A/N: This was written as an assignment for my creative writing course, falling under the category of Plot Patterns. The one I chose was "Obstacles to Love", and what better pairing than Sandor x Sansa, one of my all time favorite pairings for Game of Thrones? When I receive my grade for this, I'll update here so you can see C:
ALSO! Please leave me a bit of review and constructive criticisms, good and bad, so I can improve my writing and better capturing of characters. I tried to be as canon as I could with their personalities.
Arya crouched low, dagger drawn to her chest as she slowly moved forward within the darkness of the room. The sleeping figure was only feet away, easily within reach. The man's face was lit by the fire of the hearth, shadows dancing across the scars that reached up the side of his face past his hairline. The Hound, as she'd called him. She'd traveled with him, begrudgingly respected him, but the pull of wanting to kill him for what he did would not leave her unsettled breast.
She'd traced him up this far north, following rumors and directions from farmers and those fleeing the North until she'd found her way back home. She could reminisce later, this was more important. So infatuated with finding him, she'd gone straight inside, not bothering with speaking to anyone official; it was not her style, going through the front gates. But her hesitance now of not wanting to actually kill the man was perhaps what kept her hidden, for the door opening to the room pulled her back within the shadows.
Soft footsteps approached, and the woman that stood over the large and scarred man made Arya throw her empty hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp. Sansa, no longer a girl, stood straight backed and high necked as she looked over the sleeping figure. The beautiful fur cloak that hung from her shoulders was removed and Arya could only stare as the perfectly embroidered sigil of their Stark name lay etched in the fabric.
Her sister said nothing as she knelt down in front of the man, graceful and purposeful in her movements, and Arya could only ignore the slight jealousy that tugged at her. After a long while of her watching, Sansa's slender fingers raised, slowly floating over the man's face, her eyes fixed on his scars. Quite suddenly, the Hound grabbed the young woman's wrist as he sat up, watching her fiercely and smirking at her surprised reaction. Arya almost jumped out to her sister's defense, but the blade held in Sansa's other hand that pointed to his throat stopped her. It was obvious she came prepared, to which Arya felt a bit of boastful pride for her.
"Heheh.. You come to watch me sleep and then threaten me? If your intent is to kill me, I'll tell you what I told that urchin sister of yours: you've one chance to strike and kill me. If you don't, I'll break your hands." His grip lessened on her wrist.
Arya noticed Sansa's eyes spark when he mentioned her, but it seemed she had other things to think about. But what could be more important than family? "No." She responded coldly, lowering her blade. "I came to offer a proposal."
"In the middle of the night!" He scoffed, letting her wrist go, watching as she rubbed her other hand on it. "What happened to your pomp and glory o'er doing everything proper? And not interrupting a dying man's slumber!"
"Don't be over-dramatic, you aren't dying, ser Clegane." She offered, and Arya wondered if her sister was testing the name. It seemed to be a failed test, since his reaction was almost that of a growl.
"Don't call me that, I'm no ser, and I've given up on any sort of house! I am to myself an only man, waiting for the god of Death!" His head looked to the rafters as he called out, "I am here you twat, come get me!"
"You are still drunk." Sansa's nose wrinkled as she leaned back slightly. "But what I have to ask is a very serious matter and not one to be taken lightly." Her tone was heavy, and she watched him intently. "And if I were to ask tomorrow, it would be too late."
"Your answer is no, so let me rest." He laid back down.
Now, Arya's interest was piqued. What could be so important that couldn't wait until the next day?
"Do you remember?" Sansa's voice softened. "The last time we met. You offered to take me with you. To escape the evils of King's Landing. Do you remember what I said?"
"That your loyalty was that to the king, fucking bastard. I hope whatever gods exist are pissing on his crypt."
She corrected, "That you would not hurt me. An observation I still highly believe."
"What gives you that presumption now?"
"If you were to hurt me, you would have done so already. Now would be your chance, seeing as we are alone."
Another scoff from him, but he opened his eyes anyway to look at her. Arya couldn't quite see his expression, but from what she could gather, it was not one of aggression. "Your naivete never fails to amaze me. What is it you're so desperate for at this hour that you had to wake a dead man?"
"M-" She struggled with the word, and decided a different route. "Ah- An alliance, of sorts. An agreement that we both would benefit from. A union, between us."
He was quiet a moment before letting out a laugh that caught both girls off guard. "Are you offering your hand in marriage? What is it you think I could possibly benefit from that!"
"It is just like you to be so concerned with yourself!"
He continued speaking as though she'd not said anything at all. "And what could you possibly benefit from me! I have no name, no sigil, no rank; I am dishonored from every front!"
"You misunderstand. I would not give up who I am." Sansa's fingers trailed over the detail work of the wolf's head stitched into her cloak. "You would become a Stark, and I would be queen of the North."
Another laugh from him, but it died down when he saw the seriousness of the young woman's face. Her eyes were cold, determined. "Why me?"
"I trust you. And there are no other Starks left."
"I... doubt that. But what of the bastard, Jon Snow? Wasn't he just going on about he was the supposed king of the North, even taking on the Stark name for himself?"
Arya felt her heart soar. Jon was alive!
"He's not a true blooded Stark, even if he is my half-brother. The alliances made to him were made to the house Stark based on old agreements. I will take my rightful place as queen."
His head shook. "This feels too familiar. I don't want to be apart of this game of yours. Let me live- and die- in peace, girl."
Sansa's hand clenched tightly over her cloak. "Sandor." Her tone was almost desperate. "You have nothing to lose. You would live and die with honor. Perhaps-" She paused as she considered her words, "Carry this honor on the family line."
His head turned to fully watch her averted gaze. "Are you suggesting- children?"
Slightly her head nodded, keeping her eyes fixated on some unknown point, fist trembling against her cloak. "Family preservation is important to me. Whatever it takes."
"You spent too much time in King's Landing, you've been brainwashed by all the soft cunts there. Go out and find some young princeling type to trust."
"I don't trust anyone!" That fierceness was back, and her fiery gaze glared at him. "I can't now, not anymore!" Tears brimmed her eyes. "You are the closest I have to who I can trust! Whatever pain it brings, whatever troubles it causes, I don't care any more! I have one goal left in my life, and I'd rather not surround myself with people I cannot put my faith in!"
Arya shifted, wondering about this strange and desperate woman who inhabited her sister's body.
"So you want to bring others into your selfish schemes- rather, me, to father future Stark children for you. To use me." The glare received from Sansa seemed to shut him up.
"That is exactly what men do, so who are you to authorize me!"
Arya had to cover her mouth once more. She quite liked this new sister of hers.
"Do you believe the Stark alliances will support a queen?"
"If those across the sea support a woman harboring dragons as their queen, and Cersei can put herself upon the Iron Throne, why can't I be a queen as well?"
"Because they instill fear?"
"Then I will instill fairness and peace."
"By trying to force me to agree to an arrangement that I already refused? You're off to a terrible start already, queen. I would suggest trying it again." His gaze was challenging.
Sansa's tensed temples were visible from where Arya sat. "I, Sansa Stark, now the eldest of the Starks and rightful queen of the North do propose a vow of marriage to you, Sandor- the lone man, under the watch of the old gods and the new to be wedded in holy matrimony-"
"Stop." His hand raised, fingers pressed to her lips. "No more. I won't marry you- but, I will assist your claim." It seemed painful for him to say. That, or Arya was reading too far in to it. "You have whatever is left of this old body to do with as you please." With that, he laid back down, hand resting across his chest. "Keep your sigil, and reserve it for one you truly love."
Sansa reached out her hand, lightly placing it on top of his. "I did not offer this as a means of desperate duty. Tomorrow my brother- he plans to arrange with some of the allied houses to march south to King's Landing upon the new queen Cersei. I was hoping if I emerged with a husband, I could make my voice heard."
"So again, you were going to use me, this time to be your voice. No one will listen to me in a position such as that. And you would not be happy. Still so naive..." His other hand placed on top of hers.
Whether a token of thanks or affection, Sansa leaned forward and kissed his beard, paused, and placed another on his scarred temple. "My happiness is mine to determine, ser."
A sharp intake of air came from his throat and he fidgeted. "I've said before, I am no ser." His head turned so the scars were out of view, but her hand reached for his face to turn it back.
"If as queen I say you are a ser, then you are a ser." Arya swore Sansa's face turned a bright shade of red. "You're my ser." This time she kissed his mouth, and Arya shifted again, a strange feeling spreading through her hips as their kiss lingered a moment longer than it likely should have.
"Leave, little bird." Breathless. "Before I go against what little better judgement I have left." His voice went deep, intimidating. The blush that crept up Sansa's face matched Arya's own. "Good night." It didn't go unnoticed that he was staring at her mouth.
She was hesitant, but left, and Arya couldn't help but notice she left her cloak behind, to which Sandor took gingerly in his hands and held it carefully, fingers tracing over the design embroidered in to it. "Sandor Stark.. not even in my dreams, little bird." His eyes closed as he placed the fur to his face, inhaling deeply the scent for a long moment before replacing it where it was and turning over to go back to sleep.
Arya sat, fiddling with the blade of the dagger in her hands. Killing him now meant losing a valuable asset to her sister, and possibly making an enemy of her. But watching what transpired had given her a close look into all three of them, and who they were as people. It also made her realize just how much people could change, based on what happened in their lives. Sansa had grown into a proper woman, and Sandor was not as heartless or mean as she once thought. Underneath his very built up rough exterior, he was selfless, and wanted the very best for- for what, exactly? As Arya snuck away, she decided it was for what he cared for, and how he dealt with Sansa was the most gentle she'd ever seen him. As or Arya, she came to the realization that holding on to old grudges was a waste of energy, if the person was deserving of forgiveness.
Once she made her way back around to the front of Winterfell, she couldn't help but smile at herself, pride swelling in her chest for her sister. I'm finally home.