/ Hey guys, I know I've got a few chapters to update, but still I've watched the finale of Game of Thrones and I LOVED it! It was epicness! So, I had an idea and I couldn't help but write this story. Hope you enjoy! xo
Sansa stared at her father's head, the features were twisted into an odd expression she had never seen before. He had looked out at the crowd before he died, searching for something, but Sansa couldn't quite remember what. The crowds were too busy yelling 'Traitor!' at her father, bustling and elbowing each other viciously to see the execution of Eddard Stark, traitor of King Joffrey.
Joffrey had left, leaving Sansa alone on the bridge. She dabbed at the cut on her bottom lip with the cloth the Hound had given her. Sansa would have to thank him graciously for his kindness later; the Hound very rarely showed any emotion, especially not that of empathy. She had always wandered about the Hound, especially about how he had gained the contorted side of his face. Apparently his brother had placed his head into a fire, which was grisly, Sansa had immediately felt a pang of sorrow deep inside her.
Sansa took one last look at her father, a thin mist welling up in her blue eyes as she did. Her brother, Robb, had probably heard the news of their father's death by now and he would be ferral, wanting to kill every one of the Lannisters. Sansa hoped he did, and that he did it slowly and painfully - she wanted to watch Jeoffrey suffer. Her feet carried her away from the wall of heads and to her chamber. Sansa stood in front of her mirror and stared intently from herself, her eyes were puffy and red from where she had been crying over her father's death.
"You're hideous," Sansa muttered to herself, the reflection in the mirror repeating it with a taunting tone. She wanted to break down and cry again. The Lannisters had caused everything, her father's death, Arya's disappearance, her brother's war. It was all their fault and soon they would pay.
"No..." A voice interrupted her thoughts. Her head whipped aorund to where the voice had come from; the Hound. He had taken his armour off and instead was wearing robes that dangled around his masculine body, his eyes were fixated on Sansa's face and the weird thing was Sansa didn't feel uncomfortable. "You're beautiful, especially your hair, I always loved fiery-haired women," he mused, a small smile curving one side of his lips.
Sansa laughed, a hoarse, croaky sound but nevertheless a laugh.
"What is so funny, m'Lady?" The Hound asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he did. Sansa shook her head, lifting her dress up as she walked over to the Hound.
"The funny thing is, I am not a Lady - My father was Lord Stark, and now he is dead..." She paused, her teeth gritting together in pure anger. "And now I am no Lady... I used to be that of a wolf - proud and vicious, but now what am I? Joffrey's wife, tied and chained to him for good! I do not want to be reminded of my father's death every time someone calls me that... I am not a Lady, Hound and especially not to Joffrey." Sansa blew out a frustrated sigh, her eyes flickering to the tiled floor, a small tear escaping from her eye and it began trailing down her cheek, leaving a wet trail.
"Don't cry... Joffrey is a fool, he always has been," he hooked his finger underneath Sansa's chin and he forced her to look up at her. "Believe me, fire-hair." The Hound whispered, a chuckle surpassing his lips.
Sansa stared at the Hound's eyes, forcing herself to smile up at him, but her eyes couldn't help but flicker down to the burnt side of his face, it always caught her attention.
"It's rude to stare... Would you like to touch it?" The Hound asked, sarcastically. His eyes widened as Sansa reached up and gently stroked at the twisted, contorted side of his face. It looked ugly and horrific when it was up-close, but it was smooth as if it were normal skin.
"What happened?" Sansa's words left her mouth before she had time to stop it, and instantly she regretted it as a pained look flashed over the Hound's face. "I'm sorry for asking."
"It's fine... My brother, he burnt the side of my face when I was younger, I have been living with it ever since." The Hound murmured, his shoulders rising in a light shrug as if it were nothing.
"That's terrible!" Sansa cried out, her lips framing into a cringe. She could just imagine the scene, the Hound's brother violently shoving his brother's face into a fire. She could hear the Hound's cries as if it were reality. Sansa reached up, on her tip-toes and her lips met the burnt side of his face. She gave him a light peck on the cheek, meant for a sign of sympathy. As she pulled back, the Hound grasped her wrists and their faces lingered near each other's. As he breathed Sansa could feel the heat of it on her face, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
"We shouldn't be -," Sansa began, but was instantly cut off by the Hounds's lips as they collided against hers. She was stunned for a moment, but she couldn't help but enjoy it, Sansa's lips reacted and they began moving and moulding against his. Sansa placed her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer to her, her chest gently pressing against his. Voices echoed in the hallway, along with fast steps coming towards Sansa's chamber. The Hound pulled away instantly, leaving Sansa wanting more, the taste of his lips lingering in the back of her throat.
"Hound!" Joffrey's angered voice drifted into the chamber. Instantly the Hound obeyed, scurrying off to find the King. As he reached the door, he glanced back at Sansa, a polite smile on his face.
"Until next time, fire-hair," He mused, a wink following afterwards. And then he was gone, leaving Sansa alone, her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. She lifted her hand up and her fingers lightly rubbed along her lips.
"I'll be waiting." Sansa whispered to herself, a bright grin crossing her lips as she fell back onto her bed, wanting more of the Hound.