Hi everyone!

A new chapter is ready! I hope you all enjoy! If you do please don't hesitate to comment! :)

A giant THANK YOU to my wonderful beta Leigh of Oldstone for her help with this chapter! She is the GREATEST! :D


In spite of everything Sansa had gone through during the last few weeks, she had mostly been good at keeping her emotions in check, preferring to focus on the positive aspects of her life rather than to pity herself. Her day to day existence was not all that bad after all and she even had moments where she was truly content. For as long as she didn't stop to ponder on the larger picture of things, her situation was more than bearable and she therefore very rarely shed tears.

This morning though as she lay facedown on her large featherbed wondering where by the Seven Sandor could be, Sansa lost it completely for the first time since she had broken down by a creek as she cleaned herself up. It was as if everything she had suppressed suddenly erupted out of her. There was no way she could keep any of it inside anymore. Shaking, she sobbed and sniffed like a dirty child, not caring how unseemly this all was. Her pillow was soaked but it didn't matter and she didn't even bother searching for a handkerchief. Weirdly though, Sansa's mind was blank and not a thought crossed it for as long as her outburst lasted. If she cried, it was more out of a need to free herself from the overwhelming tension that had been hers for so long than in response to something specifically. It was an automatic reaction of her body, one it did to purge itself of whatever foulness contaminated it, exactly as she might have retched if some illness had taken her.

For a few long minutes, naught existed but Sansa's sobs and the deep void inside of her. The moment might have lasted even longer if she hadn't heard a movement coming from next door. Her eyes opening wide, she tensed at the quick succession of noises that followed. A grunt, some creaks of what sounded like an old wooden bed and then finally, heavy footsteps on the ground.

Oh gods, it's him! Sansa thought to herself, her stomach pulling in a tight knot.

How stupid she had been! Of course the Hound would not abandon her! He was a fighter, not a quitter! If he had taken his distances for one night, it would only be to come back to her with more resolve the next morning. It would have made no sense for him to be so possessive and jealous that he could not even bear for her to exchange a few words with a stable boy half his age and size, only to renounce the control he had over her mere moments later.

With the way she had overreacted and cried like a child, Sansa had made a fool of herself and now Sandor would mock her for it - or worse, snarl at her for disturbing his sleep. Suddenly, images of their last interactions of yesterday afternoon flashed in Sansa's mind and no matter how much she had craved for his presence only a few minutes before, there was now nothing she dreaded more than to face him.

She had no time to prepare herself though, for just an instant after she had grown aware of his presence, she heard the sound of a key fumbling in the lock of her door. Sitting up near the head of the bed, Sansa watched in horror as the door brusquely opened.

"What in seven buggering hells was all this about, little bird?" the Hound hissed as he entered the chamber, slamming the door shut behind him just as soon. His voice was more gravelly than ever, very alike the sound of old, dented steel brushing against stone.

Sansa looked up at him, her mouth agape and chest heaving. To say that he was dishevelled was an understatement. He was a total mess. His lank black hair hung in tangles and he wore only a pair of dirty, half-laced breeches. Dark circles were clearly visible under his bloodshot eyes as he squinted against the wan morning light as if it was a full summer afternoon glare. The fact that he was hangover was beyond obvious. He could barely stand straight.

"Sansa, what the fuck was this about?" he insisted harshly, walking toward the bed until he was standing just in front of her.

Sansa gulped and craned her neck up to look at him. "I thought you had left. That you had abandoned me," she breathed, nervously pulling the blankets she had over her lap around herself.

"You thought I had left," the Hound repeated disbelievingly, each of his words slow and gruff. The burnt corner of his mouth twitching, he glowered down at her. "And why by the buggering Stranger would you think something so stupid? Gods, you crazy little bird! Have you not a damned ounce of sense in you?" As he spoke his question, he got on the bed and let himself fall heavily onto his back over the mattress.

Uneasy, Sansa shifted away from him. "You… you didn't come back yesterday and when I called you, you gave no reply…" she tried to explain, her voice as small as a mouse.

Sandor's head was resting less than a foot from where she was sitting with her legs folded under her and she could see in the weak morning light how some of the hairs of his otherwise black stubble were grey. "I had good reasons not to come back to you last night, with the way you've been running on your own around town," he rasped dryly, rubbing both his temples with his fingers. His eyes were closed but his features were tense and his jaw clenched.

"I was not running around town," Sansa reminded him even though she knew speaking back was perhaps not a very good idea right now. "I only went to the godswood."

His face twisting into a wrathful scowl, the Hound turned his face toward her. His eyes were two grey slits gleaming with contempt. The pace of Sansa's pulse increased as he laid them on her. "That's now where I found you!" he spat. "You were at the stables, speaking to another man-"

"A boy!" she cut off despairingly.

"Don't let details fool you, girl! It's all one and the same with men, didn't I tell you yesterday? You should never have left without my accord. You're my charge, Sansa, and you've no fucking judgment. I need to protect you from yourself."

"You treat me as if I were a child!" Sansa reproached, her frustration suddenly too much to bear. "Why would you do that and then… and then…"

Sandor snorted, a half-mocking, half-knowing smirk curving his lips. "Don't you see those are two completely different things, little bird? You may be young and act like a bloody child sometimes but in bed, you're a woman. Believe that," he told her, propping himself on an elbow and seizing her by the wrist.

"It makes no sense," Sansa retorted, squirming against his hold. As she did, she lost her grip on her blankets and they fell around her.

"You're wrong. It does," the Hound assured coldly, letting himself fall back onto the bed and yanking her down with him.

Sansa collapsed half over him, her legs still tangled amongst the mess of blankets and furs around her. "Please, Sandor!" she squeaked. One of her palms laid flat over his torso and she tried to use it to propel herself away from him but the man circled her waist with his hands to keep her well in place over him. He buried his face into her neck and hair to sniff and nuzzled at her much like a dog would. Sansa wrinkled her nose in distaste. "You stink of wine," she complained while jerking her head away from him, a bit taken aback by her own words. It wasn't like her to be so brutally honest.

"Oh come on now, Sansa. Don't play the prude with me. You don't usually mind it," he rebuked her.

"I do. I just never say so…" Sansa whispered stiffly. She squeezed her eyes shut, unsure she had the courage to witness his reaction.

The Hound didn't add anything to that. Instead, he exhaled loudly through his nose and flipped her onto her back over the mattress. Sansa yelped and opened her eyes just in time to see him shove all the blankets and furs off of the bed, some of which stayed tangled around her legs at first, but Sandor made quick work of them and soon nothing remained on the mattress but the two of them and the pillows. In one fast gesture, he straddled her around the thighs and raised the skirt of her shift over her belly, his hands running over the smooth skin of her waist.

Knitting her brows, Sansa twisted onto her side in a vain attempt to put herself out of his grasp. "No, please! I don't want this right now," she murmured despondently.

"But I do, little bird. Don't resist me now," he bid her.

With both his hands on her shoulders, he pushed her on her back again, his palms just as soon going down over her breasts to cup them firmly. His fingers pinched her nipples through the fabric of her shift and Sansa drew in a sharp breath at the acute sensation it triggered, her gaze darting up to the man who hovered above her. She let it rake over him, taking in every detail of his impressive bulk as if it was the first time she saw him.

He was so muscular, each part of him unbelievably robust and sinewy and his shoulders were so broad, his hands so big… There was something very commanding about his presence alone, and thus as Sansa's gaze distractedly swept down the coarse hair that covered his torso and forearms, she stayed still and let him touch her breasts as he pleased. Soon, her stare fell to his groin. With the way he was looming over her, with a knee on each side of her, she could clearly see he was aroused. While it wasn't truly surprising considering their position, that didn't stop Sansa's heart from starting to beat faster. She might have gotten used to the act itself since he had stolen her maidenhead more than a moon ago, but the sight of the Hound's manhood, so daunting even when covered with clothes, had never ceased to make her anxious. Though these days, her anxiety never came alone. Always, it was entangled with that odd yet intriguing warmth in her lower belly which made her skin flush and eyelids grow heavy. Even now that she wanted naught less than to be mounted by the Hound, Sansa could feel heat pool down her loins. She winced at the notion, averting her eyes from him.

Sandor's hands trailed down her body, his thick fingers brushing the nude skin of her stomach and taking hold of her smallclothes. Lowering himself down her legs, he yanked the garment to her ankles and threw it to the floor. Sansa tried to keep her legs clenched together as he took both of her knees in his hands but her resistance was futile and he easily parted her thighs widely. Defeated, she didn't seek to close them back afterwards. There was no point in fighting against the Hound. He was too strong and always ended up getting what he wanted from her anyway. Peeking down at him, she saw his stare was fixed on the dark auburn curls which grew in-between her legs, his eyes gleaming with animalistic thirst. It wasn't hard to guess what he had in mind to do next.

"No, don't do it please, Sandor," Sansa whispered softly, knowing fully well he would not listen.

With strong hands, Sandor caressed her inner thighs all the while bringing his face just above her mound. "But why shouldn't I? Your pretty little cunt tastes like honey and you like it well enough when I do this to you, don't you?" He snorted a short laugh then. "Besides since you said yourself you thought I stunk of wine, this should suit you just fine. You won't smell me at least while I'm down here."

With surprising gentleness, he opened her lower lips with his fingers and flicked his tongue over her folds. Sansa inhaled deeply and threw her head back as the indecent caress sent pleasant shivers all over her body.

"Stop… stop it…" she pleaded, stirring in his clutches. Even though her own body was betraying her, she needed to oppose at least once more, if only by principle.

The Hound didn't listen of course. He continued licking at her like the rabid dog he was, his hands like two vices keeping her thighs spread out around his face and legs thrown over his shoulders. As he went on, Sansa became less and less tense, her breathing accelerating. In spite of how licentious the gesture was and how much she knew she should logically have been disgusted by it, the feel of Sandor's restless tongue on her sensitive flesh had always been intoxicating to her and today was no different.

"You taste like the seven heavens, girl. I'd gladly eat you whole," Sandor muttered, removing his mouth from her. With his thumbs, he both parted her folds again and caressed that small nub of flesh she had just above her entrance, his stare glued to his task. Sansa was always too abashed to glance down at him for more than an eye blink while he kissed her down there. Nevertheless, even with her gaze fixed to the ceiling as it was, she could tell the Hound was pleased with what he was seeing. "Mmm…" he whispered, the hunger in his voice making her blush.

He resumed licking her, this time in concise circles around her nub. Sansa arched her back and let out a very unladylike groan but just as she clutched her hands after the sheet that covered the feather mattress, Sandor surprised her by scooping the cheeks of her bottom with his palms and lifting her upward. With his tongue, he then started to penetrate her slit much like his member often did, using his hands to guide her mound toward his face with each of his thrust into her. The gesture was so obscene that it took Sansa out of the trancelike state she had been in so far.

"Sandor!" she complained. Wriggling out of his grasp, she sat up, away from him with her legs closed tightly together.

The Hound laughed, the skin around his lips gleaming with moisture. "Why are you being so proper, Sansa? Don't tell me you didn't like it, I won't believe you."

"Why wouldn't you, if I said so? I think I know better than you what I like or not," Sansa answered back. Even as she spoke, she wondered why she insisted on contradicting him when he would undoubtedly see her words as provocation. She regretted her lack of self-control just as soon, for the man frowned and a very peculiar spark passed through his dark eyes.

"You want to know why?" Sandor demanded. "I'll show you." A menacing smirk curving his lips, he grasped her by the ankles and pulled her under him. Once that was done, he brought his hands where the skirt of her shift was gathered around her waist, took two handfuls of the fabric and pulled the garment over her head.

Sansa fought against it, yet the Hound won as he always did. Soon, she was naked under him and he had both his hands around her wrists, keeping them onto the mattress over her head.

"I think you've missed being taken like this. That's why you've been so bloody defiant since yesterday," he rasped lowly.

His body was flush over hers and even though she could tell he was putting most of his weight onto his forearms and legs, he was still extremely heavy. His erection was poking onto her upper thigh, so hard and massive it hurt. Sansa could feel the ache in her lower belly increase.

"I'll fuck you hard, like you deserve." As he said the words, Sandor tugged Sansa's wrists higher over her head and put them both under one of his hands, his fingers closing tightly around them. Then, he brought his free hand between them and began fumbling with the laces of his breeches. Soon, the girl felt his engorged member fall heavily onto her mound and belly. The Hound took it in hand to pump it a few times.

Apart from the fact that Sansa was completely nude and they were in the comfort of a luxurious inn chamber, the whole situation was very reminiscent to that of the first time Sandor had lost his control with her. Exactly like then, he was still half dressed and constraining her under him, adamant to get his way with her. Once more, she wouldn't be given a choice on the matter. Only now, she knew what to expect. And also… also after all those weeks of being constantly bedded by him, Sansa had not only gotten used to his invasion but learned to find enjoyment in the act. And thus this morning, in spite of how her mind would have wished it otherwise, her body was responding positively to the feel of the Hound's powerful build on top of her and a small fire was burning in her core.

The stiff head of Sandor's manhood was soon prodding at Sansa's entrance. He slipped into her as easily as a hot knife through butter, his entire shaft filling her. She gasped as a flash of lightning passed through her, somehow painful and exhilarating at once, each of her muscles tautening at the impact.

"Seven hells, little bird… you're so fucking wet," the Hound rasped. As if to prove his point, he withdrew his shaft entirely out of her cleft and thrust himself inside just as soon. It slid back to the hilt as smoothly as it had before.

Sansa moaned at that and threw her head back. Out of curiosity, she tried moving her arms, if only a little, but they were imprisoned over her head, the man's hand like a steel shackle around her wrists. With his other hand, he was pressing one of her thighs onto the mattress to keep her legs wide open, his brawny body seemingly covering every inch of her. There was no way she could give him even an ounce of resistance and the notion of how trapped she was exacerbated the fire in her. A new surge of moisture seeped in her folds.

In slow and steady yet sharp movements, Sandor kept sliding himself in and out of her just as widely as he had before, pulling his shaft completely out of her only to dip it as deeply as he could just as soon.

"You're soaked, girl, and got more so since I've started fucking you. Don't think I didn't notice."

Sansa blushed from her brow to her toes but there was no point in denying what she knew to be true. Instead, she shut her eyes and moaned.

The man carried on with his slow shoves, the hand he had on her thigh moving upward to trail over her curves until it was resting on the side of her face, cupping her cheek.

"Fuck… Sansa… You're so beautiful, girl. You know that, I hope?"

Sansa nodded her head once. As she grew up, she had always loved to look at her reflection in the large mirror she had in her room at Winterfell. She found herself pretty then and had been proud to think that one day, she would be as beautiful as her Lady Mother. So far though, she wasn't sure her beauty had served her so well.

"I've wanted you ever since you grew teats but you're getting more stunning with each day that passes," the Hound admitted, burying his fingers into her hair.

With her eyes closed as they were, Sansa didn't see him as he bent down closer. Suddenly though, his lips were on hers, his tongue delicately entering her slightly parted mouth. Sansa's eyes fluttered opened in surprise, yet she closed them almost as soon and moved her lips and tongue with his. She could taste herself on his lips, the tangy flavour mixing with that of the strong wine he liked to drink. As strange as it was, Sansa found nothing repellent about it. The Hound was not a bad kisser - or so she believed since she had never been kissed by anyone but him. It was even one of the things he did to her that she preferred, which was certainly odd given that his face was hideously scarred and lips half burnt.

They kept on kissing like that for a long moment, Sandor rocking his hips in now less wide but more rapid thrust and Sansa mirroring each of his movements. "Seven hells, girl… you're good…" he said, pausing to look her in the eyes.

Sansa met his gaze yet just as she did, the Hound bowed down and released her wrists to bring his hand under the curve of one of her breasts and direct her nipple into his mouth. A small whimper escaped the girl's mouth, as much from the feel of his lips and tongue on her as from the sudden freedom of her wrists. They ached from having been confined in the man's hold and she stretched them a little before swiftly laying her palms on his ribs.

After having sucked at Sansa's nipple until it was hard and glistening, Sandor removed his mouth from it to kiss her neck and throat. Keeping one hand on her breast, and the other clasped on her hip, he tirelessly shoved himself between her thighs. Far from repulsing him as she first had, Sansa now welcomed his invasion, her legs spread wide while she guided his movement with a hand on each side of his torso.

The Hound was such a sturdy man, so large and tall and gifted with unforgiving strength, and as he took her, it was as if having a will of herself was impossible. Sansa needed to surrender to his every wish, to make his desires her own or else be coerced into submission. For some absurd reason, the notion of how little choice she had was liberating. She was his captive: it didn't matter what she cared for, he would always prevail and the knowledge of how ineluctable this was enabled her to totally abandon herself. Whatever the Hound had in mind, she would end-up doing and so it was best she complied and found ways to appreciate the act as well.

Therefore, Sansa let go of all restraint and moved her pelvis with his just as eagerly as he did, her whole body growing aflame every time he made his way into her slit. The continuous friction of his rock-solid member inside her made her more and more sensitive, rendering her flustered in a heady sort way that was far from unpleasant. There was something else building in her though, a potent tickling which took root in the rubbing of her nub against the Hound's groin and of which she desperately wanted more. Sansa had experienced it on other occasions before, of course, but she had never done anything about it previously. Today however, it was too intense for her to simply leave it as it was.

Unsure of how to proceed, Sansa did as her instincts told her and rolled her hips in ampler motions that allowed her to press her nub more firmly against Sandor with each of his powerful thrusts. As she did she could glimpse, though from afar, bliss stronger than anything she had ever experienced and she moaned and sighed as much from the yearning she had for it as from the frustration her inability to dive fully into it woke in her.

After a moment of that, the Hound pulled slightly away from her. "Little bird… you wild little thing…" he muttered in-between pants. His voice was raw and feverish and his eyes burned with lust. "Trying to do something, are you? Mmm, I think I should help."

With that, he brought his hand just above where they were joined and brushed his thumb over her folds. They were so slippery, Sansa was briefly assailed with embarrassment, yet it didn't last, for the contact of the Hound's calloused fingers on her nub was too perfect for her to keep her mind on anything that might prevent her from fully relishing his touch.

Resuming his comings and goings, he kissed her again and Sansa unwittingly almost bit at his lower lip, so much was she overwhelmed by the increase of her pleasure. The man growled at that but Sansa could tell he hadn't minded.

With Sandor's thumb still stroking that sensitive spot of hers, Sansa now only had to rock her hips very faintly to enhance the tickling in her belly and transform the tantalizing glimpse of bliss into a full view of what might lay ahead if she kept at it. Sliding her hands to the Hound's waist, she pushed her middle against him to add even more force to his ministration, swaying her hips with so much resolve that soon, the man stopped bothering stirring his thumb altogether to give her full control over the caress. In the midst of all that, Sandor never ceased ravishing her, the lascivious gasps and cries Sansa let out apparently encouraging him to grow more and more merciless as he shoved his manhood in and out of her.

As their encounters had gone on over the last few weeks, dissatisfaction had been part of Sansa's experience just as much as fear, shame and pleasure. With everyday that had gone by as she learned to enjoy being possessed by the Hound, she had gradually become more aware that there was something missing on her part which was evading her like sand slipping through ones fingers. Now that it was within her grasp for the very first time, Sansa was more curious than ever to know exactly what it was and would not quit until she did. Her legs spread as widely as she could, she restlessly rubbed her rub against the Hound's thumb anytime their hips met, her naked feet hanging in the air around his broad back and toes pointing towards the ceiling.

Sandor was breathing so loudly into her neck it almost sounded like grunts, the sound mixing with the incessant creaks of the bed and Sansa's own cries. The hairs of his chest were brushing against the tip of her breasts, his stubble scraping her neck and the roughspun of his unlaced breeches scratching her bottom but all of her attention was concentrated on that small ball of liquid fire the tension in her core had evolved into. Every second or so, it pulsated like a heartbeat and grew into something bigger. Sansa was squirming and throwing her head back from one side to the other, her eyes shut and lips parted, sweat beading all over her skin.

At one point though, a jolt passed through her and she tensed and exhaled, her eyes popping open at once. Having swelled one time too many, the point of tension in her core suddenly imploded in the most exquisite manner possible. It wasn't blood that ran in her veins anymore but wildfire and as it rushed through her body, the mundane reality of life was transformed into total ecstasy. Her eyes rolled back and she entirely lost control over herself, groaning so loudly she was sure anyone passing by their chamber could hear. Each of her muscles clenched and unclenched, her nails digging deeply into the Hound's thick skin.

Why? Why does it have to be so good when I've never wanted any of this? Sansa wondered as her climax slowly subsided. There was no answer to her question and since there was no point in torturing herself with it, she promptly chased the thought away to savour the last of her peak. In a way, it was as if the moment lasted forever even as she knew it had gone by in only a few heartbeats. It was mesmerising. Even though it didn't excuse him, Sansa somehow felt like she understood the Hound better now, why he had wanted her so much as to disregard everything, from her own will to his king's commands to the order of things in which their society worked only to get to experience this through her.

"Little bird…" Sandor let out, amazed. As he spoke, Sansa realised he was now completely motionless, his member only half sheathed in her. "You loved this, didn't you? Seven hells, Sansa, but you were so bloody beautiful as you came. I could fuck you forever like this…" he breathed, something akin to passion in his ragged voice.

Sansa was too taken aback and exhausted to speak. Instead, she looked into his eyes and saw they were dark with need and just as heavy-lidded as her own. The next thing she knew, his mouth was crashing over hers and he was kissing her avidly. As their lips and tongues moved together, the Hound bucked his hips against hers to fully impale her, the gesture so abrupt that Sansa yelped in his mouth. She didn't mind it though. To the contrary after the turmoil she had just experienced, her insides were so receptive that with each of his stabs in her, he was reviving some of her previous bliss.

"Turn around, Sansa," Sandor demanded after only a few seconds of that, pulling his shaft out of her and lying a hand on her side to urge her do as he asked.

Sansa obeyed, still a little limp and dizzy from her climax but excited at the thought of being taken like that. No matter how horrified she had been the first time they did it this way, she had now come to enjoy this position regardless of how easily her pleasure could turn to pain the instant the Hound stopped being careful with her. His manhood could penetrate her deepest when she was on all four and while that could lead to elation, it also made her much more vulnerable to his ardour. It was most definitely a double-edged sword.

With his hands on her hips, Sandor pulled her toward him and plunged his member into her cleft in one deep thrust. Sansa's folds were so wet and his shaft so hard that he didn't even need to guide it with his hand. It entered right through, the sharp sensation it elicited inducing a long, throaty gasp from Sansa.

Without missing a beat, the man began sliding his shaft in and out of her at a frantic rhythm that announced quite clearly he had no intention of fooling around and wished to get straight to the point. More savagely than ever, he pounded himself into her but Sansa's folds were so moist that it didn't even hurt, or only barely. She opened her legs for him and pushed up her behind to give him full access to her cleft, her upper body propped down on her forearms and head leaned on the mattress. Already, she could tell he was close to his own release by the way he was breathing heavily and grunting like a beast.

"Fuck, little bird… Gods…" the Hound let out as he buried his manhood completely in her one last time.

From behind her, Sansa could feel his great frame shake ever so slightly, his hands closed stiffly around her hips as he spilled himself in her dept. One more hushed curse escaped his lips and he withdrew his shaft from her before letting himself fall heavily by her side and pulling her against him.

For a long time it seemed, they stayed nestled against each other in silence, both fulfilled for the very first time. Her head leaning against his shoulder, Sansa distractedly played with the hair on the Hound's chest while he softly caressed her back. She wasn't sure what to think about what had just happened. The only thing she knew for certain was that reflecting too deeply on this morning's events and most of all, the new barrier she had crossed with Sandor, was the last thing she wanted - especially now that she felt so good and sated. She knew shame would ensue if she did and she was a bit fed up of being ashamed all the time. Today, she could make an exception.

"You hungry?" Sandor broke the peacefulness of their chamber just as Sansa was falling asleep.

While eating hadn't been on her mind before, from the moment he asked the question she realised just how starving she was and became wide awake. "Oh, yes! Really!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, tilting her head up to gaze at him.

"Mmm, me too," the Hound replied, amusement lacing his rough voice. The good side of his lips curling in a smirk, he rose on his elbows and laid narrowed his eyes on Sansa. "I'll go fetch us some food in the common room - a whole damned lot of it because I'm bloody famished right now. Yet, don't you dare get dressed while I'm gone, little bird. I'm not done with you." Even though his smirk had evolved in a wide, crooked grin, his tone was threatening on the last sentence - in a thrilling sort of way.

Her belly fluttering, Sansa's eyes grew wide and her heartbeat increased in pace but the truth was, she was looking forward to the prospect.

The Hound sat up, yet just as he was about to leave the bed, he leaned over her to nuzzle at her neck, one of his hands going over the side of her bottom and clamping its cheek so firmly that she let out a high pitched squeak. Laughing, Sandor laced up his now thoroughly crumpled breeches and headed to his room for a tunic before climbing down the stairs that led to the common room.

As she waited for him to return, Sansa brushed her long auburn curls. She had put her shift on, surmising Sandor wouldn't mind it so much given how easily he could tear it from her body if he wished to take her again. It wasn't that warm in their chamber after all.

Sansa's hair was a mess after how wildly they had coupled and she was looking at her reflection in her large mirror as she tried to undo all the knots in it, a small and hesitant yet genuine smile playing on her lips. This morning had been so intense and she had gone through every type of emotion possible. Less than an hour before, she had been sobbing in her pillow and now, though she was confused and a bit uneasy about it, she was happy. As for Sandor, he had been furious as he entered her chamber and they had been arguing even as he undressed her. However when he left her a few moments ago, he had been in his best mood, their quarrel all but forgotten. How strange life could be.

Sansa was still pondering about it all, her hair only half done, when the door opened and the Hound suddenly stormed in. She had not expected him so soon and thus she smiled expectantly, for she was very hungry, yet she realised with disappointment he had only brought back a loaf of bread and a jar of honey instead of the feast he had promised.

"Little bird," he said. He sounded agitated and Sansa lost her smile, suddenly dreading something bad had happened. "Little bird, the ship has arrived! Everyone is talking about it in the common room," he announced, shouldering the door shut behind him. "I've brought you something to eat while I'm gone and you can be sure I still have every intention to have you again later on. Yet for now, I need to change and leave you. I want to speak with the captain as soon as possible."