I haven't written SanSan for sooo long; let's do this thing!
The title is in Latin and means "Shadow passes, light remains" (Sansa is the light in Sandor's life; I don't know, it may be stupid).
This story is unbeta'd and English is not my native language, so try to excuse any mistakes.
I own nothing. All rights go to the one and only GRRM. The picture is not mine either, I just found it when I was looking for SanSan AU pics/edits :)
Sansa still couldn't believe that she had been at the arena. Her father had been against it at first, but she had wanted to see her half brother so badly. Furthermore, he had probably feared that Arya would try to sneak her way in, so he had decided that it would be best for their public image to appear as it fit to people of their social status.
Jon had been so brave. Sansa could still remember how her heart had been beating almost maniacally, like a beast trapped in her rib cage. She had been so afraid for her half brother, but he soon proved just how great he was at the martial arts, taking down one gladiator after the next.
After Jon had left the arena, Arya had told Sansa that she wanted to be a gladiator as well. It was not unheard of; female gladiators had appeared as exotic markers of exceptionally lavish spectacle from the 60s CE. In 66 CE, Nero had had Ethiopian women, men and children fight at a munus to impress King Tiridates I of Armenia. Some people had found that idea novel and entertaining, others had found it downright absurd. Sansa thought that she was the latter, but even if she weren't she would not want her sister anywhere near the arena as an entertainer instead of part of the audience. She hadn't said anything, though; surely Father would not let it come to pass.
And then he had appeared. One of the strongest and most feared gladiators of all times. Everyone called him the Hound and he was as fierce as one. No one seemed to know his true name, and no one knew his story. If you asked around, everyone would tell you their own version, each more terrible than the last. The Hound was almost a beast, tall and muscular. One side of his face was partially curtained by his long dark hair in an attempt to cover his scars. That side of his face had been burnt, although no one was truly aware of how that had happened.
Defeating other gladiators was so easy that it was no longer fun, so now he faced wild animals almost exclusively. Everyone loved him when he was in the arena. He was one of those who offered the best and most brutal entertainment, and the spectators always cheered for him oh so loudly. Yes, everyone loved him in the arena; and Sansa had to admit that she had been fascinated by him, her bright blue eyes following him as if he were the only thing that existed in the whole wide world...
And now, after that lovely entertainment, they had more to come. The Lannisters, owners of many gladiators, were having a feast in honour of the visiting family, the Starks. The two families did not get along all that well, but being who they were came with a price: they were expected to act like that. Sansa had no hatred for the Lannisters. If anything, she admired Cersei Lannister - she was so beautiful and clever and did not let men tell her what to do; the lanista, Jaime Lannister, Cersei's twin brother was very handsome and fit and had a dazzling smile. Fortunately the Imp was not there; Tyrion Lannister was a dwarf with stunted legs and mismatched eyes - one green like all the Lannisters, one black - who mocked everyone and everything.
Sansa had chosen a pale emerald stola for the occasion with a white palla without a hood, worn casually as a coat. She loved how the soft breeze of the night caressed her face like a lover, how it stole into her loose garment. She loved the garden and the people. She loved the gladiators as well. Unfortunately Jon was not there because he was property of the Baratheons; only the gladiators of the Lannisters were shown off that night.
Sansa looked all around her amazed. She kept walking, exploring every part of the lovely garden. She felt like she was in a dream, and she didn't want to wake up from it and lose all the beauty. Even the stares certain men gave her did not bother her; she knew that she had a woman's body now and had grown accustomed to the hungry glares although they still made her feel uncomfortable. But not even that could ruin this amazing night.
Until she bumped into someone. How could she have been so careless, walking without looking in front of her? This was so embarrassing, she had made herself look like nothing more than a stupid girl.
"I'm so sorry," she said and looked at the man who stood before her.
Having him so close to her, she could see every little detail of him. The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was hooked as well as large, but that was not of the course the worst part. His left ear had been burned away, leaving nothing but a hole behind. His left eye was just like the other, except that it was surrounded by a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet when he moved. And as if all that was not enough, down by his jaw a hint of bone was visible where the flesh had been seared away.
She did not let him see her fear. "I'm sorry," she said again, remembering her courtesies. "I wasn't paying attention."
"No, you weren't," he rasped. "The little bird had flown off to the perfect little world in her head."
"There is no need for you to be rude," she said, her fear replaced by anger. "I apologised. And you are nothing but a slave besides."
He nodded. There was a bitter expression on his face, making him look older. "Aye, that I am. The Lannisters' dog."
Her anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. Now she felt sorry for the man and intrigued by his story. "You chose this, didn't you?" she asked in a low voice.
"I did, girl."
She remembered the gladiator's oath: He vows to endure to be burned, to be bound, to be beaten, and to be killed by the sword. She always wondered why someone would choose this way of life. This man had been burned before joining the arena; maybe he felt that this was the only place where he and his scars belonged.
Still, she asked, "Why?"
"You're a very talkative bird, aren't you?" he laughed. She chose not to take offense and wait for him to speak. That he did after a while, all laughter gone out of him. "Because I want to kill my brother."
Sansa stared at him in shock. She fought with her sister Arya a lot, but she never wished her dead, not truly. She couldn't understand how someone could want to kill their own blood.
She didn't utter a word, and the Hound carried on, "He did this to me. Just because I played with his toy once. He didn't even want it, he was a man, he had no use for toys. And yet, when he found me, he picked me up under his arm, not saying a fucking word, and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals, holding me to the fire as I screamed. He's called the Mountain, you might have heard of him."
Sansa looked at him, filled with horror but also pity. How could someone do such a terrible thing to a boy, to their own brother? She had heard tales of the Mountain's terrifying brutality in the arena, but this was even worse. What went on in the arena was entertainment; this was...there were no words for what it was.
"I'm so sorry. I..." Her voice trailed off as she heard her father calling her. "What's your name?" she asked.
"I'm the Hound, girl; are you really that stupid?"
She looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "You told me the story of your scars, surely you can tell me your real name."
He gazed at her with interest, and for a moment she thought that she saw the ghost of a smile appear on his face - which was not so terrible to look at now. "Sandor," he revealed.
"Sandor," she repeated, rolling the name on her tongue like some sort of exquisite wine. She liked saying it.
He leaned in to her, giving her an even better view of his face - but she was no longer afraid. She thought that he was going to kiss her, but in the end he only said, "If you tell anyone what I told you, I'll kill you."
"I know," she said calmly.
He seemed to be both taken aback and amused by her lack of fear. He studied her, looking her up and down. She felt like he was stripping her bare with his eyes, but it wasn't like when other men looked at her. She did not feel uncomfortable; she felt beautiful and powerful, and she almost shivered as though his mere gaze was touching her everywhere.
"You never told me your name, little bird," he said, looking into her eyes.
"Sansa," she breathed.
He nodded as if he approved of it. "Go now, your father is calling," he reminded her.
She stroked his arm. "I'll pray to the gods that you'll kill your brother one day," she said in a whisper and left.
Little did she knew that she had given him one more reason to live, apart from extracting revenge from his brother: the hope of seeing her again.
I hope you liked it, feedback is looove xxx