"Promises" Sandor/Sansa Fic - Part 8
"Promises"
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea.
Fandom: ASoIaF | Pairing: Sansa/Sandor | Spoilers: DwD
Rating: PG-13 (violence/sexuality)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 8 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
Spoiler Warning: through DwD
It had been weeks and he still hadn't spoken to her. He was always there, still keeping his vow to her- waiting past walls, listening for danger, walking ten paces behind her in the halls and courtyards, ever present and ever watchful, but she barely even saw him and the distance was wearing on her more than she thought it could.
At night she would lie amongst the silks, holding them tight against her, listening to his steady steps outside her door: passing back and forth, back and forth with endless constancy. The first nights she thought she might go mad and was about to throw herself out of bed, tear open the doors, and confront him. But the truth was his anger was still a frightening thing and it wasn't just that…
She could still feel his thumb on her lip, against her chest. When she started to slip into sleep the sensations came back to her hot as fire and invaded her dreams with vicious ferocity. The truth was she avoided him as much as he avoided her. She was terrified of looking into his face again, seeing that rage and the other expression she wasn't sure she understood and didn't know if she wanted to.
It did no good- the more she pushed the thoughts away, the more they lashed back and soon she couldn't sleep for fear of the dreams that would follow.
She tried to convince herself that she was just being a silly child, that there was nothing to it and it was only her misguided naive emotions. But then his face would flood into her memory, the fury in his look and the steady slow pressure of his thumb against her lip. And then every now and again, as she lay there in bed trying not to think and kept awake by her inability to do so, his steps outside her door would stop, just for a moment, and she could almost hear him start to open the latch. But it was gone as soon as it was there, and she was left- still alone, her heart leaping and stomach knotted, with nothing but her dreams to wait for her.
The place was beautiful at least, and she tried to distract herself with that: the long halls and slopping courtyards that terraced into layers of gardens upwards behind the tall walls of the manse. She would stand on those walls and look out over the city, knowing that she must stay safely hidden but wishing she didn't, wishing she could step out into those streets and hear the voices and taste the smells of the city.
One day she let herself drop down into the even green grass of her own garden. The short fruit trees swayed ever so slightly in the breeze and the afternoon sun was clear and bright and deliciously soft against her skin. The grass underneath her felt cool and comforting and when the breeze caught in her skirts the silk wafted refreshingly over her body.
Sansa looked up into the blue sky, and watched idly as the clouds swept their slothish way across it. She reached out lazily, as if the trace their edges. The smells of the fruit trees eased against her and she found her eyes slipping shut. She sighed heavily.
It doesn't matter, she thought, I'll just leave them closed, just a moment, the sun feel so good.
The wind felt good too refreshing and so cool… too cool, almost cold. She felt herself shiver and opened her eyes.
Snow.
Everywhere she looked there was nothing but snow, the ground deep with it rising up past her naked knees, the air whipping as it fell endlessly for the black chasm of the sky. But for some reason, she hardly cared. It was cold, yes, but it felt so wonderful.
She felt her feet lift her into a spin and she raised her face to the dark, relishing as the soft flakes landed on her cheeks, her throat, her lips.
She danced with the winter, the snowflakes and the winds and the glorious cleansing of the cold. But this time she felt large hands grab her waist firmly and spin her into a chest full of heat and strength. Sansa laughed as she held tight, feeling the mail under her fingers and smelling leather and earth and the deep pure salt of sweat.
The kisses landed on her neck, her breasts, her face, and she let her eyes flutter open as she tightened her thighs around the thick waist and looked upward but it was bright sun that crashed into her now not swirling darkness.
She didn't care, all that mattered was the strength pulling her close and growing need in her chest.
A shadow slipped overhead. Ignore it- they aren't real, he knows they aren't real.
She buried her face in the smell and the heat, but the shadow swept across again and again and then the heat was burning hotter than she could stand and she threw herself away with a scream.
There were eyes the color of blood against black stone scales and then nothing but fire.
The monsters grow too…
He was burning, burning and roaring in pure pain and she couldn't move, there were chains tight about her arms, her legs, her neck: she couldn't shut her eyes or block out the sound.
And then the fire was golden, golden and pure and staring straight into her.
You have to be brave… only you can stop it.
She screamed and the chains fell into air around her. She was running towards him as hard as she could but the snow was too deep. The screams were fading- the light was going out.
"SANDOR!" She screamed.
"Seven hells girl, I'm here." The gruff voice came.
Sansa suddenly realized where she was- back in the garden, sitting up and staring wildly ahead with sweat plastered across her face. He was kneeling beside her with a hand firmly on her shoulder and when she turned to look at him there was fear in his face.
"I'm sorry," She murmured as she pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling the fire still burning.
"You were shaking," Sandor said carefully, "You started to scream."
She felt like a complete fool- so many days without sleep and she had let it catch her here in the garden. His eyes were still wide under heavy brows as he looked into her face with such vivid concern she felt her chest surge.
"You came…" She said quietly.
"You were screaming." He said again.
She turned and looked into his face and when she saw the burns she couldn't help but shudder as the flames from her dream sprang to life against his skin again before her.
"I didn't know if you would… you haven't--" She let he voice trail off on it's own.
"You should get up, girl." He said as he stood and offered her a hand.
"Why?" She asked as she took it, hardly believing how good it felt to have his strength close to her once more.
"Our host wishes to speak to you." Sandor growled, "He's waiting on you."
Sansa tried to make her mind work properly as it woke, "He's waiting… but he hasn't so much as visited for days."
"Well, he's here now."
She nodded slowly while her brows remained wrinkled in confusion, "Then I suppose I must go see him."
Sandor made a slight sound of acknowledgment and moved to part from her but she held his arm tightly, "Come with me, please?"
She stared up into his face with as much need as she dared show. He looked back at her and she felt herself shiver.
You've missed him… more than you want to admit.
The Hound nodded stiffly and together they moved back towards the tall doors of the manse.
----
Illyrio was seated at the head of a long dining table, spread thick with meats, fruits, and delicate pastries. As Sansa entered her surged to his feet to kiss her hand and offer them both a seat beside him.
Sansa seated herself neatly but Sandor remained standing at her back, looming over her like a menacing statue at the gates of a city.
Illyrio placed his hands palm down on the table and looked directly into Sansa's eyes, "I wish fate allowed me to give more care to these words but I am afraid circumstances have moved in such a way there is no more delaying what I must say."
Sansa felt her heart start to beat, "Please, speak freely." She insisted.
"You have heard rumors of dragons to the east?" Illyrio asked.
Sandor snorted behind her but kept his eyes locked straight ahead.
"I have heard rumors, yes." Sansa answered.
Illyrio leaned forward, "I need you to listen to me now girl, and know when I speak that I am telling you no lies."
Sansa nodded hesitantly.
The fat man's eyes gleamed as he stared at her, "They are no rumors. There are dragons: three of them, and a woman who wields them."
Sansa's breath caught in her throat and Sandor laughed.
"And where did these 'dragons' come from?" He asked roughly.
Illyrio stared hard into his eyes, "From Daenerys Targaryen."
Sansa gasped, "The Mad King's daughter?"
"Yes, child the same. She escaped from Westros and sought refuge in the free cities. For several years she even stayed in the very rooms you yourself now occupy, until I made a marriage for her with a Dothraki horse lord. She went into the Dorthaki Sea, and I must honestly say I did not expect to ever see her fair face again, but she has risen and taken city after city, and now, child, she plans to march on Westros and reclaim to lands of her father and his before him with blood and fire."
Sansa's mind seemed full of stories and cynasism. She turned to look at Sandor and he looked down to her.
"I can't say I'll ever believe these tales about bloody dragons," He said, "But the sailors were talking on the boat of Meereen, and of the girl queen whose taken half the continent with her eyes set for home."
"It is a fact," The Pentoshi continued, "She will make for Westros and when she arrives the Lannisters will melt before her."
Sansa saw Joffrey's face in her mind, and the Queen's, and all those horrible cold faces that had watched her pain and done nothing. They'll burn… all of them.
"But that is not what I wished to speak to you of today." Illyrio continued.
Sansa looked back to him, "Is it not?"
"No child," He said kindly, "I wished to speak to you today of becoming a queen."
Her heart suddenly jumped in her chest and she felt her throat tighten, "I was meant to be a queen, my lord, but that was--"
"I'm not speaking of Lions girls, but Dragons."
"I… I'm not sure I understand."
"There is another dragon," Illyrio continued, "Aegon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell."
"He's dead." Sandor growled behind them.
"Yes…" Illyrio continued, eyeing Sandor with reticence, "Your brother thought he saw to both the mother and child, under the orders of Tywin Lannister, but it was not Aegon that was killed that day. Lord Varys smuggled the child out of the city and he is now safe in the care of Jon Connington and moving towards Westros himself with another army in tow."
Sansa's head was spinning- my family is dead and yet the Targaryens seem to rise from graves around me.
"I know this is a lot to bear, child." Ilyrio continued, "Especially after the pain you have suffered and the trials you have faced. But you were meant to sit beside the iron throne, to be a queen of the land: this is what your father wanted, what he tried to accomplish. It was not his fault that his friend perished, leaving you in the claws of Lannisters. But the lions will fall- I promise you that, and you can stand over their bones and know that the wishes of your family were not in vain."
The words danced in her head like snow in the storm. She saw Joffrey's smile empty and broken, Cersei's pretty eyes hollow in death. Her father's legs jerked dumbly before her and her mother smiled in pride as she pushed her hair behind her ear, "You shall be a queen, Sansa."
She didn't know what to say, she didn't know what to think. She wished she could see his face.
"Please," Her broken voice finally echoed, "Will you allow me a day to think on what you have said."
Illyrio nodded and his chins jiggled wildly under him, "Of course, of course… but you must realize that the days are growing shorter, and darkness falls the quickest in the north. Think of their joy to see their child returned home."
Home. She felt the snowflakes on her skin, the cool against her face. Home.
---------------
Sansa sat on the edge of her bed. The moonlight was bright outside of her room and she watched emptily as the rays of cool luminance caught against the palms and played along the stone of her terrace.
The curtains danced softly in the breeze and she felt the same force push her loose hair from side to side, the ends tickling her shoulders.
She wore her thin shift that suited sleep in this clime and her fingers played idly across the silk of the hem as she sat there.
Queen…
What was she going to do?
Tales of dragons and princes rising from the dead danced in her head. She had heard tales of Rhaegar's kindness, his justice, his beauty… would his son be the same? Would he be the king she had always dreamt of- a king of songs and stories?
She had thought Joffrey had been that king- her golden prince. But the gold had rotted away to reveal nothing but darkness and filth.
You should be happy! She told herself, You can be queen again, you can make them pay for how they hurt you.
She should! She knew she should- it was all she had ever wanted, all her family had ever dreamed for her. Her heart should be singing… then why wasn't it? Why did she feel so cold? Why did it feel like she was holding tears deep in her eyes?
It was so quiet in that room, the birds were all asleep in their trees and the wind itself was silent. So quiet… something was wrong.
She turned sharply towards the door.
The steps… he's not there!
Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet, hurrying across the wide carpeted floor almost clumsily. Her hands hit the door and she stood there for a moment, listening as her breath quickened. He had to be there, he was always there, even when he was angry, even when he couldn't look at her: he had promised and he would be there.
She waited… silence.
Suddenly she was terrified. Her breath caught in her throat as she grabbed the door hard and threw it open.
Nothing.
Her eyes were wild as she stared around her but there was just darkness, more and more of it on all sides.
And then her feet were running. Her shift lashed against her and her hair trailed behind her back but she didn't feel any of it, all she could feel was the ragged pain of her breathing, the tight heat swelling in her throat and her eyes- the panic seeping into her limbs.
She caught the first door she found and threw it open: nothing but the black.
She ran on and on, down the silent dark halls, each door she came to she tore it open to find just the quiet. It pressed in around her on all sides, heavier and heavier with each door. The tears started to slip down her cheeks and a single choked sob escaped painfully as she threw herself out into the seeping blue moonlight of the courtyard.
Why were there no birds? Why was there no life- there was just silence heavy and suffocating and terrifying.
Never…
She could almost feel the snow against her skin again as the wind blew and the tears on her cheeks were hot as fire.
Mine…
She spun, frantic, searching, and then she saw the light: a small window cut into the wall of the courtyard. The light was dim- perhaps just one candle, but it was there, it was all she had, and she threw herself for it.
Sansa ran towards the door beside the window but her legs were weak and she slipped, her knee hitting the ground hard but she didn't even notice. She pulled herself back up and crashed into the door. Her desperate hands locked on the latch and pulled it as hard as she could, but it was locked and wouldn't budge. She heard herself scream in frustration and felt her hands crashed into the wood over and over again as the burning tears rolled down her face and she sobbed and cried the burning feeling from her throat, and then the door pulled open and she fell into a chest as solid as stone and the smell of heat, and leather, and earth but above all the sour of wine.
"What in the Seven Hells--"
She raised herself up and hit him across the face as hard as she could.
He actually staggered and she felt the fire swell in her chest as she breathed pure rage.
Sandor stood there, one hand holding his jaw where she's struck him and the other still tight around the bottle of wine. He wouldn't look at her.
Sansa slammed the door but still he didn't move. His face was as still as a statue, a carved thing of anger and stubbornness.
She wanted to collapse to her knees and cry and cry until there was nothing left but she didn't, she wouldn't.
"You promised me!" She heard herself say, her voice low and dangerous as his, "You swore to me!"
He didn't move, his eyes tight on the floor.
"LOOK AT ME!" She screamed.
And he did.
His stare was heavy and blood-shot and she could smell the wine seeping out of him. There was a fury there, deep and rolling and dark, but there was also such immense grief that she felt her stomach seize. He looked at her tears, and her torn shift, and her bleeding knee, and battered hands.
"Are you mad, girl?" He growled.
"You weren't there." She said, ignoring him, "You weren't there!"
He turned his back on her and placed his hands hard on the table behind him, clutching it so tight she heard the wood creak.
"You promised me--!" She began
"I KNOW WHAT I PROMISED!" He roared as he spun to face her. The wine went flying and shattered on the wall behind her.
She couldn't move and it was only now she realized how hard she was shaking.
Sandor stared right into her, grey stare ripping with a cold fury, "You don't need my promises. You don't need me."
Suddenly she felt cold, so very cold.
"You don't need a dog." He growled, "You'll have a dragon."
"I don't want him." She heard herself say.
"Of course you do girl, don't be a bloody fool."
"Do not tell me what I want!" She suddenly cried.
"I will!" He roared right back, "You'll want him- and you'll marry him and you'll share his bed and have his children!"
"I won't!" She screamed.
Sandor grabbed the wooden chair between them and threw it aside so hard it cracked against the wall as he approached her fast; "WHY?"
"Because he won't look at me like you do!" She cried.
The silence fell around them.
She stared into his face, unafraid, unflinching, as his chest heaved and his eyes burned.
"I…" She said, her voice softened now, "I don't want him to look at me like you do… I don't want anyone to look at my like you do. Just you… always."
It took him two steps to reach her and before she thought to breathe his mouth crashed onto hers. His huge hands held her little face up to his and he kissed her again and again as if he thought she would vanish any moment. His mouth was warm and heavy and she tasted the salt of her own tears and the sour of his wine and in an instant she opened to him, her lips parting and letting the heat of him flood into her like sunlight.
There was no thought, no mind, just his warmth and his smell and her body moving without her telling it to, pressing close to him, over and over.
And then she was in his arms. He held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe but it didn't matter. She buried her face in his chest and let the tears slip down her cheeks but now she was smiling.
His hand ran through her hair deep and thick and held her even closer. She felt her hands slip around his neck as her toes lifted her and then to his face as she pulled herself back to look at him.
He stared down into her and suddenly she realized how frightened he was.
"I'm sorry," He rumbled, "I'm so sorry, for everything, for--"
"No," She silenced him, her hands held his face lightly and she was almost surprised at how smooth
the burns were, why had she been so afraid of them?
"You don't have to…" She ran a hand through his hair and watched as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He was still so afraid, he thinks it will end.
"You swore to me." She said, her voice barely a whisper.
"I know," He answered and she felt the rumbling of his chest against her own tight bosom.
"Will you do what ever I ask of you?"
He hesitated this time, the confusion and anger and pain all battling in his stare, but as he looked down into her eyes she knew he was truly hers.
"Aye."
"Take me from this place. Now."
Sandor ran his knuckles down the side of her soft cheek, "We can't hide forever, Little Bird."
"I know," Sansa answered, "I don't mean to hide."
< 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: DwD
Rating: PG-13 (violence/sexuality)
Word Count: 37,000 total (parts 1-10)
Parts: 8 / 10
[ Part 1] [ Part 2] [ Part 3] [ Part 4] [ Part 5] [ Part 6] [ Part 7] [ Part 8] [ Part 9] [ Part 10]
Spoiler Warning: through DwD
It had been weeks and he still hadn't spoken to her. He was always there, still keeping his vow to her- waiting past walls, listening for danger, walking ten paces behind her in the halls and courtyards, ever present and ever watchful, but she barely even saw him and the distance was wearing on her more than she thought it could.
At night she would lie amongst the silks, holding them tight against her, listening to his steady steps outside her door: passing back and forth, back and forth with endless constancy. The first nights she thought she might go mad and was about to throw herself out of bed, tear open the doors, and confront him. But the truth was his anger was still a frightening thing and it wasn't just that…
She could still feel his thumb on her lip, against her chest. When she started to slip into sleep the sensations came back to her hot as fire and invaded her dreams with vicious ferocity. The truth was she avoided him as much as he avoided her. She was terrified of looking into his face again, seeing that rage and the other expression she wasn't sure she understood and didn't know if she wanted to.
It did no good- the more she pushed the thoughts away, the more they lashed back and soon she couldn't sleep for fear of the dreams that would follow.
She tried to convince herself that she was just being a silly child, that there was nothing to it and it was only her misguided naive emotions. But then his face would flood into her memory, the fury in his look and the steady slow pressure of his thumb against her lip. And then every now and again, as she lay there in bed trying not to think and kept awake by her inability to do so, his steps outside her door would stop, just for a moment, and she could almost hear him start to open the latch. But it was gone as soon as it was there, and she was left- still alone, her heart leaping and stomach knotted, with nothing but her dreams to wait for her.
The place was beautiful at least, and she tried to distract herself with that: the long halls and slopping courtyards that terraced into layers of gardens upwards behind the tall walls of the manse. She would stand on those walls and look out over the city, knowing that she must stay safely hidden but wishing she didn't, wishing she could step out into those streets and hear the voices and taste the smells of the city.
One day she let herself drop down into the even green grass of her own garden. The short fruit trees swayed ever so slightly in the breeze and the afternoon sun was clear and bright and deliciously soft against her skin. The grass underneath her felt cool and comforting and when the breeze caught in her skirts the silk wafted refreshingly over her body.
Sansa looked up into the blue sky, and watched idly as the clouds swept their slothish way across it. She reached out lazily, as if the trace their edges. The smells of the fruit trees eased against her and she found her eyes slipping shut. She sighed heavily.
It doesn't matter, she thought, I'll just leave them closed, just a moment, the sun feel so good.
The wind felt good too refreshing and so cool… too cool, almost cold. She felt herself shiver and opened her eyes.
Snow.
Everywhere she looked there was nothing but snow, the ground deep with it rising up past her naked knees, the air whipping as it fell endlessly for the black chasm of the sky. But for some reason, she hardly cared. It was cold, yes, but it felt so wonderful.
She felt her feet lift her into a spin and she raised her face to the dark, relishing as the soft flakes landed on her cheeks, her throat, her lips.
She danced with the winter, the snowflakes and the winds and the glorious cleansing of the cold. But this time she felt large hands grab her waist firmly and spin her into a chest full of heat and strength. Sansa laughed as she held tight, feeling the mail under her fingers and smelling leather and earth and the deep pure salt of sweat.
The kisses landed on her neck, her breasts, her face, and she let her eyes flutter open as she tightened her thighs around the thick waist and looked upward but it was bright sun that crashed into her now not swirling darkness.
She didn't care, all that mattered was the strength pulling her close and growing need in her chest.
A shadow slipped overhead. Ignore it- they aren't real, he knows they aren't real.
She buried her face in the smell and the heat, but the shadow swept across again and again and then the heat was burning hotter than she could stand and she threw herself away with a scream.
There were eyes the color of blood against black stone scales and then nothing but fire.
The monsters grow too…
He was burning, burning and roaring in pure pain and she couldn't move, there were chains tight about her arms, her legs, her neck: she couldn't shut her eyes or block out the sound.
And then the fire was golden, golden and pure and staring straight into her.
You have to be brave… only you can stop it.
She screamed and the chains fell into air around her. She was running towards him as hard as she could but the snow was too deep. The screams were fading- the light was going out.
"SANDOR!" She screamed.
"Seven hells girl, I'm here." The gruff voice came.
Sansa suddenly realized where she was- back in the garden, sitting up and staring wildly ahead with sweat plastered across her face. He was kneeling beside her with a hand firmly on her shoulder and when she turned to look at him there was fear in his face.
"I'm sorry," She murmured as she pressed her hand to her forehead, feeling the fire still burning.
"You were shaking," Sandor said carefully, "You started to scream."
She felt like a complete fool- so many days without sleep and she had let it catch her here in the garden. His eyes were still wide under heavy brows as he looked into her face with such vivid concern she felt her chest surge.
"You came…" She said quietly.
"You were screaming." He said again.
She turned and looked into his face and when she saw the burns she couldn't help but shudder as the flames from her dream sprang to life against his skin again before her.
"I didn't know if you would… you haven't--" She let he voice trail off on it's own.
"You should get up, girl." He said as he stood and offered her a hand.
"Why?" She asked as she took it, hardly believing how good it felt to have his strength close to her once more.
"Our host wishes to speak to you." Sandor growled, "He's waiting on you."
Sansa tried to make her mind work properly as it woke, "He's waiting… but he hasn't so much as visited for days."
"Well, he's here now."
She nodded slowly while her brows remained wrinkled in confusion, "Then I suppose I must go see him."
Sandor made a slight sound of acknowledgment and moved to part from her but she held his arm tightly, "Come with me, please?"
She stared up into his face with as much need as she dared show. He looked back at her and she felt herself shiver.
You've missed him… more than you want to admit.
The Hound nodded stiffly and together they moved back towards the tall doors of the manse.
----
Illyrio was seated at the head of a long dining table, spread thick with meats, fruits, and delicate pastries. As Sansa entered her surged to his feet to kiss her hand and offer them both a seat beside him.
Sansa seated herself neatly but Sandor remained standing at her back, looming over her like a menacing statue at the gates of a city.
Illyrio placed his hands palm down on the table and looked directly into Sansa's eyes, "I wish fate allowed me to give more care to these words but I am afraid circumstances have moved in such a way there is no more delaying what I must say."
Sansa felt her heart start to beat, "Please, speak freely." She insisted.
"You have heard rumors of dragons to the east?" Illyrio asked.
Sandor snorted behind her but kept his eyes locked straight ahead.
"I have heard rumors, yes." Sansa answered.
Illyrio leaned forward, "I need you to listen to me now girl, and know when I speak that I am telling you no lies."
Sansa nodded hesitantly.
The fat man's eyes gleamed as he stared at her, "They are no rumors. There are dragons: three of them, and a woman who wields them."
Sansa's breath caught in her throat and Sandor laughed.
"And where did these 'dragons' come from?" He asked roughly.
Illyrio stared hard into his eyes, "From Daenerys Targaryen."
Sansa gasped, "The Mad King's daughter?"
"Yes, child the same. She escaped from Westros and sought refuge in the free cities. For several years she even stayed in the very rooms you yourself now occupy, until I made a marriage for her with a Dothraki horse lord. She went into the Dorthaki Sea, and I must honestly say I did not expect to ever see her fair face again, but she has risen and taken city after city, and now, child, she plans to march on Westros and reclaim to lands of her father and his before him with blood and fire."
Sansa's mind seemed full of stories and cynasism. She turned to look at Sandor and he looked down to her.
"I can't say I'll ever believe these tales about bloody dragons," He said, "But the sailors were talking on the boat of Meereen, and of the girl queen whose taken half the continent with her eyes set for home."
"It is a fact," The Pentoshi continued, "She will make for Westros and when she arrives the Lannisters will melt before her."
Sansa saw Joffrey's face in her mind, and the Queen's, and all those horrible cold faces that had watched her pain and done nothing. They'll burn… all of them.
"But that is not what I wished to speak to you of today." Illyrio continued.
Sansa looked back to him, "Is it not?"
"No child," He said kindly, "I wished to speak to you today of becoming a queen."
Her heart suddenly jumped in her chest and she felt her throat tighten, "I was meant to be a queen, my lord, but that was--"
"I'm not speaking of Lions girls, but Dragons."
"I… I'm not sure I understand."
"There is another dragon," Illyrio continued, "Aegon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell."
"He's dead." Sandor growled behind them.
"Yes…" Illyrio continued, eyeing Sandor with reticence, "Your brother thought he saw to both the mother and child, under the orders of Tywin Lannister, but it was not Aegon that was killed that day. Lord Varys smuggled the child out of the city and he is now safe in the care of Jon Connington and moving towards Westros himself with another army in tow."
Sansa's head was spinning- my family is dead and yet the Targaryens seem to rise from graves around me.
"I know this is a lot to bear, child." Ilyrio continued, "Especially after the pain you have suffered and the trials you have faced. But you were meant to sit beside the iron throne, to be a queen of the land: this is what your father wanted, what he tried to accomplish. It was not his fault that his friend perished, leaving you in the claws of Lannisters. But the lions will fall- I promise you that, and you can stand over their bones and know that the wishes of your family were not in vain."
The words danced in her head like snow in the storm. She saw Joffrey's smile empty and broken, Cersei's pretty eyes hollow in death. Her father's legs jerked dumbly before her and her mother smiled in pride as she pushed her hair behind her ear, "You shall be a queen, Sansa."
She didn't know what to say, she didn't know what to think. She wished she could see his face.
"Please," Her broken voice finally echoed, "Will you allow me a day to think on what you have said."
Illyrio nodded and his chins jiggled wildly under him, "Of course, of course… but you must realize that the days are growing shorter, and darkness falls the quickest in the north. Think of their joy to see their child returned home."
Home. She felt the snowflakes on her skin, the cool against her face. Home.
---------------
Sansa sat on the edge of her bed. The moonlight was bright outside of her room and she watched emptily as the rays of cool luminance caught against the palms and played along the stone of her terrace.
The curtains danced softly in the breeze and she felt the same force push her loose hair from side to side, the ends tickling her shoulders.
She wore her thin shift that suited sleep in this clime and her fingers played idly across the silk of the hem as she sat there.
Queen…
What was she going to do?
Tales of dragons and princes rising from the dead danced in her head. She had heard tales of Rhaegar's kindness, his justice, his beauty… would his son be the same? Would he be the king she had always dreamt of- a king of songs and stories?
She had thought Joffrey had been that king- her golden prince. But the gold had rotted away to reveal nothing but darkness and filth.
You should be happy! She told herself, You can be queen again, you can make them pay for how they hurt you.
She should! She knew she should- it was all she had ever wanted, all her family had ever dreamed for her. Her heart should be singing… then why wasn't it? Why did she feel so cold? Why did it feel like she was holding tears deep in her eyes?
It was so quiet in that room, the birds were all asleep in their trees and the wind itself was silent. So quiet… something was wrong.
She turned sharply towards the door.
The steps… he's not there!
Before she knew what she was doing she was on her feet, hurrying across the wide carpeted floor almost clumsily. Her hands hit the door and she stood there for a moment, listening as her breath quickened. He had to be there, he was always there, even when he was angry, even when he couldn't look at her: he had promised and he would be there.
She waited… silence.
Suddenly she was terrified. Her breath caught in her throat as she grabbed the door hard and threw it open.
Nothing.
Her eyes were wild as she stared around her but there was just darkness, more and more of it on all sides.
And then her feet were running. Her shift lashed against her and her hair trailed behind her back but she didn't feel any of it, all she could feel was the ragged pain of her breathing, the tight heat swelling in her throat and her eyes- the panic seeping into her limbs.
She caught the first door she found and threw it open: nothing but the black.
She ran on and on, down the silent dark halls, each door she came to she tore it open to find just the quiet. It pressed in around her on all sides, heavier and heavier with each door. The tears started to slip down her cheeks and a single choked sob escaped painfully as she threw herself out into the seeping blue moonlight of the courtyard.
Why were there no birds? Why was there no life- there was just silence heavy and suffocating and terrifying.
Never…
She could almost feel the snow against her skin again as the wind blew and the tears on her cheeks were hot as fire.
Mine…
She spun, frantic, searching, and then she saw the light: a small window cut into the wall of the courtyard. The light was dim- perhaps just one candle, but it was there, it was all she had, and she threw herself for it.
Sansa ran towards the door beside the window but her legs were weak and she slipped, her knee hitting the ground hard but she didn't even notice. She pulled herself back up and crashed into the door. Her desperate hands locked on the latch and pulled it as hard as she could, but it was locked and wouldn't budge. She heard herself scream in frustration and felt her hands crashed into the wood over and over again as the burning tears rolled down her face and she sobbed and cried the burning feeling from her throat, and then the door pulled open and she fell into a chest as solid as stone and the smell of heat, and leather, and earth but above all the sour of wine.
"What in the Seven Hells--"
She raised herself up and hit him across the face as hard as she could.
He actually staggered and she felt the fire swell in her chest as she breathed pure rage.
Sandor stood there, one hand holding his jaw where she's struck him and the other still tight around the bottle of wine. He wouldn't look at her.
Sansa slammed the door but still he didn't move. His face was as still as a statue, a carved thing of anger and stubbornness.
She wanted to collapse to her knees and cry and cry until there was nothing left but she didn't, she wouldn't.
"You promised me!" She heard herself say, her voice low and dangerous as his, "You swore to me!"
He didn't move, his eyes tight on the floor.
"LOOK AT ME!" She screamed.
And he did.
His stare was heavy and blood-shot and she could smell the wine seeping out of him. There was a fury there, deep and rolling and dark, but there was also such immense grief that she felt her stomach seize. He looked at her tears, and her torn shift, and her bleeding knee, and battered hands.
"Are you mad, girl?" He growled.
"You weren't there." She said, ignoring him, "You weren't there!"
He turned his back on her and placed his hands hard on the table behind him, clutching it so tight she heard the wood creak.
"You promised me--!" She began
"I KNOW WHAT I PROMISED!" He roared as he spun to face her. The wine went flying and shattered on the wall behind her.
She couldn't move and it was only now she realized how hard she was shaking.
Sandor stared right into her, grey stare ripping with a cold fury, "You don't need my promises. You don't need me."
Suddenly she felt cold, so very cold.
"You don't need a dog." He growled, "You'll have a dragon."
"I don't want him." She heard herself say.
"Of course you do girl, don't be a bloody fool."
"Do not tell me what I want!" She suddenly cried.
"I will!" He roared right back, "You'll want him- and you'll marry him and you'll share his bed and have his children!"
"I won't!" She screamed.
Sandor grabbed the wooden chair between them and threw it aside so hard it cracked against the wall as he approached her fast; "WHY?"
"Because he won't look at me like you do!" She cried.
The silence fell around them.
She stared into his face, unafraid, unflinching, as his chest heaved and his eyes burned.
"I…" She said, her voice softened now, "I don't want him to look at me like you do… I don't want anyone to look at my like you do. Just you… always."
It took him two steps to reach her and before she thought to breathe his mouth crashed onto hers. His huge hands held her little face up to his and he kissed her again and again as if he thought she would vanish any moment. His mouth was warm and heavy and she tasted the salt of her own tears and the sour of his wine and in an instant she opened to him, her lips parting and letting the heat of him flood into her like sunlight.
There was no thought, no mind, just his warmth and his smell and her body moving without her telling it to, pressing close to him, over and over.
And then she was in his arms. He held her so tightly that she could hardly breathe but it didn't matter. She buried her face in his chest and let the tears slip down her cheeks but now she was smiling.
His hand ran through her hair deep and thick and held her even closer. She felt her hands slip around his neck as her toes lifted her and then to his face as she pulled herself back to look at him.
He stared down into her and suddenly she realized how frightened he was.
"I'm sorry," He rumbled, "I'm so sorry, for everything, for--"
"No," She silenced him, her hands held his face lightly and she was almost surprised at how smooth
the burns were, why had she been so afraid of them?
"You don't have to…" She ran a hand through his hair and watched as he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He was still so afraid, he thinks it will end.
"You swore to me." She said, her voice barely a whisper.
"I know," He answered and she felt the rumbling of his chest against her own tight bosom.
"Will you do what ever I ask of you?"
He hesitated this time, the confusion and anger and pain all battling in his stare, but as he looked down into her eyes she knew he was truly hers.
"Aye."
"Take me from this place. Now."
Sandor ran his knuckles down the side of her soft cheek, "We can't hide forever, Little Bird."
"I know," Sansa answered, "I don't mean to hide."
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