Destiny Interrupted

A Song of Ice and Fire. Sansa/Sandor. R. 300 words.

Grim-faced, he stalks her in her dreams.

Dawn Approaches

Grim-faced, he stalks her in her dreams. Sansa flees through endless corridors of rough-hewn stone, down spiral steps that descend for miles, over fields cloaked grey with mist. Always she runs with only two feet beneath her, stumbling and never fast enough.

“Sing.”

As in waking, her voice eludes her, lodged frozen in her chest. She dreads the nights that the Hound catches her as much as the nights that stretch on, empty of everything save the terror that she can not bear to face in the light of day.

“Pretty as a peach,” he says, big arms swooping around her from behind. She squirms and his laugh is most cruel in the way it starts a shiver low in her body, warmth pooling in the wake and spreading like syrupy poison through her blood.

Sansa hazily remembers other dreams of running, when she flew with four legs that ate the distance and where she never felt alone.

“And how do you taste?” The Hound lifts her skirts and she falls, a dizzy descent from the cell where she had seen Lysa fly. How free she is for just this moment. How terrified of dying. Almost she loses her fear and welcomes the ground reaching up to swallow her. It is then that he catches her, saves her with his arms tight around her, solid and strong and real enough that wetness finds her face as easily as it finds her core.

Beneath the blankets, her body has woken before her. Her sex is flush, slick between her legs, and her breasts are tight and tingling. She aches and yet she can not risk pleasuring herself with Petyr nestled so close.

Quietly and carefully, Sansa wipes her face. Dawn approaches.

*

End