Chapter 5: The Lost Daughter
Sunlight blinded her as Sansa opened her eyes after what had felt as if she had flown through a pitch black tunnel for an eternity. Only that right now, it didn't feel like an eternity anymore, it felt as if it had only lasted a heartbeat.
She could still feel Sandor Clegane's arms around her, wrapping her in his cloak. Her belly hurt from where Ser Boros' fist had hit her and the backs of her things smarted and stung. Sticky melon juice still trickled down her face.
The fairy could've cleaned me up a bit, she thought impulsively, only to chide herself for being an ungrateful wretch.
As her eyes adjusted, she took a look around.
She had been deposited on what seemed the inner bailey of a fairly large castle. Men-at-arms bustled to and fro and she couldn't supress a cry of joy when she saw them wearing Stark colours.
One of the men turned at her cry and then eyed her with disdain.
"What's wrong with you, girl? Go back to where you belong."
Red heat shot to her face as she imagined what she must look like; her hair a mess and wrapped in the Hound's cloak as if she had nothing else to dress with.
"I rather hope I am where I belong," she said, her voice only slightly wavering. "I am Sansa of House Stark..."
The man in front of her threw his head back and let out a bellowing laugh.
"Sure you are!" He said between guffaws. "And I am Tywin Lannister. Now take yourself off and quick or I'll make you."
"Sansa?" a disbelieving voice sounded behind her. "Sansa Stark?"
Turning, she found herself faced with a man nearly as tall and broad as the Hound. Greatjon Umber, if she recalled correctly.
"Lord Umber," she said, inclining her head to him for all the world as if she had just met him at her father's court.
"Bugger me sideways, it's really you!" the big man shouted. "Your mother will be beside herself!"
He made as if to grab her and sling her over his shoulder to bodily carry her to her mother and Sansa couldn't fight the sudden impulse to step back, out of the reach of his outstretched hands.
Her hesitation brought him up short and he cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed by his own exuberance.
"I'll lead you to her, my lady," he said then, bowing his head.
She barely even heard the apology of the man who'd laughed at her, when the enormity of the realization that she'd see her mother again in a matter of only a few minutes almost took her legs out from under her.
Only moments before, she'd stood in front of Joffrey, fearing they would kill her, and now…
All this was happening so very fast, with no time to prepare, no time to look forward, to rejoice at the mere prospect, no time to think of what to say and do. No time for her to believe that all of this wasn't just a dream.
…
She had imagined the reunion with her family about a million times during her stay in King's Landing. The happiness of her mother, the quiet joy of her brother, her own serene enjoyment of both.
What she had not expected was for herself to start crying piteously the moment the shock and disbelief on her mother's face had given way to endless relief and she had run, crying and laughing at the same time, towards her to envelop her into a tight embrace that felt as if she never meant to let her go again.
Against her own best efforts, Sansa just fell apart, wept and sobbed until she was almost sick with it, her eyes burning and her stomach cramping.
"Oh my poor little girl, what did they do to you?" her mother asked over and over again, but Sansa just couldn't answer, too choked from crying, every attempt at speaking interrupted by pitiful, hiccupping sobs.
"Who brought you here?" her brother inquired sternly. "Why did they leave you in such a state?"
Already they had discovered the torn dress beneath the Hound's cloak, her mother had feathered trembling fingertips across the cut on her lip and the bruise beneath.
Fresh sobs shook her and suddenly she fervently wished the Hound would've just come with her. Why had he not wished for both of them to disappear? He surely wouldn't have dissolved into tears, he would have thought of what to say and how to explain.
"Give the poor lass some space to breathe," the Greatjon's deep bass could be heard from across the room. "Surely a bath and a bed will do her more good than a thousand questions."
Her mother's wet cheeks pinked at the admonition, but since they truly were wise words, she straightened and called for the servants, gave a couple of orders the servants scrambled to fulfil at once and then wrapped her arm around her once more to conduct her out of the room and upstairs.
"I'll take care of you, sweetling," she said, which gave Sansa a weird turn, because the last time she'd heard that endearment, it had come from Lord Baelish.
…
Her crying fit had turned to apathy as she was peeled out of her destroyed dress, her mother doing her best not to appear too distressed at the marks of abuse on her body. Sansa only shortly found a sliver of energy again as the maids were ordered to take and burn the ruined dress together with the cloak she had had wrapped around herself.
"No," she croaked out of a tear-sore throat. "I need the cloak. Please leave me the cloak."
"Sansa, it bears the sigil of Joffrey's kingsguard, surely you don't want..."
"I need it, mother please, don't..."
If she had tears left, she would have cried again at that point, but her mother's face dissolved into pained softness as she took the cloak out of the maid's hand and placed it on the foot of what Sansa supposed would be her bed.
"As you wish, Sansa," her mother said quietly. "I'll leave it here."
With the crisis averted, Sansa sank into apathy again, enjoying the feel of her mother's gentle hands washing her as if she was still a small child. Then massaging her scalp, washing her hair with a reverence as if she had already thought she'd never do this again.
The feel of once again having her hair combed and braided by her mother almost broke her again, but by then a curious weightlessness had settled over her, as if she was floating on cloudy dreams.
Wonderful dreams where she was safe with her family, cared for by her mother, saved by a good man who was pure of heart.
At last, tucked into bed, snuggled warmly into a soft nightgown and with the scratchy wool of the Hounds cloak wrapped around herself, darkness took her into the oblivion of a dreamless sleep.
…
Sunlight danced on her eyelids as she woke, disoriented at the strange room she found herself in, but comforted nonetheless by the smell and feel of Sandor Clegane's cloak surrounding her.
Slowly, carefully, like a servant that didn't mean to disturb but had business in your chambers anyway, reality crept into her mind and with it the knowledge of where she was and why.
With infinite care, she tested her feelings, trying to see if they would swamp and smother her again as they had before she had fallen asleep, or if they had left her empty and drained.
What she found was mostly bewilderment, a sense of vertigo at everything having changed so quickly she had still not adjusted to it.
You'll be safe, Clegane's rough voice sounded in her head, but as she examined her feelings, she found she didn't exactly feel safe. She knew herself to be surrounded by Stark forces, protected as well as was possible, but she also knew there was a war raging outside the walls of this castle and surely Joffrey would be livid once he found she was gone for good.
For a reason she could not quite grasp, she doubted she'd ever feel safe again as long as she wasn't back behind Winterfell's grey walls.
She felt relief, though. Relief at being out of the Lannister's clutches, away from Joffrey's mean cruelty. A golden sliver of happiness was there, too. At having her mother back, no matter how detached she had felt last night. Maybe she just needed to relearn closeness and trust. Maybe she just needed to learn to shed the armour of courtesy, the mask of falseness.
Memories of how she had been taught to wear both armour and mask intruded cruelly into her thoughts and she shivered, despite still being warmly bundled into bed. As she drew the cloak firmer around herself, the scratchy feeling of the wool anchored her, reminded her that she was as safe as she could be, no matter that it didn't quite feel that way.
Sandor Clegane, she thought as she inhaled deeply. The sound of his name in her mind calmed her as much as his cloak against her body did. How she had gone from fearing the Hound to feeling that his arms where the safest place in the world, she had no idea. Already, their time in the godswood seemed too far away, unreal and dreamlike. Had he really cried when she touched him? He, who scoffed at weakness? Had he really told her about a fairy and three wishes? Had he truly been whole again, his face easy to look upon, or had she just imagined it because his exterior suddenly hadn't matched anymore what she thought of him? Had he truly laughed at being chosen by the Gods, truly taken a cup of water from her like a man dying of thirst in a heated desert?
Startled, she found that if it weren't for her being here, in this unfamiliar bed, this unfamiliar castle, she would surely believe that none of this had truly happened.
A wave of gratefulness washed through her as she contemplated what he had done for her sake. She had never found the courage or the time to ask him, but she wondered what he would have done with his last wish had it not been for her.
He didn't seem like one who would wish for riches or for power. Would he have wished for fame on the battlefield, for being invincible and even stronger than he already was? Maybe stronger than his brother? Or would he have wanted adventures in far-away lands, seeing the wonders the world had to offer beyond the shores of Westeros?
Or did he dream of keep all his own, maybe a lordship and with a pretty, highborn lady at his side?
The latter thought displeased her and made her tummy turn weirdly, but still it made her realize the true extend of his sacrifice.
How would she ever be able to repay him?
Her grateful musings were cut short when she remembered that even should she ever be able to actually recompense his sacrifice, he was far away now, still among lions who hopefully would never find out how he had betrayed them.
"I wish you were here," she murmured, but it appeared no fairy was around to hear, so she finally lifted herself upright and yawned, waking the maid who had dozed in a chair next to her bed.
...
tbc