Sansa took her son Ned Clegane from the arms of their Septa and passed him to Rickon, practically glowing with happiness. The youngest Stark boy was the spitting image of their father, and as tall as Robb had been.
Arya and Jon laughed at Elinore while she pouted,jealous of all the attention her baby brother was getting. It wasn't the same family portrait as so many years before in Winterfell, there were pieces missing that could never be replaced, but the hints of reflection were still present.
Glass shattered on the cold stone floor, but it could barely be heard above the sobs of Sansa. She couldn't bare to hear any more of the family history she had missed while being locked away. Brandon was so serious and cold in his descriptions, Sansa had given into the urge to throw the closest breakable thing. It was a rare moment for Sansa to choose destruction to express herself, but at this point there didn't seem to be anything holding her back."Why! Why would the gods do this to us?"
She threw herself into Sandor's arms.
Jon Snow couldn't contain his laughter at his naive sister. "You think the gods even cared about us?"
Sandor shot him a look seeded with the desire to tear his soul in two. "Don't mock your sister."
He shook his head, "I wish I were my friend. It's been up to us since the beginning, to break free of the darkness. No one was ever going to help us but US."
Rickon and Arya were in the corner, clinging to their surviving direwolves, silent in their own misery. It was not the happy reunion Sansa had imagined. No joy could be found in the remains of the castle of the Starks, not today.
"There is one who helped us, and she is coming with restitution." The meaning of Bran's cryptic words were clear almost instantly when a piercing shriek echoed from beyond the walls. A great wind swelled outside. The Dragon had come to collect.
Pleasantries were interrupted with the Queen's fan fair of trumpets. That was Jon's cue and he took his leave, but not without beckoning his family to follow.
A wooden chair the size of the iron throne already had the tiny Queen perched upon it, greeting her guests one by one. Sansa noticed her regal demeanor turn upside down when she locked eyes with Jon. Although to the public they were Queen and Hand, she had found in him not only a true knight but a faithful companion. Both orphans of a war fought by their fathers, searching for homes and instead building a new one.
Arya and Rickon bowed as Jon presented them. "Highness, you remember..."
"Lord Rickon, of course, my how you've grown. And I didn't see the Direwolf head up on the tourney list. Will we not get to see your fine sparing skills I've heard so much about?" The Targaryen tried in vein to hid any sign of excitement she might have had at the possibility of seeing men fight for her honor.
Rickon darted his focus back and forth from all the interested parties watching him. "Your Highness, if you command..."
"Nonsense, I'm asking! Not everything I say is a decree. Arya darling, don't slouch." Dany didn't even stop to look at her. "So will you fight for honor and glory, on a minor scale of course?"
Sansa chuckled as she watched Arya pout and Rickon fumble. Once again, some things never change. The Queen shifted her focus to Sansa and her family.
"My Lady Clegane, welcome back to King's Landing. I've been so looking forward to seeing you and your dear husband again. And meet your children. Is this the new little lord?" She nodded to the baby cooing at all the activity.
Sansa bowed to the woman barely 2 years older than her, yet seemingly aged 10 times more in grace and wisdom. "Your Grace. You honor us so, I can't thank you enough. I present Eddard Clegane."
Again, Elinore pouted at the misdirected attention, mimicing her aunt Arya. However she seemed to get better results. "Little Lady Clegane, they say your father won one a tournament such as this before. He is already a champion to me in many ways, do you think he'll win this battle as well?"
The wild eyed girl nodded excitedly, "papa always wins!"
Everyone laughed, and Dany smiled a warm expression to the girl. "Yes, that seems to be the case." Then she looked to Sansa and winked, a private thank you for having been the unknowing bargaining chip she needed for Sandor to fight for Queen and Country. "Will you sit with me Lady Elinore, and enjoy the games? I bet you know all your father's stories, will you tell them to me?"
Elinore gasped, reaching for her mother's hand. Sansa patted her tiny daughter's shoulders for comfort, and lightly pushed her forward. She nodded in approval as the nervous girl approached the Queen and climbed into the massive seat with her, still with room to spare.
Sansa noticed Jon smiling at the scene of his niece embracing his royal companion. There were times she questioned why he didn't take her hand in marriage, become her other half as she had done with Sandor. But logic ruled the Targaryan mind above the heart. Dany will have no children, the house has no born descendants. There were rumors that the legitimized Stark had actually been the lost child of the very union that tore the kingdoms apart so many years ago, but none of that really mattered now. It was a different path, a brave new world. Sansa suspected that if Jon ever married someone, Dany would legitimize any children he might have as the chosen Targaryan heirs, but not yet. Now, SHE was Queen, and the world seemed to rejoice for it.
The trumpets blared again and the crowd began to take their places in the stands. The procession of knights, lords, and vassals began to feed down the fields. Full armor, helms, bright coat of arms, and lances by their sides. Horses prancing, stomping at the ground and stirring the dust. Sansa didn't really see any of them, except for one. Sandor donned the snarling Hound shaped helm he'd worn the first time she's laid eyes on him at Winterfell. It was like he was stepping out of her dreams, high on his mighty steed, and once again coming to her rescue. She half expected herself to cry, but instead she just applauded with the rest of the crowd, and rose when he approached the royal box.
If it were any other man, those in the stands would have had to look down at him to see, but Sandor's frame upon the massive horse stood to almost eye to eye with the Queen. Reaching with his free hand, he opened the toothy grin of his helm. His ruined face was bathed in the sunlight, and the joy of the people, and the love of his family.
Once long ago in the history of Westros, Torrhen Stark, the Last King in the North, surrendered his crown to the new King Aegon Targaryen, the First of His Name. That crown had since been lost, and only one had been made to replace it, but it too was lost with the head of Robb Stark. Now history would take a turn, the Queen Daenerys Targaryen presented the Starks, with a new crown of iron and steel, nine spires as it had been before, but with wolves molded into it instead of runes of old. The wolves looked to the future now, not backwards.
"I have never been too proud to ask for help when I was in need of it. I come with a crown and I mean to restore the Starks rule of the North. It was a mistake to set one person in charge of so vast a landscape."
With the found decree to make Jon the Stark heir, kept safe in secret and honored by the newly crowned Queen, Sandor assumed Jon would rule, and release Sansa from the succession. But those dreams were shattered when Dany immidiately asked for Jon to take the new Hand of the Queen position in Kings Landing instead, and forefit the Stark inheritance for a place at her side. The Dragon didn't want a lord at her side, she wanted a man. Jon had devoted himself to her cause, and now he was free of any obligation. The choice was his, and he chose her.
Sandor waited for his turn to speak. But it never came. The rights of sucsession were turned upside down, and the queen had a crown in her hands that could go on anyones head. Sandor instantly expected it to go on Sansa's. The girl had been raised to become a queen after all. Why wouldn't a Queen choose another Queen, strong and young like herself.
"Sandor Clegane," the queen commanded his attention. "You once asked me for something in exchange for your service. Alas, I can not give it. It is not mine to give. It is not my choice, nor yours."
Sandor was ready to kill again, but he couldn't find the strength. He left their royal presence. Sansa and her family could work out the details without him. Had everything been for nothing?
No, Sansa was free now. He had already accepted that this could have been a possability. What would the Queen of the North have use for an old dog?
He saddled his horse, ready to leave. He wondered what would come next? Would the Littebird come running after him? She wasn't a bird anymore. She's an heir to a once again royal house, proud and powerful. She was the wolf.
Sandor's muscles were sore already. 3 lances were broken, 3 men unhorsed. The day was just getting started. There was already a deep dent in his breastplate. The squire nervously removed it and left to have the smith pound it out. Waiting for him was a flagon of wine. His second favorite vice.
His first favorite vice walked into the tent. Sansa stood in the doorway, chest heaving from running to him after the last match. The dent had obviously alarmed her, but seeing him standing there drinking stopped her in tracks.
Within seconds they collided in the center of the tent, his hands immediately thrust into her hair, her arms thrown over his shoulders. Their mouths pressed together, hungry for each other as if they'd never been fed.
He used her grip around his neck to lift her up, and placed her gently on a chair. Still kissing, she struggled to unhinge his remaining armor without looking at what she was doing. Sandor finally pulled his mouth away from hers to throw off what she couldn't remove. He knelt before her, and encircled her ankles with his blistered and calloused hands.
With a slow and steady pace he traced the edge of her legs up to her knees, peeling the silk gown back.
She bit her lip in reply, silently begging him to keep going. His hands continued beneath her skirts, up to her hips, and stopped there. With his arms at her sides, he found his placed his head gently sideways in her lap. Resting there, he closed his eyes, rubbing his burnt cheek against her thigh.
She lightly tucked the sweat soaked hair covering his face back behind his good ear. She leaned forward and whispered, lips caressing his flesh, "my Florian."
He needed no more prompting, like a wild animal he took her mouth again, lifting her up in his arms. He propped her up, her back against the nearest pole holding up the tent. He tore at her underclothes until he exposed the warmth he was searching for.
Sandor's breeches barely staying up around his hips, yet he did not take the time to remove them. He entered her haphazardly, 'like a boy finding his first cunt' he cursed to himself. Her eyes widened with the sensation. He was hot and heavy, she was wet and ready. Although beaconing for more below, she pushed hard above with her arms, outstretched and stiff against his chest. She dug her nails into his jerkin, tearing and shoving at things made to withstand the most brutal impacts.
Sansa whimpered and sighed, attempting in vain to keep from drawing unwanted attention to the tent. Sandor himself was having trouble keeping his exertions from being more than the occasional grunt and moan as he sucked air in and out between his gritted teeth.
With newfound strength he lifted her up again, and held her tight into his chest. He left the actual movement to her now, using her legs wrapped around his hips to move him in and out at her own pace. Her skirts dragged the ground while he lifted her up and down one more time before grunting a forceful release. Sansa inhaled sharply as she in turn felt her own sweet bliss.
The day was barely half over, yet Sandor already felt the victor. And Sansa his Queen of Love and Beauty. He didn't want to put her down, she still clung to him, arms tight around his neck. They kissed deeply once more. "my Jonquil," he breathed. 'Mine,' he thought. 'She is mine.'
The dragon Queen was smaller than half his size, yet still commanded his presence. Sandor was forced to listen, but he wasn't forced to obey. "you seek to defy me?"
"Yes I defy you. I told you before Highness, I didn't fight for you." He began to lead his horse out of the stables, towards the gate.
"I'm returning Clegane's Keep to you, your rightful inheritance. I mean to honor both my champions, you and Jon. I need a new lord of the Westerlands. I mean for you to rule them for me."
Sandor didn't stop. "Fuck your lands. I'm no lord, nor knight, nor champion. Leave me alone. There is nothing for me here, there, or in King's Landing. I should have never have left that damn isle."
"You can not refuse your rewards, no matter how hard you resist them." She was steady in her voice, but she no longer pursued him. Dany stood behind as he walked his horse to the closed gate.
The gate didn't open. He banged a fist against the battered wood. "Let me out, is there anyone manning this thing?" He pushed hard, but it didn't budge.
"Where will we go?" The sing-song voice of Sansa made him stop forcing.
Sandor turned to the pale face staring back at him. "Where would you have me go?"
She slowly shook her head from side to side, never taking her own eyes off his. "I told you Sandor, I dreamt of you. I won't be separated again. Where you go, I go."
"You don't want me here Littlebird. A dog has no place with a direwolf." With that he couldn't bare to look at her anymore.
She was back to a face full of tears once again. "On the contrary, hounds and wolves are the perfect match, don't you think? You told me you fought for me, searched for me, almost died for me. Or has it all been a lie."
"I would never lie to you Sansa. But I have no place with a Queen. Rule your lands and forget about me."
She laughed at him. "Silly brute! I'm no Queen. Bran is crowned, I am not next in line. I think she meant to ask me, but I asked for you Sandor. I asked for your freedom, and for mine to follow you."
Once again Sandor was stunned. She was free to choose her future, and she was choosing him. "You... have no claim?"
"None." Jon is now a Stark, Brandon is a King, Rickon will be a lord and knight. Even if Sansa was asked a million times, she was certain she would still chose HIM.
Sandor took a step forward, unsure he wasn't dreaming. "How long?"
Sansa took a step back, slightly frightened by his sudden turn of forward motion. "What?"
"How long will you want to remain?" He stepped forward again.
She stepped back once more. "remain where?"
Third step left mere inches between them. "with me?"
Her breath caught in her throat. She choked on her own thoughts. She was certain he knew her reply, but she was afraid he might leave forever if she gave the wrong answer. She straightened her posture and firmly replied, "forever, I mean to be yours forever."
With that he kissed her, long and softly. When he finally replied with the words she longed to hear. "Then I am yours, my lady. Now I'm yours... now and forever."