Chapter Text
“If you could take anyone into your bed, who would it be?”
Sansa stared at her raven-haired maid inside her softly-lit bedchamber late in the night, the sight of her blurred due to the amount of wine she had drunk. Bolder now from the sweet arbor red, Sansa leaned in closer to Shae atop the bed and whispered, “The one outside my door.”
Shae gasped, then giggled wildy afterward. “M’lady!”
“Shhh! If we are caught drinking, stupid Joffrey will have me beat.”
“We won’t be caught,” her maid said confidently. “I thought m’lady would enjoy a belated nameday gift-- you only turn six-and-ten once.”
Sansa smiled drunkenly and took another sip of the wine. “I haven’t had this much fun in a year.”
“I’m glad, m’lady,” Shae said, far more sober than Sansa was.
That’s because she’s older than I am, she thought. That and because stupid Joffrey doesn’t forbid her from drinking.
“Who would you take into your bed?” Sansa asked playfully.
A wicked smile formed on her maid’s lips. “Guess.”
Sansa giggled into the palm of her hand. “I wouldn’t know!”
“But you would-- you know him, m’lady.”
“I do?” That excited her more. Reaching over to place her cup down onto the table beside her bed, Sansa stared at her maid for a long while and finally guessed. “One of the stewards?”
Shae grimaced. “No, m’lady. He’s higborn.”
Sansa’s hands rushed to cover her gaping mouth, but she was so drunk that she accidentally slapped herself in the face. Shae erupted into laughter at the sight. “Did you say highborn ?”
“And golden-haired,” her maid added with a smirk.
Sansa suddenly felt sick at the mention of golden hair. “Ew, not Joffrey!”
“Gods, no, m’lady! I see how he mistreats you. Fuck him.”
Sansa gasped but was soon giggling brazenly at her maid's slight to the king, her despicable golden-haired betrothed. When she reached over for her cup, she knocked it off the table, spilling the crimson contents onto the floor. “Seven hells,” she cursed.
“Here, take mine,” Shae said, handing her the cup.
Sansa meant to have only one sip, but that one sip turned into a lengthy swig, and soon the cup was dry and empty. “So who? Highborn, golden-haired…”
“And short.”
The delayed realization made her eyes widen. Sansa stood clumsily from the bed in nothing but her white, silken small clothes and dropped the emptied wine cup onto the stone floor, the sound of it discordant to her ears. “Oh, gods! Lord Tyrion!?”
A booming knock came at her door after her shout that nearly made her fall over.
“I think the one you’d like in your bed wants you to open the door,” Shae snickered girlishly.
Sansa’s heart fluttered inside her chest. “Where’s my robe?”
“It’s right in front of you m’lady,” Shae said, gesturing towards the chest at the end of her canopy bed where the robe was draped. “But, don’t put it on.”
“What?” Sansa was startled when the second knock came, the fist hitting the oak far more vigorously than the first.
“Go on,” Shae encouraged her with a perky grin. “Just poke your head out and see what the one you want in your bed wants.”
If she thought she had been drunk before, she was wrong. Sansa felt hot and flushed despite being practically as naked as her nameday, and as she walked towards the door, she stumbled over her own feet several times before reaching the handle. Her fingers stumbled about the latch for a moment until the metal finally lowered, and slowly, Sansa inched the door open just enough for her to stick her face out towards the dark-haired man on the other side. “Yes?” she asked innocently. When he turned around to face her, she saw that he was visibly irritated, and Sansa couldn’t help but to burst into laughter.
The Hound squinted at her suspiciously. “What’s so bloody amusing?”
It took several seconds for her giggling to end, the fit leaving her breathless afterward. “You.”
“Me?” he scoffed. “What do I look like to you, girl? The king’s bloody fool?”
Sansa pressed her lips together in an attempt to maintain her composure, but that only made her laugh harder.
“M’lady,” Shae said behind her, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, “I believe I’ll retire for the night.”
Looking over at her chambermaid, she discovered a roguish smile on her lips, an expression that silently urged her to take the Hound into her room. Or maybe it's only the wine urging me. “Thank you for the wi...cleaning my bedchamber,” Sansa poorly lied.
Shae placed her mouth beside her ear and whispered, “I’m going to slip into Tyrion’s bed now.” Sansa giggled, knowing it was only a jape. However, her maid’s words did sound awfully convincing. “Have a pleasant night, m’lady.”
Mindlessly, she pulled the door wide open for her to exit. It wasn’t until Shae walked into the corridor and departed did Sansa notice that the Hound’s grey eyes were burning into her exposed ivory skin. Had she been sober, she would have blushed and shut the door in an instant. But the wine made her dauntless, shameless, and she kept the door wide open. When a deep exhale escaped him, she felt her nipples harden. His fierce eyes seemed to notice that, too.
“Look at me,” he muttered quietly in the doorway. Sansa lifted her vivid blue Tully eyes directly onto his. Even with her vision blurred, Sansa could see the longing in his eyes, an insatiable hunger. It wasn’t the first time he had looked at her that way. Many times in court Sansa would try to steal glances at her betrothed’s sworn shield, Sandor Clegane, even if for only a second, and just as many times, she had caught him glancing at her in return with a look in his eyes that could only mean desire. Still, his mouth frowned. “The little bird is drunk.”
Minutes ago that would have made her burst into laughter, but now his words, his eyes, were making her bite her bottom lip. He looks so comely tonight. Sansa stood taller and let go of the handle to prove him wrong, but that only resulted in her losing her balance. Had the Hound not grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, she would have fallen face first onto the ground.
His firm grip remained on her upper arm while he lowered his head to whisper into her ear, provoking a variety of lascivious thoughts to cross her mind. “Giggling and reeling—you are drunk, little bird. You’d put half the bastards in the winesinks to shame.”
Sansa’s hands were pressed against his broad chest and she found herself caressing the leather dog’s head sewn on the front of his red woolen tunic with her fingertips. “You’re so soft,” she breathed, almost in awe. When she looked up at the Hound’s expression, there had been a faint smile before he gently nudged her forward.
“Let’s get you into bed, girl. You’d do well to sleep it off, else you’ll be falling over in court on the morrow.” The Hound led her forward into the room with his grip still on her arm, so solid it was as if he never wanted to let go. Once they approached the edge of the bed, he stepped into the puddle of wine she had spilled and shook his head. “Arbor red, no wonder you’re in your bloody cups.”
“I am not!” she said defensively.
“Is that so, little bird?” The Hound gently nudged her forward once again to sit her onto the bed. “You probably don’t even know who you’re talking to.” He sounded sad.
“Sandor Clegane.” Sansa said his name as if she were singing a song. When the name left her lips, she wondered if it only sounded sweet to her because she was drunk. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve never said his name aloud before, she realized. I love his name.
He was silent for a moment, towering over her beside the bed and staring at her with the same aching desire in his eyes. The grip left her arm reluctantly before easing her down onto the bed with both hands on her shoulders. Once she rested on her back, Sansa could feel the arousal that had developed between her legs.
“So, the little bird does know,” he finally remarked with another faint smile. The Hound looked at the table beside her bed and peered into the flagon of wine, shaking his head once again when he discovered that it was empty. He reached down to grab the flagon of water and filled a cup up to the brim. “Drink, girl.”
“I’m not thirsty,” she said stubbornly, crossing her legs once she felt the silken smallclothes soaking through.
His eyes shifted down, and he cleared his throat. “Not now, but you will be. You’re like to feel half a corpse in the morning if you don’t drink some water.” Sandor Clegane placed the cup on her bottom lip, almost sensually. “Drink.”
Sansa kept her eyes locked on his as she sipped the water, listening to his hand tighten around the cup. When he took it away and placed it roughly atop the table, he reached down to grab her blanket at the foot of her bed. With one hand, the Hound tossed it over her nearly nude body, but not before taking one last fleeting glance down at her. Somehow the silent moment together left her more breathless than when she had been laughing.
He leaned down to prop her head up with a second pillow, his long hair brushing against her cheek. “You don’t want to be laying flat if you get sick.” He’s taking care of me, truly, Sansa thought blissfully. Before the Hound could stand back up, Sansa threw her arms around his neck, ungracefully smacking his face in the process, and lifted herself up to steal a kiss.
Sandor Clegane didn’t pull away immediately, but when he did, it was all at once. Her lips never felt so cold, so bare. “Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ve got to go.”
When he turned on his heel, Sansa sat up so quickly the room started to spin. “Wait!” He paused just short of the doorway but made no attempt to look over his shoulder. “Can’t you stay?” the slurred words escaped her.
Her question didn’t just make him look over his shoulder, he turned all the way around to face her and shut the door behind him. “That arbor red is making you chirp some strange things, little bird.”
“Stay,” she said again. Her once girlish, giggling mood was replaced with a deep melancholy. “Please.”
He dropped his eyes from the sight of her pleading and exhaled sharply. “I can’t.”
“It’s so late, stupid Joffrey and everyone else will be asleep,” Sansa continued to persuade him, her head growing dizzier with every word she uttered. “Lay next to me,” she said boldly, lightly patting the space on the bed beside her.
“Seven fucking hells,” she heard the Hound curse to himself, standing motionless in the same spot beside the door. “No.”
Perhaps the rejection would have hit her differently had she been sober instead of drunk, but it stung so bad she felt tears well up in her eyes. “Did you...not like my kiss?”
His gaze shifted abruptly from the floor towards her, and the Hound looked angrier than he had when she first opened the door for him. “Did I not like your kiss?” he said mockingly. “Of course I liked your kiss. I bloody loved it!”
Sansa prayed she heard him correctly and wondered if the wine was playing tricks. His rousing admission made the room spin less. “So, why don’t--”
“You’re drunk,” he said definitively. “You’ll curse yourself on the morrow for what you’re saying to me, girl. And for the...” The Hound turned around and hesitantly placed his hand onto the handle of the door. “Had you asked me while you were sober, there’s no bloody way I would have said no.”
Quicker than she could inhale, Sandor Clegane opened the door and departed her bedchamber. The room started to spin again with his absence. Sansa sipped from the cup of water he had poured for her, fell back against the pillows he had propped up for her, and nuzzled underneath the blanket he had covered her with.
Then I’ll ask him when I am sober, she thought just before closing her eyes to dizzying darkness and drifting off to sleep.