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“Others take me,” Sandor cursed, trying to light a fire in the hearth. He’d hoped for an inn, not a dilapidated farmhouse for shelter from the pelts of rain. Thunder startled the horses as bolts of lightning broke across the sky, lighting it enough to chance upon the stone structure along the bluff.
The little bird trembled next to him but uttered no complaints. He needed to get her warm, as he tried again, seeing the sparks finally take.
“What do you know of the Others?” She asked.
He glanced at her, remembering the odd letter she’d read him from her bastard brother. “What is there to know?” He snorted dismissively.
“Did you not hear stories growing up?” She asked, seeming puzzled.
“No,” he said as if it were obvious. “I’m not from the bloody North.” He pulled out his skin of wine, handing it to her to guard against the chill.
“Old Nan would always tell us tales of the white walkers she called them with their pale spiders big as hounds, she’d say, I remember.”
“Giant fucking spiders.” He barked a laugh. “That’s a crock of shit if ever I heard it. Tales for babes. Jon didn’t write of spiders.”
“No,” Sansa said, more solemn, “He wrote of the dead walking and wildlings and living giants come south for fear of it. It makes me wonder, though, how many of Old Nan’s tales are true. We are going north, not south, Sandor.”
“Aye, the winds grow worse, and the cold as well,” he said, as he set about making a soup for their night’s nourishment. “Your sleep has grown fitful.”
She looked away at that, blushing a bit or perhaps the wine was making her flush. “Yes, I must apologize for that and the need for less propriety.” She had been so cold the first night out of the Eyrie, he heard her teeth chattering. There was no helping the need to share warmth. For a woman wed and twice betrothed, she was awful shy about it.
“I can put my sword between us tonight if you like, but the steel won’t keep you warm,” he teased her.
Her cheeks turned near scarlet at that, and she sipped the wine again, going quiet. He went outside to put Stranger and her horse to rights in what remained of the stables and retrieved what else they needed for the night. Sansa seemed lost gazing into the fire when he returned and startled when he draped a dry blanket on her shoulders.
“Thank you, Sandor,” she said sweetly.
Near the fire, they supped on the thin soup, but at least it was something to warm their bellies if not fill them.
“What other stories were you told?” he asked.
“I used to love hearing the story of the Night’s King. Arya liked it too, since it was scary,” Sansa said with a sad smile. “But you’ll call me a silly little bird for enjoying it as a tragic tale of love.”
“I’ve never heard of it, so I can’t promise I won’t,” he said.
“She would always say that any record of him was burned to ash and his name forbidden to utter, yet somehow she knew he was a Stark of old. He was a lord commander of the Night’s Watch and feared nothing. And so, when he spied a beautiful woman beyond the wall, with skin as white as the moon and eyes like blue stars, he chased after her. But she was an Other, cold as ice. Old Nan would say she took his soul when he made her his queen and declared himself king of the Nightfort. It always sounded romantic to me, even if she was an Other princess.”
He tried not to smile, but the unburnt corner of his lip curled up. Silly little bird indeed. “Didn’t know the Others had women, let alone princesses, little bird.”
“You can laugh,” she said, her eyes shining with mirth. “It is one of Old Nan’s tales, so I cannot speak for its veracity.”
“Your eyes are blue enough, and you’re always cold. Perhaps I should be afraid of you, Stark princess,” he joked.
The brilliance of her smile stunned him momentarily before she laughed, a melodic sound, pretty like her. He could see himself chasing her across the frozen wastes beyond the Wall. What bit of soul the Elder Brother restored to him, he’d surrender to her. He was staring overlong—dammit—so he took a long gulp from his wineskin instead.
The silence stretching between them was comfortable, but she broke it to ask, “Why did you kiss me?” There was an almost hopeful look in her eyes before they dashed away towards the fire again.
Bewildered, he asked, “Kiss?!” The word came out louder than intended, judging by the shocked expression on her face. He swore he hadn’t downed much wine at all, wanting to conserve it best he could. His days, or rather nights, of stupors were behind him. “Did I mishear you?”
“No, I…” she started but stopped, struggling to hold his gaze. Had he kissed her in his sleep and not remembered? She had been awfully close to him at night. He could see it happening. Gods be damned.
In any case, he must ask, “Was it this night past? Did I kiss you while we were asleep?”
Her brows scrunched, and she answered in a soft voice, “No, the night of the battle. In my room before you left.”
Seven hells. He’d kissed her then? He didn’t remember it, but much of that night was a locked-away nightmare for him. “If I did, I’m…sorry,” he said bitterly. He started to get up, retreating like a dog with its tail between its legs, but she reached for his arm.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder if I only dreamt it. You don’t remember?”
“No,” he said, but his mind was stuck on the other thing she said. “What do you mean dreamt?”
“Only that I thought you had.” There was something sad in the way she said it and in the way she worried her lip.
An urgency coursed through him, some latent instinct taking over, and he reached for her, pulling her to him where they sat in front of the hearth. His lips were on hers with nary a thought to what a sworn shield should or shouldn’t do. Her arms went around his neck as she tried to kiss him back, despite the pent-up lust he released on those soft, pink lips of hers. Gods, it was sweet.
He groaned as he pressed her back on the fallen blanket, looming over her to press kisses down her neck and shoulder. Moaning at his attentions, she writhed under him, and he felt completely lost to her. When his hand roamed over her bodice to palm at a shapely breast, she tensed suddenly.
“Sandor,” she whined. A need to claim her threatened to drown out her plea. “Sandor,” she repeated more urgently and wriggled back, sitting up on her elbows and panting.
“Fuck,” he muttered and rolled onto his back. He closed his eyes, trying to come to his senses. She might need that sword between them tonight. What got into him? This talk of kisses was dangerous.
To his surprise, she came closer, settling behind him, and gently combed her fingers through his hair. He froze at first, but it was so soothing. No one had ever touched him so, and gradually, a quiet calm settled over him. He was relieved she didn’t appear frightened of him.
Before he could drift off to sleep, she whispered, “I am still a maiden, you know.”
His eyes shot open, and he tilted his head back, trying to look at her. A maiden?
“I can say you never kissed me like that before,” she said.
“Then I likely never have,” he said dryly. “How is it you’re still a maiden?”
“Tyrion never forced me,” Sansa explained. “I’m hoping the marriage can be set aside.”
“That would require the bloody High Septon, no?”
“I know,” she said, sounding rather small.
He sighed. “Little bird.” He wasn’t sure what he could tell her. “If you need him dead, all you need is to ask.”
“Hopefully, it won’t come to that,” she said and bent to press a small kiss to his forehead as she stroked his good cheek. “I don’t even know if he still lives.”
He let out a breath. “Best to sleep now.”
Once he had her situated on her bedroll near what remained of the fire, he lay down on the other side. She didn’t hesitate to nestle against him, flooding him with even more relief that he hadn’t scared her.
In the morning, she was still as close to him, and he petted her hair to rouse her. Once they had readied to leave, she asked, “Are you not going to kiss me again?”
He stopped patting down Stranger to look at her. It was difficult not to take her in his arms, but first, he needed to know: “If I kiss you now, when will you tell me I can no longer? Your next betrothal?”
She looked about to cry, her eyes filling with water. “I hope you can protect me from another and help free me of all others’ claims.”
“In truth?” He asked, not daring to hope.
She nodded eagerly. “In truth,” she said with a smile. “Is that enough promise for now?”
“Aye,” he said and leaned down to brush his lips against hers, attempting to kiss her with more care. She pushed up on her tiptoes though, pressing her lips against his eagerly. His sweet little bird, all the while wishing for a kiss from him. He cupped her face, giving her the tender kiss that he wished he had last night.
As they set out, her eyes seemed to sparkle despite the gray skies and muddy track, but he knew his soul was safe with her, no matter what.