An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“I played by lordly role well, did I, little bird? Well, I’ll be damned to seven hells if I know how to do that now: I’m no high lord looking for alliances. I’m not selling off my girl like a bloody brood mare to the first ser with lands and a fancy name-“
He was growing angry. Sansa pressed the palm of her hand over his heart, stilling him.
“My love,” she whispered, “our Catya is a woman grown, near two years flowered. She must marry someday. We have always known we could not keep her forever.”
She lay next to him in the dark, listening to his heavy breathing as he struggled with the truth he did not want to hear. Their daughter was their first-born babe and his truest love: Catya adored her Papa, from the moment she had set eyes on him, and had gentled him in ways even Sansa had not. He was not going to give her up without a fight; and no one in Westeros fought more fiercely than Sandor Clegane.
OMG!
What am I doing?!
Re-Re-Reading the series?
What have you done to me @musingsofaquietmind??
