Well, she sure as seven hells showed you up, didn't she? Sandor wasn't sure whether he was angrier with Sansa...or with himself. He had a feeling that she'd made the decision to allow this Lord Hardyng into her presence merely to spite him, but there had been something in the stubborn set of Sansa's jaw that reminded him far too much of her wolf-bitch of a little sister.
It made him think that Sansa would in fact marry, finally. And soon. And then where would he, Sandor, be? He couldn't imagine staying here at Winterfell, having to swear fealty to the man who took Sansa to wife...but he could no more imagine that than he could imagine leaving Winterfell to follow Sansa to some other lord's holdfast.
Rickon had already - and obediently, for once - gathered their practice swords from the armory, but the boy's efforts to concentrate seemed to be in vain, and as Sandor wasn't able to focus on their work either, he certainly couldn't hold Rickon's lack of attention against him. "Go on up to the Maester's rooms with ya," Sandor finally ordered. Rickon looked relieved to be released, and though Sandor was fairly certain that the boy wouldn't actually go to see Maester Sam, he refused to push the issue.
Unfortunately, when Sansa later learned that Sandor hadn't brought Rickon to Maester Sam as he'd been told to do, the general punishment was that Rickon's sword practice was put on hold while he learned letters and numbers and "other such important things" from the fat, cowardly Maester. This meant quite a bit of free time for Sandor - and it also left him torn in regards to whether or not he should spend it guarding Sansa as he used to do, or working with some of Winterfell's newer guards.
As more time passed, however, Sandor tended toward the latter. He simply couldn't stand to watch Lord Hardyng fawn over the little bird, nor did he care to hear the missives that came from far and wide once the Dragon Queen had received Sansa's request for the names of the marriageable men of Westeros.
"I know what you're doing, Clegane, and you can't avoid her forever," Jaime Lannister chided Sandor one day after they'd had a particularly rough bout of sword practice together.
Sandor snorted. "You've got no idea what you're talking about, Kingslayer."
Jaime rolled his eyes. "How very droll of you, Hound. I would have expected you to come up with a better slur for me by now. And truth be told, I have severalideas as to what I'm talking about - most of them involve you not being such an arse to Lady Sansa, if you must know. It's past time for her to marry, and you should be by her side, helping as needed, as she tries to choose a proper husband - as Brienne and I have been."
"Yeah, well, I'm not you or Brienne," Sandor snarled.
A flash of annoyance marred Jaime's still-handsome features for a moment, but receded as he quickly collected himself. "No," Jaime sighed. "You're not. And it's for that very reason that you should be far more concerned about Sansa's recent decisions than we are...and yet instead you ignore them, ignore her. If you had any idea what's been going on - "
"I don't want to know, Ser Jaime. And I'm not sure why you can't get that through your thick skull."
Jaime watched Sandor silently for several long moments, then finally shrugged. "All right then, have it your way." He turned and walked away, leaving Sandor to stare after him, clenching and unclenching his fists in anger. What in the seven hells had the fucking Kingslayer meant when he said that Sandor had no idea what had been 'going on'? I have every idea about what's been going on, which is why I can't stand to be around her right now!
After all these years, after all he'd seen and all he'd learned, how could Jaime Lannister be so damned dense?
She didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Harry, sweet as he could be at times, held no interest for her - and apparently no interest in her, either.
"There will be others, my lady," Brienne promised. "You are one of the great beauties of Westeros; everyone knows it." The large, ungainly woman sounded a bit wistful as she said this, and though Sansa was sure that she knew why, she knew it would be best to keep her pity to herself. She waved Brienne's compliment off with a chuckle.
"It's no matter, Brienne. You know that I didn't want him...but I must admit, I'm glad that I gave him a chance. He's not so bad, is he?"
Brienne's lip twitched. "He's a bit of a rake, to be honest."
"True," Sansa agreed, laughing. "But it's all in good fun, I think. Ah well, I suppose part of me will be sad to see Harry go back to the Vale...if only because it means that the next set of suitors is coming up the Kingsroad to try their best to woo me into marriage." The mirth left her tone as a sudden seriousness seized her. "I know that Queen Daenerys probably thinks it's fun, not revealing the names of who she is sending, but it merely makes me nervous."
"Ah, Lady Sansa. The Dragon Queen adores you; she'd not send anyone - shall we say - questionable," Jaime Lannister reassured her. Sansa smiled her thanks.
"Ser Jaime! I didn't hear you arrive. You look a fright, you know." He was covered in dirt and a fine sheen of sweat; the sleeve of his right arm, usually so carefully tied over the stub of his wrist, had even come undone.
"Yes, thank you, I know," he replied sarcastically. "I was in the practice yard with Clegane just now. He - "
"Don't." Sansa held up her hand and gave a quick jerk of her head. I can't bear to hear of him. Not now. They were worse than strangers lately, after all, and she had to keep telling herself that she was getting used to it. She'd done her best to not let her thoughts of Sandor effect the way that she felt about Harrold Hardyng, and now she had to make sure that they also didn't effect her opinions of the men that the Queen had sent.
There had been another name put forward, as well - not by himself, as it were, though when Sansa had confronted this person, his reaction had shocked her more than a little bit. Truth be told, she hadn't quite thought of him as someone she could marry until the handful of people who had dared bring up his name expressed their own surprise that she hadn't thought of him like that.
"Why not someone whom you already know well, someone whom you already care about?" The question hadn't been worded exactly the same by Maester Sam, by her cousin Jon, by Queen Daenerys...but Sansa had felt the surprise of all three of her good friends and had suddenly known that while they had never suspected the feelings that she harbored for Sandor Clegane, they certainly believed that she had a hidden love.
They simply assumed that it was Jaime Lannister.
Sansa had laughed when she'd told Jaime of this discovery, but her laugh had been cut short when she'd seen that he wasn't reacting quite the same way. Instead his face flushed red and he avoided meeting her gaze. This response of his had left her more than a little speechless, at first...but now that at least a sennight had passed since their ensuing conversation, Sansa found that more and more she was thinking that perhaps it would be nice to make the easy decision and, as Sam and Jon and Dany had put it, simply go ahead and marry someone who she already knew and already cared about...if I can ever put Cersei out of mind, she often reminded herself. Yet Jaime had not mentioned his deceased twin as he explained to Sansa that he would make her a good husband - and that their match would be exactly what was needed to calm any concerns that the Dragon Queen might have about Sansa Stark making a powerful marriage alliance.
"I know that I may not be what you hoped or planned for, my lady," her golden knight had said in a firm, grave tone. "But you know that I am devoted to you. I dare say that many people would be quite content if we were to end up together."
She'd raised an eyebrow and sighed. "And many more who would not care for it." Tyrion came to mind; he may have allowed their marriage to be annulled, but to find that she'd then bound herself to his handsome brother in his stead?
And what of Brienne?
What of Sandor?
"All I ask is that you think on it," Jaime requested.
"As you have done?" she pressed, wondering if her concern showed through, though she tried to hide it.
Jaime nodded and took her hands in his. "I have, Sansa."
She'd looked into his eyes and known that he meant every word that he said...but though she loved him for it, loved him for rescuing her from Petyr, loved him for his devotion to her...Sansa did not love Jaime Lannister the way a woman should love a husband. And she didn't think that he loved herthe way a man should love a wife, either. Besides - "I must grant an audience to the men who have traveled so far to meet me," she reminded Jaime.
"Of course," he agreed. "And Sansa...I...I don't want you to...to settle for me. You understand that, right? If one of these other men...in fact, if anyother man...were to appeal to you..."
Suddenly Sansa saw...everything. Jaime did care for her, perhaps more than he would admit to her or even to himself - and he was offering his life to her knowing that she would never feel quite so strongly about him, because he knew that she loved someone else.
And she was certain that Jaime knew who she really wanted, as well.
One by one the men from the South came trickling in to Winterfell. Some bore names and faces that Sandor had never before seen; others looked vaguely familiar.
And a few, he remembered all too well. Podrick Payne, for one, raised up high right along with the Imp when that man had been made Hand of the King...Humfrey Hightower, a bit old for Sansa perhaps, but youngest son of a great family...and - gods - even Tyrek Lannister, back from the dead. Or rather, back from where Lord Varys had tucked him away until the Dragon Queen had reclaimed Westeros and needed someone to seat at Casterly Rock.
It was clear that these three would be the men truly vying for Sansa's affections. Though not born with a good family name, Podrick Payne had connections, gold, and even a bit of land - and he'd grown from a gangly, pimply youth into a handsome man of solid build. Humfrey Hightower was older than Sandor, but had retained the gallant nature and fine, strong features of his family line.
And Tyrek...Fuck me, Sandor swore to himself. The young man was Jaime Lannister come again, the young golden god that Lancel Lannister had never quite been, even at his peak. And if the rumors were true - that Tyrek's time apart from his family had led to his growing into a kind, intelligent, and fair lord - then there was no question that he had everything going for him.
Every single one of them disgusted Sandor, because how could they ever know the little bird the way he did? What she had been through, and how she still persisted in romanticizing everything despite it all? How kind she was, but how firm she could be when things weren't going her way...and she wanted them to do so? How much she loved Rickon and Winterfell, and how she'd never be quite so happy living any place else?
Or was he kidding himself, thinking that she didn't want to leave here? Perhaps now that Westeros had settled into a peaceful - and possibly everlasting - summer, Sansa would prefer to make her way South again, where she could spend more time at court and dote on the Dragon Queen?
Could he really claim to know her the way he wanted to believe he did? If Sandor was honest with himself, the answer to that question was probably 'no'. Perhaps once, back when they were first reunited, he had been able to see into the little bird's heart and mind. She'd wanted him to do so - he'd known this, and he'd fled from it, telling himself that he could never deserve her, could never repay her for the wrongs he'd done.
That he could never have her the way he wanted her, and that he didn't want to face that knowledge time and time again.
But now Sandor looked at these so-called suitors of Sansa's, and wondered if perhaps he'd given up too easily. Would Podrick Payne or Humfrey Hightower or Tyrek Lannister truly make the little bird happy? Or, at least, would any one of them be able to give her the devotion and adoration that she deserved?
Would any one of them allow her to be her own person?
Suddenly Sandor realized that as he'd mused over this utter nonsense, he'd practically strode right up onto Sansa and Jaime Lannister's heels as those two walked together, presumably making their way from the glass gardens to the Great Hall. He noted with some chagrin the way that Jaime had rested his left hand - his only hand, Sandor thought meanly - across the small of the little bird's back, and the way she seemed to lean in to the Kingslayer's tall, golden form as if...well, fuck. As if Jaime was more than a mere trusted friend and confidante.
Much more.
Now that he'd stopped in his tracks, Sandor couldn't help but watch Sansa and Jaime's progress as they walked toward the holdfast - and as he watched them he recalled how Jaime had spoken to him during their most recent conversation. Had the Kingslayer been trying to warn Sandor that he was about to stake his claim to Sansa Stark?
Was 'warn' even the proper word for it, when it was entirely possible that Jaime Lannister knew that Sandor felt more than he should for their mutual charge? Did the Kingslayer think that he was worthy of her, when the fact of the matter was that no one was worthy of her?
This last thought crossed Sandor's mind just as Sansa and Jaime disappeared into the holdfast, and with it came the sudden realization that if no one was truly good enough for Sansa Stark, than he - Sandor - should, just maybe, be presenting himself as an option. What was the worst that could happen?
She could laugh at you. She could rail at you. She could refuse you as kindly and courteously as she is like to do, but she would be refusing you all the same.
Yet in the end, any one of these options seemed vastly more appealing than seeing her wed to Jaime Lannister...or more appealing than watching her give herself to Podrick Payne or Humfrey Hightower or, gods forbid, Tyrek Lannister...and suddenly, Sandor knew that he had no choice but to throw his lot in with those of Sansa Stark's other suitors. True, he had little and less to offer her - no gold, no great holdfast of his own, and not even a handsome face.
But he'd loved her longer than he cared to admit, and he would continue to love her until the end of his days. He recalled how she had insisted that he'd kissed her, that night that he'd gone to her room and stolen a song from her by knife point...how hurt she'd been when he'd laughed at her. She hadn't understood that he'd been laughing more at himself and the hope that had sprung up within him at her admission than at the idea that she misremembered that horrible night...and Sandor had never been able to bring himself to explain all of this to her.
Now, though, he would. He owed her that...that, and so much more.
He owed her everything that he was, for she was the Maiden who he truly believed in, body, heart, and soul.
