Disclaimer: I don't own "Game of Thrones." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: Missing scene after the end of 8x02. On the eve of battle, biology and the Gods bring Sansa and Sandor together in the most biblical way possible.

Warnings:missing scene, alpha/omega/beta dynamics, sexual content, possible dubious consent issues due to trope, one love bond, soulmates au, mating cycles/in heat, romance, drama, angst.

Safak

Chapter One

Theon had stared after her when she'd bid him goodnight. Feeling the weight of his sad eyes as she made her way through the crowds. She knew what he didn't ask for. Having refused it gently by not speaking. Leaving him behind as the small folk parted for her. Greeting her with nods or soft "m'lady's" she returned with kind eyes. Knowing he wouldn't follow her as the gloom swallowed what could have been and kept it close.

Her exhale was more than a little relieved when she ducked through a doorway and crossed into the training yard. Largely unnoticed in the crush as the Unsullied stood in formation, peeling off towards the main gates and beyond. Grateful she'd been able to leave unhindered. She didn't have the heart to kill the glimmer of hope that had brought light back into his eyes. Not before the battle. Some truths could be as crushing as they were freeing.

She'd learned that much herself - more than once.

Her father's keep was filled to bursting with all manner of people. Countrymen and foreigners. Highborn and small folk. All forced to share what little they had as they clustered around fires and drank thin, sour wine. Each of them wondering what the morrow would bring.

It would have been a beautiful thing if the long night wasn't so bleak.

She reached her chambers with little difficulty, but inevitably walked past them.

There would be no sleep tonight.

Winter was coming.

They were in father's solar, pouring over old building plans of Winterfell and the tunnels below, fighting to find even one forgotten route that might give them an advantage, when Bran stiffened beside her.

She looked up, careful and slow as his eyes misted to white. Forcing her heart to calm as it thundered in her breast. Pressing her fist against her ribs in a vain effort to stem it. Wondering if Bran could hear it as his head lolled back against the soft furs of his chair.

"It's Clegane..." Bran rasped, eyes still vacant and sightless. "...The Hound. He- Sansa...something is wrong..."

The quill in her hand clattered noisily across the table.

"Is it too late for the herbs?"

She'd been avoiding him. She couldn't quite say why, though she knew she had reason to. She had far too many responsibilities to be chasing after old ghosts. No matter how often she searched the crowds huddled in the Great Hall, looking for his face. Their history was another matter. One that was oft complicated and caustic. She wasn't a girl anymore, but a woman grown. No longer the little bird he'd coined her as. She had no cage. No keeper. Instead, she'd grown into the emblem of her house.

And yet, she'd felt the years melt away when he'd ridden into the courtyard. Still as broad, tall and powerful as he'd been the day she'd first laid eyes. Only this time, instead of fear and curiosity, it had made her feel strange. Belly rolling with excited hiccups she'd been forced to shove aside in favor of her duties as Lady of the house.

It had brought back it's fair share of memories. Forcing her to dwell on how her heart had clutched in her chest when she'd heard of his death. Then the muted, soaring joy at hearing he still lived and was marching with Jon towards Winterfell. In truth, he'd never been far from her thoughts.

Her pride had rankled at that.

At how he still held sway over her.

Deciding he would have to come to her like the rest of Jon's bannermen, to be recognized.

But he never came.

And perhaps that was another reason.

After everything, he wouldn't come to her?

It made her want to bare her teeth.

"Too late? Are you daft? He nearly took my head right off! It's only because there were so many men around that we were able to get him tied down as it is... Where the fuck are those chains?! Send for a smith- anything- these ropes won't hold him!"

She hurried to where Bran said she would find him with confident steps. But inside she didn't feel equal to them. Trembling as she neared the sound of raised voices. Cloak billowing behind her as a gale of wind swept down the hall. Able to pick out a curse, the strain of wood near splintering, then a vicious growl. Heart heavy in her throat as she scented the air and found Bran's words to be true.

Somewhere close by, an Alpha was in rut.

"I don't understand, he's got his herbs. Hell, I saw him take them this mornin'. Same as every mornin'. Unless he got a shite batch, I don't think-"

She stepped into the room with her courage clenched as tightly as the fists at her sides. Only to be nearly knocked sideways with the bronze and cedar-tang of Sandor's rut. The Omega in her feeling it keenly as the notes of blood, confusion and need tarted the air.

Because it was him.

She knew his scent as if it was her own.

Imprinted on her soul in way she didn't understand, but also did not question.

"My lady! Begging your pardon, but you shouldn't be here. It isn't safe. The hound is-"

But she barely spared Brienne a glance - nor the others clustered around the room. She had eyes only for him. They had the Alpha tied by his arms and legs to a large, sturdy oak bed she vaguely recognized as once being in the guest section of the keep. He was gagged, with his mouth mostly hidden by a thick leather strap. Leaving him struggling and decided animal as his chest heaved. Straining against his bonds while the bed creaked at the abuse.

By the Seven!

"What happened?" she asked, barely recognizing her voice as his eyes snapped to her. Watching as he openly scented the air. Rumbling behind the gag in a way that made her almost preen.

Yes.

This.

"Lord Beric said they were drinking on the roof when he suddenly keeled over - sick. Or so he thought. No one could figure why until- well-" Ser Davos trailed off, casting a glance over to the bed where the crux of the problem was on clear display.

Oh.

The hound's breeches were tented with his hardness. But somehow her cheeks didn't burn with embarrassment or shame on his behalf. Instead, her lips parted, tongue tracing the seam like it was parched of moisture. Biting at the inside of her cheek to keep from mewling as Sandor snorted in exertion and renewed his efforts to escape. His immense strength fueled to new heights as his rut roared through him.

Her mate was worthy. Virile. Hers.

"He was making for the Great Hall like a thing possessed when we caught up with him. Pod! Where are those chains?!"

She took a step forward the same moment Lord Tyrion said something. But she didn't catch the words. Meeting Sandor's eyes as they stared at each other from the encroaching space. Swearing she could feel him settling under her skin to stay as his throat bobbed through an exaggerated swallow.

The Alpha's scent was spreading, making the others cover their noses and even gag. But to her, it was- everything. It wreathed around her in comforting waves that made bliss spread through her blood. Feeling almost wine-drunk as she inhaled throatily. Wanting to take in as much as she could. Aware he was doing the same to her.

Gods, she could feel him.

He was here, living and breathing in the center of her chest.

Never to be removed.

"This isn't a rut, my lady," Ser Beric broke in, breaking away from where Tormund and Podrick were all but sitting on the Hound's legs trying to keep him from thrashing. "This is something else."

She looked up from where she'd been following a rivulet of sweat making its way down the arch of his neck towards his chest. Heart hiccuping against the underside of her ribs as she took in the large swath of naked skin. His armor was missing and so was his doublet. Leaving him in only a thin double-layer of grey and green linen. Collar gaped at the neck with trailing laces pulled long on one side.

Not a rut?

She wasn't the only one that scented the air after the words rang out. Trying to suss out the difference. Leaving her with the realization that perhaps it wasn't. The tones were too strong, too rich. But more to the point, if Sandor had taken his herbs it should have been impossible for him to fall into an unexpected season. Even with the stress of the coming battle.

Unless-

"What are you talking about?" Brienne returned, voice raised against the din. Alpha scent far from calming as Tormund let go of a raucous curse and thumped Sandor on the leg in admonishment for kicking Podrick to the floor. Saying something that wasn't in the common tongue as Sandor growled in response and struggled all the harder. Making it look like the two men were riding a thrashing sea-beast than a man.

The Omega in her couldn't help but bask at the display. How he'd presented despite his herbs. How it was taking nearly five full grown men to keep him down, on top of the restraints. How they'd had to gag him to blunt his teeth. How she was sure he'd been coming to her. Somehow, she just felt it.

Her Alpha had proven himself and now he was calling for her in the old way.

Only her.

"If it isn't a rut, then what is it?" Ser Jaime interjected. Hair spiked every which way as he tossed another length of rope towards the tangle of limbs. Helping Davos and the others wrap it around the Hound's chest and tie it behind the headboard. Anchoring him in place just in time as one of the ropes around his forearms snapped with a dry sound.

Something tickled queerly in the back of her mind. She'd seen Alphas in rut before. As improper as it was, she'd peeked through the slats of the forbidden, barred iron window with Jayne long before King Robert had arrived at Winterfell. Staring wide-eyed and struggling to stifle giggles whenever one of her father's unmated bannermen entered their rut. Spying as they sweated out their fevers in the fighting rings or retreated down the narrow corridor of secluded bed chambers to take matters into their own hands. Leaving them needy, angry and quick to violence until it finally died down and they slept for days to recover.

This wasn't like any rut she'd ever seen.

This was almost animal.

Raw.

Elemental.

Honest.

Clean.

She stared down at Sandor openly. Noting his struggling had lessened. He still fought to get free, posturing and snarling, but the desperation was largely gone. As if the thing he'd been seeking no longer needed to be hunted down, but merely seized the moment he broke free. Indeed, the way he was pulling in big lungfuls of her scent couldn't be ignored. She was not on her heat nor anywhere close to it. Some Alphas lost control when an Omega was in their heat, but this wasn't that. It was a different sort of-

"It's a choosing," Lord Beric answered, as everyone stilled. The knighted Lord looking up from Sandor to meet her eyes as the air escaped the room in a heady rush.

For a long moment no one dared speak.

She found she couldn't blame them.

There hadn't been a choosing in hundreds of years.

Alphas and Omegas bonded all the time, of course. But for one to be struck by the choosing meant something far more than a love match. It was a recognition of true mates. Your fated match. The one Old Nan used to tell them was the other half of your soul.

Sandor was hers.

He'd always been hers.

She wasn't surprised, even though something told her she should have been.

More convinced than ever that some things went beyond explanation.

Some things simply were.

"Leave," she whispered softly. Eyes never once leaving Sandor's as even he seemed to fall still at the words. Calming in a way she'd never seen as his scent thickened even further. As if pleading for her to come to him.

Yes.

Now.

Oh gods, please.

Brienne stiffened, one hand drifting to the pommel of her sword. Making Sandor jerk, then growl. Struggling anew until Ser Davos gripped his shoulder, saying something she didn't catch. Making him quiet a fraction as Ser Davos remained beside him. His tepid Beta scent sending out waves of calm that threatened to weaken her knees. Everyone's instincts heightened in response to the desperate fever-scent the Alpha was giving off.

"No. My lady, I-"

"I said...leave," she repeated slowly. Firm and broaching no argument as each word left her lips like lead weights.

It must have shown on her face because Lord Beric bowed low. Understanding spreading as the others slowly backed away. Turning the room cavernous in their absence as the burnt side of Sandor's face twitched with the shadows.

What did they see?

Did they know?

Did they understand, like she did?

She kept her head high. Seeing on their faces what had been on Bran's only a short time ago. Looking at her in stunned awe as his eyes lost the unearthly pale of greenseeing. Breathing unsteadily as she waited for him to speak, thoughts racing.

"All this time..." he'd rasped, hands curling into the scarred table their father had spent so many hours hunched over. "He didn't know it...but he felt it. Ever since he left King's Landing he's been reaching back for you. When he took Arya...when he decided to fight with Jon…when he came here...it was all fated. All of it. You knew- even from that first day, when King Robert came here... Sansa, you knew, didn't you?"

She didn't. She hadn't. But she had.

It made little sense, yet all the sense in the world.

In King's Landing he'd made her feel safe. Even when he'd yelled or said cruel things. His actions had spoken with his true heart – every time. He'd never lied. He'd never tricked her. He'd never pretended to be someone else. He'd never hidden behind flowery words, fine garments or gold. Instead, he'd saved her more times than she could count. In more ways then she thought it possible to save someone. He'd been protecting her, a little girl from the North who didn't know better. The flighty little bird who hadn't understood she'd left freedom behind in favor of a glided cage.

He'd even offered to take her away that night, as the Blackwater burned. She remembered his face when she'd refused. It had been akin to betrayal before anger had taken its place. Demanding a song before wrenching himself away and disappearing into the darkness. She'd learned the lessons he'd tried to teach her long after. Thinking of him in her darkest moments until iron strength replaced the salt of her tears. So much so that he'd never been gone, not really. He'd been with her the entire time.

Neither of them had been ready for what it meant then.

It was why they'd both run from it, in their own way.

But they were ready now.

This proved it.

On the eve of what could be their final night, he'd come to her after all.

Of course he had.

Brienne looked like she wanted to say something when she reached the door, the last to leave. Only to stop when she shook her head. Smiling faintly but with enough steel that the woman nodded and left the room. Closing the door with a rolling thud that spread like excited tremors under her feet.

She knew her mind.

But more than that, she knew her heart.

And it was here, in this very room.

No matter what happened in the morrow, they would have this.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be one more chapter and an accompanying drabble to show Sandor's perspective that will make this a short series.

Reference:

- Safak: the first skylight seen during dawn or just before the sun rises.