Chapter 5

On the Hound's nameday Joffrey presented him with a new sword and armor. He accepted the present with enough grace, kneeling before his king and muttering thanks. But, though Sansa looked for it, there was no joy in his face.

When she got there he was sprawled with his back against the heart tree. His new armor and two empty skins of wine were tossed to the side while he clutched a full skin in one large hand. She thought he was asleep but he cracked an eye to look at her.

"You're late," he rasped.

"Good evening, Hound," she said, settling herself on the ground before him and the heart tree. "I am not late. You were early because Joffrey let you take the day off for your nameday."

He laughed softly. "Aye, you must be right. Just seems I've been waiting for you forever." He steadied himself against the tree and stood up. "Let me get out of your way so you can pray for acorns."

Sansa bristled as she did each time he spoke of acorns, but she pressed her lips together. A lady did not rise to such bait.

She expected him to make his way back to his log so she was surprised when he lowered himself on the ground next to her. He brought out his whetstone and his sword and began his routine of fixing its nicks and shining it.

The noise of him working was so much louder now that he was sitting right there that she found she could not concentrate on prayer. She watched him instead. His eyes were downcast and his hair was falling in his face. His large hand moved across the blade smoothly, deliberately, almost lovingly.

Sansa noticed the worn leather strap on the hilt and the tarnished steel. "Hound," she asked, "where is your new sword?"

He snorted. "The King has gifted me with an ornamental sword. It is frippery, garbage. This sword," he lifted it by the hilt to show her, "this is the sword that I used to kill my first man, the sword that showed me through my first battle. The sword that has cut through men and women and children like they were hot butter." He lowered his voice. "And when it comes to it, this is what I'll use to slice through your Northmen. Maybe even your kingly brother, if he is unlucky enough."

She looked back to the heart tree, dread filling her and making her sick. "Do not speak of killing here," she begged softly.

He laughed a scornful laugh. "Why not? Will your bloody tree hear me? And will it rise up and shower me with a mountain of acorns? It didn't save your noble father, it does nothing to save you from the King, so I doubt it will rouse itself for me."

Tears came to her eyes. For so many days she had come here and taken a strange comfort in his hulking presence near here. But he had to go get drunk. He had to ruin everything. "I cannot be around you when you are like this," she said.

She rose to leave, but he reached out and took hold of her wrist.

"Little bird," he rasped. "It is my nameday. And today I will exact my price from you."

"What price?" she asked, tugging feebly on her wrist.

"Forgotten already? Little birds seem to remember nothing but the words to their songs. The price for my silence. From the day I found you here with that bugger Dontos."

Her eyes widened and she wrenched her wrist free, scrambling to stand up. "You knew!" she accused. "You knew I was here with him."

"Aye. I had a few words with him before coming to find you. Why do you think he's been avoiding you like the grey plague." He sneered at her. "You are a greater fool than he for placing your fate in his hands. He was likely to have both your heads on spikes before long."

Anger flashed through her with such force it made her dizzy. "It was you," she said. It was because of him Ser Dontos no longer spoke to her, no longer worked on a plan for their escape. She crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself tightly, bitter tears flowing down her cheeks. All these days she sat here with him, been courteous to him, and he had ruined her hopes. "Then whose hands should I place my fate in, Hound?" she asked. "There is no one else."

His face was sullen, and the muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched. "That is your problem, little bird. Not mine. Just make sure the next man you lead by the cock actually has balls enough to protect you."

Sansa was young, but she had brothers and understood the meaning of his words. "How dare you? I never… I never seduced Ser Dontos."

"Oh really?" he asked, his voice dripping with derision. "So it is not you Dontos speaks of when he is pissed drunk? It is not you whose lips taste like honey, whose skin tastes like peaches, and whose hair is silk? I was mistaken then. It was some other Lady Stark he spoke of. Your lady mother perhaps."

She clenched her hands into fists, so hard that her nails bit into her flesh.

His laughed softly. "You want to hit me, don't you? Well hit me all you want, little bird. To a man who's been burned all other pain is slight." He stood up, towering over her. His eyes roamed her face in that way of his. "But I will exact my price from you," he rasped, low and throaty. "I have held off long enough."

She held out her hands weakly to keep him from advancing to her. "Everyone wants something from me. Joffrey, the queen, you. What is it you want from me? What? I have nothing."

"Stop crying," he said, tugging on her arm and drawing closer to her. "I only want what you have already given freely to that fool. A kiss."

"A kiss?" she asked, wiping the tears off her hot cheeks. "And after that you will leave me alone? That… that is not too much."

He snorted. "For you, mayhaps. Since you give your kisses away so freely. But leaving you alone was not part of the bargain."

She inhaled a sharp breath and her heart thumped dully in her chest. Sansa realized she had never stood so near him before today. His eyes were a grey flecked with bits of green and so piercing she had to close her own eyes against them.

She tilted her head back – it would be over soon – and waited.

And waited.

When she opened her eyes again to peer at him his face was twisted in a grin. He laughed. "By the Stranger, girl, you make it look as if you actually want to be kissed. But I never said it was I who would kiss you. I want you to kiss me."

If anything she was even more alarmed by this. "Hound I…"

"There is a first time for everything, isn't there?" He voice was harsh even as he reached out to gently smooth away a strand of hair off her face. He did not move his hand away, just held her face gently in his large hand and tilted it towards him. "Was not Dontos the first man who kissed you?" he asked.

She gazed at him. Somehow the way his callused thumb was grazing soft circles on her cheekbone was making her chest ache, making her eyes burn with hot new tears. His face was terrible; nothing would ever make it less so. But ever since her kindly father was killed it was only this man, large and terrifying and rough tongued, who had touched her with some level of gentleness. Not the other knights with their pretty words, empty eyes, and brutal blows. Her eyes strayed to his lips, full and smooth on one side and scarred on the other. "You're too tall for me," she found herself saying, her voice a whisper.

"Aye, I've heard that before," he agreed. He slowly got down on his knees before her.

Sansa looked at her hand still on his shoulder. At how small and white it looked against the grey of his tunic. She smoothed it across his shoulder to his neck, remembering another time when he had crouched before her to frighten her. It seemed to her that was so long ago, that it had happened to a different Sansa. Bracing herself for it she looked down into his eyes, truly looked into them for the first time. The shifting silence of the godswood cocooned them, safe from the world outside.

Finally she cupped his cheek, the unscarred one. She leaned forward, slowly, haltingly, and placed her lips against his. It was a soft kiss, just a gentle touching of skin against skin. He was so different from Ser Dontos. His lips were dry and firm. He even smelled different. A heady masculine scent and spiced wine.

After a short moment his hand was in her hair and he was pulling her away.

"Thank you, little bird," he rasped solemnly, his hot breath brushing her lips.

He got to his feet then, avoiding her gaze. She watched as he gathered his things. There was a strange hollow sense of loss deep within her chest.

When he was gone she stood alone for a while, trying to understand it.