This was actually a fill for the sansaxsandor livejournal community. Here was the prompt:
"Sansa and Sandor's daughter turns 12, and Sandor has a sudden horrifying realisation that that's how old Sansa was the night of the Blackwater Battle when he pinned her to the bed, thought about trying to have sex with her, and put a dagger to her throat. Cue freak out ."
Warnings: Mentions of rape & thoughts of sex with a minor (even though in medieval times, Sansa was already considered a woman, yuckies!)
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story! They belong to George R.R. Martin.
Laughter echoed through the Godswood, warming his heart. This would not have happened 12 years ago, before his daughter was born. Sansa had smoothed most of the sharp edges within him, but there was still that darkness inside him that just wouldn’t go away. Until Minisa was born. The first time he saw her was terrifying. She was a tiny, pink, screaming ball of fury and no matter how much Sansa had tried to console the newborn, it just did not work. But then the midwife had plopped the child in his arms so his wife could rest and the tiny bundle had quieted immediately, her Tully blue eyes -- the same shade as her mother’s -- boring into his, full of curiosity. This child of his was the first to look upon his face without recoiling. His scars never scared her at all.
That was the day that the ice that encased his heart melted for good.
Minisa was a feisty little thing. And a tomboy to boot. Just like her aunt Arya. Her hair was long and wavy like her mother’s, but it was the same pitch black as her father’s. And it was always in tangles, much to her mother’s dismay. Arya would laugh at the disgruntled look on her sister’s face each time Minisa ran away when Sansa tried to brush her hair. It was an immense source of frustration for his wife and one of amusement for Arya. And himself, if he wanted to be completely honest.