Author Note: So I got inspired and decided to come back to this pairing for some final fun and adventure. Let me know what you think.
It picks up right where we left off in Chapter 11...
And then out of the dark she heard, "Little bird?"
Sansa immediately sobbed. She stumbled around the trunk of the enormous tree and stumbled towards the Hound. His arms were outstretched towards her and he went to his knees. Sansa walked slowly, her legs shaking and her feet screaming from numerous scrapes. It was no more than ten paces to his arms, but the effort to get there felt like she had run for days. When she finally made it to him, his hands rested on her hips as he looked up at her face. Sansa closed her eyes and collapsed, as sobs took over her.
"We have to go," he muttered into her ear as he cradled her to his chest like a child. "You're hurt." He made the statement with a crack in his voice. Sansa cried harder hearing his voice waver when talking about her wellbeing.
"Is my Mother dead?" Sansa choked on the words, but managed to let out a hoarse whisper with the question.
The Hound nodded as he pulled her tighter, his head resting on hers. "There's nothing left here for anyone who isn't a Lannister." The words cut her deep, but she let them wash over her. "We can't stay here, little bird." He picked her up and carried her to Stranger.
Sansa made herself conscious enough to be placed on Stranger's back, but her legs dangled lifelessly on either side of the massive horse. She focused on his shiny black hair, the way the moonlight made it look silver, as the Hound got on the horse behind her. Immediately Stranger took off at a startling pace. The trees rushed by them and the vibrations of Stranger's hooves shook through Sansa's body. Her eyes glazed over as she let herself go limp. The Hound's arm was stiff around her middle as he held her securely. She had never felt so vulnerable and safe at the same time.
Sansa was only allowed off of the great beast when the Hound instructed her to make water, get a drink, or eat some questionable "food" from his pack. Of course the "food" in question had zero taste and she had so little interest in doing anything other than staring into the sky. She had been mute since her last question had left her mouth and didn't care about much of anything, so going back to doing what she was told was a relief of sorts. The one thing she did care about was getting to safety. The only thing that was going to accomplish that feeling was distance. So when they stopped at the beginning of a cool evening after two full days she almost began sobbing all over again. If she hadn't of cried herself dry, she would have had a stream pouring from her eyes. Her mind immediately shouted, We aren't far enough away! But of course, her voice was nowhere to be found and by the look on the Hound's face, he wasn't interested in her opinion.
There was a small wooden cabin in the distance and it seemed ominous, unwelcoming and certainly not far enough away from The Twins. It was surrounded by towering trees and looked so off the beaten trail that Sansa couldn't help but struggle to wonder how the Hound knew where it was, or that it was safe. He slid off of Stranger and Sansa almost fell backwards if it wasn't for the Hound's reflexes. He grunted disapprovingly and caught her waist and lifted her off the stallion. He attempted to set her on her feet beside the horse but Sansa's knees buckled and she almost collapsed. The Hound muttered something unsavory under his breath and lifted her into his arms and began to carry her.
"I know this place," he said as he carried her towards the cabin in the woods. "It's nowhere near any trails or traveled paths. We can stay here for the night." Sansa lifted her head and looked up at the Hound's face as he shifted her weight and kept a confident stride to the front door.
His face was covered in gore and dirt. Sansa reached up and ran a finger over his cheek. Her fingertip was now covered in filth and a single line of his unburnt cheek was clean – his flesh exposed. He didn't look down at her, much to her disbelief. So she did it again, and again. "You're filthy," she muttered as he carried her into the small cabin. Now almost all of her fingertips were disgusting and the Hound's face had stripes of clean flesh across it.
"The bird chirps." His sarcasm had not been wounded by the battle with his brother. The Hound set her in a rickety chair next to a dust-ridden table. "There's a well. I'll get some water. Don't do anything stupid." The edge in his voice caught her by surprise. She almost laughed. Was there any point in saying such things? It would appear that every choice she had ever made led to stupidity.
Sansa waited while the Hound left her in the dark and damp room. She saw a large straw bed in the corner. A hearth was empty except for years of soot. And then of course the chair she sat in with the long wooden table. Who lived here? The moon was rising as the sun set outside and the shadows of the trees that came in through the windows looked like creatures. The shadows crept across her bare legs, caressing her pale flesh where her dress was ripped beyond repair. A moving shadow caught her eye over beside the hearth and she almost cried out when she saw it was herself looking back. A mirror. The mirror was tall, almost touching the ceiling. The grime and dust that coated it was thick and she could barely see herself if not for the last bit of daylight that filtered through the windows. Sansa hesitated, but stood and walked over on uncertain and wounded feet to the mirror. The sleeve of her dress was tattered into shreds, but she gathered the pieces and wiped the mirror clean. And there she was.
Her hair was still red, like fire. She shuddered as she held it up and saw the knots that appeared that they were beyond repair. The scratch across her cheek was swollen and sore. Her face was smudged with dirt and her dress looked rather unladylike. The dress was torn every which way. Her stomach was peeking through and her breasts were barely concealed. Her thighs had scratches that cascaded across their once-smooth surface. But what stood out most for Sansa was the look in her eyes. She looked lost. She reached up and touched her cheeks and felt like she was staring at a stranger. Oh Mother, help me. Sansa thought that she was dried out, but tears began streaming out of her eyes as she ran her fingers across her chapped lips and felt the distinct scar that had formed on her lower lip from the constant biting. With little hesitation, Sansa ran her hands down her body and gripped the base of her tattered dress with a furious determination. She ripped it over her head and stared at her naked body in the mirror. She was bruised, scratched and torn apart. She couldn't distinguish the marks from the Hound from the ones from her escape into the forest. How is it that marks of passion looked so similar to marks of terror and pain?
Because the mirror was so tall that when she crouched to the floor and sat on the dress that pooled in tatters at her feet, she could still see herself. She continued to watch herself cry until the distinct footsteps of the Hound entered the cabin. She heard him stop abruptly and turned to look at him and saw something give way in his features. She looked away, back at the mirror and saw and heard him approach her. He didn't say a word, but crouched down and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked into his eyes through the mirror and watched as he swept her hair out of her face. There was something in his eyes that Sansa only saw the last time they were together in the bath. It was unguarded and chilling. It was completely foreign on his face.
"Come wash yourself off outside." It wasn't a question or even a suggestion. He lifted her beneath her arms and guided her, naked, outside towards a well. A massive bucket next to the well was full of water and it looked frigid. Sansa trembled as the evening air began to turn cool.
Sansa looked up at the Hound who seemed uncertain whether to leave her alone or help her. The Hound wasn't used to helping others, so the hesitation was written across his features in the streaks of clean skin Sansa had created on his face with her fingers. "I won't do anything stupid," she whispered as she scooped water from the bucket and began working on her legs, slowly and methodically wiping away dirt, blood and Mother knows what else.
He grunted and started to walk past her before pausing, "I'm going to get some food. Don't even think of running." Sansa shuddered at his words. And off he strode into the forest, quieter that Sansa thought possible for such a large man. It was hard to believe he could go from looking and talking so softly to being suddenly so abrasive. Sansa watched him disappear between the trees and wondered.
Sansa cleaned herself the best she could with the bucket of water. Her body was at least somewhat clean and no longer covered in grime. Her hair on the other hand appeared to be a lost cause. With shaking hands, she lowered the smaller bucket into the well and pulled it back up hearing the water sloshing over the sides. It sounded so loud in the quiet of the forest. But she refused to stop and really consider how alone she was…Or even where she was. With little hesitation Sansa raised the bucket over her head and turned it over sending a wave of water over her head. She bit her lip to stop from crying out. The chill was overwhelming and sent her body into a fit of shivers. Before she lost her nerve, she worked her fingers through her hair, undoing the stubborn knots and trying to wring out the dirt.
After she worked out the knots from her hair and wrung out the dirt the best she could, she stood trembling beside the well unsure of what to do next. Her body began shaking from the chill settling into the night. The first thought Sansa had was clothing. Stranger was over near a tree, loosely tied to it, eating grass with a small bucket of water nearby. Her heart sank a little deeper when she thought of Windstorm – probably long gone or being used by the men who tried to kill them. That horse didn't have the bond that Stranger had to the Hound. And that fact saddened her a little. She shook her head and looked next to Stranger where she could make out a slight bulge next to the tree that maybe was one of their packs with clothes. The darkness was beginning to come and Sansa swore she heard a wolf howl in the distance. With nothing more than desperation she ran over to Stranger who barely acknowledged her presence. She didn't touch him, for fear of losing a finger or two, and snatched the pack – she had been right. She darted back to the cabin and closed the rickety door behind her.
There was no light inside the cabin, but she felt with shaking fingers one of her dresses in the large pack and several blankets and wineskins. She rifled through and eagerly pulled out all of the fabric she could feel. She threw the dress over her head and smoothed it out over her body. And then she waited. For anything. Mostly she waited for someone, who wasn't the Hound, to come and take her to another awful place. It seemed that this world was full of awful places and terrible people who wanted to take her there. And with each moment that passed, her heart sunk a little deeper into the pit of her stomach wondering if the Hound was ever coming back. The feeling was familiar, of course. She had felt it many times during their journey together. But he always came back. That didn't prevent her mind from wandering to those awful men who stuck the direwolf's head onto her brother's lifeless body on horseback. The thought made her shiver and feel ill. And what did they do to my Mother? Sansa shook her head and refused to think about it. Instead, she dug her fingernails into her palms hard. They began to bleed but she didn't care. The pain was a welcome feeling and distraction from the isolation and pure heartbreak she felt.
The quiet was making it challenging to not think about The Twins and the sense of utter loss. But with determination she considered where she was and who she was with instead. The Hound. She trembled a little, both from the cold and the unknown that lay before her. Sansa was once again on the run with the Hound. She had thought they were reaching the end of their time together, because as much as she had hoped her Mother and brother would have welcomed Sandor Clegane to their cause with open arms, she understood the unrealistic notion. She also understood that the Hound didn't like to answer to anybody. But then another thought tickled her. Of course the Hound didn't like to answer to anybody and the chances had been likely that her family would have scoffed at him or ordered him thrown into a cell for merely being in the same vicinity as the Lannisters for so long, but she couldn't help but wonder if there was some sort of change in him because of her. Did their journey mean anything to him or was it just another way for him to pass the time and attempt to steal away and hide from anyone who may try to order him around? If she had of asked him to stay, would he have stayed? If she had of confessed to her family that he had taken her in every way a man takes a woman, would they have listened?
I'll find you! He had yelled those words to her when the Mountain had slashed his sword at him. He had yelled those words to her. He had also called her name, her real name. Run, Sansa! She remembered how it had felt in her chest to hear him say her name with such earnest, with the need of a man trying desperately to keep her safe. It had alarmed her, not that she paid much attention at the time, but she had known that he was right. She hadn't hesitated, she hadn't questioned him. And of course, he did come back for her, he did find her. Sansa wondered exactly how he was able to do that if not for sheer will and desire to do so. He found her because he wanted to. Just like he took her with him during the battle at the Red Keep because he wanted to. He protected her because he wanted to. He climbed inside of her body because he wanted to. Sansa had to question whether the desire to be with her, to be near her, was similar to her need to be with him. Did it sit in his chest like it sat in hers? Did he feel completely certain while next to her? Did he find that it felt simply right, the way they were drawn to one another?
Sansa stood and shook her head and wiped away the tears from her cheeks. The cheek that had been slashed open by the branch was stinging from the salt and she winced as she wiped the sleeve of her dress across it. Using only the sliver of moonlight coming in through the few windows of the cabin, she crossed over to the large straw bed shoved up against the far wall. With little care, she spread one of the blankets in the pack across the dense straw and grabbed another sheet to drape over herself. Sansa was afraid as she climbed into the bed. She completely concealed herself from the world as she brought the scratchy blanket down over herself, over her head. The feeling was beginning to come back into her extremities from having been so cold and shocked from her poor excuse for a bath. Now they tingled back to life as she breathed as quietly as she could and listened to the silence, waiting for the Hound to return to her the way she now knew he would.
Sansa woke from a sleep, or more likely an unconscious daze, what felt like hours later to the sound of the door. She scolded herself for not being more aware of her surroundings and felt her heart start to beat like a rabbit's. It faded the moment she heard the familiar footsteps of the Hound walking towards the table. She heard the clatter of his armor being removed and the sound of a wineskin popping open.
"Best get up and eat something," he said in a gruff whisper.
Sansa obliged and sat up, removing the blanket from over her head, and saw that a large candle was burning on the table, emitting a very soft glow in the cabin. She also noticed that the moonlight was gone and wooden makeshift shutters had been closed over all of the windows. "What is it?" she asked as she quietly walked over to the table. Her feet were aching terribly beneath her. She winced.
"Food. Eat it." His answer was short and to the point and cut a little deeper than what Sansa felt was necessary, but she didn't hesitate to bring the freshly cooked meat up to her mouth.
She watched the Hound as she ate. He had clearly eaten while out in the forest and was now drinking from one of his many wineskins he must have stolen from the butcher he killed. Sansa tried not to think of that incident, but of all of the thoughts storming through her brain, it was one of the least disturbing.
After she finished eating the Hound abruptly stood up, grabbed his longsword and blew out the candle plunging them into darkness. Sansa gasped which earned her a dissatisfied grunt.
"I'll be outside. Go get some sleep." He was out the door before Sansa could react.
With her stomach as full as it was going to get for the night, Sansa obeyed and made her way over to the straw mattress and settled under the scratchy wool blanket. The chill of the night was seeping in through the cracks in the window shutters sending a shiver down Sansa's spine. As she waited for sleep, she listened to the sound of sloshing water outside as the Hound undoubtedly bathed himself after being covered in gore for two days. Sansa let a single tear slip thinking of why the gore was there to begin with. Mother. Robb. Her throat threatened to close, the lump was sitting right at the back of her mouth. She ground her and teeth and tried to muster any sort of strength she had left. She swallowed the tears and instead tried to focus on what they were going to do next. Would he still attempt to take her to Winterfell or was that now a lost cause? What was going to happen next?
Just as she began to accept the fate of a young woman alone in the wilderness with the Hound and the death of her family members and undoubtedly the death of more families in the future, the Hound came into the cabin and blew out the candle and opened a single shutter near the door. Sansa stiffened. She felt safer knowing he was there, knowing how much he had risked for her. But the fact that he was still there meant her family was not. It was an odd thing, the rise in her chest knowing she still had him to hold her and protect her, but with that came the price of what she had lost. Another single tear escaped her eye. She swallowed and ground her teeth harder. Determination was written across her features in the darkened cabin as she refused to fall apart any further. I am the North. I am a wolf.
She heard the thud of his sword rest beside the mattress and the clunk of his armor on the floor as well. Then the mattress shifted as he settled next to her on his back, grabbing only a sliver of blanket to cover himself. Sansa turned immediately and looked at him in the very faint light the came in through the front shutter. Her eyes were slowly adjusting and she could barely make out the outline of his face.
Her hand shook as she reached out for his face. It came to rest on his burned cheek and she felt him flinch. She didn't move her hand. Instead she ran it down his neck, finding where the burnt flesh ended and soft skin began. He wasn't wearing a shirt and remained very still as her fingers danced across his chest, in the thick hair that trailed down to the top of his small clothes that were loosely tied at his waist. She heard him take in a sharp breath as her hand gently caressed him below the waist and went halfway down his thigh before traveling back up to rest on his chest.
"You came back for me," she said into the darkness. Her hand on his chest rose and fell with his heavy sigh.
"I told you I'd find you, little bird." His whisper was hoarse and broke her heart.
She rested her forehead against the top of his arm and kissed the flesh. Once, then twice she gave chaste kisses along his bicep. She could feel his skin break out into goose flesh and it made her smile. Just a small smile, but a smile none the less.
"Sleep," he muttered, only tugging his arm away slightly.
Sansa tried not to be hurt by the word and the movement. "With sleep comes dreams that I don't want to have."
"I can't help you with that." His response was clipped as she continued to press her lips to his arm. He shuddered beneath her kisses.
Sansa nestled even closer to him and once again placed her hand on the burnt side of his face, forcing his head to turn and look at her in the dark. Even with so little light she could see the scruff on his face and the way his hair reached his shoulders, still damp from him washing outside.
"Yes, you can." She leaned in and pressed her lips to his. She wanted to stop seeing the fire burning behind her eyes. She desperately needed the image of the direwolf to leave.
It took a moment, but the Hound responded and opened his mouth, forcing his tongue past her teeth and running it along her tongue. She shivered and forgot how innocent she felt with him, how each new touch or feeling made her crumble in his hands. Sansa let out a small whimper as he shifted to hover over her on the straw and continue to kiss her deeper than he had at the inn. She welcomed it, of course, but her breathing was turning ragged and her heart was hammering against the tight bodice of the dress she had thrown on.
His large hands ran up her thighs, once again pushing her dress higher and higher until their lips reluctantly had to part and he violently ripped it over her head before crushing her with his mouth again. His hands were rough against her skin and all of the new scrapes and bruises. She winced as he rubbed fresh cuts, but that didn't stop him from finding his way to her woman's place and not hesitating to plunge fingers into her core.
Sansa cried into his mouth as he continued to occupy her mouth with a greedy tongue while forcefully pulsing into her with rough movements. Sansa broke from his mouth so she could inhale clean air only for his free hand to come up, his fingers to find their way into her mane of red hair and grasp her crown and pull her back to his mouth, almost desperately. Sansa cried into his mouth as his fingers pushed deeply into her. It almost hurt, but she welcomed it. She hadn't even realized her hips were moving in time with his fingers, in a violent rhythm. Her nails were digging into his shoulders and she was certain she felt blood.
The Hound parted from her this time drawing in a ragged breath before reaching down and clumsily pulling off his small clothes and throwing them onto the floor. Sansa was seeing stars when he clutched her head even tighter, withdrew his fingers and then found his way inside of her with purpose. She bit his shoulder to keep from yelling too loudly. For some reason, it hurt this time. Not terribly, but with each thrust came a pressure. Maybe it was how forcefully he was taking her, but Sansa couldn't seem to care. She moaned and let tears roll down her cheeks as a fire built in her belly.
The Hound made animal sounds into her throat as he used his one leg to spread her wide enough to tug at her hips. Sansa let her head fall back onto the straw and simply moaned with each thrust and moved her hips desperately. She dug her fingernails even deeper into his shoulders, which he must have noticed because he growled and bit the top of her breast in response. Sansa cried out, loudly, and one of his hands came up and covered her mouth.
"Quiet," he whispered painfully as she slowed down his thrusts to a steady and dreadfully slow rhythm.
Sansa's eyes rolled into the back of her head as he came to a stop inside of her and took her mouth with his. She hadn't expected him to slow down and be gentle with her after the forceful beginning, but she couldn't say she minded. Her woman's place was aching as he began moving slowly all the way out and then sliding all the way back inside of her. She shivered and attempted to move her hips to speed up his pace. That awarded her a gruff laugh and his hand to painfully pressed her hip into the straw, preventing her from moving her hips at all. She almost felt angry.
She released his shoulders and felt her nails come out of his flesh. She ran them down his chest as he slid into her at a painfully slow speed. Sansa could have cried, but instead bit her lip and moaned each time he found where she ended inside.
"Sandor," she breathed after several minutes of the agonizing pace.
He stopped altogether when she uttered his name. "Sansa," he murmured against her lips.
A tear trickled down her cheek as his movements picked up within her again. "Take me home to Winterfell and stay there with me," she muttered into his ear next to her lips.
The Hound groaned into her neck as he lost himself inside of her heat. "I will," he growled.
"And never leave me," Sansa said with a sob.
"I won't," he answered as his pace quickened and Sansa let the tears roll down her cheeks as her release found its way to every fingertip and end of her toes.
And he didn't leave her. Not when they returned to Winterfell much later. Not when her family, what was left of them, couldn't fathom why Sansa would want such an awful man, a former Lannister dog, to be her personal guard. Not when Sansa's sister, much to her dismay, discovered them embraced and kissing in her rooms one evening. Not when Arya spoke of their relationship and shock ran through the walls of Winterfell. Not when the chants for her to rule the North shook the walls. And not when Sansa took her place on a throne of her own, years later. He didn't even question bowing to her. He didn't expect a thing in return. Well, perhaps one thing.
Sansa smirked at him from her throne as the crown, still unfamiliar to her, rested on her head. His lips twitched in response as he took his position near the door, forever her guardian. And with a bow of her head she rested her hand on the swell of her stomach. The one and only thing the Hound had ever asked from her was spinning and kicking in her belly. She knew it was a little girl. She could feel her fluttering like a little bird. A new bird for her love to protect with everything he was.
Later in the evening when she was naked in his arms under the furs of their bed, the moonlight licking their skin from the open windows, Sansa felt his calloused hands run over the swell of her stomach with longing. "The Queen of the North and a little wolf pup," he murmured and kissed her stomach over and over.
"My guardian and only love," she answered. "The Father of our daughter."
So there we have it. Perhaps a more proper ending than what I had done in Chapter 11. Thanks again to those who read the story and gave me such lovely praise and asked if I was ever going to add more or do a sequel. I hope this new piece fits in with the image of Sandor and Sansa I conjured in earlier chapters. I'd love to hear from you - leave me a review!