Chapter Text
Sansa sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window in silence. After a date with Joffrey, she always felt tired of talking, tired of listening to her boyfriend talk. Mr. Clegane, the big bodyguard who always drove her home seemed to like silence anyway, which was relieving. After several minutes of quiet, he spoke. “Your father wants me to teach you self-defense.”
Sansa swiveled her head to look at him and frowned. “Why?”
He flicked his eyes over at her, annoyance crossing his face. “Why do you think? To fucking defend yourself.” She winced at his coarse language.
"Fine," she sighed and looked out the window again. She didn’t speak for the rest of the drive, watching cars and buildings go by, and after several minutes they pulled up in front of her house.
“Get some comfortable clothes on. Don't be long.”
Sansa squeaked. “We’re doing this now?”
“Yes, now,” he rasped, glaring at her. “Or would you rather be picking out tomorrow’s outfit?” He sneered at her and she shook her head quickly.
“No, just surprised me is all. I’ll be back soon.” Sansa exited the car and ran up to her room, kicking off her shoes as she went. Quickly she changed into jeans and a tee. After washing off her makeup, she brushed her hair into a ponytail and slipped some flip flops on. Then she grabbed her purse and went back downstairs.
Mr. Clegane eyed her when she sat down in the car. “Is this good to wear?" Sansa asked nervously. Clegane nodded, starting the engine.
Sansa set her purse by her shoes when they entered his apartment. “I’m going to get out of this damned suit. Don’t go anywhere.” Sansa nodded absently as he disappeared into a hallway, tugging at his collar. She was standing near the front door, gazing around curiously. To her right was a steel-and-marble kitchen and to her left was the living room that contained a black leather couch and a TV, and not much else. The place was clean and sparse; It looked like it wasn’t much lived in. Sansa liked the simplicity of it.
After a few minutes he returned, wearing a grey tee shirt and jeans. She offered him a small smile and his frown deepened. "Follow me," he commanded roughly, and she did.
Sansa realized that she didn't know his first name. All she'd ever heard was Hound or Clegane. “What should I call you?” she asked hesitantly.
He turned around and scowled over at her. “What?”
“I don’t want to call you Hound or mister. Or Ser.” She knew he hated that title. “What should I call you?”
He didn't respond. He had led her into what looked like an unused bedroom. Instead of a bed, however, there was various weight training equipment. She looked at him and and he shook his head, seeming a bit frustrated. “My name is Sandor.” Sansa nodded and he stepped back into the middle of the room, gesturing for her to follow.
After a few moments he spoke again. “Hit me.” Sansa frowned. How? She stood in front of him, in the middle of the room, contemplating his large frame. She narrowed her eyes and aimed a punch at his chest. He didn’t budge when she struck him, and he shook his head. “Harder.” She obeyed, and the force of it caused her to reel backwards. His mouth twitched and he caught her forearm, steadying her. He released her just as soon, frowning at her. “Your feet need to be shoulder-width apart.” She shuffled her feet apart. “Put one foot slightly in front of the other.” When she did, he nodded in approval. “Try again.” This time her punch had more force to it, and was more controlled. It felt good. Sandor motioned for her to keep going, so she hit him more, alternating fists. Soon she was starting to feel a bit silly.
After a while she got used to the movements and he caught her wrists in one of his hands. His countenance had changed from being bored and inattentive to something darker, and Sansa swallowed nervously. He backed her up until her heel hit the wall behind her. “If anyone tries to hurt you, they won’t give you the space I just gave you. You won’t be able to get speed behind your punches. If I were trying to hurt you now, what would you do?” His voice was low in her ear, and the depth of it made her shiver.
“Kick you in the balls,” she blurted. As soon as the words left her mouth she wished she could disappear into the wall behind her. She shut her eyes tightly, sure her face was bright red. Being around Arya and her bad habits had clearly influenced Sansa. After taking a deep breath, she peeked up at him, expecting to see anger, but he was just staring at her. Then he burst into raucous laughter.
It took him a little while to calm down, but even when he quieted he shook with mirth. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is the little bird not chirping her courtesies anymore?” he asked, and Sansa blushed. He released her wrists and stepped away from her, still chuckling. “Aye, girl, kick me in the balls.”
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When they entered his apartment, Sandor was able to look properly at the girl. She was dressed well; loose clothing for good movement, comfortable so she wouldn’t be distracted. Her hair was up, out of her face. There was a little black smudge near the corner of her eye.
“No makeup,” he commented, and she glanced up at him, pulling her arms tightly around herself. She didn’t respond for a long time. Was she angry?
“I didn’t wear makeup before I started dating Joff, but he says I’m ugly without it.” She paused and regarded him, biting her lip. “You’re not Joffrey.”
Sandor didn’t know what to say to her, so he left the room to change into more comfortable clothes.