The Songbird and her Hound.
GOT – Sandor Clegane. The Reunion.
In retrospect, perhaps choosing to remain with Sansa Stark had been Lenila Blackthorn's momentary lapse of judgment. Granted, Lenila thought often of how different certain aspects of her current situation could have been if… if she had chosen to grasp Sandor Clegane's meaty, scattered with scars, calloused palm. The pain, the heartache, the pure longing… It all could have been avoided if she had only grasped his hand.
Lenila wasn't entirely aware of the hesitant appearance beside her as she steamed in her own thoughts- a furrowed brow marring her usual gentle exterior.
"My Lady..."
Turning to face the unwelcome intrusion snapping Lenila out of her thoughts, she turned. "Yes?" Frozen hands clutched in front of her, wringing to create some semblance of warmth.
"Lady Sansa has requested you present in the Great Hall- she said, 'at once', My Lady." Softly spoken words slipped from the maid's lips, the barest hint of chattering teeth could be heard and again Lenila wished she could be far, as far as one could be, away from the desolate cold of Winterfell.
"Very well."
Turning in the spot she was residing, Lenila's bones protested the quick movement, and she could not help but ponder on the fact that she was getting old. Irrational impulsive thoughts were not as easily prevented as Lenila's old nurse would think and scold her upon: Lenila had always thought herself as the perfect lady. She was regarded as one too, once upon a time.
Graceful, kind, beautiful. Eyes as clear as the crystal blue skies above transfixed onto a gaze filled with fire, a blooming chest heaving with quickly drawn breaths as slightly tanned skin gradually blushed with a pale pink. Hair the colour of mahogany, a botany of spilled ink contrasting the tone of her skin deeply and enhancing the steely calmness of her steady gaze. Long and wavy but not enough to curl, the strands drew men, even those most prudent or determined to resist the charms, to their knees in reverence. Especially, him. Most importantly, most reverently – Lenila only existed for him.
In another life, perhaps Lenila Blackthorn would have been happy. In this one, she was not.
The sound of opening doors drew Lenila's crystal gaze to the Great Hall, a twist of her lip betraying her displeasure at being summoned as the likes of a common dog. Of course, Lenila knew exactly why she was summoned, the Dragon Queen; Daenerys, had arrived. The 'Queen's' arrival brought hope and the illusion of victory alongside Jon Snow- both would undeniably wish to show a united front. Such pish. Lenila was no fool and even though she was not of Northern blood, she was aware of the bubbling anger amongst the Northern Lords and Ladies. The King in the North left Winterfell as such and returned as… as what exactly? The Dragon's Bitch?
Lenila pondered upon the validity of such a thought as she took her place beside a nameless lady, attention purely focused on the steadily unfolding debacle with unrestrained interest. Once upon a time, Lenila would have no interest in such political spectacles. Now, well, she grew to appreciate a verbal spar- especially if it resulted in her favor.
Gaze roaming, Lenila's slightly plumped lips tweaked at the sour look on her Lady's face. Sansa. The little bird turned stubborn wolf. To say that Sansa had simply changed would be a great misjustice to the woman's experiences – she had flourished, grown… became strong and conquered her enemies. Guilt shot through Lenila's eyes at the last thought, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before she forced herself to adopt a blank expression, a soft breath escaping her chapped lips. Her inner scars itching at the ever-returning blame, a guilt that would never cease.
There would not be a day in Lenila's life where she did not wish everything could be different. Alas, the god's had a peculiar way of showing their love… Lenila's stare hardened as she inclined her head- almost unnoticeably. She saw her Lady's eyes catch her's and presented her with a proud smile, heart full of love and loyalty at the powerful red-haired woman. The little bird turned wolf indeed, she thought.
What was undoubtedly a cock measuring contest amongst the noble Lords/Ladies and the self-proclaimed Dragon Queen- it seemed as though none was impressed by Daenerys Targaryen. Listening closely, gaging the reactions of the hall to the words spoken between the most important members of the upcoming war against the dead- Lenila clearly saw the reluctance in allowing some stranger to rule the Northern lands once more. Internally, Lenila could understand the plight of these people- they had been betrayed. Betrayal after betrayal, bloodshed after bloodshed- these people had lost everything. It was foolish of Daenerys Targaryen to think she would win the cold hearts of the Northerners by parading dragons in the sky and arriving in Winterfell as if she was a god. Foolish and presumptuous.
They would never accept her.
"Tell me, little love – what has you in such a dour mood?"
Strong brows pulled together to make a mighty frown, gentle sounds of strands of bold red hair being brushed becoming almost deafening in the silence.
"The Dragon Queen… What do you make of her, Lenila?" Sansa questioned, avoiding Lenila's concern thusly with a single snip of sharp canines.
Silently inhaling a breath through her nose, Lenila's hands braided the Lady's hair with practiced precision- crystal blue eyes never leaving Sansa's similarly toned gaze. "She was foolish to believe that you would welcome her with reverence and utmost devotion. None accept her, Sansa."
Lenila felt more than heard the responding huff to her words as she frowned playfully at the stubborn wolf in her hands. Tugging lightly at the completed, single braid- Lenila rolled her eyes.
"Do not be stubborn, wolf. You would do well to remember that you are the Lady of Winterfell, albeit unofficially. They look to you when they're cold. They look to you when they're hungry. They look to you In their need."
Twisting the thin braid at the back of Sansa's head into a coil, Lenila secured it before nodding at her work. It was simple but Sansa had no need of frivolous displays of beauty- she was the embodiment of beauty; in the wildness of her heart and the sharpness of her tongue.
"They look to Jon and soon- they shall look to her." Sansa's bitter words hung between them as Lenila shook her head.
"Nay, my darling love. Their hearts are true to you. I have seen it." And it was true. Jon was dubbed the 'King of the North' and Daenerys could claim the title of 'Queen' but in truth- none had truly taken the time to nourish their people. Sansa had maintained her presence- if there was an issue, no matter how small… who do the lords and ladies seek if not Lady Sansa Stark?
"Why are you doubting such?" Lenila questioned, stepping back from her work to face the mirror- studying Sansa's face.
Sansa grimaced at the question, looked away before returning her gaze to Lenila's and Lenila couldn't help but think of a younger version of the girl in that moment. "He is here, you know."
"You cannot keep avoiding my questions with trifle. I will ask again. Why are you doubting yourself?" Lenila's tone became sharp and though she had no right to be so firm- innately, she was afraid Sansa would begin to hide from her, again.
"I… I am afraid." Hesitantly, as if ashamed to admit so, Sansa's jaw tightened. "Do not mistake my words for some childish babble. I am afraid of losing the strength I have gained. After everything. I have earned this."
Nodding softly, Lenila's body moved around the Lady to stand in front of her- a gentle hand resting on the younger woman's cheek as her thumb stroked the skin gently. "Power is fleeting… one must truly show strength in character if they wish to maintain it. You are strength itself. Do not doubt. Use it, harness it to your advantage and be smart."
A twist of her lip accompanied her words and Lenila gave Sansa's cheek one more soft pat before raising herself to full height and inclining her head towards the chamber door. "Shall we, My Lady?"
Sansa raised a bold eyebrow, her eyes slightly sparkling with long forgotten mischief as she raised from the seat and nodded elegantly, taking her friend's arm with affection. "He is here, you know." She said conversely, the two high-born ladies walked towards the Great Hall with no real haste- their heeled footsteps echoing amongst the dead stone.
There was music faintly heard in the distance and Lenila's heart stuttered with… longing? Denial? A combination of the two? She, again, wished for a different life. "I must be getting old. Who is he?" The words felt drier than the porridge she had eaten that morning, the denial of hope sinking in the depths of her heart.
A ringing chuckle escaped Sansa's lips, her expression one of amusement as she turned to look at the older woman, her height meaning she was angling her head down- chin pointed. "The Hound." The words were pointed. Pointed in their ability to crush every thought Lenila may have been having in that moment.
Steps faltering a moment, Lenila felt her breath stammer in her chest before she halted completely. "Sansa… It has been years." Eyes framed by thick, dark eyelashes closed, lips pulled into a frown and cheeks became flushed with pink as Lenila's body tingled with the knowledge.
Would it be a lie if Lenila ignored the way her body thrummed at the prospect of seeing him again? It had been years. Even so, Lenila would never cease to forget the way the Hound's fingertips felt when trailing his rough hands over her neck, his heat causing her skin to break out in the most wonderful of feelings: blood boiling, as if on fire and breath stuttering with pleasure. Hands that killed so savagely also being capable of gentle touches and granting the result of such grand pleasure. No. Lenila could never forget him. She would never forget him.
Taking her out of her daydream as the two ladies began their soon-ending journey, Sansa shook her head. "You loved him. Still do. He loved you… I rather doubt that has changed." She told her, a small wistful smile on her lovely face.
"Perhaps." Lenila nodded at Sansa in response but said no more, the doors of the Great hall once again becoming clear in her vision.
Halting in her steps, Sansa inhaled deeply- turning once again to the older woman at her side. "A feast to welcome a Queen." She said shortly before taking a moment to compose a blank expression.
Sensing the inner struggle in Sansa's heart, Lenila wrapped a cold hand around the ladies' warm one and smiled gently- crystal eyes filling with warmth. "Show them that the only Queen in the North is you."
Lenila gave another gentle squeeze of Sansa's hand before separating herself away from the Lady Stark and standing a few steps behind her. Although not a maid, or someone of lesser stature: Lenila very readily gave the attention to Sansa. Lenila had her time. It was now Sansa's turn.
With that, the Great Hall opened with a loud groan, the already gathered members not paying any heed to the new arrival until Lady Sansa, followed by Lady Lenila walked further into the room: their presence instantly gaining the eyes of the lords and ladies as well as the maids and servants. The Hall was warm, the smell of ale and rich foods marinated the air as well as the faint undertone of sweat. Gathered in the corner of the Hall was a band: the sounds of music being played once again warmed Lenila's heart. She so loved to dance… or used to. Proficient at playing the harp, Lenila yearned for the touch of the harp's strings once more.
Following her lady towards the high table, Lenila took her place to Sansa's left- allowing her eyes to rake over the gathered members. Almost instantly, the chatter of the Great Hall became deafening- the sounds of celebrating becoming almost infectious and Lenila could not help the amused little smile that lit her features. Although, her heart yearned to find Sandor and see him one again- Lenila kept dutiful to her lady. She would not leave until she gained leave to do so. Sansa needed her and Lenila would be damned before she left her once again.
Lenila was not sure how long it had been before she felt an unknown pair of eyes intensely studying her. She knew who it was without even needing to turn her gaze toward the person. Maintaining her composure as she turned towards Sansa, the knowing look in the Lady's eyes already trained on her, Lenila swallowed her hesitation.
"Go." Sansa ordered gently. "He's been watching you ever since we stepped foot into the Hall."
Perhaps she was mistaken to doubt the change in his feelings then. Perhaps the denial she felt was a source of insecurity. She had grown old after all… or older at least. Feeling her legs shaking in protest as she stood, Lenila turned her tentative eyes towards the intense, dark gaze and felt herself nearly melt at what she saw.
Desire, pain, hope, shock… All that reflected almost ironically in her gaze as well as both past lovers took the time to study each-other's faces whilst not being confined to filling an awkward silence. It was almost as if she was in a trance, Lenila's eyes never took a moment of reprieve as she unconsciously moved towards the large, scarred male.
He had not changed, not even an ounce. The man she had fallen in love with remained. Lenila soon found herself standing almost chest to chest with the man, his large frame causing her to look up with a yearning in her eyes that she had not shared with anyone else.
"Sandor,"
"Lenila."
A rough hand traced her small, in comparison, cheek- the grasp was gentle, as if afraid she would break or disappear if he pressed too hard. Lenila felt her breath stutter past her lips, surely Sandor would feel it- the longing in that gush of stuttering air that came from her increasing as her heavily lidded eyes fell closed at the heavenly feeling. Sandor's grasp hesitantly tightened as his large thumb, traced her slightly plumped lower lip with attention achingly close to worship.
"I thought I would never see you again. There was word… I was sure you were dead." Lenila managed, whispered words against the ever-present thumb at her lower lip. Lenila's tongue peaked from her mouth as she slowly trailed her lower lip from one side to the other, softly sweeping past Sandor's thumb as she saw his eyes close at the sensation of her wet tongue.
Lenila almost sobbed, her heart becoming painfully full of joy at the reactions she could still bring out of the normally stoic man. "Kiss me, Sandor." She breathed, desperation thickly dripping from her words.
Sandor's dark eyes almost snapped open with her breathy words, his hand falling to the base of her jaw, palm angling her head up towards him. Scarred lips moved over plump lips with tentative beginning as Lenila felt her whole life shatter and begin anew. With fervour unknown before to either of them, Lenila gasped, eyebrows furrowing and eyes clenching shut as she poured everything she had into the kiss: her pain, her longing, her joy.
Soft hands dug into Sandor's chest, tightening their grasp as the man trailed his scarred lips over her cheek and down her neck with restrained hunger. "Please…" For what she was pleading for Lenila didn't wholly know: whether it was for them to trade the Great Hall for the comfort of her chamber or whether it was for him to simply take her in front of all the gathered member of Winterfell… She wasn't sure. All Lenila was privy to at that moment was Sandor… and her need for him.
"I've yearned for years to hear you sing again, songbird." The grunt distracted Lenila from her heaving chest momentarily and the burning need in her stomach as she opened her eyes and took a moment to halt Sandor's wondering hands.
Unable to help herself, Lenila's thoroughly swollen lips pulled into a bright smile- white teeth gleaming in the low light.
"As have I… yearned for the feel of these hands." Taking the palm at her neck, Lenila could not resist to place soft, featherlight kisses on the calloused pads of each fingertip before tracing each individual story of the suffering and pain Sandor had experienced and readily gave in return. "Dreamt of them stroking, gripping, trailing every inch of my skin. Causing such pleasure until I sobbed in my yearning and utter misery for not being able to grant myself some release-.."
Harsh lips ceased her words, the hand cradled in her palms roughly gripping her hip as Sandor growled in her mouth- plundering and robbing her off any semblance of false control. Teeth clashing against each other, tongues rolling over themselves- Lenila's lips burned from the fury of the kiss as she pulled away from the kiss to whisper the words both of them have been yearning to hear…
"Come… The feast shan't miss us."
A/N :
Hello everyone! Thanks for reading this one shot! I haven't written anything in more than five years- but I feel like I've grown as a person, and as a writer. I guess I wanted to try and see if I've still got it in me.
Please comment how I did and if there's anything that I could still improve in my writing! Any comment is a good comment- even the most critical one!
Hope you enjoyed!