#oops here's most of the rest of the gifs i meant to finish and post uhhhh almost two months ago it's fine everything is fine

[hotasfahrenheit]

oneus - baila conmigo [september 26, 2023]

[ladytp]

(EDIT: Oops, I thought I had posted this already a while ago but apparently forgot, as it still sat in my drafts... D’oh!)

The second and the last chapter of my Sansan Christmas in July 2019 fic to @sincerelydayyy, “Jumping from the Ropes” takes us into the conclusion of this short and hopefully sweet story… “The Jump” is also up at AO3. Merry Christmas in July once again!

Sansa

The Hound had been right: the shit did hit the fan soon after.

Bobby Baratheon suffered a massive cardiac arrest, and while he was recuperating in the hospital, his wife and co-owner Cersei Lannister called a meeting of the WWA board and announced a ‘friendly’ takeover with her and Joffrey at its helm. The board agreed, and sooner than one could say ‘contractual obligations’, Ned Stark was out of a job.

He took it well though, telling Sansa that he preferred not to work for ‘that woman’ anyway. In a family meeting it was decided that Ned would fly home and consider his next step back in the North, while Sansa would finish her semester before following him.

As for the Hound, Sansa saw him in the shows, of course, defending his championship and delivering his characteristic brusque promos, threatening to gut any of the ‘gnats’ who imagined themselves to be a match for him.

He saw her too, often glancing in her direction during the show and between the matches. Sansa was usually seated in the prime seating area – advantages of the Premier Pass she had received from her father and which even Cersei in her pettiness hadn’t revoked. That meant that she was close enough to the action to be fully aware of his looming presence and attention – which, however, was quickly withdrawn when she looked back at him.

Only once had he and Sansa spoken, and that more by accident than by design. She had gone backstage after the show, and when turning the corner, had almost collided with him, only her abrupt halt preventing a head-on crash. Instead, she had found herself eye level with his sweaty, heaving chest, covered with dark hair.

While Sansa had murmured her apologies, he had asked what she was doing there and if she was looking for someone. Then Joffrey had walked past and greeted her – and The Hound had slid away without another word.

Still assailed by the intensity of their meeting at the party, Sansa had stooped as low – as per her usual standards – as to find out everything she could about him from the internet, searching by both his ring-name and his real name, Sandor Clegane. His biography was scanty, he rarely featured in news or articles outside the usual wrestling sites, and his social media presence was non-existent. His only entry on Twitter, apparently forced upon the employees by the WWA, was a one-liner, “So here I am – enjoy”, not followed by any other tweets.

Even adding “girlfriend” after his real or ring-name didn’t bring up any hits in Google – which was unusual by itself. If not real news, most wrestlers’ profiles were inundated with gossip and speculation about who they were dating or not – but not him.

All she could glean from her search was his career development from a solitary youth, who had discovered pro-wrestling as an outlet to whatever demons he had on his back - and now Sansa knew what they were – via indie circles, hard-core death-matches and small promotions, all the way to the WWA. That, and that the cause of his scars was universally accepted to be a house-fire in his bedroom when he had been just a child - just as he had first told. His brother’s – another wrestler in the WWA under the ring-name ‘The Mountain’ – web entries had lots of information about his career, but no hints about the atrocity he had committed.

---

It was the day of Sansa’s departure. She had packed all her belongings and sent most of them ahead by airfreight, leaving only one carry-on bag to take with her on her flight.

She eyed her room for the last time. It had been a good year and she had enjoyed every moment of it, and part of her felt sorry to leave it all behind, but another part was keen to get back home to her family and friends. This year things were going to be different for her: she was going to move away from her parents’ house, possibly with her best friend Jeyne. She was going to focus on finishing her studies, maybe get a part-time job… she was going to start her adult life for real.

Sansa sighed and glanced at her watch. She still had a few more hours to kill before she had to be at the airport so she decided to pay one last visit to her favourite café only a block away.

Stepping out of the front door, she was hit by a blast of brilliant sunshine. The weather was warm and there was a hint of spring in the air, lifting her spirits even higher. The sun in her eyes blinded her so that when she first heard the humming sound of a car engine slowing down beside her and heard a shout, she had to squint her eyes and cover her brow to see better.

“Little Bird!”

The car was big and black, one of those four-wheel utility drives favoured by rugged outdoorsmen and adventurers with extra cash. The tinted side window lowered and she saw the man driving it.

The Hound.

“Hello,” was all she could manage, surprised by his unexpected appearance. Why was he here – had he come to find her? Or maybe it was just a coincidence that he was driving by at that precise moment?

“You have a minute?”

The car had stopped right next to her, but the motor was still running. If she said no, explaining that she was in a hurry, would he take her at her word and drive away?

The thing was, she didn’t feel like saying no.

“I do have a moment, but not much more than that,” she said, bending to peer through the window. She saw the same big black dog on the backseat, its ears perking up as it saw her. The Hound reached for the door handle and with a click, the door opened.

Once Sansa had settled in the seat, the Hound steered the car to the first available parking spot and stopped, this time turning the ignition off. The silence following the death of the motor was deafening - he didn’t even have a radio on.

“So, how are you?” Sansa asked. That’s what people ask after not seeing each other for a while, don’t they?

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re leaving WWA?”

“Everything.” The Hound’s hands rested on the steering wheel, which looked awfully small in comparison. The backs of his hands were hairy but his fingers were unexpectedly long and there was something delicate in the way he slowly rubbed the spokes of the wheel, probably not even realising he was doing it.

“I told Cersei she can shove my contract where the sun doesn’t shine and packed my bags. I’m done with the Baratheons and Lannisters.”

Well, he had told her so, so Sansa wasn’t terribly surprised.

“What do you plan to do?” she asked, out of genuine interest.

“Don’t know yet. I could be a free agent for a while, wrestle in indie circles.” He looked at Sansa then. “I think I’ll leave the city, go somewhere else for a while. North, maybe.”

Sansa’s heart started to race. It was quite ridiculous, really. What was it to her what he decided to do? In the name of mutual sharing, she decided, however, to tell him about her plans.

“I’m leaving too. As a matter of fact, I have to be at the airport shortly for my flight to Wintertown.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Cersei told me.”

“She did?” Sansa remembered mentioning her departure in the parting email she had sent to Bobby and Cersei. They had been welcoming to her and her father when they had first arrived and it was only good manners to bid them farewell, no matter how things between their families had ended. Besides, Ned and Bobby’s friendship still endured, and Bobby had sworn to pay his old friend a visit as soon as he had recovered enough to do so.

The Hound turned to her fully. “I could give you a ride.”

“That’s very nice of you, but I’ll be fine. I only have a carry-on bag and I can easily take an Uber,” Sansa said.

She wouldn’t have really minded accepting the offer, but what would have been the point of it? They were probably not going to see each other again, and the awkwardness of their interactions was unlikely to pass during the short drive to the airport. There was something between them, Sansa had realised over the last few weeks, something that had been ignited that evening at the university party. Something unsure and fragile, something that was more of a promise of potential rather than a thing on its own.

Yet it didn’t matter. Even should he move to the North and wrestle there, their life situations were so far apart that…

“I didn’t mean to the airport.”

Sansa’s trail of thought was so abruptly interrupted, she was confused at first. If not to the airport, then –

Oh!

“You can’t mean Wintertown? It’s halfway across the country!”

“I know.” Seemingly realising that it was not enough, The Hound continued. “I like driving. And I’d hate to confine Stranger in one of those crates for the flight. And I couldn’t leave him behind.” He reached to scratch the ear of the dog, who had poked its head between the seats. Sansa looked at the dog warily. Those breeds had a reputation, after all.

“Go on, pat him. He’s a big sook,” The Hound urged – and she did. The dog’s fur was silky and soft and its nose, when it sniffed her hand, was cold and wet. Tentatively, it licked her fingers.

Sansa’s head was whirling. For her, the notion was crazy. It would take at least four or five days to drive up, whereas in a plane it would be a matter of hours. She would be back at home this same night, embraced by her mother and her many siblings. Why should she even consider such an offer?

“That’s a very long drive,” she offered. As if he didn’t know.

“They say the route along the coast is pretty. And the scenery in the Vale is supposed to be breathtaking. I might take a few side trips. Haven’t seen enough of this country, as it is.”

The Hound glanced out of the window, which he had wound down when they had stopped. He might have appeared nonchalant and not caring a whit whether Sansa accepted his offer or not, but his fingers, tapping against the wheel at an increasing tempo, gave him away.

He is nervous, Sansa realised, to her astonishment. And something warm started to bloom inside her chest.

Every sensible brain cell in her head screamed 'NO' – it would be the height of stupidity to ditch the plane and join a man she hardly knew for such a long ride. Gods, if her mother knew she was even passingly contemplating it, she would have a fit.

And yet, every cell in her body and every nerve-ending that was ignited by his proximity screamed 'YES'.

She would be safe with him. It didn’t make sense to think so, but deep in her core, Sansa knew it to be so. True, he was a gamble, all odds stacked against him – but maybe he was worth the risk.

“Okay, then,” she breathed out.

The fingers stopped their drumming and The Hound stiffened. His eyes widened and brows lifted so high that it actually looked a bit comical, and Sansa had to stifle her instinct to giggle.

“Okay what?”

“I accept your offer. I need to call the airline to cancel my ticket – luckily it’s fully flexible – and get my bag from my room, and then we can be on our way.” She glanced at the back of the car and saw two large suitcases and a couple of boxes. “Do you have all your stuff with you already?”

“You’re for real?” The Hound stared at her, brows furrowed. “I mean… we wouldn’t have to take any side tours. And we could drive just as fast and directly as you want. And stay in proper hotels for the nights – in separate rooms, of course.”

Was that a flush creeping up his face? Sansa’s amusement grew. He was like a dog chasing after a car, who didn’t know what to do when one actually stopped.

“I’d certainly hope so; I hardly know you. But side trips would be fine. I haven’t seen enough of this country myself.”

Getting no answer from his flustered companion, Sansa clutched her handbag in her lap and straightened herself in her seat. “Well, I better get my things and make the necessary calls. Can you take us into the parking lot next to my building, the big red one in front of which you saw me?”

It took a moment longer before The Hound acted, turning the ignition on and manoeuvring the car around.

“What should I call you, then? I think ‘The Hound’ may not be quite appropriate. I know your real name is Sandor – do you mind if I call you that?” Sansa asked while he was reversing into an empty spot.

“Ah, yeah, sure – call me Sandor,” he muttered, seemingly still in shock at the turn of events.

“My name is Sansa, not a Little Bird. Can you wait for just a moment, Sandor? I’ll be right back.”

When Sansa climbed the stairs to her room, something vibrant and exciting started to bubble inside her. She felt lightheaded and couldn’t stop grinning. The whole thing was outlandish and bizarre and against all common sense.

It was… as if she had just climbed up the turnbuckle again and was standing high up, looking into the bright lights of the stadium, into the middle of the ring, so far away. She was nervous, she was anxious – but it felt right. Sandor was going to be there to catch her if she leapt.

It was time to jump from the ropes.

                            -- THE END --