Fic: When We Were Young 6/9?
Title: When We Were Young 6/9?
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 2664
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM
A/N: Modern AU set post ADWD. A huge thanks to Kimberlite8 for her help with this! Thank you also to everyone who has been commenting on the previous parts, it's meant a great deal to me as we move through this!
Chapter Five
The bus ride is long and he’s thankful for the air conditioning as she dozes upon his shoulder. He sits in the seat next to the aisle, the better to protect her if it should come to that, and ignores the stares of their fellow passengers. He knows they must make a strange pair - she, a pretty young woman; he, her older scarred companion. Yet the world has seen stranger and nobody thinks to question them.
She had been awake for the border crossing, presenting her passport with a bright smile and completing the formalities. After that she had chatted to him for a couple of hours, uncomplicated small talk about the holiday that they were apparently going on, a young couple on a grand adventure. It is all a ruse for their fellow passengers and he’s amazed at how deftly she does it, spinning web upon web of lies to form a cover story for them. For his own part he limits his conversation, nodding and giving short answers to her questions or exclamations.
Six hours over the border and she lays her head on his shoulder just as dusk begins to fall. He wonders if she’d planned this too, in order to paint the right picture.
Time passes and lulled by the motion of the bus and the sense that for now at least they are secure, he drops off to sleep as well. He wakes hours later to find that it is still dark, the scenery passing by outside in a blur, and looks down to find that she has curled further into him, their hands now entwined. Sleeping, her features for once at peace, she reminds him of the girl she used to be - far too innocent and full of hope for the world she lived in.
He wishes he knew what she wanted from him; what she truly wanted, not what she thinks she must give in order to secure his protection.
She need not doubt that he’ll keep her safe; it’s all he’s wanted since the day he told her the story of his scars, the day that she had reached out and touched him against all odds. He’d thought to frighten her, thought to show her exactly how fucked up life could be and that there were no such things as heroes. Instead she’d tried to comfort him, seen past his show of rage and recognised the pain within.
He’d known then, that she wasn’t like the rest. He’d known that he was well and truly lost.
**
He wakes her up as they pull into a highway stop for breakfast, shakes her shoulder slightly until she opens her eyes and peers up at him, the blue of them almost blinding.
Sansa smiles sleepily for a moment, a real smile though seemingly puzzled as she tries to work out where she is.
The moment passes and she sits up, schools her expression to one that is more neutral.
“We’ll grab some food, use the bathroom if you need to.” He tells her, “I’ll stand guard outside while you do.”
“I had a dream.” She replies, still unfocused, then shakes her head and moves to stand.
She doesn’t tell him what it was, and he prefers not to ask.
**
It is their last stop before they reach their destination and she doesn’t sleep now, instead she stares out the window at the scenery, occasionally pointing something out to him. He can tell that she’s guarded once more, careful of what she might let slip.
Midmorning and they’re deposited at a bus station in Mexico City. He waits until she has her pack on and then grabs her hand, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. She seems surprised for a moment and then tightens her fingers around his, interlacing them. Her hand is soft and warm and for a moment he forgets to wonder whether this is acting too.
They take a taxi to a hotel near the Zocalo, a budget place intended for backpackers that Elder Brother had recommended because they won’t stand out.
She takes his hand again as they sit in the taxi without any prompting to but stares out the window at the sights rather than looking at him, her eyes widening at something or the other, the excitement not feigned this time.
“I’ve never been to Mexico before,” She admits, turning around to face him. “Do you think… I mean, could we…”
“We’ll hang around for a few days, act the part of tourists.” He tells her, his voice low so that the cab driver might not hear them. “Better to shake off any attention and keep anyone who’s watching guessing.”
She smiles then, and he knows that she means it. It is a small thing but he is glad that he might do it for her, give her a few days to pretend she’s a girl like any other, a tourist in a foreign land.
They check in, paying in advance for five days, and carry their bags up to the room. The walls are thin, noise leaking in from both the corridor and the traffic outside. The room is simple but clean as can be expected at a hotel like this one. There is only one bed and Sansa’s eyes dart across to him for a moment as if she’s trying to work out exactly what his intentions are. It’s for the best though, the less attention they draw to themselves the better and they’re meant to be a couple here on a simple holiday, come to see the sights.
And see the sights they do, walking out after they’ve left their bags in the room to see cathedrals and squares and ruins. He keeps a hand upon her at all times lest he lose her, constantly alert for any danger here in a strange place where he doesn’t quite know the rules.
None presents itself though, it begins to seem as if the world truly has forgotten them and there’s nobody left on their trail. So he wraps his arm around her waist and Sansa leans into him as she checks a guidebook they’ve picked up at a second hand book store, reading out points about whatever place they’ve come to.
She practices her Spanish, sounding out the words and laughing suddenly when she remembers a phrase correctly.
“Mrs Mordane would be disappointed with how much I’ve forgotten.” Sansa comments as they eat their lunch, her attempts to explain herself to the waiter having been halting and needing some correction. “She always said I had a talent for languages, I did love learning them, I used to think…”
She breaks off suddenly, shaking her head and gives him a rueful smile. He knows that she feels she’s revealed too much but for her to have spoken even this much about her past is a start, an important step.
“You used to think what, Sansa?” He prods, keeping his posture purposefully relaxed, leaning back in his chair to take another sip of his beer.
She smiles then, a little self consciously, and looks down at her hands.
“I used to think that perhaps I could go into diplomacy one day. It seemed like such an exciting life, travelling the world, meeting people, helping to solve problems. I had thought that perhaps one day, after university…”
She trails off, and he knows why. There was no university for her, no chance to choose a career either, only a hasty forced marriage to the Imp as soon as she turned 18 in order to secure her claim. Whatever dreams she’d had when she was younger she assumes are long since over, with no chance to reclaim them.
“You’d be good at it.” He rasps, looking at her over the rim of the bottle, ensuring that she meets his gaze. “The fact you stayed alive as long as you did in the Lion’s den and then later with Littlefinger shows that. It’s not too late. You’re only 21, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you to do these things.”
Sansa gives him a small smile, as if she believes his words. “Maybe.” She tells him, and he hopes that perhaps she’s begun to consider possibilities for once this quest of theirs is over and they have her sister safely back with them again. Whether that future might include him or not is something that he won’t dwell on for now, not until they’ve overcome the immediate challenge.
They head out again into the city again, this time to visit a museum, and he watches as she wanders around the exhibits, reading placards and gazing wonderingly at ancient artifacts.
It’s almost easy to pretend that they are simple tourists, that’s there’s no decision more challenging for them to make than what to see that day or where to eat their dinner. Years ago he’d dreamed of this, though at the time he’d never have had the courage to admit it. If she’d agreed to go with him that night, if he hadn’t fucked it up so badly, then they might have ended up here sooner.
Yet what’s done is in the past and perhaps it’s best that they lost each other for a time. He’s not entirely certain that it all wouldn’t have gone to hell if he’d taken her with him that night. He’d never have hurt her, no, not on purpose, but he hadn’t known what the fuck he was doing and he would’ve likely gotten them both killed sooner or later, or eventually driven her away.
And now here they are, three years after that night, time and fate and the Spider having brought them back together again.
They go out to dinner to a cheap touristy restaurant in the neighbourhood of their hotel, where they order too many dishes and drink far too much beer. There are locals here as well as tourists and nobody pays much attention to them when they walk in. If anything it is the little bird who draws more curiousity than he does, young men glancing over at her as if wondering if they should try their luck only to lose their courage when they see him by her side.
The restaurant is crowded and loud, music playing at a level that easily masks conversation. Sansa brings her chair in closer so that they might talk, scooting over until their thighs are touching, leaning slightly into him as they eat and drink.
“What did you do after my sister left you in New Mexico?” She asks him curiously, eyes bright from too much drink but still focused. “Were you at the Mission all this time?”
“I was,” Sandor affirms, “The first few months after they found me I was useless for anything, could barely walk while the scar in my leg was healing. They set me to prayer, but I’ve never been much good at that, so they gave me work to do instead.”
“What type of work?” Sansa asks him, “I know that you… that you used to be a soldier before you joined the Lannisters.”
“Killing is the only work I’ve known since the time I was old enough to leave home, the only one I was ever good enough for.” Sandor answers her, aware that his tone reveals a bit too much bitterness but unwilling to mask it. “The Brothers set me to working with my hands; tending their gardens, digging graves for the villagers when it was needed, working at carpentry or with machines; It was a quiet life, it taught me a measure of peace and patience.”
“And yet you left it,” Sansa muses, “To return to this world.”
“I never intended to stay there,” Sandor tells her, turning his head to look at her where she sits by his side, noticing the contemplative look on her face. “There was nothing left for me to return to at first and I was a wanted man, so I waited and bided my time. Then I heard from the Spider that you’d been found and I took my leave and headed to Arizona the same day.”
“For me,” Sansa murmurs, her finger tracing the beads of moisture that slide slowly down the outside of the bottle she holds. “You came back to this life for me.”
“For the best. Can you imagine me as a Holy Brother, doling out Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers for the rest of my life?” Sandor rasps, wanting to distract her from the melancholy he senses she’s about to slip into.
Sansa shakes her head at that, smiling, and takes a deep sip from her bottle, her mood once again lighter.
Sandor holds his drink well as he’s always done but Sansa is swaying in her chair before too long and he thinks it might be past time to get her back to their room before she says or does something to draw attention to them. She laughs as he leads her out, laughs with such abandon that he would not have thought it possible and leans her head on his shoulder.
Back in the room and he deposits her on the bed, still fully clothed, and begins to take off her shoes, unlacing them before he pulls them off. She sits up, pushing herself up with her hands and looks at him intently, eyes slightly unfocused.
“Have you had enough that you want me now?” She asks him, a slight hitch in her voice at the end.
He can’t help snorting at her question, and placing his hand on her shoulder he pushes her gently back down onto the bed.
“Go to sleep, little bird. You’re drunk and out of your mind.” He tells her and turns out the lights, moving easily in the dark to complete his own preparations.
Ten minutes later and he’s in bed with her, resolutely sticking to his own side, when he feels it - the slight tremour as she shakes with suppressed tears, her back turned to him. There is much that he does not understand - why she cries now, and whether it is related to his refusal or simply a result of all she’s been through in the past week. She’s had too much to drink to be able to hold it inside her tonight but he doubts that even now she would tell him honestly what is in her heart.
He moves then, turns towards her and reaches out, pulls her flush against him, one arm snaking under her neck to wind around her front and grasp her shoulder, the other thrown over her and digging into her stomach. Buries his face in the hair at the nape of her neck and inhales deeply. Given their position it’ll soon become apparent just how damn much he does want her, and so much the better that she understands it once and for all.
“Will you tell me?” He asks her, his arms tight around her, his mouth close to her ear.
She shakes her head mutely, and he can feel her draw in a long, deep breath where his chest presses against her back. He understands, he won’t press when she’s not ready, when she’s still learning to trust again after so long without it.
“One day,” She whispers, “One day, I’ll tell you everything.”
But not tonight.
He lifts a hand to brush the hair away from her neck so that he might place a kiss upon her shoulder, his lips rough against her skin. He allows it to be that way for a moment before his hand returns to her stomach, his face remaining close to the back of her head.
She shudders and then quiets, curls into him, brings one hand to rest upon his.
He holds her like that for the rest of the night, wakes up still holding her, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to let her go.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 2664
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM
A/N: Modern AU set post ADWD. A huge thanks to Kimberlite8 for her help with this! Thank you also to everyone who has been commenting on the previous parts, it's meant a great deal to me as we move through this!
Chapter Five
The bus ride is long and he’s thankful for the air conditioning as she dozes upon his shoulder. He sits in the seat next to the aisle, the better to protect her if it should come to that, and ignores the stares of their fellow passengers. He knows they must make a strange pair - she, a pretty young woman; he, her older scarred companion. Yet the world has seen stranger and nobody thinks to question them.
She had been awake for the border crossing, presenting her passport with a bright smile and completing the formalities. After that she had chatted to him for a couple of hours, uncomplicated small talk about the holiday that they were apparently going on, a young couple on a grand adventure. It is all a ruse for their fellow passengers and he’s amazed at how deftly she does it, spinning web upon web of lies to form a cover story for them. For his own part he limits his conversation, nodding and giving short answers to her questions or exclamations.
Six hours over the border and she lays her head on his shoulder just as dusk begins to fall. He wonders if she’d planned this too, in order to paint the right picture.
Time passes and lulled by the motion of the bus and the sense that for now at least they are secure, he drops off to sleep as well. He wakes hours later to find that it is still dark, the scenery passing by outside in a blur, and looks down to find that she has curled further into him, their hands now entwined. Sleeping, her features for once at peace, she reminds him of the girl she used to be - far too innocent and full of hope for the world she lived in.
He wishes he knew what she wanted from him; what she truly wanted, not what she thinks she must give in order to secure his protection.
She need not doubt that he’ll keep her safe; it’s all he’s wanted since the day he told her the story of his scars, the day that she had reached out and touched him against all odds. He’d thought to frighten her, thought to show her exactly how fucked up life could be and that there were no such things as heroes. Instead she’d tried to comfort him, seen past his show of rage and recognised the pain within.
He’d known then, that she wasn’t like the rest. He’d known that he was well and truly lost.
**
He wakes her up as they pull into a highway stop for breakfast, shakes her shoulder slightly until she opens her eyes and peers up at him, the blue of them almost blinding.
Sansa smiles sleepily for a moment, a real smile though seemingly puzzled as she tries to work out where she is.
The moment passes and she sits up, schools her expression to one that is more neutral.
“We’ll grab some food, use the bathroom if you need to.” He tells her, “I’ll stand guard outside while you do.”
“I had a dream.” She replies, still unfocused, then shakes her head and moves to stand.
She doesn’t tell him what it was, and he prefers not to ask.
**
It is their last stop before they reach their destination and she doesn’t sleep now, instead she stares out the window at the scenery, occasionally pointing something out to him. He can tell that she’s guarded once more, careful of what she might let slip.
Midmorning and they’re deposited at a bus station in Mexico City. He waits until she has her pack on and then grabs her hand, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. She seems surprised for a moment and then tightens her fingers around his, interlacing them. Her hand is soft and warm and for a moment he forgets to wonder whether this is acting too.
They take a taxi to a hotel near the Zocalo, a budget place intended for backpackers that Elder Brother had recommended because they won’t stand out.
She takes his hand again as they sit in the taxi without any prompting to but stares out the window at the sights rather than looking at him, her eyes widening at something or the other, the excitement not feigned this time.
“I’ve never been to Mexico before,” She admits, turning around to face him. “Do you think… I mean, could we…”
“We’ll hang around for a few days, act the part of tourists.” He tells her, his voice low so that the cab driver might not hear them. “Better to shake off any attention and keep anyone who’s watching guessing.”
She smiles then, and he knows that she means it. It is a small thing but he is glad that he might do it for her, give her a few days to pretend she’s a girl like any other, a tourist in a foreign land.
They check in, paying in advance for five days, and carry their bags up to the room. The walls are thin, noise leaking in from both the corridor and the traffic outside. The room is simple but clean as can be expected at a hotel like this one. There is only one bed and Sansa’s eyes dart across to him for a moment as if she’s trying to work out exactly what his intentions are. It’s for the best though, the less attention they draw to themselves the better and they’re meant to be a couple here on a simple holiday, come to see the sights.
And see the sights they do, walking out after they’ve left their bags in the room to see cathedrals and squares and ruins. He keeps a hand upon her at all times lest he lose her, constantly alert for any danger here in a strange place where he doesn’t quite know the rules.
None presents itself though, it begins to seem as if the world truly has forgotten them and there’s nobody left on their trail. So he wraps his arm around her waist and Sansa leans into him as she checks a guidebook they’ve picked up at a second hand book store, reading out points about whatever place they’ve come to.
She practices her Spanish, sounding out the words and laughing suddenly when she remembers a phrase correctly.
“Mrs Mordane would be disappointed with how much I’ve forgotten.” Sansa comments as they eat their lunch, her attempts to explain herself to the waiter having been halting and needing some correction. “She always said I had a talent for languages, I did love learning them, I used to think…”
She breaks off suddenly, shaking her head and gives him a rueful smile. He knows that she feels she’s revealed too much but for her to have spoken even this much about her past is a start, an important step.
“You used to think what, Sansa?” He prods, keeping his posture purposefully relaxed, leaning back in his chair to take another sip of his beer.
She smiles then, a little self consciously, and looks down at her hands.
“I used to think that perhaps I could go into diplomacy one day. It seemed like such an exciting life, travelling the world, meeting people, helping to solve problems. I had thought that perhaps one day, after university…”
She trails off, and he knows why. There was no university for her, no chance to choose a career either, only a hasty forced marriage to the Imp as soon as she turned 18 in order to secure her claim. Whatever dreams she’d had when she was younger she assumes are long since over, with no chance to reclaim them.
“You’d be good at it.” He rasps, looking at her over the rim of the bottle, ensuring that she meets his gaze. “The fact you stayed alive as long as you did in the Lion’s den and then later with Littlefinger shows that. It’s not too late. You’re only 21, you’ve got a whole life ahead of you to do these things.”
Sansa gives him a small smile, as if she believes his words. “Maybe.” She tells him, and he hopes that perhaps she’s begun to consider possibilities for once this quest of theirs is over and they have her sister safely back with them again. Whether that future might include him or not is something that he won’t dwell on for now, not until they’ve overcome the immediate challenge.
They head out again into the city again, this time to visit a museum, and he watches as she wanders around the exhibits, reading placards and gazing wonderingly at ancient artifacts.
It’s almost easy to pretend that they are simple tourists, that’s there’s no decision more challenging for them to make than what to see that day or where to eat their dinner. Years ago he’d dreamed of this, though at the time he’d never have had the courage to admit it. If she’d agreed to go with him that night, if he hadn’t fucked it up so badly, then they might have ended up here sooner.
Yet what’s done is in the past and perhaps it’s best that they lost each other for a time. He’s not entirely certain that it all wouldn’t have gone to hell if he’d taken her with him that night. He’d never have hurt her, no, not on purpose, but he hadn’t known what the fuck he was doing and he would’ve likely gotten them both killed sooner or later, or eventually driven her away.
And now here they are, three years after that night, time and fate and the Spider having brought them back together again.
They go out to dinner to a cheap touristy restaurant in the neighbourhood of their hotel, where they order too many dishes and drink far too much beer. There are locals here as well as tourists and nobody pays much attention to them when they walk in. If anything it is the little bird who draws more curiousity than he does, young men glancing over at her as if wondering if they should try their luck only to lose their courage when they see him by her side.
The restaurant is crowded and loud, music playing at a level that easily masks conversation. Sansa brings her chair in closer so that they might talk, scooting over until their thighs are touching, leaning slightly into him as they eat and drink.
“What did you do after my sister left you in New Mexico?” She asks him curiously, eyes bright from too much drink but still focused. “Were you at the Mission all this time?”
“I was,” Sandor affirms, “The first few months after they found me I was useless for anything, could barely walk while the scar in my leg was healing. They set me to prayer, but I’ve never been much good at that, so they gave me work to do instead.”
“What type of work?” Sansa asks him, “I know that you… that you used to be a soldier before you joined the Lannisters.”
“Killing is the only work I’ve known since the time I was old enough to leave home, the only one I was ever good enough for.” Sandor answers her, aware that his tone reveals a bit too much bitterness but unwilling to mask it. “The Brothers set me to working with my hands; tending their gardens, digging graves for the villagers when it was needed, working at carpentry or with machines; It was a quiet life, it taught me a measure of peace and patience.”
“And yet you left it,” Sansa muses, “To return to this world.”
“I never intended to stay there,” Sandor tells her, turning his head to look at her where she sits by his side, noticing the contemplative look on her face. “There was nothing left for me to return to at first and I was a wanted man, so I waited and bided my time. Then I heard from the Spider that you’d been found and I took my leave and headed to Arizona the same day.”
“For me,” Sansa murmurs, her finger tracing the beads of moisture that slide slowly down the outside of the bottle she holds. “You came back to this life for me.”
“For the best. Can you imagine me as a Holy Brother, doling out Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers for the rest of my life?” Sandor rasps, wanting to distract her from the melancholy he senses she’s about to slip into.
Sansa shakes her head at that, smiling, and takes a deep sip from her bottle, her mood once again lighter.
Sandor holds his drink well as he’s always done but Sansa is swaying in her chair before too long and he thinks it might be past time to get her back to their room before she says or does something to draw attention to them. She laughs as he leads her out, laughs with such abandon that he would not have thought it possible and leans her head on his shoulder.
Back in the room and he deposits her on the bed, still fully clothed, and begins to take off her shoes, unlacing them before he pulls them off. She sits up, pushing herself up with her hands and looks at him intently, eyes slightly unfocused.
“Have you had enough that you want me now?” She asks him, a slight hitch in her voice at the end.
He can’t help snorting at her question, and placing his hand on her shoulder he pushes her gently back down onto the bed.
“Go to sleep, little bird. You’re drunk and out of your mind.” He tells her and turns out the lights, moving easily in the dark to complete his own preparations.
Ten minutes later and he’s in bed with her, resolutely sticking to his own side, when he feels it - the slight tremour as she shakes with suppressed tears, her back turned to him. There is much that he does not understand - why she cries now, and whether it is related to his refusal or simply a result of all she’s been through in the past week. She’s had too much to drink to be able to hold it inside her tonight but he doubts that even now she would tell him honestly what is in her heart.
He moves then, turns towards her and reaches out, pulls her flush against him, one arm snaking under her neck to wind around her front and grasp her shoulder, the other thrown over her and digging into her stomach. Buries his face in the hair at the nape of her neck and inhales deeply. Given their position it’ll soon become apparent just how damn much he does want her, and so much the better that she understands it once and for all.
“Will you tell me?” He asks her, his arms tight around her, his mouth close to her ear.
She shakes her head mutely, and he can feel her draw in a long, deep breath where his chest presses against her back. He understands, he won’t press when she’s not ready, when she’s still learning to trust again after so long without it.
“One day,” She whispers, “One day, I’ll tell you everything.”
But not tonight.
He lifts a hand to brush the hair away from her neck so that he might place a kiss upon her shoulder, his lips rough against her skin. He allows it to be that way for a moment before his hand returns to her stomach, his face remaining close to the back of her head.
She shudders and then quiets, curls into him, brings one hand to rest upon his.
He holds her like that for the rest of the night, wakes up still holding her, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to let her go.