Normally such a Lady, you take Sandor by surprise one day.
Warnings: Swearing and fluff
Word Count: 1111 (That makes me happy)
A/N: This is my first fanfic I've written since November (Besides, working on the chapters of Northern Light') I believe, it could be my first one shot since November. And I've missed it. Hope you guys enjoy ;)
Important Information: In case you didn't know, (I didn't, I needed to look it up) a baldric is the belt that holds a sword and scabbard to someone.
Any feedback, comments or messages are very welcome and appreciated. I would love to know what you think of my little stories.
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Sandor stood in the doorway, his whole body lax and his jaw hanging low, leaving his mouth in a useless state of silence. Never had he heard such language coming from your normally sweet lips, you were always such a lady... Why in the seven hells out of all the men in Westeros, you had chosen him to love... he would never know... but everyday he thanked the gods you did. And now he simply couldn't imagine a life without you in it. But right now, your eyes were enraged, your hands clenched in tight fists at your side and you were clearly holding onto a deep breath in an fruitless effort to calm yourself down. After a moment of standing there motionless, Sandor finally found words, "What's your problem... and what's with all the fuck's 'n' shit's... aren't ya suppose to be a lady?"
Even amongst a lifetime of blunt and thoughtless words, this really wasn't his finest moment. He knew he had said much worse to so many other people, but you...? Never had he spoken to you in such a way.
Your already enraged eyes filled with fire when you turned your attention to him... and he knew he had made a grave mistake making his presence known to you... he was the one you were angry with. And for the first time in his life he found himself wanting to slowly back away.
At the sight of him, you pursed your lips together in a tight line, before you let loose, almost spitting your words from your mouth. "You... YOU!... how many times have I bloody told you not to leave your fucking baldric lying around on the floor, it's going to kill me one day."
It was only then he noticed you struggling to stand on both feet, making no attempts to move from your spot leaned up against the wall. You were hurt... and it was his fault. Stepping into the room, he closed the distance between you in just a few strides, guilt already eating away at him, very well knowing you had asked him a million times to stop leaving his sword on the ground. Gently resting his rough hands against the side of your arms, his voice came through surprisingly tender, "What happened... where are you hurt?"
Still furious, you flicked your head towards the chair beside you, "Your sword... it's bloody caught under the chair... and I tripped on the fucking baldric... didn't I?" Then trying to apply weight to your foot, you winced in pain, "My ankle... I think I've sprained it."
With a deep breath, Sandor cursed under his breath, "I'm a fuckin' idiot," the very thought that he caused you any kind of pain had his chest aching with every thump of his heart.
Reaching down he slipped an arm behind your back as the other one scooped your legs up from under you, noticing how your expression tightened and winced from the movement, though your tongue didn't show the effects, "Yes... yes you fucking are?" Normally, Sandor would have sent a glare your way for agreeing... but he was too upset with himself, instead shaking his head at his own stupidity.
With all the care in the world he placed you into the chair, effortlessly pulling the chest from the end of the bed across the floor, as if it was filled with nothing but air. Slowly and gently he lifted your foot to rest on top, bringing another string of expletives from your lips, Sandor speaking as he knelt down beside you, "I think you've been 'round me too long... my cursin's been wearin' off on you."
Sandor watched you roll your beautiful (EC) eyes, as he carefully undid the laces of your boot, half expecting another sharp comment about his stupidity, as he warily took it off your foot. But instead, you said nothing and looking back up he found you holding your breath, your fingertips turning purple as they clutched onto the fabric of your dress. Never had he seen you in so much pain before... this was going to be bad... and he wondered for a moment if taking your boot off was such a good idea.
Chucking your boot aside, he used feather light fingers to slip off your sock, quietly gasping at the sight he was left with. Your poor ankle was already black and blue, instantly regretting taking off your boot, sure that he could see it swelling before his very eyes. Sighing heavily, he looked up to you, his eyes apologetic and filled with regret, "You're gonna need a maester... I thinks it's broken... but I'm gonna have to bind it up first... before it swells too much."
Getting to his feet, he stood there silently for just a moment before rubbing his hand back and forth across the nape his neck, feeling absolutely guttered that he was the cause of your pain. And in a uncharacteristic display of tenderness and apology, he knelt back down resting his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses touching, his voice barely breaking through a whisper, "Sorry, sweet dove... I'm sorry." Then brushing his lips against yours, he gave you the softest kiss, feeling you respond with the lightest touch to his cheek... and even though he didn't deserve it, he knew in that moment you had forgiven him... no, he didn't deserve it ... and he didn't deserve you... But he couldn't even begin to explain the feeling of relief that your forgiveness had given him. Giving you another kiss, this time to your forehead, he spoke again, "I'll get some cloth, to bind that ankle."
Standing back up, he turned to leave the room, stopping by the doorway at the sound of you quietly calling his name. Turning around, he waited for you to speak, taken back by the look of affection on your features, making his heart swell with wonder. And when you spoke, your voice was heavy with emotion, yet somehow light with jest, your words making him both chuckle and melt. "You're a bloody pain in my arse, dear husband... and a grumpy shit too... but, I hope you know I fucking love you."
Again, Sandor closed the distance between you and leaned down, losing his hands amongst your (HC) hair he kissed you once more. Then brushing his lips along your jaw, they came to rest upon your ear, speaking in a rough and sentimental voice, taking himself by surprise. "I love you too... But if you don't clean up that bloody filthy mouth of yours... sweet dove... I'm gonna have to set you free."
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Any feedback, comments or messages are very welcome and appreciated. I would love to know what you think of my little stories.
