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“Sandor, I need you. Please?"
Sandor was so caught up in the way Sansa's nightgown seemed both completely sheer and proper, that he didn't even hear what she said.
"It would mean so much to me. I’ll do anything. Anything at all.”
He frowned, it seemed serious.
"Wait. What's going on?"
“Brienne's car broke down, she's stranded on the highway. She won't be here in time."
He looked at the costume laid out in the trunk of her car and then at the stage. He was supposed to meet his cousin for their annual "bonding time" as she called it, but he supposed this year it wasn't meant to be.
He remembered Brienne mentioning the couple's costume competition. Oh, fuck no.
"Wait. What's the theme of that? Of the costume?"
Her blush deepened.
"You know how Brienne and I, we bonded over literature?"
"Yeah, over those bodice-ripp… No fucking way."
"Sandor, please."
He picked up the white linen shirt from the trunk.
"I'm not going on stage dressed like Fabio."
Her face fell.
"You're right, I'm sorry. It's just… You're the only person I know who's as big as Brienne and I thought I really had a chance to win this year."
As she sat in her open trunk he saw it. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. There was more to this.
"Why is this so important for you?"
This was a costume contest. Surely the pride and joy of the Winterfell Inc Empire aspired to more than corn maze glory.
"Every year since we broke up Joffrey makes a big deal of winning the couple costume contest and every year he rubs it in my face."
At the foot of the stage, Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell were putting the final touches to their Valyrian costumes. Sandor had heard from Brienne snippets of what had happened between Joffrey and Sansa. The cheating. The belittling.
"You got out of that relationship, by every possible standard, you win."
"I know… I know I shouldn’t care but we have so many friends in common, I can't escape him… And then Brienne and I, we had this idea of recreating "The Cloaked Knight" cover. I painted the background for weeks, she sewed everything by hand. It was a lot of work… I thought we actually had a chance."
She got up, wiped her eyes dry and brushed the wrinkles off her nightgown. Always so fucking proper. With only string lights and torches to light the night, she might just as well have stepped out of a painting.
Seven hells.
He picked the shirt up. "You owe me." She raised her big eyes at him, blue and infinite. "Big time. You owe me… I don’t know what yet but it's big."
"Anything!"
What would make her regret? What would be worth having his picture circulate the local social media platforms for a year or two?
"A date."
"A date?"
"You heard me."
She smiled. "Ok, but don't forget the wig."
From a bag, she pulled a long haired, chestnut wig that would reach the middle of his back.
" Two dates."
She laughed and tossed him the leather pants. She wasn't as horrified with the prospect as he thought she'd be.
"Tell you what", she smiled, "Don't forget to grab my waist and let's say three dates, just to be safe."