Stolen - Chapter 5: Observations

[ladytp]

SUMMARY OF THIS CHAPTER:
The more she observed Sandor, the more profoundly she felt that he was like no other men were or could be.

Sansa

Sansa couldn’t make up her mind on what she thought of the Hound - Sandor. Was she afraid of him or grateful to him? Was he her saviour or her jailor? Most of all, she didn’t know why he was doing these things to her; keeping her in his room and not allowing King’s men to arrest her, looking after her by bringing her food and clothes, planning to send her back to the North. And why had he that day touched her so intensely and kissed her...but without going further than that?

She had been too scared to resist when Sandor had dragged her in his lap. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, but her septa’s warnings how she should never be alone with a man who was not a close family member, came to her mind. She had asked then why, but Septa Mordane had only replied that noble well-brought ladies simply didn’t do that. Well, she had been alone with Sandor for a long time now – even spending nights in his company – and hadn’t so far seen any justification for those warnings. Was that about to change?

As he started to touch her, more thoughts raced inside her head. She remembered the muffled conversations among the servants talking about the kitchen maid who had been accosted by a soldier when she had been working alone in the Winterfell kitchens late one evening. Something terrible had happened to her - something dirty, based on how the talk had skirted around what had really taken place.

Sansa was not completely clueless about what went on between couples. When married, it was to be expected and ladies had to tolerate those things in order to give children to their lordly husbands. She had also overheard giggling confessions of her newly married friends, and had gathered that sometimes those activities were not only tolerable, but even highly desirable. She had been confused about whether all the different glimpses were actually referring to completely different things. Maybe there was more than one way how men and women could be together?

Yet here they were, not married, and Sansa embraced herself in preparation of something unpleasant. She was so completely and utterly under his power that whatever he wanted to do to her, she couldn’t do anything to prevent it. She only hoped it wouldn’t be too bad...wouldn’t hurt too much. In her heart however she couldn’t believe that this strange man would truly make her suffer. His hands had been so gentle before, only seeking to make sure she was not hurt.

So Sansa had held her breath, hoping that whatever happened, it would be over quickly. What she hadn’t expected was the sensation of Sandor’s hands probing her body, so gently and softly. When he had pressed his mouth on her neck, it had sent her heart racing – not from fright but from something else, something she had never felt before. She had felt as light-hearted as when leaning across the highest turret of Winterfell against the abyss below, and having the dizzy sensation in her head making her wonder how it would feel to let go and just fly, fly through the air as a bird...

After he had let her go she had felt almost disappointed, which made her blush when she realised it. A noble maiden should be horrified and repulsed by the touch of such a rough, common man – but that touch had been so gentle, and his kisses light as butterflies fluttering their wings on her skin.

Over the next few days Sansa found herself observing Sandor closely whenever he was around. She tried to hide it from him, thinking he would be annoyed. Slowly she started to see the man behind the Hound.

She had always seen him as only a hard, silent figure looming around Joffrey as his sworn shield. She knew of course of his reputation as a remorseless killer, but she couldn’t help wondering if it was in larger part due to his face than his actions. Other soldiers and knights killed as mercilessly, but didn’t get the same reputation. Or was it his rough manners and brusque responses to everyone, regardless of their position whether high or low? Was it his size and skill with sword that made everyone afraid of him?

At first Sansa had been afraid of him just like everyone else, but after the Hand’s Tourney that fear had somewhat diminished – but only as long as he had kept his distance. Her first days in his room she had been more frightened than ever, but as the days passed hear fears abated. Sandor still presented a horrific sight with his puckered and burned skin, but over time she started to see past the disfiguration. The incongruity of features so radically transformed made it difficult to read him, but gradually she started to see the man behind the facade and recognise his expressions and emotions from the good side of his face.

She noticed that besides his habitual scowl – and when she thought about it, it was the only expression she had ever seen him wear before – there were other emotions. There was the sardonic rise of the eyebrow when she had said something apparently stupid, and a slight pull of the unburned side of his lips indicating he was smiling – not that it happened often. Sometimes he had a noticeable twitch in the burned corner of his mouth indicating his anger or frustration. The expression she liked the most was when he was sharpening his sword and his face had the quiet, serene look on it. That reminded Sansa of her father, who used to do his best thinking while working on his sword in the Winterfell godswood.

Living with him in those close quarters also allowed her to see and observe more of the man than she had ever done. Oh yes, she had many brothers, but they had ever been just boys to her; all skinny arms and childlike behaviour, even Robb with his status as the heir of Winterfell. If they had grown up to be men, at least she hadn’t noticed. The knights and retainers in their household had been far removed from the noble maid like her, and Joffrey, the only boy she had been close enough to pay proper attention to, was indeed only a boy compared to the Hound.

Sandor was so big and strong – he had to bow his head when he walked through the door and when he sat down, the chair under him creaked alarmingly. On their way down the Kings Road Sansa had seen him lift a chest to the wagon, which later required two soldiers to lift it off.

One evening as they sat down for a meal and he was gulping his wine, Sansa observed with fascination how the prominent bulge in his throat moved up and down as he swallowed. Instinctively she touched her own throat, although she knew already that she didn’t have one. Only men had, but she hadn’t really paid any attention to other men before to notice.

His arms were thick and muscular and covered with a coarse black hair traversing all the way to his knuckles. The hairs were not however enough to cover prominent veins, that made their way down his arms and forearms to his hands. She looked down at her own hands but all she could see were faint blue lines indicating the presence of those veins – so why were his so pronounced?

His voice was low and raspy. It might have been affected by his accident, but when he spoke she felt that reverberating right through her.
The more she observed Sandor, the more profoundly she felt that he was like no other men were or could be.