Departing the godswood, Sandor carried his wife in his arms as was custom for Northern weddings. But rather than heading to a feast, they headed to yet another one of Sansa's surprises.

"The main tower, on the fourth floor," she directed while leaning in to kiss his neck.

"You will have this marriage consummated in this bloody courtyard if you keep that up," he threatened with carnal desire. She pulled away and gave him a daring look, making him consider following through with the threat. The little bird would like that, he thought.

As he carried her up the stairwell of the main tower, he reflected on their wedding ceremony and how unconventionally perfect it had been. He knew where they were headed as she led him blinded through Winterfell. Sandor had made his rounds of the castle long enough to discern where they were. However, he foolishly guessed that she wanted him to take her in the godswood again. It was not until she untied the cloth from his eyes did he process what was happening.

Gods, what a fucking sight it was.

Sandor felt as if he were dreaming during the ceremony, and dreaded to be rudely awoken by that drunk fool Thoros at the Wall or even worse, in the White Sword Tower in the Red Keep, serving as Joffrey's dog. But as time continued to pass, he never woke up. Instead, he became the husband of the Northern beauty Sansa Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, and the Warden of the North.

And the Seven Kingdoms will shit themselves once that raven flies.

Once they reached their destination, he lowered her back onto her feet outside of the door. Sansa turned to him, placing her hands on his chest.

"Littlefinger defiled the bedchamber that belonged to the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. I thought it would be best for us to not have to relive that moment every day, to have something new. This place is for us and one day, it will be for our child who will rule after us." Sansa unlocked the barred door with an iron key, gesturing for Sandor to proceed ahead and push the thickness of it open.

The newly constructed Lord's bedchambers was well over twice the size of the original, as were all of its furnishings, and appeared as luxurious as any room in the Red Keep. The bed was massive, located in the center of the furthest wall from the entrance. The canopy atop was the same grey as the Stark direwolf sigil; the pillars, head board, and footboard were carved from a dark oak. To the left side of the bed, there were two large windows facing out to the frozen northern landscape and in between, a brazier wide enough to fit in a great hall. The sight of such a brazier might have once filled him with a sense of fear and loathing, but the fire burned low, instilling a comforting ambiance inside the bedchamber. Sansa sauntered towards the bed, her auburn hair swaying gracefully against her bride's cloak.

All these years and she kept that bloody cloak. The only memory of me I left with her.

As she turned to face him, he realized he had not moved one step from the entrance. He did not know why; perhaps it was his fear that this night was only a dream, and should he choose to approach her and fuck her like he desired, he would wake up and it would all vanish: his wife, his child, this bedchamber, everything.

Interrupting him from his grim thoughts, Sansa dropped her brides cloak onto the floor beside the bed and began to unlace the dress that was confining her body. He closed the door behind him with his back, refusing to remove his eyes from the sight of her stripping down. Moments ago he could not keep his hands off of her, but all he could manage to do now was watch her in awe as a man might watch a god.

Once her dress fell onto the floor, pitch black against her white bride's cloak, she removed her small clothes in such a seductive manner that he could feel his cock press painfully inside his trousers. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the swell on her bare belly. Clothed, it was not immediately obvious Sansa was with child, but nude, she looked like the Mother herself. Her soft, white skin glowed as bright as the flames in the brazier. Sandor's mouth salivated at the sight of her breasts, nearly double the size they had been before and her nipples a darker shade of pink.

All of these comely changes due to my seed. The seed of a man who once was no more than a savage Hound.

Sandor pulled himself away from the door and eliminated the distance between them, his eyes shifting from her breasts, her face, the swell of her belly, her cunt; he wanted to do everything to her all at once.

"If you were not already carrying my child, you would be after I am done with you tonight," he murmured lustly. Sansa smiled but not in a girlish way, it was bewitching, begging for him to take her. Sandor took her face into his hands and stared at her in wonder. "My wife," he grunted, pushing his lips onto hers. Sansa's tongue greeted his own fervently and she ended up ripping the tunic she had sewn for him due to her ferocity in taking it off. The moans escaping her lips were already heavy and he refused to hold himself back any longer. He removed his clothing and carried her into his arms onto the bed, lying on his back. She began to crawl her way down to place his manhood inside of her mouth, but Sandor feared he would spill the instant he felt the sensation. Instead, he lifted her by her waist and sat her down on his cock, easing himself inside of her.

Sansa's entrance was the wettest it had ever been and the stiffness of his cock nearly pained him. As her walls closed around him, she let out a deep sigh and placed her hands onto his bare chest. Her eyes met his and she slowly began to rock her hips up, then back down, up again, then down, faster each cycle. His jaw clenched as he felt himself about to peak.

"Fucking Seven fucking Hells," he moaned.

The mere visual of her on top of him was as euphoric as the sensation of being inside of her. Her auburn hair spilled down in front of his face, her swollen breasts bounced with every move she made, and her eyes were heavy with lust. He grunted and grasped her ass with his hands, lifting her up and down rapidly. Suddenly, he felt her tighten against his cock, sending him to climax at the same time as her. His peak was overwhelming and his grunts sounded pained, satisfied, and exhausted all at once. Sansa's desperate moans filled the bedchamber, the sweetest sound he ever heard. Once he finished spilling inside of her, she lowered her face down to his and kissed all along the left side of his face, the scars, the bone near his jaw, and the black flesh down his neck. It was too perfect, she was too perfect.

Any moment now and I will wake up in that shit tower in King's Landing, at the fucking Wall, or on the damned Quiet Isle and she will be gone.

This little wife of mine intends to fuck me to death.

Mere minutes after consummating their marriage, Sansa got on her knees and placed him into her mouth to start all over again. An hour after the second time, she got on all fours and waited for him to get behind her, staring at him with a tempting smile on her face. When they finished for the third time, he thought his cock would fall right off.

When Sandor awoke the following morning, he felt something soaked on the sheets. As his eyes adjusted to the light pouring into the windows, the once white sheets were now scarlet, coated with blood. He jumped up to sitting and pulled Sansa into his arms. She was unmoving, pale, and her lips were blue.

"Sansa!" he shouted in horror. He watched her arms fall lifelessly to her side and her head hung against his elbow. The panic set in and Sandor began to hyperventilate, touching the blood soaked on her thighs. It was then that the maester walked in, carrying something small and swaddled in cloth in his arms.

"My Lord, she did not make it," the maester began to weep blood. "I did everything I could." The maester reached out to Sandor, presenting the bundle in his arms. Sandor looked down and saw his child, a newborn no larger than the size of his hand, lifeless and as pale as her mother. He froze at the sight, wanting to scream, cry, rip the maester apart but he could not move. Another man began to walk into the bedchamber, his head attached to his neck with black thread.

"I told you that whore would die birthing your stillborn bastard!" the ghost of Nestor Royce boomed and began to cackle.

Sandor glanced back towards the maester, but it was not him who stood there but Littlefinger. "You've killed her, Hound. I told you, Starks do not last long in this world," he smirked. Sandor looked down at Sansa again and watched as her eyes opened, eyes blue and burning like ice.