Another morning dawns and still no sign of Sandor, who left camp a sennight past in search of provisions. Each night Sansa's dreams are plagued by visions of a flaming sword cutting through the darkness. Just as the young woman begins worrying in earnest, she catches sight of Sandor leading Stranger by the reins, his normally assured gait unbalanced and slow.
"You are sick," Sansa's voice rises in panic, taking in his pale pallor and normally keen eyes bright with fever.
"Bugger that," Sandor curses, staggering over to a fallen log. "Not sick-burned."
Slowly she removes the filthy bandage from his arm. "Who did this?"
"The fucking Lord of Light, Beric Dondarrion, and his fiery sword." Smirking, Sandor wickedly laughs before wincing in pain. "I cut him damn near in half for it, too. I hope his god is a sweet one."
"Never mind that now. You need to rest."
After midnight Sansa awakens to the sound of Sandor incoherently calling for her, the man lost in his fevered dreams. Not knowing what else to do, Sansa leads Stranger to a nearby inn.
"My husband is ill. We need the best room you have for a least a week and a tub if you have it. Would you be willing to bring up meals as well?"
The old Crannogman's eyes light up at the full pouch of coin she places in his hand. "Aye, I'll have the boy bring up the tub. We have meals twice a day, and cheese and bread at noon; does that suit?"
"Oh, yes, that is fine, thank you. Please deliver them as they are served," Sansa says. "I can pay for it."
The innkeeper's wife, Millie, stays by Sansa's side and helps the young woman care for Sandor by applying healing herbs and oil to the wounds, but to no avail. Though his arm shows signs of healing, the man's fever rages on, seemingly resistant to all the usual means of curing the affliction.
"Your man is in a bad way, lass." The innkeeper's wife comments darkly while watching him thrash and moan in the bed on the third day. "If that fever don't break soon, he'll pass on."
"No!" Sansa gasps, horrified. "Please, tell me: what can I do?"
"Strip off your clothes and climb under the covers. Take him in your arms and your body heat will help break the fever, mark my words."
Does she dare try it? Sansa glances over at him, ringing her hands, propriety and necessity warring within her.
"No time to waste, lass. Get in there and help your husband," the old woman orders, closing the door behind her.
Slowly Sansa removes her clothes and lies down beside him, gently cradling him in her arms. "Mother, save him if you can," she whispers into his hair, gliding her hands over his fevered skin.
Later that afternoon, the fever breaks, covering them both in sweat. Sandor awakens to discover they are both naked, his head resting on Sansa's bare breast. She is humming softly as she gently untangles the knots from his hair.
"Am I in in the Seven heavens?" She hears him laugh sharply against her skin. Slowly he lifts his head to meet her eyes with a grin.
"My love, you are awake at last! Thank the Mother!" She cries, kissing his upturned face.
Sandor chuckles wickedly as he eagerly kisses her back. "I dreamed of you," he growls low, his eyes darkening with passion as he heatedly takes in her naked body, savoring the feel of their damp skins clinging to each other. "Now I know why. Bloody hells, how did we end up like this?"
"The innkeeper and his wife-I told them we are husband and wife so they would let us share a room. After your fever lasted three days, Millie said it would help break the fever if we shared warmth," Sansa stammers, her face reddening. "I-I was desperate, I had to try it- you were out of your head and nothing else had worked. She said you might die."
Chuckling, he draws back to look at her lush body. "Don't worry your pretty head over it, Little bird, I'm not complaining." After a moment, he caresses her face, allowing his fingers to trace her cheekbone, down her neck and then over the swell of her breast.
A sigh of pleasure escapes her lips, earning another sharp laugh from Sandor. "Such an eager Little bird. What would your septa say?"
Blushing, she traces her finger over the hardened muscles of his forearm. "Sandor, are you certain you should, um, excite yourself just yet?"
"Aye, I broke a fever, true enough, but you awakened another, lass," he rasps, bending his head to kiss her breast, eagerly running his tongue over her nipple in slow circles. Sansa arches into him, feeling his manhood harden against her thigh.
"You'd better move away from me now, Sansa, while I still can control myself," he mutters, rolling away from her.
Staring into his eyes, Sansa holds onto him and shakes her head slowly. "Sandor, please, do not stop," she beseeches, wrapping her legs around his waist. "I am ready for this. I wish to belong to you completely."
"Are you certain, Little bird?" He barely manages, pulling her tightly against his chest.
"I am," she blushingly holds his gaze while lowering her hips until the tip of his manhood rests at the entrance of her woman's place. "The entire time you were gone I regretted we had waited for our intimacy. Why did I insist on it? For marriage and a wedded night that would have never been had you died?"
"You wanted a vow before the gods so you wouldn't end up in the Seven hells, remember?" He laughs, the sound bitter and low. "Don't you fear the so-called gods anymore?"
"Yes, I do, but the gods know I have long since promised myself to you. I thought I had lost my chance to love you properly; I will not miss another," Sansa whispers, breathing heavily as she pushes him further into her body until his body is stopped by her maiden's veil.
Trembling uncontrollably, Sandor grasps her hips firmly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. "Sansa, you've got to tell me if you wish me to stop now, while I still can."
"Don't stop, Sandor," she whispers against his mouth, the wetness of her arousal soaking him. Slowly she inches down onto his manhood, drawing a loud gasp from Sandor as her body tightens around his member.
"Sansa," he breathes out. "Are you certain?"
"Make me yours, my love." She moans, plunging her hips downward on his cock, biting down on his shoulder in pain as he thrusts into her, breaking her maiden's veil.
"Little bird," he chokes out while panting heavily, the man overwhelmed by the feel of her wet center tightly squeezing his manhood. "Gods, so tight." Groaning, he rolls her over on top of him. Running his hands over her thighs and hips, he then cups her bottom and urges her to move. "Rock your hips against me. Take your pleasure."
Sansa tentatively begins moving her hips over his length, crying out as Sandor rises to meet her. The initial sting of losing her maidenhead is soon replaced by a sweet ache building inside her core. "Sandor, my love, I need-" she sobs, clinging to him as he flips her over onto her back.
Sandor cannot resist pumping deeply into her, and before he can move away, his cock pulses, spilling his seed inside her. "Fuck, forgive me, Sansa, you deserve better than that," he sighs. "It's just been so long and damn me, this is the first time I've-I've never done this with a woman that I-" he finally manages in between heated kisses while Sansa arches against him.
Caressing her breast and down her thigh, Sandor then slowly kisses his way down to the apex of her thighs. Dipping his head between her legs, he tenderly circles his tongue over her swollen clit. Crying out, Sansa wriggles against him with abandon, lost in the delicious sensations of Sandor's tongue.
Rhythmically he begins moving three long fingers inside her while laving her folds, sucking gently on her nub until Sansa writhes against him, sobbing out as her entire body shudders with the pleasure of her first release.
"I-I didn't know that could happen," she shyly smiles at him. Sandor tweaks her chin, his grating laugh resounding through the room. "Aye, I'll make sure it does."
"Shh; what will the innkeeper think if he hears us?"
"That you're fucking the Hound and enjoying it," he grins at her, rolling her onto her side and pulling her against his chest.
After her breathing returns to normal, Sansa dozes off in his arms, only to be awakened by Sandor thrusting against her thigh as his mouth hungrily searches for hers.
"Are you sure you are well enough?"
"What do you think?" Sandor's mouth twists into a devilish grin, grinding against her.
Sansa rolls him onto his back and straddles his lap, steading herself by holding his hands, lacing her fingers through his own. Her embarrassment forgotten, she rides him hard and fast until both of them reach their second peaks, their love cries echoing through the small room.
"Is that well enough for you?" He growls into her ear.
"Oh, yes, my love," she giggles.
"Good; then tomorrow I'll find a septon. We'll say our vows before your gods, just as you wished for, Little bird."