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“I'm not blood related. You don't need to ask for my permission,” Jon Snow, now revealed as Targaryan, stated. He placed a spear back with the other weapons in the training yard. A few drops of sweat trailing down his cheek after training with the new recruits of Winterfell.
“She would want it to be proper. I figured since you're the oldest brother,” Sandor replied, unable to keep eye contact for long.
“Well I'm not even that anymore. I'm technically her cousin. I have no business arranging her marriage while she has a brother. Ask Bran if he will give his consent to you.”
Sandor huffed and walked away. Why does this have to be so damn complicated, he wondered. Sansa had already agreed to marry him more or less, after everything they had been through together he wasn't concerned she would turn him down at least. He was more worried about relentless comments from the rest of the Stark pack about how he wasn't good enough for her (too old, too ugly, too mean) and how she had made the worst mistake of her life the day she married him. The rest of Westeros would talk the same way. It would be better to have a few alliances secured upfront.
He found Bran sitting alone in the Godwood looking toward him silently as if he was expecting to meet him there.
“I'd like to ask you something…”
“You want to marry Sansa,” he stated plainly.
“Yes I do. Would you give your consent as the last living Stark son?”
“I'm no longer a Stark in truth. I'm the three eyed raven. Brandon Stark was lost some time ago when he traveled north of the wall.”
“For fucks sake… I want to marry her. She has no father to ask for her hand. The damn bastard won't give his permission either. Who the bloody hell would I ask then?”
“Ask Arya. She's the only other true Stark.”
Sandor stormed off muttering to himself as he went. No one had ever told him it would be this difficult to get an actual response. He had been expecting some sort of argument or negotiation, had prepared a bit how he might convince them it wasn’t the worst idea of all time, and felt blindsided by their avoidance. It was common, appropriate even, in most high born marriages to discuss terms with both families. He should have known that the Starks would be more difficult. Their bloodline was ancient and precious to the north. Likely they considered new members carefully. Yet neither Jon or Bran had mocked him for asking, nor seemed all that surprised. In truth, they hadn't seemed thrilled with the idea either, but Sandor would take what he could get at this point.
He had assumed his best chance of approval would come from Jon Snow. Brothers in arms and all those cliches. They had fought well together north of the wall and gotten to know each other a fair bit. Not quite friends, yet better than acquaintances. Sandor had never spoken more than a few words to Bran and tried to avoid the younger man if he was honest. The three eyed raven unnerved him with the way he stared through people. Of course Arya was the last resort. Her default tone was usually a shout with him. If the decision was left to her, there was no way in hell he would ever have the family blessing he sought.
Sandor managed to find Arya at the archery field as he doubled back into the training yard. She had a quiver of arrows set at her feet, bow in hand, as she fired off at the targets. He caught her attention and she made a face before furrowing her brow. An arrow loosed and hit the farthest target dead center.
“What do you want?” she turned to ask him, an eyebrow quirked up.
Off to a great start , Sandor thought.
“I wanted to ask,” he replied, “Ah fuck, I don’t know what to say,
“Out with it, old man!”
“I want to ask for Sansa’s hand…”
“You're asking me?” she laughed, “I'm her sister and younger at that. You wouldn't need my permission. Jon would be better to ask.”
“I already buggering asked him and your creepy little brother and now you. All the Starks going on and on about honor and none of you will even pay attention!”
He stormed off, furious he had even bothered. For whatever reason he had thought it would be the right thing to do. Sansa cared for her family above everything else, maybe more than Winterfell itself. He thought it only right to ask her family whether or not he could take their oldest sister to claim for his own.
On the way back to his bedroom he saw Sansa. She smiled and stopped to talk to him. He was still furious and stormed past her muttering about how the fucking Starks were all exactly the same.
Sansa found Arya heading back toward the castle, who was able to explain the strange encounter. It was a laughable situation and heartbreakingly sweet. She was surprised he had bothered with such a traditional practice. He didn't value high society or proper etiquette. Why would he think to ask them for her hand? At this point it seemed unnecessary. Her family already knew him and his intentions for the most part.
Rather than a big meal in the Great Hall that evening, Sansa organized a smaller dinner in the council room for close friends and family. Her siblings watched her suspiciously as they entered the room. It was something their father and mother had done on occasion when there was a serious matter they needed to discuss all together. The last one had been about who would join their father in King’s Landing.
Sansa already sat at the far end of the table and motioned for them to sit wherever they liked. Jon arrived and seated himself at the opposite end as the male head of household would have been expected, Daenerys beside him. Arya placed herself to the left of her sister and Bran at the empty space near Jon that was cleared for his chair.
Sandor arrived a bit later and sat next to Sansa unaware of her plan. He was still in a sour mood and kept his head down in an effort to stop himself from blowing up again in front of everyone. Once they were finished eating, Sansa stood to make her announcement.
“As you know, Father and Mother are no longer here to discuss important matters with us. I'd like to announce my intention and ask your thoughts. Sandor Clegane has been a true friend of ours for a long time and I intend to marry him. I don't ask for permission. As Lady of Winterfell, I will marry the man of my choosing. Yet as father often said, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives . I ask if you would allow him to join our family and accept him as our own.”
“Since when do you want to marry him ?” Jon dismayed.
Sansa blushed a deep crimson that spread down her neck. After the many conversations with Arya and Sandor about marriage, she assumed one of them had mentioned it to her brother. When she realized she had never told him herself, she nearly cowered in front of the entire family. She nodded and sat down again, not wanting anyone to notice her trembling knees.
“But he's so ugly!” Arya scoffed.
“He is seated right here and can bloody well hear you, wolf girl,” Sandor responded.
“Everyone gets to speak honestly at the table, idiot.”
“Fine, let's have it out then. All of you tell her why I’m not good enough for her. Gods know she won’t listen to me.”
“He's a brute, Sansa,” Arya continued, “He won't be a proper lord like you always wanted.”
“That was a long time ago, Arya. He's managed to keep us safe and do his duty. It's not important for him to be political. I can manage that fine on my own.”
“The Northern lords will expect you to marry one of their sons. They will hate the fact that you married a southerner. Especially one that served the Lannisters his entire life,” Arya commented.
“I know… I’ve weighed the consequences and decided I don’t care for their snap judgements. I don't want to marry again solely for an alliance. They will learn to accept my decision with time,” Sansa assured.
“I fought with everyone against the army of the dead,” Sandor added. “They know I'm with the north now. I won't give them a reason to think my allegiance is somewhere else.”
“Yes,” Jon agreed, “They see you as one of us more now after all your help. Over time they may accept you as their own.”
“He's so big. Aren't you worried he'll crush you to death on your wedding night?” Arya asked.
“It hasn't been a problem yet,” Sansa hissed back.
Sandor stared at his plate as if it were the most important thing in the world. It was one thing to declare his devotion in front of her family. It was another to flaunt the liberties he'd taken without making an honest woman of her.
“Please gods, I don't need to hear any more of that about my younger sister,” Jon winced. “As long as you both understand that there will be some backlash from the other lords I have no other qualms. Clegane has proven himself a great fighter and a worthy ally to our family. I would be happy to welcome him.”
Sandor stared at the younger man looking for some hint of mocking and found none. Jon smiled at him in a warm familial way that he never experienced before.
“Fine,” Arya agreed. “He's been loyal to Sansa and he's a capable soldier. He can stay.”
“Bran what do you think?” Sansa asked.
“It doesn't matter what I think. It's already happened. You will have 5 children together. But one of them-”
“Bran! What did we say about that?”
“No telling the future until it's asked or the world might be ending…”
“Please don't say anything else about it,“ Sansa pleaded.
“Will I make her happy?” Sandor asked.
“Well you'll argue a lot... Yes, it seems mostly happy.”
He breathed a deep sigh in relief.
“Very well now that it's discussed, we'll have the wedding in the next few weeks. Welcome to the family Sandor,” Sansa declared and took a long gulp of wine to settle her nerves.
“Does that make him a Stark?” Arya teased.
It wasn't unheard of for the lower family to take a higher born family's name in marriage though it was a bit uncommon.
“We hadn't discussed that part…” Sansa admitted.
“You stay a Stark and I'll keep Clegane. There should always be a Stark in Winterfell. Don't want anyone confusing who's to bother with their gripes about land and taxes.”
“What about the children? There will need to be an heir to Winterfell,” Daenerys asked.
“Well traditionally they would be Cleganes,” Sansa responded.
“They’ll be Starks,” Sandor spoke firmly, “Clegane has never stood for anything besides pain and misery. I’d rather let that name die first.”
Sansa tried her best to choke down a sob as a tear rolled down her face. Before she could think about how improper it might be, she pulled him toward her for a passionate kiss. Jon cleared his throat after a minute to snap them out of it.
“While we're discussing the future, I want to add an announcement of my own. Once the war is settled, Daenerys and I plan on getting married as well.”
“Aren't you her nephew?” Arya asked.
“Technically yes, but we had no way of knowing beforehand and I've fallen for her.”
“Are there any other objections?” Daenerys glared at the rest of the pack.
Though they might have spoken up without her there, under the queen's icy stare they kept silent.