Chapter Text
From Northern Morning Herald Classifieds:
Big scary fucker
Available for intimidation, interrogation, cat sitting, family events and hostage negotiation.
Ph. 555 7986 376
Sansa stared at the ad clipping, now crumpled after being in her purse for a week. She looked around the park, trying to work out which of the passers-by might be the big scary man.
Sandor, he’d mentioned his name was when she called. He had said to look out for someone very tall, with dark hair, tattoos and a “fucked up face”.
Sansa had told the man that she would wear a red coat with a black scarf, and that her auburn hair would be up in a messy bun. She’d take her warm hat off so she would be recognisable. He had recommended they meet in a public place for safety’s sake, and she agreed.
“Sansa,” said a rasping voice.
Her gaze travelled up. And up. And up.
He was less scary than she had expected, was her first thought.
Imposing, would be more accurate. With his massive build, stern features, and tattoos on the visible flashes of skin that she could see.
Sexy.
Sansa swallowed and plastered on the best smile that she reserved for nervous patients. Or rather, the nervous owners of her patients.
“Sandor, hello.” She held out her hand, and it was engulfed by his.
Her friend Myranda would doubtless have a lot to say about the size of his hands and what that signified. Sansa’s gaze drew itself inexorably down towards his feet. They were also big.
She swallowed and looked back up at Sandor’s face. Burn scars covered half of it, distorting his features, but he had lovely grey eyes.
His demeanour was impassive, but she could have sworn there was a flash in his eyes that looked amused. “Ugly enough for you?”
“You’re not, I mean, I don’t…” Sansa closed her own eyes and gathered her thoughts. “You said you do family events?”
“And here I was looking forward to some hostage negotiation.” His expression was still deadpan, but the unscarred side of his mouth quirked up. “Aye, I’ll act as an escort to family events. No fucking though, I’m not that kind of escort.”
Sansa’s face flamed hot. “I wasn’t here for that,” she said, her voice lamentably unsteady.
“Never thought I’d regret that rule,” he muttered, though Sansa was not sure if he meant her to hear that.
“I want to have a boyfriend for a family event, so people stop pestering me about needing to find someone. The gathering is for the Feast of the Mother, so I can’t skip it like I usually do.” Sansa ploughed on, heedless of her embarrassment. “But I need a boyfriend who is, ah, uncouth. One who isn’t shy about causing trouble. One who is willing to ruin the evening.”
Sandor crossed his arms over his chest. “Aye, I can cause trouble. You hate your family enough to inflict me on them? Instead of just not attending, even if it is Feast of the Mother?”
“I don’t want to cut all ties by never attending events, and I don’t hate them,” Sansa said slowly, then sighed. “Well, I don’t hate most of them. I should give you some background. Do you want to get a takeaway coffee and walk?”
The occasional snowflake drifted around them, but the day was otherwise a perfect Northern day, cold and crisp. They walked around the partly frozen duck pond, breath clouding in puffs. The coffee bolstered Sansa, hot and strong.
“There’s two reasons why I want an uncouth ‘boyfriend’.” Sansa made air quotes with her free hand, her fingers encased by the navy-blue gloves she’d knitted for herself.
Sandor grunted, apparently urging her on.
“One, is that my family wants me to marry someone in society and then ditch my career to focus on having babies. To be a traditional Northern woman of my status. That’s apparently all I’m worth, my womb, and my ability to get a partner that they deem acceptable.”
Sandor raised his existing eyebrow in mute question, almost as high as the edge of his beanie.
“I’m a Stark,” she said, suppressing a sigh.
That got a verbal response. “Like the Governor?”
“Yes, Ned Stark is my dad.”
“Fuck.”
Sansa grimaced. “If you change your mind, I understand. You’re not getting paid after all. Though of course I’d be happy to…”
“No money,” said Sandor sharply. “I do things for people. Don’t want pay. Don’t need it.”
They walked in an awkward silence past several ducks and then a goose that eyed them with clear malevolence before Sandor continued.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re a Stark.” His breath billowed in front of them with the force of his words. “Politicians are cunts anyway.”
Sansa huffed a laugh despite his terrible language. “Yes, well. I’ve made my own way in life, and I’m a veterinarian. I’m so tired of the constant harping about me needing to get married and reproduce to show my worth as a person.” She shrugged before she continued. “So I want to attend for once, but get the petty satisfaction of having the evening ruined. Maybe then they’ll stop going on at me about my choices.”
“Aye, that’s reasonable as fuck. You want a fuckwit boyfriend to make a point. What’s the other reason?”
“My ex will be there. His father is my dad’s best friend. My ex was,” Sansa’s voice wobbled, and she took a slow sip of coffee to calm the memories of past hurts. “Well, he was unkind to me. It was a horrible relationship. I told my family about it, but they think I was being dramatic about the way he treated me, that it’s been long enough anyway, and I shouldn’t be bothered by seeing him since our families are so close.”
“And by ‘unkind’, you mean?” Sandor’s voice had dropped to a growl.
“He didn’t hit me,” Sansa said quickly. “Just verbal stuff mostly, calling me ugly and stupid. Trying to control where I went, who I talked to. Eventually I believed the things he said, believed how useless I was. It took me ages to be able to leave him.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘just’ with that abusive shit. Any kind of abuse. He sounds like a fucking waste of space.” Sandor gave a thoughtful hum. “You want me to fuck him up? Break his nose? Kick him in the balls?”
“No nothing like that. I only need you to behave badly, to be a jerk.”
“Piss off your unreasonable family and shield you from your cunt ex. I can do that.”
Apprehension that Sansa didn’t realise she’d been feeling lifted from her shoulders. “Thank you, Sandor. You’re a life saver.”
***
From: Sansa Stark <[email protected]>
Sent: 2nd Smithsday of the 9th Moon, 6.32am
To: Sandor Clegane <[email protected]>
Subject: guide to the potential dinner guests
Hi Sandor,
Thank you so much for this, I really appreciate it.
Who will be at the dinner:
Catelyn Stark (my Mum): very traditional. Deeply opposed me becoming a vet, thinks it’s beneath a Stark. Thinks I should get married asap because I’m not getting any younger and soon no man will want to have children with me.
Ned Stark (my Dad): very traditional. Distantly tolerant of my choices but perplexed as to why I have made those choices instead of, you guessed it, marriage and babies.
Robb Stark (older brother): Mum and Dad’s obvious favourite and can do no wrong. Wants to follow in Dad’s political steps.
Jeyne Stark (older brothers wife): Insufferably smug because she got pregnant with Eddy as soon as she married Robb. She’s Catelyn Stark 2.0.
Eddy Stark (my nephew): okay he’s actually a really cute baby.
Arya Stark (younger sister): She gets all the family angst when I’m not there because she is a social worker instead of a wife/mother etc etc. She claims she doesn’t care, and that it shouldn’t bother me so much. She’s an ally.
Bran Stark (younger brother): He doesn’t talk much, but he’s not outwardly hostile. Spends most of his time on his computer, you might not actually see him but he’ll be somewhere on his computer.
Rickon Stark (younger brother): Another ally. Mum had hysterics when he got his first tattoo. Dating Tommen Baratheon (see below) but all the parents are pretty upset about it. Please don’t use their relationship against them though.
Robert Baratheon (Dad’s BFF): He likes to drink and eat. Gets more inappropriate the drunker he gets. He likes pretty young women.
Cersei Baratheon (Robert’s wife): Awful. Shrew. Vicious hellbeast. Terrifying.
Joffrey Baratheon (Robert and Cersei’s older son, my ex bf): He’s actually worse than his Mum. He’s really really awful.
Margaery Tyrell (Joffrey’s gf): She has weaponised her beauty and perfection. And yes she is that beautiful and perfect.
Myrcella Baratheon (R & C’s daughter): Quiet, but nice. She tries to avoid conflict.
Tommen Baratheon (R & C’s younger son): Another ally and all-around precious bean. He’s adorable with Rickon. Studying to be a vet, and he works part time at my clinic.
I think that covers everyone who should be there.
See you on Maidsday evening!
Regards,
Sansa