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.
*Thank you for everything girls: onborrowedwings & nysandra! :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.
31. The Cottage by the Sea
The rest of Sandor and Sansa's stay in the castle passed by the same way their first weeks there had. They both accomplished their tasks without a word of protest, and before they knew it, a month had come and gone. Four weeks in which they had earned coin to buy passage for themselves and their horses, and still had more than enough to see them through for a short stay at Lorath and Braavos.
By the end of the first month, Hagen Edar was also anxious to finally set off for his homeland, and when he brought up the matter one morning during breakfast to Sansa and Sandor, they both agreed that the time had come to leave the old castle.
Sansa had regained her spirits and strength during the past few weeks, and was now eager to set out upon their new journey; one that would take her a step closer to her home and her long awaited reunion with her family. She was looking forward to seeing Lorath with her own eyes after the outlaw spent countless evenings telling everyone about that fabled land. The one thing that dampened Sansa's spirits was the thought of leaving the cottage by the sea, in which her and Sandor had grown even more in love, as they gave in and trusted the other with sweet words, eager caresses, new little intimate gestures, or kisses, both gentle and passionate, during the long and cold nights on the beach: moments that never failed to take her breath away whenever she found herself musing about them during the day as she helped Merra cook, or whenever she had a spare moment to herself. It was always new and exciting and different to them both, this affair of being in love. It doesn't matter where I am as long as Sandor is beside me, she realized one day. We can have the life we knew here in the North too. And even more than that one day.
Sansa had started imagining her future, and the thought of one day having babies with Sandor made her feel butterflies in her tummy. She had taken to admiring him in a new light as she imagined how their children would look. They won't come any time soon, but that doesn't mean I can't picture us in our future, she reasoned to the practical side of her conscience. Sansa knew that they still had a long road ahead of them before they could begin to form a family–many ordeals to overcome–but for the present she was deciding to forget them, because these days in the old castle with Sandor had been too good to let any thought or memory of who they really were ruin these moments.
Despite the monotony of life at Hrolf's castle, and the slow way in which the days passed by, Sansa had found happiness and love and fun, and somehow the world and life had become more beautiful to her. During the fifth and last week of their stay, Edar and Sandor spent most of their free time going over details of the journey with Barli.
"We're going to travel to the east, and then turn north to this town here," Barli told them in the cavernous kitchen one day, pointing at an old map of the Bay of Lorath. "It's the biggest village around these parts and the only place where there are real ships to be found. I will accompany you while I search for another girl to read to the master. Hopefully they won't have heard of his black reputation that far from Munne."
Sansa had been intending to let Merra tell Hrolf herself about her departure, but one morning the old man surprised her by saying, "So, I hear you and your companions are to leave in less than two weeks, girl."
She had looked up from her reading a little startled. "Yes, we–we will have earned enough coin by then."
Hrolf regarded her with those hard green eyes of his for a moment, and waved at her to go on reading about ship lore. If he was sorry to part with the girl that read to him, whom he disliked less than all the others, he didn't show it. Merra and Barli were mostly sad to see them go, but everyone had always known since the beginning that this arrangement wasn't going to last long, and so they all ended up coping with it in good spirits, determined to make the last weeks the less gloomy possible.
Sandor woke up at dawn on the morning of their departure. He opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the wooden ceiling of the cabin, and with a yawn he ran his hand down his face, shaking away his sleep, gathering his strength for the journey ahead. Then he looked around to find that Sansa was not sleeping beside him.
Where has the little bird flown to? He wondered, puzzled, gazing at the place on the pillow where she had rested her head during the night. Sandor got out of bed and didn't even bother putting on his boots. He went to the front door and stepped out to the veranda, the sight and the sound of the waves before him bringing him back memories of trips to Lannisport with his grandfather. He wanted to distract me in the months mother was sick as she carried Arwyn, and get me away from Gregor as often as he could.
Well, at least now he had more memories on the beach he could look back on in the years to come–memories shared with Sansa. His eyes had finally caught sight of her, sitting on a blanket a short distance away from the house, staring at the sea, her auburn hair standing vividly against the colors around her.
This is what I live for now, he thought, in a sort of daze, his stare fixed on the woman he loved. She's given my life a meaning, a purpose. I didn't have any fucking right to being with someone like her, and yet here we are now. They had seen each other at their lowest, most vulnerable moments–his when he went to her bedroom reeking of blood and wine and vomit and who knew what else–and hers when the Kingsguard and Joffrey beat her bloody. Sandor didn't think he would ever forgive himself for simply standing by and letting them hurt her like that, but as he looked across the sand at the bird with the loose auburn hair blowing in the wind behind her, their lives back at King's Landing didn't matter for a moment.
Sandor had come to understand during the past month that being in love wasn't a matter of whether or not he deserved Sansa–because he knew he didn't. Sansa had chosen him, knowing perfectly well that he was far from being the sort of man she had once wanted, and had still gone ahead and bound herself to him. She had a choice. I didn't deny her that. She had a choice, and I would've respected it whatever the outcome. He grinned, because he was bloody pleased with how things had turned out.
He and Sansa were both different now. They had changed and grown, and learned to forgive and forget and so much else, and the last weeks here in this place with her had been too sodding good. Simple as that.
He remembered that before she came along, he had scoffed at the very thought of living with a wife in some holdfast, wasting away his days in her company, going mad–and most likely with a woman who was terrified of him. Yet this time with the little bird in this deserted place had been one of the happiest times of his life–if not the happiest. And there's more to look forward to.
He rested his elbows on the balustrade of the veranda, lost in thought, still watching her as she took off her shoes and buried her bare feet on the sand. Now that we are going out into the world again we must be careful, he suddenly recalled, wary. Sansa seems to think that once we reach her family everything will be all right, but before we even get word to Robb Stark a hundred things could go bloody wrong. Braavos was what scared him most at the moment. That Free fucking City would be bursting with the eunuch's little birds, but Braavos was the only place for them to go if they wanted to return to Westeros.
Sandor wasn't as inclined to go North as Sansa, but he knew she longed to see her family and he wouldn't take that away from her. She belongs there, and she has a home to look forward to returning to. What did he have if not her?
My fucking brother. There was Gregor to reckon with when they went back to Westeros. If his shit of a brother was still alive, then Sandor would have to leave Sansa for a time to go and finish him off once and for all. Sandor hoped that Gregor was still alive if only for the sweet pleasure of killing him himself at long last. I won't let him go on living, he poses a threat to Sansa now… and to the family we could have one day.
A family. Fuck. Pups with the little bird, and him as their father. Sandor ran his hand through his shoulder-length dark hair, trying to get used to what that would mean. A year ago, he had been alone, and now the thought of seeing his sons grow tall and strong, and siring daughters as pretty as the little bird made his heart thump fast, and made him look forward to that with a strange sense of pride. But children wouldn't come for a while, he had been trying to make sure of that. In the past weeks, it had been a bloody ordeal to stay in this cabin with the little bird by night. Her kisses drove him to distraction, and her acceptance of his hands on her was as sweet as it was a torture for him. More than once he'd thought of taking her, or at least of pleasuring her in some way, yet he knew that if he did the latter he wouldn't be able to control himself in time, and there was still much to consider that made it hard for him to forget that. Seven hells, if she makes me feel like a green boy just with her kisses, how am I to stand it if I give in completely?
He didn't know the buggering herbs needed for preparing moon tea, and was certain the little bird didn't have a clue either. What if I get her with child? They were practically a few short steps above being beggars for the time being, and the truth was that he cared too much for her good name to simply take her and cast away to seven hells all consequences. Sure, he could spill his seed on her belly, but when Sandor finally had her, he wanted it to be something neither of them had to be cautious about, or something where the consequences couldn't mean making love would be a bad decision. I never had someone like her in my life. I'm not going to fuck this up again, he promised himself, remembering what his thoughtless actions after Arman Nervere had kissed Sansa had almost cost them both. I'm going to take proper care of this matter and do it right.
He knew that doing it right would mean marriage. He knew that Sansa wanted to get married, and while Sandor would've been content with marrying her this very day by whatever gods the people of Munne believed in just for her sake, a young woman in the little bird's position was expected to marry by the gods she'd been raised to believe in, in a ceremony with witnesses and papers that would make everyone who sought to bring them apart unable to do so. Better if she is Sansa Clegane for the entire world to see instead of just Sansa Stark, the lady who fucks her sworn shield. That way, any bloody fools wishing to win her over for her claim and title will think about it twice before trying anything with her. And if they married, well and proper, no one would be able to call Sansa a whore, or their children bastards. When we have settled in the North, we will have a proper home to raise our pups at.
Stretching his arms behind his head, Sandor finally made his way down the front steps of the veranda, and walked across the beach to where Sansa was sitting, as lost in her thoughts as he had been in his, for she didn't hear him till he was beside her. "What are you doing here, little bird?"
Sansa looked up at him, clearly surprised that she hadn't heard him. "Oh, good morning, Sandor. You startled me."
"Couldn't you sleep?" he asked, gazing down at her, noticing she had already changed into a simple wool dress as her hand reached out to pat the space on the blanket beside her, inviting him to join her.
"No, it isn't that. I–I just wanted to come here to think and–and memorize this place. Recall how it looks, and sounds and smells, and how it was to live here with you."
Sandor shook his head, but ended up sitting down on the large blanket beside her and giving her a quick warm kiss on the nose nonetheless. His large hand reached out for her delicate one. "How are you feeling about the journey?"
Sansa looked away from him, at the horizon before them. She took a moment to answer, in a tone that gained strength and certainty, "I am looking forward to seeing Lorath–very much so. But I can't forget the dreadful endless voyage aboard The Summer Bird. I am a Stark after all, and wolves are supposed to be brave, but I just can't help it. My tummy is fluttering wildly at the very thought of it."
Sandor remembered very well their escape across the Narrow Sea. The little bird had been sick on most of it, never leaving their cabin, and he had ended up taking care of her as best he could.
"No wonder you're worried," he jested, smirking at her. "Stop fretting, little bird. You'll be all right. The trip to Lorath doesn't last more than five days, I'm told. If you want to concern your pretty head with sea voyages, then think about the one from Lorath to Braavos, or the even longer one from Braavos to White Harbour."
Sansa only let out a long resigned sigh at that, and dropped her head to rest on his shoulder. They fell silent for some time, and before Sandor realized it, he found himself doing the same thing the little bird had told him she'd been doing here: taking in every detail of this strand of forsaken beach so that he could remember it forever. At one point, they started playing with each other's bare feet, drawing their eyes to the way their limbs were playing with the other. Bloody hells, her foot is tiny! He marveled, comparing his own feet with hers.
A particularly loud seagull was flying across the sky when all of a sudden Sandor almost jumped in surprise as he felt Sansa's hand slowly making its way beneath his loose tunic, her hand pressed upon the small of his back, as if giving him the chance to draw away if he wanted to. When he did not move, Sansa's touch became bolder, as she began to run her hand down and across his back. It somehow felt soothing and good to have her drawing circles on his flesh, and when her fingernails left an agonizingly slow trail upon his skin, Sandor's breath hitched. His senses had become acute to all his surroundings, her simple gestures feeling too fucking good for both their sakes
He turned his head around to get a look at her face, but she was still resting her head on his forearm and it was difficult getting that glimpse. Sansa placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered, "Lay back down."
Sandor tried hard not to gulp as he did as she had said after a moment's hesitation, wondering what the little bird had in mind. His eyes met hers again, and even though he saw a blush on her cheeks, Sansa smiled at him, not lowering her bright gaze until he was sprawled on his back on the blanket, the morning sky above him.
She was still sitting beside him, and after a moment in which she seemed to make up her mind, Sansa brought her hands forward and laid them upon his chest. She ruffled his tunic upwards to his collarbone with his help once he realized what she wanted to do, and he, curious but definitely enjoying this, let her. Her eyes took in the sight of his bare chest openly, giving him the feeling that she was drinking in every hard line and chiseled muscle.
With a quick look back at his face, she started caressing him, first with hesitation, and then with eagerness, her hands trailing down his abdomen and across his waist, pressing down against him with a strength that surprised him. He found himself being proud of himself then, glad that there was more to him than his face for Sansa to deal with. Sandor groaned when her hand dug into the skin of his side, before she suddenly leaned down and started kissing him wherever he had a scar, from a battle or otherwise.
"Where did you get this?" she murmured against his body, her lips upon each and every scar.
Sandor couldn't remember all of the places and fights where he had earned them, but he tried to remember as best he could, saying, "At Pyke, during Greyjoy's Rebellion," or, "At practice with Strongboar, back at the Rock when I was five-and-ten."
He brought his hand to hold the back of her head, tangling on her hair while he answered her and she went on with her soft ministrations, and closed his eyes, letting the feeling of her hot mouth upon him take over his senses. At times, he couldn't distinguish if he was feeling or imaging her tongue brushing against his skin. The tightness of his breeches was turning into something harder to ignore by the minute. Gods, why must she always do this to me in the mornings?
When there were no more scars to kiss or no more of his chest for Sansa to explore, she raised her head and looked at him again, beaming at him with a mischievous expression. And then, all of a sudden, she burst into giggles and lay back down on the blanket beside him.
"What in the seven fucking hells is so funny?" he asked her, frowning, thinking that his voice sounded like he hadn't used it in years, as he turned to his side and propped himself on his elbow.
Sansa didn't know why she had waited so long before doing this to Sandor. It's so wonderful and as exciting as I knew it would be, she couldn't stop thinking as her hands caressed his warm muscles, his chest, his narrow waist… as she kissed the scars that decorated his physique, she tried to still her beating heart and the drumming that had started to sound loudly inside her head. I love you for every one of them. A proof of how brave you've been all your life, my darling big man.
But then, without any notice, she couldn't help herself and started giggling.
"What in the seven fucking hells is so funny?" she heard Sandor rasp. She closed her eyes and blushed madly, and lay down on the blanket beside his powerful body, wishing she could keep her face straight. It was no good. When she felt Sandor nudging her arm to bring back her attention to his questions, she met his grey stare once more.
Oh, what must he think of me? she wondered nervously. Sansa tried to stop laughing, and answered in between breaths, "I–I couldn't help but imagine what Septa Mordane would say if she saw me now."
Sandor blinked, and gazed down at her with a momentarily incredulity before his burned face broke into a wolfish grin. "Bugger Septa Mordane, little bird."
She laughed at that, and when both their laughter died away, Sansa found herself taking in the details of Sandor's face, as they suddenly became serious. She cupped Sandor's burned cheek and whispered resignedly at his remarks, "Oh, my dearest Sandor. Yes, bugger Septa Mordane."
She then closed her eyes as he leaned down to kiss her. She returned his slow kiss, deepening it as she heard him moving above her. When he drew away from her mouth only to begin kissing her neck, Sansa's eyes flew open, staring at the beautiful blue sky above and at the white clouds.
Gods, she thought, even more surprised when she realized that she had brought her hands to caress his back beneath his tunic again. Sandor was making funny noises on her neck, making her smile as she rested her head against his. It didn't last very long, though, and before she knew it, Sandor had laid down his head upon her chest, his arms encircling her softly as she went on drawing soothing circles on his back, thinking that his head was a little too close to her breasts. She didn't say anything about that though.
After their heavy breathing subsided, Sansa brought her fingers to run through Sandor's dark shoulder-length hair, marveling at the way having him rest upon her body felt. She could practically feel the way the tension left his body, and she was overcome to think that a man like him could react like this because of her. She wrapped him in her arms as best she could, feeling only slightly uncomfortable because of his heavy weight on her.
"Yes, Septa Mordane would definitely be shocked," she remarked suddenly, drawing a bark of laughter from her big man again.
"Sandor," Sansa suddenly said, after they had fallen silent for a little while.
"Hmm?" he replied, absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of her gown. He raised his head from her chest to lock his gaze with hers, as he brought his hand to her chin, his thumb brushing over her lips for a moment when she didn't continue.
"I am happy we got to spend some time in this place," she said at last. "You are the only one who could've made this forsaken simple place a joy to live in every day."
"I'm going to miss it here too, Sansa," Sandor admitted.
They resumed talking about the journey ahead of them for a time, before they returned to the cottage where Sansa asked if he could let her help him don his armour on, remembering the first few times she'd done this back in Pentos. Then they gathered their scarce belongings and bid good-bye to the little wooden cottage on the beach, and made their way to the castle, Sandor carrying both of their saddlebags under his arms.
"Jeyne," Barli called after her as she left the cavernous kitchen a short while later. "We have to set out now."
"I won't be long," she called back, walking away as fast as she could. Everything was ready now. Merra had packed some food for them all, and Nan and Stranger and Barli's white palfrey were saddled and waiting at the gates for their owners. Sansa was also ready to go, but she wanted for some strange reason to bid a proper good-bye to old Hrolf. Yesterday she had read to him as she always did, both aware that it was the last time. Sansa knew what to expect from this sudden whim of hers. Short words and rude manners, but she couldn't just leave the castle without thanking Hrolf for giving his consent to the affair with the cottage, and for accepting her and Sandor's services.
Hagen had let out a cry in protest and Sandor had shaken his head, while the cook and her husband said it was a bad idea, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from running up the now familiar route to where the master's chambers were.
Once she was outside in the corridor to Hrolf's dark rooms, she smoothed her hair and skirts, composing herself. She knocked and waited a couple of heartbeats before she heard him call, "Enter."
Opening the big oaken doors, Sansa saw that Hrolf was standing in front of his bookcase, staring at his books intently. She closed the doors behind her.
"So, Merra, they've gone, have they?" he said, still looking at his precious books.
"Good morning," she said clearly, making him turn around quickly. By the expression on his face, she knew he hadn't expected her to return to him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked her. "Aren't you supposed to be departing my castle right now?"
"Yes," she answered, her hands entwined before her. "I–I just wanted to thank you for everything before I left, and bid you farewell."
If Hrolf was surprised or touched by her words, his face didn't show any hint of it. He regarded her for a long moment, before saying, "Keep up reading in Valyrian if you wish to improve your accent."
Frowning, she nodded, and promised him she would.
"Well, farewell, then, Westerosi girl," he said in a voice of icy politeness.
Sansa smiled at him. "Good-bye."
She was about to open the door when he exclaimed, "Wait!"
Blinking, she turned to look at him, a bit startled. Hrolf hesitated for a moment before grimacing and walking over in her direction. Sansa stood rooted to the spot, not knowing what to expect, her eyes on the old man, but he only stepped beside her and opened the door for her silently.
Staring at his actions, it dawned on Sansa that this was a small demonstration of politeness from the noble Lorathi lord to her–his way of thanking her. She smiled again, meeting his stare, and nodded.
"Thank you," she said gracefully, stepping outside into the hallway before he closed the oaken doors behind her.
Once they had bidden farewell to Merra in the stone courtyard where they had first met her about a month ago, they set out onto the road, Barli leading the way, talking with Edar beside him, while Sandor and Sansa rode their horses, occasionally conversing, at times falling silent as they started thinking about what awaited them in Lorath, gazing at the bleak landscape all around them. The towers of the old castle still stalked the sky the last time Sansa decided to look behind her to get one last view of the place where she had been so happy, committing everything about her stay there to memory once again.
"What did the old bastard say?" Sandor asked her suddenly.
Sansa shrugged. "That I should keep up reading books in High Valyrian, and then he opened the door for me. Coming from him, that was nice."
He snorted. "You should have asked him if he could give you a book about ships to remember him by."
Sansa laughed. "Oh, no, I am sick of ship lore, and I think he knew that as well."
It was a long day. They had left the castle behind them before midday, and only stopped to eat something beside the sea once. The outlaw stared at the ocean as if he had never seen it before, chewing slowly his cheese and bread.
"It's a pity I didn't get a time to go swimming in this past month."
Sansa threw Sandor a look as he sat beside her on a rock, but he only burst out laughing at her expression, as they both remembered what was on her mind. About a week ago, Sansa had surprised Sandor with a fire on the beach and dinner under the stars. Everything had turned out splendidly, until the moment Sandor had taken off his shirt and announced that he was going for a swim.
A bit startled, she had called after him that it was too dark for him to do that, and that the water must surely be freezing even more than usual by night. Sandor had told her then that he couldn't understand her.
"You've been living by the sea for almost a bloody month, and never once gone swimming yourself."
And before she knew it, her heart had stopped, as she quickly stood up, running away from him and the fire, as fast as her long legs could carry her, understanding what the wicked look on his face meant. Sandor had caught her pretty soon, though, and sweeping her in his arms he had carried her to the cold sea, ignoring her struggles and cries for him to stop. By the time he was waist deep inside the water, he had lost his footing as he balanced her weight in his arms and had dropped her into the shivering ocean, making her cough and scream at him through chattering teeth that it wasn't funny when she heard him laughing. I don't think I ever felt so cold in all my life as I did in the first moment of hitting the water.
It had at first been horrible, but Sansa had seen something then. Sandor was laughing and looking like a little boy having the time of his life, and it had made her realized that he had never behaved so childishly with her before. She had felt overwhelmed, as she shook with cold, due to the trust Sandor had in her that permitted her to catch glimpses of the child he must have once been. And so in the end, though she trembled all the time she was in the cold waters, she and Sandor had started playfully splashing water at the other, making Sansa recall a summer snow fight long ago with Arya and Bran.
They had ambushed her as she came out of the keep one morning, and by the end she and Arya were laughing, rubbing snow in each other's hair until Jory Cassel came to pull them apart. Sandor and her had laughed until her tummy was aching and tears were threatening to appear in her eyes, but no one had come to separate them this time as they started kissing, the moonlight and sea foam making Sansa think that this was better than just having dinner by the fire like she'd first intended.
Barli and Edar exchanged a look presently as Sandor ruffled Sansa's hair fondly and she ended up chuckling, shaking her head.
"Lorath is an island, Hagen. Don't worry. Surely you can find time to steal away for a swim," Sansa assured him, as she took a drink from her waterskin.
"I guess I could, but no one really swims in the waters of the harbor."
"Oh," she said, recalling Blackwater Bay and the harbor of Pentos.
When night had fallen, they at last arrived at the village where ships were anchored which were either heading to or coming from Lorath. The town was a small one, but much bigger than any of the previous ones Sansa had spied on their way here. Sailors were in the street everywhere, some even with dubious-looking women hanging to their arms, showing too much of their cleavage, Sansa could not help but notice. It only took her and her companions a moment to find more than one willing captain to accept them all aboard their ships, if they had the coin for it. None of them were leaving for Lorath till morning, so at least they would have one more night in a bed, for which Sansa gave a silent prayer of thanks.
Sandor told the captains, "We shall take a proper look at the ships in the morning and see which one is in the best condition."
So they went to book two rooms at one of the town's two inns, which was mercifully not as bad as The Stinking Fish had been. They took their horses to the stables, and when they entered the common room through the front door, the sight before her was too much for Sansa. Almost all the men present looked drunk enough to start a fight at any moment, and they were singing bawdy songs that sounded along the lines of The Bear and the Maiden Fair.
She tucked her arm in Sandor's, and standing on tip-toe said, "Could we have dinner at our room?"
He nodded, regarding the crowded room with an angry scowl on his face. Sansa bid good night to the outlaw and Barli before going upstairs to the room the innkeeper showed them. She was tempted to ask for a bath when she spied the wooden tub on a corner, and with a sigh she knew that it was wiser not to waste their coin so quickly. She simply sat down and ate the food they had paid for, which a young girl had brought up for them, and went to sleep, ignoring the loud noises coming from the common room.
Sansa woke up abruptly the following morning, as a heavy knocking was heard on their door. She turned around blinking, and found Sandor already tense behind her, his hand on the pommel of the sword beside him, the steel of Protector, his longsword, shining bright in the morning light. A moment later, Sandor rasped a foul angry curse and sat back on the bed after Hagen Edar called from outside their room, "Jeyne, Byan, wake up, it's time! Get ready, the captains of the ships will be waiting for us. I'll see you in the common room."
They heard Barli's voice urging the outlaw to hurry on because he was hungry. Sandor threw a hand across his face, muttering, "Seven hells! I'm going to kill that fucking madman one of these days."
She laughed, her head back on the pillow, remembering. Sandor had told her what the bandit had confessed to him the afternoon she had mended his black shirt and Sandor had sat her on his lap, and Sansa felt truly sad for Hagen for being unable to say farewell to his wife because of the enmity between him and Arman. For a moment, she found herself wondering if, had she given in and agreed to Arman's proposal, she would have been allowed to see Sandor before the magisters exiled him out of Great Norvos.
With a shake of her head, Sansa dismissed that. She turned around to look at Sandor, who was already gazing at her intently.
Sansa smiled warmly at her big man when he placed his calloused hand on her neck and gently brushed her cheek with his thumb. Sandor leaned down and kissed her. She threw her arms around him and when they drew apart, their foreheads pressed against the other, their breaths mingling, she said, "I love you."
"I love you, too, bird," he whispered hoarsely, making Sansa wonder if she was still dreaming. This is too good to be true. Too much happiness.
But then she caught sight of something in the depths of Sandor's eyes, and immediately sensed that there was some matter that was amiss, and was troubling him. "What is it? What's the matter?"
Sandor swallowed, considering something. "I'm always going to take care of you, Sansa. I promise."
She smiled, touched very much by his words. She couldn't help but think it was silly that he seemed so troubled by this.
"And I of you," she promised, imitating his serious tone.
Sandor blinked, surprised by her reaction, before he chuckled and traced a calloused finger along the outline of her jaw. "Aye, I believe you would."
"Sandor, are you thinking about Braavos?" she ventured in, wondering if that was what the reason behind his promise.
He sighed. "That and many other things."
Her fingers played with the hair on his chest as she said, "Well, we don't really have to stay long there, you know. I've heard it's a beautiful place, but if you deem it wiser to simply arrive there and take the first ship to the Seven Kingdoms at once, then I will agree with you."
Sandor regarded her with a grown. "I thought you had your heart set on staying there at least two days, Sansa."
She smiled. "Yes, but our lives are at risk. This is important, and even if we stayed we would not really enjoy it, spending all day long constantly on alert for any trouble. I don't care about the sight-seeing at all. I'm tired of running and hiding and not settling down anywhere for long. I long for Winterfell."
"That's your home, not mine."
"It is your home as well. Since the moment I became yours. Sandor, you left the place you had been living at for years and deserted the House you served to protect me. Since the moment I ran out of my bedroom to clasp your white cloak to your shoulders after you left me during the battle, in a way Winterfell was already going to be your home. We were meant for each other, and now we are meant to go home. To our home."
Sandor fixed his gaze on her face, considering her words with a scowl, but Sansa knew her big man was moved by her words. After breaking their fast in a thankfully deserted common room, they went to inspect the few ships available at the small harbour, and though Sandor wasn't very pleased with any of them, they finally decided upon one called The Fat Whale, a name which Sansa found funny.
"It's been nice meeting you," Barli said, shaking hands with Sandor and clasping Edar on the back. "And you, Jeyne. No one has ever survived with the master a whole month, and I doubt there is anyone who will ever surpass you."
Sansa smiled. "Thank you, Barli. Tell Merra I shall miss her cooking and her company, and advise the girl who takes over my place to have patience with Hrolf. He isn't very bad really. Not deep down."
Barli sighed resignedly and said, "I will try, but I doubt it will do much good."
Then he got on his white palfrey and waved at them for a last time, before turning around and leaving them on the small port of the village. Sansa turned her face to look at The Fat Whale, remembering that The Summer Bird had at least looked like it could survive some storms, but this old ship… well, it was a wonder it hadn't sunk down yet.
They were only aboard the ship for five days and four nights, and there weren't any storms to test the ship's capacity; only a light rain on the second day that lasted all afternoon. Sansa spent most of her time in the cabin after Sandor said he didn't want to risk her safety with so many men on board. Whenever her big man had to go to look after Stranger and Nan, he asked Edar to keep an eye on her.
Sansa liked talking to the outlaw about everything he could remember of Lorath, and with every passing day she grew more and more excited and impatient to reach Hagen's homeland. Edar said that it was a land of memories to him, and he certainly had many of them from his childhood, though he had spent most of his life in Norvos.
The cabin that had been given to her and Sandor was quite small, comprised mostly of a sleeping shelf and room enough for them to place their saddlebags in.
"The only good thing about this bloody bed is that we don't get cold," Sandor roared once, when the shifting motion of the ship made him fall from their narrow bed onto the floor. Sansa had tried hard not to laugh at that sight as she offered him her hand to help him get on his feet.
One afternoon, she was sick of staying inside the cramped cabin and stepped outside into the forecastle of The Fat Whale with Sandor beside her, loosening his sword in his scabbard, she had grown excited at the talk among the sailors of spying whales in these waters, but she unfortunately never saw one herself.
During the eatly afternoon of the fifth day since their sea voyage began, on a day when the sun was actually shinning down upon this place at the end of the world, Sansa and Sandor had been in their cabin, talking about how long they should stay in Lorath and how long they should stay in Braavos, while they shared a loaf of burned bread with raisins and nuts in it–which didn't particularly taste very good, but it was considered to be the cook's best dish–when Edar suddenly called through their locked door, "Jeyne, Byan, come outside quickly, we've finally reached Lorath!"
Sansa cleaned her hands with a piece of cloth. Her eyes locked with Sandor's grey ones, and he nodded at her in reassurance saying, "Let's go take a look."
She smiled at him excitedly and nodded. They stepped outside of their cabin and walked a few steps over to the stairs that led to the forecastle. The moment she had joined the outlaw, feeling the wind in her hair, her breath caught in her throat as her eyes settled on her first view of the distant city before her. Edar was staring at it with his dark eyes shining bright.
Sandor stepped behind her and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, regarding the horizon with narrowed eyes. Sailors were shouting at each other as they steered the ship northeast, towards the island before them and Sansa could see ahead of her different ships heading towards the large harbor as well.
"You really do believe Bryar won't mind having us despite having no previous word of our coming?" she asked the bandit.
Hagen shook his head and laughed openly at that notion. "Not at all, Jeyne. Given the circumstances of our last meeting, and the fact that word of what I've been doing must have reached my family, Bryar will want my skin for a cloak, but you've got nothing to worry about. You'll see… It's beautiful, isn't it? Even as this distance."
Sansa tried hard not to stare at the outlaw after these words. Surely Bryar would understand why Hagen felt he had to raid caravans. She returned her attention to Lorath, and ended up smiling a little. The view before her was full of promise. She placed her hand above the one Sandor had on her, and nodded as he squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.
"Yes, it is," she agreed. She was about to turn around to place a light kiss on Sandor's cheek when a sudden possibility startled her. For a brief moment, for some reason, the vision of Edar's brother flashed across her mind, and he unfortunately looked like a little less terrifying version of Sandor's own horrible elder brother.
Poor Hagen, she thought as the bandit excitedly announced he was going to gather his few things together. As Sansa's eyes trailed after him, she turned around to face Sandor, with a worried expression. Slipping her hands in his large ones, she remarked, "Hagen's brother seems a little bad-tempered, don't you think?"
"He'd be fucking stupid if he didn't disapprove of his brother's fancy of raiding caravans out of Norvos, little bird. That madman's family has only been rich for two generations, so it isn't to be wondered at that they'll be puffed up like bladders with their honors. If he has been upright with his little brother, it is because he was destroying the reputation he tries to maintain, most like."
"If Bryar doesn't really approve of us staying with him…"
"Then we will go and stay at an inn. I won't allow anyone to treat you like a beggar who needs their pity, Jeyne."
Sansa was about to raise herself on tip-toes to kiss her big man when Hagen returned to join them on the deck, causing her to draw back. The bandit commented, "It's probable, I think, that we'll meet Bryar's men when we land, because they're frequently at the port. Or Amon, that old bugger, if he is still alive!"
Sandor snorted. "Who's Amon?"
"The family's steward," Edar answered casually. "He raised me and Bryar both after Mother died and Father was too busy taking care of the family's business. Why, I think he must be in his sixties by now, if I remember correctly. When he sees me, he'll want to drag me to Bryar's presence at once by the ears. See if he doesn't."
Sansa tried to hide her giggles at the thought of a man as old as Maester Luwin doing that to a man her father's age. It took the Fat Whale another hour to finally arrive at the open seaport of Lorath, and all the while Sansa watched with an increasing excitement the sailors all around her taking down the sails to depend on oars alone as they entered the bay. Behind the ships, tall wide pale yellow square buildings were blocking the newcomers' view of the city beyond, standing erect almost as a wall of protection. The very distant hills didn't appear to have any manses on them, and so far Sansa hadn't seen a single golden dome showing off the city's wealth and vanity the way the buildings in Norvos and Pentos had.
The harbor is bigger than the one in Pentos, she gathered, gazing all around her. But this one is far less crowded. Which was to be expected, seeing as this island, large and prominent as it was, didn't rival the coastal city of Pentos in several aspects.
When the old ship was moored at the quay, Sandor helped her walk down the plank slowly, while Edar brought up the rear.
"I'll go for Nan first and Stranger. Stay here," Sandor rasped, looking at her. He leaned over to her and said in the Common Tongue, "Use the dagger if you must, without hesitations."
She nodded, feeling the cold small blade of the dagger she had taken from Stannis Baratheon's dying soldier so long ago in the Kingswood. Hagen was eagerly looking all around him, peering through and above the people walking down the Street–early risers coming to buy food from the small market that had been erected beside the port. Once Nan was with her, the horse's reins in her hand, and Sandor had gone back to the ship for his black destrier, a scowl on his face, Sansa pointed at the tall large square buildings, behind the market stalls.
"What are those?" she asked Edar.
"Warehouses," he answered at once, with a shrug. "My family owns almost all the ones upon the left bank–or at least they did, the last time I was here. Bryar probably owns them all by now."
Sansa looked at the warehouses upon the left bank of the canal that ran through the two tallest of these buildings, with a mild interest, her attention already drawn to the Lorathi people around her, as the sailors of the ships from all over the world behind her yelled commands at one another in Valyrian. Hagen had told her and Sandor that this port was a very important gateway, and judging by the busy activity even at this late hour, Sansa saw the truth of those words. Some of the conversations she fleetingly overheard were being spoken in languages unknown to her ears.
Just then, Sansa's eyes fell upon a band of around two-and-ten menacing-looking and sullen men, some of whom were casting rude glances at her, as they muttered and nudged at each other, in what Sansa thought was a slightly suspicious manner. They look like sellswords. With her chestnut mare's reins still in her hand, she stepped closer to Hagen, her free arm going around his.
The outlaw smiled at her. "What is it?"
She opened her mouth to answer when a loud scream was heard. "This cannot be true! Surely I am mistaken! Gods, I must be. Hagen Edar, is that you?"
Both the bandit and she turned at that, and Sansa saw an old man with hair as white as snow, but lacking a beard to match it, walking over towards them, his expression incredulous and his blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"Amon!" Hagen exclaimed, slipping away from Sansa's side, as he stepped forward eagerly to wrap his arms around the old man's. She glanced around her to see if Sandor was finally coming back. He wasn't. Those men are still staring at us, she realized with dread, once again seeing that band of men staring at her and Hagen and Amon.
Walking over towards where the young and the old men stood, Sansa heard the outlaw say loudly, "It's good to see you again, Amon! Really good… I see that you are still insisting on buying provisions by yourself out here. I don't like it, Amon. Not one bit."
Amon snorted, shaking his head. "Spare me, boy. You're one to talk about doing things you shouldn't! Running off to the Hills of Norvos…"
"Excuse me," Sansa said with a smile, stepping beside Edar. She could tell that despite the words they exchanged and the agitated manner in which they behaved, Amon had missed Hagen very much, though he was apparently trying to pretend that wasn't the case. "I'm afraid that–"
"Oh, Amon, this is Jeyne. Jeyne, meet Amon," Hagen said, interrupting her.
She smiled kindly at Amon, a little puzzled by the way his eyes grew as big as saucers at the sight of her.
"A pleasure to meet you," she said, nodding at the old man. "Hagen, please, look behind you to your right. Do you see that group of men beside the covered corner of that building?"
Edar spared them a look. "What about them, Jeyne?"
"They scare me," she confessed, wishing Sandor was the one she was speaking to. "They are armed and haven't done anything but stare at us since we first stepped onto this island."
"Really?" the bandit asked in awe, and turned around to regard the group of men more closely.
"Don't mind them," Amon suddenly said. "Those are some of Bryar's sellswords."
Hagen's head spun back around quickly at that, while Sansa's heart stopped beating so fast, as she felt relieved.
"Why does Bryar need sellswords?"
"There are pirates in the Narrow Sea, and bandits in the land routes around Lorath. Bryar thought it prudent to have a company of sellswords at the family's disposal. More and more of the other merchant families are quickly following our lead… I would've thought you would know all of this already, seeing as you are an outlaw yourself if I remember correctly."
Sansa saw Hagen's eyes harden at that last remark, but he only said in a suddenly serious tone, "I'm done with that part of my life, Amon."
"So I can see," Amon exclaimed in an ironic manner, glancing at Sansa. "You went away to avenge your wife, you said. Vengeance, ha! You leave us–your family, you irresponsible brat, and now you come back with a new wife!"
"What?" Hagen said, at a loss. And Sansa's mouth dropped open a little as she understood.
Amon continued as if he wasn't a bit touched by their expressions. "I wonder what Master Edar would say if he could see you now. She's very pretty, Hagen, but I can just hear your father turning in his grave on this instant. He always said Bryar was the real man, and–"
"Oh, no," Sansa said, interrupting. She knew it was rude of her, but she couldn't let this go on any longer. "I'm afraid you're mistaken. I am not Hagen's wife."
She had thought those words would soothe the old man, but they only enraged him further. With a speed she wouldn't have believed he possessed, Amon stepped up to a surprised Edar and poked his finger on his chest, saying in a hoarse and threatening whisper, "I warn you, Hagen. If you're planning on introducing the girl to the family, you better marry her, and soon. The nerve of you bringing your woman all this way is bad enough…"
Sansa wasn't hearing the threats anymore. She stood rigid, staring down at Amon with amazement, and some anger at being believed to be the mad outlaw's concubine. Gods be good!
Sandor was leading his agitated warhorse down the plank of the stinking Fat Whale, staring at the crowd with narrowed eyes until he saw the little bird's auburn head. She was standing beside a stall at the market, with Hagen beside her, and they both were talking to an old man.
That must be the Edars' steward, Sandor gathered, making his way through the small crowd towards Sansa. He was just some steps behind her when he heard her exclaim passionately, "I am not his woman!" as she pointed at Hagen, who was trying to reason with the white-haired man, "Amon, she isn't! She is my friend."
The man shook his head, arms crossed over his chest, a stubborn expression upon his fucking face. "Is that how they're calling it these days? Friends?"
It wasn't hard to figure out what was happening there. Sandor chuckled, turning around so that neither the outlaw nor Sansa would hear him. Seven hells, Sansa and Edar… now that's a bloody jest and misunderstanding if I ever saw one, he thought with amusement. As he turned around, his eyes fell upon a band of sellswords, who were armed and not trying to keep it a secret as they stared at the little bird and the other two men, some with incredulity on their faces, others with suspicion clearly etched upon their narrowed eyes.
Sandor's hand was already resting on the pommel of his sword, his hold on Stranger's reins tight, as his gaze fell upon a tall lean figure stepping away from the group of sellswords, making way towards him. The stranger's eyes regarded Sansa, Hagen and the old fool with amusement before standing beside Sandor.
He was still wary as the stranger said, "It's always been like that, you know. Hagen and Amon, I mean. They're always squabbling whenever they're in each other's presence, but Hagen has always been Amon's favorite, though the old fool will never admit it. Not even under torture, I reckon."
Sandor stared with incredulity at the way the elderly man was still calling Edar a liar. Both madmen, no surprise they always fight.
"My pardons, but are you one of Hagen's outlaw friends?"
"No," Sandor responded, scowling.
"His paid sword, then?"
He snorted at that. "No, I am Byan Storm. I'm with the young woman."
His grey eyes regarded Sansa's back quickly; he frowned and asked the stranger, "And who are you?"
With a strange expression on the face, his interrogator answered, "His sister."
Bugger, never in the seven hells would I have expected Bryar Edar to be a woman.
A/N: Thank you for reading and for wishing me good luck on my trip! I hope you all liked this chapter and that you are all doing great