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Sandor is too fucking old for nightclubs.
The realization hits him as he grunts “No” repeatedly at the creepy guy who is too sloshed to be allowed anywhere near other people, let alone the dozens of half-dressed women gyrating on the dancefloor inside. Sandor knows that if he lets him in, he’ll have to escort him out again within fifteen minutes, either for starting a fight or grabbing a tit. Sandor has no interest in risking it. It takes three more repetitions of the fact that Sandor does, indeed, deny him entry, before the man finally gets the message and staggers off. Sandor looks at the queue of young people and sighs. He really is too old for this shit.
After this insight, the hours drag on even more painfully than before. When Sandor finally leaves the club behind, the bass still echoes in his head, and he feels a headache coming in. On a whim, before he hits the bed, he shoots Tywin a text asking for a different, calmer jobsite. It’s seven in the morning, and the man is probably well into his workday. He could just quit and find a bodyguarding gig somewhere, but he has worked on and off for the Lannisters for over ten years now. Maybe Tywin has something suitable for him.
When Sandor wakes, he sees that Tywin has replied and graciously offers him a position as a night guard at the University of Lannisport. Sandor immediately agrees.
///
The following week, instead of endlessly kicking drunk, aggressive people out of the club, he finds himself leisurely strolling along the majestic buildings of Westeros’ oldest university. Taking a nightly walk on the campus is something he did in his youth, too, and he didn’t even get paid for it then. His keys jingle, the insects hum, and it’s peaceful and quiet.
It doesn’t take long for Sandor to relax into his new routine. Sometimes, he finds students sitting on the grass drinking alcohol, but they usually scramble as soon as they see his hulking form approach. One look at his burn scars makes even the ballsier kids gasp and flee. Sandor doesn’t have to utter a word. Not once during the first few weeks after starting his new job is he forced to bodily drag a person from the property.
One evening, he dons his uniform and prepares for yet another uneventful night in his now delightfully noiseless life. He enters the university grounds through a side entrance and starts walking towards the main building. When he turns the corner, however, he sees light coming from one of the reading rooms and stops. He doesn’t want to have to talk to someone tonight. If he’s being honest with himself, he never wants to talk to anyone – he just doesn’t care for social interaction in general. He hopes it’s simply that someone forgot to turn the light switch off.
He creeps closer, spots the movement of a shadow, and sighs deeply. Seems he has to check it out. Before he enters the building, however, he silently sneaks up to the window. The reading rooms are on the ground floor, so he plans to spy on his enemy to mentally prepare himself against whoever he’ll be facing.
He freezes at what he sees. It’s not a group of drunk freshmen, mistaking the reading room for one of the student bars down the street. The picture that is presented to him is… beautiful and serene. In one of the cozy alcoves, a woman is reclining on soft-looking pillows. She is reading, and notes and textbooks are scattered around her. A single reading lamp is turned on and her bright red hair is fanned out, glowing like a halo. The scene could be out of a painting.
If there’s something that makes Sandor more uncomfortable than a group of boisterous young people, it’s having to talk to a beautiful woman.
Sandor battles with himself. On the one hand, no students are permitted on university grounds after ten p.m. On the other hand, it doesn’t seem as if the woman is on a rampage of destruction. She probably doesn’t plan to stay here all night, he reasons. He will walk the whole perimeter once and hope she’ll be gone after he has finished his round. If she’s still here by then, he will have to kick her out. Sandor takes one last look at her and turns around.
When he returns, the reading room is dark. Sandor enters the building to lock it up and is confused by the feeling of slight disappointment.
///
She’s back the next evening. Sandor stands a little longer in front of the window and watches her. Tonight, she’s lying on her stomach, feet idly swinging in the air. She marks sentences in her textbook and chews on her pen. Sandor doesn’t want to disturb her. So, like the day before, he just leaves her be and starts his first round.
The new routine continues. Every evening, Sandor checks the reading room and looks through the window for a few minutes. Then he shakes off whatever weird feelings come over him and reminds himself of how inappropriately he is acting. He retreats in shame. But it’s like something makes him gravitate towards her, and he finds himself back at the window the next night and every night after that.
He begins to notice small things. The woman stares into the distance from time to time. First, he just thinks it’s concentration, but the way she closes her eyes for a short moment to refocus makes him think it’s something else, and he aches to know what it is. Sometimes, when she has read the same page three times, she huffs in irritation, and a few strands of hair move with her breath. When she stands up to grab a new book from her bag, Sandor realizes that she is tall for a woman and that her movements are graceful. He begins to call her “little bird” in his head.
///
Two weeks after he first spotted the woman, Sandor returns from his first round of the night to see that the light is still on. He debates on what to do. He could just start his next round without bothering her. But then, it is two a.m. on a Friday night, and she really shouldn’t be here. Sandor is annoyed with himself for overthinking the matter that much. After some internal back and forth, he takes a fortifying breath and heads to the building entrance. He walks through the hallway and quietly opens the door. The woman is still reading, humming softly. Sandor freezes and stares at her. After a while, it becomes clear that she is so absorbed in her work that if he doesn’t do anything, she won’t notice him any time soon.
Sandor takes a step into the room and clears his throat. The woman jumps and whips her head around.
“Oh, you scared me!” She exclaims.
Sandor stiffens. “My face tends to do that,” he mumbles after a while.
“No, I meant –” The woman flounders. “I just didn’t hear you come in and you surprised me, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with your face.” She then takes a closer look, and even though the light in the room is low, it can’t conceal the mess of scars that is Sandor’s right side. She winces.
“There’s a fuck-ton wrong with my face, and I’m aware of that”, Sandor says flatly. He has dealt with disgust and rejection all his life. The little bird is just one person more, but even if he knows her reaction is natural, it stings a little.
The woman looks a bit panicked, and suddenly Sandor wonders if he is frightening her. That wasn’t his intention, but now he realizes how this must look to her. A big, ugly man just intruded into her space, it’s in the middle of the night, and she is all alone.
“I’m sorry,” she says unexpectedly. Sandor blinks, taken aback. “I’m tired, and this came out all wrong. Can we forget it and start fresh? Hi, I’m Sansa. Nice to meet you.”
She holds out her hand and Sandor stares at it incredulously. Does she mean it? Or does she make fun of him? Before she can withdraw her hand, however, he takes it carefully and shakes it.
“I’m Sandor,” he says, and she smiles up at him. Sandor is overwhelmed.
“I’m the night guard.” He jingles his keys. “I’m here to kick you out.”
Her face falls, and Sandor wants to kick himself.
“Oh,” she says.
“Yeah,” he confirms. There is an awkward silence, and Sandor fills it with a hesitant: “I’m sorry?”
“No, it’s alright,” the little bird – Sansa – says. “I should head home anyway. It’s late.” She doesn’t look very enthusiastic about the idea. Sandor doesn’t know what else to say and tries to make himself invisible (which is challenging, being a menacing hulk) while Sansa collects all her books and pens. She fills her bag up to the brim, and it looks heavy.
“Do you want me to carry that out?” Sandor asks before he can stop himself. Sansa pauses.
“You would do that? Just so you know, I have a boyfriend. Not that you’re insinuating anything here, or…” Sansa blushes a deep red as she speaks and bites her lip nervously. Sandor can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach, but it’s not as if he hasn’t expected it, anyway. Sansa is stunning, and judging by the time she spends in the reading room, hard-working and smart. It makes sense that she has a partner who cherishes her. And, even if she was single – Sandor wouldn’t have a chance, anyway.
“I’ll still carry your bag, if you want me to,” he says.
She then smiles at him, again. Sandor doesn’t even remember the last time someone looked at him without disgust.
“Yes, please,” she says. “That’s very kind of you.”
Sandor nods jerkily. Together, they grab the last of her stuff. Sandor takes her bag, Sansa switches off the light and in the dark, they find the door. He locks it and they leave. He accompanies her across the campus back to the main entrance.
“Have a nice night,” she says.
“You too,” Sandor forces out, and then she’s gone. Sandor spends the rest of the night in a stupor.
///
Sandor continues to watch the peaceful scene of Sansa reading and taking notes every day before starting his round, and each time he contemplates saying hello, but ultimately decides against it. She clearly just wants to get some work done in peace, and he doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable with his presence. It’s another Friday when she stays late again. Sandor heads inside.
“Don’t be scared,” he says in a quiet, rough voice. Sansa startles nevertheless. She is flighty, Sandor thinks. His nickname for her fits well. “It’s just me,” he adds, even though in normal circumstances, that doesn’t make it better. Sansa immediately is at ease, though.
“Hey, Sandor,” she smiles at him. She remembered his name, Sandor thinks dazedly.
“I must have forgotten the time again. Is it that late already?” She asks. Sandor nods, tongue-tied. “Well, then I’ll pack up,” she says. Like last week, Sandor helps her collect her things and takes her bag. They don’t say anything else, and Sandor escorts her from the property.
“Until next time,” she tells him, and Sandor grunts his assent. He can’t believe that this beautiful, young woman doesn’t do everything in her power to avoid having to talk to him again, but he won’t discourage her from it.
///
Sandor thinks about it the whole weekend, and on Monday, instead of watching her through the window, he goes to visit his little bird before starting his first round. Sansa is surprised but doesn’t look disappointed to see him.
“Not kicking you out yet,” he grumbles. “Just came to say hello.” He flushes but hopes she can’t see it, as he is standing in the dark side of the room.
“Hi, Sandor,” Sansa smiles.
And now, Sandor doesn’t know what to say. He regrets coming in. So, he turns around without another word and leaves. He kicks at leaves and swears at himself for the whole duration of his walk. He is acting ridiculous.
When he comes back, the light is still on. Sandor thinks that even if he wants to ignore her, he can’t, since he has to lock the room. So, he grudgingly visits her, again.
“You’re back!” Sansa chirps happily at him. She doesn’t seem angry about his blunder from before.
“Yes,” Sandor says. “I’m… sorry I bothered you.”
“You don’t bother me,” she says easily. Sandor eyes her warily, but she seems to mean it.
“Still,” he says. Silence follows. “Why are you here every evening?” he finally blurts out.
“What?” Sansa asks. Sandor curses himself.
“I’ve seen you before,” he mumbles. Great, now she knows he is as creepy as he looks.
“You watched me?” Sandor doesn’t look at her and nods.
“Again, I… didn’t want to bother you.” Sandor winces. She will never talk to him again, now. He fucked up.
“Okay,” Sansa says slowly. “Well, as I said, you don’t. I can spare five minutes without staring at my textbooks. So, when you see me, just come in, okay? It’s only fair since you let me stay even though I shouldn’t be here. I know perfectly well it’s technically after closing time.”
He finally dares to look up again. Sansa smiles kindly at him, and he doesn’t know how he deserves it. “Okay,” he confirms.
“As for your original question,” she says. “I moved to Lannisport to be with my boyfriend. My family is all up in the North. But… the flat is so cold and I can’t concentrate there, so I come here. And on Fridays, he usually goes out with his friends, and I love him, I do, but I don’t like how he gets when he is drunk, so I wait to go home until he’s already back and asleep.”
Sandor nods. He doesn’t voice that he thinks it’s a bit weird, practically hiding from a boyfriend. If he ever has a woman, he hopes that she would like to be around him all the time, even when he’s drunk. But it’s unlikely he will ever get a girlfriend, anyway. Most of his hook-ups in the past happened in the dark, and the women never stayed long after they saw his face.
“Anyway,” Sansa says. “I’m all packed up. Let’s go.”
They say goodbye at the main entrance, and only after she’s gone, Sandor realizes that she waited up for him.
///
The following days, Sandor sits with his little bird for a few minutes before starting the first round, and then again after. They talk a little more each time. Sandor notices that Sansa flinches whenever he moves too abruptly, and he tries his hardest not to scare her. After a while, he comes to the conclusion that it isn’t him specifically that makes her flinch, and he doesn’t like what it’s implying. Was her family not good to her? Is that another reason why she moved so far away from them? She also doesn’t seem very happy in her relationship, but Sandor reasons he may be biased. He has no right to judge her relationship just because he himself is attracted to the little bird.
“I’m glad I met you,” she says one evening. “I don’t have any friends here.”
“Why?” Sandor asks, baffled.
“I’m– “ Sansa flushes. Sandor thinks it’s because of embarrassment, but he doesn’t know what for. Sansa straightens her back and carries on. “I’m pretty shallow. And stupid. I like dresses and romance books, which is childish. I’m too thin and that makes me ugly. I can’t keep up with the people here, and I understand that they don’t want to be friends with the annoying, naïve girl from the countryside.”
Sandor stares at her. “Who the fuck told you that?” He asks. Sansa blushes further and looks to the ground. Sandor can’t believe it.
“What the fuck!” He exclaims and Sansa gives a little jerk. Sandor immediately feels bad.
“Listen,” he says. “You’re kind. You’re so fucking kind it hurts my heart someone is saying that shit about you.”
“But, it’s true!” Sansa says.
“No, it’s not,” Sandor says vehemently. “You’re here every evening studying your ass off, you’re not fucking stupid. Nothing’s wrong with liking dresses and cute books. And I hope you don’t hate me for saying that, but you’re fucking beautiful. How the fuck can you think you’re ugly?”
Sansa doesn’t answer him. She looks small, and Sandor wants to rip the head off anyone who told her that bullshit about herself.
“Let’s just… drop it,” Sansa says, and he can see that she’s shaking a little. Sandor didn’t want to make her feel sad. “I just wanted to say that… I’m glad I met you.” Sandor takes a deep breath to calm himself.
“Okay,” he says. Then adds: “I’m glad I met you, too.”
Sansa gives him a wobbly smile. Sandor wants to wrap her into his arms, just to comfort her, but he knows that this would cross a boundary. So, he asks instead: “You want to go outside for a while? I have to do my perimeter walk. The stars are nice.” It’s a pretty clumsy attempt at cheering her up, but it seems to work. Sansa agrees, and they walk the campus mostly in silence, watching the stars.
///
It’s a week later, when Sansa puts her pen away to give him her full attention, when the sleeve of her shirt rides up a little and Sandor sees a bruise there.
“Are you hurt?” He asks with concern.
Sansa blushes and quickly pulls the sleeve down again. “It’s nothing,” she mumbles. “I just hit the door in my morning rush.”
“Okay,” Sandor says and leaves it at that.
But then, two days later, Sansa wears a scarf and she is quieter than usual. His little bird never wears scarves, it’s warm inside the building, and it’s fucking summer. A terrible suspicion forms in Sandor’s mind.
“Let me see your neck,” he demands. Sansa jumps.
“What?” She stammers.
“Your neck,” Sandor repeats. Sansa wildly shakes her head.
“No, please,” she says, looking up at him with panic in her eyes. “Whatever you think, don’t. And don’t say anything.”
That seals it, then. Sandor balls his fists. They shake. Sansa watches him with a fearful expression on her face. He can’t take it.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Sandor growls. He jumps up and flees the room.
His usually peaceful walk around the perimeter of the Lannisport University grounds is filled with aggravation. Sandor’s mind swirls in a thousand directions. He thinks back to what he knows of his little bird, and he thinks he may be sick. The jumpiness. How she stares into the distance, a forlorn look in her eyes. That she has no family here, and that she’s all alone. She even told him that she doesn’t like to be home when her boyfriend is drunk, and suddenly Sandor is afraid of what that means. He feels helpless, and he wants to kill the asshole who hurt his little bird. He was happy for her when he thought she was in a loving relationship, but this. Sandor doesn’t know what to do.
He is still confused and angry when he comes back, but he tries to hide it. Sansa awaits him nervously, playing with the ends of her scarf. Sandor can’t even look at it.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “Please don’t be angry with me.”
“It’s not you I’m angry with,” Sandor growls, and he knows he looks frightening right now, but he can’t help it. “Can I kill him?”
“No!” Sansa calls. “He’s… please don’t hurt him. He loves me, it’s just sometimes that I do something stupid and…”
“That’s bullshit,” Sandor interrupts bluntly. “That’s some fucking bullshit and you know it.”
His little bird looks so sad and hopeless that Sandor realizes she does not know it. “I don’t think anyone else would love me,” she says quietly. “He’s smart and handsome and from a good family. He’s everything I should want.”
I would love you, Sandor thinks despite himself. He doesn’t think it’s hard to love Sansa, someone so gentle, kind, and studious. The rest of her list… he can’t offer that. But that doesn’t mean she has to deal with an asshole who hurts her. There are enough other options for her.
“Anyway, I chose to come here, and even if it didn’t work out as perfectly as I imagined it would, it’s okay most of the time. Please, let’s talk about something else.”
Sandor can see that he won’t get through to her tonight.
“Okay,” he says. “Just please… be careful.” Then he tells her about the fireflies he has seen on his walk, and Sansa jumps on the new topic.
After he has said his goodbye, however, he can’t forget what he learned that day. On the way home, he tries to figure out how to help her. He doesn’t have a spare room, but maybe he can offer her his bedroom and sleep on the couch? It’s just that she needs to want to get away from her boyfriend, and he has the feeling that she thinks she loves him, even if he treats her horribly. He can’t kidnap a grown woman against her will, even if it’s for her own safety.
///
Sandor doesn’t breach the topic again, but every evening, he looks closely if he can spot new bruises on his little bird. The scarf comes off after a week, and strangers might not notice it, but Sandor can still make out the slightly yellow discoloration on Sansa’s otherwise pale throat. It’s definitely fingerprints, and once again, Sandor spends his walk kicking leaves in helpless anger. In contrast, Sansa’s back to her usual kind and gentle self. She smiles happily at him whenever he comes through the door, and Sandor falls deeper and deeper in love. It’s a confusing cocktail of feelings.
Two weeks after the scarf incident, he turns the corner and sees that there is no light in the reading room. Disappointment fills him, and then, worry. Since the first night, Sansa has been there every single weekday evening. It’s not typical for her to break routine without telling him before, that much he knows about her by now. He starts his round, uneasiness filling him, but he doesn’t have a way to contact her and ask if everything is all right. Maybe something came up. Maybe she finally made other friends and is out drinking or going to the cinema. Maybe it’s something completely harmless – but maybe, it’s not, and she is hurt and he can do nothing but hope she’ll be here tomorrow.
As he passes the science building, he hears a commotion coming from his left. There are several voices, laughter, but something that sounds like cries, too. Sandor’s blood runs cold. He quickens his steps and storms through the gate into the small courtyard from where the noise is coming from.
There is a group of young men in a circle, laughing and jeering. Joffrey Baratheon, the little shit, is one of them, and Sandor wonders what he is doing here. Joffrey doesn’t attend university, and he wouldn’t have the brains for it, anyway. When Sandor sees what the chaos is all about, all sensible thought leaves him. There, in the middle of the circle, kneels Sansa. Her shirt is ripped, and her small, pink tits are displayed for all to see. Tears are streaming down her face, and her left cheek is reddened as if someone slapped her.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sandor bellows and half of the men jump in fright. Joffrey just turns and gives him a lazy smile. “Oh, my grandfather’s lapdog has joined the fun. Do come here, I was just telling my friends how challenging it is when your girlfriend is so thin that she looks like a man.”
“Fun?” Sandor is so shocked he doesn’t have a smart reply. But it doesn’t matter, anyway. “Girlfriend?” He asks, and then the situation catches up with him again. “Oh, you fucking shit stain,” he says, swings his fist and knocks Joffrey straight in the face. Joffrey’s head whips back and he staggers a few steps away from him. “You fucking asshole,” Sandor advances and gives him another hit. Joffrey’s nose breaks with a satisfying crunch. He wails and tries to bring more distance between them, holding his hands up. “You idiot,” he screams through the blood running down his chin. “Tywin will have your head for that!” Then he starts crying. Sandor raises his fist again, but Joffrey turns around and runs away.
Sandor remembers the other men. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he growls. “I’ll give you a beating, too.” He turns on the one standing closest to him, and they all scramble. When the noise of their quickly retreating steps has faded, Sandor gives up his menacing pose and goes to Sansa, who is sniffling on the ground.
“You alright?” He grumbles. Sansa frantically tries to cover her front with her hands and Sandor wants to hit Joffrey again.
“I’m not looking,” he reassures her, removes his jacket, and carefully puts it on her shoulders, pointedly staring at her red hair. Sansa claws on the fabric. She continues sobbing.
“Okay. Okay,” Sandor says. “Can I pick you up?” Sansa just continues hiccupping, but she manages a jerky nod. “Easy now,” Sandor says. He kneels down next to her. “Oh, little bird, I’m so sorry. I will touch you now. Don’t be scared.” He carefully puts his arms around her and stands up again, easily lifting her. Sansa keeps her eyes shut tightly and although she is shaking, she doesn’t fight against his embrace. On the contrary, her face finds Sandor’s chest, and he holds her more tightly in return.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says. “I’ll get you to our reading room, okay? You’re safe with me. They’re gone.” He quickly carries her all the way to the main building. It’s a bit tricky to find the right key and open the door with a quivering woman in his arms, but he manages it. Once in the cozy reading room, he switches on the usual light and deposits Sansa in the alcove. She clings to him, and he has to disentangle her fingers from his neck. When he steps back, she whimpers and finally opens her eyes.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises her. The Institute of History is two halls down, and he knows they have a small kitchen for the staff. He finds it, unlocks the door, and rummages through the cabinets. He finds what he is looking for, waits for the boiler to heat up the water, and puts the teabag in the mug. Then he marches back, trying to not burn himself in his haste.
He finds Sansa as he left her, sitting in the alcove and staring at the wall. She has stopped crying, at least. Sandor takes a chair and sits down in front of her.
“Here,” he says as softly as he can, offering the mug. Her right hand comes out from under his jacket, the other one still holding it closed over her chest. She takes a small sip. Then she looks up as if seeing him for the first time. “How… I… Thank you,” she whispers.
Sandor slumps back and runs his hand over his face. Now that the adrenaline is gone, he can start to process the events of the last fifteen minutes.
“Joffrey Baratheon is your boyfriend?” He asks incredulously. Sansa immediately starts sobbing again. Great. Sandor hasn’t much experience with consoling women, and it shows.
“Not anymore,” she says between hiccups. “I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to see him again. I can’t see him again. I don’t know what to do.” She dissolves into another round of crying. Sandor waits in silence.
“Is there anyone you can call?” He asks eventually.
“I… yes,” Sansa says. “My brothers… my phone!” She searches her pockets, and with a relieved sigh, retrieves her phone from her jeans. She stares down at it.
“I’m so ashamed,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. Call them,” Sandor encourages. With shaky fingers, Sansa goes through her contacts and selects one. After another moment of internal struggle, she finally pushes the dial button. It rings for what feels is an eternity, until a tired and confused male voice answers.
“Sansa?” The woman in question freezes. “Sansa, is that you?” The voice asks again.
“Yes,” Sansa says. “I… need your help.”
“What happened?” The voice sounds alert all of a sudden. “Are you alright?” Sansa sniffles. When Sandor realizes his little bird can’t continue, he silently holds out his hand. She gives him the phone.
“Come and get your sister,” he says bluntly.
“Who are you? What did you do to her?” The man on the phone instantly accuses him.
“I’m the fucking night guard, and Sansa’s boyfriend is a fucking asshole who hurt her. So, if you love your sister, come and fucking get her,” Sandor barks out. There is a silence following his words, until:
“Fucking Joffrey, I knew it. Where are you? I’ll wake Jon and Bran. Don’t move, we’ll be here in a few hours.”
Sandor explains their location and ends the call. He spends the next hours sitting by Sansa’s side and continues to provide her with a steady supply of tea. When the sky turns grey with the nearing of dawn, loud footsteps are heard in the hallway, and suddenly the door bangs open. Three dark-haired men burst into the room, spot Sansa, and immediately embrace her. Sansa, who has been in an exhausted haze for some time now, starts crying again and clings to them. Sandor stands aside and is, except for a shocked look at his burned face, mostly ignored. He watches the reunion closely to make sure that his little bird is safe and cared for, then silently slips out of the room and heads home.
///
When Sandor wakes, there is a message from Tywin Lannister on his phone: “My office.” Sandor sighs and looks at the time. Tywin should be still at work. After last night, Sandor doesn’t believe he has a job anymore, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He dresses, drives to the high-rise complex that contains the Lannister headquarters and gets buzzed up to Tywin’s office.
“So,” the man says, regarding him with cold eyes. “You broke my grandson’s nose.”
“Yeah,” Sandor grunts without remorse.
“I was told wild tales about your aggression. I would like to hear your side of it. Somehow I can’t believe that you spent years working for me and suddenly seek Joffrey out to ambush him in the dark.”
Sandor sees no reason to lie. “He and his friends assaulted a helpless woman. He did it before, too. Saw the fucking bruises. I’d have done more than just break his nose, but she needed me more.”
Tywin leans back with a hum.
“This woman you speak of, is it mayhaps Sansa Stark, who has disappeared without a trace as of yesterday evening? My grandson tells me he is extremely worried.”
“Worried,” Sandor spits out. He doesn’t say more after that. Tywin watches him intently.
“Interesting,” he says eventually. Sandor wants to get this done with, so he can start looking for a new job. But Tywin isn’t finished. “She had bruises before? Why didn’t you report that to me?”
“Didn’t know that she was Joffrey’s girlfriend until yesterday,” Sandor admits grudgingly.
“Well,” Tywin says. “My daughter and grandson seem to have hidden a number of quite disturbing things from me. They will be dealt with. What you say stands in accordance with the other witnesses I questioned. You are dismissed.”
Sandor blinks. “My job?” He asks. Tywin has already continued writing on his papers.
“What about it?” He asks.
“… Nothing,” Sandor says and leaves.
///
Sandor returns to work as usual, but the reading room remains dark. He walks across the courtyards and greens wondering if his little bird is okay, and curses himself for not staying longer when her family arrived. What should he have said to her brothers, though? There is nothing to tell. He’s just a random, ugly man who by coincidence, stumbled upon their sister being assaulted. Just because he fell in love with her between watching her (which he should never admit to, anyway) and their little talks, doesn’t mean she owes him anything. He wouldn’t be surprised if she just decided to leave this whole terrible chapter behind and move back to the North. The more Sandor thinks about it, the surer he becomes that this is exactly what she did. There’s nothing here for her in Lannisport. She can continue her studies in Wintertown, or even beyond the Wall, at the tiny University of Free Men.
He tries to make his peace with it and hopes that wherever she is, she’s happy.
The days and weeks following the fateful night are uneventful. Sandor gets used to doing his perimeter walks without interruption again, and everything is as it was before he met Sansa, except that there is a hole in his heart that just refuses to heal. He misses her kind smiles, and how she twirled her hair around her finger when deep in thought, and even though he only touched her once while carrying her back to the reading room, he wishes he could have had the chance to hold her in his arms without her being traumatized and shaking just a single time.
He realizes that he is lonely. It hasn’t bothered him before because that’s what he was used to, but without the bright spot of a short conversation with Sansa once or twice a day, his social interactions are reduced to practically nothing again. He spends his nights looking at the stars and thinking about his life and even plays with the idea of going back to the club. But the thought fills him with dread, and he realizes that even though his long nights walking and thinking are lonely, that’s still what he prefers to having to argue with drunk people and constantly fighting a headache because of the loud music. Working as a night guard at Lannisport University is solitary, but it is still peaceful.
He doesn’t hear anything from Tywin, and he doesn’t ask. He did write a formal report, in which he honestly relayed everything he witnessed, including what he did to Joffrey. The Lannisters are the most powerful family in Lannisport, though, so it will probably just be swept under the rug.
It’s a month later when Sandor walks around a familiar corner and sees light coming from the reading room, again. He stops in his tracks. Is he imagining it? Is he losing his mind? He practically runs to the main building and stumbles through the hallway. Before he can open the door, however, he pauses. He can’t be sure it’s Sansa. Maybe someone else is trespassing. And even if it is Sansa – it won’t do, storming into the room and scaring her. She has had enough of that already.
With great trepidation, he quietly opens the door.
And there she is. She’s standing in the middle of the room, no bag of books in sight. When she hears him, she spins around to face him.
“Little bird,” Sandor croaks. He is lost for words.
Sansa is beautiful. There is a new light shining in her eyes, and she looks – better. Content. Happy, even. The sadness is gone, and she holds herself straighter, as if a great weight has fallen from her shoulders. She’s stunning in her green, flowy summer dress, and Sandor can’t keep his eyes from wandering from the top of her bright, red hair over her lithe form down to her sandal-clad feet.
She greets him with a big smile. Sandor has missed her smiles so much.
“Hi, Sandor,” she says, and then the words tumble like a waterfall out of her. “Is this okay? I didn’t know how else to reach you. So much has happened! My brothers helped me move out, and then they found me an apartment, and then they just wouldn’t leave – so I couldn’t leave to see you, they’re quite overprotective” – Sandor has to hold back his growl at that. It’s nice that they’re overprotective now, but where were they when Sansa needed them? – “Anyway, and then I got a restraining order, can you believe it? Joffrey tried to come to my apartment the first night, but my brothers were there, and it really helped with my case, in the end. My father raised heaven and hell, but then Tywin – Joffrey’s granddad – wait, wait, don’t you work for him? I don’t know why I never made that connection before. Tywin came, and he said that Joffrey was a disgrace to the Lannister name even though he is a Baratheon, but he said he would fight to protect the family's reputation until his last breath. I think my dad nearly threw his tumbler at Tywin’s head then, but he said he would deal with Joffrey, and he did. He got sent to the Stormlands on some military duty, and Tywin promised my dad he would suffer a lot, so my dad was eventually all right with it. And now Joffrey’s gone, and I have so many plants in my new apartment, and now finally my brothers are gone, too, and I wanted to see you.”
Sansa takes a deep breath after all that has come out. Sandor can do nothing but simply stare at her, speechlessly. His little bird is here. She didn’t move back to the North. She has an apartment. And she is here, to see him.
The silence stretches. Sansa begins to look unsure now. “If you don’t… want to see me, that’s okay, of course,” she says, and Sandor can’t have that, she couldn’t be more wrong, but there are literally no words in his head right now, and he can see Sansa spiral in front of his eyes. “I just… you honestly were the best part of my life the last few months. I don’t know what I would have done without you, I don’t even want to think about it. I’m sure you just indulged me because you’re nice like that but you were… the best part of my days. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I just wanted to tell you and thank you for saving me.”
Sansa wipes her eyes and turns as if to leave, and Sandor can finally move again. He takes a quick step forward.
“Don’t… I –” He growls in frustration. “Little bird. I’m no good with words.” He finally manages to spit out. “Don’t you fucking think you haven’t been the best part of my life, too. Not even those goddamn last months. My whole fucking life. You just fell in like” He waves his hand aimlessly. “Like sunlight, or whatever. I’m so fucking glad you’re alright. I’m even more fucking glad you came back.”
He swallows. Sandor knows his head is flushed red, but he forces the following words out, anyway. “And I fucking missed you.”
Sansa stops and stares at him.
“You missed me?” She says in a small voice. Sandor nods.
“More than I can say. More than I ever thought I’d miss someone.”
Sansa starts crying, and Sandor is stupefied. He did not want to make her cry with his admission. But then she comes closer and jumps into his arms, and Sandor doesn’t understand women, he really doesn’t, but he tightly presses her to his chest because he can finally hug her and he feels so happy he could die.
Sansa holds him back just as fiercely, and he awkwardly strokes her back. When she has calmed down again, she sniffs, then raises her head. She doesn’t step back.
“Can I kiss you?” she asks. “I know I just cried all over your shirt, and I technically just came out of a really bad relationship, but… If you don’t mind all that, I’d really like to.”
“You want to kiss me,” Sandor repeats flatly. He isn’t sure he heard right. “Have you seen my face?”
Sansa nods earnestly. “I have, and I’d still very much like to kiss you.” Sandor stares down at the beautiful woman in his arms. He never even dared to imagine that Sansa felt something for him, too.
“I – yes,” he rasps, and the word is a very poor description of the elation that he is feeling.
“Great,” Sansa says and then she closes the distance between them.
Sandor’s arms automatically come around to circle her waist, and suddenly he is kissing her, Sansa, his little bird, and he still can’t quite believe it. After the first few moments, it’s not even a chaste kiss. Sansa devours his mouth, and Sandor has to admit that it seems that she really wants to kiss him, not out of misguided gratitude or a fond feeling but because she is into it because she is attracted to him. He hefts her up and she makes an adorable little noise and then he kisses her back just as hungrily as he carries her to the alcove. He lays her down and crawls over her, and she is so small beneath him, but she doesn’t give him much time to contemplate it before she grabs his head and then he is kissing her, again.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says when they come up for air. “So brave,” a kiss on her hair. “So gentle,” a kiss on her forehead. “So smart,” a kiss on her cheek. “So fucking perfect,” and he’s back on her mouth. Sandor breaks away once more to make sure he doesn’t scare her, pressing her into the pillows and boxing her in with his arms.
“It doesn’t frighten me that you’re huge,” Sansa assures him. “You make me feel safe.” To that, Sandor can’t say anything, so he just puts his lips on her again.
He doesn’t know how much time they spend in the alcove. It’s a long while later when they finally just lie there cuddling. Sandor can’t stop touching her now that he’s allowed to, soft strokes on her arm and over her head.
“I’m old, and I’m ugly, and I don’t have a fuck-ton of money,” he says eventually.
“I’ve already tried young and handsome, and it was shit,” Sansa says, and Sandor has to snort at that. He doesn’t think he ever heard Sansa swear before.
///
Even though it takes an incredible amount of self-restraint, Sandor doesn’t rush Sansa. She did just get away from an abusive asshole, after all. He hopes that this is more than her latching on to the single person who has been kind to her, but even if she is, he’ll take it. He just doesn’t want to hurt her in the process or make her do things she will regret later. So, they finally exchange numbers and part ways at the main entrance. Sansa immediately begins sending him messages though, and in the morning after his shift has ended, he reads them through with a big smile on his face.
///
The next day, they meet up for coffee. It’s the first time they see each other during daylight hours. Sansa reaffirms that it wasn’t some temporary madness that made her kiss him last night, and they officially start dating, even if they’re taking it slow at first. They talk about it – or, more accurately, Sansa talks, and Sandor grunts “yes” or “no”. It takes many false starts, but he gets slightly better at voicing his thoughts. She deserves to hear them, and she also deserves to know how seriously he takes this thing between them. Sansa understands what he wants to express, though, and she doesn’t judge him for being clumsy with his words. When she looks at him with all that warmth in her eyes, it’s like she sees a completely different man than the one he sees in the mirror.
The first weeks together involve a lot of healing. They both carry prejudices and convictions about themselves that for too long, other people made them believe in. It will take time to shed them completely, but talking to each other when they notice the other getting caught up in them is a start.
Sandor finally finds out that Sansa is studying Economics. “You know, what everyone who can’t decide chooses,” she says self-deprecatingly. Sandor immediately tries to put a stop to that bullshit. After a few conversations, he manages to convince her to take some fashion design courses in the coming semester, as that is what Sansa originally wanted to study before being told it was a dumb and childish choice. Sandor hopes she will be able to use both degrees eventually. He wants her to do what makes her happy.
Sandor begins to visit her flat regularly, and there is indeed a shit-ton of plants. Her home is soft and cozy, and so utterly like his little bird that Sandor has to stop to take it in before entering for the first time. The apartment is also bigger than his own. Turns out her family is rich, too, and Sandor tries not to feel too self-conscious about it, in addition to all the other things that already make him feel not worthy of her.
Since the moment Sansa miraculously reappeared, Sandor feels like he is walking through a dream. He can’t actually believe this is his life. He knows he doesn’t deserve her, not at all. But he’s not a good man. He is selfish and greedy, and if Sansa really thinks he is good enough for her, then he hasn’t the strength of character to dissuade her from that. He wants her too much for that. Consequently, he tries to make up for his lack of money, pedigree and looks in other ways. He tries to love her as she deserves to be loved, fully and without restraints. He brings her flowers, cooks for her, rubs her feet after a long day at university, and gives her endless compliments. He really is shit at them, because he doesn’t know what women like to be complimented on, but every time he tells Sansa that he really likes some of the new stuff she bought, or the bracelet she made him, or that her hair looks like fire, or that he loves her freckles, she beams at him. He must be doing something right, then. The compliments may not be eloquent, but he means every single one of them.
And as time passes, Sansa becomes radiant. She has a spring in her step and a smile on her face, and she can’t walk down a street without making people stare after her. People stare, too, when she is walking on his arm, and Sandor is sure that they wonder what she sees in him, but she doesn’t allow him to get all self-conscious over it. She showers his face with small kisses regularly, even the scars. The first time she does it, Sandor actually cries. It’s the moment he finally tells her about his brother and what he did to him, and his shit family, and all the foster homes he went through until he eventually came into Tywin’s employ. Sansa holds him through it, and he has no words to express how much he loves her.
///
After six months of dating, Sansa casually says at breakfast: “You should move in with me.” Sandor chokes.
“You sure?” He asks cautiously. He never got that far with anyone and doesn’t want to jinx it.
“Yep,” Sansa says with a nod. “We stay at each other’s places most of the time anyway, and I want to get the hassle of deciding where to sleep each day out of the way.”
So, Sandor quits his lease and moves in with Sansa. One day, he goes out to drink at a bar while Sansa has evening classes, and it turns out he is an incredibly affectionate drunk when he has someone to give all that love to. Sansa just laughs and cuddles him to sleep.
It is a year later that they broach the subject of Sansa’s family again. They have kept their relationship a secret, even after moving in together, because Sandor frets that they will hate him. But Sansa is convinced that his worries are unfounded.
“You’re not some dirty secret!” She yells. It’s the most agitated Sandor has ever seen her in the course of their relationship. “I’m proud of you! I want people to know that I’m with you. My family just needs to see that you’re serious with me and that you treat me well, and then they’ll be happy for me.”
“Okay, we’ll do it,” Sandor finally gives in. He is terrified of their happy bubble bursting, but he knows he can’t avoid facing Sansa’s family for much longer. He takes a deep breath. “You say they need reassurance that I’m being serious, that you’re not, what” – he snorts at the ridiculous thought – “a passing fling?”
Sansa nods warily, not trusting the win yet.
“Okay, then we’ll meet your family. But first– “
He has an idea. It’s not a new one, to be honest, he has been prepared for this moment for longer than he will admit.
“Fuck it,” he says and goes down to his knees. “Sansa, will you marry me? Ring’s in the bedroom.”