Chapter 4
"Mr. Baelish will be with you in just a few moments, dear."
Kella could hardly contain the pity emanating from her face.
Sansa was beyond sick of the looks of pity.
What was supposed to be a dream come true, quickly became a nightmare. Sansa was so looking forward to making her national television debut, even in spite of having to share the glory with a man who was far less accomplished, as far as looks or charm went.
Still, the tale of Florian and Jonquil was Sansa's favorite, and she hoped to replicate some of the magic of the epic story in the art of dance. Dontos had only faintly smelled of alcohol throughout the week they spent in rehearsal, and she thought him to at least be a functioning alcoholic.
He had been agreeable, and seemed as eager as she to pay homage to the classic tale; she never anticipated enduring complete global humiliation on behalf of him.
Dress rehearsal had gone smoothly, Dontos had managed to only step on her feet eight times in total, and she was told by her fellow castmates that for her first dance; she had choreographed a beautiful number.
When the live show had begun, her partner had been nowhere in sight.
Sansa's anxiety progressively worsened throughout the course of the night. Though they were set to go on last and close the show, she had some last-minute pointers to give Dontos before going on.
She had ended up finding him mere minutes before they were scheduled to go on. He was laying on the floor, lifeless. He reeked of hard liquor, vomit, and urine.
She was both concerned and outraged to find him in such a state.
She was concerned, because the man was completely out of his faculties, and there laying in his sick.
But her outrage far outweighed her concern, for how dare the fool squander what she has worked so tirelessly for!
had appeared within seconds after Sansa had happened upon her drunk of a partner, and insisted that they were to make it out on stage that instant.
Sansa was simply appalled. She opened her mouth to argue when suddenly she was being forcefully guided by a swarm of producers to center stage. They had enlisted ' personal security guard, Lothor Brune, to personally carry Dontos out to the stage like a babe.
Once placed on her marker, she could hear the snickers of the audience, and even the judges tittering to themselves!
The performance went as one would expect it to go. Sansa's delicate arms were still aching from having to manually sway the hefty man about.
She should never have participated in such a mummery, and she was extremely cross with Mr. Baelish and the other executives for forcing her out there all in the name of "good ratings."
It had been four days since the incident, and had never once tried to call, text, or communicate any apology to her in any way until this morning: in his words "to have a little chat about the incident."
Dontos hadn't tried to get in contact with her either, she should never have put any trust in him. It was disgraceful to ever attempt to let him play the role of Florian, for Florian would never let his fair lady Jonquil endure such misery and embarrassment on his behalf!
Sansa had spent four days in utter solitude, hiding her body under the covers, lights off, with her shades closed, and her physical hygiene unattended to. She hadn't been in such a state in quite some time.
"Sansa! Come on in, dearest."
's sudden appearance snapped her out of her brooding. He was oddly chipper when he should've been contrite. He had assigned her an unreliable drunk as her partner and had forever ruined her career. She wanted to rage and scream.
But she ended up just nodding compliantly and following him into his office. Her self-restraint and composure had always been one of her greatest strengths, her mother and father always had let her know that when Arya was acting up.
She entered his office and took the seat opposite ' desk. He gave her another one of his infamous measuring looks, then began to speak.
"First things first, let me express my apologies for what occurred during premiere night. It was absolutely unacceptable, and Dontos has been penalized for it."
That piqued Sansa's interest.
"Penalized, how?"
"The money we were offering him to do the show has been completely revoked, and there are some other legal things I can't get into. But fear not sweetling, we have a remedy for this little issue."
Sansa had to fight off the unladylike urge to roll her eyes, she wondered how could there be any remedy.
" , with all due respect, I have never been so humiliated in all my life. If this is all just a game, some type of hazing ritual, I would very much like to be excluded from it. I had hoped for a more… straightforward experience."
"And straightforward you shall have, our executives have searched far and wide, and we were able to scout out a new partner for you who has agreed to participate in the show last minute."
That took her by surprise.
What kind of human being had the free time to agree to such a commitment just like that?
"Well, okay then. I trust he isn't an uncontrollable drunk, hopefully?" She asked, apprehensively.
smiled at her quick remark.
"My my, Sansa. Ever the straightlaced prude?" He smiled in a way that made Sansa's skin crawl ever so slightly, "Rest assured, we've done all that we can to ensure that your first year on Modevial Movements will be one for the ages!"
"Whatever do you -?"
"Now, now, we've spent enough time on this little Q&A session, and there is much to be done today. Now, it's time to get mic'd up and meet your partner. Please make haste, sweetling. He's not one who likes to wait."
She stormed down the corridor and made her way to the rehearsal studio, feeling as apprehensive as one can be.
Last week was a complete mess. She had wanted so badly to prove herself as one of the elite dancers/choreographers in all of Westeros, but instead was subjected to humiliation so strong, she was likely to never recover career-wise.
When she made it to the door of the studio she was to meet her partner, she paused in fear. Usually, Sansa was not one to cower when meeting strangers, but the situation regarding her first partner had gone so horribly that she was deathly afraid of a repeat failure.
She had sacrificed so much for this opportunity, yet it felt as though she was a pawn of some sort, being used as a means to make compelling television for trashy reality television viewers.
After standing still at the door for what seemed an interminable number of minutes, Sansa decided she had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain by taking this one last leap of faith.
She turned the doorknob slowly and took tiny furtive steps forward into the rehearsal room as if she wasn't fully mic'd up and on camera.
The first thing she noticed was his size. Standing approximately 20 feet away from her was this colossus of a man. He wasn't facing her. She could see his back muscles flexing seemingly uncontrollably. He made no move to face her. She thought perhaps he had not heard the creak of the door.
"Um, hello there!" Sansa called out, timider than she had wanted to.
The great bull of a man didn't so much as move an inch.
Off to a great start, yet again.
Sansa fought off the urge to sigh. She wouldn't let the producers of the show win. She would manage to have a conversation with her partner that didn't induce any cringe on those taking viewership!
"If you aren't aware, my name is Sansa Stark," she started to slowly make her way towards him, and he still hadn't bothered to move, "I just wanted to thank you very much for stepping in on such short notice, I had thought all my dreams had crashed and burned a few nights…"
"Burned?"
Sansa gasped, unable to hide her startlement. She had not expected her taciturn companion to interject at such a random moment. His voice was rough and coarse. She thought that perhaps it was like that due to disuse. He didn't seem to like talking so much.
"Burned, as in my dreams were crushed."
She waited for a response, even a measly grunt indicating he had understood what she had meant would've sufficed, but he was as mute as a Silent Sister.
"Did I… did I mention how grateful I am that you've stepped in on such short notice?" She said, stupidly.
The man scoffed
"Grateful, is it?"
Sansa was confounded.
The surly man had made no effort to be congenial and was just isolating one word out of every sentence she said and repeating it. She found his manners quite awful.
"Grateful, as in I would be out of a job and the show if you had not so kindly agreed to join our show." She responded, trying her hardest to disguise her burgeoning contempt for his manners in her tone.
"There is nothing kind about this industry, or my stepping in, girl. Might as well learn that before it gets further burned by it."
Now, Sansa knew for sure he was deliberately mocking her turn of phrase.
He was being awful, and it was embarrassing for her. Anger was being to simmer inside of her, and it took everything in her power to not rip her mic off and storm off the premises.
"Well, given that you're here and have been assigned to be my new partner, I trust that you will try your hardest in making sure no undo unkindness shall befall me?" She asked, unable to contain the spite in her tone.
Surprisingly, he barked out a harsh laugh.
"So the little bird is capable of biting back, huh? Let's see how brave you truly are."
And with that, he swiftly pivoted, facing her.
Sansa froze.
Though his size had already made him an imposing figure, that was nothing compared to his face.
The man was almost snarling down at her, and it would've looked funny on almost any other human being, but it seemed to suit him.
His grey eyes were angry, amused, and analytical all at once.
His face was half-marred on his left side. He had the most horrific burn scars she has ever stood to witness. His lip was twitching on his burned side. She could even detect a hint of bone sticking out of his jaw.
She gulped. She fought the urge to politely look away. But all she could do was stare.
He started to laugh again, a laugh she could not detect an ounce of mirth in.
"Your eyes look as though they're like to pop out of your pretty little skull, girl. I'm an ugly fucker, not made for the likes of television. Still feeling grateful?" He all but spat out.
She gulped, yet again. But she somehow managed to find her voice.
"Grateful, and excited to work with you, sir. I never did quite catch your name."
"Sandor." He instantly responded.
"What a lovely name. From what line of work do you hail?"
"Beating down on privileged rich pansies."
He truly didn't miss a beat.
"A professional fighter, I presume?"
"A rich brat's hired muscle."
Well, isn't he just pleasant?
"I don't get it, how're you a celebrity?" She inquired, absolutely gobsmacked.
"Think I'm too fucking ugly to crack it in the entertainment industry?"
He smirked when he saw Sansa wince at his foul language.
"Would you be so kind as to stop putting words in my mouth?"
"I already told you, girl. Ain't nothing kind about me or this hellish world we live in."
Sansa was near her wit's end. She was almost too perturbed by his horrid attitude now to truly fear his intimidating appearance.
"I'll try rephrasing my questions in a manner that you won't take offense to. What made you become so well known to the public that you were offered to be on the number one show on prime time television?"
At that, he balked. His smart mouth retorts halting temporarily.
"I worked for the Lannisters."
Sansa's eyes widened. That actually explained quite a lot. Her father's truest friend growing up was Robert Baratheon, the husband of billionaire socialite Cersei Lannister. Her father kept their family sequestered up north, away from the glitz and glam of the Kings Landing lifestyle. She had even at one point, taken an interest in the eldest son, Joffrey Baratheon. Years ago they started to get acquainted over social media, but Sansa quickly grew uncomfortable when he started pestering her for naughty photos. She blocked him and that was that. She later realized it was keen hindsight on her part, as the Lannister families were exposed for their racketeering, smuggling, and general debauchery; all of that rich people stuff. There was also even the mysterious nature of Robert Baratheons death. Father had even prohibited her family from attending the funeral because he felt uneasy about the circumstances.
"Nearly went to prison, got a good scolding and pat on the back instead. Snitched and mouthed off to the authorities about all I knew about the Lannisters," he continued.
The standards for what we consider a celebrity to be has really gone downhill
"Well, that's very… chaotic."
The mean gigantic man barked another one of his haughty laughs. It seemed like he had fully been intent on mocking her ever since she entered the room.
"So, what did you almost go to prison for?" She asked with a challenge in her tone, refusing to cower to his cruelty. I can survive his harsh words, I've survived worse.
"Helped Joff beat some baby chef down. Nearly killed the boy." He simply stated.
She probably would've been more horrified about his blase attitude about nearly taking a human life if she wasn't struck by a memory of her own. She could recall Arya, and her relentless pursuit to get justice for her friend Michael or something. He had been brutally assaulted by Joffrey Lannister, and Arya felt that she could not just sit idly by.
Sansa understood what had happened was horrendous, and her friend truly did deserve justice, but Arya was targeting, and lashing out at a prominent member of one of the most powerful families in all of Westeros. They had many arguments over the topic, harsh words were spoken on each side, and they haven't really spoken much since.
Sansa had wanted her sister to realize that a working-class citizen getting nearly mortally wounded would not be worth the potential wrath of the Lannisters. She had explained it would be very unwise to start a public feud, and it would be best for their family name to not be dragged into the press.
Arya had in turn, despicably accused her sister of being a spoiled aristocratic princess, who probably still wanted to hop on Joffreys dick, which had made Sansa believe that her sister had definitely read her text's with Joffrey way back when he was courting her.
Arya ended up getting her wish. The Lannisters' downfall was rapid and cataclysmic, but it was not solely due to Arya's aggressive social media campaign. It appeared to be an amalgamation of things conveniently happening at once that did the trick: Arya waging her #Justiceformycah campaign, her new partner spilling his guts about the Lannisters' dirty deeds, and Jamie Lannister finally emancipating himself from his family.
Sansa gave her new partner a sharp look. Now she was the one assessing him, and she could tell that made him very uncomfortable. She wondered what Arya would think of this strange man whose life she tried to ruin for months on end.
"You did the right thing." She stated, plainly.
He scoffed at that.
"It was either that or spend years splintering rocks to bits, girl. I'm not some noble hero. I've done plenty more than help give some teenager a measly scratch," he rasped.
He was being awful. He wanted her to think he was awful. She did not understand why he was here, why he was divulging all these awful details about her past on their first meeting, and why he was so intent on getting her to hate him.
"Why are you even here?" She couldn't help but blurt out.
That gave him pause, and wiped the cruel smirk off his face he sported clean off his face. He sneered again.
"Mans gotta eat. You think anyone with half a working brain would hire me after all I just told you, and this," he rasped disdainfully and pointed to the burned side of his face.
Sansa, couldn't disagree there. Quite frankly, she was getting a bit tired of going back and forth with him, all he seemed to want to do was contradict her.
"What's your name?"
Again, that gave him pause. For someone with such a smart mouth, it seemed to catch him off guard when she asked him the simplest of questions.
"Sandor."
"Alright, Sandor, let's dance."
She then boldly grabbed his hand and attempted to pull him toward the middle of the floor. He quickly withdrew his hand from her clutches as if she burned him, but still ended up following her.
She heard him muttering curses of all sorts while following her lead, but Sansa chose to ignore it. She was done entertaining his bitter and hateful attitude. This was her last chance to prove her worth and make herself a beloved figure in the eyes of the public She figured if she was capable of redeeming this coarse mans image, her star power would skyrocket. It seems she would just have to grin and bare looking him directly in the face, and feigning indifference to his overall terrible attitude.
"So we will be performing a slow dance next week. I'm going to start off by teaching you the most basic of steps: the box step. Watch after me."
She then showed him the fundamentals of completing a proper box stop; showing him what a heel lead is, when to travel on your toes, and how the counting worked.
She danced by herself for about 2 minutes, she had put on one of her favorite ballads that she used to dance and twirl about to in her room when she was younger. She almost lost herself in the dance, when she quickly reminded herself that she was not there to show off, she was here to teach dance.
She looked at Sandor, he had an odd look on his face, it was the first time since meeting him that she could not detect any anger in his eyes, merely confusion. He seemed unnerved, which in turn caused her to become a teensy bit unnerved as well.
"Please try now to follow my lead," she awkwardly insisted.
She began her steps again, counting slowly aloud so he would follow. She stared into the mirror to watch as he "tried" to follow her steps with all the enthusiasm of someone filing their own taxes. He did the right steps, but did so with no ounce of rhythm. His timing was completely off, and he refused to count out loud along with her like she had asked him to.
"Please try counting out loud. Oh, and step on your toes on the 2 counts, and don't forget to glide!"
He carried on doing pretty much the same thing as if she did not peep a word at him.
She ended up getting so fed up that she paused the music and gave the dour man a reproachful look.
"Were you not able to hear me over the music?" She chided.
"No, I could hear you chirping orders at me just fine," he responded, with ice in his tone.
"Then why didn't you count!? Or even bother to put any effort into your steps? You've seemed intent on wasting my time ever since I first walked in!"
His demeanor now got as icy as his tone.
"Now that's not the polite little lady I saw on the TV. Thought you'd pretend to be a bit sweeter on me considering you can clearly see that one of my ears was burned clean off. Perhaps you need a closer " He growled, menacingly, turning his head so she could better examine his stump of an ear.
Sansa flinched and looked away from his gruesome visage, which led to her angry companion laughing bitterly. She could hear his knuckles cracking, presumably from clenching his fist.
She was scared of this man, he had been so terrible that he was starting to make her miss Dontos of all people. At least Dontos had been sort of polite. Sure, his unwelcomed accidental gropes, putrid smell, and overall incompetence was offputting, but at least the man seemed happy to be around her.
They stood in silence for what felt like minutes. Sansa could feel his hateful eyes burning a hole through her. It was discomforting. They obviously couldn't stand in silence, and it would be awfully rude and unprofessional to walk out.
He clearly wasn't going to be the one to make the first mood to break the tension so she braved a look up at him, and was struck by what story his fiery countenance told now. All she could see before was the anger and hatred emanating from his fervid gaze, but now she was able to see a little bit of the hurt, the despair…
Sansa, you are so incredibly selfish.
That was the last thing Arya had to say to her before she departed for Kings Landing to pursue her dreams. At the time, Sansa paid little mind to it, writing it off as Arya being jealous and hateful because Sansa was the first one able to escape the ghosts of their past.
Now Sansa could see where her younger sister was coming from. She had been stressed and humiliated beyond belief when that whole debacle with Dontos had occurred on live television, but that was no excuse for her to be so completely self-involved.
He had been surly from the start, but perhaps that was because Sansa had failed to lead with her typical kind and chipper demeanor. She was very fortunate to have been born into a loving family, and adored by those around her. She was here to teach and guide her partner, and thus far, she had only shrunk away from his… unique face and lost her temper with him.
Sure, he was an ex-felon, but Arya was like to become a felon one day, and she still loved her.
He was no handsome dreamboat, but that was no excuse to mistreat him. Dontos was ugly too, but for reasons that were completely a fault of his own by being his disheveled gross self… Sandor clearly didn't burn his face on purpose.
She thought of the countless others who must've treated him like a monster for his outward appearance, and how she became another one of the many.
"I… profusely apologize for how I've acted so far. I've been tired and grumpy all day. What happened a couple of nights ago was truly one of the worst nights of my life, and I took all that anger and disappointment out on the wrong person. Could you please find it in yourself to forgive me?" she pleaded in earnest, approaching him with an open hand outstretched.
He blinked at her. A half second had elapsed, and then…
He laughed a laugh so booming and loud, it sounded like a lion roaring. She jumped, stumbling backward, but was quickly steadied by a firm grip.
His mouth began to twitch again. He still looked angry, but the anger had definitely slightly dissipated.
"The little bird can chirp apologies quite prettily, can't she?" He said, sounding amused. "If that was you angry and grumpy, can't imagine what you'd look like all happy and sweet."
That caught Sansa by surprise. She blinked up at him, trying to see further into his very obviously tortured soul.
Was that his clumsy way of trying to comfort me? Apologize?
She was at a loss for words again with this very enigmatic man. She was starting to get whiplash from all his different mood fluctuations.
He, obviously misinterpreting her silence, began to sneer.
"Or maybe you're just like the rest of them. Doling out false platitudes and empty pleasantries, while the ever grateful dog feasts and survives on the false empty words and broken promises, offering up his loyal service in turn."
"Wha… Ser, I honestly think you might be projecting…"
"Fuck your sers. I'm no one you need concern yourself with, my lady." He barked.
While grumbling about "How big of a fucking mistake this was," he stormed out of the room, his anger so strong, he even nearly ripped the door off its hinge.
Sansa stood in place, stunned and speechless.
That could not have gone any worse.
"Sansa, sweetling. I'm terribly sorry yet again. We will bring him right back and ensure that he's incredibly apologetic."
The loudspeaker croaked out.
Sansa, barely processing what was said, sank to her knees.
She wanted to go home.