THIS STORY IS A REPOST **Originally intended as a multi-chapter but due to a busy schedule, I won't be updating this story any time soon. For that reason I'm only posting this chapter as a one-shot and will return in a few months to add to it.
One of the most intriguing relationships in Game of Thrones, I think, is that between Sansa and the Hound. I couldn't believe my eyes when she was standing in the King's Court in the final episode of Season 2. I was shaking the screen, screaming at her, "are you kidding me? You didn't go with him!"
So this is my take on what might have happened if Sansa made the 'right' decision :) It begins at the scene in episode 9, where Sansa finds Sandor in her room.
I haven't read very much of the novel so the story line will be only that of the TV programme, and my own work thereafter.
Heavily Sansa's POV, at least for this chapter.
I don't own anything. I'm just becoming utterly obsessed!
Even from her room, an ominous green hue whispered upon everything around her. It was not harsh like it had been in the room where the women had been sheltered, but still it was there. Just like all the slaughter and bloodshed. She had run to hide from it, but echoes of the screams and battle cries reached her ears even here.
What she felt standing there with the ghosts of the carnage brushing against her entire being, it was not just fear. It was exhaustion.
She was tired, so tired of all of it. She longed for Winterfell, her home... Her family… She spotted the raggedy doll lying on her dresser. Her Father…
She picked up the doll, and his face flooded into her mind. She missed him so much it hurt. Of all the unforgivable things Joffrey had done, the thing she detested him most for, was taking Eddard Stark from this world. She could have happily killed him when he had forced her to stare up at his decapitated head, had the Hound not stopped her. She would have watched, unblinkingly as he fell, and she would have smiled at the sound of his cracking skull.
Her grip on the doll tightened slightly. Her Father had known all along what a monster that boy would turn out to be, with his wicked mother whispering cruel intentions in his ear. He had tried to protect her and Ayra both, he had tried to get them away from all of it. But she had been stubborn. She had acted like the spoilt brat she had always been and thought him selfish for trying to destroy her "dreams".
"I'm sending you both back to Winterfell."
Sansa had been outraged. While her younger sister had been panicked at the thought that perhaps her Father was dying, Sansa had only thought of herself and her beloved Joffrey.
"When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone brave and gentle and strong."
"I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong. I want him!"
Bile rose in her throat at the thought of her own words. How blind she had been. How vain. Perhaps, if she had not argued… if she had made an effort to obey her Father's wishes, she and Ayra might be home safe in Winterfell.
Ayra. She did not know if her sister was even alive. Sansa should have protected her. Every single day, she woke with dread in her heart that she would join the King's Family for breakfast and find her little sister's head on a platter like a centrepiece.
No, she told herself. Ayra was stronger than her, better. She would have run, she would have fought, and she would have escaped. Where ever she may be, she might be cold and scared and hungry… but she was alive. She had to have been. Sansa believed it with all her soul.
Because she had to.
She had to believe it, or else she would not be able to drag herself out of bed each day and pretend she wasn't living every second feeling only agony and terror. Yes… Ayra had escaped. And envy bubbled inside Sansa.
She wanted to escape.
She would have given anything…
A voice suddenly startled her from her thoughts, "The lady is starting to panic."
She let out a sharp gasp and spun to face the owner of the voice. The Hound sat upon her bed in his battle armour. The melted side of his face was exposed to her and it, along with the rest of him was splattered with blood. His voice had been soft, but still it struck fear in her heart. Her pulse raced, as she stared at him. Her entire body had tensed up.
"What are you doing here?" she attempted to speak with authority but her voice quivered and she sounded like the child she was.
"Not here for long." He assured her, not really looking at her, "I'm going."
"Where?"
"Some place that isn't burning… North might be… Could be…" His fractured sentence cause Sansa to think that perhaps he had thought about this before, planned it even. But now that it became a possibility, a reality, his plans became improbable to him. Just like all of hers had.
"What about the King?" She could not bring herself to spin out his name.
"He can die just fine on his own," He told her calmly, as he took a swig of drink from a leather satchel.
Sansa studied him, his demeanour far different from what it usually was. She realised what had changed, he was tired… just like her. Tired of being a pawn in the Game of Thrones. Something akin to sympathy began to bloom inside her but it shrunk away into nothingness, overtaken by fear when the Hound turned and his eyes fell upon her.
"I could take you with me." He said to her, his voice still so very gentle, "take you to Winterfell ."
He stood. His movements were slow, yet still she flinched as she moved towards her. Sansa tried to make eye contact will him, but she could not bring herself to stare at his terrible, melted face.
"I'll keep you safe." He told her, ignoring her evident fear, "Do you want to go home?"
Fantasy became reality. A true opportunity to leave. And in that moment it frightened her more than the idea of staying.
"I'll be safe here," she murmured, not believing her own lie. "Stannis won't hurt me."
He would win this battle. If even the ferocious Hound retreated, there was no hope for victory. Suddenly, he snarled and he rushed towards her. Sansa flinched as his hands gripped her, expecting pain that did not come.
"Look at me." He growled the command and Sansa obeyed, "Stannis is a killer, the Lannisters are killers, your Father was a killer… your brother is a killer. Your sons will be killers someday. The world is built by killers... So you better get used to looking at them."
And so Sansa looked. Really looked. At the man with the melted face. The King's dog… the man who was as exhausted as she was. The man who had come for her, to save her in the riot when no one else would. The man who had killed her attackers mercilessly. The man who had looked away when Joffrey had stripped her of her clothes and her dignity before his court… The man who had dabbed the blood from her lip… and called her 'little bird'.
Realisation hit her like a slap. If there was anyone in all of King's Landing that she could trust, it was him. The Hound. Sandor Cleganne.
"You won't hurt me," she voiced her epiphany, staring into his eyes.
A sad smile hinted upon the Hound's lips, "no little bird, I won't hurt you."
He let her go and turned towards the door.
"Wait…" Sansa murmured.
And he slowed to a stop, though he did not turn towards her.
She took a few hesitant steps towards him, gazing up at the back of his head, still clinging to her doll.
"When my sister Arya was only a baby," her voice came out in little more than a whisper, "she would laugh and it sounded like a tiny sparrow twittering… When I would hold her and rock her and she would giggle, I would call her my little bird…"
At that, the Hound's eyes fell upon her. She no longer looked at him, but instead her eyes had glazed over, staring into the corner of the room. Lost in thought… in memory.
"I loved her more than anything. My only sister. And I swore that I would always keep her safe… my little bird." Her breathing hitched slightly as she fought back a sob, "But over the years we grew apart… we are so different, I just never understood her. And I went back on my promise. And now! Now, I have no idea where she is. No idea if she's safe… if she's even alive anymore."
Her eyes shot up to his face again. Her jaw was clenched, determinedly.
"I am terrified of you, ser… terrified. But when you call me little bird, and I think of the lengths I would have gone to, to keep Arya safe back before I-" she furiously blinked back tears, "When you call me little bird, I fear for any man who would harm me in your presence, far more than I ever have for myself."
The pair stared at each other in silence for a time, cries of the distant battle still sighing through the window.
"Will you come with me?" He asked her, finally.
"Can you promise me that I will see Winterfell again?" Sansa asked, attempting not to sound too hopeful.
"No." he answered gently, not wishing to lie to her, "But I swear to you that I shall try to get you home. And I promise you shall never again see King Joffrey so long as I have a pulse. I won't let him hurt you ever again."
Sansa took in a deep breath, his promise ringing her ears. And she felt something she had not felt in a long time; hope. She wanted to believe him, in fact she almost did. And after everything that had come to pass, that was enough.
"What happened to your face?" she whispered.
He let a small, gentle smile grace his features, "A story for another time, little bird."
He held out his hand to her, standing beside the open door. Sansa looked at the doll once more before laying it reverently on her bed and taking the Hound's hand.
Thank you so much for reading everyone! Please review and tell me what you thought!