ladytp

SUMMARY OF THIS CHAPTER:
The only thing that mattered for now was to make sure they reached their destination safely and once there, would not be parted but would stay together, one way or another.

Sansa

Sansa looked at the powerful warrior and saw how tightly his fists were closed by his sides. He would do that…for me?

There was only one answer she could give.

“If you truly would do that, I would forever be in your debt.” She looked at him feeling such warmth and tenderness as she had never felt before. Then she realised something and furrowed her forehead.

“But how could you? The Lannister’s would never let you go – and you owe everything to them. If you do this, you will forfeit everything you have gained in your life; your place as the king’s sworn shield, respected position in the court, your life at court and in Casterly Rock.”

She felt flattened. Of course no man, especially a second son of poor landed gentry would give up his life for…what? Gratitude of a traitor’s family? She hardly realised Sandor had moved closer until he sat down heavily on the chair next to the bed. He looked stern and sombre as he spoke, staring straight into her eyes.

“I might have though the same earlier. But the truth is, little bird, that I never had anything truly worthwhile here. I have merely been with the Lannisters as they were the ones who gave me a home when I needed one, and needed my services when I grew strong enough to be of use. But they never gave me anything to believe in.”

Sansa stared at him breathlessly; she had never seen him quite as serious.

“I am tired of being their dog, fetching at their command. I am ready to be my own man now. And ready to commit to a cause that I truly believe in.”

“The cause of the North? The revenge for the Warden of the North who was so cruelly murdered by the false king?” Sansa muttered under her breath, feeling the heat he radiated even through the distance between them.

“No little bird, not that cause.”

She continued staring at him. What is the cause he believes in? She wanted to understand what motivated this strange man. It was true that she didn’t have much knowledge of men and what drove them, but what little she did know did not fit with what she saw in him. He didn’t want to be a knight – he hated knights. He didn’t seem to want power or influence for himself – for that men needed allies and he didn’t seem to have friends. He wasn’t after money or favours – he had accepted the tourney winnings but there were many ways how he could have used his position of influence with the King to advance his cause, but seemingly didn’t. He didn’t chase women – despite his face, his position should have assured some attention, even a marriage with a daughter of a small house. But she had never seen him with women, except the evening when that woman had tried to come to his room.

What do you believe in? Sansa wanted to ask him that, but instead herself saying out loud, “What cause will you commit yourself?”

He hadn’t removed his gaze from her before but now he did, shifting on his chair, looking at his hands.

“Mayhap one day I will tell you, mayhap not. For now isn’t it enough for you just to know that I am ready to leave this place and take you to Winterfell, to be with your family?” He looked at her now almost challengingly, something hard in his eyes. Sansa swallowed and hurried to assure him.

“That is your right for sure. I will not seek to uncover your reasons if you rather not share them. I only hope that your cause and mine are aligned and we will both find contentment in our chosen path.”

He looked at her with an expression she had learned to indicate quiet amusement. “Aye little bird, I hope so too.”

They spent a long time that evening discussing how to go about their plan. Sandor wanted to leave as soon as possible and Sansa wasn’t willing to wait either. They concluded that in two days they would leave, and that Sandor would use the time to buy her a horse, get the supplies they needed and find out as much as possible about the movements of the crown forces in the areas they would have to travel through.

Sansa felt frustrated at how little there was that she could do. Her irritation only intensified her resolution to do her share when they were on the road. I will not be a spoiled lady, I will do whatever I can to aid our travel. He will have no reason to regret his decision.

She was afraid to think of what would happen once they got to Winterfell, but was determined to do anything in her power to make sure that he would be rewarded. She could imagine how shocked her family would be to see her arriving with him, the Lannister dog. She would explain them how good he had been to her, how he had forsaken his previous life to help her - for whatever reason it might be. Maybe he could stay as their man-at-arms? With his experience he could surely be a commander of some sort. Or…maybe he could become her sworn shield? Would he agree?

The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. It would mean that they wouldn’t have to be separated. She knew that relationships with lords and their most trusted men could be as close as those between family members. Like her father’s relationship with Martyn Cassel, who had died at the fighting at the Tower of Joy, and later with his son Jory. The strongest relationships were often forged in wars, where a man’s life depended on his fellow man. Whether that man was of high or low birth had nothing to do to with the strength of the bond formed. What has this been if not a war? He saved my life, I saved his. Sansa thought of the long way ahead of them from King’s Landing to Winterfell and shivered. It would not be easy and their bond would be even more tested.

She knew there was a bond between them; one formed slowly, gradually but surely. She had stopped being afraid of him a long time ago. She still didn’t want to raise his ire, but she was certain he would never harm her. As for the times when he had touched her, she was not frightened of that either. Sandor hadn’t gone further although he easily could have, had he wanted. The only time he had put his lips on hers had been when she had leaned towards him first. Sansa blushed when she remembered the feeling and the heat the moment had elicited in her. For a moment she idly wondered if he would kiss her again, while they were travelling. They would have to continue to live in close quarters, spend all their time in each other’s company and sleep next to each other to keep warm…

As Sansa started to pack her meagre belongings she started quietly hum to herself. She felt strong, she felt confident – she could hardly wait to be on the road with the hard and strong man, who nonetheless represented only kindness to her. When they would be at their destination, she would make sure they would not be parted, but would stay together, one way or another.

I will make sure of that.

Sandor

Sandor felt the frustration of the last few days giving way to a newly invigorated feeling of purpose. The next day he went to the city to buy a sturdy but good natured mare for Sansa. He also visited shops and warehouses for supplies they would need in weeks to come; another bedroll, warm blankets and water-proof covers, fur-lined cloaks, dried food to maintain them until they could buy more, and snares and traps for trapping small pray. He thoughtfully weighed up wine skins trying to determine how much they would need, and with a small sigh decided that food and clothing was more important than wine, and settled for four small skins.

He left the horse and supplies at an inn in the Flea Bottom to wait for their departure. His next task was to find out about troop movements. That was achieved surprisingly easily by talking to veteran men-at-arms, squires and stable boys. The news was good and it appeared that at least their initial route until as far as the Trident was relatively safe riding if they just avoided the Kingsroad.

His next task was harder. Sandor wanted to buy them as much time as possible, and the only way to get that was through the King. He approached Joffrey that same afternoon after judging him to be in one of his good moods. He had made up a story about some trouble in Clegane’s Keep, asking permission to visit it on important estate matters.

Joffrey looked at him surprised. “Why would you care about the matters of Clegane’s Keep – aren’t they Ser Gregor’s worries? It is not your land, after all.”

Sandor made a face of indifference. “That is so, Your Grace, but if I am lucky, someone will kill him soon enough. There is a long list of people who would like to see him dead and I might just be fortunate enough to see it happening sooner rather than later. If that happens, I would want my lands to have been properly looked after.”

Joffrey examined him with narrowed eyes. “The present company included, I suppose?” It was well known that the Clegane brothers hated each other, so Sandor only shrugged his shoulders without commenting.

“You plan ahead, dog. I like it!” Joffrey declared, rising from his chair and starting to walk towards the throne room. If you only knew, Sandor thought while following, trying to suppress a sardonic smile tugging in the corner of his mouth.

“Well, if you must, go then. But be back as soon as possible. The realm is restless because I was bold enough to punish the Stark traitor as he needed to. You get one week and that is all. Ride there and back as fast as you can with that beast of yours. If he is as good as you say, you should be able to do that easily.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” Sandor bowed stiffly. One week! That was better than he had expected. They could get far before his desertion would be noticed.

Desertion. He didn’t like the sound of it. But that’s what it was, whichever way it was viewed. If he was lucky, he would be thought deserting on his own – but if Ser Meryn’s suspicions were further raised or if anyone had seen or heard anything... If he was found to have escaped with the Stark girl, he would be a hunted man for the rest of his life in any territory where the Lannisters held sway.

He considered for a moment killing Ser Meryn, but in the end concluded it would raise even more suspicions. Also, he knew he was never going to come back to serve the Lannisters again. He was done with them, no matter what followed.

As Sandor was readying himself for their journey he did the one last sweep in his room, packing only his most valuable possessions to take with him. Among them was the little doll that had belonged to her sister. IT had been the only thing he had taken with him from Clegane’s Keep all those years ago when leaving for Casterly Rock. He had been only a young boy then, keen to get away from the house under Gregor’s tyrannical rule. Tywin Lannister had welcomed him and he had been grateful to him, returning his favour by dedicating himself to his cause, however skewed or twisted.

He stared at the doll. The little bird was already sleeping, the steady rhythm of her breathing in his ears. I took you from Clegane’s Keep. Is there anything I want to take from the Red Keep? Were th ere any good memories of the life he had lived there, and now inevitably leaving behind forever. Is there anything I will miss?

In his heart he knew that the only thing he wanted to take away with him was sleeping there, ready to depart with him. When the little bird had asked him to what cause he was ready to commit himself, he couldn’t have given her a truthful answer. That the only cause that had ever roused him from his indifference was the girl himself, and the bond he felt slowly forming between them.

‘I only hope that your cause and mine are aligned,’ she had said. So would I, Iittle bird – if that only could be. He was determined all the same to make sure that she reached her home safe, secure from the Lannisters, protected from anyone who may want to harm her – even from himself. Sandor winced thinking ahead the long journey ahead. They would have to stay close, if possible even closer than before when sharing the room. There would be temptations...

Sandor was grateful that Sansa didn’t seem to be afraid of him anymore. He still couldn’t decide what to make of the kiss. He was sure she had leaned towards him, but why? She was grateful for him, he knew – was that it? She wanted to reward her faithful knight with a kiss of faith? She was so young and naive that she might think something like that. The kiss itself hadn’t certainly been a chaste kiss of reward but something much more...

He cursed, swearing to keep himself in better check in the future. No matter how tempted he would be, he would control himself. Not only did he want to protect her, but he decided that if he was given an opportunity to stay at her family’s service, he would. Whether the young Lord Stark could trust a man who had abandoned his previous liege lord and master, was another story.

Sandor couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her there and riding away, alone. Maybe he could offer himself as her sworn shield – would she accept him? It would mean that they wouldn’t have to part. It would also ensure that when her family inevitably married her to some high lord, he would have to follow her to her new home. He would see her growing heavy with his children, her bestowing her favours to her lordly husband. He grimaced, feeling his hatred for that nameless foe already heating his blood.

Still it would be better than not to be with her at all. There was still much that could happen until then. The only thing that mattered for now was to make sure they reached their destination safely and once there, would not be parted but would stay together, one way or another.

I will make sure of that.

                                                                                                                       ----- The End ------

Thank you for everyone who made it this far, for your perseverance! As I said in the beginning, this started as a Comm Fic Meme entry and was only the second story I ever wrote; just a little playful tale… Since I first posted this in Sept/Oct 2012, I have reviewed it and corrected the most horrible grammar in March 2013, not changing the story as such.
Comments are love…

SUMMARY OF THIS CHAPTER:
She collapsed to the ground and gasped, trying to breathe, but felt as if a tight strap was bound around her chest. She lifted her arm towards the man in front of her in a helpless gesture and saw him reach for her.

Sansa

Sansa had realised why Sandor had asked her to come to him – she had known and she had gone to him anyway. Would he have demanded her had she not obeyed his request? She wasn’t sure and in any case preferred to maintain the illusion that she had a choice. Since he had touched her the previous time, she had often thought about it and the sensations it raised in her. She had been afraid…but also strangely stirred.

The second time was no different. When he had squeezed her head between his large hands, she had been acutely aware of how vulnerable she was, and he so utterly powerful. But she also trusted that he wouldn’t harm her. Almost without being conscious of it she had leaned towards him, not sure of what she expected to happen – but the kiss that ensued was so much more and so much better than she could have imagined.

Sansa sat on the bed, still breathing heavily and trying to ascertain what she should do next. Why did he push me away?

Sandor hadn’t said anything, but had left, coming back only much, much later. She expected him to be drunk as he often was when returning from his outings, but to her surprise he wasn’t. He had been brusque and curt, telling her once more to prepare herself for possible departure the next day, had rolled out his bedroll and gone to sleep. Sansa stayed awake for a long time before falling asleep, thinking about her time in the care of the strange and unpredictable man.

The next day she was nervous and agitated. She didn’t have much to pack, but prepared a bundle from warm clothes he had brought her, wrapped some bread and hard cheese in a cloth and sew the coins he had given her into the lining of her dress. As most days, she passed time away sitting by the little window with a view to the central courtyard. The room was so high up and the window so well protected by an overhang that Sandor had deemed it safe.

Around midday she saw a gradual trickle of people departing the keep, and sometime later heard bells of the Great Sept of Baelor. The trial has started. Sansa tried to imagine her father standing on the platform, looking dignified and solemn. She prayed for him; the Father to grant him fair judging, the Warrior to give him strength and the Crone to give him wisdom to endure his humiliation.

Time dragged on and eventually she saw the crowd returning. Its mood appeared restless, the groups of men talking to each other agitatedly and gesturing. Gold cloaks arrived shortly and dispersed the crowds and remained standing guard on the yard and at the all gates. She wondered what this meant. Sandor would know – if he just got back!

Sansa paced the room back and forth, back and forth, waiting for him, jumping from every little noise. Finally she heard his heavy footsteps approaching and saw him emerging from the door. Something is not right. He looks…dejected. Suddenly she didn’t want to hear what he might have to say.

Sandor sat down heavily on the bed and stared at her for a long time. The silence that extended between them frayed her nerves until she couldn’t take it any longer.

“What happened? Is my father on his way to the Wall by now?”

He breathed heavily and sighed, “No, little bird. That son of a bitch useless little shit executed him. Just like that. Ser Ilyn Payne chopped his head off with his own sword.”

Sansa’s world came crumbling down. “Father…dead? Can’t be, must not be! She felt all strength leaving her body; as if her arms and legs had been drained of power to hold her up, and her lungs punctured of air. She collapsed to the ground and gasped, trying to breathe, but felt as if a tight strap was bound around her chest. She lifted her arm towards the man in front of her in a helpless gesture and saw him reach for her.

The next sensation she had was being completely wrapped in his embrace, and she allowed herself to drown into her sorrow.

Sandor

Sandor still couldn’t believe what had happened. He concluded that it had been Joffrey’s idea, planned likely with commander Janos Slynt and Ilyn Payne. The members of the small council, including Queen Cersei, had looked shocked as the events unfolded. Sandor himself had been standing back and not been able to do anything – not that there would have been anything he could have done.

He sat on the floor holding the little bird who trembled in his arms and sobbed her little heart out. He cursed, as he had cursed the whole way back to the keep. It had been a long time since Sandor had been in a position to comfort a woman. He patted her awkwardly and just held her, his touch containing none of the intensity or hunger it had had before. He only wanted to hold her to make sure she wouldn’t fall into pieces, shattered by her grief.

He held her until late that night, as she cried until it appeared she simply didn’t have any more tears left, eventually falling into a restless sleep.

The next day he had no choice but to go on duty as before. The court was still buzzing about the unexpected turn of events the previous day. While escorting the King, Ser Meryn Trant approached Sandor.

“One Stark dealt with, two more still at loose.” Sandor only grunted – he loathed the sly man and didn’t care about his thoughts about Starks or anything.

“It is strange how two young girls have been able to evade the best knights of the kingdom for such a long time. Especially the older one - lady Sansa - she appeared such a fine lady, that she probably wouldn’t survive long out there on her own.”

Sandor didn’t like what he was saying and tried to ignore him. The man kept talking, paying no attention to his indifference.

“I thought the same on the day we were sent to capture them, so I went back to the Tower of the Hand to see if we had maybe missed something. And mayhap we did, as I found signs of a struggle in the solar; soot from the fireplace everywhere, a piece of torn fabric. The trail of struggle led to the staircase and I could have sworn someone or something had been thrown down the stairs. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”

The man looked at him now directly, expecting an answer. Maintaining a blank expression Sandor retorted tersely, “How the seven hells would I know. I was sweeping outside the keep trying to find them.”

“Yes, yes, quite right, of course you wouldn’t know as you were not there,” Ser Meryn admitted but Sandor didn’t like the way how his eyes narrowed as he watched him. Cursing loudly he pushed the man out of his way and rushed after the king.

Later he wondered what the incidence had meant. Did Ser Meryn suspect anything? Had he seen something? Had others started to notice how Sandor had started to spend more and more time in his rooms, instead of in the hall or in the city taverns. Did anyone know about the little bird? He reminded himself that if anyone knew, they would have already come to get him. Maybe it was indeed that Ser Meryn was genuinely wondering about what he had seen, and simply tried to put the pieces of the puzzle together by making enquiries.

Whatever it was, it made the hair on his back rise and he wasn’t comfortable about it. He was confused about the way his life had recently turned so complicated. It used to be so simple and straightforward; he followed the orders, did what he was told by the Lannisters and Joffrey, and when he didn’t have to do that, he had drunk himself senseless. And then repeated the same cycle again. He hadn’t had these conflicting feelings, these thoughts that tormented him, nor the responsibility of the girl who sometimes still angered him with her stupid courtesy even in her current dire circumstances. And what was he supposed to do with her now, when his plan to send her away had failed? And why did he feel disappointed but also relieved at that in equal amounts?

Sandor sighed to himself. I have to do something. And soon.

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.