Wounds (Sansa & Sandor)

Chapter II

Sandor stumbled out of the great hall. He could hear the noise of celebration moving away behind him.

He reached the patio and sat on an old wooden bench blackened by the passage of time. He poured another glass of wine and drank it in one gulp.

He closed his eyes as he felt hot liquid sliding down his throat. He opened them again with a sigh and contemplated his surroundings.

He saw what was left of the wall that led to the forest of the Arcians. Little more than a few stones. The other dragon, the one that the king of the night had killed and revived, had taken charge of destroying everything.

He took his left hand and watched it. It was an intense cold, but he did not feel it. He only felt the touch of her hand on his, and the intense, delicious sensation of being caressed.

When she asked him what could make him happy, he only thought of two things: one, to kill his brother ... and the other ... her.

He remembered when he saw her again as soon as he reached Winterfell, and that for a few seconds, everything disappeared around him. The only thing that existed was her face. Her eyes clear, her hair red and her skin white as snow.

He had never stopped thinking about her. While he was with Arya, he always knew that he took care of her, in his own way, thinking that it was Sansa who had wanted to go with him ... Later, Arya acquired an entity in himself for him, and the memories of "little bird" were buried for his attempt at redemption, but as soon as he saw her, standing out above all, he felt that they were returning like a hurricane that destroyed everything.

That night he got drunk. Just as he did the day they told him, Arya and him, that they had married her to the gnome ... He could not bear the idea of that other dwarf monster making her his own ... He got drunk in such a way that it was Arya who saved his life, momentarily, of course. How could it be otherwise, then she left him to die alone and desperate. But he did not die. His day did not come, because he had a date with his destiny that death could not take away from him.

He had not allowed himself to suffer for years because of the absence of someone to love ... but the Stark girls had made that impossible ... In his brutal way he cared about Arya ... and knew that he had begun to feel Something for Sansa from the day Joffrey left her half naked in the throne room of the Red Fortress. Seeing her so helpless and innocent, at the mercy of a madman, she could not stand it and covered her with her cloak ... He tried to protect her as much as he could, but even knowing that he was falling in love with her, he could not help but hate her, because she could not bear to look at him.

That day, while everything was filled with fire in the King's Landing, he could have taken her by force ... To have made her his own, and to be the animal she imagined he was, but he was incapable, because he did not want to hurt her. She was his little bird ...

The pain of not being able to have her by his side was so terrible, that only a night of drunkenness could calm him down, and he was on his way to it, again ... The contact of her hand in his, was the last straw that overflowed everything.

That day, while everything was filled with fire in the King's Landing, he could have taken her by force ... To have made her his own, and to be the animal she imagined he was, but he was incapable, because he did not want to hurt her. She was his little bird ...

The pain of not being able to have her by his side was so terrible, that only a night of drunkenness could calm him down, and he was on his way to it, again ... The contact of his hand in hers was the last straw that overflowed everything.

He hated his brother even more, for having done what he did ... for turning him into a monster all his life ... and he hated her, more if possible, for her, for appearing in his life. If he had never met her, he could not suffer for not having her ... if he had never fallen in love, he could not suffer for being what he was ... He was a monster, dirty and brutal that would never be loved ... by anyone.

He spat on the ground and gave a hoarse laugh ... who wanted to be loved? ... His fate was not that ... His destiny was to kill the one who turned his life into hell.

He looked up and fixed it on a window facing west. It was her room. There was still light. He could imagine her getting into her comfortable bed without knowing what he was feeling at that moment. He closed his eyes and in his imagination he saw himself in that bed with her, hugging her and being happy ... happy? ...

"Sandor, you bastard, you can never be happy!" He thought, scolding himself for having been so weak to reach for something impossible.

He took the jug, and drank all the wine it contained directly from it. Part of the warm broth fell down his beard and wet his coat, but he did not care.

He got up when he saw the light in Sansa's room go out. He sighed heavily and staggered along the path that led to the small room he shared with Gendry. With luck, he would get, lie down on his bed after vomiting, and hopefully, too, not dream about her.

To be continue...

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