Marching Song, Part 7/?
I wrote this for
dealbreaker19 as a part of the SansaxSandor letter exchange. It blossomed from what was suppose to be one letter into a full blown epistolary romance. This is the seventh letter of several letters.
Title: Marching Song
Author:
kimberlite8
Summary: Sandor's war letters to Sansa while he is on campaign. An epistolary smutfic. "It feels so sweet to fall asleep with your words in my head, your letters underneath my hand. Like I could actually believe that with all the world has to offer, you chose to sit in this muddy tent only because I was here."
Rating: Explicit
Warning: warfare
Pairing: SanSan
Word count: 1000
Beta: A special thanks to
redgoddemandsit
After my evening bath, I drew the curtains and knelt by the fireplace, poking away at it until it blazed up. As I gazed into the fire, a pleasant though eerie feeling ran through me. My mind was enveloped by a deep sense of well-being and my whole body felt … embraced. Does that sound strange? I felt so warm and fragile and protected, as if I was a captured bird in the palms of your hands. The entire experience took perhaps just five seconds, then it was over and I was alone again. Was it a message from you perhaps? Were you looking into the fire’s flames at the same time and did you send me that message by the sheer magic of our love? Please don’t mock me, Sandor. I know that there are marvelous miracles in this world, if only one open one’s heart and mind to them, instead of remaining insensible to that part of life which lends meaning to our existence. After all, my sweetest friend, my champion, weren’t you the answer to my prayers?
The strange feeling left me with such a sharp longing for you that I took out my drawing pencils, hoping to find some solace there. I tried to sketch you but the quality of my work was flat-looking without the real thing for reference. How I wish I could reach across the distance and pull you to me. I want to memorize every scar and cut and bruise on your body; to possess that knowledge with the accuracy of a map and pore over it in my memory on lonely nights. I am so very lonely, Sandor. It is not a loneliness for people but for just one person. My thoughts are only of you, what you’re doing, how is life treating you? When are you coming back, when will you be with me at last? If it were not for Jonquil, I would fear the approach of madness. I feel closer to you, when I am near her. Inside I am in ruins but I shall forget every care in your arms, hear nothing, see nothing, save you alone. I know that when you return, my storybook ending will be complete. For we are both so young and strong and should troubles come knocking at our door, I am not afraid, simply because I know we can share them together.
I hope you don’t think too harshly about how I carry on. The New Year advances and I find myself wallowing in sentimentalism. I’m sending you a little gift in the spirit of holidays. I lucked into a few exceedingly felicitous lines when I attempted to draw Jonquil and myself.
I hope it pleases you. It’s rather physical I think but perhaps not as physical as you’d like. I’m also sending you the staylace from the back of the corset I’m wearing in the sketch. A little challenge my lord: may you find one day you’ll be able to undress me more successfully than on this paper.
Sleep well, Sandor. I love you and hope I will dream of you tonight.
Sansa
12/31/303
My Little Flower!
Excuse the brevity of this letter. I have a lot to say but very tired and very very dirty. Foremost, I want to thank you for that sweet sketch of the two girls I love best in all the world. It arrived with the supply train and I was happier to receive it than the cartloads of wine. The sketch isperfect. Poor simple words but I don’t know what else to call it except perfect. My little bird, you're not only beautiful, but also very clever.
And that little blue corset ribbon that you tucked in - bloody hell, woman! Caressing the silk was like a steel hook in my gut, sweet painful tugs that drew all my insides out. I buried my face in it, then fought off the urge to do something mad, like sew it into my skin, right above my left nipple. I don’t think any whore in the Seven Kingdoms can torment me as sweetly as you do. I drew something for you to, on the very same evening. How about that? Maybe there was some magic that night after all. Did you get it yet? I’m a little embarrassed over it now. Are you poring over it to know me with the “accuracy of a map?” That makes me laugh. Your sweet sketch sure will make my bed warm and soft. Your arse looks so delectable in the drawing. I can hardly get enough of it. In real life, when you bend over, it’s all I can do to stop myself from crawling over to you to bite it. Just bite that round firm arse, like it was the fucking sweetest pear I ever tasted.
Don’t mind the glut of my silliness. I’m writing to you on New Year’s Eve and the stars are twinkling and I’m a little tipsy and all the men are moaning carols outside my tent. There’s something about the night that makes me want to weep when I’m not laughing. I suppose it’s the remoteness of home and the homesickness you can hear in the ensemble of voices even when they’re singing something bawdy like “Her Little Flower.” Don’t scoff at our childishness, we got so little, so little else but stupid fantasies.
Enough said - my sweet girl, I want to be with you always. I embrace you with all my love.
Sandor
Sandor
***********
Author's note:
The sketch of Sansa and Jonquil was drawn by the absolutely brilliant Bubug. It is from my upcoming illustrated novella of this story, a collaboration between myself and Bubug. We both hope to complete by December 2014. It will be published as a pdf file and as an emagazine, consistent with my approach to Running with the Hare and Hunting with the Hound.
I'm not including other illustrations as A03 isn't the right medium for illustrated books. But I thought it was necessary to include Sansa's sweet sketch here as I think from looking at it you can imagine its impact on poor homesick and battle weary Sandor.
I hope you don't mind the brevity of the text. The next few chapters like this one are going to be short as Sandor's a busy man as the siege draws closer to its final conclusion.