A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.
*Thank you to onborrowedwings & nysandra, for this chapter could not have been done without their help! :D
- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
37. A Measure of Joy
The loud sound of a man shouting outside in the street woke Sansa up an hour after dawn. She opened her eyes, her cheek pressed to the pillow underneath her face, and at once felt the most horrible headache descend on her. Sansa blinked, hearing for a moment the sounds of the City of a Hundred Isles waking up outside, before remembering why exactly she felt so empty and broken, as she hugged herself upon the old mattress.
Gods, what did my family do to deserve such fates? She lamented for the thousandth time since yesterday morning. Bran was lost somewhere in the North, Arya was married to a dreadful traitor, most likely against her will if that girl was truly her sister, and her mother and Robb… Sansa shivered, remembering.
It had given her a chill to enter the living room where Lord Davos and Hagen had been, although she had been prepared to hear whatever difficulties had befallen her family while she was away. But never would she have imagined what she was about to learn. Such fateful and dreadful tidings. Sansa's heart had been in her throat as Davos told them everything, and changed her life forever in just the matter of moments. And when he was done, she had been left stunned, unable to think or speak. At first, she hadn't really understood what he was actually telling her, refusing to believe it was possible, wanting to be away from the men in the room.
She had felt as if she had walked right into an eerie dream, a nightmare, where everyone around her were shadows and ghosts. Yet she had been aware in the back of her mind that her little brother couldn't see her like this, couldn't know what she herself had just learned, and so had left the small house quickly, wishing to get away as soon as possible. Wishing with all her might that the Onion Knight's words weren't true.
When she had reached the inn and stormed quickly inside the bedroom, locking the door behind her, Sansa's legs had gone out from under her, and she had fallen to her knees with the blow of the knowledge that she would never see her mother's face again. Never hear Robb's laughter and maybe never even learn what had happened to Bran or Arya. Lord Davos seemed certain that the girl that had married Ramsay Snow was her sister, but he had also said that the girl had been delivered to the Boltons by the Lannisters, who had kept her hidden somewhere for months. Sansa had a hard time believing that the lions had had Arya in their power all these months, but she had no proof of it. In short, Sansa had lost her home, her place in the world, and everyone she had ever loved or trusted.
Sansa's body had trembled with her sobs; she had wailed, shaking her head in refusal, fisting her hands until her nails cut into her palms, biting her tongue and her lip until she tasted blood, bending over as she almost vomited right there on the floor, still on her knees. And then she gave herself to darkness. Sansa thought she must have fainted in the end, for the next thing she knew was that she was curled up on the floor, and evening shadows were all around her. After that, she had spent her time alternating between sleeping and weeping. She had stood up and walked to the bed, getting under the covers, shivering with grief. Though she had slept for long hours, she was still tired now.
She had dreaded falling asleep, fearing she would be tormented with visions of Robb and her sweet mother as they were betrayed and slaughtered in the Red Wedding, by people they thought of as friends, but none such nightmares had troubled her. Her sleep had been dreamless, and now that she had woken up the morning after, Sansa felt as if she'd drunk a whole flagon of a potion made with honeywater and herbs.
Sansa hadn't looked upon her family's faces for months and months now, she had seen little Rickon now, and her baby brother looked just like Bran had done at his age, and just how Robb had probably looked as well. But for Arya and Jon we all shared the Tully colouring. Closing her eyes, Sansa allowed the images of her lady mother's face to come to her mind, until her head was practically throbbing with pain and she felt her chest and throat were sore and dry.
Slowly, she got up from the bed and went to draw open the small curtains of the window, her heart full of sadness, then walked across the room to stare at her reflection in the mirror. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, and her long hair hung about her face, unwashed and tangled.
Her gaze traveled across the room, not really seeing the furniture, for her mind had drifted off far away. Sansa washed her face, her mouth and her hands, before returning to the bed, too tired to change out of the pink gown Hagen had given her in Lorath, which she had been wearing for day now. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands resting at her sides, staring at the bare wall before her, thinking, feeling cold.
A sudden knock at the door brought her back to the present. She tensed when she heard the sound, a reminder that she wasn't going to be able to stay in this room forever. Sansa kept silent, wishing faintly that if she didn't answer the knock, then she would be able to go back to sleep again.
"Little bird, are you awake?" a rasping voice called in the Common Tongue from the hallway outside, making Sansa draw in her breath sharply before pressing her eyes closed, covering her mouth with her hand, and shifting on the bed. Sandor.
She must have made the mattress creak without meaning to, for Sandor went on saying, "Aye, I can hear that you are. I've brought you some food to break your fast with, bird."
Sansa didn't feel like opening the door, and could not even bear the thought of food. She didn't answer Sandor, but he didn't seem to mind, for he asked her, "Are you hungry? You haven't eaten anything in more than a day."
Gulping, she covered her face with her hands, taking in an even small breath in silence, bending down, her elbows resting on her legs.
"You won't speak to me, little bird?" Sandor called from outside.
Sandor was silent for a moment after her own silence. Sansa was just beginning to think he had gone away in defeat, when he startled her by declaring, "I will stay here sitting at your door like a good dog until you speak to me or open the door, little bird. I could hear you crying in your sleep you know, but you've been silent now for some hours."
At those words, Sansa finally stood up from the bed, and quietly went to stand beside the door, hugging herself, and rested her weight on the wall by the doorframe. She placed her forehead against the wood of the door, recalling that this was Sandor, the man she had come to know better than anybody she had ever met.
"You were here all night?" she asked him at last, whispering the words softly.
Sandor heard her. He barked a mirthful laughter. "Aye, little bird. I sat here and didn't move but to fetch food for you. Will you open the door now?"
Sansa shook her head, stating in a hollow voice, "I don't want to. I am not hungry. I can't eat. I… I don't have a home anymore. I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have anything in this life now."
"That's not true, bird," Sandor replied, in a serious, meaningful tone. "You do have somewhere you can go. Your home is still there, where you left it."
"No, it isn't!" she denied, tears of anger stinging her eyes. "Winterfell is no more, and a place without a family is no home. I've lost my family! My mother and father are dead, my siblings are dead, and those who aren't might be dead as we speak, too."
"No, not all of your family, Sansa," Sandor told her, in a quiet deep voice. "You still have two brothers, one baseborn and one trueborn, and possibly your sister as well. And you have me, little bird. I want to be your family, too."
Sansa let out a sob, her tears sliding down her cheeks, realizing that even in these horrible moments, her big man was still here beside her, admitting the truth of his words even if they hurt. She placed her hand on the door, but couldn't find the right words to say to him, so she didn't speak.
After a long moment, Sandor seemed to make up his mind and he went on, saying thoughtfully, "I have no family either. Never really did after Arwyn died, and now that my bloody brother is dead, I am the last Clegane. I am alone, and with no home or family, not even Gregor to kill. I have nothing to give to a Stark of Winterfell but my sword and my love."
Sansa listened to his words, remembering for the first time since hearing about it that Sandor's brother had died by the hand of a Dornish prince. Oh, gods. I wasn't there to help him cope with that blow. She knew better than anyone what killing his brother would have meant for Sandor, but she was happy that her big man hadn't had the chance to become a kinslayer.
Her breasts heaved as she wept silently, recalling not the way her family had suffered but the last months here in Essos with Sandor. Remembering the way they had become friends and then had fallen in love with the other. She remembered laughter, their friends, the tears and fights, the comfort he always offered her, little gestures and daring new explorations. Sansa recalled the deep true love they shared for the other, and just how much Sandor meant to her.
"What do you mean?" She asked him in a whisper, unsure if her tears were only of sorrow now.
"That I could be family to you as well," Sandor rasped through the door. "I want to go to your land and meet your people. I want to learn about your bloody white and red trees and freeze my arse off in your snows. I want to fight alongside the Baratheons and your father's bannermen to recover Winterfell for you and your little brother, so there can be a nest where my lady wife can chirp away happily, and fill it with my pups and birdlings as pretty as her. I want you to be my wife, more than anything. I am asking you to marry me, Sansa."
Sansa couldn't stand this anymore. Her heart had stopped beating in the middle of Sandor's declaration. The moment he was done, she opened the door at last, and locked her gaze with his, barely registering the chair beside him, or the food tray upon it. He was standing in the hallway, looking at her intently, his love for her clearly reflected there. But no matter how much Sansa wanted to throw her arms around him and cry into his chest, she couldn't. Something in her stopped her from falling apart right here and now, as she realized that Sandor was holding his breath, waiting for her response.
After a moment, she took a couple of steps forward and embraced the man before her, silently accepting his proposal, and making Sandor grunt and hug her so tightly that for a while she couldn't breathe. She buried her face in his neck as he lifted her off the ground in his strong arms, clinging to her fiercely. Sansa could feel more tears in her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.
"I want a home above all else, and with you," she admitted, closing her eyes, finding a small degree of solace and comfort just by hugging him.
Her big man groaned hoarsely in her ear and kissed the side of her face and her neck in response. Sansa lifted her head from the crook of his neck to stare into Sandor's eyes, as he allowed her body to slide down against him till her feet touched the floor.
Sandor brought his hand up cup her face; his thumb brushed the wetness on her cheeks from the tears she had shed inside the room. "I love you more than you will ever know, my little bird."
Sansa never took her eyes off Sandor's face as he bent down to press his mouth upon hers, his scarred lips kissing hers with love and tenderness. It was a sweet kiss, one from which Sansa drew strength from, as she thought that as long as they had each other, she would never falter in her determination to get her home back. She knew the war that awaited them in Westeros was going to be long and hard, and so was the rebuilding of Winterfell. I can stand anything now that winter has truly come, and our time here in Essos is at an end.
When they drew apart, Sansa pillowed her head on Sandor's chest and closed her eyes, as he brought his arms around her and ran his hand through her hair, kissing the top of her head before pressing his burned cheek on her hair.
Sandor's eyes were closed as he hugged Sansa close to him, speechless because the realization that the little bird had agreed to marry him was dawning on him, and relieved that she had stepped outside from the room where she had locked herself in yesterday. I was right, he thought. He did know Sansa. His trust in her hadn't been in vain, for she had just proved to him that she really did love him despite everything, and what they felt for each other was so strong not even the shit that was happening to them now could bring them apart. She didn't turn against me while she grieved. She still wants me and needs me as much as I do her. They probably needed each other now more than ever, he gathered.
He hadn't forgotten that he and Sansa still had a hard road ahead of them, but for a moment Sandor allowed himself not to care. The woman he loved rested her pretty head on his chest, as he made a silent vow to protect her until his last sodding breath. At least I did a better job of keeping her safe than the Young Wolf would've done. It had hurt him to see the way she looked though, when she finally opened the door to the room. Her face was pale, and she had red eyes and shadows under them. Her auburn hair was all about the place, and she looked sick. It was a sight that reminded him too much of the bloody past, for Sandor remembered too clearly the previous time he had seen her like this; days after Joffrey had killed her father. Sandor had sat all night outside in the hall, beside her door, ready if Sansa opened the door and needed him, but in the end she hadn't. If she doesn't eat soon, she will be sick, not only look it. Sandor started thinking how he could coax her into eating something.
The little bird was still in his arms when Hagen Edar, dressed all in black as was his custom, stepped out of his room, coughing politely to announce his presence. Sansa and Sandor turned to stare at the Lorathi, who also looked bloody relieved to see her again.
"How are you feeling?" The outlaw asked Sansa in a respectful tone, his bow and quiver full of arrows already strapped to his back.
Sansa didn't bother to dry her wet cheeks as she regarded him with a deep stare. "A little better."
Hagen nodded, and exchanged a look with Sandor, before making up his mind and replying, "I'm truly sorry for everything. You are a good person, and no one deserves to endure what has happened to you. I trust you know you can count on me for anything you need."
Good, Sandor thought. He had asked Hagen not to mention anything to the little bird about becoming her sworn arrow until after they had married, and the outlaw didn't seem to mind.
"Thank you, Hagen," Sansa replied quietly, swaying where she stood.
"Won't you eat something?" Sandor asked in concern when she gulped and gripped his arm for support, staggering a little. "Please, bird. You look as if you are about to faint."
Sansa grimaced at the food, but gave a short nod as she took a deep breath and turned around to enter the room, the tray Sandor had left on the chair in her hands. Hagen and Sandor followed the little bird inside, the former resting his back against a wall, and the latter barring the door behind him. Sandor looked at Sansa take a seat beside the small square table, and nibble at the food unenthusiastically. He had brought her a cup of milk, some fruit and bread.
The little bird sat on the chair with a straight back, staring at the floor, lost in thought. Sandor wasn't sure he could stand this solemn Sansa, who looked like a pale shadow of the lively maid he had come to know so well. As she sat there, rigid, tired, and yet with a natural dignity he had never seen in any woman before at court, she looked like the strong woman she was. The northern princess who could bear anything. But to him she was first and foremost his little bird rather than a princess. I must make her open up to me. It isn't good that she is hiding everything she is feeling behind walls of grief.
Not caring that Edar was there anymore, because Sansa needed him, Sandor strode over to her chair, and went to one knee beside her. She looked down at him with a slight frown, but when he allowed himself to lower his defenses and showed her how concerned he was for her, she gave him a little smile, as if assuring him that everything was going to be all right. And then he understood.
Sansa couldn't say much at the moment, but when she brought her hands to clasp one of his and gently brushed her thumbs on his calloused skin, Sandor knew somehow what she was trying to tell him.
Sighing, Sandor winked at her and turned his neck to regard Hagen, and told him, "We're going to get married, Edar."
The Lorathi seemed a bit surprised by that, but he chuckled and observed with a small smile, "About time, I'd say. When?"
And here it goes, Sandor realized. The little bird had agreed to marry him, yet she didn't know just how soon it would have to happen.
Sansa met his gaze as he rasped, "Little bird, too bloody much has happened while you were in this room. Yesterday, I returned to the house where your brother is hiding, and I talked to Seaworth about us. While the bugger isn't too happy about it, he has agreed to be a witness to our marriage, and so has Osha, the wilding woman that has been keeping an eye on young Rickon."
Sansa's eyes widened. "Lord Davos has agreed to be our witness?"
Sandor grimaced, and tucked a strand of hair behind Sansa's ear tenderly. "The little bird repeats whatever she hears. The Onion has agreed, yes."
"How? Why?" the bird wanted to know.
Snorting, Sandor shrugged. "Because he knows he can't fucking stop you from choosing whom you want to marry, at least not here in Braavos. The smuggler has no authority over you. And he agreed after I went to talk to him and explained how matters really stood between us. He knows that Stannis will be furious and he will have to be the one to bear the brunt, but he promised me he will give us his consent about being our witness after talking to you."
Sandor shot Edar a look then, knowing the little bird would be embarrassed, but he needed the Lorathi to stay here in the room for a moment longer. The madman at least seemed to take the hint and went to stare through the window at the street outside, humming a tune.
"And he also said he wants to see proof that what I told him was the truth," Sandor told her, trying to keep the deep grumble of his voice low. "That you are still a maid. He… he says he has to see the bloody sheet."
What little colour remained in Sansa's already pale skin drained from her now. She stared at him in disbelief before she understood the meaning behind his words. Her eyes fell quickly on Edar before settling on Sandor's face again, but she didn't lower her face in embarrassment. She composed herself, to his sodding surprise, with a quiet dignity he both admired and feared in her.
Sandor gazed at his little bird's face, taking in just how different she looked in contrast with a couple of days before. It was something in the way Sansa was carrying herself, and a certain light in her eyes, which had stolen away the innocence from their expression and replaced it with grief and wisdom. And yet Sandor found himself loving her more than ever. A memory of the young girl she had once been flashed across his mind then. The girl whom he'd felt both annoyed and intrigued by, and who had turned into this strong young woman whom he would willingly give up his life for.
Sansa finally nodded and said in a low voice, "Oh, I see… But, Sandor, that only means we have two witnesses. A wedding by the Seven needs to be compromised of three witnesses or more. And we would have to tell the Septon our true names."
Sandor had already known this, since the Onion had mentioned it yesterday. He nodded in agreement and jerked his head at Edar. "Aye, that's true. I was going to ask Hagen to be the third witness. Would you like that?"
Sansa and the archer exchanged a surprised look. She smiled a little and nodded. "We would be forever thankful to you, Hagen, if you helped us in this matter."
The outlaw practically beamed as he answered, "I would be honored to be your witness, my friends. Sansa, I'm sorry, but–but I don't think Sandor has told you this yet. I talked to him yesterday and he agreed to have me accompany you both back to your homeland, if you don't mind."
"Hagen, are you certain?" Sansa asked, measuring the outlaw before her. "You have become a very dear friend to us both, and though it would please me if you came with us, you have to know that your life would be in danger. We are going to fight Winter, and the Iron Throne and many foes before the end."
Sandor looked at her with pride as she pointed out to Edar what awaited them, glad to see his northern wolf wasn't flinching from what awaited them back home.
Hagen laughed at her concerns. "I don't care about that, Sansa. My life has been in danger many times before this day. I was quite the fabled outlaw after all, not so long ago. But now I want to go with you both across the Narrow Sea and help you win back your home."
The little bird seemed to be really moved. She thanked Edar and at last gave her approval for him to join them in the journey ahead. Sandor was relieved. It wouldn't do for Sansa to disapprove of her future sworn arrow's presence before she even knew Hagen was going to become her protector, after Sandor became her husband.
"You know," the madman said sadly, as he gazed at Sandor and Sansa. "As I stand here looking at you, it really does strike me how young you are, and yet you both have known and seen so much. In a way, you remind me of me and my dear wife when I first met her, and how naïve we were of the hard trials ahead of us. I just pray that when this is all over, you have a happier ending than I did."
Bloody hells, Sandor cursed under his breath, for he would never get used to these sodding confessions from Edar. Sandor stared at him in incredulity, but Sansa, after attempting a smile at the man, only sniffed and looked away from them both. When Edar said later that he was going to the common room to break his fast, Sandor and Sansa were finally alone again.
Returning his attention to his love, Sandor rasped, "As to your other question, little bird, yes, we would have to tell the fucking septon who we really are. There is a sept here in Braavos. And even if this city still reeks of Varys' spies, I think it would be best if we got married here today, rather than wait till we reach the Seven Kingdoms."
Sansa brought her hand to her mouth, chirping in surprise, "Today?"
Shifting uncomfortably, still on one knee, Sandor nodded and tried to make her understand how important this matter was. "I know that you are still grieving about what–what we learned yesterday, bird. But it would be better for us to marry today and leave for White Harbor tomorrow as man and wife than arrive at Westeros like we are. Your family can't oppose our marriage now, Sansa, but that doesn't mean the whole bloody world will stand by and let us marry in the Seven Kingdoms without having something to say about it. They will try to separate us if we let them."
When he was done, Sandor waited for the little bird's answer. He wanted to give her the choice to decide upon this, but he was also hoping against all odds that she would agree to marry him today. Ever since learning what had happened to her mother and siblings, Sandor had thought hard and long on what they should do, and had come to the certain realization for the first time ever that he was the best and only man who could make Sansa happy, in more than one way.
If the little bird became his wife, the marriage would safeguard her independence and keep her protected from any unwanted marriages, or from being used as a pawn in the game of thrones again. Because he, as her husband, would be the only one the little bird would have to answer to, and since Sandor had never fucking cared about her claim in the first place, he would be content with letting her rule, happy that she had allowed him to spend his life by her side.
Not many back in Westeros would approve of their marriage, but the Faith would uphold it if they presented the paper that proved they had been married here in Braavos by the sodding Seven.
Yet after what seemed an eternity to him, Sansa finally raised her face to look at his burned one. Slowly, a sorrowful yet content smile appeared on her features and her beautiful Tully blue eyes shone as she whispered, "This is my wedding day, then."
Sandor threw back his head at his bird's answer and kissed her, so sodding happy for the first time since she had agreed to marry him. He pressed his forehead to hers and nodded. "It is, Sansa, though I'm sorry that it had to happen like this."
Sansa brought her hand up to his face in answer, tracing the fingertips of her long fingers lightly over his burns, staring at them as if wishing to commit them to memory. Sandor realized that he was holding his breath in some sort of anticipation, but the little bird only cupped his face. Sandor leaned into her touch, wishing to treasure this moments forever in his mind, grunting.
"It's a good thing that I finished our cloaks while we were on the ship from Lorath," Sansa commented softly after a moment, as two tears slid down her cheeks. .
She is going to be mine and mine alone for true at long last, he thought in awe as he brushed the tears from her face, barely believing it, unable to stop his mind from wondering to what would happen tonight between them. He gulped, eager.
When they drew apart after a moment, Sandor drew Sansa to sit on his lap on the floor with him. She didn't protest, for which he was grateful.
"Sandor, you've forgotten one thing," the little bird said, as she traced the tip of her fingers along his own, before resting her hand above his. "You said that we would marry today and leave for Westeros tomorrow. How can we go back when we don't even have a ship?"
Running his hand though Sansa's tangled auburn locks, happy that she was at last letting her walls down with him, he chuckled. "That's settled as well, my bird. The Onion and I went to the docks yesterday, and we found a ship bound for White Harbor tomorrow an hour after dawn. The captain is Westerosi, and Seaworth said he couldn't ask for a better ship under our circumstances."
She nodded, thinking about his words, before she buried her head in his neck again, throwing her arms around him.
"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" She told him, her voice muffled, a warm breath against his skin.
Sandor held her in his arms. "I did. I am not going to fuck this up. I told you I am going to take care of you, and this is the way I deem as best for us."
At this, something in her broke, and she clung to him in silence. Had she started crying, Sandor would have been glad to give her as much comfort as he could, but Sansa didn't cry.
"I'm sorry I said I had no family left earlier," she said at last, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. "You have been my family for months, Sandor."
Sandor kissed her, silently thanking her for allowing herself to trust him long ago when he went to her bedroom as green fire filled the air, and men died all around them. Despite him having threatened her life with his dagger at her throat, the little bird must have seen something good in him that made her make up her mind, and now here they were, in love with the other. She believed in me, and for that I will always be thankful to her.
"And now we also have little Rickon," Sansa went on, as they entwined hands after a moment. "He needs me, Sandor."
He certainly agreed with that. Sandor liked Rickon, but the boy was just as wild as the woman who had taken care of him. If Brandon Stark was not found again, then Rickon was the heir to Winterfell. Sansa and he would probably have to pay much attention to the boy's upbringing, if they all managed to come out of this mess with their heads still attached to their bodies. He's the Stark heir and can't be a boy forever.
"I told your brother that you had started preparing for the journey home yesterday, and that's why you had gone away," he informed the little bird. "He bit Seaworth after learning you had left the house."
For the first time since she had agreed to marry him, Sansa's voice broke a little as she told him, promising it to herself, "I'm going to take good care of him. I am going to make my mother proud."
Sandor kissed her in agreement, knowing that she was going to succeed. Then he told Sansa they had better hurry up and go meet the others at the shack they had rented.
"Sandor, I think you've forgotten one little detail," she told him, as he kissed her hand.
"What?" he asked quickly, counting off in his head the things he had already done to see if there was something missing.
"We have to marry before a heart tree as soon as we reach Westeros. We keep to the Old Gods in the North."
Fuck me, that's right, Sandor thought, breathing in relief that that was what he had forgotten. He shrugged and assured her that wouldn't be a problem. Once, he wouldn't have said any bloody vows for anything or anyone, but when it came to marrying the little bird, he couldn't really oppose that, he guessed.
"I'll marry you as many times as it's necessary to make it fucking clear to the whole world that we mean this," Sandor rasped as he brushed his thumb along the line of the bird's jaw, even as his eyes traveled along her body, thinking about tonight. That we are together because we want to be.
"I agree, love," Sansa whispered softly, as they hugged each other, telling the other with their bodies what was so hard to put into words.
She asked for a hot bath afterwards, and while he went downstairs to break his fast, Edar guarded Sansa's door, saying that this was as good as any day to start his duties as the bird's sworn arrow. Sansa had pointed out to Sandor that he should rest, but he wouldn't have been able to close his eyes and sleep even if he'd wanted to. From now on, it was going to be back to resting with one eye open, craning his head with every step to make sure they weren't being followed.
Yet when the bird almost pleaded with him to get some sleep, Sandor had to accept, and promised her that once they had talked to the Onion he would do so. Half an hour later, the little bird came down the inn's wooden steps, her hand on Edar's arm for support. She looks better than earlier today, Sandor thought, staring at his future wife. A stranger would probably just think that this young cold woman looked tired, but Sandor was proud of his bird, for she was indeed lifting her chin up to face the world, just as he'd told Seaworth she would.
When they arrived at the shack, young Rickon was waiting for them already, peering out of the window to the alley outside. As the boy opened the front door with a happy shout, and came running towards his sister, Sansa took a step back, bumping into Sandor. He steadied her with a hand on her shoulder and growled, "Are you all right?"
The little bird only nodded before appearing to compose herself quick enough. She made herself smile happily, as if her heart wasn't full of grief, and hugged her brother tightly as the boy threw his arms around her, his enormous direwolf bouncing towards the three of them. She gasped as she knelt beside the youngest Stark on the ground, saying, "I love you, Rickon."
Edar spared the wolf a wary look, loosening one of his daggers in its scabbard, before stepping away towards the house. Osha came out of the house, shouting for the wolf and the boy to come back inside at once.
"Sansa, you left me!" Rickon exclaimed in reproach.
The little bird cupped her brother's cheek. "I'm sorry I did, Rickon. I truly am, but now I'm back.
"Where were you?"
"I had to go and book passage aboard the ship that is going to take us back home. Back to the North."
Rickon stared at her in surprise. "Are we really going home?"
Sansa chuckled, kissing her brother's forehead. "Yes we are, my little brother. Tomorrow, an hour after dawn."
"Shaggy is coming too, right?"
She nodded in assurance. Sandor watched the bird taking her small brother's hand and leading him back inside the shack, Sandor at their heels.
After he had barred the front door close, Sandor narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the Onion Knight as he coughed politely, approaching Sansa. Sandor saw that the warm smile that had been on the little bird's face at seeing her brother again quickly disappeared into a mask of cool courtesy when the smuggler asked her how she was doing.
"I am better, Lord Davos," was her short reply, as she took a seat beside Rickon's, not wishing to betray herself in front of the boy.
"Osha, Lord Davos, my sister says we are going home tomorrow!" the boy exclaimed, as his direwolf went to lie down in a corner of the small living room. Sandor looked at the dark animal then, noticing how Shaggydog's snout and jaw were leaner and more pronounced than those of a normal wolf. His head is bigger, and his legs longer too. He would have killed me in the blink of an eye, had the little bird not shouted his fucking name.
"My lady?" Davos said, frowning briefly at Rickon. "Could we talk?"
Sansa nodded, looking at Rickon as well, uncertain as to what she should say that would make her brother part from her side willingly for a moment. She was spared the trouble when Edar suddenly clapped his hands together loudly, addressing Rickon, "Boy, do you like archers?"
Shaggydog lifted his head from the ground to look at Hagen curiously, and Rickon turned his attention to the Lorathi, eyeing the bow and quiver on the madman's back with ill-concealed excitement.
"I like swords. I had one when we were hiding in the crypts."
"A dagger is almost like a sword, and I happen to be a grand dagger fighter. I used to be an outlaw once in the Hills of Norvos, you know. Would you like me to show you my weapons and some tricks?"
"Yes!" the boy replied, as Seaworth stared in surprised at the Lorathi. The Onion already knew that Edar was going to become Sansa's sworn shield, but apparently the knowledge that Lady Sansa Stark was going to have a former outlaw rather than a knight guarding her was new to him.
"Osha, Sansa, do you want to see them too?" Rickon asked the women.
"Aye, why not," the wilding said, shrugging.
"I have already seen them many times before, Rickon," Sansa told her brother. "You go on with Hagen. He is my friend too, and a good man."
As Rickon, Hagen, Osha and the wolf walked over to disappear into the wilding woman's bedroom, Sandor moved to follow them. He didn't like one fucking bit leaving Sansa here alone to talk with the Onion, but he wanted to prove to him that he trusted the little bird enough not to need to hear what she said about the two of them to Seaworth, who would later on report back to Stannis.
Yet before he had taken three steps, he stopped as his little bird said, "Sandor, please, do stay. I want you to hear what I tell Lord Davos."
Her tone was kind, yet something in her voice made both men aware that her words admitted no argument. Sandor exchanged a look with the Onion, shrugged and strode over towards the table, taking the empty seat beside Sansa's. She smiled at him before returning her attention back to the smuggler. He asked her, "Has Clegane informed you of what he told me yesterday, Lady Sansa? Regarding you and him?"
"He has, my lord."
"Lady Sansa," the Onion continued, after exchanging a glance with Sandor. "I will speak plainly, for this is an important matter. I do not like it, this wedding between you and Clegane. I think it would be wiser if you waited. There will be much more suitable matches back home, some that could be of great benefit to the restoration of your home. Yet, while I do not doubt that you are of great importance to Clegane, I have to know your thoughts on this, too. I know he loves you, but do you love him? And, please, don't be afraid to speak the truth because he is here. If Clegane feels for you as much as he led me and Osha believe, then he will respect your decision."
Sandor looked daggers at the fucking smuggler, tense even as he tried to look like he didn't have a care in the world, but he realized that that was useless, for his heart had stopped beating as he waited for the little bird to answer, forgetting for the moment that she had already accepted to marry him, and willingly. Fuck, the Onion is right. If Sansa were to decide she wants to delay the marriage, or to turn against me, then I would end up buggeringly respecting her bloody choice, no matter how much it hurt me.
He chanced a quick peek at Sansa, only to find her silently regarding her hands, as a little amused grin appeared on her beautiful face. When she raised her eyes to meet those of Seaworth, her features had turned calm, almost serene.
"I thank you for your thoughtfulness, Lord Davos," the little bird said with a strong certainty on her voice. "Everything you said is true, but now it is my turn to speak. I think it wise for you to know the reasons behind my lack of hesitation in wishing to bound my life to Sandor's forever. I… I want you to understand–to see–what there is between me and Sandor to make me behave this way, so that when we are brought before your king, you can be honest and tell him the whole truth, however little he will like it. So that you can make him understand that our behavior here in Essos has not been reckless, for we never forgot what we owed to the world."
Taking a deep breath, and turning to look at Sandor, she continued in a firm voice that never faltered, "Sandor Clegane has taken care of me for months, and never once did he expect or even ask anything from me in return. He has respected me, aware of the consequences our actions would bring upon me and my name, which I am afraid to confess I hadn't considered much myself before. Sandor has shared with me what little he has in this world, from his gold to his knowledge on how to survive. Sandor has saved my life more than once, risking his own in the process, since before we even escaped King's Landing, when we were strangers, when I had no right to expect anything from him, not even the smallest mercy. Sandor has loved me for a long time, but he never took advantage of me in the way I know you and others will believe. What he has done is give me strength, encourage me to speak my mind, to think beyond the lessons I was taught as a little girl. He has never denied me anything, and now I find that only with him can I be myself. In short, Sandor Clegane is the truest man I have ever known. I love him with all my heart and have longed to marry him and be his for a long time now. The only regret I have today, is that I am finally marrying him upon such sad circumstances as the ones you informed me of yesterday regarding my family."
Sandor's mouth was twitching, but he barely noticed it. He was staring at her. I fucking love you. He wanted to forget the world and kiss Sansa. Take her in his arms and be with her here and now, but he couldn't even move. As the little bird went on with her speech, she had at one point turned her head around to look him straight in the face without blinking, as she spoke of what had been between them. I love you, he wanted to tell her more than once, but something in her blue eyes told him that she already knew this.
When he gulped and unconsciously ran a shaking hand through his hair, Sansa rested her hand on his knee in reassurance, letting him know that everything was all right. In the blink of an eye, Sandor grabbed the little bird's hand tightly in his, and brought it to his mouth to kiss as he brushed lightly her cheekbone lightly with his other hand.
The Onion's words brought them both back to the present. Seaworth said in a tired voice, smiling a little, "So be it, then. I know a lost cause when I see one, and I don't think there are any words that will make you change your course from the one you have decided to take, Lady Sansa."
Sansa winked at Sandor. "You will be our witness, then?"
The smuggler ran a hand across his face, chuckling, and remarked, "I think I must congratulate you, my lady, for it seems that today will be your wedding day."
Sandor snorted in relief as Seaworth became their ally of sorts at last, while Sansa thanked him. After the Onion had congratulated Sandor as well, he said, "All gods are honored in Braavos. The Seven have a sept here on an isle in the center of the city, the Sept-beyond-the-sea. Westerosi go to worship there. Let us pray to the gods that none recognize us later today when you two are bound in marriage."
There are no gods, you bloody idiot, Sandor was about to rasp at him, just as the little bird commented, "The Seven were my mother's gods, Lord Davos. My father worshipped before a weirwood tree in the middle of a godswood. I was raised and keep to both faiths, the old and the new. Sandor and I have talked about it and have decided to marry today by the Faith, and as soon as we reach the North, find a godswood to perform the ceremony before my father's gods as well."
"I think that's wise, my lady," Seaworth replied truthfully, making Sandor wonder if the Onion wasn't thinking on Stannis as he said that. He knows Stannis too bloody well. He can already imagine his reaction to allowing us to marry twice, and by different faiths than the one he believes in. Sandor was aware of who exactly Stannis Baratheon prayed to, but he had no fucking desire to get angry at the memory of Arman Nervere's crazy love for R'hllor and fire, that Baratheon also followed.
"Hagen and Osha should go take a look at the sept," Sandor said. "See how crowded it is and the like."
Davos agreed. "Aye, they are the ones who could be less recognizable. They could pass off as a Lorathi merchant and his Westerosi woman, wishing to get married here in Braavos. The septon doesn't have to know who you both are until you say your names. And in the meantime you can both go and take some proper rest. I'll stay here with Rickon, but you two go back to the inn and try to sleep. You will need your strength to face the northern seas. "
Sandor couldn't deny the truth of those words. He nodded in agreement, telling the Onion Knight that they should all meet here again three hours after dawn. Time enough to get ready and marry before evening. Besides them being already short on time, Sandor knew that almost all ceremonies, whether they were a trial or a wedding, in Westeros or in Essos, had to take place before sunset to be considered as approved by the law.
"I must tell Rickon now," the little bird said after a moment, glancing at the bedroom where they could hear Hagen telling some of his outlaw adventures to Osha and Rickon.
Her hand was still in his, and though Sandor didn't want to part from her, he knew it was wise for the boy to learn at least something of what was happening around him. So he let go of his bird and watched her knock on the wilding woman's door politely, before entering it. Edar and Osha stepped into the shack's small living room moments later.
While the Onion, the wilding and the Lorathi started talking, Sandor found himself glancing at the bedroom Sansa had disappeared into. After a moment he made up his mind, and barely glancing at the others, he stood up and went to stand by the door, curious to hear what she was telling Rickon.
He looked inside the room, and saw her sitting on the edge of the bed with young Rickon standing before her, allowing his sister to dip a soft cloth into a small bowl with water so she could clean his dirty face.
"Do mother and Robb know? And Bran and Arya?" the boy was asking; his direwolf scratched himself behind the ear, after he had noticed Sandor standing outside the door with those green eyes of his.
Sansa sighed, and replied, "No, but I know that they wouldn't mind, darling. They love me and want me to be happy."
"And Sandor makes you happy?"
"Yes, he does," Sansa answered with certainty, smiling at her brother. "We will marry today and we will all go live in the North soon. You, me, Sandor, Shaggy, Osha and Hagen. You liked Hagen too, didn't you?"
"Yes, Shaggy does too," Rickon said, frowning as he stared at the floor for a moment.
Sansa smoothed back the boy's auburn hair, wounding a lock around her finger with an amused expression. "Rickon, would… Can I cut your hair?"
Seven hells, Sandor couldn't help but think for a moment. He and Sansa knew why Rickon was wearing his hair so long; it reached past his shoulder blades. He hasn't let anyone cut his hair since his mother went South.
"Mother did that," the little bird's brother said sharply.
She nodded, trying to keep her spirits up. "I know she did. I remember her doing it. She brushed mine as well."
"She went away. I miss her, Sansa."
Sandor saw how the bird's lips trembled at that, before she whispered, "I miss her so much as well, Rickon. And the others too."
"Will she be at Winterfell when we go home?" the boy wanted to know. "She has to be there!"
"I don't know, Rickon. We'll send word south of our arrival when the time is right."
Shaggydog suddenly surprised them all by standing up and moving to Rickon and Sansa's side. Sandor almost stepped into the room at that, wary of the direwolf, but the black beast only started licking Sansa's hand, as Rickon threw his arms around the wolf's neck. Shaggydog snapped at the boy's arm in play, drawing a laugh from Sansa.
"You can cut my hair," Rickon told Sansa after a moment. "Mother won't be angry that I let you do it."
"No, she wouldn't," the little bird agreed, meeting Sandor's gaze as he walked inside the bedroom to go sit beside her on the bed.
She smiled at him and leaned her head on his shoulder after he had put one arm around her, drawing her close to him, under the boy and the animal's stare.
This is family, Sandor reckoned, staring before him at the siblings and the direwolf, remembering what Sansa had spoken about earlier this morning.
A/N: I appreciate you all so very much for reading this, and letting me know your thoughts on the fic every week. Thank you!