Work Text:
“There it is,” Lyonel Frey announced as he pulled out something from his bag. The court gasped. Even the steely-nerved men like the Hound recoiled a little.
It was a white hairy severed head, larger than a human’s, baring its teeth into a terrifying mocking grin, as if it was still alive, and with eyes that looked like shards of blue glass. Sansa felt herself shaking. She heard a yelp of fright without realizing it came from her. This was real. The White Walkers were real.
“Come on, m’lady. There you are. Let’s go. No need for you to look,” Shae’s brisk voice brought her back to reality. Her handmaiden was pale, but apart from that, she looked much the same as always. Sansa partly envied her bravery and partly was mortified. How could Shae remain so composed when it might have been the end of the world as they knew it?
“It’s a severed head. It won’t hurt anyone. And if one head can be cut, they’re not as invincible as you think,” Shae said, as if reading her thoughts. She was gently leading Sansa in the direction of her room. “I’ll bring you a glass of water and some fruit. You’ll feel better.”
For a while, Sansa did feel better, especially with sunshine coming through the windows and the keep’s hustles and noises around. Today, no one disturbed her anymore, Joffrey hadn’t once demanded to see her, and the queen didn’t ask for her either. In the evening, Shae brought wonderful news: because of the White Walkers, there was a possibility of a truce ending the War of the Five Kings!
“And I’ll no longer be a hostage?” Sansa whispered. “I’ll see my family?”
“No promises for now, but it’s very probable,” Shae smiled.
“Mother… Robb… Bran… Rickon…” Sansa murmured dreamily. She felt a stab of guilt at the thought of Arya, who hadn’t been found since King Robert’s death – she should have looked after her as the elder sister, she should have protected her, and together it would have been easier to get through life… Somehow, though, Sansa couldn’t mourn Arya as she mourned Father. There was a part of her heart that refused to accept Arya was dead. It was probably foolish – a twelve-year-old girl wouldn’t survive so long on her own! – but there it was.
Sansa wanted to have pleasant dreams about her future family reunion (with her sister there, too – it was a dream, after all). But nothing like that came. When she dozed off, all she saw was the White Walker, cold, white, ruthless, with these blue glassy eyes. He was advancing on her, and then she realized it was only his head, floating in darkness. There were many such heads, all baring their teeth at her and screeching, and Sansa was being choked and gasped for breath…
And sat up on her bed.
The night was starry. Sansa usually liked that, but not now – the stars looked a bit like these eyes, cold and blue and icy and dreadful… She couldn’t bear to look.
She turned around and saw something white and round and wrinkled lurking in the corner.
“Help! Please!” Sansa backed away towards the door, teeth rattling, she already almost felt the choking cold at her neck…
Then she realized that the thing that frightened her was her own pillow.
Just then, the door burst open, the wooden latch giving in and snapping with a creak.
“What’s happening?”
Sansa felt her cheeks grow hot with shame as she saw the Hound, sword drawn and ready, standing on her doorstep. Only now did she understand what an utter fool she was, calling for aid because of a nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say. She was still trembling, and it wasn’t helping her. “I’ve had… a bad dream… the White Walkers…”
“Damn it, little bird,” the Hound rasped. “You cried as if you were being murdered. You’re lucky you didn’t wake the whole keep! Our beloved king wouldn’t have liked it.”
“I know,” she nodded faintly. “I’m so sorry, my l…”
“Bugger your courtesies!” he snapped.
He must be very angry with me about this false alarm! But then, why isn’t he leaving? Suddenly Sansa acutely realized that her nightdress was all crumpled from her tosses and turns in bed, and the collar was loosened, baring her entire neck.
“Foolish girl,” he said quietly. Sansa swallowed. His eyes were dark and grey and shining with something dangerous, but they weren’t icy and cold and blue… With trembling hands, she tried to flatten the skirt of the nightdress.
“No need,” the Hound’s voice fell to a whisper. “Lie down, little bird. You’re in your cage and safe enough for now. I’m leaving. Don’t forget to bar the door with a chair or something like that: your latch is broken.”
Indeed, he turned away and pushed the door.
“Wait,” Sansa gasped. “C-could you… sit here… for a while… I’m… I’m… so f-f-frightened…”
What am I saying? she thought in panic. I should be thanking my luck he’s leaving!
Sandor Clegane stared at her:
“What are you saying, little bird?” he asked, echoing her thoughts. “That I should lull you to sleep like some bloody wet nurse? Why not ask your sweet king to read you a bedtime story while you’re at it? Or suggest Ser Meryn brushes your hair?”
“I’m sorry,” Sansa mumbled again, her face burning. “I’m still dizzy from the nightmare, I suppose. Er. G-g-goodnight, ser… I mean… forgive me.”
She dove into the bed, hid under the blanket and shut her eyes as tight as she could.
Icy and blue and cold, so cold, so dreadfully cold… No, she had to forget it. Forget it and survive through the night. Somehow. The morning would bring the sunshine and Shae and even the Queen’s cruel but living smile.
Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. A very strong and warm hand.
Sansa opened one eye ever so slightly and peeked out from under the blanket.
The Hound was sitting by her side.
“Sleep, little bird,” he said. “Nobody is going to check on your room till morning. I’m not on duty tonight, and no one gives a damn about me.”
He’s not on duty? Which means he… he stood by my door because he wanted to?
Sansa didn’t have time to finish her thought. The feeling of safety and warmth engulfed her, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep. She dreamed of Arya throwing lemon cakes in her face.
She woke up after dawn, alone, with the sunlight already making its way past the curtains.
“Thank you,” she said awkwardly on the following day when she met him in the corridor.
“For what is it now?” the Hound barked.
“For… sitting with me… last night… after the nightmare…” she squeaked. His rough responses still frightened her.
“Last night? What are you talking about?”
“Why… I had my bad dream… and then you came to my room…”
“And the dream turned even worse,” Sandor Clegane finished. “I don’t know what you’ve been drinking at supper yesterday, but it wasn’t good for your little bird head. I never went near your room. I spent a nice night in the bloody kennels with a flagon of Dornish red for company.”
The sound of his boots had already faded away, but Sansa was still standing there, feeling her heart beating wildly and a strange blush spreading on her cheeks. For some reason, she could hardly suppress a knowing smile.
The wooden latch on her door was still broken, after all.