It was morning, the sun was shinning, birds were singing. His bird would be awake and with him soon.
What a day. What a lovely day.
The only thing of putting about today was the fact that Sandor had to wait around this place, had to tolerate Baelish and his making eyes and ceaseless wit. Just being in Petyr's establishment tested Sandor's patience.He despised Littlefinger and anything that bore his seal. His gesture of wealth that this building was, Sandor couldn't stand having another man's riches rubbed in his face. He couldn't help but stare at the building, but that didn't stop him from hating it. His little bird might be fooled by its grandeur, but he was what lined the walls and kept the girls fed; Baelish and his lies.
They had been summoned to a mid morning breakfast, under the guise of meeting the staff and women under Littlefinger's employment. They were going to dine with the whores. No doubt this would prove to be interesting.
Sandor had no trouble dealing with the underbelly of good society, and he was looking forward to Sansa's awkward politeness. She often became quite frigid and tense when faced with scenarios she was not used to. She was taking her damn time getting dressed, stalling more like it.
But he waited, patiently outside her door. Their door really, as it had been deemed proper for him to sleep in the same room as the Stark girl. His cot wasn't unpleasant, it was just a very obvious step down from the norm around this place. It was firm and squeaky and set up near the far wall, near the balcony. At least it gave him a good view of the room, not to mention Sansa.
He hadn't been able to sleep that night though. After Sansa had fallen into a deep sleep, Sandor had perceived the acute sense of being watched. He had been so preoccupied with her sleeping figure to notice it, but when he stopped playing with her hair, and let himself relax, he had felt the uneasy feeling of being hunted.
At a certain point in the night the unsettling sound of ice hitting a chalice rang out softly from somewhere. Sandor hadn't been able to pin point where the sound originated from, it could have been in the next room or right next to him. The acoustics were subpar, the walls too thin, everything seemed to echo.
Though he had no doubt about it. There had been someone in the room with them, where they were hiding, however, that was another question.
He would have to find some excuse to search the room while everyone was at breakfast. It wouldn't be too hard to convince the others to let him out of their sight, he found people often relished the chance to have him leave their presence, he seemed to unnerve people.
Go figure.
The little bird would be another matter, she was dependent on him being there, standing right behind her, to feel safe and secure. He puffed out his chest, his cheeks reddening, proud that he made her feel so protected, but indignant at the same time, that it had that much of an effect on him.
He expected the door to squeak softly open at any time. He couldn't wait for her to peek her sleepy head out, dolled up for the days events. She always could be counted on to look her best, but Sandor had been around Sansa enough to know when the sleep was still in her eyes. She refused to let herself yawn around others, Probably thought it unladylike, but she couldn't help the drowsiness that clouded her bright eyes.
He stood there, shifting from foot to foot so to keep the standing numbness at bay, and yet, minute after minute ticked by. With not a peep from inside. He was sure that she was awake, she was always such an early bird.
Maybe he should check on her? But he was hesitant to disturb her, she was still a noble lady no matter how he tried to fool himself that they had some unique connection. He was her shield, but that didn't mean that she would wish to be intruded. He could wait. He was adept at waiting, letting his mind relax until he didn't have to think anymore.
Let the nobles have their game of thrones, I have my waiting game, and in this I am the key player. I am the winner.
–
Sansa felt rested, for once in many moons she felt like she had truly slept. Like she was truly awake. It was a bittersweet feeling; she was loathe to admit that she had had the best sleep in a while in a whorehouse, and yet she was relieved beyond words, maybe this wouldn't be such a hellish experience.
She folded the blanket back over her head, she had fallen into the habit of sleeping under the covers, if she couldn't see the people who wanted to hurt her, they couldn't see her.
The room smelled of sandalwood and jasmine, something she had missed the night prior. It was refreshing, but not overbearing, with a subtle hint of fresh linen. And yet there was something else, something metallic and vile. Ignoring it she propped herself up on her elbows, hair cascading down her neck and shoulders. Some strands of hair were tucked behind her ear, she didn't pay it as much heed as the slight stain on her pillow; she'd slept with her mouth open again.
Sansa sighed, she knew she had the bad habit of sleeping with her mouth open, or as Sandor called it, Singing a song in her sleep.
Groaning she flipped the pillow over, she didn't need Sandor's ridicule this early in the morning. He would have teased her for sure for her unladylike mannerism, but what he didn't know didn't hurt him. Sansa felt deliciously mischievous as she hid the evidence, she knew that Sandor had a unique affection for her, but that had never stopped him from poking fun at her misery before, why should it now?
She squinted into the daylight that poured through her open balcony, the fresh air was welcome but the glare from the sun was not. Sansa stretched her legs, throwing back her arms and arching her back, letting out a yawn as her muscles warmed up. And yet there was a tightness in her abdomen.
She moved to sit up, but with a sharp pain in her stomach, laid back down. The cramp was strong, and her lower back felt sore, as if she had been bent over embroidery all day.
She recognized this pain, and the irritable feeling it brought on.
Cursing herself and her foolishness, Sansa edged to the side of the bed and swung her legs out, cringing at how viciously her lower body protested. Sansa lifted her nightgown, the shift she wore under was clinging to her body, sweat had plastered it down.
"Fool," She muttered under her breath. She should have known her moon's blood was coming, she should have been more careful.
"Fool!" She whispered hotly, mentally berating herself for being an insipid little idiot. Groaning Sansa plopped her elbows on her knees and buried her face in her hands.
What's Petyr going to think? I'm already costing him coin, in food and board, he'll think of me as nothing more than a foolish girl. How am I to learn how to please others when I'm like this? You're such a bother, such a stupid stupid girl!
She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand, it was a grievous error on her part. She should have planned this endeavor around her moon's blood. Petyr will think less of you, a cruel voice told her, You're as useful to him as you are to Joffrey. Joffrey. Joffrey was right, you're nothing more than a useless stupid girl. Can't even help how useless you are.
Sansa knew it was irrational to get mad at herself for what her body was doing; it was a natural occurrence and it meant she was healthy, but it pained her to think of what the men would say. She knew what they'd say. Petyr would never dare hurt her person, physically or emotionally, but he would say cruel things about her to others, as all men in her life had done before. They would think less of her because she was so evidently now a woman. Cersei had tried to tell her how men thought, how they were vicious and mean and often thought of women as lesser humans, but had she listened?
She had't wanted her first impression to be like this. She hadn't wanted any of this. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair!
Sansa felt overwhelmed; ashamed at herself, disgusted with her body for betraying her, and uncomfortable as her lower back twitches and ached in pain. She could feel herself tearing up and was made to feel all the more terrible because of it. She dug the palm of her hand into her eyes until it hurt, she didn't want to cry anymore as here she was reverting back to the stupid child Joffrey always called her. Maybe he was right.
"Maybe I am just stupid," She knew no one could hear her but she wanted someone to come to her rescue. Wipe away her tears and comfort her, tell her she had worth and was smart and was going to make it. She wanted a hero from her songs, she knew she couldn't be Nymeria so she would settle for being Jonquil. She just needed a Florian to come and save her.
Sansa couldn't close her eyes tight enough to keep the tears from falling, they came unbidden and fell with abandon. She tried to swipe them away as fast as the came, but she was tired and in pain, and couldn't muster the energy. So she sat there. Hunched over, her hands limply falling over her knees, her hair hiding her face as she sobbed and sniffled. She knew her face would be a mess, red and puffy and covered in snot and tears but she didn't care. Let someone find her like this. Let them acknowledge her humanity. Her fragile sense of self.
I dare them.
Not long after she had made her silent wish, came a knock on her door. Reluctant and soft, but a knock nonetheless.
"Sansa? You alright in there, little bird?" Of course it has to be Sandor. She never got any peace.
She wiped the snot off her face with the back of her hand, and tried to steady her voice. But it sounded husky and wet, "I'm fine, Ser. I apologize. I'll be out in a second,".
"Sansa may I enter?"
Panicked Sansa turned her back to the door, fluffed her pillow and fell on her side to feign having just woken up.
Sandor didn't wait for an answer, he turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. He had heard a quiet cry, and while she had done her fair share of crying in the castle, he was worried as to what might troubling her here. She had her back to him, her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms hugging her body. She looked to all the world a small frightened child. His desire to hold her was only rivaled by his anger towards whatever had caused her such duress.
He walked up to her, making sure she could hear him coming. He reached out and pulled the sheet off her playfully, "C'mon Little Bird, the great Lord Littlefinger has requested our presence to break our fast. And I know he didn't do it just to see my ugly mug,".
He grinned down at her, hoping she'd laugh or at the very least look at him. But all she did was sigh, her shoulders relaxed and he could feel the tension melt off of her. Yet she did not utter a word.
"Sansa?" He was getting animus seeing her like this. Was she ok? Had he done anything to offend or hurt her?
"Don't, please…just don't," She sounded so hurt, so emotionally unfeeling. He couldn't tell what was more appalling to him, her utter sense of apathy or the tears she couldn't be bothered to try and hide. It made him uncomfortable to see her crying so easily and out in the open. Usually she would wipe them away, loathe to let others see her weakness. There was a power behind letting others see your pain so obviously. Still, he wished she would at least make an attempt to appear abashed about this powerful show of vunerability, if only for others to think her stronger.
"Sansa, talk to me, who did this? I'll kill 'em," He could hear the edge creeping into his voice, the panicky sense of helplessness. He was at a loss for words that would calm her. Quite the opposite though, she seemed almost too calm, he needed to do or say something that would jolt her back to her normal self.
So he adopted a huskier, angrier tone with her.
"You fool, get up, I can solve your problem once you are washed and ready for Littlefinger's brunch, I swear it,"
Sansa could feel her heart hardening, it wasn't Sandor's fault per se, but he was just like all the rest; ignorant and arrogant, and afraid to see women at their weakest because it reminded him that they were human. She couldn't help but laugh, a sharp dry thing that clawed its way up her throat, bringing more tears to her eyes.
He would never understand.
And just as her heart had grown cold to the idea of him, the worry in Sandor's voice brought her back down, warmed her from the cockles of her heart. But she was still unwilling to turn and face him, she gathered her nightgown in her hand and balled her fist. Pulling her legs closer to her chest, in an attempt to force the wandering pieces of her psyche to come back together. She would fix herself, she had to, it was expected of her.
She had always been prone to violent mood swings and aggressions during her monthly bleeding, it was an adverse side affect that she dreaded each and every time. It drove people away and made them resent her. But they didn't understand, no one did. Jeyne had, but that seemed like someone else's life, seemed so long ago.
Sansa tuned out Sandor's increasingly urgent pleas, some angry some pitiful and lost, and focused with her mind's eye on the first time she had learned about a woman's bleeding. Her mother had been advised by Septa Mordane to tell her and Arya about what being a woman meant before they departed for King's Landing.
Sansa could still remember the much anticipated day, how she fretted over her clothes, trying to look demure and innocent and naive. She didn't want to disappoint her lady mother, but Jeyne Poole had already told her all about the monthly bleedings, seeing as she had gotten hers early.
Sansa couldn't exactly picture the moment, or the solemn words her mother and the Septa had shared with her, but she could remember the feeling of that time, the feeling of being in a cool pool, surrounded by people who loved her and who she loved with abandon. How Arya had held her hand when their lady mother broached the subject of bleeding, Sansa knew that Arya couldn't have possibly been scared, tha is was probably a fleeting moment of shared excitement. A scant second in which both sisters acknowledged each other and remembered that they were blood of their blood, that their lives would forever be intertwined.
Sansa couldn't help but cry anew over that lost moment of long forgotten unhindered love. She knew she could have been a better sister to Arya, that she could have tried harder to know, to really know her sister. But she hadn't. She hadn't allowed herself to show love for her younger sister because she couldn't bring herself to accept her younger sister. Sansa had always wanted a younger sister that would dote on her and see her as a teacher, but Arya had never been that. Had never looked up to her. Had never needed her advice or help. Arya was independent where Sansa required constant attention and was dependent on the words of others. Sansa knew that she had resented her sister's ability to be alone and be her own person, she knew that, she couldn't fool herself into thinking it was anything else but jealous anger. That's what made her so sad.
She and failed Arya. She had failed her mother. She had killed her father. And she even found it in her to fail Joffrey and Cersei and Sandor. And now Petyr!
She hid her face between the pillows, and crossed her arms above her head. And sobbed, holding nothing back, she didn't care that Sandor was there to be witness to her meltdown. She didn't care about what he might be thinking or what he might be feeling towards her. In that moment she was acutely aware of how feeble she was. How tenuous her mind and body seemed. Disgustingly enough, she could feel as she bled, slowly, a drip at a time. Slowly spreading across her inner thighs and shift, staining her skin as red as death. She sobbed over her life, and her cowardice, her inability to end this hell. She wept for her family, letting the sadness flood her as she knew once it was gone she would be even stronger. She would be stronger for them. She would be stronger for herself.
They hadn't been able to grow old and die in peace, but if she had learned anything during this war, and all the turmoil it wrought was that she was a Stark. She was a wolf. She would learn to cope, she would learn how to live again. She would thrive, not for anyone else, but for herself.
She could feel her heart rate slowing, her mind relaxing as she let the rage and sorrow inside her out. Her fire had extinguished itself, and she felt the back of her throat burning. She felt Sandor's body sitting near hers. She had been too preoccupied with her own mental warfare to notice him sit down, or to feel anger that he sat without permission.
She felt fingers on her hair. She felt the soft caress of her mother from the other night. Only now she realized it had to have been Sandor.
Her poor misshapen friend. Her giant. Her shield. She cried out softly, sniffling slightly, but for joy.
She knew now that she wasn't alone.