Horrible Truths - Game of Thrones Fanfiction

YES, I am posting my fanfiction to my blog. This is actually a fill for the Sansa-Sandor community's comment fic meme on livejournal. It's SanSan. Fear it. Here's the prompt:

Sansa and Sandor's daughter turns 12, and Sandor has a sudden horrifying realisation that that's how old Sansa was the night of the Blackwater Battle when he pinned her to the bed, thought about trying to fuck her, and put a dagger to her throat. Cue freak out :)

Basically, I would like Sandor to recognise the fact that twelve year olds are actually still very young and wee, despite how he remembers it (or how it might have seemed at the time). And I would like him to apologise to Sansa all over again... how he does that, I shall leave up to the author... ;) --the_moonmoth

See? Sansa likes that I'm posting fanfiction here.

Title: Horrible Truths
Rating: PG-13 (just mentions of adult situations. nothing horrific happens)
Word Count: 1981
Warnings: Mentions of rape & thoughts of sex with a minor (even though in medieval times, Sansa was already considered a woman, yuckies!)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story! They belong to George R.R. Martin.





Laughter echoed through the Godswood, warming his heart. This would not have happened 12 years ago, before his daughter was born. Sansa had smoothed most of the sharp edges within him, but there was still that darkness inside him that just wouldn’t go away. Until Minisa was born. The first time he saw her was terrifying. She was a tiny, pink, screaming ball of fury and no matter how much Sansa had tried to console the newborn, it just did not work. But then the midwife had plopped the child in his arms so his wife could rest and the tiny bundle had quieted immediately, her Tully blue eyes -- the same shade as her mother’s -- boring into his, full of curiosity. This child of his was the first to look upon his face without recoiling. His scars never scared her at all.

That was the day that the ice that encased his heart melted for good.

Minisa was a feisty little thing. And a tomboy to boot. Just like her aunt Arya. Her hair was long and wavy like her mother’s, but it was the same pitch black as her father’s. And it was always in tangles, much to her mother’s dismay. Arya would laugh at the disgruntled look on her sister’s face each time Minisa ran away when Sansa tried to brush her hair. It was an immense source of frustration for his wife and one of amusement for Arya. And himself, if he wanted to be completely honest.

But their little girl took after her father more than anything and that terrified him. Her fuse was short, her will made of steel and she was prone to bitterness, even at such a young age. But she had her mother’s kindness. None of her grace, but all of her heart. And it was that that Sandor hoped would save her from going down a dark path as she got older.

“Father!” Minisa yelled as she ran through the trees, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Sandor turned around and watched as she made her way toward him, her beautiful dress muddy and matted in places. Sansa would have a fit when she saw it. This only made him smile more.

“What is it, little pup?” he rasped as she ran toward him and hugged him tightly. His rough hands smoothing over her crazy mess of hair.

Minisa peeked up at her father with a huge smile, blue eyes shining, “Ed found a hound in the woods and took it to mother! It’s our sigil, Father! Can we keep him?”

He sighed. It was never good when Nisa and her brother teamed up on both their parents. Sandor was weak when it came to his children.

“We’ll have to see what your mother thinks,” he tried to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Nisa started to whine, her tiny hands gripping onto her father’s tunic. “Please!” she begged. “He’s such a lovely shade of brown with a white chest and white paws. And he’s terribly scrawny. We have to keep him, Father! He won’t survive in the Godswood.”

“Enough.” he tried to speak harshly, but it barely phased her. “Leave it be until we speak to your mother.”

Minisa pouted, her round, child-like face looking even more young when she did so. Twelve years old already… was it not just yesterday that he held that squalling babe in his arms?

There was soft chirping in the background, distracting his daughter from her anger, thankfully. The little girl looked up in the trees, trying to locate the sound. Fortunately she was easily distracted from said anger, unlike her mother. That woman remembered everything he said that upset her and never let it go.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered. “Such little birds singing in the trees. I wonder where they’re at.”

The nickname for his wife hit him like fist in the gut. The look on Minisa’s face reminded him so much of Sansa in that moment. Little birds singing… Before he could stop himself, his mind went somewhere dark. Wasn’t Sansa the same age when he stole that song from her? Bile rose up in the back of his throat at the thought and anger flooded him. His sweet daughter, barely old enough to think for herself. When her mother was the same age, he had held her at knife point and forced her to sing for him as he thought of how her soft teats would feel pressed against his bare chest.

“Father?” Nisa asked, worry on her face.

Sandor stalked off, too disgusted with himself to speak. If any man touched his daughter in that way, he would cleave them to pieces. Rip them apart bare handed even. If any man even thought of his Minisa that way… he growled in anger, before it quickly turned to horror. Minisa was too young. Too young.

Sansa was too young then. His beautiful bird with flaming hair and bright blue eyes. Battered and bruised, nearly raped by him and scared out of her wits. He had done that to her.

Guilt washed over him and only seemed to intensify with each beat of his heart.

“Father?” Minisa had caught up to him, her tiny hand gripping onto his arm, fear in her eyes when she saw the tears upon her father’s cheeks. This was a side of him that he never let her see.

Sandor turned away, ashamed. “No more talk. To the castle now. Go.” He swiped at his cheeks when she couldn’t see.

He noticed her out of the corner of his eye; hesitant at first, her own eyes filling with tears. This only managed to make his heart break more. But this is what he deserved. This realization at how fucked up he had been and still was.

As soon as Minisa was out of eyesight, he collapsed to the ground, his head in his hands as the tears came unchecked. His beautiful, loving wife. How had she forgiven him? How had she fallen in love with him and defied her name and title to spend her life with him in Winterfell? He felt like the lowest, most despicable of men. Which he had felt before, but somehow it was so much worse.

Sandor stayed like that for hours, wallowing in his own misery, too shocked to move. The sun had come and gone, leaving him to the emptiness that surrounded him.

The crunch of fallen leaves snapped him out of his misery, causing him to grip the hilt of his sword as he looked behind him with narrow eyes.

“Sandor?”

It was her. Her voice sweet as the lemon cakes she loved so. His fist immediately loosened.

He grunted in reply, still sitting cross-legged on the dirty ground like the dog he was.

She appeared from behind a great fir tree, her flaming hair still visible even in the dark. Sansa shivered visibly as she walked toward him, her hand outstretched to him in offering as if he was a scared animal. It was something she had done often, now that he thought about it.

“My love, what are you doing out here? You scared Minisa out of her wits and Eddard tried to escape from his room through the window so he could find you!” she huffed. Sandor assumed she was distressed by the sheer amount of energy their young son had. She kneeled next to him, smoothing his haggard hair back from his face revealing it scars and all before she laid a kiss upon his scarred brow. “What is it?”

The more she asked, the more he felt that darkness from his past creep up on him. Her sweet, tender kiss to his disgusting ruined flesh is what did him in. He jerked away from her, a growl ripped from his chest.

“Don’t,” he growled again between grit teeth. The hurt look on his Little Bird’s face made him beat himself up even more.

Didn’t she see? Didn’t she see what he was? Why he tried so hard to push her from him? He was nothing. Meaningless -- a lowly dog. He had hurt her so many times. Said horrible things to her and… he cringed at the thought of the battle of Blackwater. Flashes of feeling from that night: anger, fear, elation, lust.

Though she was hurt at first, anger flared in her eyes. “I thought we were past this, Sandor. I married you, bared your children, conceived the next…” her hand curled around her swollen belly. It made him want to reach out and do the same just so he could realize this was real. “I can’t lose you to yourself again.”

Tears pricked the back of his eyes as his fist curled. I can’t lose you to yourself again. He was so mad at himself.

“I‘m so sorry, little bird,” his voice was choked as he spoke her nickname. He looked toward her, his eyes boring into hers intensely before he pulled her down to his lap, as gently as he could so as not to hurt the babe in her belly.

Sansa immediately curled toward him, sitting comfortably in his large lap as she pulled his face down to hers for a kiss. Sandor tried to pull away, but she merely pressed her lips and body harder against him. He could have broken away from her being the stronger of the two, but the feel of her pressed up against him was his weakness. After she proved her point, she let him go and looked into his eyes. Her delicate fingers wove through his hair, stroking it soothingly. It calmed him as it always did. This time it managed to undo him though.

“You were so young,” he sobbed quietly, brokenly. “Minisa’s age when I did it.”

Sansa just looked at him in confusion, “Did what, love?”

“Blackwater,” he choked out.

That was the only word she needed to hear to understand. Recognition flitted across her face as her eyes went dark. She looked down at her hands and all he could focus on was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed steadily, too steadily.

After a few seconds of silence, she merely sighed and looked up at him. He recognized that look on her face. He knew what she was trying to tell him… she already forgave him. Tears flowed down his cheeks as he buried his face in her hair, holding her close to him.

“I love you, Sandor,” she whispered softly. “You have been through so much and seen so much. But I always knew that somewhere within you… the man you are right now existed. Deep down, you had a goodness in you. And I fell in love with that part of you. I forgave you for what you did a very long time ago.” She smiled at him as she kissed his chin. He felt the wetness on her cheeks too.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out.

“I know,” was all she said as she rubbed soothing circles over his wrist with her thumb. “I forgive you.”

They held each other like that for a good while, soothed by the quiet sounds of the Godswood as a part of Sandor finally began to heal. He had changed so much since his Little Bird came into his life. Since his dear pups came into his life.

“We should head back. The children are worried sick about you,” Sansa smiled at him.

It was those smiles that made him think that everything would be okay.

Sandor nodded and helped her up before he got up himself. They took the worn path through the Godswood back to the warm glow of their home.

And this time he didn’t pull away when Sansa put her hand in his. He merely squeezed it tighter.