Prompt was "Futurefic/AU The war is over and Sansa is back with her family at Winterfell , but she has never forgotten the Hound, who she loves still, but has not seen since the night of Stannis' attack. Robb decides to hold a tourney to pick a husband for Sansa. With all the lords and knights in attendance, who will win her hand? Perhaps the mysterious stranger who is viscious in the joust, but never takes his helmet off?"
Sansa stared out the window of her chambers, watching a light drift of snow sift down onto the courtyard like confection sugar. Her brother's voice was a buzz that she wasn't paying attention to; a bee humming in her ear.
"You must take a husband Sansa." The words were coming from his mouth, she knew, but her mind was too far away to truly pay attention. "You've gotten offers from every lord and knight in the North, even half the Southron lords have offered either themselves or their sons to take your hand. I've said I will let you choose whomever you wish, but refusing entirely is not an option."
Robb himself had been married to one of the daughters of Walder Frey for years now. Arya had run away to Braavos, but sent regular letters letting them know that she was well but instructing them not to try and find her and that she would return in her own time. Bran had been married to Stannis Braratheon's daughter, and Rickon was engaged to the daughter of a lord from the Reach. It was only Sansa who remained in Winterfell and neither betrothed nor married. To everyone else, it seemed she was just being stubborn, but Sansa's heart cried out for one man and she would not allow herself to be given to any other.
So there she sat, staring blankly out the window as Robb prattled on and on about how she must marry some lord or knight. The only thing in Sansa's head was Sandor Clegane - Joffrey's not-so-loyal Hound. She was unsure if she had been in love with him when she was twelve and terrified, but she certainly knew that absence had indeed made the heart grow fonder in her case. He was all she could think about whether awake or sleeping and the thought of marrying another was an idea she could not find it in herself to stomach.
"I was thinking… I shall throw a tourney and the winner's prize will be your hand," Robb said and the words finally broke through to her. She nearly whipped him with her hair turning to gape at him. How dare he take all choice away from her and offer her hand up to any man in the realm fit enough to sit a joust.
"But Robb –" she began vehemently, but he cut her off.
"No, Sansa. If you will not choose a man yourself, the hand of chance will pick one for you. That is the end of this discussion and this topic is closed," he sternly told her. "I will send out ravens on the morrow and begin preparations.
It took a week to send all the ravens and two months for preparations to be complete for the tournament. It could have been put together more quickly, but knights and lords from all over Westeros had reported that they would be attending, so Robb gave them all ample time to arrive in the North.
Sansa watched from a high window as hundreds of people flooded in along the Kingsroad. Some men and banners she recognized, some she did not. Most of the northern ones she recognized, and the larger houses from the south, but there were too many people to know them all. She supposed she should have felt flattered that so many men wanted her hand, but she knew that most, if not all of them, only wanted to marry the Stark name.
Plenty of the men who turned up were handsome. They were strong, and gallant, and just like the knights in the stories and songs she'd loved when she was younger. Sansa didn't want any of them, though. She wanted the one man who she knew for certain would not be there. The Hound was dead; everyone knew it. Sandor Clegane was not coming to win her hand in her brother's tourney.
It was there at the window that a man below caught her eye. He wore plain enough armor and rode a massive horse, his shield was solid black and there were no other clues to who he might be, but it was none of these things that caught her attention. It was the size of the man that did it. He was broad of shoulder and tall – judging from the sizes of the men around him, he'd have stood at least a good half a foot higher than any of them. The last time she had seen a man of his height and build… but no, this man is not the Hound, she reminded herself. He must be some knight she'd never heard of, or a lord trying to go under the notice of anyone until some opportune time to reveal himself.
Her eyes followed him as he dismounted and walked, with a slight limp, to look after his horse, she shrugged and turned away, figuring she'd probably see his face at the feast in the great hall that night and could then stop fantasizing about him being Sandor Clegane come to marry her and take her away to his dead brother's keep in the south. Thinking on it, Sansa didn't actually know what had become of Clegane Keep as all of the Cleganes were dead.
Sansa shook her head and turned from the window. She walked back to her room and began to ready herself for the feast later on that Robb insisted she attend as the tournament prize. He couldn't seem to understand her lack of enthusiasm… "But Sansa… you love tournaments!"
Sansa was disappointed at the feast. She managed to find the man she'd seen arriving earlier, but his hood was up, shrouding his face in darkness. He kept his head down, ate quickly, drank no wine, and was quickly gone from the hall when he had finished. Sansa leaned to Robb, who was to her left and asked if he knew who the man was, indicating him as he stalked out of the hall.
"I'm not sure of his name – no one really is – but I do know that he gains most of his money from winning tourneys," Robb told her. "Never fear though, sister, I'm certain someone will beat him and you'll marry a proper lord rather than a travelling tournament knight."
Sansa nodded absently and thought that perhaps if the man won, she wouldn't be too horribly disappointed. He had the same build as Sandor and seemed disinclined to show his face. Perhaps he'd be the same about his face while they were married and she could just pretend she were married to the Hound himself, instead. Sansa was ashamed of herself as soon as the thought had come to mind. Should the mysterious man win, he would deserve to be his own person, not just a good enough stand in for Sandor Clegane.
Robb made her stay through the whole feast until the hall was only half full and nearly all of its occupants were drunk. She excused herself and took a turn around the castle before heading back up to her room. It was in a hall on her way back that she looked up at the sound of another person before her and found herself facing the mysterious knight with the black shield who refused to lower his hood. He made her feel nervous and sort of excited, but she knew it was only his bodily resemblance to the Hound. She gave him a small smile.
"Ser," she said with a nod by way of greeting. He didn't speak, but nodded once in return before walking past her, lightly brushing her as he walked by. A shiver ran up her spine and she turned to watch him leave. "Good luck in the joust, Ser." He paused for a moment, but didn't turn back, before he continued on his way and turned a corner, going out of her sight. Sansa sighed and hurried back to her room, quickly undressing and getting into bed. She fell asleep without any problem and dreamed of the Hound.
It was mid-afternoon on the first day of the tourney when the black-shielded knight first jousted. Sansa was on the edge of her seat as she saw him enter the lists facing a dornish lord. She didn't think she was well suited for the hot weather of Dorne and hoped the black knight would win.
Her heart was in her throat as they thundered toward each other, the dornish lord in good form, but the man in black looking hard and steady as stone. Their lances both crashed against each other's shields and both shattered. The knight stayed solidly in his seat, and the lord went flying off his horse, landing squarely on his back in the hard packed dirt. Sansa let a small smile play across her lips before schooling her face into neutrality and clapping politely.
Sansa wasn't sure if it was the mystery surrounding him, or the fact that he reminded her of the Hound, but the knight in black was the only person she'd paid any attention at all to the whole first day of jousting. By the end of the day, half the first jousts had taken place and a quarter of the knights and lords in attendance were packing up to return home, having already lost and needing to get back to their own homes. Sansa knew that the knight in black wouldn't be jousting the next day and she wasn't looking forward to once again sitting through jousts all day long, but she knew that as a lady of Winterfell and the prize of the competition, she would be required to watch all of her prospective husbands fight over her.
At supper that night, she noticed nearly all the men in the hall looking at her at least once each – everyone but her mystery knight, who was, once again, eating quickly with his face hidden. She'd have wondered why he even bothered coming to dine in the great hall at all, but she knew that he probably had to nearly as much as she did. If she hadn't been told for certain that the Hound was dead, she'd have been suspicious about this mystery man. But that he was dead, and the fact that the knight never seemed to touch wine, confirmed in her heart what she knew in her head – this man was not Sandor Clegane no matter how much she wanted him to be. Perhaps there was something wrong with his face that he didn't want her to see until it was too late and she was already promised to him… if he got that far in the tourney.
It was a few days later that the tourney finally started to get interesting for Sansa. More than half of the knights and lords had already gone home, having lost at their jousts. The less men competing, the more turns each man had. On the fourth day of the tourney, Sansa watched the black knight joust five separate times. His style was calculating and relentless. He used the mass of his body with skills she could not name to break lances and unhorse every one of his opponents. She wasn't sure if he was determined to win for the glory of it, or if he genuinely wanted her hand.
She walked through the tourney grounds just beyond the castle walls and overheard many conversations about the mysterious man with the blank black shield. Men said he could not be beaten, that they'd never seen his face, nor had they ever seen or heard of him being defeated. They said he himself was the Warrior in disguise – although, what the Warrior would want her hand in marriage for, Sansa didn't know. As she walked aimlessly, she overheard more and more people speaking about the knight whose name was seemingly unknown to all. It seemed as though everyone was speaking of him. She stopped for a while to listen to two lords argue whether Prince Rhaegar, Arthur Dayne, or the Dragonknight could beat the man.
On her way back, she ran into the man himself, armored and looking down at her through the slit in the helmet he refused to remove when not out of his armor and with his hood hiding his face. She politely curtsied to him and was granted a nod from him. He didn't speak.
"You've been doing very well today Ser," she told him. "Might you tell me your name?"
He shook his head silently and moved past her, on his way back to the lists. She followed after him at a distance and made her way into the stands next to Robb to watch the jousting again.
"This mysterious knight seems to be doing well for himself," Robb said, leaning over and speaking in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Yes," Sansa replied. "It seems everyone is speaking of him. He refuses to speak to me or tell me his name, though."
"You've spoken to him?" Robb sounded surprised. "I thought you were adamant about not picking favourites or speaking to any of the competitors until you were certain to be given to one of them…"
"I only asked his name. I didn't give him a favour and tell him he was my favourite to win Robb," she replied, a blush rising to her cheeks. "Besides, everyone else bares their names and faces plainly for all to see. It is only natural for me to be intrigued."
Robb shrugged and was silent for a moment before he nudged her. "Look, your mystery knight is back in the lists to ride again."
They watched together, not speaking, as the black knight was once again victorious against the knight he'd been matched against – a knight from the Vale. The man was unmovable, it seemed. Knight after lord after knight would break lances against his shield or armor, and yet, he'd stay in the saddle, steady as a rock, sending his opponents flying from their own mounts.
By the sixth day of the tourney, there were only a handful of competitors left and they were all excellent. Wealthy lords, knights with legendary war stories that followed them around... and the mysterious knight who wore black and refused to name his name or show his face. Sansa woke up that morning knowing that she would be betrothed to one of them when she went to bed. She didn't particularly want to marry any of them… but perhaps when it was all over, the mystery knight would finally reveal his face and name.
Sansa sat anxiously through the morning's jousts, watching every move. The dark knight was unfailing in his consistency and won his first three jousts of the day, putting him into the semi-final. Sansa clutched at Robb throughout the semi-final, watching as the mystery knight defeated his opponent and a lord of the Reach won his own. There had been a time in Sansa's life when her sincerest wish was to marry Willas Tyrell and be the lady of Highgarden, but it seemed a lifetime ago when she thought on it again. Perhaps the mystery knight was from somewhere she didn't want to live… like Lannisport or Dorne? Even if she would be able to shut her eyes and picture Sandor Clegane, she'd as soon take the knight from the Reach than live in Dorne or anywhere associated with the Lannisters.
Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry as the black knight and the lord of the Reach entered the lists for the final joust. She held Robb's hand so tightly both of their knuckles turned white, but she could barely feel it. What she did feel, was the thundering of hooves as the men kicked their horses into a gallop and stormed down the lists at each other, righting their lances as they went. Both broke on the opposing shield and shards of wood flew through the air, but both remained seated. Sansa's breath caught as they returned to the ends of the lists and each got a new lance before turning and facing each other once more.
Sansa couldn't take her eyes off of the dark knight as he galloped down the lists. Just before striking, he shifted in his saddle – a move she thought she had seen executed once before at a different tourney – and held steady. The lord of the Reach's lance glanced harmlessly off the pure black shield while the other lance shattered against his own and sent him flying through the air, off of his mount, and landed him in the dirt, sprawled out on the ground. Sansa stood slowly with Robb as the winner came around on his horse and dismounted before them, standing silently and unmoving.
"Your champion sister," Robb announced. "If you would, Ser, remove your helm so that my sister can look on the man who will be her husband."
The knight shifted from foot to foot before nodding slightly. He gripped his helmet and removed it, letting it fall into the dirt next to him. His grey eyes immediately fixed on Sansa's and she barely heard the gasp go up in the crowd. She could feel her heart stop and for a moment she was frozen staring at Sandor Clegane.
"Sansa?" she heard Robb as though he was far, far away from her and ignored him.
Her mouth fell open and she immediately covered it with her hand, feeling tears running down her face and wondering when she had started crying. She could feel the great gasping sobs coming from her mouth, but her feet seemed frozen. And then all at once she was flying, she had run half way to him before she'd even realized she had moved. She flung herself into his arms and clawed her fingers against his armor.
"Are you real?" she asked, trying to speak between horrible loud sobs. "You were dead… I – I thought you were dead! Is this – have you come back to me?" She couldn't formulate a sentence. Was this a trick? He felt like Sandor. He smelled like Sandor. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly as she looked up at him. It was him – it had to be.
"People say a lot about me Little Bird – it isn't all true," he told her softly, pulling his gloves off around her back then running a hand through her hair, pulling her closer. He leaned down to kiss her hair and for the first time, Sansa was grateful that Robb had arranged this tourney and had insisted upon her marrying.