"Swear to me."
"What do you want me to swear, little bird?" He asked her, wanting her confirmation. He needed her to say it. Her choice, always.
"The only vow you said you'd ever swear." In the dim light, her eyes were the brightest thing he could ever remember.
"To be your shield?" A thought ran across his mind. "If I were your shield, we could never do this Sansa, do you understand? It would have to stop." He tried not to think about guarding her while she was with her lord husband, guarding her while she loved another man. He could withstand a lot of hurts, he knew. But not that.
"Then swear the other thing." Sansa's face was utterly serious, otherwise he would've laughed and taken it as a joke.
AN: Happy Valentine's Day! I intended to finish up and post a little ficlet in my 'Hushed' universe for today but then Florida happened and my heart was too heavy as I waited for friends and coworkers to tell us if things were ok.
So instead, this bit of happiness felt right.
May you get to give and receive love, friends. I love all of you.
That night, his nightmares contained Joffrey, taller and older than he had ever gotten to be in life. He looked like Jamie, with his green eyes and blond hair. He was holding Sansa by the throat, and cutting her pregnant belly wide open. Sandor watched in horror as a litter of dead pups fell, and Sansa crumpled into a heap. Joffrey smiled at him then, a horrible thing, and asked in Cersei's voice,
"Would you die for her?"
He awoke, sweating. Sansa, who usually woke with him when he dreamt of such things, was still fast asleep at the end of the bed. He couldn't help from reaching down and brushing her hair back, trailing across her forehead. She was fine. She was here. She was safe. No one would ever hurt her.
"I'll never leave you." He promised her prone form. "Never, little bird. I'm yours, now and forever."
He couldn't sleep any longer, so he chose to rise. When he looked out the tiny window, he saw it was indeed morning. The faintest hints of it chose to begin lightening the sky. He watched it for a moment, then turned back to look at Sansa with a tender smile. She looked so peaceful in sleep. For a moment, she was that same young girl he'd known so long ago in Kings Landing, beautiful and innocent.
He strapped on his sword and his cloak, deciding that it was high time that he do the job Sansa had set him to. He departed, before not before allowing himself to press his lips gently to the crown of her head. Then he was off, headed for the kitchen for a meager breakfast before going to inspect his troops.
News of his appointment must've gotten around, because as he joined the few men up this early, sentries and guards, they gave him all a respectful nod. He wondered if he'd ever stop feeling uncomfortable being anything other than loathed or ignored. He was willing to bet all his gold that he never would.
When he went to the camp of the Unsullied, he was directed to a man called Great Shield, who's tent sat in the center of camp. He went, to be greeted by a tall man with smooth skin the color of mocha. He had deep set, wide eyes the color of Sandor's cloak, and didn't even think to blanche at Sandor's scars. He offered him a seat and introduced himself as one of the commanders of the massive army.
"You protect the lady of the castle, yes?" The man's Common was a little rough, but Sandor had no problems understanding him. He nodded, wondering if any of these men even knew what Sansa looked like.
"Yes, I guard Lady Sansa. She's asked me to command your men, until we march for the north." He told him and the man frowned slightly, turning to the man behind him and saying something rapidly in what Sandor thought could have been Valyrian.
"Why you?" He asked, skeptically and Sandor paused. He had assumed that Sansa had given him command because she had wanted him to feel worthy or valuable. He had assumed it was out of some form of pity or favoritism. But the Sansa that predicted Cersei's every move, who planned things out in advance, meticulously, wouldn't handle him the command of her brother's armies so carelessly.
"How many battles have you survived?" He turned the question back on the Unsullied, who stiffened.
"The Unsullied are tested in battle before they are declared Unsullied, and each survives many battles." He said pointedly.
"I've survived my fair share too." Sandor said plainly. "I was raised here, and I know the houses and the lands. I've seen the things that are coming for us from the north. I've faced them down, and I will tell you, this battle won't be anything like you've ever faced before. The dead make the Dothraki look like nursemaids."
"Nursemaids." Great Shield tried the word out slowly. "This means what?"
"A woman who takes care of children. Old ladies, mostly." Sandor explained, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth. The man's dark eyes lit up as though he was entertained and he nodded.
"Nursemaid. You have faced our enemy?" He asked Sandor, with far more respect than before. Sandor nodded.
"Faced it, lived to tell the tale."
"Then you must tell us." Another Unsullied laid down a map on the table between them and weighted down it's corners with daggers. Great Shield took another dagger and used it to point to where Winterfell was on the map. "Where will the dead come from? How will we best attack? Defend?"
He spent the better part of the morning with Great Shield in the tent, working out battle plans. Occasionally another Unsullied would drift in, to listen. Sandor had never seen an army made of so many men that seemed to have no commanders. They were all equal in the tent, free to share opinions. He saw that Great Shield had earned his position through his knowledge and value as a leader, and wondered if the Unsullied had the right of it then.
He ate with them, getting to know the men. Great Shield had the best grip on the language and translated for them. He heard the story of how the Targaryen queen came to them, how she liberated them. They spoke about the cities they'd taken and the slaves that had been freed. Each man said that he fought of his own free will for the woman that had given them that freedom.
He left reassured that the army was of good caliber, in good spirits, and would never turn on them for Cersei's promises or threats. He glanced at the sprawl of the Dorthaki, wondering how they would receive him, when a squire appeared, looking relieved to have found him. Sandor paused, amused. It was not usually and expression found when someone looked upon him, but he understood when the boy spoke.
"Lady Sansa requests your presence at once." He stammered and Sandor turned to Great Shield, who had been walking with him through the camp.
"We will come to you when Grey Worm returns." He said seriously and Sandor nodded, before turning back to the castle. The squire brought him to Sansa's study, where he was greeted with the site of Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Bran, and most alarmingly, Jaime Lannister sitting around a map.
"Ah, Clegane, good of you to join us." Jaime said brightly when he walked in and he scowled at the man.
"What is it?" He asked Sansa directly. She looked exhausted, not bothering to hide such an expression.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Bran asked him abruptly and he swung his gaze to the boy near the fire. Bran's hands were folded in his lap, his expression cool, but nothing escaped his all-seeing gaze.
"Who?" Sandor asked, trying not to shift uncomfortably.
"The Night King." Bran stated and Sandor couldn't suppress the shiver that went up and down his spine as he remembered the terrible figure on the ridge. He had been sure of his death then and there.
"Aye," He glanced at Sansa. "What of him?"
"We don't know how to defeat him." Sansa sank down into a chair. "And it seems that Bran has decided that he needs to take it upon himself to solve that problem."
"So…" Sandor trailed off, unsure of why he was here.
"She doesn't think that he's that big of a threat." Arya explained and Sansa scowled at her, at them all.
"I didn't say that, I said I don't see why Bran needs to go to the Isle of Faces to understand how to defeat him. We fight him." Sansa stated flatly.
"He has a dragon now." Arya reminded her sister and Jaime blanched, looking around in disbelief.
"He what?"
"Sansa, he's not like a normal king." Sandor told her quietly, knowing that he could use such informalities here. If he was as smart as a wooden post, he was sure that everyone in the room knew his true feelings for her. "Fighting him with soldiers and maneuvers won't work. He's unnatural."
"All kings can die." Sansa said, her mouth pressed into a thin line. "I've seen more kings die in my lifetime than most do in generations. We will slay this king too, and Bran doesn't need to be journeying off to a cursed island to do so."
"Lady Stark, we know you don't want to see your family depart so soon after being reunited." Brienne said gently and Sansa sighed. "But if this will help us end this war sooner, imagine how many lives could be saved. Isn't that worth the risk?"
"We have lost two brothers." Sansa said quietly and while Jaime bowed his head, Sandor noticed that not once did Arya take her eyes off him. He smiled to himself, proud of the little wolf. "I won't risk another."
"My lady, I won't let any harm come to him." Jaime promised and Sandor wanted to scoff. So that was why the man was there.
"How would you travel?" Sansa demanded of Bran.
"I can ride." He reminded her. "There are sleds and such. If I have Jaime, he can be my legs when I need them."
"Gods." Sansa rubbed her forehead. "Can all of this wait until Jon returns? I won't have any of you leaving before he returns or he would have my head. Bran, at least stay until then. We can decide when he arrives and we've all had a chance to talk."
"How far is he?" Arya asked him eagerly and Sandor had to smile at that. Having a mystical being as a brother was better than any raven, it seemed.
"He will arrive tomorrow if they are not delayed." Bran informed and Sansa's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"You said we had a fortnight." She reminded her brother.
"They fly now." Bran said simply and Sandor cringed, remembering the terrifying flight on the back of the beast. He did not envy Jon.
"Seven hells," Sansa swore, looking down on at the items on her desk. "Then I have more to do than I thought I did. Everyone, we will discuss this later. Go… Get the castle ready for my brother." They all nodded and departed, except for Brienne. Jaime fell in step with him easily, a smug smile on his face.
"What?" Sandor growled. "Thinking to finish the job you began?" The whole situation of events had kicked off the disaster that was their present reality was at Jaime's doing and Sandor wouldn't forgive him for that.
"Redeem myself, more like." Jaime said easily, his face serious. "I nearly killed the boy once, and I've regretted it ever since. If I can put it to rights, well, then," He shrugged. "Perhaps one strike removed from my woes."
"You hurt him," Sandor began, but Jaime cut him off with a look.
"Spare me the lecture, hound. Go ready your men for the king's return. I know what should happen to me if any harm befalls Bran Stark. Perhaps Lady Stark will strangle me with my own fake hand. I hear she does like poetic justice, that one." Jaime stalked off before he could another retort in and Sandor frowned, but knew it would be smart to do as Jaime had bid. He went to the training yard, to begin spreading the word there.
With the frenzy that was sparked by Jon's incoming arrival finally died, Sandor found himself collapsing into his bed. He left his door open, waiting, as he pulled off his clothes and crumpled into bed. It wasn't more than a couple minutes before his ears caught the sound of bare feet on stone.
"Can I come in?" Sansa's voice was soft in her request as she paused in the doorway. He looked at her, nodding, stunned once again in the face of her beauty. All of the castle must've been asleep, and she stepped inside and shut the door behind her once more.
"Little bird—" He went to start his protests against her being alone in his bedchambers when the castle was so full of prying eyes, but Sansa would have none of it. She simply moved to start a fire, like she always did, and he went to arrange the bed so that she could sleep on one end and he the other.
"I don't need so many blankets. I won't freeze." She muttered, from where she was bent over the fire.
"It's damned cold in your bloody north." He reminded her, though he evened out the blankets some.
"And you radiate heat." Sansa remarked, standing back once the little fire has been lit. "And you snore."
"Did you expect anything less?" It was almost teasing, the way he said it.
"No." Sansa smiled and then she was slipping beneath the covers, like she was perfectly at ease with him. "My father snored. So did Robb, and Jon, and my little brothers too. Arya snores when she's sick."
"Well, you kick." He reminded her.
"Only when I have nightmares." Sansa commented quietly and he climbed into bed as well, far from her. He had to be, or he would do things he would bitterly regret. Her choice, it had to always be her choice.
"Who is it this time?" She didn't tell him her nightmares usually, but it was not hard to guess what caused her to scream. So many horrors and he couldn't protect her from any of them. He felt useless.
"Him." She said simply. "Always him."
"Well then what shall we do tonight?" He asked her, trying to settle in. Usually when they would talk Sansa would tell him all the stories of Winterfell, and he would sometimes give her a few of his home as well. She knew more of his sister and parents than anyone else, save his brother.
"You once said you were honest." Sansa said quietly and he resisted the urge to squirm, recalling the particular interaction.
"Aye, I try." He had promised never to lie to her, he recalled. To die for her, but never lie. It seemed prophetic now.
"Then be honest with me now." Sansa's voice sounded strange, and with a hitch he realized it was because she sounded like she had in the glass gardens. His stomach left him abruptly, and he wanted to bolt.
"I swear." He said thickly.
"Are we all going to die?" Her voice wasn't scared, but it was hesitant, with the barest hint of worry.
"Ah." He was silent for a long time, thinking on how he could be honest when he himself was grappling with how they would survive this. "I don't…"
"I would rather die here." Sansa told him, to fill the silence. "In Winterfell, where I belong. I'm not scared to die. I'll see my mother again, and my father. Robb. Rickon. All my father's men, Lady, the rest of the wolves. And if I don't, at least I won't feel the pain of missing them so much. Are you scared to die?"
"No, little bird." He said quietly, thinking how much she sounded like a well-seasoned warrior. "And you will not die, not if I have anything to say about it. I will keep you here for as long as I am breathing."
"You're saying it again." Sansa remarked, a note of petulance in her tone. He sat up, trying to get a good look at her face so that he could understand what she meant. She was staring at her hands, fidgeting.
"Saying what?" He asked her, confused. He wondered if this was going to spiral into another argument.
"Vows." Sansa stopped her movement for a moment and the word hung between the two of them. He sucked in a breath, mind both racing and blank at the same time. He had no idea what to think, and could only give her his honesty.
"Those aren't vows. When I'm saying vows, you'll know." He said lowly and Sansa shifted so she was looking at him. Her blue eyes blazed in the low light and he knew he would never tire of looking at her like this. She was the most beautiful thing there was, and it hovered on the tip of his tongue to say so.
"How so?" She asked him, a note of challenge.
"Because I haven't taken a fucking vow in my life, and there's only one that I ever would." He said plainly, heart racing.
"Then tell me Sandor, which would you take?" He felt her little cold feet pressed against his calves, and fought every urge to jump and run. Usually, he made sure she was a layer or two above him, so that there was no chance of them touching. But not tonight, and gods, she was cold. He couldn't push her away. He had to keep her warm.
"You know." He couldn't bring himself to admit it. That was too much for him, even as his heart ached to tell her.
"Would you swear to house Stark, to myself and Jon and Arya and Bran? Would you be our bannerman?" His stunned silence followed her words, so she changed direction, a wolf stalking her prey. "Or would you swear to Jon and his last plan to save our word? Or would you swear a marriage vow?"
"To who, little bird?" It felt like he had a little bird in his chest, frantically trying to get out. "Who would want this, as a husband or as a bannerman?" He couldn't bear her answer, but he received it anyways.
"I would." Sansa said idly and his heart was gone, far away, because what did she say? And how did she mean it? "You're a wonderful fighter, and a good man. An honorable knight who isn't a knight. Whoever gets to claim you is lucky indeed."
The words were vague enough, he didn't how to interpret them. She could have meant either as a knight or as a husband. She could have meant both. He didn't know what to do, or say, so he fell quiet. Sansa, sensing not to push him any further, lay back down and shifted a few times, before she eventually stilled. When he was absolutely sure that she was sleeping, he gave her the truth that was too terrifying to admit to her.
"I would vow to you, my little bird. I would vow to protect you, always. Until the end of my days."
When he awoke in the night, it was because someone was thrashing. That someone was Sansa, and she was whimpering and trying to fight off the blankets. He froze, unsure of what to do. She'd had nightmares before, but she woke herself out of them all times before. This time, however, she didn't look to be able to do the same.
"Please," She moaned, after one vicious kick that caught his shin and made him want to shout. "Please, no, please, don't, don't, please, please, no, don't." She gave one little whimper and it was enough to shatter his heart, so he ground his teeth and sat up, leaning forward to where she thrashed.
"Little bird." He caught a wrist, but still she didn't wake. "Sansa. C'mon, girl, wake up. Little bird."
"Please," Her voice got louder and he looked in a panic at the door, wondering if the maids could hear. "Please, don't, no, I don't want to…"
"Little bird!" He drew her close to him, clasping her head to his chest. He didn't want to scare her when she awoke with the sight of his mangled face in the light of the fire. "Little bird, wake up. I'm here. No one is going to touch you now, you can be damned sure of that. Fucking no one."
"No!" With a gasp, Sansa awoke and tried to scramble away. He let her, sure that she would be repulsed at his audacity to touch her. She was panting, across the bed from him, eyes wild, and he sat, leaning against the headboard of the bed, trying to find the right words to apologize to her.
"Sansa— My lady— You—"
"Oh!" With furious tears streaming down her cheeks, she launched herself at him. He barely had time to comprehend what was going on, and she was clinging to him, curled on his lap, weeping into his ragged undershirt.
"Sansa?" He asked in bewilderment, but that only made her sob harder, so he decided silence was the best course of action and did what he remembered from when his sister was very young. He wrapped his arms around her, and let one hand rest against the back of her head, cradling her to him.
"He was there." Sansa gasped, not looking up at him. "He was there, he was coming to get me, he was going to take me back and do those things, those horrible, horrible things, and I was going to die and he was going to hurt me."
"Hush, little bird." He strengthened his grip. "No one is going to hurt you; do you hear me? No cunt could get past me in this room. None of them, ever."
"It felt real." Sansa whispered brokenly, clinging to him. "It felt so real. What if that's real, and this is a dream?"
"But what's real here?" He asked her and she paused for a moment. "Tell me, little bird, what's real here, in this moment?"
"Me." She took a deep breath. "I'm real. And my nightgown is soft, and a size too small. This room is real, and it's at Winterfell, in the north. The stones are real. The furs are real. They're soft, and heavy. The bed is real, because I remember my brothers jumping on it when it arrived. And you. You're real."
"I am." He muttered and her hands snaked out of their embrace and went to clutch his shirt, fisting the fabric.
"Your shirt is real, and so is your chest. It rumbles when you talk. It's hairy, and you smell like smoke and Stranger. You're here, you're real."
"I am. He's in your imagination." He stroked her hair again, reveling in the chance to touch her, even if it was just because she was scared and knew he would kill whoever she commanded. "He's not real. He never will be again."
"Prove to me you're real." She begged.
"Didn't I do just that?"
"Do it again."
"Alright." He heaved a sigh. "I'm real, because I'm sitting in this bed and the blankets around me are warm. That blasted fire going over there isn't as warm as I'd like, and the air is fucking cold. My shirt is wet where you've cried, and you smell like you've taken a bath, with your milk soap and those expensive oils. We're both real because if anyone finds us like this, they'd say wicked things."
"They will not." Sansa said firmly and he was glad a note of challenge was back in her voice. Some more of that strength back again. "I won't let them. Anyone who says something about us can take a short walk outside the gates. You're mine." Her grip tightened.
"Sansa, I'm not…" He trailed off, unsure of where he would go with this. He couldn't lie and say it wasn't his dream, but it could never be. She had only ever been fire, and he'd fallen into a trap of playing with it. She was going to burn him, and still he couldn't resist her. She was his everything.
"Will you swear it?" She demanded, more to his chest than to his face. He marveled at how well she fit into his arms.
"Swear what?" He shifted uncomfortably and she only gripped tighter.
"Swear to me."
"What do you want me to swear, little bird?" He asked her, wanting her confirmation. He needed her to say it. Her choice, always.
"The only vow you said you'd ever swear." In the dim light, her eyes were the brightest thing he could ever remember.
"To be your shield?" A thought ran across his mind. "If I were your shield, we could never do this Sansa, do you understand? It would have to stop." He tried not to think about guarding her while she was with her lord husband, guarding her while she loved another man. He could withstand a lot of hurts, he knew. But not that.
"Then swear the other thing." Sansa's face was utterly serious, otherwise he would've laughed and taken it as a joke.
"What other thing?" His heart was pounding so loudly he didn't know how the whole castle didn't wake to its beat. He kept waiting for Sansa to laugh outright at him, but he knew her truly after so many days and weeks of her. She was earnest now, hanging off him, looking as innocent and tender as he'd ever known her.
"Two hearts, bound as one. Two ways that a river runs." She quoted and he was violently thrown back into the past, into the night she'd sang that song and he'd allowed himself, for no longer than a moment, to dream of what it would be like to have her in the sense of a love song. To have her give that song.
"Sansa!" He looked down at her in astonishment. "You don't know what you're talking about. You were scared, you had a nightmare, you're not thinking." He wanted to panic and run, because this was not for him. Dogs were not loved by little birds. But, a little voice reminded him, she was more than a singing bird. She was a wolf.
"Fine." Sansa stayed where she was, a solid weight on his chest. "Don't then."
"Sansa." He whispered, alarmed, when she made no move to retreat back to her spot. "You can't sleep there."
"I can, and I will." She said stoutly and he knew he was up against a challenge. He gritted his teeth.
"Sansa, I can't— your honor—"
"He took my honor." Sansa went rigid and he mentally cursed himself. "So if anyone wants to come in here and talk about my honor, I'd remind them of that."
"It's not proper." He tried again and Sansa snuggled deeper and he was reaching to pull the furs up around her before he was even sure of what he was doing. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't be brought to give a damn.
"I don't give a fuck."
"Sansa!"
"Goodnight." With that, she relaxed and he was left to try to formulate an argument that would convince her that she needed to return to the other end of the bed, or even better, to her own rooms. Once he had, he opened his mouth and realized what had happened.
She was fast asleep, and deeply too. None of that faking nonsense she tried to pull off sometimes, when she didn't want to answer a question. Deep sleep. True sleep. Her worried face smoothed out and her lips twitched. She was the most beautiful thing on this planet, he thought. And rules be damned, if someone tried to wake her now, he'd kill them before they had the chance.
AN: Reviews are my love language, second only to chocolate. Drop me one, let me know your thoughts, and spread a bit of happiness, yeah?
Thankful for each and every one of you.