A/N: Sooo sorry for the wait, lovelies! It's been a crazy week. Hopefully you'll forgive me after this longer chapter ;) Enjoy!

Rating applies here. Hints of past non-con and PTSD.

Chapter 10

Sandor

Sandor awoke as wintery morning light was streaming through the window. The warmth of the Little Bird's sleeping form nestled up to him reminded him of what had happened the night before. He smiled to himself as he gazed upon her. This beautiful, fierce creature had given herself to him despite everything she had been through.

A sharp knock sounded at the door, and Sansa sat bolt upright.

"Yes?" she called, giving him a kiss on his scarred cheek.

"Lord Varys to see you, milady," the guard called.

She paled as she looked at Sandor.

"A moment if you please," she replied, clearly trying not to panic.

"What in the Seven Hells does the Spider want," Sandor growled. It was too early for that simpering eunuch.

"I don't know," Sansa replied, getting up. "But you need to go. Quickly!" she hissed.

She tossed his scattered clothes on the bed and fetched her own shift. He dressed as quickly as possible without lumbering about.

"Down the back stairs," she directed. "Go!" He complied.

As soon as the door closed behind him, he realized with horror that she hadn't given him his sword. He heard her voice and the Spider's foreign accent.

Fuck, he thought. No matter, he would go to his quarters and retrieve his other blade and return to her door.

Sansa

As soon as Sandor left her, she hurried to put on a dressing gown to cover herself. What could the Spider possibly want that couldn't wait until she was properly dressed and ready for audiences?

She took a deep breath to compose herself and opened the door.

Lord Varys stood before her alone.

"Good morning, Lady Sansa, he smiled at her. "A word, if I may?"

"Yes, come in, my lord," she said, stepping back for him to enter. She offered him one of the chairs by the fire.

"I'm curious as to the nature of your visit so early," she said, giving him her best Lady of Winterfell air.

"My little birds tell me you arise early, and I was hoping to speak to you in private," he said. He glanced over at her tousled bed.

Sansa felt herself go pale as she glimpsed the sword tucked beneath. She hoped Lord Varys wouldn't recognize it.

"My lady," Lord Varys began, "I'm sure I needn't remind you of the position you hold here in the North."

"Go on," she said regally.

"I understand that you have felt like a pawn these last years," he continued.

"Indeed," she said. "If you are referring to my former and late husbands, I have resolved to not enter into another marriage anytime soon."

"I understand, my lady," Varys smiled. "I would hate for you to be hounded by knights and lords from all over Westeros."

"I thank you for your consideration for my welfare, my lord," she replied. His emphasis was not lost on her.

"Please know that though I serve Queen Daenerys, I do hold the interests of the North close to my heart," he smiled. "I'm sure you wish to help your half-brother secure his hold on Winterfell and the North."

"The Northern lords respect my brother," Sansa said, "He does not need my help."

"I'm sure he doesn't," Varys smiled again, "Though should he choose to follow his heart, he may need you."

"Jon is rather focused on the army of the dead marching down on us," Sansa said coolly. "I would hope your queen is as well."

"Oh, she is, my lady," Varys said, standing. "Do take care of yourself, Lady Sansa."

He bowed, and she walked him to her door. As she opened it, Sandor was standing sentry, another blade strapped to his back. She noticed him eyeing the Spider carefully as he glided down the corridor.

"What did he want, Little Bird?" he growled once the Spider was out of earshot.

"He knows," she breathed.

"He has his little fucking birds everywhere," he growled. "Steady, Little Bird," he smiled down at her. "If he wanted to ruin you, he wouldn't caution you first."

"You probably want your sword back," she said.

"Aye," he smirked, "Fetch it for me before the whole castle wakes and knows about us."

She retrieved the sword and his belt. As he hurriedly strapped it on, she said, "Break your fast and attend me while I take petitions. We will speak while we survey the defenses."

He nodded that he understood before she closed the door to prepare herself for the day ahead.

As she dressed, she gazed at herself in the mirror on her dressing table. Her scars remained, but she noted new purple-red marks on her breasts, visible reminders of the encounter from the night before. She smiled, recalling how they had gotten there.

She picked up the jar of moontea herbs Maester Wolkan had slipped her to prevent a Bolton heir. Rubbing her thumb on the label written in Maester Luwin's angular script, she pondered what she would do. She had been married twice and avoided getting with child each time. Now she was divorced and widowed. It would be a terrible time to be with child with the army of the dead on their way and Cersei wanting to finish off the survivors.

She turned back to the doorway where Clegane was surely still standing. As Jon's heir for the moment and the de facto Lady of Winterfell, she needed her husband to be willing to be below her. That, and she couldn't bear the idea of leaving Winterfell and giving her children the name of another house.

She set the jar down. The gods would decide what would happen in her womb.

Her morning passed much as the last several had. She broke her fast in the great hall with her siblings, Queen Daenerys, and their courts. Jon said little of what had been discussed the previous evening, only that they were formulating plans so as to stay ahead of the Night King while also keeping an eye on the South. Arya pestered him, but he said nothing of substance.

The list of petitions was rather mundane. Farmers and other smallfolk were concerned about getting through the winter. They were worried about the large numbers of Dothraki and Unsullied encamped around Winterfell and the further numbers making their way North. They also feared the dragons.

Sansa heard each petition and tried her best to assuage the fears of her people. Winterfell was well stocked for winter, and they would take care of the needs of the smallfolk. Queen Daenerys had brought supplies for her armies, and they were being kept occupied making camp and working on Winterfell's outer defenses. The dragons were well fed and uninterested in livestock for the moment.

All the while, she felt Sandor standing behind her. Had he always stood so close to her? She felt his warmth on her skin and heard his breath in her ear. It took all of her willpower to focus on the task at hand even as her body had other ideas. It would be a long morning.

Sandor

After attending the Little Bird while she heard the concerns of her smallfolk, she left for the library and he for the training yard. It had been almost unbearable standing right behind her taking in her scent. The previous night's events left him sore, but he felt invigorated all the same.

The lads lined up, and he took them one by one. He barked at each misstep and showed them how a little mistake could be the difference between life and death. These greenboys needed to be whipped into shape before facing the relentless legions of the dead and the well-trained and disciplined Lannister troops. He kept at it until the boys were sufficiently worn out.

The Little Bird hadn't made an appearance yet, so he set off for the kennels. He needed to think, and dogs helped him do just that. He was a Dog himself, after all.

The Winterfell kennels were at the back of the stables. He tossed Stranger an apple and patted him before continuing on.

Whoever had been the kennel master had left the place in shambles. The mongrels growled as he approached. He approached slowly, keeping his eyes on them.

Being the grandson of a kennel master, he knew dogs. Clegane's Keep had been crawling with them. On their fifth name days his grandfather had gifted a pup to him and Gregor in turn. Gregor's had been an uncontrollable beast who even bit the hand that fed him as rare as that was. But it was in Gregor's nature to be cruel, and the dog was much the same as his master.

Sandor's own hound had been quite the opposite. He'd carefully weaned the pup from the bottle to meat he snuck from the kitchens. Warrior, he'd named him. Warrior slept at the foot of his bed every night. When he wasn't training in the yard with the sword, he was training Warrior. The dog was loyal as they came, following his every command.

By his sixth name day, his grandfather had died mysteriously. A few months later, Gregor and his father had gone out hunting. They took Warrior, but Sandor's mother said he was too young to go. When his father and Gregor returned, they brought back Warrior's body with an arrow in his heart. His father had sworn it was an accident. Warrior had broken off, and the men had thought he was a deer.

But the way Gregor smirked at him, Sandor knew the truth. He'd always said that Sandor was "too soft with that fucking dog." Gregor always ruined everything.

Lost in his memories of the past, he hadn't realized that he was stroking the head of a mangy black hound. Gentle footsteps and the swish of skirts brought him back to the present.

She was quiet for some time. Finally, she approached and spoke.

"I hope you know," she said carefully, "I have no regrets about last night."

"Nor I," he said quietly. He'd stopped stroking the dog who whined at him to continue.

She went silent again, seemingly unsure of what to say.

"They all want to marry you off again," he said, reading her thoughts.

"It seems so," she sighed. "Jon understands. The threat of the Night King is a big enough distraction at the moment, but I don't believe my freedom is guaranteed indefinitely. Jon may very well turn South and leave Winterfell behind."

"So you'll have me around until you find some fancy lord to take you away," he growled.

"No!" she cried. "Knights, lords, and princes, they are all just as you said. The stories lie."

He paused for a while. "I'll not stand by listening to some prissy lord bedding you."

"I wouldn't ask that of you," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

It pained him to see her getting upset.

"Hush now, Little Bird," he said gently, "No cocks have come calling yet."

She smiled sadly and watched him with the hounds.

"They like you," she said.

"Smart creatures," he replied. "Always liked them more than people."

"That one was my father's favorite," she said, nodding at the one nuzzling his hand.

"What's his name?" he asked.

"Blackfish," she said simply. "Mother named him. Said she reminded him of her uncle."

Sandor barely knew Ser Brynden Tully—the one they called the Blackfish—by sight, having seen him at tourneys in years past.

"Did he eat your husband?" Sandor asked, still focused on the dog.

"Maybe," she said quietly. "Ramsay was especially cruel to him. He was one of the last of my father's."

Blackfish gave him one last nuzzle before he moved off to the water trough.

Sansa

As they had returned to the courtyard and he was leaving her to wash up, she said softly, "Visit me tonight after you are relieved. Come up the back stairs."

She was distracted all through the evening meal and after while doing her sewing in the solar with her family. She barely heard that Jon was going to attempt to ride Queen Daenerys' other dragon and they would be flying off in the coming days to seek out the Night King.

As the fire began to die in the grate, she bid her family good night. Bran gave her a strange look but said nothing as she kissed his brow.

She nodded to the guard at her door, a Cassel lad, and entered, barring the door behind her. He was there waiting for her.

"How did you get in?" she asked.

"It's surprisingly not difficult to move through the servant passages at this hour," he smiled. "Your security is lacking," he japed.

"I'll remember that," she said, approaching him.

He stood and closed the space between them. Her head was level with his chest.

"Clegane," she said quietly, fingering the direwolf sigil embroidered on his tunic.

"Little Bird?" he asked. He must have thought she was addressing him.

"How attached are you to your House?" she asked gazing up at him.

"House Clegane can die for all I care," he growled. "Bunch of kennel whelps who never deserved anything grander."

"You would forsake your claim in the South?" she asked, almost afraid of what his reply would be. "Allow your lands to go to another?"

"Not my lands," he rasped, wrapping his massive arms around her.

"You are your brother's heir, are you not?" she asked, studying his features. As horrible as his scars were, the unmarked side of his face was rather handsome. His trimmed beard made him more youthful than he had looked when he first arrived.

"Fuck Gregor, and fuck House Clegane," he said, stroking her cheek with a calloused hand.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, feeling his warmth through his tunic and a bulge growing between them.

"As Lady of Winterfell and my brother's heir, any man I take as husband will be given right to my titles," she said, not daring to look at him.

"You'll have your pick of suitors then," he growled.

"I don't choose them," she said, looking up into his gray eyes.

His good eyebrow furrowed. "Ohh, no," he stepped back. "You don't want me, Little Bird."

"You think I don't know my own mind?" she replied incredulously.

"You deserve better," he sighed, sinking to her bed. "That's what your parents wanted."

"My parents are dead," she said, approaching and sitting next to him. "Joffrey beheaded my father. He had Ser Meryn beat me. He married me off to Lord Tyrion who was kind but did not love me. Ramsay betrayed my brother and was cruel beyond imagining."

He shook his head. "I've done terrible things too, Little Bird. I killed your sister's friend, the butcher's boy."

"You were just following orders," she said, taking his hand.

"Meryn fucking Trant was, 'just following orders,'" he growled.

She rubbed her thumb on a scar on his hand. "You've changed," she whispered. "You saved Arya," she looked into his eyes. "You saved me.

"Did I?" he asked, returning her gaze.

"Yes," she breathed, leaning in to kiss him.

Sandor

His mind was reeling. Her words rung in his head. "You saved me."

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her as she leaned in to kiss him. Her tongue probed at his lips, and he obliged her. Her hands mirrored his and held him close. Her scent was intoxicating. He wrapped his fingers in her auburn tresses. A moan escaped her.

She went to work on the laces of his tunic. He kissed her forehead and found the laces of her dress. She stood and let the fabric pool around her feet. He tore his tunic off. Her hands went to his chest, kneading his pelt. He spun her so he could access the laces of her bodice. Once he loosened the knot, the whole thing released. He pulled each criss-cross and let the infernal thing drop to the floor.

He stood behind her, feeling her warmth against him. His manhood throbbed as her round ass brushed him. Another moan escaped her as he palmed her breasts through her shift. She leaned her head, exposing her neck. He blew in her ear and reveled as she melted into him.

"You like that, Little Bird?" he rasped.

"Mmm-hmm," was all she said.

His hands left her breasts and pulled up her shift. She wriggled out of her small clothes and kicked them away. His left hand found her breast and teased her nipple to life while his right hand found her southern curls. She was soaking.

"S—Sandor, please," she mewled.

He deftly slipped his index finger into her folds. Her sheath was dripping, waiting for him. He chuckled in her ear as she moaned and bucked her hips against his hand. He grazed her bud, and she whimpered. His manhood throbbed painfully in his breeches, but he ignored it. He wanted her ready for him this time. He circled her bud, occasionally dipping into her sheath, using her drippings to keep her well-oiled. She leaned into him as he showered her throat with kisses. He sped up as he felt her legs shake.

"I've got you, Little Bird," he rasped.

She tensed as she reached her peaked, crying out as she soaked his hand. Her panting made the throbbing in his crotch unbearable.

He spun them so she faced the bed. He lifted her shift and tossed it aside. He tore at the laces of his breeches and kicked them off with his smallclothes. He put a hand on her back and bent her over. As his member sprung to life, he rubbed it on the entrance of her sheath.

It was in that moment he noticed she was whimpering.

"Sansa?" he asked, lifting her up and turning her. She crumpled into his chest and sniffled.

"That's how he would take me," she whispered.

His heart shattered to pieces as he held her. He wanted her to forget that monster, and he'd brought back those horrors afresh.

"I'm sorry, Little Bird," he breathed into her hair. "I'll leave you," he said, picking up her shift and pressing it into her hands.

"No," she said, tossing the shift aside. "Stay.

They stayed holding each other for a long time. His legs were starting to give way when he felt her finally relax. She took his hand and pulled him into her bed.

A/N: Well? I hadn't quite intended for this chapter to be this long, but I hope it was worth it! Let me know with your comments!

I'm still thinking about how I want to tie Brienne and Jaime into this fic. Hopefully I'll have something for you soon!