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“What if I release him, then?” you said, your complexion high and red, eyes reflected with the fire that burned beneath you. “No Lannister gold, no sacrifice to the Lord of Light. I release him, and we have another enemy, another threat to watch out for. No more fighting,” you went on, looking your brothers in the face.
“I wouldn’ mind that,” a low voice chimed in. It was the Hound, his face bloodied and obscured from some unknown injury, his hands bound behind his back. He still wore his Lannister armor, yet his Kingsguard cloak was missing.
Your brothers watched you, angered, but your reminder would serve as enough warning-- fighting about Sandor’s fate would lead them nowhere.
You were on the side of Lannister gold, of course. Returning Sandor Clegane to the capital would yield a fair amount of coin. It went without saying, amongst the Brotherhood, that gold was necessary. Stomachs went empty most nights, the fire flickering low without a pig to roast or kettle to serve. Weapons were nicked and worn. Armor was simple leather, stolen chainmail, or plated bronze taken from cold bodies.
Your stomach rumbled as the Hound met your eyes. You didn’t like the man-- he was crude, and did not smell great, though neither did you. Rumors spread of his cruelties, and there was enough to be said about his loyalty to the crown.
“Looking at me, as if I’ll be your salvation,” you hissed, crouching to his height. “You are not to speak.”
“I’ll speak if I want to. Haven’t gagged my bloody mouth yet.”
You spat on him, then watched your saliva slip down the side of his breastplate. The men had rough handed Sandor after finding him, dragging him through root and dirt to Hollow Hill. “Go on, then. Speak. Tell us why there is a bounty on your head, and help us decide,” you laughed in his face.
“Why kill me? I no longer serve the crown,” he said. Sandor averted his eyes, groaning as he wrangled against his bound wrists.
“Why not kill you, after all of the things you’ve done? Beric says the Lord of Light needs a new sacrifice.” Beric Dondarrion, despite his wounds, was leading a group of men to find food. He promised to return later that night.
He narrowed his eyes at you, his mouth twitching furiously. “The things I’ve done?” the Hound laughed, a deep, unsettling rasp.
“Elia Martell,” Harwin pointed out. “You and your brother killed her children. Then raped her bloody.” Harwin was one of the brothers you rather liked.
“I was not there,” the Hound scoffed. “I hate him as much as the lot of you. You think I’d--”
“Nonsense. You have committed Lannister crimes, you served Joffrey Baratheon and the Queen,” you interrupted. “Now answer my question. Why is there a bounty on your head?”
Sandor shifted again in his ropes. “I did not want to face war for a king who could not lead.”
You lifted your eyebrows. “What do you mean by that?”
“Joffrey, the--”
But Sandor’s words were cut short. Beric returned to Hollow Hill just then, praising his men, handling gunny sacks full of vegetables, grain, and meat. Your stomach rumbled again, and you knew you could rest easy that night with a full stomach.
~
After a long, fruitful dinner, you helped to preserve what food was left before laying down to rest. But as you ate, something pressed on your mind: Sandor did not get to explain why he left King’s Landing, why there was a bounty on his head. So after your brothers began to snore, you tiptoed amongst the sleeping bodies, sidling up to the large man. He was half-asleep, but woke at your presence.
“What’s your name?” the large man slurred.
You laughed at his sleepiness-- or his drunkenness-- and told him. “Did they give you too much wine?”
“They gave me no wine. No food,” he snapped. “Wish you would’ve killed me sooner than starve me.”
The smile fell from your face. Beric had not yet decided what was to be done, and you did not want Sandor to pass in the night, not if he could be surrendered for coin. “You must eat, then,” you spoke, lifting yourself and hurrying away to retrieve food. You brought back two flasks of wine and a plate, heavy enough for a man his size. After helping the man sit upright, he stared at the food, eyes wide. “Generous.”
You kept him tied, but fed him yourself with a set of utensils. “For all I know, this could be your first meal in days. It would be a shame if you passed of starvation on our way to the capital.”
He ate, and took the swigs of wine you offered him. It was a bit strange to feed him like this, but he was still your captive, after all, and you would not risk untying him.
“The boy king would not lead his own men,” Sandor explained after a few swigs of wine. You watched it dribble down his lips. “His mother called for him, and into the Red Keep he went. The imp led the Lannister army,” He laughed again, gravelly and rough.
“Tyrion Lannister? How?”
“I don’t know. I left before it happened,” he clarified, nodding at the plate of food. You fed him forkfuls, watching vegetable and meat juice soak his scruffy beard. The men of the Brotherhood slumbered around you, their snores soothing your nerves. It was reassuring to know that your brothers would come to your aid if Sandor made a sudden move, or if Hollow Hill were invaded.
Sandor did not seem vengeful, or even angry. He ate, then revealed tidbits of information to you. “He is not a Baratheon, but a bastard child,” he huffed.
“How would you know?”
“Looks nothing like Robert. I see Jaime in him.” Sandor chewed the food in his mouth, then signaled to you for more wine.
For a moment, you considered untying him, but pressed the flask to his lips instead. "In which direction were you traveling?"
He gave you a dark look, then swallowed the sour red. "Before I left, I wanted to head North." Sandor stared down at his tied ankles. "Now, I'm glad she didn' come with me."
"She?"
"The Stark girl," he said. "You would have captured her, alongside me, and brought her back to King's Landing."
You capped the flask, allowing your arms to rest on your lap. "Maybe not." You were unsure which Stark sister he was alluding to.
"Maybe not," he agreed.
"She would have slowed you down, I'm sure. And my men would have never met you."
"Your men?" he laughed, shaking his head. "So you run this shoddy little thing?"
They were not your men-- there was no leadership system amongst the Brotherhood-- but if anyone had authority, it was Beric. "It's a brotherhood," you went on. "What's so shoddy about it? We don’t have a fancy castle to dawdle in.”
"You think you'll get anywhere by doing this? A group of vigilantes, that's all you are. The Lannister army would wipe its ass with you."
You narrowed your eyes. "So if I were to untie you..."
Sandor scoffed. "Sooner be starved, or sacrificed, than run with your brotherhood."
"I give you food, and wine, and still you throw a fit. Maybe we will burn you after all."
The left side of his lips twitched; the charred portion. "Burn?"
You lifted an eyebrow. "How else are we to sacrifice you?"
Sandor Clegane fell eerily quiet. He looked away, his drunken eyes drooping. You looked away as well, with nothing more to say.
"You believe in sacrifices? In the Lord of Light?" he finally asked.
"I have no reason to mistrust Beric."
"But you haven't been witness. You don't know," he went on, running his tongue over his teeth.
"I suppose we will never know for certain. But my brothers believe, and so will I."
He shifted once again in his ropes. "You're willing to burn a man for your God, innocent or not. Makes you no better than the Lannisters that you fight against."
"You've killed people," you pointed out, tilting your head and leaning closer to study the man. Sweat poured from his scalp, the subtle flame of fire flickering against the white of his eyes.
"Commands from the crown. Self-defense. Or, because I wanted to," he went on, eyeing you up and down. Does he intend to fight me? How does he think he will break from his ropes? ""Never for a God that--"
"If you do not wish to be burned, then come out and say it." You scooted closer to him, keeping a sharp eye on his bound wrists.
Sandor twisted and groaned against the rope. The men tied him only nine hours ago, but you could not help pitying him. "And when you approach King's Landing, what will they think of you, and your stolen armor? Will they believe me when I tell them who you are?" he said, a weak grin on his lips. "You won't get your money."
He held some fair points, ones you hadn't yet considered. "You might be right. But you betrayed them. Equal chance they'll believe us."
"I wouldn't say equal. More wine," he spoke. You held the flask in your hand, unwilling to give him more of what little you already had. "I struck a nerve with you, then. Best get to sleep."
You wished he would solidify himself amongst the Brotherhood. Sandor Clegane was one of the best fighters in Westeros, and you knew his allegiance would make a difference. "If I cannot return you to the capital, or trust you, then I have no choice but to keep you prisoner," you told him.
With narrowed eyes, he lifted his chin. "You're stuck with another mouth to feed, another chore. Who benefits from this?"
"We benefit, when we find a use for you," you smiled. "Goodnight, Clegane."
He watched you tiptoe over the sleeping men and retreat to your own sleeping quarters, a huddle of blankets and a lumpy hay mattress.
~
The following day was more of the same. You bathed in the nearby river, practiced with bow and arrow, and took care to feed your prisoner. Someone caught a boar, skinned it, and roasted it over the fire. You spent your afternoon peeling potatoes alongside Edric Dayne, a shy boy of thirteen.
After eating your portion of hog and roasted potatoes, you approached Sandor with a plate of food, cautious as you sat beside him. "No wine tonight," you told him.
He said nothing, only watched your movements with his deep brown eyes. You held out a forkful of potatoes. Sandor opened his mouth, then chewed slowly.
'Not talkative today?" You offered another forkful of potato.
"How are you going to bring down the Lannisters?" Sandor asked.
"However we can," you answered, holding the fork in place.
He grew agitated, writhing in his ropes again. 'But what do you mean to do? What are your goals? "
"For all we know, you cannot be trusted. No use in telling you our plans.”
Sandor’s eyes flicked over you, his expression placid. “I’ve an idea. An idea that would get you plenty coin.”
You laughed in his face. “I have a better one-- turning you in to the capital. Now eat.”
He craned his neck forward, eating from your fork. Sandor studied you with angry eyes.
“How much would someone pay for your set of armor?” you teased. “Or your hound’s helmet? Twenty-five golden dragons? More? Less?”
He finished his meal without another word. You washed the bowl and stepped back outside. Sandor was beginning to smell of dirt and sweat.
~
You settled in your bed of hay and laid for an hour or so, unable to sleep.
“Gods….”
You ignored the voice, and hoped whoever was speaking would quiet down.
There was a low murmur, and then Sandor said your name, a sense of urgency in his voice. “You. Help me up.”
“Help you up?” you questioned, your eyes open now. “Why would I do that?”
“I’ve got to piss.”
You eyed the sleeping men around you; none seemed to be awake, to your dismay. “Hold it til’ sunrise,” you advised him.
“Not goin’ to happen. Help me up, or uncuff me, and let me go my damn self.”
You threw the blanket aside and rose to assist him, carrying your dagger as a precaution. He was a heavy man, but you were able to get him up by supporting his elbows while he lifted himself with his legs. You took him outside, your grip tight on his forearm.
“Now help me,” he grumbled as you approached a dying bush.
“Help you?”
Sandor frowned, then gestured to his cuffed hands. Your brothers already stripped him of his armor, but you supposed whoever helped Sandor yesterday got unlucky. You lowered his pants for him, sighing at the uncomfortable situation.
“This way, I’ll piss all over myself,” he snapped. “Just uncuff me.”
“Why don’t you just crouch and do it like a woman? Won’t be pissin’ all over yourself then.” You were not foolish enough to let him go just yet. You gripped him by his elbows again, supporting himself as he lowered himself to the ground and leaned forward, relieving himself in the bush.
He stood again, turning to look at you. “Arya Stark,” he said.
“What about her?”
“She fled the capital. And I know where she is,” Sandor continued. He huffed at you. “What are you doing? Leavin’ me half-naked in the bloody cold?”
You blinked, then slid his pants back up, catching a glimpse of his muscular thigh. Dark hair sprouted over his legs. “Where is she, then?”
He let out a rough, gravelly laugh. “I won’t be tellin’ you, unless I get something in return. But I’ll tell you this. Cersei Lannister would pay a heap of gold dragons for that girl.” Sandor turned to look at you, leaning down to your height.
You weren’t sure if you believed him. Yes, it made sense for Arya to flee after her father was killed, but that didn’t explain why Sansa was still in King’s Landing… until you remembered that Arya was a girl of ten. It made sense for her to make an impulsive decision, leaving her sister behind. “You mean to tell me that a highborn girl is roaming the Crownlands all by herself? How do you know she hasn’t been killed, or captured?”
“The Crownlands! Do you think I’m fool enough to tell you where she is? No, not unless you uncuff me.” He glanced away. “She must still be alive.”
“Any proof, then, that she lives? That you know where she is?”
He stared you down, his eyes glimmering against the moonlight. “I told you, uncuff me, and I’ll tell you.”
“What’s stopping you from not telling me at all? I uncuff you, then what? You could tell me, then reach her first, and what benefit does that give me? None.”
You took his bicep, leading him back to Hollow Hill, but he resisted. “I’d like to stay outside. Been breathin’ in the stench of your men for two days.”
“Then let’s sit together.” You did not want to admit this, but your legs, let alone your entire body, were exhausted from the long day. You guided him to a grassy hill and sat beside him, overlooking the oak and birch trees together, the pale moon hanging high above you. Sandor was content with this, and showed no sign of wanting to escape.
He took a few minutes to himself, then inhaled slowly. “You could come with me to get the girl.”
“Go with you?”
“You said… knowing the girl’s whereabouts would not benefit you. But it would. When you uncuff me, I’ll owe you, and we can return her to the North and split the coin.” He gave you a sidelong glance.
It was tempting. “How do I know you… you… would stick to your word? You could kill me, or abandon me.”
“I kill for a reason.” He paused, raking his eyes over you. “Why abandon you? You can use a bow and arrow. Catch food for us. Don’t look like you eat much, anyway. Half my size.”
You tried to picture it in your mind: hunting boar and dragging it back to camp, splitting the meat with Sandor. If a band of deserters threatened you when you reached the North, Sandor could wipe them out in minutes.
And you, as well.
“I think you would kill me,” you said.
“You’re wrong.”
“How so?”
He shifted his legs against the long sweetgrass. “You would be the one to uncuff me. You fed me, two nights in a row. Shown me more kindness than any of your men. Give me my sword and my horse, and you can ride beside me.” Sandor frowned. “Why stay with these men? You famine yourself by hunting the same area of land. You’ve got no gold, and from what I can tell, no plans.”
“Where else would I go? And starving is not so bad. We would starve all the same, if I were to travel North with you.”
“When we return from the North, you could live with your family, give them enough dragons to buy land. Or buy land yourself, and barrels of sour red and ale.”
You cast your gaze down onto your tattered leather boots. “The Brotherhood is my family. My...” you trailed off. “All dead.”
“Ah,” he grumbled. “My family is dead as well. Except my brother.”
“We plan to kill Gregor. I’m sure you know that.”
“I do.”
There was a long silence. You turned away and began to tear grass from soil, lifting the roots to eye level and inspecting them, lost in your thoughts. You turned his proposition over in your mind.
“Do you think I want to be burned alive?” His voice made you jump with its suddenness.
“I don’t believe you do.”
“Why return me to the Lannisters, if you hate them so much? You know I don’t wish to fight for them.”
“But you won’t join us,” you went on, treading your fingers through the stems of dandelions.
“You won’t join me.”
You eyed him. “I can’t trust you.”
“Uncuff me now, and I’ll give you what you want. I can get money from the Crown. I can kill any man that walks this Earth. But the last moments of my life will not be spent as your prisoner.”
“How do you expect to get money from the Lannisters after you’ve abandoned them? And how do you expect to kill--”
He leaned closer to you. “There is a girl traveling all by herself, and she could be in danger.” Sandor’s eyes were wide with desperation-- was he truly concerned for Arya Stark, or was he only interested in freedom? “You’d rather burn a man alive than save her?”
You swallowed your spit. Something compelled you to rise from the hill and gather the keys from inside, but you needed reassurance. “If I uncuff you…”
“I’m not goin’ to kill you. I only killed when I was told, or when I needed to. I’m not goin’ to abandon you.”
It took you a few minutes to help Sandor up and lead him back to Hollow Hill. You instructed him to stay within eyesight while you gathered his armor, sword, and helmet. You were able to help him into his greaves and shoulderplates, but the breastplate would have to wait until he was uncuffed. You gathered your bag of arrows and longbow from the corner in which you slept, securing them to your back.
At first, you could not find the key to his handcuffs. You supposed whoever found him decided to hide it, and fairly well, at that. After twenty minutes of searching, you found it beneath a sack of barley. Sandor sighed and shook his head in relief when you lifted it above your head.
Finally, you had to untie his horse. Carrying the rest of his armor under your arm, you led him around Hollow Hill into a grove of trees where Stranger was hidden. You untied the dark horse and turned to face Sandor, feeling the handle of your dagger press against your stomach. It was still under your shirt.
“I’m going to unlock it now, and help put your armor on,” you spoke, attempting to keep your voice steady.
He stared down at you, his eyes deep and honest. Sandor shook his head, as if to say don’t be scared.
Before unlocking his handcuffs, you closed your eyes, trying to gauge the feeling in your gut. Yes, Sandor worked for the Lannisters and committed atrocities for them-- but he was never as bad as Tywin Lannister, or his brother. In fact, you recalled hearing something about Sandor standing up against his brother.
You recalled the fire flickering against Lem Lemoncloak’s face as he stuffed his mouth with stew, repeating in great detail what happened at the Hand’s Tourney. After hunting, Lem ran into a maidengirl, who told him this story-- Sandor saved Loras Tyrell’s life.
But was it true?
“Tell me about the Tourney,” you said quickly. “Who won?”
Sandor’s frown intensified at your question. “It was cut short. No winners that day.”
“How?”
“Gregor fell to Loras in the jousting tournament,” he snapped. “What does this have to do with--”
“But why was it cut short? You say he lost, but why?”
Sandor sighed. “He grew angry and killed his horse. Tried to kill Loras as well, but I had a duty to stop him.”
So it was true.
You stepped behind Sandor and pressed the key into his lock, releasing the man’s wrists. He took a moment to stretch his arms, groaning in relief. “Have you ever been tied up for two days?”
“...I haven’t.” You took a step away, watching the man closely. If he tried to hurt you before making his escape, you had three options: unsheath your dagger, retrieve the bow from your back and draw an arrow, or run. You were certain you could outrun him, but you didn’t want to; how embarrassed would you be if the other men found out you let Sandor escape?
“My arms will be sore for weeks,” he grumbled, approaching Stranger. Sandor stroked the stallion’s mane and eyed you. “Does he need to be fed?”
“No.”
He nodded and put his arms over Stranger’s great body, hoisting himself up. Once he was settled, he looked at you. “Now get on.”
You stepped closer, unsure if you could mount the horse at all-- Stranger was far too tall for you-- when you heard footsteps from behind. Stiffening, you followed the source of the noise, hoping to verify it was only an animal.
Two men approached-- Notch, a skinny, quiet man whom you seldom spoke with-- and Lem. Lem carried a flaming torch, a sword at his hip, and Notch carried a bow. Behind you, Sandor slid off of his horse and drew his sword, ready to defend.
Lem spotted you first, lifting the torch to your face. “The Hound,” he began. “He’s escaped, have--”
But he was too late to spot Sandor, who was near invisible in the dark. He shoved you aside first, and you let out a groan as your spine collided with the rocks.
Lem threw his torch aside and drew his sword, but not in time to stop Sandor’s blade. Blood spewed from his neck and dripped onto his leather armor as he stumbled backward and died on a large rock. Notch was no harder for the man to kill. In his final moments, he attempted to draw an arrow, but the blade struck him sooner.
You heaved on the ground, tears spilling from your eyes. You were convinced Sandor would kill you, as well, or go back into Hollow Hill and kill the rest. “Please…” you whispered, watching him as he fished around in Lem’s pockets.
“Quiet down. I had to do it. Else I might’ve hurt you.”
You shuddered with shock-- did he not mean to kill you? He did hurt you when he threw you aside, but it seemed that he would stick to his word.
Sandor pocketed the belongings of the deceased, then held out a hand to help you up. “Nothing much. Only a few silver stags, and a paring knife. But it will help if we are low on food.”
We, you thought, taking his hand. With shaky legs, you approached the black horse. He was far too tall for you to ride. “Let me get my horse,” you said, unsure if you really wanted your horse, or if you only wanted to get away from Sandor.
“One horse,” he spoke. Before you could turn around, a pair of strong hands set an iron grip on your waist, lifting you from the ground. You grappled onto the horse and sat, astonished and embarrassed that Sandor had to pick you up. Your hands were sweaty as you held the reins.
Sandor sat behind you, taking the reins from you. Stranger whined in complaint-- he didn’t like the added weight-- but Sandor ignored this. “Don’t want to feed two horses. We won’t be riding for long. But we need to get away,” he said, bringing Stranger to a slow trot.
Your stomach swirled with dismay as you rode into the night.
~
You laid beside each other in a bed of pine needles after securing Stranger. The night was long and humid, and you could not sleep. You glanced occasionally at Sandor, who, in turn, looked at you. You worried that he would hurt you. It seemed that he had the same fear.
After two hours of laying, Sandor rose to his feet. “Help me out of my armor.”
“Why?” you asked, rubbing your eyes. You were dreadfully tired, but still on edge.
“I smell like shit. Need to take a dip in the river,” he explained. “Maybe you should too. Might not find fresh, running water for a long while.”
He was right-- your hair was starting to smell anyway, so you took his hand and walked to the river with him. After removing all of Sandor’s armor, he began to undress, then dipped his clothes in the water. Neither of you had a spare change of clothes, and you worried that your clothes would not dry in time.
After you voiced your concern, he shook his head and grumbled. “Then I’ll wear the wet clothes. Don’t see any other option,” Sandor spoke, wringing the liquid from his tunic as he spoke. You began to do the same, slipping out of your pants and dipping them in the water. You watched Sandor from the corner of your eye, unable to tear your eyes from the trail of hair that began at his cock and traveled up his stomach, stopping at his neck. You thought of the whores that slept beside him and got to run their fingers through the growth of dark, curled hair. Or maybe none at all had done so, and you would be the first to imagine it.
You wrung the water from your breeches and set them atop the grass, as Sandor had done, before noticing his eyes on you. You frowned. “Stop that.”
“You’re allowed to look, but I’m not?”
“I was not…” you began, shaking your head. You removed your tunic and dipped it in the water as well.
He let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Liar.”
Your face grew hot as you twisted the fabric in your knuckles, letting the water drip back into the river. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Of course you didn’t mean to. But you were too curious, wondering if the rest of me was as hideous as my face,” Sandor went on.
Your eyebrows drooped. “That’s not what I was…” you began, but cut yourself off. Truthfully, the burn around his ear and jaw was a pain to look at for the first day, but his long, dark hair covered most of it. You were used to it now, and it was the furthest thing from your mind.
“So is it?”
“You’re not hideous,” you snapped. “So stop with it. I looked at you, it was an accident. I apologize.”
He laughed again. Sandor stepped into the water, then began to soak his hair. You joined him, but kept your distance, dipping your own hair into the flowing river. It did not move with enough ferocity to throw you downstream, but the water rushed all the same, lukewarm against the rough heat of the night. You thought to spend all night in the river, listening to the flow of the stream and the owls in the trees.
Sandor grew closer to you in the water. You stared up at him, wondering what he was going to say, or do, but he said nothing.
“What is it?” you whispered, unsure if he heard something.
“Why did you uncuff me?”
You swallowed your spit; now was the time Sandor would kill you, now was the time Sandor would drown or strangle you. You moved away from him in the water. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve no idea where Arya fucking Stark is.”
You laughed; the idea was so abstract to you that you almost didn’t care. “You don’t know? Really?”
“Really.”
A terrible mistake, you thought. You had released him for no reason, abandoned your Brotherhood, and let him kill two of your men. “You lied to me.”
“You’re a fool if you thought I was going to stay in those chains. I did what I had to do.”
“You-- you killed them. You killed them, for no reason?”
“Not for no reason. They were goin’ to kill me, if I didn’t.” He moved closer to you, so close you could smell the potato stew on his breath from hours ago. “You’re alive, and I’m your prisoner no longer. We’re both happy, then.”
You admired the creativity of his lie, the execution of it. If you were a prisoner, you were not sure if you could think of something half as clever. “What are we doing now?” you asked, a pinch of panic in your voice. “You’re going to kill me?”
“I’m not goin’ to kill you.”
“Well.” You inhaled. “I can’t return to them. The Brotherhood. If they find out I let you escape and kill Lem and--”
“Stay with me, then,” he suggested.
You let your hands tread through the water. “And do what? Run from the Lannisters?”
“Search for Arya Stark.”
Suddenly, you wanted to cry. “Why should I do that?”
“For golden dragons. And to keep me company,” he laughed.
You wanted to kill him. “I can’t,” your voice wavered.
Sensing the seriousness in your voice, he took your shoulders in his hands. “You don’t have to stay with me. But I’ve got a horse and a sword and a bag of silver, you’ve got a bow. It will work.” Sandor lowered his face to your eye level. “If we can’t find Arya, we’ll take Sansa from the Red Keep and return her to her mother. Same amount of coin, either way.”
That was easier said than done-- how would Sandor ever get past the City Watch without being seen? But for some inexplicable reason, you trusted him. You did not cry.
You emerged from the water and sat beside the river, scratching the dead skin from your arms, legs, and feet with your fingernails. Sandor turned to look at you, but quickly averted his eyes.
“Accident?” you asked, a thin smile on your face.
“Forgot you were naked,” he said, still in the water. Sandor began to strain the liquid from his thick hair. “You can look at me, if I’m allowed to look at you.”
A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. It was so foreign, so strange, to bathe naked in a river with a strange man. You never cared much for men or women otherwise, and never bathed with men from the Brotherhood, so you were unsure if it was a reaction of circumstance or not. “Why do you want to look at me?”
He waded to the edge of the river, towering over you. “I think there’s another reason why you helped me escape.”
“I helped you escape because I thought we would find Arya. And because I felt bad for you. I didn’t want to burn you, or anyone, alive.”
“You fed me that night, when everyone else was goin’ to let me starve,” he said.
“Because… I felt bad for you.”
Sandor smiled. The burnt corner of his lip twitched. “You left your little Brotherhood to travel with a man who you thought would kill you. No sane person does that.” He lowered himself to the ground in between your legs. You stared at him, his naked figure, your eyebrows pressed together.
He nudged you down onto the grass. You obeyed and laid flat. Droplets of water fell from his hair and splattered across your bare chest as he crawled over you, lowering his lips to your exposed neck. You shuddered with surprise; was this his plan all along, or did seeing your bare body evoke something inside him?
You decided not to push him off as he pressed his lips to your flesh, licking the tender flesh of your neck and jaw. You tried to release the tension in your body, and relax your shoulders, but something so new was bound to be terrifying. He kissed and bit your soft skin, evoking strained, soft moans from you. Sandor’s wet tongue moved up to your ear. You let out a cry as he sucked on your earlobe. This was not something you expected, or knew that you wanted, but now that it was happening, you needed more.
As his mouth roamed around your collarbones and neck, his tip, stiff and sticky, pressed against your thigh. Your breath tightened in response. You had seen his cock, and even if you focused more on his chest, you knew it was big enough to hurt. It crossed your mind to ask him to stop.
Supporting himself with his forearm, Sandor pressed his knee against your slickness and flicked his tongue against your nipple. You groaned with pleasure, shamelessly grinding against his knee. He used his free hand to pinch your other nipple. You sucked in air through your teeth as he teased you, resisting the urge to beg for more.
He lifted his mouth to your ear, gently twisting your nipple. “I’m goin’ to fill you up. Bet you’ll like it.”
You could do nothing but moan in response, humping his knee desperately.
“Be good and say my name.” He released your nipple and began to pleasure you with his hand.
“Sandor,” you breathed. You shifted your hips desperately.
He laughed, his breath hot against your ear. “Needy.”
“Please, Sandor.”
Sandor teased you with the tip of his cock, sliding it over your entrance, his precum mixing with your own wetness. He pressed into you, breathing heavily. “I’ll take you all night,” he breathed, his hair damp on your chest. Sandor let out a low groan, careful to enter you slowly. He’s being gentle, you thought, your breathing unsteady as he gripped your wrists and held them together.
He fucked you slow, perhaps to tease you, or to not hurt you. You weren’t sure. But you let him do it, your moans breathless and desperate, crying out his name whenever he placed a light smack on your rear or teased your chest. You thought Sandor could use you all night, and it would still not be enough. As his thrusts intensified, you imagined other things he might do to you; you would not be terribly disappointed if he were to tie you to a tree and have his way with you, or blindfold you.
You thought of what would happen the following morning. Sandor would have an erection, as most men did upon waking up, so you pictured yourself stretching your lips around his enormous cock, spit dripping down his base, strands of saliva stretching from his balls as you worked him to orgasm.
“Tight,” he hissed, sweat dripping down his chest. You lifted your arms and felt the trail of hair along his stomach, his abdomen hard against your palm. Sandor wrapped his lips around your nipple and began to suck. You could sense the urgency from him, and knew that he would orgasm soon.
You wrapped your legs around his back as he hammered into you, your eyes half-lidded with arousal. “Sandor…”
With a low groan, Sandor released inside you, almost collapsing. He lifted his eyes to yours, keeping eye contact as he continued to cum. When you nearly looked away, he forced your chin straight. “Look at me.”
You looked. His hair shadowed most of his face, but he was not an unpleasant sight, even while covered in sweat. You relaxed your legs and let them fall back down when he finished.
Sandor gripped your rear, planting a rough kiss on your lips. A wave of exhaustion hit you, and your eyes shut themselves as he rose from the ground. “Happier that you’ve come with me, now?”
Your eyes shot back open. “I…” you murmured, turning onto your side. “Yes.” Your legs would not function, and you knew there was no use in attempting to stand up.
Sandor knelt down and began to dress you. The cloth was still damp, but your sweat would dampen it anyway, so you did not mind.
He carried you back to the bed of pine needles, lowering you into place. Sandor stayed shirtless, allowing it to dry by the river. You laid beside him, your head on his arm, dragging your fingers through the hair on his chest. Sandor curled his arm around your back. You both stared up at the sky, obscured by long pine branches.
The fuzziness in your chest did not disappear as you lulled to sleep.