"Mama, I like my life with Sandor," Sansa argued quietly, but unashamed. "He makes me happy." It was a severe understatement, but Sansa knew better than to gush about her joy being with a man ten years her senior. She knew it wouldn't help her cause.
"I am sure the pair of you live comfortably," Catelyn said with a purse of her lips that suggested otherwise. "I just worry about how you two may handle any...additions God may give you."
Additions. Babies, Sansa realized with a grimace. Her mother was talking about babies. She bit her lip to keep her face from giving anything away. Sansa had been on birth control for the first year of their marriage (and the six months prior to it when they'd first started having sex), but she couldn't very well say that to her mother. Both Catelyn and Ned Stark felt very strongly against using any device which might go against the will of God, as they said. Sandor had snorted when Sansa tried to explain it to him, and said if she wanted to have a bastard, that was her choice.
Hence, Sansa felt extremely uncomfortable whenever the topic of babies and Sandor came up with her mother (which was happening increasingly often, as of late). Catelyn wanted grandchildren. All her children were old enough (to pretend) to be independent from her – Robb was 22 and Rickon was 13 – and Sansa saw the signs of empty-nest syndrome encroaching on her mother, with each year that passed. Three of her children had moved out (Arya stayed with Jon, their cousin, and his wife Dany, in the summer months when she wasn't in university).
"Sandor and I can tackle any challenges life gives us together," Sansa said shortly with a frown.
"Yes, but darling, these things cost money! Not only for the pregnancy, but the maternity leave, the first year of baby supplies alone, taking out a college fund (it's never too early to start, dear). I just... How much are you saving a month?" Catelyn ushered her to her seat while they waited for the rest of the family to join them. "I don't want to sound controlling, but your father put aside at least one hundred dollars every month right from the start of our marriage, and times have changed since then. Heavens! Do you know what I saw on the TV the other day? Some soap your sister was watching – Arya! What filth were you watching last week?"
Arya slunk over to the table, grabbed a bread roll and shoved it in her mouth. "Vampire Diaries," she replied, mouth stuffed and over-flowing with crumbs. Sansa wrinkled her nose, both at the television show and her sister's poor manners.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, young lady." Catelyn frowned at her youngest girl, before turning her attention back to Sansa.
"I can set up an appointment with your father's accountant, Varys – you remember Varys, don't you? He came to your wedding, if I recall."
"He bought us a telescope," Sansa said with a nod. Yes, her mother would know who had been invited, since she had planned half of it herself. Sansa found she couldn't have really cared less what adjustments her mother made to the wedding, so long as it was Sandor standing at the end of the aisle.
"Oh how wonderful. I – oh dearest, why don't you get drinks for the men?" Catelyn smiled up at Ned, who had just gone to sit down. The table was set and the piping hot food was ready to be dished onto everyone's plate. Sandor took a seat next to Sansa, who was seated across from her mother. His hand came to rest on her thigh, rubbing it affectionately. He was always best at showing his love with actions, not words.
Sansa smiled up at him, grateful that everyone had arrived and that her mother could no longer pester her about babies. It wasn't that Sansa didn't like babies, or even that she didn't want one, but the assumption her mother had made that she was trying to have one immediately made her squirm uncomfortably.
Ned came back with arms laden with beer, and passed one out to all the men (Arya reached for one, too, but a cutting look from Catelyn swiftly changed her mind).
The menu was roasted beef and scalloped potatoes, served with grilled vegetables and an array of antipasto. Beside her, Sandor began to heap meat onto his plate after offering Sansa first choice. She took a slice and opted for more vegetables, unlike her husband.
"Pass the potatoes, dear," Catelyn asked her youngest daughter, who was sitting sullenly at the table and hadbeen sulking all night. Sansa knew Arya was smarting from their parents' instructions – family only, no boyfriends or girlfriends – but she didn't really see why Arya was so forlorn about it. For the past two years, Arya had been dating a boy named Gendry Waters who was funny and charming and relaxed, which made for an excellent counter to Arya's rampant nature. It was about time, Sansa had privately felt, that Arya moved on from the year-long crush she'd maintained on her fighting coach and idol, Jaqen. They'd never amounted to anything more than friends, and Arya was miserable when he'd left to pursue other interests (both in fighting, and in women). Sansa was glad her little sister had met a boy who was plainly head over heels for her, but still thought it was a little ridiculous to be welcoming him into family functions.
I'm married to Sandor, and mother and father still haven't truly accepted him, she noted sourly, trying to ignore the fact that Catelyn had yet to say two words to her only son-in-law.
Everyone else liked Sandor well enough, and Rickon and Jon got along great with him. Rickon thought he was funny, and Jon enjoyed having another male who liked horses as much as he did. Robb was too busy with Talisa anymore to give Sandor much thought, and Theon – the boy who had been another brother to Sansa growing up – had been strangely absent from their lives. Even Arya had warmed up to the scarred former-fighter, between the few tips he'd given her and the autograph of her favorite boxer (Sansa couldn't remember his name, it wasn't the sort of information she held onto), as well as his strange acquaintanceship with Gendry.
Ned seemed to like his eldest daughter's choice in partner well enough, but Sansa knew he had taken Sandor out back to have a few private words right before they had gotten engaged. Sandor never told her what her father had said (or done), but the two men had gotten on easier after that.
"Sandor!" Bran exclaimed, seizing on the lull in conversation to talk to his newest brother. "You'll never guess where I'm working for the summer. No, you have to guess. Guess."
Eyebrows raised, Sandor studied Bran's face in concentration, as though he could read the answer off the contours of his face. "McDonalds?"
"What? No. Who wants to work at McDonalds?"
Sandor chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "I worked there. Not so bad. Money's money, kid."
"Oh," Bran shrugged it off, unconcerned. "Well, I guess. But no, you're wrong. I'm working at the dealership off of Brackton! You know—"
"Aye, I know the one. Toby runs the joint, yeah?"
"Yeah!" Bran grinned at him, enthused. "It's only on weekends, and I'll be doing mostly desk work, but he said I could maybe do an apprenticeship if I show promise." He kept on chatting excitedly, with Sandor throwing in a word here or there, or a nod of approval. Sansa tuned it out when the talk drifted to the subject of motors and the best oil to use for this part and whether motorcycles were easier to maintain than cars. She had zero knowledge of the car industry, but she had forgotten momentarily that Sandor tinkered with cars in his free time, and had ventured out recently to motorcycles and an old pick-up truck that he was trying to restore. He complained about it more than anything, but Sansa could always see the difference in how relaxed he was when he left the garage, she could see the way his shoulders softened with a lack of stress. It was yet another of his myriad of talents.
Sometimes it was very hard not to feel inferior in their marriage.
Oh, Sansa knew very well that Sandor would likely laugh her out of the house if she said so aloud, but beauty and poetry and songs didn't account for knowledge and understanding of the real world. And Sandor understood the real world. Sansa listened to a wider scope of music than he did, but the Fleet Foxes and Ingrid Michaelson hardly equated to knowledge of the inner workings of an engine or the best way to deliver the perfect right hook. (That Sansa knew how to do, because Sandor had taken her to the gym and shown her over and over again until she had gotten it right, because damn it Sansa, I won't always be there to protect you and what if you ever run into Joffrey again?).
Besides, Sansa thought to herself, even if the world saw her as the pretty one in the relationship, it didn't change the fact that she couldn't keep her hands off of him – whether or not they were alone.
"So how's work going, Sandor?" Catelyn had a way of saying Sandor's name funnily, as though she couldn't smooth the two halves into one word. Sansa hated it, but Sandor never said a word to it.
"It's good. Tywin keeps me busy." Tywin Lannister, Sandor's boss, unfortunately was also Sansa's ex's grandfather, but since Sansa never went with Sandor to see the estate and since Tywin rarely visited their house, there wasn't much cause for discomfort in the matter.
"And how is Tywin Lannister?" Ned asked from the head of the table, chewing on a bit of beef. The meat was fattier than Catelyn had probably hoped it would be, but she'd seasoned it well, and cooked it to perfection. At the rate Sandor, Robb, Jon and Ned were eating it, Sansa doubted very much that it mattered what it tasted like, so long as it was cooked.
Sandor shrugged a bit. "Busy as usual. No time to exercise the horses as often as he should, but that's a bloody Lannister for you." Some of Sansa's family was still surprised to hear Sandor Clegane, the man in service of Casterly Stables for most of his life, speak poorly of the Lannister family, but Sansa knew him well enough by now to understand her husband's feelings for them.
"They're talking about breeding Stranger with one of Tyrion's best mares," Sansa added with a proud smile at Sandor. Sandor's horse, Stranger, was his pride and joy, and she often wondered if he truly loved him more than his own wife. So she knew it was a big deal to have Stranger's foal be considered a worthy addition to the Lannister racing horses.
"A little baby horse? Oh how sweet!" Talisa, Robb's pregnant fiancée piped up, smiling warmly at the couple. Sansa fought the eye-roll valiantly. Even she knew it was called a foal.
Sandor rubbed the back of his neck and shifted in his seat. Mindlessly, Sansa reached over to touch his knee now, giving it a light squeeze. He captured her hand and held it there for a while.
"It's still in the works...nothing for sure..." Sandor looked eager for a change in conversation (Sansa knew he didn't know how to handle people congratulating him on anything, and this was actually his best attempt at accepting praise thus far).
"I'm sure he or she will be a beautiful foal," Ned said kindly, before turning to Jon. "Another beer, Jon?"
Jon had come to the dinner without his wife, much to Sansa's dismay. Dany was one of her closest friends since she and Jon had married, and the two couples spent a lot of time together. Dany would have helped ward off her mother's interrogation, that was for sure, but the whole family knew where Jon's wife would be: at her ex-husband's and stillborn son's gravestones, mourning the four-year anniversary of their deaths in private. She had met Jon a year after her losses, and they'd hit it off immediately.
"I'm good, Uncle Ned. I should be getting back soon, anyways."
Conversation shifted through topics such as Jon's wife, Talisa and Robb's unborn baby, Rickon's friend, Shireen, Bran and Jojen Reed's upcoming excursion to America, and finally dessert was served, eaten and digested by a household of very stuffed people.
"Darling, I cannot remember the last time I ate so much." Ned lifted his wife's hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the back of it, smiling all the while. "Thank you."
A chorus of thank-yous echoed around the room, and Catelyn blushed and shook her head. "Oh, I'm just happy to see you all again. It does a mother's heart good to see her children after they've been gone so long...without phone calls...or texts..."
Arya met Sansa's gaze and both blushed and looked away, avoiding their mother's face at all cost. Jon and Robb seemed to feel the same, while Bran and Rickon were almost smug with their innocence in the matter.
"I'm sorry, mom. Work's been busy—"
"No, don't apologize!" Catelyn waved their words away (well, she waved Sansa and Robb's away. Arya just rolled her eyes and slunk off to the door to put on her boots). "I understand, really. Robb has a baby on the way and Sansa...well..." Her mother gave her a significant look that strongly indicated something of great importance. Behind her, Sansa could feel her husband's eyes on the back of her head.
"Thanks for dinner!" Sansa chirped a little too brightly, even for a little bird, as Sandor called her. She donned her light spring jacket and strappy heels (impractical fashion choices ran deep in her veins, despite living on a ranch. As much as it irritated Sandor, she knew he secretly enjoyed making love to her with nothing but her heels on as they dug deep into his back).
Sandor shook hands with Ned, Robb and Jon. He clapped a hand atop Bran's head to ruffle his hair and drew Rickon in for a fleeting squeeze. The gesture made Sansa's heart clench; she wondered, not for the first time, what kind of father Sandor would make.
"I'll put in a word with Toby," Sandor added to Bran before they left. "Make sure he actually teaches you something fucking useful..." Right, Sansa recalled. Toby – Bran's new boss at the dealership.
Bran grinned brightly up at him. "Thanks, Sandor. Later!"
"Take care, kid. And you"—he lifted a large, threatening finger at Rickon—"if you're gonna keep picking fights with the shits at school, make sure you don't close your fist over your thumb—"
"Sandor!" Sansa moaned, half-hysterical, half-exasperated. Rickon nodded dutifully, and went to say something when Sansa caught the look of bubbling fury on her mother's face and hastily shuffled the man in question out the door. "Bye, love you, take care!" She blew a handful of kisses at them before turning back to Sandor, glaring.
"That," she began solemnly, "was uncalled for."
"I was giving the kid a bit of honest advice. Honest to fucking God, Sansa, your parents are never gonna like me. Best give up on that now."
She pouted but said nothing. Sensing her unhappiness, Sandor reached out and laced their fingers together as they walked. The car had to be parked around the block, since all the empty spaces were full before Sandor could get off work.
"Did you have a good time with Robb and Jon?"
Sandor glanced down at her, lips curling in amusement as he nodded. "Aye. Bloody idiot, your brother is. Wants to invite the Freys to his wedding – as an apology. Stupid little cunt." At one time, Sansa would've been indignant at his crass language, but had long since accepted it for what it was: a part of Sandor, a part of the man she loved.
Besides, a teeny, tiny part of her felt the same...
"You're kidding!" she cried out, laughing in disbelief.
Sandor sighed and shook his head, as though mourning Robb Stark's stupidity. "Didn't understand why Talisa made him sleep on the couch the other night. Took Jon and I the better part of a fucking hour convincing him he was being a dipshit. Had to actually explain that the old bastard Walder Frey didn't want an apology – he wants Robb's head on a spike!"
"Well, Roslin certainly won't want to go to the wedding, either," Sansa pointed out as they neared their car. They'd driven Sansa's Bentley to her parents (the car was a gift neither could have afforded otherwise), given Sandor's massive truck cost too much gas money to make the hour trip otherwise.
"I don't blame her, frankly. And nor do I give a fuck," Sandor added casually. He tucked Sansa into his side when she shivered. "Cold, little bird?"
"A little." Before she'd finished speaking, Sandor slid his arms from his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.
"What did I tell you, huh? Leaving the house in that goddamned thing..."
Sansa made a face. "But none of my other jackets go with my outfit!"
Wrapping her back into his side, now cloaked in his heavy jacket, she felt Sandor do something between a snort and a chuckle. "Little bird," he taunted, dipping down to kiss her fiery curls. "Impractical as the day I met you."
"I don't care," she sniffed, haughtily. "You love me anyways."
Sandor tossed his head back and laughed loudly. "Aye, that I do. Get in the car, my wife. I mean to fuck you twice before we sleep tonight."
The drive home was long and the scenery was dull for the first twenty minutes as they left the city. Sansa found herself asking him more questions about the evening, anxious to know what Sandor had talked about with her father while her mother questioned their baby-making intentions.
"Did you talk much to my dad?"
"Not particularly. Why, did you expect me to?"
Sansa blushed and shook her head. He gave her a queer look that told her how strange she was acting. "No. I was just wondering."
"Well, little bird, your father isn't much in the mood of making small talk with me. Most of what we discussed you heard at the dinner table. Oh, and he mentioned something about wanting to discuss Rickon spending a few weeks with us in the summer."
"Yeah, mom said something about that to me, too." Rickon was growing to be a bigger and bigger handful as he got, well...bigger. The boy was starting to fill out and spread, stretching to be taller than any of his brothers were at that age. And with his height came a wild energy that seemed unending.
No one knew how to get him to slow down. No one but Sandor, Sansa thought with pride. Sandor had a way of getting Rickon to listen and think rationally, if only for a moment.
"Would that be ok with you?" Sansa asked, knowing that Sandor was fond of her wilder brother, but also knowing how much he appreciated his privacy.
He lifted his shoulder and let it drop nonchalantly. "I guess. So long as your folks aren't at our house every day – no offense, Sansa." She smiled a bit.
"It's ok. I understand what you're saying." Because as much as she loved her parents, the thought of them coming out for daily visits was nerve-wracking. Sandor and she were still in their newly-wed phase; if her parents were over all the time, it would seriously put a limitation on their...intimate time.
"But I like the kid, you know I do." Sandor reached out to lay a hand over hers, holding it gently. She thought back to how Sandor had hugged Rickon and smiled. "If Rickon is game, I wouldn't mind having him over for the summer."
"Really?" Sansa perked up. She had been young when she moved in with Sandor, so much so that her time with her youngest brother was limited. The thought of spending more time with Rickon one-on-one was exciting.
Sandor shrugged. "Swore I wouldn't lie to you, remember?" That's right; his vows to Sansa on their wedding day were the only ones he would make. "Besides, he could keep you company when I'm at work." Sansa was still finishing her graduate degree in music, and the summer months promised to be dull without Sandor to entertain her.
Suddenly Sansa remembered her mother's conversation and blushed. How to discuss this with Sandor?
Sandor sensed the change in her once more, and this time he didn't let it go. "Little bird," he growled, "you made your vows to me, too, you remember. No lies. What's going on in your little head?"
Sansa let out a loud gust of air, blowing between her lips. Unknowingly, she began to bounce her knees. Sandor's hand reached further over and settled over her thigh, holding her steady.
"You're going to worry me more than I am, Sansa," he warned, eyes darting to look at her in his peripheral.
"It's just...something my mom said."
"Oh?" she noted the dark quality his tone had taken on. Her mother had seemed so eager to accept their relationship right up until Sansa decided she wanted to live with Sandor in sin. By the time they were engaged, Catelyn was giving Sansa a hard time over every little detail. She'd mellowed out over the course of the year, as had Sansa's father, but the tension still remained, mostly because Sandor seldom forgave any slight against himself or – even worse – his wife.
"Yeah. She was asking about our...lifestyle." Sansa fumbled over her words.
"Didn't picture you living as the wife of a horseman, is that it?" Sandor clenched the steering wheel tightly in his fists. Pity tugged on her heartstrings, causing her to lean over and stroke his wrist soothingly.
"No," she crooned sweetly. Shuffling as close to him as she could get with her seatbelt on, Sansa curled her fingers into his long hair, setting her chin on his shoulder to stare up at his scarred cheek. Dimly she could recall a time where the scars had terrified her; she felt so stupid now.
"She was...asking about babies," Sansa managed to get the words out with as little a grimace as possible.
Beneath her touch, Sandor froze. Dread gripped her heart and caused her to pull away; she knew Sandor wasn't thrilled at the thought of having children, but she'd never actually imagined that he would outright refuse the idea of them. Had she miscalculated? God help her if she had...
"Oh." Sandor let out a long exhale. "And, little bird? What did you tell your mother?"
Relieved to hear his somewhat placating tone, she said, "I told her that we would handle anything God gives us, together." Her hands twisted nervously in her lap. "Are you angry?"
Sandor chuckled unexpectedly. "Angry? Christ, girl, what would I be angry for – you telling the truth? Aye, we'll deal with any squalling brats we get as a couple. But not for a while yet—I assume you didn't tell your mother you're on the pill?"
"No," Sansa confessed with a blush. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest. "No, I didn't. There was no need to."
"Oh?" Sandor raised a brow at her, shifting his glance back and forth from the road ahead to her face at his side. "Never thought I'd hear you tell your high-handed mother—"
Sansa cut him off before he could continue on his crass tirade.
"I didn't tell her that I'm on the pill because I'm not. Not anymore."
Sandor's eyes bugged out of his head. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Sansa bit her lip. "Remember when I had to go to the hospital when I was sick, and they gave me a bunch of medication and I told you that we couldn't, you know, be intimate, but you insisted—"
"What does this have to do with not taking your pills anymore? That was seven bloody weeks ago!"
Here goes nothing, she thought to herself with a giggle. Really she hadn't planned on telling him like this, with his hands clenching the steering wheel and the sun setting quickly on them, but he hadn't given her much of a choice.
"Because I'm pregnant."