Warning! The rate of the story has now passed from T to M.

As always, I'd like to thank wildsky_sheri my beta, for her great help. A big thank to all the readers!

Sansa

As her mother was meticulously styling her long hair, Sansa was staring at the mirror that hung before her with joyful disbelief. Her auburn locks had been brushed until they shone and her mother was now braiding them in the northern fashion, leaving most of the thick mass of hair loose on Sansa's shoulders and back. The young maid smiled in contentment at her mother to thank the older woman for her good work but quickly returned her gaze to the beautiful gown that was hugging her lean body like a silken second skin.

The dresses that Sandor had ordered for her trousseau had been delivered to her house a few days before and each of them exceeded any expectation that Sansa had ever had of what would one day fill her wardrobe. She had spent hours caressing the soft silks and velvets, her fingers tracing each delicate detail and embellishment as if nothing so precious had ever existed in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Even the fabric of her travelling clothes surpassed anything that she had ever owned and made any of her old dresses appear as overused rags. Nonetheless, Sansa had decided that the gowns should symbolise the beginning of her new life with Sandor and thus would have to stay inside of her chest until her wedding day. Anyway, she had thought, the Street of Steel is no place for such fineries.

Earlier that morning, Sansa's mother had helped her with lacing up and adjusting her wedding dress, but with some difficulties as they both weren't used to gowns of such quality. It was a ravishing thing, all ivory and cream with full skirts, long sleeves and white flowers embroidered along the line of the bodice. A princess would not have looked better, Sansa mused, a grin on her lips while staring at her reflection as her mother was finishing her hair.

"You look beautiful, Sansa." Her mother was clearly touched by the sight of her eldest daughter dressed as a bride and ready to be married.

"Thank you, mother, you look very nice too," Sansa said, while admiring her mother who was dressed in the gown that Sandor had offered her.

The elegant dress of green velvet flattered the older woman's thin figure and Sansa had smiled uncontrollably and almost squeaked in pleasure at seeing her father's look of amazement while he gazed at his wife garbed so beautifully. Good, if this can help them appreciate Sandor at least a little bit, I'd be so happy.

Sansa smoothed her skirts while sighing softly. She had seen her betrothed only on a couple of occasions since their outing at the tailor. Their upcoming journey to the Stormlands required a lot of preparation and the ceremony also needed some planning. Sansa knew all that, but she nevertheless missed Sandor and longed for his warm and manly kisses. Very soon mother won't be there to chaperone us anymore, she thought while feeling her cheeks flush. On each of their encounters, Sansa and her betrothed had always been closely watched by either her mother or her brother Robb and Sandor had followed the rules: he always stayed in their sight while satisfying himself with the chaste kisses that her mother had allowed them. Mother only wants what's best for me, I have no doubt in that, but it saddens me that she thinks so lowly of Sandor.

She still could hear her mother's warning echoing in her ears: "A maiden must never let her guard down with anyone, even with her betrothed," the older woman had told Sansa on the same day that she had interrupted the embraces that her daughter had shared with Sandor. "Do you realise, Sansa, what might happen to you if you were ever left alone with the Hound, even for a short period of time? Do you truly think that a man like him wouldn't try to go further than those kisses that you seem to enjoy? What if he decided that he should take your maidenhead before the ceremony? We have no contract with this man, so your only protection is to stay intact and refuse him until you are both legally bound before the eyes of gods and men."

Sansa had been shocked at hearing her mother's worries: she had never even thought of giving herself to Sandor before their wedding and she was convinced that he had never intended anything of that nature either.

When Sansa had told her the same, her mother had only laughed and added in a cynical tone, "Oh, Sansa, it's not you that I don't trust, it's him."

Why couldn't she see that Sandor was not as bad as she believed he was? There was no use in musing about her mother's misconceptions though, it was her wedding day and Sansa wanted her mind to be filled with joy, so she chased away all the negativity that was troubling her and smiled at her mother.

"Where is my maiden cloak, mother?"

"I have it, Sansa. Here, take it." Her mother handed it to her.

It was a gorgeous piece of work and Sansa was very proud of it because she had made it by herself from start to finish. Since she came from a family of smallfolk and had no sigil of her own, Sansa had decided that her maiden cloak should be embroidered with patterns that represented her native North. She had set her choice on a white fabric that would symbolise the snow that was so common up there and had stitched some weirwood trees and winter roses on the hem; she had even added a small hammer to honour her father and her origins as a smith's daughter.

"Are you girls ready now? We're going to be late soon and I would certainly not want Lord Clegane to believe that we had a last minute change of heart concerning his wedding," Sansa heard her father call out with laughter in his voice from outside the house where the rest of the family was waiting for them.

"We're coming, Ned. I have no desire to infuriate the Hound, don't worry yourself," her mother replied with shared mirth.

Sansa was perplexed: as much as she was annoyed by the way that her parents were making fun of Sandor, she couldn't deny that this new attitude was a slight improvement in comparison to their former desperate one. Laughter is better than tears, I suppose.

A cart was waiting for them outside the forge and the whole family was already piled inside of it as Sansa and her mother finally went out of the house. Oh! The sun is already up in the sky, father was right, we are late! How could she be late for her own wedding? What would Sandor think of her for that? Sansa's hands were moist from anxiety as she seated herself next to her sister who was scowling as if this day was the worst of her life.

"I can't believe you're going to marry a stupid dog," Arya whispered in her sister's ear.

"Stop that, Arya! You don't even know him!" Sansa was ready to jump into one of those interminable arguments that she so often shared with her younger sister, but their mother spoke up and silenced them both.

"Arya, don't try to spoil your sister's day, and you, Sansa, at your age you should know how to behave and not let yourself be drawn into these childish squabbles." The severity of their mother's tone didn't leave any options to the sisters who both kept their mouths shut for the rest of their journey to the sept.

Although Sandor had recently been elevated to the rank of lord, the sept in which the ceremony was to take place was a modest one that was usually frequented by wealthier smallfolk and some lesser noblemen and women. It would have been unthinkable for a commoner such as Sansa to share her holy vows before the same altars as high lords and ladies, but the young bride was not the least saddened by what she might have perceived as a prejudice. The idea that she was heading for a small sept was even strangely comforting as she doubted that she would have been totally at ease otherwise.

When the cart finally arrived at its destination, Sansa noticed that her husband-to-be was waiting for them while impatiently pacing the square across from the sept. He immediately headed in their direction when he spotted the family.

"You're late," he roughly rasped at no one in particular, but he seemed relieved more than anything else.

"Yes, my lord, but we're here now, and with your young bride. An hour is nothing in comparison to the years that you'll share with our sweet daughter from now on, Lord Clegane. You shouldn't complain that her parents wanted to keep this lovely girl a few moments more," Sansa's mother said, with a spark of malice shining in her eyes.

Sandor barked a hoarse laugh in agreement. "Aye, fair enough. Let's go now."

The family all got off the cart and Sansa's father assisted her with great deal of care in order to avoid damaging her delicate silk dress. The man genuinely smiled at his daughter while taking her arm in his and led her toward the sept.

With its colourful stained glass and its luxurious tapestries decorating the stone walls, the inside of the small building was prettier than Sansa had expected. If that's the way a minor sept is adorned, I wonder what the Great Sept of Baelor must look like! The benches were empty apart from her parents and siblings, giving Sansa another reason to be satisfied by the humble but appropriate size of the place. The septon was leading the prayers and two singers were accompanying him from time to time with voices so melodic that Sansa might have believed that she had been transported to the seven heavens if she had not known better. This is so beautiful, like in a dream! Although she was ecstatic and couldn't stop grinning, the young bride was also beginning to be slightly nervous as she anticipated her first night with her new husband. She had a basic notion of what would be expected of her and had even once or twice witnessed animals mating when she still lived in the North, but she felt nevertheless mostly ignorant on the matter. Since I like his kisses, I suppose it shouldn't be so bad to share his bed… and I already felt his… his … The simple thought of what was hidden between a man's thighs instantly coloured Sansa's cheeks and she lowered her eyes in shame. Her anxiety was growing and a queer numbness was slowly taking over, making her feel as if she was floating in clouds instead of standing on solid ground.

When the time for the changing of the cloaks had finally arrived, Sansa's father stood up and went behind his daughter to untie the maiden's cloak from her shoulders. He seemed moved as he left with the white cloth in his hands while Sandor hastily supplanted him, losing no time wrapping his bride in his family colors. All the while, Sansa glanced at her family: her mother was apparently struggling not to shed tears while her other siblings seemed mostly bored, apart from Arya who was fuming for some unknown reason. The lack of enthusiasm that they displayed didn't do anything to diminish Sansa's happiness at that moment though. The young maid quickly returned her gaze to Sandor who was now looming before her with an aura of contentment about him.

Sansa shyly smiled at him before reciting her vows in a weak and nervous voice. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband."

As he heard these words, Sandor grinned and his grey eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife," he replied with his husky voice that now felt like a caress to her ears.

A warm hand cupped Sansa's cheek while another grasped her waist; she then closed her eyes as she felt Sandor's lips passionately pressing themselves against hers. The kiss lasted only a few seconds as befitted a wedding, and as Sandor broke from their embrace, he gazed down at his new wife with a hint of possessiveness glowing in his dark eyes. Sansa herself couldn't stop smiling as she reached for his strong hands. It's done! I can't believe it, were married!