Towards the evening Sandor was suffering from a severe headache. Ever since the Battle of the Blackwater he had felt some pain now and then, but this evening, it was worse than usual. Fuck, no wonder! He had started to feel he didn't know himself any more. The blindness and the dependence that went along with it. His new social position. The unwanted location. All the new tasks until his head was buzzing. The withdrawal effects with regard to drinking.
And then... the Little Bird...
Seven Hells! The way she had opened up for him since their marriage! He still couldn't believe it. He couldn't even fathom how it was possible, but she relished touching him! The evening before she had treated him as if she actually adored the scorched, scarred ruin that was his body. She had touched him so gently... he hadn't even known that such tender caresses existed, much less expected that he could ever become the object of such wonderful ministrations. In so many ways he was more experienced than the Little Bird, but there and then he had been nothing more than a pupil. Oh, but how he had enjoyed it to learn!
Before he had married Sansa he had only ever used his mouth for eating, drinking and swearing, or perhaps biting as well when he had been a child surrounded by bullies at the rock. But otherwise...
And now, he was addicted to using his mouth in completely different ways. He simply couldn't keep his lips off his wife. Her body was so divine, her scent and taste so delicious and she welcomed him with so much enthusiasm – he simply had to kiss and lick and suck and nibble everywhere! Her mouth was like the first and her womanhood the last one of those bloody heavens.
Causing her lust with his mouth, his tongue and sending her to the stars until she sang her sweetest songs for him held so much fascination that it was way better than any fuck he had ever had with a whore. Oh, and how her trilling voice told him she wanted more! If he was honest his mouth was even more in need than his cock. And Sansa's arousal was so natural and it felt so right to do these things with her! Fuck, it was completely different from the artificial spectacle the harlots simulated.
But this wasn't all. Since the evening before things had reached a new level. Had the Little Bird only chirped something about love he could have snarled at her, raged about knights and courtly songs. But no. She hadn't used the word “love”. No.
She had said: “You are my life.”
Seven hells. There was no defence for that.
He had swallowed her confession – hook, line and sinker. That single sentence had gone right under his skin and seeped into his heart.
What on earth had happened? How had she come to develop such feelings for him? And when and where had it started? He didn't know.
It made the fact that she would have to leave him soon even more painful. But there was no other way. Blind as he was he couldn't keep her safe, even less in these dire times and surroundings. That they had survived so far was more than a little wonder. And she deserved to be reunited with the people from the north and her family.
Sandor sighed inwardly while he was walking down to the prison cells. Sansa would be sad to leave him, she might even be lovesick for a while. But she was young and so much stronger than one might expect at first sight. She was a survivor, that much he had seen clearly ever since King's Landing. She'd finally adapt and get over him. After all, there was a bit of Tully blood in her – and with it went the family motto: “Family, Duty, Honour”.
Sandor snorted. What was honour? A brittle mock camouflage for real life.
“What is it, Lord Clegane?” Ser Cody, who was leading him down the staircase, asked.
“That's none of your bloody business. How many more steps?”
“Erm – wait, eight, my lord.”
Under his breath, Sandor growled into his non-existent beard.
Then, he announced: “I'll meet the prisoners in the guard's room. Lead in the girl first, but keep her bound. If she's capable of burning you with hot soup she might do other things as well. Never underestimate an possible adversary.”
“Yes, my lord.”
When they reached the chamber where the sentries stayed, Sandor threw himself onto a chair and sprawled out his long legs.
“Any weapons in this room left, Ser Cody?”
“No, none, my lord.”
“Good. Now let's meet the girl – what's her name again?”
“Weasel, my lord.”
“That's no name. At most, that's a description of the bloody Freys. Ah, fuck, whatever, let's go ahead.”
With that Sandor heard Ser Cody walk away and open and close some heavy doors within the entrails of the castle. While he was waiting the Hound stretched himself, yawned and massaged his throbbing temples. Bleeding shit, he'd keep the two planned meetings as short as possible; he could barely await to be at the Little Bird's side again.