Chapter 23: Here we are again
Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark
Summary: Sansa and Sandor deal with the consequences of what they experienced in Seagard.
TW: language
Masterlist
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Taglist: @harriedandharassed
That night was much quieter than the many nights they had spent outdoors, there wasn't even an owl to keep them company, it was a cold night, a starless night.
Sandor was sitting on a rock far away from her, looking at the sky, observing it carefully.
Sansa remained by the fire, wrapped in the cloak that the Hound had thrown at her feet after yet another argument and after which neither of them had spoken to the other again.
Sansa was angry with him, but she was also angry with herself. She wished Sandor would understand her, even just a little, she wished he would at least say I'm sorry and instead he had had nothing but words of mockery for her, words full of anger, full of a harsh truth, full of a wisdom that seemed too cruel for Sansa to understand or hear.
Sansa would have liked to apologize for the words she had spoken to him that morning, but she already knew what his reaction would be and so she remained silent.
She lay on her side and tried to sleep, but the Hound's words kept resonating in her head so she got up and, wrapped in his cloak, approached him.
Even though he had certainly heard her approaching, he didn't turn around and continued to observe the sky.
She looked at him for a few moments and then asked, “Are you cold? Do you want your cloak back?”
“No.” was Sandor’s curt reply without looking at her.
Sansa was silent, then said, “I’m sorry for what I said to you this morning. I was angry with you… but mostly with myself. I don’t know what I could have done, or if I could have done more, but the truth is that I feel guilty.”
He looked at her for a moment out of the corner of his eye. “I knew it.”
“Really?” she replied, surprised.
“Yes, you attacked me this morning out of anger, not hatred. Those are two different things.”
Once again he had seen clearly and understood what she felt and thought deep down, she wondered if she could ever read—even vaguely—an emotion that corresponded to the true state of her traveling companion.
“So you’re not… disappointed?” she asked him fearfully.
He turned around showing her the intact half of his face “No.” once again his expression was indecipherable, she wondered if what he was telling her was true or if he had imposed that hard and inflexible mask on himself even in that circumstance. She decided to ask him if he was telling her the truth and his answer left her with many questions, “Nothing is ever as it seems.”
That answer left her speechless. Even though it left her with so many questions.
“Come back to the warmth, or you’ll be sick tomorrow,” he dismissed her.
“And you?” she asked him, standing up.
“I’m staying here.” was the only answer she got.
“Aren’t you sleeping?” she asked him again.
“No.” That answer put an end to any further questions she might have asked him. She walked away and lay down where she had been and, watching the Hound, who seemed to be dancing through the tongues of fire, fell asleep.
When she opened her eyes a few hours later, she no longer saw Sandor.
She stood up and although she carefully scanned the area around her, she couldn't see him. For a moment she feared that he had gone away, but then she noticed Stranger not far from her and then she knew that he must be nearby.
She started walking down the hill where they had slept, until she reached the river where she thought she would find him, but he wasn't there… She was about to turn back when she heard a splash of water and then she saw him: he broke the surface with his eyes closed. It was perhaps the first time she saw him with a different expression, less tense, less contracted. For a moment, he really seemed like a young man.
She was mesmerized by his face and then by his body which revealed itself to her in all its grandeur, she noticed various cuts on his chest and abdomen. Some very recent scars, others pink, others whitish, a sign that they were much less recent scars that abounded on his body.
Her heart started beating very fast, she felt it beating so fast that she thought he could hear it, but he continued to act as if she wasn't there. She found herself looking up and down at him several times, unsure of what to do and suddenly feeling very awkward.
She had seen a naked man before, yet looking at his physique, Sandor's statuesque physique, made her feel small and very embarrassed. She would never have thought she would feel this way looking at what was supposed to be just a traveling companion.
“Are you enjoying the view?” Sandor asked suddenly and she was startled out of her thoughts when she realized he had seen her staring at him. She swallowed and looked down.
“N – no, I – I… um…” she started stammering like an idiot and made things worse by turning around, Sandor laughed. “You’ve been staring at me the whole time, why are you turning away now? Do you realize I’m not as handsome as your soldier… what was his name?”
“I don't know, I never knew his name,” she replied, and this suddenly made her feel stupid because she suddenly realized that she had given herself to a young man about whom she knew absolutely nothing and would never know, she didn't even know his name!
“Then imagine how happy you would have been together!” Sandor exclaimed as he emerged from the water. Sansa watched the man out of the corner of her eye as he dressed: something began to stir in Sansa's chest, a voice began to scream loudly inside her and began to remind her of what she knew very well by now and that she had tried so hard to bury, that voice was screaming at her, stop being so proud and foolish, tell him. Tell him what you really feel.
“You can look at me without feeling uncomfortable,” Sandor asserted, when Sansa looked at him she saw him busy adjusting his very thin shirt which suddenly clung to his wet body. “Were you looking for comparison? Did your soldier have the same scars as me, or did he have a body as smooth as a child’s?” he asked her, teasing her.
Sansa swallowed, then he knew that the two of them had consummated their fleeting love and it caused her enormous discomfort, she took a deep breath and then answered him, turning her back to him, “It’s none of your business.” She began to walk back up the hill.
“Of course, just as it isn’t asking me whether I’m jealous or not,” Sandor replied, remembering the words she herself had said the day before.
Sansa, caught in the act, blushed, for her part she shouldn't have done it either and yet she had had the nerve to ask him such a delicate and personal question, he had her backed into a corner once again.
Evening had fallen on the clearing and the thick forest that surrounded the two travellers, and soon it started to rain too, a heavy rain and a biting wind. Sansa's hands began to hurt, Sandor's face to redden. After what seemed like hours, the two stopped and, taking shelter, warmed themselves by the fire—or rather, Sansa did. Sandor stayed a safe distance.
Sansa didn't even try to convince him to come closer anymore, she knew his aversion to fire, she didn't want to receive contemptuous phrases or unpleasant comments. Not that night, not on that silent night when neither he nor she spoke to each other.
Sansa began rubbing her hands together vigorously and sniffling, a cloud of steam came out of her mouth, she was freezing in that place and the more she tried to warm herself, the more Sansa felt like she was freezing.
She sniffled repeatedly until Sandor interrupted the sequence, "Come here." he told her in his usual impatient and imperious tone, Sansa looked at him questioningly. "You're freezing, come here." He invited her under a blanket that looked awfully warm. "Where did you get that?" Sansa asked without leaving her place.
"In that inn while I was looking for you in Seagard. Come on." he told her in a less aggressive tone. "Come on, I won't bite!" he added, wanting to convey calm to the young girl, which however didn't happen that way.
"Why?" she asked again.
"Let's stay warmer, it's fucking cold in here!" he blurted out. "So, do you want to come or not?" he added in the same tone.
Sansa, a little scared and a little cold, answered with a weak yes.
The young woman slowly approached him, and he lifted the blanket and made room for her. She awkwardly lay down next to him, her back to him: Sandor was right. Sansa began to warm up quickly and stopped shaking like a leaf.
“Better, right?” Sandor asked her in a less impetuous tone.
"Yes," she replied.
"I may not be your knight, but at least I'll save you from dying!" he said softly.
"Please, Sandor, don't talk about him anymore. He's dead. What's the point of talking about him?" she asked him softly, almost as if she were talking to herself and was trying to silence those moments she had spent with that young soldier.
"Why don't you want to talk about it? Because I talked you into it, or because it hurts you to do so?" the man asked her.
Sansa didn't answer right away, but then replied, "It hurts here." She placed her hand on her chest, paused, and then added, "You were right. Love is for the few or the foolish." she paused for another short time then continued in a bitter tone "My sister Arya was so right, I am a fool. Always have been and always will be. I still don't understand anything about life. I thought feeling good with someone meant trusting them blindly, yet I was betrayed. Then I decided to trust again, and when I did, I found a world that was violent and too difficult for someone like me to understand. And when I decided to surrender myself to someone again... I had to leave him. Maybe I'm meant to be alone."
Sandor had initially felt a sense of satisfaction in knowing that the little girl was agreeing with him, but then he felt a sense of deep anguish and bitterness when he heard her calling herself silly and her anguish.
He then tried to get her to react with a rare sweetness. "And who am I?" he asked, hugging her lightly and shaking her affectionately. He achieved the desired effect; she smiled. Softly, but she smiled.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say you're nobody..." she hastened to add. And it was true to her he wasn’t nobody, he was not just a guide, he was not just the expert, he was not just her savior, he was something that hovered between friendship – a friendship, albeit an odd one – and something that Sansa had believed for a while was love, or something very close to it.
"I know, little bird. I know what you wanted to tell me."
Really? Did he really know what she meant to tell him?
Because she didn't even know, let alone him!
Or perhaps he, accustomed to reading the unsaid, had understood more than she wanted and would ever have had the courage to tell him?
"Now try to get some sleep," Sandor stated.
"Only if you promise to do the same," she replied, turning slightly towards him.
"Don't worry about me."
"Yes, I do. To protect me, you neglect yourself, and that's not right. I don't want you to die because of me or my whim too." she asserted, referring to the boy from Seagard and his father Ned.
Sandor frowned. "Nothing will happen to me. I won't die. If it happens, it will only be one time. I've always known that."
Sansa turned her head toward him. "Please, don't speak of what you intend to do with... him anymore. I've seen too many people die already, and I don't want you... you know... to be on the list," she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
Sandor smiled at her. "What list?"
"Don't joke, Sandor. I'm serious. You don't have to die," she replied forcefully.
"And what would change for you? I'll take you back to your family, who we now know are alive, and... then my job ends there," he said.
"So this is what I am for you: a mission to complete? A puppy to bring back to its mother?"
Sandor didn't answer right away, he didn't say yes or no, he let the question drop and this only made Sansa's pain worse as she was hoping to hear him say okay, I give up my decision and she also hoped he would tell her I thought about what you told me some time ago and I decided to stay with you at Winterfell.
But Sansa got neither that nor any other answer, she only heard a faint sigh from the man who simply said, "You can't change your fate. The sooner you accept it, the better."
Sansa glared at him. "And which one would that be? Fight to the death? Obey the others? Which one?"
Sandor looked back. "You seem confused... weren't you the one who wanted to go back to the North? Weren't you the one who wanted to stay with your family? I'm taking you there, and once you're safe, I'll be on my way. You've always known that, Sansa. I've always been very clear about this. My life isn't up North. It never will be."
Sansa looked away, watching the crackling fire. A deep anguish welled up in her heart and mind. Sandor would leave her. It would happen, and the sooner she came to terms with it, the sooner she could start living without him again.
It would have been hard without him... very hard... she would have missed him.
She would miss everything about him, even the most hateful aspects of his character.
He would have gone away. Far away.
Maybe he would die. And maybe she would find out about it weeks later.
She felt a pang of pain in her stomach and closed her eyes to try not to show that feeling, that pain. They would never be in the same place together.
Never.
That quick, dull silence was further confirmation for Sandor: the girl wanted him by her side. It would have been crazy. He was well aware that no eventual situation would be resolved once they arrived at Winterfell.
He had never wanted to make her suffer: he had kept her away from him intentionally and with the aim of protecting her in every way, yet everything was proving to be useless.
When Sansa opened her eyes again, the sun was already shining on the cave entrance, birds were chirping in the distance, and Sandor was cursing the old and new gods for who knows what.
Is there a better good morning than this? Sansa wondered, unable to help but smile. But then she remembered Sandor's words, and that made her lose her smile and squeeze her eyes shut, shaking her head. She should never have become so attached to someone like him, never.
How had it been possible? How and when had she allowed it? Why had she been so naive?
Maybe she should never have left King's Landing... maybe... maybe Joffrey would have changed with time... maybe there, it's true, she would have been in a golden cage forever, but maybe... maybe she would never have tied herself to someone she would never truly have.
Maybe, too many maybes. And maybes don't do anything. Sandor had said this to her once in his usual rude and blunt tone, but he had said something right: Sansa had to be concrete and thinking about the past or what could have been was pointless.
She was there and she was with Sandor, she had grown immensely fond of him, and that wouldn't change, even if she wanted to. There was no point in wondering how or when it had happened; it had happened.
Sandor came back in and Sansa saw his worried look, she didn't have time to ask him what had happened that he blurted out "By the seven damned Hells, Stark, move your ass and let's go!"
Sansa stood up, speechless. "What happened?"
He snorted as he adjusted the reins for Stranger, the horse neighed sensing his master's nervousness. Sansa took a few steps and repeated the question to him, Sandor turned the burned half of his face towards her and answered her, "There’s something I don't like, we have to get off our asses and get out of here!" he exclaimed harshly, almost making the girl jump.
Sansa sighed and although she had other questions to ask him, she decided to remain silent: when he was nervous, it was good to remain silent. The young woman looked at her companion and noticed that at that moment Sandor was no longer there and the Hound had reappeared. Sansa swallowed: she hated the Hound, she loved – somehow – Sandor.
She was silent for most of the morning.
The Hound didn't say a word to her, nor did he ask why she didn't comment on anything or speak to him. They both simply sighed. Sansa didn't know what was going through his mind. What had happened to bring that hard, hateful side of himself back into him, Sansa didn't understand, at least not right away.
They stopped when the sun was almost down and in a grove, whose trees had thick roots and thick leaves that made the place seem darker than it already was. Sandor went down first and then, strangely, helped her down by grabbing her hips. Sansa looked Sandor in the eye, but he avoided her gaze.
Sandor moved quickly yet silently, he prepared the fire so quickly, the bed for the girl and for himself that Sansa's head almost spun, he then took Stranger by the bridle and led him to a stream not too far from there to drink. When he returned Sansa was still standing where he had left her, it was then that he looked at her and exclaimed "What are you doing standing there?! Come on, go sit down. I'm going to get something to eat."
"What's wrong?" she asked, coming closer and hugging herself against the cold.
"I'm going to get something to eat, you wait here," he said, ignoring the young woman's question.
Sansa barely had the courage to clear her throat. She wanted to understand Sandor, she really did, but with him acting like this, it was impossible. The more she seemed to understand him, the more she seemed to get caught up in incomprehensible thoughts and gestures.
When Sandor returned, Sansa saw that he had some mushrooms in his hands. "This is what we eat tonight," the man warned her.
Sansa took the mushrooms in her dirty hands and turned them between her fingers, while Sandor sat down and began to eat them greedily, she looked at him questioningly. When he saw that she was looking at him he asked her rudely why she was looking at him so insistently, It was then that she repeated to him, "What's wrong? Why are you treating me like this? What have I done? Have I offended you in some way?"
"Offended me?" he snorted, going back to eating.
Sansa was silent, but he made no move to answer, just looked at her sideways.
"So what's wrong? Will you talk to me, please? I want to understand you..." she said. "Since yesterday... well, you've been different. You've always been grumpy and brusque, but never so evasive. I realize I annoyed you with what I said last night, and... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. I know you don't mean to stay with me, it was stupid of me to suggest that, but... it's just... I would have liked that. It was childish of me, but I hoped so. I'm sorry."
"And I'm sorry if I've hurt or bothered you in any other way. I'm sorry I wasn't the ideal travel companion... I – I... I should have been more and done less, perhaps... I don't know... but I wish we could go back to the relationship we had. It was weird, but beautiful." Sansa felt her eyes sting. "I wish everything could go back to the way it was before... before Seagard." She sighed. "You've changed since then."
"You're wrong," Sandor finally replied.
"If I'm wrong, then why do you treat me differently? Ever since we left Seagard, you've been irritable and you're... different," she stated.
"I'm always like this. You know me by now," he retorted.
"No, that's not true. Or rather, not always. You're not this paragon of virtue and patience; you're often aggressive and vulgar, but you're also the best person in the world."
Sandor looked at her for a moment, a long moment, and Sansa thought she had struck him, who knew if she had really succeeded, with him you could never really know. Sandor hesitated for a long time over his answer and finally exclaimed with a half-smile, "You haven't met many people then! There are so many better than me."
"You are to me," she replied firmly, without taking her gaze from his impenetrable eyes.
Sandor finished eating without taking his eyes off hers, then stood up and walked past Sansa, saying, "Eat, I'll be right back."
As he passed her, Sansa sighed heavily and then sat sprawled on the ground and ate her meager meal, with Sandor it worked like this: when he stood up and walked away, it meant 'the matter is closed.' Yet Sansa sensed that it was not closed at all, much less clear.
She fell asleep shortly after Sandor returned and said to her, "Sleep, little bird." She thought she also heard the words, "Stop thinking about me." but Sansa wasn't sure of this: sleep took her and overwhelmed her suddenly.
She was suddenly awakened by a hand covering her mouth and by someone else lifting her up and dragging her away from Sandor, who was surrounded by three soldiers... Sansa's eyes widened in terror, but she couldn't make a sound...