Chapter Text
* * *
Joffrey pressed his foot down harder on the pedal. Sansa knew it because she heard the roar of the engine above the wind in her ears, singing out from under the hood loud enough to make her heart skip a beat in fear. Her hands clutched for purchase onto the door and the armrest, but her grip on the leather did nothing to ease the fright accumulating in her chest. Joffrey hollered above the wind, laughing like a maniac and half drunk from what he had been drinking earlier. He shouldn’t have been driving. Sansa closed her eyes and prayed the vehicle didn’t crash and she didn’t die on the side of the road with nothing left of her but bits and pieces for her parents to see on the evening news.
“Do you think it can go any faster?” Joffrey called out above the noise of the engine and the howl of the wind. When Sansa opened her eyes and looked at him, he was grinning like a madman at her. The engine roared again, his foot pressing harder on the pedal. Meryn and Boros, Joffrey’s stupid friends from stupid school, were laughing in the backseat like it was funny, but it wasn’t funny. Sansa was scared. Couldn’t they see that?
“Go faster, Joff!” Boros hollered, slapping the back of Joffrey’s seat. He cackled and fell backwards, clearly drunk as well. They had all been drinking, even Sansa. She knew she shouldn’t have been, but Joffrey had made them some fake identification cards and they looked real enough. Sansa thought they were only going to the store to buy the alcohol and then go back to Meryn’s house to drink it. His parents were out of town, and with him being eighteen, they allowed him to stay home alone while they were gone.
After way too much to drink, though, Joffrey had wanted to go for a spin. Sansa had tried to talk them out of it, but they had made fun of her and she didn’t want to be the goody two shoes that wrecked the night, so she had agreed to come with them. Only now she was really regretting her decision, and she just wanted to go home before everything went horribly, horribly wrong.
“Joffrey, watch out!” Sansa screamed as he veered off the road. Joffrey snatched the wheel back on course, the corvette slowing down somewhat as he tried to regain control, but Sansa’s heart was pounding dangerously hard inside of her ribcage and her knuckles were ghost white from clutching too hard onto the armrests.
“Hey, Joff,” Meryn suddenly said, leaning forward from the backseat. “Why don’t we go to that pub your uncle likes so much?”
“Which uncle?” Joffrey asked, making a face at the question.
“Your uncle Tyrion,” Meryn drawled out. “He’s the only uncle of yours with a drinking problem. Jaime doesn’t do anything.”
“That’s because Uncle Jaime’s a copper,” Joffrey said snidely. “He can’t do anything.” Boros and Meryn both snickered at that, and Joffrey looked smug despite the fact that he didn’t even make a joke and just stated something out loud. Sansa was really starting to wonder why she still dated him. The more time she spent around him, the more she realized what a horrible person he was underneath. She had been smitten with his golden hair and bright eyes at first, but she soon found she could barely bring herself to look at him anymore, let alone kiss him. His lips were wormy looking, and his eyes were cruel.
If she was honest with herself, she didn’t break up with him because she was scared of him. Joffrey wasn’t normal. She saw that sometimes, and it scared her. Sansa swallowed past a catch in her throat at the thought. She was afraid of what he might do if she tried to break up with him. If tonight was anything to go by, he was crazy and sometimes he was also really rough and nasty with her—grabbing her arms, snatching her, and yelling at her.
Sansa shook away the uncomfortable thoughts from her head and tried to join in on the conversation. “What’s the name of the pub?” she asked Meryn.
“It’s called Clegane’s Keep,” Meryn said matter-of-factly. “Well, it used to be called The Yellow Kennel or something like that, I don’t remember.”
“The Yellow Kennel?” Joffrey asked, a high-pitched laugh escaping his throat. “God, what did they call it that for? All of the piss from all of the drunkards over the floor?” He burst out cackling at his own joke, and Meryn and Boros joined with him, laughing hysterically from the backseat. Sansa didn’t think it was that funny, and she made a face at them and rolled her eyes, but they were too busy laughing to see it.
“Well, I think we should go there,” Sansa said, though she only suggested it because she wanted Joffrey to pull the car over so she could get out of it—anything to make him stop the car. They weren’t going as fast now as they had been before Joffrey nearly ran off the road, but that didn’t make Sansa feel any safer.
“Sure, we’ll go there,” Joffrey said, grinning his hideous grin again, and Sansa had to look away from him. She clutched her cardigan around herself, willing away the chilly night air and wishing she had a coat with her to wear. Joffrey wasn’t a decent enough boyfriend to offer her the one on his back. It was yet another reason why she should break up with him. He was such a selfish asshole, and Sansa frowned at the thought as it crept into her head.
When they finally pulled the car over, Sansa had never been gladder. She hurried out of the passenger side door and shut it behind herself, looking up at the establishment before her. It was a nice place, two stories high and dark cherry wood with old school windows and an appearance that looked like something out of the thirties or forties, and it had the best location in the city. It wasn’t shoved in some dark corner, but right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the night life in Kingsland.
Sansa walked ahead of the others and pulled open the door. There was a whole crowd already inside, and she didn’t recognize any of them. Feeling a little safer, Sansa stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind her. She slowly gazed about the bar and floor and booths to take everything in as her feet walked her carefully through the thick swarm of bodies. She pulled her inquisitive gaze away from admiring the décor long enough to look for a seat. There was one open at the bar, so she pushed her way over to the stool and climbed up in it to seat herself down. It whirled from side to side, and Sansa stayed it by slapping her palms against the countertop and holding them there.
Her slap unknowingly drew the attention of a man behind the bar. As he turned around and stood to full height, Sansa found her eyes growing a little wider. He was really tall. He had to have been over six feet. “What can I get for you, mi—” he began, but he paused and froze once he raised his eyes to look at her.
He was handsome, Sansa thought, her eyes staring back at him dumbly. He looked nothing like Joffrey, but Joffrey was boy and this was a man. He had dark hair close shaven to his head, and though his hairline was a little receding, it really didn’t take away from his looks. His brow was heavy, but he had these cute little creases running from the sides of his nose to his mouth, and when he stared at her, it hung open. The only mark on his face was some mild scarring on the left side, but if anything, Sansa thought it was kind of sexy. Sansa blamed her thoughts on the alcohol she drank earlier. Yes, it had to have been the alcohol.
His eyes narrowed down at her, and he leaned over the bar to cross his arms across the countertop. “Let me see your ID,” he said in a low voice, and Sansa thought his voice was really, really nice and deep. He was very close to her, and just the sound of his voice sent tingles through her shoulders like the aftermath of a chill.
Sansa broke away from her reverie long enough to reach down and fumble in her pockets to find the fake ID that had been given to her by Joffrey. Her hands were unsteady as she put it on top of the counter. The man glanced down at it, putting his hand on top of the piece of plastic and sliding it towards him. He picked it up, and his eyes roved over the card for maybe all of three seconds.
“This is a fake ID,” he said bluntly, flicking it down onto the countertop. Sansa glanced down at the piece of plastic, her nervousness making her begin to shake. When she raised her eyes, his dark gaze was boring into hers. He leaned forward on the countertop again and lifted his eyebrows at her. “I know a fake ID when I see one.”
Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but found no words to come out. Suddenly, she was inexplicably afraid. Was he going to call the police? What if Joffrey’s Uncle Jaime showed up and ruined everything, and they got into trouble and Sansa got grounded for a month? Or worse, what if there was jail time? She had been drinking before she came here, and if they tested her—
“How old are you?” he asked in the same frank tone of his, his arms still crossed over the countertop, and Sansa closed her mouth to swallow past her nervousness in order to speak.
“Seventeen,” she said, trembling.
“Seventeen and how many months?” he asked then.
Sansa was dumbfounded by the question, and slow to answer him. “Four,” she said.
“So,” he continued, “you’re seventeen and four months, but according to your ID, it says you are . . . ” He leaned over closer to read the plastic one more time, did some math in his head, and said, “Twenty and six months, so that’s three years and two months of lies.” He was looking at her again now, narrowing his eyes again. “Do you know what they do to little girls with three years and two months of lies?”
It all burst out of Sansa at once. “Oh, please don’t call anyone,” Sansa begged him. “My parents will kill me, and my boyfriend is outside, and his uncle is a policeman, and if his parents find out we’ve been drinking—”
His eyes shot open at that. “You’ve already been drinking?”
“Oh, no,” Sansa moaned, covering her mouth.
Just then, she was saved from further incrimination when she heard Joffrey hollering her name over the crowd. She looked over her shoulder and spotted him over the bodies. Joffrey noticed her and pushed through the patrons to reach her, Boros and Meryn behind him. Joffrey snatched her arm, yanking at her and nearly making her fall out of the stool. His grip was so tight it hurt.
“Come on, Sansa,” Joffrey snapped at her. “We’re going to race the Kettleblack brothers. They’re out in the parking lot—”
“No,” Sansa said forcefully, trying to pull her arm away from his grasp. “I’m not getting back into a car with you driving.”
Joffrey’s face twisted in rage, disbelief in his eyes that she would refuse him. “You’ll get back in the car with me if I tell you—”
“I think you need to unhand the young lady,” said the man behind the bar with a cold tone of finality. It sent shivers down Sansa’s spine. She was afraid of what would happen next. Joffrey’s wide eyes looked behind the counter over her shoulder at the man, and he gritted his teeth.
“You don’t talk to me that way,” Joffrey hissed. He jutted his finger at his chest. “Do you know who I am?”
“A spoiled little brat with a stick up his arse,” the man replied, and Sansa realized she was shaking as Joffrey’s grip tightened on her.
“Ow, you’re hurting me—” she said, trying to pull away from him again.
“I will take her with me if I—”
“And I’ll bash your head against that counter and break both your wrists, boy,” the man said before Joffrey could finish. “This is my establishment, and this young lady is my guest. If you don’t take your hand off my guest, it’s going to get really ugly for you.”
Joffrey’s mouth faltered as he looked back and forth between Sansa and the man behind her. She watched his face with fear, afraid of what he might do, when he let her go with a forceful shove that sent her against the bar with a sharp jab of pain through her back. Joffrey stormed off through the crowd with Boros and Meryn, cursing and yelling obscenities along the way. Sansa felt her lip trembling as she heard the engine rev outside, and she clutched her arms around herself as the corvette’s tires squealed against the asphalt and zoomed away.
“Are you all right?”
Sansa slowly turned around in the swirling stool until she was facing the bar again. The man was looking at her with concern in his eyes, and Sansa pressed her lips together tightly and nodded her head. He seemed to debate something for a moment, and then he reached under the counter and pulled out a glass. He tapped it down on the countertop in front of her.
“I’ll give you one on the house,” he said, and then he paused as he regarded her across the counter. “Non-alcoholic,” he added with a tone that said it was not up for debate.
For the first time that night, Sansa found herself smiling. “Ahh,” she said aloud as she thought about what she wanted to drink. She bit her bottom lip for a moment, and then she looked up and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Diet Mountain Dew?” Sansa asked, waiting to see if he had any.
He looked thoughtful for a moment. Eventually, he shrugged himself and turned around to rummage behind the counter. He came back a moment later with a can of Diet Mountain Dew, placing it on the countertop in front of her next to the glass. The can was covered in condensation, and when she touched it, it was cold against her fingers, so she didn’t need any ice.
“Thank you . . . ” Sansa said, but she trailed off because she didn’t know his name.
“Sandor Clegane,” he said. “Owner of Clegane’s Keep.” His eyes lifted to the ceiling and gazed around the pub before falling back to hers again. Sansa looked up after him to gaze at the ceiling, silently admiring the fine craftsmanship. It was everywhere in the pub. The whole place was lovely and warm.
“It’s really nice,” Sansa told him, glancing back at him. “I thought you were just a bartender . . . ”
“Bartender, manager, owner,” Sandor said, though he didn’t say it like it was anything to brag about. He just said it as if he was telling her what the weather would be like for tomorrow. “I have other people that work for me and help out,” he added, and he pointed across the crowd at two people. One was at the far end of the bar a ways away from them, and the other one was out in the crowd, serving the tables. “That’s two of them right there.”
Sansa looked at them and smiled again. She turned her gaze back to Sandor, the smile still there. “Well, thank you, Sandor, for helping me.”
He nodded his head at her, silently accepting her thanks, and crossed his arms over his chest as he furrowed his brow. “Who was that prick, anyway?”
“My boyfriend,” she said softly, embarrassed to admit it. “Soon to be ex-boyfriend,” Sansa added quickly, though. “I’ve been meaning to break up with him for a while. He’s a horrible person.”
“He looks like a psychotic kitten.”
Sansa found herself giggling at that. “Yeah, he kind of does, doesn’t he?”
Sandor had been leaning back against something, but he pushed himself upright again and put his hands down on the counter. “Look, I’ve got to get back to work, but you’re welcome to stay here until someone comes by to pick you up. If you need anything, just holler.”
Sansa nodded at his offer and watched as he returned to work, helping the other people crowded around the bar. She sunk off into her own little world as she slowly sobered up, and by the time she did, the pub was almost empty and she was one of a handful still left, though the others were already clearing out. She only took the one drink from him that whole night, sipping it slowly until the bubbles all faded and the drink became flat. Sansa had gotten up once to go to the bathroom, and she came back to return to her seat at the bar.
As the last patron in the bar, she caught Sandor’s attention as he was closing it up for the night. He must have not noticed before he began closing up that she was still there, sitting at the bar all by herself, because he paused in the middle of his work when he saw her and looked taken aback by her presence. Sandor stopped whatever it was he was doing at the other end of the pub in half darkness and walked over to her. As he got closer, Sansa noticed he had pulled on a dark brown jacket over his shirt. Clearly, he was ready to go home.
“Isn’t someone coming to get you?” Sandor asked, and though his voice didn’t sound too concerned, his expression creased into a mild look of worry.
“No,” Sansa said quietly, but the truth was she hadn’t even bothered to call anyone. If she called Margaery, Margaery would tell Loras, who would tell Renly, who would tell his brother, Robert, who was Joffrey’s father and who would tell her father, and she would be in trouble for sure. If she called Jeyne, Jeyne would tell Theon, who would tell Robb, who would tell Father, and she would still be in the same mess all over again. Arya didn’t have her license yet, and Jon, who was the most trustworthy of them all, was away at Blackcastle College, so really, Sansa had no one to call to come pick her up.
“Well, you can’t stay here all night,” Sandor told her, and he sounded annoyed. Great, she outstayed her welcome. If she had any money on her, she could call a cab, but there wasn’t anything in her pockets but a few crumbled bills. Sansa slid off the stool and, without saying anything, walked towards the door. She supposed she was going to have to walk home tonight, but the thought scared Sansa because she had never walked on the streets at night before. In a cardigan and a dress and sandals, no less.
“Where are you going?” Sandor called out after her, and he managed to catch up with her before she grabbed the door handle. Sansa paused with her hand on the door, turning around to look at him warily.
“Well, I don’t have a ride, I don’t have any money for a cab, so I’m going to have to walk,” she slowly explained to him.
His face twisted at that almost into a pained expression, and he ran his hand over his head. Sandor bit his lip, looked up at the ceiling, and swore under his breath.
“Okay, look, I can give you a ride,” Sandor offered, meeting her eyes again. Sansa remembered everything her mother and father ever told her about not going anywhere alone with strangers, but she felt in this particular situation she didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, he had been nice to her so far, and he had helped her with Joffrey. She figured if he was going to kidnap her and stuff her into a trunk, he would have done it by now. “Where do you live?” he asked.
Sansa hesitated, but it was only for a moment and then it passed. “Winterfell Avenue,” she told him, and Sandor nodded his head at that.
“I know where that is,” he said. Sandor walked away from her long enough to cut out the lights of the pub, and she walked outside when he did, watching as he shut the doors and locked them. He led her over to an older model car with black paint, and she ran her fingers along the frame. It was a nice car. There was an old quality feel to it, though she really knew nothing about cars and couldn’t name the year, make, and model of it. When he unlocked the doors, she opened the passenger side door and climbed in.
They both shut their doors, and suddenly Sansa realized she was alone in a car with a stranger—a man who was much older than her, even if he was kind of handsome. She sat as still as a bird in the seat as he backed the car out of the parking space and wheeled off into the street. Sandor drove a lot more responsibly than Joffrey, though, and she soon found herself relaxing despite the strange atmosphere.
“I didn’t catch your name,” he suddenly said, breaking the silence, and Sansa wondered if she should even tell him that. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell him her first name as long as she didn’t share her full name with him. He could look her up in the phonebook or something, and the thought bothered Sansa. Now that she was sober, there was something about his presence that was unsettling. Sansa couldn’t put her finger on it. When she was drunk, all she could think of was his looks, but alone with him, side by side in his car, she sensed something dangerous about him.
“Sansa,” she revealed, and when she looked over at him, the corner of Sandor’s mouth curled upward in a half smile.
“Yeah, your boyfriend,” he said. “He was screaming that across my pub.”
“Sorry about that,” she apologized, her voice lowering.
He snorted at her. “What for? You weren’t the one screaming.”
“Sorry,” Sansa said again, and she bit down on her lip.
“Again, with the apologies.”
Sansa opened her mouth and almost apologized again, and promptly shut it. She didn’t want to make him angry. They passed most of the ride in silence. He didn’t ask her anymore questions, and when they pulled onto her street, Sansa pointed at the big white house three doors down on the left. “That’s my house,” she told him, and then she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach that without giving out her last name he already knew where she lived anyway.
Sandor didn’t pull into the driveway, but he pulled up to the curb and glanced over at her.
“Thank you,” Sansa said, giving him a small smile.
“Be careful out there,” Sandor advised her, and Sansa blinked at first, but then she nodded her head. She opened the door and exited his car, shutting it behind her. As she walked up the driveway, she heard him already driving off. Sansa kept walking without turning back to look. She glanced down at her watch. It shone 2:34 up at her in the dead of night, and Sansa looked back up again at the porch lights and took a deep breath.
Her parents were going to kill her.