Fic: Three's Company
Title: Three's Company
Rating: PG
Characters: Arya, Sansa, Sandor
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 670
Summary: Arya wishes she could share Sansa's bed like when they were little girls, but that place has been stolen by Sandor. Crack!fluff?
When Arya and Sansa were very little, they had slept in the same bed to share their warmth on Northern nights that were chilly even in summer. They were women grown now, and it was winter. The snow piled as high as a horse outside the ruins of Winterfell, and inside Arya was cold.
She was alone in the same bed chamber she’d had as a little girl. The fire was hot as it could be, fed by a steady supply of firewood (one of the few things Sandor was good for) but it wasn’t enough. Arya wished she had her direwolf or her brothers or her mother and father. But she only had her sister and Sansa would rather share her bed with him.
Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Arya half-heartedly contemplated killing Sandor. She could put poison in his wine or spook Stranger into trampling him or ambush him in the privy and cut his throat. She wasn’t sure why she’d never done it. She let him live and he stayed in her castle stealing her sister, the ungrateful dog that he was.
Arya didn’t know what was wrong with Sansa. She used to be so concerned with being a proper lady, but she only blushed and told her it was none of her business when Arya pointed out the impropriety of letting Sandor sleep with her. Though Arya supposed it was better than her falling in love with some singer or a useless lordling; at least Sandor could hunt and chop a lot of firewood and kill any Bolton or Baratheon men who wandered too close.
She shoved away the covers and got out of bed, quickly pulling on her boots before her feet could get colder. It was only a short walk down the hallway to Sansa’s chambers. Arya didn’t bother knocking. She pushed and the unbarred door opened. The fire was dying in the hearth so she went to put some more wood on it.
“What is it, she-wolf?” came Sandor’s raspy voice.
She heard him sitting up and knew he’d reached for his sword. “Nothing.”
“Arya?” Sansa asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I was just cold.” Arya finished with the fire and headed to the bed. She climbed in beside Sansa.
“What are you doing?” her sister demanded. She sounded more puzzled than upset.
“I’m sleeping here,” Arya informed her. “Move over.” She claimed a pillow and settled comfortably on her side.
“You can’t,” Sansa said. “You can’t just come into our room in the middle of the night. What if…?”
“I knew you’d finished fucking. You went to bed hours ago.”
Sansa gasped in shock and Sandor laughed.
“You can’t sleep with us, Arya,” Sansa said. “It’s not proper.”
“It’s more proper for me to be here than him.”
Sandor laughed harder. Arya scowled at him though he couldn’t see it in the dark. If he had any manners, he would have left and found somewhere else to sleep.
“But Sandor is naked,” Sansa whispered.
Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa wasn’t quite as stupid as she used to be, but sometimes she said the stupidest things. “I’ve seen him naked lots of times. We traveled together for weeks, remember, after he kidnapped me.”
“Let her stay,” Sandor said. She felt him drag Sansa away, closer to him. “I’ll throw her out later if we need to.”
Arya wished she was big enough to throw him out, but she supposed a woman that big would look rather odd. She settled for reaching across Sansa to punch him in the shoulder.
When they were little, Sansa would sing to her sometimes until they fell asleep. Arya missed those nights. She hated asking her sister for anything because Sansa would be sure to remind her of it when she wanted her to dress for dinner or something equally silly. But just once couldn’t hurt. “Sing to me, Sansa.”
“Yes. Sing, little bird.”
Sansa sang, and Arya went to sleep warm.
Rating: PG
Characters: Arya, Sansa, Sandor
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 670
Summary: Arya wishes she could share Sansa's bed like when they were little girls, but that place has been stolen by Sandor. Crack!fluff?
When Arya and Sansa were very little, they had slept in the same bed to share their warmth on Northern nights that were chilly even in summer. They were women grown now, and it was winter. The snow piled as high as a horse outside the ruins of Winterfell, and inside Arya was cold.
She was alone in the same bed chamber she’d had as a little girl. The fire was hot as it could be, fed by a steady supply of firewood (one of the few things Sandor was good for) but it wasn’t enough. Arya wished she had her direwolf or her brothers or her mother and father. But she only had her sister and Sansa would rather share her bed with him.
Not for the first time and probably not for the last, Arya half-heartedly contemplated killing Sandor. She could put poison in his wine or spook Stranger into trampling him or ambush him in the privy and cut his throat. She wasn’t sure why she’d never done it. She let him live and he stayed in her castle stealing her sister, the ungrateful dog that he was.
Arya didn’t know what was wrong with Sansa. She used to be so concerned with being a proper lady, but she only blushed and told her it was none of her business when Arya pointed out the impropriety of letting Sandor sleep with her. Though Arya supposed it was better than her falling in love with some singer or a useless lordling; at least Sandor could hunt and chop a lot of firewood and kill any Bolton or Baratheon men who wandered too close.
She shoved away the covers and got out of bed, quickly pulling on her boots before her feet could get colder. It was only a short walk down the hallway to Sansa’s chambers. Arya didn’t bother knocking. She pushed and the unbarred door opened. The fire was dying in the hearth so she went to put some more wood on it.
“What is it, she-wolf?” came Sandor’s raspy voice.
She heard him sitting up and knew he’d reached for his sword. “Nothing.”
“Arya?” Sansa asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I was just cold.” Arya finished with the fire and headed to the bed. She climbed in beside Sansa.
“What are you doing?” her sister demanded. She sounded more puzzled than upset.
“I’m sleeping here,” Arya informed her. “Move over.” She claimed a pillow and settled comfortably on her side.
“You can’t,” Sansa said. “You can’t just come into our room in the middle of the night. What if…?”
“I knew you’d finished fucking. You went to bed hours ago.”
Sansa gasped in shock and Sandor laughed.
“You can’t sleep with us, Arya,” Sansa said. “It’s not proper.”
“It’s more proper for me to be here than him.”
Sandor laughed harder. Arya scowled at him though he couldn’t see it in the dark. If he had any manners, he would have left and found somewhere else to sleep.
“But Sandor is naked,” Sansa whispered.
Arya rolled her eyes. Sansa wasn’t quite as stupid as she used to be, but sometimes she said the stupidest things. “I’ve seen him naked lots of times. We traveled together for weeks, remember, after he kidnapped me.”
“Let her stay,” Sandor said. She felt him drag Sansa away, closer to him. “I’ll throw her out later if we need to.”
Arya wished she was big enough to throw him out, but she supposed a woman that big would look rather odd. She settled for reaching across Sansa to punch him in the shoulder.
When they were little, Sansa would sing to her sometimes until they fell asleep. Arya missed those nights. She hated asking her sister for anything because Sansa would be sure to remind her of it when she wanted her to dress for dinner or something equally silly. But just once couldn’t hurt. “Sing to me, Sansa.”
“Yes. Sing, little bird.”
Sansa sang, and Arya went to sleep warm.