Chapter 10
A/N: Since this is (mostly at least) TV canon, I'm going by the ages of characters from there. Sansa is 13 when the series begins, and judging by the passage of time from the books where she's 13 by book 3, she should be turning 15 somewhere around this time.
Sansa's fifteenth name day is spent on the road, perched on her horse as the rain falls upon them. She is tired and sodden, weary from five days spent on the march and looking forward only to the end of the day when the tent she shares with Arya can be raised and they are able to rest.
They ride at the back of the battle host just in front of the baggage train, where it is judged that they will be safest. Lady Catelyn rides ahead in the next section along with Talisa, closer to Robb to give advice if he should need it.
Sansa rides with Arya to her left side and Sandor to her right, a further five knights nearby tasked with protecting them should battle occur and her sworn shield be called away to fight. There exists a slightly uneasy peace between her sister and Sandor, with only the occasional insult traded as they mainly ignore each other.
"Do you remember my last nameday at Winterfell?" Sansa asks Arya as their horses trudge along through the muck stirred up by the rest of the host. "I was so excited… mother had given me a new dress and there were lemoncakes at the feast. I felt so grown up at the time, as if I was almost a woman." She smiles sadly at the memory, of her excitement at turning 13 and receiving a grown up dress, of the sour tang of the lemoncakes on her tongue. It had been her last nameday at home… the last that her father, Bran and Rickon would ever be present for.
"I remember," Arya replies, "Septa Mordane told me that I shouldn't eat my lemoncakes so fast and that I should try to be more of a lady like you."
Sansa laughs at that and Sandor gives a snort from where he rides on the other side of her.
"A bit of a grim nameday for you this time, little bird." He comments, "Neither new dresses nor lemoncakes and only us and the rain for company."
"It is not so very bad," she comments with a small smile, tugging at the hood of her waterproof cloak to bring it further forward. "I would gladly forgo the rain but I am pleased with my company."
Sandor only grunts at that while Arya grins and launches into a story of her own last nameday at home, when their father had allowed her to participate in Bran and Rickon's arms training as a special treat.
From ahead they hear the horn that signals they are about to stop for the midday meal and a short rest. Sandor barks out instructions to the men around them to set up a small tent for the girls' shelter, seeing that they are about their tasks before he moves to help Sansa dismount. He reaches for her and she places both of her hands softly on his shoulders for balance as he places his large hands around her waist to help her down, warm even through the cloth of her dress.
Instead of dismounting, Arya announces that she's going to check on their mother and Talisa and trots off on her horse. She has never been good at patience and Sansa knows that the slow pace of the host has been sorely trying on her, leaving her eager for any change or action. Watching her go, Sandor directs two of the knights to follow Arya in order to keep her safe.
One of the smaller tents is soon erected and two chairs and a small table placed inside for Sansa and Arya's use. A member of her brother's retinue brings food and utensils and Sansa gratefully strips off her sodden cloak before collapsing into one of the chairs.
"You might as well sit and eat with me," she tells Sandor, when he walks in with one saddlebag over his shoulder. "Arya will most likely stay with Mother and Talisa for her meal. Robb is likely to eat with them and she will wish to hear what he has to say about our progress and any upcoming battles he expects."
Sandor grunts in assent and moves to sit in the remaining chair, watching her as she prepares two plates from the bread and cheese and dried meat that has been given for their midday meal. Robb wishes to travel quickly and therefore there is fresh food only for the evening meal in order to make the best time.
There is no privacy to speak of on the road north and this is the first time since they have left Riverrun that they have been alone. As she places food on a plate to give to Sandor she watches him from under lowered eyelids, observing the way that he allows his eyes to rake over her when he thinks she isn't aware of it. Warmth spreads through her, driving away the chill of the road.
She passes him the plate and he nods his thanks, watching her eat her own food daintily for a moment before he begins on his own meal, far less concerned about delicacy and more about finishing quickly. When he's done he wipes his hands upon his breaches before turning to watch her finish her own meal, a ghost of a smile upon his lips. She blushes lightly, self conscious under his attention and glad that Arya's restlessness has given them this moment alone.
"Not much of a nameday at all," he comments as she dabs at her lips with a handkerchief before sitting back in her chair.
"I am content enough," she assures him, "I have Mother and Robb and Arya back with me and you… You are with me also."
Her heart beats faster as she says the last part, she is still so unsure of herself around him, unable to express her feelings adequately and nervous of his reaction. She could not bear it if he was to reject her overture.
"Aye, I'm here with you." He agrees, something flickering across his face as he says it. "I wouldn't want your nameday to pass without you receiving any gifts though."
He reaches into the saddlebag he's brought in with him and Sansa realizes that he intends to present her with something. She can't help but feel touched by his thoughtfulness, though she is confused by what he would think to give her.
He brings out an oilcloth wrapped package and passes it to her, watching as Sansa carefully unwraps it.
"It's not what a little bird like you would wish for in a gift," he says gruffly as she looks down at the items now lying in her lap. "But we're most likely headed to battle and I'll see you have some protection even if I'm not by your side."
She had returned the dagger he lent her on the road once they reached Riverrun, thinking that surrounded by her brother's bannermen she would have no more need of it. In her lap on top of the oilcloth lies two small leather sheaths with buckles attached, one with a slightly longer belt than the other, a pair of matching daggers inside them. Sansa admires them for a moment, taking in the simple yet elegant design of the leather, and pulling out one dagger. She tests its balance, finding the blade light in comparison to the one he had lent her previously. Even with little knowledge of weapons she can tell that the craftsmanship is excellent.
"Thank you," she stutters, "I…"
"Not what you were expecting I'm sure," he cuts her off, "But if I'm called away from you to fight I'd feel easier knowing you're able to protect yourself in some way. The first dagger fastens around your left wrist so that you might pull it out easily with your right. The second dagger you should fasten on your leg above your boot, so you have a weapon concealed if that one's taken from you."
"But where did you get them from?" she asks him as she turns the dagger over in her hands, still admiring it.
"Had them made in Riverrun while we were there," he replies with a shrug, "Heard it was your nameday soon and thought I might as well wait to give them."
"This is…" she pauses, wanting desperately to say the right thing, to let him know how much this means to her. Even when it comes to giving gifts her safety is always foremost in her mind. "They're beautiful," she finally says. "I can't thank you enough for your thoughtfulness. I'll ensure that I wear them every day."
He grunts in reply, but looks oddly pleased. "Here girl, let me show you how to put the wrist sheath on." He tells her, and leans forward to buckle it around her left forearm, checking the straps to see that it is tight enough and will not slip. His fingers linger for a moment, brushing the back of her hand. "Now let's see you try to draw it."
It takes Sansa a few times before she manages to do so smoothly and he finally nods in approval.
"Remember what I taught you on the road to Riverrun." He tells her, a seriousness in his voice. "You're not a warrior so one of your best chances is to surprise them. Wait until they're close and then use it on whatever exposed parts you can. Eyes are best or any gap in armour you can find."
She nods, remembering their lessons upon the road north of King's Landing, stifling a blush as she recalls his hands upon her as he had demonstrated how to block an attack and defeat an opponent.
Turning away from him she lifts her skirts slightly to fasten the second sheath around her left leg just above her ankle boot, pausing to admire it for a moment. She turns back to see him regarding her with an intensity that she hasn't seen for days, his eyes dark as he raises them from her legs to her face.
For a moment Sansa can do nothing, can think of nothing to say in response to the need that she sees upon his face. She should have known better, should have kept herself proper and distant as he has, even though she has wished for days to test the boundaries and force him out of his self imposed limits. She stands up and he follows suit.
"S..Sandor, I…" she wets her lips unconsciously, her throat suddenly dry, and hears his sharp intake of breath. The sound of his first name on her lips is strange to her. Since she cannot address him as Ser or My Lord she usually refrains from addressing him directly by his name at all, aware of the impropriety of it.
"Seven hells girl, but you fucking tempt me." He mutters, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I shouldn't have…"
"Yes, yes you should have!" Sansa interrupts him, unable to stand by while he makes excuses and distances himself once again. "Your gift meant so much to me and I… I…" she stumbles over her words, blushing all the while. She thinks she must be as red as her hair by now. "I want…" she starts to say but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand.
"You don't know what you want, little bird." He tells her, "You're too young to know it. Fifteen and with your whole life ahead of you and I should fucking well remember it."
"No," she tells him passionately, taking another step forward. "No, you can't tell me that I don't know what I want, that I'm too young to know. After everything I've been through, I know. I know."
She practically hisses the last part, upset as she is at his dismissal of her feelings. She takes a step forward and reaches for him but he grasps her wrist before she can.
"What do you know?" he asks her harshly, his grip almost crushing her. "What do you think is going to happen if I allow myself to do what I really want to? You think this is a fairy tale or a song, that I'm your true hero and we'll live happily ever after in the end? You think your lady mother or kingly brother would ever accept a fucking dog like me for you?"
Sansa shakes her head, tears threatening to spill, she does not want a song anymore.
She knows that all the best songs end in tragedy.
Seeing her face he sighs, softens visibly. "And there I've made you cry on your nameday, like the brute I am." He whispers, lets go of her and reaches out a hand to wipe away a tear as it spills down her cheek.
If she could just make him understand, if she could just convince him… Sansa throws herself forward, wraps her arm around his waist and lays her head on his chest. It is uncomfortable with the mail he is wearing but she wants so badly for him to give in, to finally touch her as she's been wishing for him to for weeks.
For a few moments he allows himself to. He puts his arms around her, keeping them high and still on her back. Sandor strokes one hand through her hair briefly, his fingers gentle, before he pushes her firmly away.
She makes a noise of protest but he steps away from her anyway. "We're in the middle of an army camp, girl." He tells her roughly, "If anybody were to walk in then it would mean the death of me. It might be rather an ugly head I have but I would prefer to keep it on my shoulders."
She feels like a fool then for the danger that she's placed him in. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I just…"
"Better if you do think," he tells her seriously. "These are foolish hopes and dreams and you need to face the truth. You're destined for marriage with some Lord or other. A better man than me, no doubt. I'll protect you, even follow you to your new home to watch over you if that's what you wish, but no matter how much I want you that's all that will ever be." He moves away from her, walking towards the tent's entrance "And that's for the best."
Sansa finds her voice, "You are a good soldier and my brother already respects you, maybe one day after you've helped him to win back the North…"
"Maybe one day he might grant me lands or even make a lord of me, but I'll still be too low born for the likes of you." Sandor gives a harsh laugh, "I would have been even before your brother declared himself King of the North. Younger sons from minor houses who are the descendents of kennel masters shouldn't even presume to look at a Stark of Winterfell."
"I know that it seems impossible," Sansa tells him, trying to frame her words carefully. "And I will be careful of my actions from now on but you cannot tell me what I should or should not feel, what I should or should not want. I know my own mind. I know my own heart."
She hears his intake of breath and sees him turn back to her and look at her intently for one moment. Then the horn to signal preparation for departure sounds and he strides outside without looking back. Sansa puts her coat back on and pulls up the hood, takes a moment to gather her emotions before she walks outside.
When the time comes to depart he lifts her onto her horse quickly before mounting Stranger. Now his hands do not linger and he is back to avoiding her gaze.
She waits until the host has started moving again before she reaches out to touch his arm gently. He turns to look at her, a question in his eyes.
"I really am thankful for your gift," she tells him, "For all of the gifts that you have given me. I am glad you are here with me on my nameday."
He nods, his face softening slightly. "I've to help your brother win his war and see you home safely for the next one." He tells her.
She smiles at that, and turns back around to face the road. Arya rides up twenty minutes later to join them, chattering about what she's heard during her meal with Robb. They ride in silence for most of the afternoon and it is only when they halt for the night and the girls' tent is erected that Arya notices the wrist sheath and dagger once Sansa has removed her coat. Sandor is off duty and has already left them, they are guarded by a rotation of Robb's bannermen through the nights.
"Where did you get that from?" Arya asks Sansa, peering at the sheath and dagger intently. Sansa smiles and removes it to show her.
"It was a nameday gift from my sworn shield." She tells Arya, "So that I might protect myself if we are attacked."
Arya admires the dagger and its sheath with obvious admiration. "If only I still had Needle then we could fight off any Lannisters or Ironborn together." She remarks glumly.
Sansa laughs, "And perhaps at the end of the war they'll make a song about the Stark sisters and their blades."
Arya joins her in her laughter and they head to dinner quite merrily. Sansa has stowed her wrist sheath safely in her belongings, neither feeling that it is appropriate for dinner nor wanting to answer the inevitable questions that will follow. She has kept the dagger strapped on her leg in its place. She enjoys the feeling of it against her skin, a secret that only she knows.
The family toasts to her health and while there are no lemoncakes, they have managed a slightly more elaborate dinner than usual. Sansa does not mind the lack of fanfare surrounding her nameday, she is only happy that she is safe here with her family. If she had remained behind in King's Landing then perhaps they would have used today as an excuse to marry her to Joffrey, she cannot suppress a shudder at the thought.
"I am sorry that your other nameday gift is not ready," her mother tells Sansa after presenting her with a set of jeweled hairpins that were once hers. "I've started sewing a new dress for you but now that we have left Riverrun there is little free time to complete it."
"That is alright," Sansa replies with a smile, "There will be few opportunities to wear a new dress until we have retaken Winterfell."
Robb nods his agreement to this. He's presented her with a pair of new riding boots and a grey woolen cloak, practical presents that the old Sansa would have been disappointed with. Now she understands the pleasure of a warm cloak and the value of having more than one set of boots to wear when one is still damp.
"Still, it is a shame that we could not give you a better celebration when we have so recently gotten you back safely." Catelyn comments.
"She received one more gift from The Hound, at least." Arya comments blithely, and Sansa bites her lip, wishing that she had been able to mention it casually first.
"Did she now?" Catelyn asks, directing a look of displeased enquiry towards Sansa.
"It's brilliant!" Arya exclaims enthusiastically, and Robb and Talisa also focus their attention upon Sansa, awaiting her explanation.
"He gave me a dagger with a wrist sheath." Sansa admits to them, forcing herself to keep her tone casual, as if she had simply forgotten to mention it.
"I'm not certain if it's entirely appropriate for him to be giving you gifts." Catelyn tells her with a frown. "He is unrelated to you and not of the proper rank. He should avoid reaching above his station."
It is Sansa's turn to frown, offended by her mother's words but recalling what Sandor had told her earlier that day. He is right, second sons of upstart minor houses are not given leave to aim for Starks of Winterfell. He is right just as he is always right and she knows now that they will never understand.
She forces herself to make her tone light and scoffs at her mother's sentiment. The mask which she perfected in King's Landing is useful here as well. "He has hardly presented me with jewels or clothing or poetry." She tells her mother, "He has given me the dagger to protect myself with should I be attacked if it comes to battle. It is an appropriate gift from a Sworn Shield."
She looks towards Robb, knowing his grudging respect for Sandor and hoping that he will back her up.
Her brother shrugs, "I fail to see the harm in it, Mother. Sansa is right, it is not an inappropriate gift. I would be happy to know that she has a means of protecting herself if her defenders should fail."
Catelyn purses her lips, clearly unhappy at the outcome of the conversation but Talisa changes the topic, asking them about the places that they will soon be travelling to and talking about her own journeys before she had met Robb.
Pretending to listen, Sansa instead focuses on the pressure of her leg sheath and the dagger within it against her calf, imagines the feeling of a warm calloused hand there instead.
She will keep her secrets and pray for a day when she does not need to.
A/N: This story now has more than 80 followers which I'm somewhat chuffed at :) Thank you very much to those who continue to review, I look forward to receiving them each time!
Liz: Thank you! .
Stephie: I learned German for 2.5 years in high school but unfortunately have forgotten all of it! I don't want to reveal too much, but yes, there is a possibility Gendry might be back before the end ;) Not for some time though!