"What do you want, woman?" he snarled the moment he recognized the figure behind the door.
"Let me in. We need to talk." she said, her hands crossed in front of her, the finger of her left hand tapping impatiently. He had enough of her ‘talk’ all those years ago.
"I think the fuck not." he said and attempted to bang the door close on her face.
She smacked her palm on the wood of the door and he glared at her incredulity.
"It's about the divorce, Sandor. We need to talk.” She insisted.
"Now that you have downed the glass of water, care to tell me what the fuck is going on?" He was seething. When she left, he kept the hope of her coming back alive in his heart. He assumed it to be momentary anger. He didn’t believe that when she left, she would be able to survive on her own. She had to come back. She had to come back to him.
And she never did. She didn’t come back.
And here she was now. Knocking at his front door, asking to be let in. Even now, the first thing she wanted to talk about what the fucking divorce.
She wiped her lip delicately with her thumb and kept the glass on the table beside her. Her legs were clasped tightly in that skirt she wore and she looked immaculate. Like a soccer mom. Pretentious, that was the word for it.
"Well, I um, I went to the courthouse the other day....for some work. And the clerk there told me that we were still married. He said that you never filed for a divorce."
"Well of course I didn't. You were the one who stomped out of this house. You were the one who left. Something about me being an 'insufferable bastard' and our arrangement being 'destined to fail'" he imitated her voice by making his voice annoyingly high pitched and the look of displeasure she shot at him thrilled his core and gave him a twisted sort of satisfaction. "You should have filed for the fucking divorce if you wanted it so much."
"Don't you dare put it all on me, Sandor Clegane! Both of us agreed that our....arrangement was short term."
He snorted at her. 'Short term'. Of course it was 'short term' for her.
"Whatever, Little Bird. Since you are so eager to get rid of me, go file those papers. I will sign wherever they ask me to. And since everything is so 'short term' for you, I hope your stay today is too. Goodbye." He said and moved past her towards the staircase.
"You have to come down with me, Sandor. They need us both to be there."
He rolled his eyes and groaned at her. Why couldn’t she do this on her own? “Fine” he gritted between his teeth.
"My car is right outs-"
"Fuck no! I ain't driving in your stupid car. Get in mine." he said, grabbing the keys off the hook by the door and walking away towards the car. There was no point in changing. Let the courthouse see how pathetic he was. That is ragged jeans and stained tee and her polished high end workplace attire didn’t fit together. Let the courthouse see exactly why they weren’t meant to be.
"Do you not need to lock the door?" she asked behind him.
"Changed the locks a year ago. Besides, no one's going to take anything from my place." he said and muttered to himself under his breath. "Everything of value has been taken away from me anyway."
He kept sneaking glances at her. She had changed. Physically, for sure. Bigger tits, longer hair, better shaped waist. A vision. To be fair, when he took her away, she wasn’t the most taken care of. Her waist had been too narrow, her bones prominent, her hair brittle and her face just constantly tired. Now her skin was better, her face more shapely. The sharp, high cheekbones didn’t look haunting now that her cheeks weren’t hollow and her eyes weren’t caked with dark circles.
"So, um, how have you been, uh, doing?"
He snorted. Still a little bird then. Dutifully asking him about his life. As though she didn’t completely wreck him by walking out the door.
"You don't need to make conversation. We go to the court. Get a divorce. And go separate ways. You don't have to be nice, Little Bird."
"It's just a question, Sandor. Don't need to get worked up on it." she muttered and turned to look out of the window.
Worked up? Worked up? She left him. Left. Him. And now she was going to waltz in here and ask him how he was doing?
"Aye? Why? What do you want to know about, what did you call it that day, 'my animal life'? You wanna know about all the horse shit I have to clean daily? You want to hear about that with your shitty upper class mentality? You want to hear about how your husband works with animals instead of being a lawyer or an accountant or an investor? Huh?" By the end of his rant, he could practically feel clouds of smoke erupt from his ears. Fuck. Why was he so worked up about this woman?
"Don't say it like that, Sandor. You know I never had a problem with your work. I respected the hard labour you put into your work every day."
"Aye. Respected it so much that you fucking walked out just like that!" he snarled, almost losing control of the car. The car swerved off the lane and her hands shot out to grasp the dashboard. He tightened his grip on the wheel and steered the car on the right path.
Sansa clutched the dashboard with white knuckles. "Focus on the road. Yell at me later."
"Don't tell me what to fucking do." he snapped at her, focusing on the road nonetheless.
“Ah I see.” The man said sagely. Well, calling him a man would be a blatant insult to any able-bodied person out there. A corpse, that’s what he resembled. Every inch of his skin was sagging and he looked like he was a day away from death. The Stranger himself was probably his next appointment. Of course that it what happened when you chose a career at the citadel as a lawyer and then spent decades working with the Faith only to become a Family Lawyer of the Seven at the end of it all.
“And you both subscribe to the Faith of the Seven?”
Fuck. He took ages to spit out a sentence. He leaned back in the chair, a hand on his forehead, contemplating his decision of coming here.
“Well, I also subscribe to the Old Gods too but the marriage was done under the Faith of the Seven rituals in a small sept.” Sansa described with utmost patience while Sandor sat there wondering if he could shake the last remaining energy from the man and get him to fucking approve of the divorce.
“Hmm.” The man hummed and sipped his tea at the pace of a turtle. “Your situation is complicated, my children. You both barely lived together for, what was it,” he ruffled through the papers in front of him. “Ah, yes, you lived together for 73 days and then separated. You barely even settled down before separating. It is a delicate matter. I cannot truly assign that you aren’t compatible before I permit you to seek divorce.” He nodded sadly.
Fuck his sagging balls. “What part of a marriage that lasted 73 days seem compatible to you, old hag?” Sandor asked.
The man gasped dramatically and Sansa moved ahead in her seat.
“What he meant was that….we aren’t compatible, your honor. We have….a lot of differences. We have both moved on in life.”
“If you have so much of difference, why did you get married in the first place?” the man asked.
The man and the woman hesitated, glancing around the room, evading the searching eyes of the man seated in front of them.
“There must have been some bond that solidified your relationship back then. And the way I see it, it would be wrong to leave it completely unacknowledged.”
“What do you suggest we do, your honour?” Sansa asked with a sigh.
The man opened a thick book and began ruffling through the pages, his corpse-y fingers tracing the words. The man took his sweet time hanging the fate of the young couple uncertain. After a while, he proclaimed victory.
“Ah there it is. Yes. Unrequited love. You must spend two weeks under the same roof. Live in the same house, sleep on the same bed, share your grief and your celebrations. A marriage is a bond held to the highest of sanctity by the Faith. We do not want young couples to see instances like yours as an example and lose their faith in love. I grant you two weeks to spend time in amicable company, perhaps talk some of your issues out. If by the end of it, you still want to end your relationship, the Faith of the Seven will process a request for divorce.”
The room fell into silence a second before both man and woman began speaking over each other.
“Your honour, please you don’t understand…..”
“Aint no way in fuck I am living with her again…..”
“Please your honour, I have unfinished business back at….”
“See! She wants to leave already! Again! Let her fucking go, you corpse….”
“Please, your honour, I can’t stay here for two weeks…”
The man very easily let their requests fill the room as he raised his stamp and banged it on the paper, the red of the stamp a stark contrast to the monotone black and white of the paper.