Hi everyone! Chapter 13 is finally completed! Just to warn you, there are only two chapters left for this story and sadly the updates will be even slower to come from now because I'll be more busy in the months to come. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Special thanks to Leigh of Oldstone for her help with this chapter. :)
It took Sansa about a week to fully recover from the horrible fever drinking moon tea had triggered in her. The first few days were the roughest of all. She was so weak and tired that she spent most of her time sleeping and needed help even to go to the chamber pot. Every time she woke up, she was extremely disoriented and it always took her a couple of minutes to remember where she was. Yet worst of all was her state of mind. Apart from after her father had been beheaded, she had never been so depressed in all her life. The waves of despondency she was assailed with whenever she pondered over her situation were beyond violent. It was still hard for her to grasp that even after everything she had gone through, she would still have to bear the Hound's bastard. It seemed impossible. Nevertheless, her despair was made even worse by the guilt the knowledge that she had tried to kill it woke in her. Naught had worked out her way in the end, for while the abortion had failed, she had still suffered from the negative aspects of her decision to take moon tea. It was horrible and not crying was a constant struggle for her, one she continuously lost.
Throughout those first few days, Sandor almost never left her side. He was there for her whenever she needed him, whether it be to give her some water, feed her or fetch her clean handkerchiefs. Despite her poor mental state, Sansa was touched by his constant attention. He was so patient with her and never lost his temper, even when she sobbed for hours into her pillow. Yet, she could tell he was a bit lost when that happened and that he had no clue on how to react. Most often, he would sit by her bedside and stroke her hair in silence, his gaze lost into the fire.
After about three days of that, Sansa gradually started to dry out her tears and accept her fate. Ever since she had learned she was still expecting, she had been too absorbed by her own anguish to see clearly. She had thought the gods to be cruel to her, that they had let her down, and was now only starting to realise the situation was far from just about herself. There was another life taking roots in her and if the gods had decided to save it, it couldn't be merely to punish her. It would indeed make no sense that they would create a child and then protect it against the moon tea she had drunk only to give her a lesson when it was well known each life had its own purpose. If the gods had willed the baby to survive, it was not her place to question or resent them, for they must have their reason. Her child probably had a special destiny reserved ahead of it and would do something of importance one day, or else they would have let it die. There was no other explanation.
While these revelations didn't make the notion that she had attempted to rid herself of her own flesh any easier, Sansa tried to find comfort in the idea that the gods would know just how distressed she had been and not judge her too harshly for her mistake. They would know this was not something she would have ever attempted had she not believed it was her only viable option.
And so on the fifth day after she had first came round, Sansa decided it was time she thanked the gods for their intervention. Ingrith had told her there was a weirwood tree over which's trunk a face had been carved not far in the forest behind the farm. She and her sons often went there to pray and they maintained a trail to access it, removing the plants and branches that obstructed it during the summer and shovelling most of the snow that covered it during the winter. For the last two days, Sansa had felt much better and she had been able to leave her bed and walk about the house without any help as well as to eat her meals at the table. Yesterday, she had even stayed in the rocking chair by the hearth and worked on her embroidery for many hours without being too tired at the end of it. Yet when she told the Hound about her intention to go to the weirwood tree, the man was far from convinced it was a good idea and he flat-out refused at first.
"I need to pray the old gods! It's important!" Sansa insisted.
"Why can't you pray to them in here? If your gods are truly merciful, they'll understand you're too weak to venture outside."
"But I'm not too weak! See?" she said, standing from her chair. "I can do it. The weirwood is only a few minutes walk from here from what Ingrith told me. I really need to thank the gods for having allowed me to live through my illness. It'd be very ungrateful of me not to do it. Please!" she begged him, her brow knitted and eyes pleading.
"Alright then," the Hound conceded with evident reluctance. "But we'll stay there only a few minutes. And you'll go back to bed and rest as soon as we're back. Agreed?"
Beaming at him, Sansa nodded and hurriedly turned around to find a dress.
She hadn't told him she also intended to thank the old gods for having saved the baby, for she feared he wouldn't understand her abrupt change of heart. And to be completely honest, it wasn't like she had totally accepted the gods decision either yet, however she was working on it and knew that thanking them properly was the first step to take in that direction. It was only normal that it took her some time. One couldn't go from utter despondency to genuine gratefulness in just few days after all.
Once Sandor had helped her don a gown over her shift and put on her boots, mittens and cloak, they both exited the house and headed toward the forest. It was true that Sansa was still weak and it became more apparent with each new step she took into the snow but by holding onto Sandor's arm and progressing slowly, she felt stable enough on her feet. The weather was quite cold and windy and a very light snow was falling from the thick greyish clouds above. The trail Ingrith had told her about was easily found and they reached the weirwood tree a few minutes later. It was very tall and looked extremely old. While it had lost all of its red hand-shaped leaves, there was no way Sansa mistook the tree for anything but a weirwood with the whiteness of its bark and the face carved into it. Once she got near enough, she kneeled down before it and joined her hands in prayer. A few steps behind her, the Hound stood silently, waiting, and though Sansa couldn't see him, she could feel his stare on her.
Thank you, old gods. Thank you for my recovery. And also, for having saved my child, she told them. My son, she added, touching her flat belly. It would be a boy she decided at that instant and he would be just as strong as his father. The fact that he had survived the moon tea was already proof of that.
As she had promised once Sansa was out of danger, Githa came back a week later. She was pleased to see the girl out of bed and looking so healthy and commented on how her cheeks had regained their colour. Sansa agreed she felt much better, though on the downside her morning sickness had resumed with her recovery. At hearing her complaint, Githa nodded in understanding and fished out a little package of herbs from her pouch. She set it down on the table, instructing Sansa to infuse a tablespoon of its content in a cup of boiling water for a few minutes and drink it whenever her queasiness was back to make it more bearable.
From the moment Githa produced the package, the Hound stood from his seat and raised his voice to object with much vehemence. It took the woman almost half an hour to convince him these new herbs had nothing to do with moon tea and that there was no danger to them. After many back and forth, curses and insults, he finally very grudgingly agreed that Sansa tried them out on the condition that she took very small doses to begin with.
"Prepare them for her yourself if you want to be certain, m'lord," Githa told him tartly as she stood from her chair to leave. "And make certain she eats well - hearty and varied meals. She must drink milk, eat cheese, dried fruits and nuts. I know these are all expensive goods but I think a man such as you can afford to pay. Make sure she never lacks of anything."
"I will," Sandor answered curtly.
"Also, staying inside at all time is not healthy for anyone, let alone a mother-to-be. The lady and her babe will need some fresh air and so she must go out everyday when the weather permits it," Githa added before shutting the door behind her.
Although Sandor's dislike of Githa was beyond obvious, he took her directives very seriously and did exactly as she had instructed him. From the morrow of her visit, both Sansa and he took the habit of walking to the weirwood tree every morning. If the weather was really nice and Sansa was feeling in shape, he even brought her along with him as he exercised the horses farther back on the farm's field where they couldn't be seen from the road.
The Hound took Githa's other's advices about food to heart too, following them to the letter. At each mealtime, he made sure Sansa's portions were sufficiently large to his taste and he even watched over her as she ate to make sure she ingested every last spoonful of her serving with at least one piece of bread. When Ingrith next went to the village to do some errands, he gave her a few coins and told her about the food Githa had said a mother-to-be should never lack of. The woman came back with everything and more and from that day on, Sandor served Sansa a cup of warm milk and a bowl filled with nuts, dried fruits and some cheese every afternoon. He was adamant she must eat everything, even when she assured him she was already sated. His zeal was beginning to grate on her nerves.
"Can't eat like a little bird anymore, Sansa. Remember what Githa said?" he would unfailingly tell her when she complained about it.
Sansa was not used to eating so much. No more than a week after Githa's visit, to her horror she could already tell she had gained weight. Yet looking down at herself as she soaked in her bath one evening, she noticed that unlike she had believed, she was not growing fat in the least. It was only her breasts which had swollen again and her belly that was starting to show. The realisation sent Sansa's heart racing like a mad horse. Suddenly, her upcoming motherhood was not so abstract anymore. It was real, frighteningly real.
For the first two weeks of their stay at the farm, Sansa and the Hound slept separately. Their wooden beds were too small for two persons, less of all if one of those persons was Sandor. While Sansa missed his warmth and presence by her side at night, she was nevertheless glad for the respite in their coupling their sleeping arrangement provided. Of course, the man could have rejoined her in her bed in the night, rid himself of his tension and leave her just as soon, but he surprisingly never did it. The first week, Sansa had been in such poor state that giving herself to him had been totally out of the question, yet as she became healthy again throughout the second, she had half-expected him to lose patience and push her in a corner at any moment. The fact that he didn't and chose to leave her in peace instead was certainly not something she could have predicted.
As the third week started, still the situation remained the same, but the truth was Sansa didn't mind it in the least – to the contrary even. It had been so long since their last intercourse and with every day that had passed since then, her eagerness to break the ice and resume lying with the Hound had only decreased. In a way, it was as if she dreaded it, a little like a seasoned warrior might come to fear the prospect of battle after having stayed idle too long. Most of all though, the idea of undressing before him had began to make her nervous ever since that evening she had noticed her body was changing. Her newly rounded stomach preoccupied her a lot. While it was not apparent when she was clothed as of yet, it made her feel awfully self-conscious when she was naked. For some reason, she did not want Sandor to see it and had resolved in hiding it from him for as long as she could.
Despite their new platonic existence, the Hound was far from bitter or distant with Sansa. He often kissed her and stroked her hair and even pulled her onto his lap whenever she walked near enough his seat - which never felled to make her giggle - yet all of these gestures were devoid of lust. That was not something Sansa was used to but she did enjoy this new aspect of their relationship. It was not that he had never been affectionate with her before, because he had quite often, only his touch had almost always either led to him becoming aroused and wanting more or happened just after the deed. And that was perhaps another reason why she was loath to give herself to him again, for fear that he stopped being tender with her for no other motive than to be kind. Would he return to his usual behaviour if she allowed him into her bed again? Perhaps he was only trying to compensate for their lack of intimacy as he waited for her to be ready to be claimed again?
One morning sometime during their third week at the farm, Sansa woke up alone in her little bed and looked around herself as the haze of sleep slowly dissipated. Sandor was already installed by the table, eating a piece of bread and drinking a cup of the ale Ingrith had started brewing for him not long after their arrival. The man pretended it wasn't good. He had repeated as much often to Sansa when they were alone and yet he never refused any of the jugs Ingrith brought him and always drunk everything.
"Awake, little bird?" he asked when he saw her stir in her bed. "Slept well?"
Stretching her arms, Sansa sat up and yawned. "Yes. Though at one point, I woke up and I was a little cold and then it took me about an hour to fall asleep again."
"Really?" Sandor grunted, sounding concerned. "I'll ask Ingrith if she can lend us more blankets then. And if she doesn't have any to spare, I'll give her some coins so that she gets us a couple of new ones and give you one of mine in the meantime. I won't have you freezing."
"Thank you," Sansa murmured. She smiled to herself. The Hound had always made her physical comfort a priority yet these days, it was turning into an obsession. She was not about to complain though. Being well cared for was nice. "But will you not be cold if you give me one of your blankets?"
The man snorted. "I'll be fine. Don't waste your time worrying about me."
Sighing, Sansa looked at the sunbeams which came through one of the hide windows. She already had almost twice as many blankets and furs as he did and the prospect of depriving him of one more of the few he had made her feel really bad, yet she didn't have the will to refuse. There was truly not much she hated more than being cold. "We never had that problem before," Sansa regretted. "It was less cold in the Riverlands and we shared blankets of course but I think I got used to your warmth also." Then she paused before adding in a soft whisper: "It's strange sleeping alone. I miss you sometimes in the night… I feel lonely…"
At that, the Hound's stare immediately darted in her direction. He smiled at her, looking at once pleased and surprised. "Gods, little bird. I miss you too, you have no idea," he answered lowly. There was some relief in his voice, as if he had been waiting for her to say something like that, and Sansa realised by it that he had probably misinterpreted her words and thought she had meant... Oh…
"These two bloody beds are far too small though," the Hound continued, glaring at them even as a grin spread on his lips. "I'll fix that today, ask Ingrith for some tools. I'll find a way, that's for sure."
Nodding, Sansa smiled back at him stiffly. She didn't have the heart to tell him he had misunderstood her, especially not at seeing the good mood in which the prospect of sharing her bed again was putting him in. She couldn't refuse him access to her body forever anyway, this had to happen at one point. And I'll be indeed glad for his warmth at night, the girl reasoned, trying to be positive.
"I'm getting to it now, Sansa," Sandor announced, standing from his place and walking to where his cloak was hanging from a hook on the wall. "Need anything from next door?"
"No, I'm fine," Sansa replied quietly. Their eyes locked but the air of contentment there was about him made her even more uneasy and she swiftly averted her gaze. She felt guilty for not sharing his enthusiasm in a way.
Kneeling by her bed, the Hound pressed his lips to hers to kiss her languorously. As he did, he let his hand trail over her side. His touch was insistent; there was naught chaste about it anymore and though it lasted but a few seconds, Sansa's pulse was resounding loudly in her ears when he left the house.
All through the morning as she continued her embroidery by the hearth, Sandor worked on his project of transforming their two beds into a single one big enough for them both. She watched him with some reserve and even a bit of apprehension as he sawed off the planks on one side of each wooden bed and then fixed them together using the same planks he had removed. It didn't take him so long before he was done and he had already refilled their new larger bed with hay and laid all of their blankets and furs over it before noon.
"You won't be cold tonight, Sansa. That, I can promise you," he stated, looking down proudly at his handiwork.
They didn't go to sleep very late that night. From the moment Sansa was under the covers, the Hound got over her and slid his hands under her shift. He removed her smallclothes and shift, touching her everywhere just as soon with an urgency that was at once nerve-racking and intoxicating to her. When his hands travelled over her belly, they froze an instant to feel the very small bump which had recently appeared there. Her cheeks burning, Sansa shut her eyes, waiting for him to comment on it. Yet the Hound stayed silent and only kissed her lips, his palms still on her stomach and stroking it softly.
He took her very gently afterwards and while Sansa had been reluctant to give herself to him at first, she ended up welcoming his invasion and moaning as he slowly made his way into her. He kissed her again once he was fully sheathed, rocking his hips ever so slightly against hers at first. While they remained just as slow and steady, his comings-and-goings soon grew wider and with each of his movements in her, pressure built in Sansa's core. That, added to the pleasant tickling which ran all over her skin as the Hound fondled her breasts and side was making her lose her mind in the best way possible. With his fingers at the juncture of her legs, he was caressing her folds, his touch at once unrelenting and feather light. He had never been so careful with her, had always mounted her with the hunger and ferocity of a starving beast. Yet now, it was as if he feared he might break her and as he trailed his large hands over her curves, there was a sense of wonder in him that filled Sansa's stomach with butterflies. From feeling like she was something he yearned to conquer and possess, it was as if she had now become a goddess to be worshiped and Sansa relished in the impression so very much.
She reached her climax quickly, holding onto Sandor and letting out many long whimpers and gasps. She had missed it, she realised afterwards and so as he came not long after, she spread her legs as widely as she could, elated at the thought that she could bring him such bliss as she had just known. Once the Hound was done and panting, he collapsed by Sansa's side and snaked his arms around her. She nestled herself against him and fell asleep only minutes later, feeling truly warm and safe for the first time in more than a fortnight.
The weeks went on like that, uneventful and peaceful. Each day pretty much followed the same routine. A bowl of honeyed oatmeal for Sansa as she woke up, a walk to the weirwood tree with Sandor in the morning if the weather was not too harsh. Around noon, both of them ate lunch and she would take a nap not long after, for she was always tired afterwards. Sandor most often used the occasion to go outside and chop some wood, take care of the horses or set snares in the forest. When he was back, he always served Sansa her cup of warm milk and bowl of nuts, dried fruits and cheese. Then, Sansa usually worked on her embroidery by the hearth for the remaining of the afternoon until Ingrith brought them supper and a few hours later, she would go to bed. In a way, such quiet life was truly appeasing to Sansa after all those moons of travelling through Westeros and the constant state of stress she had been in during her stay at the Red Keep.
Also, she felt like she needed that time of peace. She knew she had many more trials waiting ahead of her, chief among them eventually having to go through labour and give birth to the Hound's child. Sansa had heard enough about delivery to know this wouldn't be an easy task. Yet, as if that wasn't daunting enough already, once both she and the baby were be strong enough, she would have to abandon it, brave winter and resume travelling towards Winterfell. It would be a long and arduous journey and once she would arrive to her family's castle, she would be reunited with her lady mother and brother.
While this should've been a joyous prospect, Sansa had come to dread facing them again throughout the last few moons. She had gone through so much since they had last seen her, half of which she could never share with them. The fact that she'd have been the Hound's mistress for almost a year by then and even have borne his child would need to stay secret forever or else her House's honour would be tainted by her fault. She would be a mother, while never being allowed to speak about it to anyone… Sansa had a hard time picturing how she could hide something so important to anybody, less of all her family. Nevertheless, she still had many moons of wait before any of this had to happen. Hopefully she would have time to adjust to the idea in the meantime. She had no choice but to accept all of this as her life anyway. And she would.
Githa came to check on Sansa every other week. She gave her more of the herbs which helped control her morning sickness and also some salve she prepared with herbs and sheep milk. She instructed her to apply some of it every day on her belly and breasts so as to keep the skin smooth. With her, she also always brought beeswax candles and wine along with other things Sandor had asked her to purchase and for which he paid of course. The hope was that by Ingrith not being the only one to buy all the food and supply Sansa and the Hound needed, it would prevent people from the village from wondering why the woman suddenly needed so much more of everything than usual and had the means to pay besides. To help in that sense, Ingrith had also started to alternate between the nearest village and another one an hour and a half in the other direction to do her weekly errands. Given that she was less known in that other village, she usually bought the most expensive goods Sandor asked for when she went there.
Every morning as she woke up, Sansa touched her belly. It seemed to her as if it was always a little bigger than on the previous day and after a moon and a half at the farm, anyone meeting her would have known at first glance that she was expecting. There was no hiding that bump anymore. By then, Githa had guessed that Sansa had lied about the possible conception date. She never scolded her about it but made it clear she was not fooled anymore one day that she was inspecting her belly.
"Everything seems fine, m'lady. How's your morning sickness?" she inquired as she lowered Sansa's skirts back over her stomach.
"It's completely gone," the girl replied with relief.
"Yes, that's normal. Most women don't have them anymore at about four moons like you," Githa said, looking at her with severe, knowing eyes.
The comment made Sansa blush. She was not proud to have been caught in her lie but she didn't contradict her either. There would indeed have been no sense in denying the truth at the point she was at and it was best for both her and the baby that the wise woman who would care for her until she gave birth knew how far along she was at anyhow.
From about the time she had recovered from the moon tea, Ingrith had started teaching Sansa how to knit and they often spent a few hours together in the afternoon making little socks, hats, swaddling blankets and tunics by the old woman's hearth as food slowly simmered over the fire. Sansa enjoyed her company for she was always kind and ready to lend her an attentive ear or give her advices when she needed them. Yet unlike Githa, she was never prying about her relation with Sandor nor did she ever speak against him, for which Sansa was grateful. They never talked much but their time together was always pleasant and made the longing Sansa had for her lady mother's comforting presence a bit more bearable.
At seeing the little clothes pilling up on one of the house's shelves, Sandor one day decided he should build a small wooden chest in which they could be stored until the baby's birth. While he spent many long hours on his project, the final result was not that impressive to be honest. The chest was crooked and its surface uneven even after the man had sanded and varnished it and yet Sansa was so happy when he'd first shown it to her. It meant so much to her that he had worked to create something with his own two hands for their child, especially since woodworking was not a skill he had ever practiced nor had any interest in.
Often, Sansa opened the chest's lid to admire all the little garments she and Ingrith had knitted so far. So small, she thought one afternoon as she touched at a tiny pair of socks with a finger. Kneeled over the rushes by the chest's side, she had her head bowed over its content and her back to where the Hound was installed by the hearth, cleaning and sharpening his war axe.
It was hard to believe Sandor's own child could ever fit in such small clothes. Has he himself ever been that size at all? She wondered, glancing at him over her shoulder. It seemed impossible. Aside from his brother the Mountain, he was the largest man she had ever seen. That a warrior as fearsome and hulking as he could once have fitted in the cradle of her arms was not something she could easily conceive.
Then unbidden, tears started welling in Sansa's eyes. My son, I'm sure he'll be beautiful – and as strong and tall as his father as he grows into a man, she mused caressing her rounded stomach. She had decided already more than a moon ago that she would have a son. Both Ingrith and Githa agreed with her. They said her belly had the right shape for it and that the hard-headedness the baby had shown staying in Sansa's womb in spite of the moon tea pointed in that direction also. Her child being a boy would be preferable anyway given that he would only ever get to know his father. It would be easier for both of them to bond when Sandor came to visit if he was male after all. They would have more in common, like fathers and sons always did, and the Hound could teach him all sorts of things in these occasions, like fathers ought to.
But me, I'll never get to know him… A boy needs his mother too, Sansa thought, her tears rolling down her cheeks. He would be just a newborn when she left him and chances were it would be the last time she'd ever lay eyes on him. She would never be anything but a stranger to him, her name never spoken lest his full parentage be known, even by him.
Sansa had almost finished the embroidery she had been working on ever since her stay at Lord Harroway's Town at the beginning of her journey with Sandor and she had decided she would leave it to her son. It would be the only keepsake he would have of his mother and she hoped that he would keep it forever and treasure it just as much as she would his memory. Oh gods, he was not even born yet but she already had a hard time accepting the fact that she would have to give him up. While she may not have wanted him at first, her feelings for her unborn child had changed greatly over the last few weeks. The notion that she would have to go on with her existence without that little life which she'd have carried with her for nine moons was beyond heart wrenching to Sansa. And so as she contemplated it once more, the girl's lips began to quaver and her breathing to hasten. She would be breaking down at any second now, she could feel it. Lowering her face into her hands, she let out a sob, tears filling her palms just as soon.
"What is it, Sansa?" the Hound asked, raising his gaze from his war axe.
"I'm just… I'm just thinking about… about the baby," Sansa admitted with some difficulty, sniffing into her hands as she did.
"Humph, yes," he replied with no surprise. It was far from the first time she had a meltdown for that reason.
Sighing, he resumed cleaning his axe. Though he remained silent, Sansa could tell he was not indifferent to her sadness. He was simply not very apt with words, especially comforting ones.
Once she had her emotions under control again, Sansa shifted in her position over the floor to face Sandor. She rubbed her sleeve over her face and sponged off the worst of her tears with it. "Sandor?" she called, gazing at him through red and swollen eyes.
"Yes, little bird?"
"Promise me you'll make sure the baby is well looked after," she demanded him almost pleadingly.
"You don't trust Ingrith?" the Hound inquired quietly, his eyes meeting hers from over his axe.
"No, of course I do," Sansa hurried to reply. Over the last moon, she had come to genuinely care for the woman and knew her son would be in good hands with her. "She's a good person and I'm glad you've found her. Yet she's poor and I don't want the baby to lack for anything."
"I told you I would pay for all it needs, didn't I?"
"Yes," Sansa admitted.
"Now you don't think I'll keep my promise to you?" he added, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching just once.
"No, I'm sure you will," Sansa conceded in a whisper.
"Good," the Hound uttered, lowering his gaze to his axe again. From the floor by his side, he picked up a small oil bottle and poured some on a rag before rubbing it on the blade of his axe.
Sansa watched him, hesitant. "But, Sandor? There's something else I would like to ask of you," she murmured meekly after a few heartbeats. She wasn't sure how he would react to her other request.
"Go ahead."
She gulped and took a deep breath. "Promise me that when our… our child will be old enough…" she started timidly, wavering again. It was the first time she referred aloud to him as 'theirs' and for some reason, it was making her nervous. "Promise me that you'll bring him back with you to King's Landing and take him as your squire."
Wincing, Sandor paused in his task to briefly ponder over her demand, his stare fixed on the fire before him. "Well, he'll need to be skillful enough for that first. Strong and hardworking too. I'm in the Kingsguard, little bird. I can't just have anyone for squire. He'll need to prove himself first."
While Sansa had prepared herself for a possible refusal on his part, his response nonetheless hurt her far more than she'd have expected. "But he'll be your son, Sandor! Of course he'll be strong, hardworking and skillful enough! If you train him and teach him all you know, I'm sure he could become just as formidable a warrior as you are when he's fully grown. He could defeat any knight the realm has to offer. I just know it!"
Snorting softly, Sandor leaned back into his chair and lowered his axe over his lap. He seemed tired but the corners of his mouth curved up faintly in something in-between a smile and a smirk. "It's not that simple, little bird. There's no guarantee he'll be anything like me. Were all your brothers exactly like your father? And was that wild little sister of yours the very image of your mother? I don't bloody think so."
Tear were pearling in Sansa's eyes again, yet she didn't feel like crying in the least. No, she was far too mad at him for not seeing eye-to-eye with her for that.
"One thing I can promise you though is that I'll make sure he learns a trade. One that'll suit him, whatever it is," the Hound continued, apparently unaware of how stung she was by his words. "And anyhow, Sansa, how can you be so sure it won't be a girl to begin with? In that case, I hope you won't want me to take her as my squire too - because I won't." At that, he barked a short, rough laugh and resumed oiling his axe.
"Oh, Sandor! Why would you say things like that? You're wrong! It will be a boy and I know it! A mother can feel these kinds of things. You may not, but I do! Both Ingrith and Githa agree with me besides and I think I should trust them more than you in such matters," Sansa retorted, glowering at him. Both her hands balled in tight fists, she folded her arms over her chest and raised her chin. Visibly baffled, Sandor was eyeing her through narrowed eyes, his jaw and neck stiff and mouth pulled in a thin line. "And I don't see how he could be anything but a good swordsman. My father was, his brothers were, their father before them and even my two oldest brothers too! But most of all, you are! More than any of them even! He can't be anything other than skillful with a sword if well taught with such background."
His face twisting in a deep scowl, Sandor averted his stare from her. "As you say then. What the fuck do I know after all?" he hissed, sounding utterly annoyed. "Seven bloody hells," she heard him curse under his breath as he returned his attention on his axe again.
From resenting him for disagreeing with her, Sansa abruptly felt terrible. Her goal with this conversation had been to make sure the Hound would get involved in their child's life, yet instead of that, she had ended up attacking him when he had disagreed with her and rejecting all of his inputs. He may have been wrong in what he had said but it was not by criticizing and diminishing his opinion from the instant he uttered it that she would encourage him to keep an interest in the baby. She should never have yelled at him like she had.
"I'm sorry, Sandor. I didn't mean to be rude…" Tears welling in her eyes again, Sansa gazed down at the small chest's content again, unable to meet the man's stare. "It's just that… that I won't be there for him and so it'd be really important for me if he had his… his father at least and so I was hoping so much that you would agree. I don't want him to be an orphan… I know you can't care for a baby or young child but once he'll be old enough, it would really mean so much to me if you… if you would…" Sansa trailed off, on the verge of weeping all over again.
"Alright. Alright, little bird. Come over here now," the Hound bid her, his voice calm and patient again though a bit weary. Settling his war axe to the ground by the side of his chair, he gestured for Sansa to come to him.
Sniffing, she stood up from where she was still kneeled over the floor and walked to him. When she got in front of him, he pulled her over his lap and wrapped his arm around her. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and shut her eyes.
After a moment, Sandor spoke, his tone as nonchalant as if he were sharing some trivial information with her. "I'll take him for squire, little bird, since it's so important to you. So long as it's a boy and that he can hold a sword in his hands, I'll do it. And if my buggering sworn bothers of the Kingsguard aren't satisfied with him, well, I'll tell them they can go fuck themselves."
Sansa's eyes grew wide at that and she jerked her head back to look at him. "You swear it?" she demanded, a small, disbelieving smile curving her lips.
"Yes."
"Say it," she insisted.
Sighing exasperatedly, the man took a deep breath and complied. "I swear it."
"Thank you, Sandor!" Sansa exclaimed with fresh tears in her eyes. "Thank you so much!"
With that, she kissed his burnt cheek and hugged him with all of her strength. The Hound tensed a bit but he stroked her back and hair all the same.
They stayed like that for a few seconds but then Sandor sighed again. "Now, let's just hope the babe doesn't look too much like you," he muttered against the crown of her head as an afterthought. "If he has your hair… gods, now that won't be good."
About a moon later, Sansa was alone in the little house. She had just woken up from her afternoon nap and the Hound had not come back from his outing yet. With her hands under her shift, she was applying some of Githa's sheep milk salve over her breasts. They had become so big lately, she could scarcely believe it. Sandor had sworn many times he thought they looked really nice and he kept repeating she was beautiful whenever she complained of how huge she was getting. She knew he meant it. It was not like him to lie and moreover, she had no reason of doubting his desire for her. He still wanted her just as much heavy with his child as he had when her waist had been thin enough that he could circle it completely with his two hands and proved it to her often.
It was paradoxical, for while Sansa felt bulky and clumsy, the Hound treated her like she was the most fragile creature in the world and was always extremely careful and gentle with her, especially in bed. It was as if he feared he might hurt her or the baby if he took her even a fraction as fiercely as he used to. Speaking soft words in her ears, he would kiss her and ghost his large, calloused hands all over her body with maddening softness and for as long as it lasted, Sansa was ready to believe she was just as beautiful and desirable as she had been before her belly had swollen. Yet later on as she would move about the house or attempt to squeeze herself in one of her gowns, the illusion would be no more. She did try to stay positive most of the time but Sansa still definitely had her moments of discouragement. It was quite distressing to see her body change so much so fast and have absolutely no control over it.
Even with all of their laces completely loosened, Sansa could now barely fit in most of her gowns and was truly comfortable in only one. At least, all of her shifts were very loose and there was thus no danger that she ever outgrew any of them. Yet the idea of having to spend her days in her undergarment for the remaining moons she would have to wait before she gave birth was highly depressing. Therefore, Ingrith had recently bought some warm fabric from the village for her and they had both started making her three new much larger dresses. They had only finished one so far. It was spread over the back of a chair and Sansa picked it up and pulled it over her head, sighing as she gazed down at herself afterwards. For someone who was used to wearing only pretty clothes made from the finest fabrics and adorned with lace and intricate embroidery, this was not a very exciting dress. It was a dull grey, very simple and humble-looking but most of all, very large. The cut was not flattering at all, still at least it would fit around her belly until the baby's growth was over and it was warm enough for her to go outside, unlike her shifts.
Grey is one of my House's colours, Sansa reminded herself as she inspected herself in her silver hand mirror. Perhaps if she embroidered some flowers around the dress' neckline and the hems of its sleeves it would make it slightly more palatable. It was not like she lacked the time for it anyhow.
With no great enthusiasm, Sansa sat by the table and started brushing her hair. She fixed it in a half braid with a jewelled brooch and put on the sapphire necklace Sandor had given her during their stay at Maidenpool. At least she would look nice from the neck up, for what it was worth.
The sky had cleared up since morning; Sansa could tell by the strong sunbeams which passed through the small hide windows. It had been quite cloudy still when she had gone to bed after lunch. I cannot stay inside. It's so rare that it's so beautiful in this season, Sansa decided. With that, she stood from her seat and found her boots and mittens. Once she had slid them on, she donned her fur cloak, raised its cowl over her head and went outside.
While the air was cold, the sun was warm on Sansa's face and thus for as long as she'd stay out of the shade, the day was perfect for a long stroll. Smiling to herself, she started walking toward the stables, hoping to find Sandor there.
As she stepped inside, Sansa heard some noises coming from the farthest stalls. After the bright light of the sun, it took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the place. When they had, she saw it was only Borin and Rowan shovelling manure in a wheelbarrow. Ingrith's large grey dog, Sooty he was called, was with them and he came running to Sansa as soon as she entered, wagging his tail joyfully. She bent over to pet him and scratch his ears.
"Good boy, Sooty! What a good boy you are," Sansa told him happily. She had grown quite fond of him throughout the last two moons and a half she had spent at the farm. He was always at her feet as she knitted with Ingrith, eager to be petted. "Good afternoon, Borin. Good afternoon, Rowan," she told the boys with a grin once she was done greeting Sooty, straightening her back. "Have you seen the lord by any chance?" Although he was no lord, everyone referred to the Hound as such at the farm given that he had no title and that calling him dog, Clegane, Sandor, Hound, or even worse, ser, was totally out of the question for their hosts.
"Hello, m… m'lady!" Borin replied, staggering as usual. He was the oldest and chattier of Ingrith's two sons. Both were very polite and always willing to help. They reminded Sansa of Hodor in some ways, though their vocabulary was undeniably more elaborate. Still they were very shy and acted much like young children instead of the grown men they were, much like he had. "He was here earlier b… but he went away, m'lady. Don't know w…where," Borin informed her. He and his brother were equally wary of Sandor and even speaking of him seemed to make them nervous. Sansa couldn't blame them. She had once been just as anxious with him and knew first hand just how intimidating he could be.
"Alright, thank you."
Before she left, Sansa swept her gaze over the stables. She noted both Stranger and her mare where in their stalls and with that, she gathered the Hound had either gone to the forest to chop some wood or set a few snares. Apart from that, there really wasn't much he could be doing.
As she opened the door to exit, Sooty came running out of the stables. "Oh! Sooty has escaped!" Sansa exclaimed, glancing in Borin and Rowan's direction. "I think he needs some fresh air. Would you mind if I brought him with me to the weirwood tree?"
"No, m'lady. G.. go with him!" Borin answered.
Sansa smiled and thanked him before shutting the door behind her. "Come, Sooty! Let's go!" she cried out, tapping at her thigh.
The dog was already some distances away by the side of the stables but at hearing her call him, he jumped and hurried toward her.
"Let's go to the weirwood, Sooty," Sansa prompted.
She started progressing over the trail of compacted snow that led to it and the dog swiftly rejoined her. He knew the way very well and soon took the lead and walked a few steps before her, halting every now and then to sniff or make water against trees.
When they got to the weirwood, Sansa sat down not far from it in the sunlight. As she had already come here with Sandor this morning, she didn't feel the urge to pray to the old gods. All she wanted was to enjoy the peacefulness of the woods and the warmth of the sun. Gazing at the pure blue sky above, she let herself fall back into the snow. Sooty joined her almost just as soon, lying down by her side and blowing hot breath onto her face.
"Eww, Sooty!" Sansa cried, wrinkling her nose and turning her head away from him. Still, she petted him to make sure he stayed and he snuggled himself against her.
The forest was so quiet. There was not an ounce of wind and the only sounds to be heard were those of small birds chirping and flying from branches to branches. The snow shone bright and white under the sunlight and Sansa smiled to herself, shutting her eyes only for a short moment.
"Sansa? You alright?" the Hound's hoarse voice suddenly startled her.
Had she dozed off? It seemed like it, for she was a bit confused when she opened her eyes again. "Yes," Sansa replied, shaking herself and sitting up. Twisting onto herself, she gazed toward the forest to see Sandor approaching her with long, quick strides. He had two dead hares tied to his sword belt and while she could tell he was more worried than angry, it was obvious by the scowl his face was set in that he was not pleased either.
"What are you doing here alone?" he asked her sternly once he was just a few steps from her.
"I'm not alone. I'm with Sooty," Sansa pointed out. The dog was still nestled into the snow by her side, gazing up at Sandor and wagging his tail.
"That's not enough, Sansa. What if wolves had found you, lying in the snow like that? What a beautiful and easy prey you'd make," he commented dryly, his mouth twitching. "You shouldn't go out this far without me. You couldn't defend yourself if you were attacked – and even less now that you're with child," he chided her, his tone very serious and eyes reproachful.
"But Sooty would have protected me! And he would have barked and called for help if wolves had found me." Sansa asserted.
"Perhaps but I'm not sure he'd have lasted very long against a pack of wolves. Now you listen to me, little bird. I don't want you to take risks like these anymore. Sooty's Ingrith's dog and you, you've your own dog in me. Understood? From now on, you'll only go out with your own dog" the Hound rasped with finality. Bending over, he gathered Sansa in his arms and lifted her from the snowy ground. "Let's go back now. I'm sure you must be getting cold."
A little disheartened, Sansa nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck. Is it truly how he sees himself? My dog? she wondered with doubt. She had a hard time picturing him as thus. She had always been more under the impression that she was his and not the opposite.
As they approached the farm with Sooty in tow, Sandor relaxed and slowed his pace. "You made quite a striking image in the snow, little bird," he murmured, not a trace of his previous irritation left in his voice. "Made my mouth water to be completely honest with you. The wolves may not have found you but I think this hound will be devouring you whole once we get inside." With that, he started nuzzling at her neck.
Sansa stiffened. She was in no mood for what he had in mind. "Not now, Sandor," she complained, stirring in his arms. "I've only just got dressed and fixed my hair. And besides, Ingrith has promised she would show me a new knitting technique this afternoon. I should probably rejoin her right away in fact."
Grunting, Sandor removed his face from her neck. "Alright then, I'll bring you to her house," he said gruffly.
While he didn't bother to mask his discontentment, the fact that he didn't insist further was satisfying enough to Sansa. He had not imposed his desire on her even once since they had arrived at the farm and she was grateful for that change in their rapport.
He may not be my dog but he's still learning to listen, she reflected as they headed toward Ingrith's house. It was a start, at least.