The Song of the Winter Princess

By Princess Angelita

*Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Game of Thrones TV series or the Song of Ice and Fire books. I have only taken the liberty of using the characters.

*Storylines from both the books and the TV series. For example, Robb is not married to Jeyne Westerling, because I think Talisa Maegyr has more personality. The Shae from the TV series is also depicted.

SANSA

She was frightened as she made her way down the corridor towards her room, green-orange light from the wildfire outside flickering around her, illuminating her way. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard another BOOM from the exploding ships in Blackwater Bay and she stopped, cowering by the wall as a fresh wave of screams echoed through the night. Half sobbing, Sansa picked up her skirts and began to run. The tapestries and stone walls glowed eerily in the green light, making her think of whitewalkers and wargs and all the other frightening tales Old Nan had ever told. The thought of something leaping from the shadows to grab her filled her with a terror she had never known and she ran faster. By the time she was at her door, she was clutching her stomach, her gut churning from all the wine Queen Cersei had made her drink. Her head spun as she grasped the latch and pulled the door open so she could stumble through.

Sansa leaned against her door for a moment before turning and bolting it closed. She could feel her heart beating hard against her chest and she sank to the floor, clutching her knees to her chin. She began rocking back and forth slowly, trying to calm her shattered nerves. Father, Mother, Lady . . . she thought. I am going to die tonight. The thought of her direwolf brought her strength and she pulled herself slowly to her knees, then her feet. She waited a moment for her head to stop spinning before she felt her way through the darkness to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her hand flew to her mouth. Blackwater Bay was a sea of green wildfire and orange-red burning ships. Men were shrieking in pain, a high-pitched, gruesome sound that made her feel sick again. She could hear the sounds of battle echoing from outside the Red Keep: horses whinnying and screaming, men shouting, the rasping of metal on metal, and the moans of the dying above the loud crackle of the fire. Sansa gripped the windowsill and closed her eyes. I am a Stark. In me is the blood of the First Men and direwolves and the old gods still protect me. I must be brave. I must be brave.

"I knew you would come," a haggard male voice whispered from the direction of her bed.

Sansa screamed and flipped around, for a moment thinking the queen had sent Ser Ilyn for her head after all. She could barely make out a shape in the shadows, until another flash of green lit up the room and she could make out a dirty, scarred face.

"Ser . . . Ser Sandor . . ."

"I told you before, I am no ser," Sandor Clegane growled as he reached for a wineskin on the table by her bed, taking a long swig and staring at her balefully.

His craggy face lit up again as another BOOM resounded through the night. Once, the sight of his face scared her, but now all Sansa could feel was an odd sense of total safety. She hadn't felt so safe since being at home in Winterfell, surrounded by her brothers Jon and Robb and her strong, brave, honorable father Lord Eddard. Memories flitted through her mind of the others who had kept her and Winterfell safe: Ser Rodrick Cassel, his son Jory, her father's ward Theon Greyjoy, Alyn and Fat Tom, Wyl and Heward, Desmond and Cayne, Hullen and Harwin . . . and all the others who had protected her once, and now were dead or lost to her.

She stared into his eyes as the Hound approached her, coming to stand within inches of her body, reeking of wine, wet wool and blood, leather and dirt and sweat. Her fear dissipated, replaced by an unease she couldn't place. Am I anxious for myself, or him? Her heart fluttered wildly.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked quietly. "Have you been wounded, ser? Shall I find a maester?"

"I never got that song," he whispered, ignoring her questions as he tugged gently on a strand of her hair that had come loose during her mad flight to her room.

His words weren't what she expected and she stared at him, confused. He tugged her hair harder. "Sing for me, little bird. Sing now."

"What . . . what song would you like to hear, my lord?" Sansa heard herself whisper. Her knees began to tremble as he touched a fading bruise on her cheek, another on her collarbone, the result of Robb's victory over Jamie Lannister.

He said nothing, only looked down at her as if he would know every secret she possessed, as if he knew how she looked without her smallclothes on. The thought made her blush.

"I know The Bear and the Maiden Fair very well; would you have me sing it, my lord?" she blurted out.

He drew closer, putting his hands around her neck with a gesture that was in no way threatening. Why is he trembling? she thought as her heartbeat sped up. She was sure he could feel her pulse beating wildly under his huge palm and looked down in embarrassment.

"No," the Hound said harshly. "Another. And I told you, bugger my lord."

"Which song would you have me sing?" Sansa whispered.

He said nothing, only looked at her. She thought for a moment.

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war we pray, stay the arrows and stay the swords, let them know another day," Sansa sang quietly. "Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray . . ."

He cupped her chin in her hand and forced her to look at him. His finger touched her lips, then the bruises once more before he stepped away from her, breathing heavily.

"Little bird, I am leaving King's Landing. Bugger the queen, bugger the king, and bugger this bloody wildfire. If you want to go home, I will take you to Winterfell or to your wolf brother if you'd rather."

Sansa's heart stopped. "Wh . . . what?"

The Hound turned to her and laughed before taking another swig of wine. "What, you don't want to go home, little bird? Want to stay here, remain the queen's little dove, soon to be the little king's fucktoy? Ha!" He drank again. "Better put something in that mouth if you're going to let it hang open like that."

He offered her the wineskin and she took it without thinking, drinking deeply. The alcohol warmed her insides and she set the wineskin down, clasping her trembling hands together as she tried to understand exactly what he meant.

"Why? Why would you take me home?" Sansa was half convinced he was japing, thinking that even during the middle of a battle Joffrey would think of ways to torture her. And what better way than to tease me with the promise of home, only to punish me when I was caught? There was something sincere in his expression, however. She could tell that something had changed about him.

"If you don't leave, that great arsehole Joffrey will kill you," the Hound said bluntly. "He'll bed you first, have you beaten as he did those whores . . ." He scowled and took another drink. "Or beat you, and then bed you. Either way, it will end with your death. The boy always got tired of his toys sooner rather than later."

She stared at him, one hand clasping her throat. "But why? Why would you help me? You're sworn to Joffrey!"

He didn't answer, turning instead to the wineskin. Sansa looked at him, really looked, and for the first time saw who he really was. The boy whose own brother held his face into the flames, who had never known a mother's love, who had lost both sister and father in mysterious circumstances. The man who was sworn shield to the cruelest boy she had ever known. The man who killed Arya's friend Mycah, who had killed so many others without a fleeting thought. The man who told her himself that he loved to kill. But he was also the man who had saved Ser Loras Tyrell during her father's tourney, who tried many times to manipulate Joffrey into letting her be. The man who lied for her on Joffrey's nameday, and lied again to Ser Boros the night she met Ser Dontos in the godswood. She remembered the day she had been stripped and beaten, how the Hound refused to hit her, how he had given her his cloak when Lord Tyrion forced Joffrey to stop his humiliation of her. He had killed men for her, rescued her from rape, and now he was asking her to leave with him. For a moment she was still, and then it was as if her body moved of its own accord. She took two steps and was in front of him, the man who had done his best to keep her safe.

By all the gods, I love him, she thought incredulously. And he loves me! He has to! She thought of the way his eyes were always on her, the gentle way he tended her cut lip, how he had warned her when Joffrey was especially wroth.

"Sandor," she whispered, reaching tentatively to cup his scarred cheek in her hand. "Why would you help me?" Sansa was sure she knew the answer, but something deep inside her needed to hear him say it aloud.

A great shudder passed through his body before he snorted and turned away.

"Sandor . . ."

He glared at her. "Stop saying my name like that," he whispered hoarsely.

She was confused. Does he not understand, or . . . am I wrong? Maybe he doesn't love me. Sansa blushed in embarrassment and she took a step back, staggering a little as she felt the effects of too much wine.

"Do you want to leave or no?" the Hound asked gruffly, his eyes on her face.

She couldn't answer for the lump in her throat, and watched him silently as he studied her. An expression of hurt and rejection briefly crossed his face before he scowled, turning to pick up his sword and wineskin. As his hand reached for the door handle, Sansa felt her world shatter into the same terrible, heart-wrenching pain and utter panic she had felt the moment her father's head fell from his body. Sandor Clegane was leaving her, and she had hurt him, the man who had kept her alive. She thought of the way his arms felt around her the day he carried her to safety, how her fear had immediately gone away the moment he picked her up.

I hurt him. I hurt him. He thinks I don't love him.

"Sandor," Sansa murmured, "don't go." Suddenly, she was absolutely sure of what she wanted.

He turned just as she reached for the clasp of her bodice with trembling hands.

"Please," she begged as her dress fell from her body, "don't leave me. I need you."

He took a step towards her and stopped, staring at her with a shocked expression before he averted his gaze. "Little bird, what in the name of the gods . . ."

"Sandor. Please." She held out a hand. "Please."

The Hound shuddered and wiped his brow, still looking away. "I will take you with me and return you to your family, girl. I won't take your maidenhead. Put your clothes back on."

She shook her head. "No. I want . . . I want this. Sandor . . . I want . . . I want you."

"I said I would take you home!" he said gruffly. "You don't need to . . ."

Sansa walked to him slowly, put a hand on his shoulder. "You have seen me naked before. When Joffrey had me beaten. Why look away now?"

He shook his head. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do. I do want to go with you. But . . ." She looked up at him, blue eyes pleading. "If you take me, and we are caught, Joffrey will do something horrible to both of us. Please. I refuse to give my maidenhead to him. I want to give it to . . . to someone I love. Sandor, I want to give it to you. Only you. Now, while I have the chance to. Now, before anything horrible happens."

Sandor Clegane groaned and turned away from her. "You lie."

"I know I love you," Sansa said softly. "I want you to love me. I want to show you the truth."

"You are lying, girl, and anyway, I will not dishonor you."

"You will not dishonor me by allowing me to give my maidenhead to the man I love."

"Sansa," he whispered.

Her name on his lips made her heart soar like she had been waiting her entire life to hear it said that way. It was then she knew, beyond a doubt, that the man who she belonged to stood right before her. The knowledge took her breath away. He has to believe me.

"Sandor," Sansa began hesitantly, "my love. Take me and keep me safe."

"You don't love me, you couldn't!" the Hound growled. "You dream of knights and maids and brave deeds, girl, of songs and sers and stupid pretty things."

"All my life I dreamed of marrying a man who would love me, who was brave and would protect me, someone fierce and loyal and loving," Sansa whispered. She took a step toward him. "You are brave, and fierce. You would be loyal to me, if you loved me. You have protected me, Sandor Clegane, but you have never been loving." She took another step and looked him in the eyes. "Do you love me? Will you be loyal, and loving to me?"

The Hound stared at her, incredulity spreading over his stricken face. He shook his head.

"You don't believe me, but I don't believe you. I know you love me. You have to. Because all I want is the man of my dreams, and the man of my dreams is you. If you don't love me, then Joffrey can do his worst, because I don't want to live. I have survived the loss of so many people I loved . . ." she broke off with a small sob and half turned away. "I don't think I can survive the loss of you." Sansa closed her eyes to hide her tears.

She felt him taking her white shoulders in his huge hands and drawing her to him. His mouth came to her forehead, her cheek, and then her neck and she would have fallen were it not for his strong arms keeping her upright. "Sandor," she moaned as his mouth met her own.

It was like there was no one else in the world but the two of them. She could no longer hear the screams of the people outside or the roar of the fire. All thoughts of the queen or Joffrey or the Kingsguard disappeared as he kissed her and she kissed him back, marveling at how her hands moved of their own accord to entwine her fingers in his soft black hair. "Sandor," she moaned again as he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

"Little bird," the Hound whispered in her ear before his mouth began its descent down her body, "by all the gods, are you sure?"

"By all the gods, yes," she whispered back, "oh yes."

"Blessed Maid, how do I deserve this?" she heard him murmur when his lips brushed over her navel.

Sansa couldn't think, couldn't breathe as his hot breath touched her womanhood seconds before his tongue and mouth began their movements. She thought she screamed then, but was not sure, the ecstasy she was feeling made everything slow and dreamlike. When his mouth found its way back to her neck, she was surprised to find her hands tangled in his hair, gripping his shoulders like she would never let him go. The feeling of his callused hands trailing down her body made her shudder. She tensed as he stroked her gently before sliding a finger inside her. The sounds that came from her throat reminded her of an animal in pain, but she couldn't stop them as he moved his finger back and forth. Suddenly he was between her thighs, and there was a brief pain as he entered her. His thumb brushed lightly against a spot on her womanhood that made her body turn to jelly, and she was carried away on a sea of bliss. When she could think again, she found that she had somehow gotten herself on top of him, bouncing up and down like she was riding a horse as he gazed up at her in wonder. She blushed a little, ashamed of seeming wanton, but then his hands gripped her hips and all ability to use her brain melted.

"My Sansa," he moaned, "my little bird."

He said the words and she was off into a haze of pleasure, his hands on her breasts and thighs, rearing up as she bore down, her hands were digging into his chest and raising welts on his hard stomach, then she was beneath him again and he was holding her close, nuzzling her neck and moving to suckle her breasts. The Hound shuddered and buried his face into her neck as he groaned one last time.

She lay beneath him, her breath coming in little pants. "I never . . . never thought . . . anything could feel . . . like that!" Sansa whispered, staring at his lips. When he didn't answer she met his gaze questioningly. "My love?"

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Say it again."

"Say what? My love?"

"Yes, little bird."

She put both hands on his cheeks and trailed her fingers down his jawline. "My love.'

He stared down at her. "Again."

Sansa smiled and pulled his face down into a kiss. "My love. My Sandor. My one and only love," she murmured against his lips.

Sandor Clegane pulled back and stared into her eyes. "You are sure."

She nodded. "I haven't . . . haven't felt sure about anything in my life, really." Her voice sounded sure and true. "But you, Sandor, you did something to me. Before I came here, I used to dream of knights in beautiful armor, troubadours singing songs, of feasts and jousts and picnics. After my lord father died, I have been scared every moment I was awake, and dreamed of blood and pain and death when I slept. Knowing you made me realize what I really want. Who I belong to, and who I should trust. My dreams were dreams, not reality. My love, I want to be yours. Marry me. Let me love and serve you for the rest of my life, and I will die a happy woman knowing I belonged to Sandor Clegane."

It was shocking. One minute he was looking at her, the next, his face was buried in her breasts and she could feel wetness on her skin.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, murderer of hundreds, was crying.