The Traitor's Wedding

Chapter Six

When she woke up in the morning, it was still decently dark outside. There was one small candle still lit, giving off just a little extra glow for Sansa to twist around to check who she was really in bed with. She stared for a long time, at the scarred face of the Hound, Sandor Clegane. It was hard to believe yesterday morning she'd been an unwed young lady and that he'd been locked in the Black Cells.

Now, she was Lady Clegane. She was part of House Clegane. Or was he part of the Stark household now? It made her wonder, since he didn't have the true title to the Clegane Keep. Perhaps Robb would make him one of the Wardens of the North? That way... Wait. What would Mother and Robb say? She hadn't even paused to think about that. Would her Mother accept Sandor into the family? Would Robb take him in as a bannerman?

She felt an unexpected tightness in her chest and quickly banished the thoughts. She went to shift in the bed and felt a sharp twinge between her legs. It brought back the rest of the events of the night, giving her a distraction she definitely longed for. She looked back at Sandor, sprawled across the mattress on his belly, snoring and muttering in his sleep. She was close enough she could prop herself up a bit to reach over and touch his face lightly, the scars rough underneath her fingertips. She traced them as light as a feather, scared that if she woke him up he would be angry. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, not directly, but his yelling and snapping still frightened her occasionally.

She moved from the scars on his face to the ones on his neck and further down, on his exposed back. She traced the patterns, markings, and healed gashes, quietly mapping them all in her mind and wondering just where he got all of these from. She knew he was a soldier of war and destruction, but she still wondered whether he would ever tell her where they came from. She knew the story of the burns, even if he didn't know she knew. But the large cut down his back, wide and extending from his left shoulder to right hip, she knew nothing about. Or the one that looked suspiciously like a sword in his mid-side.

She pulled her hand back when she felt him shift beside her suddenly, grumbling softly and turning so he was on his side again. She got to look at more of the scars crossed over his chest and torso. She reached out to touch them, but thought better of it when she felt him twitch again. So, she snuggled down underneath the comforter and moved so she was close to him again. Almost automatically, she felt him jolt when she settled into his chest, but she kept her eyes closed and her breathing even and didn't look up when she felt him move. He muttered, "Bloody hells," quiet enough that it wouldn't have woken her up had she been asleep.

She felt him touch her hair, almost to see if she was really there, and, when he cursed again, she let herself stir just a bit and look up at him with what she could hope looked like tired eyes. She blinked at him once, twice, and took a look down at herself, bare and half exposed to the ex-Knight. A flush spread across her face, but by the look on Sandor's face, he hadn't fully expected to wake up with her. He'd been so far drunk he couldn't remember most of the night... She managed out, "Sandor-"

"Fucking hells," he muttered again, suddenly moving away from her as if she were a plague. He got off of the bed and started blindly searching for something to cover himself with. In the shadows, she could barely make out the outline of him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, as she watched him find his breeches and pull them on.

"I don't know what the fuck happened. I shouldn't fucking be here," he muttered, managing to find the tunic.

"Sandor, wait-"

"Don't fucking start!" he shouted, cutting her off. "I don't know what shit you gave me or what the fuck you think happened, but..." He took one look at her, half exposed and lying in bed and stormed from the room.