
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12134571.
  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, Increasingly_contrived_excuses_for_sansan_to_have_dubcon
      sex, book_canon
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-19 Updated: 2018-01-17 Chapters: 3/? Words: 11081
****** The Summer Maid ******
by Maroucia
Summary
     In lands hundreds and hundreds of miles north of the Wall, a spring
     ritual sacrifice is about to take place in order to assure the world
     a long and plentiful summer.
Notes
     This is inspired of an old prompt by kimberlite8. I wrote the draft
     almost two years ago, reread it last weekend and decided to resume
     writing it. I hope you enjoy.
***** Chapter 1 *****
The weather was changing, getting unexpectedly clement. About a moon before,
the thick clouds which had hung above the forest for so long had dissipated and
given place to the bluest of skies. Shortly after, the ice on the nearby lake
had thinned so much that it was no longer safe to cross it neither by dogsled
or foot and one had to walk many extra miles to get to the other side and hunt
the deer which thrived in the forest there. Winter was coming to its end, had
decreed the clan’s Elders before reuniting in the council’s longhouse earlier
this morning.
 
Winter had been long and harsh , yet as Sansa had never known anything other -
the season having lasted almost a decade and a half and she having only
recently turned four and ten - it had never seemed so bad to her. Her people
lived in lands where snow never melted completely and some ice always remained
in the sea even at the high of summer. Amongst the Free Folk, they were of
those who lived the furthest from the Kneelers. Their village was so far from
that colossal wall which was said to divide the south from the north that only
a handful of those of her clan had ever seen it of their own two eyes. As many,
Sansa often wondered if its existence had not simply been made up by those who
came back in a will to impress. Even those Kneelers that were said to live
south of it seemed the stuff of legend. It was hard to believe people could
live in houses built from stones and wear clothes of metal to battlefield. And
the point of having but one ruler for thousands and thousands of people was
impossible to grasp when it was common knowledge wise decisions could only be
taken by the deliberation of a community’s oldest members.
 
With the arrival of this new, beautiful weather, Sansa could hardly stay
inside. She was sitting by her family’s longhouse, enjoying the sun. Never had
she known such strong sunbeams. Installed over a high pile of snow, she was
mending some of her brothers’ tunics, as her mother had asked of her earlier
this morning. She was so warm in her fur and hide garbs that she had had no
choice but to lower her cowl, loosen her scarf and remove her mittens in order
to stop sweating. Yet even with all of that, she was still very comfortable.
How hot will summer be if this is just a glimpse of it, as Father and Mother
have told us? she wondered, bewildered at the thought that this might indeed be
just the beginning of it. It was hard for her to imagine the air could get even
warmer, it seemed impossible! What would she be wearing then? None of her
dresses would be appropriate anymore very soon and she’d have no choice but to
sew herself a whole set of new clothes. Oh! That was an exciting prospect!
 
“Hello to you, Sansa. Are your parents home?” a voice took Sansa out of her
reverie. She jerked her head sideway to see it was that of an old woman from
the Elder Council. Her name was Argath and she was walking toward the longhouse
with another council member, this one a man called Orog. Both were very old,
with white hair and wrinkled faces.
 
Sansa made to stand - the Elders deserved everyone’s respect after all – yet it
was hard with the pile of tunic she had over her lap, and Argath gestured for
her to remain seated.
 
“Good afternoon to you both,” Sansa said, bowing her head deferentially. “Yes,
they are home. Would you like me to tell them you wish to speak to them?”
 
“No, it’s all right, my child. Stay where you are,” Orog answered, smiling
kindly at her.
 
Sansa smiled back at them nervously and followed with her gaze as they entered
her family’s longhouse.
 
The Elder Council meeting had ended, apparently. And now, two of them wanted to
speak to her parents. That made Sansa anxious, quite a lot to be honest, yet
she tried not to think about what that might imply and to continue with her
needlework. Her attempt was not very successful: she was too distracted and
kept making mistakes. At one point, she even sewed two tunics together,
something Arya often did, but that she had not in years! How very shameful!
Thankfully, there was no witness to her clumsiness.
 
The two Elders spent a long time in her family’s longhouse - it seemed like
hours to Sansa before she saw them again. Despite pricking up her ears as much
as she could for the first few minutes of their visit, she barely managed to
make out more than a few word of their conversation. It was highly frustrating,
but also, very nerve-racking, thereby at one point, she stopped trying to
understand altogether and resigned herself to stay in the dark for now.
 
When the two Elders finally exited her family’s longhouse, they smiled at Sansa
and the look of respect they had in their eyes as they gazed down at her froze
her to the bone. Oh gods, have they… no, it’s not possible, she mused. Her
whole body shivering despite the warmth, she watched them as they headed back
to the Elder Council’s longhouse. She was imagining things. This all couldn’t
be because…
 
“Sansa!” Mother called, her voice somewhat strained. “Come in, please. Your
father and I need to speak to you.”
 
Mother was standing in the entranceway, gazing at her, and when Sansa turned to
meet her stare, she saw her eyes were teary, though her bearing was even
prouder than usual. Calm down, Sansa, you’re probably just imagining things,she
tried to reassure herself. Taking a deep breath, she gathered the tunics she
had in her lap in her arms and stood up.
 
She entered the longhouse, her knees weak under her and heart racing like a
wild horse. The place seemed very dark after the brightness of the sunny day,
and it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. Soon though, Sansa could
discern the wood posts and bark walls adorned with pelts and colourful woven
wall hangings. As always, the room’s air was thick with smoke and smelled of
beasts and food. By the table, her father was sitting, looking very grave and
somewhat… moved?
 
Oh, no, please no…
 
“Sansa sit down,” he told her gently, gesturing for her to take place before
him.
 
Sansa did as he asked even as Mother pulled herself a chair by Father’s side.
They both wordlessly gazed at her for what appeared like an eternity, clearly
uncomfortable. Yet eventually, Father sighed and broke the silence.
 
“Sansa. You’ve been chosen,” he announced quietly. He winced, as if saying so
had cost him.
 
At hearing the dreaded words, Sansa gasped, the colour draining from her face.
She laid a hand on the table to clutch at it, feeling the room spin around her.
 
“Chosen?” she asked in a weak murmur, though the truth was, she knew very well
what he’d meant by that. It had been the talk of the village for the last week.
Everyone had guessed that was the reason why the Elders had gathered this
morning. They needed to designate the virgin flowered girl who’d become the
Summer Maid. And she was the one. Oh by the sacred Children…
 
“You’ve been chosen for the ceremonial sacrifice,” Father told her, each of his
word slow, as if they were painful to utter. “It’s a great honour to be
bestowed on our family, one many dream of for their daughter. Yet I won’t lie:
it’s a bit of shock to your mother and me and we’d have rather it not be you.
You’re still so very young...”
 
Shaking his head, he exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumped in something like
defeat. “But our reticence doesn’t matter,” he continued with the same
heaviness in his speech. “This is not something one can refuse. The Elder’s
decision cannot be denied, they know best out of all of us in this clan how to
appease the gods and ensure we get the long and fruitful summer we’ve been
praying for for the last few years. This ceremony is most important. If the
Elder Council elected you, then we must trust in them, bow to their demand and
be grateful.” While there was a deep sadness to Father’s voice, Sansa could
also glimpse a spark of pride shining in his eyes. Very few families could
boast to have had one of its members having served for the spring ritual
sacrifice. It was a great honour indeed.
 
For many long minutes, Sansa was too overwhelmed to speak. Silence stretched,
disturbed only by the cackle of hens just outside the longhouse and the
laughter of children playing further away.
 
Both of Sansa’s parents had tears in their eyes. Mother was smiling at her in
spite of this, but Father, he was staring out the small window, blinking, his
face twitching as if he were in pain. The sight was too much for her. Sansa had
very rarely seen her mother weep and never even imagined her father could do as
much, and thus she averted her eyes to stare down at her lap. Her own vision
was blurry with tears and a heavy drop fell down on the embroidered hide of her
skirt.
 
“I am happy and honoured,” Sansa whispered, distractedly watching the water
stain her tear had left on her skirt slowly fade away. It was hard for her to
speak, her throat was closed with repressed sobs, however, she wouldn’t allow
herself to cry just now. Her words had been genuine. The notion that she would
serve as the Summer Maid may be exceedingly daunting, she was still very
honoured to have been chosen. As a child, it had been a dream of hers to be
named for the spring ritual sacrifice, though she had not understood the
implications back then. So very few women ever got the chance to become the
Summer Maid - one every spring – and in her youth, Sansa had prayed the gods,
the heart trees and all the Children of the forest that one day, she’d be
chosen. Yet now that it had happened in truth, she was scared to death.
 
“Another moon will pass before the ritual sacrifice. You’ll have time to
prepare for it,” Sansa’s mother assured her, laying a hand on hers. “We’ll need
to talk, Sansa... about what will occur. I’d have rather wait until the day
you’ll find a good man and leave our longhouse to explain all these things to
you, but now...”
 
“I know more that you believe mother. I’m less innocent than you may fear,”
Sansa hurried to answer, blushing deeply. “And I won’t give any reason to you
or to the Elder Council to regret that I’ve been chosen.”
 
“We know it, Sansa. You’ve never been anything but a dutiful and obedient
daughter,” Father said softly, glancing at her with a tight smile on his face.
 
And dutiful she would be once again. To be the maiden whose purity would be
sacrificed for the sake of a long summer was a very frightening prospect
indeed. And yet, Sansa couldn’t deny how special it made her feel to have been
picked among all the hundreds of young girls of her village. Only the most
pious, pure and deserving maiden of a clan could be selected to play this most
important role, a young girl who would be regarded highly by the old gods of
the forest. The ritual sacrifice of her maidenhead would appease their anger
and convince them to grant the forest, land and sea, as well as all the beasts,
men and women which inhabited them, the plentiful summer they had long yearned
for. If the Elders had seen Sansa fit, who was she to doubt them? They knew
best than anyone after all, Father had said as much.
 
And now in the weeks that would follow, the gods themselves would choose the
man most apt to serve as their tool in the sacrifice of her purity. They would
elect him the only way gods knew, through the shedding of men blood. A long
series of combats would thus be organised and the last man standing would be
their tool.
 
****
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     Yay! Another chapter is finally done for this! I hope you enjoy. If
     you do, please be so kind as to let me know! :D
Once the Summer Maid had been chosen by the Elders and her election officially
announced to the whole clan, the search for the man who would take her purity
from her and deliver it to the old gods of the forest could begin. Tradition
demanded that he be the fiercest and strongest member of their tribe, thus a
contest open to all would soon be held. Any man of the clan who wished to
participate was encouraged to do so and give his name to the Elders. Starting
from next week, they would all oppose each other barehanded, one duel at a
time, until only the most powerful and determined remained. The Horned Man,
they would call him and he would represent all that was vigorous, hard, and
male in this world.
All those men wouldn’t fight for Sansa of course. They’d do it to prove
themselves worthy in the eyes of the gods. That was what would motivate them -
not lust but devotion. Theirs would be a pious gesture, a selfless act with
which they would be seeking the blessing of their gods. And so Sansa had no
right to see it as a competition in which she would be the prize to win. Her
mother had told her as much, warned her not to grow full of herself when she
saw the large number of men that would ask to be added to the Elders’ list. A
good Summer Maid should remain humble all through the sacrifice’s process. She
and the Horned Man would be mere tools in an act much grander than them.
****
For days after her election, the most skilled women of the clan had worked on
the prettiest dress Sansa had ever seen. It was made from whitened hide and had
delicate white flowers embroidered around its neckline and the hem of its
sleeves. Sansa squealed in delight when she tried it on for the first time
after it was finally completed. It fitted her perfectly, drew attention to her
womanly curves and to the thinness of her waist.
A cloak of white fox fur, the most rare, had also been sewn for her, its pelt
so soft and warm, and Sansa draped it over her shoulders. She knew she looked
beautiful dressed as thus and couldn’t stop herself from grinning as she
inspected herself in the small mirror her parents had exchanged against a pile
of furs to some southern merchant a few years ago. The rich auburn of her hair
stood out dramatically against the pure white hues of her new outfit. Her long
and thick curls had been fixed in a half braid and were partly concealed under
a white lace veil of unbelievable delicacy. Its fabric shone under the sunlight
like a gem and yet was so light, one could see through it. The veil had been
worn by previous Summer Maids for centuries and was kept in a cedar chest in
the Elder Council’s longhouse for the extended periods it did not serve. It was
a true honour that Sansa should be allowed to wear such an exquisite piece of
work and be part of its long and rich history.
Tradition demanded that Summer Maids be garbed all in white from the time of
their selection to the ceremonial sacrifice, the colour representing their
purity and innocence. No one ever wore white in their tribe apart from Summer
Maids, for discolouring hide was a long and arduous process. While Sansa was
overjoyed that the chance had befallen on her, she knew it best not to show it
too much. She’d received plenty of envious looks from other young maidens when
she’d gone out in her new gown yesterday after having tried it on for the first
time. She could tell many were jealous of her, which made her both uneasy and
sad. She didn’t want anyone to resent her. Margaery had seemed mad when she
heard the news of Sansa’s election. She had even told her that she’d surely
have been picked instead of her had she not been caught by an Elder kissing a
boy in the common stables a few weeks ago. She would have been a far better
choice, she’d stated before storming away after she’d seen Sansa dressed in her
beautiful white gown.
Therefore as she stepped out of her family’s longhouse this morning, Sansa was
grateful to see her best friend Jeyne was waiting for her. The other girl was a
bit envious, but she didn’t deny it at least and was happy for Sansa in spite
of it.
“You look beautiful, Sansa,” Jeyne said. She was dressed in a beige dress with
a dun cloak over her shoulders and had her dark brown hair in a braid. “You
want to walk with me to the Elder’s longhouse? I’ve heard they’ve just started
taking names for the Horned Man.”
Sansa blushed and nodded. She had heard as much and was curious of course.
Both girls started strolling over the narrow path in-between the high heaps of
snow that flanked the longhouses of the village, some as tall the houses
themselves. They wore thick leather and fur boots, but Sansa found hers a bit
too warm today. The weather was so hot, the snow underfoot was slushy in places
and a few small rivulets were running down the snow mounds. Spring was well and
truly on its way.
“Oh, look at all those men lining up for you, Sansa! There are so many!” Jeyne
exclaimed as the Elder Council’s longhouse came into view.
Sansa slapped her gently on the upper arm. “Don’t say that, Jeyne! They’re not
lining up for me! This is all part of a ceremony, for which end I’ve been
picked, and they hope to be picked as well as anyone would. It’s the honour
they’re after, not me.”
“I know, of course,” Jeyne said, rolling her eyes. “Still, I can’t help but
feel excited for you... and very, very anxious as well! I’d love nothing more
than to wear your dress, that’s true, but I’m not sure I’d have it in me to be
a Summer Maid! Just thinking about the actual sacrifice... Oh, by the Children!
I can feel my face grow red and burning hot!” Jeyne admitted, raising both her
hands to her mouth.
Sansa giggled, yet the truth was, she was indeed anxious. And Jeyne knew it
well enough. They had spent hours chatting about what would be done to Sansa
during the sacrifice throughout the previous few days. They’d both seen animals
mate plenty of times of course and even surprised lovers by the village’s hot
spring once or twice, nevertheless the whole process of coupling remained
extremely nebulous to either of them.
Sansa knew she ought not to worry. The ceremony was not an act of passion, but
very choreographed with no place for spontaneity. There would be no surprise to
fear, each gesture she and the Horned Man would make would respect the same
exact order Summer Maids and Horned Men had followed during spring ritual
sacrifices for hundreds and hundreds of years. Besides, the priests and
priestesses of the Forest Temple nearby the village would be there, overseeing
the ritual and singing prayers around them. It was not as if she’d be alone
with the Horned Man, unaware of what she should do.
Yet if Sansa was to be honest, such precision rendered the prospect of her
sacrifice all the more daunting, somehow, and the fact that people would be
watching as her virginity was being surrendered to the gods didn’t held in the
least! She had spent the last few days trying to convince herself that the
spirits of the forest would guide her, that it would be a magical experience
which she would cherish for the remaining of her life, still she couldn’t stop
her pulse from hastening when she tried to picture how it would go. A part of
her was utterly terrified and with each day that passed, the feeling only grew
stronger and stronger...
As she and Jeyne approached the Elders’ longhouse, Sansa began discerning the
men assembled near the place’s entrance in more detail. Some of them bowed
their head in respect as they noticed her, which brought Sansa to halt at once.
She didn’t want to speak to any of them, not now. She was not ready for it yet.
It would be too... awkward. Forcing a smile on her lips, she nodded back at
them, hoping none sensed her uneasiness.
Many young men, and some older as well though still fit, were lined up to give
their name to the Elders as potential Horned Man. While Sansa had pretended
otherwise to Jeyne, the truth was, she couldn’t help but feel flattered by all
of this.
Men would fight for her. No, not for me, she reminded herself. In spite of how
she struggled against it, she caught herself wishing some of the men she saw
from afar would win more than others. Sansa was being unworthy of her title,
she realised, ashamed. I shouldn’t care. The most deserving will prevail. The
gods will lend strength to whoever is best suited for the task and the final
choice will be theirs.It was a divine process and it was not Sansa’s place to
disagree with the outcome.
Just as she was pondering on all of this, her gaze fell on the very
recognisable tall, dark shape of a man who didn’t fit among the others. The
view disturbed her so much that she gasped, her eyes growing wide.
“Oh, look, Sansa! It’s the Hound!” Jeyne exclaimed, just as surprised as her.
“What is he doing there?” Sansa breathed, her stare fixed on him.
“Seems like he’s waiting to give his name to the Elders, like the others,”
Jeyne replied. She hesitated for an instant and raised her hand to link her arm
with hers. “I’d never have thought he’d want to participate to the sacrifice. I
think I’ve never seen him near a heart tree of my life at all!”
Jeyne was right. If one man of their clan had no right to ask for their gods’
benediction, it was the Hound. He had openly admitted many times to anyone
listening that he didn’t believe in any higher power, that he thought all those
traditions and ceremonies which were so dear to their tribe were no more than
foolishness.
“I piss on your gods,” he’d once gone as far as telling an Elder during a
feast.
He’d hissed the sacrilegious words loud enough that many around him overheard
and less than an hour later, everyone in the village knew he’d spoken them.
From what Sansa had heard, the Elder had been insisting that he joined them in
worship later on, but the Hound had made clear what he thought of that.
And yet... and yet for all of that, a very small part of Sansa had predicted he
would covet the Horned Man’s title. Yes deep down, she had known the Hound
would want to join in the competition. She had tried to chase the notion away,
to convince herself she was worrying for nothing, yet now to her dismay, her
qualms were proved right.
“Why is he there?” Sansa repeated, taking a step back.
Jeyne stepped back with her and squeezed her arm gently. She didn’t say a word.
She had probably guessed the truth, same as Sansa.
Unlike all of his rivals, the Hound didn’t care about honour, tradition or
devotion to the old gods of the forest. No, if he wished to win the Horned
Man’s title, it was because he wanted her. The mere idea made her shudder.
For as long as she could remember, Sansa had feared the Hound. He was scary-
looking indeed, for not only was he the tallest and broadest man of their clan,
but his face was hideously scarred. In his youth, his older brother had shoved
his face in a burning brazier. The story was known by all in their tribe,
though never spoken of openly. It was a great shame that such horror had
happened amongst their people.
After the events, the Hound’s brother – Gregor he was called – had been allowed
to stay in the village for nearly a decade. He had been so impressive
physically, even more so than the Hound which said a lot, that many had
insisted on trying to correct his bad character. Such a strong warrior would be
an asset to the clan they had argued and besides, he was young and wasn’t it in
the nature of youth to make mistakes?
All regretted that decision now, for he committed many other crimes over the
years it took for the Elders to finally come to terms with the fact that he was
well and truly a monster. To their defence, Gregor was smart enough to cover
his tracks and chose his victims well. It was always hard to tell he was to
blame for the horrors he did. He was good at setting the scenes of his murders
in such ways that his victims appeared to have suffered from an accident or
been attacked by animals.
Yet eventually, a young woman from another clan he had raped after they’d
crossed path by chance in the forest managed to flee from his grasp before he
could slash her throat. A few days after the events, the village received a
surprise visit from a delegation of angry men from her tribe, demanding
retribution. That was the straw that broke the donkey’s back. The Elders
decreed that an evil spirit resided in him. As no amount of prayers and
incantation had ever succeeded in expelling it from his body, they ruled he had
to be exiled. Thus, he was chased from the village not long after with no
weapon, food or warm clothes. Such punishment was equivalent to a death
sentence during winter in the parts they lived in. No man alone could survive
the harshness of the season in these conditions, even one such as Gregor. And
indeed, a couple of weeks later, a group of hunters found his frozen body,
lying face down in a small cave. It was a relief to all when they brought back
the news of his demise to the village.
Although his brother was punished at last, the Hound never recovered from the
harm he had suffered. He lost faith in the Elder’s Council for having allowed
Gregor to stay amongst them for so long despite what he had done to him and
resented the whole clan for not having seen him for what he was when the signs
had always been there.
Not so long after his brother had been exiled, the Hound’s mean temper and
coarseness brought some of the clan to propose that he be chased as well – he
may very well carry that same wickedness his brother had after all. However,
the Elder’s Council disagreed. His bitterness and aloofness were the result of
the tribe’s own blindness to his brother’s evil, they had said. Most agreed
that he was not as bad as Gregor had been, that behind his scorn, he still was
a man with morals, a hard worker who was always there to lend a hand when his
strength was required for one chore or another. To add to that, he was one of
the clan’s best hunters and always gave the lion’s share of his catches to the
Elders so that it be distributed evenly among the tribe, as was their people’s
way.
And thus the Hound was allowed to stay, however he remained an outcast that
lived alone at the very edge of the village. He was tolerated and yet not
totally accepted. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He was always the first to
criticise a decision taken by the Elders’ Council or anything that resulted
from tradition. Unlike the rest of the tribe, he never asked for their counsel,
nor did he ever prayed by the heart tree or join his fellow tribesmen and women
in any ritual.
In the past year, Sansa had gotten to know him slightly better.
One day that she had ventured too far in the forest on her own, he saved her
when she was almost attacked by a huge white bear. The beast had been running
toward her, its mouth opened threateningly to reveal deadly, yellow fangs, but
the Hound killed it with his spear just in time. In spite of the state of shock
she’d been in, Sansa had tried to thank him for what he had done for her
afterwards, yet he only laughed at her and called her stupid for having
wandered so far into the woods, alone and unarmed, when white bears had been
sighted by many in the surrounding woods throughout the past weeks.
“A stupid little bird, chirping little words that don’t mean a thing, as empty
as that head of yours,” he had spat. He had snorted bitterly then, his eyes
narrowed and burning. “And you can’t even look at me as you say them.”
He had been right. Sansa had barely been able to meet his gaze and been shaking
like a leaf. She’d been relieved when he finally turned away from her to kneel
by the dead bear and begun cutting off its white fur with the long knife he had
after his belt. Without adding a word, she’d stridden away from him only
seconds later.
Though the Hound’s response had been anything but forthcoming, Sansa had felt
awful later on for the weak thanks she’d given him. That he terrified her and
didn’t make any effort not to do so didn’t change the fact that he had saved
her life. Thus a few days later, Sansa had grasped her courage and found him
near the small longhouse he lived alone in. She thanked him and told him how
brave he had been and this time, she forced herself to look at him straight in
the eyes as she did. He’d stayed silent and expressionless at first, but when
she told him she would mention him in her prayers to the gods, his reaction had
been to mock her all over again, to sneer at her for being so pious and naive.
He was so pitiless and mean, so tall and imposing, that Sansa almost broke down
crying before him, yet she’d thankfully managed to hold back her tears until he
had had enough of her and returned his attention to the logs he had been
chopping.
From that time on, Sansa regularly began stumbling into him as she did her
chores in and around the village. Somehow, the Hound would always be in her
path. His attitude remained the same and his words were never anything other
than coarse and critical, yet after a time, Sansa began wondering if those
encounters were more than mere coincidences. They were too frequent not to be
planned, especially considering they had barely ever crossed path before, still
it wasn’t that which brought her to question his motives first and foremost.
No, it was the way that, even as he told her how futile her devotion to the
gods was, he would refer to her as pretty, or how though Sansa always insisted
she didn’t need any help, he would carry back her buckets of hot water for her
when he found her at the hot spring or the tinder she had gathered when they
met in the woods.
But what got Sansa really concerned was that odd glint she saw in his eyes,
sometimes. She caught him looking her up and down on more than a few occasions
and he even commented on her growing body once. Sansa had been so embarrassed -
the simple memory of it made her blush deeply!
After that, she grew more careful and stopped wandering away from the centre of
the village on her own. Although she had not told her parents about it, for she
didn’t want them to worry for her, Sansa remembered well enough the warnings
they’d repeated so often to her and her sister. Any woman or maid should be
careful never to be alone where no one could intervene if she didn’t want to be
stolen away from her family. The Free Folk laws allowed for a man to take a
wife by stealing her and while most unions didn’t start this way, especially in
their tribe, taking a bride by force was perfectly legitimate and something the
Elder’s Council had no power over. And so as all the girls and women of her
village, Sansa had been warned ever since even before she had bled to never be
by herself, for she could be claimed by any man who took a liking to her. It
was a scary thought indeed.
Although Sansa was still young and innocent in many ways, she had an inkling
that the Hound might be tempted to do just that to her - steal her away from
the village and perhaps bring her to that hunting hut she’d heard he had, deep
in the woods, nobody knew exactly where. She wasn’t sure she was right about
this, but why risk it? Sansa was not a girl anymore. She had bled and was
growing more womanly every day. If the Hound succeeded in kidnapping her, she
would be his and no one would have any power against it. It was a scary
thought. Being the Hound’s wife… He was among the fiercest warriors their clan
had ever known and could certainly provide well for a wife seeing that he was a
skilled hunter, but he was also such a fearsome and hateful man. And the scars
he had on his face... that they were not his fault didn’t make them any less
gruesome.
Sansa was lost in these thoughts, shivering against Jeyne, when she realised
the Hound was staring at her. She met his gaze for a split second and gasped as
he gave her the smallest of nods. Her heart hammering in her chest, she averted
her eyes.
“Let's go, Jeyne,” Sansa prompted, pulling at her friend’s arm.
Jeyne nodded and they both turned away and walked towards the other side of the
village.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     Finally, another chapter is done for this story! Took me a while, I’m
     sorry! I do hope you all enjoy this one and please, let me know if
     you do! :D
It was a glorious, sunny day again, the weather being just as splendid as it
had been for the last fortnight. There was not a cloud in the sky or a breeze
in the air and the sun was warmer than Sansa could ever have imagined possible.
Same as yesterday, nearly all of the clan had assembled in the sacred woods
which stretched in-between the village and the Forest Temple. It was there that
most of the important ceremonies their tribe performed took place, at the
centre of a very large clearing surrounded by a dozen tall weirwood trees. Each
tree had a face carved in its bark, its eyes directed toward the middle of the
clearing. As for all the other weirwoods found in the Free Folk’s lands, it was
said to be the Children of the Forest who had given them their features. It was
thanks to them and their ancient magic if the gods could see what took place in
these woods and hear the payers of those who needed their help and wisdom.
With its dozen of weirwood trees all staring towards its centre, the weirwood
circle was an especially sacred place. No one could hide a thing from the gods
while standing in its midst and that was what gave it its undeniable power. It
was the most logical place to hold the Horned Man’s naming contest and thus
they were all here today.
It’s there that my maidenhead’s sacrifice will be held as well, Sansa
remembered for the hundredth time since the fighting had begun yesterday. As
she had on each previous instance, she squirmed nervously in her seat, a shiver
going down her spine. I’ve no need to be afraid, she reminded herself. The gods
will be watching over me, same as they are today over the contenders for the
Horned Man’s title. Him who’ll be chosen will be by the gods themselves and
certainly worthy of performing their will with me.
All dressed in white hide with the Summer Maid’s veil pinned over her braided
hair, Sansa was installed in a high wicker chair covered with white furs.
Wooden benches had been placed on each side of her for the Elders, the Priests
and Priestesses of the forest Temple, as well as her family. The rest of the
clan was gathered behind them in a large circle all around the centre of the
clearing so that all could easily see the duels. Those in the forefront sat on
fabrics and furs stretched over the floor while the others stood behind them,
yet no one was placed directly before the weirwoods in order to avoid
obstructing the gods’ view.
All around Sansa, the atmosphere was very festive. People were chatting and
laughing, drinking spruce ale from their horns, snacking on dried whale meat
and smoking wild herbs with their long pipes. The scent of the thick smoke they
produced was so strong and sweet, it was almost nauseating, and as it enveloped
Sansa every now and then, she would begin experiencing the herbs’
characteristic dizziness. No wonder some of those behind her were laughing so
much. She wondered how anyone could smoke a whole pipe of the stuff and stiff
manage to carry on a conversation.
Yet for as much as the crowd seemed disorderly, whenever a new bout started,
everyone’s attention returned to the centre of the clearing. All would grow
silent for a heartbeat or two, until the two men whose turns it was to see
their strength measured jumped on one another. Men, women and children would
shout and cheer then and not stop until the match was over. Many got pretty
carried away when they saw the man they had wagered some good or another on was
about to lose, but the presence of the Elders and Priests always reminded them
to remain relatively composed.
As for Sansa, she had never been quieter of her life. In the high seat she was
installed in, everyone only had to look up to see her and this was making her
quite uncomfortable. The attention having been named Summer Maid had granted
her had been exciting to begin with - that was true  enough – yet, the reality
of what her election implied was rapidly starting to set in and with that, she
found that she was growing more and more uneasy every day... Everyone in this
clearing knew what would soon happen to her at the centre of the weirwood
circle...
..that she would be naked but for her mask and veil, that the Horned Man would
worship her body as the ritual asked before claiming her in the gods’ name and
delivering her maiden’s blood to them.
The notion that those around her might be picturing her doing... doing all of
that just now was nerve-racking and a little bit embarrassing as well to be
honest. It may be a great honour to have been chosen, Sansa was too well-
behaved and modest not to blush madly at the thought.
“Next!” Orog, one of the Elders, suddenly shouted from his place on the Elders’
bench.
There were movements in the press, just before Sansa at the other side of the
circle of spectators, as people made way for the next two opponents. At this
point, those who remained had already fought at least twice and their number
was getting smaller and smaller. The oldest and weakest had been eliminated
yesterday and only the true contenders remained.
The crowd parted and Sansa grew stiff as she saw the next two adversaries make
their way. It was the Hound - the Hound and another man with a red beard called
Meryn. Gods, if only both of them could lose...
Each stood in place and waited, facing each other, as a Priestess and a Priest
lit some fresh sage in the large censers around them in order to purify the
air. At their feet, the snow had turned a pale shade of red. Though no one had
been gravely injured so far, it didn’t mean no blood had been shed. Tradition
asked that contenders for the Horned Man title used no weapon but their bare
hands. Only as thus could one’s true strength be measured and also, it
prevented anyone from being seriously wounded, in principle at least. Killing
each other would make no sense among tribesmen.
As for all of the previous contenders, the Hound and Meryn were bare-chested
and only wore leather socks on their feet, a way to assure neither was
advantaged by having put on an especially sturdy pair of boots. Sansa gazed at
the two men in turn, her pulse hastening. While Meryn was undeniably muscled,
he looked a mere boy next to the Hound. The latter’s shoulders were so very
broad, his arms thicker than some other men’s thighs... Sansa had never even
dared imagine any man could be so muscular! The Hound was not attractive in any
way though: his physique may be impressive, there was something grotesque and
even frightening about it and on top of that, his chest and stomach were
covered with coarse, dark hair. It made her uncomfortable to look at him,
especially knowing what had most likely motivated him to join in the
competition.
While she knew she was not being appropriate, Sansa had spent the last two days
glancing at the contestants’ chests. Never in her life had she seen so many
half naked men. This winter had lasted as long as her life and so ever since
she could remember, people had always worn many layers of hides and furs
whenever they stepped outside of their longhouses. Sansa had only ever seen her
brothers and father without their shirt on. Today didn’t feel like winter at
all though. It was so hot, she didn’t even wear mittens or a hood and she had
not kept her cloak completely closed since she’d stepped outside this morning.
Sansa had been surprised at first to see how strangely alike and yet different
all men were under their tunic. Some were very hairy, others barely, some were
skinny, others fat, some pale, others tanned... One of yesterday’s contestants
had been a man old enough to be Sansa’s grandfather and his chest had been all
winkled and covered with thick and long curly, white hair and his belly had
been huge! That such a man had hoped to be her Horned Man had horrified her!
Thankfully, Loras had easily immobilised him to the floor for ten seconds, as
the competition’s rules demanded. It had been such a relief!
Loras, how beautiful he was – with or without a tunic on! There was not a hair
that grew on his chest, he was as smooth as a newborn babe. Sansa longed to
touch his lean muscles and see for herself how soft his skin was. Gods, how
naughty she felt to have such thoughts – she was blushing madly! Yet there was
no way around it: the simple memory of him was enough to send her heart racing!
How she hoped he’d win... Still, she knew it was not her place to wish for any
of the contenders’ success and thus she had not prayed the gods that he won
even once. It was their decision to take after all, though it would certainly
make a lot of sense if they chose him. He was pious, respectful of the Elders
and of their people’s traditions. He was skilful in the arts of war, had all
the qualities requested to be a good Horned Man!
“Oh, look, Sansa! Seems like the Hound is going to win again!” Arya exclaimed
suddenly, taking Sansa out of her reverie.
Sansa had been so distracted by the thought of Loras that she had not even paid
attention to the beginning of the match. It was a good thing that her sister
forced her to focus. It wouldn’t have looked very good for the Summer Maid to
appear disinterested in the competition.
As Arya had said, the Hound had the upper hand indeed. Both men’s torsos were
covered with bruises received during their previous duels, yet the Hound had
only a couple of fresh lacerations on his cheek and upper arms while Meryn’s
nose was broken and bloody. Judging from how groggy the man was and from the
shouts of the people all around them, the Hound had only just punched him in
the face. Sansa winced. She did not like the sight of all that blood.
“Oooh!” the crowd cried as one as the Hound threw himself at Meryn. They both
fell to the ground and wrestled for a few seconds, still soon enough, the Hound
flipped Meryn onto his stomach and twisted his arms behind him enough to make
him yelp.
“One – two – three – four...” Ogor was counting, slowly, his baritone voice
loud enough to be heard over the din.
Meryn was solidly pinned to the ground, yet in a last desperate effort, he
tried to struggle himself free, pain written all over his face. The Hound
pushed him harder into the snow, his whole body contracting. Each muscle of his
arms and back grew infinitely defined with the exertion and somehow even more
impressive. In spite of herself, Sansa stared, unable to take her eyes from his
freakishly huge shoulders and biceps.
Please, keep him down, please keep him down, she repeated inwardly. For as much
as she didn’t want either to win, Meryn was worse than the Hound to be sure.
She’d never liked him, for some reason she couldn’t put her finger on. There
was something about him which made her skin crawl.
“...eight – nine - AND TEN!” Orog yelled at the top of his lungs. The match was
over, the Hound had won.
All around Sansa, the audience roared. Both men stood up, but it took longer to
Meryn to do so. The bout had left him in a horrible state. A scowl on his
bleeding face, he spat what had all the appearance of a tooth and glowered at
the crowd, before putting his back to both Orog and his opponent and limping
away without a word. As for himself, the Hound was smirking with a self-
satisfied air about him. He didn’t even flinch when Orog warmly grabbed him by
the arm and congratulated him for yet another win, which was not like him
seeing how little love he had for the Elders. It was strange to see him look so
content. There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes and the way
he smiled though. He looked like a man who knew he would soon be catching his
prey after a long hunt. Sansa shivered.
“He won, Sansa!” Arya exclaimed, as if Sansa hadn’t seen. Jumping from her
seat, she gazed up at her, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. By her
side, Jon, their cousin, shrugged apologetically. He and Arya were very close
and he often felt responsible for her behaviour.
“I can see it as well,” Sansa said detachedly.
She couldn’t show her - or to anyone else for that matter! - just how
distressed she was. She had indeed hoped Meryn would lose, but to see the Hound
be victorious once more... it was quite a lot worrying to be honest! At least,
she liked the idea that the Hound was eliminating all those rivals for a more
worthy contender. Because the gods would certainly never choose him as her
Horned Man. It was simply impossible that it happened. He did not even believe
in them for one, had given his name for all the wrong reasons! The gods
certainly knew it and would make him lose sooner or later. They were probably
just using him for the time being.
Orog cleared his voice and declared Sandor – the Elders were too nice to call
him the Hound as everyone else did - had won the bout and with that the crowd
clapped and cheered. Sansa smiled stiffly and applauded as well, as it was
expected of her, but deep down she was feeling very anxious. It was then that
the Hound gazed at her. Unwittingly, she met his stare, yet it was hard for her
to stand it, for it was so charged and intent. It troubled her to think about
what it might mean. She averted her eyes to look down at her lap, heat rising
to her cheeks.
Later on around noon, just after she had eaten lunch with her parents and
siblings, Sansa was helping her mother clean the knives and bowls the family
had used. They were both on their knees by the creek, Mother rinsing the last
knife while Sansa was drying the bowls with a piece of fabric. Looking at the
water cascading joyfully before her still amazed her. Only a moon ago, there
had been no creek at all in the forest and now with the snow melting so fast,
it seemed as if a new one materialised every day. It was astonishing.
“Who would you like to win, mother?” Sansa asked even as she stored a bowl in
their basket.
“You know it’s not for us to decide, Sansa. I’ve told you before,” her mother
said, not unkindly.
Sansa had a hard time believing her mother had no preference whatsoever. She’d
seen how stiffly she’d applauded anytime the Hound eliminated one more
contender and the frown her mouth pulled in whenever she looked at him.
“You truly don’t mind? You’ll accept that I be scarified to anyone?”
“It’s not that I don’t care, Sansa, you’re getting it wrong. As your mother, I
do always hope for the best for you, but in this situation we’re in, my
preferences really don’t matter. I told you already. The gods decide. It’s not
our place to disagree with them.”
“But what if someone was strong enough to defeat everyone, even though he did
not believe in the importance of what we are doing here?” Sansa let out, a
little too vehemently, she realised after the words had left her lips. She
blushed, certain that her mother knew exactly of whom she was thinking.
Sighing deeply, the older woman sent Sansa a reproachful look. “Sansa, the very
fact that you’re asking these questions is showing that you have doubts, doubts
in the gods! You need to have faith in them. The Elders elected you as our
Summer Maid and you should prove yourself worthy of the title,” she told her
sternly. With that, she handed her the last knife and stood from the creek’s
bank.
“I do trust in the gods...” Sansa murmured sheepishly. With her towel, she
dried the knife, biting at her lower lip.
“That’s good to hear,” Mother said, wiping off snow from her skirt.
Her brows knitted, Sansa put the knife in the basket with all the others.
“But... but what if the man who wins is not the one the gods had intended? What
if he managed to trick them, somehow?” While she hated to disappoint Mother,
Sansa felt compelled to go on. These thoughts had kept turning in her mind all
day and she had to share them!
“Sansa, no one can trick the gods while standing in the weirwood circle. You
know it as well as I do,” Mother stated firmly. Bending down, she seized the
basket’s handle. She shook her head and sighed deeply, but when she gazed at
Sansa again, her annoyance had faded. “But don’t you worry, Sansa,” she said,
her voice softer now. “We all have doubts at one point or another. It’s normal
to have them and I’m glad that you share yours with me. Yet the gods know what
they are doing no matter that we understand it or not. You need to trust in
them and pray that they allow you to see the truth.”
Sansa nodded, well aware that Mother was right. If only she could be that wise.
They both headed back towards the clearing, but they had not walked a minute
that they came across Jeyne having lunch with her parents in the sun. Sansa
started chatting and giggling with her friend and Mother continued on her way,
telling her not to linger too much. It wouldn’t look good for the Summer Maid
not to have arrived when the bouts resumed. Mother was right, thus Sansa left
not so long after, before Jeyne and her family were done eating.
On her way back, Sansa heard voices coming from the other side of the creek,
behind the tree line. She slowed down and pricked up her ears, curious despite
herself.
“It’s good to see you be interested and taking part in the clan’s activities
for once, Sandor,” an old woman was saying.
Sansa gasped and halted at once. Sandor? That woman was speaking to the Hound!
And judging from her voice, she was most certainly of the Elder Council, though
Sansa wasn’t sure of whom it was. While she knew she shouldn’t be
eavesdropping, doing so was stronger than her. Without thinking more of it, she
silently stepped behind a large blue spruce tree nearer the creek’s bank and
listened.
“Whatever your reasons, Sandor, this is excellent,” a man continued. She
recognised his baritone voice as Orog’s, the Elder in charge of the matches.
“You cannot remain aloof from the rest of us forever. It’s about time you get
more involved and become well and truly a member of this clan. As it is, with
your longhouse being at the very edge of the village, it’s almost as if you
were not part of it at all sometimes. Besides, it’s too big for a man living
alone. You still have no wife - at your age – no family, no friend...”
“I like being on my own,” came the Hound’s raspy voice.
Her heart in her throat, Sansa leaned further against the spruce’s trunk, her
whole body shivering, until she could glimpse the scene which played at the
other side of the creek. There was four Elders, two men and two women, standing
in a half circle before the Hound, all so small next to him. The Hound had put
a tunic on, as well as a cloak of fur and hide. Even in the distance she was
at, Sansa could clearly see the angry, dark purple bruise he had under his eye.
“Some people enjoy loneliness and need more space than others,” Orog agreed,
“but being part of a community is important notwithstanding and you need to
find balance between the two. If you win this contest and become our new Horned
Man, which I’m sure you will, then I hope it will mark the beginning of a new
chapter for you.” Smiling smugly, he added: “Because I have an inkling I know
why you decided to join in the competition.”
All four Elders chuckled at that. “We all do,” the other man said in a thin,
shaky voice. “Eddard’s daughter, she’s very beautiful. She’s still young, but
she has the potential to become an excellent wife to whoever wins her heart or
manages to steal her away from her family. I can see why she would sway even a
man like you to come out of his seclusion. If it’s her who convinced you to
head in the right direction, than none of us Elders is going to complain. The
gods find all sorts of ways to make us do their bidding.”
“Indeed,” came an old woman’s voice, and with that, the four Elders bowed their
heads in respect to the old gods of the forest.
The Hound stayed silent and eyed them all in turn, his features unreadable.
Still, he didn’t say a word to contradict them.
“You’ll be encouraged to court her afterwards, of course. By the Others, we’ll
even insist you do so!” said Orog with a grin. “It’s a good omen for the summer
to come and the clan’s prosperity that a Summer Maid and Horned Man choose one
another for husband and wife. You’ll have our approval and blessing, with hope
that the young lady is as easily won as this competition.”
There was laughter then and though the Hound did not share the Elders’ mirth,
the corner of his mouth curled faintly and he nodded. In shock, Sansa brusquely
turned her back to the spruce’s trunk, her heart hammering in her chest. Behind
her, the Elders kept talking, but she couldn’t distinct their words anymore.
Then less than a minute later, they all left, leaving her alone in the silence
of the woods.
For what appeared like an eternity afterwards, Sansa stayed immobile against
the spruce, her chest heaving. How can this be?she wondered, at a lost. Though
the Elders knew the Hound’s motives were anything but godly – they had said as
much themselves! – they’d joyfully congratulated him for having given his name
to be her Horned Man. And to hear them, it was as if Hound had already won the
title. They had even told him they would encourage him to court her afterwards!
Gods, Sansa’s knees grew weak under her at the thought. She wanted to sob.
Never in a million years could she envision herself being the Hound’s wife! But
the Elders apparently could. For the first time in her life, Sansa doubted
their wisdom. It was a troubling notion, but how could she not after the scene
she had just witnessed?
It was true what Orog had said though, that it was a good sign for the summer
to come that a Summer Maid and Horned Man fell in love and united for life
following the sacrifice. It was not mandatory but very well seen and common.
The only problem was, the Elders had it all wrong to begin with! The gods would
never, ever allow the Hound to win! It was the last thing they could logically
wish for!
Oh gods! I think I should go now,Sansa realised. She had stayed behind far too
long, she knew it. On the verge of tears, she started running towards the
clearing. Would she be late for the next duel? Oh by the Children!  I should’ve
left with Mother, she regretted as she kept sprinting.
When a few minutes later, Sansa finally rejoined the crowd, she could hardly
hide how troubled she was. She slowed down, panting. People were staring at
her, she noticed uneasily as she strode towards her high seat.
“Are you alright?” Father asked as he saw her arrive. He looked her up and down
critically, frowning. “What happened, Sansa?”
Unsure what he meant, Sansa gazed down at herself only to realise in dismay
that she had spruce sap all over her beautiful, white dress.
“Oh!” she let out, horrified. “I... I fell down... onto the ground. I’m fine.
But... but, will it wash off, Mother?” she asked, gazing pleadingly at her.
“What is it?” Mother asked, approaching her. She rubbed at the sap with her
palm. “Well, this is going to be hard, but it can be done.” Then, in a rough
murmur, she added: “Sansa, what in the gods have you been up to? Be careful!
You’re the clan’s Summer Maid, not some child playing in the forest!”
“I’m sorry, Mother!” Sansa whispered, tears pearling at the corners of her
eyes.
“It’s alright. Dry those tears and get back on your seat now. The competition
is about to resume. Make us proud, daughter.”
Sansa nodded and climbed back into her place. She did not want to shame her
family by showing how distressed she was, no matter how much all she wanted to
do was to cry in despair. She had to be brave.
Mother told me earlier that no one can trick the gods while standing in the
weirwood circle, Sansa reminded herself. The Elders could be wrong – had to be
- they were only human after all. In the end, it was always the will of old
gods of the forest which prevailed, especially in a place as holy as this one.
The notion gave Sansa hope and when Orog announced that the matches would
resume, she had faith once more that all would turn out alright... until she
saw the next two contestants. Her heart dropped from the moment they stepped at
the centre of the clearing. It was the Hound... the Hound and Loras.
Oh, the Others be damned! Sansa thought, sweat beading down the nape of her
neck. She had known from the start this was likely to happen and yet now that
it took place in truth, it was no less nerve-racking. Seeing the Hound and
Loras stand side by side at the centre of the clearing, waiting for their duel
to start, it seemed impossible that the latter would not be defeated as easily
as that. The Hound was so much taller, so much broader and more muscular, had
to be at least twice his weight! He was such a brute…
Still, the gods were almighty and many miracles had happened thanks to their
help in their people’s history. In her youth, Sansa had heard many a story in
which a young and fair hero had been underestimated because he appeared less
strong and capable than his opponent. Perhaps Sansa was just about to witness
one such instance and that Loras would prevail in spite of what logic
suggested. And then, his exploit would become to stuff of legends! Besides,
Loras was surprisingly strong despite his slender frame. His main strengths
were his skill with a spear and longbow and at first, Sansa had feared that
being without his weapons of choice would not play in his favour, yet so far he
had triumphed to all of his matches, though his victory had sometimes been very
thigh.
“Hopefully the Hound won’t break his perfect little nose like he did Meryn’s.
The boy wouldn’t be as pretty afterwards. Don’t think Renly would like that
very much,” a man said behind Sansa.
Laughers followed his words and Sansa frowned to herself, keeping her stare
fixed before her. Why would Renly care more than any other member of their
tribe if Loras was injured? They were close friends, that was true enough. When
the Hound had eliminated Renly yesterday afternoon, Loras had run to his side
to care for his broken finger, but that was what friends were for after all.
Fresh sage had been ignited in the censers and the Priest and Priestess who’d
lit it had retrieved their seat. All that remained was for Orog to announce the
start of the bout. He did and even before he had shut his mouth, Loras jumped
at the Hound and punched him in the jaw.  He was fast and managed to kick him
in the stomach before he could react, but it was like hitting a tree. The other
man barely moved of an inch. Unfazed, he hit Loras back on the cheek, sending
him reeling.
The crowd was roaring so loudly, it hurt Sansa’s ears. Her back was as straight
as an arrow, her hands stiff and clutching at her skirt. As for Loras, he
barely managed not to fall backward. When he stood straight again, Sansa
inadvertently let out a small cry at seeing the bright red hue his cheek had
taken. Loras wouldn’t be so easily defeated though. With a resolute look in his
golden eyes, he attacked the Hound again, as rapid as a gust of wind. He is so
brave, she thought, sitting at the edge of her seat.
Yet despite his size, the Hound’s agility and speed was renowned all over the
Free Folk’s lands and once more today, he proved his reputation had been well
earned. He predicted Loras’ move even though his approach suggested he would
aim for his head and in an eye blink, he caught him by the arm as he tried to
punch him in the gut. Then effortlessly, he pulled him along with him onto the
floor and they both rolled into the hard packed snow for a moment. It didn’t
take very long before the Hound had the upper hand. As much as it distressed
Sansa to admit it to herself, it was easy to tell who was going to win. And
indeed, they had not wrestled a minute that he had Loras immobilised under him.
Orog counted till ten, as slowly and steadily as always.
When Loras stood up again afterwards, he smiled, his perfect bottom lip split
and bleeding, and warmly congratulated the Hound. Many bruises had appeared on
his torso and arms, Sansa noticed, and he was distractedly rubbing one on his
shoulder. “You deserve this win. There is no shame in losing against an
adversary as worthy as you. Good luck for the remaining of the competition,” he
said loudly enough for all to hear.
The Hound nodded curtly and grunted his thanks, eying him warily.
Then, Loras bowed respectfully to Sansa and the Elders and headed away to
rejoin Renly a little further at the back of the press.
Sansa watched him go, her heart sinking.Oh gods, the Elders are right. The
Hound is going to win this competition, she mused in distress after Loras had
disappeared from her sight. There was no denying it anymore: there would be no
miracle. Sansa wanted to cry, could feel tears threatening to well in her eyes.
She fought against it, remembering her mother’s words. Make us proud, daughter,
she had said. And thus instead of sobbing as every fibre of her being commanded
her, Sansa applauded and smiled as radiantly as she could. She was the Summer
Maid, after all, not a weeping little girl…
 
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
