Sandor
With a sigh of relief, Sandor sat down and stretched his legs as far as the seat in front of him would allow. He had been one of the first in line to get on the airplane, and even though he still had to wait for everyone else to board, at least he could do it sitting down. And his seat was near the front, which meant he could leave faster too.
He tried to arrange his large frame more comfortably, scowling at the suffocating space. With any luck, the seat beside him would remain empty, and he would be able to take advantage of the extra room. This being the holidays, however, his chances were slim.
Resting his elbows on the armrests, he idly watched the other passengers boarding. Most of them looked tired and confused, trying to grapple with their carry-on luggage and still fit down the aisle. As the seats around him began to fill up, Sandor started experiencing claustrophobia, and not for the first time he wished he had accepted Joffrey's offer of his private jet for this job. Sandor, ever stubborn and unwilling to raise awareness to his person, had declined, saying it would be easier if he traveled with the "peasants", as Joffrey lovingly referred to anyone who was not devastatingly wealthy. Besides, Sandor had not wanted to garner attention from the media, who would become inquisitive once they found out a Lannister jet had landed at Aramark but no Lannister was on board, only Joffrey's body-guard. That would raise even more questions as to why Sandor had left his post. No, in spite of the inconvenience, he much preferred the anonymity of traveling coach. He would be surrounded by people too wrapped up in their own problems to notice who he was, and even if they did, the curiosity would be a passing fancy, and nothing more.
As time ticked by and more people shoved luggage up into the tiny compartments, the air grew stuffy and warm. Sandor pulled off his large black winter coat, leaving on his grey sweater underneath, and set it on the other seat. Hoping that take-off would be soon, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was tense, annoyed by the frantic airport and now this plane, and sleep would probably be the best (and only) way to escape his surroundings until they landed. He hadn't slept in almost 48 hours, anyways.
He managed to doze for a few minutes until a flight attendant began talking through the speakers, announcing that it was almost time for boarding to end, and preparations for take-off were being completed. Satisfied that the seat next to him had remained empty, Sandor began to relax more, and he glanced out the small window, watching tech people running around, bundled in large puffer jackets.
The plane was noisy, filled with children crying or shouting and tired parents trying to hush them, but Sandor's ears perked as a gentle voice floated from the front of the plane. "I'm so sorry," the voice was saying. "The traffic getting here was horrible." "That's quite alright," the flight attendant answered. "Happens all the time. Please, find your way to your seat." Sandor rolled his eyes at the conversation and glanced towards the aisle. He froze.
Sansa Stark was making her way down the aisle, clutching her boarding pass and eyeing the numbers printed above the seats with trepidation. Her red hair was tumbling about her shoulders in loose waves, and she wore a long cream coat that hung on her slim frame in an appealing way. Her cheeks were pink, either from the cold or running to catch the flight; probably both. She carried nothing but a purse.
Sandor noticed all of these things in a matter of seconds, but that was force of habit from his job with the Lannisters. He was expected to notice details and form conclusions quickly and correctly, and he did. But what he wondered was what she was doing on his flight- oh, that's right. She went to college somewhere around here. Sandor remembered Joffrey complaining that Sansa had chosen to go away for school, but Sandor had thought nothing could have been better for the girl. She was entirely too naïve; living somewhere else, being on her own, and most importantly having distance from Joffrey, would hopefully open her eyes a little.
Sansa came closer, and Sandor had sudden wild thought that she was destined for the empty seat next to him. No, that was something that happened in some buggering movie. He watched, feeling increasingly uneasy, as the girl halted her steps, staring at him with her pretty blue eyes and pink mouth open. "Oh!" Then her eyes glanced at the numbers above his head and she reddened. Sandor snorted. "Would you like the window seat, Little Bird?" Sansa's face flushed again, and she gave a weak nod. "Yes please." He held back another snort, but picked up his coat and stood, moving into the aisle. Sansa slid past him into the window seat, and he sat down again next to her.
Her shock worn off, she suddenly gave him a smile. "How are you, Sandor?" she asked, stowing her purse at her feet. "I had no idea you'd be all the way up North." No one does, he thought. "I'm fine," he answered gruffly, unused to her smiles. The past year that she had dated Joffrey, she could barely look him in the face, even when he gave her advice about handling Joffrey's increasingly violent mood swings. His scars and imposing figure frightened most people, and why should she be any different? But now, sitting here on a stuffy airplane, their faces a foot apart, she was looking him in the eye and smiling. It was unreal.
He cleared his throat, eager to hear her speak again. "Coming home?" "Yes," she nodded, smoothing her hair. "For Christmas break. I can't wait." She smiled at him again, and he fidgeted. No one made him uncomfortable, ever, except for Sansa Stark. Even back when she trembled around him and chirped nonsense whenever she would reply to his comments, he had felt drawn to her. She was beautiful, sweet and kind to everyone, and innocent, and even though she was dating Joffrey, his boss, Sandor had become attracted to her, then enthralled by her. And it alarmed him. So he had put up a steely front, only advising her when he absolutely couldn't bear Joffrey's treatment of her any longer, and watching out for her from a distance. She would never reciprocate his feelings, Sandor knew well-enough, but that didn't stop him from desiring her.
When she announced her plans to go away for college, Sandor had been both relieved and upset. Relieved that now maybe she would stop tormenting him, but upset because it meant he wouldn't see her very much anymore. Then he'd chided himself. Stupid, foolish, old dog, pining after her like some love-sick fool. He should be glad to no longer be unnerved by her presence.
The two sat silently as these thoughts floated around Sandor's head, and he couldn't resist the urge to glance at her. Sansa had rested her head back and was staring at the front of the plane, hands folded in her lap. "Nothing else to chirp about?" Sandor prodded. He couldn't resist teasing and mocking her back in King's Landing, watching her blush and stammer as she tried to form a polite sentence. It was his own personal vengeance against her, for making him want her.
She still blushed, but she turned her head and met his eyes once more. "I thought you always said my chirping was annoying," she answered lightly. "Have you changed your mind?" Sandor stared at her, eyes narrowing. Where had this come from? Had she forgotten who she was sitting next to? "Not in the least," he replied, his eyes drifting down to her mouth. He let his own twitch at the sight of her pretty pink lips. Sansa contemplated him quietly for a moment, then she grinned. "You haven't changed a bit. I'm glad."