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I Can Take You With Me. {Part One.}
Sandor Clegane hated fire, for obvious reasons. The water was on fire, the bloody men were on fire, everything in sight was on fire. Sandor had gone into this fools battle with a clear head, but the moment the Blackwater became consumed with green vicious fire, cackling and roaring with anger, and the scream of the doomed men fell on his ears, he had lost himself completely. No amount of wine could urge him forward, he would be daft to run into that bloody mess. He had lost all of his men to that buggering fire, and he wasn't going to stay long enough to be burned again, just the smell of the burning flesh within the air was making his stomach churn with on unwelcome memories. So, he turned on his heel and ran away from the fire, cutting down any fool who dare got in his way, it was the only thing he could think of doing, he needed to get away.
Once he got his hands on some good Dornish wine, and distanced himself from the raging Wild Fire, he could hear the imp calling for him, taunting him.
"Could I get your some ice milk? And a nice bowl of rasberries too?" the imp asked sarcastically, causing Sandor's ruined lips to twitch in irritation. The imp thought him craven. He wasn't craven, he was smart. Only an idiot would go out there to fight in that burning mess.
"Eat sh*t, dwarf." he rasped, taking a long swig of his wine.
"Dog! I command you to go back out there and fight!" his king demanded, the little prick's skinny body shaking underneath all that fancy armor.
"You're kingsguard, Clegane. We must beat them back or they're going to take this city! Your king's city!" the imp urged, though it hardly phased Sandor. He was done. He was done with it all. They could think him craven or not, he didn't care anymore. The king can die just fine on his own, he didn't need him there holding his hand the whole bloody way. And so, he left. He was his own dog now.
The battle of Blackwater caused Sandor to realize something, he didn't give a sh*t about anything or anyone. He didn't kill for the king, he killed because he liked too, because he needed too. For Sandor, killing was the sweetest thing there was, he killed for himself and no one else. Not the Kingsguard, not the king, not the city. Sandor was a dog, but he was loyal to no one and no one could put him on a leash. As he drank his wine he wandered about the castle, looking for saftey from the flames, or anything close to saftey. He walked for what it seemed like hours to him until he came across a familiar looking door. Sandor then angrily kicked the door open and walked inside the room, it belonged to the little bird. He waited for hours until the little bird came flying back to her golden cage, though he did not reach out to her right away. He merely watched her in the darkness, her womanly frame illuminated by the green fire which was still burning on the Blackwater.
It only took a few moments for her to notice him, she was a clever little bird. He probably looked like a down right mess, covered in blood and drunk off his arse. He advanced on her, placing his large calloused hand over her pretty little mouth.
"If you scream, I'll kill you." he rasped in a low dangerous tone, he could feel the little bird tremble beneath his touch. He then slowly removed his hand from her person and staggered backwards, tossing his empty flagon aside. "I'm going." he rasped.
"Where?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"North. Might be, could be. Anywhere away from the flames." he said bitterly, feeling his large frame swaying.
"Why...why did you come here?" the little bird chirped in a small voice.
"You promised me a song little bird, a song about knights and fair maidens. Have you forgotten?" he rasped, as he peered down at her with his intense grey eyes.
"I can't." she said in a hushed tone, and before he could even think on in, he reached out and grabbed her roughly.
"Let go! You're scaring me!" she gasped, but her struggle was no good. She was far too small and frail to fight him off.
"You're scared of everything. Look at me. Look at me!" he growled, pulling her closer to him.
"I could keep you safe little bird. They're all afraid of me, no one would hurt you again...or I'd kill them." he rasped, he didn't know why he presented her with this offer, but he did. He would take her away just like a gallant knight from her idiotic songs, she would like that, wouldn't she? Though by the look upon her pretty little face, he could tell he still disgusted her. Stupid little bird. "Still can't bare to look at me?" he rasped in distaste, of course she couldn't look at him. He didn't have a pretty face, he was no Knight of Flowers. He then gave her arm a hard wrench , pulling her around and shoving her onto the bed. He then whipped out his dagger and pressed it to her pretty pale throat, the little bird should be afraid of him. He was a killer. "I'll have that song from you, Florian and Jonquil, you said." he rasped, pressing the cold steel against her throat. Though no sound came to her, much to his annoyance so he pressed the dagger harder to her throat. "Go on, sing. Sing for your life, little bird." he growled. He was going to take that song before he left, it didn't matter how he did it.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
save our sons from war, we pray,
stay the swords and stay the arrows,
let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, strength of women,
help our daughters through this fray,
sooth the wrath and tame the fury,
teach us all a kinder way.
Sandor allowed her pretty little voice to wash over him, her voice was just as sweet as he thought it would be. He then slowly removed the blade from her throat, his eyes softening as he stared upon the red haired beauty under him, her hair fanning out around her like a halo. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, that was certain. Though as he listened to her sweet song, he felt tears in his eyes. It was the very same song his sister would sing to him as a pup, it brought back so many memories he had wished to forget. Gregor had taken her from him, he had taken the only person in his life who had ever mattered to him. His sister was the only one who didn't treat him differently, at a young age she filled his heart and head with foolish little songs and stories. She sat at his bedside when Gregor pushed his face into the burning coals. She was always there, until Gregor split her in half with his great sword, all because he didn't want his little brother to have anyone. He wanted his little brother to be alone.
Sandor was then taken out of his grim thoughts when he felt the little bird press her hand to cup his right cheek, which shocked him. He wasn't expecting such a tender gesture, not after the fright he had given her. Then before he could even realize what he was doing, the tears in his eyes began to fall down his cheeks. The Hound never cried. Until now. He leaned into her touch, as the tears continued to flow freely. "Little bird," he rasped, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. He then pushed himself from the bed, without casting a glance her way.
He reached up to his shoulders and ripped the white, blood soaked, and charred cloak from his person and allowed it to fall to the floor. Though before he reached the door, the little bird sat up straight in her bed, her pretty pink lips parted and her eyes wide and alert.
"Take me with you." she said, her voice breathless.
He then slowly reached out and grabbed her arm, with unusual gentleness. "Keep your pretty head down, and don't talk unless I tell you." he said in a rough tone. He then reached around her and plucked a dark cloak that was draped over a near by chair. He then handed it to her. "Put this on, keep your hood up. We're leaving."
And so The Hound stole the pretty chirping bird from her cage as the battle raged on.
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