Fic: Cut it Out and then Restart 19/?
Title: Cut it out and then Restart 19/?
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 4005
Warnings: Some swearing
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM.
A/N: Slightly early this week since I ended it on a bit of a cliffhanger last time! Thank you for all the lovely reviews, you all make me want to write faster and better!
Chapter 19
“Kill the guards and grab the Stark girls quickly!” the man in charge of party yells, his eyes upon them as he brandishes his sword. Sansa does not know his name but she recognises that he is a Frey, knows it looking upon his weasel-like face. Their guards scramble into place, shields up to defend but Sansa knows with a sudden shot of fear that it will not be enough. These are good men but not good enough and they are outnumbered. Robb never expected an attack from this quarter, the best fighters have been assigned to the siege.
Oh gods, Sandor, if only he were here…
“Are you without honour, Ser?” She calls out, her voice breaking in her fear. “We are ladies, and defenseless. Whatever your quarrel is with my brother, if you are honourable men you will not take out your anger upon us.”
“My, aren’t you a pretty one and chatty too?” The leader cackles, “Maybe I’ll claim you for myself when we’re back to the Twins. Well, well, who’s this with you? Looks like the foreign cunt the Young Wolf broke his promises for.”
Even as Sansa glances behind her at Talisa and Arya edges her horse slightly forward, one hand on Needle’s hilt, the man laughs again. “Extra gold for the man that kills the foreign bitch,” he tells his men, “But make sure the Stark girls are unharmed, we need them.”
As simple as that and the enemy forces spring to life, their horses dashing forward to clash with the Stark soldiers. Sansa fights to keep herself from freezing, desperately reaching out a hand to Arya as they see the lines in front of them begin to break.
“We must protect Talisa, get her away from here.” She tells her sister urgently, “They won’t kill us, we can be rescued, but her…”
Arya nods grimly and Sansa looks back once more to see that Talisa’s normally confident face is pale with fear as she looks around desperately for a way out. They are surrounded on all sides, but at that moment Sansa sees a gap appear as one of their own knights is cut down and a Frey man rides towards them.
“Go!” Sansa screams at her goodsister as Arya rides forward to block the man’s path, Needle already in hand, Sansa maneuvering her own horse to cut off another man. Talisa is motionless in fright but Sansa turns to hit her horse hard upon its quarters, making it dash forward with all speed.
“You stupid little bitch!” she hears from one of the men nearby, even as two of the Frey men break off to give chase to Talisa’s horse. Sansa prays that her goodsister will be quick enough, that she can make it to the main host before they can catch up to her. Another knight falls, this one just in front of her and Sansa screams as the Frey who had been fighting him reaches her.
“Sansa, dagger!” Arya yells from her position somewhere nearby, and more from instinct than any real skill, Sansa draws the dagger from the sheath on her wrist and slashes blindly at her attackers face. He yells and reels back from her, blood dripping from a long cut down his cheek.
“You little whore, I’ll make you pay for that!” He screams, reaching for her once again only to be stopped by one of their remaining guards burying his sword into the man’s back.
With complete terror, Sansa realizes that there are only seven men left fighting on their side, and only very few dead from the Freys and their men. Seeing another man charging towards her, she kicks her horse’s sides, maneuvering out of the way and ducking to avoid his hand as he tries to grab her.
“Arya!” she calls out, trying desperately to make her way towards her sister.
“You won’t be getting away that easily,” The leader laughs as he approaches her himself.
Sansa brandishes her dagger, gripping it tightly in fear but the man laughs and smashes his shield against her hand, causing her to drop it.
“Lost your claw now have you, she-wolf?” he asks her mockingly and grabs her arm, beginning to pull her from her saddle and onto his horse.
Sandor… Sandor… through a haze of panic, Sansa can almost hear his voice, advising her about how to protect herself, the importance of the element of surprise.
With sudden clarity she remembers the dagger strapped to her ankle and twisting away from the Frey she bends down, using her free arm to grab it. Before he can realize what is happening she slashes at him, cutting deeply into the flesh of his arm and making him let go of her in shock.
She urges her horse forward, trying to get to Arya so that they might fight together, the second dagger still in her hand, but the man grabs at her, catching her sleeve and dragging her backwards.
“You’ll pray that we’d had orders to kill you once I’m done with you!” He screams, “You’ll pray for death!”
She twists, trying to escape him, trying to wait until the right moment to strike so that he can’t knock away this dagger too. She has never been so terrified in her entire life, and she knows that she cannot allow the men to take them from here, she knows what they will do to her and Arya if they do.
She can hear Arya screaming out profanities from where she fights, calling the men who have attacked them all sorts of names. All Sansa can hope is that Arya can get away, that she at least can be safe.
Sansa will die if she has to rather than let them have her, but oh gods, Sandor, Sandor, if only…
As the man yanks on her hair and grabs her arm again, Sansa screams for him, screams Sandor’s name, a prayer to any god that might be listening.
Perhaps she really is about to die, because she swears that she can hear his voice yelling above the din of battle, and as Sansa feels the man who has a hold on her let her go as if in shock she scrambles back onto her horse properly, urging it forward and towards Arya again.
“The Hound!” she hears Arya scream hoarsely, “He’s going to kill every last one of you, you stinking sons of whores! He’s going to cut off your heads and pull out your guts, each and every one of you, you craven weasels!”
Sansa turns back, dagger in hand and ready to stab the leader in the eye if he tries to touch her again, determined not to lose her one remaining weapon. As she catches sight of the figure approaching at a frantic pace she can only to let out a thankful sob, almost falling from her saddle in her relief even as she continues to grip her dagger tightly.
Because riding down upon the man, screaming with a blind fury as if he were the Stranger himself, is Sandor. Sansa sees the stark terror on the Frey’s face as he tries to raise his sword, only to be cut almost in half as Sandor’s sword comes down upon him.
“Get yourself and Arya to safety!” Sandor yells at her, barely pausing before turning to hunt down his next prey.
Despite knowing she should do as he asks, Sansa cannot help herself from watching him fight, even as ten of his men ride up to join him, riding into the fray. He attacks his enemies with a rage that she has not seen in months, a rage that she had previously thought reserved only for his brother as he cleaves into their bodies, separating limbs or killing them quickly with vicious strokes.
Frozen in place, Sansa’s trance is broken only when Arya rides over to join her, Needle still grasped tightly in one hand, her knuckles white. Sansa wipes her remaining dagger on her skirt before replacing it in the wrist sheath and reaches out to grab her sister’s other hand.
“I thought we were dead, I thought they were going to take us, and… and…” Arya stammers, “I think I killed two of them, maybe three, but there were so many and…”
“You did so well,” Sansa tells her sister, “You were so brave, I didn’t know what to do, I… I lost my other dagger, he knocked it from my hand, I thought that it was over, that…”
She looks back to see that the tide of the battle has turned, the last of the Freys attempting to flee as Sandor calls out orders for his men to pursue them before he wheels his horse around, riding over to them before jumping down from the big destrier’s back and closing the remaining distance between them.
Sansa sees that his face is pale beneath his scars, the fear more noticeable in his eyes now that the rage is fading.
“You’re alright now, you’re alright. I’ve got you.” He says as he reaches up for her to help her down, and she does not know whether he is trying to reassure her or himself.
She puts her hands on his shoulders and tries to dismount but she can’t stop shaking or find the strength to move, and taking another step forward Sandor grabs her around the waist and lifts her off, crushing her to him as she begins to sob. He grips her so tightly that she’ll be surprised if there’s no bruises from it the next day, murmuring words into her hair that she can’t quite hear.
“Never again,” he says finally, still gripping her tightly as she continues to sob. “I swear I’ll kill every single one of those cocksucking whoresons of Freys that I can get my hands on, I swear it on every single one of your fucking gods. I’ll burn their castle to the fucking ground and wipe out every single one of them.”
“I thought of you,” Sansa sobs, lifting her head to look up at him, “I tried to remember what you taught me, and I stabbed one of them and got away from him, but the next one, he knocked the dagger from my hand, and I couldn’t get away. If you hadn’t come…”
“I won’t let anybody hurt you again,” he swears fiercely, still gripping her tightly and she can read the fear in his eyes clearly now. “I swear I’ll kill every last one of them, nobody will hurt you again.”
Collecting himself, he moves away from her finally, one hand still gripped tightly around her forearm, and uses the other to reach up and grab Arya around the waist, lifting her down from her horse easily with one arm.
“You did well, little wolf.” He tells Arya seriously, “I saw you fighting as I rode up, I’m sure you did for at least four of them.”
“Three maybe,” Arya says, sounding as if she is in a slight daze. “I’ve never… not like that, not with all of them at once…”
“Wipe your sword now,” Sandor tells Arya gently, a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t want the blood of those whoresons to rust your blade.”
Arya nods shakily and ripping off a torn portion of her dress, cleans the blade quickly before putting it back in its sheath.
Spotting his men returning from their pursuit, Sandor finally lets go of Sansa’s arm and she reaches out to hug Arya, embracing her tightly.
“All dead.” One man reports with a grim satisfaction as he rides up, “None escaped.”
“Talisa!” Sansa suddenly gasps, “Is she safe? She was being pursued…”
“I cut them down on the way here, she’ll be back in the host by now.” Sandor remarks, reaching out to grip Sansa’s shoulder. “You’re alright aren’t you? They didn’t get a chance to hurt either of you?”
Sansa glances over at Arya who nods, “We’re fine,” she reassures him, “He smashed his shield into my hand, I fear the bruising will be bad but apart from that we are unharmed. They meant to take us alive.”
Sandor spat on the ground, “I can guess what they meant to do with you too.” He comments darkly, before turning back to her once again. “Seven hells, when I saw that riderless horse appear, I…”
He is interrupted as Robb rides up with twenty more men, Grey Wind running alongside them. Their brother vaults off his horse and strides forward, pulling them both into an embrace.
“You’re alright?” he asks them both shakily, “I should have known better, that the Freys would plan something, I should’ve kept a larger guard for you or known to keep you closer to the main host.”
“We’re alright, Robb.” Sansa reassures him, “You couldn’t have known. They wished to take us alive and so we managed to hold them off until help arrived. Arya killed a few, I… I could not do much but I did my best. I lost my other dagger though, I don’t know…”
She feels dangerously close to tears again, and knows that she is close to collapsing from the shock of it all as Robb hugs them both closer.
Sansa tries to respond to Robb’s worried queries as she watches Sandor walk away towards where the battle occurred, clapping one of his men on the shoulder and having a brief word with another before he strides on, leaning down to check bodies as he passes them.
“They wanted to kill Talisa,” she hears Arya say and turns back to the conversation, “But she’s alright, isn’t she?”
“Luckily Clegane saw the scout’s horse even before the man you sent to warn us arrived and left with a group of his men or I don’t know what would have happened.” Robb comments, shaking his head. “I only found out when Talisa reached the host, she said that he cut down both the men pursuing her without pause and kept going. If they had gotten to her…”
The fear in her brother’s face is apparent and he shakes his head as if to rid himself of it, “Thank the gods that you are all alright, I shall never allow anything like this to happen again.” he swears fervently.
Sansa is about to say something in reply when she feels the slight touch of a hand on her back and knows that Sandor has returned.
She turns to face him, fixing her eyes upon his face to catch his, hoping to reassure him that she truly is alright.
“Thought you might be missing this one,” Sandor announces gruffly, aware that in her brother’s presence he cannot display his own worry or relief. He holds out her other dagger, the blade already clean and Sansa extends one shaking hand to take it from him, clutching it as if it is life itself.
Arya gives a sudden almost hysterical laugh and they all turn to face her, wondering what could have possibly set her off.
Arya turns towards Sansa then, reaching out a shaking hand towards her. “Do you remember, Sansa? ‘The Stark Sisters and their Blades’, maybe they really will make a song about us now.”
Not sure whether she wants to laugh or cry at the way the long ago joke has come true, Sansa settles for both.
**
Sandor lifts both girls back onto their horses quickly and deftly before directing one of his men to take their reins. Sansa tries to catch his eye once again but all she receives is a nod in reply, they both know the dangers of revealing too much while others are present, no matter how badly she aches to be comforted by him.
“I thank you,” Sansa hears Robb say to Sandor before they set off. “Without your quick thinking I might have lost both my sisters and my wife today. You shall be duly rewarded.”
“Aye well, I didn’t do it for any reward. Killing these cravens was reward enough for me.” Sandor replies gruffly, “What do you want done with the bodies?”
“Leave the Freys and their men for the crows.” Robb remarks coldly, “When Walder Frey sends men to look for them, let them see the results of their treachery. We shall bury our own dead.”
“I’ll have some of the men see to it.” Sandor rasps, and with a final nod to Robb walks away to see it done.
Sansa allows herself to be led towards the siege camp in a daze, still attempting to overcome the shock of the day’s events. She barely registers it as Robb helps them both down from their horses, as they are led to their mother’s tent to rest until one can be prepared for them, as their mother rushes up to embrace them both, crying and hugging them tightly. Hearing about the attack she had feared them dead or taken, and her relief is tempered by a renewed grief as she remembers the loss of her two younger sons.
Lady Catelyn pours them both some wine and insists they drink it to take the edge off the shock, but Sansa can barely taste it as it goes down her throat. Their mother fusses over them until the tent is prepared then leads them there, helping to settle them inside.
It is already growing dark and once they are both lying upon their pallets and furs, she kisses them both on the forehead with instructions to rest and leaves, telling them that she is going to check upon Talisa.
For a long moment there is silence, before Arya finally speaks.
“I thought we were going to die,” she whispers to Sansa from across the tent, “I kept thinking of everything I hadn’t done yet, of everything that I would regret. We would never have seen home again, I would’ve never seen Nymeria again, the last time I saw Gendry I told him he was an idiot. He is an idiot, but still if I died… I thought that maybe…”
Sansa gets up and goes over to her sister’s pallet, lying down beside her and hugging her. “They wouldn’t have killed us, not if they could avoid it.” She comments, “They meant to take us back to the Twins.”
“What would they have done to us?” Arya asks her, the fear obvious in her voice.
“You know what they would’ve done.” Sansa replies, her own voice quiet and shaking slightly. “What they would’ve wanted to do… If they killed Talisa and took us then they would control Robb’s only heirs, they would’ve…”
Arya nods suddenly, an indication that she understands and doesn’t want to hear anymore.
They’re silent again, holding each other tighter and it is some time before Arya speaks again.
“When I saw Sandor riding up… I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad. I knew he’d kill them all, I knew he’d keep us safe. Did you see the looks on their faces? They all knew they were going to die as soon as they saw him.”
It is the first time that Arya has referred to him by his proper name, and Sansa cannot help but notice it.
“He won’t let anything happen to us, either of us.” Sansa murmurs, “He swore that he’d keep me safe, he’ll keep you safe too. He’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt us.”
Arya reaches out and grips Sansa’s hand tightly, and in that moment Sansa knows that her sister finally understands, that she now knows what it means to love someone.
“I’m very glad that you have him, and that he loves you.” Arya tells her earnestly, “He’ll keep you happy and he’ll protect you. He’s a good man, I won’t taunt him anymore. He can kiss you as often as he likes without any complaint from me.”
Sansa laughs softly and kisses her sister on the top of the head. “Sleep now,” she tells Arya, “In the morning we’ll go and check on Talisa, and then see the siege. We’ll look for his banner and we’ll watch him and Robb when the attack takes place the next day.”
Her sister nods sleepily and Sansa returns to her own pallet, wrapping herself in her furs and allowing sleep to claim her.
She dreams of running, trying to evade hands, blood on her dress and a dagger in her hands. She runs but can’t escape them, grasping fingers reaching out to clutch her dress. She dreams that she tries to stab the arms that grab at her, only to have the blade deflected off their skin.
She wakes up with a strangled scream upon the lips and feels strong hands grasp her arms, lifting her up.
“I’ve got you,” He rasps, and she almost sobs in relief. “You’re safe, there’s nobody that can hurt you.”
“I dreamt that…” Sansa starts to say, and then lifts a hand to find his face in the dark as her eyes slowly adjust to the light. “What are you doing here?”
“I came in to check on you, to see…” She can feel him shake his head even if she can’t see it. “I wanted to see you safe and well for myself.”
Shaking slightly, the vestiges of the dream still upon her, she leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder where he sits beside her on her pallet above the furs.
“I’m alright,” She whispers into his neck, “You won’t let anything happen to me.”
He lifts the lower half of her body then, one arm under her legs, and places her on his lap then wraps his arms around her.
They sit like that, her head tucked into the crook of his neck, his cheek resting on her hair, until both of their breathing begins to slow and her heartbeat returns to normal.
“I thought I’d lost you,” He tells her, raw pain evident in his voice. “If you were taken from me…”
“I won’t be,” She tries to reassure him, lifting her face so that she can rub her cheek against his, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You won’t let anyone take me.”
“I won’t,” He swears, his arms tightening around her. “I’ll kill anyone who tries. Anyone. If anything happened to you…”
“It won’t,” She whispers, and kisses him softly. “You won’t let anything happen to me.”
He drops his face to her neck, nuzzling her gently, raising one hand to stroke her hair as he does so. His scarred cheek is rough against her skin and she realizes that the sensation is now a comforting one to her. She can’t help the feeling that he’s somehow trying to imprint himself onto her, to mark her as his. She stays quiet and soft in his arms, one hand pressed upon his cheek and the other clutching his waist, allowing them both to take comfort in their closeness.
He gives one long exhale of breath and loosens his grip upon her, scooping her into his arms again and laying her down on the bed.
“I’d best be going,” He says as he leans over her, “If anyone saw me coming or going from here I’ll say that I heard you scream and came in to check, but it’s not safe to stay for too long. I’ll see you after the siege now.”
She nods, hoping that he can see it in the dark and reaches out to draw him down to her. When he kisses her, he is more tender than he has ever been before, almost as if he is afraid of hurting her.
“I love you,” she whispers as he stands to leave, one hand still clutched in his.
“As I love you, little bird.” He replies, and then with a last squeeze of her hand he is gone.
She closes her eyes and fixes his image in her mind as she drifts off to sleep.
There is nothing to fear.