"Promises" Sandor/Sansa Fic - Part 4
"Promises"
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea.
Fandom: ASoIaF | Pairing: Sansa/Sandor | Spoilers: SoS
Rating: PG-13 (violence/sexuality)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 4 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
"Are you sure?" She asked, staring nervously through the thin layer of trees towards the small inn.
There was a tendril of smoke twirling out of the chimney and a gentle glow from the windows telling of the warmth inside against the clustering twilight. It looked so gentle and comforting but she was still terrified. It was almost laughable: all those days craving after a bed, and then after that a simple fire, and finally a mere meal- here it was now before her and she was so hesitant.
"You want to eat don't you girl?" He said, pulling a few stags from the saddle-bag.
"Of course but, couldn't we just…"
"What? Wait for the lemon-cakes to fall from the fucking trees?" He snorted.
"Isn't there another farm or maybe we could find a deer…?"
"There's nothing," he snapped, "You know there's nothing. Now stop your chirping."
He clicked his tongue and Stranger stepped forward to the edge of the wood. Sansa directed her mare hesitantly behind him.
"Make sure your hair is as out of sight as you can get it and that hood is over your face, it's… memorable."
She did as he said and tried to swallow her nerves.
The Hound pulled his own cloak over his face and headed out into the road. Sansa's mare followed Stranger without her telling it to and before she knew it she was back in civilization.
It felt like years since she'd seen other people- well, people she wasn't hiding or running from. But she was hiding now wasn't she? They seemed to be doing well enough at it- no one was so much as giving them a glance. Did they really look so common? The Hound had been a knight of the King's Guard and she was almost his queen- a queen- their queen.
Sandor swung down from from Stranger's back and lifted Sansa off her own steed. One of the stable hands moved to take the destrier's bridle.
"I wouldn't do that if you want to keep your hand, boy." Sandor snarled.
The boy blanched under Sandor's shadow and hurried away.
"I'll just take them to the stable," The Hound murmured to her as he started to turn, but she snatched her little hand around his forearm and held on.
He started down into her eyes, shining brightly under the darkness of her hood, rounded pink lower lip had jutted out just slightly. He nodded sharply and she came with him.
Once the horses were secure they pushed into the dingy interior of the common room. It wasn't as crowded as she had feared, but even so, the presence of so many eyes, so many potential dangers was the cleanest terror she had felt in weeks.
The inn-keeper, a rather fat woman who still bore pox-scars made her way to them.
"You'll be wanting a room- for you and your wife." She said to Sandor, with shocking arrogance.
Sansa felt that pit in her stomach again- could I really be mistaken for his wife?
"Just a meal," Sandor growled.
"That'll be a dragon either way." The inn keeper tutted.
"That's fucking robbery woman." He snarled back.
Sansa didn't understand. They had plenty of coin- what did it matter?
"That's war- and I'd remind you to watch your tongue- might do for your woman but it certainly don't do for me." She sniffed, eyeing Sansa suspiciously.
"You'll have a stag, and we'll have a meal, and let that be an end to it." Sandor said.
"The food's hard to get these days- all them farms burned, and winter coming on..."
Sandor took out two stags, turned them in the light and put them in the woman's hand.
She nodded stiffly, "It's stew- and bread if you sit close enough to the kitchen."
"And wine." Sandor finished.
The woman raised an eyebrow but finally nodded, "Fine- but you'll leave those blades here with me. Don't allow weapons in the common room, not in times like these, especially after the wedding."
Wedding? Sansa wondered, is Joffrey married now that I'm gone. She felt a stab of pity for the girl who ever she was. No one deserved Joffrey, no one except for his mother.
Sandor hesitated but a glance around the room showed that indeed no one was armed. Reluctantly he unbuckled his sword belt and shoved it into a corner before laying a heavy hand on Sansa's shoulder and moving her through the crowd.
There was a darker corner free near the kitchen and she was grateful for the warmth and the security of shadows. Sandor sat on the outside, pressing her into the corner so that she was between the heavy wooden table and his bulk- separated from the rest of the room and he could see anyone who came or left.
Suddenly she felt rather sleepy- the heat from this place was the first comfort she had known in so long and when the stew arrived thick and smelling of so much she had missed it was almost too much. And bread! Who thought one could miss bread so much? She found herself snatching at it in a very unladylike way and tearing a piece off with her hands to soak it into the thick stew.
Sandor chuckled.
She felt her cheeks heat slightly under his mockery and did her best to raise herself into a proper posture and use her spoon instead of the sinfully thick chunks of loaf.
"What's so funny?" She asked.
"You, you little glutton, I don't think I've seen anyone attack a meal like that since the Redwyne twins realized there was veal at the coronation."
She screwed up her eyes at him, "I am not a 'glutton'- anyways at least I'm eating. This was your idea and you've barely touched your stew."
Sandor kept his casually amused stare on her, all the while lifting a piece of bread theatrically and taking a big sarcastic bite.
She laughed aloud despite herself and had to cover her mouth demurely.
He smiled at her and for the first time she didn't think he remembered how his face looked when he did it. He looks nice when he smiles, she thought, he shouldn't be so afraid of being happy.
"I don't see why you're so concerned," She continued as she reached out and took a sip of the wine. It danced on her tongue and she felt a healthy warmth in her chest even if the vintage was sour and overexposed, it tasted like sweetest nectar to her now.
"No one's looking at us," She smiled casually, "They're hardly even speaking to each other."
Suddenly Sandor stiffened.
"No one's looked…" He growled, "No one's so much as fucking glanced."
Sansa felt her stomach tighten suddenly.
They never looked, not even for an instant, it's as if… as if they are trying not to.
Sandor was on his feet in an instant, hand tight around her wrist and pulling her after him through the tables towards where he had left his sword.
The patrons started to spill out as soon as he rose, as if they had been waiting for it.
"Oh gods," Sansa heard herself quail. Sandor's grasp tightened on her arm as he sped up- there was no point feigning ignorance now.
One door shut, and then the other. There were men in the dark corners of the room, men standing and moving towards them and there were more this time, many more. The light of the fire was the only luminance and it danced around them like demons.
"Sandor!" She cried out but he didn't seem to hear her, all he seemed to care for was his sword and her arm in his hand. He turned the corner to grab it and- nothing, nothing, nothing.
"Can't say I would have giving up a weapon that easily." A voice from the now bared front door tutted, "And with such a pretty prize at risk too."
The man speaking was lean with dark features and a coolness in his eyes that Sansa had grown to loath in people. She recognized him almost instantly.
"Shouldn't you be in King's Landing wiping the imp's arse?" Sandor growled.
"For a small man, he has a lot of arse to clean- and you've proven yourself to be a right smear." Bronn smirked.
"Nothing compared to the smear you'll be against that wall in a minute if you don't step aside from that door."
"Can you run that fast?" The sell-sword asked, "The stables are guarded mighty heavily."
"If you've hurt my horse I swear to The Seven--"
Bronn laughed roughly, "You'll what? Look around you dog- you've lost already."
Sansa felt Sandor's hand shaking ever so slightly where it gripped her arm tight and his anger was almost burning her.
"I've watched you in the yard, and I know you've watched me- now I know you're no fool… despite recent evidence otherwise. Though they say you've gone craven." Bronn said.
"Come and see how fucking craven I am." The Hound spat.
Bronn's eyes were hard on his, "Just give the little lady up."
"Never." She heard him growl.
Never, never, never.
Bronn pulled his sword from his side and the light of the fire danced up the blade, "Don't be a fool, dogs don't fuck wolves."
"Neither do lions." Sandor said as his hand clamped around the closest table.
With impossible strength he hurled the whole thing at Bronn's smirking face.
The sell sword almost stumbled at he danced out of the way and the opposite end of the slab brought the man next to him down with several cracks and a sharp scream.
Sandor scrambled, pressing Sansa behind him with one hand and grabbing hold of a stool with the other. Another man- raising his sword- Sandor's foot caught him hard in the groin and the wood the stool was splintering against his face in the next moment.
And another: The Hound's fist got this one and Sansa screwed her eyes shut as she heard the jaw break.
But there were more and more and Bronn was pulling himself around the table and approaching with a calm collected stare full of an informed confidence. They were almost in the corner now and the Hound's knuckles were bleeding where they had met with steel. She was stuck behind his bulk, with only the dark heat and the fear and the suffocating sense of doom.
They were coming, they were all coming and she peered out just in time to see Sandor kick a bench into the shins of three men while Bronn raised his sword. The sell-sword struck out and Sansa gasped.
Sandor was clutching the blade in his bare hands and shaking hard. Everyone stilled in shock for a moment, but just a moment, and then Bronn ripped the sword back to himself and Sansa felt Sandor roar in pain.
Bronn swung around for another blow and then before she knew what she was doing she was in front of him, the bread knife tight in her hand, her auburn hair burnt and flaming in the light of the blaze, her cheeks flushed with fire, eyes blue as ice and the very heart of winter: "NO!"
It felt good to yell. She never wanted to stop.
Bronn stilled and the room seemed to freeze.
"You will not touch him!" She cried, shocked at how strong her little voice could be, "He's mine."
Bronn's cold stare evaluated her carefully and finally he lowered his sword, "Fine, if you want a dog, keep him, there's not a single wolf left for your pack anyhow."
Sansa felt her chest suddenly plummet. She staggered back and felt Sandor's warm hand on her shoulder.
"What the hell are you talking about," He growled.
Bronn had turned away from them and didn't seem to notice their surprise as he sheathed his blade, "That fucking wedding… although I suppose loosing a war through marriage is sightly more laudable that loosing battles. Makes a catchy song in any case. Must congratulate the Freys on originality, slaughtering Robb Stark and his lady mother under the host roof. Half the bloody north drowned in wine or the river that night--"
It was only then that he turned, and when he looked into Sansa's face it was clear that he realized his mistake.
He shook his head slightly and turned again, "I was sure you would have known."
Sansa swayed slightly, it felt as if her head was filling with water, as if she was back in the stream under the suffocating darkness but this time it was colder and the knives of ice shot through her one at a time as her heart-beat quickened as she tried to breath but there was no air to be had.
The innkeeper's voice echoed in her mind: "Don't allow weapons in the common room, not in times like these, not after the wedding,"
Bronn's smile danced in front of her, "No wolves left... Fucking wedding… catchy song… congratulate the Freys… the Freys… Freys"
She was sinking, sinking, sinking and there was no one to pull her free again.
"Half the north… drowned, drowned, drowned, drowned."
She saw waves of water crashing down over Winterfell's walls, water pouring from her mother's neck, from her brother's eyes: everywhere.
And then the darkness closed around her. Somewhere far off she heard a curse and felt large hands lift her as if she weighed nothing- it was warm there, and she could breath again.
"Mine…"
< Previous Part | Next Part >
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea.
Fandom: ASoIaF | Pairing: Sansa/Sandor | Spoilers: SoS
Rating: PG-13 (violence/sexuality)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 4 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
"Are you sure?" She asked, staring nervously through the thin layer of trees towards the small inn.
There was a tendril of smoke twirling out of the chimney and a gentle glow from the windows telling of the warmth inside against the clustering twilight. It looked so gentle and comforting but she was still terrified. It was almost laughable: all those days craving after a bed, and then after that a simple fire, and finally a mere meal- here it was now before her and she was so hesitant.
"You want to eat don't you girl?" He said, pulling a few stags from the saddle-bag.
"Of course but, couldn't we just…"
"What? Wait for the lemon-cakes to fall from the fucking trees?" He snorted.
"Isn't there another farm or maybe we could find a deer…?"
"There's nothing," he snapped, "You know there's nothing. Now stop your chirping."
He clicked his tongue and Stranger stepped forward to the edge of the wood. Sansa directed her mare hesitantly behind him.
"Make sure your hair is as out of sight as you can get it and that hood is over your face, it's… memorable."
She did as he said and tried to swallow her nerves.
The Hound pulled his own cloak over his face and headed out into the road. Sansa's mare followed Stranger without her telling it to and before she knew it she was back in civilization.
It felt like years since she'd seen other people- well, people she wasn't hiding or running from. But she was hiding now wasn't she? They seemed to be doing well enough at it- no one was so much as giving them a glance. Did they really look so common? The Hound had been a knight of the King's Guard and she was almost his queen- a queen- their queen.
Sandor swung down from from Stranger's back and lifted Sansa off her own steed. One of the stable hands moved to take the destrier's bridle.
"I wouldn't do that if you want to keep your hand, boy." Sandor snarled.
The boy blanched under Sandor's shadow and hurried away.
"I'll just take them to the stable," The Hound murmured to her as he started to turn, but she snatched her little hand around his forearm and held on.
He started down into her eyes, shining brightly under the darkness of her hood, rounded pink lower lip had jutted out just slightly. He nodded sharply and she came with him.
Once the horses were secure they pushed into the dingy interior of the common room. It wasn't as crowded as she had feared, but even so, the presence of so many eyes, so many potential dangers was the cleanest terror she had felt in weeks.
The inn-keeper, a rather fat woman who still bore pox-scars made her way to them.
"You'll be wanting a room- for you and your wife." She said to Sandor, with shocking arrogance.
Sansa felt that pit in her stomach again- could I really be mistaken for his wife?
"Just a meal," Sandor growled.
"That'll be a dragon either way." The inn keeper tutted.
"That's fucking robbery woman." He snarled back.
Sansa didn't understand. They had plenty of coin- what did it matter?
"That's war- and I'd remind you to watch your tongue- might do for your woman but it certainly don't do for me." She sniffed, eyeing Sansa suspiciously.
"You'll have a stag, and we'll have a meal, and let that be an end to it." Sandor said.
"The food's hard to get these days- all them farms burned, and winter coming on..."
Sandor took out two stags, turned them in the light and put them in the woman's hand.
She nodded stiffly, "It's stew- and bread if you sit close enough to the kitchen."
"And wine." Sandor finished.
The woman raised an eyebrow but finally nodded, "Fine- but you'll leave those blades here with me. Don't allow weapons in the common room, not in times like these, especially after the wedding."
Wedding? Sansa wondered, is Joffrey married now that I'm gone. She felt a stab of pity for the girl who ever she was. No one deserved Joffrey, no one except for his mother.
Sandor hesitated but a glance around the room showed that indeed no one was armed. Reluctantly he unbuckled his sword belt and shoved it into a corner before laying a heavy hand on Sansa's shoulder and moving her through the crowd.
There was a darker corner free near the kitchen and she was grateful for the warmth and the security of shadows. Sandor sat on the outside, pressing her into the corner so that she was between the heavy wooden table and his bulk- separated from the rest of the room and he could see anyone who came or left.
Suddenly she felt rather sleepy- the heat from this place was the first comfort she had known in so long and when the stew arrived thick and smelling of so much she had missed it was almost too much. And bread! Who thought one could miss bread so much? She found herself snatching at it in a very unladylike way and tearing a piece off with her hands to soak it into the thick stew.
Sandor chuckled.
She felt her cheeks heat slightly under his mockery and did her best to raise herself into a proper posture and use her spoon instead of the sinfully thick chunks of loaf.
"What's so funny?" She asked.
"You, you little glutton, I don't think I've seen anyone attack a meal like that since the Redwyne twins realized there was veal at the coronation."
She screwed up her eyes at him, "I am not a 'glutton'- anyways at least I'm eating. This was your idea and you've barely touched your stew."
Sandor kept his casually amused stare on her, all the while lifting a piece of bread theatrically and taking a big sarcastic bite.
She laughed aloud despite herself and had to cover her mouth demurely.
He smiled at her and for the first time she didn't think he remembered how his face looked when he did it. He looks nice when he smiles, she thought, he shouldn't be so afraid of being happy.
"I don't see why you're so concerned," She continued as she reached out and took a sip of the wine. It danced on her tongue and she felt a healthy warmth in her chest even if the vintage was sour and overexposed, it tasted like sweetest nectar to her now.
"No one's looking at us," She smiled casually, "They're hardly even speaking to each other."
Suddenly Sandor stiffened.
"No one's looked…" He growled, "No one's so much as fucking glanced."
Sansa felt her stomach tighten suddenly.
They never looked, not even for an instant, it's as if… as if they are trying not to.
Sandor was on his feet in an instant, hand tight around her wrist and pulling her after him through the tables towards where he had left his sword.
The patrons started to spill out as soon as he rose, as if they had been waiting for it.
"Oh gods," Sansa heard herself quail. Sandor's grasp tightened on her arm as he sped up- there was no point feigning ignorance now.
One door shut, and then the other. There were men in the dark corners of the room, men standing and moving towards them and there were more this time, many more. The light of the fire was the only luminance and it danced around them like demons.
"Sandor!" She cried out but he didn't seem to hear her, all he seemed to care for was his sword and her arm in his hand. He turned the corner to grab it and- nothing, nothing, nothing.
"Can't say I would have giving up a weapon that easily." A voice from the now bared front door tutted, "And with such a pretty prize at risk too."
The man speaking was lean with dark features and a coolness in his eyes that Sansa had grown to loath in people. She recognized him almost instantly.
"Shouldn't you be in King's Landing wiping the imp's arse?" Sandor growled.
"For a small man, he has a lot of arse to clean- and you've proven yourself to be a right smear." Bronn smirked.
"Nothing compared to the smear you'll be against that wall in a minute if you don't step aside from that door."
"Can you run that fast?" The sell-sword asked, "The stables are guarded mighty heavily."
"If you've hurt my horse I swear to The Seven--"
Bronn laughed roughly, "You'll what? Look around you dog- you've lost already."
Sansa felt Sandor's hand shaking ever so slightly where it gripped her arm tight and his anger was almost burning her.
"I've watched you in the yard, and I know you've watched me- now I know you're no fool… despite recent evidence otherwise. Though they say you've gone craven." Bronn said.
"Come and see how fucking craven I am." The Hound spat.
Bronn's eyes were hard on his, "Just give the little lady up."
"Never." She heard him growl.
Never, never, never.
Bronn pulled his sword from his side and the light of the fire danced up the blade, "Don't be a fool, dogs don't fuck wolves."
"Neither do lions." Sandor said as his hand clamped around the closest table.
With impossible strength he hurled the whole thing at Bronn's smirking face.
The sell sword almost stumbled at he danced out of the way and the opposite end of the slab brought the man next to him down with several cracks and a sharp scream.
Sandor scrambled, pressing Sansa behind him with one hand and grabbing hold of a stool with the other. Another man- raising his sword- Sandor's foot caught him hard in the groin and the wood the stool was splintering against his face in the next moment.
And another: The Hound's fist got this one and Sansa screwed her eyes shut as she heard the jaw break.
But there were more and more and Bronn was pulling himself around the table and approaching with a calm collected stare full of an informed confidence. They were almost in the corner now and the Hound's knuckles were bleeding where they had met with steel. She was stuck behind his bulk, with only the dark heat and the fear and the suffocating sense of doom.
They were coming, they were all coming and she peered out just in time to see Sandor kick a bench into the shins of three men while Bronn raised his sword. The sell-sword struck out and Sansa gasped.
Sandor was clutching the blade in his bare hands and shaking hard. Everyone stilled in shock for a moment, but just a moment, and then Bronn ripped the sword back to himself and Sansa felt Sandor roar in pain.
Bronn swung around for another blow and then before she knew what she was doing she was in front of him, the bread knife tight in her hand, her auburn hair burnt and flaming in the light of the blaze, her cheeks flushed with fire, eyes blue as ice and the very heart of winter: "NO!"
It felt good to yell. She never wanted to stop.
Bronn stilled and the room seemed to freeze.
"You will not touch him!" She cried, shocked at how strong her little voice could be, "He's mine."
Bronn's cold stare evaluated her carefully and finally he lowered his sword, "Fine, if you want a dog, keep him, there's not a single wolf left for your pack anyhow."
Sansa felt her chest suddenly plummet. She staggered back and felt Sandor's warm hand on her shoulder.
"What the hell are you talking about," He growled.
Bronn had turned away from them and didn't seem to notice their surprise as he sheathed his blade, "That fucking wedding… although I suppose loosing a war through marriage is sightly more laudable that loosing battles. Makes a catchy song in any case. Must congratulate the Freys on originality, slaughtering Robb Stark and his lady mother under the host roof. Half the bloody north drowned in wine or the river that night--"
It was only then that he turned, and when he looked into Sansa's face it was clear that he realized his mistake.
He shook his head slightly and turned again, "I was sure you would have known."
Sansa swayed slightly, it felt as if her head was filling with water, as if she was back in the stream under the suffocating darkness but this time it was colder and the knives of ice shot through her one at a time as her heart-beat quickened as she tried to breath but there was no air to be had.
The innkeeper's voice echoed in her mind: "Don't allow weapons in the common room, not in times like these, not after the wedding,"
Bronn's smile danced in front of her, "No wolves left... Fucking wedding… catchy song… congratulate the Freys… the Freys… Freys"
She was sinking, sinking, sinking and there was no one to pull her free again.
"Half the north… drowned, drowned, drowned, drowned."
She saw waves of water crashing down over Winterfell's walls, water pouring from her mother's neck, from her brother's eyes: everywhere.
And then the darkness closed around her. Somewhere far off she heard a curse and felt large hands lift her as if she weighed nothing- it was warm there, and she could breath again.
"Mine…"
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