I have placed an asterisk (*) next to a paragraph of a non-graphic description of Sansa's experience with Littlefinger. Please be assured there is no physical assault but I wanted to provide a warning for my readers just in case. The asterisk is there so you can skip the paragraph if you prefer and still enjoy the rest of the chapter.
The name for Sansa's mare Sugar is a nod to one of my favorite Sansan fics, Something to Worship by Starbird1. :D
Sansa Tells Sandor her Story
Heavy snowfall has kept the couple indoors for several days. Ever wary of the Baratheon soldiers, Sandor leaves only to retrieve items from Sansa's cabin, chop firewood or care for Stranger and Sugar, Sansa's blonde mare. He has carefully avoided Stannis' men and takes great pains to make sure Sansa remains out of their view. During this time the couple has shared stories of their time spent apart, of past trials and heartaches endured since King's Landing. At night lying under the furs, Sandor curls around her protectively. Sansa has grown comfortable with their unconventional arrangement, allowing herself to relax and enjoy the feel of his arms around her as she drifts off to sleep. For Sandor, having the Little bird all to himself and falling asleep in her arms every night is his deepest wish fulfilled. This time spent with her is the happiest he has ever known.
The day dawns bright and crisp, the first sign of fair weather in days. Eager to enjoy the open air Sansa proposes, "Let us go for a ride out of camp today, Sandor. There is a lovely place I wish to show you not far from here."
Grinning, Sandor nods approvingly. "As you wish, Little bird. We'll leave this place to the soldiers for a while," he replies. After they break their fast, he heads outside to saddle Stranger.
"A half hour's ride upslope is a huge weirwood forest the likes of which you've never seen," Sansa says excitedly as Sandor lifts her up on Stranger. Though he could have easily saddled Sugar, he does not, preferring instead for her ride in front of him. The scarred man cannot help but feel immensely pleased to notice Sansa does not seem to mind and instead settles in front of him, resting her back against his chest. "It is home to the most beautiful of trees. Oh Sandor, I just know you will like it."
Chuckling, he climbs up behind her. "Alright, show me the trees, Little bird," he mutters, turning the horse northward.
Within a short distance a vast weirwood forest rises out of the dense wood. The thick branches of the ancient trees reach in all directions and create a crimson shelter overhead. Blood red leaves blanket both the sky overhead and the ground beneath, giving the grove an otherworldly appearance. "Aye, a pretty place to be sure," he comments as Sansa retrieves her bundles.
"Come Sandor, there is one tree I especially want to show you."
"I'm starved woman, there had better be food in that sack."
Handing over a loaf of bread, Sansa then takes him by the hand and leads Sandor deeper into the wood on foot while Stranger grazes nearby. Stopping, Sansa beams at him and points to an ancient tree easily twice the size of any other weirwood tree he has ever seen. The forest is silent and beautiful and Sandor marvels at the great tree with its enormous trunk and great red boughs reaching heavenward as if in prayer.
"Isn't it the loveliest tree you have ever seen?" Sansa asks excitedly, her deep blue eyes sparkling with happiness. Only the exquisite woman beside him dims the forest's beauty in his eyes.
"Indeed. I wonder how old it is?" He replies, thinking she alone will forever be the most beautiful sight he will ever see.
Looking around the area in wonder she says softly, "Even though these weirwood trees have no faces carved into them, I feel the presence of the gods here." Turning to him she whispers, "Do you sense it too?"
"Aye, I suppose," he smiles, enjoying her enthusiasm.
"I feel safer here than anywhere I have ever been, except Winterfell."
Gathering her in his arms Sandor pulls her near, reveling in the peaceful closeness between them. "You will always be safe with me Little bird. Remember that."
"I feel safe with you Sandor, I do. I cannot thank you enough for that. You brought justice to my family and to me. You have brought me the first measure of peace I have had in many years." Sitting down on a fallen log, she draws him down beside her. "I wanted to come here with you to answer your questions and in turn I hope you will answer mine."
"You left your cloak behind in my room the night of the battle," she begins, nervously retrieving the dirty white cloak from her bag. Speechless, Sandor stares at her with all his might, wondering how she managed to keep it all this time. "Many times over the years since we parted I have huddled beneath it, drawing strength from your memory." Bashfully she fixes her eyes on him, awaiting his response.
Sandor has never been so deeply touched in his life; his eyes fill with tears at her words. Speechless, he turns away, taking a moment to gather himself. Sansa kept my cloak just as I kept a piece of her torn dress from the day of the riots. In his worst moments of suffering he fingered the soft material, deriving strength from her memory; now the Little bird confesses she has done the same.
"Did you now?" Sandor manages, pulling her close to him once more.
"A few days ago, you asked about Petyr…what he did to me and why I tremble." Sighing, Sansa squeezes his hand tightly as if trying to absorb a measure of his fearlessness. "He was responsible for my father's death, I'm sure you know that." Sandor nods gravely, striving to control the surge of anger the mere mention of Baelish provokes in him. "After Joffrey died, he took me to the Eyrie to my aunt. He married her you know, just to gain control over the Vale as Lord Protector while the entire time he plotted to take it for himself. I watched him kill her…'only Cat' he told her and then he threw her out the Moon door to her death. Aunt Lysa blamed me for him."
Sandor knew Sansa's beauty and resemblance to her mother could not have escaped his notice. "He mentioned your mother as he killed your aunt? Hmm, how very odd. Of course Littlefinger was never what you would call normal." Sickening anxiety engulfs Sandor's heart, recalling the first time he saw them together at Winterfell and how all the men remarked on the striking similarity. Littlefinger sat around with them, bragging he took Catelyn's maidenhead before she married Ned, repeating it so often even Tyrion rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Blamed you? She blamed you for what?"
Swallowing hard, Sansa blurts out, "Petyr kissed me...she saw him...and I could not get away from him." Trembling violently, Sansa buries her face in his chest and Sandor grips her tightly against him. After several moments her shaking subsides and Sandor lifts her chin so she will look him in the eyes, willing her to feel his protection, his love and devotion to her. So Littlefucker kissed the little bird and then killed her aunt. Sandor's stomach sinks, dreading the answer to his next question. "What about Lord Arryn's boy? Isn't he the heir?"
"Yes, you speak rightly. Petyr understood that too and slowly poisoned him with sweetsleep. My cousin had always been frail and no one realized what Lord Baelish was about. One day the poor boy passed in his sleep."
Good gods…I should have gone to the Eyrie, taken her out of that place. "How did you discover what Littlefinger did?"
Tears fill Sansa's eyes, flooding Sandor with anger once more. "I found the vials under Sweetrobin's bed when I was packing away his belongings after the funeral. Petyr found me throwing them away and immediately admitted it, claiming it was all part of the plan and that he did it all for Catelyn…for me. By then his obsession with my lady mother completely blurred his ability to distinguish me from her. He claimed Sweetrobin's death would allow us to marry and retake Winterfell." Sansa tears flow freely now as she buries herself in Sandor's neck.
Fighting the urge to curse the man, Sandor reminds himself his anger will do her no good. Instead he responds by gently lifting her on his lap and tenderly stroking her hair, whispering words of comfort softly in her ear.
* "One night he came to my room, saying he wanted 'proof' my maidenhead was intact. 'Time to prove your worth,' he said. He was drunk and well, he disrobed. I was so frightened I did not know what to do. I begged the old gods and the new to help me. So I told him to wait for me to freshen up and when I went into the garderobe I retrieved the two remaining full vials of sweetsleep from the wastebasket. While he was, uh, making himself ready, I poured the vials into his wine goblet." Sansa's breathing comes hard and fast, choking out a violent sob at her last words.
Her intense suffering triggers the black rage Sandor felt as the Hound coursing throughout his body. Due to the cold, Sandor packed a flask of wine Nan had given him. Wordlessly he hands her the wineskin, bidding her to drink. After several long draws, Sansa's color returns to her cheeks. "Feel better?"
Sansa nods and hands him the flask. "A bit, yes."
"Wine will do in an emergency but I have something better for you. I brought passion-flower leaves for your trembling and nervous condition, Sansa." He hands over the small pouch and Sansa opens it, inhaling the sweet scent. "When you feel afraid or anxious, put three leaves in a cup to steep. Drink it three times a day and before bedtime."
"Oh thank you so very much. I remember you said the Elder brother taught you herbs and healing. How good you are to me." Tucking the pouch in her skirt pocket, she softly kisses his cheek. "Thank you Sandor, I will drink it gladly."
Resting his chin on her head he says quietly, "You need not say any more if you don't wish, Sansa."
Shaking her head, she squeezes his hands in her own. "No, no-it is time Sandor. Holding this inside has made me ill."
Nodding, he waits patiently for her to continue. "So, I toasted him, hoping he would drink and drink he did. In fact, he drained the cup and not long after he was unconscious."
Thank the gods. Patting her legs, Sandor whispers, "Good on you, Sansa. I'm proud of you. You're a wolf, a true Stark. The gods gave you a way out and you took it."
Sansa wraps her arms around his neck and buries his face in his hair, her words pouring out. "I ran out into the snows of night in a panic. I walked for I don't know how long, praying to the gods for help, praying for death. I thought there was nothing left to live for. Lady Brienne and Podrick found me. By then I had lost my shoes-she cared for me, helped me recover at a nearby inn. It was there I learned of the Hound's death. I wanted to die myself just so I would see my loved ones again. Once I was well enough to travel she brought me north to Jon."
Sandor speaks softly while raising her chin to make her meet his eyes. "You've carried all this inside you this entire time?"
Shaking her head, she admits, "Well, not exactly. I told Lady Brienne and to her credit she did not tell anyone, not even Podrick. She gave only the barest of details to Jon."
When her sobbing subsides, Sandor stands and lifts her to her feet before gathering her close. "You will always be safe. I…I should have never left you." Shame fills his eyes and something more, leading Sansa to wonder what he will do next. She watches him closely while Sandor pauses, seemingly gathering his courage.
Remember Elder brother's words. Don't bloody wait for her to ask, just tell her, you damned coward. "Little bird, I love you," he hesitates, watching her eyes grow wide. "Seven hells, you must have realized it by now." Sansa reaches up to him, stroking his cheek gently. "Sansa, I love you and I will never allow anyone to hurt you again. Believe that."
She laughs joyously, the sound music to his ears. "As I love you, Sandor. I have seen the man within and my love and trust for you is more powerful than any feeling I have ever known. Finding you again so changed and yet so very similar-" pausing, Sansa blushes deeply. "You are the answer to my prayers."
Kissing her soundly, Sandor clings to her, hardly able to believe her words. "My precious Little bird, I love you and I will never allow anyone to take you from me."
Staring deeply into his eyes, she whispers, "Does this mean you wish us wed?"
"Aye, woman, I have wished for it ever since I first saw you."
Wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, she gently kisses his cheek and then snuggles against his chest, sighing contentedly.
Just say it you besotted fool. "I know it is soon but I would-I would ask you to become my wife, Sansa."
Holding his face in her hands, Sansa kisses him slowly and deeply and such an intimate, tender expression of love Sandor has never before experienced in his life. "Yes, I would love to be your wife, Sandor. I do not wish to ever be parted from you again."
Years of praying, hoping and yearning all come crashing over him at her words. Unable to hold back any longer, Sandor crushes her against him, burying his face in her hair while his own tears shower her neck and shoulder. Determined to assure him of her love, Sansa tenderly caresses him, her kisses quickly becoming passionate. Sandor's kisses in return are deep, full of hunger and wanting and he is delighted to discover Sansa shares his desire. Wrapping one leg around his for balance, she draws him closer as he runs his hands along her waist, settling on her hips.
The feeling of their bodies pressed tightly together elicits a long groan from Sandor. Unable to resist, he grinds his hips against hers before abruptly breaking away from her. Ever so slowly he allows her body to slide against his own as he lowers her to her feet. Sansa traces every feature of his body with her own: the feeling of his muscular carved chest, the chiseled defined ridges of his stomach, the hardness of his manhood leaves her gasping, craving more of him.
Chuckling low, Sandor gently moves away from her. "Any more of this, woman, and I may take you right here on the ground, leaves and all."
Blushing, she replies, "If you keep kissing me in such a way I might forget myself and let you."
Barking out a laugh, Sandor shakes his head. "Bloody hells, look what being around me has done to you!" Turning serious, Sandor takes her hands in his. "Sansa, you know better than anyone I don't have much to offer. Nevertheless I wish to speak to your brother as soon as may be."
Nodding, Sansa eyes fill with happy tears. "Yes love, the sooner the better."
Icy winds swirl around them, bringing snow flurries that dust the landscape with fresh powder and send a shower of red leaves over the couple. "Sandor, look! The snow in the weirwood grove, the leaves falling-it is a sign from my father!" She giggles excitedly, catching the snowflakes on her tongue.
"That it may well be, love, but I'm sure he doesn't mean for you to stand out here and catch a chill. Let's head back before we're both soaked through." Taking off his cloak, he bundles her close to him and then lifts her on Stranger's back.
Snuggling down securely in his arms, Sansa sighs happily as they ride back to the village, the sound causing an unfamiliar lightness to take hold of Sandor as the cabin comes into view. As he silently thanks the gods for Sansa's love, he realizes now this is the reason the gods spared his life; it was for this, for her love that he is alive and he knows he will do anything necessary to make her happy for the rest of his life.
