Archive of Our Own

“Remind me, why did I agree to do this again?” Sansa asks Margaery and Jeyne as they look at the expanse of wall in front of them.

Jeyne wrinkles her nose trying to remember. “Something about wanting to get fit? And running?”

“Right.” Sansa exhales, tugging on her ponytail to make sure her hair’s securely up. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Margaery looks over at her. “You know, it’s not too late. We could just go back to doing yoga instead.”

“Nope, we decided. We need more cardio if we’re going to start running, and Ygritte told me this was the way to go.”

“Fucking Ygritte,” Margaery mutters. “Alright, we might as well just start? I guess?”

“Sure.” Sansa grips the handholds in front of her. “Just like rock climbing without the rope.”

Not that Sansa has much experience in rock climbing, but the way her cousin’s girlfriend described bouldering made her think she could do it. Knowing she would never stick to any form of exercise if she didn’t have anyone to hold her accountable, she managed to talk her best friends into trying the new activity with her. It even sounded fun.

Needless to say, Sansa is not prepared for the experience.

“Oh, it’ll be great!” Jeyne mockingly tries to imitate Ygritte’s far northern accent. “I love it, it’s so much fun! You don’t even have to go that far up!”

“To be fair,” Sansa says with a grunt, “we are not really getting that far up.”

After an hour of looking like a fool, she makes it approximately three feet off the ground before flopping onto the thick mat below. Margaery makes it to two, and Jeyne to one. Margaery sighs, before pleading, “Can we please go home now? I’m sweaty and gross and want to watch the Late Late Show so I don’t miss the One Direction Carpool Karaoke rerun.”

“Agreed,” Jeyne complains. “I can’t feel my arms. I need a hot shower like now.”

Sansa feels similarly. “Good idea. Should we pick up a pint of Chunky Monkey on the way?”

“It’s like you read my mind.” Margaery grins.

Really, Sansa should’ve just left it at that, and gone back to doing yoga without worrying about cardio, but her parents just had to decide to organize a 5k to promote research for Guillain–Barré syndrome, and her entire family was participating, including Gendry, Ygritte, and Talisa. It didn’t matter that Bran was over the worst of it, and was set to start walking again within months; her father comes from a family of steel magnates, and her family has more money than they know what to do with, so they might as well throw it at some medical research. Plus, it could only boost Robb’s popularity with his constituents, since he'll be running for a position in the senate in a year or two. Everyone loves a good charity.

She really could just walk, or help with more organizational duties, but her siblings just won’t stop teasing her.

“Ygritte and I are planning on training for the run, starting Saturday. Want to come, Sans? Or are you just planning on walking?” her young sister had asked with a smirk.

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with walking?”

With a grin, Arya shook her head. “Nothing, nothing at all. Just knew you wouldn’t cut it running. You’ll have to let me know what it feels like to come in last.”

“It’s not that kind of race!” Sansa snapped.

Arya winked. “Keep telling yourself that.”

Intellectually, Sansa knew that really, only Jon, Arya, Gendry, Robb, and Ygritte were planning on properly running, due to the fact that Bran was still confined to his wheelchair. It left him, their mother, Talisa, and their father running logistics of the race. Rickon was theoretically helping with water distribution, but at 15 no one could really say what he’d be getting up to.

“You could just stay behind and help me, dear,” her mother offered brightly over the weekly family dinner one night. “I could always use an extra hand with dispensing water bottles. The Greyjoys would love to spend more time with you!”

She was extremely skeptical. “The Greyjoys aren’t running?”

“Well, Theon and Yara are,” her mother said reluctantly, “but Balon and Alannys are volunteering to help your father and me. They always enjoy seeing you!”

Sansa had groaned and let her head hit the table in front of her. Robb laughed and ruffled her hair, just like he used to when they were kids, even though he’s been married to Talisa for two years already and has a mortgage. “It’s alright if you can’t keep up, Sans. Not all of us Starks can be winners.”

The rest of the table had laughed, and the moment cemented her resolve for getting in better shape for the race, having three months to get ready. The Starks were many things, and spite was among them. Her father called it fortitude and pride, but Sansa knew how she and her siblings (and Jon) operated.

She knew she could fool people, being so polite and refined, a true lady as Robert Baratheon had once called her. But she was a wolf, through and through, and was going to prove everyone wrong. She was going to beat them all, or die trying.

Sansa was unwilling to accept defeat, even though Margaery and Jeyne were, the other girls deciding to stick with yoga and forget trying cardio all together, saying they were perfectly fine just walking the race. She ignored the tiny voice in her head that begged for her to quit and accept her place by her mother’s side, checking in participants, but she also wanted to be able to rub it in her siblings’ faces that she could, in fact, keep up with them.

So, the next week finds her facing down the bouldering gym alone, a bag of chalk by her side and freshly bought shoes on her feet. Looking around the room, she remembers the people at the front desk had told her to start with the green holds first, as they were beginner paths. After spotting a route that looks easy enough, she chalks up her hands and begins to climb, only to land promptly on her ass.

“Seven hells,” she groans, looking up at the ceiling. She stays on her back for a few moments, contemplating running away to the Dothraki Sea. She could live in the desert, probably. She’d need a lot of sunscreen to deal with the constant burning of her pale skin, but she could deal with it, at least in theory.

A snort breaks her out of her reverie. There’s a man clearly trying his best to hold in his laughter to her right. Narrowing her eyes at him, she gets up with a huff. Clearly the man knows what he’s doing, with his muscular frame and scuffed shoes. The fact that he’s tall and handsome from what she can see only serves to make her more embarrassed, and more angry, spite coming back full force.

She grips the wall again, pushing herself up inch by inch. She thinks she’s actually doing pretty good this time around, until she forgets to look at where she's going. Her foot slips, and with a panicked sound, she falls back in a cloud of chalk dust once more.

A chuckle escapes the same man again, and she turns to him with a glare, propping herself up on her elbows. “Can I help you?”

“No, no,” he says with a deep, rough voice, hair covering half his face, “please, you’re doing so well.”

She bristles at the amusement in his tone, standing up and brushing herself off, groaning internally when the chalk settles into the fabric of her pants. “This is only my second time doing this, you know.”

He smirks. “I could tell. A little bit harder than your low-impact yoga classes, isn’t it?”

“How do you know I do yoga?” she demands.

He shrugs and goes back to looking at the wall in front of him, amusement still evident on the half of his face she can see. “You seem like the type, is all.”

“What, a white, 20-something slender girl? I suppose you think I also enjoy pumpkin spice lattes.”

He looks like he’s trying to hide a grin, eye she can see flicking over to her. “Don’t you?”

“Not particularly,” she says shortly. “Now, do you mind if I get back to trying to climb this wall?”

That causes the grin to come out full force. “Nothing’s stopping you, girl.”

She presses her lips together and turns back to the wall, trying to map out her movements in advance so she won’t be caught unawares by the lack of footing next time. Taking a deep breath, she attempts try three, going slowly as she tries to lift herself up higher and higher.

As she reaches for another handhold, she hears a noise behind her. The man has moved behind her, from what she can tell. She groans, bracing herself for his derision. “What?”

“You should move your left foot next,” he offers, “otherwise you’re going to overextend.”

“I’m managing just fine, thank you,” she grits out, reaching for the handhold once more.

To her great chagrin, the man is right, and she has to scramble to push herself away from the wall in time for her to not bump her head on the way down. The man sighs, obviously still amused. “I don’t want to tell you I told you so, but.”

“Why don’t you do it, if you know how?”

He huffs a laugh. “Back up then.”

She scoots out of the way as he begins his ascent. She half-expects him to be smug and rush through it, but is pleasantly surprised when he begins explaining what he’s going to do before he does it, showing her the proper techniques she’ll need, not only for the current path, but ones in the future as well. The view isn’t bad either, and she’s not ashamed to admit to herself that she enjoys watching the way his huge, well-toned frame seems to defy the laws of physics.

By the time he climbs back down, she’s willing to begrudgingly admit he’d actually been helpful. “Thanks -”

“Sandor,” the man supplies, not quite turning around as he tries to walk away.

She frowns. “Don’t you want to know my name?”

“Not particularly.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re rude?”

“Several times.”

Rolling her eyes, she follows him. “Well, I’m Sansa, and thank you for helping me, even if you didn’t want to.”

“If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t have.” He sighs, before turning around, thrusting his hand out to shake hers. “Are you happy now?”

Seeing him clearly for the first time, she notices the severe scars on his face that he must’ve grown his hair out to try and cover. They’re extensive on the right side of his face, destroying his eyebrow, cheek, hairline, and ear, though his lower jaw, mouth, and eye have been spared. The scars seem to go down his neck and disappear under the collar of his shirt. She wonders what he looks like with his shirt off.

She must have been staring, because he begins to withdraw his hand with a deep scowl on his face. Noticing it just in time, she grasps it, pulling it back between them, looking him directly in the gray eyes that remind her of the sky in the middle of winter. She remembers Shireen’s reaction to people recoiling in horror at the scars on her face, and wants to put Sandor at ease, making sure her voice is strong and unwavering as it comes out. “Yes, I am. Now, that wasn’t too hard now, was it?”

A look of surprise passes his face, softening it a little before he drops her hand. “Not as hard as I thought it would be, true.”

“See?” She smiles. “Now, if only I could say the same about getting up this wall.”

His laugh reminds her of the way Lady does when she gets tickled. “You’re a tough little bird, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

“Little bird?” She cocks an eyebrow at him, unsure if she should feel insulted or not.

He cocks his good eyebrow right back, though she might be imagining the tint of pink in his cheeks. “Yeah, the way you chirp courtesies.”

“It’s called being polite. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the concept.”

Another laugh escapes him. “Well, you also jump off the wall like you’re trying to fly, if that helps.”

She blushes. “As long as I amuse you.”

“Trust me, you do.” His grin sparks something inside her, and she thinks there are worse things to be than a little bird.

Catelyn Stark inspects her daughter’s hand very closely. It’s after their weekly family dinner, where all the kids who've moved out (Jon, Robb, Sansa, and Arya) could come back to make sure they’re able to catch up with one another as a family. They weren’t always all there, but Sansa and Jon were usually able to make it, and with Jon came Ygritte.

“Your poor hands, Sansa. They look ripped to shreds.” Cat tsks as she runs her fingers over Sansa’s palm. “Can’t you wear gloves or something, dear?”

Ygritte peers over Cat’s shoulder with glee. “Don’t worry, Cat, once she’s done it enough she’ll have callouses there to protect her.”

“Besides, Mom, gloves won’t let you grip the wall properly.” Sansa takes her hand gently out of her mother’s grip.

The older woman still seems displeased. “Well, I suppose as long as you’re being careful.”

“Why don’t you just run to prepare, Sans?” Jon asks from where he unloads the dishwasher. “Why all this extra stuff?”

“You know nothing, Jon Snow,” Ygritte says with a grin. “You can’t just run from zero to 60 in two months. It’s better if you break it up a little and work out all your muscles. It gives you more tone.”

“And I could stand to be a little more toned.” Sansa sighs and pokes at her flabby arms. “They jiggle when I move.”

Catelyn snatches the offending hand away. “Sansa, every woman’s body does that. It’s natural.”

“Even mine,” Ygritte insists, poking her arm.

“At least you’ve got muscle underneath,” Sansa grumbles.

“Enough.” Catelyn pushes everyone out of the kitchen. “I won’t have you disparaging your body like that. Go see if you can nudge your father and Bran back into the dining room long enough to play a game of Uno. I’ll try and tear Rickon away from the computer.”

As Jon moves ahead to stir the man who is, for all intents and purposes, his father, Ygritte tugs Sansa back a little. “What’s all this about your body not being toned enough? You know you’re easily an eleven out of ten, right?”

“Says the twelve.” Sansa rolls her eyes before softening at Ygritte’s earnest face. “It’s really nothing.”

Ygritte looks at her intensely, seemingly seeing into her very soul, before breaking out into a slow grin. “There’s a boy, isn’t there?”

“No!” Sansa protests. Under the other girl’s stare, however, she deflates. “Sort of.”

“Ha, I knew it,” Ygritte crows. “So, out with it.”

“He goes to the same bouldering gym I go to,” Sansa confesses reluctantly, “and I can tell he’s at least ten years older than me, probably a little more -”

“Ooh, you like them silver foxes, do you?” Ygritte waggles her eyebrows. “Never took you for one of those.”

Sansa rolls and gives the girl a friendly push. “He’s kind of a jerk, and laughs at me all the time.”

“So?”

“I want to prove him wrong, but I’m not strong enough yet.” She turns red. “Plus, he’s really hot.”

Ygritte laughs and puts her arm around the blushing girl. “I have no doubt the Stark spite will win through. Now, come on, watch me beat Jon at Uno.”

Sansa slings her arm around Ygritte’s waist, a rush of affection sweeping through her. “Always.”

“So, how does a little bird like you get into bouldering? Especially since you’ve never done anything like this before,” Sandor comments as he works his way up the wall next to her.

“How did you get into bouldering?” Sansa shoots back, panting lightly as she manages to hold herself up.

He grins, reaching the top of the wall. “Fair enough.” There’s a pause as he works his way down, landing on his feet with a grunt. “Rock climbing just wasn’t extreme enough for me. Your turn.”

She can tell he’s hiding something, but decides to not push the issue. He seems like the type of man who’d shut down if pushed hard enough. “My cousin’s girlfriend -” she grunts as she reaches another grip, “well, she’s more like my sister-in-law, since my cousin is like a brother to me, and everyone knows they’re going to get married -”

“Watch where you’re putting your right foot there,” he warns, interrupting her.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve got it. Anyway, she’s like an adrenaline junkie and told me to try it when I told her I wanted to get in shape for this 5k thing my family’s doing in a couple of months.”

“Your whole family?” he asks, sounding curious despite himself.

“Yup, all 11 of us. Aha!” She laughs in delight as she grasps the rock that marks the end of the route. “I did it!”

“So you did. Now, the trick is getting back down.”

She manages to get a little closer to the ground before giving up and forcing herself off the wall again. Landing flat on her back, she accepts his offer to help right herself, enjoying the way his much-larger hand envelops hers for a moment. “Thanks.”

“There’s 11 of you?” he prompts, and Sansa has to snort at the way his good eyebrow is raised.

“Sort of.” She starts counting the people off on her freshly callused hands. “My parents, obviously, and then there’s me, my sister, and then my three brothers, plus Jon, who’s the cousin who’s like my brother because my parents adopted and raised him, and then my older brother’s wife, Jon’s girlfriend, and my sister’s boyfriend, which, she’s definitely going to marry him, she just doesn’t know it yet.”

“That’s not a family, it’s a brood.”

“A larger family than most,” she agrees, looking up at him. His gray eyes are so bright, sometimes she has to remind herself not to drown in them. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a family?”

His face grows dark, a scowl twisting his face. “No, I fucking don’t.”

She flinches, helplessly pressing, “Not even a relative?”

“No. Now, do you need me to keep babysitting you or are you going to keep asking me personal questions?”

“I’m sorry.” She feels herself recoil, shifting in on herself like she used to do with Joffrey, voice soft and small. “I didn’t know you don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, posture relaxing a little. “I know.”

She bites her lip, worrying it as she looks at her watch, trying to think of an excuse to leave with her heart still hammering in her chest. “I should get going. I, um, I have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Want me to walk you to your car? It’s late.”

She looks up and considers him, sees the way his eyes have a hint of sadness in them. But her heart is still beating fast. “If it doesn’t interrupt your workout.”

“No, it won’t,” he says, tone laced with regret and eyes imploring.

Her heart rate slows down as the anxiety she feels seeps out. “Then all I have to do is grab my stuff.”

The walk to her car is quiet, and she doesn’t quite know how to bridge the gap, only knowing she wants to. He seems to be at the same loss. Finally, just a few feet from her car, she blurts out the first thing that comes to her head. “Do you want to come?”

“To what?” he asks, confused. She can’t blame him.

“To the 5k thing. I’ve got a flyer in here somewhere.” She rummages through her bag, cheeks blazing, trying to find the prototype reminder card her mom had wanted her opinion on. Finding it at the bottom, she presents it with a flourish, eyes staring determinedly at it, still not quite sure where they stand. “Tada!”

He chuckles, definitely laughing at her as he takes it, which she thinks is a good sign. “I’ll think about it, but it sounds like fun.”

She rolls her eyes, any remaining awkwardness waning. “Not sure if I’d call a 5k fun, but thanks for saying so.”

“I hate to break it to you, but a 5k isn’t even that long.”

“It’s 3.1 miles. I don’t think I can even walk 3.1 miles, let alone run it.”

He looks amused. “Did you look that up?”

“No, I just had the number off the top of my head,” she says, her sarcasm losing some of its bite as she grins. “So, see you next week?”

He gives her a warm smile, something that threatens to knock the breath out of her. “Yeah, next week.”

“Ygritte said you met a man and he was hot,” Arya announces as she lets herself into Sansa’s apartment.

Sansa huffs as she minces meat on her kitchen island, concentration never wavering since her sister tends to barge in unexpectedly with some frequency. Lady doesn’t even jump at the intrusion anymore, somehow always knowing when the people at the door are Starks. “Hello to you, too, Arya, so pleased you could let yourself into my apartment whenever you want.”

The younger girl rolls her eyes, hopping up on the stool across the island, swinging her feet, one hand reaching out to beckon Lady over. The husky trots over without fuss. “Just be glad it’s not the middle of the night, which is when Ygritte texted that to me.”

“You probably did just see it which is why you’re here now. Gods know you’re harder to get ahold of than the Maiden.”

“Sorry, Mom.” Arya rolls her eyes again, Lady’s tail thumping as she’s scratched behind the ear. “Back to the point at hand. Did you, or did you not, meet a man?”

“I have met many men. Why, are you not happy with Gendry anymore? Want me to set you up?” Sansa teases, purposefully dancing away from the question.

“If you don’t tell me right now I’m going to tell Mom and Dad about the time when you were 17 and snuck out to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show in a corset with Jeyne Poole after they told you not to.”

She narrows her eyes at her sister. “You wouldn’t.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“Fine.” Sansa sighs as she adds the meat to the pan warming up on the stove. “There’s this guy at the bouldering gym.”

“And?”

She reddens. “He may have the body of the Warrior made flesh.”

“Sansa Stark, I can’t believe you.” Arya grins widely. “Could it be my goody-two-shoes sister is objectifying a man?”

She feels her blush deepen as she continues chopping up some garlic. “It’s not just that. He’s a jerk but, he always helps me and makes sure I’m not hurting myself. He’s almost kind.” Sighing, she adds the garlic to the pan. “It doesn’t matter though. I’m almost 100% positive he sees me as some naive, vain little girl trying too hard to get in shape. He probably took pity on me because I’m a weakling.”

Arya looks at her seriously, lost in thought for a moment, before decisively saying, “You’re not, you know that right? I know I give you lots of shit for being the lady of the house, but you’re strong, stronger than most.”

The thought spurs something dark and buried deep back to life. Sansa looks down, refusing to meet her sister’s eyes. “Right. Which is why I’ve been able to defend myself so well in the past.”

“Hey,” Arya leans across the island and stills her hand where it’s slicing shallots, “it wasn’t your fault, about any of it, okay? None of it.”

Lady comes to headbutt her, knowing something’s wrong as she brushes away the tears that start to gather in the corner of her eyes, memories of Joffrey, Petyr, and Ramsay coming to the forefront of her mind before she can push them away. Leaning down to give Lady a reassuring pat, she sighs. “I know.”

“You deserve a good man, which is why I’m coming with you next time you go, so I can vet this guy.”

Sansa’s eyes widen, tears forgotten. “Oh Gods no.”

Her sister’s smile is wicked. “Too late, I’ve made up my mind. Now, what’s a girl got to do to get a drink around here?”

“Okay, so, what do we do first?” Arya asks, clasping her chalk-covered hands together as she eyes the walls of the gym excitedly, looking almost maniacal.

Sansa grins at her sister’s enthusiasm, nervousness about Sandor aside. “Well, since you’re new, I would suggest going up the green routes.”

Arya rolls her eyes. “Come on, give me a challenge.”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Sansa warns her. “Just, trust me, okay?”

Much to her chagrin, Arya does take to bouldering much faster than she was able to. “And Jeyne and Margaery quit after one session? Sucks to suck.”

“We can’t all be as athletic as you,” Sansa grumbles. “Your MMA background must be coming in handy.”

“Fencing helps, too,” her sister says cheerfully, reaching the top of the wall as Sansa continues to struggle at the halfway point.

“Making progress, Little Bird?” Sandor’s rough voice reaches her ears, surprising her and making her swing dangerously as she tries to continue to grip the wall.

“I swear, you surprise me on purpose, you jerk,” she shoots at the man she can just barely see over her shoulder.

“Ah, so is this the -” Arya stops mid-sentence when she climbs down and sees who they’re talking to, “Hound.”

“Wolf-bitch,” he returns mildly, looking only a little shocked to see her.

“You two know each other?” Sansa asks, panting as she joins them on the mat, route forgotten.

“You could say that.” He grins, almost leering at her younger sister. “Let’s just say she doesn’t like me very much.”

“Fucking right.” Arya glares at him before turning her eyes back to her sister. “And this is the guy you’ve been hanging around with?”

“Why’re you here together?” he asks Sansa, ignoring Arya’s question.

“She’s my sister.” Sansa bites the inside of her cheek to hide a smile. “Now, am I going to get a real answer to how you two know each other?”

“We went toe-to-toe in a fencing tournament.” Arya scowls. “He played dirty.”

“You’re just mad because you didn’t manage to fucking beat me like you wanted.”

“I still managed to beat you!” Arya insists, fuming. “The scoreboard didn’t lie.”

He barks out a laugh. “If that’s how you want to remember it.”

“It’s the fucking truth, asshole,” Arya snarls. “Of course you’d make friends with my sister.”

He raises an eyebrow as he looks to Sansa, mirth still evident on his face. “Is that what we are? Friends?”

She blushes, forcing herself to keep his gaze. “I don’t know. What would you call us if not friends?”

He ducks his head with a grin. “Friends then.”

“Ugh, you two disgust me,” Arya grumbles, rolling her eyes and moving past them to tackle another wall. “Get a room.”

Sansa’s blush deepens as she moves her gaze to the wall, electing to ignore her sister’s comments. Thankfully, he seems to agree, and they start climbing in silence. After a few moments, however, he breaks it by commenting, “So, you’re a wolf, huh?”

“You could say that.” The Starks were known for their proclivity for winter and wolves, especially in sport circles her siblings moved in, where they’re referred to as a pack. It didn’t help that the family motto was ‘Winter is Coming’, whatever that meant.

“Never would’ve guessed you’d be the wolf-bitch’s sister. You two seem as different as night and day.”

“Two sides of the same coin, my mother calls us.” She pauses, looking over at him. “Why does she call you Hound?”

“A nickname I was given when I was younger. It stuck, following me around from tournament to tournament.”

She side-eyes him, waiting for elaboration on the name. When he doesn’t offer one, she bites her lip, wary of the tension in his frame. She almost decides against pushing him to answer, remembering how he snapped at her for asking after his family, but chances at risking it, knowing they’ve gotten closer since then. “How’d you get the nickname?”

Anger tightens his form, flashing across his face until he takes a deep breath. She’s frightened for a moment, only relaxing once he forces the tension out of himself. “Good at smelling things, I suppose.”

“Dogs are good at that,” she allows, dropping the issue even though she can tell it isn’t the whole story. She grips the finish block tightly before making her way back down, wondering if he’s ever going to open up to her, and then chastising herself for thinking that he’s interested in being anything other than workout buddies.

A grin returns to his face as he meets her at the bottom of the wall. “You’re improving. You didn’t slip once.”

She blushes. “And it’s all thanks to you. Really. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“You and your politeness.” He rubs the back of his neck, considering her. The words sound like an endearment, and she has to will her blush not to deepen. “So, you think you can move up in difficulty now?"

“Uh, I don’t know about that.” She chews on her lip as she considers the yellow markers, eyes flicking back to him since she can’t seem to look away for very long. “That’s a pretty big difference.”

“Come on, little bird, have some faith in yourself. You’re better than you think.” He smiles at her, a true, soft smile she hasn’t seen yet.

She’s a little dazed by the way his eyes seem to sparkle at her. “If you say so.”

“So, stretching first, yes?” Margaery asks as she and Sansa meet in the park.

“Right.” Lady sits obediently next to them as Sansa stands on one leg, pulling the other behind her as she counts to thirty in her head. “Thanks again for doing this.”

“Spending time with you is all the thanks I need.” Margaery shoots her a sunny smile. “Plus, this is peak hot-people hour at the park.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “Well, I appreciate it all the same.”

“Besides,” Margaery continues, bending over to touch her toes, “I still feel bad that Jeyne and I ditched you, even if I hear you’ve been climbing with someone new.”

The way she emphasizes the last part of the sentence has Sansa turning red. “Oh Gods, who told you? Was it Ygritte?”

“Arya, actually. She mentioned it during our weekly hockey smacktalks.”

“Ah, yes, how could I ever forget your incomprehensible love of the Highgarden Thorns.”

“There’s just something about brawling men on ice that does it for me.” Margaery sighs wistfully, lost in a daydream for a moment.

Sansa counts to thirty before clearing her throat. “Sorry to interrupt your fantasies involving muscley men beat each other senseless, but we should probably start running.”

“Live a little, Sans.” Margaery gives her a cheeky grin as they start off at a slow jog, Lady keeping pace perfectly.

“Am I not living now? I wasn’t aware corpses frequently took jogs in the park.”

Margaery rolls her eyes, choosing to ignore the joke. “So, update me on the bouldering situation.”

“Well, I finally moved up to the next level of difficulty, which is good, but I’ve also been forming this weird new callus,” Sansa pauses before looking at the other girl with a sigh, “except that’s not what you meant is it.”

Her friend smiles widely, unrepentant. “As interesting as I find your physical progress, dear, I was referring to your friend. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you changed the subject.”

“It’s fine, we’re friends, that’s it.” Sansa moves up her pace a little, tugging Lady along, who looks happy to be going faster. “Arya apparently knows him from some fencing tournament where they went toe to toe.”

“Yeah, she told me. She also told me that she’s never seen him as gentle as he is with you.”

Sansa flushes before she can even try to stop it. “I don’t know if gentle is the right word. He’s -”

But what exactly he is is cut off by a large booming bark, and a man shouting, “Stranger, no!”

Before either girl can react, Sansa is sent sprawling backwards by a huge black dog, who bowls her over in an effort to get to Lady, who looks appropriately alarmed.

The black dog, whom she assumes is Stranger, circles her dog, before trying to sniff her butt. As Margaery helps her up, Lady snarls and snaps at the other dog, effectively making him cower and whine as he sits.

“Lady, heel.”

The husky immediately heeds Sansa’s command, stepping to her side as she warily eyes the black dog. He doesn’t seem like he’s going to be trouble, but Margaery steps behind her all the same, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her shoulders.

“Sorry about that!” a familiar voice calls out. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, Little Bird.”

Sansa sucks in a breath as she turns to face Sandor, who grins as their eyes meet. She smiles back. “So, I take it that this big guy is yours?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” He bends over and rubs his dog’s head. “Big stupid mutt that he is.”

“You going to introduce me to your friend, Sansa?” Margaery chooses that moment to venture out from behind Sansa, a sweet smile on her face.

Well, it may have looked sweet to some, but Sansa knows her friend all too well to believe it. Suppressing a groan, she keeps the smile plastered on her face as she turns to Sandor. “Margie, this is Sandor. We boulder together. Sandor, this is my roommate Margaery.”

She hears Margaery’s sharp intake, and sees the wariness in Sandor’s eyes. To Margaery’s credit, however, she doesn’t falter, voice warm and firm as she greets him, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Sandor doesn’t look like he quite believes her. “Same.” His eyes slip back to Sansa’s. “So, what’re you up to?”

“Trying to get ready for the race by actually running.”

“Want to join us?” Margaery asks with a sly grin. “We could use the company.”

He looks uncomfortable. “No, I’d better get Stranger home.” He turns back to Sansa. “See you Monday?”

“Of course.”

She figured he wouldn’t stay, but it still stings to see him leave. Maybe he only sees her as a gym buddy. Margaery is unimpressed. “So, that’s your guy?”

“He’s not my guy,” Sansa hisses, voice low even though there’s no way Sandor can hear her from where he’s walking away.

Margaery ignores her. “He’s not your usual type, is he?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s” the other girl’s hand flaps uselessly as she tries to gesticulate what she’s thinking, “rude. And not exactly eye candy.”

“He’s always been gentle with me. And he’s gorgeous, or have your eyes suddenly stopped working?”

“I’m sorry, are we looking at the same person?”

“Mother save me, Margie. His scars aren’t even that bad.”

Margaery considers her for a moment, before she starts jogging again, Sansa and Lady keeping pace. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you? I mean, you’re right, he really is quite attractive, scars notwithstanding, and very fit on top of that. But I’ve never heard you snap to defend someone so quickly.”

Sansa flushes. “Well, he needs it, okay?”

“Still.” Margaery smiles at her. “Now, come on, we’ve still got the rest of our jog to get through.”

Sansa sighs, knowing the conversation isn’t over. “Yeah, alright.”

“It’s the final countdown,” Sansa sings under her breath, letting her foot swing underneath her as she hits the top of the wall. The song has been stuck in her head ever since Rickon hooked up a countdown clock to the race that annoyingly flashes every time she tries to use her computer. 28 days and 13 hours to go.

“Singing today, Little Bird?” Sandor’s voice doesn’t even really surprise her anymore, now that it’s been two and a half months of them climbing together. She listens for it every time she enters the gym.

“The final countdown, oh,” she grins, finishing the chorus. “Sorry, my little brother’s got the song stuck in my head because of the race.”

“It’s in a month right?”

“28 days and 13 hours,” she says in a singsongy tone.

“What’s your best time so far?”

“For a 5k? An hour.”

He looks impressed. “Not bad for someone who’s never ran before.”

She sighs, dropping down to the mat and sticking the landing. “I’m still slowest, though. After me is Robb, who clocks in at a 42 minutes. But he used to do track and field in high school so he’ll probably be down in the half hour range when we actually do the race.”

“The important thing is that you’re at where you want to be, regardless of your brood.”

“If you knew them, you would understand.” She pauses, considering him as he joins her on the mat. “Although, I think you’ll get along with them, actually. Especially with Jon and Gendry, and probably Rickon. He’ll think you’re cool.”

His good eyebrow raises. “Cool?”

“Your tattoos.” She reaches over and taps the one on his upper shoulder, the one with the three dogs, that she’s only seen recently because it’s been getting warmer and thus has made tank tops appropriate. She has to suppress a shiver at the warmth and firmness under her finger. “Rickon’s always going on about how he can’t wait until he’s 18 and can get one.”

“I don’t think ‘cool’ is a word I would use to describe myself.”

“Well, no, cool is usually what other people think of you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Thanks for the clarification.”

She grins. “Anytime.”

They climb in silence for a bit, as she marvels at her newfound strength. She was skeptical when Ygritte suggested she do more than running in preparation for the race, but she has to admit that she doesn’t think she’d be doing as well as she has been without the bouldering. She's brought back to the present as Sandor’s gruff voice reaches through to her. “So, about this 5k.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t think I can make it.”

She makes a panicked sound as her footing slips. Scrambling to keep herself upright, she glances at him. “What?”

He’s not looking at her as he continues to move. “You heard me.”

“I just don’t -” she feels an irrational swell of hurt, “why?”

He hits the finish block he’s been reaching for. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Oh.” She bites her lip and looks back at the wall in front of her. “Of course, that’s fine. It was just an idea.”

“I’m going to try, though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles brightly at him, hopping down to the floor. This time she stumbles, and has to catch herself so she doesn’t bang her head on the way. “I, um, I forgot, I have to finish up a portfolio for a client. She emailed me today and said she wants it early tomorrow.”

He looks at her with something like regret in his eyes. “Little Bird -”

She motions for him to stop his descent. “No, seriously, keep going. You just got here.”

“At least let me walk you to your car.”

“It’s fine.” She grins again. “I’ll see you next week.”

With a quick wave over her shoulder, she walks out as quickly as she can, leaving him no room for argument. She’s actually pretty proud of herself for being able to hold in her tears until she gets to her car, opening and shutting the door in record time.

She bangs her head against the steering wheel chanting stupid, stupid, stupid with every thump. Finally, she manages to collect herself, turning on the car and letting the cool air blast her in the face. She does the deep breathing exercises her yoga instructor taught her, and drives away with a mental list of how she wants the rest of the night to go. Walk with Lady, yoga, wine.

Later, with Lady curled up by her feet and a glass of wine in her hands as she watches the Great Westerosi Bake Off, she decides she’s overreacting. If Sandor just wants to be gym buddies that’s fine. Just because she likes him and wants to spend time with him and also make out with his face doesn’t mean he feels the same way. And that’s fine. She’ll get over her crush, just like she always does. She just needs to accept that dating isn’t for her. She tried with Harry, once she felt she was in a better place after the trauma Petyr inflicted upon her, which was after the trauma Ramsay inflicted upon her, which was after Joffrey, and, man, she realizes, it's just been a hard life. She deserves a break from men. And honestly, she enjoys being alone. She’s got more time to do the things she likes to do, and her relationships with her siblings have improved.

She’s in a good place, she thinks to herself as she gets ready for bed, and she’s fine with just being Sandor’s friend.

“You ready to go, Sans?” Robb asks Sansa with a grin.

“More like ready to kick your butt,” she teases, stretching alongside her brother.

He snorts. “We’ll see about that.”

“I don’t know, Robb,” Ygritte grins, “Sansa’s been getting pretty strong.”

“Yeah, you should see her at the gym.” Arya knocks her shoulder against her older sister’s. “She’s like Wonder Woman.”

Sansa blushes, causing Gendry to grin. “I think we should probably stop singing Sansa’s praises. If she turns any redder she’s going to look like a tomato.”

“Thanks, Gendry,” she mutters as the rest of the group laughs.

Thankfully, her father approaches the group, saving her from further teasing. “Hey kids, you ready? The race should be starting soon. Bran’s in charge of the firing pistol.”

“Not Rickon?” Arya asks with a grin.

Ned looks unimpressed. “Do I look like I would ever trust your brother with any sort of gun?”

Sansa snorts. “Good call.”

“Your mom sent me over to tell you good luck. She’ll be waiting for you at the finish line.” Ned ruffles Arya’s hair. “Try not to trip anyone, Underfoot.”

She scowls as everyone else laughs. “You trip someone one time and they never let you forget it.”

Her father grins. “See you at the finish line, kiddos.”

“Okay, let’s take our places.” Jon turns to Sansa. “Are you sure you don’t want to start at the front with the rest of us?”

“No, I promised Margie and Jeyne that I would start at the back with them. But I’ll see you at the finish line.”

“Just don’t take too long.” Robb gives her a cheeky grin.

Sansa rolls her eyes and flips off her older brother as she makes her way to where she had agreed to meet her friends. Jeyne spots her first and waves her over with a sheepish smile. Sansa narrows her eyes as she approaches. “Where’re your numbers?”

“Well, about that…”

Sansa groans. “Don’t tell me you guys are giving up before the race even starts.”

“We’ve been recruited by your mom to man the water station at the fourth kilometer,” Margaery tells her. “So it’s sort of like we’re doing the race!”

“I can’t believe you,” Sansa grumbles. “I’m going to do this by myself?”

“We believe in you, Sans! You can do it!” Jeyne pulls her into a hug, which Sansa accepts reluctantly.

“Yeah, yeah. See you guys at the water station.”

Sansa watches her friends go with only a hint of exasperation. She honestly isn’t too surprised, although she wishes she hadn’t let herself be separated from her family. Lost in her thoughts about how she can catch up to them, since she doesn’t want to fight through the crowd that’s between them, she doesn’t hear someone approach.

“Not excited for the race, Little Bird?” a voice says in her ear.

Gasping, she whirls around to find herself face to face with Sandor. “Sandor! I thought you weren’t coming.”

His gray eyes are warm as he smiles down at her. “Well, I knew it was important to you, so I made sure I was able to come.”

“Thank you.” She grins, hope fluttering back to life in her chest that maybe he likes her, too. “You ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The past couple of weeks have been good between them, ever since she had decided she was overreacting, and was fine with just being gym buddies with him. Sometimes she thought she could catch him looking at her strangely, but chalked it up to an overactive imagination. Still, he must have noticed how put out she was about the whole thing.

They chat as they manage the first mile in a little under 20 minutes, a personal best for her. She’s so happy to be doing this with him, to be hanging out with him outside of the gym, that she decides she should put herself out there.

They’re in a weird place between participants, outstripping the casual walkers and joggers while still being behind the more serious runners. She takes a deep breath, knowing it’s now or never, as they turn a corner. “So, I was thinking. About how much I’ve improved over the past few months.”

“Yeah, you’ve made a lot of progress,” he agrees, eyes on the path ahead.

“And a lot of it is due to you.”

His eyes flick to her face for a moment. “Don’t sell yourself short, Little Bird.”

“But it gave me an idea about the race,” she continues. “Like, what’ll happen when we reach the finish line, because I think I might be able to beat you.”

“Is that so?” The corners of his mouth curve up, amusement evident on his face.

“Yeah.” She grins up at him, hoping her nerves aren’t betraying her. “A wager, if you will.”

“I’m listening.”

She exhales, trying to keep her heart rate steady. “So, if you win, I get to take you out to dinner, but if I win, you get to take me out to dinner. Sound like a plan?”

He stops suddenly, the people behind him having to sidestep so they don’t crash, giving him dirty looks. She can’t quite place the look on his face, his voice sounding choked off as he asks her, “What, like a date?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.” She’s breathless as her heart starts to race in her chest, hope thrumming through her veins.

It’s dashed, though, and her heart sinks to the vicinity of her knees when he bursts out laughing. After a second of shock, the mortification sinks in, and she does the only thing she can do, which is run. She books it at a speed she doesn’t even know she possessed, sprinting down the path, passing other participants who had to have heard her rejection.

“Wait, wait a second,” he calls after her, “Little -, Sansa, wait!”

She knows he’s going to catch up with her, because she knows she can’t run this fast for very long, but she has to try and get away, as far away as she can. Tears are leaking out of her eyes and there are other runners passing her with sympathetic looks on their faces and she hates it, hates all of it. She should’ve just helped her mother, but no, she had to be a Stark instead of the Tully she usually acts like. Brave instead of careful. Somewhere in the back of her mind she thinks she should’ve just stuck to her decision about not trying to date anymore.

When his hand grips her shoulder and tries to pull her to him, she wrenches herself away and runs on burning legs off the path and into the woods. “Go away!”

“You’re acting like a godsdamned child, Sansa, just wait for a fucking second,” he snaps, wrapping an arm around her waist and hauling her up against a tree just yards away from the path.

Her legs are burning and her lungs are aching but she still tries to wrench herself away. And yeah, maybe she is acting like a child but she was just shot down so cruelly in the middle of a dozen strangers so she thinks she’s not being completely unreasonable. “What you could possibly want, Sandor? Want to laugh at me again?”

“No, just,” he sighs, hands next to her head, arms caging her in, “hear me out, fucking hell.”

She glares at him. “What do you want from me? I thought, I don’t know, maybe you liked me, too. And I’m sorry for being wrong, for even telling you, you asshole!”

His eyes widen before he barks out another laugh, and it has her seeing red. Managing to kick him in the shin, she feels a flash of satisfaction as his laugh is cut off by a grunt. “Damnit Sansa! Stop hurting me!”

“Stop hurting me!”

He almost growls at her. “I’m trying to tell you something, can you fucking listen for a second?”

“To what, you laughing, you -”

“I was laughing because I couldn’t fucking believe it okay?”

She opens her mouth to yell at him again, before her brain comprehends what he’s saying. “Wait, what?”

“You really think I was expecting that? You’re sweet, and nice, and kind, and possibly the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, Maiden made flesh, and have you looked at my fucking face? There’s nothing good in me. I’m an old dirty dog, not something fit for you.”

And just like that her anger sparks back to life. “Gods, don’t say things like that! You’re just as sweet and kind, and just because you have scars doesn’t mean you’re not stupidly attractive! And don’t call yourself a dog, you’re better than that!”

He stares at her for a moment. “Are you really yelling at me right now?”

“No!” She considers the situation. “Well, yes, but you started it!”

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” His lips twitch, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “Are you done being angry now, or do you want to shout at me some more?”

She huffs, anger draining despite her best efforts. She slumps against him, the fight in her gone. “I guess I’m done.”

“Good,” he murmurs, leaning in, “because I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Her eyes widen, heart rate spiking back up for reasons entirely unrelated to annoyance. “Oh.”

The first press of his lips against hers has her hands reaching up to grasp the front of his shirt, tugging it closer to her as her fingers fist in the fabric. It’s soft and gentle, almost a casual exploration of how their mouths feel against one another. It awakens something in her, a deep need she feels to be pressed closer to him.

The kiss changes then, a harsh push and pull of teeth and tongue. An arm snakes around her waist from where it had been resting against the tree, his hand splayed against her rib cage. She wiggles a little, trying to find some relief as her hips find his. He makes a noise somewhere between growl and a groan, bending slightly so he can use his other arm to scoop her up and press her more firmly against the tree.

She whimpers, her legs coming up around his hips almost of their own accord. She grinds down into him, a flash of heat rushing through her as his erection presses against her. He bites her lip, hard, and is rewarded with another whimper. Her head is swimming in a hazy cloud of pleasure, until he pulls back, gasping for air. He drops his head on her shoulder with a groan. “Little Bird.”

“Hmm?”

“We have a race to run.”

“Oh.” She comes back to herself slowly, blinking until she can focus on her surroundings, and not just his beautiful eyes. “Right. Sorry.”

“There’s the little bird I know.” He grins down at her as he loosens his hold enough so she can slide back down to the ground. “You shocked me with your swearing earlier, you know. The strongest word I’ve ever heard you use is ‘hell’.”

“You bring it out in me,” she murmurs, smoothing out his shirt. The heavy thrum of desire starts to wane, but she still can’t stop herself from leaning up and pressing her lips to his once more.

He gives her hips a squeeze before pulling back. “We should get moving. Prove your familly wrong?”

“We should.” She sighs, dropping her hands and leading them out of the forest.

“Is that reluctance I hear?”

“Yeah, well, if someone hadn’t derailed my plans, maybe we wouldn’t be in this predicament,” she grumbles.

“And what predicament is that?” He picks up his pace, still making sure he’s going slow enough for her.

“I’m just saying, if you hadn’t laughed at me and accepted my wager we could’ve been done by now.”

He snorts. “I doubt we would’ve gotten through the next two miles in fifteen minutes.”

“You never know.”

He clears his throat. “So, about that wager. Does it still stand?”

She blushes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Do you want it to be?”

“I like the idea of a date,” he tells her, picking up his pace, leaving her behind, “but I won’t be paying.”

Laughing, she chases after him. “Cheater!”

As they cross the finish line, Sansa’s pretty sure Sandor let her win, but can’t find it in her to complain about it, as Ygritte sweeps her into a hug. “Three cheers for the Princess Stark!”

She’s swept from person to person as her family congratulates her on coming so far. Even Robb sheepishly admits to being wrong. Finally she lands back in front of Sandor, drawing attention to his presence. To her family’s credit, only Robb flinches, Ygritte hardly batting an eye at his scars. What does surprise her is how Jon and Gendry seem to know him.

“Hound, what are you doing here?” Gendry gives him a grin and a handshake. “Haven’t seen you in ages, man.”

“Stop fraternizing with the enemy, Gen,” Arya hisses, jumping on her boyfriend's back to stop him from grabbing the other man’s hand, “or have you forgotten last year’s tourney?”

Gendry laughs, shifting Arya so he’s giving her a piggyback ride. “Oh calm down, Arry, you won in the end, didn’t you?”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” she grumbles.

“It is good to see you again,” Jon offers, shaking Sandor’s hand next. His eyes flick to Sansa. “How do you two know each other?”

“We boulder together,” she offers. “I invited him.”

Robb shakes Sandor’s hand next. “It’s good of you to make it. Robb.”

“Sandor.” He gives her brother’s hand a firm shake.

“And I’m Ygritte.” The redhead all but hip-checks Robb out of the way so she can grip Sandor’s hand next. “Heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

Everyone’s eyes turn to Sansa, who curses her complexion as she turns what she’s sure is beet red. “Thanks, Ygritte.”

Robb’s eyes twinkle mischievously at her, before turning back to Sandor. “We were planning on going out of a celebratory bite to eat after the run. Want to join?”

Sandor’s eyes stay on Sansa’s face for a moment longer, probably taking in her poorly-disguised hope. “I am starving.”

“Good!” Robb says as Arya groans. “Now, come on, IHOP is waiting for us. I just have to grab Talisa.”

As the older Stark children start walking towards their cars, Bran, Rickon, and their parents still having duties to fulfill, Ygritte turns to Sansa, wiggling her eyebrows. “So, that’s your man?”

Sansa blushes once again. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

“I approve. Very, very much.”

She giggles and bumps shoulders with Ygritte, happier than she's been in a long time. “Me, too.”

“What are you ladies talking about now?” Talisa asks with a smile as she slings her arms over the other girls’ shoulders.

“Men,” Ygritte grins, “which reminds me, I have to go stop Jon from driving. We’ll never get back in time if he drives like the old man he is on the inside.”

She and Talisa laugh as they try and beat the boys to the cars, and Sansa watches them go with a smile. Footsteps behind her have her turning to look at Sandor as he approaches. “Ready for some food?”

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was starving, Little Bird.”

She hums thoughtfully, reaching out and slipping her hand into his. “I’m glad you’re coming. I told you you’d get along with everyone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, a smile betraying him, “you were right.”

“I usually am,” she agrees. “Now, come on,” she tugs on his hand, “if you ask nicely I might even let you pay for brunch.”

His laugh fills her with warmth, and she can't help but thank the Seven that she decided to listen to Ygritte all those months ago.