Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know your lover boy’s a warty asshole, right?” Arya broke the taut silence from Sansa’s bed. She’d flopped there, all dirty and sweaty and covered in God knew what else, while Sansa had been working curlers out of her hair. She glared at her sister in her vanity mirror, tossing down a few hair pins irritably.

“He’s not my ‘lover boy’, and he most certainly isn’t a...that other thing you said.” Sansa couldn’t even bring herself to repeat Arya’s filth. “And get off my bed, you’re getting all disgusting. Honestly , Arya, why can’t you behave like a girl sometimes?”

Ayra shrugged, rolling on her back and extending one leg high in the air. She scratched at a mosquito bite lazily. “Because it’s boring. You never do anything fun.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, leaning close to the mirror to try to even out the kohl she was applying. Arya’s idea of fun was decidedly different than hers. She knew if her sister had her way she’d spend all day, every day of the year down on the river bottom catching frogs with Rickon while Bran watched, or making mud pies, or climbing trees or playing hockey when the river froze in the winter. “Well, if I never do anything fun, then why’re you in here getting my bed all dirty and watching me?”

“Because I like cheesing you off, that’s why.” Ayra slid off Sansa’s white lacy comforter, leaving dirt streaks where her heels had been, and picked up the soft, petal pink dress Sansa had hung from her closet door. “Ugh, how can you wear stuff like this?”

Rising from her chair, Sansa snatched the dress back from Arya before she could ruin that, too. “Easily. Now get out, Joff’s going to be here any minute and he can’t stand waiting.”

“Because he’s a warty ass-” Not waiting for Arya to finish, Sansa gave her a mighty shove out of her room and shut the door firmly after her. She could practically see Arya sticking her tongue out through the oak before she trotted off down the hall. Sansa resolved not to give her sister another thought as she shucked off her robe and tugged on her dress, powdering her knees before rolling her stockings up. Through her open window, she heard tires crunching over the driveway outside. Oh no, he’s not supposed to be here or another half an hour! Hazarding a glance outside, Sansa’s heart tripped at the sight of the Lannister’s sleek Silver Phantom idling out front. Slipping on her shoes with one hand, she clumsily dabbed perfume behind her ears and, after a thought, between her breasts before running down the curved staircase. “I’m going!” she called to whomever was listening, and slid out into the evening.

Sansa swallowed hard, trying to keep her nervousness invisible. Joff’s driver, Sandor Clegane, had unfolded his impressive bulk from the front of the car and was holding the back door of the car open for her. Smoothing her skirt, she nodded at him perfunctorily before climbing in. Sansa never knew what, if anything, she should say to Sandor. After all, he was just hired help. Not that meant much, though. Sansa had been raised to treat everyone, wealthy or not, with an equal amount of respect, and she tried to live by that rule. It was just that Sandor seemed so angry all the time, and she was scared of saying the wrong thing.

“Do you have any idea how long we were waiting?” Joffrey snapped as soon as Sandor had shut the back door. “You knew I was coming at seven.”

Sansa bit back the urge to roll her eyes, and in the very far reaches of her mind she wondered if Arya’s character assessment wasn’t right. From the driver’s seat, Sandor’s stormy dark eyes flashed in the rear-view mirror. “Seven-thirty. We’re half an hour early. You wanted to avoid traffic, remember?”

Joffrey huffed, opening his mouth to retort. Something about the way the scarred tissue in Sandor’s jaw twitched made him close his mouth straight away again, and he slouched back in the seat. “Still. You should’ve been waiting.”

“I will be next time.” Sansa replied demurely. Part of her didn’t want there to be a next time, even, but another part of her did. She’d had such a crush on Joffrey Baratheon from the minute they’d met back during their freshman year of high school, back when he’d been all charm and grace and smiles. That hadn’t changed, even after their fathers had died together, but the first time she’d gone out with Joffrey...Sansa didn’t like to think about it. The charm, grace, and smiles seemed to burn away like cheap newsprint in a fire revealing a cruel, snide boy underneath. He’d reduced their waitress to tears within five minutes of being seated, and that was only him getting warmed up. She’d hoped that it was just the situation that made him be like that, just the pain of losing his father and having the gory details splashed all over the newspaper, but the more time Sansa spent  with him the more obvious it became that it wasn’t. And now, months later, she was worried she was in over her head. There has to be some good in him somewhere, though.

Sansa tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear, glancing at Joffrey and wishing he’d say something nice to her, for once. When he just gazed banally out the window, she sighed softly, and returned her gaze to the front. Sandor was still gazing at her in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. The uncomfortable feeling that was rooting around in her stomach squirmed again, and she took a deep breath. “Where’re we going tonight? You never said.”

Joffrey turned towards her then, his lips twisting in a small smile. “Mama’s. It’s a bit of a dive, but I heard their lasagna’s to die for.”

“No,” Sansa wasn’t aware she’d breathed the single syllable until Joffrey’s eyebrows arched. “Please, not there, anywhere else, that’s where my father died, Joff.”

“So? It’s where mine died too, and you don’t see me going all waxy about it. And anyway, if your father’d been doing his job neither of them’d be dead anyway.” Joffrey turned his attention back to Sandor. “Make sure you park out front - the alley’s bound to have puddles in it.”

Sansa stared at him a moment longer before she couldn’t anymore. She felt like she was going to be sick and for half a second, considered asking Sandor to pull over. No, that’ll just make Joff angrier. Just hold it in. Sit up nice and straight and take deep breaths. That got you through the funeral, that’ll get you through this and it won’t be as bad it can’t be as bad. Be strong like Mother asked you to. Biting her lip until she tasted copper, Sansa set her gaze straight ahead while Sandor drove. After her father had been murdered, Sansa had been expected to keep her head up and hold the family together while her mother grieved and Robb set out to find his killer. The younger kids had varying degrees of understanding about what had happened, and by the time even little Rickon comprehended the loss, Sansa had buried her tears and pain so far down she thought they’d never come back up. They’re not going to tonight. They can’t.

Presently Sandor jerked the Phantom into park in front of a tiny restaurant with a red-and-white striped awning and a tantalizing smell leeching out of it. On any other night, it would make Sansa’s mouth water but tonight all she wanted to do was run all the way back home. Joff climbed out next to her, slamming his car door shut and leaving her alone in the car with Sandor while she gathered her wits. He turned halfway in the driver’s seat, examining her. “You’d best just get it overwith, girl.” His voice still had the same hoarse, gravelly pitch it always did but there was something else in it, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Don’t let him see you upset. That’s what he wants.” He jerked his head towards the door. “Go on now.”

Caught off guard, Sansa could only nod stiffly before climbing out of the car. Why would Sandor care if she was upset or not? What was it to him? He just probably doesn’t want to deal with Joff being upset later. Squaring her shoulders, Sansa followed Joff into the narrow brick building.

“Bottle of wine, and some garlic bread.” Joffrey slapped his open hand on the tabletop as their waitress approached. “And be quick about it.”

The waitress, a pretty young thing, raised her eyebrow at Joffrey, and Sansa cringed. “Not that we have any wine, of course, but aren’t you a little young for it, kid?”

“Kid?” Joffrey snorted derisively, and Sansa fought off the urge to bury her face in her hands. Sure enough, Joff stood, half a hand taller than the waitress, and took a threatening step towards her. The girl stepped back, her dark eyes widening. “You have any idea who I am?”

“Joffrey, please,” Sansa pleaded, clutching his hand. Joffrey shook her off, shooting her an annoyed glare.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarled at her before turning back to the waitress, glancing at her nametag. “Listen here, Julia , either you do what I say or I’ll have the Mayor down here so fast your empty little head will spin, understand? And you’ll be out of a job.”

The waitress glanced down at Sansa quickly before nodding once. “I- I understand. I’ll bring it right out.”

Joffrey flung himself back in his chair, still glowering. He fastened his gaze on Sansa, who occupied herself with folding her napkin neatly in her lap. “She shouldn’t have questioned me.”

Sansa didn’t reply, and just kept her eyes on the tablecloth in front of her as Julia returned and set a bottle of wine on the table without a word. She poured a glass for Joffrey with a trembling hand, and a few drops spilled onto the white tablecloth. Sansa stared at it, so red, and suddenly it was all she could see. The restaurant was a mess after. The newspapers all said so, they were talking about it at school. Daddy tried to shield the Mayor, but he couldn’t and his head - she squeezed her eyes shut. Her father’d had a closed-casket funeral; she could still see the polished oak coffin at the front of the church, her older brother all in his dress blues, jaw clenched and eyes welling, her mother with a thin black veil over her face. There had been a 21-gun-salute at the cemetery, each shot sounding louder and louder in the late summer stillness until-

“Sansa, are you listening? I swear, you’re as dull as my brother.” Joffrey was well into his second glass of wine, slouched back in his chair now.

Sansa took a long drink of ice water, willing the cold into her veins. “Then why did you ask me to dinner?”

Joffrey blinked. Sansa had never questioned him before, had hardly even spoken against him. His full lips worked fruitlessly, and he drained his glass. “What did you say to me?”

“Why do you continue to see me when if I bore you so? There must be other girls out there who hold your fancy.” Sansa busied her hands, breaking off a small bit of fresh garlic bread. It tasted like sawdust in her mouth.

Joffrey’s mouth tightened, his eyes flat as old coins. He toyed with his fork agitatedly, spearing it into the plate of lasagna Julia set in front of him and twirling molten cheese about it. “If you must know, Mother insists I see you. You’re the only one with any real breeding, and I’m not about to have my children fall out of some two-bit tramp.” He poured another glass of wine, tracing his finger in a circle around the rim and staring at her almost challengingly.

“Children?!” Sansa’s stomach quailed. “We’re only sixteen, Joff. Children- I...I want to go to college, and be in the movies, and-”

“College? You’re a girl , Sansa, and girls don’t go to college. And forget being in the movies. Being in a handful of school plays doesn’t mean you could make it in Hollywood. We’ll wed after I’m through with college, and you’ll give me a son within the year.”

Sansa’s head was spinning. This wasn’t what she wanted, he wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore. She looked at him across the table and suddenly realized how unattractive he was - the golden hair she’d once gazed at in rapture was more yellow than anything. His lips sneered more than smiled, and his jaw was set forth in a petulant pout, much like one she’d seen on Rickon on one of his more difficult days. Sansa looked around the restaurant suddenly, seeing it as if for the first time. Her father had died here, had breathed his last within these walls. What would he say if he were here right now? He’d raised her to be lady, yes, but not to be a wet blanket. Not to let some boy like Joffrey Baratheon walk all over her and treat her like a slave.

All at once Sansa threw down her napkin and stood, ignoring the eyes of the other patrons. “No, Joff, we’re not going to wed after you’re through with college, I will not give you a son, I am going home now, and next time you want someone dull with good breeding to have dinner with take your brother out.” She turned on her heel to march straight out of the restaurant. I’ll call Robb, or Theon if I have to. One of them can come and get me.

Before she could get too far away, Joffrey seized her arm in a vise-like grip. “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed. “Sit down.”

For a moment Sansa nearly did as he ordered, but she imagined her father sitting just there, over in the corner, giving her silent cold strength. “No, I don’t think I will. Goodnight, Joffrey.” Yanking her arm out of his grip, she held her head high and strode out of the restaurant.

“Where’re you headed, little miss?” Sandor’s hoarse voice was the first thing that met her ears, and Sansa jumped. He was leaning against the outside of the restaurant, the orange light from his cigarette playing off the horrid, twisted scars of his face.

She smoothed her wool coat over her stomach and squared her shoulders. “I’m calling my brother, and I am going home. Thank you for the ride, and have a good evening.”

“Bullshit.” Sandor straightened lazily, flicking his cigarette away into a puddle of half-melted snow.

“I’m sorry?” Sansa tried to keep her tone polite, but it was hard when she realized she hardly came up to the middle of Sandor’s chest.

Sandor’s expression was a mixture of a scowl and a sardonic, twisted grin. “It’ll be a good forty minutes before your brother can get here. Where’s Joff?”

Sansa glanced back towards the restaurant door and as if on command, Joffrey burst out of it, face flushed with rage. He was stumbling, swaying as if he wasn’t quite sure how to operate his feet, and Sansa realized with a no small satisfaction that he was drunk. Off three glasses of wine? Arya can hold her liquor better than that.

“How dare you talk to me like that?!” Joffrey was stumbling towards her now, a finger in her face. “Do you have any idea of what I could do to you?”

Sansa instinctively took a step back, bumping into a solid wall of muscle. She flinched, meaning to move away, but Sandor held onto her shoulder, keeping her still. His grip was gentler than she thought it’d be, his palm warm even through her coat.

“That’s enough now, Joff.” He rumbled. “Get in the car now, it’s time to go. Did you settle the bill?”

“Fuck the bill,” Joffrey spat, and Sandor merely rolled his eyes. He released Sansa and grabbed Joffrey by the scruff of his neck, steering him towards the Phantom. “Get your hands off me! You can’t-”

As Sandor pulled open the back door, the corner of it struck Joffrey in the head, and he went blessedly silent. Sandor dumped him in the backseat like a sack of rice, shutting the door firmly before turning back to Sansa. “You coming?”

“Is...is he alright?” Sansa only asked because she knew she was expected to.

Sandor shrugged, jerking his head towards the passenger side door. “He’ll live. He’ll have a bitch of a headache in the morning but he’ll just blame it on the wine. C’mon, get in. Up in the front, he’s taking up the back seat all by himself.”

Any joy or elation Sansa had felt from finally speaking freely to Joffrey evaporated. “The front?”

“Yes, girl, the front. Unless you want to ride on the hood?” Sandor was growing irritated now, so Sansa slid into the front seat without another word. Glancing in the backseat, she saw Joffrey sprawled out on his stomach, snoring slightly. He should’ve hit him a few more times. Sandor eased the car into traffic smoothly. “He didn’t hit you, I trust?”

“No,” Sansa looked down at her hands. Not this time. “He just yelled, and I told him I was done with him.”

Sandor laughed, more a hoarse bark than anything. “You really think it’s that easy?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I don’t want to see him anymore.”

“Silly little bird.” Sandor chuckled again, sounding genuinely amused now. “He’s not going to let you go that easily. You embarrassed him in there, and he’s nothing if not proud. He’s got a lot of face to save. No, you’re going to have to keep seeing him whether you like it or not, or else he’s going to make things very difficult for you.”

“So what’m I supposed to do?” Sansa was trying to keep the desperation out of her voice, but failing miserably.

Sandor gave her a sideways glance. “You really asking me for advice on how to ditch a date?”

Normally Sansa would’ve laughed, but the situation seemed too grim for any of that. Plus, she didn’t want to risk waking up Joffrey. So instead she just looked at him. Fortunately the side of his face she could see wasn’t the mangled one, and she wondered briefly what he’d be like if he hadn’t suffered his injuries. He certainly wouldn’t be carting around Joff and I, that’s for sure. “I guess not.”

They continued in silence for a bit, the only sound breaking it the guttural snores from the backseat. Sansa rubbed a hand over her stomach - she hadn’t eaten more than a bite or two of lasagna and now that they’d left Mama’s behind, her appetite was starting to return a bit. Finally, after what felt like hours, Sandor stopped the car in front of Riverrun. Putting the car into park, he rested his arm along the back of the seat. “He’ll get bored with you eventually, just like he has with all his toys. Once he does, and he chucks you aside, you’d do well to spend a few weeks crying or doing whatever it is girls do when they’re upset. It’ll keep him from throwing a tantrum.”

“What do I do until then?”

Sandor looked at her full-on then, and she kept herself from recoiling at his scars. You should be used to them by now and anyway, it’s rude to stare. “Just keep on doing what you’re doing. He won’t remember what you said to him tonight, and if he does, you can play it off. I’ve seen you act, you’re good enough to pretend.”

“What if he-” Sansa stopped, unsure how to continue. “What if he tries to-”

Something shifted in the shadows of Sandor’s face then, and she wasn’t sure if she actually felt his fingers brush her hair, or if she imagined it. “He won’t. He won’t hurt you, so long as I’m here.”

Sansa swallowed. It wasn’t just the shadows that shifted now, it was everything. The air felt different, the seat beneath her, the way her heart thudded in her chest. She had the distinct feeling something had changed inside her, purely without her permission or full knowledge. “And if you’re not here?”

“Won’t happen. Wherever he goes, I go.” Sandor gazed at her another full minute before Joffrey shifted in the backseat, muttering something unintelligible. “You better get, before he wakes up.”

Sansa nodded, opening the door. She was halfway out before she paused again. “Thank you for the ride and-”

He cut her off brusquely. “Just get going, would ya?” As soon as Sansa shut the door he hit the accelerator, tires squealing slightly. She watched the tail lights vanish around a curve in the road, wrapping her arms around herself. You were so close. Sansa supposed she could talk to Robb or her mother about it, but she didn’t want to bother them with something so trivial. No, Joffrey was her burden to bear. For now, anyway. And Sandor said he wouldn’t let him hurt you. She had no real reason to trust Sandor, but something about the way he’d said it...she believed him. She would have to trust him.

Before she could dwell too long on the thought, there was a rustling in the bushes next to the gates to Riverrun. Sansa spun, her heart in her throat, but she sighted when it was just Arya. Her spindly little sister was covered in leaves and had a new scrape along one shin, but she didn’t seem to notice. “So how’s the warty asshole? You weren’t gone that long.”

Sansa glared and started up towards the front door. “Were you spying on me from in there?”

“Nope.” Arya trailed after. “You’re boring, remember? No, I was spying on Jory and Osha. He’s really flexible, did you know that?”

“ Arya!”