AUTHOR'S NOTE: As always, I'm merely playing with these characters like I used to play with Ken and Barbie. AH. That's a cute idea. Anywho, chapter two. I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
This is the worst shape that he's ever seen her in. There are bruises he is not permitted to see, but when she fell into his arms, he saw a dark mass through a rip in her dress. It didn't look good and it actually frightened him to hear the rasps that were coming from the little bird's lips. Her face was pale, pretty as usual, but losing color quickly.
He scooped her into his arms, one arm under her legs, the other supporting her head against his shoulder. He has never felt so big and powerful as he does now, holding her in his arms. He breaks out into an awkward run, quickly making it to her chambers and kicking the door open, surprising her handmaid. "Get the maester. Now." He growled, placing his broken little bird on her bed as gently as possible.
Sandor moves to leave, but a little whimper reaches his ears and he turns back, looking at her as her little hands reach out and grasp one of his big ones. "Don't go, ser, I only feel safe when you are around."
He grunts in response, but stays near her, hovering over her bed as she seems to pass out again. He's worried because it seems like each breath she takes is hard to handle. He's had his ribs broken numerous times and he can't imagine the pain Sansa is in right now. He was used to it. But she? She was so fragile and dainty that he was certain a lung had been punctured and she'd die right in front of him.
He steps back as the maester rushes into the room with her maid on his heels. He knows he should leave and the maid is giving him a look that says the same thing, but she softens and nods, knowing that no matter what she says, he won't leave. With a smirk, she holds a finger up to her lips and walks to the door to bar anyone else form coming in. But she watches him and he can feel her eyes on him the whole time.
He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot before finally settling into a chair that's much too small for him. It creaks underneath him and for a moment he's certain it will break, but just like his little bird, it's stronger than it seems.
Sandor… No, the Hound can't help but look as the maester carefully disrobes his little bird, leaving her in only in her small clothes. He sees her for the first time and finds himself growing hard, but his mind fights it. This was not right. Nothing in his life ever seemed improper until he met Sansa fucking Stark. Now he found himself living by her possible judgments. It was fucking pathetic.
He sees a deep dark bruise blossoming underneath her right breast, another smaller one right below it. He hears a sharp intake of breath as the maester presses his fingers gently upon each mark. "Careful, man." He growls. The maester shoots him a look of contempt before continuing in his exploration.
"I will leave some milk of poppy for her. Breathing will be labored for the next few days. I recommend wrapping her midsection as tightly as possible to keep her ribs in place. This is to prevent them from further damage. She needs some time to heal." The maester looks up at Sandor then and their eyes meet. There is sadness in the older man's eyes. They both know she won't have the time to heal. That this time tomorrow, the same thing may be happening to her again. That if it does, she may die.
Seven Hells. He thinks as the maid rushes forward to let the maester out and then stares pointedly at Sandor.
"I'm going. But I'll be back." Just try to stop me, he thought to himself with a wicked grin. As he leaves, the door is barred behind him and he can imagine the maid rushing to her lady's side to try to help her in any way she can. He wishes he could do the same. Instead, he will go to his room and stew silently, drinking jug after jug of wine until he can handle the fact that his little bird is broken. Hopefully, she can be put back together.