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Chapter Text

i. Sandor

What in the seven hells was the wolf-bitch doing in Oldtown? She was four years older and taller but that was unmistakably her. She had a small sword in her hands and was practising with a boy significantly bigger than she was, and she was winning. The boy would have been killed at least twice and seriously injured twice more had their match been in earnest. Sandor admired the little cunt's ferocity, even though he still hated her for leaving him to weep and die on the banks of the Trident. He had asked her for mercy and she had left him in his pain. He supposed he should be glad that she hadnt been merciful, but it wasnt as if either of them had expected him to actually live. They had both known he was going to die a slow and agonizing death. They had both been wrong, only, she didnt know it yet. He was about to go show her that he was very much alive and as pissed off as ever, the anticipation of her shock and horror making him genuinely smile, when the sight of the little bird froze him where he stood. She had grown too. She was taller and still thin, but as his eyes hungrily explored her new body, he noticed how the curves of a woman were stretching at her simple woolen dress. The phantom words of another life echoed in his head.

"Will you sing me a song, pretty bird?"

Taking in her lush body, the words suddenly had new meaning. His cock stirred in his breeches and he inwardly growled at himself for allowing himself to be weakened by her. She was too fucking honorable and too fucking scared of him to ever let the likes of him touch her. He decided that the first place he go would be a brothel. Even whores didnt pretend they liked fucking him. Why would Sansa bloody Stark? Pleasing women had never been high on his list of priorities but he wasnt exactly a rapist either. Whores suited his needs perfectly fine. There was no pretense, no romancing them. The sight of coin excited them, not the promise of some happy ending of a silly song.

He avoided the sisters and went to an inn to stable Stranger and put his things somewhere. He decided he would get a flagon of wine before he punished some whore with his presence. He walked into an inn and gave the gold to the innkeep. The woman eyed him suspiciously but took the gold anyway. He met her gaze with a murderous scowl. Seeing the little bird he had tried so hard to forget had put him in a fowl mood and he had no qualms about taking his anger out on anyone who was unfortunate enough to be in his way. This whore was going to earn her gold tonight. The innkeep brought him the wine and a cup. Ignoring the cup completely, Sandor snatched the flagon and took a long pull. As he sat and drank his wine, few enough people frequented the common room of the inn so he was left to his dark thoughts. He needed more wine. He was going to have that suspicious wench bring him another flagon when he decided that he would just get more at the brothel.

"You! Wench!" he called to the portly woman from his darkened corner. She glowered at him but he remained unphased and as coarse as ever. "Where can I find the prettiest whore in town?"

"Might be I could tell you... for a price," she replied rather brazenly.

Sandor glowered back and through gritted teeth snarled, "Might be the price is your life."

She pursed her lips but seemed to otherwise ignore the threat.

"The best place in town is by the docks," she finally answered.

He rose without thanks and crossed the room to the door. He found the brothel easily enough by the docks. It was a noisy and fairly busy place. He opened the door and stepped into the dim common room. It was more crowded than he would have liked; he was sure to be recognized. The noisy room was full of men and women, the women scantily clad and coyly chatting up the patrons. Some were bare breasted. They sat in the laps of their suitors and feigned interest in whatever it was the men were saying to them and giggled stupidly at the jokes they posed. The air was ringing with their peals of false laughter and the moans of their false pleasure. The madam materialized at his elbow and started to snake a thin arm through his when he jerked his arm away.

"Were you looking for some company tonight?" she asked him, unfazed by his reaction to her touch.

"I want a redhead," he grumbled bluntly.

The madam put on a face of mock disappointment and said something but in that moment, Sandor was incapable of hearing a word she was saying. His little bird had just walked through a door at the back of the room. Sandor stood rooted to the spot, shock plainly written across his maimed face. His eyes tracked her as she made her way across the room.

"I want her," he said pointing over to Sansa and handing the madam a pouch of coins. Sandor started to stride over to where the little bird was working her way through the room, completely ignoring the incessant ramblings of the madam who was still talking to him about what, he didnt give one buggering care.

When he had first seen her in the least likely of places, a fucking whorehouse, he had wanted to turn right around and pretend he had never seen his innocent little bird scouting for a new man to service. Then, a realization had hit him and his cock had stirred hopefully. He could have her. After his years of service to the Lannisters and the number of tourneys he had won, Sandor had amassed a small fortune. For a bit of gold, Sansa Stark could finally be his. Not that she really would be giving herself to him like he had always imagined. She would be motivated by the coin he could offer her, not by her desire for him. The idea of her desiring him was laughable but if she was a whore worth her coin, she would make him believe, at least for the night, that she did desire him. Why the fuck should Sandor care what motivated her? He would be fucking the little bird. His cock stirred at the thought of slamming into her while she moaned his name into the sheets. Sandor convinced himself that that was enough for him.

As he was approaching her, a man seated by the fire grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap. She gave him a nervous giggle and said something to him. Sandor saw her plump lips form the words he couldnt make out through the din. He wasnt sure he wanted to know what she was saying. Sandor stopped in his tracks and watched as the little bird talked with the man whose lap she was sitting in. The threadbare man grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and brought her ear down to his lips. Sandor seethed as he watched the mans other hand rubbing Sansa's thigh. Sansa's eyes grew wide as she tensed at his whispered words. She pulled back from him and made to get up as she shot back a remark with a sly gaze. Sandor was still reflecting on his disgust and rage at seeing this man with his little bird, when suddenly, the man's face contorted with anger and his begrimed hand was wrapped around her delicate throat. Sansa's mouth dropped open as she gasped for breath, her eyes wide with horror. Sandor's blood was up immediately and before anyone knew what was happening, he had spanned the small gap and bit his dirk into the mans thin skin under his jaw. He could see a small stream of blood trickle down the man's neck as Sandor snarled into his ear,

"Its going to be mighty hard to get your cock stiff ever again without any blood left in your body."

The man released his grip on Sansa's throat and she panted of air. Sandor shoved the man onto the floor on his hands and knees, sputtering curses, until he turned over and recognized the twisted flesh on the snarling face of The Hound. Sandor didnt see her when she finally looked up to him; he was too occupied delivering a deft blow with his boot into the man's side as he tried to scramble away like a beaten cur with its tail between its legs. The room had gone silent to witness the struggle; all eyes were on him but hers were the only ones he had met. He couldnt read the expression on her face. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity when the noise of the common room rose back up to it's previous clamor. Sandor turned around to leave when he heard the pattering of light and hurried steps behind him. Suddenly, she was there, hugging him around the middle. She was fucking sobbing into him, her little body wracked with her shuddering breaths. He was actually afraid to touch her. He couldnt push her away and he couldnt hug her back. This woman he had just paid to fuck had him frozen in place.

She looked at him with bright eyes and whispered, "Is it really you?"

He didnt trust any of the words that were threatening to spill out of his mouth so he simply grabbed her by the shoulders. At first it was fear that flashed in her eyes as he grabbed her, perhaps more roughly than he had intended, but then when he simply sneered and shoved her aside, the fear turned to something else. It was a look that The Hound was quite unfamiliar with. All he returned was a look of disgust before pushed her to the side a strode towards the door. He didnt want her embraces. She wasnt his little bird anymore.