Fic: Cut it Out and then Restart 20/?

[onborrowedwings]

Title: Cut it out and then Restart 20/?
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Sansa/Sandor
Word Count: 5300
Warnings: Some swearing (I'm not even sure I need to warn about this at this point...)
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to GRRM.
A/N: Sorry to be a day late with this, looking forward to things becoming slightly less crazy at some mysterious point in the future!

Chapter 20

Two days later, the Greatjon and his men arrive on schedule along with Howland Reed and some of his crannogmen and the battle finally occurs. The blasted Ironborn had been so intent on the enemy camped upon their Southern doorstep that they never even thought to consider an attack from the North. Sandor can’t help a vindictive chuckle as he thinks about it. This is not their land and they had no idea of the Reeds and their secret ways through the swamp. They should have stayed by the ocean, where they could keep their feet wet and where it would be easier for them to flee. The Ironborn are not conquerors, they raid and leave like the cravens they are. The men left behind at Moat Cailin might have been fierce fighters, but they had no idea about strategies needed for drawn out conflicts.

Sandor’s men performed well in the battle, with only two lost in the end. The Gatehouse Tower had been secured soon after the fighting began and ultimately the day was won in less than an hour due to the element of surprise. Sandor himself sustained only a few scratches and a collection of bruises, nothing serious enough to even need bandaging.

At the end of the battle there had been three of their enemy left alive, and he had believed them destined to be prisoners or executed, before King Robb let them go.

“Tell the turncoat, Theon Greyjoy, that his treachery shall be avenged.” Robb Stark had told them bitterly before sending them on their way. “When the time comes, I’ll cut off his head myself to repay him for my brothers’ deaths.”

It is a fair enough notion, and Sandor can only hope that the day will come when Robb Stark is able to do so. He understands from Sansa that Robb Stark had loved the Greyjoy boy like a brother. Sandor knows well that of all treacheries and cruelties, the ones inflicted by those considered kin leave the worst scars.

He’s seen Sansa only once since the end of the siege and that too at a distance. They’re at too close quarters with everyone else crowded into Moat Cailin and it’s better not to tempt fate by doing something stupid. He’ll hope for a moment alone with her once they’re back on the road.

They’re to camp here only two days before proceeding North, not wanting to risk the chances of a larger Frey host attacking them once they realize their men aren’t coming back with the prize they were meant to claim. Sandor doesn’t believe that it will come to an outright attack, Walder Frey prefers to try and win by tricks and treachery, he will not dare to fight them upon an open field. Of the men killed, there were more than a few of Walder Frey’s kin; Rhaegar Frey, Black Walder Frey, Raymund Frey and Whalen Frey among others. In the end though there’s still dozens of the fucking cunts of Freys living and he can’t help but wish they’d sent more for him to cut down.

In the time since the attack he has seen King Robb only in company with his lords and bannermen, but now the day after Moat Cailin was retaken, he has been called into the King’s company, apparently to speak alone.

He wonders what Sansa would make of it, whether this is any of her doing in what he understands is a subtle campaign to make him more acceptable to her family. He wishes her luck in it, no matter how much he believes it’s destined to fail. He has grown to enjoy his position here, the way that he is treated by the other men. For the first time in his life he has been accorded something akin to respect, and he would prefer not to lose it if he can help it. His little bird would also be the happier for it if they didn’t need to be estranged from her family, if they could settle nearby. Gods know he’d do damn near fucking anything to make her happy.

When he calls out at the tent entrance he is ushered in and asked to sit, across the table from where Robb Stark has his own seat. The King of the North dismisses the knight who is attending him, waiting until he is gone to turn to Sandor.

Sandor sits upright and still in his chair, remaining impassive despite the quizzical look that Robb Stark is currently giving him, as if he is trying to work something out.

“It seems that I become more and more indebted to you, Clegane.” The King of the North finally says, “First you bring back my sister, then make the Riverlands safe by disposing of the Mountain, and now you have saved not only my sisters but also my wife and future heir.”

Sandor does not respond, instead he tilts his head noncommittally. There is more coming, there must be, there always is.

“I have grown to trust you and to value you,” Robb Stark continues, “You’ve proven yourself a good fighter and a capable leader, and I mean to see your services rewarded once we have finished retaking the North.”

“There isn’t a need, but I thank you all the same.” Sandor rasps, but he is glad of it nonetheless. It is what Sansa wanted, it is what she believes would make a difference.

“It shall benefit me also to have a strong bannerman,” Robb replies with a shrug, “And you have more than earned it. I have a mind to give you the lands of House Hornwood, I do not wish them to remain with Ramsey Bolton and I do not entirely trust his father either. House Bolton may resist the move and the lands will need a strong Lord.” Robb waved a hand suddenly, “It is not yet decided, and in the end it may be another place, perhaps in the Riverlands instead, but I wished you to know that I do mean to make you a Lord and settle lands upon you for your good service.”

“I thank you, Your Grace.” Sandor replies simply. He sees the sense in it, knows that having a man like him close to those whom Robb Stark does not entirely trust is a good idea. Many things he may be considered, but he has always been known for his loyalty, his abandonment of the Lannisters notwithstanding.

Robb Stark smiles, slightly reserved but nonetheless the image of the just king, he shall serve the North well though he still has some growing up to do. The king pauses before continuing nonchalantly, perhaps too casually.

“With lands and a lordship, it should be easy to find a wife from one of the minor houses.” Robb states, his eyes firmly upon Sandor to see his reaction. “It would please me to have you continue your House and see your children as my bannermen.”

Sandor remains impassive, he waits and watches in turn and gives a noncommittal shrug. “Aye, I suppose so.”

Robb Stark watches him, looking for something, and Sandor thinks he has a damn fucking good idea of what it is. Somehow the young king has figured something out.

“I know that you came to us as my lady sister’s sworn shield, and have served ably in that capacity, but it would not be appropriate for you to continue in that role now, given my future plans for you.” Robb continues, “I will assign more men to protect the ladies, to ensure that there is no chance of a repeat of the attack by the Freys.”

Sandor nods, making another noncommittal noise. He understands well enough where all this is headed now.

“Before reaching Winterfell, I plan to send you and your men to Torrhen’s Square with the Tallharts and their bannermen to retake it and expel the Ironmen back to the ocean.” Robb continues, “You may expect to separate from the rest of the host in about two weeks time. After that when you’ve returned to Winterfell we shall regroup to attack the Ironborn at Deepwood Motte. The security of the North is of utmost importance to us and it shall help to win the other bannermen’s favour when I eventually bestow lands and a title on you.”

Sandor nods, still silent. He knows that it is true, knows that Robb Stark needs to consolidate his hold on the North and drive out the invaders if there is any hope of standing against the Lannisters or even the Freys. Knows that if he is to be truly be counted as a bannerman then he must earn his place among them, earn their respect.

But still, it will not be enough.

Robb pauses, and smiles then, though it seems somewhat forced. “Once we have reclaimed the North there will be much more to be done, I shall also need to consider other alliances. Sansa will be of age by then, and though she was reluctant to marry one of the Freys, she shall not refuse when I make her a good match. She has been raised to know her duty.”

And there it is. Her kingly brother has heard something, or seen something, or simply realized something, and he is intent on putting Sandor in his place before the situation can grow any worse. Sandor knows his place, he’s known it since the beginning of all this. You can raise a dog to lordship and even give it lands, but it still won’t be high enough to marry your sister. He had known, and told her many times, but somewhere along the way perhaps he’d let her convince him just a little bit that the minds of her family could be changed. There will be none of that now. If Sandor feels any sense of disappointment, then it is for her rather than him. He had known, after all. He had always known.

“Aye, she’s a proper lady.” Sandor agrees, able to keep his face impassive only from a lifetime of training. If only King Robb knew that his sweet sister was not going to do her duty, was planning to leave, to run away with the man sitting in front of him; for run they must now. He’ll keep his promises and get her to Winterfell first, until then he’ll not let anything be revealed. If King Robb were to find out exactly how deeply the attachment between them is, then Sandor has no doubt that he’d be exiled upon the morrow. There would be no lordships or lands offered then, of that he’s sure.

“Is that all, Your Grace?” Sandor asks Robb, already standing although he’s yet to be dismissed. He’s heard what he needed to, and none of it a surprise.

Robb Stark nods, his eyes still upon Sandor, waiting for some type of a sign that his suspicion is right. Sandor sure as all hells won’t give him the satisfaction of it.

Leaving the tent he waits until he’s outside to breathe in deeply. He should not feel anything about this, it’s what he expected after all, it’s no surprise to him, and yet…

He feels an urgent need to seek out Sansa, to tell her, touch her, hear her say yet again that she really will leave with him. She doesn’t deserve that though, doesn’t deserve his doubts when all she’s been is true. If he were go to her now then it would only confirm her brother’s suspicions and perhaps ruin all their plans. He heads in the other direction instead, where he’s made his own camp.

He’s halfway there when he hears a voice calling out his name and turns around to see Arya, a spring in her step and a grin on her face as she hurries to catch up with him.

“I was just visiting the horses.” She announces, “Are you coming to see us later? We haven’t seen you properly since the siege broke.”

“Would that I could, brat.” He tells her regretfully, casually checking who might be nearby and listening before he continues. “Tell your sister that your kingly brother’s just had a word with me, she’d best be on her guard if he decides to come visit.”

Arya wrinkles up her brow, “What did he say?”

“Nothing very much, but his meaning was clear. Best if I stay away from her for awhile. She’s a clever little bird, she’ll know what to say if he asks her anything. Run along now and give her the message.”

Arya frowns but nods, one hand on Needle’s hilt as she turns to go.

Sandor can’t stop his lips from quirking up into a smile. To look at them, the sisters could not seem more dissimilar yet they’re wolves of the same pack and they know how to stick together. When the time comes, at least there will be one family member that Sansa will not lose.

**

They shall be leaving Moat Cailin the next day, this time heading into the proper North, and Sansa cannot help but be glad for it. It has been two years since she has seen home and the closer they come, the clearer she can picture it in her mind. They shall lay her father’s bones to rest in the crypt in Winterfell where they belong so that he may be at peace before they begin the slow rebuilding process.

Even as she thinks about home, she wonders how soon she will need to leave it, for leave she now knows she must. Ever since Arya had come running in the previous day, reporting Sandor’s words to her, she has wondered at them and at what her brother knows and what he said. Until she is either able to speak to Sandor or Robb says anything to her, all she will be able to do is wonder and it frustrates her.

Sighing, she returns to her work, a new dress for Arya since she is rapidly outgrowing all her old ones. Sansa has split the skirts of this one so that it might be worn over breeches, the easier for riding. Her mother may not approve of it but Arya has already given her a warm hug and happy grin once Sansa told her what she intended.

“Is this what highborn ladies really do all day? Sew?” Arya asks her as they sit together, “Don’t you get bored?”

Sansa smiles, “It’s better than sitting here doing nothing, but no, highborn ladies don’t sew all day. It’s only that here on the road there’s so little else available to do. Once we’re back at Winterfell there’ll be plenty to occupy us as we try to put the castle to rights, though I suspect there’ll be a fair bit of sewing to be done there too…”

She can’t help but laugh at Arya’s groan.

“Are you regretting your return to us?” Sansa asks her sister knowingly, “There was nobody to make you sew while you were on the run.”

“They thought I was a boy for most of it, well Yoren knew who I was but the others didn’t… then Gendry knew and thought he had to treat me differently, the idiot. Even once everyone knew and we joined the Brotherhood without Banners I was still able to do things. I’m sick of having to sit and wait while the men get to do interesting things.”

“Why don’t you go and watch Sandor train his men and pick up some new sword fighting techniques?” Sansa suggests, “It might be best for now if I don’t see him, but there’s nothing stopping you. I’m sure he won’t mind teaching you a thing or two.”

“Do you really think so?” Arya asks brightly, before making a face. “I doubt that Mother or Robb would approve though. I’m meant to be a lady now.”

Sansa laughs at that. “You, my little sister, will never be a proper lady, no matter how much anybody tries to make you into one. They can’t tell you not to until they know, so go and enjoy yourself until one of them finds out and forbids it.”

Arya grins, “You’re much more fun than you used to be.” She tells Sansa, “Do you want me to pass on any messages?”

What can she possibly say that could tell him how she feels right now, that could reassure him that no matter what her brother might have said, no matter what might be said to her, that her course is set? She is his, as he is hers, but no matter how strongly he knows it, he still needs assurance from her and she understands that.

“Tell him that I am looking forward to reaching Winterfell and that until then I am busy with my sewing. There are some cloaks that are keeping me busy at the moment, for I wish them to be ready as soon as possible.”

Arya grins at that, knowing the meaning behind the words and stopping only to grab Needle, she is out of the tent as quickly as possible; perhaps fearing that somebody will come to stop her if she doesn’t leave now.

It is only a few minutes later when the tent flap lifts and Sansa sees Robb peer in, smiling when he sees her.

“I’d hoped to find you,” He comments, walking over to sit in one of the chairs at their small table. Sansa puts aside her work and comes to join him. “Arya’s not here?”

“No, you know how she hates to sit in one place for too long. She’s gone to find something to do.”

They share a knowing smile at that, both used to their sister’s habits.

“Perhaps it is good that I found you by yourself,” Robb continues, “There were some things that I wished to discuss with you and it is best if we discuss them alone.”

“Do tell me, brother.” Sansa replies calmly, folding her hands in her lap to ensure that they cannot betray her.

Robb glances around as if taking in the tent décor and Sansa knows that he is gathering his thoughts before he speaks.

“I have informed Sandor Clegane that he no longer has the role of your sworn shield to uphold,” Robb finally states, “I have bigger plans for him and it is better if he is not distracted from his main duties. I hope you do not mind.”

The last sentence is said almost as an afterthought, something that must be offered but which did not actually enter into any consideration in the decision. Sansa minding or not minding would have no effect upon the outcome.

“No of course not,” Sansa replies calmly, “I had guessed that it would be so once you assigned the men to him. What are you plans for him, if I may ask?”

“I’m sending him and his men to Torrhen’s Square to drive back the Ironborn, they’ll split off from the main host along with the Tallhart men in about two weeks.” Robb announces casually, and Sansa has to stop herself from blanching, force herself to remain calm. She has gotten him back only so very recently and now he is to be sent away from her again. If he were to… but no, he will come back to her safe and sound, she knows it.

“And then?” Sansa asks, with just the right amount of interest to avoid suspicion.

“We shall regroup and retake Deepwood Motte for the Glovers, and by then he should have won enough respect to ensure that none of my bannermen object when I grant him lands and a lordship.”

Sansa nods, her heart thumping as she allows herself only a small smile of approval. It is the plan she had hoped for, the plan which she had hoped would allow them to marry without estranging her from her family.

“Are you happy?” Robb asks her, his scrutiny suddenly apparent. “You were the one who brought him to me, you have always spoken on his behalf in the past to advance his interests.”

“I am happy,” Sansa affirms, “I have wished that he could find a place of honour among your bannermen and you have granted him that. It is what I wanted.”

“Sansa…” Robb trails off, awkward suddenly and only her slightly elder brother rather than her king. She waits, knowing that she must be careful what she replies to whatever he will ask her next.

“Has Clegane ever behaved inappropriately towards you?” Robb suddenly asks, his eyes piercing hers, his hands flat upon the table.

Sansa allows herself a start of surprise, her eyes widening. This was not the question she had expected.

“No, never.” She replies, with utmost honesty. He had always restrained himself, had tried to keep himself away from her until finally it was she that kissed him, she that made it clear that she wished for him. What could be more appropriate than for him to love her, as she loved him in return?

It is not the way her brother would see it of course, but Sansa thinks that it is not a lie, not really.

Robb gives a long, relieved sigh. “I am glad that I did not say anything to him then, I would not want to offend him unless necessary. I wished to check with you first, though it is necessary to take steps to distance him from you anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa asks him with a frown, trying to puzzle it out while his last words lead to a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Why would you have thought so and why must he be distanced from me when he has always protected me?”

“I had heard…” Robb shakes his head, “One of the surviving knights from the ambush told me that he thought he saw Clegane embrace you after he had killed the Freys. I knew that he must be mistaken but for the sake of your reputation…”

Sansa wonders if she should laugh or cry, all this time and everything that has happened and that one innocent action of comfort has been their undoing.

She chooses to frown in consternation, as if offended by the gossip. “Sandor Clegane helped me off my horse after the attack. I was overwrought by the experience and I could not stand by myself so he held me up until I could. I do not appreciate your knights spreading stories about either myself or my… or Clegane.”

She had been about to say ‘my sworn shield’, but Robb has taken that away from her now.

Robb nods, as if relieved. “I believed it must have been something like that and told him so, but it is a relief to have it confirmed. We must protect your reputation, which is why it is best if he is distanced from you incase people do talk. Such a thing could never be believed of you of course, but him…”

How easily he dismisses that she might have any feelings of that type for Sandor, that any attachment must be from his side alone. Robb might have recognized Sandor’s worth as a soldier and a leader, but he is still blind to his worth as a man. It saddens Sansa to see how little her brother truly understands, and she wonders if his assumptions are based purely on Sandor or on his estimation of her as well. Does he truly still see her as that young girl, with her head full of tales of knights and ladies and a love for pretty things? Have they spent so little time together since her return that he does not see the changes in her?

Robb and Sansa love each other, it is true, but to her regret they have never had the bond that Arya shared with Jon. They love one another but they do not know each other anymore, not truly. Perhaps they never will now. Sansa is suddenly tired, weary of pretense and of concealing her true feelings from her family.

“Anyway,” Robb continues, “I am glad that that has been resolved. There must be no rumours if I am to make you a good marriage, and I do intend to once we are settled. A marriage that will not only help our family’s cause but one that you will also be happy in.”

“And who do you intend to marry me to now?” Sansa asks him, an edge in her voice. She is tired, so very tired. Tired of waiting, and wondering, and hoping only to find out that it has all been for naught. “Perhaps Ramsey Bolton, now that he’s starved his first wife to death? He shall need another now after all.”

“Sansa…” Robb says, a warning note in his voice. “You are being childish. I know that I made a mistake in considering your marriage to a Frey, but I truly wish for you to be happy and married to a good man.”

“And you shall be the one to pick this good man,” Sansa comments sadly, “No matter whether I might think him good or not.”

“I trust that I know you well enough to pick somebody you would like,” Robb says, his tone gentle now as he reaches out a hand to touch hers. “I have been considering Patrek Mallister for you. He is young and handsome and brave, and a good man. He shall be the lord of Seagard someday and shall keep you well.”

“And Seagard is close enough to the Twins to grant you a strategic alliance against the Freys, should they plot further treachery.” Sansa comments, she has learned her lessons in politics well.

“Does it follow that because I have chosen a husband for you and that it is done for strategic purposes that you will not be happy with him?” Robb asks her earnestly, “You must marry eventually and you know how it is with highborn families. Marriages are made for alliances rather than love. It occurred that way for mother and father, and yet they came to love one another in time.”

Sansa knows, she knows all too well. It is what she always expected of her life, what she had once dreamed of, knowing that her father would choose a good match for her when the time came.

In the end he had chosen Joffrey.

“When you chose to marry for love, abandoned an alliance for it, then why am I not allowed the same right?” Sansa asks her brother, an edge of steel underlying her calm tone. “I tell you now, brother, that I do not want this man; though he may be young, handsome, brave and good. I do not want him and I will not go willingly to such a marriage, arranged without a thought to my choice or wishes. Do not expect it of me.”

Robb lets out an exasperated breath, removing his hand from Sansa’s and sitting back in his chair. “You know that it does not work that way, Sansa. I shall send him to court you, if you like, so that you might come to know him. I shall give you more options, and let you choose from among them if that pleases you, but one day soon you must marry, and according to my wishes. We need strong alliances and your marriage must be a part of that.”

Sandor had told her the truth of it, even as she allowed herself to hope for a different future, to hope that her brother who had made his own marriage for love would allow her to do the same. She knows now that there is one rule for kings and another for their sisters and Sansa wishes that she had allowed herself to believe Sandor rather than hoping in vain. Perhaps it would hurt less now if she had.

Sansa shakes her head, letting out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “You are truly a King now, Robb. I see it now. I might be your sister but I am also your vassal, to be set aside or disposed of as you wish.”

“Sansa, that is not true. You know that I love you, that I would do anything in my power for you and Arya.” Robb’s voice reflects his hurt, and Sansa wonders how it is that he could truly not understand.

“And yet my fate must be decided according to my value rather than your love for me,” Sansa continues, more tired than upset now, a deep weariness settling upon her. “I was left in King’s Landing to suffer because I was not judged valuable enough to be traded for Jaime Lannister. Now when I once again have some value, I must strengthen an alliance for you rather than being allowed to marry where I wish.”

Robb winces, he knows the truth of her words, knows his guilt in the matter and that despite their love for one another that this point shall always remain between them.

“And where is it that you wish to marry?” He asks Sansa, his voice dangerously quiet, changing from the defensive to an attack. “Have you chosen some man whom you wish to be your future husband?”

Sansa shakes her head sadly and stands up from the table, looking down upon Robb who remains seated. “What does it matter, my brother, my king?” She asks him softly, “If I am not to have my choice anyway then what good will come of making it known?”

She walks back to the pallet and picks up her sewing again, a clear sign of dismissal which she hopes he will accept.

Robb stands and his face is such a mixture of hurt and anger and confusion that for a moment she feels sorry for her words and wishes to beg his pardon. Yet everything she has said is true, and she would have him realize the justice of it.

“You have changed, Sansa.” Robb says sadly. “I had thought that you would trust me in this matter. I had hoped that you would be happy with the choice I had thought of for you.”

Sansa looks up at him, and hopes that he will see the truth of it in her eyes. “We have all changed, Robb.” She tells him matter of factly. “I love you as my brother, but I would not have you order me as my King. I have had enough of having my fate decided by others and being expected to comply with a smile.”

Robb turns to leave and then hesitates, turning back once more. “I shall give you more time,” he tells her, “We will not discuss the matter again until we are back at Winterfell and the North has been retaken. At that time I will give you a choice of suitors, and I will expect you to choose from among them.”

He walks out of the tent before she can answer, perhaps to avoid hearing the reply she would’ve given him.

It does not matter, he would not have truly listened to it regardless.

When Arya arrives back half an hour later, grinning and sweating and calling out for Sansa, she finds her sister sewing her maiden’s cloak with a determined fury, wiping away tears as they fall from her eyes.

“Sansa?” Arya queries gently, walking over to where her sister sits.

Sansa chokes back a sob and looks up, gripping Arya’s hand tightly when she sits down upon the pallet.

“Do you still wish to come with us when we leave?” Sansa asks, her voice breaking slightly.

Arya’s only reply is to wrap her arms around Sansa’s shoulders and to hold her as she cries.