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The sky was aflame. Sansa could see hungry green light licking at the night sky from the windows of the keep.
She was running away, flying back to her cage. It would be safer there, she hoped. The steel would keep me inside, but they will keep them out.
She would find her courage in her room, tucked in between her sheets, lying on her dressing table, and underneath the carpet. She would have to go looking for it, but she would find her courage again. Whatever what was coming for her, she would not be afraid. Her lady mother would not be afraid, and her little sister would smile at the danger and the horrors outside the castle’s walls. They would not cry, they would be brave and so would she.
But as she ran, her own footsteps echoing down the halls and following her, haunted her, and she threw her head back so many times to see if someone was indeed following her, only find out that there was no one there but her own shadow. She flew away from the screams and towards the safe walls of her room.
Sansa closed the heavy wooden door behind her. She could still see the flames raging below. They didn’t scare her, but the agonising screams that made her ears ring, did. She wanted to close the window, had half crossed the room when someone rose from the bed.
She was not alone. Someone had come to her, perhaps to take her away, perhaps to end her life. The figure was tall, so tall, it could only be one person. There was one person in all of King’s Landing, who could reach that height and one person only who would come to her room.
The Hound was standing in her room, but there were no mean remarks and snarls hurled at her. He stood there, and his armour was creaking with how much he was shaking. He had to have come straight from the battle.
As she stepped closer, she realised how distressed his eyes were. They were searching the room for nothing, they saw ghosts dancing next to her, but yet he did not see her. The ghosts were real, and she was naught but thin air. His steel had never frightened her, neither his strength, not when it had saved her so many times. No, what truly scared Sansa was his eyes. There were none like it. none had that ferocity and the ability to see right into her soul, past her skin and past her chirpings.
He is afraid, she realised, just as I am. I like the monster better. The monster kept me safe, and I do not know how to be safe on my own, I don’t know how to keep him safe.
She saw green flames reflect in his glistening eyes, and she knew. The city was on fire, and fire was his Joffrey. It was what scared them the most, what brought them to tears, and both of them were right outside, burning the night sky into ashes.
“Ser”, she said and put her hand on his tall shoulder, yet he didn’t look at her. The flames continued to dance within his eyes. Perhaps he couldn’t hear her.
“Sandor”, she repeated. She called his name quietly at first, but increased the strength of her voice every time she said it. She said it so often, she thought it was the only word she knew. And she liked the sound of his name upon her tongue. She should say his name more often.
“Sandor, please would you look at me.” His head snapped back, and it was only then that she realised she had been looking at the scarred side of his face. Almost a life time ago, she had not been able to look at his cruel face for more than just a moment, but now, even in the lime green light, they seemed like nothing more than bumps and ridges gracing his face.
That gave her the courage she had been looking for. If she was able to do that, perhaps she could be brave enough for the both of them.
“I need to go”, was all he said, and he swallowed heavily. Then why had he come to her, of he was just going to leave her again. Everyone always left her, her father, her sister, her brothers, her lady mother, her septa, her friends. She would be alone again. She couldn’t do that. Nothing would stand in between Joff’s cruel wrath and herself.
He must have seen the distress splitting her face in tow, must have seen those tears that lined her eyes way too often, because Sansa could see something shift with in him.
“I could keep you safe. They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’ll kill them”, he rasped. He stepped closer to her and a heavy hand landed on her back. If it had been Joffrey’s hand there, her skin would have crawled with ants, it would have revolted against the touch and she would have bitten her tongue. But as she looked into his eyes, she began to understand.
Her own mind had been a labyrinth of lies and contradictions ever since Joffrey had called for her father’s head. But this path was clear. Her mind was clear and set. This was the first thing that made sense, after moons and moons of spiders and cobwebs, lions and stags, and a million twists and turns.
She was lost for words, when all she wanted to say was yes, but the hand at the small of her back clawed at her. Sandor hated words. He despised them. If he could be a man of little words and great deeds, so could she.
Sansa inched her face closer to his and as she put her hand onto the side of his face, she could feel how wet and sticky it was. He must have fought so bravely. There was blood not only on his face but also on his armour. Most of it could not be his, but he had been brave. She was brave too, she would show him.
She cupped his cheek and she was surprised when he didn’t flinch or move his head away from her. He was waiting for her to do something. She was so close to his face, she could feel his breath on her cheeks. To the world he was a cruel and mean dog, yet he seemed so tender to her. His grip was strong, but it was never harsh, and as she touched her lips to meet his, his mouth was careful, and his touches were so delicate.
She kissed him, and when she tried to pour more of her affection into him, he was the one who kept their kiss chaste. His kisses merely ghosted her lips and his touches were ever so soft.
“Little Bird”, he whispered, and his head came to rest upon her head. She could feel his nose dig into her hair, and she wanted him to hold her like this until the end of time, until the skies came burning down and the earth would crumble into pieces.
Her head rested against his cold breast plate and the contrast of her flaming cheeks threatened to burn holes into his armour. She didn’t want him to move away. She felt safe. He would protect her like no other. For all that he despised knights, he was the best of them all.
“Little bird, we need to go.” She nodded, and as she packed a small bag, she couldn’t help but smile softly. She had kissed the Hound. No, she had kissed Sandor Clegane. The Hound never appeared to her. It had been Sandor who had waited for her, and it had been him she had kissed.
“Thank you”, she said as she handed him the small satchel bag. Sandor only grunted, but he did kiss her hand. Perhaps he was grateful for her, too. Perhaps she gave him courage the way that he did for her.
A lady must not forget her curtsies, that was what her septa had thought her, but a lady must also be brave, and brave she would be with her Hound at her side.
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