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There is beauty even in this cold, dark shithole. Sandor Clegane keeps away from the mason's flaming torches, pausing from heaving rocks, as a young, fair woman passes. Her footsteps dainty in the piling snow. Her auburn-orange hair glowing brightly.
"I suppose little birds do fly home after all," he mutters.
Sansa glances over to him, head jerking, Those morning-blue eyes widening. She must have recognized the facial scars. Sandor takes his chances and refuses to look away, straightening up as she composes herself, pulling her black woolen cloak in around her heavily sleeved arms. "You must be terribly disappointed," Sansa remarks, her voice low and cautious.
"Quite the opposite really…" His lips tilt up. Gods-damn him, Sandor has really come to this shithole and found the woman of his dreams. A pretty birdling who can survive winter and damnation and Cersei fucking Lannister. "It's good to see you. Alive."
Sansa's face relaxes. "And you, ser."
"I'm not a knight anymore—"
It doesn't seem right to let her think that. Sandor has done too many things in the name of sworn duty for the crown and his own filthy interests. Because he likes to kill. But somehow, hearing this proclamation only makes Sansa laugh. "You were to me—"
More laughter ringing in the air. They both go quiet and stare at the forge's entrance, as Arya tugs on Gendry's soot-crusted hand, tangling their fingers. Sandor can't hear what Gendry says but it leads to sharing a quick, hot kiss and Arya beaming. Love is for those too weak to wield a sword or protect themselves… or at least, Sandor believed that a long time ago.
"Does that little cunt-hair belong to your sister?" he asks, motioning with his chin to Gendry disappearing into the shadows.
"It appears to be so." Sansa rolls her eyes, but there's humor in it. Like she's already known. Sandor wouldn't be caught dead out in public giving butterfly kisses and snuggles. What a fucking idea. "Everyone loves Arya. I'm the one they're intimidated by."
Sandor gives her a rueful look, picking up more boulders and ice-hardened rocks for the wayn.
"I know the feeling."
Perhaps it's too much to hope for but he thinks Sansa has lost her fear of him. And of her past and pain. Long ago.
"As you were, ser," she murmurs, like a command, briskly walking on towards the inner courtyard.
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GoT isn't mine. I kind of like them! Friends or otherwise. Requested by Aesalys (AO3): "sandor and sansa... seeing arya and gendry." Maybe some SanSan fans will see this! Thanks for reading!
((Want a request for GoT? I'm doing 100-500 word drabbles of any ship + any prompt until S8 ends. Rules: you need to comment here and provide a ship and prompt, as well if you want NSFW or SFW. The only requests I'll be looking at is if you ALSO commented about the fic you just read as well. It's only fair. You came to this fic to read it and me doing something for you later on is a sweet bonus!))