.
Heading back to the entrance of the manse, Sansa was glad to see that the bald steward was already hurrying to meet her, with an expression of puzzlement.
"Lady Alysanne, what are you doing here? I was not informed that we would be having the pleasure of a visit from you so soon."
"Good afternoon, Urroc. I fear I have arrived uninvited. I regret what happened yesterday, but I have a pressing matter to discuss with Magister Nervere that simply cannot wait. Do you think he'll receive me?"
Urroc looked surprised by her question. "Of course he'll receive you, my lady. He was greatly saddened by the way you parted, and since you did not bring your sworn shield with you, I see no reason why Magister Nervere would not wish to see you and make amends."
By what he just said about Sandor, Sansa did not believe Urroc knew what Arman had done to him. They began walking up the stairs into the house, and as they stepped through the threshold Sansa said to Urroc, "I am relieved to hear that. Can the Magister see me now?"
"I am afraid he is not here. The High Magister went to pay a tribute to a passing Dothraki khalasar at the outskirts of the city."
Sansa's heart fell. How long must Sandor be in the Hall of Punishment? "Oh, can you not send word to him that I am here?"
Urroc glanced at her curiously, as if considering whether or not the business she had with the Magister was as important as this khalasar. "I will see what I can do."
The steward led her to a living room near the entrance of the house, and Sansa sat on a luxurious couch, wondering how long she was going to have to be prepared to wait for Arman.
"In the meantime, is there anything you would like?"
Sansa tried to smile and shook her head. Urroc bowed and left her there in the room, alone to her thoughts. Her eyes fell on the various tapestries, tables, vases, and carpets in the room, while all the time they kept returning to the window outside. She clasped and unclasped her hands, and kept shifting places on the couch, sighing as her mind tried to picture what Sandor was doing right now. Surely he must know that I will do anything to help him–even if it means begging Arman to let him out. I wonder what Sandor would have to say to that, she thought with a snort. She hoped with all her heart she was doing the right thing. I would do anything for Sandor, but I hope this is the best course. I hope for that so much.
Yet she hated this. This necessity of having to rely on someone she didn't trust. This dish tasted too much like the ones she'd been served in King's Landing, when she thought Joffrey would spare her father, or when she was forced to pay for Robb's victories. Back then, she endured it because she had wanted to live, now she had to endure it for Sandor. But he is worth enduring anything for, she thought, yet that did not make it any easier to stay in this house and wait for the outcome of what this day would bring. Arman may be kind and nothing like the Lannisters, but I must not be fooled by his kindness. There is a price to pay for everything.
She supposed that she would have to be honest with Arman and tell him as much as she dared about what had happened between her and Sandor last night, and let him draw his own conclusions about what was left unsaid. I'll have to tell him that Sandor was drunk and that he killed some guards, if he doesn't know already.
Whenever she found herself remembering the kiss she had shared with Sandor, it was hard not to stop tears forming in her eyes, but she was not going to allow herself to appear weak in this place. Urroc told her some time later that he had already sent word to the Magister that she was here, and the bald steward kept coming in to see if she was in need of anything, or sending servants to ask her the same thing when his duties kept him unable to visit himself. She must have waited for hours for Arman Nervere, growing mad within the walls of his house, but reminding herself that he was her best and only hope. At one point, she even went to spend some time with Stranger, kissing the dark horse's nuzzle tenderly, as she assured the horse that they would get his maser back.
Night had fallen when Urroc came back and ended up sitting with her in the living room, and though she didn't think he really knew what was going on, he somehow sensed she was worried and so he tried to talk about trifles and make her laugh. She learned about his life, and how his father had worked for Magister Arman's father, and he had spent his whole life serving the House Nervere.
An hour later, Sansa was once again losing more than her patience. It was almost a day ago that she had seen Sandor, and she knew now that the thought of ever being able to part from him whether they were in Essos or Westeros was ludicrous. Nonetheless, when Urroc asked her if she would like to have dinner she accepted. I haven't eaten in more than a day. I have to gain back my strength for whatever's coming.
So she followed Urroc to the nearest dining room, and was served spiced honey biscuits, pears poached in wine, trout wrapped in bacon, and roasted swan with some wine, as well as peaches in honey for desert.
"Won't you sit with me?" Sansa asked the steward as he bowed and turned to leave the room. At her words, he looked at her strangely, and she knew then that despite the kind treatment he'd received under this roof, he had never been asked to share the table with the family.
To Sansa it was not uncommon to hear of having dinner with the people who lived to serve you. Father always had different people at the table to talk with, whether it was Gage the cook or one of his lords bannermen.
"I do not think it would be wise, my lady."
"Please," she answered, dismissing his hesitation. "I cannot bear to be left alone with my thoughts or I'll go mad. Sit with me. I can't be expected to eat all this food by myself, and I am sure Magister Nervere won't mind it."
The bald steward smiled at her and sat down to have dinner with her. Sansa only nibbled a pair of biscuits and had a trout as she heard the steward's tales. Her tummy was hungry, but she couldn't really eat much with the sickening feeling she had on her belly, no matter how much she tried to finish her serving of swan.
Urroc had been telling her about the time he went with Arman's father to visit Vaes Dothrak, and how scared he'd been of the wild savages of the East, when Arman finally came home. It was certainly about time.
He looked magnificent in dark blue robes, as he strode into the dining room. Urroc had gone to do some task, and Sansa, with her dinner long finished, had stood up and gone over to look at the fire the servants had lit on the hearth, remembering the night of her father's tourney when Sandor first told her about how his brother had shoved his face into a brazier for playing with his wooden knight.
Magister Nervere coughed and said, "Good night, Alys."
She turned around to look at him, with a proud bearing of her shoulders and a face that revealed no emotions. The sight of the man who had started all of this made her belly coil painfully inside her, and Sansa could not help but notice that the way he was regarding her was somehow different.
He looked more serious somehow, and even if his sharp features were not soft but hard now, he still looked like a handsome eastern prince from one of the songs she had heard Frema singing as they helped Medra the innkeeper with the cooking.
"Arman, did word reach you that I was here?" she said, as the Magister closed the door of the room behind him.
He bowed low and replied, "It did, but only after I had returned to the city. I am sorry to have kept you waiting until such a late hour, yet I must confess that I was very pleased to hear you wished to talk."
"And I take it that you know what I want to talk about?"
He sighed deeply. "It wouldn't have to do with Edric being imprisoned, would it?"
Sansa's eyes briefly flickered to the shining red cut on his long neck, and she said, "Of course it does. Did you send him there?"
His sapphire blue eyes met hers as he shook his head. "No, I did not order his arrest. I understand why he behaved the way he did yesterday with me. He is your sworn shield and in his strange reasoning he thought you needed protection from me. But my fellow magisters took it as an insult that Edric threatened my life yesterday and was allowed to walk away unharmed. So they sent some guards to take him to the Hall of Punishment, to await their judgment."
To hear that Arman had not been the one to wish to put Sandor behind bars made her sigh in relief, even if she thought the magisters hypocrites because Arman was also to blame for kissing her against her will. She even smiled at Magister Nervere and said, "I am truly sorry for everything that happened yesterday, but you should never have kissed me, Arman. You and Edric behaved wrongly."
Arman chuckled sourly, his dimples decorating his cheeks. "I cannot say that I am sorry for the kiss, Alys, for it was heartfelt and the truth when I said that I love you and wish for you to be my wife. But I am sorry for giving in into my desires. I should have waited to tell you what I felt for you."
Is he going to start declaring his feelings again? Sansa wondered in disbelief. But I guess that if I let him pour out his heart to me, then maybe I can somehow use that on my favor to make him help me and Sandor.
"Arman, I am not blind to the great honor that becoming your wife would be, and I am sorry for being unable to feel the same way about you. Yet if what you say is true–that you like me–then I must ask you now to help me. I know you are a true and honorable man, and can understand that while there can never be anything between us, that doesn't mean we can't be friends. And friends help each other"
A log crackled in the fireplace, bathing her and the Magister in the red glow of the flames. It took several moments for Arman to gather his thoughts. He went to fill himself a cup of wine before he said, "You are my friend, Alys, and could be more if you would just give your consent to it. Yet no matter how much I feel about you, or that I understand why Edric threatened me, I must remember that I am the High Magister of Great Norvos. Norvos is not like Westeros. I am not a king to my people, and for that I highly thank R'hllor. I have to discuss some moves with the council and can't take decisions without–"
Sansa couldn't hear a refusal. "Certain decisions, not all of them," she said pointedly. "What are you trying to tell me? That you can't–or won't do anything in the end to help Edric? A man in your position can sort this mess with a word!"
"Alys, open your eyes," Arman exclaimed. "If I am to expect to hold my position, I have to make harsh decisions. Edric put his dagger against my throat, making it plain to everyone that he intended to kill me. The magisters think he humiliated me by being allowed to walk away unharmed. I can't go against them all. I had to make a choice and I did."
"I don't care about what the council thinks," Sansa said, angrily. Only too late she realized she was almost raising her voice to the point of screaming. "I am sure you forgot to tell them how you understood that, as my sworn shield, Edric had every right to defend me against the presumption you took of kissing me."
She couldn't believe that she had come here to no avail. Arman had failed her and thus she had failed Sandor. How am I going to take him out of that place now? The trial is tomorrow.
"I see now that I was a fool in coming here. Now if you could please summon a litter to take me home, I would be thankful for that much at least."
Arman played with the contents of his cup before he said with a thoughtful calm look, "I'm sure you know the trial is tomorrow."
Sansa had had enough, she had no wish to hear anymore or remain in this house any longer. "I shall see you there," she said, throwing him a look of dislike before she began to walk to the door so she could finally leave this place. I guess I'll have to walk all the way to the inn, was what she was thinking as she grabbed the knob of the door and turned it, only to find that it was locked.
She turned to look at Arman in confusion, feeling a little nervous about the meaning of this closed door. I didn't even see him locking it up.
"It's locked," she told Arman, standing straight and proud. "Will you, please, let me out? I am going home."
Arman ignored her words, and drank the remains of his wine. He looked at her again, and said in a quiet tone, "You could avoid the trial tomorrow and save him, Alys."
Sansa was already wary of the man before her, and as he continued, she realized that he was leading up to something.
"Norvoshi are generous to those who please them, and you did more than just please the magisters and their families two nights ago at the ball. Everyone was dazzled by you as I told you before, and more than one declared that you would be the perfect wife to a High Magister. If I forgave Edric out of the kindness of my heart, then it could encourage others to threaten me. But if I forgave him in front of the whole city as a wedding gift to you, then no one would incite any trouble later on."
Sansa stifled a gasp. He is so bold, she thought, snorting. I can't believe this. "Arman, you have everything. Why won't you just free Edric and leave us be?"
"You say I have everything, yet I can't have you."
"And this is the best way you could think of making me agree into marrying you? Let's say I am mad enough to agree to it, what then? Will Edric be allowed to remain as my sworn shield despite everyone knowing that he threatened your precious life? Or would he be forced to go away and leave me at your mercy?"
Arman suddenly stepped closer to her, and grabbed her hand. "I will never know why you think that marrying me would be so bad. You would not be at my mercy, Alys. I love you. You would be wealthier than the queen of your Seven Kingdoms, and would lead a life of never-ending splendors!"
Sansa pried her hand away from his hold on her. "I don't care about that," she hissed at him. "To me, that would be a prison. To be sure, a golden one, but a cage nonetheless. Being married to a man I do not love is not my notion of leading a happy life."
She knew that Arman was not like Joffrey, but she could still not bring herself to betray her heart and Sandor–least of all now that she was starting to realize that if she couldn't marry Arman, it was because she would never be able to be truly happy unless she forgot about everything and chose the man she wanted–the man she cared so deeply for.
This realization must surely have softened her features, for Arman regarded the change in her with hard startling blue eyes. "And am I to make to believe that you would be happier with Edric? With that brute?"
"I don't care what you believe. Arman, I will not marry you."
Arman didn't say anything for a long time, but he held her gaze without blinking. Sansa tried to remain aloof, reminding herself that no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed Arman must look composed, and never afraid. I have to be brave for Sandor.
"So you will stand aside and allow Edric to be judged and found guilty, while you take comfort in the knowledge that at least you are still free of me?"
To hear him say that Sandor would die with such certainty made her aware that, despite him being guilty, the magisters were probably already more than willing to not hear Sandor out about how Arman was also to blame, and would therefore try to end this before the sun set tomorrow. It wasn't him being a Clegane or Mellario of Dorne that harmed him. It was me and his willingness to protect me. It was his feelings for me that threw him into prison.
She could feel tears on her eyes, and she suddenly felt unable to breathe. She walked quickly to the terraced balcony of the dining room, getting away from Arman so he would not see her face now.
Sansa leaned forward when she reached the edge of the terrace, her hands tight around the balcony's rail. She felt curiously light-headed. She could feel the Magister's eyes upon her from behind. I must not show any emotion, she reminded herself, but she already had. The city below her was covered in mist and fog and darkness, she could hear water from a fountain tickling somewhere below her in that deep dark void.
A falcon soared above her, his wings spread wide against the night sky. So lovely. Would that I had wings as well. The dark shape of the clouds against the sky didn't seem so far away in this manse. It was almost as if she could reach them if she lifted her hand.
What Arman said could not bode well. But she had to have faith in the gods and in Sandor, and in that they would overcome this as they had overcome everything else before. And I have to have faith in me, and in my strength. Sandor was in prison because of her, so she couldn't abandon him now. Neither Sandor nor she would ever forgive herself if she agreed to marry Arman just so that Sandor could walk away from this mess unharmed. I could marry Arman and set Sandor free, but we would both regret it and leave with the knowledge that something could've happened between us. We would never be able to be together again. Maybe I wouldn't even see my family again.
For a moment, she had been overwhelmed; the night's cold breeze and the smell of the pines on the mountain were reminding her of the smells of her childhood: the smells of Winterfell. I can't give in into this pressure. I can't betray my heart, and I won't lose Sandor over this.
Arman Nervere had come up to step beside her on the balcony. Sansa shuddered when she felt his body beside hers, because she was all alone and Sandor was far away in some dark damp cell.
"The night is cold and full of terrors, Alys. Come inside. You'll catch a cold," the Magister said warmly.
Sansa turn to look at him angrily, and saw that even in the dark his blue eyes were shining mirror bright. When she didn't move he sighed deeply. "Alys, words are wind, and the wind that blows people across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. If you agree to marry me, I will free an unharmed Edric. But if you do not, do you think that when Edric dies you will be able to go back to the Mallisters? You would still become my wife. Yet the latter would build a wall between us that could take me years to climb."
Sansa was simply hearing Arman as if she was in a dream. Yet the moment he brought his hand to slightly caress her cheekbone and told her that she blushed prettily, she snapped out of the suffocating dream and slapped Arman Nervere hard across the face. She'd had more than enough. You've underestimated me and Edric for too long now.
"Don't you dare touch me ever again!" she told him with an icy tone.
Arman touched the place where her hand had hit him, and chuckled. "You can have until tomorrow before the trial begins to decide. Here is the key to the locked door. A palanquin has been awaiting you all this time outside, that will see you and Edric's horse safely back to The Three Bells. We shall meet again tomorrow, my lady."
Sansa snapped the key from his hands and left Arman in his terrace without another word.
Sandor woke up in the dark with a bloody headache that was threatening to drive him mad. Blinking a couple of times to adjust his eyes to nothing, it didn't take him long to remember where he was and why. Fucking hells, what am I going to do now? he wondered.
Stupid cunt, he hoarsely rasped out loud as all the memories came back to him, starting with the kiss between bloody Arman and Sansa, making his head pound even more painfully. They had given him a flagon of water, but it remained untouched. His throat was raw, but the taste of water was like bile at the moment, and the shifted position made him want to retch. He was certain he hadn't been in here for long. Maybe a day, give or take.
"I'm going to cut that bugger down when I finally leave this fucking place!" he cursed out loud, trying to get free of the iron chains they'd bounded his wrists and ankles in. He sighed in frustration and lay back down on the cold stone ground, trying hard to remember without passing out again.
After he'd left the precious little bird at The Three Bells, he'd gone over to a tavern to drink his fill of sour red, trying to forget seeing that fucking bastard Nervere kissing Sansa, but not really succeeding. He'd spent all day there, feeling like shit, and had finally returned home near midnight to face Sansa. He had stepped into their dining room thinking that it had been too long since he had had so much wine. He hadn't eaten anything, and it had turned out he wasn't able to hold his wine as he once used to.
Sansa had been waiting for him in the living room, and when she started telling him off for leaving her alone, Sandor had tried to be mocking and nasty to her, but Sansa wasn't easy to frighten anymore. I let her in too deep. He'd ended up pinning her against the wall and she had ended up bringing her lips to his mouth, and that was the moment when everything changed. The thought of actually daring to kiss her hadn't crossed Sandor's mind until then, yet the meaning behind the way she had been looking up at him had somehow entered his clouded mind and he's known what she wanted to do. Yet he had been scared of risking changing things between them and of at long last kissing the woman he loved, so he'd hesitated for some fucking reason.
But it was to no avail thankfully because when she brought her lips to kiss him, he had cursed the whole world to burn in all hells as he gave in to his desire, kissing Sansa back with all his might, trying to make her feel how much he wanted her and needed her after longing for her for so long bleeding long. He needed everything she could and would give him. Everything he had come to know and treasure since he had started living with her: the love and desperate frenzied of belonging to another and never wanting to let go. Sansa had been so eager to match his passion that he would never know how he managed to live through that tense moment they'd shared.
Everything about it had been fucking marvelous. The taste and feel of her, and the way she had wanted to reach every part of him that she could as well. Getting such reactions from Sansa had been better than he would ever have imagined. He had never longed for anything or anyone in his life after Gregor destroyed his world- had not even remembered what it was like to be cared for or how it was to have a home, but Sansa had changed all that. She had been wild in between his arms, moaning and trying to posses him, always trying to bring herself closer to him, to the point where his throbbing hard cock had twitched inside his breeches, making him feel as eager as a green boy as her belly rubbed against it.
What a stupid idiot I am! Had the wine robbed him of his wits? Sansa had willingly kissed him back–had started the kiss, and said something along the lines that they couldn't ignore whatever it was that was happening between them, and yet he had still left her alone. It had all been too fucking unbelievable.
But the bloody wine had made him remember of all things that because she was a bleeding Stark, she had a duty to her kingly brother and her house and to the fucking bugger they would want to marry her to. Instead of taking her to the stable and putting her on Nan and yourself on Stranger so you could both ride away into the gathering dark and never look back, you threw away your perfect chance at disappearing.
It hadn't been until later, when the wine was leaving him that Sandor realized that he hadn't really allowed Sansa to say anything when he confronted her about the future, for he had left her too suddenly. But it had all just been too much to bear at that moment. She didn't look like she was about to give me up, he gathered in the dark now. Fuck, she even looked at me with the same thing I feel for her. I saw it in her eyes. It didn't–doesn't matter that she is a Stark and you are a Clegane. That she is a princess and you The Hound. The girl you love wants you back. She trusts you and you love her to the point of facing the whole world and earning its hate if that could mean that she would be free from any harm.
We could stand a chance when I finally leave this place and she dares go against her family for me. Sansa would have to decide what to do about that one day, and sooner rather than later. He wouldn't pressure her, but he did wish she wouldn't have to think about it for long. If she knows what she wants there shouldn't be any hesitations- that is, unless she is too afraid to face her family. But he had to have confidence and faith in her, and in what they had both felt and shared and lived with that kiss. Sandor had never believed in the gods, but Sansa had taught him that having faith was something he could do, and he had faith in her and in himself.
Before the kiss Sandor wouldn't have dared to do anything beyond toying with the possibility of Sansa giving up her family for him, but now it could be possible. Or even if she doesn't want to give them up, I hope she is willing to stand up for us to them. He would be lost if she couldn't do that. But after everything they had lived through, they stood a chance. The way she had clung to him and her mouth had demanded more and more of him where was what would reassure him in this fucking place. He had someone to live for now. Sansa was his world, his life, his best friend, and his bleeding love, and he was bloody sorry for having left her alone and for having kissed her when he was drunk instead of any of the other countless times he could've done it before. But that's over and done now. We've done it and can't go back. Gods, he wouldn't be able to be away from her for too long now that things had changed between them. I wonder how she'll be like around me now? Eager? Shy? Playful? Gods, how will I be able to restrain myself around her? To remember the way her tongue had played with his, and the way her body had felt under his eager hands was enough to make him feel physical pain because he couldn't be around her now.
It was almost laughable to think that now they couldn't be together because he had left her and got caught and sent to prison. Yet the moment when he did that, he became dimly aware that tomorrow morning everything would be all right. He had been clumsily heading to Burnerk's because that was the first place that came into his mind where he could rest for the night, when all of a sudden a dozen bloody guards with shining axes told him to stop because he was under arrest for attacking the High Magister of Norvos..
He had laughed in their faces, barely believing his luck; he drew out his sword and started fighting them. In the end, he'd killed two of the whoresons and wounded one badly, but the sight of the man's leg splitting apart in a shower of blood as he swung his longsword at him had been the last thing he knew before someone hit him hard on the head with the flax of their bloody axes and he fainted. His head still hurt badly due to it, and he could feel the lump in his head whenever he tried to rest on the cold ground. I suppose I shouldn't complain. If they'd hit me with the blade of the axe well and proper there would still be chunks of my head decorating the street.
When he woke up, he had been in a dark place, but he knew instantly that he was in a cell. Demanding to be set free won't do me any good, he knew, so instead he waited as patiently as he could for someone to open the door of his cell. They had taken his sword and its scabbard and swordbelt, and that was what hurt him most. That they'd taken away Sansa's gifts to him, and he hadn't even been conscious when it happened. I hope that those buggers at least had a hard time in dragging me from the street to this bloody place.
What a fucking sodding waste of time–all these months being with the pretty little bird, pining and longing to have her only to get locked up the moment they kissed. It made him want to break someone's neck to imagine that Sansa must surely need him more than ever now, but he couldn't be with her. And I need her as well. At least she is with Frema and Vintos, and won't have to be on her own these days.
Sandor knew the little bird was going to go looking for him, and if she somehow learned where he was, he hoped that she wouldn't go asking Arman sodding Nervere to help her, but he had a sickening certainty in his guts that seeing as he was the most influential man in this bloody city, that was going to be the case. And it would only be a waste of time, because Sandor had been told that he was here for threatening Arman, so either that lamb or his fellow magisters had been the one to put him here in the first place. It was fucking maddening to imagine his little bird out of necessity going to ask that shit for help after what he had done to her.
He almost hated himself for not protecting her and keeping her safe, like he had told her long ago he would. How could he have expected he'd be left alone to walk freely in the streets after he drew a bit of Nervere's precious blood? That was the problem. He hadn't thought about it. He had been mad with jealousy and anger, and he'd been blind with pain.
Remembering that the Magister of Norvos had probably been the one to put him in this cell, made him regret that he hadn't at least cut Arman's neck. I only made him bleed a little and I'm here. I should have at least killed the bugger, so that I could call this a proper punishment. But it doesn't matter. He sensed that he would be made to answer for what he had done soon, and what he would do then he did not know. He sensed that a trial was in his near future.
I'll get out of it somehow, and take Sansa away. We will disappear from this city forever. Sandor didn't know yet where they would head to, but they would at least be together and that was what mattered. Fuck, I would even dare risk getting close to those fabled dragons in Slaver's Bay if she asked it of me. It was not worth spit to him where they went, so long as he could keep her safe and she can be happy. The more he played over and over in his mind the kiss they'd shared, the more he was convinced that there was a chance for them to be together. I'll ask her to forgive me for getting drunk and leaving her. She knows me better than anyone. Sansa will understand. She has to. She is my little bird. And I will never leave her again, no matter what. And if she wanted to return to her family… well, they would cross that bloody bridge when the time came.
A/N: For all the wonderful reviews I've received and the undying support, I thank you! I am honored to have you reading this story :D Love you all! 3