The Hound and His Little Bird

Chapter Eighteen: Truth

Sansa was confused beyond comprehension. She didn't know what to think, to say, or to feel. She knew she should have been happy that Sandor's fever was slowly dropping or that the angry red wounds were turning pink and healthier. Instead, she felt dread. She didn't know what he was going to do or what he would say to her once he was well enough to get up and move and shout. Because she had done it. She'd done the one thing she told herself she should forget had ever happened; she kissed Sandor Clegane.

The worst part of this whole situation was she couldn't stop thinking about it. She couldn't stop imagining what it felt like to kiss the ex-Knight. Even as he lay there, recovering and healing, she could only imagine kissing him. When he cursed her and blamed her for his pain, she could only think about silencing his rough words with her lips. While they lay there at night, with Sansa curled into him and Grey Wind against the cold, she thought about scooting up so she could kiss him as much as she wanted.

It made her wonder if there was something wrong with her. She was barely a young woman! She shouldn't be fantasizing about a man like the Hound. He wasn't a pretty Knight she'd always imagined, nor was he kind or gentle. He was scarred and cruel and crude. He had no family connections, certainly had no manners. He should have been the last person she would ever imagine...

He was everything to her though. He was part of her pack, her family now, and so much more aside from that.

Had she really fallen for him so badly?

They'd been traveling with each other for so long; Sansa couldn't even truly remember how long it had been. She'd grown fond of his harsh words, crude actions, and his obsessive need to make sure she could protect herself. There wasn't anyone else she could imagine traveling with, being with. He was her companion, her pack member. Now she knew she would never let anything get in the way of that.

She was determined to make their situation as easy going as she possibly could. During the day, she was the perfect healer. She used cool water thrice a day to bring down his fever. She kept vigilant watch over his wounds, and fed him as much food as she possibly could. He consumed whatever food she put in front of him, suddenly compliant and very much quiet around her. She didn't mind, so long as he got stronger and his wounds continued to heal.

At night, that was a different story altogether.

At first, Sansa could hear animals roaming around and creeping closer and closer to their fire and smell of food. It made her nervous and tense. She couldn't sleep those first two nights at all. She worried the smell might draw them in closer or the animals might get bolder the longer they stayed in the woods. Grey Wind was quick to reassure her otherwise. If any of the noise got too close, the direwolf chased off whatever animals were skulking by. He came back to her and slept beside her. Any noise had him up in an instant, so she knew they were safe.

It was another two days before Sandor wasn't so weak. By that time, he was asking for his wine. When she quietly admitted to using the last bit on his wounds, he cursed her. He yelled, called her so many names she wouldn't even dare begin to repeat, and groused about until he was too tired to continue. Even as he got stronger with food, the lack of wine almost crippled him. She knew that wine was something a man could become reliant on and the Hound certainly had. Without it, he was sure to be in excruciating pain with withdrawal. She craved to help relieve his distress, but her presence only seemed to make it worse. He snarled at her when she tried to help. He almost refused to let her touch him completely. She wondered what was upsetting him more; that she had kissed him or she refused to end his life. He'd begged her plenty of times to take the knife and do it, but when she refused, he seemed to shut her out. She hated to be treated this way because she wanted him to live.