Chapter Text
SANDOR
Sandor Clegane was walking as fast as his slight limp would allow him, his head bowed low against the wind and the snow that was falling in big wet lumps to the ground. He was trying to hide his face, even though the hood of his dark cloak was deep enough so that it already hid most of his tell-tale burns. His keen eyes darted left and right, taking in his surroundings and the few people he came across.
He’d changed from his brown-and-dun brother's robes to a simple woollen brown tunic, a pair of leather breeches and some warm boots. A dark and heavy woollen cloak was clasped around his broad shoulders to protect himself against the cold and the snows of winter that had already reached the Vale. A short sword hung at his left side, fastened around his hips by a leather belt.
His steps were urgent and his mind was racing.
Earlier today, he’d been admitted along with Brother Narbert and the few other silent brothers from his party into the solar of Petyr Baelish, Lord Protector of the Vale, and Kings Landing’s former Master of Coin.
They had arrived at the seat of House Royce (now also temporarily Lord Baelish’s seat for the coming winter) in the bright early morning after a long and arduous trek from the Quiet Isle taking the long-way round; reaching Gulltown first by boat from Maidenpool situated to the south-east of the Isle on the banks of the Bay of Crabs – having some business to take care of in both towns first – and then making their long slow trek to the Gates of the Moon by horse and cart through sleet and snow, on some gods dammed mysterious errand from the Elder Brother – an errand which Sandor wasn't bloody privy to.
In fact, he didn't even know why in the Maiden’s teats the Elder Brother had even sent him there in the first place. “Bugger the Elder Brother and his damn secrecy,” Sandor grumbled under his breath.
Since Littlefinger knew him from King's Landing, Sandor had stayed well away at the back of the room, standing to attention like his other fellow brothers, with his arms shoved inside his large bell sleeves, his back leaning against a tall and large bookcase full of ancient books and his shoulders hunched over in order to avoid any unwanted attention to himself and his massive height. He’d kept his face down and well hidden beneath his deep cowl, and the lower part of his face was covered by a piece of cloth. There was no chance of anyone noticing the burnt side of his face and identifying him as the former Lannister Hound, the supposed butcher of Saltpans.
And since he was a silent brother, well, he bloody well didn't need to say a fucking word now, did he? No one would even recognize his raspy voice.
His mind had been idly wandering over boring matters, such as how in the Stranger’s name he was going to manage to dig more graves on the Quiet Isle with the ground now starting to freeze solid (they would probably have to store the bodies somewhere cold), and whether there were women and wine to be found at the Gates of the Moon, when he finally noticed the young woman sitting on Littlefinger's left – an Alayne Stone, Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter.
The girl had stayed so resolutely quiet the whole time during which Baelish and Brother Narbert, one of the proctors of the Quiet Isle and the Elder Brother’s representative on this delicate mission, had had a rather heated exchange about grain or something of a similar nature – Sandor wasn't really paying any attention – that he hadn't really taken notice of the girl at first.
But he did now.
At first glance he could see that she was tall, almost a head taller than the father by whose side she was demurely sat. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her head bowed slightly down. But Sandor knew her quietness actually hid an active and inquisitive mind and that she was in truth listening intently to the heated exchange between her father and Brother Narbert.
She had a mane of dullish brown hair that didn't really fit with her pale complexion and the dress she was wearing was a simple blue woollen gown; a dress fit for a bastard daughter even if her father was an important man. But what struck Sandor was that the blue of her dress also seemed to match the blue of her eyes – eyes Sandor Clegane felt he had seen before but yet couldn't quite exactly place where.
Somehow, as if she could read his mind, the girl seemed to feel Sandor's gaze boring right through her from across the room. She lifted her delicate face and those incredible blue eyes met his unflinchingly. In the space of a heartbeat, Sandor felt as though someone had just punched him in the guts with a mailed fist. The face that looked right back at him was that of his little bird – Sansa Stark.
*****
Sandor headed straight for one of the few brothels situated right outside the Gates of the Moon. The establishment he was looking for was one of the more discreet ones, a little off the beaten path – he didn't want to make it common knowledge that a silent brother of the Quiet Isle had frequented such a . . . unholy establishment, so he had changed his clothes to make himself anonymous. He would be one more sellsword amongst dozens already teeming there.
Sandor's mind was still reeling from this afternoon’s discovery that he had found Sansa Stark alive and well in the Vale, and he suddenly needed to fuck a woman, bad. He also needed lots of wine, so he could drink himself into a stupor. While he had recognized her, Sandor felt she hadn’t recognized him, shyly lowering her eyes again not long after she had held his gaze.
Ever since Sansa Stark had vanished from King's Landing on the night of King Joffrey's wedding to the Knight of Flower’s sister, Margaery Tyrell, and murder, he’d known that his little bird was probably lost to him forever. It took him a long time to accept that fact, but with the Elder Brother's help during his time as the gravedigger on the Quiet Isle; he had finally made his hard peace with it. Or so he thought.
But seeing her again, here of all places had brought back some old painful memories he thought long forgotten and buried with the Hound.
Bugger him. How wrong had he been.
The memory that kept haunting him ever since seeing Sansa again was the last time he had been with his little bird back in her chambers in Maegor's Holdfast, on that fateful night during the Battle of the Blackwater. Gods! He’d been so drunk that night after fleeing the battle! He could barely think straight.
Sandor shamefully recalled how he had been waiting for his little bird in her bed, drinking himself into a stupor as he was in the habit of doing, when she finally appeared. Scaring her senseless, he had pulled her onto the bed and pressed himself heavily on top of her. He’d put the sharp steel of his knife against her throat and demanded his bloody song. The poor child had no idea that what he had really wanted to do was to fuck her. But in her complete and utter innocence she had sung the Mother's Hymn and cupped his burnt cheek, reaching a part of him he had thought long buried and dead, and he’d fucking cried.
Ripping off his white Kingsguard cloak and leaving it with her, he’d then left Sansa behind for the fucking Lannisters to do with her as they pleased. He left her unprotected against Joffrey’s malice and cruelty.
Bile rose in his throat. How could he ever have done that to his little bird?
He felt even sicker when he realized that the Elder Brother must have known that Sansa Stark had been here in the Vale with Littlefinger and that her being here was the whole reason why he had sent him with Brother Narbert and the other silent brothers in the first place. Fuck the Elder Brother and his buggering mysterious ways. I’ll strangle him with his own guts the next time I see him. He should have told me she was here; he should have told me the truth. He knew how I felt about the little bird. So why send me here knowing full well she was hiding here, in the Vale, as Littlefinger’s bastard daughter? Sandor felt himself getting angry, a pure, cold rage seething at the back of his mind.
Then Sandor Clegane was suddenly struck with an idea.
He decided that he would make it up to her. That he’d make her forget that damned night when he had scared her and put his knife against her perfect white throat.
*****
The brothel he was looking for was straight ahead in a narrow alley. It was a tall building, four stories in all, but it wasn't very large. He made his way towards it with a new purpose in his step.
As soon as he walked into the front door, a middle-aged woman dressed in bright red silk robes, a black wig, too much make-up, and bearing her breasts welcomed him into her establishment, fawning over him.
Sandor tossed a gold dragon almost carelessly her way. “I want a red-headed whore. Young and tall, if you have one. But one with experience and I will need her all night. Also, add a few skins of wine, sour red,” he rasped.
The woman smiled at him, replying that she had such a girl. She clapped her hands together. “Saanya,” she called with a melodious voice. Fuck, even her name sounds similar to Sansa’s. A few seconds later Saanya appeared almost out of nowhere and came to stand beside the brothel's owner.
Sandor eyed her up and down. She wasn't as tall as his little bird and her body was rounder, with heavier teats and wider hips. But her hair was almost the same bright auburn as Sansa's natural hair color and her eyes were blue. She was rather a pretty thing, and he thought she would do very nicely for what he had in mind.
He nodded his approval to the establishment's owner, who gestured to the girl to take care of their new customer. Saanya slipped a soft arm through Sandor's, but he flinched at the touch.
“Pardons, m'lord,” she said, smiling seductively at him. “Will you come with me?”
“I'm no fucking lord,” Sandor growled. “In fact, I'm no one, so you better remember that.” But he followed her through a long corridor, then up two flights of stairs before she ushered him into a warm, dimly-lit room. All around him he could hear the sounds of people fucking through the thin walls and he felt himself going hard.
In the middle of the room was a rather large bed, covered with some nice clean sheets and a pile of furs. It looked clean enough, cleaner than many a brothel he had frequented in his life.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Saanya quickly slipped off the thin green and gold silk dress she had been wearing by unclasping the two silver brooches that fastened it together. She let it fall to the floor, where it pooled at her small feet, then she turned, fully naked except for a silver chain that hung on her hips, towards Sandor. “What would m'lo...no-one like?” she purred seductively.
“Quiet,” Sandor rasped. “I'm not here to be fucked by you.”
“What would your pleasure be then, no-one?” she asked him, her face a complete mask of seduction and innocence all rolled into one. As a whore she would have seen – and done – all kinds and sorts of perversions. But most whores never liked to deal with those kinds of customers. Better to fuck and be fucked quick and fast and move on to the next one. Well, it was at least always that way in his experience.
Most of the whores he’d fucked always wanted him to leave as soon as he had gotten into their beds. They didn't like the look of his half-ruined face much, nor his gruff attitude, so he usually just ended up taking them from behind, fucking them hard and fast so he could quickly reach his release, and leave them almost as soon as he had spilled himself inside their cunts.
Sandor walked over to Saanya and pressed another gold dragon into her hand. “This is for forgetting I was here as soon as I leave this room, is that understood?” Then he added for good measure in a low, dangerous growl, “Or I'll come back and slit your throat.”
The girl's eyes widened in fright for a second, but then she looked at the gold dragon he’d given her and slowly acquiesced.
When he was satisfied, Sandor lowered the hood of his cowl, exposing his burnt face to the girl. If she realized who he was then, she kept her face free from any emotion and refrained from flinching. Good girl. She then walked slowly towards him, hips swaying alluringly, and took one of his massive hands into her own small one. They were soft and warm and Sandor could smell her perfume, which wasn't unpleasant at all. Most whores always over-perfumed themselves but this one smelled of winter roses.
She brought his right index finger to her mouth and suckled on it lightly, making his cock jump in his breeches.
“And . . . What does no-one wish to do with me, then?” She asked, her blue eyes lifting up to meet his gaze, her lips pursing into a tiny pink smile.
Sandor fisted her hair roughly and brought his face down close to hers. “I want you to teach me how to please a woman.”
*****
The next night, back at the Gates of the Moon, Sandor was completely clad again in his silent brother's robes so he could stroll the keep more freely and, seeing no guards around, easily found and broke into Sansa's room. He snorted at how easy it was to walk around a castle keep when dressed as a holy brother. Buggering fools.
His little bird was still in the great hall eating and feasting with that damned “father” of hers and the rest of the small company of brothers. He looked around the room to see where he could hide until she came back; reminding him of the time he had hid in her chambers on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater. He felt bile rising up again at the back of his throat at the thought, so he quickly brushed it aside.
The room was big and warm and a crackling fire was burning in the fireplace to fight against the cold that seeped through the stone castle walls. A large bed was laid against the wall in the middle of the room and it was covered with fine silk sheets and a pile of soft warm furs. He also noticed that her bed gown was already laid out onto her bed for her.
In one of the corners, Sandor noticed a high backed chair that could be pushed further back into the shadows for him to sit on as soon as his plan was set in motion.
As luck would have it, Sansa had left a tall glass of water on the table by her bed, so Sandor slipped in one measured drop of essence of nightshade (enough to make her fall asleep fast but not enough to make her sleep all night). His little bird would fall asleep quickly and then when she’d wake up he would go through with his plan. He smirked at the thought, then retreated to a corner that was well kept in the shadows, despite the few lighted candles already flickering in her room. Perfect. With his back to the corner, he started to wait for his little bird to return from the feast.
He didn't have to wait too long before Sansa finally slipped into her room, barring the door behind her. An hour, it might have been? He hadn't really paid any attention to the time, his head full of what he had planned for her.
He saw her walk to her bed, his eyes following her every movement from his hidden corner. Feeling exactly like the voyeur he was, Sandor got a sudden jolt of arousal from the thought. He watched her sit on the bed for a few minutes, while she sighed loudly before she rose again and slowly started fumbling almost absent-mindedly with the laces of her gown. Fuck.
Her laces now undone, he watched Sansa push her dress from her white shoulders and let it fall to the floor, seeing it pool softly around her feet as she stood there clad only in her bodice and her smallclothes. The sight of her almost naked made Sandor’s cock start to harden inside the breeches he’d kept underneath his brother's robes and he barely managed to resist the urge to rub himself over the heavy layers of fabric.
Sandor stood as still as his long years of training as a Lannister soldier allowed him to, barely allowing himself to even breathe while he lurked in the dark shadowy corner. Figuring it didn’t mean he couldn’t take a good look at the girl, his eyes started raking over every one of Sansa’s womanly curves.
If he could have, Sandor would have groaned loudly as he felt his cock start to press harder against the now too-tight laces of his breeches. He closed his eyes against the growing temptation of seeing Sansa naked and palming his hard bulge through his clothes. Follow the buggering plan. He breathed slowly.
He heard her, rather than saw her, getting rid of the rest of her clothes before hearing more rustling from her direction (putting on her bed gown, no doubt), then he heard her get into bed and drink the glass of water he had previously drugged. She gulped it down quickly and it wasn't long before she fell into a drug-induced sleep, her breathing becoming even and deep.
Good. Now, for the first part of my plan . . .
As soon as he was sure his little bird was sound asleep, Sandor slipped out of the shadows, took out the length of rope he’d brought with him and proceeded to tie her arms to the headboard of her bed in a tight knot. He paused for a heartbeat, looking at Sansa’s beautiful sleeping face, tracing the line of her jaw with light, calloused fingertips, rubbing his thumb over her soft cheek. I will make you look at me little bird, and I will make you give me that song willingly.
It wasn’t until he gave a ragged exhale that he noticed he’d been holding his breath the entire time.
Then he slowly pulled down her bed covers so he could drink in the soft curves of her body. Even clad in her bed gown Sandor could see the nice swell of her breasts: they had grown even bigger than last he’d seen her. They weren't big and heavy like Saanya's had been but Sansa's teats looked rounder and firmer. A young woman's teats. You have grown little bird.
Raking his eyes over her again, he noticed the small pink nipples showing through her almost see-through bed gown and, further down, right between her legs, he saw the thatch of red hair that covered her mound. Sandor licked his lips at the thought of darting his tongue between her slick folds, lapping at her sweet cunt, giving her pleasure, making her moan his name, and he groaned deeply. His cock was starting to throb almost painfully already and he felt a wetness seep through his breeches.
His hand started trailing over Sansa’s sleeping form almost on its own accord, but Sandor stopped himself. He would deny himself the pleasure of touching the rest of her body, alluring as it was, until she was awake. Then he would make her sing for him.
It took all of his will power to turn away from her and sit himself in the high backed chair in the corner of her room, moving it so he could still be in the shadows, while still allowing him an uninterrupted view of her sleeping form on the bed. Sandor felt that it was getting a bit too warm in the room for his taste, so he decided to rid himself of his brother's robes, carelessly throwing the hated garment in a heap behind the chair.
He slumped back against the chair, dressed only in his breeches, and stared hard at a sleeping Sansa, his eyes roving salaciously over his little bird’s body once more.
He noticed how she had grown taller again, that her hips were rounder, larger. A woman's hips now. Her skin looked soft, it had felt soft when he had touched her cheek a moment ago and he started to imagine how the rest of her body would feel under his hands when he could finally caress her; how her nipples would feel between his fingers, how they would harden in his mouth under the onslaught of his tongue . . . As the image of their naked bodies entwining flooded his mind, his hands started to roam over his stomach, slowly fumbling with the laces of his breeches.
Sandor groaned. His cock was as hard as Valyrian steel at the vivid thoughts playing in his mind; of what he would do to his little bird as soon as she’d wake up, of the pleasures he planned to give her. He was so hard it was starting to get nigh on uncomfortable, so he grabbed and released his aching cock from its prison.
With his eyes still on Sansa, Sandor started to slowly stroke himself. He had to make his pleasure last as long as need be. Then Sansa would wake up, and he could finally make her sing the song she once promised to give him so gladly.