Summary: Love. My son. She would have fought for me.
He felt sicker than he had ever felt, worse than even when he had first woken up after that last battle in Asshai, his innards burning and his leg pierced with the most excruciating pain he had experienced.
Sandor
Loved each other? Conceived in love? They were simple words and yet Sandor couldn't get his head around them.
He had thought of Sansa often over the years; first during quiet moments between the constant marches and battles that were part of sellsword's life, later when living a peaceful life in the community of silent men. She had come to him unbidden, as a memory of something pure and innocent. He had never cared about the Seven or any of the other gods across the sea, but for him she represented the Maiden, or other goddesses of youth and purity and love of other religions.
Sandor had tried to push her out of his mind and for a while had succeeded. He had taken his due share of willing women on his campaigns; dark exotic Summer Islanders and dove-eyed temptresses from the east, ready to help a man with gold to part from it. Yet when he had been alone, Sansa had returned to him, gazing at him with those big blue eyes, smiling that small smile he knew was not part of her courtly mask of courtesy, but reserved for him alone. On some restless nights he had seen her as she had been when they lay together; naked, writhing under him, her auburn hair tousled and red lips opened for a kiss, her eyes darkened with desire. Those had been the worst memories – but also the sweetest.
He had never tried to analyse what he felt for her - some things were so fragile and delicate that naming them even in his mind could shatter them. In any case, he had cursed to himself, none of that mattered. All that was in the past, a brief moment in his hard life when he had dared to dream of something out of his reach. Of a maid, of a different life, of a meaning and purpose other than death. Only when the community elder had lectured him repeatedly about love being a redeeming feature in everyone's life, and spoken about different the types of love that existed, he had eventually felt strong enough to name it. I love Sansa Stark. No. I loved Sansa Stark.
Yet he had never planned to do anything with that new-found information. Even on his way back to her, his driving motivation had been to help her, if he still could. He would gladly step into her service, but he would also distance himself from her if needed and serve her from afar. Loving her had certainly never entered that equation.
Sandor's eyes blinked as he digested Sansa's words. He sighed deeply, and with that sigh he accepted his absolute and utter surrender.
"I have done you so much wrong, little bird. Anything I can do to make it better you need to tell me, lay it out plain as a day. If you want me to leave and never return, I will. If you want me to serve you, I will. Whatever you want, I will do," he spoke softly.
Sansa looked at him and he felt himself wilting under that gaze.
"You still didn't answer my question. Why did you leave; which one of the reasons I conjured up in my mind was the real reason? Or if none of them, what was it? I have tried to find the answer for so many years, and now that you are finally here and can tell me the truth, I will not let you go before you do." Her voice was calm but steely.
Sandor tried to think of how to explain her what had gone through his mind at the time. He was still shocked by her earlier words; that he might have thought her wanton, or not good enough for him, or that he might have wanted to get rid of her. He started to gradually understand that he had hurt her more than he had ever imagined, but in a different way than he had thought. The realisation sickened him.
He started, slowly and unsurely. "I was not a good man then. I know you came with me only because I could save you from the court and take you back to your family. I also knew…"
Sansa shifted, leaning closer to him, her eyes flashing.
Sandor shot a look at her under his brow and continued, "…I thought that once you got to safety, you would realise that I was not the man you believed me to be. After that last night, when I lost my control and took you like the brute I was, I knew I had hurt you. That I had damaged you in a way that could not be forgiven, not even by you."
Sansa didn't say anything but didn't move away either.
"I couldn't have endured you despising me. You had just started to trust me, and losing that…" Sandor stopped, swallowing hard.
Sansa just sat there, frozen. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her slender fingers. "Is that it? You left me because you thought I would have eventually turned against you?" She opened her eyes and Sandor nodded.
It was her turn to sigh. "I wouldn't have. I was hoping you would come back, for your reward, or to return to me. I would have fought to keep you in Robb's service." She looked so very tired and Sandor wanted to reach out and touch her, but didn't dare.
"In the end I had another fight on my hands, when… I found out I was carrying Eddor."
"How could you keep him? I am sure there were other options, other ways to deal with it." Sandor felt he needed to know.
Sansa laughed, but there was no joy in it. "Yes, there were other options. My mother tried to make me take herbs. For a while I refused to eat anything she offered, and eventually Robb had to intervene and make her promise she would let me be." She looked ahead with unseeing eyes.
"When he was born, they tried to take him away from me, telling me he would have a better life with a good family in the village. I was weak, I had lain in my birthing chamber for two days and nights… but I refused. I told them that if they intended to steal him, I would run to the woods with him and live my life there."
Sandor could only imagine the strength required from her to oppose her mother and brother, to stand up and fight for her babe. The steel in her, of which he had seen glimpses at the court and on their journey, was evident from the way she spoke and from what she had done.
"I am so sorry." It felt weak and pitiable to his ears, but Sansa turned to him.
"I am not. He was all I had of you."
Again they fell silent. Sandor didn't know what to say next, but then he thought of something, something she had said in the morning that didn't make sense.
"What about your husband? Does Willas accept him? Why aren't you living in Highgarden?"
"He did. Otherwise I would have never married him. And we did live in Highgarden for a while, but that was not for me, nor Eddor. We came back here and I haven't seen Willas for five years now. Our marriage is one of correspondence by ravens' messages, and that suits us both well."
Sandor felt relief from her words. Not that it mattered - or did it? - but knowing that Sansa was not going back to her husband that evening, gave him some odd consolation. He lifted his head.
"You still haven't said why you sent that song. What did you need of me then? Do you need me still? Just tell me what you want me to do. Leave, stay, fight your battles, kill your enemies?"
"After all I have told you, why do you think I sent that song?" Sansa stood up from her chair and pulled the cloak tighter around her. "If I asked you to come and meet your son, would you?"
Sandor swallowed. Suddenly his throat was dry as parchment and with difficulty he croaked, "Of course I would. I would very much like to see him again."
"Come to the Winterfell Godswood tomorrow at midday. I will bring him there."
Sandor nodded, but that was not enough for Sansa. "Say the words. Tell me that you will be there."
"I will be there, you have my word."
They looked at each other for a while longer. His grey eyes met her blue gaze, and although they didn't speak, they both recognised that something was exchanged through that connection, something that couldn't be put into words. Yet. Then Sansa turned and stepped out of the door. Sandor stared at it for a long time after she had gone.
Love. My son. She would have fought for me.
He felt sicker than he had ever felt, worse than even when he had first woken up after that last battle in Asshai, his innards burning and his leg pierced with the most excruciating pain he had experienced.