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mybworlds · 20 days ago

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Chapter 19: The Stranger and the Little Bird

Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark

Summary: Sansa tends to the wounded at the Battle of Seagard, while also caring for the handsome stranger. A genuine interest seems to develop between the two.

TW: violence, blood.

Masterlist

A/N thank you to follow me, I appreciate it. If you want to let me know thanks.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

Taglist: @harriedandharassed

Evening was coming again and the men, those who could, reached the walls again, the wounded, the most serious, remained on the beds that had been prepared for them.

Sansa had decided, a few hours earlier, to make herself useful and lend a hand to the other young women and the older women in tending to the soldiers. The girl kept coming and going from the kitchens, constantly filling basins with fresh water and then throwing away the water stained with blood or scabs.

The screams, the smoke, the flashes of the cannons began to invade the room again.

Sansa was afraid and remembered that night... the one she escaped from her prison with Sandor. But there was no trace of Sandor this time, no one would come to her room and taken her away. This time she had to stay there. No one would look for her at that moment. No one would have a thought for her.

She wondered why the Hound had left her there alone, had told her he was going to get treatment and then what had happened? It had been almost three days now and she knew nothing about him.

She would have given anything just to know that he was okay.

Scream, scream, scream, scream again.

The door opened and the women jumped, there were two of them, one soldier had his arm resting on the shoulders of another who, tired from the weight of the first, was walking unsteadily. Two rather corpulent women grabbed the first one and placed him bodily on a free bed, the soldier was dripping blood from his abdomen.

The second soldier looked up and Sansa recognized him immediately, it was that boy, the one she had spent much of the morning and afternoon with. She approached him and saw that he was also injured. "No!" he exclaimed. "There are others much more seriously injured than me." he continued excitedly and then disappeared into the heart of that stormy night.

Another woman closed the door behind him and ran to help the wounded soldier.

Sansa waited for his return behind the glass of that very small window.

The door opened again, it was him again, together with another soldier they were carrying a third, the latter had one leg almost completely detached from his body, he was screaming, screaming as much as he could. Sansa's head spun, she looked up and met the gaze of the young man who plunged back into the darkness.

He did this gesture three more times, then the earth seemed to shake, dust began to fall from above and the few lights that illuminated the area began to flicker. Sansa was breathing hard with fear.

The door opened for the fifth time and this time that very brave boy was holding on to another soldier, his hair was falling in a mess on his forehead, his eyes were closed, his lips half open and a pained expression painted on his face. Sansa, seeing him, rushed to the exit and helped him, together with another soldier who had accompanied him there, to lay him down on a bed.

The boy opened his eyes and saw that it was Sansa, "It's nothing." he said even though his voice was full of pain, she smiled at him "Let me be the one to say it." She tried to hold back the feeling of strong nausea that was gripping her stomach and he took off his chain mail, there were dozens of cuts that didn't seem to be particularly serious and then a fairly deep wound on the lower abdomen.

"Will you heal me?" he asked after a few moments of silence, Sansa took a tub of water and began to dip the water to dab the wounds, then he took a bandage and pressed it hard on the wound, the young man almost jumped in pain, he screamed through clenched teeth. He panted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I need to get some stitches... I've seen it done a few times," Sansa informed him.

"Do what it takes," he panted.

"I'm going to hurt you," she continued.

"I know... but do it. I trust you. You have my life in your hands now." he told her.

Sansa took a needle and thread... what they had and... before starting she looked at the sweaty and suffering face of that boy, then even though she was trembling she began to sew. He saw the soldier's face become rigid, saw him grit his teeth and then faint.

She wasn't sure she remembered how it was done, but seeing the finished "work" she thought that maybe all those hours of sewing had really served a purpose.

Sansa took great care of him, often wiping away the sweat that beaded on the soldier's high forehead, occasionally wetting his forehead, neck, arms. She checked his wounds, made sure the stitches weren't coming apart. Every now and then she got up from her chair and helped the other women who were running here and there to help the newly wounded or to change the bandages of those who had already been treated.

The room smelled of blood, death, smoke, and other acrid odors, but no one complained about this, in fact, it was one more reason to get busy, Sansa, driven by their moods, decided to continue, not to give up. She decided to continue what she had been doing in the previous hours: helping.

Helping others, helping those men and those many young people made her feel useful, she felt like an active part of something, she shared a pain that, however great and serious it was, helped her feel alive.

When the sky turned a timid pastel color, the battle seemed to be over, some were shouting threateningly, others were asking for a truce, someone tried to spur their men on, in the end Sansa only heard a dull silence.

The battle must have ended, whatever the outcome, Sansa could only guess.

The owner of the place opened the front door and allowed the morning wind to violently invade that place full of death and pain.

The girl only walked away for a few moments to wash her hands and freshen her face, she was able to observe her face after a long long time: she was more and more like her mother, her features were less and less those of a child, even the expression on her face was much closer to that of her mother, she touched her cheekbone, which was still a little swollen and slightly reddish.

She dried herself as best she could and returned to the room. Many of the women, who like her had kept vigil during the night, had gone to sleep, but not her. She wanted, and needed, to talk to him. The only one who could give her the information she was looking for.

She sat down next to him and looked at him more carefully, his facial features were relaxed, his lips were slightly open and his jet black hair was all disheveled, his hands were full of cuts, they were hands that had worked, used weapons, and yet Sansa found them very beautiful. She couldn't hold back the urge to caress that big hand, she felt it calloused and so warm, she couldn't help but caress the back of that hand, so damaged; a part of her wanted to kiss it and tell him that if she was next to him it was because of him, that night - the one he went out to look for Sandor - she could have been killed, but the gods had sent him.

She put her head close to the boy's hand and closing her eyes began to pray to the gods, asking that the boy be spared, that he would be granted much longer to live, that the gods would allow her to find the Hound again, to see Winterfell again, if they ever wanted.

She felt a finger touch the edge of her face and immediately opened her eyes: sleep had prevailed over her prayers and her good will. The girl opened her eyes and saw him awake.

His eyes were even clearer, if that was possible, with the light that was illuminating the room.

"Were you watching over me?"

The kind of respect and distance they had shown each other from the very beginning had disappeared that night, when they realized they could trust each other.

"I treated you... like I treated your men," she replied, trying not to sound excessive.

"Mine? They are men of the North, not mine. They fight with me, not for me. I am not that important." he explained in a small voice.

"And yet you seem to know a lot. About politics, about war. You were even promised," Sansa reminded him.

"Yes... to a little girl of just over seven years old. What kind of marriage would it have been? I could only treat her as a sister, but never as a wife! It would be years before she could give me an heir... I hate arranged marriages, I hate this society, these rules that impose marriages both for you women and for us men." he confessed to her, "Maybe you think it's easier for us men, and in a way that's true, but it's not easier for us either. We are seen as those who have to make sure that their wives have children, that they have to bring honor to their house, but who thinks about what each one has in his own heart and in one's nature? No one. We are a society where appearances reign everywhere and where feelings are the last of the issues to be addressed; our parents, and before them their fathers, treat us like puppets, like something without a will."

His words struck her deeply, they were words that suddenly burned her. These were concepts that she herself had often thought about, but that she had never had the courage to tell anyone. Not even her lady-in-waiting.

"I prefer to be alone rather than give and take unhappiness or see my wife only as a vessel." he continued "You did well to flee. You too would have lived with remorse and regrets. If you hadn't fled, who knows what they would have forced you to do!" he closed his eyes and sighed, his lips half open.

Sansa caressed his hair in a strangely intimate way "You are very wise." she told him. "And I admire you for what you said." He opened his eyes. "Oh, if only there were more men like you, men who could see beyond appearances, beyond conventions! It would be so nice if you could marry just for love."

He smiled at her. “I think that the world we both dream of is only made for those who live by ideals like you and me, but... life is showing me every day how cruel, brutal and unfair it is.”

She lowered her gaze. "My father also believed in ideals and values, but all of this backfired on him and he died in the name of a loyalty that no one recognized in him."

"Samel..." he just said, he put a hand on her cheek and she almost leaned on it, closing her eyes "Everything will be fine." she opened her eyes "If you want, I will protect you... always."

She looked at him uncertain about what to do, what to say, but above all uncertain was the expression on her face. She felt good with him, she felt a strange security, but she hadn't thought that he, this mysterious young boy, would propose to place her under his protection.

Had he forgotten that she hadn't arrived there alone?

"I thank you, but I..." Sansa began, but he stopped her quickly. "Ah yes, that's true!" She was about to say more when his head fell back suddenly as if in a spasm, his expression became filled with pain. The young woman lifted the bandage and saw that a couple of stitches had given way and blood was starting to flow from the wound "Hold on, I'll go get some clean water and some ointments that will help you." With that, the young Stark stood up and went to get what was needed.

She found the young man with a contracted expression that made his features terribly marked, "This will hurt you a lot." she told him, opening a small bottle from which she poured a liquid as clear as water, but which produced a whitish foam on the wound.

The young man jumped and cursed the gods, then thanked them immediately after for sending Samel on his path. When the pain left his body, he opened his eyes, two timid tears came out of them and he thanked her, "I know you don't have to do what you do, but... thank you. For everything."

She smiled shyly at him and then reminded him that she would do it for any brave man in the North, hearing this he didn't reply he just stared at the young woman who was working so hard for him and his wounded comrades. He opened his lips and remained there for a while as if he were about to ask a question he wasn't sure he should ask, that he didn't know if she had the answer to, a question that intrigued him and would have given him some information about the girl with long red hair and blue eyes "I know I shouldn't ask you this, but... I have to. Are you from the North?"

"Does it make any difference to you?" she replied defensively.

He knew. He knew he should never have asked, but curiosity, that burning curiosity, was beginning to change into a deeper and deeper interest. He couldn't help it and didn't avoid replying or looking away from her eyes. "No, not for me. I'm from the North. Are you afraid I might tell others?" It was she who looked away, out of a small window behind the boy.

A frantic desire to open up, confess and trust someone other than the Hound writhed within her. Could she trust him? Could she trust that increasingly less silent imposition of silence?

She heard him sigh, "You don't trust me. I understand, I told you. But I think I just showed you who I fight for. I fight with the Starks... with those who remain at least..." he fell silent and Sansa felt almost a pain in her chest and found herself thinking for a moment that perhaps she could whisper in the ear of that young soldier her true identity, her origins, but it was only a moment "I am and will always be by their side. It's horrible what has become of their house... but above all what they have done here."

"It's not that I don't trust... it's just that too many people have pretended to be my friends these days and no one has been my friend all the way through. Everyone had contact with others... and everyone had the weapon to blackmail those who had protected them until that moment. I've seen too many power games for..." She left it halfway through, but he figured the rest was so to trust anyone, let alone you. He nodded, "My father didn't even trust me. He said I was a good-for-nothing, not at all dedicated to studying, focused on weapons and from this point of view it's true, but then I decided to show myself ready to defend my, our name and I told him that I would do everything to show him that I was a good son. Devoted. Prompt. Conscientious. Mature. He said to me 'Well then, in three moons you will marry the princess of Castle Rock', I said fine, confident that I was marrying a young woman, whether she was my age or just a few years younger, but when I learned that she was a little girl and that she loved playing with her dolls, braiding their hair... I felt like... a monster. I was about to meet and marry a... little girl who could have been my sister... I screamed no to my father and he said to me 'I knew you would never live up to our name'." he swallowed and saw again those cold eyes of his father, those features that became hard in a flash "I remember he also told me that if I wasn't willing to make these sacrifices, I could leave everything. If I didn't honor my family, I was a useless burden to him. I left that same day, I never saw my father or my mother or my brothers again, no one. I left what I called home, but I've never regretted it. Better to be anywhere than there. Since then I've been fighting, fighting just to prove to myself that I'm not a useless person."

Sansa listened in silence to his story and in a certain sense understood him, she too had long been seen as a silly girl, with her head full of dreams and futile thoughts that however had turned out shattered by such a harsh reality and so different from what she imagined. The first one who had seen her as stupid was her sister Arya, the first one to constantly do bad things to her was the one who should have loved her and played pranks on her too, of course, but don't go to all sorts of lengths just to be able to laugh at her and tell her how exaggerated she was in her manner and dress.

"I understand you. My sister has always been convinced that I am not worth more than what I show, she has always called me stupid and useless. You know, at a certain point I even started to believe it." she fell silent, feeling a sudden rush of anger and frustration just thinking about her little sister.

"Do you feel anger? Pain?" he asked her.

She sighed "Bitterness." Perhaps, indeed certainly, if her sister hated her it was her fault, she had not been able to listen to her or understand her well, it was too late to ask herself that now. Who knows where she was at that moment!

"Can you still fix it?"

"My sister was with me, or rather I found her along my wanderings. Then she ran away. I don't know where she is. I don't know if she's alive, what she's doing. I don't know anything about her anymore." she fell silent "I haven't heard from my brothers or my mother anymore. We've all split up. I'm here and..." she shrugged, not knowing how to complete that sentence.

"I'm here," he said, squeezing her hand and looking at her encouragingly. "If that's any consolation at all."

She smiled a little embarrassed "Ah, um... have you seen my travel companion?" she asked, changing the subject.

He then tried to sit up, but feeling the stitches pulling he grimaced and gave up. "According to your description, there are two men who match. They both have bad tempers and one is almost always drunk, but he fights with commendable skill and ability. No one knows his name. He fights. He fights like that's all that matters. If I had to choose who to be like, it would be him. I don't think I've ever seen anyone juggle so many men with that kind of ferocity and pride like him."

That seemed to be Sandor's description "Have you noticed by any chance if he's afraid of fire?"

He thought about it for a moment. "No. Definitely not that one. You know, when you're fighting, you can't really notice all the details in other people. But he struck me with his mettle."

Sansa simply nodded "Thank you."

"Is it him?"

"From the way you talk it sounds like it." Sansa was silent. "When you're not fighting, where do you stay?" she asked him.

"If you haven't been injured, we're just outside the walls."

"Thank you." Sansa said and then quickly got up and left the place, now she knew for sure where she could find the Hound.

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mybworlds · 2 months ago

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Chapter 18: Samel and the Stranger

Pairing: The Hound x Sansa Stark

Summary: Sansa meets a charming stranger, the Hound nowhere to be found.

TW: hint of violence.

Masterlist

A/N thank you to follow me, I appreciate it. If you want to let me know thanks.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

Taglist: @harriedandharassed

She fell heavily onto the bed and before she knew it, she was asleep; when she woke up, there were bangs and screams. The battle had begun. Sansa stood up suddenly and didn’t know why, she opened the door and walked down the long corridor to the hall below. It was dark, except for a few flashes of lightning that illuminated it from time to time. Sansa opened the door and – although she knew how reckless she was – went out.

She wanted to look for the Hound.

Where had he gone?

Why had he left her in that unknown place without protection, he who had reassured her of this many times? By now the most obvious answer in Sansa was that he had joined the other soldiers.

Someone shouted and Sansa turned in the direction of the shouts, soldiers were running towards the entrance of the city, she followed them albeit at a distance, she was about to turn right, but a cannon shot hit a palace not too far from her and Sansa, startled, fell. Someone ran and without even seeing her, stepped on her hands as he ran. She screamed, but her screams were drowned out by much louder screams and the sounds of a violent battle.

She started to get up, but someone else came and that someone hit her on the head.

Sansa fainted.

It was the screams again that woke her up, her heart seemed to be pounding in her temples, she was short of breath and was bleeding from one cheek, she swallowed and staggered to her feet. The screams alternated with moments of total silence, an eerie silence.

She heard other footsteps, it seemed to be a march... Sansa ducked into an alley, but it was such a narrow alley that she soon realized she couldn't go any further, and so she just hoped she wouldn't be noticed by whoever was coming.

She turned her head toward the darkness, hoping to go unnoticed. The footsteps grew heavier and closer, closer, closer. The footsteps stopped and someone drew a sword, Sansa was jerked and she was forced to turn towards her attacker... it was that young man, the one she had heard talking so animatedly a few hours before.

Their faces were just a few inches apart and their eyes locked, the eyes of that boy – the ones she would long remember in her dreams and memories — they went from furious to surprised, "It's you, little girl."

Sansa was petrified, the boy's hand was firmly gripping her arm, her heart was pounding in her chest.

She was afraid. What if he was a traitor?

She watched him swallow and then slowly loosen his grip. “What are you doing here? It’s dangerous.” He warned her. “Are you lost?”

Sansa resolved to regain her composure. “Y – yes, I mean… I was looking for my traveling companion.”

"Who is he? Maybe he fought with us."

Sandor Clegane, she was about to answer, but she feared she would do worse and so she decided not to tell him what her name was. She lowered his gaze.

"You're hurt." he noted, looking up at Stark's face.

"It's nothing," she said, she who used to faint when she saw a little blood.

"I know," he agreed, and smiled at her. It was a warm, reassuring smile, but it clashed with the blood that stained his face, his clothes, and the circumstances they were in.

Only then did she notice other men who were with him, all armed, few on horseback, mostly on foot.

"Don't be afraid. None of them will hurt you. Are you at the same inn as this morning?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Well, now that you get back there, lock yourselves in and don't open the door to anyone except your friend. Whoever he is." She didn't say anything. "You look like you've gotten into something much bigger than You, little girl".

Sansa sighed and simply nodded.

"Well, if the gods will, we will see each other again. Do as I say." he ordered, then released her from the grip, however light, that still held her.

"Thank you," she said.

She took a few steps, when she heard herself called again "Little girl!" She turned around "What's your name?"

Sansa didn't know what to answer, she just looked at the face of that young man illuminated by the few torches that his men had in their hands and smiled at him, she couldn’t think up a different name.

Then she turned and walked away briskly, and, doing exactly as the young man had ordered, returned to her room.

When she woke up the next day, she was still alone. She touched her cheek, it was swollen and throbbing.

There was no trace of Sandor.

She went downstairs where she found the same man who had welcomed her and the Hound busy handing out wine, food, water to anyone he could.

"Have you seen a man with a disfigured face?"

The man looked at her as if she had just stated the obvious. "Look around, can't you see? Everyone here is ruined from last night's battle." Sansa looked around, she hadn't noticed that it was no longer an inn, but it seemed to be one of those places where they take care of the sick, the wounded, the dying, everyone had very serious wounds, some were horrifying wounds, "And it's not over yet." the man continued. "Bolton has locked us in here, Stark I fear has abandoned the enterprise. And we are all lost." he concluded dramatically and then walked away.

Sansa tried not to faint, despite her dizziness from the stench and the dramatic images that presented themselves before her eyes, she tried to identify Sandor, but without any success.

She walked out of the inn and began to breathe again. The air was heavy with smoke, but at least it was much more breathable than the air inside.

She finally saw other women, she was beginning to believe she was the only one! They were coming in and out of another house, Sansa looked out and saw that the situation there was not the best either, she looked at the wounded who returned her gaze – some of them – but not finding who she was looking for she continued on.

She walked on, almost reaching the gates of the city, those gates that had welcomed her and the Hound not too many hours before, but there the soldiers prevented her from continuing. "There's nothing there for the likes of you." one of the guards told her, Sansa peered behind her, hundreds perhaps thousands were dead, the Bolton coat of arms loomed on the horizon; Sansa swallowed. She wanted to make him pay.

She turned her back on the two and slowly walked back down the narrow streets that led to the inn. She was alone, she was afraid and she felt angry. An anger that was not unknown to her, but that made her feel angry again. It was as if she had suddenly returned to King's Landing!

"Hey, little girl."

Sansa turned and saw him again, that young man who had saved her in a way, his clothes, his face and his hair were clean again.

"Good morning," she said formally.

"How are you?" he asked, then placed a hand on her swollen cheek. "It's not serious."

"Yes, you already said that." she replied, looking down.

He smiled "What is it you don't tell me about yourselves?"

Sansa looked up "What do you say?"

"You look like you know something but can't or won't tell me. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" she asked.

"Who are you?" he asked again.

"I'm..." she had to tell him a name this time, she couldn't avoid it again or the boy might think she was a spy and might very well think he could kill her "Sa...mel. Samel. She was about to say Sansa, but decided to hide once again.

"Samel?" he repeated her name and smiled. "Forgive my insistence, but I had to give your face a name."

"Why?" she asked.

He looked around. "Would you like to take a walk? I promise I'll be as gentlemanly as possible."

"These days? I don't think that's possible." She smiled, almost mocking him.

He smiled, "You're a real expert, little girl."

How long has it been since Sansa smiled?

How long has it been since she felt this good?

She didn't even remember anymore. In the look, in the words of that still nameless young man Sansa seemed to find some serenity, she seemed to remember that she was only sixteen years old. She felt calm, she managed – albeit with due precautions – to talk to him, to talk about things like intrigues, politics, power games, he listened to her attentively and from time to time he made observations or compliments about her delivery, about the correct use of words, in the end – Sansa was sure – he must have understood that she was not a commoner.

"Were you engaged to someone?" he asked her at one point, suddenly switching from politics to marriage. Sansa, a little unprepared, replied, "Yes, I was. But my betrothed was... is a monster." the answer was true. Joffrey was a monster in the guise of a handsome prince. So kind on the surface, but so cruel in reality.

"What did he do to you?" he asked her.

"He killed my father," she answered suddenly. Tears began to sting her eyes, but she hid her fragility by looking at the road beneath her feet.

"How?"

Sansa swallowed and it seemed to her that she was reliving that scene in that moment... her father accused of treason, her father kneeling at the feet of the enraged crowd, the sword falling on his neck and then the silence of the crowd... her father's head on that pike Joffrey had shown her.

"He has turned his own loyalty against himself," she replied.

It hadn't actually been Joffrey, but it was as if he had wielded that sword.

"I'm sorry." he just said.

Sansa sighed sadly.

"And you were promised?" she asked him. If she had been at home, or in King's Landing, or anywhere else she would not have dared to ask such a question, but given the situation Sansa dared.

He smiled, but it was a smile devoid of mirth. "I was, but... these days there's no time to think about unions, even those of convenience!"

"But if she were a young woman of noble birth, it would be an advantage to you." Sansa said, unable to hold back those words, the ones she had heard so many times down there in the South.

He looked at her "You are not exactly a commoner, Samel." the young man asserted smiling at her and confirming Sansa's suspicion. "I don't even know if that's your name, but..." he paused, "these days it's more than understandable that you're afraid to say who you really are."

Sansa's heart pounded, she felt a strange sense of calm in being with him even though he knew she was hiding some matters of no small importance from him.

"Don't be afraid." He continued as if he had read her mind. "I understand. And if I were a girl I imagine I would do the same thing." their clear eyes locked for a few moments, then he smiled and looked down. "Yesterday you were talking about your traveling companion... who is he?"

"Um... forgive me, but if I told you his name... it could be dangerous."

"For you? Or for me?" he asked her.

"For both of us." Sansa replied diplomatically.

The young man shook his head. "It's no problem for me, I can defend myself... for you... why? Are you afraid that if you told me his name I might do something to you?" he asked.

"N – no. If you wanted to, you would have done it already." she replied. "We are here... alone."

He nodded.

"Yes. I don't insist, but at least tell me what he looks like. If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him. I swear to you on my honor that I will do it." he asserted, placing a hand on his heart.

Sansa wanted to trust him "He’s taller than you, much taller than you, he has grey eyes, long dark hair, half his face is burned and he’s the best I know at using a sword."

He nodded again.

"If he fights with us, you can be sure I'll report it." He fell silent, then in a gesture of sudden confidence he placed a hand on her swollen cheek. It was an instant, a light touch, yet Sansa seemed to be burned by that gesture, so natural and delicate. He soon realized what he had done and withdrew his hand, "Forgive my impudence. I will accompany you back to the inn."

Sansa was alone and confused, the young man's caring attitude was slowly winning her over. She would have liked to be guided in a certain sense by the words, even if harsh, of the Hound, she would have liked to know what he thought of him, if he seemed sincere in his intentions and words or if he was just a very shrewd young man.

The girl thought for a long time and decided that the facts would decide everything. Only the facts could actually clarify who that boy really was, you couldn't always run away and at that very moment even less so.

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