To say Sandor found his position boring was a colossal understatement. To be charged of the safety most well-behaved, proper little princess was without a doubt the most uneventful schedule he had ever encountered in his life. He followed the tiny, six year old wherever she went - and where she went did not consist of a wide variety. Sandor accompanied her to her sewing lessons. He stood watch while she was fawned over by the ladies of the court. He guarded her day after day while she chased her wolf puppy around in circles until she fell down giggling.
Oh, what an exciting life he led.
The little princess's father, King Eddard Stark, had charged him with the responsibility of her wellbeing on the day of her birth, when Sandor himself was only four and ten. It was true that he already towered over his peers, and was so far unmatched with a blade, but to be offered the position of a Royal Guard so young was unheard of. So of course, realizing the prestigious and unprecedented offering, Sandor accepted immediately, not quite realizing what exactly the job would entail.
What it entailed was a bloody heap of nothing.
Yet he accepted, and Queen Catelyn placed into his arms the tiny bundle, sleepy and sweet-smelling with fierce red Tully hair. He took his vows to protect her, the first vows he had ever agreed to utter, and smiled when she grabbed his nose with small fingers.
In the beginning, Sandor was off of duty most of his days. Babies do not have many places to go, and Sansa spent most of her time wrapped up in her mother's arms. He attended the family in public appearances, watching the crowd with a wary eye, and poking back anyone who got to close to his charge. As she grew however, his free time became less, and his boredom grew.
Though he still trained daily with the other men, a time he looked forward to immensely throughout the day, the majority of his hours were spent watching over the charming, red headed girl. While the others swapped war stories, or recounting duals in which they had bested their opponent, the only stories Sandor could recount was what Princess Sansa embroidered that morning.
To be sure, he did not feel angry toward the princess for these happenings. In fact, Sandor found himself to be rather fond of the little girl who looked him in the face always, and held his hand wherever they went. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone, even someone very small and unworldly, who had grown up with his scarred appearance. Little Sansa had never shown disgust, or pity, or horror when she gazed upon his monstrous face. Ever so polite, she only smiled and spoke kind words to him. He yearned for the chance to protect her, to prove that King Eddard was validated in his choice of guard, yet the only dangers that ailed the child were spiders and the occasional nightmare.
Sandor was made for more. But he kept his frustration to himself.
...
On a certain sunny summer day, the royal children were playing in the garden. Sandor sat watching from a bench under an old, gnarled tree as the young ones giggled and chased each other. Prince Robb was attended by the ward to the crown, Theon Greyjoy, and his half-brother, Jon Snow. The boys were all of a close age, and seemed inseparable. Sandor envied the guards of the boys. At least they had something to do! Sword training, archery, and whatever trouble the prince and his brothers got into that day were all far more exciting than the "proper" activities Sansa, and through her, Sandor, were forced to endure. If he saw one more stitch, he swore he would go mad.
Princess Sansa was in the garden as well, trying her very best to keep up with her older brothers. She was dressed in a light blue gown that Sandor knew she had helped make, and one she was very proud of. Her flaming hair had been tied up on to her head to help keep her cool in the summer heat. Sandor was sweating himself, boiling in armor that he did not need for enemies of the little girl that did not exist. The shade of the tree was cooler at least, and no one seemed to mind that he was seated instead of on vigilant watch.
"A tourney! We shall have a tourney!" Prince Robb declared, waving his arms excitedly. He picked up his wooden sword and swung it around in a wide arc. "And I will be the winner! Who's first?"
The Greyjoy boy answered his challenge with a delighted laugh and met Robb's sword with his own. The clatter of wood on wood was heard throughout the garden, accompanied by Sansa's cheering as the boys battled on. They are getting better, Sandor thought with approval, observing the mock sword fight. The boys were growing into fine young men, if the master-at-arms was to be believed. That thought greeted Sandor with relief. An unruly and haughty prince was the last thing this kingdom needed. Robb would be a fine ruler, Sandor thought, and his little princess would be the perfect lady.
"You'll never win, Stark!" Theon shouted, in the midst of a dramatic and completely illogical forward roll on the ground to evade on of Robb's strike. Well, maybe not that much better.
Prince Robb struck a swift blow to Greyjoy's thigh, one that would've been crippling, had they had real swords. The ward howled in fake pain, and fell to one leg. "You've chopped off my leg! I yield, I yield!"
"Aha! My first victory!" The prince cried, grinning. "Who will challenge me next?" He turned to his brother, leaving Theon "dead" on the field of grass.
Sansa laughed wildly and ran to Theon, kneeling by his head where he laid, playing dead. The little girl placed her hands on the lanky boy's face and brushed back his light brown hair, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "I healed you!" She proclaimed, and shrieked in delight when he grabbed her.
"Thank you princess Sansa," he said seriously, rising to his feet once more, and bowing low. Oh, she'll love that, Sandor knew for a certainty. Sansa loved nothing more than being treated as the Lady she would be one day. Beaming, the princess bid him rise and told him he "fought very well."
Meanwhile, Prince Robb had taken up his next opponent with his bastard brother, and they were exchanging a fury of blows. The silliness that went with Theon's fight was gone, Jon and Robb now growling at each other. The two were in a constant struggle to best the other, seemingly in any sport they took a liking too. Who could shoot the farthest? Who had the best aim? Who was the fastest?
It never ended, and Sandor was accustomed to spying them chasing each other like wild dogs around the Red Keep. Once again, he wished he had been left in charge of the prince. Then at least he would be challenged.
The battling brothers had drawn a small crowd, ladies and sers alike, stopping to witness who would prevail. "Come on Jon," Ser Jory Cassel called. "Do you want him to lop of your arm? React faster!" The bastard boy frowned in response, but began to move quicker nonetheless. Sandor let his eyes flicker between the boys and Princess Sansa, making sure no one in the crowd was getting to close. She was still by Theon however, mesmerized by the sword fight, shouting encouragements to Robb.
"You can do it, Robby!" The little girl waved her arms above her head, causing Sandor's mouth to twitch into an unwilling smile. "Hit him! Get him!"
The crowd was shouting encouragements as well, egging on the two would-be knights to swing their swords even faster. Until, crack! Jon's wooden sword split right down the middle, shattering into splinters and leaving the boy dead with Prince Robb's sword to his throat, a lofty grin on his face. The people around them clapped lightly and began to disperse, the show now over.
"No fair!" Jon argued, holding up his broken weapon. "Mine broke! You don't win!"
The prince laughed and shook his head. "I broke it! So therefore, I win!" Prince Robb held out his hand toward Jon in a show of sportsmanship and his brother shook it grudgingly. "You were a worthy opponent, brother."
Jon smiled. "I'll best you next time."
The heat was definitely getting to Sandor now, and he wanted nothing more than retreat inside, away from the glaring sun, yet the princess seemed unaffected by the warmth, no doubt due to her summer dress, whereas he was plated in steel. Bloody hells, why did I ever agree to this? He distracted himself by focusing on Sansa, who sat happily in the grass staring at her brother as though he were the Warrior himself. Her cheeks were red from excitement and her eyes as wide as the Dothraki Sea. Snorting, Sandor tried to remember if he had ever felt that way about his own brother. He doubted it.
"And now," Prince Robb said as dramatically as possible, swooping down to pluck a sunflower from one of the many garden patches. "I must name my Queen of Love and Beauty. I must choose the most beautiful girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms," he continued, grinning as his little sister practically bounced from where she was seated. "I must choose the one for whom I bear all of my love!"
Sansa was practically shaking with anticipation and Sandor was pleased to see she was not disappointed when her brother, with a sweeping gesture, placing the yellow flower behind her ear. If he had chosen another, Sandor was sure he would have spent the rest of the afternoon comforting a crying child. It was entirely better to see her so pleased.
Throwing her arms around the prince's neck, Sansa screeched and giggled madly. "I love you, Robby!"
Her brother laughed and returned the embrace. "And I you, little sister."
...
Some time later, during the time when the children were eating their lunch on a blanket their attendants had brought them, and Sandor was blessedly brought cool wine, Princess Sansa wandered her way over to her sworn shield. She approached him almost shyly, her red hair wispy around her face as it escaped her braids.
"Princess Sansa," he greeted. "Do you have need of me?"
She came even closer to where he was seated, until she was brushed against his knees, hands hidden behind her back. "Close your eyes, Sandor." When he hesitated, she pouted and whined, "Pleeeeaaaassseeee-"
He raised his hands in defeat, amused by the little girl who looked at him kindly. He shut his eyes reluctantly and sighed heavily. "Hold out your hands," she commanded, tugging on his wrist. Sandor opened his palms and felt something soft being placed inside. He waited for her command to look, and when it came, he appraised the object she had gifted to him.
It appeared Sansa had taken the sunflower Prince Robb gave to her and added more and more flowers to weave together into a small crown. It was a circlet of yellow petals, sweet and beautiful, just like herself. Sandor stared at it for a long time, trying to remember the last time anyone had gifted him anything. He couldn't recall anything.
"Do I look like a Queen of Love and Beauty to you, little bird?" He rasped, staring at her blue eyes which held carefree happiness.
She nodded happily, shifting back and forth on her feet, swaying to a song that only she could hear. "I think you are the most handsomest and bravest man in all of the land," she said to him seriously. "So you should have it!" If anyone else had said that to him, he would have ran a sword through them for the terrible jape. Yet he could see the blind honestly in his princess's eyes and knew she was telling was she thought was the truth.
An unbidden sense of pride trickled through him, and he cursed himself for folly. A little girl thinks you brave for chasing away rats from her room. And bloody handsome, seven hells. But still, Sandor was not a man used to praise, and could not help the warmth he felt from her words.
She seemed to sense his hesitation to accept the present so she continued, "Robb said you have to give the flower to who you love the most!"
Before Sandor could process her words, the little princess leaned in close and stretched up on her tiptoes to whisper in his good ear. "And I love you very very much."
Sandor watched, stunned, as she ran back to the other children lounging on the grass. He felt himself grinning stupidly as he regarded the small crown in his hands, but could not seem to tame it. A happiness bubbled inside of him, of the like that he had not felt in a very long time, and it was centered around a tiny princess of whom he had sworn his life to.
Maybe his job was not so bad after all.
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This really cute idea hit me and I couldn't help but write it. Please leave your thoughts, they are most welcome! :)
Gaahhh I'm suffering from cute overload. Damn you sansan you'll be the death of me.