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He flinched with each strike as the cunt Boros slammed the flat of his blade against the little bird’s thighs. Tears were running down her face, her screams echoed around the hall. He couldn't take any more.
“Enough”, he rasped.
“No it isn’t. Boros, make her naked”, the little cunt replied.
Hatred like nothing else he had ever experienced flared inside of him as Boros shoved his hand down the front of the little bird’s dress and ripped it all the way to her waist. Her pale hands hastened to cover her teats, chest folding over her knees and curling in on herself as a wounded animal would.
Loathing blazed in his veins when the Imp had more guts than himself to save the little bird. He hadn’t done anything. He’d stood idly by while the little bird got beaten once again, unprotected and exposed on the cold stone floor.
“Someone give the girl something to cover herself with”, the Imp said and the Hound found himself unclasping his cloak and tossing it at the little bird.
Her slim fingers clenched the fabric tightly against her exposed chest, knuckles turning a paler shade of white.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶
The door creaked as the Hound closed it, boots thudding against the stones of her chamber.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, spine straight and face impassive. She looked up at him as he approached. Her eyes pierced his, blue like the skies in winter.
He slowly lowered himself in front of her.
“Little bir-”
She threw her arms around his neck and held him as close as she could. The Hound cautiously placed his hands at her back, darkened and calloused skin against the pure whiteness of her thin shift. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, the little bird in his lap, her thighs draped over his.
She laid her head on his shoulder and the Hound observed her legs, running a finger over the darkening bruises on the milky skin of her thighs. The self-hatred inside of him made him choke, strangling him.
“Help me forget”, her voice rang in the silence of the room.
And what else could he do but oblige? He laid her down on the bed and lifted the hem of her shift. He was hers to command.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶
On most nights, when the Red Keep quietened down and the Kingsguard shed their white cloaks and unfastened their swords, the Hound made his way up the Serpentine steps to the little bird’s chambers.
After her beatings, she would often have him make her forget. Forget everything but the pleasure he could give her. On days when the King left her to herself, the Hound would lay with her in his arms until dawn chased him out and down the Serpentine.
She never cried. She never said much. But she would always look him straight in the face, never avoiding his scars like she had when she was younger.
Whatever she would have of him, he would be. But the disgust the Hound felt for himself grew as the moons passed. He gave her everything he could, but he couldn’t give her what she needed most. He couldn’t give her the protection she required. He couldn’t give her the freedom she was entitled to.
His chest ached. He knew he couldn’t stay.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶
He rode into the Keep’s courtyard with the little bird clutching his waist like a lifeline. He felt sick. He had been too slow, she had been so close to being hurt. Ruined. Killed.
“The little bird’s bleeding. Someone take her back to her cage and see to that cut”, he ordered.
That night he didn’t go see her.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶
His mood was as black as coal as he stumbled up the steps. His hand left an imprint of red on the door when he pushed it open. Wine ran down his chin and mixed with the dried blood on his face as he lifted the wineskin to his burnt lips. He sat down with his back to her bedpost, waiting.
The sky was burning green. Bloody Imp. The Hound wanted him dead. No. He wanted him burned. But he wasn’t going to stay around long enough to witness it. He couldn’t.
When the little bird came her spine was straight, her steps determined. At the sight of the Hound, she startled, but only for a moment. Yet she remained standing, contemplating him from across the room.
He watched her in the dark. On occasion the green light flickered over her and illuminated her features.
The Hound rose heavily, swaying slightly.
“Don’t you want to know who’s winning the battle, little bird?”
“Who?” She asked, voice steady.
“I only know who’s lost. Me.” His voice a rasp in the darkness.
She stepped towards him, all fire, beautiful and red. Nothing like the unnatural green glow outside her window.
“Hold me”, she said.
He stood still, gaze burning. He couldn’t touch her now. He had only wanted to see her one more time.
“I’m going.”
“Going?” Her voice changed.
“Going, yes.”
“Where will you go?” Her voice had a slight quiver to it now.
“I can’t stay here”, his voice broke faintly on the last word.
He knew he had to go now. He couldn’t let himself hold her. If he did he might never leave.
He looked into her sapphire eyes as they filled with tears. He turned his back to her, unfastening his cloak. It fell off his shoulders to the floor.
“Little bird”, his voice raw and harsh, steel against stone.
As he walked out, he heard the little bird collapse to the floor. Her screams echoed off the tower walls and followed him all the way down the Serpentine.
“Take me with you”, they seemed to howl.
But he couldn’t protect her. He couldn’t have her. Yet in his heart he knew he would always belong to her.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶
He watched the Warden of the North from behind his flagon of ale. The little bird had grown. He watched her wander amidst the bustle of the hall. Watched as her gaze swept over the sea of people, at last settling on him.
Her eyes pierced him. Cold and hard, all north.
His eyes followed her as she walked towards him.
“You’re alive”, she stated.
He grunted.
“Why are you here?” She asked, voice so similar to the girl he once knew in King’s Landing.
But she looked different. Unyielding.
“Came to fight for you, little bird. Die for you, might be.” His voice sounded rough.
She stood there, gaze locken on his. The silence seemed to last for eternity. The Hound watched how the lights behind her illuminated her auburn hair.
“If it pleases you”, she said.
He would be hers til the end, but she had never been his. This he had known since the first time she let him touch her, hold her.
This time it was the Hound that watched her receding back as she walked down the ail of tables.