Fic: When We Were Young 5/9?
Title: When We Were Young 5/9?
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 1800
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM
A/N: Modern AU set post ADWD. Special thanks to Kimberlite8 for her help with this!
Chapter Four
It takes him almost three days to reach the Mission, even though he stops only to sleep and eat. The night he kills Petyr Baelish he travels until dawn, until he’s far enough away, far enough to collapse in some nondescript motel that doesn’t even care to record the names of its guests and sleeps the day away.
He wakes up in the late afternoon and drives through the night again, eager to be back with her. She may not need him as she once did, but he believes that she needs protecting all the same. Needs someone to watch over her as she struggles to put the pieces of her broken life back together. Someone who won’t take advantage of her, as it would be so very easy to do.
Even with the evidence of his deeds close to hand, he wishes he could kill Littlefinger all over again. Wishes that he could kill every last Lannister, Frey, Bolton and all the rest of them for her, though it wouldn’t bring a single member of her family back.
The Lannisters seem to be doing a fine job of finishing themselves off without any help from him however. Last he’d heard, Cersei was in disgrace and had lost control of the empire and Kevan had been murdered. He’s heard that even Jaime Lannister has started fucking someone who isn’t his sister these days, has ignored Cersei’s calls for him to come to her aid. So much the fucking better for him. There’s still Tyrion, Sansa’s husband legally if in no other regard, but Sandor suspects that he hates his family almost as much as the little bird does.
He arrives at the Mission, early in the morning when most of the brothers are only just beginning to rise, and immediately seeks out Elder Brother, knowing that he will be sitting on the same hillside Sandor has known him to sit on for the past two years, watching the sun rise.
“So you’ve returned.” The older man comments, as Sandor sits down beside him.
“Did you doubt it?” Sandor grunts.
“No, but the girl was worried.” Elder Brother replies, “She’s barely spoken since she arrived here, has kept to herself.”
“She’s…” Sandor isn’t quite sure what to say, when he knows so little about what she is now. “Has she said anything to you?”
Elder Brother shakes his head, “She’s polite, but she won’t speak more than what’s required. We’ve let her be, it seemed to be best.” He claps Sandor on the shoulder, “Her documents are ready, as are yours. You can leave whenever you like.”
“Thank you,” Sandor tells the older man gruffly, “And for looking after her while I…”
Elder Brother holds up his hand to stop Sandor from stating it. “We will miss you here Sandor, but this was never your path. Look after her, try to help her as you were once helped.”
**
She is sitting in the Mission’s garden when he finds her, staring into the distance as if in deep thought. There is a blankness on her face that he cannot quite like, a sign that she has grown too adept at hiding her feelings.
Her hair is dyed dark brown now, the better to fit in where they’re going. Sandor can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever see her as she was again, those glorious locks of fire, if it will ever be safe for her to reveal her true self.
He’ll keep her safe, he swears it. He’ll never let anybody hurt her again.
He steps towards her without her hearing him, and it is only when he lays a heavy hand on her shoulder that she startles. There is fear in her eyes before she sees his face and then a stark relief. She moves to stand but he stops her with a press of his hand and steps in front of her instead. As she stares at him silently, wonderingly, he kneels in front of her.
“Here, little bird,” he tells her, holding the knife out solemnly. “Petyr Baelish is dead, and good riddance to him. He died by my hand, but by your word, and he knew it before the end.”
Knew that of all the people whose lives he’d ruined, of all the damage he’d done, it had been one defenseless girl who’d finally managed to get the better of him.
She reaches out to take the knife from him with shaking hands, holding it almost wonderingly, staring at the blood on it unblinkingly, as if it is impossible for her to look away.
When she looks at him again, still kneeling in front of her, there are tears in her eyes. She reaches out to touch his scarred cheek, cupping it as she once had all those years ago.
“I knew you would.” She tells him, and the simple trust in her voice almost knocks him over.
They stay that way for a long moment, her hand upon his cheek while he kneels in front of her. She is calm, her earlier fear when he had left her seemingly gone, but he feels her fingers tremble against him and knows that she is holding it inside.
He had taught her that, to hide what she thought and felt, to give them only what they wanted. Now she uses it upon him, stopping him from knowing her true state.
Then Sansa looks down at the knife in her other hand, a momentary confusion passing over her and Sandor reaches out to take it from her gently.
“Let it be buried here, little bird.” He tells her, “Let it be buried and over with and let it remain behind as we move forward.”
She nods once, suddenly strong in her decision, and he goes to fetch a spade.
**
The rest of the day is spent in conference with Elder Brother, finalizing their plans.
Sandor’s motorcycle will remain at the Mission, to be reclaimed if they ever pass this way again. They are close to the border here and they will cross it by bus, their forged documents good enough to stand up to close scrutiny. Sandor does not fear the border police, there is nobody looking for either of them now. He’s been dead for too many years and the missing Stark heiress hasn’t made the news for some time.
Their passports make them husband and wife, a cruel joke if ever he’s heard one, but at least it will enable him to stay by her side, to share a room and guard her at all times, to protect her as a husband would if anybody should try to get too close.
They’ll spend one more night here before they leave in the morning, no time to waste in case the consequences of Baelish’s killing should catch up to them. Sandor retires early, leaving them directly after dinner as Sansa picks at the food on her plate. They’ve been placed in separate rooms, though nearby, and he doesn’t think to see her until the next morning when they’re due to leave.
He falls asleep quickly, exhausted by the journey of the last few days, only to awaken a few hours later in the pitch dark, alerted by some movement.
His eyes adjust to the moonlight creeping in from outside the shutters and he spots her, sitting perched on the edge of the bed, looking at him he suspects, despite the dark. He has no idea what she’s doing there, why she’s crept into his room, and only hopes that she doesn’t plan to offer herself to him again, here and now.
He sighs, sits up slightly and pats the bed beside him.
“Lie down.” He tells her, “My face might look better this way, but there’s no reason to sit there all night staring at me in the dark.”
He wonders if she blushes at the words, but she gives no sign of embarrassment, crawling onto the bed and making her way up to him, climbing under the sheets.
She shifts slightly, self consciously, lying on her side so that her skin touches his but without pressing herself to him.
Internally cursing whatever gods there might be to hell, he reaches out and lifts her, shifts her so that she lies half across him, her head pillowed on his chest.
“Sleep now.” He tells her, curving his arm under her so that it snakes around to rest upon her head, a comforting weight. He holds her with the other arm, holds her close and wonders if it’s what she wanted.
She brings her own hand up to curl against his chest, clutches his shirt and gives a slight sigh.
He feels himself drifting back to sleep but for some reason he waits, expecting something, and sure enough she begins to whisper.
“It was never your scars that made me turn away, not truly. That wasn’t why I couldn’t look at you. It was the rage in you that scared me, but now… now that is gone.” She pauses, flattens her palm against his chest, right above his heart. “I prayed for the rage in you to be quieted, for you to find peace, and now…”
“Pity that was the only prayer of yours that came true, little bird.” He whispers back, unable to help himself, even though he knows that he should be pretending to be asleep.
“But it wasn’t.” She replies before she relaxes, her hand curling against him once more and her breathing becoming heavy.
It is a long time before he sleeps.
**
She is gone in the morning, crept out while he was fast asleep and he wonders about it.
Did she fear waking up to face him, to a repeat of those truths in the harsh light of day?
He bathes and dresses quickly, stuffs the rest of his meager belongings into the bag that the Brothers have provided him with. Knocks on her door and she opens it, dressed and ready and her gaze calm, with no acknowledgement of her visit to him last night.
“We’ll have our breakfast quickly and then they’ll drop us to the bus station.” He informs her and she nods her agreement, following him a step or two behind as he makes his way to the dining hall. They both take their bags with them, not wanting any unnecessary delays.
Elder Brother breaks his fast with them and then asks them to wait, briefly praying over their heads, that they might be protected by his god.
Sansa murmurs her thanks quietly and makes her way outside, while Elder Brother stays Sandor with a gesture of his hand.
“She needs you,” He tells Sandor quietly, “Don’t let her down.”
“Never.” Sandor promises, a fervent vow. The only vow he’ll ever make.
Outside he finds her with her face tilted up towards the sun, a deep sadness upon it that she tries to hide when she spots him.
“Time to fly south for the winter, little bird.” He tells her, and reaches out to take her hand.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 1800
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM
A/N: Modern AU set post ADWD. Special thanks to Kimberlite8 for her help with this!
Chapter Four
It takes him almost three days to reach the Mission, even though he stops only to sleep and eat. The night he kills Petyr Baelish he travels until dawn, until he’s far enough away, far enough to collapse in some nondescript motel that doesn’t even care to record the names of its guests and sleeps the day away.
He wakes up in the late afternoon and drives through the night again, eager to be back with her. She may not need him as she once did, but he believes that she needs protecting all the same. Needs someone to watch over her as she struggles to put the pieces of her broken life back together. Someone who won’t take advantage of her, as it would be so very easy to do.
Even with the evidence of his deeds close to hand, he wishes he could kill Littlefinger all over again. Wishes that he could kill every last Lannister, Frey, Bolton and all the rest of them for her, though it wouldn’t bring a single member of her family back.
The Lannisters seem to be doing a fine job of finishing themselves off without any help from him however. Last he’d heard, Cersei was in disgrace and had lost control of the empire and Kevan had been murdered. He’s heard that even Jaime Lannister has started fucking someone who isn’t his sister these days, has ignored Cersei’s calls for him to come to her aid. So much the fucking better for him. There’s still Tyrion, Sansa’s husband legally if in no other regard, but Sandor suspects that he hates his family almost as much as the little bird does.
He arrives at the Mission, early in the morning when most of the brothers are only just beginning to rise, and immediately seeks out Elder Brother, knowing that he will be sitting on the same hillside Sandor has known him to sit on for the past two years, watching the sun rise.
“So you’ve returned.” The older man comments, as Sandor sits down beside him.
“Did you doubt it?” Sandor grunts.
“No, but the girl was worried.” Elder Brother replies, “She’s barely spoken since she arrived here, has kept to herself.”
“She’s…” Sandor isn’t quite sure what to say, when he knows so little about what she is now. “Has she said anything to you?”
Elder Brother shakes his head, “She’s polite, but she won’t speak more than what’s required. We’ve let her be, it seemed to be best.” He claps Sandor on the shoulder, “Her documents are ready, as are yours. You can leave whenever you like.”
“Thank you,” Sandor tells the older man gruffly, “And for looking after her while I…”
Elder Brother holds up his hand to stop Sandor from stating it. “We will miss you here Sandor, but this was never your path. Look after her, try to help her as you were once helped.”
**
She is sitting in the Mission’s garden when he finds her, staring into the distance as if in deep thought. There is a blankness on her face that he cannot quite like, a sign that she has grown too adept at hiding her feelings.
Her hair is dyed dark brown now, the better to fit in where they’re going. Sandor can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever see her as she was again, those glorious locks of fire, if it will ever be safe for her to reveal her true self.
He’ll keep her safe, he swears it. He’ll never let anybody hurt her again.
He steps towards her without her hearing him, and it is only when he lays a heavy hand on her shoulder that she startles. There is fear in her eyes before she sees his face and then a stark relief. She moves to stand but he stops her with a press of his hand and steps in front of her instead. As she stares at him silently, wonderingly, he kneels in front of her.
“Here, little bird,” he tells her, holding the knife out solemnly. “Petyr Baelish is dead, and good riddance to him. He died by my hand, but by your word, and he knew it before the end.”
Knew that of all the people whose lives he’d ruined, of all the damage he’d done, it had been one defenseless girl who’d finally managed to get the better of him.
She reaches out to take the knife from him with shaking hands, holding it almost wonderingly, staring at the blood on it unblinkingly, as if it is impossible for her to look away.
When she looks at him again, still kneeling in front of her, there are tears in her eyes. She reaches out to touch his scarred cheek, cupping it as she once had all those years ago.
“I knew you would.” She tells him, and the simple trust in her voice almost knocks him over.
They stay that way for a long moment, her hand upon his cheek while he kneels in front of her. She is calm, her earlier fear when he had left her seemingly gone, but he feels her fingers tremble against him and knows that she is holding it inside.
He had taught her that, to hide what she thought and felt, to give them only what they wanted. Now she uses it upon him, stopping him from knowing her true state.
Then Sansa looks down at the knife in her other hand, a momentary confusion passing over her and Sandor reaches out to take it from her gently.
“Let it be buried here, little bird.” He tells her, “Let it be buried and over with and let it remain behind as we move forward.”
She nods once, suddenly strong in her decision, and he goes to fetch a spade.
**
The rest of the day is spent in conference with Elder Brother, finalizing their plans.
Sandor’s motorcycle will remain at the Mission, to be reclaimed if they ever pass this way again. They are close to the border here and they will cross it by bus, their forged documents good enough to stand up to close scrutiny. Sandor does not fear the border police, there is nobody looking for either of them now. He’s been dead for too many years and the missing Stark heiress hasn’t made the news for some time.
Their passports make them husband and wife, a cruel joke if ever he’s heard one, but at least it will enable him to stay by her side, to share a room and guard her at all times, to protect her as a husband would if anybody should try to get too close.
They’ll spend one more night here before they leave in the morning, no time to waste in case the consequences of Baelish’s killing should catch up to them. Sandor retires early, leaving them directly after dinner as Sansa picks at the food on her plate. They’ve been placed in separate rooms, though nearby, and he doesn’t think to see her until the next morning when they’re due to leave.
He falls asleep quickly, exhausted by the journey of the last few days, only to awaken a few hours later in the pitch dark, alerted by some movement.
His eyes adjust to the moonlight creeping in from outside the shutters and he spots her, sitting perched on the edge of the bed, looking at him he suspects, despite the dark. He has no idea what she’s doing there, why she’s crept into his room, and only hopes that she doesn’t plan to offer herself to him again, here and now.
He sighs, sits up slightly and pats the bed beside him.
“Lie down.” He tells her, “My face might look better this way, but there’s no reason to sit there all night staring at me in the dark.”
He wonders if she blushes at the words, but she gives no sign of embarrassment, crawling onto the bed and making her way up to him, climbing under the sheets.
She shifts slightly, self consciously, lying on her side so that her skin touches his but without pressing herself to him.
Internally cursing whatever gods there might be to hell, he reaches out and lifts her, shifts her so that she lies half across him, her head pillowed on his chest.
“Sleep now.” He tells her, curving his arm under her so that it snakes around to rest upon her head, a comforting weight. He holds her with the other arm, holds her close and wonders if it’s what she wanted.
She brings her own hand up to curl against his chest, clutches his shirt and gives a slight sigh.
He feels himself drifting back to sleep but for some reason he waits, expecting something, and sure enough she begins to whisper.
“It was never your scars that made me turn away, not truly. That wasn’t why I couldn’t look at you. It was the rage in you that scared me, but now… now that is gone.” She pauses, flattens her palm against his chest, right above his heart. “I prayed for the rage in you to be quieted, for you to find peace, and now…”
“Pity that was the only prayer of yours that came true, little bird.” He whispers back, unable to help himself, even though he knows that he should be pretending to be asleep.
“But it wasn’t.” She replies before she relaxes, her hand curling against him once more and her breathing becoming heavy.
It is a long time before he sleeps.
**
She is gone in the morning, crept out while he was fast asleep and he wonders about it.
Did she fear waking up to face him, to a repeat of those truths in the harsh light of day?
He bathes and dresses quickly, stuffs the rest of his meager belongings into the bag that the Brothers have provided him with. Knocks on her door and she opens it, dressed and ready and her gaze calm, with no acknowledgement of her visit to him last night.
“We’ll have our breakfast quickly and then they’ll drop us to the bus station.” He informs her and she nods her agreement, following him a step or two behind as he makes his way to the dining hall. They both take their bags with them, not wanting any unnecessary delays.
Elder Brother breaks his fast with them and then asks them to wait, briefly praying over their heads, that they might be protected by his god.
Sansa murmurs her thanks quietly and makes her way outside, while Elder Brother stays Sandor with a gesture of his hand.
“She needs you,” He tells Sandor quietly, “Don’t let her down.”
“Never.” Sandor promises, a fervent vow. The only vow he’ll ever make.
Outside he finds her with her face tilted up towards the sun, a deep sadness upon it that she tries to hide when she spots him.
“Time to fly south for the winter, little bird.” He tells her, and reaches out to take her hand.