Summary: On his thirty-third nameday, Sandor remembers the day he and Sansa wed.
After grudgingly attending the celebration hosted by the Starks and the northern lords for his thirty-third name day, Sandor awkwardly made his excuses and left at the earliest socially acceptable moment. Never one to enjoy such festivities, the man had many reasons to hurry back to his wife, many of which his guests were well aware of, and at the first opportunity Sandor made his way to back to their bedchamber.
Originally the party was made to celebrate the anniversary of their wedded day as well, but Sansa had not felt well enough to attend. According to the maester's predictions, Sandor feared that would be the case, leading him to stubbornly refuse to allow the party for many weeks. When Sansa told him she indeed would not make it, Sandor spent the day growling and cursing that the only reason he agreed to it was for her, and if she could not go there was no reason for the party to go on.
Calmly Sansa insisted they had much to be grateful for this year and their friends would be very disappointed if they were not allowed to share in their joy. In the end, as was his usual custom, Sandor consented to his wife's wishes and the party plans went forward as planned. As much as he did not relish of attending without her, the man was still unable to deny her anything, a damnable truth that despite his best intentions, persisted through their five years of marriage.
He and the little bird had come a long way since their wedded day. Sandor brought her a special gift to commemorate the occasion but decided he would wait until morning to give it to her, as Sansa was fast asleep. Quietly he undressed, lay down beside her, and wrapped Sansa tightly in his arms. Softly she moaned and rested her hands on his arms resting on her belly. When her breathing slowed once more, Sandor allowed his fingers to weave through the length of her hair and closed his eyes. Soon his mind drifted back to their wedded day, and the first time he had been in a bedroom alone with her.
Throughout the nameday meal, Sandor watched Sansa closely for signs of regret, wondering if the little bird realized what she was getting into when she decided she wanted to marry him. She seemed happy enough, but as the evening wore on, her typically easy smile grew somewhat tighter, and her cheeks flushed red under his gaze. It was only natural, he knew, since Sansa was a maid, and after the way his eyes followed her throughout the night, the little bird had good reason to be wary of the hungry dog who would become her husband.
Truth be told, Sandor was a bit anxious himself. While he wanted the little bird more than anything in the world, he scarcely allowed himself to believe she meant her words. As the northern men made their toasts, hearing him and Sansa referred to as the Cleganes brought an acrimonious shiver coursing through his body. Gregor had married twice already, and each of his wives had met grisly ends. Sandor would kill the Warrior himself before he allowed anything to happen to Sansa, or go anywhere near his brother for that matter. No one made any comments to that end, but the morbid implications for Sansa marrying a Clegane wore heavily on him just the same.
Ned Stark had seen Gregor's work first hand during Robert's Rebellion, Sandor knew, but he unreservedly welcomed him into the family after Sansa's announcement. Lady Catelyn, however, no doubt eared a similar outcome for her eldest daughter, judging by her reaction; the normally warm, hospitable lady of Winterfell responded with unspoken anxiety, her mouth pulled into a severe line as she listened to Sansa and Ned.
Noticing her tension, Sandor haltingly offered the only reassurance he could afford. "I would never hurt Sansa, Lord and Lady Stark. I will love and protect her, and give my life for her if necessary; I swear it on the old gods and the new."
"I know you will, son," Ned patted him on the back, his deep gray eyes calmly surveying him, the confidence in his voice reassuring despite his wife's obvious bristling demeanor. "I could not ask for a better goodson, Sandor, and quite frankly, I am relieved by my daughter's decision. The father in me is far happier knowing I will be able to keep my little lemoncake in the family rather than send her off to a man I do not know half so well."
"We would not have done that, Ned," Lady Catelyn chided softly. "Sansa, you would have been able to choose anyone you wanted. You need not have chosen…quite so hastily. Your father will free you from this obligation should you so wish it."
"I am most grateful to both of you, but please believe I have chosen the man I wanted. I love Sandor, and he is the only man whom I would have consented to wed." Sansa then turned, smiled brightly at him and daringly kissed his cheek, much to the amusement of her father and the chagrin of her mother.
As Sansa prepared for the ceremony, Sandor paced anxiously, unable to shake the feeling that she had agreed to wed him only to prevent being made to leave Winterfell. Sandor knew he would be unable to go through with the ceremony without first speaking to her, and so he slipped into Sansa's room as she dressed.
Her handmaidens all turned in surprise as Sandor entered, though none of them had the nerve to scold him. He did not expect so many women to attend her. "Get out!" He barked roughly at them.
Blushing deeply, Sansa surprised him by dismissing the women and then eagerly holding her arms out to him. "Sandor! What an unexpected pleasure. You must forgive my state of undress. I did not think you would come to me before the ceremony," Sansa smiled up at him while self-consciously pulling her robe around her waist. "Else I would have readied myself more quickly. I was just about to put on my gown."
She was far more beautiful without her heavy northern gown, and Sandor's mouth went dry as his eyes traveled heatedly over Sansa's ample curves. Her big blue eyes stared up at him expectantly; realizing he still had not spoken, Sandor finally forced himself to meet her gaze once more. "Sansa, I came here because before we wed I needs ask you a question."
"Alright," Sansa said softly, settling down on the bed and patting the space beside her.
Sandor flopped down next to her, uneasily running his hands over his thighs. "Why did you choose me as your husband?" He finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I told you; it is because you have always been good to me and I care for you very deeply." Taking his hands in hers, Sansa curiously looked at him and asked, "What is troubling you? Do you not believe me?"
Sighing, Sandor turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's just that…" he paused. How can I possibly make her understand what it feels like to be feared, considered too low born to live among the Starks, to be unwanted even by your own family? Sansa has only known love and acceptance her entire life. Sandor tilted her face up to him and gripped her chin. "You and I are so very different, lass-can you not see it?"
Sansa knitted her brows. "What do you mean?"
"For one, you are far too used to your highborn life; have you even considered what this marriage will mean for you?"
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head sadly. "I understand perfectly. You are asking if I have considered that I will no longer be viewed as the reward to be given away to one of my father's bannermen. Is that all you men think about?"
"Bloody hells, Sansa, I meant to say-"
"What?" Sansa stood up suddenly, placing her hands on her hips. "Do you believe me so stupid that I don't realize that I won't live in a huge castle anymore? Have as many servants as I do now-if any?"
"Well," Sandor shrugged, the man somewhat taken back by her angry outburst.
"I do not care about any of that," Sansa cupped his cheek in her hands. "I thought you knew that! I chose you because you are the man I wanted from the start; why can you not accept that?"
Growling angrily, he slammed his fist down on her table and fell to one knee. He felt her infuriated gaze upon him, but Sandor could not bring himself to look at her.
"Sandor," she calmly said while resting her hand on his should. "I want to belong to you, and for you to belong to me. Please answer me: do you trust my words?"
"I do, lass, I do," Sandor cleared his throat and turned away from her, unable to bear the intensity of her deep blue eyes.
"Then do you not wish to be my husband- is that why you have brought this up before the ceremony?" Her lip trembled slightly.
"No, I want you, Sansa, more than I have ever wanted anything," he finally admitted, drawing her into his arms.
"Sandor, my feelings for you did not just begin with our kiss today," Sansa took his face in her hands. "I have loved you all of my life-in fact I cannot remember a time when I did not love you-and when I became a woman those feelings turned into a much deeper, romantic, abiding love."
Indignantly Sandor snorted and pulled away from her. "I am not one of your buggering knights, Sansa, believe that. You know nothing about me or my past, or how I came to Winterfell."
"I asked Father to tell me, but he would not. He said it is your story to tell, and he would not breach your trust," Sansa answered quietly. "Will you not tell me now that we are to wed?"
"Now is not the time to go into it, little bird. Trust my words, will you?" When Sansa wrapped her arms around him and nodded understandingly, the words poured forth from the man. "I came to Winterfell because of my brother, little bird-he was the one who burned me. He held my face in the fire as I screamed because he caught me playing with his toy knight." An involuntary shudder moved through Sandor, and Sansa pulled him closer still; he could feel her trembling beneath him. "The king hid it in order to use Gregor in service to the throne. I was sent here with my father and mother to live as a ward of Lord Eddard."
"My father had the king sent you here as a favor to his old friend," Sansa finished. "But what of your parents? They agreed to the king's wishes without hesitation?" Sansa asked gently.
"Aye they did, and King Robert gifted the Cleganes Winterfrost Keep for their supposed loyalty," he spat out bitterly, pulling away from her. "He gave Clegane Keep to my brother. He's a landed knight, you know, and I am only the outcast second son of a kennelmaster."
"Sandor, I am so very sorry," Sansa wrung her hands and turned away to hide her tears. "You were used terribly ill. I am so glad you came to us, though; if you had stayed south we would most likely have never met."
"Look at me, lass," Sandor leaned in close, pointing to the marled flesh covering the left side of his face. "Take a good long look." After several moments passed, he grabbed her chin once more. "Not the handsome prince from one of your fairy songs, am I? No, little bird, I'm not that man-and I'm a killer besides. Everyone fears me, and if you had any sense, you would too." Satisfied, Sandor smirked and tried to turn away from her but Sansa held firm.
"Did you see me shrink in horror, Sandor? Is that the reaction you were seeking? Well, bother the scars," Sansa snapped, holding his face firmly in both hands and drawing him down to her. "I am not frightened of them, or you, for that matter. I know you have killed in service to my father, but you have given me no reason to fear you and I am not about to start because you growl at me."
Shaking his head, Sandor laughed bitterly, though he did not pull away from her. Understanding dawned in her eyes, and the anger drain suddenly from her face. Confused, he frowned at her.
"Do you think yourself unworthy to wed me because of this?" She gently touched his scars, tracing her fingers through the hardened rivulets near his mouth. "Is this why you think I should fear you?"
"Everyone else has since it happened," he shrugged, lowering his eyes. "Why not you?"
"Why not me? Because I love you, that is why, and because you are more than your scars." Sansa kissed his scarred cheek tenderly. "Why do you care what others think of you in this matter? You never give thought to it in any other instance."
Swallowing hard, Sandor irritably grumbled, "You are but a wee lass, Sansa; you know nothing."
"I am not a child, so please stop referring to me as such. I am a woman flowered three years already; and I would not be allowed to wed if I were not viewed as a woman in the sight of both the old gods and men," Sansa took his hand in her own. "I may not know all the ways of the world, Sandor, but I know that I love you. I know that I want to spend my life with you. I want to have your children, if you will have me."
"If I will have you?" Sandor stared at her in disbelief. "I am not meant for the likes of you, lass, and don't think for a moment anyone of these northern lords and ladies will let you forget it."
"Have Robb, Jon or Theon encouraged you to rescind your troth to me?" Sansa quietly probed, fury blighting her lovely features. "Or is it another? If so, they should be ashamed of themselves! I will speak to Father at once-"
"No, Sansa," Sandor shook his head. "Why would you mention your brothers?" He had considered those boys like his own younger brothers, though admittedly he did not like the Greyjoy lad. When she turned away, Sandor gripped her chin tightly. "Have they said anything derogatory about me to you?"
Twisting her sash, Sansa hesitantly whispered, "Well, Theon has always hoped Father would give me to him, though I knew that would never happen. He was most angry after our announcement. He and Robb spoke to me in private, to inform me that you are not, well, that I am not the first woman you have…loved. You have had others in Wintertown. Jon would have no part in it and scolded them severely."
Sighing heavily, Sandor slumped down in the chair and beckoned to her. "Come to me, little bird, let's have a talk." Gently her arms wrapped around his shoulders, pressing his cheek against her breast.
"Have you loved before?" Sansa whispered, running her hands through his hair. "Please, you can tell me, and I will understand."
"No, lass," Sandor raised his face and stared deep into her eyes. "I've not loved in my entire gods forsaken life. I've fucked other women, aye, but that is not the same thing. There was no love in it; I paid them well for their services."
"Really?" Sansa asked, her eyes widening with curiosity.
"Aye," he answered quickly, eager to stem the multitude of questions he saw welling in her mind. "You are the first woman I loved, little bird, and you will be the last. You are the only one I have loved. Little bird, you are the only woman to whom I have said the words as well," Sandor stared deep into her eyes while running his hand over the curve of her cheek. "I swear it to you. A dog will die for you but never lie to you."
"Yes, so you have said before," Sansa smiled up at him. "Sandor, you are the first and only man I love, I swear it on the old gods and the new. I will see to it those two will be punished for their interference."
Bringing his face closer to her, Sandor growled, "You leave them to me, understand? I'll not have my wife fighting my battles for me." She smiled broadly at this, and so he added, "I do want you as my wife, Sansa. Will you wed me?"
"Yes, my love," Sansa happily kissed each cheek, and then kissed him slowly on the mouth. When she pulled away, she added, "I only want to be with you, Sandor; where we live matters not. If you do not wish for us to live in Winterfrost Keep, I understand and I will stand by your choice; you have my word."
Stunned, Sandor gently pulled away to look at her. There was no disappointment, no ill concealed sadness in her gaze; only a long forgotten sentiment Sandor had not seen in a woman's eyes since his mother and sister died. Sara would have loved you, Sandor thought as he stood silently drinking in her exquisite features.
Shyly smiling at him, Sansa watched his eyes drift from her hair to her face and then over her thin dressing gown. He drew her close to him and brushed her hair from her eyes. Sansa blushed heatedly under his intense gaze, but the young woman neither moved to cover herself nor withdrew from his embrace. "If you plan on staying longer in here, would you mind helping me with my gown?"
Sandor took in a slow deep breath to settle his nerves, allowing his hand to stroke the smooth curve of her cheek once more. "Aye, I will, though your handmaidens would be better, I dare say."
Flushing deep red, Sansa turned and allowed her robe to fall from her shoulders, revealing the cream and scarlet colored satin corset with adorned with small pink silk roses that lifted her cleavage in a most alluring manner. She wore matching smallclothes with cream garters and hose featuring tiny pink and dark red roses following the back seams.
Swallowing hard, Sandor struggled to find his voice. When he finally spoke, it sounded hoarse even in his own ears. "A daring little bird you are."
"In an hour hence, we will be husband and wife," Sansa whispered, bashfully glanced up at him. "And later, we will share the bed on which you are sitting. I am most shy, I know, but I must learn to be thus with you."
Unable to resist, Sandor moved her into his arms, his fingers tracing the delicate design on her bodice. "By the gods but you are a beauty, little bird. I'll have my song from you later, believe that." Resting his chin against her bare shoulder, Sandor inhaled deeply, reveling in her sweet lavender scent.
Smiling coyly, Sansa shook her head and leaned into him further. "No one would believe such an endearment came from the lips of the fearsome Hound."
Instead of answering, Sandor lifted her onto his lap. He allowed his hands to roam over the supple skin of her back and shoulders, then leaned in and kissed her deeply, parting his lips and touching his tongue to her own. Running her fingers through his hair, Sansa breathed out a satisfied moan, the sound reminding Sandor to release her before he ended up taking her before the wedding. With some difficulty, he stood up and settled her on her feet. "You best finish readying yourself, Sansa."
Dazedly she nodded and reached for her gown. "Yes, we best make haste."
Northern wedded ceremonies lacked the pomp and circumstance of the traditions of the Seven, and for that Sandor was grateful. With only the Heart tree and the family as onlookers, he and Sansa were wed. Looking into his bride's beautiful eyes, Sandor Clegane made the first vow he ever promised and afterward he kissed her tenderly. Smiling, Sansa glowed with happiness, her silver gown shimmering in the moonlight as she turned to receive his cloak.
Cupping his face in her hands, Sansa spoke her vows and kissed him softly in return; she was so tender with him that Sandor feared his heart would beat out of his chest. Her family then said in unison, "May the old gods bless this union; what the gods have yoked together, let no man put asunder."
When the wedded ceremony was over, he anxiously watched Lady Catelyn take Sansa aside and whisper softly in her ear. What sentiment was expressed between mother and daughter Sandor could not say, but he amusedly watched Sansa's eyes widen and a deep blush spread across her cheeks. Afterward, her mother kissed her and moved away as the rest of the family stepped forward to offer congratulations to the couple.
Despite the protests of the guests gathered in the Great Hall, Sandor soundly refused to allow a bedding ceremony. Ned seemed very pleased with the decision and invited the men into the anteroom while the ladies gathered with his bride in their honeymoon suite.
"Will you make for Winterfrost Keep tonight, Sandor?" The Greatjon asked.
"No, we will stay here for a bit," Sandor muttered, drinking deeply from his flask. "I won't take the little bird from her nest just yet."
Ned smiled. "I'll have the keep made ready for you both as a wedded present."
Nodding, Sandor remained silent and before he could answer, Arya wandered into the room. "Well, dog, she's waiting for you. You best be nice to Sansa or I'll take Needle to you." The men all laughed heartily, causing Arya to cast a glowering scowl about the room.
Struggling to hide a smirk, Sandor growled back, "What do you know of swordplay, wolf girl?"
"All I need to know-just stick 'em with the pointy end," Arya answered, rolling her eyes. "Go up to her, goodbrother."
After accepting the handshakes and well wishes of the men, Sandor nervously ascended the stairs to the bedchamber where the little bird waited for him.