Duncan is a small god of chivalry, travelers, horses, and protecter of woman and children (what else do you think would fit?????)
he has many small shrines and is adored by the smallfolk with many high lords not knowing who he is
he has many titles ser duncan the tall, the god who walks among us, the small folk god, the god of knights, the god of kindness, the tall god, the god of travelres
Lyonel was minding his lordly business getting blasted drunk at a feast celebrating one of his nephew knighthoods on that fateful day.
The day a god entered his keep. The day he fell in love.
His favorite sisters eldest. Or his least favorite brothers youngest son?
Either way a classic Baratheon feast was earned!
The stag king had much to drink and didn't truly know the answer when he was sober anyhow.
The dancing was well underway, and Lyonel had just finished a poetically bawdy rendition of Lady SeaBents' Three Knights so he sat down cursing the jolts and cracks that seemed to ring in his head like the towns bells.
At five and thirty the aches never seemed to ease like they did when he was a young buck.
He sat, lounging in his chair humming at some of cousins japes but not truly adding to any conversation happening around him as much a king as nay Storm Lord before him content to bask in the joys of his family and lands.
Playing with a toy of a knife his eyes bounced over the banquet hall now partly a ballroom. Seeing familiar faces of his family, seeing many new faces as well but seeing many that tug at his mind in faint remembrance.
Lyonel likes to tell himself that tug at his head is what has his eyes jolt back to the tall man. He looks familiar like a dear friend to ones father not blood but still important someone that held little true consequence but someone you could still never bear to disappoint.
There on the side of all the fervor still fully interested in the food not yet taken away the only one near the man(event the servants had unknowingly given the man a wide berth) was a bald boy glued to his side rattling on with the joy of a young boy in a new place.
The Laughing Storm had never seen this man before and yet his minds eye twitched all the same.
Tall it was the first thing that anyone would describe when speaking of the dirty stranger but Lyonel noticed the eery blue of his eyes a blue as clear as the sky on clear day, something any Stormlander was not used to seeing. With limp light auburn hair.
His jaw was thick and his nose straight down with a bump towards the beginning that seemed twisted in a way that sung of an unhealed injury more than parentage. A handsome face covered in dirt.
A man who seemed to glow beneath the dirt of the road and poverty.
Watching the man longer made it clear just exactly was going on.
Acting meek and small but there is no hiding what he is. No muck that could cover the golden ichor that flowed through the veins on the gods massive arms.
The Baratheons feast had been blessed by a god. Not a god they worshipped but a god nonetheless.
For a simple feast.
For a boys knighthood, one of his many nephews one they technically have every few months hell they had one last week for his nine year old niece successfully embroidering a three legged stag that looked similar to what a deer might look like if one was drunk and had their eyes closed.
The god trying to be small leaned against the table not really putting any weight on the thick cherry tabels trying to hunch into himself and disappear.
To pass by unnoticed and unworshipped.
A god not eating as much as pushing food into the now clearly his son(a demigod?) though Lyonel can see no resemblance between them, pale small hands.
That just would not do.
Lyonel nudges his sister Franis and nods over to feasting tables. She rolls her eyes but leans forward shamelessly looking her fill not long after her eyes widen and she looks over to Lyonel.
Never can one say his sister isnt clever. He nods shallowly and they speak without saying anything.
Her face turns white and she nudges Lenoard.
Eventually his immediate family at the table knows there is a special guest.
The mood has soured and the drinking is no longer merry. The air is contemplative and pensive.
Lyonel tires of this in seconds. Banging the table when he rises.
"Giant!" He yells over the music a few dancers miss steps though the minstrels never miss a beat. His sister hisses his name and his many cousins groan.
The god looks behind him and Lyonel bites his tongue to keep from laughing. He was clearly a tolerant one witht he way he interacts with the boy at his side but also with the way he moved out of the servants way and helped pick up the glass of a broken plate.
but even kind mortals didnt take too well to someone laughing at them.
The god looks back and Lyonel feels the floor waver beneath him, his breath hitches at the force of those blue eyes staring into his own.
Perhaps hes a sky god. Lyonel thinks a bit dizzy.
The boy puts on a stern face before turning back to yip and jump at the god pulling a soft smile that Lyonel drinks up.
A new song began to play one with a faster beat. With grace no mortal could obtain the god dodged dancers and revelers alike.
As he is pulled closer to them the god allows himself to be dragged by the babe up the stairs to the Lords High Table.
His sisters face is porcelain a gentile smile that does not betray the fingers digging into side.
The god is more breathtaking up close and Lyonel feels like crying. He wants to fall to his knees and pray, wants to devote himself to this nameless god.
The rest of the table had gone back to covnersation though meaningless and mostly just for the sake of looking like they werent listening in.
He feels a kinship to Durrandon that he hasnt felt since he was a starry eyed fawn, eager for the lies of love.
His hair is lighter up close and soft looking, not so much limp as it simply fell straight. The bump of his nose pointed to the right and oddly enough brought Lyonels attention to the smattering of freckles at the corner of his mouth. Skin a tan that emitted a faintly glow yellow glow giving him the thought that the god spent much of his time outside.
As if such a thing could affect a god.
A wild god perhaps though he showed no horns nor fur.
The blessed god speaks first still bent over and fighting not to stray from Lyonels intense stare.
""I thank you for your hospitality Lord Lyonel"
"You can call him ser, ser. Hes not a lord yet." The foolish babe corrected him. Lyonel cant help the tense in his jaw and he knows the high table quiets he reaches his sisters trembling hand and grips it tight.
Lyonel would never orgive himslef if he brought the wrath of a god upon his house because of him.
conversations overheard through the batkid com lines pt 67 (masterpost here) this is the longest one ive ever done oh my god
Dick: he takes it like a champ, which is honestly- it's made my respect for him go up more than literally any of the badass Batman shit he's ever done.
Jason: oh, a hundred percent. like, especially considering how egotistical he used to be? Bruce has become completely numb to us being bitches about him.
Dick: i guess it's different because, like, i mean it's more ironic now, right? i mean we used to fucking hate him, and it came through in the way we mocked him. it was malicious.
Jason: *audible wince* yeah buddy we had issues,
Dick: *wheeze* we had- we had issues. but now it's more like... us talking about how messy of a family we are is more a way of acknowledging how far we've all come, you know? it's therapeutic. bonding.
Jason: *crooning* aw, how sweet. *laugh* which of your therapists came up with that shit?
Dick: *laugh* it's good for you, man! i'm telling you, the guy i have is good. and he knows our identities, so we don't have to hold back. you should try it.
Jason: yeah, no, i'm happy for you, but i got my therapy right here.
*slight pause*
Dick, dry: that's a gun.
Jason: *cackle* look, i ain't in denial, i know my issues. talking stuff out just isn't my deal. you know i operate different to you and Bruce.
Dick: *hum* you do you, i guess. he worked for Bruce though, as far as i'm aware B still sees him.
Jason: *abrupt snort* you two share a therapist? that's fuckin' adorable.
Dick, snickering: listen- listen, it was a whole thing! i told him if he was gonna try it out he had to do it properly; let go of his control issues and actually look for help, so i made him see my guy because then he's seeing somebody who already has a picture of who he is from another perspective--he couldn't manipulate the narrative.
Jason: smart, corner the fucker.
Dick: yeah, but again--took it like a champ.
Jason: was there a moment for you where you could tell that like--'oh he's actually fucking trying, he might not be as shit as we thought'.
Dick: *snort* the grand moment of realisation of 'ah shit, he actually is just a guy as well, isn't he?'
Jason: *slight wheeze* the moment- the moment of- *snort* 'fuck i've been bullying somebody in the same boat as me'.
Dick: GOD, *cackle* yes, oh dude you have no idea, there were so many moments,
Jason: it's- it's weird, right? to be like, maybe we don't have to hate each other as much as we do?
Dick: yeah, -but it's like, part of it right? to make the realisation that you can be a victim of circumstance while also being an asshole that contributes to the problem?
Jason: *click* oh yeah, completely. you gotta get to the point where you can accept that it can be true that you have a shit life largely due to the actions of somebody else, while it also being true that- that the person at fault, is only at fault because they themselves have been fucked over in life and they just haven't had the clarity or opportunity to fix themselves from it before.
Dick: *grunt* yeah, parents--or peers, i guess. peers can wrong you without being bad people. we're all just... shitty people, trying to figure out how not to be shitty to those further down the line. sometimes we manage it, sometimes we don't. doesn't make us evil, just makes us... works in progress.
Jason: *hums*
*a few beats of silence*
Dick: Jace if you don't fucking offer me some damn alcohol right now-,
Jason: *instant cackling* chill- chill i got a case in the fridge, you can go get it.
Dick: and if i open the window to go get it i'm not gonna get ass-fucked by your deranged loa version of home security?
Jason: what do i- do i look stupid? why would i have security on while hanging out on my own fucking fire escape?
*shifting, wood sliding*
Dick: well i dunno, you're weird sometimes,
Jason: fuck off. and grab the whole case will you? bring it out, i don't wanna go in any time soon.
*clinking*
Dick: sir yes sir. *slight grunt* so, *sigh* what was your moment?
Jason: what- my Bruce moment?
Dick: yeah. i mean- i assume Damian living with him had something to do with it, but what was the moment that made you realise he wasn't as bad as we made him out to be during the golden era?
Jason: *bottle uncapping* *clink* don't laugh.
Dick: *already amused* why would i laugh?
Jason: ...it was when he hit me in the face with the batarang.
*two seconds of silence*
Dick: *snort*
Jason: ok fuck you-
Dick: no- sorry, how the fuck-
Jason: it was complicated-
Dick: he slit your throat and you were like 'yeah that man's on a self improvement journey'.
Jason: *instant cackle* no- let me be clear, it wasn't the fact that he threw a batarang at my face, it was just the overall interaction in general.
Dick: jesus. how fucking good was this conversation that he literally almost killed you with his own hands and you still walked away like 'good chat dad, see you on thanksgiving'?
Jason: no the real question is- *wheeze* real question is how low was the fucking bar,
Dick: *loud laughter* *high-pitched, between weeping* what did he say-?
Jason: he apologised.
Dick: *long excited gasp* you're fucking kidding.
Jason: yeah- but like. in a weirdly mature way? that's what fucking caught me off guard.
Dick: i thought you hated it when he apologised for not killing the Joker?
Jason: that's what caught me off guard! because he didn't apologise for that, he apologised because- ok so basically,
Dick: *snort* oh here we go.
Jason: -shut the fuck up, we're at my place post-patrol and we're drinking alcohol, of course we're gonna psychoanalyze our interactions and history with Bruce- anyway, we’re on the roof, i’ve got a gun on Joker and i’m basically telling him that he either kills the Joker or i do, and if he doesn’t want Joker to die then he has to kill me,
Dick: this is the first time you’ve properly told me this story,
Jason: yeah- well obviously B has his whole no kill thing so he’s being a little bitch about it, that’s expected, and so i put the gun to Joker’s head and start countin’ down from three. and before i can actually do anythin’, he tears up and starts apologising.
Dick: god tier distraction technique.
Jason: -yeah, i- *wheeze*
Dick: *snickering* look i’m just saying-
Jason: no- yeah, fair enough. anyway i started yelling about like, how i didn’t give a fuck that he didn’t get to the warehouse in time back in Ethiopia, bla bla bla, yeah? and he stops me mid-sentence. and he goes ‘no Jason, i’m not sorry that i didn’t save you in time back then, and i’m not sorry that i didn’t kill the Joker, i’m not going to apologise for that and my opinions will not change.’
*silent pause*
Jason: …and i’m like. the caucacity of this bitch.
Dick: *wheezes* *slapping sounds, grating of metal*
Jason: don’t fuckin- break my outdoor chairs,
Dick: *still wheezing* the caucacity- no that’s insane! he actually said that?
Jason: word for word- *slightly offended* by the way? thanks for outing my fucking civilian name to the Joker, you fucking asshole.
Dick: *loses it again*
Jason: -guess the no-names-in-the-mask rule is only important when you want it to be, huh?
Dick: so what- *snort* what was he apologising for?
Jason: well that was what freaked me out. because suddenly Batman left the roof and in his place was this fuckin- well adjusted man, who was willing to make himself emotionally vulnerable in public. and he proceeds to tell me that he wasn’t sorry for the Joker shit, but he was sorry that he didn’t provide a safe enough environment at home, because maybe if he’d actually stepped up as a father figure then i wouldn’t have felt the need to go to Ethiopia the way i did in the first place.
*three seconds of silence*
Dick, awed: *stage whispering* he admitted it?!
Jason: OUT OF NOWHERE.
Dick: hoooly-
Jason: *indignant* YEAH. YEAH MAN. I’M FUCKIN’ STANDING THERE ON THE OTHER END OF THIS ROOF LIKE SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO DO THAT.
Dick: *cackle* *John Mulaney impression* the Bruce admitted to his faults in an open and honest emotional conversation? i didn’t know he knew how to do that.
Jason: *instant wheeze* ex- *cough* -ACTLY! *cough* anyway, obviously my face is like- i look fucking baffled, because what? and i think he thought i didn’t understand what he meant? and so he said- and i’ll never fucking forget what he said, he said this word for word,
Dick: *drink sloshing* *prompting hum*
Jason: he goes ‘when i took you in, i promised to take up the responsibilities of being your guardian, and i remember the night that i told you that, you looked at me with nothing but distrust.’ and he tells me, ‘you didn’t believe that i’d be there for you, and you didn’t believe that you could rely on me; as a guardian, or a parent, or a father.’ and then he looked me in the eyes as he was actively tearing up, and he told me, ‘the biggest mistake i’ve ever made in my life was living up to those expectations of me, because you were right not to think i would do it, and the biggest thing that broke my heart about your death was the realisation that i never let you feel safe around me.’
Dick: *slow whistle* yeah, that would have gotten me. i’d have cried.
Jason: *stage whispering* right? completely fucking took the wind out of my rage-sails, i had no idea what to do. *louder* I WILL SAY- i will say, that it was at that point that the Joker started looking kind of uncomfortable, which was-
Dick: *wheeze*
Jason: which was- *also wheezing* the best thing ever. *high-pitched, snickering* like- fuck me, i didn't think it was possible for the Joker to feel awkward about anything, but man, that dipshit did not fuckin' wanna be there,
Dick: oh my god, this is incredible. that has to be like- Bruce Wayne, the only man in the universe with the ability to make the Joker uncomfortable with his feelings.
Jason: yeah, so i was like... reeling. because all of a sudden B was telling me everything i'd wanted to hear from him since he'd bloody adopted me, and on top of that he started telling me about how he 'knew that he couldn't fix the time he'd already lost, but he would always be available if i ever wanted to try and build anything new', and,
Dick: OH MY GOD HE TOLD ME THAT- HE TOLD ME THAT LIKE SIX MONTHS AFTER YOU DIED. HE- he called me at seven in the morning to tell me that he loved me, wished he'd been better at showing it back when it mattered, and was going to try and tell me it more in the future.
Jason, snorting: first thing in the morning is wild.
Dick: dude i was hung over. i threw up. on call. he thought he'd killed me.
Jason: *bursts out laughing* fuckin'- it almost killed me on that roof.
Dick: right- yeah, ok, i wanna get back to that. because how the fuck does B using this opportunity to update you on his journey through self-improvement and therapy somehow turn into him throwing a literal knife at your neck?
Jason: *dismissive* ahhh, well, bless his little heart, he's not gonna get everything right first try, is he?
Dick: *snickering* Jason,
Jason: ok, ok. so- ok so basically,
Dick: *wheeze*
Jason: *smacking noise* FUCK OFF. you have to understand that my main goal when i orchestrated that whole scenario was like... a complete unstable mixture of like five various points i wanted to make at the same time. like- i was losing it, to the point where Damian told me afterwards he'd been considering asking Ra's about pulling me in for another pit-dip because he thought something might be wrong with me.
Dick: *amused* you were- you were having a slight menty-b,
Jason: *wheeze* a slight menty-b, yeah. so- part of it was i wanted to see if Bruce would kill the Joker for me, part of it was just wanting to see if he even cared; part of it was to make sure Damian would be safe with him, and part of it... i guess...
*drink sloshing*
Jason: don't freak out, but i guess part of it was a subconscious attempt at just... getting something to kill me.
Dick: ...something?
Jason: yeah- like it wasn't a thought out attempt, i wasn't thinking of it as a suicide attempt; but i think i was specifically trying to make the whole situation as fucked as possible because i wanted something to just... put me down. whether that be the Joker, or me, or Bruce, or a bomb, y'know? like... my mind was such a mess in that moment that i was just too tired to think about making it off that roof alive.
Dick: *drink slosh* *calm hum*
*a beat of silence*
Jason: like- i'm fine now, but there have been hard moments, you know?
*another beat of silence*
Dick: ...you, fuckin'... you are one special little gem, you know that Jace?
Jason: *indignant snort* fuckin' what? *chuckle* what's that supposed to mean?*
Dick, amused: it means, dumbshit, that i know for a fucking fact you fought with every fucking fibre of your being to make it out of that warehouse, to make it out alive, because you did not want the Joker to kill you. i know that, you've told me about that,
Jason, already amused: yuh-huh,
Dick: -so as much as it sucks to hear that there have been points where my baby brother has wanted to off himself, there is a morbidly fascinated part of me that is listening to this, like, imagine having the audacity to fight that fucking hard to survive, so hard that god apparently fucking listened to you, brought you back, and you came back alive just like, 'mmm, this is more hassle than i thought actually, nevermind'.
Jason: *soft wheeze* hey- hey now-
Dick: -like i know i'm being insensitive but that is SO wild to me-,
Jason: *wheezes again* oh my god- see, this is so much funnier than therapy.
Dick: yeah, i'll agree to that, it's less sensitive when it's outside of a therapist's office.
Jason: *approving grunt* well, anyway, i did actually have a bomb on the roof, so that was my final back-up plan. if shit went down the drain, just blow everything up, y'know?
Dick: you took a bomb? like a grenade?
Jason: no like a proper one, remote detonated and stuck to the inside of the building. it would have taken out the whole thing, killed us all in one fell swoop. the only problem was, i didn't want B to know i had a bomb, so i couldn't have the detonator on me, right?
Dick, slightly confused: right...?
Jason: so- *slight laugh* so i got this guy, right? this guy named Micheal.
Dick: the fuck is Micheal.
Jason: Micheal is one of my workers, and he has no fucking friends whatsoever. runs accounts for me because he's such a nerd, and i think he's chill so i occasionally invite him out for drinks with me and my main guys, right?
Dick: *confused hum*
Jason: i am the only reason Micheal has a job or a social life, and i am the only person he speaks to outside of cashiers and women who hate him on onlyfans. Micheal therefore recognises that he owes me his life and adores me, to the point where he will do anything for me without question, and will shut up about anything he hears with a hundred percent success rate, no matter what.
Dick: *snort* ok?
Jason: my point is, i couldn't have the detonator on me for risk of B somehow seeing it and planning around it. so, i had Micheal on my private com line with the detonator, hidden a whiles away and waiting for me to give the command to blow us all up because he's the only one i trusted to keep his fucking mouth shut. are you with me?
Dick: you had some random fucking loser pervert-
Jason: I *clap* DID *clap* NOT *clap* THINK *clap* I *clap* WOULD *clap* MAKE *clap* IT *clap* OFF *clap* THAT *clap* ROOF *clap* ALIVE.
Dick: *audibly trying not to laugh* ri- right, ok, go- go on,
Jason: so this entire fucking conversation, my identity, my daddy issues, Batman crying; Micheal is hearing all of this shit, right? and he's waiting for me to give him a signal about this bomb because i'd told him that if a certain amount of time on that rooftop passed without anything happening, that he should just blow it up anyway. but now things have changed, because B is for some reason being reasonable which means now maybe i shouldn't kill us all in a murder suicide, right?
Dick: *incredulous cackle* right,
Jason: so i'm fuckin' crying, Batman's fuckn' crying, Joker's startin' ta avert his eyes like he did not think this was how this interaction was supposed to go,
Dick: *laugh*
Jason: -and all of a sudden Micheal starts sayin' some shit in my ear; except i can't fuckin' hear him properly because i wasn't expectin' us to be having any two-way conversations so i've got my com turned all the way down, so, suddenly remembering i should probably tell him not to blow us up, i reach my hand up to adjust my com and ask him what's up. yeah?
Dick: right,
Jason: but i'm also restraining Joker, so i have to use the hand holding the gun to do it. and the safety's still off, and i'm not wearing my helmet, and it's an awkward angle n shit, right?
Dick: *disappointed* oh my god,
Jason: and- *slight wheeze* B told me ages afterwards what happened from his perspective, which was that he saw his crying son in the middle of a slight menty-b lift a gun to the side of his head with no safety and start fiddling with his fingers--as if about to press the trigger and do a whole-ass suicide,
Dick: oh my GOD,
Jason: yeah- *amused* and i guess the tears were obstructing his vision, so he says that he panicked and tried to hit the gun out of my hand and fuckin' missed, right? but from my perspective, my dad just told me he was sorry for the first time in his life and then shot me in the neck as if he needed to destroy all evidence of the incident,
Dick: *wheeze*
Jason: so now my mind's in a fuckin' frenzy, i'm dying possibly, and i'm really pissed off because WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?
Dick: *more wheezing, gasping for air* oh my god-,
Jason: so, deciding i need to fuckin' recoup and consider the events of the evening, i shoved the Joker at him, jumped off the edge of the building, and told Micheal to blow that shit to high heaven to distract him so i could get away.
Dick: and you just left?!?!
Jason: yeah man, went home and called Ra's--needed somebody to complain about my daddy issues too. it was fine though, he got me medical attention. and after that i guess B told you and Tim that i was alive, Damian started settling into Gotham a little more, and my mind cleared up enough that i realised i should probably like... fucking calm down or something, because clearly my opinion of Bruce is slightly skewed and i needed to retcon that shit.
Dick, snickering: retcon--wait, what happened with the Joker, i thought you killed him on the roof?
Jason: *hum* mmmnope, i ain't kill him. i think B put him back in Arkham like usual after that night. *drink sloshing*
Dick: i swear i thought he died that night- actually, where the fuck is he then?! hold on, hold on how am i just noticing this, where the fuck has the Joker been for the past three years if you didn't kill him? i just assumed you'd got him?!
Jason, casual: no i didn't get him. he is dead though. died two weeks after.
Dick: you got him two weeks after?
Jason: nah, i didn't get him.
Dick: the fuck got him?
Jason: Damian did, dude.
*a beat*
Dick, supremely indignant: sorry?
Jason: yeah- Bruce doesn't know it was Day though, the kid made it look like a heart attack or something, i think.
Dick: *awed* Damian got him? two weeks after the rooftop incident?
Jason: *casual* yeah--cause he came to visit me to check that i hadn't like, completely gone insane, and obviously he was like 'the fuck happened to your neck?' so i had to take him a whiles out of Gotham and tell him what happened with Bruce-,
Dick: why'd you take him out of Gotham for that?
Jason: because if he was in the vicinity of B at that moment he would have shot him in the face.
Dick: ...ok yeah fair enough. without the emotional context it is kind of wild.
Jason: exactly; but anyway- after he calmed down and i took him back to my apartment he told me that 'this clown shit was way more hassle than it fucking should be' and then he disappeared for like, eight hours. he came back through my window at like six am and just told me 'there, now you can all shut up about it', and i just... made the executive decision not to ask questions. i was goin through all this new mental health journey shit, y'know? other things to worry about.
Dick: fucking hell,
Jason: yeah. *drink sloshing* 'hacked into the Arkham records the next morning and he'd been quietly confirmed as dead and cremated, so that was that i guess.
*a few beats* *drink sloshing*
Dick: ...i guess i always thought that... that like... his death would be more dramatic, you know? that it would be a victory. did you not want something more satisfying?
Jason: *non-committal hum* i mean... maybe a little bit at first? but honestly the perspective i landed on was that... he sucked. like- his one thing was being a clown, right? it was his one passion; all he wanted was to be well known, and to be funny. so there's a part of me that thinks the best possible end for that guy is for him to die quietly, meaninglessly, in a completely boring, background, unnoticeable way, to the point where nobody even realises he's dead. like. do you know how fucking offended he'd be if he knew nobody knew--or cared--that he was dead? it makes me very happy to think about.
*stretch of silence*
Dick: that's such a god-tier take, actually. i take it all back.
Jason: right?
Dick: Damian's a fucking genius.
Jason: mmhmm. like father like son, am i right?
Dick: *chuckle* yea- wait, huh?
Jason: oh- *snort* no, i'm not complimenting B, i mean me.
i know it's a new show and all but a knight of the seven kingdoms literally changed my life for the better, i have more whimse and kindness and joy and hope in my heart now
(an odd sight) Come out at Night - A Stormhedge fanfiction
The roe deer he had followed rounded the fire on four legs. Dunk lost sight of him behind the flames.
The dancers laughed, turned and stomped their paws and hooves into the churned earth.
Owls hooted from the trees around the dell and there was the chatter of squirrels. They carried wineskins to and fro.
Slowly, to the beat of the badger’s drum, did the dancers swirl around the fire, until the roe deer came back around the flames on two legs.
A man danced next to him, wearing a crown of antlers, as imposing as the largest deer rimming the dell. Skirts flew around his legs with every turn, the fire pulling jagged shadows over his face.
Dunk couldn’t see him clearly, but he knew somehow, that the man was gorgeous.
The washer woman had said that there was a spirit on the hunt for companions this time of year in the Rainwood.
Looking to ensnare men and women alike and make them dance with him all through the night until they forgot who they were and stayed with him forever.
Dunk hadn’t believed it, even if he hadn’t scoffed at her like Ser Arlan.
Folks have their beliefs all over the realm and forests are tricky things in autumn.
He was dreaming, that was all.
Dunk, squiring for Ser Arlan, comes across an odd thing in the Rainwood at night.
Read in full on AO3 here! mind the tags pls and do leave a comment if you read it!
reblogging this post will make me love you forever <3
Absolutely dreamlike and fantastical. A journey into a fairy tale, with a prince under a curse and a brave and honorable knight (only the title is missing) in love who wants to end his loneliness ❤️
There are so many possibilities! Although now I'm imagining how things would have changed in Ashford without Lyonel, or better yet, at what point in the canon Dunk might call him, and for what reasons. I can't imagine him asking him to fight for him, but I can imagine him doing something noble, like wanting to return that ring, because if he's going to die, he won't let anyone else have it, least of all a little monster like Aerion who looked at him with far too much interest.
One thing I find fascinating is that there are like no good outcomes from the Trial of Seven, it’s a mess any way you slice it.
However a scenario where Dunk dies instead of Baelor is like the worst of them all. Especially if he lives long enough to win and swear himself to Baelor and then dies in Baelors arms.
Like yes he is some no name Hedge Knight and his death absolutely shouldn’t matter but because it’s Dunk the ripple effects are insane.
Egg is never forgiving his family or himself. This is Aerions fault, Aerion has killed his brother/father for doing the right thing and there is no world where that vengeance and hate doesn’t ruin Egg. There is no quiet moment with Maekar as he drops the knife there’s only a grieving child screaming at his father to let go of him so he can rid the world of a monster wearing human skin. He’s never forgiving his father either for helping to get Ser Duncan killed and there is just nothing Maekar can do to bridge that gap with his son. There is rot in his house and now there is no kind Hedge Knight to guide Egg on his future path. I can easily imagine Egg running away to be a Hedge Knight in this scenario as he tries to carry on Ser Duncan’s legacy as best he can.
Baelor is alive but has to live with the knowledge that his family killed the last honourable knight in Westeros. In the same way Baelor haunts Dunks narrative Dunk is forever haunting Baelor. Every time he has to make a ‘dishonourable’ choice as King or is considering a knight before him he can feel Ser Duncan’s gaze in the back of his neck. Cannot look at Aerion ever again. Idk just Baelor judging every knight he meets against the imaginary Ser Duncan the Tall he has on a pedestal in his mind and they (and he) just never living up to those standards. Will not shut the fuck up about the good knight he knew for less than 48 hours. The good man who was for a moment his man.
Targaryen PR? On the floor. The Targaryens don’t care for justice or honour, didn’t you hear about how they killed Ser Duncan the Tall? The man larger and stronger than an elm tree who saved those maidens from the wicked Prince Aerion Brightflame? Yes Breakspear fought for him but we all know he did it so that he could just appear like he cared about justice. It was a rotten thing they did to him and he was right in his reply. Sing the one about the brave knight and the wicked red dragon again won’t you bard? It always goes over well.
Lyonel Baratheon now has a legitimate grievance against the Targaryens 30 years early. Genuinely acting like he’s Ser Duncan’s widow the way he’s grieving and railing against the royal family. They killed his Knight! Somehow gets Dunks shield and has it hanging up in the throne room of Storms End and pointedly brings it with him whenever he gets dragged to court. Baelor sees the shield once and it genuinely nearly kills him. The rest of the time Lyonels there they basically have a grieving widow off (Dunks been dead for a good decade).
Raymun Fosserway (Dunks actual widow) is beyond justified in his hatred of the Targaryens, always said there was something wrong with that family and he was damned right! Green Apple Fosserways grow up knowing that the royals can’t be trusted.
Idk like the fact that if Dunk won and then died in the trial of Seven there should be no ramifications. But because it’s Dunk his death probably brings down House Targaryen a good few decades earlier rather than saving it.
Welcome to my SanSan rec list! Really just a collection of various SanSan fics I’ve enjoyed over the years. There are no doubt far more extensive masterlists available out there, but this one has been curated according to my personal taste for book!SanSan.
For stories set in canon-verse and centred around King's Landing, I've included numerous pre-Blackwater, Blackwater AU, and/or post-Blackwater divergences (w/ aged-up Sansa). For stories featuring the Vale, the Quiet Isle, and other future scenarios, the selections reflect my preference for fics that focus more on the characters' emotional journeys rather than on the political side of things.
As for Alternate Universe settings, several of my all-time fave SanSan fics are historical or modern AUs. Imo, a good SanSan AU is one of the best forms of escapism out there!
Note: Ongoing fics that have been updated within the past year are marked as ‘WIPs’. Any fic that’s not been updated in longer than a year, I’ve labeled as ‘Unfinished'.
Canon 'verse:
pre-Blackwater/King’s Landing:
The Gift of Mercy by Pasansansan
“You don’t know what you're playing with, girl. Teasing a wicked old dog like that.” He angled his face at her, burned side first. “Don't you know what dogs do to wolves?” King's Landing fic, pre-Blackwater divergence.
*** a classic King's Landing SanSan fave!
Riot by girloficeandfire
It's the day of the bread riots in King's Landing, and Sandor saves Sansa from those who mean to harm her...but things don't quite end the same way they do in A Clash of Kings... An iconic classic, to me.
The Magic of Sight by SootheTheWrath
They would live in a home with mosaic floors and sheer silks would do little to hide her creamy skin. But she would be inside, free to work her needles and embroider black dogs on a field of autumn grass. And he would keep her safe.
Quenched by Rambo
There’s a feast at the Red Keep. Sansa leaves early, done with the festivities. On her way back to her chambers she encounters the Hound drinking in an alcove. (Shameless smut, one-shot)
Copium by blue___rose
Sansa brings the Hound a ribbon. (Very hot, smutty one-shot)
Nay, Not Friends by prawnmonger
“Don't look at me like that,” he warns her sharply. “People will think you can stand to see my face.” (One-shot, warning for Joff's torture)
Peach by BlueVelvet
A gown rips and Sansa gets new ones. (Adorable SanSan one-shot)
THE SAGE AND THE FOOL by Aealo
The Hound takes Sansa Stark to Red Keep's Godswood in order to distract her out of a melancholy mood and cheer her up a bit. Tensions are a little high as neither party knows what to make of each other. Romance and angst wrapped in more romance and a bit of fluff.
HIDE AND SEEK by Aealo
Sansa Stark gets lost exploring Red Keep's infamous and dangerous network of ancient, hidden passageways. As usual, the Hound comes to the timely rescue. Or does he have his own reasons for being there in the first place?
KNIGHT OF THE DOG-ROSE by Aealo
Sometime after the bread riots, Sansa Stark finally works up the nerve to thank Sandor Clegane in person for saving her life. A squabble erupts between the two. The conflict is resolved with a tentative truce, which in turn transforms into a different kind of tension altogether.
If I Had A Heart by bravelikealady
Punishment is for Sansa to take... from Cersei, from Joffrey, all his white knights. But mayhaps she will not take it from the Hound any longer.
Sanctuary by trippingdaisy
Sandor visits his little bird in her bedchamber before the royal feast. SanSan sneaking around behind Joffrey's back. Sweet and tender smutty one-shot.
Mine by blondsimone
“It’s only fair, your grace.” Sansa breathed softly, clasping her hands demurely in front of her. One-shot, drabble.
Always Find Me Here by wildsky
WARNING: Non-con/Dub-con. As punishment, Joffrey makes Sansa and Sandor 'do the deed' while he watches. (Yes, the premise sounds extremely off-putting, but the author handles this scenario very skillfully. I usually avoid non-con, but this fic is a rare exception.)
The Look by LadyTP
She felt dizzy, fully aware of how his eyes were sweeping over her body - those hard grey eyes that always seemed to follow her around the court. One-off, a small glimpse into what could have happened in King's Landing during ACOK... Sandor tries to protect Sansa from Joffrey's wrath in his own way, but doing that he discovers that the situation has its unexpected advantages for him too. (Dub-con: Sansa undressing for Sandor, but no actual touching.)
No Coincidence by girloficeandfire
Sandor's point of view of the Clash of Kings scene/conversation with Sansa on the serpentine steps in the Red Keep.
A Clear View by starbird1
A retelling of Sandor and Sansa's conversation on the roof from Sandor's POV as well his reaction to her flowering and his feelings on the coming war.
Skin From His Bones by Inert_PenMaid
“Bugger that. All of you is a lie.” The steel was twisting in his hand, kissing her temples. “Flutter the Red Keep caped like the Ghoul of Harren all you want. This Dog would know you any place, anywhere. And he knows where you go.” Pre-Blackwater. The Hound discovers what he wants from Sansa.
Leftovers by Rebel-of-spades
Sometimes leftovers are better the second time around. Sansa gets a gift, and Sandor is the one to deliver it. One-shot.
The Joust Champion’s Favor by DefinitelyNotBruceWayne
Sansa gives her favor to someone she wouldn’t have expected to even participate in the tourney. Delightful alternate version of the events of the Hand’s Tourney.
untie all the ropes by Mirime
She seeks him out after she has been hurt.
Blackwater AU:
Into the Wood by Walter Gilman (Unfinished)
A divergence after Blackwater. Classic, quintessential dark fairytale-esque SanSan, evoking the style of Angela Carter.
*** A highly formative Blackwater AU fic for so many SanSan fans. Though sadly it appears to be abandoned/unfinished.
Promises by fortinbrasftw
After Blackwater Battle Sandor and Sansa run across broken country and eventually the narrow sea. An underrated, beautifully-written Blackwater AU.
Under A Silent Sea by squidproquo
Sansa and the Hound share a cabin on their way to the Summer Isles, but everything changes with a nightmare, or maybe a dream… Gorgeous imagery, and tender, emotional SanSan smut.
behind closed eyes by HouseOfPotatos
Images flickered behind his eyes. Fleeting flashes of something, of someone. A guiding hand of the Maiden. Or perhaps a sign he was finally dying. Or better yet, dead.
Dark Before Dawn by pinkolifant
Series of drabbles about the night of the Blackwater. Unique use of alternating second-person and third-person PoVs.
A Silent Prayer by trippingdaisy
While on the road, the Hound catches Sansa ‘praying’. (Sexy post-Blackwater scene.)
Nine Nights by SarahC (Unfinished)
Having escaped King's Landing following the Battle of the Blackwater (yay) Sandor has carried Sansa on Stranger's back as far North as he can... until the weather closes in. Lots of snow, just one room at the inn, and nine nights (count em) that our lovelies will have to spend together before they can get back on the road. What could they possibly do to entertain themselves, hmmm?
Across the Startled Sky by simplyprologue
She understands why the groom wraps his cloak of protection around his bride. This has all felt more real than anything in her life, like nothing else has felt since her father’s head was placed on a pike. Gorgeous and evocative SanSan one shot.
All the Things She Never Said (and those she did) by onborrowedwings
She rides behind him on his big, badly tempered horse and wonders whether she made the right decision or not.
Longing by thedevilchicken
Sandor thinks he should hate himself for thinking about her. He finds it hard to muster the enthusiasm. Sandor's thoughts about Sansa, as he lies alone awake at night after fleeing the Blackwater. (Canon events, rather than AU. One-shot)
Beyond the Ice & the Fire: How Fragile is the Heart by Caroh99 (Unfinished)
Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.
post-Blackwater/Purple Wedding AU:
I Knew You’d Come by SongsInTheSeptry
After the Battle of the Blackwater, as Joffrey’s cruelties deepen, Sansa and Sandor circle each other - bound by fear, pain, and something more. ‘The green night had marked them both, it seemed, and they had been burning in it ever since.’
*** a brand-new King's Landing SanSan fave!
A Home That Won't Explode by acipenseridae (WIP)
As a rule Sandor Clegane does not play cyvasse, but lately he’s been experimenting with stealing pieces from the board. - Sandor returns after the Battle of the Blackwater, and is there to whisk Sansa away after the Purple Wedding. Absolutely gorgeous, dreamy fic, featuring SanSan on the run together and living in an abandoned woods witch’s cottage.
Sandor doesn't leave at Sansa's requests during the Blackwater, and, despite the risks, they begin sneaking around the Red Keep together. But what will happen if someone discovers their secret relationship?
Unexpected by Shadow_Belle
It's not Ser Dontos to her rescue, but the Hound.
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by deslabe (WIP)
After fleeing Joffrey’s murder, Sansa travels through the forest alone only to be discovered by the Hound. In a desperate attempt to persuade him to let her go, she proposes a bold deal: her virtue for her life. Though he accepts the trade, it doesn’t go the way she planned. (Note: while the ‘deal’ made in the first chapter is inherently dubious, there’s no non-con in this fic.) Highly angsty w/ beautiful writing.
Song of the Wild by Kitsfic (WIP)
When Sansa is thrown into the dungeons of the Red Keep, she finds herself in a cell neighboring the fearsome Hound. As the months tick on, they must hold fast to each other and their sanity. When an opportunity to escape arises, they fight to survive and find a little bit of normalcy in a world gone mad. Very unique premise for a KL AU scenario.
post-Quiet Isle/The Vale/Future fic:
These Scars We Wear by wonderland
Sandor Clegane discovers that death does not always mark the end of a life. Sometimes it's only the beginning.
*** Beautifully-written SanSan. My personal favourite Quiet Isle reunion fic. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!!!
Rescue by sansasparky
Alayne knew they expected her to be afraid, when the Hound came. Good ol’ wish-fulfillment SanSan fic, how I love thee!
The List by sansasparky
Sansa was weighing up which would be more valuable – the power of a Queen, or the anonymity of a courtier? Defying the Blackfyres, or evading Petyr’s kisses? – when it came to her that the sixth name on the list was not an apparition. They truly thought to offer up Sandor Clegane as a husband. In spite of (or perhaps because of) its seemingly ridiculous premise as an excuse for indulgent wedding night SanSan smut, this fic is an iconic classic.
Moon gates by Maroucia
While at the Gates of the Moon, Sansa has twisted thoughts about the Hound. Maroucia’s appreciation for the ‘harsher’ side of Sandor Clegane is unmatched! The SanSan dynamic is rendered all the more dramatic and gripping for it.
Quiet by Egleriel
A savage gust tore the pilgrim's shawl from her head as Sandor admonished himself. No locks of deep, rich chestnut threaded through with bright copper and dark bronze, just ordinary brown hair on another anonymous traveller.
A lord sends his pious bastard into seclusion on the Quiet Isle to prepare for her marriage. The septry is a place where penitents can learn inner truths in the silence - but in case of any doubt, a dog can smell a lie. (part 1 of 'Simple Things')
Warm by Egleriel
Sandor wasn't sure what sort of a mad fairytale he'd blundered into, but he didn't remember any that involved sitting in a dank hold on straw that stank of horsepiss. The fair lady next to him looked up into his face with the same shining earnestness he'd seen there years ago, when she was a girl watching knights at a tourney. He thought of her father's tourney. In the songs, it would've been her hand the victor won, not a bag of dragons scrounged up by Littlefinger.
Sansa and the Hound leave the Quiet Isle seeking a new start in the Free Cities. With the baggage of their respective pasts, and the world at war, there's a balance to be struck between retaining their true identities and forging the peaceful life they both crave. (Part 2 of 'Simple Things')
Hand on Your Heart by Littlefeatherr
Sansa recognizes Sandor by his hands. She could encounter him as a hooded and robed brother on the Quiet Isle or he could show up in the Vale in disguise, but Sansa knows it’s him because she’d know those hands anywhere.
The Magpie's Song (Mama, I'm Coming Home) by ruebellab (Unfinished)
There’s not a soul out here save for himself and the dead men in the ground, and Sandor looks up at the bird over his head - the only possible cause of the song.
He supposes, for half a second, that he could be imagining it. He had just been thinking of her, and of that memory in particular - the night she sang to him while the world had burned green and terrible.
On the tenth night by ruebellab
Sandor tries to look out for his little bird but Sansa has her own ideas. (sensuous post QUI smut)
With Eyes Closed and Deep Inside by redcandle17
Sansa and Sandor together, from each POV.
Pretend He's Himself by redcandle17
Sansa likes the new Sandor who's been changed by his time on the Quiet Isle, but it's the Hound she wants in her bed.
A Mutually Beneficial Agreement by redcandle17
Sansa and Sandor both get what they want.
An Idiot Prayer by bravelikealady
There are wooden gods on the Quiet Isleand Northern ghosts in the Eyrie...all the same, the lilacs bloom
But Now the Sun is Streaming by bravelikealady
He finds her at Maidenpool and this time she goes with him.
Stolen Moments in the Dark by Helholden
Sandor comes to Sansa’s room in the dark while she sleeps, but he intends to wake her and have her all for himself.
Pursuit by AllTheDances
A hound hunts a little bird, but the dog is the one who's been caught.
Window in Your Heart by the_moonmoth (Unfinished)
Losing love / is like a window in your heart / everybody sees you're blown apart – Paul Simon, Graceland. On the Quiet Isle, Sansa finds a ghost in the lichyard.
Raven by the_moonmoth
They meet again after a decade.
Bliss by the_moonmoth
Sansa speaks up about what she wants.
Lemoncakes by the_moonmoth
She was eating lemoncakes from a platter when he entered her solar.
Possibilities by simplyprologue
No one knows what the future holds. But possibly, a lot of sex.
The Sixth Death of Sandor Clegane by Shadow_Belle
Letting go of the Hound is a death and a rebirth.
The Harlot and the Hound by Shadow_Belle
Five years after ACoK Sandor stops at an inn to wait out the storm and buys himself an evening of entertainment, but he gets more than he bargained for.
A Kind of Rebellion by Mindset
"All I can think is that it must be a kind of rebellion / to arm your fears like soldiers and slay them."
Already Burned by Inert_PenMaid
The Gravedigger considers that his soul might be saved. And his feelings for a certain Stark he knew long ago.
Pas de deux by wonderland
All she wants to do is dance.
Atonement by wonderland
Small gestures can make large impressions.
Marching Song by kimberlite8
Sandor's war letters to Sansa while he is on campaign. An epistolary smutfic. "It feels so sweet to fall asleep with your words in my head, your letters underneath my hand. Like I could actually believe that with all the world has to offer, you chose to sit in this muddy tent only because I was here."
Quiet by Atiaran
Early SanSan reunion fic, set post-ASoS. Written pre-AFFC/ADwD.While this fic was written prior to GRRM's introduction of the Quiet Isle, the author had great foresight in choosing the theme and title! (see also Tally Sticks and Nothing Left by the same author)
Northern Lights and Midnight Sun by Ownsariver (Unfinished)
Picking up where GRRM left us.This is an ASOIAF version, with a continuation of GRRM's plotlines. A classic post-QI/The Vale SanSan future fic.
Alternate Universe:
Historical AU:
Regency Era:
No True Gentleman by sansasparky
When Miss Sansa Stark scandalously and very publicly disappears with her jilted suitor, Mr Joffrey Baratheon, all of London believes them to have reconciled and eloped. If Miss Stark should return unmarried, her reputation will be ruined and no gentleman will ever wish to wed her.
Miss Brienne Tarth knows very well that Sansa wants nothing to do with Baratheon, and is certain that he has abducted her. However, if she wishes to find them, she must enlist the help of England's most eligible (and in her opinion, most useless) bachelor, Mr Jaime Lannister.
Trapped and frightened, Sansa takes comfort wherever she can. The only person to show her any kindness is the formidable Mr Clegane, who can hardly be considered a gentleman; but how can she expect him to help her when it would cost him everything he has?
*** Hands down one of the best SanSan fics I’ve EVER read. (Doubles as a delightful Braime fic with heavy doses of Gendrya, as well)
1940s/WWII/Film Noir:
Ring Twice for Sansa by KimWexlers_BrownHair
“I shall never forget the weekend Sansa died….” New York, 1947. When young fashion magazine editor Sansa Stark is found murdered in her apartment, Detective Sandor Clegane questions those closest to her in life: her Pygmalion mentor and famous columnist Petyr Baelish and her playboy fiancé Harrold Hardyng. The more testimony he hears about Sansa’s warm, charming character – and the more this reminds him of an episode from his own past – Sandor finds himself falling under the dead woman’s spell…but all is not as it seems. Follows the plot to the classic 1944 film noir Laura, but with its own SanSan twist.
Smoke Filled Rooms by loonylovergirl (WIP)
Post-WWII in Washington, D.C. Robert Baratheon is running for re-election for President, with Ned Stark as his Vice President. Sansa enjoys days by the White House pool, and lavish dinners and gifts. She basks under her boyfriend's attentions and contends with his quickly changing temper. When Ned Stark is assassinated days before the election, Sansa is left alone in the lions' den. Her only ally, if she can call him that, is Joffrey's bodyguard, a man that frightens and intrigues her in equal measure.
After the war, Sansa Stark returns to the city to hire a private investigator and find some closure for her father's murder. To her shock, the investigator she has hired is the man she knew all those years ago. He no longer frightens her. Her feelings do.
Don't Look Back by emmiemac
Los Angeles 1947: After returning from the Pacific, Sandor Clegane settles as a cop in L.A. One night in a bar he sees a girl that he had tried so hard to forget. But Sansa Stark has changed and though he still feels the desire to protect her, as well as less noble desires, he is determined to discover why she has changed her name and appearance and will not reunite with what is left of her family. Will she trust him enough to let him help her? Dark and angsty film-noir SanSan. A long-time fave. (Note: Dubcon elements.)
Other historical eras:
HEART SHAPED BOX by Aealo
1920s. Sansa owns a sweets/baked goods shop, Sandor is a jousting competitor at a local medieval faire and happens to stop by. Inspired by the film Chocolat.
Perfect Match by SimplyLucia
1965. Bouffant half updo and go-go boots: Sansa pretties herself up for her dinner with Joffrey but when she arrives at the Lannisters', he's already gone...
Step Into Christmas With Me by Gefionne
1970s. It's Christmas at the Lions Department Store, and Sandor is Sansa's secret admirer.
Tuesday's Gone by Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat
1977, Texas. Gripping, sexy, suspenseful. Sepia-toned Stephen King-style eeriness meets sultry, smutty SanSan shaded in depth.
When Sansa’s glittering dreams turned to a nightmare, she flees back to her hometown in Texas to pick up the pieces and agrees to take part in a prison pen pal program. She writes to an inmate she knows nothing about, Vietnam War veteran Sandor Clegane.
Through their letters, mutual intrigue blossoms into tantalizing attraction, but a series of oddities and a string of murders grip the Texas plains, shattering Sansa’s illusion of peace.
As Sandor faces the prospect of freedom, he and Sansa find themselves embroiled in a darkness they didn’t anticipate and high stakes that threaten their future. Through it all, they forge an unbreakable bond. Now if only they can survive the storm that’s coming…
Thunderstruck by Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat
1980s AU. Hair Metal/Arena Rock SanSan. Straight-laced and a yuppie in the making, Sansa is dragged to a metal concert by Arya and Gendry where she captures the eye of the guitarist of the band Cannibal Star. Crude and lewd, Sandor is everything Sansa was certain she didn't want. Even with this unlikely match, sparks fly and misadventures ensue as their two worlds collide.
Modern AU:
The Secret Garden by SongsInTheSeptry
Sansa is running from her past. Sandor has buried his.In the hush of their apartment building, something begins to grow - between the woman who forgot how to ask for more, and the man who never thought he deserved it. Part meet-cute, part emotional rollercoaster and healing journey. With some incredibly sexy smut throughout. Heartfelt and beautifully written.
Alrighty Aphrodite by acipenseridae (WIP)
When University of Minnesota student Sansa's spring break plans change at the last minute, she finds herself at one of the Baratheon beach houses instead of on the couch with her dog like she hoped. Sand castles, alligators, matching tattoos, and forced proximity to a certain bodyguard ensue.
Les bons temps by blue___rose
Sansa's neighbor is in a hardcore band. Evocative New Orleans setting, spot-on SanSan characterisation, and sexual tension you can carve with Sandor's butcher's knife.
lighters just like stars by Warflower
Terribly far from home, Sansa attends a concert. Escaping from a series of abusive situations, Sansa ends up on a road trip with a metal band. Charming and bittersweet one-shot.
Eleven Years Ago by HouseOfPotatos (WIP)
Set between 2011 and 2022. Sandor works as a security guard for the Starks. Over the years, he forms an unlikely bond with Sansa.
Sweet, Sweet Lemon Drop by HouseOfPotatos
In the early 2000s King's Landing, Sansa is being held prisoner by the Lannister family and their loyal Hound. Dark, angsty modern take on the (book canon events) of the Blackwater (aka, not a divergence). One-shot.
Do you like ABBA? by HouseOfPotatos
Sansa is not sure she thought it all the way through when she agreed to move in with her crush, Sandor Clegane. But then again, who knows what could happen?
The Secret Between Us by ThePineapplePrincess
After the murder of her parents Sansa can’t shake the memory of the officer who was there for her that night. Burning of the Blackwater-esque. (Sweet n' hot smutty one-shot)
The Magazine Cover in the Care Package by BlueVelvet
The openly admitted goal, to Sandor spending his leave at his SEAL’s team partner Robb Stark’s cabin, was to put up a pre-fab shed in the backyard.... Sandor had agreed, thinking that, one, said “cabin” would actually be a cabin and not a huge-ass “mansion” or “ski lodge” or whatever the old money tosser wanted to call it. And two, that “by the way, my sister will be staying over for a night or two,” meant Arya, whom, as Robb well knew, was the only Stark sister Sandor had ever met. (US Navy SEALS AU)
Glorious we transcend (into a psychedelic silhouette) by ElixirBB
The first time he sees her, she’s in the garden wearing a blue dress, a wildflower in her hand and swaying to the soft violin music floating from inside the party. He thinks he could love her then.
to my core, he pointed north (to stars never seen before) by ElixirBB
Sansa Stark is a good girl. Really. She is. (Smutty one-shot)
Dance with Me by Whedonista93
Baelish makes a disapproving tutting. “Really, sweetling, dancing with the hired help. What would your mother say?” An underrated gem.
The C Train by MissBMarie
Above them, the PA system crackled to life.“Next stop: 5th and Pearl St.” the automated voice rang. Sansa hurriedly unzipped her bag to pack her book away. “This is my stop.” (Meet-cute on a train.)
What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? by Dr_Supernova_Dragon_Cat
What does Sandor Clegane know about Sansa Stark? For starters, she thinks mayonnaise is an abomination, unabashedly adores fairytales, is crazy about lemon cakes, scary movies give her nightmares, coffee in the afternoon keeps her up all night, and, during the blazing heat of summer, she melts into an adorable, whiny, irresistible mess. But what does he really, truly know about her? He knows that he’s spent the entire year falling for her and, at the office holiday party, he has just one burning question for the girl who showed him to his desk on his first day, became his best friend and confidant, and who has single-handedly turned his world upside down. Office romance. Mutual pining. Friends to Lovers. Fluffier than the marshmallows Sansa sneaks into Sandor's coffee.
Dating Naked by ruebellab (Unfinished)
Good girl Sansa Stark wants to break out of her shell, she's looking for love and it's time to do something radical. With five days in the Summer Isles and three naked dates, will she find it? (Inspired by the VH1 program 'Dating Naked'.)
Upstairs by Jillypups
Sansa Stark is the new owner of a bar in downtown Tucson, and she's hiring staff. At the start of it, she can only afford a bouncer/bar-back. In walks a big gruff guy named Sandor Clegane. Extremely hot modern SanSan AU smut. I mean, whoa.
They'll Never Let You Walk Away by theirwolf
Once content in the Lannister underworld, Sandor Clegane has never believed in happy endings - but Sansa Stark still deserves one. Mafia AU. One of my long-time fave SanSan AU's. Dark and angsty and just perfect.
Other/Misc. fics:
SanSan one-shots by Redcandle17
A collection of Redcandle’s classic SanSan one-shots, as there are too many to list individually!
from the roots of my soul come a gentle coercion by Anonymous
Those great paws of his could only ever promise death. How many hapless little creatures had descended into the bottomless pit that was his belly? Haunting and memorable dark fairytale SanSan, inspired by Angela Carter's 'The Tiger's Bride' (with nods to the iconic SanSan fic, 'Into the Wood'). Counts as both a pre-Blackwater AU as well as a Blackwater divgerence.
Running with the Hare and Hunting with the Hound (the Reboot) by kimberlite8
Sansa Stark has a coming-of-age dream about an encounter between her adult self and Sandor Clegane. A series of vignettes about the sexual and moral fruition of Sansa Stark and a character study about the duality of Sandor Clegane. An Angela Carter-esque erotic awakening story in the vein of The Company of Wolves, this is an illustrated novella and is meant to be read in the manner of a real book with two pages side by side.
*** Along with being an iconic SanSan masterpiece, this story has also been one of the most formative and influential fics of my fanfiction experience.
Sandor is having a drink at a favorite tavern of his when he's joined by a Little Bird who flew her cage...
Ch.1 Sandor
Sandor Clegane enjoyed drinking. He enjoyed a good tavern, a good ale or wine, enjoyed good hearty food, card games and wenches which was why he was at The Drunken Lord that night. Tomorrow was the Warriors feast day and Sandor had been one of the lucky few who had the day off from patrol. A generous gift the King had proclaimed it, Sandor would have rather worked but days off were rare enough he intended to take full advantage.
It seemed others in the city were also ready to let loose as the tavern and the street it was on were overflowing with people though most kept a distance from the King's dog as the people called him. Which was why he was so surprised when someone sat next to him, even more so when he turned to tell them to fuck off and was looking right into the Tully blue eyes of Sansa Stark.
“Sorry, is this seat taken?” she asked before batting her long eyelashes.
Sandor forgot how to speak for a moment.
“Could I have a bite?” she asked, indicating his plate of half eaten chicken, bread, cheese and fruit.
She didn't wait for an answer before taking a grape and popping it into her mouth in a way Sandor was sure the High Septon would take exception with but stirred something deep in Sandor.
“What are you doing here Little Bird?” he finally found his voice as she took a dainty sip of his ale.
It was then that he noticed her appearance. Her hair which was usually glittering auburn was instead a dulled red brown he’d seen on a number of whores before and her dress was no better. Some summer silk thing that left her pale shoulders bare and exposed more cleavage than Sandor knew the Little Bird had to hide.
“Right now I’m talking with you.” she said while eating another grape.
“Little Bird.” he said warningly.
He wanted to yell at her but knew drawing attention to her was worse than her being in the tavern. It was better to not cause a scene and make sure she got back to her cage safely than to alert anyone else that she shouldn't be there. That didn't mean she wasn't testing his limits.
“What? Don't fancy having a drink with me?” she asked, giving him an innocent look, though her eyes shined with mirth.
“You shouldn't be here,” he continued.
“But I am so why don't you stop complaining. Unless … unless I'm interrupting something.” she said a blush creeping up on her cheeks.
“Interrupting?” he asked despite himself.
“Perhaps a … professional has caught your eye and you don't want any little birds chirping about.” she said, eyeing a few of the women in the tavern.
Was she jealous? That would be absurd. Sandor quickly dismissed the thought.
Before he could reply a woman approached, one he recognized. He’d bedded her over two moons ago after a particularly riotous night of drinking and gambling. He hadn't even paid her, he didn't know her name but now she was sidling up next to him draping herself on his arm and putting her hand on his chest.
“Long time no see big guy. Looking for some fun tonight?” the woman said, puffing her ample chest up a bit.
Sandor looked from the woman's chest to Sansa's face and was momentarily thrown at the look of anger on the Little Bird's face before it transformed into cold beauty.
“Yeah Big Guy, are you looking for some fun tonight?” Sansa asked, her voice dripping barely concealed rage.
“Oh, am I interrupting?” the women asked, looking from Sandor to Sansa.
“Of course not,’ Sansa said with a tight lipped smile, “we were just talking.”
“Well then whenever you're done talking come find me.” the woman said her hand lingering on his chest as she walked away.
“A friend of yours?” Sansa asked when the woman was a distance away.
“No.” Sandor shook his head.
“Looked awfully friendly big guy.”
“I bedded her, two moons ago.” he said truthfully, if he hadn't been staring at her he would have missed the little flinch Sansa suppressed.
“Does that bother you Little Bird?”
“Who you bed is no concern of mine.” She didn't look at him while she said it, instead focusing on tearing off a piece of meat from his chicken.
“You seem awfully concerned for someone who says she isn't." Sandor pointed out.
“You should be careful bedding people you don't know. You never know who or where they’ve been before you.” she said haughtily and Sandor knew he’d hit a nerve.
How interesting.
He watched her for a moment before taking a deep sip of his ale and calling one of the bar wenches over. He ordered an Arbor Gold for Sansa knowing that was her preferred and got himself another ale.
“How’d you fly your cage tonight?” he asked her, changing the subject.
“No one really watches me anymore. I wanted to see if I could and I knew … Well, it doesn't matter.” she shrugged and Sandor was thrown by the unladylike movement.
“Knew what?”
“You’d be here.” she looked into his eyes and held it.
“You came here looking for me?” he was surprised.
“I thought we could share a drink.” she said as the bar wench dropped the drinks off in front of them.
Sansa took a deep drink from her Arbor Gold before looking at him again.
“Is it to your liking?” he asked.
“Practically perfect.” She smiled at him, a brilliant smile that reached and lit up her eyes brilliantly.
“And what could make it better, Little Bird?” he asked, feeling his lips twitch almost into a smile.
“Oh I’m only brave enough for that in my dreams.” she laughed while taking another drink as Sandor's heart skipped a beat.
“Come with me.” he said, throwing some coins on the table and taking her delicate hand in his.
She gave a little sound of surprise as he dragged her through the tavern crowd and out into a side alley with more air and less people. He pulled her into him then backed her against the wall closing her in with arms leaning against the wall on either side of her head, looking down on her. She was breathing hard, her eyes locked on his and Sandor's own breath picked up.
“Dreams?” he rasped.
“So many.” Her eyes racked from his down and back up again.
He leant down almost touching his lips to hers but he couldn't, he wouldn't make the move not the first one. He looked from her lips to her eyes and then she stood on her toes and connected their lips.
It was bliss.
Kissing Sansa was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. All he knew was that he never wanted to stop. She slipped her arms around his neck and he brought one of his down to wrap around her waist to pull her closer. When her feet left the ground, her legs wrapping around his waist he almost lost it, kissing her harder the arm around her waist slipping down to hold her hip in place as he pressed her into the wall.
“Sandor.” she moaned quietly as he kissed down one side of her neck then up the other only to capture her mouth again.
“Leave with me.” he said against her mouth as he broke the kiss for air.
“When?” she was breathing heavily, their breath mixing as their foreheads rested against each other.
“Right now,” he said before kissing her again.
“Yes,” she practically moaned against his lips, “Please Sandor. Take me away.”
“I mean it Little Bird.” he broke away from her, easing her back onto the ground though he kept her close to the wall.
“So do I Big Guy.” she smirked at him but it soon broke into a beautiful smile.
“Gods you're gorgeous.” he told her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her again.
“Did you have a plan or is it mostly just this right now?” she asked as he kissed down her neck again, a giggle in her voice.
“Right a plan,” he said into her skin, “ I definitely have a plan.”
“One of us should,” she giggled again, “because my plan was mostly getting you to buy me a drink and …” her voice cut off with a moan when he sucked on the point where her neck met her collarbone.
“Buy you a drink and then what Little Bird?” he asked, kissing across her collarbones.
“Gods Sandor I can barely think.” she told him
“Right, right.” he said, shaking his head to clear it before taking a deep breath and stepping away from her.
“I’ve got a place, come along.” he grabbed her hand again and led her from the alley.
He walked her quickly through the crowd, keeping hold of her hand as he navigated the crowded streets until they reached the little apartment on the Street of Steel he rented from one of the better blacksmiths.
It was a tiny place accessible only by a set of stone steps in the back, the same stone and shade as the rest of the building. Inside the little apartment was pitch black, he led Sansa over to a chair before lighting the hearth with the flint in his pocket.
The fire lit the little place in a warm glow, shadows still clinging to the corners of the room.
“Have you any candles?” she asked in a near whisper.
“Aye that drawer there.” he pointed to the little cabinets that acted as a kitchen.
She took out the tapered candles finding a candle holder on the counter and went over to the hearth to light it before walking around the room to light others he had left out last time he’d been there.
“What is this place?” she asked, placing her candle on the small table he sometimes ate at.
“A refuge. When I first came to Kings Landing the Red Keep was too loud, too busy and … well I just needed a place.” he explained.
“Absolutely.” she said, looking around then at him.
“Absolutely?” he questioned.
“The Red Keep is too loud and busy and crowded. Sometimes I feel like the walls are closing in on me. Not to mention all the ears and eyes constantly mixed with the fact that there is nowhere to get fresh air. It's oppressive.” she explained and he nodded.
“We can stay here tonight. There's a bed in the other room, I can sleep out here. We’ll have to get supplies and some clothes for you but I think we could leave the city tomorrow, if we ride hard leaving the Kingsroad behind we’ll get out before they start looking.” he told her.
“Wont they notice either of us aren't there in the morning?” she asked.
“I’ve the day off so I won’t be looked for and as far as they're aware you’re in your chambers, how’d you get out anyway?” he asked, realizing she hadn't given much of an explanation at the tavern.
“My handmaid Shae helped me come up with it. She’s from Essos and I think my lack of freedom really rubs her wrong,” her eyes went a little faraway before she shook her head and focused on him again, “plus I let her take time to … service Lord Tyrion and I don't judge her for the fact that she use to be a … hired woman.”
“So charitable Little Bird,” Sandor stepped close to her his hand on her hip. She smiled up at him.
“Well she found out about,” she blushed and he pulled her a little closer, “and we joked one night after a little too much wine about being common enough to be able to meet you in a tavern and well a few weeks and a beating later I chanced it. Shae is going to tell anyone who asks that I’m not feeling well to give me time to get the color out of my hair.”
Sandor picked up a strand of her hair rubbing it between his fingers.
“Unfortunaly we might want to keep it for a bit.” he told her, easier to hide with her muddy hair than the flaming red.
“Unfortanetly?” her eyes sparkled in the candlelight.
He didn't say anything, instead leaning down and kissing her gently, not allowing the heat from the alley to overwhelm him knowing he needed to send the Little Bird to bed. He stepped away pushing her hip lightly toward the bedroom but she caught his hand and pulled.
“Little Bird.” he said warningly.
“Just sleep.” she offered and pulled gently again.
Sandor was powerless to say no and so followed her into the bedroom.
Ch. 2 Sansa
She woke in the morning still in the dress she’d borrowed from Shae and alone. The bed next to her was still warm where Sandor had slept and she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face as she scooted over to his spot.
She turned to look at the ceiling listening closely to the sounds around her. She couldn't hear any movement in the little apartment, just the sounds of the city outside, so she took a deep breath and got out of bed. She moved quietly around the apartment, aware that the blacksmith downstairs was likely busy but she also didn't know how often Sandor was in this apartment.
She went around looking for anything that might be of use on their journey but when all she turned up were some candles, an extra flint to start the fire and a few empty wineskins that made her shake her head she gave up and decided to make herself useful in some other way. She had just finished braiding her hair and wondering what she could possibly do next when the door swung open causing her to spring up and grab the candle holder.
“Smart girl,” Sandor came in, kicked the door close and did his little half smile at her that always made her stomach flip.
“You scared me.” she admonished him but couldn't keep the smile from her face.
“Had to pick up supplies, managed to get in contact with your handmaiden, got some things from your chambers.” he was depositing his wares on the small kitchen table and counters.
“Did you really?” she smiled up at him before looking at what he’d brought.
“She gave me a small bag, don't know what she put in it but I also grabbed you a dress that’ll cover you more than that thing.” he nodded toward her dress but she didn't miss the look up and down he gave her before continuing on.
“I also brought you some breakfast,” a bundle with a lemon pastry, cheese and bread was handed over and Sansa took it with a smile and shake of her head, “I’m going to pack the saddle bags and ride Stranger out the Mud Gate then come back. I figure with the feast day enough people will be in the city to distract the city guard. We’ll go out after shift change. Keep your pack with you and make sure you’ve got everything you need.”
He was being very efficient and Sansa couldn't help the indulgent smile on her face as she got a glimpse of the soldier she’d heard so much about. She heard every word he said but it took her a moment to realize he intended to go out the door right away and felt her body respond before her mind.
“Wait!” she grabbed his arm with both of her hands.
“What? Something wrong?” he asked, taking a very quick look around then down at her.
“Yes,” she pulled on his arm bringing him back into the apartment, “you haven't said good morning.”
“Good morning?” he looked down at her, searching her face with a little upturn to his lips.
“You were gone before I woke,” she slipped her hands down to hold his, “and so we haven't said good morning to each other yet and because you are so very efficient I won’t even chirp about what I did while you were gone as long as I get a proper good morning.”
He looked at her for a moment and she bit her bottom lip as she watched his grey eyes go dark. He pulled her easily into him, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her up against his chest and kissed her.
Gods above but his kisses took her breath away. The slightly rough feel of his half burned mouth added something intoxicating that Sansa had never imagined and the safety she felt in his arms made her heart stutter in her chest.
“Good morning." He rasped close to her mouth and Sansa couldn't help but let out a sigh.
“Good morning.” she sighed.
He gave a half smile before righting her, kissing her knuckles and walking out the door.
Sansa spent too long just smiling at the door before shaking and admonishing herself for being a lovesick fool. She set to work eating the food he’d brought and going through the pack Shae had packed for her.
Shae had done well. There were two of her older northern dresses Sansa had recently been able to adjust to almost fit, two extra pairs of smallclothes, her darkest cloak, the hairbrush from her mother, her sewing kit and all the jewelry Sansa had that couldn't be tied back to the Lannisters. Sansa found the dress Sandor had gotten her, a brown roughspun dress with a white undershift. She changed into it and was very impressed with how well it fit, it was even long enough to cover most of her boots and she didn't have to keep pulling her sleeves down.
She kept the dress on, repacked her bundle and waited for Sandor to come back by reinforcing some of the stitches on her older dresses. She didn't sit too near to the window but close enough that she could hear the goings on on the street below and watch the front door should anyone knock.
The sky was turning golden with the sunset when Sandor finally returned. He was wearing a dark olive green cloak and it took him a moment to put eyes on her where she’d move the chair.
“Watching the door, Little Bird?” he gave her a half smile.
“Thought it prudent. Shae packed well,” Sansa held up her pack, “jewelry, some gowns and even my sewing supplies.”
“Come along then Little Bird, we’ve a bit of a walk to Stranger.” he held out his hand for her.
They walked quickly through the city Sandor's size cutting a clear easy path through the throngs of people. Even after so long in the capitol the amount of people still amazed her and overwhelmed her. Sansa's heartbeat picked up as thoughts of the riots entered her mind and she gripped Sandor's hand tighter. He looked down to her his eyebrow quirking in question but she just shook her hand and remained quiet.
When they finally reached Stranger, who was grazing on some grass seemingly fine to be left in the woods alone, Sansa finally felt the grip of fear lessen on her heart. She let out a deep breath and squeezed Sandor's hand one more time before letting go to approach Stranger.
“Woah he bites.” Sandor said but Sansa was already petting Stranger's nose.
“My Stranger? Bite? He would never, he’s a gentleman.” Sansa said, nuzzling her face into Strangers neck as the horse gave a tail flick in agreement.
Sandor just shook his head before taking Sansa’s pack and adding it to the saddle bags.
“Come on up you get.” he said, wrapping his hands around her waist and helping her up into the saddle.
He swung up into the saddle behind her after untying Stranger and set off away from Kings Landing.
Sandor rode hard through the night and much of the next day until finally taking a break to water Stranger while they both relieved themselves. Sansa’s legs were already hurting but she was determined not to complain, anything was better than being at court with the Lannisters. Plus riding with Sandor had advantages.
He was so strong that she felt fully safe with his arms on either side of her as he held the reins which was good considering she wasn't much of a horse woman. Another perk she had noticed was the ability to observe his hands uninterrupted; they were tan with calluses and a smattering of dark hair. They fascinated her but her favorite was being able to lean against him as she rested in the saddle, Strangers gentle sway lulling her into a space of safety and comfort.
“We’ll camp here until first light, don't want Stranger to misstep in the dark.” Sandor said as she met him back at Stranger.
“What can I do?” she asked, looking around, giving him a small smile.
“That's alright Little Bird I’ll set up camp.” he told her going through the saddle bags.
“I’m not useless, I can help. What can I do?” she implored.
When he didn't answer Sansa became determined, “I can set up the bedrolls, make a spot for a fire if needed, and ration out some food for dinner.”
“Alright Little Bird, here are the bedrolls but we’ll not have a fire tonight.” he said handing her the two bedrolls before going back into the saddle bags.
Sansa set up the bedrolls close to Stranger should they need to get up quickly but she made sure to clear the area of any rocks or twigs to allow for it to be as comfortable as possible for sleeping on the hard ground. When she was done Sandor sat down on one of the bedrolls, his back against a tree as he handed her a piece of bread, some dried meat and hard cheese. Sansa sat next to him leaning into his side for support.
“Do you have a plan, Sandor?” Sansa asked quietly something about the dark and sound of the forest around her made her want to whisper.
“Your Aunt is in the Eyrie, last I heard your brother was at Riverrun with your mother, I thought perhaps you would want a say.” he told her and Sansa caught the slight edge to his voice.
She thought maybe she understood his hesitancy when it came to her family. She was a high born lady, a princess in the North and he was just a soldier. He wasn’t a knight and his brother held their keep, all Sandor had to offer was himself and Sansa knew that would not be enough for her mother and brother even if it was enough for her.
At the thought of her brother Robb Sansa’s mind also went to the thought that had plagued her for some months now. Why hadn't Robb come for her? Why hadn't he negotiated for her? Surely he could have leveraged any of his victories or his capture of the Kingslayer to free his sister but instead Sansa had been left to languish in Kings Landing. Her conviction that her family would have her best interests at heart had been thoroughly shaken and as she thought of Sandor she couldn't help but think what her family's thoughts on him would be.
“What if … “ she hesitated, “What if I don't want to return to my family?”
“Little Bird?” Sandor asked, sitting up straighter.
“What if we went North and … and found a little homestead. Space for Stranger to graze, we could grow some crops and get some animals. Never worry about a throne ever again.” she told him, turning to kneel in front of him so they were face to face.
“Sansa,” he studied her face, "it's a wonderful thought but you're … you're a high born lady, a princess.”
Sansa was quiet for a minute, twisting her hands in her skirts before deciding that it was time to voice her concerns. If she could tell anyone it was Sandor.
“They didn't come for me.” she whispered.
“What?”
“They didn't come for me. No matter how many victories he won or what prisoners they captured Robb did not come for me. He did not send envoys, he did not try to negotiate my release instead he left me there.” Now that the words were out she found it hard to stop.
“I’d love to think my family would have only my best interests at heart but I know … I know that if given the chance they’ll betroth me to someone else for an alliance. They’ll sell me for a few swords or a strategic castle and they won't care that I don't love him, or if he treats me well they’ll only care that my lord husband gives what was promised and that I give him children.” Tears were welling up in her eyes.
“And I know they won't let me have you. No matter that you are the kind of man my father wanted for me. No matter that you are brave and strong and gentle with me. All my mother will see is a soldier trying to climb outside his station, not to mention your scars and all Robb will see is a Lannister man. They won't see what I see and they’ll separate us.”
“And what do you see Little Bird?” he asked quietly, not looking at her but at his own hands.
Sansa moved closer putting her hand gently on his scarred cheek causing him to look at her.
“I see a man who is brave and strong. Who treats me with respect and a gentleness that he has never known personally. I see a man that despite what others have done to him and withheld from him still loves and cares, who wants love and care in return. I see the man I love and I won't allow anyone to take me from him.” She leaned in and kissed him gently.
“Sansa.” His voice was rough and Sansa pulled him into her one of her arms around his shoulders the other gently threading his hair.
“I am yours Sandor, for as long as you should want me.” she told him.
Sandor raised his head, took her face in his hands and said quietly, “I am yours Sansa from this day until my last.” Then he kissed her with such love Sansa thought she might cry.
Ch. 3 Sandor - Making Plans
Sansa's words chased each other in his head most of the night and come morning he still didn't know the best course to take. He knew they should get moving but he didn't know what direction that should be in after all that Sansa had said the night before. He knew she was right, if they wanted to stay together they would have to go somewhere other than her family. It was the somewhere he was having trouble with.
He finally woke Sansa as the sky began turning from the early dawn to a brighter day. She woke up, looked around and then spotted him and immediately smiled, Sandor's heart seemed to melt.
“Good morning.” she chirped and Sandor couldn't help himself but lean down and kiss her softly.
“Good morning Little Bird.”
“Where are we off to?” she asked as he rolled up the bedrolls and resecured everything to Stranger.
“Where would you like to go Little Bird? We could go North find some land not too far from a village perhaps, or we could go to the Free Cities Braavos or Pentos or well I suppose those are the options.” he said.
“Or? Or what Sandor?”
“Or we could get married and we could try with your family first.” he said, voicing the thought that had come to him early in the morning when he had been watching her sleep so peacefully.
If they arrived at the northern camp already married then her family couldn't separate them but that would also require them to consummate the marriage and while Sandor would have no problem with that he did think the Little Bird deserved something more special than a bedroll in the Westerosi woods.
“You would do that?” she asked, looking at him like he’d just gifted her a puppy.
“I think it's more a sacrifice for you Little Bird.” he quipped and she frowned at him even though her eyes still sparkled.
“I suppose if we could find either a Septon or a heart tree we could marry before getting to my family.” She took a step closer to him so they were practically touching.
“Aye we might have luck in that regard.” he said nervously.
“Would you like me to be your wife Sandor?” she put her hand on his chest and his breath caught in his throat.
“Aye, I’d very much like that Little Bird.”
“And would you love and protect me all your days?” she asked her other hand joining her other on his chest.
“Aye, I would.” he confirmed.
“Would you like me to have you children, Sandor?” she asked quietly and Sandor's heart skipped at the thought.
“Seven hells Sansa you know how to tempt a man.” he told her, she just smirked at him before going up on her tiptoes to kiss his nose.
“If we’re to make good time we should be leaving.” she said looking towards Stranger as Sandor's brain took a moment to catch up.
“Aye onto Riverrun.” he said, helping her gingerly up into the saddle before swinging his leg over to settle behind her.
A/N: Mentions of disordered eating, canon typical violence
Also available to read on AO3
Sansa Stark was tired. She was tired of trying to be the perfect little captive for the Lannisters in the hopes that they would not hurt her, it didn't work anyway and just left her hurt and tired instead of just tired so she’d decided to fight back in the only way she could. She didn’t have control over when she was summoned or what the King ordered be done to her but there were a few things Sansa could control.
Sansa could control which dresses she wore, so she started choosing the less gaudy ones, the more northern ones and never wore the dress given to her by the Queen Mother unless she was specifically called in front of the Queen which thankfully happened less and less these days.
Sansa could control her hair, so she started wearing it in the northern fashion, opting for simple braids and leaving her auburn hair long and unbound instead of allowing her handmaids to style intricate southern styles.
Sansa could control who she talked to and how. She would always be coldly courteous to any courtiers, lords or ladies she came across. The same could be said with any knight she came across, though she often chose not to speak to them at all. She treated the servants well unless she knew for a fact they worked for someone like the Queen then she was cold but courteous. She never trusted anyone, even her handmaid Shae, Sansa knew this approach left her feeling lonelier than before but it also made her safer and safe was more important than not alone.
The last thing Sansa could control was her own body. She got to decide when she ate, how much she ate, decided where to go and when unless summoned to the throne room or some other nonsense Joffrey wanted. The measure of control was small but it made Sansa feel like an actual person instead of just an object waiting on a shelf to be traded for some other shinier object.
She’d been exerting her control for two moons when she practically ran into the Hound on the serpentine steps leading to Maegors Holdfast. She was coming back from the godswood, feeling a bit light headed as she hadn't eaten that day instead only drinking water with lemon. When she walked into him in her rush to get back to her chambers he caught her easily around the waist, his other arm coming up to steady her shoulder.
“Easy Little Bird you’ll send us both over the edge.” he said and Sansa realized he was drunk.
Perhaps not belligerent but certainly tipsy and he seemed in a good mood though Sansa wasn't sure what could possibly put the Hound in a good mood.
“Wouldnt want to take anyone with me.” she quipped back without thinking.
The Hound gave her a questioning look, adjusted the hold he had on her waist before letting her go.
“We should get you back to your cage.” he told her, turning the same direction as her.
“I can get myself there just fine.” she told him.
“Should have a conversation with that handmaid of yours.” he mumbled, using the hand on her shoulder to steer her towards her chamber .
“Why would you need to speak with my handmaid?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
He didn't answer and that angered Sansa. She wasn't a child to be escorted about as if she had done something naughty. She was a grown woman, flowered and ready to wedded and bedded according to the court.
“She won't lay with you, she's already laying with Lord Tyrion.” Sansa snapped when they made it to her door.
“Not my type anyway.” he muttered, turning to look down at Sansa.
“Whats your type then? Paid?” she grouched throwing him a cold look.
She didn't wait for a response instead opening her chamber door and going inside but before she could close the door he was following her in.
“This is highly inappropriate.” she told him.
“You’re not eating.” he stated and Sansa blanched caught completely off guard.
“I eat.” Sansa argued.
“You’re barely skin and bones under that dress.” he nodded toward her.
“You’ve no idea what I look like under this dress and it's highly inappropriate for you to speculate.” Sansa's temper was rising.
“I felt it.” he argued back.
“If it displeases you then keep your hands to yourself.” Sansa bit back at him.
“Little Bird.” he growled but thought better of whatever he was going to say and stormed from her chambers.
Sansa didn't have the energy to stay angry so instead she dressed for bed and went to sleep where it was much easier to ignore the pangs of hunger in her stomach.
The next day she woke up to a tray of fruits, a hunk of fresh bread and water with lemon on her table though no handmaid had woken her. She eyed it suspiciously before deciding to leave it alone. Instead she busied herself picking out a simple grey dress with white embroidery and brushing her hair out.
When her handmaids, Shae and some girl named for a flower that worked for the Queen, came to dress her, Sansa said nothing about the food except to ask if either of them had brought it. When they both denied leaving it in her chambers Sansa was left with the choice of what to do with it.
It was good food and Sansa already had a hard time saying no but especially when she thought food would go wasted. She knew that in the city food was scarce and her northern upbringing had taught her the value of good food but not knowing where the food came from was a bigger fear than her consideration of food waste could compete with and so she let it sit there.
When her handmaids were finished Sansa dismissed them both. The sky outside was threatening rain and Sansa didn't feel like walking the gardens instead electing to stay in her chambers. Her handmaids had been gone only a handful of minutes when a loud knock sounded on her door. Sansa opened it to find the Hound on the other side in his Kingsguard garb.
“Morning.” Sansa greeted with a tight smile.
“Have you eaten?” he asked and Sansa's look turned cold.
“How dare you? That is none of your business.” Sansa was saying but the Hound had already shouldered his way into her chamber.
He looked at the tray of untouched food then back at her.
“I don't eat food left for me like some pet. I have no idea who left that, no idea if it is safe.” She reasoned her anger was still bubbling just under the surface of her skin.
“I left it.” he said as if challenging her further.
“You?” Sansa hadn't expected that, it threw her. “Why would you leave me food?”
“Because Little Bird you are not eating.” he told her gruffly.
“Why do you care if I eat or not? No one else does.”
He didn't say anything, just gave her a hard look before sitting heavily on one of the chairs at her table. He looked from the tray of food to her then back to the tray. Sansa sat demurely on the other seat but crossed her arms and gave him a hard look.
“Starving yourself has made you either brave or stupid girl.” he commented as she stared him right in the eye.
“You don't scare me.” Sansa countered looking very pointedly from his eyes to his scars and back again.
“Stupid it is then.” he grumbled, pushing the tray toward her.
“I’m not stupid.” Sansa said an edge to her voice she hadn't heard since her days of arguing with Arya.
“Starving yourself is stupid.” he said.
“I’m not starving myself.” she insisted.
“Then eat,” he ordered.
Sansa let out a big sigh before stealing herself.
“I don't take orders from you.” she told him.
“You do not want me to tell.” he warned.
“Go ahead. Run to your masters and tell them all about the bad Little Bird who won't peck at her food.” she told him and she saw the anger spark in his eyes, “what do you think they’ll do?”
“Do you think they’ll have the kingsguard watch me eat? Or have them hold me down to force it down my throat? You’ve never been instructed to hit me but do you think he’d have you hold me down, force feed me?” she asked him, noting how his breath picked up and the burnt corner of his mouth twitched.
“Little Bird.” he growled but Sansa cut him off.
“Or do you think they’ll just beat me? Rip my dress off in the throne room again before Trant or Blount are ordered to take their longsword to my back. Will you cover me in your cloak again or maybe this time it’ll be your turn.” Sansa pushed the tray of food back to the center of the table.
They stared at each other in angered silence. His grey eyes like smokey steel, his mouth set in a scowl while Sansa did her best to give him icy indifference though she was sure her eyes betrayed her anger.
How dare he think he had any right to make any demands of her? She couldn't help but think. Who was he to question her, he who didn't even care about her, didn't even like her if one took all evidence into consideration. The thought made her angrier.
“Why do you even care? It's not as if you like me.” Sansa finally ventured.
“Is that what you want Little Bird to be liked?” he asked.
“Everyone wants to be liked.” she told him.
“Not everyone.” he grumbled.
“Right not you. No you only care about the next flagon of Dornish Red or the next whore or vengeance or whatever it is you tell yourself you care about.” she said, rolling her eyes at him and picking pretend lint off her dress.
“Didnt know you knew the word whore Little Bird.” he quipped.
“I know lots of words.” she told him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.
He looked at her for a moment before nodding and leaning back in his chair.
“Suppose we’ll just sit here then.” he told her, looking for all the world as if he meant to get quite comfortable.
“Dont you have patrol or something?” she asked.
“Day off,” he told her.
“Bullshit.” she said before she could catch herself.
She almost laughed at the shocked look that came over the Hounds face for a moment before his indifferent mask reappeared.
“Dont worry about my duties Little Bird.” he said.
“Then don't worry about my eating habits.” she countered.
Silence fell again and this time neither of them moved to break it. Sansa took the time to study him as his eyes seemed locked onto her. She looked at his hair, then his face, his grey eyes, the hook in his nose that made her wonder how many times he’d broken it then down to his mouth and then very quickly away to his broad shoulders and chest until finally landing on his hands before following her path back up.
“Something catch your eye Little Bird?” he asked after her second pass.
“Can I try something with your hair?” she asked, deciding the worse he could do was say no.
“Do what?” he asked suspiciously.
“Just want to try out a style, see how it looks. A northern look.” she told him.
“If you eat five grapes,” he told her.
Sansa thought about it then nodded, getting up and going to her vanity. She pulled out a leather cord that men in the north often used to tie their hair back from their face and her brush before moving to stand behind him where he sat.
“Count out five grapes please.” she told him before she began brushing his hair.
She brushed his hair just as she did her own, softly making sure all the tangles were gone before pulling the the two sides together to tie it away from his face while leaving some down to cover his neck. He really did have lovely hair, it was dark like ink and soft despite how little effort he clearly put into it. Sansa quite enjoyed fixing his hair.
When his hair was tied back and the five grapes counted Sansa sat back down putting her hair brush on the table between them. She looked up at him before popping a grape into her mouth, she had to stop herself from groaning. The grape was ripe and juicy giving a perfect pop when her teeth bit into it filling her mouth with sweet fresh flavour.
“Hows it feel?” Sansa asked after her second grape.
“I’m sure I look ridiculous," he told her.
“I think you look handsome.” she told him honestly popping a third grape into her mouth to distract from her words.
“Handsome? Your eyes need checking.” he told her and Sansa glared at him.
“Go look in the mirror then, if my eyes can't be trusted.” She waved him off before eating her fourth grape.
She watched as Sandor got up and made his way over to her vanity. She watched as he bent over, looked in the mirror, scoffed, then turned back to take his chair again.
“My scar is more visible.” he stated.
“What, you thought you were hiding it before?” Sansa asked a little coldly, popping her final grape into her mouth.
“You’re a mean Little Bird you know that.” he said but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his mirth, along with the little glint in his eyes.
“I’ve been told.” she folded her arms again.
He didn't say anything to that so Sansa asked the first question that popped into her head, “you like when I’m mean?”
“I like when you're honest,” he told her.
“I’m always honest with you.” she told him.
“Is that right?” he asked and Sansa nodded.
“So,” he popped a grape into his mouth, “if I were to ask you something you’d give me an honest answer?”
“If I answered.” she told him.
“Alright, what do you say to a little game then?” he asked.
“What are the rules?” she asked.
“Answer or eat. I ask you a question you can either answer or you can eat.” he told her.
“Do I also get to ask questions?”
“Yes.” he acquiesced.
Sansa thought about it before nodding and waiting for his first question.
“Why aren't you eating?” he asked and Sansa almost rolled her eyes.
“I’m not not eating, I’m just controlling my intake.” she told him.
“I asked why.” he emphasised.
“I control very little of my life but I can control what and when and how much I eat.” she admitted looking away from him before meeting his eyes again.
“Little Bird,” he said but Sansa cut him off.
“My turn, what's your favorite color?”
“What?” he asked.
“Favorite color.” Sansa repeated.
“Black.” he answered, thrown by the question but Sansa just nodded.
“Whats the goal of not eating?” he asked.
“I don't have a goal, I just want to feel human instead of like a shiny object waiting to be traded for something shinier.” she told him.
“Whats your favorite food?” she asked.
“Chicken.” he answered and she nodded.
“Roast chicken is good.” she agreed.
“How do you get away with not eating?” he asked.
“No one pays attention to me, I’m not the King's betrothed anymore and I’m not really invited to dine with anyone.” she shrugged.
“Other than … well him, do you have any other siblings?” she asked.
“Had a sister,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It's very hard to have had.” she told him and he nodded.
“What else do you do to feel in control?” he asked.
“I wear my hair how I like, the dresses I want and speak how I wish to speak to people within reason of course.” she told him.
“You want to wear dresses too small for you?” he asked and Sansa tsked.
“My turn.” she told him instead of answering, “do you really not like what I did to your hair?”
He ate a grape and Sansa frowned.
“Fine, I’ll answer your question though.” she told him, “I don't like wearing dresses too small but I have no coin or the leave to get measured for new dresses so I make do.”
“Would your opinion on the hairstyle change if I told you that I really like it?” she asked and he ate another grape.
“Are you upset that your betrothal was put aside?” he asked.
“No.” she said, “have you ever thought of getting married?”
“Why you proposing Little Bird?” he asked and Sansa frowned at him.
“No,” he answered, “Who do you want to marry?”
Sansa said nothing instead breaking a piece off of the bread and eating it demurely.
“Do you think you’d ever be able to go an entire day without drinking wine?” she asked, feeling the need to poke him with her question.
“Yes.” he answered, “have you ever gotten drunk?”
“No,” she told him, “when is this game over?”
“When I decide it is.” he answered.
He was quiet for a minute before he asked another question, this one quieter, his face more serious, “do you think about hurting yourself Little Bird?”
“Hurting myself?” Sansa asked.
He gave her a look and Sansa suddenly understood but she also understood that she already was hurting herself. Not eating hurt, and she didn't exactly turn from that pain but had she thought of hurting herself in other ways?
“No more than I already am.” she answered honestly.
“How are you hurting yourself Little Bird?” he asked and Sansa ignored that technically it was her turn.
“By not eating.” she told him feeling ashamed.
“Are you hurting yourself any other way?” he asked and again she ignored that it was her turn to ask.
“No.” she told him and he nodded.
“You owe me two questions.” she told him after a moment.
“Ask then.” he told her.
“Why do you care?” she asked quietly.
He didn't answer just ate a slice of apple.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked not looking at him.
“No.” he said before getting up and leaving her alone.
Sansa stared at the door for too long before getting her embroidery and starting a new project, a black dog sitting under a weirwood tree on a white handkerchief that still had a small blood stain in the corner faded to pink with cleaning.
Over the rest of the day Sansa ate the rest of the platter, picking at it between embroidery, reinforcing a seam on one of her older dresses and reading from the book of prayers Septa Mordane had given her years ago.
When the sun set Sansa made her way to Godswood craving the serenity of the night air as the ocean breeze off the Blackwater helped turn the always hot Kings Landing into something at least tolerable. She picked her way across from Maegors to the garden of Oak trees that stood in place of a real Godswood before finding herself kneeling in front of the biggest Oak there, a crude face carved into the bark.
Sansa stared at the face before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before letting it out. She repeated it three times before a twig snapping alerted her to someone approaching. She turned to look over her shoulder to see someone standing in the shadows who could only be the Hound.
“Come to pray?” she asked.
“No gods here.” he answered and Sansa let out a derisive hollow laugh.
“I’m aware.” she told him and she wondered if the silence that followed was in shock or for lack of something to say.
“If there are no gods here, why do you pray here?” he asked, approaching her.
“The Old Gods may not be able to see or hear me this far south especially without a heart tree but … well I suppose it makes me feel closer to them.” she answered looking at the face on the Oak.
“Closer?” he questioned.
“Do you know anything about the Old Gods and the North?” Sansa asked.
“Not really, grew up in the Westerlands.” he said leaning against the tree next to the heart tree.
“Fair I suppose I don't know much about the Westerlands.”
“Come on Little Bird, I’ll escort you back to your cage.”
Sansa looked to the tree one more time before nodding and following him. They walked side by side though they didn't touch, even if Sansa could feel the want to wrap her hand in his or around his arm practically burning in her hand. She put it out of her mind as they entered her chamber.
“The tray is gone,” he said.
“I ate it.” she said simply.
“They’ll be a new one tomorrow.” he told her.
“Will we play a game again tomorrow?” she asked.
“Is that the only way to get you to eat?” he asked.
“I suppose we shall see.” she smirked at him before closing her chamber door on him.
When she woke the next day there was indeed a new platter on her table this time with two goblets of lemon water that made her smile despite herself. As soon as her dress was on that morning she dismissed her handmaids promising to call them should she need anything and then she waited for the Hound.
When he knocked she opened the door, leaving it open for him as she retreated back to her chair. He handed her the leather cord she put in his hair the day before and Sansa took it with a smile before getting back up and grabbing her hairbrush.
He let her do his hair again and this time she braided the little tail of hair that came out of the leather cord so it sat flat with the rest of his hair, when he looked in the mirror he put six grapes in front of her. Sansa sighed but started popping them into her mouth.
“You go first.” she told him when it seemed no questions were forthcoming.
“Do you believe in the gods?” he asked.
“Woah, heavy. No easy ones today?” she quipped, popping another grape into her mouth, “I suppose the best way to put it is that I practice a belief in the gods.”
“Uh uh,” she said when he looked about to ask another question, “my turn. What would you like me to call you?”
“Sandor, at least in private. Clegane anywhere else.” he answered and Sansa nodded.
“What do you mean you practice a belief in the gods?” he asked.
“I practice the rituals, I say the prayers, I hope for guidance but do I think the gods really have a hand in our lives? No I don't think so because if they did,” Sansa swallowed hard, looked away and then back at him, “what kind of gods let a little boy be burned, let another fall from a tower, let an honorable man die for the truth. I find it difficult to put my faith in gods like that.”
He looked about to speak again but closed his mouth into a hard line.
“Do all in the Westerlands follow the Seven?” she asked.
“No, some have an older belief from before the Andals, before the Lannisters. Stories and folklore.” he told her, “who told you about my burns?”
“Littlefinger, after the hands tourney. He was trying to scare me.” she answered, “Is Littlefinger … worth allying with?”
“No he betrayed your father and even if he didn't he peddles flesh, lies and spreads rumors that he took both your mother and aunts maiden heads.” he answered, “Do you believe in the Old Gods?”
“The Old Gods do not care if I believe or not they simply are. Whether they hear my prayers or watch over me has nothing to do with my prayers or my acts. They were here before me and they will be here long after I am gone and my name forgotten.” she explained.
“Were you ever religious?” she asked.
“No, my sister was.” he said and Sansa nodded, “Why pray in the Godswood then?”
“It makes me feel closer to my father, my brothers and my sister. The trees watch over us, or at least that's what Old Nan said. The faces were carved into the weirwoods by the Children of the Forest in the time before and during the First Men. Blood of the First Men flows in my veins, eight thousand years of history and legacy and if Old Nan is to be believed all of it witnessed by the old Gods.” she told him.
“Were your parents good people?” she asked.
“My mother was.” he answered and Sansa nodded.
“Why does the Godswood make you feel closer to everyone but your mother?” he asked and Sansa almost ate.
“My mother thought the Old Gods and the old ways were savage, unrefined. She followed the Seven so my prayer book makes me feel closer to her as I don't visit the sept anymore.” she told him.
“Does your family have any northern in it?” she asked.
“Apparently my mother was from a mountain clan, Locke or some other.” he answered but Sansa cut him off before his question.
“The Lockes are one of the poorest of the Northern clans, they live in the mountains and follow the Old Gods. Practically wildings my father used to say but he always smiled when he said it. The mountain clans are some of the most loyal vassals of House Stark.” she told him.
“Did you always want to come south?” he asked.
“Yes, I dreamed of golden princes and white knights, I was foolish but I was also a child.” she told him.
“Do you think I’m too skinny?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered easily and Sansa frowned, “what do you dream of now?”
Sansa looked at him and very pointedly ate a slice of apple.
“Did you like Winterfell?” she asked.
“Didnt have much time to really explore it.” he told her and Sansa accepted his non answer.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked and he ate another grape but looked at her the whole time.
“Is being pretty important to you?” he asked.
“In certain instances.” she told him and he let her get away with a non answer.
“Do you have more scars?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered, “what instances?”
Sansa ate another slice of apple.
“Do you truly enjoy killing?” she asked.
“I enjoy being good at things.” he told her, “do you have any scars?”
“Yes.” she said demurely.
“Do you trust me to tell you the truth now?” she asked.
“Yes.” he answered and Sansa smiled.
“I should get to my patrol, Little Bird.” he said after a moment and Sansa's smile fell.
“Of course, I shall see you around though I plan to spend most of my day here.” she told him.
He nodded, looked at her for a long moment and then left.
Sansa ate the tray of food again just like the day before as she embroidered, sewed and read. It was after mid-day and the sun was getting low in the sky when a knock came.
She smiled slightly to find Sandor outside her door.
“Eaten Little Bird?” he asked.
“Yes, almost all of it.” she told him leaving the door open for him.
He entered and followed her to the balcony where she had been sitting working on her embroidery, the food tray on a small table beside her.
“You eat like a Little Bird.” he commented seeing the tray as he leaned against the balcony railing.
“I was raised to be a great lady, ladies eat slowly.” she told him sitting down and taking up her embroidery again.
“What are you working on?” he asked, nodding toward her hands.
“A gift.” she told him.
“For who?”
“Someone I’d like to give my favor to.” she told him hiding her face by looking at the embroidery in her lap.
“Found a knight, have you Little Bird?” he asked and she noticed a steel edge to his voice that made her smile slightly though she didn't really know why.
“No, no knights.” she told him before continuing on cutting off whatever he was going to say, “Did you know knights are much less prevalent in the North and practically non-existent in the Neck?”
He didn't answer, just folded his arms across his broad chest and watched her.
“Knights are anointed with the seven oils of the seven gods but Northerners don't believe in the seven so you don't get many knights. My younger brother Bran, the one who fell, wanted to be a knight. He would have been the first knight in the Stark family.” she told him taking up her needle again to distract herself as she kept talking.
“He would listen to all the songs and stories with me. He’d pretend to be a member of the Queensguard or the Dragon knight or Duncan the Tall while I just wanted to be a princess or a queen. Silly to think about now. I’m a prisoner princess who’ll hopefully never be queen and Bran is dead and even if he wasn't he’d never ride a horse or swing a sword or compete in a great southern tourney.” tears escaped silently from her eyes.
“He was supposed to come south with us. Father thought of fostering him with Lord Stannis or some other southern lord so he could squire. He’d have been the only one of us to foster with another house. He was so looking forward to an adventure, it's so unfair and I’m so angry for him that I don't know what to do or where to put it.” she finished.
“I wanted to be a knight until …,” he shrugged and Sansa nodded, “I’m sorry about your brother Little Bird.”
“Brothers.” she reminded him.
“Brothers,” he reiterated.
“Everyone forgets Rickon but … but,” and she broke.
A sob escaped her without her permission and Sandor seemed to leap to action kneeling in front of her and pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve.
“Shh, Little Bird. You don't forget him, that's enough.” he told her softly and Sansa couldn't help but look at his face.
“I used to call him my practice baby,” she said quietly, “he was so little and everyone else was busy so I spent all the time I could with him. He had the most beautiful auburn curls and these wide grey eyes that seemed to sparkle with joy. I … I can't help but imagine what his last days might have been like.” she admitted and Sandor closed his eyes.
“They say Theon burned them, and I can't help but hope they were already dead when he did. Does that make me awful?” she asked.
“No Little Bird, it makes you human.” Sandor told her.
“How could Theon, how could he do that?” she asked, looking at Sandor as if he really had the answer.
“Some people are just rotten.” Sandor answered and Sansa nodded.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Sansa’s tears mostly dried and Sandor leant against the railing again as night fell.
“Do you want to go to the Godswood Little Bird?” he asked looking out over the keep.
“Not tonight, thank you though.”
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked.
“No.” she answered.
“What would you like, Little Bird?” he asked.
“There are a great many things I would like Sandor.” she told him.
He nodded but said nothing and Sansa let it sit, the air cooled around them as the stars began trying to peek through the smog and lights of the city.
The next morning the platter of food was there again but the knock on the door came before she dismissed her handmaids. When Shae opened the door it was not Sandor but Ser Meryn Trant waiting for her, the King had called her to court.
When Sansa entered the Throne Room, Sandor was standing guard behind the King as Joffrey sat uneasily on the Iron Throne. Sansa could already see where the chair had nicked the boy king that day, it did not bode well for Sansa.
Sansa dipped into an elegant and deep curtsey before directing her eyes to the floor and waiting for Joffrey to state his reasons for calling her from her cage. It didn't take long, apparently Robb had won a great victory in the West and captured the Kingslayer. Joffrey was fuming and one quick look at the Queen told Sansa the Lannister Queen felt the same. Today would not be a good day for Sansa.
It was Ser Trant who ripped her dress to expose her back as she was shoved to the floor, he smacked her across the face as well and Sansa could feel the cut in her lip start to bleed before Joffrey reminded Trant to ‘keep her pretty’. The knight moved to strike Sansa across the back with the flat side of his sword instead, eventually the beating was interrupted by Tyrion Lannister, the acting hand of the king.
Sansa rose from her knees, clutching her dress to her front and keeping her eyes demurely down. She was promptly dismissed, she curtsied again before walking as gracefully as she could out of the Throne room until she finally met with an abandoned corridor where she broke into a run for her chambers.
It seemed hours later when a soft knock sounded at her door. Sansa moved gingerly from her bed wrapped in a dressing robe before opening the door just a crack to see Sandor on the other side.
“I’m not very entertaining tonight.” she told him.
“Please Little Bird I just …” he sighed and looked around the empty corridor then back at her.
Sansa moved out of the way letting him decide if he was coming in or not. She didn't wait for him, instead going back to her bed and laying under the covers as she had been doing since that morning. She turned toward the balcony as Sandor brought one of the table chairs over to sit near her.
“You didn't eat today.” he said but Sansa didn't answer.
“You need to eat for strength.” he told her.
“Have you even drank anything today?” he asked
“If I start drinking will I stop caring? Will it hurt less?” she asked him.
“It’ll dull it but it won't stop it.” he answered and looked away from her.
“Dulling it is pointless if it's still there come morning.” she told him.
“Has anyone looked at your back?” he changed tactics.
“No.”
“Someone should.” he told her.
“No.”
“Little Bird.” he said imploringly but Sansa was having none of it.
“I don't want Pycelle.” she told him and he nodded.
“What if I looked?” he asked after a few quiet moments and the question startled her from her blank staring.
“Ok.” she said realizing she didn't much mind the thought of Sandor seeing her without clothing though all she did was turn on the bed so her back faced him and dropped her robe so it pooled around her hips in the back but stayed up in the front.
He seemed to be hardly breathing Sansa noticed as a rough hand lightly ghosted over her back. The first time Joffrey had had her beaten Sansa had been obsessed with how it healed, she spent hours looking at her back using her vanity and a hand mirror but she’d stopped checking after the third time. She had no idea what her back looked like these days but clearly Sandor found it wanting for he said nothing as he lightly touched.
“The bruising will go away but the …” he began and Sansa finished for him, “the strikes will scar. Little white ones.”
“Yes,” he told her.
“There’s an ointment for pain.” he told her, still looking at her back though now it was his knuckle ghosting over her spine.
“I don't want it.” she told him.
“I can see every knot of your spine Little Bird.” he said quietly and Sansa righted her robe quickly.
She turned to look at him and then away. She wanted to apologize but she knew she’d done nothing wrong, she just hated that he was displeased with her. She wanted to correct it, to gain his approval but it seemed so silly to even try. Sansa had so rarely gained the approval of anyone, even with her mother Sansa had always been striving to be a better lady, a better daughter for her father, a better representation of House Stark. It made her mad, at herself, at her parents and at Sandor that she would still seek others' approval so much when all it had done was hurt her.
She covered herself with her robe and blankets, remaining silent as long as he did.
“Whats your favorite food?” he asked suddenly.
“Lemoncakes, I’m not allowed to have them.” she told him.
“Why not?” he asked.
“The King.” she said by way of explanation.
“If I get you lemoncakes will you eat them?” he asked.
Sansa studied him then, there was an almost wild desperation in his eyes that made Sansa feel guilty.
“Why?” she asked because she truly did not understand.
“Because I want you to eat,” he said.
“Why?” she asked again.
“I can’t … Little Bird I can’t watch you waste away. Don’t make me watch that.” His voice was sad, almost pleading.
“You care?” she asked her voice little.
“Yes,” he said after a moment, “Yes Sansa I care.”
“Why?” she asked, her chin wobbling.
“Because it's you,” he answered.
“Just me?” she asked, so scared of his answer.
“Just you.” he said firmly, Sansa nodded as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I’m gonna run out of handkerchiefs Little Bird.” he tried to joke and Sansa gave him a little huff of a laugh.
“I’m returning one.” she told him pointing over to her other night stand where she had put her finished embroidery the night before.
She’d wanted to present to him on a nice day with no tears but she supposed now was a good time too. She watched him go over to it and pick up the finished handkerchief. Sansa sat up pulling her thin robe around her as she settled sitting up against her headboard with a pillow behind her back to cushion it.
She watched as Sandor lightly traced the embroidery almost reverently before he noticed the little pink spot of old blood and turned to her.
“You kept it?” he asked, almost amazed.
“I keep everything you give me.” she told him as if it was obvious.
“Sansa,” he said but stopped looking down at the handkerchief again as if it held some answer.
“Would you like to sit Sandor?” Sansa asked, looking at the bed beside her then up at him.
He nodded, before sitting uneasily on her bed, his back against the headboard. Sansa moved closer before laying her head on his shoulder.
“Next time no armour.” she told him quietly after a few minutes.
“Next time?” he asked, still playing with the cloth in his hand.
“Do you not want there to be a next time?” she asked.
“Next time no armour.” he agreed and Sansa smiled.
They sat quietly for a bit, Sandor absentmindedly playing with the cloth in his hand while Sansa closed her eyes and listened to their collective breathing.
“Have you ever played the what if game?” Sansa asked him.
“The what if game?”
“Jeyne, Beth and I used to play it when Septa Mordane had to run off to find Arya for lessons. Someone says what if and proposes a scenario and the other person has to come up with what would happen if.” she told him.
“So I would say what if I was low born and you would say,” she prompted.
“Then you would never have been betrothed to the King,” he answered.
“See, easy.” she told him.
“Here I’ll go again,” she told him, “What if we met but I was lowborn?”
“I suppose if you were lowborn and we met I may have tried to get to know you.” he said.
“And if I wanted to get to know you as well?”
“Then I would, seven hells Little Bird.” she could have sworn he was blushing.
“What if we got to know each other in the way that common people get to and you decided you liked me quite a bit?” she tried skipping over part of the what if.
“I don't know, I have no keep or lands so I suppose if we got to know each other and I quite liked you I suppose we would get a place in the city proper.” he said and now Sansa was sure there was color on the top of his cheeks.
“What if I didn't want to live in the city?” she asked.
“Then I suppose we could find some land, would you like that Little Bird?” he asked.
“If we found some land would you know how to work it?” she asked.
“Yes, I know more than swinging a sword.” he almost smiled and Sansa chuckled, taking her head from his shoulder but moving closer to him so his arm was between her and the headboard.
“Good, so if we found some land then you could work it and teach me how to help.” she told him.
“What kind of animals would you want, Little Bird? We’d need some.” he told her.
“Oh, you’re right,” she smiled up at him, “we would have to bring Stranger, and he would need space, maybe even his own paddock but we could get some goats or a cow or chickens, but we would have to have dogs.” she said excitedly.
“Stranger huh?” he asked, looking at her but Sansa couldn't read his expression.
“Of course. We couldn't leave him behind, he means so much to you.” she told him leaning back into his side to think more on what their little homestead would have.
“We would need a hearth big enough to cook in, and at least two rooms beside the common area, one for us and one for any children that come along.” she started rambling.
“Children?” he broke in with an unbelieving tone.
“Of course children, don't you want children?” she asked.
“I’ve never really thought of it.” he told her.
“Well I have, and in our what if we have children.” she told him firmly.
“Oh yeah Little Bird got it all planned out?” he asked.
“Planned? No. Dreamed up maybe.” she joked and he looked at her sharply.
“Dreamed?” he asked.
“Is there a grape I could eat?” she asked and an almost feral smile overtook his face that made Sansa squirm in a very pleasant way.
“What are you dreaming about Little Bird?” he asked looking into her eyes.
“Many things.” she told him.
“Name one.” he challenged.
“Did you know that wildings beyond the Wall steal their brides?” she asked and had to suppress her smile when his head turned exactly like a confused dog.
“Steal their brides?” he asked.
“Yes. All maids in the North are warned of it though they don't often come as far as Winterfell but both the Umbers and the Mormonts have had daughters stolen. They come over the wall, search for a woman they like and take her back to their village beyond the wall. If the wildling is still alive come morning they’re married before the heart tree.” she explained.
“Still alive?” he asked.
“Its the responsibility of the woman and her male relatives to kill the man if she does not wish for the wedding to take place. They have until morning to kill him, if he is alive come morning they assume she is ruined and the marriage goes but wildlings dont care much about things like maidenheads or well laws.” she told him.
“Do you dream of being stolen Little Bird?” he asked, his voice a little husky.
“Sandor what if?” she asked quietly.
“That's a big what if Sansa.” he said and she nodded.
“But what if?” she insisted.
“If,” he paused, “If I stole you Little Bird I would only do so if I had a plan and if it was something you wanted.”
“Maybe you should come up with a plan,” she said before adding, “if that would be something you wanted.”
He nodded but said nothing else and Sansa settled into the little area she’d taken up under his arm. They stayed there for a bit before Sandor mentioned having to get back to duty and Sansa bid him goodbye with a soft smile.
Sansa didn't eat, instead going to sleep and dreaming of a tall wildling with hair black as ink and eyes of smoky steel stealing her away over the Wall.
Obi-Wan fucking lives off of Caf. he needs the caffine to be able to get through the headaches of politics and planning and stragegizing and meetings and reports to write and forms to fill out and- He just needs his caf. He's so fucking tired. when's the last time he slept? Who the fuck knows!? (Cody does. its been 4 days.) He was made the High General of the GAR. do you have any idea how much shit he has to deal with? especially with Skywalker under his jurisdiction? He'll down the most bitter black insta caf the GAR supplies and savor the most rich blends that his dear frien Bail gifts him. If he doesn't get his Caf he may turn traitor.
Cody loves Tea. he fucking loves it! the only kind of flavors they ever experienced on Kamino was gross sludge or bland soup and water. He fucking hates how bitter Caf is. no amount of milk or sugar can mask it for him. But Tea? Theres so many flavors! Sweet, Savory, Citrus, some teas are only bitter if you steep the leaves in too hot of water. Each tea has methodical method of preperation that calms cody's racing mind. Tea warms him softly from the inside and calms his anxieties and stress headaches. He found a lovely blend that has nice balance of sweet and citrus and just the right amount of caffine that will get him through his late night form work (and not cause his hands to shake)
Part 5 of 'Steal you away AU' we have a break from logistics for Cody being a romantic
I really wish there was more fanfic of Cody having a 15 step plan to Seduce his general, and honestly would have written a fic with where Cody gets drunk with his batch, shows off plan to seduce his general and makes the claim that if he marries a Jedi, especially one as high ranking as Kenobi then that is prove that they are sentient people and deserving of rights, therefore Cody smooching his general is now his Vode-bound duty.
His batch all know this is Bantha shit but its so fucking funny that they make him through with it once they all sober up. Fox in particular laughs himself silly but wants Cody to have nice things
Tomorrow Cody’s Obi-wan will be besieged by grief.
But today, today the vode shuffle the duty roster around so Cody gets some free time, even among the temple’s take off and rest of the vode ship’s boarding and the vode descending on the Jedi with open hearts and eager hands. They make time so Cody to have an officially meeting with Obi-wan without the latter being tinged with sorrow.
So Cody goes to take his general for a walk in the gardens.
(It's not a date not a date, he says no matter what his brothers are implying, the fact that he has a 15 page ‘how to woo Obi-wan Kenobi’ document is irrelevant, that was before they traveled into the past.)
He frames it as a tour, “I've heard many good things about the room of a thousand fountains and its adjoining gardens” (from Obi-Wan himself actually) “would you mind showing them to me?”
He can see the warriness in Obi-wan's face as he considers this. Most see the near blankness of a good negotiator, but Cody knows where to look for the details that would betray him.
“I suppose I have time”
They start in normal tour guide mode. This area mimics this climate from this planet, that is where the water filters down from above, over there is vinery etc. Cody gives a reasonable amount of time for Obi-Wan to feel more at ease before starts asking questions. Questions about the plants, the carvings on the walls, why this wall is two different colors of duracrete.
Obi-Wan starts a couple of times, giving a lecture on how the plants are organized, how the water is recycled, what historical events the reliefs are depicting. He stops himself before he gets too deep, (disappointingly.)
“My apologies, I imagine that this isn't a topic you would be interested in.”
“Not at all Master Kenobi. I am very interested. I find that while most will view such beauty and be happy, I feel that to truly appreciate such a place one should learn the stories. The details that make a place important, that makes the culture who live here come alive.”
This was based on what Obi-Wan had once told him, about the difference between a culture recorded in books vs a culture living and breathing.
Obi-Wan looks at him, assessing. “That's quite philosophical, for a soldier." He tests.
It's strange, to be the one being tested, rather than the one testing. Cody can remember how long it took before he actually trusted his general, before he even trusted him as Obi-Wan. Cody's glad he isn't wearing his armor for this, even if it feels weird without at least his chestplate.
“Because a soldier isn't the one talking. I am not here as Marshall Commander Cody, I'm here as Kote.”
Obi-Wan eyes flare in surprise at the Mando'a, at the admission of a secret in a name. Cody watches as the realization settles. He gives his general the time he needs, they have the time this go around.
A butterfly lands on a nearby pillar. Perfect.
“Now, tell me about this one,” he says.
And Obi-Wan does. He starts to ramble properly, starting from its name and home, though its importance in the web of life and into the more obscure history.
Finally, finally.
Obi-wan smiles at him, mid rant about atmospheric pollution affecting coloration which may or may not have to do with space ship exhaust. Cody doesn't really know, he kinda doesn't care. He's just happy he gets to see his favorite of Obi-Wan’s smiles, the only one not tinged with grief as he loses himself to whatever topic he is talking about.
This is why Cody picked the gardens. Because it's a perfect first date.
I just. Love Mando’a so fucking much. It’s so great.
They have three different words to describe ways to be stabbed. Bikadinir (to stab with a broad blade; “run through”), chekar (to stab with a small blade, “shiv”), and kalikir (to stab with a narrow blade, “skewer”).
They have one pronoun. Kaysh. That’s it. Buir is just parent, there’s no mom/dad. No son/daughter, just ad, ad’ika, ikaad. Child. Vod can mean sibling, friend, comrade. All at once. Amazing.
They have dozens of ways to insult someone. Di’kut, someone who forgets to put their pants on. Utreekov, emptyhead. Najaat, no honor. Dini, lunatic. Kaysh mirsh solus, “their brain cell is lonely.” Skanah, “much hated person/thing.” Hut’uun, coward. Ge’hut’uun, not even notable enough to be called a coward (how insulting is that?). Demagolka, originating from Demagol, the name of a scientist who was so fucking shitty that his name became the worst insult a Mandalorian could call you. And that insult is child abuser, monster, war criminal, someone with no honor.
And then there’s “shab”, which we don’t have an official definition for, but the fandom collectively agrees it means “fuck.” Because we have shabiir (to screw up), shab’la (screwed up), shab’rudur (to screw with), and shabuir (jerk but much stronger, AKA asshole/motherfucker).
And Mando’ade don’t say “I love you.” They say “Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.” I hold you in my heart for eternity. Like. Are you serious. That’s so much better than “I love you.” If someone said that to me I would die on the spot.
Mirshmure’cya means “brain kiss.” Slang for headbutt, which is a thing Mando’ade do a lot, apparently. And it’s a sign of affection, too. They show affection by gently bonking their helmets together. How adorable is that???
Oh, and shereshoy. A lust for life “and much more.” Represented by orange on their armor. “The enjoyment of each day and the determination to seek and grab every possible experience, as well as surviving to see the next day - hanging onto life and relishing it.” And that “oy” at the end of it, derived from “Oya!”
“Oya”, which can mean so many things. A war cry before a fight or hunt. A celebration. An encouragement. “Let’s hunt!” “Hoorah!” “Cheers!” “That’s the spirit!”
This post got much longer than I meant it to lol. I’ll stop here. But you get the gist. Mando’a is a wonderful language and I am in love with it.
and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot
Chapter 10
Pairings: Codywan
Tags/Warnings: (spoilers for this chapter) grief, character death (from a certain point of view), alcohol, explicit sexual content
Description:
The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.
He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.
This is no longer just some passing infatuation.
He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.
(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)
Link to read on AO3 here!
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Wordcount: 9k
Prev chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
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A traditional Kote ky’ram is one of the most sacred affairs within Mandalorian culture - a ritual performed with no expenses spared, reserved for only the most honoured of fallen warriors.
It is, in essence, a night of well-prepared feasting and drinking, centred on a proper, elevated pyre with which to burn the dead. Depending on the texts one follows, it is sometimes considered the only way to truly ensure that an individual spirit can join with the Manda - the collective consciousness that encompasses all.
The 212th do not have the resources to hold a traditional Kote ky’ram.
They barely have enough for a regular, standard funeral.
As the rite begins, Cody focuses his attention far ahead on the viewport at the opposite end of the mess hall, directing all of his effort into keeping his breaths even and steady. He will not falter now, not in front of his men.
This intention becomes a lot harder to put into practice when he hears the first sniffle from the gathered crowd.
Force above guide him.
______________________________
“Cody.”
The Marshal Commander’s hands curl into fists at his side, his body as tense as a coiled spring despite his best efforts.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
He has to appear like the picture of calm. He has to–
“Haar’chak, Kote, you’re stressing me out just by standing next to you.”
Cody starts, glancing guiltily over to Rex beside him. With great effort, he manages to bring his shoulders down, just by an inch. “Sorry.”
The two fall silent again, their gazes trained on the doors to the hangar as they await any hint of movement. Every second that passes is torture, and Cody itches to pace.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll say to him?” Rex asks quietly, so as not to be overheard by any of the troopers milling around the barracks.
They certainly seem to have had no problems with getting back to normal, Cody thinks bitterly, then rapidly banishes the thought. His own mess of emotions isn’t anyone else’s fault, least of all his men’s. If anything, he should be happy that they’re not taking this as hard as he is.
“What can I say?” Cody mutters, grateful to be wearing his bucket today. He’s not sure he could control his expression if he tried.
Rex hums in acknowledgement to the question, briefly stepping aside to allow a cleaning droid to pass. He returns his attention to Cody, but doesn’t speak.
He always goes quiet like this when he’s thinking hard. It’s usually not so unnerving, but this morning, Cody can’t help but feel like he’s being analysed. He shifts slightly, his usual stoicism failing him along with the way his nerves have been thoroughly frayed over the past few weeks.
“You could always hit him,” Rex suggests eventually.
Cody barks out a startled laugh in his surprise - his first genuine one in a while. Rex seems very pleased with that, if the way his helmet tilts is any indication.
“Mm, not in the mood to get court-martialed for punching a Jedi, Rex’ika,” Cody replies once he’s collected himself.
“Court-martialing? For a little punch?” Rex counters, shaking his head. “It would be a minor punishment at worst, given the circumstances.”
Cody doesn’t miss a beat, a wry chuckle escaping him.
“Oh, trust me, it wouldn’t be a little punch, vod.”
Rex, perhaps wisely, doesn’t press the issue.
It doesn’t take long for the restlessness to start setting in again. Cody feels more and more like every part of his body is on edge - what’s taking them so long? They were supposed to have docked two minutes ago. Are they doing this just to extend his suffering for as long as possible?
Perhaps it would be better if he just turned around and went back to his quarters rather than wasting time with this stupid greeting party. He could pretend to be ill or too swamped with work or–
The door to the hangar slides open, and Cody stiffens.
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“The General was–” Waxer begins, cursing loudly as he tips his chair back and some of the rotgut sloshes out of his glass. “Fuck.”
He stares at the spill on the floor, his jaw falling slack. A pitiful groan escapes him, and he shoots a baleful glare at the remains of his drink. “I need a refill.”
“Toast first, vod,” Boil reminds him. The trooper’s cheek has been plastered to the surface of his table for the better part of the past half hour, and it doesn’t look like the drinks are going to stop flowing anytime soon.
Enough alarm wades through the molasses that have overtaken Cody’s mind for him to wonder if he should try and slow them down - or at least try to impose some form of order.
After a moment’s consideration, he simply downs the last of his own tankard.
He’s not sure it’s ever possible to be drunk enough for something like this.
“Right. Yeah, ‘course,” Waxer mumbles, clearing his throat. “Uh, the General was…” he closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, as if he’s summoning the words to him from some unknown force. “... A hell of a Jedi.”
A smattering chorus of agreements sound throughout the room.
“Strongest kriffin’ warrior there ever was,” he continues, and suddenly laughs, a fondness overtaking his expression. “ Even without the lightsaber, too. None of us ever managed to beat him in a hand to hand spar - well, apart from the Commander that one time.”
Cody’s gaze has long since blurred over, his eyes dropping to the base of his mug as he takes in the words the men have been sharing, one by one.
He’d actually won a fair handful of sparring matches with Obi-Wan over the past year, but only ever one in front of the men - mostly because Cody had quickly realised once they’d gotten together that his strongest tactic was utilising flirtations to his advantage.
Stars, the first time he’d deliberately given him that look when attempting a pin, Obi-Wan had panicked and yielded immediately, eyes wide and a blush already travelling up his neck.
As soon as the Jedi’s senses had caught up to him, he’d huffed and pouted and made a few statements under his breath about “bad sportsmanship” and “playing dirty” - but Cody knew him well enough to catch the quirk of his lip underneath his beard. He didn’t really mind. Far from it, in fact.
The memory feels like a dull, twisting knife in his gut now as he stares into the bottom of the tankard as if it might offer him any answers.
All it tells Cody is that tomorrow’s hangover is going to be one for the books.
“He was kind, too. Always looked out for the shinies,” Helix adds. His words are softly spoken in comparison to Waxer’s, but the whole room has stopped to listen. He’s been monologuing for a while now, Cody realises, frowning as he wonders just how long he’s been lost in thought. His perception of time has become a little warped, ever since that third shot. Or maybe it was the fifth.
And then, one by one, all eyes slowly turn to him.
It makes sense, he rationalises as he blinks back at them, doing his best to get his thoughts in order. They’ve gone around the whole group. They’ve all had their turns to speak, to share, but…
Cody swallows thickly. He’s not ready.
Wooley nudges him, probably a little harder than expected in his uncoordinated state. Cody winces. “C’mon, Commander. You were always the closest to him,” he murmurs. “You should get your chance to say goodbye.”
Cody just about manages to drag his eyes over the sea of his brothers, all wearing sorrowful, expectant looks as they watch him.
They want him to finish off the speeches. To say the final piece for the send off of the man that none of them know he loved.
Stars.
He closes his eyes briefly, willing his body to cooperate as he shoves down his rising nausea.
Not that he has anything to throw up anyway, he’s barely been eating, but Cody knows himself well enough to know that he’ll be spending the better part of tonight dry heaving in the ‘fresher until he feels like he’s punished himself enough.
He doesn’t think he can do this.
… He knows he has to, anyway.
Somehow, Cody manages to stand, leaning on the back of his chair for support as the ship spins around him. He breathes, just like Obi-Wan taught him: slowly, intentionally, trying to consciously feel every part of his drink-numb body, from his core out to his fingers and toes.
Once he thinks he has enough of a grip on the last dregs of his sobriety, Cody takes in a shaky breath, preparing himself to speak.
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He looks different.
It’s the first thing Cody thinks, seeing Skywalker and the man beside him make their approach across the room.
He had imagined, in his countless run-throughs of this exact moment in the shower this morning, that there’d be some modicum of relief; some big emotional release that would come with seeing him again after everything that happened.
Perhaps they’d have run into each other’s arms, like they do in the holovids. Spun each other around until the Galaxy became a blur of nothingness around them and all that was left was each other.
And yet, all Cody can think in the moment is that he looks different.
Short hair and stubble, rather than the usual mid-length swoop and neatly groomed beard, and he’s foregone his usual armour in favour of a simple tunic. It’s almost enough to make him look like another person entirely, but that gait - poised and considered, every movement deliberately chosen to give the illusion of control and grace - it’s unmistakable.
A frown creases Cody’s brow, feeling like he’s floating a mile outside of his body as he takes in the new appearance.
He doesn’t like it.
“Generals,” Rex greets amiably. Skywalker grins in that usual blithe way of his, reaching out to fistbump his Captain. Rex returns the gesture - an informality so grave that it would no doubt send any Kaminoan into a tailspin if they so much as caught a whiff of it - but it’s par for the course for the two of them.
Cody envies the simplicity of their relationship in this moment.
“Generals,” he repeats, detached. He makes no such move to get closer to his own General.
It’s noticed.
Obi-Wan’s eyes slide over to Cody’s, as if trying to search his gaze from behind the visor. There’s a gentle tug through the Force, questioning, and the Commander rejects it immediately. In his panic, he uses a little more force than was strictly necessary - not now. Not yet.
If his Jedi reacts to the way Cody all but violently shoves him away mentally, he doesn’t outwardly show it. Instead, he glances over to Anakin with a pleasant smile, as if this were all normal routine.
As if the past few weeks haven’t turned everything upside down.
“Well, it seems as though we’re all accounted for. Shall we, Commander?” he asks calmly, and Cody dutifully falls into step beside him as they begin to make their way to the zone of the barracks that the 212th calls home.
The silence only continues to stretch between them as Rex and Anakin peel away to meet with the 501st. His discomfort is starting to become palpable, worsening with each passing second. Cody doesn’t dare turn his helmet as they walk, unable to bring himself to so much as glance in Obi-Wan’s direction.
His head is beginning to throb.
When they arrive outside the briefing room where the men are gathered and waiting, they both try to speak first.
“I’m going to–”
“I wanted–”
An awkward pause permeates the air, and Cody winces. Obi-Wan, ever polite, gestures for him to go ahead. Force, this is awful.
“I’m, uh… going to head back to my quarters,” Cody starts, as neutrally as possible. “For some headache meds. I’m sure you can catch up with the men without me. They’ll be…”
Cody hesitates briefly, trying to find any word that holds appropriate enough gravity.
He fails.
“... Happy to see you, sir.”
He doesn’t miss the way Obi-Wan tenses at the use of his title.
Good, that bitter internal voice rears its head again, hissing with spite, make him feel a fraction of the hurt I felt.
Guilt follows the thought immediately, and Cody swallows down the panicked apology that threatens to tear from his throat.
Obi-Wan smiles thinly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Very well, Cody,” he replies, his voice soft and gentle. The sound of it is nearly too much for Cody to handle. Damn him. Why can’t he make it easier to be angry?
The Jedi clears his throat quietly, glancing around the hallway to check they’re alone. After his swift assessment concludes, he leans in, just a little, and lowers his voice. Cody fights the urge to retreat back a step to safety. “I’ll, ah…” Obi-Wan’s hand twitches by his side, as if considering reaching out but ultimately thinking the better of it. “I’ll be in my office afterwards. If you wanted to… speak.”
With that, he straightens up, his hands settling behind his back. The not-quite-smile returns. “But I won’t force you.”
Cody feels his throat constrict, his eyes falling to the floor, his boots - anywhere but Obi-Wan’s face and that hopeful spark in his eyes.
He wants to say no. Wants to keep his distance until the choking heat of the anger has dissipated from within him, until it no longer feels like he can’t breathe when he’s in his General’s presence.
… But unfortunately for what Cody wants, he’s always been terribly ineffectual at ever denying his lover.
“I might,” he says, thickly.
I will, the Force betrays him.
A more genuine smile crosses Obi-Wan’s features then, and he nods, an exhale that sounds like relief passing his lips. “Alright,” he murmurs. “I’ll hold off from scheduling other meetings in the meantime.”
As Cody turns to walk away, beset with a pounding head and a heart that pounds even harder, he hears Obi-Wan call a grateful “thank you,” from behind him.
He lets out a shaky breath, and doesn’t turn around.
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Cody is many things.
Marshal Commander, strategist, a surprisingly steady hand with a paintbrush.
What he is not, is a storyteller.
If you ever asked him to try and spin a tale for you, he’d raise an unimpressed brow and pass you along to one of his brothers, or to the General himself.
War, not words, are his specialism of choice.
Tonight, Cody does his best anyway.
And, for whatever reason, his men hang onto every word like they’re spellbound.
How long has he been talking already? He’s not sure, but his throat is feeling scratchy, his words becoming more hoarse with every passing moment. Still, he makes himself press on.
He’s shared endless words of praise and reverence over the past few minutes - his accounts of their first meeting, first duel, stories of Obi-Wan’s kindness and patience…
The more he continues, the more Cody wonders if he’s going to make it through without vomiting, but the end is in sight. Just gotta stick the landing, now.
“He was the best of the Jetii,” he chokes out - distantly, objectively aware that he’s started swaying on his feet, but he’s way past the point of being able to steady himself, now. “He was the best of us. And… and I…”
Cody doesn’t know when in his speech, exactly, he started crying. Only that he can’t stop.
It’s all become so horrifyingly real.
Obi-Wan won’t walk through the door ever again. Cody won’t wake up next to his warmth, and try and cajole another “five more minutes” from him with a soft nuzzle and a yawn. He won’t ever get to kiss the crease from his brow again, get to see more wrinkles added to the body he’s come to adore. They won’t ever again be able to entwine their minds to one another, two hearts beating as one.
“And I…”
Cody’s chest is a gaping wound, blood and pus weeping out onto the floor as he gasps for breath. His lungs squeeze, refusing to allow anymore air inside as his vision begins to darken at the edges.
“I was in love with… Osik, he’s dead.”
Faintly, as if from another room entirely, Cody hears a warning shout from one of his brothers as his knees give way beneath him. In seconds, someone’s arm is around his middle, lowering him to the ground clumsily as the world loses its footing along with him.
Cody opens his mouth - he thinks it’s to thank them for catching him, or to try and say anything that might preserve some of his dignity - but all that comes out is another sob.
Were his throat not so raw from giving his speech, he suspects he might have screamed instead.
The world turns into a blur of noise and colour around him, a cacophony of sensation, and Cody stops trying to rail against the way it wants to swallow him up.
He doesn’t remember anything else from the night of the funeral.
Dreams, vague as they often are, come to Cody that night hazy and muddied. For reasons unknown to him, he can’t quite shake the feeling that tonight’s visions are beckoning a finger to him, entreating him to sink into them and hear what they have to tell him.
After such an exhausting day, he finds himself powerless to resist.
In a forest filled with a thick, impenetrable fog, Cody stands alone, his gaze trained on the endless liminal space ahead of him.
Rows upon rows of trees stretch into nothingness on all sides, and the air lies unnaturally motionless. What should be a cool, breathable atmosphere sits far too heavily in the stillness - each intake of breath fills his lungs with uncomfortably warm air.
The branches of the trees whisper to him to move forwards, so he does.
In the silent, surreal dreamscape, Cody walks.
He walks for days, minutes, hours. His surroundings don’t change, but he’s spurred on by the insistence from some external force that no matter what, he needs to keep going.
Cody is dogged - persistent in his determination, despite how drained he feels. His feet drag beneath him, his ankles aching, crying out for a moment of rest, but still he walks.
Good soldiers follow orders, after all.
Eventually, he finds himself arriving at a change in scenery - a clearing, still soaked in fog yet markedly different from everything that came before. Something about this place feels significant.
The trees seem to think so, too.
Cody squints as his attention is drawn, almost magnetically, to the opposing end of the open space.
A figure stands, cloaked, in much the same situation as he himself appears to be. They haven’t noticed him yet.
Are they… real? Cody reaches out, taking a few steps closer, and they freeze. The clearing itself yawns, the distance between them growing rapidly.
No, Cody thinks with a frown. This is wrong, he knows instinctively. They shouldn’t retreat, not from him. He feels as if he knows them, somehow, but how could that be?
All he knows is that his dream is near-desperate, urging him to continue his approach. It does not like that they’re on opposite sides like this.
Two more slow steps forward from Cody, and the figure turns and runs.
“Wait–!” Cody calls out, his voice hoarse. He tries to give chase, but the world disappears underneath him.
He falls–
And falls.
And wakes with a shout.
After he’s collected enough of himself in the morning to drag on his armour and run a comb through his hair, Cody banishes all thoughts of the dream from his mind. He decides to put it down to the immense stress he’s been under as of late, and nothing more.
Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it doesn’t do to dwell on something so disconcerting when there’s nothing he can do about it.
He makes it a point to make a round of the ship’s communal areas and clean up where he can, stopping to drop by the medbay to see Kix and personally apologise for the state he was in last night.
He had, correctly, assumed that the medic was the one who had gotten him safely back into his room after he dramatically collapsed. The main thing that had tipped Cody off was the glass of water, thoughtfully left on his nightstand. His other brothers mean well, but no one else would have had the coherence to do that.
Cody’s grateful, even if he struggles to adequately express it. Without Kix’s intervention, he probably would be in even more of a humiliating position today - at the very least, he imagines he’d have woken in a storage closet rather than a bed.
The one good thing, Cody tries to remind himself, about everyone having been utterly blind drunk last night, is that at least no one has any recollection of his (stupid, ill-thought out) mumbled confession at the end of his speech.
Di’kut, Kote, Cody curses at himself as he remembers his words. What were you thinking?
Maybe other people knowing about them would have been on the cards a few days ago, but it’s out of the question now.
The relationship he shared with Obi-Wan will now and forever remain a secret tucked inside his heart, to carry closely with him to the death and never to be shared with another soul. Obi-Wan was the perfect Jedi, and Cody will not allow that reputation to be smeared by anyone’s knowledge of his attachment to him. His legacy is all he has now.
And Cody couldn’t live with himself if he ruined him like that.
He swallows, banishing the thought that it had only been recently that he’d started to dare to dream of a future.
It doesn’t matter now, in any event - the thought of ‘what might have been’ may as well be poison. He glances down to the broken glass at his feet, sighing as he crouches down to carefully collect the shards together with a gloved hand.
A secret it must remain.
______________________________
Cody stands - or, more accurately, fidgets - outside of the door to Obi-Wan’s office, trying to gather enough courage to knock.
He feels vulnerable, out of his armour and preparing to walk straight into the unknown without any plan to speak of. It sets his every nerve on edge.
Obi-Wan will be able to sense that he’s here, he knows.
Worse, he’ll be able to feel his agitation - Cody is cognizant enough of his own restlessness to be acutely aware that it’ll be bleeding through his shoddy attempt at shields.
He feels his frown deepen. There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable.
And yet, Cody still hesitates as he raises his hand.
You still have time to turn tail and return to your quarters, part of him reasons.
Coward, another part spits in reply.
With a steadying intake of breath, Cody raps his knuckles against the durasteel, waiting until he hears a soft ‘come in’ called from the other side to enter.
He can’t help but suck in a soft breath at the sight that greets him.
It’s far from an unfamiliar one, but perhaps that’s why it nearly breaks him. Obi-Wan is sitting at his desk, weariness etched into his features as he looks over a datapad. The dark circles under his eyes are particularly prominent, the line of his mouth thin and downturned.
It is, perhaps, the most common way that Cody finds himself walking in on his Jedi in the evenings after a mission - stolen moments where he has so often in the past taken it upon himself to stride across the room and kiss away the lingering exhaustion, usually before taking a seat next to him and silently joining in with the paperwork.
Cody can almost pretend that this is just another of those evenings, that nothing’s wrong or broken between them.
Almost.
“Cody,” Obi-Wan greets, rising from his chair hastily. “Thank you for–”
“Of course. I–”
The two remain on their respective sides of the room as they falter, doing nothing but staring at each other for a long time.
“It’s good,” Cody eventually blurts out. “To see you, I mean. I, uh–” he tries to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
It’s a woefully inadequate statement, and they both know it.
He should open the bond, Cody thinks faintly as his eyes track over his lover’s face, taking in his pallid skin, the way he seems to carry even more weight on his shoulders than usual. He has evidently found this whole ordeal trying too, in his own way.
He should open the bond, he thinks again. He needs to offer out an olive branch, share the sheer depth of his fucking relief, feel Obi-Wan again like he’s desperate to do…
But something sticks.
Cody can’t quite bring himself to do it, not yet. Not while there’s still so much turmoil bubbling just below the surface of his skin.
Looking at his Jedi now, he finds that he wants to strangle him just as much as he wants to kiss him.
Obi-Wan’s expression crumples, reforms into something neutral. “You’re angry.”
Cody bristles, finding ‘neutrality’ too hard of a handhold to reach for. “I’m not.”
The Jedi’s lips disappear into a thin, disapproving line. “Don’t deny yourself your emotion. You’re angry,” he repeats, leaning forward to brace his hands on the edge of his desk.
Cody looks away, his eyes tracking over the viewport at the wall as he wars with his composure. Of course he is. ‘Angry’ doesn’t even begin to cover it - he’s furious.
His arms fold protectively in front of him as his mind races. He knows, when he examines it clinically, that his emotions are misplaced. His problem isn’t with Obi-Wan, not really. Cody is all too aware that he didn’t have a choice.
He’s barely even pissed off with the Jedi Council. Wartime mandates mean frequent deployments on missions that aren’t pretty, and Cody knows that better than anyone. He’s read the debrief, cover to cover - the undercover nature of the mission was priority, and maintaining the ruse of his death was necessary for the cover to be maintained.
Yet, despite the rationalisations and the way he’s gone over it all logically a million times in his mind, Cody’s heart still aches and his blood still burns and his lungs cave in on themselves in a way that makes him desperate to lash out.
“We weren’t allowed to go to the funeral.”
The words slip out of his mouth without warning, and Cody can hear the strained way his voice leaves his lips, threatening to crack under the weight of all of his unfelt emotion. Obi-Wan heaves out a heavy sigh, slowly lowering himself back into his chair.
“Cody,” he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’m so sorry. If I’d have known–”
But Cody can’t stop, not now. “We held our own, on the ship.”
Obi-Wan falls quiet hearing that. Cody returns his gaze to him, watching as the other man swallows thickly.
He doesn’t know what he wants to see in those eyes. Remorse? Guilt? At least some level of understanding of the hell that Cody’s been through while mourning him.
“The boys were a kriffing mess,” he continues. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I thought– I thought I was going to have to deal with a few defecting - Gods know their loyalty lies to you more than it does to the Republic sometimes. And I– I was the one who had to pick up the pieces, Obi-Wan.” His words are getting louder now, rougher as his long-denied distress makes its way to the surface.
Cody is privately grateful that most of the 212th is occupied in the training hall, otherwise he knows he’d be at risk of being overheard at this volume.
Allowing himself this slip of control is almost perversely satisfying. Cody feels the way his hackles raise in danger, don’t you know you’re risking being sent for reconditioning CC-2224, back down now, and still, he presses ahead anyway.
“Cody–” Obi-Wan tries, but he’s swiftly cut off as Cody raises his hand.
“Do you have any idea,” he practically spits, “any idea at all how hard it was to pretend that I wasn’t utterly kriffing destroyed? To look my men - our men - in the eye and tell them that we were going to make it through, when I didn’t even know if I was going to survive?”
Cody lets out a sound that’s a cross between a harsh laugh and a choke. “We had to keep working, even just hours later. I’m willing to play my part in this war, you know I am, but the Republic didn’t even give us a day.”
He forces an intake of ragged breath, his entire being raw, abraded down by pain.
“You died,” he whispers, screwing his eyes shut tightly. “I– fuck. I died with you. And now you’re here, and I’m supposed to just be okay again. So, yes. I’m fucking angry.”
Obi-Wan watches Cody.
He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t try to intercept and calm him down. Instead, he just watches.
Silence, heavy and oppressive, blankets the room and the space between them. Cody slumps, the weight of even holding himself up far too difficult to maintain.
Seconds tick by, eternity by eternity, and when it’s clear that the Commander has nothing more to say, the Jedi silently reaches out his hand towards him.
Cody doesn’t have the strength to stay away anymore.
He takes it, allowing himself to be tugged closer, until he’s sinking down onto Obi-Wan’s lap in the office chair. It’s not the most comfortable of positions, but it’s impossible to care about that now.
“Oh, my darling,” Obi-Wan breathes, and Cody shudders, a quiet sound of grief escaping him.
“I was so scared,” he manages, closing his eyes again as, for a moment, he just feels.
Most of him still doesn’t quite believe that Obi-Wan’s alive, that they’re together again. The heat of his Jedi’s body almost doesn’t feel real against him, and Cody is terrified beyond belief that any second he might wake up again to cold reality, to a world where he’s still gone.
He presses his face to Obi-Wan’s neck, trying in vain to steady his breathing and keep his tears at bay.
Against his cheek, he feels his lover’s pulse, fluttering gently.
Undeniable proof of life.
“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers, sounding nearly as broken as Cody feels. “I… I’m so sorry. I knew this would hurt you, but I didn’t want– I…” Obi-Wan pulls him closer with one hand, running his fingers through Cody’s hair with the other.
“Ni ceta, Kote.”
Cody’s breath hitches. The Mando’a, spoken so softly and sincerely, is enough to finally break him.
His shoulders shudder as his arms come up to wrap around Obi-Wan, clinging to him as if he’s the only anchor tethering him in a storm. His Jedi sighs softly, his own embrace tightening as Cody silently weeps into him, curling into his lap like a child that needs comfort.
Obi-Wan is devastatingly patient, as he always is.
He shushes Cody gently, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns over his back, and all the usually stoic Commander can bring himself to do is cry and cry. All of the bottled up grief and pain of the past few weeks rushes violently to the surface in a rapid tidal wave, and it’s all he can do to not get swept away with it, too.
He hates feeling weak. He hates letting go of the tight rein he holds on his emotions. Worst of all, he hates feeling anything less than completely in control in front of Obi-Wan - the man he should protect, the man he should be strong for.
But in this moment, he has no choice but to give himself over entirely to his lover, trusting him to keep him steady and hold him together as he threatens to shake apart.
It’s terrifying. It’s so very needed.
Cody’s fingers curl into the fabric of his tunic, gripping him in a white-knuckle hold, as if he fears Obi-Wan will disappear if he doesn’t.
When the tears finally stem, the two stay pressed tightly together, unwilling to pull apart. Cody doesn’t think he has the strength to tolerate any more than an inch between their bodies right now, his mind still reeling with the knowledge that Obi-Wan is alive, here, real.
He presses his lips to Obi-Wan’s pulse point, praising, reverent - and all of a sudden, even this scant distance feels unbearable.
The Jedi sucks in a sharp breath as Cody scrapes his teeth over the skin at his neck - lightly, yet his intention is clear.
“Darling…” he breathes in warning, his fingers twining into the curls at Cody’s nape. “The door is unlocked.”
It’s a weak admonishment, given the way his grip on Cody strengthens rather than pushing him away, and Cody wastes no time in pressing his advantage. He shifts his body closer, straddling Obi-Wan now as he braces his thighs around him on the office chair.
They’re far from being young men, and they’ll definitely have pains in every muscle by the time this is over from the position they’re in, but in his almost frenzied state, Cody can’t bear the idea of pulling away and taking the time to reconvene his quarters.
He has to have Obi-Wan now.
“So lock the door with the Force,” Cody replies, rolling his hips in his relentless offensive, relishing in the way his lover shivers in response. His lips stay pressed to Obi-Wan’s skin, tasting, seeking, and his words come out feverishly against him. “I need you.”
Somehow, the words are merely a pitiful attempt at conveying just how intensely Cody actually feels.
He wants to love him more gently than he ever has, and in the same breath he wants to ruin him.
He wants to press soft kisses over each of his marks from head to toe - from the phalloplasty scar at his thigh, to the blaster burn at his side, to the freckles that dot his back.
He wants to eat Obi-Wan alive, and leave absolutely nothing left once he’s done.
Obi-Wan groans as Cody leaves a particularly bruising bite just under his jaw, reaching up a hand to haphazardly activate his office’s emergency lock across the room. Cody doesn’t let up, every second that passes sending him further and further into his near-delirious state.
He’s agitated, desperate - he needs to feel the touch of skin against skin, to know without a doubt that Obi-Wan is alive and safe and in his arms.
If that means breaking nearly every piece of furniture in his office to do so, then so be it.
Thankfully, Obi-Wan seems to understand the source of his need, allowing Cody to take as he needs - and for every inch, Cody entirely intends to extract a mile.
“I’m here,” the Jedi whispers, his eyes dark and lidded as Cody tugs his tunic over his head and begins to hastily work at pulling away his belt. “Cody. Cody.”
Obi-Wan’s hand reaches out to grasp Cody’s chin, gently tilting his head up to face him, stilling his movements as he does. “We have time, my love,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Cody is already panting, his gaze glassy as he leans into the touch that now slips to his jaw, running over the stubble he’s gained from a few days of inconsistent shaving.
“I know,” he finds himself saying in return, somehow fetching coherent words from the few (and diminishing) still-functioning recesses of his brain. “I know. But I can’t wait any longer.”
With that, he surges forwards, kissing Obi-Wan hard enough that their teeth knock together.
He breathes out an apology that he doesn’t really mean, but doesn’t stop for long. Within seconds, he’s swiftly tugging Obi-Wan’s belt free and working at his own clothes with fumbling hands.
Mercifully, Obi-Wan is nothing if not helpful. With a flick of his wrist, Cody’s blacks pull up and over his head - a surely inappropriate use of the Force that Cody would usually tease him for, but right now he barely even has the capacity to process.
Half-standing from the chair, Cody shimmies out of the last of his clothes and kicks off his boots, sinking back down onto Obi-Wan’s lap.
The feeling of being together - properly together - after all that’s befallen them, is divinity itself.
The Jedi’s hands find his hips, holding them steady as they press their foreheads together, taking a moment to adjust to the skin to skin contact. Cody has just about enough prescience to allow Obi-Wan a few seconds to take a breath - he knows he always needs it, even if he himself is practically breaking apart with the force of his need.
Pulling back for as long as he can bear, Cody spits onto his palm, reaching down between them to wrap his hand lightly around the bases of their cocks. He feels Obi-Wan twitch in his hold, pulsing deliciously, and he grits his teeth with the effort of holding back.
“Let me– let me know when I can–” Cody mumbles, forcing his thoughts to consolidate into something resembling patience. The heat of Obi-Wan’s breath, sweet in his mouth, could drive him completely to insanity. He’d follow this man to the ends of the Galaxy just for the taste of it.
Cody’s tongue darts out to wet his lips.
One breath in.
One breath out.
Obi-Wan finally nods his go-ahead.
Cody grinds his hips down, hard, and pumps his wrist, swallowing down his Jedi’s gasp in a hungry kiss as he does. Obi-Wan’s grip tightens on his hips, and with a growl that borders on feral, Cody drags his teeth over his bottom lip, tugging at it lightly as they grind against one another.
The office chair, clearly not built for use this thorough, squeaks in protest with every movement.
It’s been showing signs of wear for months, anyway; he’s doing Obi-Wan a favour, from a certain point of view. At least now he has an excuse to requisition a replacement.
An artful squeeze of Cody’s hand has them both bucking into each other, breathless and moaning wantonly into one another’s mouths as they move together - almost clumsy in their fervour.
This is not the slow, careful lovemaking the both of them have become accustomed to. This is messy and desperate fucking, borne from a desperate need to do nothing but feel.
Time begins to lose any sense of meaning as they move in tandem. There is only this moment, and there is only each other.
Cody drops his forehead to Obi-Wan’s shoulder, trying and failing to catch his breath. It’s unfair - he wants to eke this out for as long as possible, but the intensity of the moment has him so painfully close already.
But he’s not sure he could stop now if he tried.
Obi-Wan meets every roll of his hips with one of his own, and fuck, he feels so perfect against him - the heat of his body, the slick of his sweat–
A sharp pain shoots through Cody’s leg.
He pulls back with a hiss, and Obi-Wan’s hands reach up to cup his face immediately, alarm evident in his gaze. “Darling?” he asks in breathless concern, his eyes sweeping over Cody’s body to find the source of his hurt. “What’s going on?”
Cody grimaces, irritated with himself but knowing ultimately that there’s not a whole lot he can do.
“Cramp,” he mutters in shameful answer, ducking his head as he inhales as deeply as he can through gritted teeth.
This would be easier if he wasn’t so dizzy from being seconds away from the edge of his sanity.
“Ah.” Obi-Wan offers a sympathetic wince, even as he’s visibly relieved that it isn’t anything more serious. He leans in to press a lingering kiss to his lover’s temple, and Cody feels some of the tension drain from him, as easily as that.
With a heavy sigh, Cody regretfully extricates himself from Obi-Wan’s lap and stands, grunting as he slowly stretches out his traitorous leg.
His Jedi chuckles, rolling his own shoulders, and Cody manages to push through his annoyance enough to huff out an amused snort of air. He’s still very hard and practically dripping, as is Obi-Wan - the holoporn usually skips this part.
“We can take a moment,” Obi-Wan assures him before he can express the apology that’s on the tip of his tongue, and Cody finds himself smiling.
“Yeah, I… yeah, that might be for the best.”
Cody adjusts himself to lean back against the desk, cautious to keep his leg straight. The ache is already dulled in comparison to a few moments ago - thank every Star in the sky for accelerated healing.
Obi-Wan, in turn, flops back into the chair with a slow, measured exhale, his hair mussed and falling over his forehead in a pleasingly disheveled way. Cody takes a moment to appreciate the sight, drinking him in. The golden boy of the Order, wrecked by his touch.
Cody’s heart stutters in his chest, faltering as it all comes crashing back to him again.
He hadn’t thought he’d ever get this again.
Perhaps sensing the shift in the air between them, Obi-Wan tilts his head, meeting Cody’s gaze searchingly.
“You haven’t opened yourself to the Force yet,” he states quietly. There’s no judgement in his gaze, no hurt, even though it would be entirely within reason for him to take Cody’s distance personally.
Cody shakes his head, reaching up to absent-mindedly smooth back some of the hair that he knows must be sticking up in every direction. “I… still need a little time,” he murmurs.
Obi-Wan hums, reaching out to catch Cody’s hand as it falls and brings it to his lips.
“That’s more than alright, my love,” he replies softly, leaning in to brush a kiss across his knuckles.
His eyes flick up to meet Cody’s, a twinkle clear through the veil of his lashes as he continues his ministrations, peppering light kisses along each finger. “I’m a very patient man.”
A low sound escapes Cody’s throat as Obi-Wan gently turns his hand, his lips finding the pads of his fingers. When he sucks a digit into his mouth, Cody’s gaze turns hungry.
“You,” he starts roughly, accusatory, “are a menace.”
Obi-Wan looks positively impish, blinking up at Cody as he laves his tongue over his finger, pulling back after a moment with a smile that’s clearly attempting innocence.
It’s unconvincing.
“How’s your leg?” he asks, sweetly.
Cody’s fingers curl, reaching out suddenly to grasp Obi-Wan by the chin. “Up,” he orders.
Obi-Wan looks smug as he gracefully rises to his feet, clearly imagining that he’s won this little exchange.
Heat pools low in Cody’s gut as he thinks about just what it will take to wipe that smirk away.
He takes a second to breathe deeply, turning his full attention to shielding his intentions through the Force, just as he would when approaching a duel.
Obi-Wan, in his distracted state, doesn’t seem to notice. Good.
Without warning, Cody pounces, sidestepping to twist his body behind his General’s and pinning him down, covering his body with his own.
Obi-Wan’s breath leaves him in one fell swoop, letting out a rather undignified sound of surprise as Cody effectively forces him over the desk, the cold metal of the surface evidently a shock against his heated skin. He wriggles, but Cody doesn’t allow for much movement, leaning down to growl into his lover’s ear.
“Be still.”
The Jedi does as he’s told without further protest, and sheer arousal pulses between Cody’s legs. Fuck, he’s missed this.
“Very good. Now, to answer your question - yes, my leg is better, but I rather think a change in positions might make it easier on me going forwards. Happy with that, sweetheart?”
The whine that leaves the Jedi’s lips is enough of an affirmative for Cody.
Rulebooks in the GAR are nothing if not incredibly thorough.
All of the room designations in any standard Republic barracks or Venator-class starship are listed alphabetically in the manuals sent around to leadership, along with a strict list of where they should be located relative to one another, and exactly what each room space can and should be used for.
Cody, of course, has each of them memorised.
Item twenty three - Command Office for use by Generals (& selected other designations that are contextually dependent, see footnotes for details) - to be located centrally to allow access to all other rooms in operation, and to be exclusively used for the purposes of: strategic briefings; disciplinaries; one-to-one meetings; and private work at the discretion of those of General designation or higher.
He’s fairly certain that ‘plowing one’s General over the edge of the desk until he’s crying from overstimulation’ is not one of the purposes that have been so thoroughly itemised, but Cody imagines that it’s a little late to stop and ask HQ about that now.
“Kriff,” Cody bites out as Obi-Wan’s back arches below him. He reaches forwards to grab a fistful of his hair, tugging back just enough to encourage him to hold that position for a little longer.
At this newfound angle, Cody fucks into him even deeper - controlled in his pace, but nonetheless designed to devastate.
Obi-Wan cries out, his fingers grasping onto the edge of the desk like it’s a lifeline as he’s brutally rutted into. He tries to speak, but every sound that leaves his lips is incoherent, broken.
The only thing that Cody is effectively able to pick up on is his name, whispered over and over, exhaled like a prayer and a plea that punctuates each thrust of his hips.
He dips his head, curling his body inwards to surround his Jedi completely, pressing a kiss between his shoulderblades. Cody loves him so much it aches.
The bond between them flies open without him even meaning to.
With it, the Galaxy explodes.
Relief, fear, ecstasy, desperation, frustration, joy, need, love–
All exists as one and all exists to sweep them both away in a tidal wave of pure feeling. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and Cody distantly hears them both let out a shout as it overtakes them.
In the overwhelming face of it, neither of them ever stood a chance.
By the time they’re both able to pick apart the knotted strands that tie their consciousnesses together - at least enough to be able to differentiate their separate selves from their combined whole - Cody realises that at some point he’d half collapsed on top of Obi-Wan, and likely had been for a while.
With a mumbled, dazed apology, he pushes himself up, grunting as he inadvertently pulls out in the process.
There’s not much nearby that Cody can use to clean them both up with, but he hardly wants to leave his lover like this, dripping onto the floor with each spasm from his poor, bruised muscles.
After a moment’s consideration, he decides he can sacrifice his shirt for such an occasion. Obi-Wan will be more than happy to lend him his cloak to sneak back to his quarters with, he suspects.
Obi-Wan shivers as Cody returns to swipe the fabric over his thighs, cleaning him up with a firm, yet gentle touch. Soft words of adulation leave him as he works, pressing a kiss to every inch of skin he can reach between his praises.
When his Jedi finally collects enough of himself to move, he slowly pushes himself off of the desk to stand, stretching out languidly before capturing Cody in a tender kiss.
Their lips slide together slowly, unhurried - for the first time today, it truly hits Cody that they have time. Neither of them are going anywhere, at least not for tonight - not until they’re called away to another mission.
And that’s all that matters.
Softly, he touches his mind to Obi-Wan’s through the bond, nuzzling against his energy in the Force in a way that’s not unlike a tooka seeking affection, and Obi-Wan breaks the kiss with a quiet, fond-sounding laugh.
His Jedi mentally returns the nuzzle as they press their foreheads together, and Cody is briefly overwhelmed by the blissful knowledge that this - this is what it feels like to be home.
The spell is broken eventually, shattered by the sound of a few troopers chatting outside as they make their way down the hall.
The reminder of exactly where they just decided to enact their incredibly forbidden tryst hits Cody like a cold bucket of ice.
With a gasp, he practically bolts across the room, gathering Obi-Wan’s robes from where they had been clumsily discarded. He returns to his Jedi, draping them around him and tying them loosely at the front.
Obi-Wan chuckles sleepily, sagging against the desk and ineffectually trying to swat Cody’s hands away. “I locked the door, darling,” he insists. His visible weariness from earlier persists, but there’s a satisfaction to his smile now that wasn’t present before, and his presence in the Force glows with contentment. “No one’s going to walk in and see me.”
Ignoring Obi-Wan’s attempts to dismiss him, Cody continues to help him redress with a single-minded focus. “Not a chance I’m willing to take,” he replies sincerely. “Your–” he searches for the right word as he straightens out a wrinkle in his tabard. “-- Honour is important.”
That earns a full throated laugh from his Jedi. “Ah, my honour is it?” he repeats fondly. “Pray tell, how would my honour stand if anyone walked in on me - fully dressed, perhaps - but with my Marshall Commander in all his naked glory standing beside me, fixing my robes?”
Cody considers this for a moment. “Gross misconduct on my part,” he answers with a shrug. A further, sleepy-sounding huff of amusement leaves Obi-Wan.
Cody’s lips pull into a smile as he smooths down a particularly stubborn part of his outer tunic, trying to make it appear as unruffled as possible in an attempt to disguise all trace of their earlier activities on his person. “See? It holds up. Gross misconduct, and you were giving me a disciplinary.”
Obi-Wan raises a brow. “As far as I remember it, I was the one on the receiving end of the disciplinaries tonight, darling.”
Cody snorts, pulling back to admire his handiwork.
His gaze catches on Obi-Wan’s, and he softens impossibly further.
“I missed you.”
It’s a simple statement, but it seems to melt Obi-Wan in turn.
The Jedi smiles - that kind, endlessly affectionate smile that he seems to save just for him - and reaches out to carefully run his fingers through Cody’s hair, tidying it up in the process.
“I missed you, too. More than you know.”
Another gaggle of their men walking obliviously past outside has Cody startling again, this time rushing to grab his own pants and dragging them back on, with decidedly much less care than he gave to Obi-Wan’s redressing efforts.
By the time he’s made himself half-presentable, Obi-Wan is already holding out his cloak, without the need for him to ask.
Cody smiles, accepting it gratefully. As he drapes himself in it, he takes a moment to breathe in the scent, no longer tainted by the false knowledge of his beloved’s death. Warm notes of amber and spice, with the undercurrent of a fresher citrus. He could drown himself in it, if only Obi-Wan would let him.
With a contented sigh, Cody finishes tying it at the front, gathering up his soiled shirt and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll have to be quick not to be seen, I imagine,” he murmurs, sparing an apprehensive glance toward the door.
“Indeed,” Obi-Wan agrees. He tries to conceal the way his lips twitch into a smile, but it’s markedly harder to do without being able to hide behind his usual beard.
At the reminder, Cody shakes his head, reaching out to run his fingers over the stubble. “You really need to grow this out,” he mutters, unable to hide the disapproval from his tone.
Obi-Wan’s smile only grows, and he cocks his head. Despite the drastic change in appearance, his rakish charm is as unaffected as ever. “Yes, Commander, whatever you say,” he teases, and Cody leans in to give him a quick peck.
“As fast as possible,” he adds, in the best approximation of ‘stern’ he can muster right now.
“I’ll inform the follicles to work double-time for you.”
“Good. As you should.”
Cody heads to the door, his hand hovering over the controls.
“I’ll be back soon,” he promises.
Obi-Wan hums - a content, pleased sound. “Very well. I have every intention of joining you before bed, regardless. Ah, just a few more seconds–”
They both wait as he reaches out into the Force, searching.
“... You’re good to go now,” the Jedi confirms, amusement colouring his tone. “But I’d advise being swift, my dear.”
Cody types in the code to unlock the office door without needing to look - he’s known it by heart for months, after all.
As he steps outside, he’s foolish enough to risk wasting a second to look over his shoulder.
His heart stutters as he meets Obi-Wan’s gaze again - far too soft, far too loving as he watches him leave.
Obi-Wan rolls his eyes fondly as he sees Cody hesitate, waving his arm and mouthing at him to “go”.
The Commander offers his General an informal, playful salute, and promptly takes off down the hallway, beelining for his quarters initially at a steady jog, though it’s nearing a sprint as he rounds the corner.
Cody may feel a healthy thrum of fear move through him at the risk of being caught like this, but he knows one thing for certain as a giddy smile stretches across his face - he’s never been happier to be making a walk of shame.
✷✷✷✷✷
A/N: Earlier than expected! As a maintenance note, I'm going to be participating in Codywanweek 2025 this year, so expect to see a few oneshots from me early next month before Chapter 11 comes out :)
Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @mitth-eli-vanto
Noah doesn’t know what to say as he looks between his son and Derek Hale. Young Derek Hale. 15 year old Derek Hale… Of course he had remembered the boy, the night of the fire being especially clear to him. He had been crying then, sobbing in Noah’s office and repeating the same question over and over. “Are they alive? Are any of them alive?”
It had been tragic. At the time, it had been suspicious but later it had been ruled an accident and Noah had been content with that. Not anymore. Not now as he remembers Stiles’ chessboard. The hunters bathed in white pieces. Kate Argent’s name ringing in his head, clear as a bell, and he understood. Understood what had transpired, can see the past event that had yet to happen to the boy in front of him.
Boy. Because he’s only two years younger than Stiles is now. Rounder face, shorter stature. Derek Hale… Angry, tall, muscular, stoic alpha werewolf looking as young and uncertain as a freshman in high school. The thought has bile rising to the back of his throat.
That woman… the things she had done to Derek… It was different, knowing now. Different seeing the teenager before him, looking so young and vulnerable and too close to Stiles’ age. For an adult to do that to a child… Any child! Rage fills Noah’s vision, his hands falling to brace himself against the desk before him and he sees Derek flinch back to Stiles’ side.
“Dad?” Stiles says warily, taking a step in front of Derek. “We think it’s some sort of spell. Deaton is looking into it.”
Protective. Stiles was always so damn protective of his friends. His family. The correlation has dread filling Noah’s chest even more. Thinking once again of Stiles standing in front of a hunter.
“G-Good.” He manages to say, words strangled by the knot in his throat. “Take him to the house. He’ll be safe there for now.” Stiles looks surprised at that but Derek pushes passed him.
“What about my mom? Where’s my mom?”
Dead.
Noah can’t say those words either and Stiles saves him from trying.
“They’re not here. They left after the fire. Scott’s trying to figure out how to get you back to them.” Stiles replies, looking pointedly at his best friend.
“Y-Yeah. I’m working on it. You can trust Stiles and the Sheriff. We’ll get everything straightened out.” It’s a lie. All lies. Always lies. Broken and struck words that shoot out like a bullet. Stiles’ favorite weapon, and he’s wielding it as fiercely as he ever has to protect the 15 year old at his side. Pride and dread and grief fill Noah’s chest as he nods, trying not to show the tears burning his eyes.
“You’re safe with us Derek.” He says fiercely, resolutely and the young werewolf must read the honesty in that statement if nothing else because he relaxes for the first time since he’s entered the office.
It takes a few days. Noah isn’t privy to everything that’s happened but Derek is adult Derek again, standing just as impassive and calm within the circle of the pack. He raises his head to look at Noah as the sheriff exits the police cruiser, a small nod of acknowledgement sent his way, but it’s not enough.
Noah can’t get the image of teenage Derek out of his mind. Can’t stop the paternal instincts to wrap both of his boys in blankets and lock them up safe and warm and happy. It’s too much. The Argents, the monsters, the danger… Too much threatening the small little family he has left.
He stalks towards them, urgent and desperate and sees the surprise light the alpha’s face. Derek almost seems worried as he motions Erica and Boyd to step aside, reaching a tentative hand out to try and either stop or steady Noah. “Sheriff, what’s wr-”
He doesn’t finish. Noah brushes past Scott and Lydia and Peter and Chris, reaches around Derek’s shoulder and pulls him forward, into his arms. The alpha freezes, shuttering into a statue as Noah embraces him, lets himself be pulled and guided to the human’s chest in the warmest hug he’s ever received.
“It’s okay son.” Noah murmurs. “It’s okay. You got us.” He says thickly.
Derek is still for a long moment, confusion and shock overriding every one of his senses but Noah doesn’t pull away, doesn’t say anything more, just grasps him to himself and slowly, unbidden, Derek crumbles.
He can’t stop the tears from falling. Can’t stop the pain in his chest as Noah holds him. He closes his eyes and buries his face into the human’s neck, let’s the warmth and fatherly arms lull him and the scent of protection and possession seep into his very bones from the comfort the man is so willingly giving him.
Of course it’s Noah. One of the only two men he’s ever really trusted since the fire. One of the only two men who he’s valued as his family. Of course it’s the other Stilinski whose saved his life yet again.
No. Realistically, Stiles would start a Winchester-esque demon hunting business where he goes around the country hunting down evil supernatural creatures. It's what he's good at.
He has amazing instincts for detecting who uses their supernatural abilities for evil and who doesn't, he always believes people at their word when they say they have seen truly bizarre things and nothing is out of the question as untrue to him (which means no villain would ever escape him by faking their death or just on the basis of not being 'real') and he always does his research and brings it out at the right time.
(Also, it would be the only valid excuse for him not to be in the movie at that point in the timeline because he's off somewhere defeating a coven of vampires and can't talk about it right now.)
But like how badass would it have been to have a spin off show of Stiles showing up to places in his Jeep, taking out evil supernatural creatures while making friends with friendly supernatural creatures and then just leaving. All while being the token human in any situation.
Either way, I don't buy him settling down into a corporate FBI job.
The time has come… execute order 66 my two favorite constantly updating fics, the beautiful, amazingly written, riveting story, seemingly never ending in length (in the best way) have both come to a close. One the one hand, I’m so happy to see it all come together and so grateful for all the authors have given us (me). On the other, DUDE WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?? Like those two fics have been literally my constant stream of comfort for the past like 2 years and now they’re done??!? In all seriousness, however, both these fics; careless to let it fall by @artemisdesari-blog, and our own choices by @heartofroses112 are so amazing (though completely different, the only similarities is that they’re both codywan, written around the same time, and AMAZING) please please read them for your own sake. Oh, and have I mentioned that these fics are amazing?
