theladyofwinterfell | morethanbark; clegane keep

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psl,
sandor

morethanbark; clegane keep

( Sansa's life has only become worse since her betrothal with Joffrey has been broken and he's now betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. Now she's just a traitor's get and the target of his worst tempers and she doesn't know how much more she can take. Joffrey has Ser Boros and Ser Meryn beat her almost daily and he threatens to take her as his mistress even as he's betrothed to someone else; he's yet to do it but Sansa lives in fear of it regardless.

Joffrey decides to hold a tournament in celebration of his upcoming wedding and forces the Kingsguard to enter along with everyone else. Sandor Clegane takes the joust, unhorsing his own brother and killing him on the spot. The maester declares it an accident, even if it is suspicious, and Clegane is entitled to any prize he wants. He doesn't name a queen of love and beauty, instead just tossing the flowers vaguely Sansa's way, and Joffrey demands he take his prize. )

Come on, Hound, surely there's something you want. Do you want the Stark girl? Lady Sansa is bruised and beaten but nobody's fucked her yet. You could fuck her as much as you want.

( Sansa colors bright and tries to figure out a way out of this - what is she going to do, truly? She presses her lips together and when she speaks, it sounds older than a girl on the cusp of seventeen. )

Your Grace, forgive me, but Ser Gregor's death means that Ser Sandor is now Lord of Clegane Keep. It'd be a much more worthy prize to award me as wife than a one time prize. He could ruin me over and over.

( Joffrey thinks about it for a long moment and claps his hands. )

It's settled then! Hound, you'll marry Lady Sansa and then we'll have a bedding in front of the Court. That's your prize for the tourney.

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[ Sandor hadn't fought in the tourney for fame, glory, honor, or the promise of a prize, he never had and never would. No, the appeal of the tourney was the tourney itself, the fight and the victory, and when he was pitted against his own brother...well that was only a bonus. No different than any other, because he knew Gregor wouldn't have any mercy for him anyway.

Of course, his victory was an utter surprise, even to him, but he rose from the corpse of the bastard, blood-streaked and high from the fight, and pulled his sword free with a sucking sound that was far more satisfying than it had any right to be, and when the victory itself wasn't enough for Joffrey, when the prize was decided for him, he growled in annoyance, glowering up at him.

And it was the fucking little bird that suggested it. But there weren't any better options, that was evident enough, and there would be time to berate her for dragging him into things later. So he grit his teeth and forced a civil enough reply through them, glad his helm would obscure most of his fury about the position they'd been put in. ]

A generous gift, my lord, thank you.

We'll go to the Sept and have the wedding and bedding tonight! No need for a ceremony for Lady Sansa - she's just a Stark and they wed in front of trees outside.

( Sansa tries not to tremble. She knows what a bedding entails, naturally, but she didn't expect there to be one this very night. She merely dips her head and thanks His Grace for his generous gift. Joffrey tells the Hound to bring her back to her rooms and Sansa steps down from the tourney box and offers her arm to him. )

I look forward to our wedding, my lord.

[ He accepts the arm and escorts her back, but the glower doesn't fade any, and he stalks alongside her, attention fixed on a point ahead of them. ]

No need to lie, girl. What're you playing at, offering yourself up like that.

If I'm your wife, he can't hurt me any longer. You have more say about what happens to me. You could buy us a house here in King's Landing, if you wanted, or you could bring me to Clegane's keep and I could live there. I'd be away from him.

( The Hound has never hurt her, has never engaged in the games that Joffrey made the rest of the Kingsguard play. )

[ He snorts, pace quickening in his annoyance. Naive, childish, and never mind that on paper her words are true enough. She can be better protected by taking him as a husband, but that doesn't make it a good idea all the same. ]

And what of tonight, then? I stopped them violating you during the riots, but now you suggest it yourself? In front of them, no less.

Not in front of them. We could give them a bloody sheet instead. It's a better sign the marriage is consummated than just putting us in the room together anyway.

( Sansa has thought this scenario through many times, though not with the Hound as her bridegroom. It has to be absolutely clear she's been ruined for any other marriage and must remain in the one she has. )

[ He considers her suggestion, falling silent for several moments and only continuing to stalk his way to her rooms. It's once they reach them that he finally responds, no less irritated but at least more resigned to the situation. ]

Fine. So I'll cut my palm and stain the sheet. Shut the fuckers up.

( Sansa gives him a dark look and rolls her eyes. She wants to be gone from King's Landing and out of Joffrey's clutches forever. She doesn't want him calling her back to Court for this or that. )

I need to deliver a child or they're going to know we aren't laying together. It needs to be my blood.

[ He laughs at her then, crueler than it probably should be, but she's proposing complete nonsense. So he steps towards her, herds her into her chambers and slams the door shut behind them. Crowds into her space, glaring down at her because it's either lean into the anger at being backed into a corner or let on his disbelief that she's actually willing to go along with Joffrey's demands. Anger seems more appealing right now. ]

Plenty of reasons why there wouldn't be a child. Maybe you're barren, maybe my seed won't take, that doesn't make it his business. Nine months to stall for anyway, and if it's proof he wants I can be inventive enough. Don't be an idiot, if he wants to find a reason to doubt he's going to doubt regardless. Have you even ever been fucked before?

N...no. It just has to be real, ser, or they're going to marry me to someone else. They'll have someone check for my maidenhead and declare the marriage void. You know they will - they all want Winterfell and they have to have me for it.

( Sansa swallows a bit and stays close to him, chin held high. She has no idea how to do this. )

Is it so terrible? The idea of being with me?

[ The question stalls him, at least, has him rolling his eyes and snorting, but his next words are more weighted. She has a point, at least, even if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. ]

That's not it. Any man would be happy to bed you, and if they say otherwise they're an idiot or a liar. But I'd like it to be because I chose it, not because the little shit demanded it.

Most men who see me want it. The men in the riots wanted it. Joffrey threatens it still. You could learn to want it, I think, even if he did demand it.

( Sansa gives him a pleading look. She knows tears aren't the best idea but she can't help the few that well up in her eyes. )

This protects me. Protect me, please?

The men in the riots would have taken any cunt they could find, and Joffrey's a twat who can only get hard if he's reminding people of his power. Most men want someplace to put their cock, it doesn't much matter who it is.

[ It's not the tears that turn the corner for him. If tears worked on him he wouldn't have gotten where he is now, wouldn't have gotten the reputation he has. But the plea?

He scowls, and growls under his breath, but deflates. ]

But you've certainly learned something, anyway. Fine, if it's how you want to do this.

I'll be a good wife to you. I know you don't want a wife and don't care about it but if you take me away from him, I'll be the best wife anyone could ask for. I'll give you children and I'll warm your bed at night. You'll want for nothing. I swear it before the old gods and the new.

( Sansa steels her spine and tips her face up, trying to meet his eyes with her own. She's tall but he's so, so much taller. )

You'll never need to go to a whore again. I'll...I'll learn what you like. Anything you like.

Don't fucking swear on anything for me, girl, it's a waste of a prayer. I'll fuck you once because you've got it in your head it's the only way, but don't promise the rest like you owe it to me.

[ Because she's only offering as payment, and this isn't how he'd want it anyway, it's just another part of Joffrey's game. Letting the brat dictate the terms. ]

I wouldn't need to go to a whore because I'd have one at home, that's what you're saying. In exchange for getting you out of Joffrey's reach.

I wouldn't be a whore!

( Sansa's cheeks flush scarlet and there's a hot anger in her tone. She'd be a woman wedded with a lord husband and he'd have rights to her. Besides, she'd hope that she'd like it. Women must like it if they sell it for coin and women bear children for their husbands. )

I would be your lady wife and it would be my honor to lay with you and share your bed. I want children, Sandor. I can't get them without your help.

Your honor.

[ He laughs again, harsh and bitter, and takes a step back, since apparently encroaching on her space alone isn't enough anyway. ]

There's no honor in being my wife, or in 'laying with' me, as you want to put it. I'm a killer with a title, nothing more, nothing less. I've got my own brother's gore on my armor still. You don't want to bear my children, you don't want my cock to be the first one between your legs. I'll give you the second but you're a bigger fool than you look if you insist on the first.

[ Sure, it wouldn't be a particular hardship for him. She's a beautiful girl, with a strong spine when she can find it and an intrinsic hopefulness he might have admired before life ground him down as hard as it did. But she doesn't deserve being chained to him that way. ]

Why are you so hateful to me? I want this and I want to be free, with you, and you're treating me as if it will be the worst thing you've ever done to be married to me. I don't want to doom our marriage before it begins.

( Sansa, to her credit, does not cry but it's a very near thing. She exhales sharply and turns on her heel. )

Be gentle with me tonight and I'm certain I won't be afraid of you in the bed. You could teach me things I might like. Now, if my lord will excuse me, I have to find a dress to wear.

You don't know what you want. You want to be out of here so you tell yourself I'm not that bad an option to get there, like it's a fairy tale.

[ But she's determined to end the conversation there before it gets any worse. Probably not an entirely bad idea if they're to get through the night, so he growls and rolls his eyes and gives her a bow that's more a mockery of the thing than sincere before taking his leave without another word. ]

( Sansa turns away from him and goes to find a dress. So many of hers are too small and too short for her, ill-fitting because she's a traitor now and cannot afford new dresses. She hasn't the time to make one, either, so she ends up borrowing a dress from one of Margaery's ladies in waiting. She hasn't ever dressed in the brief style of the Reach before but Sandor's cloak will be on her before the night's out.

The wedding itself is brief, only the septon and a few witnesses. Sansa exchanges her vows softly and when Sandor sets the cloak on her shoulders, she notes it's his white Kingsguard one because no one could find a Clegane cloak this quickly.

Joffrey wants a bedding and Sansa promises a bloody sheet instead. She assures everyone she's not ridden a horse terribly often and that she'll bleed. It seems to satisfy Cersei and Tywin, at least, even if the King is still petulant.

They've been given a larger room after their marriage, near to the Tower of the Hand, and it's dominated by a large bed. There's a flagon of wine on a small table but Sansa doesn't touch it, instead working on the delicate buttons of her dress. )

I'm not used to these dresses. I borrowed it from Margaery Tyrell and they dress so differently in the Reach. Would you help me, husband?

[ Sandor crosses to the flagon as soon as they're inside, pours himself a more than generous cup and downs the bulk of it before answering. Fills the balance before turning to face his new bride. She's beautiful, the dress flatters her; it's not the bride or the prospect of lying with a woman that sours his mood, he'd be lying if he said he hadn't at least considered the second with Sansa before, albeit only ever in the dark of night in his own rooms.

But not like this. Not under the orders of someone else, when she's only agreeing because she sees no other way out. Not when she was given to him as some kind of prize. Not when she offered herself up to him in exchange for protection like that wasn't some kind of prostitution in itself. So he drains the bulk of the cup again before approaching her, glancing over the row of buttons. ]

It's a lot sunnier in the Reach. Warmer.

[ He huffs but moves to work them open anyway. Pops a few in the process, but then his hands are meant for swinging a sword, not manipulating fancy buttons. ]

You're sure this is what you want.

I'm certain. You can try to be a brute but I'm not afraid of you, ser. You're my husband now and I chose this.

( When the buttons are undone, Sansa slides out of the dress and stands there in her shift for a moment, unsure if she should go further. He's drinking, though, so Sansa puts her hand on his cup of wine before dropping her hands down to the hem of her shift to pull it off. )

Not so much wine. This is an important thing, what happens now, and I want you to remember it.

It's a fuck and a bloody sheet, not some magical ceremony.

[ Not his first two cups of the day either, particularly after they parted ways last, but he'll oblige her for the moment, anyway. She's plenty distracting once the shift's gone, certainly. So instead he moves to start removing his own layers, working the rougher buttons of his coat free then off, looser shirt next, both dropped to the floor without much in the way of ceremony before he moves to the bed to work his boots off. ]

It's there to drink, why shouldn't I take advantage.

You don't have to be cruel to me because you hate him. I want to be a good wife to you. I want to love you and...just try? Please? All I ask is that you try.

( Sansa is already nude so she sits at the edge of the bed, waiting for Sandor to finish with his boots. He's muscled as heavily as she'd imagined he would be, thick cords of muscle dotted with the scars of a warrior. )

[ A frustrated kind of growl lodges in his throat at that; she's far too naive for this, she doesn't know what she's asking. But what's done is done, for better or worse, so he tugs his boots free before undoing his belt and loosening the ties at the front of his trousers, and with the rest discarded he's left just as naked as she. ]

I said I'd protect you and I meant it. Doesn't mean I'll make a good husband, whether or not I try. That's not me being cruel, it's me being honest.

[ He doesn't even bother getting into love. She's too good a person to be saddled with that curse, for him of all people. ]

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morethanbark; clegane keep

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