#got sansa

I hope this is okay nonny. Thank you for sending this in. 

The silence between Sandor and Sansa, while they walked through Winterfell, was peaceful. Even with the carnage left over from the battle with the Night King, things were beginning to heal. Winterfell was starting to feel like home again to Sansa now that her adversaries were gone. She briefly glanced at the dungeons where she left Ramsay Bolton to his fate, being ravaged by dogs. The stench of his blood still permeated in her nose when she thought back on it. 

“May I ask you something?” Sansa piped up, deciding to distract herself. Sandor huffed, looking down towards her briefly as they continued their walk. It had become a ritual between them since the battle ended. A bit of a catharsis for the two damaged souls. 

“You can ask me anything, little bird,” Sandor said. “But don’t go telling that to everyone.” 

Sansa suppressed a laugh, hiding it behind a smile. “When you were beyond the Wall, what got you through it?”

Sandor furrowed his brows, raising one as he looked at Sansa. The question took him back as he let out a laugh. 

“What kind of a fucking question is that?”

“An honest one.” Sansa retorted. She was gentle, nonetheless. 

Sandor had to give her credit where it was due. She could put up with a lot, especially coming from him. He let out a sigh, trying to compose his thoughts. A lot had happened up there.

“It was fucking cold. For once, I thought about how good the warmth of the flame felt. I needed to stay alive. Until I take care of my brother, I have to live. Then there was the ice--” Hesitation crossed his features as Sandor stopped. Sansa followed suite. 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asked concern in her features while Sandor nodded. 

Sansa could see there was a conflict in his eyes as he looked her over. Biting his bottom lip, Sandor forced himself to look at her face. There was a grace to his features that made him look gentle like he had never seen hardships. 

“I have looked for your face in the patterns of the ice.” Sandor said. 

“That helped you?” Sansa asked quietly.

Sandor nodded. “Aye, it did.”

They both looked away from each other, taking in their surroundings as warm smiles graced both their faces. Cheeks warm with blood. After some time, Sandor cleared his throat and gestured to Sansa as she stared at him. 

“C’mon little bird. We best get moving.”

Coming right up for ya! :D

Sansa was never much of a fight when compared to Arya, but the two sisters found themselves having a friendly competition in the courtyard of Winterfell. The Night King was defeated, the North was safe, it was time to unwind besides for drinking and being merry. They needed to blow off steam as well considering the nature of Jon’s relationship with the Dragon Queen, both women were not entirely comfortable with the Mother of Dragons just yet. 

While Arya was using needle, Sansa was using a long sword. She had a hard time balancing with it, but Arya was a great teacher and would correct her stances while they dueled. Sansa was growing frustrated nonetheless. Fighting was never her forte, well it was, but only in mind thanks to Littlefinger. She found that to be more powerful than the sword. If one could beat someone with their mind, then they win the game overall but Sansa had come to admire her sister's stance on things. She could easily see where Arya got her passion for it. The challenge, the physical anguish to wield such things was something Arya thrived on. 

“Sansa!” Arya exclaimed, as Sansa swung the sword but then lost her grip. The weapon went flinging, going through the air like a boomerang and it met with Sandor’s chest as he made his way to the courtyard. He let out a huff, not expecting the onslaught and fell back. Arya and Sansa looked at each other, then quickly went to his side. Arya kept her distance nonetheless as Sansa began making her rounds at apologizing. 

Sandor made a face, groaning as he picked up the blade and handed it to Sansa. She took it carefully while watching Sandor look over his armor. The sword managed to pierce through a weak spot in his chest plate, going through the material of his shirt and knicking a bit of flesh. 

Letting out a gruff huff, he looked up at her knowingly. “Next time stab more flesh, less cloth.” 

If Sansa didn’t know any better, he was being sarcastic. 

“Do you need help?” Sansa offered as he brushed her away.

“No, no. Go back to playing with swords little bird. I’m fine.” Sandor said, almost gently as he watched Sansa nod and move her way back to Arya. He smiled, feeling a little proud of her as he got up. 

“Girl’s gonna be the death of me one fucking day.” Sandor murmured to himself as he limped, trying to catch his breath. 

“My heart has frosts that kill / Let’s see if I can bloom, next summer,”