Stolen - Chapter 7: The Kiss

[ladytp]

SUMMARY OF THIS CHAPTER:
Quietly cursing he felt his restraint leaving him as he leaned towards her, pressing his lips hungrily on hers.

Sandor

Sandor didn’t like it at all. Something was not right – Eddard Stark’s trial was to be the next day and he still hadn’t heard about the supposed escort taking him to the Wall. Sandor had tried his usual contacts among the squires, who were commonly the first to know about comings and goings of the keep, but none of them had heard a thing. He even asked some of the knights, who looked at him as if he was stupid – who cared about such procession? He didn’t want to ask anyone from the small council; he was not supposed to even know about the plan, really. He knew many things he was not supposed to, standing as he did behind Joffrey in most events. Everyone had grown so used to his presence that they paid him as little attention as they would to a piece of furniture. Yet if he started asking too many questions, it would only raise suspicions. No, better just wait and keep his ears open.

The day before the trial dragged on with no further updates. Sandor started to think he may have to come up with another plan. Maybe they wanted to keep Lord Stark imprisoned for a while longer? Maybe the King had some additional punishment planned for him – some grandiose act of penitence in public perhaps? Or maybe Lord Eddard would be sent away immediately, but in secrecy lest the unruly mob got a whiff of it and caused trouble. Lord of Winterfell was a popular figure amongst the smallfolk, who had grown up hearing stories of his heroic part in the Robert’s rebellion.

Sandor didn’t like the whole thing with Eddard Stark. He didn’t really care about the lord himself, but he didn’t like the way how his attempts of telling the truth had been squashed, and he had been dragged down. Even a blind cow could see that none of Cersei’s wimps had an ounce of resemblance to Robert Baratheon – that is, everyone but Robert himself. Or maybe he did, but didn’t want to face it. Everyone in Casterly Rock had known that things were not quite as they were supposed to be between the two golden heirs. That much had been obvious for years.

Whatever was going to happen, something had to happen – and soon. Sandor mostly liked returning to his room in the evenings knowing that the little bird was there, waiting for him. Waiting for me, ha! Like she has a choice, being in truth my prisoner. Yet some evenings he dreaded to go back to her presence when all he could do was to stare at her, imagine those soft limbs in his grip, that delicate skin under his touch... Especially after the evening he had made her come to him and had touched her, he wasn’t sure if he could hold himself back much longer.

Sandor was aware that had he been like some other men – like that fucking Ser Boros – he might have raped her the first night, and the second, and the third... night after night. Just thinking of it made his manhood stir, and he hated himself for it. Nevertheless, he had seen enough mute suffering in women’s eyes back at his childhood home - first in his mother’s, then in his sister’s – that he didn’t want to be the cause of it for any woman if he could help himself. So he stayed away on those evenings when his head was filled with thwarted lust and his loins ached just for the thought of her. He stayed at the hall, only hurriedly dropping some food for her before returning to drink himself slowly to a stupor that only a strong wine could provide. He had gone to a whorehouse to see Ranna one evening. She had received him coolly but soon relented – after all, she was not in a position to be choosy about the customers. Their coupling had been intense, at least on his part, but had brought him only a temporary bitter relief.

He cursed quietly as the court proceedings drew to a close and he was free to go. Should he go to the practice yard to exhaust himself against a string of opponents, so he would be too tired to think of anything but rest when he was back in his room? Should he go to the city to find solace in one of the many winesinks? Should he spend this possibly last evening she was still in his clutches with her?

Sandor sighed and sag his shoulders feeling the inevitability of his decision. If it was indeed to be the last night with her, he had to be close to her. Without being conscious of it, his steps had already taken him to his door.

The little bird appeared calmer than usual, clearly also aware of the significance of the next day. He would have thought her more excited – but in reality there was still much in between her and a happy homecoming, which probably troubled her mind.

“Any news…about tomorrow? Or the procession to the North?” she asked quietly as they were sitting on the table. He leaned back and looked at her thoughtfully.

“Nay, not a word. The trial is still taking place, but no news about the convoy. Mayhap they are not in a hurry after all, and will start arranging it only after the trial.”

“Oh.” She looked down, not having eaten a thing of the modest meal in front of them..

“It is not necessarily a bad thing. It takes effort to plan a party to go all the way to the Wall. Hells, when Robert took upon his head to go Winterfell it took whole two moons to get everything organised!” Sandor didn’t know why he was trying to reassure her. All he was sure of was that there was no need for her to be as worried as he was.

“Besides, it can still all happen tomorrow – they are just not telling all and sundry about it. If that is the case, I will have to do some quick arranging and you better be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. In the worst case, the main party can leave first, then I can steal away with you in the evening and ride hard to reach them for a change-over.” That was the plan he had devised in his mind for such a case.

Sansa looked at him and tried a small smile in return. The trust she seemed to put on him pierced his guts as a dagger of cold steel.

The rest of the meal was a silent affair, both brooding in their thoughts. Afterwards he sat down on the bed while she was cleaning the table. Well, this may well be it. After tonight she may fly away and I will never see her again.

He coughed and growled, “You want to come here, girl?” Why he had chosen to ask rather than command her, he could not have said. He knew that this was not a matter of her choosing whether to come or not, he would want her in any case.

Sansa looked up, placed the water jar from her hands on the table and came to him – hesitantly, yes, but came nevertheless.

As before, he pulled her to his lap, and as before, she didn’t struggle but settled there stiffly. She was now fully dressed, but he could still trace his hand around the neckline of her dress and along the length of her arm covered by the fabric. Sandor lifted both of his hand to her face, leaning her head back and wrapping them around her head. His thumbs were under her chin, his fingers splayed across the back of her head, squeezing tight. It occurred to him that if he wanted, he could crush her pretty little head between her hands just by squeezing, tighter and tighter…

If she had any such thoughts she didn’t show them. She looked at him with lids half closed, saying nothing. Sandor felt himself drowning in those big blue eyes, but didn’t move. He had no expectations, he had no intentions beyond just holding her a little while longer, looking at her a little while longer.

Suddenly he thought he noticed an almost imperceptible movement, as if she leaned towards him. He didn’t move, thinking it was just a trick of the eye caused by the intensity of their gaze. Then he noticed – and felt – it again; she was inclining  towards him. She was still looking into his eyes, her lips parted and the rhythm of her breathing had changed.

Quietly cursing he felt his restraint leaving him as he leaned towards her, pressing his lips hungrily on hers. Still she didn’t struggle but moved even closer to him, her lips parting in a quiet acquiescence. He could tell she hadn’t kissed much before, so awkward was her response, but at that moment he couldn’t have cared less. He felt his lust soar in him, felt his hardness against her – but struggled against it. She could be going home tomorrow. Would I make her hate me now?

In his heart he knew he knew he didn’t want that, no matter what short-lived pleasure forcing himself upon her would provide. Eventually he pushed her away, maybe a bit more forcefully than he had intended. Sansa almost fell on the floor but regained her balance, standing up and looking at him solemnly for a moment before retreating to the bed and curling against the wall.