AN: First, an apology because it has been years since the last update of this story and I know I left it at a critical plot point and many of you looked forward to the next installment. You'll be glad to know that I rediscovered my muse and, upon reread and reflection, I decided to completely rewrite this story from the very beginning.
To new and old readers alike, happy reading!
Eruanna
The early morning was cool, with crisp snow settling upon the stone windowsill as the wind carried birdsong from the trees of the godswood over the grounds of Winterfell. Goosebumps appeared on the girl's skin as the chamber filled with biting air and white sunlight. Without a glance up from the book balanced in the crook of her lap, Eruanna Snow pulled the window closed and tugged gently at the sleeve of her dress. It was not oft her father instructed her to don her finest clothes, but for this particular morning he had insisted. The royal family were to arrive at Winterfell today. Though it frayed at the hem, and hugged her tight where gentle curves had replaced her childish form, the dress she wore was rather beautiful. A simple gown of grey and periwinkle blue, it had a belt of white pearls, a lightly embroidered bodice and a woollen skirt that no longer swept the stone floors the way it had many years ago.
Twenty pages later, Eruanna closed her book and ran a hand through her long, black curls, looking over to the direwolf curled up at the foot of her bed, deep in slumber. The book told the story of a forest maiden; it was one of her favourites and by the candlelight, she had read over half of it the night before, only stopping when the waking call of the birds could be heard from the godswood below her window. She glanced out of it now, to see how much more snow had gathered on her windowsill.
All of a sudden, her dark eyes widened in alarm at the sight of several grand carriages and white horses coming through the gates of the Winterfell castle. As fast as she could, Eruanna threw down the book and scurried from the windowsill, running down the stone stairs that led to her bedchamber with her skirts in tight fists. She had asked Jon to tell her when the Baratheons were due to arrive but he had obviously forgotten. Racing through the quiet halls past a few startled handmaidens, she eventually arrived at the castle doors with a quickened breath.
The snow fell lightly and her family stood in a row, watching the several Baratheons and Lannisters dismount the horses and climb out of the carriages. After a quick glance around, she found her twin brother standing a little behind the row of Starks beside the wards of Winterfell. She prayed it would go unnoticed that she was late. Careful not to draw any attention to herself, Eruanna inconspicuously slipped past Theon Greyjoy and Morven Karstark to stand beside him, worrying her lip between her teeth. Jon looked at her with a raised brow but thankfully, said nothing. Turning once again to face the Baratheons, they both dropped into a low bow with the other Northernmen to greet the King.
The warmth of King Robert Baratheon's smile could have melted the snow that settled on Eddard Stark's shoulders as they embraced each other, and her father wore a smile that she had not seen on his kind rugged face in many years. Eruanna had met the King once before, about eight years prior. The great, big man had dark hair and a deep laugh that rumbled in his chest. She remembered his large, protruding stomach (though it was larger now than she remembered), and the black beard on his boisterous face. He had come to Winterfell, and when he asked to meet her, he was very kind to her, she recalled. He had asked her about her book and told her a jape about horses. King Robert greeted Lady Catelyn, then each of her father's trueborn children, but Eruanna received only a momentary passing glance. As short as it was, it still unsettled her for she knew through Old Nan and even her father that she resembled her father's deceased sister closely the older she got, and it was no secret the affinity the King bore for Lyanna Stark.
Behind Eddard Stark and King Robert stood a tall, blonde woman who could be none other than Queen Cersei Lannister. Eruanna only had to look at her to feel intimidated. Her crown of golden locks were arranged in a Southern style and the steely green gaze fixed on her beautiful but fierce face did nothing but unnerve those around her. A blood red gown clung to the Queen's body and the fur on her cuffs were whiter than the snow settling on the ground. She stood beside the most handsome man Eruanna had ever laid eyes on. He had beautiful green eyes and hair like spun gold, thick and shining brighter than the sun, though she found his resemblance to Cersei quite uncanny.
This is the Kingslayer, she realised.
Then a hobbling dwarf man with mismatched eyes from what she could see, next to two children: a boy and girl, who Eruanna presumed were Queen Cersei's eldest children. The girl was not tall like her mother, but rather shapely instead. She decided the girl to be younger than herself but she had an air of confidence about her, one that Eruanna lacked. Princess Cyrenna Baratheon wore a red gown too and had dark blonde hair that fell down her back effortlessly. Her imperious eyes scanned the line of Starks, and Eruanna caught them lingering on Robb for longer than what would have been deemed appropriate had they not been due to marry. The boy stood shorter than his sister, and looked younger too. He also had blonde hair, but it was lighter than Princess Cyrenna's. Little attempt was made by the boy to hide his contemptuous sneer and it read clear on his face that he would rather be elsewhere.
This can only be Prince Joffrey, Eruanna thought.
The Baratheon children came forward with their mother to be welcomed by the Starks before them. With the utmost reluctance, the Prince greeted her family, and when he had finished she heard him complain too loudly about Winterfell, calling back for his dog as he walked away. She peered behind him to see whether the dog would obey his boy master. They had kennels in Winterfell too, but Eruanna found herself not very fond of dogs; they oft frightened her, especially when they barked and growled, but when they were only pups she did not mind as much. Only then did Eruanna take notice of the giant figure who stepped out behind the boy, casting a huge shadow over his surroundings. He wore mail and armour, the metal plates a dull grey and bigger than any she had ever seen before. The hulking man loomed high above the people standing around him, and as he started to follow the Prince obediently her brow furrowed in confusion. It was then that she noticed that the massive helm obscuring most of his face took the form of a snarling dog's head and it suddenly made sense.
Still, he is not a dog to call him such.
As if he had heard her thought, the man's harsh eyes snapped to hers suddenly. Instantly, she froze and looked down to the white ground in front of her, but she still felt his cold stare on her, cooler than the snow melted on her warm cheeks, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Unease flooded Eruanna's body and her hand came to her throat, tugging and twisting the delicate skin there. She kept her gaze down at the snow until it was time to enter the castle again and said a word to no one.
Sandor
The Great Hall of Winterfell was stuffy, dim and filled with the hustle and bustle of maids and servants, all set to serving the Baratheon king and his family. The Starks sat with the Baratheons and Lannisters, politics and other nonsense being discussed. The king already had some serving wench pulled into his lap, laughing boisterously, oblivious to the cutting eyes of his wife who sat between Eddard Stark's wife and Prince Joffrey. Sandor Clegane had no desire to stand as a shadow behind the prince any longer than necessary when there was no threat posed to the boy leave for choking on his dinner, so he had taken his leave and lumbered out of the hall. The air cooled in the corridors.
He was not familiar with the castle, but wanted- needed to find somewhere quiet to enjoy his drink in peace. As he ambled heavily through the dingy corridors, he reminded himself to ask where the best whorehouse was in the wintertown. Let's see if the miserable fuckers know how to fuck at least. The corridors of Winterfell were dark, lit only by the sconces that lined the walls, the orange flames stirring against the dark stone walls. His aimless walking came to a halt when, obscured in the shadow of the corner, he noticed a small stone staircase. The gods only knew where it led, but the torch there had burnt out, and the shadow beneath it seemed a welcoming place to drink his ale in peace. So, with his wineskin in hand, he sat down on one of the steps and drank, the twenty minutes of silent sullen drinking necessary after spending the day with the cunt prince.
Now, as he lifted his wineskin to his mouth, a sudden movement in the corner of his eye roused him from his thoughts. Sandor lowered his wineskin and moved his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword as a great white beast rounded the corner. When the wolf took notice of him sitting there, it approached him with a fierce growl, and he pushed himself from the steps and curled his fingers around his sword, ready to draw it in a flash, to butcher the beast where it stood.
"Sweetling, come back to me. What's the matter?"
The gentle voice which broke the silence belonged to a girl who hurried forward from around the corner only a moment later, arms outstretched towards the wolf. As she reached the beast's side, she lifted her head and gasped softly as she saw him. Or rather, saw the massive figure shrouded in darkness, for he still stood in the shadows.
"P-pardon me, my lord. Come along, sweetling, let's go," came the pathetic stutter of a girl desperate to get away. He caught sight of her properly as she moved under the light of the next torch along to pass. It took him only a moment to recognise the girl who disturbed his peace as the one who was late to greet the Baratheons.
"Stop."
The girl froze immediately at his command, and he saw her dark eyes grow wide for a moment, but when they met his gaze she instantly lowered her chin, black curls tumbling forward over her face, and did not dare move to fix her hair back into place.
"I - I did not mean to disturb you, I apologise, my lord." Quiet as her voice was, it did not need to be any louder for the fear in her voice to reach his ears, and the muscles in her neck were taut as a bowstring, as if he'd been holding a sword at her throat. Around the book she clutched against herself, her knuckles were white, her figure stiff under his gaze. The wolf stood close at her side, watching him raptly.
A Stark, then. Sandor had taken little notice of the Stark children when they arrived, but he had heard Joffrey speak with his mother about one of the two daughters of Eddard Stark, Sansa - but she had red hair, so this must have been the other daughter, though she looked too old.
"What, is a warm hall and a feast too good for you, girl? Does Lord Stark know he's got a child running around the castle? You don't know who could be lurking in the shadows, child," Sandor rasped lowly, his gaze unmoving from the girl.
"I was visiting the godswood, my lord," she replied hesitantly, her voice as soft as the caress of whore's fingers. But this girl looked no whore, big eyes wide, innocence writ all over her pretty face. Her hand rested against her throat, the pale skin of her neck worried between her thumb and finger.
"I'm not your lord, girl. And I'm not a knight either, so don't start with that 'ser' shit," he said and saw the girl stiffen as the sharp inhale she took through her nose reached his ears. These highborn maids were all the same, singing false courtesies and thinking dogs dumb enough to believe them. "Out with it, then. Which one are you? What's your name, girl?"
The girl pressed her pink lips together and eyed him silently for a moment, peering up through thick lashes. She stood tall for a girl of her age, perhaps fifteen, with long slim arms held close to her body protectively under her cloak. He could not make out much beneath it, but at the very least he could see there was little shape to her; she had a lean body and a narrow waist, not the hips or tits of a woman grown. But what she lacked in hips and tits, she made up for in looks. Though plain, she was very pretty, Sandor admitted to himself. Her cheeks were pink, perhaps because of the cold, perhaps because of his gaze.
She looked away. "Eruanna Snow, if it please my lord," came her quiet response, though her voice did not sound very Northern to him. The snow that had settled itself upon the top of her head and on the shoulders of her cloak began to melt from the heat of the torch above her.
A bloody bastard, he thought. And a courteous one, at that.
"Snow." That makes sense. The girl had her father's solemn look, with a long face common in the Starks. "That'll be why you're not at the feast with your sisters, then," he said before lifting his wineskin to his mouth.
"Yes, my lord. Lady Catelyn forbade it; she believed my brother's and mine own presence at the feast would offend the King and his company." She paused and looked away. "I - I do not know whether we will be granted leave to attend the wedding either." The fear in her voice made it difficult to discern any other emotions present, but her gaze was forlorn, fixed at her feet.
"Not let in for the feast, not likely let in for the wedding. Tell me, what does the honourable Lord Eddard Stark keep his bastards around for? To piss off his wife, is that it? I'm sure she loves that."
The girl drew her brows together, her fingers rubbing against the base of her throat, and he knew he'd hit a nerve. After a moment, she lifted her chin and answered. "My lord father believed it his duty to raise us alongside his trueborn children. Lady Catelyn does us a great kindness by allowing us to live here." Her voice trembled.
Great kindness, my arse.
"Why in Seven Hells are you trembling? You haven't even seen my face yet, girl." Her eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at that, and he felt a pang of amusement. Sandor reclined back against the stone wall of the staircase.
He saw her pause then, blinking a few times, the thick lashes that lined her eyes fluttering with the movement, but she did not look to him again when she opened her mouth, her fear poorly veiled beneath a polite and gentle tone. "Mayhap if you step beneath a torch rather, I could see with whom I have the pleasure of speaking..."
"'Pleasure,' is it?" he barked with a scoff. "Perhaps I'd believe you if you weren't about to shit yourself and ruin that pretty cloak of yours." As he lifted his hand to gesture to the heavy cloak on her shoulders, the wolf growled suddenly and loudly, hackles raised.
Sandor snarled as he moved his hand to grasp the hilt of his sword in warning. "Control that bloody beast, girl, unless you want it to join the feast in there on a bloody skewer,"
"Rosamund, stop it," the girl hissed down to her wolf desperately. "I - I apologise. She is not normally like this. Gods, I don't know what is the matter with her."
"Don't you?" he rasped and it echoed down the dark corridor. Sandor stepped out of the shadows and the girl's eyes grew wide.
Eruanna
When the man obliged her wish and stepped under the torchlight, she froze, her face blanching.
While the feast went on, Eruanna had visited the godswood instead, as she did each day. She had sat beneath the great weirwood tree, clasped her hands together and, with eyes closed tight, prayed and prayed as the snow fell. Each day, she would pray for herself, for Jon, for their mother - whoever she was, their father, her siblings, and everyone else who might need a prayer. Today she prayed that her father would grant her leave to attend the wedding of her brother, Robb, and the Baratheon princess. She had never been to a wedding before but often dreamt of her own, of her father walking her through the godswood, of her husband placing her marriage cloak where her maiden cloak had rested on her shoulders, but Robb was to be married before the Faith in Lady Catelyn's sept. As the moon had found its place high and bright in the night sky, she left the godswood with Rosamund at her side to return to her chamber. To her horror, as she had turned the corner leading to her staircase, she saw the shadow of a hulking beast sitting on the steps. And worse, he had seen her.
Where the left side of his face was likely once good, it was now a grotesque mass of scar, red and twisted, blemished with cracks and pocked with craters. Peeking through the long dark hair brushed over the horrendous scar remained a hole where his ear might have been. His face was gaunt on the unmarred side, and he had a sharp cheekbone with a strong jaw, tensed. Beneath a dark, heavy brow and a burnt one were grey eyes, sullen with anger and inebriation, burning holes through her skin. His face was the physical form of hatred and anger and as he stared at her, Eruanna wanted nothing more than to disappear.
"Want to run away, do you?" He spat. "I bet you do. Off you go, then. Fly away, little bird." Under the dancing flames of the torch, the mangled scar seemed to take a life of its own, contorting with each word.
She could not move.
It took her a moment to find her tongue. "I- I was retiring to my bedchamber, my lord." Under a gaze sharp as a daggerpoint, she found it difficult to look at him. His stare pierced her skin, so burning it forced her to glance away.
"This is your cage, is it?" His voice was a low snarl and he used his head to point towards the door at the top of the stairs. Cage? Eruanna nodded very slightly, biting the inside of her cheek. Had he ventured inside her chamber before she arrived? The wineskin at his mouth glugged loudly as he drank deeply, watching her all the while, and she felt as though he could read her thoughts like a book. Her face grew hot and she wondered how much he had drunk.
"How old are you, girl?" The question came rashly but the cold bite in his voice was there all the same. She hesitated. Why would he want to know that?
"I am six and ten. My seventeenth nameday will pass in half a moon. My own and my brother's." She dared not look at him as she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, tense and frightened.
"And you are expecting a large celebration, are you? With singers and a great bloody feast?" He was mocking her, she realised. With a shake of her head, Eruanna swallowed thickly, glancing at him. Goosebumps spread over her arms under the ice of his relentless gaze.
"N-No. No, of course not, my lord." She felt as though she was being scolded, like her father had caught her doing something wrong, and suddenly pressure grew behind her eyes and tears threatened to well up. She stared down at the stone beneath her feet, tugging hard at the skin of her neck.
Don't cry. You aren't a child.
Suddenly, his large fingers were rough around her wrist, prying her hand from her throat. Instantly, she gasped and struggled in vain to pull away from him, but his iron grasp was tight and unyielding. No man had ever laid hands on her like that before. With eyes wide, she watched him take the wineskin first to his mouth and drink from it, before placing it within her hand, dwarfed by his own.
She froze, then frowned deeply, pausing her attempt to get out of his hold.
"Take it, girl," the man growled. "It seems you need it more than I. Maybe it'll help loosen that damned tongue of yours. Didn't I already tell you I'm no bloody lord?"
Eruanna didn't understand. He wants me to drink? Of course, she should have said no and left for her chamber, and she should have forgotten all about this strange little meeting; instead she only stared at the wineskin in her hand, unsure of the appropriate response. "I- I haven't- I've never-"
He let out a laugh which sounded more like a bark. His calloused fingers were still curled tight around her wrist and grew tighter still. "It isn't going to kill you, girl," he told her. "I'd have thought you'd have more buggering guts."
Just give it back to him and leave, she told herself. But after drawing her lip between her teeth and releasing it again, the refusal would not leave her mouth. Instead, she closed her eyes and raised the wineskin to her lips, praying that if she did as he commanded, the man would leave her alone. She only took the tiniest sip but it did nothing to stop the bitter taste dispersing over her tongue, and her cheeks flushed pink under his stare. After swallowing the ale, she did her best to veil her dislike, but she could not stop her face from contorting into a grimace as she suppressed a shudder.
A snort and something that sounded like a chuckle was the response of the man and she realised he was laughing at her. Lowering the wineskin, she eyed him curiously, but the fear was still writ on every inch of her face. When he saw her watching, his eyes locked on to her, his gaze boring so deep it knocked the wind out of her.
"Clegane." He released her wrist, flexing his fingers before resting the hand on the enormous sword hanging from his hip. Wracking her brain, she desperately sought any recognition of the name, but could recall little else than the knowledge that it was a Southron house, sworn to the house of Lannister, but no sigil came to mind, nor words, nor members.
A moment of silence passed between them before Eruanna could find a voice to sing her courtesies the way she had been taught. "I am honoured to meet you, Lord Clegane. I hope Winterfell pleases you, " she said, circling the red marks left on the pale skin of her wrist with a gentle finger.
"Bugger your honours, little bird, and bugger your 'lords' too. It's just Clegane. Or the Hound," he snarled, and it was a vicious noise to the ear, like a blunt sword against a whetstone.
She nodded quickly and her eyes found the stone floor again. "It's nice to meet you," she uttered meekly.
The savage laugh he let out echoed through the empty corridor and made her jump out of her skin. "You like meeting people who scare you, girl?"
"You - you do not - forgive me, I am not scared. I - I apologise if I made you think as much." Her heart thumped hard against her chest and she prayed that she wouldn't faint from the fear.
"I don't scare you? Well, then you're dumber than I thought." The hulking man let out a brutal scoff and his grey eyes cut like broken glass; she felt as though he could see right through her, could see every fear she ever had.
Before she could stop herself, she whispered a curious reply. "Do you think I should be scared of you?"
The man said nothing, only stepped forward and towered over her; it was difficult for her to look at him. He suddenly reached for her again and she recoiled back, but he grasped her wrist and forced her forward with ease, ignoring her gasp of protest. His cold, rough fingers brushed against her slender ones as he pried the wineskin from her hand. Eruanna could still taste the bitter ale on her tongue, a strange, unfamiliar taste of a drink not meant for girls like her, ill-suited to her sweet mouth. He lifted it himself then, brought the rim of the wineskin to his mouth, and drank from it as she had only moments before, a shared perverse kiss that would haunt her sleeping hours. He kept his cruel eyes trained on hers all the while and she found she could not tear hers away - in fact, they only grew wider as she stared back. Out of fear, or fascination, she knew not.
After what felt like a moon, he lowered the wineskin, and leant down so close she cringed away because she thought he meant to kiss her for true.
Instead, he spoke. "If you're not scared, you're a fool."
Though he only murmured, the breath brushing her skin felt more intimate than any kiss ever could, and her face blazed red, the fearful tremble of her hands hindered by his tight fingers. She gasped softly in horror.
Without another word, the Hound released her from his suffocating grasp. As he turned abruptly and walked away, Eruanna's eyes followed him down the corridor, watching him disappear into the dark shadows where beasts like him belonged, his words ringing deafening in her ears.
AN: I hope you all enjoyed the opening chapter! Please leave a fave and a review if you enjoyed it or have any comments - they're always welcomed! The next chapter is in the works and hopefully will be completed over the next few weeks.
You are of course free to imagine the characters however you please, but my personal choice of faceclaims are Richard Armitage in Robin Hood for Sandor, and Adelaide Kane in Reign or Olivia Hussey in Romeo and Juliet for Eruanna.
Title: The Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks.