"Papa look!" Little Elinore was pulling Sandors massive arm as hard as she could, pointing at all the bright streamers and coat of arms on flags littering the sky. In the middle of them all flashed one of bright yellow with three black snarling dogs.
Sandor had never truly been proud of his sigil till he had a family of his own to honor with it. Sansa stood beside him in a matching yellow silk gown, with little Ned in her arms, Sandor cradling her into his own. He now felt he had something to be proud of.
The ground was cold and hard, even with the pallet spread over the leaves, Sansa could feel every twig and rock beneath her. She gazed up at the stars. The northern stars. She was finally going home. To what might be left of it anyway. The embers of the fire were fading to an orange glow, and beyond them the snoring body of her scarred savior. Sansa couldn't help but laugh at it all. She could have been here so many years ago, this very spot, if she had just followed him past the fire, pushed beyond the false promises of lying lions, birds, spiders, and into his arms instead.
Her laughs had obviously roused him, now silent, Sandor stared at her through the embers, eyes wide and seeming to pierce her very soul. Sansa felt all the air escape her at once. They could have been staring at each other for a few moments, or eternity, it didn't matter. All that mattered was now.
Sansa decided then and there she was going to confess, and not let another second go by without the truth being spoken. But she couldn't bare to look at him when she said it, perhaps for fear of rejection, or perhaps the fear of acceptance, she wasn't sure.
They had only been reunited for one day, how to say this without sounding like a foolish stupid girl? The stars sparkled in her eyes, fighting back the tears of regret and pain. "I would dream... I dreamed... When I was to be married to Joffry, I thought I would be happy. I would have dreams of happiness, but those dreams never came true. Then they married me to Tyrion. Still, I dreamt of a great knight and a happy rescue, but that never came either. Then I sat high above the world, away from the danger, but never truly escaping it. Petyr always watching, always stopping me from getting any further then a dream. But I could still dream, and I did. I dreamt of you Sandor." She held her breath, waiting to hear some kind of reaction. His breathing had seemed to stop as well.
Sansa's heart continued to pound in her ears, the trickle of truth became a downpour. "At first it was dreams of leaving with you that night when the Blackwater Bay burned. Then I dreamt you had taken me away on a ship instead of Littlefinger, to some far off land I've never seen." Still no reaction. The confession now a swelling typhoon. "Then when I was told you were dead, instead of loosing the dreams all together, they instead became my only escape. I saw you in the clouds, the godswood where nothing grew, the water, when I was asleep or awake, it didn't matter. It was as if I could feel you, with me, giving me the strength I didn't want, to keep going."
Finally a reaction. Sandor rolled over, away from her, and instantly began snoring again. Had he heard any of it? Was he toying with her, rejecting her confession as the ramblings of a broken girl of a broken kingdom? What would be the harm of continuing if he had already made up his mind, or if he had been asleep the whole time? "I dreamt of you the night before you came to the Eyre, I thought I was going to die there, or be married again to someone who would never be you. Then you were there, real, flesh and bone. Here you are. I'm not dreaming, not anymore."
Silence. The fire was out now, and the chill had taken hold of Sansa. She wrapped her furs tightly around herself to keep the draft out, and tried to force herself to sleep like Sandor.
But, beyond her gaze, turned away from her, the ruined and unblemished sides of his face both dug deep into his bedding, Sandor was wide awake, and at a complete loss of what to do but continue forward, on the journey to reunite her with the remains of her family. There she would want to stay, he was certain of it. There she would forget about these dreams, and find her future, without him.
"It looks fine up there, as fine as any other sigil." The voice boomed over the sound of the crowd and Elinore shrieked, "Uncle Jon!"
Jon Stark, hand of the Queen, bent to one knee and threw his arms out to embrace the wild eyed girl. "You've grown so big! Sansa, what do you feed this girl?" He was talking to his sister, but at the same time making a silent nod to his once battle companion. Just as back then, the two men rarely exchanged words, but always seemed to have an understanding.
"Whatever she'll eat when she sits still long enough." Sansa passed Ned into Sandor's arms so she could embrace her brother courteously. Sandor chuckled at her, still never forgetting her manners.
"Sounds like another sister of mine. Have you seen Arya yet?"
Sansa shook her head. "Not yet, late as usual. How's her majesty?"
"Fine thank you, she regrets you didn't accept her invitation to stay in the city but understands your distaste for returning to the keep."
Sansa bowed her head in embarrassment. "Thank you brother, I just can't bare it again." Sandor lightly put his hand on Sansa's for the strength she needed to pull herself beyond the memories. It worked, and she was back to smiles. "And here is your nephew, little Eddard."
Jon looked at the child with both pain and love in his eyes, his own bitter suite memories flooding his mind. He pushed past them in his mind and took the babe from Sandor's arms.
"Hello wee Ned. You're mother wrote to me all about you. You're right Sansa, he does have the Tully eyes, but he has his father's brow, very serious." Jon and Sansa chuckled at Sandor, who true to form, seemed unamused.
A squire approached Sandor and bowed, then whispered something unheard by the rest. Sandor then kissed Sansa on the brow and took his leave with only a nod. Sansa didn't take her eyes off him till he was out of sight amidst the crowd. She did not like parting with him but knew it came with being the wife of a royal bannerman. "Off to inspect the Clegane banner fighter I'm sure. He's been out almost every day training him."
"Training whom?" Jon asked.
"You know I haven't met him, I assume some land owners son, to represent our house."
Jon's face went white and a wash on concern filled Sansa with dread. "What is it?"
"Sansa, Sandor has his name in the tourney, he's representing his own house. He didn't tell you?"
"I'm going to kill him!"
The second night on the journey to Winterfell was colder than the first. Sandor felt tiny hands and feet press in close to him. He pulled what little furs he had for himself off and over the frail body that had invaded his space and was clinging to his side on the cold pallet. "Little Bird," it was the first thing he'd said to her since asking if she wanted to go home and leave the Vale with him. It was all he needed to say. It meant everything to her at that point. Rolling onto his side they were face to face. Only in his own dreams had he been this close to her again, smelling her fear, feeling her skin so close to his. He was afraid for himself in that moment, fear that he might make it to Winterfell, return her to her family, and truly never see her again. A long breath finally escaped his lips.
Sansa seized the moment for herself and kissed his mouth, her little lips pressing hard into his ruined face. Her hand caressed his burnt cheek, warm from the unseen flush she created when she surprised him. He lightly traced her hand with his fingers, then pulled away. She had her eyes closed tight. "My whole life kisses were stolen from me. I vow to steal my own kisses from now on. Or give them freely to whom I choose." With that she opened her eyes, silently asking him to kiss her back.
He swallowed hard. "Seven hells girl. What did he do to you? I should have killed that slime."
"No, Littlefinger can't hurt me anymore. He never... he tried, but no one ever, I am still..." She began to cry intensely.
Sandor pulled her into his chest and kissed her crown. "You're right Little Bird, no one will ever hurt you again. I'll keep you safe."
The horses bucked and neyed at the shouting. The squires, knights and lords all tried to avert their eyes but everyone could hear the Lady Clegane's scolding, and she didn't care. "You've been planning this for how long? And when were you going to tell me?"
"Seven hells woman, it was going to be a suprise."
"Suprise? To see you get hurt or bloodied, to make your children see that?"
"You don't think I could win? I've won it before. Or don't you remember?" His words were rough and cold, stinging at Sansa's heart. She began to back down, but her chest was still pounding.
"Of course I think you can win, but I don't want to think that I might lose you."
"Sansa, I haven't seen a battlefield for ages, this is boys with sticks and plate armor. I'll be fine. The Queen asked me personally, for our honor. For your honor."
She couldn't argue with that. The woman had given her a husband she loved and a freedom she'd never known. Targaryan honor was a privilege she'd been given in spades, allowing her husband to show off his now legendary skills in this tourney was the least she could do. She finally surrendered.
"You always gave up too easily in a fight. Just like a girl." They both turned to see Arya, clad in leathers, pants, tall boots, and a rapier on her side. Sansa smiled a big grin, some things never change.
Sandor gruffed and went back to inspecting his steed and armor while the Stark sisters embraced. "Nice to see you too Hound." He waived her off like a buzzing fly. Sansa tried to distract her. "How is Winterfell? How are Rickon and Brann? You never write."
Arya rolled her eyes. "Too much to do, Brann is always needed somewhere. For a cripple he has to go everywhere!"
"Arya, don't call him that!"
"I can call him what I like, he's the most capable King in the North, in Westros. Far from helpless. Rickon is here with me, we've both been couped up for too long keeping the border safe. There's no danger left, we're just there for show at this point. Besides, Brann can see the future, he said to come see you instead, so here we are!"
"Well I'm glad for it. You must see Elinore, she takes after you so much, it scares me sometimes." Sansa began to walk out with her sister, but first stopped and approached her husband one last time before 'battle'. "Win this tourney, I'll be cheering for you in the stands. Waiting for you to give me the rose this time." Recalling the first time she saw him fight, leaving the flower knight to bestow his favor. She kissed him passionately. Arya looked away, she was glad to see her sister happy, but it still turned her stomach to see it with him, who will always be in some part of her mind the murderous Lannister Dog. But there were no more Lannisters around for him to serve, he had done his best to be a good man, and once Sansa had taken him as her husband to replace the last trace of Lannister influence on her family name, she had no choice but try to forgive, if not forget.
The third night of the journey north. One more day's travel, they could be in Winterfell before midnight the next. It would be a full moon no less, perfect ending to the longest journey Sandor felt he'd ever experienced. Sansa had felt the full reality of it herself, with thoughts of childhood happiness and sweet memories of her family flooding her mind. Sandor had prepared the pallets once again on opposite sides of the campfire, but after settling the horse up for the night, he returned to find the pallets pushed together and Sansa already nestled between them and the furs. He shook his head at her fantasies, at his own, for he was certain one more night and she'd be ready to forget him.
Silly girl he thought to himself, and yet now she was a woman, tall and beautiful, strength of a new kind hidden behind her eyes. It was next to impossible for him to accept that she in fact had dreamt of him before he found her, even harder to accept that she was forcing him to be as close as possible to her, day and night. Mimicking the day's ride, he slid in behind her once more and held her tightly in his arms, reveling in her feel and sent. Sansa shivered from the chill air, and the tingling sensation of his touch, shooting from her skin all the way through her core.
"Thank you," the words escaped her lips as a whisper, but echoed like a shout in his mind.
Silently he cursed himself for wanting her in any way more than this. But instead he replied out loud with, "don't need your thanks Little Bird, lets just get you home."
She rolled in his arms to face him, she could feel is breath was hotter than his touch and it made her skin scream for more. The face she could barely look at years ago was once again within her grasp, and she didn't want to ever let it leave again. "It's a new world now, Queens and Dragons. The dead and the living, how do I go on from here. How did you do it? How did you come back from the dead?"
Sandor cleared his throat, here was possibly his chance to win her tonight or loose her forever. "The Targaryan woman came to reclaim her throne. She found me on the Quiet Isle, digging the graves for the fallen whom no one cared about, sure I would dig my own one day and just be done with it all. That bitch of Tarth told her about me, told her how to find me. She asked me who I would fight for, what was worth fighting for. I've never had anything worth fighting for other than my own life. Now I didn't even have that. She promised me land, titles, glory, but nothing worth my life. I said no. I'm no knight. Still she asked me."
His throat ran dry. Suddenly he wished for a flaggon of wine, 'keep going man' he internally barked at himself. "One night, in a dream, I was visited by the vision of a boy with legs of a wolf and instead of arms he had the blackened wings of a great bird. He told me you were alive, and I was meant to save him and find you. It was your brother Brann, he showed me something I never thought I'd see again. You Sansa, he showed me you, alive and hidden away from the rest of the madness. So I accepted my life after death and left to save the Starks, to find you, and live again. You Little Bird, the answer is you."
Sandor immidiately cursed himself as he watched her pale face turn bright red and become overwhelmed with tears. He knew it was too good to be true, thoughts of being an old man with her by his side. There was another man out there, a knight, a legend. Someone other than HIM
Sansa wiped her tears into his shirt, digging her face so deep in his chest she could breathe his heartbeats. Loud and strong, she let them guide her thoughts, calm her mind. Sandor's rough hand gently lifted her face up into his gaze. "I dreamt of you too." She stole another kiss as the night before, and his breath, and another kiss, and another. Without thinking about it, a fever overtook both of them. Sansa's heart sang as Sandor's hands laced into her hair and tugged lightly, she was on her back now, with him overtop. Beneath the furs she explored his body, muscles and scars. She really had no idea where she was going, but she definately knew where she was
Sandor was helpless to his own needs, tugging and tearing at what little clothes she had to keep the night's chill out. He took her mouth, her neck, her teats, the curves of her hips, the warmth of her thighs.
He stopped himself, hearing her gasps and tiny cries. "Please Sandor. I want you. I want to be yours!"
"Little Bird," his own song for hers, but no. This wasn't right. Not yet. He was a bannerman of a new Queen who could take it all away with a word if she wished. He hadn't even brought Sansa home yet. What if her family had a need of her, a need greater than his? After all, he was just a man, she was still a Lady.
Before he realized it, she was back in his arms, side by side instead of overtaking her. She was crying again. "You don't want me?"
He bellowed a laugh that warmed both their hearts. "More than you know Little Bird, I want you more than you know. But your family wants you more, and the Queen wants me." Sansa blushed at his remarks.
"I mean she made me a promise. Lets get you home first, then we'll see where the future brings us. Hell, maybe your brother can see it for us."
Sansa squirmed like an impatient child against Sandor's tensed frame, slick with sweat. "I still need you." She shot him a glance beneath heavy eyelids that lit what little chill was left in him on fire.
Sandor grinned from ear to burn, raven hair shading his sinful expression from her gaze.
That night he took her pleasure, but not her still intact maidenhead. That he would wait for. Now, it was time to worship her as she deserved.