Mother and daughter butt heads on one hot-button issue
Note: What I'm writing isn't exactly a story, but each chapter isn't exactly a standalone either. Each chapter has a reference to another, so they probably shouldn't be read separately, but there is no plot line, no specific order to these chapters. I'm writing these to satisfy myself and my desire to explore what Sansa and Sandor's children might be like. There is no definite beginning or ending, should it ever actually have a final chapter. I've planned on what the final two chapters should be like, but the distance between this chapter and those remains to be seen. For any of you who are reading this waiting for something to happen, for some explosion of plot to occur, then I am sorry to disappoint you. I hope that doesn't deter you from reading any future chapters. Perhaps you'll just be curious enough to see the Cleganes' familial journeys through to the end, whenever that may be.
With that said, I apologize that this has taken so long to get up. I can't tell you how many times I've rewritten this thing. That, and life (and a couple other oneshots, heh) got in the way of things. Enjoy.
Sansa was wringing her hands nervously, unable to touch her meal, when she noticed Mareena sitting in her usual place, slouched down, poking at her stew with a spoon. Her hair was a mess; the pearlescent pins Sansa and the septa had artfully arranged in her red-orange hair had gone missing since their meeting that morning. While her dress was stained with dirt and badly wrinkled, Sansa found comfort in the fact that she hadn't changed into pants.
Sansa glanced at her husband, who was hunched over his drinking horn, a sour look on his face. The twins were absent; Sandor had banished them from his sight days ago, and they'd been making themselves scarce ever since.
Sansa recalled with embarrassment the shouting match that had ensued when Sandor first saw his sons' self-inflicted wounds. Sandor and Mareena had been in the training yard at the time, and Sansa had been able to hear the shouting all the way up in her tower chambers. Mareena left the yard to find her mother, and they listened from above while Sandor cursed his sons' foolishness with more colorful language than Mareena had ever heard.
Days later, Sandor was still sullen and cross, which is how Mareena's suitor found them that morning. A lord who had made his family's fortune through trade in the south brought his eldest son to meet Lord and Lady Clegane and possibly woo their only daughter. Sansa had liked them well enough, but Sandor and Mareena were thick as thieves when it came to the issue of Mareena's marriage. They both did their best to dissuade the merchant and his son from seeking her hand in marriage, although Sansa was convinced that Sandor's dour mood played the biggest part. He'd insulted them at every opportunity and only laughed when they took offense.
By noon Mareena had challenged the future lordling to a duel, promising him that she would agree to marry him if he won. Thinking nothing of it, the boy entered into the duel with expectations that Mareena trampled within moments. His father had been so ashamed that by mid afternoon, the two were out of sight of Winterfell, horses pointed south.
"I suppose I'll have to send out more letters now," Sansa said to cut the silence; her voice rang out around the empty dining hall. "That's three matches in as many months that you've run off."
"I don't understand why I have to get married. Knights don't get married or have children." Mareena stabbed at a chunk of lamb with her soup spoon.
"You're not a knight, you're a lady," Sansa reminded her. "It is your duty to get married and have children. I was two years younger than you are now when I was to be wed to the king-"
"And you were miserable. You'd think you wouldn't want to inflict such cruelties on your own child," Sandor grumbled into his wine. Sansa flushed.
"I never had a choice. Mareena does."
Mareena stood abruptly, hands clenched into fists.
"But I don't have a choice, mother! I don't want this! I never wanted this! I may not ever be a real knight, but in my heart I'm more a knight than a lady. Aunt Arya has Gendry and even they aren't married! Just because I'm your only daughter doesn't mean I have to be just like you." Mareena gathered up her wrinkled skirts and stormed from the dining room. Sansa dimly noticed that her feet were bare and filthy, and she wore breeches beneath her dress.
"What are we going to do with them?" Sandor sighed, draining his cup with large gulps. This was a question they asked each other often. Sansa pressed a hand to her burning cheek.
"We're going to make things right. You need to apologize to the boys."
Sandor grunted at this. "I have nothing to apologize for. They were foolish. They need to face the consequences of their actions." He looked down at his wife, the unscarred side of his mouth pulled down into a deep frown. His eyes were uncharacteristically sorrowful. "They don't understand what it's like to live with a marked face, always identifiable. One day they'll hear laughs and taunts directed at their scars, and their tempers are going to get them killed because of it. They're foolish and hotheaded, more so even than I. They need to learn what it is that they've done."
Sansa reached up and placed a hand against his scarred cheek, pulling his face closer to her own. "Who is more capable of teaching them than their own father? For all their years, they are still boys who need their father. Make peace with them." She kissed him gently before pulling away and standing. "I suppose now I must take my own advice and see to Mareena. Were she less like my sister, this whole ordeal would go much more smoothly."
Sansa found her daughter in her room, wrestling her dress over her head. Underneath she was wearing a sleeveless white shift with russet-brown pants. When the dress finally came free, she hurled it to the foot of her bed and then grabbed her old wooden sword. Mareena stood there, head bowed and sword in hand.
Sansa stepped into the room, gliding quietly to the bed and sinking down on the edge. Mareena looked over at her from where she stood, and Sansa could see her knuckles were white where she gripped the sword hilt.
"It's dangerous, wanting to be a knight," Sansa told her softly, without preamble; Mareena was a straight forward person, and Sansa knew she needed to be direct if she were to get through to her. "My brothers died fighting. My father died … because of a knight, because of fighting. My mother, even. For several years I thought Arya had been killed by knights." She paused, her mind going to her husband and his time in King's Landing. "I've seen knights used as puppets for evil things. I'd always thought they were such noble people, you know, until I went to King's Landing and saw for myself the way things really are."
Sansa looked up at her daughter. Her grip on the sword handle had slackened. She looked more disappointed than angry now.
"I know you look up to Arya. I know you want to be like her. But my sister is such a … special case, Mareena. She was shaped by things beyond her control. You have choices. Maybe not as many as you like, but that's the way of things. It's always been the way of things. You don't have to marry now, right this very minute, but it is something you will have to do, and you will have to think about it seriously whether you want to or not. You can make your own decisions regarding your future husband or I can make them for you."
Sansa stood from the bed and folded her hands in front of her, looking down at Mareena. Her eyes were sparkling with tears she fought to hold back and her lips were pressed into a fine line.
"But what about you?" Mareena choked out. "In the end you got to choose what you wanted. You got to marry for love, no one pressed you to marry some stranger. It's not fair!"
Sansa gazed down at her daughter thoughtfully, lips turned down into a frown.
"I suppose the difference here is that at that point, there was no one in my family left who could object to my marriage. And no, I didn't have a choice. There was never a choice. I always wanted to be a wife and mother. Not for the right reasons, at first, but later, when … things changed."
"But I've never wanted it, never!"
"You're fifteen!" Sansa said sternly. "You don't know what you want. You may think you do, but things change. You'll change."
Sansa stepped around her daughter and made for the door, pausing before she left.
"We can come to some sort of compromise, Mareena, I'm sure of it. There's no reason this should end in tears. Get some rest; we'll talk it all through in the morning."
With that, Sansa swept from the room, leaving Mareena to her tears.
Sansa found her husband undressing in their chambers
"Foolish little shits," he grumbled as she entered. "They're too soft for their own good."
Sansa smiled. It sounded like Sandor had made up with the boys. She slipped up behind him as he was untying his trousers and snaked her arms around his torso, pressing her cheek to the strong muscles of his back.
"Mareena said something to me," she murmured. "During her fit she brought up the unfairness of her life. Why should she be forced to marry when I got to marry for love?"
"Aye, and she's right." Sandor told her, patting her hand. "You are being unfair. After all that you went through in King's Landing being betrothed to that fucking boy, you'd think you'd have learned something." Sansa lowered her arms from around his waist as he turned to face her. "It didn't turn out right for you. All those expectations you had going into King's Landing … nothing but shit. The right thing is to let her be. She'll never be a knight or anything of the sort, and she knows that. But there's no reason we can't let her forge her own path. You did the same, after all."
Sandor rid himself of his trousers and climbed into bed. Sansa slowly stripped herself of her own garments, deep in thought. When she finally climbed into bed, Sandor pulled her close and pressed his lips to the shell of her ear.
"You can't make her take the path your parents intended for you to take. She can't follow in Arya's footsteps either, thanks be to that. She'll make her own way in life, we'll just have to trust her." He smiled against her skin and settled a kiss to her check. "She's more like you than you think."
Note: In chapter 7 (I think) I mentioned that Arya and Gendry were married. I realized when rereading these chapters that I had written that, and I couldn't figure out how in the world I managed to write that. I don't see them as the marrying type, really. I fixed it in that chapter already, but I don't know how many noticed the difference between here and there. Either way, it matches up now.