Author: unfortunatetypo PM
Sansa plays in the garden with the other girls. The Hound watches. Outtake from episode 15.Rated: Fiction K - English - Sansa S. - Words: 412 - Reviews: 5 - Favs: 8 - Follows: 1 - Published: 05-05-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8089793
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It was Sansa's turn to be blindfolded. Right before Myrcella tied it on, she tried to take a good look at their dresses, so she'd know who she'd caught by feel. When Lyla had caught her, she'd squeezed her arm (it wasn't her fault, Lyla didn't know that her hand was right on top of a bruise). But the sound of her voice when she'd whimpered had given her away.
She could hear them giggling and moving around her. She stuck her hands out and swept them, walking forward. She tried not to go too far to the right, so she didn't fall off the step there.
She heard the giggling behind her and spun around. She touched silk, but whoever it was twisted out of her hand quickly. She tried to follow the sound of feet on the grass, but soon she lost it. She wasn't sure which direction she was pointed in any more. She stopped and stood as still as stone and listened. At first, everything seemed silent. But she concentrated very hard, and she swore she could hear faint breathing off to her left. Without moving, she pinpointed where it was coming from. Then, she ran at fast as she could in that direction, arms straight out…
Only to have her hands hit unyielding metal. At first she wasn't sure what she was touching, but then she heard the creak and scrape of armour as he shifted. "The Hound," she cried out. "I've caught the Hound."
"That doesn't count. He's not even playing. He's just been standing there guarding us the whole time." Myrcella's voice was somewhere behind her, and she moved as she talked. She felt the Hound's breastplate vibrate in time with his chuckle. She wondered if he was bored standing here watching girls playing games. He used to always be at Joffrey's side, but now it seemed that Joffrey had grown tired of him.
He took her shoulders in his hands (softly, because he knew where her bruises were) and turned her around. "Go on, girl," he said. As he did, he laid his hand on her back. She could feel the knuckles of his fist, except for his long index finger, which stretched diagonally across her shoulderblade. He gave her a little push with the tip of his finger. She ran in that direction, arms straight out.