
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1003336.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, book_canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-10-14 Completed: 2014-01-26 Chapters: 8/8 Words: 28495
****** A woman's weapon ******
by Maroucia
Summary
     Desperate to flee King's Landing and Joffrey's building cruelty,
     Sansa finds she has no choice left but to use the sole asset she has
     in order to get the help she needs.
     Beta-ed by the great Wildsky Sheri.
Notes
     Hello girls!
     Here’s the first chapter of a brand new fic I started. I think I
     should warn you that anyone who doesn’t like dubcon should skip this
     one.
     This fic takes place in some imprecise moment of the story so don’t
     be surprised if the timeline seems a little confused. Sansa is aged
     up for obvious reasons but I’m not going to give her a precise age
     either.
     I hope you’ll enjoy! I can’t wait to hear what you all think of this
     one!
     (Oh and by the way, this fic should be about 5 or 6 chapters long)
***** Chapter 1 *****
                                     Sansa
 
 
The long corridor before her was dark, so dark that Sansa couldn’t discern any
of what lay more than a few yards ahead of her. All along the old stony walls
hung scattered lanterns that glowed dimly but their halos were more blinding
than anything else. Careful with each of her steps, Sansa anxiously advanced in
the gloom, her hands sweaty and shivering as they held her cloak tightly around
her. By finding herself in these parts of the Red Keep at such a late hour, the
young girl was well aware that she would almost certainly stumble into the
Hound and the prospect of seeing his terrible face take form in the darkness
and feeling his steely grip on her wrist was bloodcurdling to her. Anytime she
met him by herself, she always felt so exposed and vulnerable, as if he could
read through her very soul and gain control over her whole being. And yet here
I am, walking in these areas with the sole purpose of putting myself in his
way…
 
Her whole body shivering with a mix of cold and nervousness, Sansa kept going
through the water-seeping rock alley. Each of her steps followed the last in a
succession of automatic movements that made her feel almost as if she wasn’t
truly marching through the long passage but really dreaming the whole thing. Or
perhaps it is a nightmare, Sansa mused, knowing very well it was not. Although
her existence had indeed been turned into one over the last year, she had
stopped hoping she’d awaken in her bedroom at Winterfell several moon turns
ago. The realisation that she would need to find her way out of the trial she
was in by herself had recently struck her, and hence here she was, a young
maiden lost in the night with a very specific goal in mind.
 
After days of intense reflection and hesitation, she had finally made up her
mind moments earlier and resolved to act on the crazy idea that had sprouted in
her head almost a sennight ago. Fearful that her courage would abandon her if
she waited so much as an additional minute, Sansa had immediately hurried out
of her room and headed for the less recommendable parts of the Red Keep. Even
now as she explored the unknown corridors, her resolution was still wavering
but a stubborn part of her kept her going anyhow. After all, however weak and
helpless she often felt, deep down Sansa was a wolf that yearned to survive
more than anything else.
 
The girl gained a new burst of courage at the thought and she was just starting
to feel slightly better when her reflections were abruptly interrupted by the
echo of faraway footsteps. Is it him? she wondered, petrified and gaping in the
darkness.
 
“What’s the little bird doing here in the middle of the night?” the rough
steel-on-rock voice of the Hound resounded from the other side of the long
corridor, confirming her suspicions.
 
In the blink of an eye, the faint confidence Sansa had barely managed to gather
vanished into thin air. She had to wonder at that instant if she wouldn’t have
preferred to run into someone else instead and see her scheme crumble before
her than having to proceed with the mission she had given herself. There’s no
turning back now, she realised, breathing in deeply. Trembling, she watched,
wide-eyed, as Sandor Clegane’s towering shape took form in the gloom before
her.
 
The strong scent of wine that so often enveloped him quickly reached Sansa’s
nostrils. He must be off-duty, she surmised. While the man was a well-known
drunkard, he was always sober during his shifts. He wasn’t wearing his armour
either - although he still had his white Kingsguard cloak draped over his
shoulders - but was garbed in plain wool breeches and a roughspun tunic
instead. Sansa couldn’t have prayed for more ideal circumstances; well into his
cups and dressed as simply as he was, Sandor Clegane was undoubtedly free of
any assignments until dawn. It was almost as if the planets had aligned on
Sansa’s behalf tonight… the only detail that lacked for everything to be truly
perfect was some much needed assurance on her part.
 
“Shouldn’t you be in your room sleeping?” the Hound asked in a mocking tone
while seizing her by the upper arm. “What would the king think if he knew his
betrothed was out in the dark of night by herself?” As usual, the man’s face
was twisted in a mean scowl but the queer spark that gleamed in his eyes told
Sansa that he was amused at finding her here.
 
“I was… I was lost,” Sansa lied. She didn’t want to reveal herself so soon.
This was not the place.
 
Snorting, the Hound stared down at her for an instant but Sansa didn’t dare
meet his gaze for fear she would lose her nerve. “Still don’t know your way
around the keep, do you? What a helpless little bird you are. You’re lucky I
found you.” With that, the man let go of her arm and put a heavy hand on the
back of her shoulder. “Go on, girl. I’ll bring you back to that chamber of
yours,” he rasped, pushing her forward.
 
Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let Sandor Clegane guide her though the maze
of corridors, her eyes politely lowered even though the man was behind her. Her
cheeks were burning with shame at the thought of what she intended to do and
her heart was beating so loudly that she wasn’t even certain she would hear
anything if the Hound addressed her. Could she really go through with her plan?
It seemed impossible that she found it in her to be so bold. I have to! Or
else, I’lldiehere in King’s Landing. Joffrey will kill me sooner or later and
this is perhaps the last chance I’ll ever get to flee.
 
About a sennight ago, Sansa had heard about a great Braavosi ship which had
recently anchored at the capital’s harbour. Such vessels were certainly common
in King’s Landing but what differentiated this one from all the others was that
its captain had been given permission to dock even though its next destination
was WhiteHarbour. Of course as foreigners, the Braavosi weren’t expected to
stop trading with the Northerners but the fact that the ship would go directly
from one side of the divided realm to the other was uncommon enough that Sansa
had heard about it.
 
From the moment she had heard of the unusual visitor, Sansa had daydreamed of
watching the capital disappear from the horizon, comfortably installed on the
vessel’s deck. If only she could find a way to creep out of the castle,
everything would go smoothly afterward, she had thought to herself when she
first heard about the ship. While she had far fewer jewels than most ladies at
court, the necklaces and earrings she possessed would surely suffice to pay for
a cabin and once she’d arrived at WhiteHarbour, House Manderly would
undoubtedly loan her the sum she needed to travel to Winterfell.
 
It was useless fantasizing about such a flight though. There was no way Sansa
could ever secure a place for herself on the craft and most of all, escape from
the Red Keep at all.
 
If she wished to board the ship, she’d need help, for it was impossible for her
to achieve it on her own. Sadly, not a soul cared about her fate in the
capital. She was a mere traitor’s daughter, despised by most and ignored by
all. The sole person that had given her a little of his attention since her
father’s death was the Hound but although he had often been gentle to her in
his own harsh way, the man was still Joffrey’s sworn shield. She couldn’t
possibly ask him to help her escape, Sansa had soon concluded. Sandor Clegane
was no selfless knight looking to rescue defenceless maidens at his own risk.
He wouldn’t waste his energy on such a venture if there was naught he might
gain from it and Sansa had nothing to offer in exchange that might interest him
anyhow… unless…
 
A recent conversation Sansa had had with the queen had suddenly come to her
mind one afternoon while she was despondently lying on her featherbed and
turning the whole situation over for the hundredth time in her mind.
 
“Tears are not a woman’s only weapon, Sansa,” the woman had told her on a night
she was enjoying lecturing her as she so often did when she was in her cups. “A
woman can also use what she has between her legs to get what she wants.”
 
Such crude words coming from a lady’s mouth had shocked Sansa. The very thought
that a woman might use something as precious as her virtue as a tool to get
what she wanted had scandalised her at the time but now… was she not about to
heed the queen’s advice?
 
It had taken Sansa days to begin allowing herself to consider the idea
properly. When the notion had first crossed her mind, the girl had been
completely appalled that she could even ponder something so vile and she had
immediately discounted it as utterly insane. Staying intact was crucial for a
maiden of high lineage. Her purity was a treasure she should protect and
cherish!
 
Over time though, some very reasonable objections had hit Sansa, one of which
had ended up bringing her to change her mind on the matter completely. If she
stayed in King’s Landing, Joffrey would continue his beatings and as his
cruelty kept escalating with each occurrence, the chances that Sansa would
survive longer than a few years were obviously quite low. Of what use would her
maidenhead be if she lay dead on the throne room’s floor? Before her chastity,
Sansa had better protect her life for the former had no meaning to a cadaver.
 
Once the first step of accepting that she might need to sacrifice her
maidenhood in order to escape had been taken, Sansa had been confronted with an
equally, or perhaps even more frightening prospect… Lying with the Hound.
 
There was indeed no other man in her surroundings she had any hope of swaying
to help her and even with the Hound, she wasn’t entirely certain it might work.
Sure, she had noticed how he looked at her and was almost sure he had some sort
of interest in her. Also, he had commented on her growing body once and saved
her from the bread riots without being ordered by anyone but still, there was a
risk he might laugh in her face at hearing her proposal. However, it wasn’t as
if Sansa had many other options and thereby, she had kept trying to convince
herself she had to do it over the last couple of days.
 
The prospect of undressing herself in front of Sandor Clegane, of letting him
caress her young body with hands more accustomed of killing than caring for a
maiden was also quite terrifying. What if he hurt her? No, he wouldn’t, she
kept repeating to herself as she walked, feeling the warmth of his hand on her
shoulder. The Hound has always been gentle toward me. Still, whenever Sansa
envisioned how his cruel, burned lips would feel against hers and how his
scarred cheek would brush against her skin, a shiver of disgust would go down
her spine and she would bite her lip in fearful anticipation. He may be
hideous, but if Sandor Clegane can help me get to this ship, I won’t stop him
from doing whatever he wishes to me. I’ll be forever grateful towards him and
work very hard not to show him my aversion.
 
“Almost there, little bird,” the man announced as they began going up the
Serpentine stairs. “Next time you go on one of your nightly visits to that
buggering godswood you love so much, make certain to follow your usual path.
The area you were in is certainly not fitting for a bloody lady.”
 
“I thank you, my lord,” Sansa muttered, biting her lips. It was slightly ironic
that Sandor Clegane would refer to her as a lady when the proposition she was
preparing to utter was anything but ladylike.
 
“Still chirping your empty little words, are you?”
 
“No, I… I owe you quite a lot, my lord,” Sansa answered. Trying to appear more
at ease then she truly was, she turned around to look him straight in the eyes
and curled her lips in a small, tense smile. If she really wished to lay with
the Hound, she had better start gazing at him and giving him more than a little
girl’s scared glances. “I’m sincerely thankful.”
 
Her attitude seemingly startling him, Sandor Clegane halted and tightened the
hold he had on her shoulder. From where he was a couple of steps down from
Sansa, they were almost of a height and his frowning face approached hers.
 
“What game are you playing now, little bird?” he hissed, looking irritated and
bemused at once.
 
 “It’s not a game!” she cried, both panic-stricken and abashed at how badly her
words had been received. “It’s the truth I’m telling you, my lord. I… I know
you don’t have to help me but you always do anyway.”
 
At hearing her reply, the man’s eyes widened but then he began staring at her
with so much contempt that Sansa barely contained tears from welling in her
eyes. His fingers were painfully digging into her shoulder and she was just
about to try to shrug him away when he shook his head and pushed her forward.
 
“You’re really a stupid bird, are you? Wasting your pretty little words on me
like this,” Sandor Clegane hissed as they resumed their ascent.
 
I’ll never be able to go through with this, Sansa repeated to herself once
more. She couldn’t let it go so easily though. Perhaps a more straightforward
approach would work better with the Hound. He was certainly not the kind of man
who liked to be flattered after all.
 
“Here you are, little bird. And no fucking show of gratitude needed here,” the
man spat when they reached her door.
 
He was just about to leave and head towards the stairs when Sansa caught him by
the sleeve. “Wait! I… I need to talk to you about… about something. My lord,
please. I have a proposition.”
 
The man’s previous bemused expression returned to his terrible face but the
hint of a mocking smile curled the corner of his lips this time. “What could a
little bird like you have to propose? Doesn’t seem to me that your life is full
of occasions to haggle over anything.”
 
His response making her even more anxious, Sansa breathed in a few times while
she tried vainly to find the perfect way to answer him.
 
“Go on. I haven’t got all night,” the Hound ordered when she didn’t reply,
before taking a gulp from his wineskin.
 
Breathing in deeply, Sansa decided the time to reveal herself had come. “I… I
would like you to… to help me get on the Travelling Titan. I can pay for my
passage only, I’ll never be able to get to the vessel by myself.”
 
On hearing her demand, the Hound nearly choked on his wine. “Let me get this
straight, girl. You’re asking your betrothed’s own buggering sworn shield to
help you flee from his master’s loving embrace?” His eyes narrowing in mirth,
the man barked a hoarse and low laugh. “You got more nerve than I believed.” A
mean grin on his lips, he eyed Sansa with curiosity. “And why would I do
something like this, tell me?”
 
“I would… repay you. I don’t have any gold and only a few jewels but I could…”
Sansa paused, not certain if she had it in her to finish her sentence.
 
The Hound was staring at her with a fixed smirk and an incredulous expression
in his usually unreadable eyes - as if he had already divined her intention and
couldn’t believe what he had read in her.
 
“Tonight I would give you… anything you want… from me,” she whispered, each of
her words smaller and weaker than the previous one.
 
At that, Sandor Clegane’s eyes grew wide and Sansa began wondering if she had
not put herself in more trouble than she ever had in her short existence.
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hello everyone!
     For a number of reasons, the second chapter is already done. Don’t
     get used to this pace though; it won’t last.
                                     Sansa
                                        
 
For a long and awkward moment, both Sansa and the Hound stayed silent and
still. The only sound that could be heard in the gloom of the corridor was the
dripping of moisture as it slowly seeped through the stone wall and ceiling and
landed on the floor. Her whole body trembling in horror at what she had just
done, Sansa kept her eyes lowered to the ground, too anxious to glance at
Sandor Clegane.
 
“What exactly did you just offer me, girl?” the man suddenly asked, his voice
betraying no emotion at all. “Did I really hear you right?”
 
Sansa was at a loss as to what she might answer. There was no point in denying
her intentions as the Hound had clearly understood her meaning and was sure to
read any lie she attempted to make him believe. Besides, she couldn’t abandon
her hopes, no matter how thin, of swaying him to help her flee King’s Landing
just yet and thereby, recanting her proposition was simply out of question.
Still, the situation was so humiliating and nerve-racking that Sansa couldn’t
help but stare at the ground and stay as quiet as a frightened child.
 
Obviously displeased by her muteness, Sandor Clegane seized her jaw with tight
fingers and lifted her face. “Look at me,” he ordered flatly.
 
Slowly, Sansa raised her gaze and did as he bade her. Surprisingly, he didn’t
appear half as mad as she expected but still, everything about his stance was
mocking and spiteful. As always, he had his ways of intimidating her without
doing much and she barely managed not to avert her eyes.
 
“Did you truly just offer yourself to me, same as any bloody whore would?” the
Hound asked sharply once he was certain he had her utmost attention.
 
The question was so harsh that Sansa felt her whole body turn red and burn from
the moment she heard it. “It’s not the same,” she retorted meekly while
lowering her gaze. “I don’t want any gold from you,” she whispered after a few
seconds of silence in the same childlike voice. Then unexpectedly, some meagre
courage overtook her and gave her the force she needed to meet his stare again.
“What I want to gain from this exchange is my life,” she added in a tone that
sounded almost calm to her ears.
 
For a short instant, the Hound seemed taken aback by her response but his usual
wry expression quickly reappeared on his ravaged face. “Perhaps. Still, why
would I be interested in taking a woman that won’t even look at me while I bed
her?”
 
Breathing in deeply, Sansa raised her chin as high as possible in Sandor
Clegane’s steely grip. “I am looking at you now,” she stated as convincingly as
she could while fighting the impulse to turn her head around as she normally
would have.
 
For the next minute or so, Sandor Clegane intently stared at her, right in the
eyes, waiting and expecting her gaze to dart away from him. Obstinately, Sansa
kept her own eyes locked on his, adamant in proving to him that he was mistaken
- even though she knew in truth he wasn’t.
 
In the end though, she thankfully did fool him.
 
“Seems like you’ve grown bold enough to look at me after all,” he rasped lowly
after a long moment. Although his tone was flat, Sansa read some surprise in
it.
 
Removing his hand from her jaw, he tilted his head, studying her with narrowed
eyes. “What exactly did you expect from this proposition of yours again?” he
asked, while letting his stare travel over her face in such an odd way that
Sansa had to fight a shiver. “Your maidenhead against my help bringing you to
that bloody ship? You think your cunt’s worth all that trouble to me?”
 
While his words were harsh, Sansa sensed he was more interested in the trade
than he was willing to make it appear and the awareness emboldened her. “These
would be the terms,” she murmured with a nod. “It wouldn’t be much risk to you
though. You’d only need to secure a place for myself on the ship and help me
escape from the castle once the time comes,” she continued, speaking in total
ignorance while hoping her words weren’t too far from the truth.
 
“And how could you be certain that I wouldn’t take you and forgo my part of the
deal once I’m done with you?” the Hound sneered after having drunk a long gulp
of wine. “You’d have no one to complain to afterwards if I were not honest.”
 
“You’re right, of course… but I trust you. I know you’re no liar,” Sansa
whispered softly. “Am I right?” she asked, praying the gods that she was not
mistaken, while timidly glancing at him.
 
Glaring down at her, Sandor Clegane waited a few long seconds but then he
snorted and looked away. “Aye, you are,” he grunted almost reluctantly. “I’ll
keep my word… if I agree, that is.”
 
Trembling equally from fear that he would refuse and fright that he would
accept, Sansa kept her unassured gaze on him. “And… do you?” she demanded
hesitantly.
 
Clenching his jaw, the Hound began turning around as if he was considering
leaving but then, he cocked his head and smirked tightly, all the while never
meeting Sansa’s gaze. “Perhaps you’re not as blind and clueless as you make it
appear. After all, you chose your target pretty damned well,” he rasped lowly
before facing her once more. Grinning in an almost menacing way, Sandor Clegane
laughed dryly and looked at her with eyes dark and gleaming. “I do want you.
Let me in your bed tonight and you can count on me with your escape.”
 
For an instant, Sansa was too dumbstruck to react. Had her stratagem truly
worked? The Hound would help her flee? It was too good to be true. She almost
grinned at that instant, but then she remembered what his agreement
involved.I’ll be giving myself to him in moments!she realised with sudden
dread. Simultaneously, the man’s admission sank in and Sansa’s heart began
pounding fiercely as she grasped the meaning of his words. Sandor Clegane was
indeed trulyattracted to her. Although she had already suspected it and even
counted on that supposition, to hear it so openly from his own lips was utterly
unsettling.
 
When the Hound noticed how tense she had grown, he snorted with something like
irritation and glowered down at her. “Regretting this already?” he growled, the
burned corner of his mouth twitching slightly.  
 
Sansa was as scared and nervous as a bird caught in a cat’s mouth, however
there was not a chance in all of Westeros that she’d let this opportunity fly
away so easily. Swiftly, she took the last step that separated her from Sandor
Clegane and laid a hand over his upper arm. “No!” she cried, staring at him
with imploring eyes. “Please follow me, my lord,” she said in a broken but
determined voice before turning around and heading to her door.
 
An eye blink later, Sansa had stepped inside and the man was locking the door
behind him. That’s it! The Hound is going to take my maiden’s gift!she thought
as a new surge of panic overwhelmed her. There was no complaining though; that
was exactly what she had asked for after all. Besides, thanks to the sacrifice
she was about to make, her feet would touch northern ground in less than a
moon’s turn and that was all that truly mattered in the end. With that in mind,
Sansa steadied her breathing and tried to calm herself. It wouldn’t do for
Sandor Clegane to notice how totally petrified she was if she didn’t wish for
him to abruptly change his mind. He wanted her to look at him; he had told her
so only minutes earlier and Sansa would give him what he desired as best she
could. Gathering her courage, the girl went straight to her bed in a trance-
like state and sat on its edge. The sooner they were done with it, the better
it would be, she tried to convince herself.
 
Looking unexpectedly uneasy, Sandor Clegane was sweeping his gaze around the
chamber when Sansa looked at him again. After what appeared to her as a very
long moment, he sighed, settled his now empty wineskin on the table and began
unbuckling his sword belt, all the while not even sparing a single glance in
her direction. Once he was done, he settled his weapon in the corner of the
room and sat on a chair not far from her. Sansa was watching him out of the
corner of her eye, her back straight and stiff and her sweaty hands demurely
set over her lap in an attempt to keep them from trembling.
 
“I said I agreed to your terms,” the Hound rasped as he started undoing the
laces of his boots, his eyes still averted from her. “But I also want you to
promise me something first.”
 
Unwilling to refuse him anything at this point, Sansa compliantly nodded as
soon as she heard his words.
 
“This is the last time you’ll ever offer yourself like this. Once is fine, but
you won’t get used to it. Say it,” he demanded roughly, almost snarling the
last words.
 
Slightly disconcerted, Sansa gulped but nonetheless immediately agreed to his
terms. “I promise. This is the last time I’ll ever do such a thing.”
 
“Good,” the man growled as he kicked his boots off. “I don’t want you becoming
like one of those buggering luxury whores that crowds the Red Keep,” he said,
raising his stare. Eyes narrowed at her, the Hound stood and took a step toward
the bed. “For all that, I’d be a fool to refuse your offer. Especially now that
I know I’ll be the last man to whom you’ll ever propose anything similar,” he
added with a smirk.
 
Biting at her bottom lip, Sansa kept wide eyes fixed on him for some time,
feeling the speed of her pulse increase with every passing second. It took her
a long moment to realise that Sandor Clegane was probably expecting her to do
something. The problem was Sansa had no clue what that might be. Perhaps… I
should undress, she mused, totally abashed at the prospect. Still, her hands
rose to her collar of their own accord and unclasped the brooch of her cloak
before letting the large piece of cloth fall over the bed.
 
The Hound gave her a wry half-smile at that. “That’s a start,” he rasped
sardonically.
 
A small fire was burning in the hearth and its orange glow was reflecting over
the man’s burned face, making his scars appear even more gruesome than they
actually were – if that was possible. Fighting against her every instinct,
Sansa forced herself to look at him and behold the fearsome sight he made with
his cruel, gaunt features, long black hair and gloomy demeanour. He was a
maiden’s nightmare, a giant closer in appearance to an ogre than to the
handsome knights Sansa fancied and beyond that, he was so tall and broad that
he would surely crush her under his weight while they… they… Oh gods, what did
I get myself into?!
 
“Calm down, little bird,” the Hound’s rough voice interrupted her troubled
thoughts.
 
I have to gain control over myself,the girl tried to reason, shaking herself.
Was the man annoyed with her for her agitation?
 
“I’ve never had a maiden before,” Sandor Clegane told her nonchalantly while
taking the last step that separated him from the bed. “Nevertheless, only a
deaf man has never heard of how sensitiveyou females can be at first. You need
not worry; I’ll be careful with you as much as I can.”
 
Sansa wasn’t certain if his words were supposed to reassure her but at least
naught in his attitude indicated her obvious trepidation bothered him in any
way. The awareness eased the frantic beating of her heart to a somewhat more
regular rhythm but the respite only lasted a few breaths for Sandor Clegane
shortly kneeled his imposing body before her. The enormity of him was perhaps
even more impressive crouched on the floor than it had been a mere instant
before while he stood at his full height and Sansa felt uncomfortably small and
fragile next to him. What is he doing? she wondered anxiously while
instinctively turning her head around and shutting her eyes. Just as she was
doing so, the girl felt the Hound’s large hand settle over her cheek. Against
her will, she flinched at the contact - exactly as she had promised herself she
wouldn’t do.
 
Burying his other hand in her hair, Sandor Clegane began softly caressing her
face. “Shhh,” he whispered hoarsely. “Calm those bird nerves of yours, there’s
nothing healthy in being so tense.”
 
The feel of the Hound’s fingers stroking over her face was rough, as could be
expected from the hands of such a man, but his touch was also unexpectedly
gentle. Slowly, he let his thumb and forefinger trace the line of her jaw and
the shape of her cheekbone and Sansa began to relax – if only slightly – but
still, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. Yet even in the darkness
she voluntarily kept herself in, she could sense how hungrily the man was
staring at her and she was beginning to doubt she’d ever find the courage to
contemplate his lust in truth.
 
Steadily, the Hound’s warm breath brushed against the side of her face, however
its heat couldn’t stop Sansa from shivering at the proximity they were in.
“Could you truly be cold with that fire burning in the hearth… or are you
trembling from fright?” Sandor Clegane asked in a dry but queerly not ungentle
tone. Softly, he lowered his hand over Sansa’s neck and caressed it lightly
with his knuckles. “Tell me, little bird. What scares you most? Losing your
maidenhead or lying with me?”
 
For an instant, Sansa couldn’t find her voice. What was she supposed to reply
to such a question? There was no point in lying to the Hound! He had probably
already guessed the answer for all she knew anyhow. She would need to find a
way to tell the truth while not saying it in such a fashion that she risked
displeasing him.
 
“Both daunt me equally,” Sansa breathed after a few seconds of awkward silence.
“I’m a maiden after all… and you… are an intimidating man.”
 
At that, the Hound chuckled as softly as his gruff voice allowed. “Fair enough.
I’ve heard it said often enough not to blame you for it.”
 
Circling his hand over her throat, his face approached Sansa’s neck and he
settled his mouth on its side, his lips warm and wet against her smooth skin.
At the contact, the girl instantly gasped in surprise, eyes popping open when
she felt the man’s tongue lazily trail over the softness that lay there. In a
heartbeat, the queerest sensation Sansa had ever known rose from the center of
her being and spread all over the rest of her body with the same intensity and
speed of a flash of lighting cutting through the sky.
 
Confused by her own reaction, Sansa inhaled deeply, hopeful that the action
might allow her to tame her rebellious core, but then the Hound bit at the
tender skin and the same strange sensation once more flowed over her. This
time, Sansa couldn’t hold back a soft moan from escaping her lips.What is
happening to me? she wondered in a mix of confusion, fear and… something else –
mysterious and strange - that she couldn’t quite figure out.
 
 
 
Author’s note: I know I’m a bad person for writing this story but I’m not
sorry. 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Oh my! This one is finally done! I hope I won’t disappoint. Don’t forget to
tell me what you think! :)
                                        
                                        
                                     Sansa
 
 
 
At the sound of her moan, the Hound backed slightly away from Sansa and glanced
at her for a short instant, a spark of disbelief shining in his dark eyes. Did
I do something wrong?the girl wondered, heart pounding and lips slowly opening
in a small O. The scale of her ignorance where these things were concerned was
rapidly starting to hit her in all its overwhelming enormity. True, she did
have a general idea of what a husband did to his wife once the candles were
blown out at night but still, Sansa had neither been taught the details of the
act nor how one was supposed to behave before, during and after the deed. Now
that the terms of her trade with the Hound had been agreed upon and the time
had arrived for her to do her part, Sansa was swiftly realising with building
dismay that she had no true notion of what she had offered. The thought was
nerve-wracking to say the least. Dread at how the towering man kneeling before
her would use her young and inexperienced body to gain his pleasure was quickly
overpowering her. Still, what was truly scaring Sansa at that moment was that
she may have unknowingly done anything that might displease Sandor Clegane
before their agreement could be sealed and thereby, that their agreement would
be suddenly cancelled. While she couldn’t let that happen, Sansa was at a total
loss as to how she was supposedto divine and then prevent something of which
she was completely clueless.
 
Thankfully though for now, the Hound’s expression was not one of annoyance; far
from it even. It was subtle, yet Sansa could see how the unburned corner of his
lips had curled, very slightly. The look in his eyes was unmistakable - even
for a maiden as innocent as she. He wanted her and wouldn’t wait very long
before he took what had been promised…
 
Good, Sansa tried to convince herself as she stiffly shifted her position. She
knew she ought to be happy that the Hound hadn’t been put off by any of her
maidenly reactions so far but her mind wasn’t on the same page as her shivering
body. Extensively agitated, Sansa was quickly losing control over herself
again, feeling her blood pulse through her veins with building pressure and
beads of sweat form over the fair skin of her brow.
 
Her breathing was coming unevenly by now, causing her breasts to heave up and
down with increasing evidence and the movement shortly attracted Sandor
Clegane’s attention. Brazenly, he let his stare fall over the soft swell that
peaked at the top of Sansa’s modest cleavage and his eyes instantly darkened.
While the awareness that he was so bluntly staring at her body made her uneasy,
the same strange throbbing she had experienced seconds earlier once more took
root in the depths of her loins.
 
Dazed, Sansa shut her eyes in an attempt to overcome the chaos in her but the
man chose that moment to lay his large hands over the top of her breasts. The
gesture – albeit to be expected – was anything but that for the maiden.
Fighting the impulse to push him away, Sansa tensed but stayed still. Without a
word, the Hound began untying the fine laces that kept her light dress closed
and fear quickly chased away any furtive trace of budding pleasure the girl had
briefly started to experience. Gulping, she tossed her head back and
compliantly let him do what he needed.
 
“What kind of knot has your damned handmaiden invented here, little bird?”
Sandor Clegane grumbled impatiently after having mumbled a couple of
unintelligible oaths.
 
At that, Sansa let out a short, nervous laugh but that wasn’t enough to loosen
the knot that – in an absurdly similar state to her bodice – was now painfully
twisting her stomach. The force and speed of her heartbeat had reached such an
impressive level that she was certain the Hound could feel it hammering through
his fingers as he fought to undo her gown. If he did though, the man refrained
from commenting and for that, Sansa was thankful as getting teased on her
evident anxiety was the last thing she needed if she hoped to relax at all.
 
For all his cursing, the Hound inevitably prevailed over the laces and the
fresh air of the room soon enveloped Sansa’s curves. Goosebumps immediately
covered her skin and the girl bit at her bottom lip at the sharp sensation,
fighting to steady her breathing. Somehow, she managed to neither quiver too
much nor attempt to cover her nudity, as every fibre of her being ordered her
to. She couldn’t refuse Sandor Clegane anything after all, she reminded
herself. Is he going to lift my skirts and take me now? she wondered in fearful
anticipation.
 
She waited then, trembling and ready for anything and yet, for a long moment
afterward, naught happened. The only sounds that could be heard in the darkness
of the room were those of the crackling fire in the hearth and for Sansa, her
pulse pounding in her ears. The silence was beyond oppressive to her and worry
that the shape of her body wasn’t to the Hound’s taste was hastily sprouting in
her mind. What if, unknown to her and kept secret by her lady mother and
handmaidens, she wasn’t formed correctly and the view of her bare body
disgusted the man? Swiftly, the idea began shrouding the very thin self-
confidence she had had to begin with when she voiced her proposition to Sandor
Clegane but then, just as she was about to truly doubt her normality, thick
fingers pushed aside the layers of lace that still stood in their way and
settled over the tips of her nipples, softly pinching them and playing with
their hardness.
 
The sensation of the tender pressure exerted by those robust hands was unlike
anything Sansa had ever experienced previously and she barely managed not to
let out a whimper at the feeling. Unsettled, she inhaled deeply but couldn’t
conceal the sound of the violent breath she let out when the Hound shaped the
entire roundness of her breasts with his large palms.
 
Grunting in satisfaction - either at her reaction or at the softness of her
skin, Sansa couldn’t tell - Sandor Clegane began kneading her breasts more
firmly and the girl had to bite hard at her lip to stay silent.
 
The Hound’s warm breath was caressing the top of Sansa’s curves, telling her
that both his stare and attention were completely absorbed by her body and
giving her the courage she needed to discreetly glimpse down at him. There was
no denying it: while she blushed at the notion, her curiosity was also quickly
winning and compelling her to have a look. Carefully, she opened her eyes
slightly and just as she did, Sandor Clegane lowered his head over her breasts
and - with a hand that seemed almost brown in contrast with the paleness of her
skin – guided one of her hardened nipples into his burned mouth.
 
The sight of this ravaged man, with a face covered with terrible dark scars,
devouring the pure whiteness of her young curves was as much incongruous as it
was shocking and sent chills all over Sansa’s body from the moment she beheld
it. In a flash, she realised how similarly a black wolf eats a ewe, how fiends
abuse the ethereal creatures they capture in the stories she had been told in
her childhood… So alike was the contrast between her and the Hound.
 
As he sucked at her pink nipples, she could hear him panting in the same manner
a man might when worn out by some sort of physical prowess. The notion was
puzzling as Sandor Clegane was clearly in shape to face far harder challenges
than those offered by a lithe girl. Still, he kept ardently switching from one
nipple to the other and nuzzling at her curves with the same queer and
mysterious weariness.
 
The sensation of his rough lips and teeth nibbling at her tender buds and of
his tongue, soft and supple as it licked at her skin, somehow revived that
curious vibration in the depths of Sansa’s core. Losing control over herself
for the space of a single second, the girl let a small moan escape her lips. At
the sound of her own licentious cry, she tensed and tried to dominate her
senses, adamant about not appearing bizarre in the Hound’s eyes.
 
It was too late though, for her whimper took the man out of the frenzy he had
been in. Almost immediately, he raised his head and stared straight at Sansa,
his face only inches from hers, and his lips gradually curled into a wolfish
grin. His long black hair was tangled over his face and somewhat covering his
scars but the girl could unmistakably see the wildness of his eyes between the
matted tendrils and she almost gasped at the terrifying strength of his desire
for her.
 
Then, in one rapid movement Sandor Clegane pushed Sansa onto her back and
hovered over her, seemingly unperturbed by the yelp he elicited from her.
Clutching at her waist, he grunted softly as he buried his face into her neck
and sniffed at her hair in a manner very like that of a dog and Sansa’s eyes
went wide at the similitude. His body was so heavy over hers and the studded
leather of his jerkin was boring into her skin through the thin fabric of her
dress. Already she felt small and vulnerable against so big and strong a man
and naught real had happened yet. What would it be like when he… he…
 
Still, however frightened and defenceless she was, warmth was hastily flowing
from her centre and whirling to the very tips of her limbs in a fashion so new,
exciting, peculiar and troubling… Slowly letting go, Sansa felt herself
gradually going softer and shockingly, she couldn’t find it in her to truly
mind the carelessness she was apparently starting to fall into. Perhaps I have
it in me to go through with this after all, she reflected, almost believing her
own thought until something hard and seemingly very big rubbed against her
thigh.
 
As the notion of what that thingundoubtedly was hit her, Sansa’s breath caught
in her throat and her previous and very brief hope of finally having won over
her nervousness crumbled upon itself as easily as a house of cards blown by a
violent gust of wind. She had never seen a grown man’s member and the apparent
size of the Hound’s shaft was certainly disconcerting. Of course, it was only
logical that a male so tall and broad be also proportionate down there, but
still! Why did her only potential ally have to be the most imposing warrior she
knew?!
 
Seemingly not noticing her distress, the Hound pushed his manhood even harder
against her side all the while reaching for the hem of her dress and pulling it
up to her waist. At the contact of the fresh air, the slender muscles of
Sansa’s legs contracted all the way to her feet, her toes curling upon
themselves and digging into the featherbed.
 
Panting, Sandor Clegane glanced down at the pale pulled-up legs he had
uncovered and began stroking the thigh nearer to him with a heavy hand, pushing
down her high, thin silk stocking. Taut under his possessive touch, Sansa threw
her head back and breathed in deeply, adamant about taming the fear that was
permeating her courage once more, same as it was sure to anytime a new line was
crossed that night.
 
With a grunt, the man then abruptly stood up. “Get out of that dress,” he
demanded in an almost playful whisper while seizing both of Sansa’s small hands
in his own and pulling her to her feet.
 
Biting at her lip, the girl hesitated for an instant, feeling suddenly very
self-conscious and shy to expose herself even more. Involuntarily, she folded
her arms before her for a very short moment but there was no sense in the
gesture. Shutting her eyes for a heartbeat, she reminded herself of the motive
that had brought her there and began loosening the laces that had been left
untouched by the Hound before pulling her dress over her head.
 
Sandor Clegane’s eyes roved over her nakedness from the second she was freed
from her gown and Sansa’s whole body instantly became even more red and burning
– if that was possible. Laying his hands over the small of her back, the man
dragged her against him and lowered his face over the curve of her neck, biting
her there.
 
“Come now, let’s make you a woman,” he rasped, pushing her gently onto the bed.
Then, just as she bounced on the mattress he seemed to remember something and
lifted her again. “Wait,” he told her. Raising his hands to his collar, the
Hound undid the clasp that kept his Kingsguard cloak tied around his shoulders
and threw the large piece of cloth over the bed. “You don’t want your
handmaidens to find any proof of your misconduct tomorrow morning, I’ll wager,”
he said, glancing down slyly at her. 
 
At that, Sansa raised a hand to her mouth and gasped. “Oh, thank you, my lord!”
she exclaimed, grateful that he’d think about it. The notion that she had
completely forgotten about such an important detail sent a chill all the way
down her spine. “But your cloak... don’t you think that -?”
 
The Hound cut her off with a mocking snort before she had a chance of finishing
her sentence. “You think anyone will give a fucking shit about a few drops of
blood over the so very pure white of my cloak?” Laughing dryly, he grabbed
Sansa by the waist and brought her over the mattress again. “If anything, your
maiden blood will make the mucky think purer.”
 
Biting at his bottom lip, Sandor Clegane studied her for a few heartbeats, all
the while settling a hand over her flat belly. Slowly, he let it slide over her
silk underclothes and seized one of the delicate ribbons that held it in place.
That’s it, Sansa thought, shutting her eyes. A moment later, both of Sandor
Clegane’s hands were clasping the last of her garments and bringing them down.
Against her will, she let out a small cry at the feel of the fine fabric
slipping all the way from her thighs to her ankles and of her soft stockings
following until the light pieces of fabric all noiselessly fell onto the floor.
Instinctively, she brought her knees together and squeezed her eyes shut as
tightly as she could. No. The Hound must not know how frightened I am, she told
herself although there was no way she acted otherwise.
 
“You truly are a sweet little thing, believe my word on that,” the Hound
muttered while moving over her and spreading her bare legs. “I knew it already,
but now…” Lowering his head, he bit at the soft skin of her inner thigh and
inhaled deeply at the scent of her before moving back and standing up.
 
Although she kept her eyes closed, Sansa could hear him moving and fumbling
with something that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but his clothes. Against
her own will, she raised her head and peered upward. When she opened her eyes,
Sandor Clegane was already bare chested and unlacing his breeches. The sight of
his hairy, muscled torso and of all the scars that covered him sent her heart
racing frantically. There was naught reassuring about the idea that this
incredibly powerful man would soon cover her frail body with his and invade her
as-yet unspoiled sanctuary… and still… why did the view of him revive that
queer ache she had almost forgotten about? She was frightened but her fear was
not pure; it was marred with something else she couldn’t understand.    
 
As Sansa was tormenting herself with these unanswerable questions, Sandor
Clegane’s breeches and underclothes fell to the ground and her eyes widened at
the sight that awaited her.
 
The Hound snorted a short laugh at her response. “You’ve never seen a man, of
course,” he rasped lowly, a smirk curling his lips. “I’m not used getting such
a reaction. Some whores are surprised but you…” he trailed off, his smirk
evolving into a wicked half-grin.
 
Petrified, Sansa threw her head sideways and hid her eyes in the rough cloth of
the man’s cloak. “I’m sorry, my lord, I-”
 
“No need for that. Now calm yourself. I told you I’d be careful, didn’t I?”
 
He has. He has, Sansa reminded herself as she felt his weight settling over her
body. His skin was warm against hers and his hands strong as they parted her
legs wide. Very briefly, she had glimpsed his manhood a moment ago and the
concept that something so big and terrifying would soon enter the depths of her
core was totally out of her grasp.Every woman goes through that experience
sooner or later. This is no different, Sansa tried to reassure herself.
 
The hardness of the man’s shaft was rubbing against her belly and mound and all
the while, his mouth was exploring her neck and upper breasts, his hands her
ribs and waist. And then suddenly, his fingers went down to her navel and
reached the juncture of her thighs, sliding between her folds. The sensation it
brought was overwhelming. Sansa had touched herself down there in the past to
clean herself or on a few rare occasions out of naughty curiosity, but never
before had that part of her been so responsive. Against her will, a whimper
escaped her lips.
 
“Not too bad, is it?” Sansa heard the Hound’s husky voice murmur in her ear.
 
Abashed, Sansa neither wished to displease the man nor to lie to him – the
feeling had indeed been… not painful. “No…” she breathed, her skin bright with
shame.
 
“Mmm… good,” he rasped, stroking his fingers more vigorously.
 
Instinctively, Sansa arched her back against him, feeling the solidity of his
muscles against her. It won’t be so terrible,she told herself as Sandor Clegane
caressed the singular wetness that was seeping from her lady’s parts, the
gesture sending shocks throughout her body.
 
But then, just as she was only barely starting to relax, the man aimed his
swollen member at her entrance. Sansa stiffened and gasped instantly. She could
sense how big he was already and he had not even begun entering and the idea
that he would in a question of seconds froze her at once.
 
Laying both her hands over his shoulders, she clutched desperately at the
muscles she found there. “Be careful! Please!” she cried, instantly blushing at
her outburst.
 
“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Remember, little bird?” Pausing, Sandor
Clegane’s eyes sparkled and a small smirk appeared on his ravaged features.
“Well… as much as I could, that is.”
 
“Yes,” Sansa breathed meekly. “I do remember.”
 
“Then relax. It won’t be so bad.”
 
She did trust his words and yet, how could a maiden be calm while the member of
a man that was at least more than twice her size and weight poked at her
entrance? Breathing in, she shut her eyes and attempted to soothe her nerves.
He’ll be careful, he’ll be-
 
White lightning as powerful as the strongest thunderstorm suddenly overtook
her. Against her will, Sansa cried out as she felt her body being invaded so
very deeply by another. Without even realising it, she clung to the man that
dominated her slender self and dug her nails into his rough skin.
 
“Hush!” the Hound hissed. “You don’t want to alert the whole Red Keep, do you?”
 
“No… no, I’m sorry, my lord. I… I…”
 
“No need for apologising, little bird. All is fine. Just keep quiet,” then man
murmured almost softly before resuming the thrusting of his hips against hers.
 
It’s done! It’s done! Sansa told herself as she felt the burning of her
womanhood very slowly dispel. From now on, she knew without a doubt that the
accord she and the Hound had agreed upon couldn’t be reversed. He had taken her
maidenhead and naught could change it. The idea allowed her to relax slightly,
even though her body was seemingly being cut open.
 
Nevertheless, the exchange was still far from over and the man shortly became
more vigorous in his movements, shoving himself within her with increasing
force. Never before had Sansa felt so robbed of her privacy; not only was her
centre being assailed almost savagely but her whole self was engulfed by the
Hound. His scent was seemingly everywhere around her, musky and strong and
swirling into her nostrils.
 
Somehow though - and albeit Sansa felt raw between her thighs - the friction of
Sandor Clegane’s manhood inside her was oddly getting less painful and morphing
into something else entirely. With each thrust, she gasped and as she knew
their deal had been sealed, she didn’t feel as compelled as she had previously
to keep herself in check. It didn’t matter anymore if she groaned and it seemed
weird to the Hound; he would help her flee nonetheless. True, she was still
timid about those puzzling compulsions she had but there was no more real
urgency to hide them and the awareness brought her an unexpected sense of
relief.  
 
It was a good thing because the comings-and-goings of Sandor Clegane’s shaft in
her were swiftly waking something Sansa didn’t even know was hidden in her. She
didn’t understand what was taking her but she suddenly longed to hold his
brawny body against hers as he possessed her.
 
Moaning, she arched herself and let the Hound claim her without resistance. His
manhood was huge and powerful between her thighs but somehow, it was sliding
easily. So often throughout the years of her captivity she had felt so
insufferably small and feeble and now that she was dominated by the sturdiest
man she knew, it was almost as if by clinging to him she could claim some his
strength for herself and the illusion was fortifying. He was so strong… no one
could hurt him.
 
Craning her neck, Sansa gazed up at her assailant’s face and was immediately
struck by the look of him. Although still as fierce and intent as they usually
were, his eyes were no longer filled with the rage that always cloaked them.
There was a passion and a longing there that she would never have suspected in
a million years might possibly be hidden in him. For a heartbeat, their stares
locked and it was as if the thirst she read in him imbued her.
 
Without thinking, she let her hands travel from his bulky arms to the solidity
of his chest.  All the while, a deep cry escaped her mouth and she spread her
thighs even farther apart to give the man the space he needed to thrust himself
even deeper inside of her.
 
It was getting… pleasurable, Sansa realised with stupefaction from the trance-
like state she was engulfed in and so she instinctively folded her legs around
the Hound’s broad hips. Seemingly pleased by her reaction, the man laid his
lips over her neck, gently biting at the skin – but still with undeniable
hunger. The girl moaned but then the strangeness of their encounter abruptly
hit her. They weren’t lovers, that was true enough but still, how empty the act
they shared seemed. How bizarre was it that they could do what they did and yet
not kiss? Not only was it awkward but it was… illogical… unnatural even.
 
Sansa didn’t want to kiss him; he was hideous with his terrible burned face and
besides, he was also a very hateful man with eyes that burned with wrath
anytime they beheld the world that surrounded them. Every coherent fibre of her
being told her she should just forget about it and let him take her as he did -
strenuously and impersonally - and yet… it felt so wrong.
 
It was her first time after all and although it wouldn’t mean anything, she
needed the very important symbol that the encounter of their lips would bring.
Why? She couldn’t tell but thus was the calling of her heart and thereby, she
circled her arms around Sandor Clegane’s sturdy neck and pressed her lips
against his. 
 
The man had been so absorbed by his actions that she had to pull him toward
her; still he didn’t resist and even opened his mouth and plunged his tongue
against hers from the moment their lips met.
 
Kissing the Hound was a strange thing. Although a part of Sansa wanted to be
disgusted at the idea that she could share something so intimate with so
horrible a man, most of her was transported by the feeling. His lips and tongue
were meeting hers in a manner that was almost that of a queer dance, a dance
unknown by all until now and that they were both discovering with the same
unexpected fascination… one that had been forgotten through the ages of time
and reserved for no-one else but them. What am I thinking? Sansa scolded
herself, briskly removing her lips from the Hound’s.
 
Growling in complaint at her abrupt withdrawal, the man glared at her very
shortly but then, he promptly retook himself and quickened his thrusts, seizing
Sansa firmly by the waist to guide the sliding of his member. “Little bird,” he
breathed, before unexpectedly pushing her away and rolling onto his back.
Letting out a deep cry, he stroked his manhood with a tight grip until it
exploded over his belly in long, white splashes.
 
Glancing sideways, Sansa stared at Sandor Clegane for a long time - her legs
still wide open before her in a most unladylike fashion. Both dizzy and
confused, it took her almost a minute to realise what had just taken place.
It’s done! It’s done! The deal is done!she cried out inwardly, not believing it
herself.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Here’s a small one to start off the week on the right foot! As you’ll
     see, it’s really a continuation of the previous chapter. I hope
     you’ll enjoy! :)
                                     Sansa
 
 
For a long time, they both regained control over their breathing, suddenly
alone on their respective sides of the bed while moments earlier they had been
joined so intimately. The separation was queer, unsettling even after the
previous unexpected passion Sansa had just experienced. Had she really kissed
the Hound? The notion was petrifying! Her plan had been to trade her maidenhood
for his help in escaping from King’s Landing but somehow, the whole experience
had incomprehensibly gotten much more intense. She felt unfulfilled now, as if
she had been longing for something more... but no, that was absurd. What more
could she possibly have been aspiring to gain from their encounter than her
freedom?
 
Out the corner of her eyes, Sansa could see Sandor Clegane’s large, hairy chest
heaving up and down as the man lay on his back, his eyes peacefully shut. She
didn’t dare make a single sound or even shift from her place for fear she would
disrupt him; there was really no divining which mood he’d be in once he
returned to his senses after all. Still, some incurable instinct drew her to
bring her legs together when the impropriety of her position finally hit her
and at the movement, the Hound’s eyes instantly popped open.
 
At the sight, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat and a new wave of nervousness
illogically flew over her. There was no reason for her to be so agitated
anymore - her deal with Sandor Clegane had been irrevocably sealed after all –
but still, there was no controlling the frantic beating of her heart as she
waited for him to say something. For what appeared as an eternity though, the
man stayed silent and only stared at the emptiness before him, seemingly lost
in his thoughts, but then his eyes narrowed with scorn and the corner of his
mouth twitched.
 
With a grunt, the Hound stretched his massive body and glanced at Sansa, his
usual scowl already twisting his face. “I’d best get going,” he rasped dryly,
sitting up. Carelessly, he bowed and rubbed off the seed that was still
splattered over his belly with his Kingsguard cloak before rising to his feet.
Wasting no time, he immediately reached for his underclothes and put them on as
soon as he got a hold of them. “That ship you told me about… what was it named
again?” he asked nonchalantly once the garment was well in place.
 
“The Travelling Titan,” Sansa promptly answered while propping herself up on
her hands and sitting up.
 
“I’ll get you safely into one of its cabins before it leaves King’s Landing;
you can rest assured now,” the man muttered flatly while retrieving his
breeches from the floor. As he rose to his full height, he glanced at Sansa,
his stare brazenly travelling down her naked curves.
 
Finally realising how bare she was, the girl drew her legs up and folded her
arms over her breasts in a vain attempt at modesty. “I thank you so much for
your help, my lord,” she answered meekly, feeling her cheeks redden.
 
Giving her a sidelong glance, Sandor Clegane continued, somewhat irritated. “No
bloody need to be grateful, girl. You’ve done your part, now let me do mine.”
Without looking at her, he slid both his legs into his breeches and began
lacing them back up.
 
Silence stretched between them for a time and Sansa was quickly absorbed by an
ocean of thoughts. Absent-mindedly, she followed the Hound with her eyes as he
wandered through the room, searching for his tunic. It was hard to believe that
the beast of a man that stood before her – one that many might consider a
vision from the seven hells - had covered her whole body so very completely
moments earlier, kissing her with fierce tenderness while invading her
womanhood with undeniable finality. Never would she have envisioned the man
that would take her maiden gift to be so impressively muscled, tall and covered
with scars as Sandor Clegane was, but then again all males looked small and
unmarred in contrast to him.
 
Breathing in deeply, the Hound grabbed his tunic and let it fall in place over
the broadness of his torso, the rough fabric covering the dark line of hair
that grew over his stomach and abruptly taking Sansa out of her musings.
 
“Oh! I’d almost forgotten!” she exclaimed as remembrance hit her. Rolling onto
her side, she let her arm fall beside the featherbed and caught her dress on
the floor, swiftly pulling it over her head and standing up. Her fingers
fumbling clumsily over the loose laces of her gown, Sansa ran to her drawers.
“You need my jewels!” she added, as she unlocked her jewellery box.
 
With a questioning grunt, the Hound turned in her direction and impatiently
gazed down at her.
 
“I told you I’d give them to you to pay for my passage, remember?” Sansa
explained, glancing shyly at him while gathering her earrings and necklaces.
 
“Right,” Sandor Clegane replied in a tone that sounded strangely annoyed.
 
Settling his leather jerkin over his shoulders, he took a few slow steps toward
Sansa until he was less than half a yard from her, his large figure casting a
shadow over her. The girl felt as intimidated by their proximity as she had
ever been, which was certainly odd considering how the warmth of his skin had
brushed all over hers only a few minutes ago. Or perhaps is it the very notion
of what has transpired between us that makes me so uneasy, Sansa mused, feeling
herself blush as the man watched her put the jewels into a scarf.
 
“Here, my lord,” she told him while handing him the bundle, barely able to meet
his eyes.
 
At that, the Hound’s mouth twitched and he snorted with something like contempt
but he took the jewels anyway. Briefly, he weighed them in his large hand
before sighing and settling them over the table by his side. “You have more
than you need for your passage in here. I’ll make sure you get the most
possible out of it.”
 
“I thank you for that, my lord,” Sansa replied reflexively while gazing at him
through her lashes.
 
“I told you already: there’s no fucking need to be thankful for anything I do,
girl,” the man hissed, his scowl deepening as he lowered his face toward her.
 
Taken aback by the harshness of his reaction, Sansa jumped and recoiled from
him, her back hitting her drawers as she did so.
 
Seemingly calming down just as soon, the Hound closed in on her and raised his
hand to her face, letting his knuckles trail down from her cheek to her neck.
“As I see it anyhow, I’ve gotten the best side of our little deal,”he murmured,
the hint of a smirk curving his lips and a spark passing through his dark eyes.
 “Don’t you agree, little bird?”
 
“I...” Sansa trailed off, unsure of how she was supposed to answer such a
question.
 
Snorting, Sandor Clegane removed his hand from Sansa, the corner of his mouth
pulling into a frown. “Enough talk. I’d best go now before one of your
handmaidens comes for a surprise visit and catches me here. I won’t be of much
help getting you out of here if my head is adorning the Red Keep’s buggering
battlement.” With that, he turned around and went to retrieve his sword belt
from the corner of the room.
 
As he left her, Sansa let out a deep breath she was unaware she had been
holding. Her back as taut as a bow and with her hands demurely clasped before
her, she watched the Hound buckle his belt around his broad hips. Suddenly, she
glimpsed something shifting at her side and her eyes immediately darted in the
movement’s direction. It’s only my reflection, the girl mused, feeling very
foolish at having been frightened by a stupid mirror. Gazing distractedly into
the glass, she quickly felt her eyes grow wide at the view of the tangled
disarray her hair had become. Oh! I’m a total mess!she thought, horrified. Her
curls weren’t the worst of it though; her bodice only barely covered her
breasts and Sansa gasped as she eyed the depth of her cleavage. In haste, she
raised her hands to her laces and began tightening them more until the swell of
her breasts was less evident.
 
From the chair he had lowered himself into, Sandor Clegane let out a low,
hoarse laugh and Sansa jerked her head toward him from the moment she heard it.
The man had halted in the lacing of his boots to gaze at her with eyes both
mocking and lustful. “Why so eager to cover yourself? Didn’t I just fuck you?
As I remember it, those pretty white teats you seem so adamant about hiding
were in my mouth only moments ago.”
 
Speechless, Sansa stared at him for a few heartbeats, her cheeks burning red.
“But you’ve dressed too!” she retorted once she found her voice again.
 
“That’s because I’m leaving,” he explained, a wolfish half-grin slowly forming
on his lips. “If you’re certain no one will disturb us and you really want me
to stay, I’ll take off my clothes again.”
 
At that, Sansa’s mouth opened in shock but no sound came out.
 
“Didn’t think you would,” Sandor Clegane grumbled, his grin souring slightly.
“Still, that doesn’t mean you have to hurry covering yourself as if I’d never
seen you.”
 
Her cheeks hot with embarrassment at the man’s crude suggestions, Sansa lowered
her eyes to the floor and kept silent.
 
After a moment of stillness, the Hound grunted and resumed the fastening of his
boots. “Right. I’ve got what I wanted and now, I have no fucking place to
complain – is that it?” he muttered with barely-hidden bitterness.
 
Sansa was too ill at ease to reply; the whole situation was completely out of
her comfort zone and there was naught in her education that had prepared her to
face anything even slightly similar.
 
“You’ve got the right of it, of course,” the man added exactly as if she had
acquiesced to his intimation. Uttering a humourless, dry laugh, Sandor Clegane
stood and stalked toward the door in one rapid movement. “I’m out of here.”
 
The abruptness of his departure took Sansa out of the muteness she had shielded
herself with just as briskly. “Oh! Wait!” she exclaimed. In a hurry, she ran to
the table and seized the bundle she had hidden her jewels in. With the same
speed, she turned around but slowed her pace at once when she saw the Hound -
all sombre and imposing – standing on the doorstep. “Here, my lord,” she told
him timidly once she reached him. Their proximity was once more unsettling to
her, inducing the rhythm of her pulse to increase and her stomach to flutter so
very queerly.
 
Snorting, the Hound took the jewels from Sansa’s hands and tilted his head, his
narrowed eyes boring into hers. “I guess we’ll see each other at court
tomorrow. Until then – and even after - make certain not to draw any attention
to yourself. Act the same as you would any other buggering day.”
 
Nodding, Sansa watched as he opened the door and then closed it behind him.
 
From the instant his imposing shape left the room, the girl felt as if a
thousand pounds had been lifted from her shoulders. She was grateful to the
Hound for accepting her offer and promising her his help – no matter how he
obviously didn’t want her to be - but his presence alone was enough to make her
feel extremely intimidated, especially after what had just taken place between
them. Some time alone to think everything over was all she truly yearned for.
 
“Little bird,” Sansa heard from outside the door just as she was about to push
its heavy bolt closed. At the sound of the Hound’s hoarse voice, she grew
anxious all over again.
 
“What is it, my lord?” she asked in a voice small like a child’s as she opened
it for him.
 
“My cloak,” he simply said, staring down at her through the ajar door.
 
Sansa’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest when she heard his words. What a
total catastrophe it would have been if he had not remembered and she’d have
been stuck with such damning evidence of their treason to the king! Without
delay, she ran to her bed and grabbed the large piece of cloth. My maiden
blood! she thought to herself as she glimpsed the red spattering that now
stained the rough, white wool. It was strange to reflect upon the meaning that
simple drop of blood held but she didn’t have time to ponder it and quickly
gave the piece of fabric back to Sandor Clegane instead.
 
Nearly snatching it from her hands, he grunted and his mouth twitched slightly.
“Now I’m going for real. Have sweet dreams, little bird. I know I will,” he
rasped lowly, his lips curling into a faint smirk as he said his last words
before he pushed the door shut.
 
Immediately bolting the lock, Sansa turned around and pressed her back against
the door, breathing in deeply as she listened to Sandor Clegane’s retreating
footsteps. When she was certain he was not going to come back, she strode to
her featherbed and jumped onto the mattress, a wave of clashing feelings
overwhelming her from the instant she lay over the thick covers. Her confusion
was acute and as her anxiety dropped, she finally realised how tired she was
but she couldn’t allow herself to rest just yet. First, she needed to clean up
and change into a nightgown and thus, with a sigh, she stood up and put all her
attention into those mundane tasks for a time, knowing very well that her mind
would soon be overtaken by images of what had taken place tonight and that she
was perhaps living her last moments of peace.
 
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
     New chapter! I hope you’ll enjoy! :)
                                     Sansa
                                        
 
Sophia, one of Sansa’s handmaidens, had just opened the window to freshen the
place and was installing herself by the bath when a cool burst of morning air
entered the chamber. At the chilly contact against her naked skin, Sansa
shivered and immediately sank her shoulders under the steaming water.
 
“Could my lady please keep her back straight? I won’t be able to clean you
properly otherwise,” the handmaiden gently complained.
 
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sophia,” Sansa replied while wearily bracing her back.
 
It was barely past dawn but the girl had been awake for more than a couple of
hours by now. Her sleep hadn’t been peaceful at all to say the least.
Throughout the last night, she had kept rolling between her covers, certain she
could still smell the Hound’s scent oozing from her skin despite that fact that
she had sponged her body with cold water and rubbed it as vigorously as she
could with fragranced soap until her skin was as pink as a newborn’s. When she
finally fell into oblivion, her dreams had been filled with his dark and
invasive presence and she had woken with a start mere hours later. That anyone
couldn’t divine that Sandor Clegane had been in her chamber come morning had
seemed impossible. That traces of him on her wouldn’t be visible to anyone with
a fit pair of eyes had appeared similarly inconceivable but she had wondered
desperately what more she could do that she hadn’t done already?
 
When the first rays of light had entered her room, sunbeams had fallen over the
table and Sansa’s sleepy eyes had grown wide with fright in an instant as she
glimpsed the Hound’s wineskin, still laid exactly where the man had left it the
previous night. How could we both have forgotten about it? she had reflected in
panic while jumping out of her bed and running to the table. There had been no
time to ponder it though as Sansa’s handmaidens usually arrived at first light
and so the girl had grabbed the wineskin, strode to her window and thrown the
thing out of it as far as she could. A lost wineskin in the courtyard wouldn’t
raise an eyebrow, would it? While Sansa drank a glass of sweet wine with most
of her meals, the Hound’s rough preferences were certainly not what one might
expect to find in a young maiden’s chamber and hence, ridding herself of the
incongruous object had been imperative.
 
A young maiden’s chamber, Sansa bitterly repeated to herself, eyes shut with
despair. She had lost all right to that title yesterday and although people
would still be calling her as such until the day she wed, she would never
deserve the name again. How will I not blush in shame every time I hear the
word? Sansa wondered, while folding her arms around her pulled-up legs. There
was something very unfair about it all. With her upbringing, she knew well
enough the value of keeping her purity. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t wished to
follow the precept either - Sansa was a good girl after all - but no! She truly
had had no other choice…
 
When her handmaidens had arrived shortly afterwards, she had been lying in bed,
pretending to still be asleep. The women had hurriedly begun their usual
routine of tidying up the place but Sansa had quickly interrupted them and
demanded that warm water be brought to her room as soon as possible. She had
vainly hoped that a bath might purge her of the memory of Sandor Clegane’s
hands roaming all over her skin and yet, now that she sat in her large adorned
brass bath, the feel of his palms and fingers exploring her every inch was
still as fresh as ever.
 
“Stretch backward, Lady Sansa,” Sophia suddenly asked. The girl listened and
let the handmaiden clean her chest and ribs.
 
Sighing deeply, she squeezed her eyes even more tightly and tried to chase away
the images of the Hound nibbling hungrily at her nipples that were now
assailing her mind. Her effort proved fruitless, evidently. She would seemingly
never rid herself of the memory of how the ugliest warrior in Westeros had used
her body to take his pleasure.
 
Aware of how useless the fight was, Sansa disconsolately opened her eyes and
peered into the soapy water. She was almost surprised to note that she was
formed exactly as she had been before her deflowering, no matter how different
she felt from yesterday at the same time. Her thighs, hips and breasts were as
girlish to her eyes as she remembered them to be before she had been made
woman.
 
It was mystifying that something as ordinary as her body could rouse so much
passion in any man. Yet, there was no doubting the strength of the desire that
had been awakened in the Hound as he viewed her bare curves. He had been a
changed man from the moment he had glimpsed her nakedness and the notion alone
was enough to elicit all sorts of weird fluttering in Sansa’s belly. As she
grew aware of her own unwanted reaction, she wrinkled her nose and began
squirming uncomfortably in the water but swiftly stilled when Sophia gazed at
her with badly-hidden impatience.  
 
Sighing, the old handmaiden shook her head but said nothing and resumed her
ministrations. With the same careful efficiency, she started rubbing Sansa’s
thighs and the girl instantly raised her stare over her long, pale legs,
recalling how Sandor Clegane had spread them as wide as he could and shoved his
swollen member into the warmth between them. Why do I have to replay each of
his actions in my head, over and over again as I do? Sansa thought almost
angrily, tossing her frowning head back. By allowing him to take her, not only
had Sansa given him her maidenhood and made him her very first man but she had
apparently also been dispossessed of her own body and that for far longer than
the time of the actin itself. Indeed, every part of her now reminded her of the
Hound, of how he had claimed her for himself, covered every inch of her and
left her naught of herself to call her own. She had no shelter from him now,
for even when she shut her eyes, any contact she felt brought to mind how his
possessive hands had travelled every path her body offered.
 
Still, how could she possibly complain about anything at all? The man had not
raped her: she had been the one to propose the whole deal. I gave him the right
to it, she mused, fighting not to cover her face with her hands in shame. And…
I enjoyed it.
 
No! No, that’s untrue! she rapidly corrected herself, her eyes wide with
horror. How could she, after all? He was the Hound, all gloomy and gruesomely
scarred, a warrior so intimidating that most knights were uneasy in his
presence. There was no logic in thinking that she might have enjoyed the
sacrifice she had made so very reluctantly! It had taken her days of tormented
reflection only to begin considering the idea of offering herself to him. There
was certainly no possibility that she might have felt anything but disgust and
pain during the deed.
 
And yet, as she was being cleaned by Sophia, each caress the man had given her
kept coming back to her, the memory inducing her centre to vibrate in a very
troubling manner. How weird had been the sensation of his manhood inside of
her, so solid and big. Even stranger was the fact that by the end of their
encounter, it hadn’t even really hurt anymore. Enough! I need to stop thinking
about it. Now! Sansa scolded herself, totally abashed at her own scandalous
train of thought.
 
What would her lady mother think if she knew about all this? That her young
daughter had sold her maidenhood to the infamous Hound in exchange for his help
and not even hated it? She’ll never need to know about it, Sansa tried to
reassure herself. The deed in itself was another matter though. She would have
no choice but to tell her the truth once they were reunited. After all, how
could she explain her escape from a castle as well guarded as the Red Keep to
anyone and make them believe she had achieved it by herself? It would be
evident to all that she had had an ally and there’d be no use in pretending she
had found one for free.
 
“You’re all set, my lady. Please stand up,” Sophia announced, a large towel in
hands.
 
Without a word, Sansa obeyed and let the handmaiden wrap her in the dry fabric
before stepping out of the bath. Mother will approve of my actions once I
explain everything to her. She’ll only be happy to have me by her side again
and won’t judge the decision I was forced to make, Sansa tried to convince
herself as she rubbed off the drops of water that still covered her skin. All
she could do was pray she was right.
 
****
 
Sansa was sitting by her open window, working on her embroidery as she usually
did when she was by herself. The day was beautiful and warm and it wasn’t even
midday yet. A perfect day for leaving and never coming back, for escaping a
cruel city on the deck of an elegant ship…she mused with a sigh, wishing the
time could finally come. From where she was, she could glimpse a slim strip of
faraway water shining under the sun between the tall houses on the horizon. If
only she could fly over its waves like a bird…
 
A few days had passed since the night the Hound had taken her. Still, it was
hard for her not to think about what had transpired between them most of the
time, especially when she was alone in her featherbed, waiting for sleep. It
was also hard to ignore the throbbing she felt down in her belly at those
lonely moments, when she recalled the events that had unfolded in the very bed
she lay in. It was often temping to let her fingers travel down her stomach and
reach that part of her but she had somehow always resisted. Still, she hadn’t
managed to prevent one of her hands from grasping her breasts and caressing
their taut nipples sometimes, as she fell asleep. Sansa shut her eyes in shame
at the memory. This would have to stop and soon.
 
On a couple of occasions, she had seen Sandor Clegane again. When the first
incident had taken place, she had been completely overwhelmed by nervousness
and not only because of what they’d done when they’d last met but because of
the way they’d left each other.
 
While the Hound was unquestionably a bitter and grim man, Sansa had glimpsed a
part of him that wasn’t so dark during the act and to some measure afterwards
as he dressed. He had even seemed to be somewhat good-humoured for a brief
instant but his mood had rapidly soured when Sansa responded to his teasing
with silence and eyes lowered to the floor. In reaction, he had quickly
decamped from her room, his temper as foul as ever, and the girl had been too
uneasy and most of all, inexperienced to attempt anything that might quell his
discontentment. In all honesty anyhow, she had been eagerly waiting for him to
leave her room from the second he had risen from the bed and been relieved when
she was finally alone. Later though when she had thought back on the events,
Sansa had felt some measure of guilt for letting him leave in such a state but
that was ridiculous of course. All he had wanted was more of… her… of the deal
they had agreed upon. Why should she feel bad for not indulging him in
something he had no right to expect?
 
Yet, her guilt had seemingly not faded when their paths crossed again and that,
added to her confusion, shyness and the man’s intimidating presence, had
brought Sansa’s eyes to fly to the ground as soon as she glimpsed him in the
throne room. It was of course ridiculous and absurd that she would react in
exactly the same manner that had caused the Hound’s irritation, considering the
man’s foul mood was the very reason that she felt guilty in the first place.
Nevertheless, it was common knowledge that logic never prevailed where nerves
were concerned and Sansa had only been able to agree as she fixed her eyes on
the exquisite ceramic of the floor and waited for the beating of her heart to
steady.
 
Only later, when she had felt somewhat less agitated, had Sansa chanced
glancing in Sandor Clegane’s direction and she had nearly gasped to realise
that - unknown to the crowd which only had eyes for the fat Pentoshi ambassador
that showed off all the wonderful presents he had brought for the king – the
man was brazenly staring at her and had probably been doing it for some time.
At first, their stares had locked – his cold and unreadable, hers timid and
hesitant. After a moment though, the rigidity of his stance had lessened, his
eyes narrowed slightly and the corner of his mouth curled very faintly. The
change in him had startled Sansa so much that she had averted her eyes with the
same haste as that of fingers touching fire. Staring at the fat ambassador
while not truly noticing any of what he did, she had felt herself blushing
fiercely, certain that the Hound’s gaze was still on her, drinking her in as
avidly as he did his strong wine. However when her curiosity had finally gotten
the better of her and she dared peer in his direction again, he had been
glowering at the emptiness before him and looked so dark and daunting that she
had not grasped the courage to gaze anywhere near him afterward for the rest of
the session.
 
On another occasion, they had met very briefly as Sansa headed to the godswood.
The hall in which they had stumbled had been too crowded for them to talk and
she was unsure if she had been relieved or not. The only thing of which she was
certain was that from the moment she noticed the Hound’s presence, she had
jumped and tensed as she saw how intently he was staring at her. As far as she
could tell by his gleaming eyes, he had seemed somewhat pleased at crossing
paths with her and yet, his joy was so impure, tainted with something else…
something of which Sansa now knew all too well. Her whole body as warm as a
coal straight from the hearth, she had nervously lowered her gaze and quickened
her pace until she was certain he was far behind and then only had she been
able to breathe normally.
 
Only now as she stitched flowery patterns alone in her chamber, the girl was
regretting not having at least tried to get some information from Sandor
Clegane as to how his part of the deal was going. Had he secured a place for
her on the ship yet? Had he already figured a way to get her out of the Red
Keep unnoticed? And when would the time finally come? Sansa had hundreds of
questions but was unsure if she’d ever get the chance or the nerve to ask any.
She depended on him; that was unquestionable. Thankfully, she did trust him and
she held on to that belief as one would a lifebuoy in the middle of an ocean.
Had the Hound not repeatedly told her how much he hated liars?
 
Knock! Knock! “Lady Sansa?” a deep voice suddenly came from beyond her door.
 
Jumping, Sansa turned toward the sound. “Yes? Who is this?”
 
“Ser Boros Blount. I’m here on the king’s order.”
 
Sansa shivered. “What is wanted from me?” she asked, unable to hide the fear
that laced her voice.
 
“Our good king is going riding today. He wishes to try the new thoroughbred
horse he has recently received. You’ve been asked to join him.”
 
“Oh,” Sansa murmured, feeling suddenly very anxious. “I need to change then.
Has one of my handmaidens been informed?”
 
“No and there is no time for it either. The king is already waiting for you in
the courtyard. He has asked me to escort you at once.”
 
“Well, I’ll try to manage by myself then-”
 
“No,” Ser Boros cut her off with a resolute yet dispassionate voice. “This
won’t do either. You need to come
now.”                                                                                    
 
“But-”
 
“Open, Lady Sansa,” he ordered, shaking the door.
 
Her heart in her throat, the girl jumped from her chair and ran. “All right!
I’m coming!”
 
In haste, she unclasped the bolt and let Boros Blount in and just as soon, the
man unceremoniously grabbed her by the arm and led her toward the stairs.
 
“Let’s not make King Joffrey wait,” he said in a tone so flat that Sansa
doubted he had even a single clue of how submerged in dread she was at that
instant.
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     After more than a month, here is at long last a new chapter for this
     story. Sorry for the wait, as always school is to blame but the next
     one should be coming soon as I’m enjoying long holidays at the
     moment.
     Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy this one!
                                     Sansa
 
When, out of breath and still startled, Sansa arrived at the stables, the
chestnut mare she usually used was already saddled and ready to go. She had
more time to prepare than myself, she mused bitterly, glancing down at her
fancy apple-green gown and soft slippers. There was no helping the situation
though and thereby, she let the skinny stable boy that uneasily waited by her
side settle her into the saddle and followed Ser Boros as he led her to the
courtyard.
 
Once they stepped outside, Sansa squinted her eyes against the midday sun’s
glare and waited for her vision to adjust to the violent light. As the dark
shadows before her transformed into a discernible group of people, she was
somewhat relieved to note the reduced number of their party but shortly began
to wonder if it was truly a good sign. Who was to say that Joffrey wouldn’t use
the circumstances to his advantage and abuse her all the more, knowing that
fewer witnesses would remember the torments he’d inflict upon her? Sighing in
both despair and resignation, Sansa reluctantly advanced toward the group that
awaited her, feeling as trapped as a wild animal surrounded on each side and
knowingly walking to its own death.
 
Furtively, she let her eyes sweep over the party she was to spend the afternoon
with. The king was the first person she spotted and he did stand out in his
gold and crimson riding fineries. Close by, Joffrey’s cousin from Lannisport
looked almost as regal, albeit not quite as much, of course. His name was
Julius, wasn’t it? Sansa had met him on a few occasions but she was
nevertheless still stricken by his likeness to the king; they could have passed
for twins – even sporting the same arrogant smirk – and she hated him just as
much. With them, Sansa glimpsed Ser Meryn and she shivered at the sight. Of all
of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he was the one she dreaded the most. He never shied
away from beating her when the king asked and even seemed to take some pleasure
in the act. And then, from behind them all, she glimpsed a movement – something
large and dark - and realised, eyes widening, that it was the Hound mounted on
his monstrous stallion.
 
In a way, Sansa was relieved to learn that he’d be among them also, as she had
almost always been whenever she was forced to spend time with her betrothed,
and yet her whole body tensed from the moment she viewed his shape. For some
reason, she had not expected Sandor Clegane to be part of their group although
he was certainly Joffrey’s favourite member of the Kingsguard. It had been
naïve on her part, she admitted to herself, lowering nervous eyes to her
pommel.
 
“Sansa! We have been waiting for you! What took you so long?” Joffrey exclaimed
as he laid his cruel little eyes on her.
 
While his stance was the one of the displeased monarch he so often took when he
wished to intimidate her, he seemed jovial enough that Sansa relaxed slightly.
“I was only informed that my presence was required moments ago. I came as soon
as your will was known to me,” she submissively recited while bowing as much as
was possible on horseback.
 
“Fair enough,” the king spat with unhidden disdain. “We’re going now. I won’t
suffer us losing any more time.”
 
At that, Joffrey immediately turned his stallion around and trotted through the
open door of the yard. His cousin and Ser Meryn immediately followed as well as
a group of approximately twenty guards and manservants that had been silently
waiting some distance behind. For an instant, Sansa stood in place and watched
as they all disappeared from her view, riding as one in single file, as swiftly
and fluidly as water swirling down rapids. Engrossed by the motion, the girl
stared at their receding shapes - her mind elsewhere for a moment - and would
perhaps have stayed in place even longer if not for the sound of hooves
approaching her that suddenly grasped her attention.
 
Swiftly, she jerked her head in the sound’s direction and jolted in her saddle
when her eyes met those of the Hound, who had come so near that their mounts
nearly touched.
 
“Hurry up, girl,” the man hoarsely told her, his mouth set into a tight frown.
He looked as sombre as ever and was garbed in worn, dark boiled leather with a
chainmailshirt and his Kingsguard cloak on top.
 
It was the first time since that night that they were so close and the sight of
him nearly froze Sansa in place. There was naught about the man that betrayed
any of what had occurred between them though. He seemed as cold and uncaring as
could be expected from any of her betrothed’s other Kingsguards and the
awareness somehow affected her. It’s ridiculous, Sansa told herself. Not only
would it appear queer for him to act any other way but there was no reason for
her to expect anything else. Yet, there was no denying how very alone and
confused she felt while looking at the strong and unshakable fortress he was.
In contrast, she was as feeble as a straw house and thus couldn’t withstand the
strength of his gaze. Instead, she averted her eyes and hurriedly pulled on her
reins, flustered and eager to flee from his intimidating presence.
 
Her heart hammering violently in her chest, Sansa followed into the thick dirt
cloud that obstructed the large doorway, coughing and shutting her eyes against
the burning dust. With her sight obstructed, her only landmarks were those of
the sound of the hooves of Sandor Clegane and Ser Boros’ horses as they hit the
ground beside her, becoming hollow as they stuck the wood of the drawbridge.
Shortly though, Sansa could feel the fullness of solid earth beneath her own
mount and as her breathing came more easily, she hazarded peering at the
outside world.
 
“Oh!” she let out, eyes widening at once when she realised how far she had
fallen from the rest of the party
 
“Faster, my lady! The king has waited enough for you as it is!” Ser Boros urged
her.
 
Too petrified to say anything, Sansa tightened her heels against her mare,
crying out as the beast hastened its pace to a gallop. For a short instant, she
lost her balance and nearly dropped her slippers as she adjusted her position
but she thankfully managed to keep them in place. Sansa had never been a good
rider, however with the inappropriate footwear and slippery silk dress she
wore, her skills were reduced to none. Somehow though, she managed to increase
her speed even more and was slowly approaching the rest of the party. The
prospect that she wouldn’t delay the king in his outing after all slightly
eased her nerves but she still didn’t dare glance at either of the men that
flanked her. Without looking, she could make out both of their shapes beside
her; Ser Boros small and bulky on her right and the Hound, dark and towering on
her left. Was Sandor Clegane leering at her as he so often did? There was no
way for her to know for sure, yet she was certain she could feel his searching
gaze on her. The idea brought a blush to her cheeks but she nevertheless kept
her stare straight ahead and didn’t chance shifting it from the horizon even
once.
 
The ride seemed to take forever and Sansa was growing increasingly tired and
out of breath as the minutes went by. She was thirsty and starting to feel
worryingly dizzy. No, don’t faint! Please! she was inwardly begging herself
just as the group halted at long last.
 
As intent on keeping up with the others as she had been, Sansa was only now
noticing the large glade in which she had arrived. This is where Father’s
tourney took place, she realised, a pang of sadness stabbing her through the
heart. The place was empty of all the pavilions, benches and bright decorations
that had filled it for that seemingly faraway event but there was no mistaking
it for any other.
 
“This will do perfectly,” she heard Joffrey exclaim from where he was, some
distance ahead of her. “I can’t wait to see how fast my new Thoroughbred will
fare on grounds as solid as those.”
 
Guards were dispersing all over the glade and Sansa watched distractedly as
they inspected the place while searching her saddle bag for something to drink.
She shut her eyes in relief when she felt a wineskin under her fingers and
smiled as she pressed its neck against her lips and realised it was filled with
cool water. Gulping avidly, she didn’t notice Ser Meryn approaching until he
was almost facing her.
 
“You ought to get down off your horse and take your place on the side as
everyone else is doing, my lady,” he told her in a tone of reproach before
turning around and heading to where servants were installing large tablecloths
on the ground and settling baskets of food and drinks.
 
Slipping the wineskin back into the saddlebag, Sansa swiftly made to obey and
twisted in the saddle but as she lifted her foot from the stirrup, her slipper
got stuck and fell onto the ground.
 
“Oh!” she let out, feeling her cheeks flush with embarrassment. The
inappropriateness of her garb shamed her to no end but was she really to blame
when she hadn’t been notified that she’d be expected to ride in the afternoon?
Hopefully no one had seen her footwear fall and she would manage to get out of
the saddle and retrieve it before anyone noticed.
 
Her hopes were short lived.
 
“Losing feathers?” the Hound’s husky voice resounded from Sansa’s side before
she had a chance to move.
 
Stiffening, she glanced in his direction and was appalled from the moment she
set eyes on his massive body, bowing down to grasp the slipper from the ground.
 
“This is no good for riding, little bird,” he scolded her once he had risen to
his full height, a mocking smirk curling his lips.
 
“I’m not to blame!” Sansa tried to justify in an offended but weak whisper. “No
one told me-”
 
“Hush now. It’s too late anyhow,” Sandor Clegane silenced her lowly as he
caught her ankle in a strong hand.
 
At the contact, Sansa shifted uncomfortably but the man only tightened his grip
and moved his fist upward until it was almost at her calf and fumbling against
her lace underskirts.
 
“There,” the Hound said as he slid her foot into her slipper, the warmth of his
palms permeating through both the thin fabric of the footwear and her silk
stocking.
 
“Thank you,” Sansa breathed in a barely audible whisper, eyes wide and staring
dumbly at him.
 
His hand stayed there for a moment, tightening around her, but then Ser Boros
approached and Sandor Clegane removed his fingers with the same haste as if he
had been caught stealing gold from the king’s treasury. Without a word, he
turned around and strode away, his white cloak lazily flowing behind him.
 
“Lady Sansa, you need to install yourself now,” Ser Boros told her while
seizing her wrist and waist.
 
“I thank you,” she replied politely as she let him help her to the ground,
shuddering under his clumsy and brusque touch.
 
Once she hit the earth, her mare was immediately pulled away by a young stable
boy and she was led by some fancy manservant to the tablecloths farther to the
side, under the shadow of a large tree. As carefully as she could, Sansa
installed herself on the fabric, her courtly instinct forbidding her to appear
anything but elegant and modest even when sitting on the dirt floor. Her skirt
spread around her, bright and green under the sunlight, she patiently waited,
as motionless as a blooming flower, for the king to begin his swaggering
parade.
 
“You saw how well I rode?” the king was asking, addressing no one in
particular. His Thoroughbred was shifting and snorting nervously beneath him,
eager for some action but the boy had him well under control. “I was leading
the rest of you, as any respectable monarch ought to with his subjects. I’ve
been given a beast that equals my distinction, it seems.” Then, glancing at his
cousin, he continued: “Julius, do you still believe you have even the slimmest
chance of winning a race against me?” The smirk that curled Joffrey’s lips as
he uttered the question was that of the spoiled boy he was.
 
“By all means, Your Grace, I’m wise enough not to pretend so much but I’m
nonetheless willing to take on the challenge,” Julius replied while humbly
bowing his head.
 
Why has the king insisted I come? Sansa was wondering while distractedly
listening to the two cousins’ empty conversation. She was terribly hungry as it
was now past the time she usually ate and had to fight the urge to peer every
minute or so at the baskets of food that were settled less than a couple of
yards from her. The girl didn’t dare ask for anything though; Joffrey was so
easy to anger and she’d rather starve than risk stirring his temper.
 
“I wish you luck, dear cousin. You’ll need a lot of it but I’ll be honest and
admit I have no hopes for you,” Joffrey was bragging playfully as he and Julius
slowly prepared for the race.
 
The guards had finally finished examining the glade and as no rabbit holes or
rocks had been found, everyone left its centre apart from Joffrey and his
cousin.
 
Ser Meryn was standing next to the king and gazed at him expectantly.  “Tell me
when you’re ready, Your Grace,” the knight asked.
 
“I am,” Joffrey answered, seizing his reins more firmly.
 
At that, Ser Meryn raised a hand high in the air and began his count. “Three,
two, one and… go!” he exclaimed, lowering his arm at once.
 
In a heartbeat, both cousins departed at an impressive speed, Sansa had to
admit. Almost immediately, the king overtook Julius but the other boy
nevertheless kept going as fast as he could. Less than a minute later, Joffrey
arrived at the other side of the glade, raising his fist in victory.
 
“I won!” he exclaimed. He was too far for Sansa to discern his features but she
could divine his smirk, having beheld it so often in the past.
 
Defeated, Julius bowed low and the two boys headed back to where Sansa was at a
slower pace.
 
“You’ve seen how well I ride, Sansa? Have you ever witnessed anyone as skilled
as I in equine matters?”
 
“Oh no, never, Your Grace,” Sansa submissively recited.
 
“Would you like to see me race again? Perhaps Julius still has to courage to
try himself against me,” Joffrey said, sweeping his eyes from Sansa to his
cousin.
 
“Oh, please, Your Grace,” Sansa answered, bowing her head slightly.
 
“It would give me great honour,” Julius replied almost simultaneously.  
 
“All right then. You’ve convinced me.”
 
Once more, the two cousins headed to where Ser Meryn was standing and began
preparing themselves. Sansa watched absentmindedly, annoyed at having been
brought along although there was in truth no reason for her to be there.
Sighing, she let her eyes rove over the glade with no purpose and stiffened
when they accidently fell upon the Hound’s dark shape. The tall man was
standing about ten yards from her and staring straight ahead, his scarred face
set into a deep scowl. He seemed so brooding and hostile; it was hard to
believe it was the same man who had so brazenly retrieved her slipper earlier.
Yet, Sansa could still feel how his large hand had circled around her ankle and
the memory sent her heart racing as fast as Joffrey’s Thoroughbred.
 
He would never have dared approach me and touch me in such an intimate manner
before, Sansa mused, a deep flush creeping over her face and modest cleavage.
She really wanted to be scandalised by Sandor Clegane’s attitude, yet she was
only reminded of her own misconduct. She had indeed been the one to lure him to
her bed with the promise of letting him do whatever he pleased with her if he
would only help her escape from the Red Keep. Nevertheless, Sansa had believed
the conditions of the deal had been made clear. She would give herself to him
but only once.Did the Hound presume otherwise and believe that because he had
taken her maidenhead, he now had some sort of twisted right to her?He knows
better than this, Sansa quickly retorted to herself, unwilling to consider the
opposite. Sandor Clegane was, after all, a man of his word and he would surely
never dare push for more than had been agreed.
 
Yet, the feel of the man’s possessive hands on her was still too fresh for the
notion to be discarded that easily. Also, the way he has been looking at me
ever since that night whenever we’ve met … It often feels as if he wished he
was still in bed with me,Sansa reflected, her stomach pulling into a tight
knot.
 
So absorbed by her thoughts, the girl had not realised how fixedly she had been
gazing at Sandor Clegane and hence, she was simply horrified when he suddenly
jerked his head in her direction and laid his cold, dark eyes on her. Of its
own accord, her mouth opened in shock but she somehow couldn’t avert her eyes
as logic clearly demanded. The man seemed amused by her reaction for his scowl
quickly evolved into a smirk and his eyes began shining with a mocking gleam.
Apparently forgetting himself also, the Hound snorted a short laugh and the
sound immediately attracted the attention of Ser Meryn as well as the nearest
guards. Their stares all darted to him as if they expected an explanation but
the man only glowered back and the bunch of them were all wise enough to leave
it as it was and gaze elsewhere.
 
For the next hour or so afterwards, Sansa kept her eyes from the Hound and
stared at the king’s faraway shape instead, pretending to be interested in the
numerous tricks he attempted with his elegant new mount. In truth, her
attention was completely engrossed by the dark shadow of Sandor Clegane in her
peripheral vision and her heart skipped a beat anytime she grew aware that he
gazed in her direction. In an effort to soothe her nerves whenever he did,
Sansa breathed as steadily as she could but there was no stopping the warmth
that permeated her skin. Her fair complexion was always so easy to colour that
she was certain her face was nearly as red as her hair but all she could do was
hope that her flush might be taken as a reaction to the bright sun. To add to
her agitation, a mad fluttering was threatening to invade her belly anytime her
eyes came close to meeting the Hound’s and the idea that such a repellent man
could rouse sensations such as these in her did nothing to quell the confusion
that overpowered her.
 
After a while, Joffrey finally jumped from his saddle and approached Sansa. “So
where’s that snack I asked to be brought?” he asked while throwing his gloves
on the ground beside him and letting himself fall not far from Sansa. With
impressive efficiency, a manservant immediately ran behind him to retrieve the
gloves as others appeared by the baskets and began emptying their contents. A
small table about a foot high was swiftly installed between Sansa and the king
and porcelain plates and crystal glasses were settled over it. Inside the large
baskets, Sansa could glimpse sausages, cheese, apples and fresh bread and her
stomach growled at the sight.
 
“Dear cousin, come take a seat,” the king told Julius. “I salute your effort in
the races and can only imagine how hungry and thirsty you must be now.”
 
“I thank you for your generosity, Your Grace,” a sweaty Julius replied with a
bow before installing himself with evident relief.
 
A manservant was cutting pieces of food and filling the plates with them while
wine was being poured into the glasses by another and Joffrey’s attention was
suddenly caught by their movement.
 
“Stop it, will you please!” he exclaimed, his face red with annoyance. Removing
his hat, the king hit the nearest servant with it, causing the poor man to
spill red wine all over his white shirt. “You think I’m not a real man that I
can’t do it myself? This is not the court, you halfwit! My father certainly
never had anyone cut his food for him when he was on a hunt.”
 
Why did he have all those servants come if he didn’t want their help? Sansa
wondered angrily. The reason was probably similar to the one that had motivated
him to ask her to come along.
 
Once the servants had all scurried away, Joffrey’s outburst quickly dissolved
and the glade became very quiet again. Slowly and with the restraint one could
expect from a lady, Sansa ate and drank, all the while listening to her
betrothed’s bragging with an inattentive ear. Every then and again, he asked
for her opinion and she always agreed with whatever he was saying, telling him
how very talented he was.
 
Once their appetite had receded and the three of them had stopped eating, Sansa
looked at the baskets and was shocked to see how full they still were. Far too
much food had been brought for only three persons, however none of the
leftovers were offered to anyone in their escort. I wonder if the Hound is
hungry, she mused, reflexively raising her gaze to him. As she did, Sandor
Clegane instantly lowered his eyes to meet hers and Sansa gasped and jerked her
head away just as fast.
 
To the girl’s distress, the king didn’t miss the interaction. “Still scared of
my dog, are you?” he scoffed, laughing heartily. “He’s as mean as he looks so
you should be.” Grinning with perverse satisfaction, the boy rose to his feet
and wiped his greasy fingers against his fine velvet doublet. “You need to
mature and harden, my lady. Dog, take her to her mount, we’re going.”
 
“As you will,” the Hound grunted with a small nod. Unenthusiastically, he
walked to where Sansa was sitting and held out a hand to her. “Lady Sansa,” he
uttered so flatly that anyone looking would certainly believe he was irritated
at seeing his skills used so wastefully.
 
Hesitantly, the girl looked at his strong, calloused hand for an instant before
raising hers and letting him grasp it. It all but disappeared in the huge palm
and fingers and the rough and warm contact of his skin similarly overwhelmed
her senses, sending shivers all over her body.
 
“I thank you,” she murmured, eyes demurely lowered as the man pulled her to her
feet. Furtively, she glanced by her side and saw that the king and his cousin
had already gone to retrieve their horses.
 
“Seems like I need to escort you. Come, girl. King’s order,” Sandor Clegane
rasped wryly, releasing her hand to seize her upper arm instead.
 
Sansa only nodded, her eyes cast down. Their proximity was disconcerting to her
and somehow rendered her speechless and nervous. As he led her to her mare, the
Hound kept his gaze on her, shamelessly studying her but she didn’t dare meet
his eyes. They were so near; Sansa could smell his scent from where she was.
No! Think of something else! she was imploring herself as unchaste images
suddenly began sprouting in her mind. Still, the man’s musky odour and the
memory of their recent coupling were too intertwined for her to succeed and the
realisation was simply mortifying.
 
“Little bird,” Sandor Clegane muttered when they arrived next to Sansa’s mare
at last. Even before she had a chance to reply, the man released her arm and
circled her waist from behind with both hands. “I need to talk to you,” he
whispered in her hair as he lifted her from the ground and settled her into the
saddle. “I’ll come to your chamber, late tonight.”
 
At that, Sansa’s breath caught in her throat but she nonetheless managed to
turn and give him a small nod.
 
Seemingly satisfied with her answer, the man finally removed his hands from her
waist and tilted his head slightly to the side – eyes narrowed and lips curled
into a smirk. “Now go join those two lads and be a good girl, will you?” he
told her in an undertone before swatting her mare’s flank.
 
The beast began moving and Sansa watched the Hound as he headed for his own
mount.Tonight… he’ll come to my chamber, she repeated to herself, turning her
head around to look before her instead. She had hoped for some tidings from him
for days now but somehow the idea that she’d be alone with him in the very
place it had all happened made her extremely nervous…
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     Attention everyone! This is the last chapter before the last one. So
     in other words, they’ll be an eighth chapter and then after, it’ll be
     done with this story.
     For now though, I hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)
                                    Sandor
                                        
This is bloody ridiculous,Sandor mused as he began stroking the soapy, wet
towel over his bare chest but even as the objection reached his mind, he
absurdly kept going. He wanted to sneer at the uselessness of his action and
yet all that came out of his mouth was an exasperated sigh. You stupid dog, he
reflected bitterly, rubbing harder. You’re really losing it.
 
In a few minutes, Sandor would be heading for the little bird’s chamber and for
some reason, he had gathered that changing his tunic and ridding himself of the
day’s sweat was a good idea. As if…he thought wryly. He knew well enough naught
would happen and that the poor girl was most likely totally horrified at the
prospect of receiving his visit in the privacy of her chamber but he
nonetheless couldn’t refrain from harbouring some measure of vain hope. She had
after all been warmer than he would have expected when he’d plucked her little
flower.
 
The memory of that night was still so fresh and he had pretty much continuously
replayed the sequence in his mind – over and over again - since it had taken
place. The proposition had come as a total surprise. Never even in his most
depraved fantasies would Sandor have dared dream that this shy and proper girl
might one day willingly offer herself to him. Although there was no questioning
that she had done so solely because she so desperately needed his help, the
notion that the little bird had come up with such an idea was still mesmerising
to him.There’s nothing to it. If you hadn’t been the only buggering choice she
had, the girl would have gone to someone else as surely as you’re a hideous
fuck, Sandor reminded himself. Still, the fact was that he had been the bloody
chosen one and he would never have refused her, of course. From the very
instant he had understood where she was trying to go with her sweet and
hesitant chirping, he had been as hard as a rock and ready to take her. It was
a bloody miracle he hadn’t torn her dress and spread her legs in the corridor
by her chamber but Sandor had somehow resisted the temptation and waited until
they were safely in her room. The little bird’s room: that was a nice place to
be, well hidden in the warmth of her cunt. And that was exactly where he was
about to head. Although, minus the cunt and that was a fucking pity.
 
As was to be expected, she had been terribly timid - terrified even - at the
prospect of what was waiting for her. Still Sandor had been desperately aroused
by each of her maidenly reactions, however nervous and intimidated the poor
girl had seemed. It was queer how context could change things and make the very
manners that usually utterly annoyed him suddenly become extremely enticing.
For all that he usually couldn’t bear her inability to gaze at him for longer
than a glance or the excessive shyness that often paralysed her when he was by
her side, it had all seemed very fetching and stirring when he had been about
to bed her.
 
The idea of being her first man had also been infinitely intoxicating to
Sandor. Prior to meeting her, he had never been particularly interested in
maidens but the truth was the little bird had always been different in his eyes
and compelled him to act and think in ways he normally wouldn’t have. Thereby,
it was really not surprising that deflowering her had appealed to him so much.
Furthermore, as the girl had left such a strong impression on him already, it
was only natural that Sandor wished to mark her just as firmly. A female never
forgot the man who broke her maidenhead and made her a woman after all.
 
The little bird’s bare body had been as fresh and beautiful as a newborn
flower, white, pink and red… She had been a feast for the eyes and he had been
ready to devour her as soon as her clothes were out of the way… and even
before. Sandor snorted at the thought. He had always been ready to devour her
and the girl had certainly sensed it, or she would never have approached him of
all people. Still, he couldn’t regret having been so bloody obvious in his
desire for her as it was exactly what had brought about his stroke of good
luck.
 
Her small, shivery body had been wonderful under his touch. There was no
denying he was inadequate at handling such perfection though. Sandor had felt
as if he was laying hands on a richer man’s treasure from the moment she was at
his mercy but somehow, he had not cared one bit and only yearned to take
everything he could from her. A dog very rarely got a chance as good as this
one and dogs never turned their muzzles up at such a juicy treat. The little
bird’s motive had not mattered; all the man had cared for was that she would
let him claim her and that no objection would be uttered from those pretty lips
of hers as he made her his for the space of the night.
 
Surprisingly, she had been as supple as clay under his hands and when he had
slid his fingers between her thighs, Sandor had even sensed some wetness there.
Could she really have been...? But no, it was only his deviant mind playing
tricks on him. He was no expert in women’s anatomy to draw conclusions like
that anyhow.
 
Still, she had moaned and writhed under him in a manner that had almost made
him believe at some moments that she genuinely enjoyed herself. Most of all
though – and that had obsessed him ever since - she had kissed him.
 
Reluctant to force something so vile on her, Sandor hadn’t even considered
tasting her mouth albeit she incontestably had a delicious-looking one.
Therefore, he had been completely taken aback when for no apparent reason she
had grasped his shoulders and pressed her plump lips against his. Never in his
life had his mouth met anything as soft and tender and it was a damned pity the
girl had remembered all too soon who was truly fucking her and removed her lips
from his. He’d have eaten them all night long if she’d have only allowed him
to.
 
It had been a question of seconds before Sandor’s climax overtook him after
that and he had had to leave the perfection of her cunt to spill himself on his
stomach. Too bad I couldn’t come in her. For an instant, the man had wondered
if the little bird would truly know the difference, innocent as she was, but
the usually irrelevant part of him that wasn’t as uncaring and brutish as the
rest had prevailed and stopped him from doing so. It wasn’t like Sandor to care
for the fate of the women he bedded but for some reason he still couldn’t
fathom, he had not wanted to do her more harm than he had already. Yet now that
he was alone in his chamber, what bloody good did it do him? None, of course.
 
And he would never get to fuck her again. I should’ve asked for more, Sandor
thought regretfully for the hundredth time. Helpless and desperate as she was,
the little bird wouldn’t have refused him if he had demanded, let’s say, to be
her bedmate until she left or something similar, of that he was damned certain.
It wasn’t as if he could soil her further after all, so what more would she
have had to lose?You stupid dog! You’ve been so damned blinded by the prospect
of getting between the girl’s legs that you haven’t even considered taking
advantage of the situation! It was laughable and a fucking pity.
 
Well, there’s no use regretting the past,Sandor reflected with a total lack of
conviction while tossing his towel into the water basin. Once he had pulled a
clean tunic over his head, the man combed his hair over his burns – for what
the effort was worth – and looked himself over one last time in the mirror.
After all these years, he had grown used to his own reflection but he could
guess all too well how hideous he might look to a young maiden’s eyes. A
maiden, he reflected, sniggering wryly. The little bird’s maidenhead was now no
more than a stain on his Kingsguard cloak. At least Sandor had the knowledge
that no other bugger - no matter how well born and bred - would ever get the
chance to tear that precious piece of flesh again to assuage some of his
bitterness.
 
Seven Hells! Am I a fucking weakling to complain so? Sighing exasperatedly,
Sandor seized the bundle he had prepared earlier and stormed out of his room.
The sooner he was done with the damned meeting, the better it would be.
 
That afternoon, Joffrey had asked for the little bird to follow him as he was
to try his new Thoroughbred horse and of course she had complied as she had no
other buggering choice. Sandor had been glad to see her, as always, but most of
all he had been relieved when he realised the lad was in no mood to torment
her. After all these years, he had learned to read the boy and had known naught
would happen from the moment they left the castle. Nonetheless, he had only
been able to truly relax once the best part of the afternoon had passed.
 
Under the bright sun, the little bird had been more beautiful than ever and he
had hardly been able to take his eyes from her. She was a real goddess and it
was a fucking wonder Joffrey could only see her as another pet he could
torture. Mayhap he was only too young to realise what he had or there was the
possibility that he was… the same as his uncle Renly. Still, whichever reason
explained his lack of real interest in the girl, it was all for the best, for
Sandor didn’t even want to start conjuring what sort of afflictions she would
have had to go through otherwise. Her life had been made hard enough as it was.
 
As Sandor approached the Serpentine stairs, the badly lit and leaking corridors
of the area containing his quarters shortly gave way to sumptuous large alleys
and queerly, his pulse simultaneously became faster. The realisation of his
unbidden reaction instantly irritated him and his mouth twitched in protest but
there was naught he could do about it. Since when has any bloody female made
you react in any way that didn’t have to do with your cock?Sandor chided
himself. It was all the more infuriating that she was only half a woman, still
so young and innocent and only partly aware of the power she held over
him.Although, you did fuck her and she was woman enough for that, wasn’t she?
 
Images of the little bird’s perfect pale skin glowing under the afternoon
sunlight and her glorious red locks flying over her delicate shoulders flashed
through Sandor’s mind then and it did nothing to quell him. Her deep blue eyes
had met his on a few occasions but there was no questioning that she had only
looked his way in reaction to his intense scrutiny. After all, she had always
seemed appalled and averted her stare at once anytime their gazes had locked
these last few days and there was no wondering why. For as much as he wished
otherwise, he couldn’t blame her for not sharing his lust.
 
Soon, the little bird’s door was in his sight and with every step he took,
Sandor slowed his pace until he had halted completely and was standing on the
threshold, as motionless as the old stone walls that surrounded him. He could
already foresee the terror that would shine in the girl’s eyes when she saw him
and the prospect unexpectedly filled him with misgivings. Exhaling violently
and rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it, Sandor chased the feeling away,
raised his fist and knocked on the door. Soft steps were immediately heard,
shortly followed by the sound of a bolt being moved.
 
“Who is it?” the little bird asked, abruptly pausing in her movement, as if she
had only just remembered she shouldn’t open for anyone.
 
“It’s me,” Sandor answered, his voice rough and grating to his ears.
 
At that, the bolt was pushed until it dropped and the door opened very
slightly. The little bird’s face appeared in the slit, eyes wide and fine
features as tense as Sandor had predicted.
 
For the space of a few heartbeats, she stared at him and they both stayed
silent, gazes locked, but then Sandor felt his eyes narrow and his lips set
into a severe frown. “Let me in,” he ordered harshly even as he realised how
little it helped his cause.
 
“Oh! I’m sorry,” the girl replied, seemingly shamed by her misconduct.
Hurriedly, she opened the door and made way for him.
 
Without further delay, Sandor entered and pushed the door shut behind him. His
nostrils were immediately assailed by the little bird’s delicate scent and
delectable memories overwhelmed him. Grunting in delight, he let his stare
travel over the chamber where it had all taken place but when it fell over the
girl, she was all but cowering in a corner of the room, her bearing reminding
him of the hopelessness of it all. Still, the awareness didn’t calm Sandor’s
hunger and he sighed in exasperation as he felt his cock stir in his breeches.
 
In an effort to fight his primal reaction, the man stiffened his stance and
deepened his scowl.  “I’m sure you want to know why I’m here, am I right?” he
asked more brusquely than he had intended.
 
“Yes,” the girl answered so softly he had to prick up his ears to hear her
correctly. “Please tell me.”
 
Always so fucking polite, Sandor mused with annoyance while gazing at her
perfect pink lips. They were so round and smooth; he ached to bite into them,
to grasp her by the waist and yank her to him. Afterwards, he would lift her
skirts and take her again and again all through the night - not stopping until
the sun bled in the morning sky - and then if he still had the strength, he’d
probably even have her one last time before he left.I should’ve asked for more,
he regretted once more, feeling his features tightening in outrage at his
unforgivable lack of forethought.
 
“Well, I’ve got you a cabin and the ship is leaving in four days at first
light,” he started, eager not to dwell on his mistake an instant longer.
 
At that, the little bird’s beautiful face lit and a huge grin curled her lips.
“Really?” she cried, obviously overcome with joy.
 
Sandor was slightly taken aback by the strength of her reaction. He had never
seen her look so blissful and the awareness that he was the cause of such a
show of felicity somehow enlivened his cold heart. In the heat of the moment,
the girl took a couple of steps toward him but then, she seemed to remember who
she was with and halted at once.
 
Mastering herself, she lowered her eyes to the ground for an instant and when
she gazed at him again, her grin had decreased to one of the more customary
courtly smiles she often wore. “I’m so grateful to you. I… I’m indebted-”
 
Sandor snorted. I know a few ways you could pay me back,he thought but instead
of telling her that, he heard himself spit, “I’ve done nothing more than what
was agreed. No need to be thankful, girl.” That was another wasted opportunity,
he realised all too late and his mouth twitched at the recognition.
 
Despite the harshness of his response, the little bird’s smile became all the
more genuine and lovely as she heard his words and Sandor momentarily ceased
regretting his lack of perspicacity. Well, almost.
 
“Nevertheless, I’m grateful for your help, no matter what you say,” the girl
replied in an uncommon mixture of shyness and assurance.
 
She was gazing at him, face glowing with so much happiness that Sandor was
nearly compelled to smile back at her but he thankfully spoke before it had a
chance of happening. “Don’t celebrate too soon, girl. The bloody fight’s not
won yet. There are hundreds of ways this could all go wrong and both our heads
might very well adorn the Keep’s battements before the ship leaves the city.”
 
At his harsh words, the little bird lost her smile and took a step back from
him and Sandor cursed himself for it.
 
“Four nights from now, I’ll come here and fetch you,” he continued. “Prepare
your plainest and warmest clothes and wait for me. I should be there about an
hour or two before dawn, no more. There’d be no point in bringing you to the
ship too soon and increasing the chances that you’re absence will be noticed.”
 
“Of course,” she agreed, eyes once more demurely lowered.
 
Irritated at seeing her retreat to her accustomed attitude with him, Sandor
felt his jaw set tightly and grunted in dissatisfaction. At the sound, the girl
glanced in his direction and for some reason, her eyes darted down to his chest
and grew wide, before flying away, her cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.
 
Puzzled, Sandor peered down and realised he had not taken care to lace his
tunic closed before leaving his chamber. As he noticed what had unnerved her
so, his mouth pulled into a half-smirk and he snorted with unhidden mirth.
 
“Oh, don’t play the prude with me, little bird. We both know you’ve already
seen far worst than the hair of my chest, don’t we?”
 
At his insinuation, the girl gasped and lowered her eyes to the floor. Sandor
let out a deep sigh. She was so easy to taunt and while it had once amused him
to see her tremble at a word from him, it now annoyed him more than anything
else.
 
“By the Seven Hells, girl! Stop staring at the ground! I’m not going to strip
down and show you my cock to refresh your memory. I’m sure you remember it all
too well as it is,” the man hissed, fighting to keep the bitterness from his
voice and failing miserably.
 
“Oh… I didn’t-”
 
“Hush! I don’t need to hear your buggering empty excuses.” Irked by both his
and her reaction, Sandor now had but one idea in mind: get the hells out of
there. Yet, there was still one matter he needed to deal with before he left.
“Here girl. Take this,” he rasped once he had regained some of his cool,
handling her the bundle he had brought.
 
As carefully as if he was giving her some precious present, the little bird
took the thing from his hands.
 
Seeing how curious she seemed, he explained; “It’s the gold I got for those
jewels you gave me. I didn’t sell all of them though. Since I didn’t want to
risk any of it being recognised by some lady from court, I had to go to the
most questionable shop there is in town - one that only thugs ever chance
setting foot in, if you see what I mean. I couldn’t get a proper price of
course and thus, I only sold what was strictly necessary. If you ever need more
gold, you’ll probably get a better rate in WhiteHarbour anyhow.”
 
“That’s very kind of you,” the little bird answered, looking at the bundle in
her hands. It was in the same scarf she had given him and she was caressing the
fabric as if it was some long lost treasure.
 
Snorting at her pretty words, Sandor shook his head and strolled toward the
door. “You can’t stop yourself from chirping, can you? Hopefully the folks in
WhiteHarbour will appreciate the sound of your songs, unlike those around
here.”
 
Just as he was about to open the door, the man turned around one last time and
gazed at her. “Remember to be ready when I come four days from now and until
then, be as low profile as you can. Understood?”
 
At that, the girl nodded as stiffly as a child that has just been scolded and
Sandor slammed the door behind him.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     The last chapter already! To all of those who have followed this
     story: thank you! I hope you have enjoyed the ride and also, that the
     ending will be to your liking.
                                     Sansa
                                        
The night was slowly approaching its end but Sansa had still not heard a word
from the Hound. Nevertheless, she was not overly worried yet; the man had told
her that he preferred leaving only slightly before dawn as he believed a last
minute escape had more chance of succeeding. There was no denying though that
Sansa felt increasingly nervous. Her stomach was pulled into a tight knot and
she kept sweeping her gaze across her room as if she was searching for
something while in truth, she simply didn’t know what to do with herself. While
she had been agitated since the previous evening, her state had considerably
worsened through the long sleepless hours of the night. For an eternity it had
seemed she had rolled between her covers, growing more restless with every
breath she took until she decided she had had enough and rose from her
featherbed to prepare herself in the dark of the night. With such an early
start, Sansa was left with naught to do and thus, installed in a large
cushioned chair with her warmest cloak wrapped around her, she bided her time,
shivering in anticipation and feeling more useless than ever.
 
The wait was made even more agonizing because morbid curiosity compelled Sansa
to try to figure out every single manner in which her escape could go wrong -
and there were millions evidently. Her dark exploration was far from over and
it was with a bustling energy in complete opposition to the physical exhaustion
she felt that her mind kept rolling faster and faster, seemingly adamant about
exploring its darkest and most hidden recesses.
 
And what if Sandor Clegane has played a cruel joke on me? What if he never
comes and just laughs at me when he sees me next? Sansa wondered not for the
first time, a sudden chill going down her spine. No, he wouldn’t do something
like that, she hurriedly countered. After all, the Hound hated liars more than
anything else. Besides, he had already sold some of her jewels and given her
the gold he received in exchange when he last went to her chamber. Why would he
waste his time wandering across town if he didn’t genuinely mean to help her
out of the Red Keep and lead her to the Travelling Titan? It would make no
sense.
 
Sandor Clegane had used the same scarf she had to carry her gold and remaining
jewels and Sansa had been slightly taken aback when she opened the bundle after
he left. Out of all her earrings, necklaces, rings and bracelets, he had sold
only those she had been given by the king and queen while leaving her the
jewellery she’d already had before stepping foot in King’s Landing. Could he
really have noticed and remembered precisely what she had worn while they
travelled to the capital? That was hard to believe coming from such a brutish
and unsophisticated man. Yet the idea that it might be so brought a smile to
Sansa’s lips and warmed her heart anytime it touched her mind. As she clasped a
necklace around her neck and slid on a pair of discreet earrings a few hours
before, she had even thought of the Hound instead of the loving parents from
whom the jewellery had been given, as if they were his presents and not theirs.
 
Holding the stone pendant in her fist, Sansa felt her lips curl into a shy
smile and let herself be imbued for a few heartbeats by the queer fluttering
that so often assailed her belly lately but then, she abruptly stood from her
chair and shook herself. There was no reason to feel anything but thankfulness
for Sandor Clegane and yet it was getting harder every day to ignore the warmth
that flowed through her body whenever she thought of him. The mere memory of
the intensity of his stare whenever he set it on her and of the feel of his
touch was enough to make her blush furiously. His hand on my ankle that time in
the glade, at once firm and gentle… and the way he gazed at me… Sansa mused,
just as far less appropriate images began sprouting in her mind. Her cheeks
burning like wildfire, the girl frowned and shook her head in an attempt to
chase it all away. The man occupied a far too important part of her daydreams
of late and this would have to stop very soon. While for now her interest in
him was partly excusable by the fact that she depended so much on him and that
he would help her fulfil her greatest wish, finding more befitting subjects to
fill her reveries would be crucial once she left the capital.
 
Sighing, Sansa tried to ignore the pang she felt at the idea and walked to her
window to look outside. The night sky was still very dark but a faint pinkish
hue could be discerned at the outermost eastward horizon. What is the Hound
doing? she wondered once more, turning her head to glance at the door as if he
could appear on the threshold on cue.
 
The other day, Sandor Clegane had gone from her chamber in a foul mood and
Sansa was torn as to how she should feel about it. It seems to me as if he
always leaves me in similar dispositions, as if he couldn’t stand me…It was
strange considering that the man was always the one who sought her and that his
desire for her was now incontestable. Paradoxically, it was the knowledge of
that lust that had triggered Sansa’s nervousness as she waited for his visit.
What if he wanted more from her and threatened that unless she undressed and
let him do as he willed with her, she could forget about his help? And what if
he forced himself on her, no matter what she answered? Thankfully, Sansa’s
forebodings had soon been proved wrong; Sandor Clegane had not seemed
interested in her at all to say the truth. The man had obviously solely come to
tell her about the good news of her upcoming escape and give her the few
instructions she would need to follow in preparation.
 
From that moment, Sansa had been overjoyed and had hardly been able to stop
herself from grinning like a fool but for some reason she couldn’t conjure,
Sandor Clegane had appeared annoyed by her happiness and grown harsher by the
instant. Worst of all, he had even gone as far as to choose to remind her of …
the intimacy they had shared in the crudest manner possible.
 
The very recollection of the words he had used still made her flush in shame
and frown in frustration both. It’s in his nature to be coarse. Despite that,
he’s not a bad man, she quickly justified, forgiving him his outburst just as
soon while caressing her pendant between her fingers. Still, she was at a total
loss when it came to understanding him and the awareness left her more dejected
than logic commanded. It seemed anytime she was starting to feel slightly more
at ease with him, he did something to cow her; it was highly confusing and-”
 
Knock! Knock!“Little bird, you’re awake?” a raspy voice was heard from behind
the door.
 
At the sound, Sansa jumped and gasped. That she hadn’t heard the footsteps of
such a large man was somewhat surprising but it was true she had been deeply
absorbed by her reflections. “Yes, my lord. I am,” she replied, striding to the
door and feeling her pulse quicken.
 
Once it was open, the Hound entered the room as abruptly as a burst of air and
began looking around him as if inspecting the place. He was wearing light
armour of hard leather and chainmail with his olive green cloak draped over his
shoulders and his longsword sheathed at his hip. From the moment she saw him,
Sansa’s already taut frame became even tenser and yet, she couldn’t avert her
eyes and kept following his every movement.
 
“These are your things?” he asked, nodding at where Sansa’s satchel lay on the
featherbed. Before she had a chance of acquiescing, the man grabbed it and put
it under his arm. “No time to waste, little bird. Let’s go,” he urged, settling
a strong hand on her shoulder.
 
Her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, Sansa walked out of her
chamber. Furtively, she gazed one last time behind her and sighed in relief as
she saw Sandor Clegane shut the door on that gods-forsaken place. The golden
cage the Lannisters had kept her in for so long would become naught but a bad
memory from now on.
 
“Let’s hope your handmaidens have a lie-in this morning,” the Hound muttered as
they began to move down the stairs.
 
At that, Sansa let out a short, nervous laugh. “They never wake me so early, my
lord.”
 
“Good,” he grunted, grasping her hood and raising it over her head. The gesture
was innocent enough, nevertheless it brought a deep blush to Sansa’s cheeks and
the girl was thankful for the cover the garment offered.
 
Descending ever faster, they continued down the stairs until they finally
reached the floor. The long corridor before them was dark and gloomy – lit only
by some dim candles hung very sparsely on its walls - and Sansa was glad for
Sandor Clegane’s presence behind her. There was no questioning that she would
never have managed to escape by herself. Even with him, she was terrified. The
keep was always so murky at night and yet it was made even worse that a guard
could be hidden in every shadow she saw, ready to denounce them to the king.
The Hound won’t let anyone stop us, she reassured herself. He was dressed for
battle after all. Did he believe he would need to use his blade?
 
Another alley was now visible some distance before them and as they strode
steadily toward it, the bright light of a faraway lantern abruptly glared -
illuminating the floor almost to their feet. At the sight, Sansa jumped and
took a step backward, certain that disaster was about to unfold. An eye blink
later though, they were once more swallowed by darkness, the walker having
apparently continued straight ahead without noticing their presence. Trembling,
Sansa stayed in place, unable to move for a few seconds.
 
“Some lowly servant or guard stuck with the graveyard shift, most likely. We’ll
meet others. Be prepared,” the Hound whispered.
 
Sansa nodded at hearing his warning, only now realising how her back was
pressed flush against his torso. Although heat immediately rushed to her face,
the girl couldn’t deny that the contact with his solid body had a soothing
effect on her. Still, they couldn’t stay like that, in the middle of the
corridor forever and so she began walking again, shortly followed by the Hound.
 
“This way,” Sandor Clegane told her, his hand circling her upper arm, when they
arrived at the intersection.
 
As they took the new, smaller corridor, a thought suddenly struck Sansa. “My
lord,” she whispered, slowing her pace and turning around to lay worried eyes
on him. “What should we do if we meet someone again?”
 
“Hide in a dark corner,” the Hound replied, a small smirk pulling at his lips.
“Or if the bugger sees us, kill him.”
 
Sansa gasped at his proposition, eyes grown wide with dread. “And what if it’s
a woman?” she asked, halting completely.
 
Apparently as amused as he was exasperated, Sandor Clegane exhaled deeply.
“Kill her. It’s all the same buggering thing, girl. I told you before,
remember?” he explained in an undertone, approaching her face with his. “If you
keep quiet though, mayhap we won’t get caught and my sword will stay in its
sheath. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little bird? Hush then.”
 
From then on, they walked side by side in total silence, their bodies brushing
almost constantly and the man’s hand often settling over the back of Sansa’s
shoulder or arm to guide her when they changed direction. They were taking a
path she had never used before, one that was unquestionably longer but also
apparently not frequented at all at this hour and the girl was infinitely
grateful for the Hound’s knowledge of the castle’s warrens.
 
For hours it seemed, they wandered through endless mazes, parts of which were
so dark that Sansa could barely see where she was setting her feet while others
were so narrow that she could have easily touched both walls by spreading her
arms. Thereby, she was simply astounded when one of those forgotten passages
unexpectedly merged into a long and large alley with a high engraved wooden
ceiling and walls covered with ancient tapestries displaying epic battle
scenes.
 
“The stables are not too far now. Once we’ve crossed this one, we’ll be there,”
Sandor Clegane murmured as they began making their way through the new, much
more airy corridor. “We’ve been lucky not to meet anyone. Yet.”
 
For a couple of minutes, they walked in an eerie silence only disturbed by the
sound of their boots rubbing against the ceramic floor. All around, warriors
and heroes of other eras glared at them from their eternal poses, seemingly
displeased at being prisoners of the threads from which they were made. Soon
though, the echo of footsteps coming from the opposite direction reached their
ears.
 
“Fuck,” the Hound muttered under his breath. For a nerve-racking instant, he
swept his stare around him but then, his eyes fell over a dark slit visible
under an old tapestry hanging about ten yards before them. “This way,” he said,
seizing Sansa’s upper arm so tightly that she almost cried out.
 
At the pace he flew, Sandor Clegane all but dragged her behind him, still Sansa
managed to follow him without tripping and they shortly reached the hollow he
had spied. Wasting no time, the man promptly pulled over the dusty tapestry and
uncovered an alcove in which brooms, brushes and other cleaning supplies where
stocked. They both entered at once but as they blindly made their way inside, a
few brooms lost their balance and fell onto the floor, the noise reverberating
loudly all across the alley.
 
“Seven Hells,” the Hound hissed between gritted teeth, his annoyance plain.
 
“Who’s there?” a booming voice demanded, coming from the other side of the
corridor. It’s Ser Meryn! Sansa realised, panic-stricken and trembling all
over.
 
Despite the darkness of the alcove, Sansa could discern Sandor Clegane’s
imposing shape looming next to her, motionless as a great sculpture. She
watched him for the space of a seemingly eternal second and was nearly startled
when his head turned toward her, a queer gleam passing through his eyes.
 
“Come here, little bird,” the Hound rasped almost threateningly while grabbing
her by the waist. Confused, Sansa squirmed in his hold but the man didn’t
appear bothered at all by her reaction, for he yanked her to him and lifted her
against the wall, pressing some of his weight onto her to keep her pinned well
in place.
 
“We’d best look as if we were up to something,” he breathed in her ear,
plunging his face into her hair.
 
Unbidden, a yelp escaped Sansa’s lips. She had not anticipated his move at all,
nevertheless as his plan became clear, she raised her arms and laid them over
Sandor Clegane’s robust shoulders, her heart hammering madly in her chest.
 
“Mmmm, you smell sweet, little bird,” the man murmured as calmly as if they had
been alone in a chamber with all the time in the world before them.
 
Disconcerted, Sansa’s eyes went wide. How can he think of such things when we
are going to face Ser Meryn at any instant now? she wondered, slightly
indignant - but then, he did something even worse. Mouth slightly open, the
Hound pressed his lips against her neck and let his tongue trail lazily over
the soft skin he found there. At the feel of it, Sansa’s breath caught in her
throat, however her attention was quickly pulled back to Ser Meryn’s movement
in the corridor. She could hear his steps getting increasingly close and her
body tensed at the awareness, so much so that she was certain she would break
into pieces if she fell onto the floor.
 
Her fear didn’t go unnoticed by Sandor Clegane. “Shhh, little bird. Keep calm,”
he gently whispered, lips moving against her flesh.
 
Sansa shut her eyes, adamant about at least trying to heed his words but her
efforts were shortly distracted by his hands going down to her backside to cup
her cheeks firmly. Although she gasped very audibly, the Hound didn’t seem to
care in the least and lowered his palms even more until he was circling her
thighs and raising them over his hips. Sansa was completely abashed that he
would put her in such a position, and yet she was well aware that if they were
to play lovers in need of privacy, she had better look the part. With that in
mind, she closed her legs around his hips and arched into him, all the while
feeling her face burn so hot, she was sure the man could sense it. Satisfied
with her new position, the Hound brought his hands back under her bottom –
fondling it through the fabric of her dress – but less than a second later, the
brusque sound of heavy fabric being moved was heard.
 
In a heartbeat, their little alcove became filled with the orange light of a
lantern and just as soon, Sandor Clegane raised a hand from Sansa’s behind to
lay it over her head, pushing it into the crook of his neck as if he feared she
might otherwise turn and reveal herself.
 
“What the hells is that?” Ser Meryn asked, obviously taken aback at finding one
of his Kingsguard brothers in such a position.
 
The Hound snorted. “What the fuck does it look like to you, Meryn?”
 
The other man started snickering with unhidden contempt. “Are you a squire to
take your whores in the dark corners of the keep? Don’t you have a room of your
own to do your dirty deed in, Clegane?”
 
“I don’t see any buggering reason why I should fuck solely in my bedchamber. I
love taking my pleasure anywhere and a dusty cupboard full of brooms is as good
a place as any other, if you ask me. Don’t you agree, you…ah…woman?” the Hound
grunted while brusquely grasping Sansa’s behind.
 
At that, the girl squeaked but she was too petrified to utter a word. Did
Sandor Clegane really expect her to answer?
 
Thankfully, Ser Meryn spoke before she had a chance of opening her lips. “I
don’t want to know what you need to get it up, Clegane,” he spat in a disgusted
tone. “You sick bastard, I’m going,”
 
The light became less bright and Sansa could hear the tapestry being pushed
back. She was about to sigh in relief when the knight stopped in his movement
and abruptly pulled it open again.
 
“Hey wait! I know that dress. And that hair!”
 
In an eye blink, the Hound dropped her and took a step toward Ser Meryn. Sansa
fell onto the floor – seeing stars at the impact – and jerked her head just in
time to glimpse the tapestry fall in place, leaving her in utter darkness.
Outside, she could hear the sound of swords being unsheathed and of something
metallic rolling over the ground. In total panic, she advanced toward the alley
on all fours, stumbling against fallen brooms on her way and struggling to push
them aside.
 
“I’m surprised, Clegane. The little wolf-bitch? Is the city so cruelly lacking
in quality cunts that you need to bed the king’s own betrothed?” Meryn
exclaimed with evident astonishment, before laughing heartily.
 
“Didn’t you just tell me you didn’t care to learn about my buggering fancies?”
the Hound growled.
 
Then, the clatter of steel meeting resounded, followed by the hissing of blades
grating.
 
“Well, as long as your cock doesn’t interfere with the realm’s political
matters, that is. Your choice of partner changes everything, Clegane. I’m sure
every member of the small council will agree with me, tomorrow morning when
they learn that you’ve got yourself a new room in the black cells.”
 
Having finally passed over the brooms, Sansa nervously seized the thick fabric
of the tapestry and opened it very slightly – too frightened of what she might
behold - before sneezing at the dust.
 
“Pffft, no chance of that,” the Hound snarled.
 
Both men were facing each other and turning around an imaginary pivot as they
exchanged blows. Behind them, Sansa noticed that Ser Meryn’s lantern had rolled
to the wall and was now resting against a large tapestry, thick black smoke
emanating from its shattered body.
 
Fire! Sansa thought, her heart jumping into her throat as she saw the old
fabric begin to blaze.
 
“Oh, don’t get too confident, dog. Either I make you a prisoner, or I kill
you,” Ser Meryn hissed.
 
Their blades were now kissing and for an instant, they both stood in a nearly
motionless contest of strength but then the Hound pushed hard enough that the
knight lost his balance. Her lips parting in a grin, Sansa cheered inwardly yet
in the same instant, Ser Meryn somehow managed to regain his feet and thrust at
his opponent, hitting him over the arm.
 
“No!” Sansa cried aloud. Thankfully, the Hound didn’t seem half as disturbed as
she was and took a step backward before attempting another attack.
 
Behind them, the flames were getting higher by the second, engulfing the work
of art from which they had been born while reflecting off both men’s swords in
blinding flashes of orange and yellow.
 
“Didn’t think you loved them so young and highborn. What did the little slut do
to you that you’re willing to risk so much?” Ser Meryn asked with the same smug
tone, although a little less energetically than previously.
 
“Shut up, you bugger!” the Hound answered, panting.
 
Then, they both increased their speed and became a blur of steel, armour and
leather. Sansa had never been so anxious of all her life; she was breathing so
fast and her pulse was pumping with so much force that she was nearly made deaf
by the sound of her own body. What if Sandor Clegane lost and she was dragged
before the Iron Throne to be judged for her treason? And what if Ser Meryn
pushed the Hound into the fire and he died burnt to ashes as was probably his
greatest fear? Sansa couldn’t stand to look at their struggle any longer and
thus, she lowered her head against her joined hands and began praying. Mother
full of mercy, please! Let Sandor Clegane win this fight. Let him save me. Give
him the force to-
 
The sound of a man moaning loudly abruptly interrupted Sansa’s pleading to the
gods.
 
Terrified of what she would see, the girl turned her head and was instantly
relieved when she set eyes on Ser Meryn falling to the ground, his head almost
severed from his body. Hurriedly, she stood up and ran clumsily to the Hound.
The smoke was thicker at this height and so she began coughing all the while
gazing in horror at the fire. Its tall and hungry flames had now reached yet
another tapestry and were roaring very loudly, licking the wall almost to the
ceiling.
 
“Are you hurt? Did he wound you?” Sansa asked frantically, grasping Sandor
Clegane by the arm.
 
“I’m fine,” the man answered, catching his breath while coldly staring at his
dying foe. His upper arm was bleeding but it didn’t seem too bad. “We need to
go now. Where are your things?”
 
At a loss for an instant, Sansa remembered. “They must be in the alcove.”
 
Nodding, the man crouched and wiped his blade against Ser Meryn’s white cloak.
“Start running, I’ll get your satchel and catch up with you in a few seconds.”
 
Over the sound of the fire, she could barely make out his words but she
exchanged a look with him and gave him a nervous little smile. Seizing her
skirts, Sansa then began sprinting towards the stables, only now noticing how
her backside hurt after her fall in the alcove. Still, she didn’t care. All she
could think about was that her escape was not over yet and that if the gods
were not on their side in this, they might both very well be dead before the
sun was up.
 
“Fire!” Sansa heard, coming from far behind her. “Fire!”
 
People were rushing into the alley to extinguish the flames already. Would they
intercept the Hound? Had they already? Just as she was starting to truly worry,
she felt the man’s hand on her shoulder.
 
“Faster!” he urged her.
 
She tried to obey but wasn’t able. Still, they shortly arrived at a large
wooden door. Sandor Clegane kicked it open and they both stormed into the
stables.
 
“This way!” he directed, grasping Sansa’s arm and dragging her behind him.
 
The stables were dark and quiet at this hour and the only source of light was
that of a faraway lantern. The Hound knew his way and despite the gloom, they
soon reached a box where a huge black war stallion was anxiously waiting for
them, already saddled and ready to leave.
 
As Sandor Clegane checked that naught was amiss, the dim light became suddenly
brighter and the man swiftly turned toward it, obviously relieved when he saw a
sleepy looking stable boy standing at some distance – lantern in hand -
seemingly utterly puzzled at being disturbed in the middle of his sleep.
 
“Go back to your pillow, boy. We don’t need you,” the Hound snapped even before
he had a chance to say a single word.
 
Obedient, the boy immediately left, giving them a few questioning backward
glances.
 
“Come,” Sandor Clegane told Sansa once he had stashed her satchel in his
saddlebag.
 
The girl let him circle her waist and he settled her sideways in the saddle. A
moment later, he had jumped behind her and the horse was moving out of his box.
 
“We’ve only one door to pass. It’ll be guarded of course, so we’d best look
relaxed and cozy,” the man whispered, himself not sounding calm at all.
 
Yet, Sansa understood and pulled her hood over her head as much as she could -
taking care to hide her hair this time around - and brought her arms around the
Hound’s large torso.
 
“Oh,” she breathed, when she noticed the drops of blood that were splattered
over his cheeks and chin. “Your face…” Without asking, she gathered some of her
cloak in her fist and began wiping the blood away.
 
The Hound didn’t complain and let her do it, all the while gazing down at her
with narrowed eyes and bringing one of his arms across her waist to hold her
closely.
 
An instant later, they entered the courtyard and began advancing at an
unhurried pace. Sansa couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had seen Ser Meryn’s
body yet. It was almost inevitable of course but still, with the fire, would
someone be sent after them so soon? She was petrified at the idea and held onto
the Hound tightly, eager for some comfort.
 
“Going out, Hound?” a voice asked just as the man’s stallion halted.
 
“Aye. We’ve had fun all night and now the wench has nothing left in her and was
begging for her bed when last she was conscious,” Sandor Clegane rasped in a
voice so laid back that he might have just woken up from a full night of sleep.
 
“Oh, please. Be more merciful with your whores in the future,” the guard
answered, snickering in a way that made it evident he didn’t mean a word he had
said. Others were laughing with him also. “Go! We won’t detain you a moment
longer. The poor sweetheart!”
 
Steadily, they went down the drawbridge at a maddeningly peaceful pace, still
Sansa understood that it was for the best. When they reached the solid earth at
last, Sandor Clegane didn’t hasten and continued just as slowly.
 
“Shouldn’t we hurry?” Sansa whispered, shifting uncomfortably.
 
“Not yet. When we have reached another street, I’ll go faster. We’re almost
there though, little bird,” he answered, tightening his arm around her.
 
At that, Sansa snuggled into him, her need for safety too great for her to care
anymore.
 
As Sandor Clegane had promised, they shortly turned and hastened, although not
too much either.
 
“The port is only a few minutes away. No need to alert the whole
neighbourhood,” he explained before Sansa had a chance to voice any complaint.
 
They had already alerted a lot of people though, before leaving the Red Keep.
The castle must have been in pure frenzy at the moment, with the fire and the
body of Ser Meryn lying lifeless on the floor, Sansa reflected, her heart
skipping a beat as an idea suddenly struck her.
 
Wouldn’t the Hound be suspected if he came back after all that had happened?
His clothes were bloodied, his arm cut and he had been seen leaving with her
not only by a stable boy but by a few goldcloaks too… He couldn’t go back; he’d
be killed!
 
“We’re there now,” Sandor Clegane announced.
 
Her train of thought interrupted, Sansa raised her head and looked around her.
The quiet and narrow streets they had followed had now given way to the large
space of the harbour and the place was already filled with animation and noise
despite the early hour. Many vessels were docked but from the movement on its
deck and surroundings, Sansa could easily guess which one was the Travelling
Titan. The ship was very big and elegant, exactly as she had hoped.
 
“There’s your ship, little bird,” the Hound rasped as he jumped from the saddle
and began leading his horse over to the docks.
 
Men were running all around them, most garbed in the traditional sailor striped
tunic, some with golden earrings and all with skin so tanned it looked like
leather. A few of them were busy unwinding the long ropes that kept the ship in
place from steel poles and one of them – dressed more richly than the others -
stopped in his work to stride toward Sansa and the Hound when he noticed them.
 
“Hello, m’lord. This is the young lady you told us about, I reckon. She’s just
in time. We’re leaving in a few minutes,” he exclaimed in a voice that sounded
rough from having shouted orders all night. Then turning to gaze at Sansa, he
continued. “Hurry up and get on board, m’lady. The anchor is already up and the
captain won’t wait for anyone.”
 
Seeing her nod, the sailor returned to his work, leaving her alone with Sandor
Clegane once more.
 
“Heard the man, little bird?” he asked, laying his hands around her waist.
“Time to go.”
 
Once she was out of the saddle, Sansa gazed at the Red Keep, hovering over the
city and then at the Hound, her eyes grown wide with worry. “But what about
you, my lord? You can’t return to the Red Keep after all that has happened!”
 
“I know that,” he said, snorting a short, dry laugh. “I never intended to go
back either.”
 
At seeing her puzzled expression, Sandor Clegane’s mouth curved into a mocking
half-grin and his head tilted to the side.
 
“You think I didn’t predict some bugger would see us and gather I was the one
who helped you flee? It was written in the bloody sky, little bird. My safe
return to the keep was doomed from the start.”
 
“But why did you say yes then?” Sansa asked, totally unsettled by his
admission.
 
“You damned well know why, little bird,” the Hound rasped lowly while eating
her with his gaze. A moment later though, he became serious again and glanced
at the streets behind him. “I’ve packed my things in advance. I could still
ride Stranger to a gate and save my hide… unless…” he trailed off, fixing his
stare on Sansa again.
 
“Unless?” she breathed so softly that she was certain he had not heard her.
 
“I could go with you,” the man began, taking a step toward her. “There’s
nothing safe about you embarking on this ship by yourself. It’ll be filled with
a bunch of bloody sailors all yearning to get a taste of your sweet flesh. And
afterwards, once you get to WhiteHarbour, who’s to say how the tide will have
turned? Perhaps you’ll be surrounded by foes, even worse than here in King’s
Landing. You need a protector, little bird, one with no political ties and
that’ll do anything you ask without a fucking question. I’m willing to be that
to you.”
 
“Hurry up!” the sailor they had met earlier exclaimed from the deck, waving at
Sansa to embark.
 
The girl nervously gazed his way but she was too stunned by the Hound’s words
to think straight. Her lips were opened in a small ‘O’, her eyes wide with
confusion.
 
Seizing her upper arm to grasp her total attention again, Sandor Clegane
brought his face close to hers and continued. “Say yes, little bird, and I’ll
cut to pieces anyone that bothers you. I’ll kill any beggar, soldier, lord,
lady, or evenbloody queen and king that’ll stand between you and any of your
goals. You won’t find anyone more devoted than me.” Snorting softly, he
released her arm and narrowed his eyes on her. “I won’t lie and promise that I
won’t try to get into your bed again but since you can be certain someone will
claim the place, I’m not the worst bastard you could get. At least, you’ve
known me already and you can be sure I’d never hurt you…”
 
The flow of promises the Hound had just poured over her was a little too much
for Sansa to cogitate and she kept her stare glued to him for a moment after he
had finished, completely overwhelmed. He wants to serve me, she mused at last,
butterflies filling her belly. Still, at the thought of the last implication,
she felt a pang of annoyance. How could anyone be so forward, so coarse and
ill-mannered, so impudent...? And yet, why wasn’t she more outraged by his
proposition than she was?
 
A small smile pulling uncontrollably at her lips, Sansa sighed and took Sandor
Clegane’s large hand in hers. Without a word, she led him up the ship’s
gangplank and less than a quarter of an hour later, the Travelling Titan had
left King’s Landing’s to sail towards the great Northern city of White Harbour
with an extra passenger on its deck.
 
 
                                    THE END
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