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mybworlds · 27 days 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.

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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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