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 ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.
*I owe you a lot and I thank you for helping me out so much with this story: 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.
*I am posting this about a day earlier since I'm going on a very short trip tomorrow for some days. But next weekend the following chapter will be updated as usual on Sunday night
30. The Outlaw & the Master of the Castle
Sansa stood at the gates of the old castle in the morning light, staring at Sandor's retreating back as he rode away on Stranger, with old Barli riding a white palfrey beside him. Hagen Edar had decided to accompany them, but after his encounter with Stranger, he preferred to both Sandor and Barli were riding at an easy pace, the Lorathi outlaw kept up with them easily.
Apparently, once every month a fair of sorts would come to the nearby village of Munne, and that was the date chosen by Barli to go and buy the castle's provisions. Now that there were more people living in the place, the cook's husband had asked the younger men to accompany him so they could help carry back the numerous baskets of food and other provisions.
Sansa had wanted to go too, but she had to stay behind because in less than half an hour she would have to read to old Hrolf. She'd asked Barli to ask him to wait for her to finish her duty, but he'd shaken his head at that, saying that they had to leave early in order to have a chance to buy the best food before it ran out.
"I thought you hadn't liked the town," Sandor had remarked upon seeing her disappointed face.
"I didn't, but it's been ever so long since I've gone to a fair. When I was little, I used to love going to Winter Town with my mother and Septa Mordane whenever there was one. They were small affairs, but it was always fun."
"We can switch places," her big man jested. "You go to Munne and I'll stay here, and read to the old bugger."
Sansa laughed. "Oh, no, I don't think he would like that. He asks for girls, not towering, ferocious, muscled and scarred warriors."
Sandor had snorted at her description of him.
When the men disappeared from her view as they descended a downwards slope on the road, Sansa sighed, enclosing the bars of the iron gates in her fists. She stared sullenly at the empty road, and heard Merra calling, "Jeyne, it's time. Come on, go up and read to the master."
Sansa sighed again and turned around, heading back to the courtyard that led to the back entrance of the cavernous kitchen, resigned to not seeing Sandor until dusk. They had been in this place for a week, and she still hadn't found a way to approach Hrolf with the matter of her wishing to live at the cottage down by the beach for the remaining time she was to stay here. She was, against all odds, happy with her current life, though. The castle was dismal and it had rained for days, turning the sky a dark grey, but she could not complain of the food or the company or of anything else really, since she was free to come and go as she pleased, and no one ever tried to pry into her relationship with Sandor. And she'd had her first payment yesterday. Ten silver coins, without counting the ones Sandor had earned for his tasks. It had felt good to receive a reward for keeping up with her employment.
Sandor didn't like some of the duties assigned to him, like cleaning out the stable or looking after Hrolf's sheep in a small field nearby, but at least they didn't occupy all his time. Most afternoons, Sansa was able to accompany him when he was sent to guard the gate or walk the walls at night.
"What are you cooking for today?" she asked Merra, stepping into the kitchen.
"Beef and bacon pies for us and the master, and a beef and a rare stew for dinner to warm the boys up with when they come back after a long day outside," replied the cook.
"Sounds delicious," Sansa answered, before she made her way up to the tallest tower so she could read to Hrolf. When she was before his oaken doors she knocked politely, and heard his cold voice reply, "Enter."
"Good morning," Sansa exclaimed, trying to sound cheerful.
Hrolf was looking over some maps, and didn't even spare her a glance as he said, "Let's continue with yesterday's reading."
Sansa nodded. It hadn't been difficult to get used to his irritable character. She walked over to the bookcase to retrieve the book they'd started on the previous day. It was another reading about ship lore and shipwrighting written by a Tyroshi sailor. The last one had been so tiresome that she wondered how she had ever survived reading it all from beginning to end.
When she turned around to take her place on the usual seat, she saw Hrolf staring at her with narrowed eyes and a sort of strange watchfulness.
Sansa blushed and went to sit down. She opened the book to the page where he'd marked it yesterday and began to read, "It is not thought of as wise to sail the Narrow Sea during autumn storms…"
By the time she had reached the next chapter, the gruff old man had seated himself on a chair, staring at the cold stone floor, his chin resting on his entwined hands as his elbows rested on the arms of his chair.
"The best material for a ship's sail can be found in Tyrosh," was what Sansa was reading when all of a sudden the old man gave a snort of disdain.
She looked up from her reading, puzzled at Hrolf's reaction. The man met her Tully blue eyes with his dark green ones as he shifted uncomfortably on his seat.
"Tyroshi are liars, girl," he explained. "They are famous for their avarice and greed just as much as for their horrible colored beards. Don't you ever buy anything from them. Don't ever trust them."
Sansa stared at him with wide eyes, at a loss of what to say next. Then why are you making me read a book written by a Tyroshi? She lowered her gaze to the book, and kept on reading as if there had been no interruption. After an hour, Hrolf signaled for her to stop. She closed the book, noticing that the old man's eyes were fixed on her face. How long has he been staring at me like that? Sansa wanted to look away, since she could not discern his expression, but didn't. He isn't even blinking.
"My daughter used to braid her hair like that," Hrolf said, pointing at her hair. Sansa gulped, as she remembered Merra telling her never to speak with the master of the castle about his daughter or the past.
She continued to look at him in silence; Hrolf snorted and stood up. He took a few steps towards the stone balcony, gazing at the sky. "Don't look at me with that frightful expression, girl. It isn't becoming. I know the cook and her lackwit husband must have already spoken of her to you and your companions."
"I'm sorry," was all she could tell the man, and she did mean it.
He didn't seem to hear her, for he made no movement and continued to gaze outside. Sansa stood up quietly and returned the book to its proper place. She was about to step out of the dark chambers when Hrolf commented, "I saw you and your friend from Westeros riding yesterday's afternoon down by the beach."
She glanced at him quickly, but he was still looking away. The way he had pronounced the word friend in reference to Sandor made her feel certain that just as Merra the cook had told her about Hrolf's daughter, she must have also told her master everything regarding the new members of the castle's household.
"You were making so much noise that you disturbed my rest," the old man went on, finally turning around to face her.
Sansa flexed her hands before her as the memories of the previous day came to her. She and Sandor had taken Stranger and Nan down to the beach when he was done with his duties, and they had had a wonderful time riding across the beach. She didn't really like to ride, preferring to brush Nan's mane, but she had to admit that it had been fun to race against Sandor at a wild speed, even if he hadn't let her win in the end.
"We did not realize we were making so much noise," she answered truthfully. "It won't happen again. I apologize."
"What won't happen again? The noise or the riding?" he asked with a mocking tone. Before she could reply, he went on, "I suppose there aren't many diversions to be found here. Nonetheless, I would think it wiser for a girl who is seeking to earn coin to book passage on a ship to spend her spare time earning her silver by busying herself with other tasks than with fooling around with riding."
She frowned at that, and for a moment the thought of telling Hrolf that it was her own affair how she spent her time flashed across her mind, and she blinked as another possibility dawned on her.
"I have a task in mind," she heard herself say. Sansa knew that it would be silly to ask for payment for cleaning up a cottage no one had asked to clean–a place in which she wanted to live in for a little while. "The other day I came upon an empty wooden cottage on the beach, not far from here. I was wondering if I could be allowed to clean it up."
The man stiffened at once. Sansa saw how his body tensed under her gaze, the effect that her words had had on him not easy to ignore.
"Why would you want to do that?" he hissed at last.
Sansa lowered her eyes, uncertain as to how to proceed. "I… it's very pretty, and it's a shame it's been abandoned. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me and Byan staying there for the remainder of the time we are here."
The man's hard dark green eyes bore into hers as he gulped and replied, "You wish to live there with your fellow Westerosi? Has the room where Merra placed you not been to your liking?"
"The bedroom is very agreeable, but–but…" she faltered, unsure as to how to go on.
"Do you know to whom that cottage belonged?" Hrolf wanted to know, though she was certain he knew she was aware of it already.
"Yes."
"Get out. You can live in the stables for all I care, but that place stays as it is."
Sansa looked steadily at Hrolf, and turned around and left the room without another word.
As she made her way to the kitchens, her heart was racing. Gods, why must he be so horrid? Her heart fell as she realized that her wish of living with Sandor by the sea in that cottage was not going to become a reality. When she played over in her mind everything that had been said in Hrolf's chambers, she couldn't even find it encouraging at first that he hadn't released her from his service. How will I ever face him tomorrow? She was wondering when she finally entered the cavernous domain of the cook.
Merra must have noticed something in her face, because she was at once asking her what the matter was. When Sansa was done telling her everything, Merra sat down beside her at the wooden table, worried.
"Oh, Jeyne, why didn't you come to me first with your wish to live in the cottage?"
"Because I knew you would tell me I had no chance whatsoever of convincing the old man to agree upon it."
"And I would've been right, wouldn't I?"
Sansa frowned. "I had to try."
"But I told you how upset he becomes with anything relating to Runa–that was the young mistress' name. To think of you asking the master about living there–"
"Well, it would be lovely," Sansa intervened. "And Byan agrees. Hrolf wouldn't have to pay us or anything for cleaning up the place. But besides being a great way to occupy our days here, I don't think it wise to let that cottage rut with decay. If his daughter loved it so much, surely he cannot wonder as to why I would want this. I know it would be very nice to live there… if we stay here. Do you think he will ask me to leave this place?"
Merra bit her lip, drumming her fingers across the surface of the table. "I don't know, Jeyne. I don't know."
Sansa had lost her appetite, so she declined Merra's beef and bacon pies and stood up, thinking that as Sandor wasn't here she could try and rest. She couldn't stand looking at the worried frown on the cook's face any longer. It unnerved her. I don't want to go away. Neither Sandor nor I have earned enough yet. Why, not even Hagen had earned enough coin to buy passage just for himself aboard a ship yet.
She was about to leave the kitchens when she thought of Sandor's reaction to Hrolf's treatment of her. He'll overreact again, I just know it.
Turning around, she called at the cook, "Merra, could I–could I ask you a favor, please?"
"What?" the woman said, slowly.
"Please, don't mention anything of this to anyone. I don't want Byan to hear of this. If Hrolf allows me to continue reading to him, then I don't want to go away yet, because Byan won't want to stay here any longer if he learns what happened today."
Merra considered her for a moment and nodded, smiling. "All right, Jeyne. I won't say a word. And you can be sure the master won't either–at least not to Byan."
Sansa tried to return the cook's smile. With a sigh, she left her and made her way back to her and Sandor's bedroom. As she climbed stairs and walked silently across empty hallways, Sansa realized that she had never explored this castle. The only places she'd seen were on her way to the kitchens or to Hrolf's bedroom, but though the thought of finally getting to know what lay beyond the usual route occurred to her, in the end her steps led her to the door to the rooms were she slept. If I encounter Hrolf in a corridor and he asks me why I am walking through his home as if I owned it, it will only make this situation worse.
When she closed the door behind her, Sansa let out a laugh that may have very well been a sob. I don't want to go yet, was the constant thought on the back of her mind, as she gazed around the bedroom. There was a cold reassuring beauty to the simple stone walls that surrounded her, which she'd come to appreciate more than she had ever done the luxurious chamber the lions had caged her in back in King's Landing.
Her eyes fell on her saddlebag. Sandor had taken his to town, but hers remained on the corner where she had placed it a week ago. Maybe I should start packing. She took some steps forward before dismissing the notion with a toss of her head. No, don't be rash. Just wait. Maybe old Hrolf won't send you away.
Sansa's head was starting to hurt a little, so she went to lie back on the bed, staring at the stone wall, trying to let the sound of the waves below the castle soothe her to a quiet slumber without succeeding. Before long, she walked out onto the terrace to stare at the landscape, trying to avoid her head turning her head in the direction where the cottage had been built in the middle of the beach.
She must have stayed in her room for hours. Suddenly, the sound of someone knocking outside her door startled her. For a brief moment, she thought of Sandor, but her big man always knocked harder.
"Who is it?" she called.
"Merra. Let me in," the cook called.
Sansa walked lightly to open the door. She was surprised to see Merra smiling as she made her way inside the bedroom.
"I have good news," she said simply. "Come, sit. Oh, Jeyne, I–I don't know how I did it, but I did it." Merra spoke in an awed voice, her tone barely above a whisper, as if she was having difficulty in believing that she'd actually done it.
"What did you do?" Sansa asked, sitting beside the woman.
"I–I somehow convinced the master to let you stay at the cottage."
Sansa stared, her eyes growing wide. "How?" I can't believe it.
"I would never have thought it possible, Jeyne. I've lived here all my life, always in fear of the master and–and yet, I thought he was actually listening to what I was telling him, as if–as if he cared to know what I thought of this."
"Of course he cares," Sansa said, grabbing Merra's hand. "You and Barli are the only ones left to him in this world. But tell me please, what happened?"
"I went to take him his lunch, and he asked me what I thought of your audacity. I–I tried to back you up, trying to explain what you told me in the kitchens, and even went so far as to say I didn't think Runa would have minded it if you lived there for a while. I even offered having Barli bring up all her old things back to her rooms here in the castle."
Sansa nodded, "And what did he say to that?"
"Nothing at first. He just looked at me with a flash of anger in his eyes; for a moment, I feared he would strike me. But he didn't, of course, and–and just as I was leaving, he said, 'Tell the girl she can live there if she takes proper care of that place.'"
Realizing what this meant made Sansa feel much better. We won't be cast away to the road, and Sandor and I will get to live in the cottage! Yet she still had doubts.
"But why do you think he agreed?" she asked Merra. "I thought he hated me now."
Merra patted her hand. "Well, he doesn't like anybody, but out of all the girls who've read to him, I can see that you are the one he looks upon with less dislike. The one he hates less. You've only been here a week, and see how far you've come. You don't annoy him as much as the other girls did, or he wouldn't want you to remain here and keep on reading to him after what happened today."
Sansa smiled in agreement. "Yes. It serves that I can read Valyrian well, too. Merra, may I ask you something?" She tried to think of the best way to phrase her thoughts. "You've–you've told me how Runa died, but you never said what she was doing on that ship in the first place. I–I don't mean to pry, but I want to understand what happened here a little better, if you could tell me..."
Merra sighed deeply, her smile at the way Hrolf had listened to her vanishing slowly. "I'm not sure I should, but maybe if I tell you, you'll be a little more understanding of the master and why he is the way you've seen. You see, his wife died birthing Runa long ago. Hrolf wasn't particularly fond of his wife, but since the moment he first laid eyes on his daughter, he was a different man. Or at least a different man towards the girl, for he has always been hard with everyone. He loved her dearly, and Runa was a sweet child. Everyone fell under her spell. She had her father's eyes and her mother's yellow hair. She also cared very much for her father."
It was hard for Sansa to imagine Hrolf being nice to anyone, but she supposed that what Merra was telling her was true by the way her voice broke with remembering.
The cook went on. "When–when she grew up, there was a grand ball here one night. Despite what this castle has become, it was once a great place. All the lords of Lorath came here to attend the ball. I had never seen anything like it. And I met Barli that night. He was accompanying an old lord, and didn't go back with him to Lorath after his master left us. Even people from Braavos had been sent an invitation, and with them came a young handsome swordsman. A bravo. He was a silly man if ever I saw one. Dressed up in flashy colors and strutting around like a proud peacock. He and Runa fell in love despite the fact that he was penniless and lived by his sword alone. The master was horrified, but in the end he couldn't deny his daughter anything and gave his reluctant consent. Runa married her lover and they went to live in Braavos."
Sansa was paying close attention, practically picturing in her mind the grand ball that had taken place in the dark dusty ballroom. She nodded, encouraging the cook to go on.
"Six months later, Runa sent a letter to her father that she was coming home to him. Her husband had been killed in a street fight, and she was expecting his child. But–but she never managed to come home, for her ship was caught in a storm that was by everyone's accounts raging wildly out in the Shivering Sea."
Sansa gasped. How horrible. "I–I had no idea. Gods, no wonder her father never leaves his rooms now, he truly did love her."
Merra didn't have tears on her eyes, but her voice was full of sorrow as she nodded and said, "Yes, it was terrible. Runa was a charming child. I never had children with Barli, but before him I was Runa's nurse, so it hit me hard as well."
Sansa threw her arms around the cook, and hugged her. After they broke apart, Sansa exclaimed, "I must go to thank Hrolf for allowing me to live in Runa's cottage."
"No!" gasped Merra, standing up. "No, Jeyne, don't. Leave him alone. Tomorrow, when you go to read to him you can thank him. Please, listen to me this time. Wait till tomorrow."
She thought about it for a moment. "All right, but you still won't tell anyone about how all this came to be, will you?"
Merra laughed. "I won't. Barli wouldn't believe me if I did, and the master wouldn't like it. Don't worry Jeyne."
"Thank you for backing me up, Merra."
"You're welcome, lass," the woman replied, grinning proudly.
Sansa returned the cook's smile, noticing that dusk was still a couple of hours away. When Merra left her, and as the light of day faded around her in the bedroom, Sansa returned to her bed. She was very happy, but time crept slowly as she waited for Sandor to come back from Munne. Before she knew it, sleep had become heavy on her and her eyelids refused to stay open.
Sandor opened the door to the room he shared with Sansa, and found her sleeping. He smirked. The sun had just set and the bedroom was quickly getting dark. He closed the door behind him and walked up to the bed, watching over Sansa for a moment. Pretty little bird, he thought again. Her gown clung to her body, throwing into prominence the outline of her long legs, the curve of her hips and her narrow waist.
Lying on his side, he climbed into the bed slowly, wondering about what the best way to wake the little bird could be. Her back was to him, her hands hidden below the feather pillow, and she was breathing with her mouth slightly open. Suddenly aware that he could touch her if he wanted to without fear of denial, Sandor rested one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, and lowered himself till he was able to place a kiss on Sansa's hip, aware that the heat on his neck was increasing. She smelled sweet.
The little bird stirred beside him, as her eyes fluttered open. Sandor watched her turning around so that she could get a good look at him, but didn't move either his hand or his face.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice a low rumble in his throat. Gods, I can't believe she is mine. She really does want me as much as I want her, and willingly.
Sansa's threw her arms around his neck in a warm embrace. It felt like coming home. No one but her had smiled at seeing like this just for his return, not since he was a boy. When he had first seen Joff's betrothed, he'd scoffed, knowing she would grow up to become like one of those empty cold women at court. He'd soon seen that she was different. She was unaware of the world, and of what she was getting herself into as Sandor watched her smiling at Joffrey with naivety and innocence. But the way she now smiles at me is full of love and certainty and fulfillment, and that's all I need. He'd never had a woman look at him like this, but it was not hard to know what the light in Sansa's eyes meant.
"I missed you," she said, and clung to him closer as if she hadn't seen him in a year instead of only just this morning.
He returned her hug, and kissed her cheek when they drew apart.
"I got something for you."
Sandor rummaged in his pouch for his gift, and was pleased with himself when Sansa exclaimed that she loved his present. He had found in one of the market stalls a small comb with a baby pearl attached to it as decoration, and before he knew what he was doing, he'd bought it for Sansa, hoping she would like it.
"Sandor, it's so lovely, thank you so much," she kissed him. "But–but should you be spending your winnings on this?"
No, he thought, but instead said, "All right. I won't get you anything else for a long time."
"I will cherish it," she promised, propping herself up on her elbows. "How was the fair?"
He shrugged. "Noisy and dirty, and that village reeks of fish. I would've rather stayed here with you."
Sansa chuckled, her white teeth flashing. "I would've rather gone with you."
"That bad was your day?" he asked, amused.
Sansa's eyes searched his before she replied, "Not at all. It was bad because I missed you, but it was also grand because I have a gift for you too."
Sandor raised his eyebrow, surprised. "You do?"
"It's more like good tidings, but yes. Guess who is going to live in the cottage by the sea?"
Bloody hells, she did it, he couldn't help but think. "Fuck, you mean that you actually convinced the old bugger to let you live there?"
Sansa laughed softly. "Sort of. I suggested it to him, but was refused. And when Merra went to take Hrolf his dinner, he apparently asked her what she thought of it, and when she said that there could be nothing wrong with us living there, he finally agreed to it."
Sandor stared at Sansa in silence, glad to see her so happy and surprised at what she'd ended up accomplishing against all odds. There was a light in her eyes that he hadn't seen in them for a long time. And yet, a new thought occurred to him.
"How did the bastard react when he refused you? He didn't insult you, did he?"
Sansa shook her head. "No, he did not insult me. He isn't so bad, you know. Merra told me everything about his daughter, and now I can sympathize with him much more."
"It's no hair off my arse what happened to his daughter, or if you can sympathize with him or not, Sansa. Just as long as he–"
She interrupted with a brittle laugh. "You're being silly. I mean, yes he is rude, but so were you with me when we first met if I recall correctly—and still are, in a way. And look at how far we've come now."
All of a sudden, Sandor began to laugh at that. "Fuck me, but I guess you're right, little bird. I hadn't thought of it like that before."
That night, everyone seemed happier than usual, but Sandor knew it was Sansa's joy that was affecting Barli, Edar and Merra, and even himself. It was hard not to smile back at the little bird when she was chirping away about all the preparations for the days ahead with the moving. She was so happy that she even offered to mend Hagen's black clothes for him, after the idiot tore his shirt back in Munne in a fight. He'd had to separate him from his opponent after Barli practically begged him to do it. Fucking crazy, looking for a fight when he has an arm broken.
"So, if Jeyne and Byan are leaving for the cottage, can I move into their bedroom?" Edar asked Merra.
"Why would you want to move to their bedroom when you don't even sleep on a bed?" Old Barli wondered.
The bandit shrugged. "It's a room with a view. The one I'm in now doesn't have that. I've spent too long away from the sea. It's calling me home."
Sandor stared with incredulity at Edar. The sea is calling him home. He sounds like a bloody iron squid.
"Madman," Sandor rasped, turning to look at Sansa, who was wearing the comb he'd given her in her hair. She beamed at him, making him cough down his beef and rare stew when she surprised him by resting her hand above his knee, their legs pressed close against the other. He quickly took a drink of his cup of wine.
When Sansa knocked on Hrolf's doors, she closed her eyes, her heart beating nervously in her chest. She looked around the dark chamber, but there was no sight of the master of the castle.
"I'm here," called Hrolf. He was standing on his stone balcony, staring out at the sea. Sansa stepped outside, fleetingly registering that the landscape from here was breathtaking. The sea and the lands beyond the castle were before her, imposing in their natural beauty.
"Good morning," she said, and her voice came out like a whisper.
Hrolf turned around to regard her silently for a moment. "Continue where we left off yesterday, girl."
Sansa nodded, relieved that the old man didn't sound angry at her. It's just as every other day. She whirled around, and was about to step through the threshold when she recalled her courtesies and the tragic story Runa had suffered.
Hrolf raised his eyebrow at her inquiringly; she took a deep breath and said clearly, "Thank you."
His lined face was hard to read. It betrayed no expression, yet Sansa was getting used to his strange moods and knew that silence with Hrolf often meant a good thing, so she turned around again and headed for the bookcase, a small smile appearing on her face.
It took one whole week for the cottage to be ready for Sandor and Sansa to live in it. It could've taken less if Sandor, Edar and Barli didn't have tasks to accomplish daily, but nonetheless every day they were all able to spare a time to help with the moving. Sansa and Merra saw how they took a wagon down to the beach, and started loading the boxes and toys which had been piled inside the little house after their owner had died away at sea.
Once they had taken the wagon back up to the castle, they had to climb up as they carried the heavy belongings till they reached Runa's rooms, to store them away in there. Old Hrolf never left his rooms to supervise that the men were treating the boxes and furniture gently, but Sansa suspected that when the castle was asleep, he would go to his daughter's bedroom to see the gifts he'd given her over the years as she grew up.
Hrolf never asked her about the proceedings with the moving either. Her readings to him remained just as aloof and icily polite as ever, but Sansa couldn't judge the master of the castle anymore now that she understood why he was so gruff and bitter. So she took care of only reading to him, and bidding him a good day whenever the hour to read to him came to an end.
Once Sandor and the others had cleared the cottage, only a bed, the small chimney, and a wooden table remained inside the house. Sansa and Merra washed and cleaned the place, for it was so dusty; and a day later, the men brought along the mattress they'd been sleeping on, as well as a chamber pot, furs, pillows, wood for the hearth and a couple of chairs.
Sansa tried to make the cottage look pretty, decorating it with her and Sandor's scarce belongings. They weren't many, but it helped a little. She would've brought flowers inside as well, only they were none to be found in the surroundings, so she settled for a few seashells.
In the end, it was still a rather plain and simple little wooden house by the sea, but to Sansa it was beautiful. After a week from the day Merra the cook had convinced Hrolf to allow them to live here, and two weeks after they'd first arrived at the castle, Sandor and Sansa stood looking at the cottage in front of them, with Hagen Edar, Barli and his wife already heading back to the castle, happy with what their help had accomplished, but tired while a dying sunset illuminated the horizon.
Sansa slipped her hand in Sandor's and said, "This is home."
He snarled, "For a while at least it is."
She was aware of how much she'd changed since she had arrived in Essos in that moment. Once, the thought of living in this place even for a few weeks would've been upsetting, because she longed for a great keep or a castle to move to, but now, since Winterfell was still not possible for her, Sansa was already treasuring this cottage.
"You did a good job with it," Sandor remarked. "I barely recognize it."
Sansa smiled, pleased with the praise. "You helped as well, as did the others. Come, let's enter our home."
She led the way up the few stairs to the veranda, and with a quick look behind her at the ocean, she stepped inside the wooden house, smiling, looking around her as if this was the first time she'd ever entered it.
The small fireplace was before her, with a few old moth eaten carpets scattered on the floor. To her right was the small room where the wooden table and the chairs had been placed, and to her left was the small bedroom, comprised of a bed and a water basin alone. Their saddlebags had been laid in one corner, and there was a small stool where several candles and candleholders had been placed. There was one window in the bedroom and one window in the room with the table and chairs, and that was it.
We don't need much, she thought, gazing around at the humble place. We'll only spend our spare moments here, as well as our nights. Sansa had thought of having a tub to bathe in here as well, and had gone as far as finding a small wooden one that wouldn't be too difficult to bring down all the way from the old castle, until Barli had asked her if she was planning on walking all that way herself with heavy wooden pails filled with water to fill the tub with.
"You could warm the water up in the fireplace, but there is no way you or Byan will want to bathe every day if this is the only way to do so," the man had remarked, crashing Sansa's hopes.
"The nights are going to be cold here," Sandor observed, as the wind shook the shutters for a moment.
"It's a good thing I still have your nameday gift for me, isn't it?" Sansa said, looking over at the fur trimmed coat Sandor had given her in Norvos. It was beautiful and was not meant to be worn to help keep her warm while she slept, but she knew Sandor wouldn't mind her wearing it in the nights.
"And what about me?" he asked, leaning across the windowpane. "Am I to sleep with my armour on to try and keep the bloody cold away?"
Sansa laughed. "I do not believe you mind the cold, otherwise you wouldn't insist on swimming in the sea. I don't know how you manage it. I can barely keep my feet in the freezing water. It's called the Shivering Sea for a reason, you know."
Over the past week, Sandor had gone off to swim in the ocean almost every day at sunset, shrugging when Sansa refused to join him in the cold sea. Her eyes would follow his bare back as they narrowed with suspicion, wondering if he knew the effect that sight had on her.
"What if you drown out there?" she had called after him once, as her eyes settled on the silvery and red scars that decorated his magnificent back.
Sandor had turned around and rasped, "I'm a strong swimmer, little bird, and I hardly enter the bay. Stop worrying."
Sandor laughed at her remarks now, and straightened up from the window, saying, "I'll just have to steal down some more furs and blankets from the castle. There is a whole storage of them in a room in the second floor. I guess it'll be good practice for when we're living in the North."
Her blue eyes fell on a pretty light golden veil which had been left behind during the moving. She placed it in front of her face, peering at Sandor through it with one eye closed.
"How long do you think we're going to stay here?" she asked him.
"I reckon two more weeks. Three at the most. We should gain as much as we can, so that it lasts us till we reach Lorath."
Sansa nodded, lowering the veil. She'd take it back with her when they went up to the castle for dinner, and give it to Merra. "And from there straight to Braavos, right?"
Sandor fixed his grey eyes on hers. They already told her the answer, but he nonetheless nodded and growled, "Anywhere you want to go, I'll follow Sansa. But you must know that the Spider will surely have eyes and ears in that Free City, more than in any other."
Lord Varys. She shuddered. "Maybe once we are in Lorath we can send word to my family at last, and they can commission for a ship to take us back North."
In the quiet of the cabin, Sandor regarded her slowly from feet to head before saying, "It'll be good if that were to happen, but it isn't likely. If we are going to Braavos, we must earn more, and try not to spend much in Lorath so we can survive once we arrive at the Secret City."
"Hagen said we can stay with him at his relative's house once we arrive in Lorath," Sansa reminded him. "We won't have to pay for our stay there, if that is the case." And he said his house is more cheerful than this old castle. I wonder why he left it. Why did he take so long in deciding it was time to go home? Sansa thought she already knew the answers to those questions.
"Let's just hope this Bryar isn't as mad as him, or it'll start rubbing off on us," Sandor rasped deeply.
Sansa giggled and stepped up to embrace Sandor, her arms around his waist, as he tucked her under his chin.
"I'm already mad," she admitted, as she pressed her cheek against his hard comforting chest, taking in the way he smelled–of leather and dirt, earth and horses, sweat and wine–for these smells always appealed to something deep inside her. She raised her face to look up at him, taking in Sandor's strong jaw line, his heavy brow, his hooked nose, his strong Northern looks.
She saw the way he gulped then, the muscles of his neck moving strongly, and felt the way his large hands dug into the flesh of her back for a moment. He grimaced and remarked, "Then we are lost. You're supposed to be the sensible one here, and instead you go and fall for a scarred ugly dog whom nothing nor anyone in this world will keep away from you."
Sansa drew back, puzzled. She blinked and said, "You know I do not see it that way. And neither do you."
"No, but your kingly brother's bannermen will," Sandor pointed out. "And while I couldn't care less what those northern whoresons thought of me, I won't stand for them talking about you and the former Lannister Hound."
She'd known this all along, and had still made her choice. "Let them say what they will. It may not be very sensible, but I've made up my mind to be with you, Sandor. No one can ever change that. No amount of gossip or–"
"Or the horrified faces of your family?" he wanted to know, pressing the matter forward. "You don't mind it if they end up exiling you for wishing to be with me?"
A small smile appeared on her face at that. She shook her head. "Mother and Robb will certainly not approve, but they aren't the Lannisters. They won't turn their backs on me–on us–for this."
"You know it won't be that easy, Sansa."
She nodded, and explained further, "They will be very displeased with me, I'm sure. But, in the end, I know it in my heart they will accept the idea of us together, and maybe in time–when spring comes again, things will be better for us all and worrying about all of this will be in the past."
She could see easily the effect her words had on him. Sansa looked at the way his burned features changed, realizing that she would stand firm in her determination and wish of being with him forever. No one has ever done anything like this for him, and he knows it, too. He is overwhelmed. No one had ever done for her as much as Sandor had since he took her away from King's Landing. Not even Robb lifted a finger to help me.
With a warm smile and a full heart, Sansa reached out for Sandor's large hand and raised it to her mouth, silently kissing the inside of his calloused palm and the curve of his bent fingers.
Sandor let out a small grunt, staring intently at her gentle administrations, she seriously regarding the beautiful intimacy she could share with her big man. And then, with their eyes never leaving each other's faces, Sandor bent down and kissed her parted lips for a slow moment. Her heart stopped as she drowned in the grey waters of his eyes, unable to move. She could only kiss him in return. She loved Sandor, simple as that. And there are no rules to dictate what one should feel.
"It is getting late", Sansa commented, glancing through the window. Evening shadows were already descending upon the cottage.
"We should go to the castle," he told her, straightening up, pulling at a curl of her auburn hair.
Sansa nodded, content. "Yes, Merra asked me to help her prepare the feast."
Sandor's eyes grew wide. "I won't object to that only because I know your cooking isn't that bad."
She knew it was not ladylike at all, but couldn't help pinching him on his arm, as a smile appeared on her face. "What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"
"You already know the answer to that," he said, laughing with her in that rasping, raucous laughter of his.
They walked across the deserted beach, holding hands in what would've been a silent twilight had it not been for the roaring of the thundering waves. By the time they reached the shortcut, the stone stairs were already covered in an afternoon mist that was slowly drifting up to envelop the castle above.
Dinner that night wasn't really what one would call a proper feast. Not if you were comparing it with the feasts Sansa had attended in Winterfell or King's Landing, but it was nonetheless a very merry night, for they had all decided to celebrate the end of the moving with some of the cook's best dishes. The old master of the castle didn't make his presence known in the kitchens, and since his dark chambers were very far away, they were all allowed to make much more noise than they usually did.
Barli at one point brought in his flute and delighted them all with the tunes he knew from his homeland, while Hagen Edar, a Lorathi as well, started singing out loud the ones he could remember. Sandor admitted, through the bad singing and the even worse music the other men were making, that the food had turned out to be really good. Sansa had helped Merra prepare a rich cream and two different sauces, while the cook busied herself with spicy lamb meatballs and a roasted chicken flavored with onions, garlic, mushrooms and garnishes.
Sansa suggested that they should all start dancing as she heard Barli play the flute. She hadn't drunk much of the wine they were all having tonight, but everyone else had. Hagen at once lifted a blushing and laughing Merra to her feet, and swirled her around the kitchen floor to her husband and Sansa's delight.
She had looked hopefully at Sandor for a moment, but his brooding expression left her in no doubt that he was not going to dance with her. That didn't stop her from accepting Hagen's offer when he proposed to dance with her instead.
The poor outlaw had two left feet though. He exclaimed that back in Norvos he had been a skilled dancer, and seemed very proud of himself as he moved her about from one corner to the next. Sansa didn't have the heart to tell him that he danced appallingly. Sandor glared sullenly at them as they danced, but didn't say anything. When the tune was done, the outlaw stole the flute from Barli and told him it was his turn to show them all his dancing skills. Barli danced with his wife and Sansa in turn as well.
The cook's wife was an even worse dancer than Hagen Edar, but she laughed happily and openly nonetheless. After three dances, her cheeks were red, and realizing that it would be rude to leave Sandor alone all through the night, she went back to sit beside him, kissing him quickly in front of everyone. She giggled and his mouth began to twitch.
Two afternoons later, Sansa was sitting barefooted on the front steps to the cottage, mending the outlaw's black shirt, while Sandor preferred to sit on a chair on the veranda next to the door. She knew he was watching her work instead of staring out at the sea, and she didn't mind it one bit. The beautiful comb with the baby pearl Sandor had given her about a week ago was in her hair. A seagull cried out as it flew across the sky, and the tumbling waves were soothing to hear. Sandor had been right when he said the nights in the little wooden house would be very cold, but the chilling night air only made her remember nights long ago spent with her brothers and sister around the fire, and in the end it didn't really bother her so much.
Right now she was prattling on and on to Sandor about some of her memories from Winterfell as she sewed the black fabric together with thread and needle.
"Arya hated doing needlework," she recalled. "But Septa Mordane and Mother were adamant that she should try to improve her stitches and–"
"Why didn't you offer to help her?" her big man asked her from behind.
Sansa blushed guiltily as she remembered how Jeyne Poole and little Beth Cassel had called her sister Horseface. "Well, we didn't really get along back then."
She chanced a look at Sandor as he said, "So the little bird wanted to kill the she-wolf? Seems to me we have something in common, since I've always wanted to kill Gregor."
The shudder that ran through her body at those words was not something Sansa cared to dwell upon. The horrible Mountain was far away. Once they were back in Westeros, she would try to convince Sandor to let the past go for his own sake, but she knew that if she told him that now, he would get angry at her. I just hope Gregor is dead by the time we go back.
"I didn't want to kill Arya," Sansa admitted. "Not really." Now her little ferocious sister was most likely dead. Sansa tried to hide her smile as she imagined what Arya would say if she were to hear she had fallen in love with The Hound. "And I am a she-wolf too, you know."
Sandor grinned at her but didn't answer. A short while later, Hagen's shirt was almost as good as new.
"Done," she said excitedly, extending the shirt before her. "How does it look?"
"All right," Sandor remarked with a glance at the dark fabric.
Sansa smiled, pleased with her needlework as she stood up. "Do you have any shirts that need mending?"
He stretched his arms behind his head, shaking it as he said, "Don't think so, little bird."
Sansa turned around and climbed up the remaining three steps up to the veranda, her feet touching the wood lightly. She was passing by Sandor's chair, heading towards the open front door, when her breath caught on her throat as he suddenly yanked her by the arm towards him.
She landed right on his legs in a quick movement, but he had fast reflects and had already intended to catch her before she could lose her balance, breaking her fall. After the first moment of surprise, she noticed that he had one of his strong arms supporting her behind her back, his hand resting on her arm, while his other arm was thrown carelessly over her legs. One of her hands had landed on his chest, while the other was clinging to him behind his neck.
Sandor was laughing at her surprised expression, his eyes regarding her with amusement. "And where do you think you're going, she-wolf?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Inside for my slippers." She glanced at the floor and saw that Edar's black shirt was lying on the ground.
"No, you're not," he growled grinning, seeing her blushing as she remembered that she was sitting on his lap. The touch of her hand on his chest, above his strong beating heart beneath the scratchy tunic, made her notice in the silence that followed the powerful male body beneath hers.
"Haven't you heard what dogs do to wolves?" he continued.
Sansa didn't answer him. Instead, they stared deep into each other's eyes for a moment, and then Sandor moved his free hand to hers. He brought it forward and lowered his eyes to it, before kissing the smooth skin of her wrist. It was a simple gesture of affection, but Sansa was holding her breath nonetheless. When he released her hand, out of its own accord, Sansa brought her fingertips to Sandor's burned lips, brushing them lightly. She was a little surprised when he opened his mouth and bit her fingertip, gently grazing it with his teeth.
Her lips parted, her eyes fixed on her finger partly inside his mouth, not even really feeling or noticing the way he was caressing soothing circles on her arm. After he released her finger, Sansa couldn't help it. With eyes wide open she writhed a little closer to him and placed her lips above his. She let her tongue trace his lips before he opened his mouth. Their hot breaths mingled, and then he was doing the same thing to hers, an intense desire in his grey eyes.
She couldn't think properly, so instead she closed her eyes and kissed Sandor deeply, her arms thrown around his neck. After a slow sweet moment, she felt the arm he was using to support her sliding down, till it rested against the small of her back. Sandor then brought his large hand to cup her bottom, making Sansa's heart race as she gasped into the kiss, her eyes flowing open. She was met with his close grey stare, their mouths still upon the other, and in that moment Sansa knew that if she didn't want him to continue, she could simply tell him and he would stop. He would respect my wish, but I don't want him to take his hand away.
After a moment of getting used to the thought and the feeling of what he was doing, she began to kiss him again, slowly, and he let out a grunt. Sandor shifted his weight on the wooden chair, his hips jerking upwards a little, but it was enough for her to feel Sandor's manhood below her.
She let out a concupiscent moan in reaction to that just as a loud cheerful voice called, "Hello!"
They drew apart instantly. She gasped out loud in surprise, and quickly stood up from Sandor's lap. Turning around, she saw Hagen Edar walking across the beach towards their cabin, waving at them in greeting. She blushed when she looked down before her and met her lover's eyes. He looked angry.
"I'm going to kill that fucking idiot!" he rasped loudly, looking at the outlaw.
Sansa was still startled from their abrupt interruption, so with her cheeks flushed, she entered the house to go look for her slippers without a word. Gods be good, I hope Hagen couldn't get a good look at us, she thought, embarrassed. What had just happened between her and Sandor was marvelous, but it was only meant to be witnessed by them alone.
Sandor stood up once the little bird ran inside the house, red as a pomegranate. I'm going to kill that fucking idiot, he'd rasped, and he meant it. Bloody hells, he wanted to strangle Edar with his own guts for interrupting him and Sansa. One moment, he had her in his arms, sitting on his lap, as she drove him mad with her kisses, and her acceptance of his hand around her firm round arse, and the next they were breaking apart because the thrice-damned outlaw was calling to them, a smile plastered on his bloody face. He was actually shaking slightly with fury as he heard the little bird inside looking for her shoes.
"Ah, Byan," Hagen said airily, climbing up the stairs to the veranda. "Merra sent me to tell Jeyne that she's about to cook dinner."
Sansa had decided to help the cook prepare dinner every night in an attempt to occupy her time. She was even getting paid for it.
He clenched and unclenched his fists; throwing a look at his longsword propped against the wall on the floor, he snarled, "I'll tell her. Now go back the way you came from."
But bloody Edar wasn't listening to him. "Oh, my shirt!" he exclaimed, leaning down to grab the dark tunic from the floor. "What is it doing down here? Ah, I can see Jeyne has mended it."
They heard the front door open and Sandor turned around quickly as Sansa stepped outside. She looked much more put together than when she'd dashed inside, but her cheeks were still red. Her eyes met his momentarily before turning to the bandit.
"Thank you, Jeyne!" he said. "It looks very good. I promise that if I get into a fight again, I'll try not to have it torn so much."
"It was nothing, Hagen," the little bird chirped, lowering her gaze.
"Merra is about to start cooking," Hagen went on, oblivious to the tense air between Sandor and Sansa.
"Oh, I–I should better be on my way," she said, walking down the stairs. When she was on the beach, she turned her head up and asked, "Aren't you coming?"
"In a moment," Sandor answered, hoarsely.
Sansa nodded and seemed to make up her mind. She threw him a flashing smile full of promise before she began walking away, heading towards the old castle, leaving him alone in the cottage with the outlaw. Sandor gaze trailed after the little bird walking away upon the beach.
"She is very beautiful, and she really loves you, you know," a voice said behind him, making Sandor look away from Sansa. He turned around to see that Edar was also staring at her retreating back, with an expression Sandor had never seen before in a man, but which he suspected had been in his own burned face a moment ago.
I know she does, he almost said out loud. I saw it in her eyes just now. She wanted me before you came to interrupt, idiot. But it was even more than the boundary they had crossed moments ago in their relationship what assured him of her love for him. It was the awareness, in the back of his mind, that Sansa would've married Arman Nervere so she could have her husband spare his life had things turned out bad for them during his trial–it was the knowledge that now he was certain the little bird would face her kingly brother and her mother if they opposed them being together.
The outlaw continued, "I can see it in her eyes whenever she looks at you, and hear it in her voice when she talks to you or about you. Even a blind man would know." Hagen turned his dark eyes to look at Sandor. "But you are just as lost, dour burned man. Your eyes follow her everywhere."
Sandor shot a withering glance at Edar, for once at a loss for words. Hagen turned around to stare at the sea with a heavy sigh, and remarked, "I don't know what's happened to you two, but you are a very lucky man, for she is young and full of life. You cannot even begin to imagine what it feels like to have the one you love die. If you really care for Jeyne, be sure to let her know often. I never told Sinan as much as I should have. Adore Jeyne. Take care of her."
Sandor gulped. Fuck. He still wanted to strangle the madman, but after what Edar had just said, he realized that he was actually grateful for his words. They had been meaningful and honest. Remembering the crazy behavior in which Hagen had behaved after learning of Nervere's death, Sandor ventured in, "That man–the one you wanted to kill after he exiled you from Norvos–did he had anything to do with your wife's death?"
He wasn't sure that Edar would answer him, and after a moment the bandit turned around to face him again, shaking his head. He spat in a bitter tone, "No, he didn't kill her. She was sick, that's why she died. No, I hate Arman Nervere because thanks to him I couldn't be beside Sinan on her deathbed, as she left this world. He may be dead as well now, but I will never forgive that worm for that. He knew she was dying and wouldn't allow me to enter his city. I–I couldn't even be present when her family buried her. I had to learn of her death from a friend of mine who showed compassion on me and sent me word of it as I waited in the Hills of Norvos."
Sandor stood uncomfortably on the veranda, unsure as to what he should do or say next. I could've been in his position, he realized. I would've been exiled from Norvos and unable to help Sansa if she had married Arman. Gods, if the little bird were to die… Sandor couldn't even finish that thought.
He shifted his weight from his right leg to the left one and rasped, "I'm sorry, Edar."
The outlaw nodded, drying a tear from his eyes, and said, "Just promise you'll take care of Jeyne. She is a good woman."
"I know she is. I will do anything for her," Sandor said without hesitation, leaving Hagen in no doubt about it.
"Good," Edar replied, already heading down the front steps, clutching his mended dark shirt in his hand. "We should go back to the castle now. I wasn't supposed to delay. Merra will be so angry she'll set me to wash the dishes again."
Sandor still didn't know why Hagen Edar had clashed with Nervere in the first place, but he knew that this talk about the outlaw's past life in Norvos was done for today. The sun was going down as he strode across the beach, following the footprints Sansa had left upon the sand earlier.
A/N: Thank you for wishing me good luck at Uni! The first week back was great (: Hope you are all doing great and many thanks for reading! Please review if you feel like it x)