Fic: Cut it Out and then Restart 25/?
Title: Cut it out and then Restart 25/?
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 3967
Warnings: *gasp* pretty much warning free this time!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM.
A/N: Once again, thank you to all the lovely people who review :)
Chapter 25
Four weeks after they receive the raven that Deepwood Motte has been retaken with minimum casualties, Robb and his forces are finally spotted approaching from the Northwest.
It has worried Sansa as she has waited for their return. Minimum casualties. Should Sandor have been harmed, would Robb think to send word of it? She knows her beloved’s strength, does not believe that the Ironborn would be able to harm him, and yet she cannot help but worry. Until she knows that he is safe and well she cannot be easy. As soon as word of their approach reaches her, she grabs Arya’s hand and runs with her to the top of the battlements, eyes searching eagerly for confirmation that he really is coming back to her, that their time of trials is almost at its end.
Sansa’s eyes strain as she tries to make sense of faces and details at this distance, until Arya gives an excited shout and points, her keen eyes having spotted his banner. Sansa sees it then, the sigil that she sewed with her own hands, and grabs her sister, hugging her fiercely.
“It shall all be right now,” She tells Arya happily, the relief palpable in her voice. “Everything is as it should be.”
Holding hands, they make their back down to the courtyard to await the arrival of the battle host, soon joined by their mother and Talisa. Their goodsister takes her time to come down with the assistance of her handmaiden, she is now heavily pregnant and eager to have her lord husband back before her time is upon her.
The forces enter, triumphant and yet obviously tired, the dust of the road upon them and the weariness of weeks of travel.
Robb shouts instructions before vaulting down from his horse, making his way over to them quickly, several of his principle bannermen and knights following. Sansa briefly catches Sandor’s eye, his slight nod of acknowledgement sends happiness coursing through her as she gives a warm smile in return, unable to help herself. He is as he ever was, alive and well and only battle weary and dusty and even dearer to her than ever before.
How she has missed him during this time, wished for the sight of him, for his hands and lips upon her body, his simple reassuring presence. She is not willing to wait any longer to be his; they have waited long enough, months upon months for the right time, a good time. That time is now and with her brother’s position secure at last, she may pursue her own happiness.
Robb approaches them, a fierce pride upon his face, a deep affection as he sees Talisa. He seizes his wife’s hand and kisses it, still holding it as he turns to face his mother.
“I bring you an important guest, mother.” He tells her, his voice that of a king, a warrior. “With the help of the Mormonts, we were able to capture Asha Greyjoy and some of her men when they tried to retreat. I trust you to see her suitably housed and that she remains safe. She is important leverage in our fight with the Ironborn.”
He nods once and Dacey Mormont steps forward, her hand tight around Asha Greyjoy’s arm to escort her. Sansa notices the resemblance between the lady and Theon and cannot help but think of her own small brothers, who might or might not be dead. Asha Greyjoy is cowed but not broken, a spark of resistance in her eyes as she allows them to lead her away along with the other prisoners. Should they be able to find Theon through her then they would have answers once and for all, and perhaps justice as well.
“Of course,” Lady Catelyn replies, shaken but doing her best to conceal it. “Lady Dacey, if you would escort her to the cells for now then I shall ensure that a secure room is prepared where she may be kept safely.”
Dacey Mormont nods respectfully and along with the rest of the guard, escorts the prisoners towards Winterfell’s cells.
The bannermen are dismissed then to find their own rest and food, and Sansa watches Sandor go with a longing gaze, catching his own quick glance back towards her. It is already afternoon with dusk fast approaching and she fears that there will be no time for privacy today, to meet him and be with him as she wishes.
“I would like to clean the dust of the road off me and then we should all meet within the Lord’s Solar.” Robb announces, “There is much to discuss and I wish to share the events of Deepwood Motte with you.”
“Yes, there is much to discuss.” Lady Catelyn agrees, and Sansa knows that she is thinking of Lady Brienne’s visit and the information revealed about Roose Bolton.
They agree to give their brother an hour to refresh himself and Sansa makes a quick decision. Nothing may come of it, but unable to bear the thought of not speaking with him until the morrow, she must at least try.
“I would like to go to the godswood to give thanks for Robb’s safe return.” Sansa announces, “I shall return in good time.”
“See that you do not linger there after dark,” Lady Catelyn instructs her, too preoccupied by her own concerns to think much of it. “We shall await you in the Lord’s solar.”
Sansa nods, and as the rest of her family walk back inside the Keep, Arya gives her a significant look. Scanning the courtyard quickly, Sansa catches sight of him on the far side, apparently seeing to his horse but with a gaze firmly fixed upon her movements. She looks away and heads towards the godswood, hoping that he shall know her meaning in doing so.
Arriving, she kneels in front of the Heart-tree and begins to pray, the wind rustling through the leaves above her. When younger she had been more attracted to her mother’s gods, loving the imagery and the songs that were associated with them. Now after the loss of her father she finds herself in godswoods more often, able to find a type of peace within them, a feeling of comfort.
“I thank you,” She tells the old gods, “For bringing both Robb and Sandor back safely and ensuring the success of my brother’s campaigns. We are home now and the main battles won, much of the balance restored. I would ask you to find my brothers if they are alive, and bring them back to us. They belong here, in their home. And Father… if Father should be able to see me then I hope that he will not be disappointed in me, in what I shall do. When he spoke of severing my engagement to Joffrey, I did not understand, I was foolish and I should have trusted him. He promised me that he would make a match with a high lord that was worthy of me, someone who was brave and gentle and strong.” She pauses, the words difficult now as she thinks on what her father would have wanted for her. “I have chosen for myself, and while I know that the man I have chosen is neither high born and nor would he be father’s choice, he is brave, and gentle, and strong. I hope that you might see me and be happy for me, Father.”
She bows her head then, tears slipping from her eyes. The betrayal of the dead is no easier than the betrayal of the living, and her father’s expectations rest as heavily on her shoulders as her mother’s do. With her mother, there is at least the chance to one day make peace. There is no possibility of ever receiving her father’s blessing.
As she sits in silence, her head bowed, the wind continues to pass through the branches above and a single leaf falls to land upon her shoulder. Looking up finally, blinking back her tears, Sansa cannot help but hope that it might be taken as a sign of benediction.
She hears him approaching then, his footsteps heavy even upon the soft loam. Still dusty and smelling of sweat, leather and horse yet she is upon him in an instant, throwing herself into his arms and kissing him fiercely.
He has washed his face and hands before coming to her, the clean smell of soap reaching her as he cups her face in his large palms, presses his mouth hard upon hers. He kisses her with an edge of desperation that she’s not felt in him before, almost biting her lip in his need. She opens her mouth to him and winds her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair that falls there. He is insistent, earnest in his passion, moving his hands to span her hips he pushes her closer, pressing her against him so tightly that she cannot help but feel his need.
Breaking off to glance back towards the entrance of the godswood and knowing that it is far too close, he lifts her up, still flush against him; one strong arm around her waist and the other wound tightly around her thighs. She grips his neck tightly, curled slightly into him as he carries her further in so they are better hidden before he puts her down, placing her feet once more upon the ground.
“If your gods are good, little bird, then I’ll not need to leave you for such a long time again.” He rasps, his need for her writ large across his face.
“Have you begun to believe in my gods then?” She asks him lightly.
He gives a grating laugh, his eyes glinting with humour. “You almost make me believe in them, girl, though if they were real they’d never allow the likes of me to have you.”
“Our Northern gods are the old gods, they care nothing for finery or rituals or rank, only for a true heart.” She tells him sincerely, “For all that you are a southron, perhaps they would suit you better than those you grew with.”
“Perhaps,” he agrees with a tilt of his head, “Though I need them not, nor am I about to start praying to them, but you…” He tilts his head to consider her properly. “I would worship you day and night, my lovely little bird.”
His meaning is unmistakeable and she places one hand above his heart, feeling the steady beat of it under her fingers. He places his own hand atop hers and bends to meet her mouth, sweeter this time, slower. She will be loved for the rest of her life, she knows it clearly in that moment. She shall have passion and strong arms to hold her and a gentle heart to love her beneath all of his armour.
She will never fail him. She will never falter in her own affections or trust.
It is no small thing that he has given her, to trust her not with his life but with his heart; as scarred and damaged as it is, kept locked away for so many years. She shall keep him safe in her own way, even as he shall protect her. She shall ensure that he is never without respect or trust or love again, that he always knows his worth as a man, that he never has cause to doubt that he is loved.
So she gives of herself to him then, pours it all into the kiss and hopes that he will understand. It shall not be so very long now before they must face the outcomes of their decisions and for the first time, Sansa feels a strange sense of calm at the prospect. She is ready and eager for it to be done with, to know what her destiny will be so that she may begin living it rather than waiting and hoping.
He breaks from her, his head bent so that he can meet her eyes. “It’s a risk to be here together at this time, you’d best be going. Shall we have an opportunity tomorrow?”
“I hope we might.” Sansa breathes. “I will send Arya with a message, once I know when we may meet. It is… I have missed you badly, it is difficult to leave you now.”
“Aye,” He agrees, “I’ve thought of little else on the road back. I’m to speak to your kingly brother soon, am I not? I’ll have you to myself soon enough and no more meeting in the shadows with one eye to the time. I’m to have you to myself soon, have you for my very own.”
It is a statement and a question both and Sansa nods eagerly, taking both of his hands in hers and bringing them to her cheeks. “As soon as you wish,” She tells him, “A week perhaps, to make our plans and settle things.” She holds his hands there, warm upon her, and tilts her face to kiss them both. “We shall not need to wait much longer,” she promises him.
They will have time tomorrow to talk and more besides and Sansa feels a flutter within her at the thought of it. She has thought of him constantly in the weeks that he has been gone, and of what might happen once he arrived back. She is ready, ready for more, ready for them to be one another’s in truth. She does not want any barriers to exist between them, does not wish to stop at caresses and kisses. It is unladylike, but she has realized that that means very little in the face of a real and passionate love.
“Until tomorrow then,” He replies, his lips twisted into an expectant grin, scars twisting with them.
“Until tomorrow,” She replies and stands on her toes to kiss his lips before hurrying away, out of the godswood and back to the Keep where she is expected.
**
They settle in the Lord’s Solar, Talisa with her feet upon a stool since these days they are often swollen and aching. Robb enters in a set of fresh clothes, his hair still damp from his bath and settles beside her.
They wait expectantly as he takes refreshment from the tray that Lady Catelyn has ordered delivered to the room until he finally sets his plate aside and turns to them.
“It was not as easy a battle as that at Torrhen’s Square, judging by Clegane’s report of that.” Robb begins with no preamble and Sansa keeps her expression calm at the mention of his name. “Asha Greyjoy is a capable commander and without the help of the Mormonts in destroying her longboats, she most likely would have escaped us.”
“And has she spoken?” Their mother breaks in, “Has she revealed anything about her brother, or about…”
The names of their own brothers remain unspoken, the hope still too raw and frail to allow them to be said aloud.
Robb shakes his head in a gesture of frustration. “That is what I wished to speak to you about. Asha Greyjoy remains mainly silent, but what she has revealed to me is that neither did Theon ever return to the Iron Islands after the sack of Winterfell and nor were any prisoners brought there. If she is telling the truth then this is worrying indeed.”
“Where could he have gone that our bannermen would not recognize him?” Sansa asks thoughtfully, “Unless he has taken a boat and gone further beyond our reach, across the Narrow Sea?”
“It is possible,” Robb admits, “But his sister believes that he never made the coast, and none of their ships carried him hence. He may have been able to hide while our forces were in the Riverlands, but surely now that our bannermen are returned to their own Castles and Keeps there is no place for him.”
“Could he have gone to the Wall, to take the Black?” Lady Catelyn asks sharply, “By the law of our land he would be beyond the reach of us then.”
Robb’s eyes flash briefly, “Jon would never allow it, for the love that he bore Bran and Rickon.” He counters, and then nods suddenly. “And Jon would know it, he is Lord Commander upon the Wall now, elected some time past.”
Sansa gasps and Arya gives an excited exclamation. “Really?” She asks Robb, “Do you think he will be able to visit us? Oh it would be wonderful to see him again!”
Lady Catelyn’s expression is tight, and Sansa knows that her mother does not consider it to be such a wonderful possibility at all. She cannot blame her lady mother for her feelings, it would be difficult to acknowledge the mistake of a beloved husband, evidence of a betrayal.
Yet however he was conceived, Jon is their brother and their father’s blood, and Sansa believes that Lord Eddard would want them to stand together, as the pack must do in order to survive the Winter. She wishes that her mother might see this as well, and find it in her heart to accept their half-brother at last.
“He is on the way here as we speak.” Robb announces calmly, his eyes flickering to his mother’s face to see her reaction. “I received a raven from him shortly before we set out for Deepwood Motte asking to visit upon official Night’s Watch business, a plea for our assistance. House Stark has always been a friend of the Night’s Watch and will always be so, and I asked him to come with all due haste, knowing that he should arrive shortly after we returned.”
It is a cruel thing to have concealed it from their mother until the visit is about to occur, and yet Sansa understands why her brother has done so, and why he has couched Jon’s visit in official terms. There is no option for refusal, and Jon will be welcomed to Winterfell with all due courtesy in his capacity as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch rather than as he had left, as the Lord’s bastard son.
There is gladness in her heart at the thought of seeing him, of seeing what he has made of himself out of the shadow of his position within their family, always the outsider. It was not right, the way he was treated, no matter what society expected. Arya had the right of it, none of it is fair and Sansa pledges that when Jon comes to them she shall be the sister that she should have been to him, in whatever little time they have. In seeking to spare her mother’s feelings, she injured his instead, always focusing upon the differences between them rather than the bond.
“Oh it will be good to see him.” Sansa says, meaning every word of it, and hopes that her mother may forgive her. She hopes that on seeing Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard son again, that Lady Catelyn may find it in her to be kind to him for the sake of her husband’s memory.
“We shall welcome him with all due honour, as befitting his post.” Lady Catelyn offers, her lips tight, her face drawn, before she sighs. “I also have news that I must share with you, and I am unsure how it might relate to your own.”
She briefly shares the news of Lady Brienne’s visit, and of what she had learned about Jaime Lannister and his brief captivity and release at Harrenhall.
Robb’s brow wrinkles as he thinks upon it, concern obvious upon his features.
“Roose Bolton never mentioned having the Kingslayer within his grasp, nor releasing him.” Robb comments, “I had sent messengers, asking that if recaptured he should be sent back to me immediately, and I know now that my command was ignored.”
“It would be folly to trust the Boltons,” Lady Catelyn counsels him, “They bent the knee to House Stark only when there was no other choice, and have given their share of treachery over the years. You must keep close watch on them.”
Robb sighs, looking weary and old beyond his years. “The last thing we need in the North now is to fight among ourselves, and yet I cannot ignore it. Ramsey Bolton has already proven himself to be both treacherous and cruel in the case of the Hornwood lands, and the rumours of his other activities are disturbing to say the least. I shall have to think carefully on this, and consult with those of my bannermen whom I trust implicitly.”
“And now we shall leave you to rest,” Lady Catelyn announces, standing up and gesturing to her daughters to do the same.
They make their way back to their room, Arya waiting until they are inside with the door closed before she begins to speak excitedly.
“Jon is coming! Oh Sansa, I’ve longed to see him so much, to hear him call me ‘little sister’ again. Just wait until I show him what progress I’ve made with Needle!”
Her sister’s eyes are shining with happiness and Sansa can’t help but smile along with her, “It will be good to see Jon again,” she agrees, “I am so happy to hear that he has been made Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Father would have been proud of him.”
They sit in silence for a moment, remembering the departed. If their father could see them now then perhaps he would be happy with what they have made of themselves. Sansa hopes that he would be proud of her and of the way she’s grown.
“You won’t leave before Jon’s come, will you?” Arya asks suddenly, “I would so very badly like to see him and if you should need to leave before that, if I was to actually come with you…”
“Do you still wish to?” Sansa asks Arya seriously, “It is something that you need to consider carefully. If Robb should not agree, we would be estranged from the family. If you come with us, then there will be no going back. We have only so very recently come home again, become a family again. If Bran and Rickon are alive then you may never be able to see them again. Even Jon...”
“Jon would not abandon us, no matter what.” Arya states confidently. “Although he has his duties now and I do not know when we would see him after this visit. I’ve thought about it seriously, Sansa, really I have. What future is there for me here? In a few years I will be married to someone for the sake of an alliance and who knows what type of man he’ll be? That’s not what I want, what I want…” She pauses and takes Sansa’s hand, completely serious for once. “I want what you have. I want someone who’ll let me be as I am and love me without wanting me to make me into something else.”
“Then we will ensure that you have it.” Sansa replies, squeezing her sister’s hand.
She will ask Sandor to delay his request to Robb for her hand until after her brother Jon has arrived, to be able to see him and say a final farewell if it comes to that. It will be a matter of no more than a week or two, but she hopes that it might be enough time to make peace with her family and to bring them to terms with her decision.
She is of the North, and it is here that she feels strongest. The blood that runs through her veins is that of the First Men and it is that which gives her courage.
It is that courage that will see her through.