A/N – So the votes were basically split down the middle for an Arya or Sansa chapter. I decided to write a Sansa one since her plot line is getting a little more complicated than earlier on in the story. But I'm glad to hear that you guys seem to love both characters equally!
Also this is a bit of a plot chapter so sorry for the denseness ahead of time! Thanks for reading!
Sansa wakes up to a pounding headache. Her eyes are thick with sleep, and it takes her a few moments to focus on her surroundings. She's curled up on a couch with only a thin blanket draped across her body. Midday light is streaming through the window. She tries to stand up, but her stomach clenches uneasily, and the room spins around her.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she mutters. Last night is a blur. She remembers seeing the note, driving herself into a panic, drinking whiskey with Sandor...
The details are fuzzy. Almost in black and white. Or like a movie she saw a long time ago. There are only snippets that she can grasp onto. Slick skin. Hot lips. Her back pressed against the cold wall. His large hands running down her arms. Her pulling him towards his bedroom. Not desperate, but consumed with need. Him –
"No, little bird."
"Why?"
"You're drunk."
"As are you."
"More the reason."
Her tugging him again and again. Lips and teeth scraping against his skin. Hands wandering. Coaxing. Begging.
Him growling. "Enough." Pushing her away. "Enough." Retreating alone to his room and slamming the door shut behind him. "Enough."
Sansa feels as if she should be embarrassed, but she's not. Maybe her mind is still thick with last night's whiskey, but the only regret she has is not pushing him further. He wants her. She knows it. She sees it in his eyes. In his tense stance. In the distance he keeps when they're in the same room. And why should he keep himself at such a distance? Her engagement is a farce. Her life is crumbled into pathetic pieces. Why shouldn't she succumb to this base desire?
She runs her fingers through her red hair, pulling out the few knots and tangles. And then she stands from the couch and circles the small room. The apartment is empty. Sandor must have left hours ago. There's no note on the table. Nothing.
Sighing, Sansa grabs her bag and leaves. It's already late afternoon by the time she returns to her apartment. She runs a hot bath and pours in lavender oils. She dims the lights, steps into the steaming water, and tries her best to relax. But when she closes her eyes, she can see the thick black scrawl of the note dancing before her vision:
I know what you took, Sansa.
Someone knocks three times on her apartment door, rousing Sansa from her soak in the tub. She must have fallen asleep because her fingers and toes are wrinkled, and the water is barely room temperature. Dreading the worst, Sansa grabs her robe and slowly pulls herself out of the tub.
Maybe it's just Arya, she tells herself. Just Arya. Checking in. It'll be fine.
She cinches her robe tight around her waist and heads to the door. She looks through the peephole, expecting to see Joffrey's beady eyes glaring at her, but shockingly, it's Sandor standing there. He's wearing jeans and a leather jacket, and his thick arms are crossed stiffly across his chest.
Sansa looks down at her robe. It falls past her knees, but the silk material doesn't leave much to the imagination, clinging to her breasts and hips. Normally she would go and change before answering the door, but at this point, there's no chance of establishing normalcy anyways.
She opens the door. Sure enough, Sandor's dark eyes slide over her body. She feels herself leaning into the gaze instead of shying away from it. It feels strange to be admired by someone so different than Joffrey. Strange, but intoxicating.
"Come in," she says, making room for Sandor to walk into the apartment. "You were gone when I woke up," she says.
"I had business to take care of."
"What kind of business?"
Sandor turns to face Sansa. This time he keeps his eyes strictly on her own. "We're going to stop our lessons," he says.
"What?" This is the last thing Sansa expected—not that she was expecting Sandor to come over and declare his love, but this is so far off from— "Absolutely not," she responds. "I need those lessons. And there's no reason to stop."
Sandor barks out a harsh laugh. "Stupid little bird," he says.
Sansa's phone starts ringing, and she distractedly answers it. Her sister is on the other line, "Sansa! It's me, Arya. New phone. Are you okay?"
"Yeah, look can I call you later? We need to talk, but—"
Sandor walks towards the door, and Sansa whispers, "Wait!"
"What for?" He growls.
"Where are you?" Arya asks.
"Look, I can't really talk right now. I'm at—"
"I'm leaving," Sandor says.
"Sansa," Arya says, "Have you been ignoring me all day because you had a fucking booty call last night? Where are you? Who is it? Don't you realize that—"
Sandor is about to walk out the door, so Sansa quickly says, ""Look, Arya, I have to go. Meet me tomorrow morning at my place."
And then she ends the call and turns towards Sandor. "I said wait," she says, surprised by how commanding her voice comes out. She walks up to him, wishing she were taller so she could look him directly in the eye. "Now you can't just come to my apartment, making decisions that affect me, and leaving without an explanation. That's not how things work. You have to have a conversation, you can't just—"
Sandor leans down so that their faces are just inches apart. His eyes are as dark as coals. "That's where you're wrong, child. I can do whatever I want. Be thankful you've even gotten this courtesy."
Frustration, anger, bubbles up within Sansa. It's not fair. It's not okay. Joffrey treats her like a plaything, and she pretends to let him in order to protect her family, but that doesn't mean that Sandor can do the same. She's sick of other people making decisions for her.
"No," Sansa says, her voice loud and firm. "Don't come storming in here saying you're done because you can't handle what passed between us last night. And don't act as if you don't know what I'm talking about. You're pathetic. And you're scared. And you're worse than Joffrey because at least he goes after what he wants instead of cowering in a corner like a whipped dog." She takes another step forward so that their chests are brushing against each other's, and she can feel the heat of his body, the frustration, rolling off in waves. "Now if you don't want to teach me anymore because you think I'm a poor student, then I accept your resignation. But otherwise, we're going to continue to practice until I'm stronger and faster, and you're going to stop acting like a pathetic animal that's been abandoned by its bitch mother."
Too far. Sansa knows it as soon as the words leave her mouth. She knows Sandor comes from a terrible family, not that she knows any of the details. But the look in his eyes tell her she's overstepped her boundaries. His eyes darken and narrow, and Sansa's stomach clenches in fear.
"Stupid, worthless little bird," he says. His breath is warm against her cheek and his glare is cold and cruel. "No more lessons," he says.
He pushes her forward, making room to open the door. "I'll see you at your wedding," he growls. And then he laughs cold and harsh and storms away, slamming the door shut behind him.
Sansa wakes up the next morning to a loud knocking on her door. She opens the door to find Arya dressed and wide-awake.
"What time is it?" Sansa asks, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Almost seven," Arya says. "Now would you please tell me what the fuck is going on?"
Sansa glances into the hallways. It's empty. Silent. And yet she still feels like someone is watching her every move.
"Here," Sansa says. She grabs the note from her purse and hands it to Arya. "This was sitting in the drawer when I went to return the file. I tried calling you right after it happened but—"
"Joffrey broke my phone." Arya gives her a sharp look. "Not that it excuses why you wouldn't pick up your phone all day yesterday."
Arya collapses on the couch, feet propped against one of the arms, and quickly reads the note. Her face tightens, and she looks back up at Sansa. "Jesus," she breathes. "How? How could someone possibly know it was you?"
"I don't know," Sansa says. "I was even wearing I mask when I took the file in the first place. And you're the only person who knows where I was."
"And Sandor," Arya says. "When I was racing him that night, he pulled me over to stall for time. He knew we were trying to distract Joffrey, and he knew who I was."
"We can trust him," Sansa says, though she's not sure if she believes her own words. "Besides, I never told him what I was doing or where I was going. I only told him that I needed Joffrey to be preoccupied. And I never told him who you were."
"Yeah, so he just figured that out on his own?" Arya challenges.
"Maybe you're not as sneaky as you think you are."
"Maybe you're dumb."
"Maybe you're an idiot."
"Maybe you're—"
Sansa's phone rings. She glares at Arya before answering it.
"Hello?" She asks.
"Sansa! There you are!"
"Oh." Sansa's voice tightens. "Hi, mom."
Arya mouths, put it on speaker.
Sansa sets the phone on the table and presses the speaker button. Their mother's voice pierces the apartment. "I've been trying to get in touch with you for days now," Catelyn says. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"I'm sorry, mom. I've just been really busy with uh, work and what not. I'll do better. I'm sorry. How are you?"
"Well your father and I just received a very interesting invitation in the mail." Catelyn clears her voice. "The Stark family is warmly invited to the union of Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark."
"Shit," Arya says.
"Arya? Is that you?"
"Shit, shit, shit," Arya mutters. She raises her voice. "Hey, mom. Yeah it's me."
"Shouldn't you be in class right now?"
"Oh, um, well, my morning section was cancelled, and—" Arya trails off. "That's not really important, you know, considering this whole wedding thing."
Thanks a lot Arya, Sansa mouths.
"Girls," Catelyn says. "What's going on? Why is there a wedding happening in two weeks that I've just found out about? Sansa, why didn't you call me as soon as you set a date? You know we weren't happy about this engagement in the first place, and now, to get married so quickly without consulting us—I just don't understand. You've always been the mature one, and now you're making this rash decision."
Sansa had been praying that her mother would never find out about the impending wedding. She kept telling herself that she would find a way to break off the engagement, find a way to protect her family. But the reality of the situation is hitting her hard. The wedding is only two weeks away. Apparently someone already sent out invitations without her even knowing. And now, the only blackmail she has on the Baratheons is being used against her instead of the other way around.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I know. I should have called." Her voice is tight. I won't cry, she thinks. I'm stronger than that.
Arya steps forward and clasps Sansa's hand lightly in her own. Even though they were fighting moments earlier, the touch is now warm and soothing. And for the first time, Sansa is truly glad she has her sister by her side.
"She wanted it to be a surprise," Arya interrupts. "She didn't want dad to stress for months, and she was going to book you all a really nice hotel, and we were going to get spa treatments together."
Arya nudges Sansa.
"Yes," Sansa said. "Like Arya said. I thought I could make it nice if I kept it a surprise, but I see now that it was a terrible idea. I'm really sorry."
Catelyn sighs. "It's all right. I just wish I could see you girls and talk about this before, well, before the wedding."
There's nothing Sansa would rather do than fly back home and curl up in the comfort of her parents' home. But she knows that's not an option. Joffrey would seek revenge on her entire family.
"We already had tickets to fly down," Catelyn continues. "But we'll only get there a day early."
"That's all right," Sansa says. "I can't wait to see all of you. I miss you so much."
"We miss you too, love. And you, Arya."
"Two weeks will fly by," Arya says. "We'll see you soon."
But that's what Sansa fears most. Two weeks will fly by. In two weeks, Joffrey will be slipping a wedding band on her finger, and they'll be swearing false vows of love and devotion, and she'll be chained to him forever.
As soon as they hang up the phone, Sansa lets out a deep breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She feels faint and slowly lowers herself to the soft couch cushions.
"Are you all right?" Arya asks.
Sansa gives her a tiny nod.
"Good, because we really need to sort out all of this shit. I can't believe you waited until today to tell me about this note. I don't care how attractive that man was yesterday—there's no excuse to just—"
"Okay, Arya," Sansa says. "I get it. Now let's move on."
Arya crosses her arms. "Fine," she says. "So what are we going to do? Who left the note?"
"I don't know," Sansa says. The phrase little bird keeps playing in her mind. Sandor always calls her that. Pretty little bird. Stupid little bird.
But he couldn't have left the note. For one, it would be much too obvious with a turn of phrase like that. And also, why would he threaten her family? He hates Joffrey and his family as much as she does.
"Maybe Margaery," Sansa says before thinking it through.
"Margaery? Why would she—" Arya rounds in on her sister. "Sansa, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't do something so stupid."
"Look, Margaery has only been kind to me."
"You showed her the file," Arya accuses.
"I did."
Arya throws her hands up in the air and huffs, "Well problem solved! The great detective has done it again!"
"Look," Sansa says. "We can't just assume it's Margaery."
"Why not? It makes perfect sense. Her brother and Joffrey are all buddy buddy. Of course she'd snitch on us. I bet Loras even got a handsome raise for it."
"Margaery is my friend." Sansa's voice quavers just the tiniest bit. "I trust her."
"Doesn't sound like it." Arya sighs and throws herself back down on the couch. "If it wasn't Margaery, than who else was it? Like you said, you wore a mask when you snuck into the building. No one else knew you were there."
"I know," Sansa says. "I know. But maybe we're missing something."
"Or maybe Margaery is a lying, conniving, evil, fucking bitch."
"I just don't think we should jump to conclusions. And it doesn't matter anyways, does it? The threat stands no matter who it's from. If I don't marry Joffrey like a good little bird, our entire family is in danger."
"You're not marrying that stupid little blonde prick," Arya says. "I won't allow it."
Even through the harsh words and insults, Sansa can hear Arya's love. They're both just trying to protect each other, even if they go at it in different ways. "There's nothing else to do," Sansa says softly.
"You made photocopies of the reports, right?" Arya asks.
"Right. I have them hidden."
"Well I don't see why we still can't just turn the whole lot of them in. See how they can threaten us from jail."
"Don't be dense, Arya. I don't think that note is a threat to be taken lightly."
Arya chews on her lower lip, her brow tensed in thought. "I'll figure something out," she says. "I promise. Just give me a day or two to think."
Sansa has a feeling there's no way out of this situation, but it's fine by her if Arya wants to try. "All right," she says. "All right."
Arya stands back up and heads towards the door, a new, determined look on her face. She turns around at the last second and suddenly asks, "So. Where were you yesterday? Who's the mystery guy?"
Sansa clears her throat and looks away. "Just some guy," she says, though Sandor is anything but some guy. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay," Arya relents. "I'll talk to you soon." She leaves the apartment and closes the door shut behind her.
When Sansa is finally alone, she breathes a sigh of relief. The last thirty-six hours have been incredibly stressful, and the only thing she wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep away the rest of the day. But as she heads towards her bedroom, the phone rings again.
She's tempted to let it go to voicemail, but when she checks the caller ID, she's surprised to see who it's from.
She picks up the phone. "Robb?"
His voice is warm. Comforting. "Hi, little sister."
"It's so good to hear from you."
"Yes, well, I've just had a nice little chat with our mother. And then I had a not-so-nice chat with Jon. So, turns out, you'll be seeing me in two days."
"Two days?" Sansa asks, startled.
Robb laughs over the line. "I can't let you, Arya, and Jon do all the espionage alone, now can I?"
"How did you—" Sansa starts. "How much do you know?"
"I know enough," Robb says. "And I'll see you very soon because it sounds like you need an extra Stark on your side."
"I guess we do," Sansa says.
"No more worrying," Robb says. "This time next week, the Baratheons and Lannisters will be begging us for mercy. I promise it."
A/N – Hoped you guys liked the ending! I think it's about time for the Starks to band together, don't you?
Thanks for reading and reviewing, and enjoy the season premier tomorrow!