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Serpentine - Ch 7
leighofoldstone

The Hound rolled to her side and put his arm around her. Sansa lay her head on his broad chest as her breathing slowly returned to normal and she waited for his seed to dry on her belly and on her thighs, where she had wiped her palms after he… after he found his release in her hands. Her skirts were still hiked around her waist, but she felt little shame. She could not risk anything staining her gown, otherwise her maids and the washerwomen would know, and she could not bear to think of what might happen to her then.



The night was so tranquil. Sansa wondered how late it was. She felt as if she were in a dream. I am lying in the Hound’s arms, and I held his manhood in my own hands. It had all happened so fast. Her desire had been so strong it had overwhelmed all her other senses, and now she found that she could not exactly remember what his… cock had felt like. But she would never forget how it had throbbed in her hands as he spilled his hot seed onto her belly and he collapsed on top of her, or the way his big, rough fingers felt as they stroked the slick, sensitive folds and swollen nub of her lady’s place while she shuddered to her peak beneath him. She blushed, even as she shivered in delight thinking of it all.

Sandor Clegane stirred beside her and raised himself onto an elbow to look down at her. Sansa looked deep into his eyes, searching for any sign that what happened between them this night had meant as much to him as it had to her. His expression was startlingly soft, unlike anything she had ever seen in the years she’d known him, and her heart swelled. She felt so alive, and the whole world seemed different. She was overwhelmed with joy and excitement and lust and passion and longing, even a trace of grief, and she didn’t know what to make of it all. But right now at this moment, she was looking at the Hound, and he was looking at her, and they had just made love to each other. She smiled at him, and he kissed her gently and drew down her skirts. Then he turned his back and stood to lace his breeches. Sansa realized that she still didn’t know what his manhood looked like; it had been too dark to see when she was unlacing him.

He reached a hand down to help her to her feet. She stood, a bit unsteadily, and shook out her hair and smoothed her clothing. The Hound draped his cloak about his shoulders once more. “Ready?” he asked. She nodded. He cupped her cheek and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, and she reached up to place her hand over his. “Outside of the godswood, we play our roles. You’re still frightened of me, and I’m still Joffrey’s dog.” She nodded again. He kissed her once more, and they left the godswood.

Sansa’s thoughts were whirling as they made their way back to the Red Keep in silence. She wished the Hound was walking in front of her so that she could gaze upon his powerful shoulders in the torchlight and watch the breeze stir his long black hair, and admire his bold, masculine stride. But they had their roles to play, and he was supposed to be guarding her, so she must walk in front of him.

Ser Meryn Trant held the bridge to Maegor’s Holdfast. Sansa had long since mastered the expressionless mask that hid her thoughts and kept unwanted attention at bay, but she was suddenly deathly afraid that Ser Meryn would somehow know that she had been kissing the Hound in the godswood and stroking his erect cock and spreading her legs for him, begging for his touch. She caught her breath, feeling a fresh wave of arousal. Don’t look at the Hound, don’t, don’t.

The ill-tempered knight squinted at her suspiciously. “Where have you been, lady? Why are you not in your rooms?”

“I was in the godswood, my lord, praying for the safety of the king.”

“You should not be out at this late hour.” He turned to the Hound. “The king was looking for you, ser.”

“Fuck your ser,” the Hound rasped in his deep voice. “The Queen commanded me to guard the Lady Sansa on her visits to the godswood.” He rudely shouldered his way past Ser Meryn and it seemed in no time at all they had reached the door of her rooms.

“Thank you, my lord,” Sansa said meekly. She was not ready to leave his company, but there was nothing she could do about it. The Hound bowed stiffly and walked away without another word.

When she entered her chambers, she was surprised to realize how early it still was. Her maids had lit a fire in the hearth not long before she returned. On any other night, she would have welcomed the warm comfort of the flames, but right now she wanted nothing more than to relive every delicious, tantalizing, marvelous moment of her night with the Hound, in the darkness with only the moonlight by which to see, as it had been in the godswood.

She splashed water on her face and sat down at her dressing table to comb out her hair as she waited for the fire to die down. The Hound! She wanted to sing his name out loud to everyone she saw. His name alone was a song in itself, she decided, one that she would never tire of, and she wanted to memorize it and sing it to herself every day so that she would never forget it. She wanted to spend days wrapped in his warm embrace, feeling his hands on her body, his tongue on her nipples and his fingers stroking between her legs, his cruel mouth pressing down on hers as he spread her legs wide and fucked her while she gasped his name, climbing the peak to her release until she lost control.

Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She pulled off her gown and hastily threw it to the floor, and climbed into bed, her hand reaching to ease the ache between her legs even as she covered herself with her blankets. She needed relief, quickly. She rubbed her wetness over the sweet spot at the top of her cleft, and her pleasure came upon her powerfully as she imagined the Hound’s huge cock throbbing and spilling his seed deep inside her, as it had done in her hands this very night. As she came down from her climax, Sansa drifted into a deep sleep, and finally found a few hours peace from her fevered emotions.

***********

The Queen sent for her after she broke her fast. Sansa tried to keep from trembling as her maids bathed and dressed her. The last time Her Grace commanded a private audience with her was the morning she’d had her moon blood, after she had tried to burn her bedding to keep anyone from finding out. Sansa’s face blushed hotly at the memory, but her shame was quickly replaced with dread as she wondered if her maids had found stains on her gowns that betrayed what she had been doing in the godswood the night before. Gods be good. She had taken such pains to make sure that… that she was dry before she covered herself.

She decided to put her worry to good use, and began to create a different memory of last night. She had been praying for a long time, and when she turned to leave, she saw the Hound waiting for her. He had promptly escorted her back to her rooms, and that was the end of it. Sansa knew she had to believe the lie, if only for a little while, so that she could convince the Queen of her innocence if need be. She swallowed her guilt and let herself be escorted to Her Grace’s solar.

“Your Grace, it is so kind of you to receive me,” She curtsied deeply and the Queen beckoned her to sit.

“I trust things are well with you, Sansa.” Cersei studied her critically. “You have grown much in the last year. Your gowns scarcely cover your bosom. I will not have you wandering the Red Keep looking like a kitchen wench. I shall have new gowns made for you straightaway. You should be dressed more suitably for a highborn maid nearly a woman grown.”

Sansa blushed. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are too kind.”

The Queen took a sip of wine, never taking her eyes off of Sansa’s. “I have had reports that you visit the godswood every night, after dark.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I pray to the old gods, for the health and safety of the King,” she said, willing her voice not to quaver. Her heart thudded in her chest as she waited for the Queen to continue.

“Always at night… Why? Do not lie to me.” The softness in the Queen’s voice was frightening.

“Your Grace, all those who pray to the old gods do so at night. There is more power in a godswood at night than at any other time

The Queen tilted her head as she looked at Sansa. “A beautiful, young, highborn girl, almost a woman grown, making trips to the godswood alone late at night… According to Varys, there is talk that you are meeting a lover.”

“No, Your Grace, I would never!”

Cersei Lannister considered her in silence for a few moments longer. “You are no longer free to go unaccompanied to the godswood. I have commanded the Hound to escort you on all of your visits from this day forward. He was my sworn sword before he was Joffrey’s, and is the most loyal man at court. He will see to it that no one has reason to spread filthy gossip about you.”

Sansa blushed and lowered her gaze.

“You are to go only when he is not otherwise on duty. He is not your personal guard.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, for your concern for my safety and my honor,” Sansa replied. “How… How will I know when the Hound can take me to the godswood?”

“He will come to your chambers, I suppose. If you are elsewhere when he comes to fetch you, I doubt he will wait. So you had best make sure that you stay where he can find you, if you want to pray to the old gods. That is all, Sansa. You may leave.”

Sansa curtsied deeply and was ushered out of Cersei’s solar. The interview with the Queen had left her feeling drained. When she was back in her rooms, she sat in the window seat for a long while, looking down at King’s Landing. She was too tired to even think of the Hound for the time being, which was a welcome relief. The tension slowly left her body and until she felt more calm. The rest of the day was spent on her embroidery. As she worked the tiny, repetitive stitches, she finally let her mind wander back to the Hound. She hoped he would come for her tonight. 

When the evening meal was brought for her, she set aside her embroidery but found she could scarcely swallow a bite. Instead, she sipped at her wine, hoping it would steady her. She could no longer distract herself from thoughts of Sandor Clegane. She felt sure he would come for her soon. She was wild with excitement and wanted to make herself beautiful for him, but she was afraid that if she put on a prettier gown or jewels, or even perfume, people would notice and wonder, so she settled for buffing her fingernails and brushing her hair until it shone.

She sat back in her window seat and watched as night fell across King’s Landing. It wouldn’t be long now before the Hound came for her. A tiny voice inside her head whispered that he might be on duty tonight, but she brushed it away impatiently. She wanted the Hound, she needed the Hound, and a night all alone in her chambers without seeing him even once would be unbearable.

Her anxiety mounted as one hour passed, and then two. It is still early. She started pacing the room, which helped a little. She would have preferred to be walking up the serpentine to the godswood right now—even without the Hound, she told herself, and almost believed it. She hated being caged in her room like this, but she had to stay here or else she might miss him.

The knock on her door startled her so much her heart almost stopped. She rushed to open it, but she needn’t have bothered. One of her bed maids was already entering the room. Sansa’s heart sank and she had to swallow back the tears. The Hound will not come tonight. The maid laid the fire in her fireplace but did not light it, at Sansa’s request. When she was alone again, she blew out the candles, undressed, and climbed into bed and lay there in the darkness with a heavy heart, throat choked with the effort of suppressing her emotions. Tomorrow. He will come tomorrow. She missed him.

But the Hound did not come for her the next night, or the next. On the third night, Sansa cried for hours before she could sleep. When she awoke the next day, her eyes were so swollen she could barely open them. She placed a cloth soaked in icy cold water to her face to bring down the swelling, but the tears started again. Her longing for the Hound was painful. How stupid I was to believe the Queen, she thought. The Queen had tricked her into staying in her rooms instead of wandering the Red Keep. The Hound would not be coming for her, at all. He must have truly been following orders when he met her in the godswood the last time she saw him. And she had thrown herself at him wantonly, so of course he had responded. Why would he not? He was a man. A man like the Hound, with his magnificent body and his prowess as a warrior, must have very strong… needs, and had simply been taking care of those needs with Sansa that night in the godswood, instead of with a… a whore in a winesink.

I have needs, too. But she was too consumed by sadness to take care of them. Sansa knew she must compose herself or Maester Pycelle might be called to examine her, and she could not bear that. It took everything in her to concentrate on her embroidery that day and push thoughts of the Hound out of her mind every time they tried to sneak in. She forced herself to eat a little during her noonday and evening meals, and by the time the last dishes had been cleared away for the day, she was feeling much better.

She was brushing her hair at her dressing table when her maid knocked at the door. “Come in,” she called. It was useless to hope that it would be the Hound. Sansa could not act like a lovesick girl; she was almost a woman grown and must act like one, even when she was alone. The knock came again, louder. Sansa put her brush down in annoyance, marched over to the door, and yanked it open… And found herself staring at the Hound. At his broad, muscular chest, actually, since she had been expecting to see a serving maid. She looked up, looked at the face she had been longing to see for days—the burned side he tried to cover with his fine black hair, and the hooked nose and the gaunt cheekbones and the eyes dark as slate—and thought she had never seen anything so beautiful. She could not help it; a smile as bright as the sun lit her face with joy. He stood stiffly, but something warm flickered in those impassive grey eyes for just a moment before he said, “Little bird, I’m to take you to the godswood if you want to go.”




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