Sandor stood upon the battlements of Winterfell facing south, supporting his weight by leaning against the merlon beside him. The hour was late, the snow was falling, and Sansa had not seen him at supper, nor in their bedchambers afterwards. Becoming apprehensive at his absence, Sansa departed their chambers and began to seek him out.
When she approached the main gates of Wintefell, a guard spotted her. After greeting her, he pointed to the top of the battlements. It was there she saw her husband unmoving, staring out into the darkness.
He is watching for something, but he faces south, not north. What is he waiting to see if not the Others?
Sansa made way for the stairs to meet him but as she ascended, he did not seem to notice her approach. He looks like a proper Lord of Winterfell, she thought. Brooding over this castle the way he is.
"Sandor, what are you doing up here?" Sansa asked uneasily.
"Waiting...thinking," he muttered. The clouds above were heavy, blocking most of the moonlight, leaving the castle eerily dark. Sansa could not make out the expression on his face in the near pitch blackness, but the tone in his voice was tense.
"Why are you facing south?" she walked up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"The Dothraki and Unsullied have moved camp to Winterfell's north wall. From here, it's just this wall between us and King's Landing," Sandor sighed heavily. She looked out into the darkness and saw nothing; no flames, no men, just the vastness of the land that traveled south. Sansa turned her head to the sound of footsteps approaching on the battlements, observing a Winterfell guard making his rounds, greeting the lord and lady as he passed.
"What are you waiting for that is between here and King's Landing?" she wondered, savoring the scent of him on his cloak.
"My brother," he uttered quietly.
"What about him?" The thought of the Mountain immediately filled her with dread.
"He is coming here. To kill me," he said without moving.
Sansa's arms tensed around him, her heart beginning to race inside her chest. "I don't understand, why? Who told you this?" Sansa dropped her arms to her side as he turned around to face her. Sandor placed his hands on her cheeks, lifting her face up to meet his.
"That Imp husband of yours is the one who told me," he muttered. Furious, Sansa swung her hand back in the air and slapped him across the face.
"You are my husband, not him! You know my marriage to Tyrion was arranged by his father and you also know it was never consummated. Do not start acting like an envious brute," she warned him.
"Careful now," he whispered, pulling her face closer to his. "You remember what happened in the godswood when you kept slapping me." Sansa could see the desire for her in his eyes but instead of acting on it, he released her face and returned to watch beyond the southern wall. "That cunt Harry Hardyng has made a deal with Cersei. It's my death for his knights and it is my bloody brother who leads them here."
Sansa's breath caught in her throat.
I should have seen this coming from such a proud, cruel fool. But we have armies, we have dragons...it would be impossible for Gregor to even touch Sandor.
"We have thousands of men, Sandor. Not even your brother can withstand our forces," she assured him, leaning against the snowy merlon beside him.
"And what would I look like, a lord, sending an army against one man?" he sighed. "No, it must be me. Me and him right out there," he gestured towards the empty ground below them.
Sansa's mouth gaped open at his words. The Mountain is said to not be a man any longer, but immortal, and impossibly strong...
"I thought revenge was only important to the Hound. And he is dead," she reminded him, clenching her fists to her side.
"It would not be for revenge, little bird," he turned to face her with a grim look. "Do you think he would stop at having me killed? The only thing that bastard has enjoyed in his life is taking from others. Taking their women, taking their gold, taking their lives. That's what he does. If he kills me, what do you think he would do if he got a hold of you? Rape you, kill you, kill our child? Kill to protect, that's what the Elder Brother told me. Thoros and Beric said I have a greater purpose in this life. That greater purpose is you and my child that you carry, and I will fight for you and die if need be," Sandor placed his hand on her cheek, caressing her skin, as pale as the snow falling down on them.
"Die? We have thousands of men and you would risk your life fighting your brother alone? Die and never live to see your child be born? Make me a widow? That's what you consider fulfilling your greater purpose?" she asked him incredulously, pushing his hand off her cheek.
"It has to be me, girl. And it will be. Killing a few men with an army would be like killing a man as he sleeps. Even I have more honor than that. More pride. Your father would have understood that better than anyone." Sandor turned away again to look past the crenel in the wall.
"You're awful," she said, tears welling in her eyes from exasperation. "Using honor to justify you wanting to kill your brother after all this time."
He looked at her and Sansa recognized that his patience was at an end. "What plans was I making to kill that ugly cunt before I received word he was coming for me? That's right, little bird. None. I made peace with knowing I would never be the one to kill him. But I will protect you, and that will mean that fucker needs to die," he said bluntly. "Or maybe the big bastard will kill me and that dwarf will be able to consummate your marriage after all," he goaded. Sansa swung her hand so hard at the scarred side of his face that she could feel the sting of the impact within her glove. Sandor's lips twitched, turning into a lascivious smile.
"I was hoping you'd do that," he whispered, pulling her into his arms and engulfing her neck with his mouth.
"Stop it!" she yelled, her voice muffled in his shoulder.
Footsteps approached quickly as the same guard making his rounds upon the battlements appeared. The man stared at the couple with a look of horror painted on his face. Sandor peered over his shoulder at the man and scowled. "Fuck off for a while," he ordered. The man nodded rapidly and ran down the battlements. Sandor returned to Sansa's neck passionately, kissing, licking and gnawing on her skin. With every touch, Sansa felt the anger escape from her body and replaced by a wicked desire to have him inside of her.
"Someone will see us up here," she purred.
"If someone sees us," he paused to pull up the skirt of her dress, "then they will have to answer to me." He kneeled onto the battlements to rip her stockings and smallclothes off of her before slipping two fingers inside her sex as he stood. The cold surrounding her legs was unbearable at first, but her blood pumped furiously at the sensation of his fingers stirring inside of her. Sansa's back pressed against the frosted merlon, feeling the stark contrast of heat escalating inside her core, and she could no longer perceive the bitterness of the air.
"Gods, I love how your cunt is always ready for me". Sandor removed his fingers from inside of her and pulled at the laces confining him. Once his length was out, he lifted her up into his arms and wrapped her legs around his hips. Sansa lowered her hand to guide his cock, the head of it radiating heat once it teased her entrance. He pushed her back firmly against the merlon, thrusting himself inside of her in one motion. She moaned once he filled her and bit her teeth into his shoulder. Sandor grunted with every stroke, a sound alone that made Sansa want to peak. The thrill of him taking her on the battlements was overwhelming, provoking her body to respond in ways she had never experienced.
"I fucking love you," she whimpered in his ear as he drove into her. The words triggered Sandor to growl fervently into her ear.
"That's the sweetest little song you've ever given me," he whispered over her lips before meeting his tongue with hers. Sandor squeezed the roundness of her ass while thrusting into her against the cold merlon. She wanted to rip her dress off right there and eliminate the bundle of fabric between them, to feel her bare breasts pressed against the coarse hair on his chest and watch his length pump in and out of her. Her erotic thoughts flooded her body with an incapacitating climax, leading her to moan loud enough for anyone who chanced to be in the yard to hear. Her husband thrusted thrice more inside her before she felt his seed being spent, listening to the sounds of his guttural grunting and breathless curses. The finest sounds, she thought.
Once he placed her down onto the ground, Sansa could feel his seed slowly drip down her bare legs underneath her dress and onto the snow covered battlements. Her legs were exhausted from clenching around him that she could not maintain her balance, causing her to nearly fall on top of the crenel. Sandor's arm reached out rapidly to balance her before he picked up her ripped stockings and smallclothes off the snow. As he handed the clothing to her, she gave him a kittenish smile.
She held up the torn fabric. "I'd be wise not to wear these around you anymore."
"Aye, and you won't hear me complaining," he muttered breathlessly before cradling her up into his arms just as he did on their wedding night and descended from the battlements.