The love-philtre, chapter 19 - FINAL CHAPTER
His everyone! Here’s the final chapter of this fic! Hope you’ve enjoyed the ride. If you did, I’d be very happy to hear your thoughts and receive a final comment. :P
I’d also like to say a very special thank you to my beta of 2 years and a half, Wildsky Sheri, who’s going to take a break from betaying. Thank you so much! Without her, all my stories would never have been as good and I would never have learned as much as I did either. I owe her A LOT!!!
Title: The love-philtre, chapter 19 - FINAL CHAPTER
Author: Maroucia
Summary: Sansa and Sandor both accidentally drink from a wineskin containing a love-philtre. GOT AU
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters in this story are all GRRM’s propriety and I won’t make a buck out of this.
Rating: NC-16
Warning: AU, underage, dubcon, suicidal thoughts
Pairing: SanSan
Word count: 5038
Beta: A special thanks to Wildsky Sheri for her help with this whole fic.
Eddard
Eddard was relieved: the wedding had been celebrated at last after nearly two whole moons of waiting and very soon, all this misadventure would be behind him. Well, not exactly, he corrected, thinking of Winterfell’s very soon-to-be new inhabitant. Life would never be the same for him and his family - no matter how much he wished it otherwise. Even when the blessed day he stopped being Hand of the realm finally came and he returned to his beloved North, the Hound would always be around.
The marriage ceremony had been celebrated earlier in the day and all the guests were now in the Hand’s Small Hall for the reception. Minstrels were singing and playing all the regular ballads to the joy of the youngest or simply more energetic of the crowd who had already left their tables to dance in the centre of the hall. A few small groups of men had formed throughout the place to chat and laugh very noisily, each of them with a tankard in hand but the quiet, elderly and greedy had preferred to keep their seats and were still crowded along the long tables.
Despite the initial unpopularity of Sansa and Sandor Clegane’s match, all the guests seemed to be having a great time and the disapproval with which the news had been received at first was now apparently all but forgotten. The fact that they had just assisted in the union of the daughter of one of the Seven Kingdoms’ most ancient and noble Houses and the grandson of a kennel master apparently didn’t bother anyone anymore. People always cease to complain when they are fed and given wine at someone else’s expense, Ned concluded bitterly. He was probably the only person in the hall not enjoying himself. Well, perhaps apart from Cersei Lannister, who was very haughtily nibbling at her food at the other end of the head table, a stiff little smile on her lips. The burning spark that shone in her emerald-green eyes anytime she glanced in the king’s direction made it easy for Ned to guess how much he annoyed her. Robert was standing nearby and laughing with some knights, one of his large hands laid on a very busty servant girl’s shoulder blade, all the while expertly ignoring his wife and children. Sitting by his mother’s side, Joffrey was talking to his two younger siblings with a superior air about him but the latter kept eating their dessert without giving him much attention.
Ned himself was so very tired. He had slept well for a few nights since Catelyn’s arrival to the capital a little more than a sennight before, however, the anticipation of having to face her had been the cause of many sleepless nights, of which he still bore the scars and he was now starting to fear he’d never be able to shake off the weariness that had lately became his constant companion.
“Oh, Sandor!” Eddard suddenly heard his daughter exclaim.
Even in the mist of the feast’s general hubbub, Clegane’s grating laughter easily reached his ears as it resounded in the hall in the same instant. Wincing, Ned turned to peer in the sound’s way, his displeasure only growing at seeing how Sansa was leaning on her new husband. They were holding onto each other as tightly as could be expected from any genuinely in love newlyweds and while Ned should logically have been happy to see his oldest daughter so happily married, he sadly was incapable. The groom was Sandor Clegane after all, a man more suited to staying married to his sword and living in barracks than being husband to such a genteel young lady as Sansa. At least, the fact that he cared for her was unquestionable to anyone who spent more than a few minutes by their side. In spite of how the idea did reassure him, having to constantly witness their affection was beyond irksome to Ned. His only consolation was that they had agreed to live separately until their second wedding and that his daughter had thereby slept peacefully in her own chamber every night since their return from the inn.
True to form, the king had been totally shocked when he first heard of Ned’s condition.
“To separate newlyweds?!” he had roared, his eyes wide with incomprehension and anger. “How could you ever have asked for something so harsh? Ned! This is beyond cruel and makes no sense at all!”
After long explanations, Robert had thankfully understood and very reluctantly admitted Eddard had a point. Nevertheless, he had insisted the Hound and Sansa be allowed to see each other as much as they wanted during the day. Ned had acceded to his friend’s demand and quickly begun suspecting Clegane had been given more time off than usual to compensate for his lonely nights. Almost daily, the man had come to the Tower of the Hand, requesting to see Sansa. While all his guards resented it, Eddard had instructed them not to interfere and always let him enter. He was even allowed to take her out as long as Ned was informed of where they were going, that their plans were reasonable and that Sansa was back at least an hour before supper.
Their outings consisted mainly of simple walks in the castle’s gardens but sometimes, the Hound would take Sansa out of the Red Keep’s walls to visit some of the high-end shops that thrived in the capital’s richest areas and she always came back with presents at such times. By now, her collection of precious jewels, scarves and exotic sweets had grown quite impressively but as if that wasn’t enough, around five new expensive-looking gowns had been delivered to the Tower of the Hand about a moon ago and three more had arrived recently. At that rate, it wouldn’t be very long before the Hound had spent the totality of his winnings from the Hand’s tourney. Such expenses were unreasonable and something Ned didn’t approve of, yet as Clegane was entitled to spend his gold as he wished, he had kept his opinion to himself.
Still, the worst to Eddard had been witnessing them strolling along the keep’s corridor, always arm in arm and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Servants and noblemen and women invariably stopped whatever they were doing to follow them with their gazes - some discreetly, others not at all. People were curious and never lost an occasion to see for themselves the most talked about lovers in King’s Landing. While Sansa had always been reserved and self-conscious in the past, with Clegane by her side, she became less timid and was often heard giggling loudly when she was with him, which of course only attracted more attention to them. At least, Eddard had never seen them kiss in public nor heard that they had but that was cold comfort that didn’t assuage his spirit much.
Taking a long gulp out of his tankard, Ned scanned the hall for his wife’s elegant form. She was near a corner, speaking with a group of older noblewomen and while the muscles of her face were tense, she nonetheless seemed serene. She hadn’t been when she first arrived at the capital.
Eddard had been very nervous to face her and with good reason, for Catelyn had glowered at him, her mouth pulled in a deep and severe frown from the moment she spotted him waiting for her at the port. Her agitation had been palpable even from afar and Ned had hoped upon seeing her that she had been able to sleep more than he had during her trip. Without even a kiss or a word of greeting, she had demanded explanations from him as soon as she had gotten near enough to speak. Ser Rodrik, who had made the journey with her, had seemed extremely ill-at-ease to be present at such a delicate and personal moment and had insisted on sitting outside the wagon next to the driver to give them some privacy. Once all the luggage had been retrieved and the horses had begun their slow progress through the packed and dirty streets of King’s Landing, Ned had at last acceded to his wife and begun recounting everything he had already told her in detail in the letter he had sent her. Many times, she interrupted him in his narration to make him repeat this or that, her disbelief and dismay plain as day. It had been obvious she had distrusted most of what he said. Ned couldn’t blame her for her scepticism: even he had first thought the love-philtre to be a charlatan’s fabrication, yet to see her doubt him had nevertheless been hurtful.
Poor Cat had written back the moment she had received his raven, imploring him to cancel that absurd wedding or at least, to put everything on hold until she arrived - because she would come no matter what he decided, she had promised in her postscript. By the tone of her letter, it had been obvious she had believed Ned had completely lost his mind due to exhaustion from his new position and that her presence was direly needed. Eddard had continued the preparations despite her adjurations - knowing that their cause was lost and that she wouldn’t be able to fix the situation as she probably hoped.
When he had informed Sansa and the Hound about Catelyn’s decision to attend their wedding and reminded them of the delay it implied, Clegane had predictably begun swearing. The impressive string of curses he uttered instantly brought a frown to Eddard’s brow, yet Sansa had calmed her beastly husband-to-be before he had to intervene which had once more forced him to remark on his daughter’s surprising ability to control him. Good for her, he had mused. Being the wife of such a man won’t always be easy but at least if he’s besotted enough with her to listen and try to behave when she asks, things will be more tolerable for everyone.
Catelyn had wished to see Sansa from the moment she set foot in the Red Keep but Ned had predicted everything and asked Sansa to spend the afternoon in her room for once so that he might speak to her mother undisturbed and that she be available when the time was right. The Hound had also been ordered to stay in his quarters lest he stumbled upon them by chance as they headed for the king’s solar as Cat would lose it completely if she caught sight of him. Ned didn’t want to start picturing how things might have gone in such an event.
To help him make Cat understand the plight they were in and be sure she realised he was still as sane as he had been when they last saw each other, Eddard had set up a little meeting with the king and Adelardus, the pyromancer responsible for the whole affair. Just as she had with him, Catelyn had made them repeat their accounts from beginning to end many times. She had desperately searched for a way out of the messy picture they were painting for her but it was all to no avail, she realised after hours of turning the situation upside down. Unshed tears were shining in her eyes when she finally yielded and admitted in the poised voice she used when she didn’t want to show her emotions that they had probably done the best they could. She had then promised she would accept the union if Sansa assured her herself that marrying Sandor Clegane was truly what she desired. Ned had breathed a sigh of relief at that. Having witnessed it himself, he knew how sensitive his daughter was on the subject and didn’t doubt for an instant that she would make a show of convincing her mother of the truthfulness and purity of the love she and the Hound shared.
Seeing his wife and daughter reunited had been moving to Ned. Both of them had jumped into each other’s arms and their embrace had lasted at least a couple of minutes. To allow them to have a private conversation, the man had shortly left the chamber and headed to his solar where a monstrously high pile of documents waited to be overviewed. After what had seemed to Ned as about two hours, Catelyn had joined him in his solar and announced that she was ready to see Sandor Clegane. The meeting that had followed had been awkward to say the least. As soon as their future son-in-law had appeared on the threshold, a hush had fallen over the room and Cat’s face had dropped for the split second it took for her to school her features and regain her cool. While she had already met the Hound in the past, she most likely had never given him much attention or even spoken to him. Tall and vigorous, he was certainly a capable and healthy-looking man, yet these qualities were overshadowed by the unforgiving burns that marred half of his face. And as if one flaw wasn’t enough, he was hardly likable with his unpredictable mood swings, sharp tongue and crude language. Eddard had feared the worst and silently prayed to the old gods that all went for the best as Clegane installed himself in the chair Catelyn was showing him to, not far from where Sansa was sitting. Her eyes on her betrothed, the latter had kindly greeted him with a broad and adoring smile on her lips, apparently unaware of her mother’s uneasiness.
From the moment the conversation started, it had been evident to Eddard by the subdued way he behaved that Sansa had coached the Hound. That had been a pleasant surprise, yet even at his most composed and civil, Clegane was still not a very courteous person. His posture was too relaxed, the look in his eyes slightly smug and his tone as dry and flat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Not a woman to be easily impressed or discouraged, Cat had shortly taken the bull by the horns and began asking him questions about his family, his training as a warrior and his education just as she would have done with any proper suitor. Could he read? Could he write? Had he any other useful skills? It had gone on and on like that for what had seemed like hours to Ned. With a remarkable economy of words, the Hound had patiently but unenthusiastically answered every question with that hoarse voice of his, never elaborating unless Cat demanded more details - which she almost always did. The sun had been about to set when she had at last told Clegane he could go and the man had grunted a salutation and retired.
Despite the brave face she had shown throughout the interview, Catelyn had taken all this harder than one might have believed and she barely exchanged a word with Eddard all evening afterwards. She did retrieve her smile and break her silence for the hour that Arya visited them but no sooner had she been gone than Cat had secluded herself in a corner of their room and fallen back into her gloom. It had almost been a relief when she began weeping as they prepared for sleep.
“My poor little girl!” she had murmured over and over, unable to stop herself once she had started.
Sadly, as Ned had shared her pain and despair, he had been at a loss for soothing words. In his state of mind, his sole resort had been to hold her against him as they both fell asleep and offer her what meagre comfort he could while hoping that it might be enough.
Catelyn was no woman to bask in self-pity and Ned had therefore not been surprised when she awoke the next morning dry-eyed and ready to move on. Her determination to change her perspective for Sansa’s sake had been obvious and he never saw her cry about their daughter’s fate again afterwards.
Every morning that followed, she made a habit of accompanying Sansa to the balcony that overlooked the yard. From there, they would watch as the Hound sparred with knights and sellswords, all the while chatting and working on their embroidery. Once the men were done training, Clegane would always join them upstairs and Cat used the opportunity to have short discussions with him and get to know him better.
When later at night she would speak to Ned in the privacy of their chamber, her words about him were never negative. She would say things like: “Sandor Clegane is by far the fiercest and most skilled swordsman I have ever seen. It’s good; we can always trust him to protect Sansa. I can tell he loves her,” or: “Robb will gain a lot from practicing with him. Being challenged by a warrior so accomplished will keep him on his guard and teach him to never be lazy in battle,” and even: “He’s a hardworking man and we’re always in need of those in Winterfell. We’ll be the stronger for it.”
By the cold tone and lack of enthusiasm she used when she voiced these remarks, it had been evident to Ned that Catelyn had tried to convince him as well as herself. Yet, with each new day that came, the stratagem did on the trick for her, for she became progressively more relaxed and even began smiling more often to the point that Ned had soon been forced to realise that she was taking the union far better than himself.
It’s for the best. It’s she who’s going to have to live with him from now on - not me. It wouldn’t do for her to be continuously bitter about it, Ned had reasoned many times. Somehow though, while the notion was absurd, to witness her genuinely grow to accept the situation made him feel increasingly lonesome and miserable.
The impression was stronger than ever today as he contemplated the merry crowd he was surrounded with. All these people were reunited expressly to celebrate a wedding that didn’t make any sense at all, yet no one but he seemed to remember how it had come from a terrible mistake and had never been meant to happen.
Sighing deeply, Eddard pushed his tankard away and rose from his seat. He needed to relieve himself and since even so much as a moment by himself would do him some good he left the Hand’s Small Hall with no hesitation, only to bump into Arya as soon as he entered the corridor. Standing on just one foot, she was moving her arms around her in strange, smooth motions
“What are you doing, Arya?” he asked once he got within earshot.
Deep in concentration, the girl hadn’t noticed him and the surprise made her lose her balance. “Oh, it’s only you, Father!” she exclaimed with exaggerated relief as she turned toward him.
Eddard smiled indulgently at that, letting the slight pass.
“I’m practicing some exercises Syrio taught me,” Arya declared, her eyes shining with excitement as she approached him. “He says I’m still far too sloppy and need to apply myself and work very hard if I ever wish to become even a passable water dancer and so I’m using every free moment I have throughout the day to do it.”
“That’s good, Arya. Now, if you could only be as dedicated to Septa Mordane’s teaching,” he regretted wearily.
The comment made Arya instantly lose her enthusiasm. Her face grave with worry, she nervously bit at her lip while waiting for him to continue, yet thankfully for her, Ned was in no mood to lecture her. His eyes narrowed, he gave her a weak smile and petted her hair before continuing on his way to the privies but before he could get very far, a small voice halted him again.
“Thank you, Father,” Arya said so timidly, she didn’t even sound like herself.
“For what?” he inquired, turning to gaze at her.
Her hands nervously clasped before her, the girl was shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Letting Syrio come with us to Winterfell.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Arya,” Eddard replied honestly. He had known how important it was for her and had not hesitated to consent when she had asked about it. “Just promise me you’ll be good and do your best with your other lessons too.”
This time, the demand didn’t make her lose her good humour and she nodded - a large grin on her lips - before abruptly running away to only the gods knew where.
Shaking his head, Ned turned around and resumed his progress. He had decided it was best he sent Arya to Winterfell along with Sansa, Septa Mordane and now, Syrio Forel also, since he didn’t see the sense in keeping her in King’s Landing alone with him when he was always so busy. Still adamant about joining their two Houses, Robert had very briefly opposed it, bringing forth the idea of betrothing her to Joffrey instead of Sansa but Ned had refused at once, reminding his friend of the crossroads incident. The king had growled at that but agreed their enmity was probably irrevocable. In the days that had followed, there had been talks of betrothing Arya to Tommen, yet that had been rejected also for they were both far too young and probably not very compatible either. In the end, it had been determined that Myrcella and Robb was probably the best match they could come up with within their two families. Many years would go by before they were both fit to marry though and Myrcella would stay by her brothers’ and parents’ sides in King’s Landing in the meantime. Nevertheless, it had been settled that Robb would spend a couple of moons each year in the capital so that both youths got to know each other and that his education on courtly matters could be perfected.
After his visit to the privy, Eddard very reluctantly returned to the Hand’s Small Hall and was immediately met by Catelyn when he entered.
“Ned, come over here, Sansa has something to tell you,” she informed him, laying a light hand on his upper arm and leading him toward the other side of the hall. Her lips were set in that tense but resigned smile she so often sported these days.
Unsure he really wanted to know - for he already had an idea of what the news might be - Eddard followed anyway until they were facing Sansa and Sandor Clegane. His daughter seemed a little anxious, although happy, and her new husband had a self-satisfied air about him that augured nothing good.
“Father, I…” Her face colouring a deep shade of pink, Sansa hesitated for a couple of seconds, took a deep breath and continued. “I wanted you to know before we leave for Winterfell that I’m… I’m with child,” she announced shyly. Despite her timidity, her elation was so tangible that it radiated all around her.
Eddard shut his eyes for a heartbeat or two, suddenly fearing his habitual headache would choose that moment to make its comeback. When he looked at her again, his daughter was staring at him with eyes gleaming with hope. She really wanted him to share her joy and thus Ned forced himself to repress the anguish he was assailed with.
“That’s wonderful, Sansa,” he said, trying hard to sound cheerful.
Regardless of how transparent Eddard was, Sansa was easily deceived and began beaming at him, however, her husband’s ugly smirk told a whole other story. The man could clearly see right through his lie.
Unaware of the wordless dialogue that went on between them, Sansa suddenly lost her self-restraint and started speaking with indubitable excitement. “Oh, Father! I’m so happy you share my joy! I don’t know what I’ll call him yet - or her, of course!” She giggled at that, blushing prettily. “Sandor told me I could choose our child’s name myself and promised me that he wouldn’t object to whatever I decide and although I’m happy and grateful, it’s such an important decision! I feel like I’m bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders!”
Her effervescence was a little overwhelming for Ned and he had to use all of his willpower just to keep the feeble smile that twisted his mouth in place. Cat was thankfully not as petrified as him: she was nodding in agreement, empathy and patience exuding from her. He could guess they had had that conversation already by the accord that seemed to exist between them and yet, while his wife’s expression was kind and sincere, worry lines creased her brow and surrounded her eyes. In spite of her support, there was no doubting she was just as uneasy as Ned at the thought of their daughter’s condition.
Just as Sansa was about to continue her babbling, indistinct calls reverberated in the hall, saving Ned from having to listen to his daughter’s impressions about her upcoming motherhood any longer. While he at first didn’t hear what the commotion was about, it soon became as clear as day once the rest of the crowd grew silent. “Bed them!” men’s voices were exclaiming, bringing Ned to wonder why learning of his daughter’s state had rendered him so uncomfortable. Shortly, nearly every male present at the reception joined his voice to the clamour while women smiled and giggled and Ned soon recognised even the king’s own baritone roaring the accursed chant, to his utter annoyance.
Men were quickly gathering all around them and as Eddard swept his gaze over their faces, he unwittingly locked eyes with Jaime Lannister who had somehow emerged right next to him. The knight cracked his most radiant smile at him but Ned hastily averted his stare, his face winkling with distaste. In the same instant, a yelp was heard coming from his side and as he jerked his head in the sound’s direction, Eddard realised some men had managed to snatch Sansa from her husband’s grasp. She was now engulfed in the middle of a large party of men and being led toward the door, the auburn locks that flew over her head all he could still see of her.
“Oh!” Sansa’s cry could be heard coming from the centre of the party.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” the Hound snarled, his face red with anger as he made to stride after them. “I want my wife back!”
“Relax, Sandor. The bedding is one of our oldest and most beloved traditions. Robbing these men of their fun wouldn’t be very nice, don’t you think?” Jaime Lannister reminded him, putting himself right before him while settling a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Glaring dismissively at him, the Hound pushed the other man out of his way without an ounce of delicacy. “Bugger your bloody tradition!” he snapped, rushing toward where his bride was being carried away. The Kingslayer laughed as he almost fell to the floor. “This is my wife and I-” Clegane was exclaiming before he finally noticed the group of courageous women that had interposed themselves in between him and the men. The latter were now exiting the Hand’s Small Hall to head for the chamber the king had demanded be prepared for Sansa and the Hound in Maegor's Holdfast. Ned was thankful for Robert’s gesture since he had feared his daughter’s own room in the Tower of the Hand wouldn’t offer the privacy a newlywed couple required.
“You! Out of my bloody way!” Clegane hissed at the women.
The group backed slightly away as one, their previous playfulness all but gone, yet none of them made to move from his path.
“Fine then. Stay right where you are. I don’t care: I’ll pass right through you,” the Hound warned, his shoulders squared threateningly, as he resumed his walk.
Squinting exasperatedly at the scene, Eddard winced and turned his back to the crowd. He was in no way curious to know how this would end and had had his fill of social interactions for the day, at the very least. All he wanted now was some peace and quiet and at this point of the wedding celebrations, he was convinced no one would miss him if he vanished and found refuge in his chamber.
The sound of women gasping in shock and men bursting out into laugher echoed in the hall behind Ned as he approached the stairs that led to the Tower of the Hand, encouraging him to hasten his pace. Yet just as he was about to climb the first step, an agile hand circled his elbow and stopped him. Halting and turning his head, the man was pleasantly surprised when he saw it was none other than his lovely wife.
“Seen enough?” she asked, a knowing look in her eyes.
Ned smiled tiredly and sighed. “For a lifetime,” he acquiesced wryly.
“Be prepared, Ned. There’s no knowing who our other children will fall in love with. This might be just the beginning.”
While she was obviously japing, the idea didn’t please him in the least. The wave of dread that flew over him at that instant didn’t escape Catelyn’s notice.
Gently squeezing his arm to comfort him, she bore her gaze into his, her head tilted to the side mischievously. “Come on now, Ned, don’t be so pessimistic. I can see you’ve been preoccupied for far too long. I know a cure for that, but first you need to forget about everything and only think about us for once,” she proposed in a soft murmur, a coy smile lighting up her beautiful face.
At hearing her words, Eddard felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Hmm, yes. I think I can do that,” he agreed lowly, his lips curving into his first authentic grin in a very long time. “You’re a very wise woman, you know that?”
“Of course,” she replied haughtily.
Ned chuckled and, arm in arm, they both resumed their progress towards their bedchamber, feeling as light-hearted as newlyweds.
THE END
I’d also like to say a very special thank you to my beta of 2 years and a half, Wildsky Sheri, who’s going to take a break from betaying. Thank you so much! Without her, all my stories would never have been as good and I would never have learned as much as I did either. I owe her A LOT!!!
Title: The love-philtre, chapter 19 - FINAL CHAPTER
Author: Maroucia
Summary: Sansa and Sandor both accidentally drink from a wineskin containing a love-philtre. GOT AU
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters in this story are all GRRM’s propriety and I won’t make a buck out of this.
Rating: NC-16
Warning: AU, underage, dubcon, suicidal thoughts
Pairing: SanSan
Word count: 5038
Beta: A special thanks to Wildsky Sheri for her help with this whole fic.
Eddard
Eddard was relieved: the wedding had been celebrated at last after nearly two whole moons of waiting and very soon, all this misadventure would be behind him. Well, not exactly, he corrected, thinking of Winterfell’s very soon-to-be new inhabitant. Life would never be the same for him and his family - no matter how much he wished it otherwise. Even when the blessed day he stopped being Hand of the realm finally came and he returned to his beloved North, the Hound would always be around.
The marriage ceremony had been celebrated earlier in the day and all the guests were now in the Hand’s Small Hall for the reception. Minstrels were singing and playing all the regular ballads to the joy of the youngest or simply more energetic of the crowd who had already left their tables to dance in the centre of the hall. A few small groups of men had formed throughout the place to chat and laugh very noisily, each of them with a tankard in hand but the quiet, elderly and greedy had preferred to keep their seats and were still crowded along the long tables.
Despite the initial unpopularity of Sansa and Sandor Clegane’s match, all the guests seemed to be having a great time and the disapproval with which the news had been received at first was now apparently all but forgotten. The fact that they had just assisted in the union of the daughter of one of the Seven Kingdoms’ most ancient and noble Houses and the grandson of a kennel master apparently didn’t bother anyone anymore. People always cease to complain when they are fed and given wine at someone else’s expense, Ned concluded bitterly. He was probably the only person in the hall not enjoying himself. Well, perhaps apart from Cersei Lannister, who was very haughtily nibbling at her food at the other end of the head table, a stiff little smile on her lips. The burning spark that shone in her emerald-green eyes anytime she glanced in the king’s direction made it easy for Ned to guess how much he annoyed her. Robert was standing nearby and laughing with some knights, one of his large hands laid on a very busty servant girl’s shoulder blade, all the while expertly ignoring his wife and children. Sitting by his mother’s side, Joffrey was talking to his two younger siblings with a superior air about him but the latter kept eating their dessert without giving him much attention.
Ned himself was so very tired. He had slept well for a few nights since Catelyn’s arrival to the capital a little more than a sennight before, however, the anticipation of having to face her had been the cause of many sleepless nights, of which he still bore the scars and he was now starting to fear he’d never be able to shake off the weariness that had lately became his constant companion.
“Oh, Sandor!” Eddard suddenly heard his daughter exclaim.
Even in the mist of the feast’s general hubbub, Clegane’s grating laughter easily reached his ears as it resounded in the hall in the same instant. Wincing, Ned turned to peer in the sound’s way, his displeasure only growing at seeing how Sansa was leaning on her new husband. They were holding onto each other as tightly as could be expected from any genuinely in love newlyweds and while Ned should logically have been happy to see his oldest daughter so happily married, he sadly was incapable. The groom was Sandor Clegane after all, a man more suited to staying married to his sword and living in barracks than being husband to such a genteel young lady as Sansa. At least, the fact that he cared for her was unquestionable to anyone who spent more than a few minutes by their side. In spite of how the idea did reassure him, having to constantly witness their affection was beyond irksome to Ned. His only consolation was that they had agreed to live separately until their second wedding and that his daughter had thereby slept peacefully in her own chamber every night since their return from the inn.
True to form, the king had been totally shocked when he first heard of Ned’s condition.
“To separate newlyweds?!” he had roared, his eyes wide with incomprehension and anger. “How could you ever have asked for something so harsh? Ned! This is beyond cruel and makes no sense at all!”
After long explanations, Robert had thankfully understood and very reluctantly admitted Eddard had a point. Nevertheless, he had insisted the Hound and Sansa be allowed to see each other as much as they wanted during the day. Ned had acceded to his friend’s demand and quickly begun suspecting Clegane had been given more time off than usual to compensate for his lonely nights. Almost daily, the man had come to the Tower of the Hand, requesting to see Sansa. While all his guards resented it, Eddard had instructed them not to interfere and always let him enter. He was even allowed to take her out as long as Ned was informed of where they were going, that their plans were reasonable and that Sansa was back at least an hour before supper.
Their outings consisted mainly of simple walks in the castle’s gardens but sometimes, the Hound would take Sansa out of the Red Keep’s walls to visit some of the high-end shops that thrived in the capital’s richest areas and she always came back with presents at such times. By now, her collection of precious jewels, scarves and exotic sweets had grown quite impressively but as if that wasn’t enough, around five new expensive-looking gowns had been delivered to the Tower of the Hand about a moon ago and three more had arrived recently. At that rate, it wouldn’t be very long before the Hound had spent the totality of his winnings from the Hand’s tourney. Such expenses were unreasonable and something Ned didn’t approve of, yet as Clegane was entitled to spend his gold as he wished, he had kept his opinion to himself.
Still, the worst to Eddard had been witnessing them strolling along the keep’s corridor, always arm in arm and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Servants and noblemen and women invariably stopped whatever they were doing to follow them with their gazes - some discreetly, others not at all. People were curious and never lost an occasion to see for themselves the most talked about lovers in King’s Landing. While Sansa had always been reserved and self-conscious in the past, with Clegane by her side, she became less timid and was often heard giggling loudly when she was with him, which of course only attracted more attention to them. At least, Eddard had never seen them kiss in public nor heard that they had but that was cold comfort that didn’t assuage his spirit much.
Taking a long gulp out of his tankard, Ned scanned the hall for his wife’s elegant form. She was near a corner, speaking with a group of older noblewomen and while the muscles of her face were tense, she nonetheless seemed serene. She hadn’t been when she first arrived at the capital.
Eddard had been very nervous to face her and with good reason, for Catelyn had glowered at him, her mouth pulled in a deep and severe frown from the moment she spotted him waiting for her at the port. Her agitation had been palpable even from afar and Ned had hoped upon seeing her that she had been able to sleep more than he had during her trip. Without even a kiss or a word of greeting, she had demanded explanations from him as soon as she had gotten near enough to speak. Ser Rodrik, who had made the journey with her, had seemed extremely ill-at-ease to be present at such a delicate and personal moment and had insisted on sitting outside the wagon next to the driver to give them some privacy. Once all the luggage had been retrieved and the horses had begun their slow progress through the packed and dirty streets of King’s Landing, Ned had at last acceded to his wife and begun recounting everything he had already told her in detail in the letter he had sent her. Many times, she interrupted him in his narration to make him repeat this or that, her disbelief and dismay plain as day. It had been obvious she had distrusted most of what he said. Ned couldn’t blame her for her scepticism: even he had first thought the love-philtre to be a charlatan’s fabrication, yet to see her doubt him had nevertheless been hurtful.
Poor Cat had written back the moment she had received his raven, imploring him to cancel that absurd wedding or at least, to put everything on hold until she arrived - because she would come no matter what he decided, she had promised in her postscript. By the tone of her letter, it had been obvious she had believed Ned had completely lost his mind due to exhaustion from his new position and that her presence was direly needed. Eddard had continued the preparations despite her adjurations - knowing that their cause was lost and that she wouldn’t be able to fix the situation as she probably hoped.
When he had informed Sansa and the Hound about Catelyn’s decision to attend their wedding and reminded them of the delay it implied, Clegane had predictably begun swearing. The impressive string of curses he uttered instantly brought a frown to Eddard’s brow, yet Sansa had calmed her beastly husband-to-be before he had to intervene which had once more forced him to remark on his daughter’s surprising ability to control him. Good for her, he had mused. Being the wife of such a man won’t always be easy but at least if he’s besotted enough with her to listen and try to behave when she asks, things will be more tolerable for everyone.
Catelyn had wished to see Sansa from the moment she set foot in the Red Keep but Ned had predicted everything and asked Sansa to spend the afternoon in her room for once so that he might speak to her mother undisturbed and that she be available when the time was right. The Hound had also been ordered to stay in his quarters lest he stumbled upon them by chance as they headed for the king’s solar as Cat would lose it completely if she caught sight of him. Ned didn’t want to start picturing how things might have gone in such an event.
To help him make Cat understand the plight they were in and be sure she realised he was still as sane as he had been when they last saw each other, Eddard had set up a little meeting with the king and Adelardus, the pyromancer responsible for the whole affair. Just as she had with him, Catelyn had made them repeat their accounts from beginning to end many times. She had desperately searched for a way out of the messy picture they were painting for her but it was all to no avail, she realised after hours of turning the situation upside down. Unshed tears were shining in her eyes when she finally yielded and admitted in the poised voice she used when she didn’t want to show her emotions that they had probably done the best they could. She had then promised she would accept the union if Sansa assured her herself that marrying Sandor Clegane was truly what she desired. Ned had breathed a sigh of relief at that. Having witnessed it himself, he knew how sensitive his daughter was on the subject and didn’t doubt for an instant that she would make a show of convincing her mother of the truthfulness and purity of the love she and the Hound shared.
Seeing his wife and daughter reunited had been moving to Ned. Both of them had jumped into each other’s arms and their embrace had lasted at least a couple of minutes. To allow them to have a private conversation, the man had shortly left the chamber and headed to his solar where a monstrously high pile of documents waited to be overviewed. After what had seemed to Ned as about two hours, Catelyn had joined him in his solar and announced that she was ready to see Sandor Clegane. The meeting that had followed had been awkward to say the least. As soon as their future son-in-law had appeared on the threshold, a hush had fallen over the room and Cat’s face had dropped for the split second it took for her to school her features and regain her cool. While she had already met the Hound in the past, she most likely had never given him much attention or even spoken to him. Tall and vigorous, he was certainly a capable and healthy-looking man, yet these qualities were overshadowed by the unforgiving burns that marred half of his face. And as if one flaw wasn’t enough, he was hardly likable with his unpredictable mood swings, sharp tongue and crude language. Eddard had feared the worst and silently prayed to the old gods that all went for the best as Clegane installed himself in the chair Catelyn was showing him to, not far from where Sansa was sitting. Her eyes on her betrothed, the latter had kindly greeted him with a broad and adoring smile on her lips, apparently unaware of her mother’s uneasiness.
From the moment the conversation started, it had been evident to Eddard by the subdued way he behaved that Sansa had coached the Hound. That had been a pleasant surprise, yet even at his most composed and civil, Clegane was still not a very courteous person. His posture was too relaxed, the look in his eyes slightly smug and his tone as dry and flat as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Not a woman to be easily impressed or discouraged, Cat had shortly taken the bull by the horns and began asking him questions about his family, his training as a warrior and his education just as she would have done with any proper suitor. Could he read? Could he write? Had he any other useful skills? It had gone on and on like that for what had seemed like hours to Ned. With a remarkable economy of words, the Hound had patiently but unenthusiastically answered every question with that hoarse voice of his, never elaborating unless Cat demanded more details - which she almost always did. The sun had been about to set when she had at last told Clegane he could go and the man had grunted a salutation and retired.
Despite the brave face she had shown throughout the interview, Catelyn had taken all this harder than one might have believed and she barely exchanged a word with Eddard all evening afterwards. She did retrieve her smile and break her silence for the hour that Arya visited them but no sooner had she been gone than Cat had secluded herself in a corner of their room and fallen back into her gloom. It had almost been a relief when she began weeping as they prepared for sleep.
“My poor little girl!” she had murmured over and over, unable to stop herself once she had started.
Sadly, as Ned had shared her pain and despair, he had been at a loss for soothing words. In his state of mind, his sole resort had been to hold her against him as they both fell asleep and offer her what meagre comfort he could while hoping that it might be enough.
Catelyn was no woman to bask in self-pity and Ned had therefore not been surprised when she awoke the next morning dry-eyed and ready to move on. Her determination to change her perspective for Sansa’s sake had been obvious and he never saw her cry about their daughter’s fate again afterwards.
Every morning that followed, she made a habit of accompanying Sansa to the balcony that overlooked the yard. From there, they would watch as the Hound sparred with knights and sellswords, all the while chatting and working on their embroidery. Once the men were done training, Clegane would always join them upstairs and Cat used the opportunity to have short discussions with him and get to know him better.
When later at night she would speak to Ned in the privacy of their chamber, her words about him were never negative. She would say things like: “Sandor Clegane is by far the fiercest and most skilled swordsman I have ever seen. It’s good; we can always trust him to protect Sansa. I can tell he loves her,” or: “Robb will gain a lot from practicing with him. Being challenged by a warrior so accomplished will keep him on his guard and teach him to never be lazy in battle,” and even: “He’s a hardworking man and we’re always in need of those in Winterfell. We’ll be the stronger for it.”
By the cold tone and lack of enthusiasm she used when she voiced these remarks, it had been evident to Ned that Catelyn had tried to convince him as well as herself. Yet, with each new day that came, the stratagem did on the trick for her, for she became progressively more relaxed and even began smiling more often to the point that Ned had soon been forced to realise that she was taking the union far better than himself.
It’s for the best. It’s she who’s going to have to live with him from now on - not me. It wouldn’t do for her to be continuously bitter about it, Ned had reasoned many times. Somehow though, while the notion was absurd, to witness her genuinely grow to accept the situation made him feel increasingly lonesome and miserable.
The impression was stronger than ever today as he contemplated the merry crowd he was surrounded with. All these people were reunited expressly to celebrate a wedding that didn’t make any sense at all, yet no one but he seemed to remember how it had come from a terrible mistake and had never been meant to happen.
Sighing deeply, Eddard pushed his tankard away and rose from his seat. He needed to relieve himself and since even so much as a moment by himself would do him some good he left the Hand’s Small Hall with no hesitation, only to bump into Arya as soon as he entered the corridor. Standing on just one foot, she was moving her arms around her in strange, smooth motions
“What are you doing, Arya?” he asked once he got within earshot.
Deep in concentration, the girl hadn’t noticed him and the surprise made her lose her balance. “Oh, it’s only you, Father!” she exclaimed with exaggerated relief as she turned toward him.
Eddard smiled indulgently at that, letting the slight pass.
“I’m practicing some exercises Syrio taught me,” Arya declared, her eyes shining with excitement as she approached him. “He says I’m still far too sloppy and need to apply myself and work very hard if I ever wish to become even a passable water dancer and so I’m using every free moment I have throughout the day to do it.”
“That’s good, Arya. Now, if you could only be as dedicated to Septa Mordane’s teaching,” he regretted wearily.
The comment made Arya instantly lose her enthusiasm. Her face grave with worry, she nervously bit at her lip while waiting for him to continue, yet thankfully for her, Ned was in no mood to lecture her. His eyes narrowed, he gave her a weak smile and petted her hair before continuing on his way to the privies but before he could get very far, a small voice halted him again.
“Thank you, Father,” Arya said so timidly, she didn’t even sound like herself.
“For what?” he inquired, turning to gaze at her.
Her hands nervously clasped before her, the girl was shifting her weight from foot to foot. “Letting Syrio come with us to Winterfell.”
“Oh, you’re welcome, Arya,” Eddard replied honestly. He had known how important it was for her and had not hesitated to consent when she had asked about it. “Just promise me you’ll be good and do your best with your other lessons too.”
This time, the demand didn’t make her lose her good humour and she nodded - a large grin on her lips - before abruptly running away to only the gods knew where.
Shaking his head, Ned turned around and resumed his progress. He had decided it was best he sent Arya to Winterfell along with Sansa, Septa Mordane and now, Syrio Forel also, since he didn’t see the sense in keeping her in King’s Landing alone with him when he was always so busy. Still adamant about joining their two Houses, Robert had very briefly opposed it, bringing forth the idea of betrothing her to Joffrey instead of Sansa but Ned had refused at once, reminding his friend of the crossroads incident. The king had growled at that but agreed their enmity was probably irrevocable. In the days that had followed, there had been talks of betrothing Arya to Tommen, yet that had been rejected also for they were both far too young and probably not very compatible either. In the end, it had been determined that Myrcella and Robb was probably the best match they could come up with within their two families. Many years would go by before they were both fit to marry though and Myrcella would stay by her brothers’ and parents’ sides in King’s Landing in the meantime. Nevertheless, it had been settled that Robb would spend a couple of moons each year in the capital so that both youths got to know each other and that his education on courtly matters could be perfected.
After his visit to the privy, Eddard very reluctantly returned to the Hand’s Small Hall and was immediately met by Catelyn when he entered.
“Ned, come over here, Sansa has something to tell you,” she informed him, laying a light hand on his upper arm and leading him toward the other side of the hall. Her lips were set in that tense but resigned smile she so often sported these days.
Unsure he really wanted to know - for he already had an idea of what the news might be - Eddard followed anyway until they were facing Sansa and Sandor Clegane. His daughter seemed a little anxious, although happy, and her new husband had a self-satisfied air about him that augured nothing good.
“Father, I…” Her face colouring a deep shade of pink, Sansa hesitated for a couple of seconds, took a deep breath and continued. “I wanted you to know before we leave for Winterfell that I’m… I’m with child,” she announced shyly. Despite her timidity, her elation was so tangible that it radiated all around her.
Eddard shut his eyes for a heartbeat or two, suddenly fearing his habitual headache would choose that moment to make its comeback. When he looked at her again, his daughter was staring at him with eyes gleaming with hope. She really wanted him to share her joy and thus Ned forced himself to repress the anguish he was assailed with.
“That’s wonderful, Sansa,” he said, trying hard to sound cheerful.
Regardless of how transparent Eddard was, Sansa was easily deceived and began beaming at him, however, her husband’s ugly smirk told a whole other story. The man could clearly see right through his lie.
Unaware of the wordless dialogue that went on between them, Sansa suddenly lost her self-restraint and started speaking with indubitable excitement. “Oh, Father! I’m so happy you share my joy! I don’t know what I’ll call him yet - or her, of course!” She giggled at that, blushing prettily. “Sandor told me I could choose our child’s name myself and promised me that he wouldn’t object to whatever I decide and although I’m happy and grateful, it’s such an important decision! I feel like I’m bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders!”
Her effervescence was a little overwhelming for Ned and he had to use all of his willpower just to keep the feeble smile that twisted his mouth in place. Cat was thankfully not as petrified as him: she was nodding in agreement, empathy and patience exuding from her. He could guess they had had that conversation already by the accord that seemed to exist between them and yet, while his wife’s expression was kind and sincere, worry lines creased her brow and surrounded her eyes. In spite of her support, there was no doubting she was just as uneasy as Ned at the thought of their daughter’s condition.
Just as Sansa was about to continue her babbling, indistinct calls reverberated in the hall, saving Ned from having to listen to his daughter’s impressions about her upcoming motherhood any longer. While he at first didn’t hear what the commotion was about, it soon became as clear as day once the rest of the crowd grew silent. “Bed them!” men’s voices were exclaiming, bringing Ned to wonder why learning of his daughter’s state had rendered him so uncomfortable. Shortly, nearly every male present at the reception joined his voice to the clamour while women smiled and giggled and Ned soon recognised even the king’s own baritone roaring the accursed chant, to his utter annoyance.
Men were quickly gathering all around them and as Eddard swept his gaze over their faces, he unwittingly locked eyes with Jaime Lannister who had somehow emerged right next to him. The knight cracked his most radiant smile at him but Ned hastily averted his stare, his face winkling with distaste. In the same instant, a yelp was heard coming from his side and as he jerked his head in the sound’s direction, Eddard realised some men had managed to snatch Sansa from her husband’s grasp. She was now engulfed in the middle of a large party of men and being led toward the door, the auburn locks that flew over her head all he could still see of her.
“Oh!” Sansa’s cry could be heard coming from the centre of the party.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” the Hound snarled, his face red with anger as he made to stride after them. “I want my wife back!”
“Relax, Sandor. The bedding is one of our oldest and most beloved traditions. Robbing these men of their fun wouldn’t be very nice, don’t you think?” Jaime Lannister reminded him, putting himself right before him while settling a friendly hand on his shoulder.
Glaring dismissively at him, the Hound pushed the other man out of his way without an ounce of delicacy. “Bugger your bloody tradition!” he snapped, rushing toward where his bride was being carried away. The Kingslayer laughed as he almost fell to the floor. “This is my wife and I-” Clegane was exclaiming before he finally noticed the group of courageous women that had interposed themselves in between him and the men. The latter were now exiting the Hand’s Small Hall to head for the chamber the king had demanded be prepared for Sansa and the Hound in Maegor's Holdfast. Ned was thankful for Robert’s gesture since he had feared his daughter’s own room in the Tower of the Hand wouldn’t offer the privacy a newlywed couple required.
“You! Out of my bloody way!” Clegane hissed at the women.
The group backed slightly away as one, their previous playfulness all but gone, yet none of them made to move from his path.
“Fine then. Stay right where you are. I don’t care: I’ll pass right through you,” the Hound warned, his shoulders squared threateningly, as he resumed his walk.
Squinting exasperatedly at the scene, Eddard winced and turned his back to the crowd. He was in no way curious to know how this would end and had had his fill of social interactions for the day, at the very least. All he wanted now was some peace and quiet and at this point of the wedding celebrations, he was convinced no one would miss him if he vanished and found refuge in his chamber.
The sound of women gasping in shock and men bursting out into laugher echoed in the hall behind Ned as he approached the stairs that led to the Tower of the Hand, encouraging him to hasten his pace. Yet just as he was about to climb the first step, an agile hand circled his elbow and stopped him. Halting and turning his head, the man was pleasantly surprised when he saw it was none other than his lovely wife.
“Seen enough?” she asked, a knowing look in her eyes.
Ned smiled tiredly and sighed. “For a lifetime,” he acquiesced wryly.
“Be prepared, Ned. There’s no knowing who our other children will fall in love with. This might be just the beginning.”
While she was obviously japing, the idea didn’t please him in the least. The wave of dread that flew over him at that instant didn’t escape Catelyn’s notice.
Gently squeezing his arm to comfort him, she bore her gaze into his, her head tilted to the side mischievously. “Come on now, Ned, don’t be so pessimistic. I can see you’ve been preoccupied for far too long. I know a cure for that, but first you need to forget about everything and only think about us for once,” she proposed in a soft murmur, a coy smile lighting up her beautiful face.
At hearing her words, Eddard felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Hmm, yes. I think I can do that,” he agreed lowly, his lips curving into his first authentic grin in a very long time. “You’re a very wise woman, you know that?”
“Of course,” she replied haughtily.
Ned chuckled and, arm in arm, they both resumed their progress towards their bedchamber, feeling as light-hearted as newlyweds.
THE END