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A/N : All recognized characters and settings belong to G.R.R Martin and the world of Game of Thrones. No beta so sorry for any misspellings or mistakes. Deals with disordered eating and the head space that can lead there but not super heavy with it.
Sansa Stark was tired. She was tired of trying to be the perfect little captive for the Lannisters in the hopes that they would not hurt her, it didn't work anyway and just left her hurt and tired instead of just tired so she’d decided to fight back in the only way she could. She didn’t have control over when she was summoned or what the King ordered be done to her but there were a few things Sansa could control.
Sansa could control which dresses she wore, so she started choosing the less gaudy ones, the more northern ones and never wore the dress given to her by the Queen Mother unless she was specifically called in front of the Queen which thankfully happened less and less these days.
Sansa could control her hair, so she started wearing it in the northern fashion, opting for simple braids and leaving her auburn hair long and unbound instead of allowing her handmaids to style intricate southern styles.
Sansa could control who she talked to and how. She would always be coldly courteous to any courtiers, lords or ladies she came across. The same could be said with any knight she came across, though she often chose not to speak to them at all. She treated the servants well unless she knew for a fact they worked for someone like the Queen then she was cold but courteous. She never trusted anyone, even her handmaid Shae, Sansa knew this approach left her feeling lonelier than before but it also made her safer and safe was more important than not alone.
The last thing Sansa could control was her own body. She got to decide when she ate, how much she ate, decided where to go and when unless summoned to the throne room or some other nonsense Joffrey wanted. The measure of control was small but it made Sansa feel like an actual person instead of just an object waiting on a shelf to be traded for some other shinier object.
She’d been exerting her control for two moons when she practically ran into the Hound on the serpentine steps leading to Maegors Holdfast. She was coming back from the godswood, feeling a bit light headed as she hadn't eaten that day instead only drinking water with lemon. When she walked into him in her rush to get back to her chambers he caught her easily around the waist, his other arm coming up to steady her shoulder.
“Easy Little Bird you’ll send us both over the edge.” he said and Sansa realized he was drunk.
Perhaps not belligerent but certainly tipsy and he seemed in a good mood though Sansa wasn't sure what could possibly put the Hound in a good mood.
“Wouldnt want to take anyone with me.” she quipped back without thinking.
The Hound gave her a questioning look, adjusted the hold he had on her waist before letting her go.
“We should get you back to your cage.” he told her, turning the same direction as her.
“I can get myself there just fine.” she told him.
“Should have a conversation with that handmaid of yours.” he mumbled, using the hand on her shoulder to steer her towards her chamber .
“Why would you need to speak with my handmaid?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
He didn't answer and that angered Sansa. She wasn't a child to be escorted about as if she had done something naughty. She was a grown woman, flowered and ready to wedded and bedded according to the court.
“She won't lay with you, she's already laying with Lord Tyrion.” Sansa snapped when they made it to her door.
“Not my type anyway.” he muttered, turning to look down at Sansa.
“Whats your type then? Paid?” she grouched throwing him a cold look.
She didn't wait for a response instead opening her chamber door and going inside but before she could close the door he was following her in.
“This is highly inappropriate.” she told him.
“You’re not eating.” he stated and Sansa blanched caught completely off guard.
“I eat.” Sansa argued.
“You’re barely skin and bones under that dress.” he nodded toward her.
“You’ve no idea what I look like under this dress and it's highly inappropriate for you to speculate.” Sansa's temper was rising.
“I felt it.” he argued back.
“If it displeases you then keep your hands to yourself.” Sansa bit back at him.
“Little Bird.” he growled but thought better of whatever he was going to say and stormed from her chambers.
Sansa didn't have the energy to stay angry so instead she dressed for bed and went to sleep where it was much easier to ignore the pangs of hunger in her stomach.
The next day she woke up to a tray of fruits, a hunk of fresh bread and water with lemon on her table though no handmaid had woken her. She eyed it suspiciously before deciding to leave it alone. Instead she busied herself picking out a simple grey dress with white embroidery and brushing her hair out.
When her handmaids, Shae and some girl named for a flower that worked for the Queen, came to dress her, Sansa said nothing about the food except to ask if either of them had brought it. When they both denied leaving it in her chambers Sansa was left with the choice of what to do with it.
It was good food and Sansa already had a hard time saying no but especially when she thought food would go wasted. She knew that in the city food was scarce and her northern upbringing had taught her the value of good food but not knowing where the food came from was a bigger fear than her consideration of food waste could compete with and so she let it sit there.
When her handmaids were finished Sansa dismissed them both. The sky outside was threatening rain and Sansa didn't feel like walking the gardens instead electing to stay in her chambers. Her handmaids had been gone only a handful of minutes when a loud knock sounded on her door. Sansa opened it to find the Hound on the other side in his Kingsguard garb.
“Morning.” Sansa greeted with a tight smile.
“Have you eaten?” he asked and Sansa's look turned cold.
“How dare you? That is none of your business.” Sansa was saying but the Hound had already shouldered his way into her chamber.
He looked at the tray of untouched food then back at her.
“I don't eat food left for me like some pet. I have no idea who left that, no idea if it is safe.” She reasoned her anger was still bubbling just under the surface of her skin.
“I left it.” he said as if challenging her further.
“You?” Sansa hadn't expected that, it threw her. “Why would you leave me food?”
“Because Little Bird you are not eating.” he told her gruffly.
“Why do you care if I eat or not? No one else does.”
He didn't say anything, just gave her a hard look before sitting heavily on one of the chairs at her table. He looked from the tray of food to her then back to the tray. Sansa sat demurely on the other seat but crossed her arms and gave him a hard look.
“Starving yourself has made you either brave or stupid girl.” he commented as she stared him right in the eye.
“You don't scare me.” Sansa countered looking very pointedly from his eyes to his scars and back again.
“Stupid it is then.” he grumbled, pushing the tray toward her.
“I’m not stupid.” Sansa said an edge to her voice she hadn't heard since her days of arguing with Arya.
“Starving yourself is stupid.” he said.
“I’m not starving myself.” she insisted.
“Then eat,” he ordered.
Sansa let out a big sigh before stealing herself.
“I don't take orders from you.” she told him.
“You do not want me to tell.” he warned.
“Go ahead. Run to your masters and tell them all about the bad Little Bird who won't peck at her food.” she told him and she saw the anger spark in his eyes, “what do you think they’ll do?”
“Do you think they’ll have the kingsguard watch me eat? Or have them hold me down to force it down my throat? You’ve never been instructed to hit me but do you think he’d have you hold me down, force feed me?” she asked him, noting how his breath picked up and the burnt corner of his mouth twitched.
“Little Bird.” he growled but Sansa cut him off.
“Or do you think they’ll just beat me? Rip my dress off in the throne room again before Trant or Blount are ordered to take their longsword to my back. Will you cover me in your cloak again or maybe this time it’ll be your turn.” Sansa pushed the tray of food back to the center of the table.
They stared at each other in angered silence. His grey eyes like smokey steel, his mouth set in a scowl while Sansa did her best to give him icy indifference though she was sure her eyes betrayed her anger.
How dare he think he had any right to make any demands of her? She couldn't help but think. Who was he to question her, he who didn't even care about her, didn't even like her if one took all evidence into consideration. The thought made her angrier.
“Why do you even care? It's not as if you like me.” Sansa finally ventured.
“Is that what you want Little Bird to be liked?” he asked.
“Everyone wants to be liked.” she told him.
“Not everyone.” he grumbled.
“Right not you. No you only care about the next flagon of Dornish Red or the next whore or vengeance or whatever it is you tell yourself you care about.” she said, rolling her eyes at him and picking pretend lint off her dress.
“Didnt know you knew the word whore Little Bird.” he quipped.
“I know lots of words.” she told him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
He looked at her for a moment before nodding and leaning back in his chair.
“Suppose we’ll just sit here then.” he told her, looking for all the world as if he meant to get quite comfortable.
“Dont you have patrol or something?” she asked.
“Day off,” he told her.
“Bullshit.” she said before she could catch herself.
She almost laughed at the shocked look that came over the Hounds face for a moment before his indifferent mask reappeared.
“Dont worry about my duties Little Bird.” he said.
“Then don't worry about my eating habits.” she countered.
Silence fell again and this time neither of them moved to break it. Sansa took the time to study him as his eyes seemed locked onto her. She looked at his hair, then his face, his grey eyes, the hook in his nose that made her wonder how many times he’d broken it then down to his mouth and then very quickly away to his broad shoulders and chest until finally landing on his hands before following her path back up.
“Something catch your eye Little Bird?” he asked after her second pass.
“Can I try something with your hair?” she asked, deciding the worse he could do was say no.
“Do what?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just want to try out a style, see how it looks. A northern look.” she told him.
“If you eat five grapes,” he told her.
Sansa thought about it then nodded, getting up and going to her vanity. She pulled out a leather cord that men in the north often used to tie their hair back from their face and her brush before moving to stand behind him where he sat.
“Count out five grapes please.” she told him before she began brushing his hair.
She brushed his hair just as she did her own, softly making sure all the tangles were gone before pulling the the two sides together to tie it away from his face while leaving some down to cover his neck. He really did have lovely hair, it was dark like ink and soft despite how little effort he clearly put into it. Sansa quite enjoyed fixing his hair.
When his hair was tied back and the five grapes counted Sansa sat back down putting her hair brush on the table between them. She looked up at him before popping a grape into her mouth, she had to stop herself from groaning. The grape was ripe and juicy giving a perfect pop when her teeth bit into it filling her mouth with sweet fresh flavour.
“Hows it feel?” Sansa asked after her second grape.
“I’m sure I look ridiculous," he told her.
“I think you look handsome.” she told him honestly popping a third grape into her mouth to distract from her words.
“Handsome? Your eyes need checking.” he told her and Sansa glared at him.
“Go look in the mirror then, if my eyes can't be trusted.” She waved him off before eating her fourth grape.
She watched as Sandor got up and made his way over to her vanity. She watched as he bent over, looked in the mirror, scoffed, then turned back to take his chair again.
“My scar is more visible.” he stated.
“What, you thought you were hiding it before?” Sansa asked a little coldly, popping her final grape into her mouth.
“You’re a mean Little Bird you know that.” he said but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his mirth, along with the little glint in his eyes.
“I’ve been told.” she folded her arms again.
He didn't say anything to that so Sansa asked the first question that popped into her head, “you like when I’m mean?”
“I like when you're honest,” he told her.
“I’m always honest with you.” she told him.
“Is that right?” he asked and Sansa nodded.
“So,” he popped a grape into his mouth, “if I were to ask you something you’d give me an honest answer?”
“If I answered.” she told him.
“Alright, what do you say to a little game then?” he asked.
“What are the rules?” she asked.
“Answer or eat. I ask you a question you can either answer or you can eat.” he told her.
“Do I also get to ask questions?”
“Yes.” he acquiesced.
Sansa thought about it before nodding and waiting for his first question.
“Why aren't you eating?” he asked and Sansa almost rolled her eyes.
“I’m not not eating, I’m just controlling my intake.” she told him.
“I asked why.” he emphasised.
“I control very little of my life but I can control what and when and how much I eat.” she admitted looking away from him before meeting his eyes again.
“Little Bird,” he said but Sansa cut him off.
“My turn, what's your favorite color?”
“What?” he asked.
“Favorite color.” Sansa repeated.
“Black.” he answered, thrown by the question but Sansa just nodded.
“Whats the goal of not eating?” he asked.
“I don't have a goal, I just want to feel human instead of like a shiny object waiting to be traded for something shinier.” she told him.
“Whats your favorite food?” she asked.
“Chicken.” he answered and she nodded.
“Roast chicken is good.” she agreed.
“How do you get away with not eating?” he asked.
“No one pays attention to me, I’m not the King's betrothed anymore and I’m not really invited to dine with anyone.” she shrugged.
“Other than … well him, do you have any other siblings?” she asked.
“Had a sister,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It's very hard to have had.” she told him and he nodded.
“What else do you do to feel in control?” he asked.
“I wear my hair how I like, the dresses I want and speak how I wish to speak to people within reason of course.” she told him.
“You want to wear dresses too small for you?” he asked and Sansa tsked.
“My turn.” she told him instead of answering, “do you really not like what I did to your hair?”
He ate a grape and Sansa frowned.
“Fine, I’ll answer your question though.” she told him, “I don't like wearing dresses too small but I have no coin or the leave to get measured for new dresses so I make do.”
“Would your opinion on the hairstyle change if I told you that I really like it?” she asked and he ate another grape.
“Are you upset that your betrothal was put aside?” he asked.
“No.” she said, “have you ever thought of getting married?”
“Why you proposing Little Bird?” he asked and Sansa frowned at him.
“No,” he answered, “Who do you want to marry?”
Sansa said nothing instead breaking a piece off of the bread and eating it demurely.
“Do you think you’d ever be able to go an entire day without drinking wine?” she asked, feeling the need to poke him with her question.
“Yes.” he answered, “have you ever gotten drunk?”
“No,” she told him, “when is this game over?”
“When I decide it is.” he answered.
He was quiet for a minute before he asked another question, this one quieter, his face more serious, “do you think about hurting yourself Little Bird?”
“Hurting myself?” Sansa asked.
He gave her a look and Sansa suddenly understood but she also understood that she already was hurting herself. Not eating hurt, and she didn't exactly turn from that pain but had she thought of hurting herself in other ways?
“No more than I already am.” she answered honestly.
“How are you hurting yourself Little Bird?” he asked and Sansa ignored that technically it was her turn.
“By not eating.” she told him feeling ashamed.
“Are you hurting yourself any other way?” he asked and again she ignored that it was her turn to ask.
“No.” she told him and he nodded.
“You owe me two questions.” she told him after a moment.
“Ask then.” he told her.
“Why do you care?” she asked quietly.
He didn't answer just ate a slice of apple.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked not looking at him.
“No.” he said before getting up and leaving her alone.
Sansa stared at the door for too long before getting her embroidery and starting a new project, a black dog sitting under a weirwood tree on a white handkerchief that still had a small blood stain in the corner faded to pink with cleaning.
Over the rest of the day Sansa ate the rest of the platter, picking at it between embroidery, reinforcing a seam on one of her older dresses and reading from the book of prayers Septa Mordane had given her years ago.
When the sun set Sansa made her way to Godswood craving the serenity of the night air as the ocean breeze off the Blackwater helped turn the always hot Kings Landing into something at least tolerable. She picked her way across from Maegors to the garden of Oak trees that stood in place of a real Godswood before finding herself kneeling in front of the biggest Oak there, a crude face carved into the bark.
Sansa stared at the face before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before letting it out. She repeated it three times before a twig snapping alerted her to someone approaching. She turned to look over her shoulder to see someone standing in the shadows who could only be the Hound.
“Come to pray?” she asked.
“No gods here.” he answered and Sansa let out a derisive hollow laugh.
“I’m aware.” she told him and she wondered if the silence that followed was in shock or for lack of something to say.
“If there are no gods here, why do you pray here?” he asked, approaching her.
“The Old Gods may not be able to see or hear me this far south especially without a heart tree but … well I suppose it makes me feel closer to them.” she answered looking at the face on the Oak.
“Closer?” he questioned.
“Do you know anything about the Old Gods and the North?” Sansa asked.
“Not really, grew up in the Westerlands.” he said leaning against the tree next to the heart tree.
“Fair I suppose I don't know much about the Westerlands.”
“Come on Little Bird, I’ll escort you back to your cage.”
Sansa looked to the tree one more time before nodding and following him. They walked side by side though they didn't touch, even if Sansa could feel the want to wrap her hand in his or around his arm practically burning in her hand. She put it out of her mind as they entered her chamber.
“The tray is gone,” he said.
“I ate it.” she said simply.
“They’ll be a new one tomorrow.” he told her.
“Will we play a game again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Is that the only way to get you to eat?” he asked.
“I suppose we shall see.” she smirked at him before closing her chamber door on him.
When she woke the next day there was indeed a new platter on her table this time with two goblets of lemon water that made her smile despite herself. As soon as her dress was on that morning she dismissed her handmaids promising to call them should she need anything and then she waited for the Hound.
When he knocked she opened the door, leaving it open for him as she retreated back to her chair. He handed her the leather cord she put in his hair the day before and Sansa took it with a smile before getting back up and grabbing her hairbrush.
He let her do his hair again and this time she braided the little tail of hair that came out of the leather cord so it sat flat with the rest of his hair, when he looked in the mirror he put six grapes in front of her. Sansa sighed but started popping them into her mouth.
“You go first.” she told him when it seemed no questions were forthcoming.
“Do you believe in the gods?” he asked.
“Woah, heavy. No easy ones today?” she quipped, popping another grape into her mouth, “I suppose the best way to put it is that I practice a belief in the gods.”
“Uh uh,” she said when he looked about to ask another question, “my turn. What would you like me to call you?”
“Sandor, at least in private. Clegane anywhere else.” he answered and Sansa nodded.
“What do you mean you practice a belief in the gods?” he asked.
“I practice the rituals, I say the prayers, I hope for guidance but do I think the gods really have a hand in our lives? No I don't think so because if they did,” Sansa swallowed hard, looked away and then back at him, “what kind of gods let a little boy be burned, let another fall from a tower, let an honorable man die for the truth. I find it difficult to put my faith in gods like that.”
He looked about to speak again but closed his mouth into a hard line.
“Do all in the Westerlands follow the Seven?” she asked.
“No, some have an older belief from before the Andals, before the Lannisters. Stories and folklore.” he told her, “who told you about my burns?”
“Littlefinger, after the hands tourney. He was trying to scare me.” she answered, “Is Littlefinger … worth allying with?”
“No he betrayed your father and even if he didn't he peddles flesh, lies and spreads rumors that he took both your mother and aunts maiden heads.” he answered, “Do you believe in the Old Gods?”
“The Old Gods do not care if I believe or not they simply are. Whether they hear my prayers or watch over me has nothing to do with my prayers or my acts. They were here before me and they will be here long after I am gone and my name forgotten.” she explained.
“Were you ever religious?” she asked.
“No, my sister was.” he said and Sansa nodded, “Why pray in the Godswood then?”
“It makes me feel closer to my father, my brothers and my sister. The trees watch over us, or at least that's what Old Nan said. The faces were carved into the weirwoods by the Children of the Forest in the time before and during the First Men. Blood of the First Men flows in my veins, eight thousand years of history and legacy and if Old Nan is to be believed all of it witnessed by the old Gods.” she told him.
“Were your parents good people?” she asked.
“My mother was.” he answered and Sansa nodded.
“Why does the Godswood make you feel closer to everyone but your mother?” he asked and Sansa almost ate.
“My mother thought the Old Gods and the old ways were savage, unrefined. She followed the Seven so my prayer book makes me feel closer to her as I don't visit the sept anymore.” she told him.
“Does your family have any northern in it?” she asked.
“Apparently my mother was from a mountain clan, Locke or some other.” he answered but Sansa cut him off before his question.
“The Lockes are one of the poorest of the Northern clans, they live in the mountains and follow the Old Gods. Practically wildings my father used to say but he always smiled when he said it. The mountain clans are some of the most loyal vassals of House Stark.” she told him.
“Did you always want to come south?” he asked.
“Yes, I dreamed of golden princes and white knights, I was foolish but I was also a child.” she told him.
“Do you think I’m too skinny?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered easily and Sansa frowned, “what do you dream of now?”
Sansa looked at him and very pointedly ate a slice of apple.
“Did you like Winterfell?” she asked.
“Didnt have much time to really explore it.” he told her and Sansa accepted his non answer.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked and he ate another grape but looked at her the whole time.
“Is being pretty important to you?” he asked.
“In certain instances.” she told him and he let her get away with a non answer.
“Do you have more scars?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered, “what instances?”
Sansa ate another slice of apple.
“Do you truly enjoy killing?” she asked.
“I enjoy being good at things.” he told her, “do you have any scars?”
“Yes.” she said demurely.
“Do you trust me to tell you the truth now?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered and Sansa smiled.
“I should get to my patrol, Little Bird.” he said after a moment and Sansa's smile fell.
“Of course, I shall see you around though I plan to spend most of my day here.” she told him.
He nodded, looked at her for a long moment and then left.
Sansa ate the tray of food again just like the day before as she embroidered, sewed and read. It was after mid-day and the sun was getting low in the sky when a knock came.
She smiled slightly to find Sandor outside her door.
“Eaten Little Bird?” he asked.
“Yes, almost all of it.” she told him leaving the door open for him.
He entered and followed her to the balcony where she had been sitting working on her embroidery, the food tray on a small table beside her.
“You eat like a Little Bird.” he commented seeing the tray as he leaned against the balcony railing.
“I was raised to be a great lady, ladies eat slowly.” she told him sitting down and taking up her embroidery again.
“What are you working on?” he asked, nodding toward her hands.
“A gift.” she told him.
“For who?”
“Someone I’d like to give my favor to.” she told him hiding her face by looking at the embroidery in her lap.
“Found a knight, have you Little Bird?” he asked and she noticed a steel edge to his voice that made her smile slightly though she didn't really know why.
“No, no knights.” she told him before continuing on cutting off whatever he was going to say, “Did you know knights are much less prevalent in the North and practically non-existent in the Neck?”
He didn't answer, just folded his arms across his broad chest and watched her.
“Knights are anointed with the seven oils of the seven gods but Northerners don't believe in the seven so you don't get many knights. My younger brother Bran, the one who fell, wanted to be a knight. He would have been the first knight in the Stark family.” she told him taking up her needle again to distract herself as she kept talking.
“He would listen to all the songs and stories with me. He’d pretend to be a member of the Queensguard or the Dragon knight or Duncan the Tall while I just wanted to be a princess or a queen. Silly to think about now. I’m a prisoner princess who’ll hopefully never be queen and Bran is dead and even if he wasn't he’d never ride a horse or swing a sword or compete in a great southern tourney.” tears escaped silently from her eyes.
“He was supposed to come south with us. Father thought of fostering him with Lord Stannis or some other southern lord so he could squire. He’d have been the only one of us to foster with another house. He was so looking forward to an adventure, it's so unfair and I’m so angry for him that I don't know what to do or where to put it.” she finished.
“I wanted to be a knight until …,” he shrugged and Sansa nodded, “I’m sorry about your brother Little Bird.”
“Brothers.” she reminded him.
“Brothers,” he reiterated.
“Everyone forgets Rickon but … but,” and she broke.
A sob escaped her without her permission and Sandor seemed to leap to action kneeling in front of her and pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve.
“Shh, Little Bird. You don't forget him, that's enough.” he told her softly and Sansa couldn't help but look at his face.
“I used to call him my practice baby,” she said quietly, “he was so little and everyone else was busy so I spent all the time I could with him. He had the most beautiful auburn curls and these wide grey eyes that seemed to sparkle with joy. I … I can't help but imagine what his last days might have been like.” she admitted and Sandor closed his eyes.
“They say Theon burned them, and I can't help but hope they were already dead when he did. Does that make me awful?” she asked.
“No Little Bird, it makes you human.” Sandor told her.
“How could Theon, how could he do that?” she asked, looking at Sandor as if he really had the answer.
“Some people are just rotten.” Sandor answered and Sansa nodded.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Sansa’s tears mostly dried and Sandor leant against the railing again as night fell.
“Do you want to go to the Godswood Little Bird?” he asked looking out over the keep.
“Not tonight, thank you though.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No.” she answered.
“What would you like, Little Bird?” he asked.
“There are a great many things I would like Sandor.” she told him.
He nodded but said nothing and Sansa let it sit, the air cooled around them as the stars began trying to peek through the smog and lights of the city.
The next morning the platter of food was there again but the knock on the door came before she dismissed her handmaids. When Shae opened the door it was not Sandor but Ser Meryn Trant waiting for her, the King had called her to court.
When Sansa entered the Throne Room, Sandor was standing guard behind the King as Joffrey sat uneasily on the Iron Throne. Sansa could already see where the chair had nicked the boy king that day, it did not bode well for Sansa.
Sansa dipped into an elegant and deep curtsey before directing her eyes to the floor and waiting for Joffrey to state his reasons for calling her from her cage. It didn't take long, apparently Robb had won a great victory in the West and captured the Kingslayer. Joffrey was fuming and one quick look at the Queen told Sansa the Lannister Queen felt the same. Today would not be a good day for Sansa.
It was Ser Trant who ripped her dress to expose her back as she was shoved to the floor, he smacked her across the face as well and Sansa could feel the cut in her lip start to bleed before Joffrey reminded Trant to ‘keep her pretty’. The knight moved to strike Sansa across the back with the flat side of his sword instead, eventually the beating was interrupted by Tyrion Lannister, the acting hand of the king.
Sansa rose from her knees, clutching her dress to her front and keeping her eyes demurely down. She was promptly dismissed, she curtsied again before walking as gracefully as she could out of the Throne room until she finally met with an abandoned corridor where she broke into a run for her chambers.
It seemed hours later when a soft knock sounded at her door. Sansa moved gingerly from her bed wrapped in a dressing robe before opening the door just a crack to see Sandor on the other side.
“I’m not very entertaining tonight.” she told him.
“Please Little Bird I just …” he sighed and looked around the empty corridor then back at her.
Sansa moved out of the way letting him decide if he was coming in or not. She didn't wait for him, instead going back to her bed and laying under the covers as she had been doing since that morning. She turned toward the balcony as Sandor brought one of the table chairs over to sit near her.
“You didn't eat today.” he said but Sansa didn't answer.
“You need to eat for strength.” he told her.
“Have you even drank anything today?” he asked
“If I start drinking will I stop caring? Will it hurt less?” she asked him.
“It’ll dull it but it won't stop it.” he answered and looked away from her.
“Dulling it is pointless if it's still there come morning.” she told him.
“Has anyone looked at your back?” he changed tactics.
“No.”
“Someone should.” he told her.
“No.”
“Little Bird.” he said imploringly but Sansa was having none of it.
“I don't want Pycelle.” she told him and he nodded.
“What if I looked?” he asked after a few quiet moments and the question startled her from her blank staring.
“Ok.” she said realizing she didn't much mind the thought of Sandor seeing her without clothing though all she did was turn on the bed so her back faced him and dropped her robe so it pooled around her hips in the back but stayed up in the front.
He seemed to be hardly breathing Sansa noticed as a rough hand lightly ghosted over her back. The first time Joffrey had had her beaten Sansa had been obsessed with how it healed, she spent hours looking at her back using her vanity and a hand mirror but she’d stopped checking after the third time. She had no idea what her back looked like these days but clearly Sandor found it wanting for he said nothing as he lightly touched.
“The bruising will go away but the …” he began and Sansa finished for him, “the strikes will scar. Little white ones.”
“Yes,” he told her.
“There’s an ointment for pain.” he told her, still looking at her back though now it was his knuckle ghosting over her spine.
“I don't want it.” she told him.
“I can see every knot of your spine Little Bird.” he said quietly and Sansa righted her robe quickly.
She turned to look at him and then away. She wanted to apologize but she knew she’d done nothing wrong, she just hated that he was displeased with her. She wanted to correct it, to gain his approval but it seemed so silly to even try. Sansa had so rarely gained the approval of anyone, even with her mother Sansa had always been striving to be a better lady, a better daughter for her father, a better representation of House Stark. It made her mad, at herself, at her parents and at Sandor that she would still seek others' approval so much when all it had done was hurt her.
She covered herself with her robe and blankets, remaining silent as long as he did.
“Whats your favorite food?” he asked suddenly.
“Lemoncakes, I’m not allowed to have them.” she told him.
“Why not?” he asked.
“The King.” she said by way of explanation.
“If I get you lemoncakes will you eat them?” he asked.
Sansa studied him then, there was an almost wild desperation in his eyes that made Sansa feel guilty.
“Why?” she asked because she truly did not understand.
“Because I want you to eat,” he said.
“Why?” she asked again.
“I can’t … Little Bird I can’t watch you waste away. Don’t make me watch that.” His voice was sad, almost pleading.
“You care?” she asked her voice little.
“Yes,” he said after a moment, “Yes Sansa I care.”
“Why?” she asked, her chin wobbling.
“Because it's you,” he answered.
“Just me?” she asked, so scared of his answer.
“Just you.” he said firmly, Sansa nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’m gonna run out of handkerchiefs Little Bird.” he tried to joke and Sansa gave him a little huff of a laugh.
“I’m returning one.” she told him pointing over to her other night stand where she had put her finished embroidery the night before.
She’d wanted to present to him on a nice day with no tears but she supposed now was a good time too. She watched him go over to it and pick up the finished handkerchief. Sansa sat up pulling her thin robe around her as she settled sitting up against her headboard with a pillow behind her back to cushion it.
She watched as Sandor lightly traced the embroidery almost reverently before he noticed the little pink spot of old blood and turned to her.
“You kept it?” he asked, almost amazed.
“I keep everything you give me.” she told him as if it was obvious.
“Sansa,” he said but stopped looking down at the handkerchief again as if it held some answer.
“Would you like to sit Sandor?” Sansa asked, looking at the bed beside her then up at him.
He nodded, before sitting uneasily on her bed, his back against the headboard. Sansa moved closer before laying her head on his shoulder.
“Next time no armour.” she told him quietly after a few minutes.
“Next time?” he asked, still playing with the cloth in his hand.
“Do you not want there to be a next time?” she asked.
“Next time no armour.” he agreed and Sansa smiled.
They sat quietly for a bit, Sandor absentmindedly playing with the cloth in his hand while Sansa closed her eyes and listened to their collective breathing.
“Have you ever played the what if game?” Sansa asked him.
“The what if game?”
“Jeyne, Beth and I used to play it when Septa Mordane had to run off to find Arya for lessons. Someone says what if and proposes a scenario and the other person has to come up with what would happen if.” she told him.
“So I would say what if I was low born and you would say,” she prompted.
“Then you would never have been betrothed to the King,” he answered.
“See, easy.” she told him.
“Here I’ll go again,” she told him, “What if we met but I was lowborn?”
“I suppose if you were lowborn and we met I may have tried to get to know you.” he said.
“And if I wanted to get to know you as well?”
“Then I would, seven hells Little Bird.” she could have sworn he was blushing.
“What if we got to know each other in the way that common people get to and you decided you liked me quite a bit?” she tried skipping over part of the what if.
“I don't know, I have no keep or lands so I suppose if we got to know each other and I quite liked you I suppose we would get a place in the city proper.” he said and now Sansa was sure there was color on the top of his cheeks.
“What if I didn't want to live in the city?” she asked.
“Then I suppose we could find some land, would you like that Little Bird?” he asked.
“If we found some land would you know how to work it?” she asked.
“Yes, I know more than swinging a sword.” he almost smiled and Sansa chuckled, taking her head from his shoulder but moving closer to him so his arm was between her and the headboard.
“Good, so if we found some land then you could work it and teach me how to help.” she told him.
“What kind of animals would you want, Little Bird? We’d need some.” he told her.
“Oh, you’re right,” she smiled up at him, “we would have to bring Stranger, and he would need space, maybe even his own paddock but we could get some goats or a cow or chickens, but we would have to have dogs.” she said excitedly.
“Stranger huh?” he asked, looking at her but Sansa couldn't read his expression.
“Of course. We couldn't leave him behind, he means so much to you.” she told him leaning back into his side to think more on what their little homestead would have.
“We would need a hearth big enough to cook in, and at least two rooms beside the common area, one for us and one for any children that come along.” she started rambling.
“Children?” he broke in with an unbelieving tone.
“Of course children, don't you want children?” she asked.
“I’ve never really thought of it.” he told her.
“Well I have, and in our what if we have children.” she told him firmly.
“Oh yeah Little Bird got it all planned out?” he asked.
“Planned? No. Dreamed up maybe.” she joked and he looked at her sharply.
“Dreamed?” he asked.
“Is there a grape I could eat?” she asked and an almost feral smile overtook his face that made Sansa squirm in a very pleasant way.
“What are you dreaming about Little Bird?” he asked looking into her eyes.
“Many things.” she told him.
“Name one.” he challenged.
“Did you know that wildings beyond the Wall steal their brides?” she asked and had to suppress her smile when his head turned exactly like a confused dog.
“Steal their brides?” he asked.
“Yes. All maids in the North are warned of it though they don't often come as far as Winterfell but both the Umbers and the Mormonts have had daughters stolen. They come over the wall, search for a woman they like and take her back to their village beyond the wall. If the wildling is still alive come morning they’re married before the heart tree.” she explained.
“Still alive?” he asked.
“Its the responsibility of the woman and her male relatives to kill the man if she does not wish for the wedding to take place. They have until morning to kill him, if he is alive come morning they assume she is ruined and the marriage goes but wildlings dont care much about things like maidenheads or well laws.” she told him.
“Do you dream of being stolen Little Bird?” he asked, his voice a little husky.
“Sandor what if?” she asked quietly.
“That's a big what if Sansa.” he said and she nodded.
“But what if?” she insisted.
“If,” he paused, “If I stole you Little Bird I would only do so if I had a plan and if it was something you wanted.”
“Maybe you should come up with a plan,” she said before adding, “if that would be something you wanted.”
He nodded but said nothing else and Sansa settled into the little area she’d taken up under his arm. They stayed there for a bit before Sandor mentioned having to get back to duty and Sansa bid him goodbye with a soft smile.
Sansa didn't eat, instead going to sleep and dreaming of a tall wildling with hair black as ink and eyes of smoky steel stealing her away over the Wall.