Author's Note: Here's another update! Thanks to everyone for bearing with me through my hiatus. I've been able to finish up some other projects, so I can finish out this story. In about three weeks or so (when I get time off for the summer) expect to see several more updates. For now, enjoy the new chapter!
With a jerk, Sansa dropped the needle she had been using to absently embroider the cloth in her lap. Her absentmindedness had caused her to jab the needle into the soft pad of her thumb rather than the wolf's head that had slowly been taking shape on the cloth. A little droplet of crimson now marred the pristine white linen, and she threw it away in disgust. It seemed everything she touched became damaged in some way, even that insignificant scrap of material.
Lifting her thumb to her lips to suck away the little rivulet of blood, she stood and marched to the open flap of her tent to inquire for the fifth time in the space of an hour about the siege of Winterfell. Gendry turned his head at her appearance and cut off the question before she even had the chance to voice it.
"Nothing yet, m'lady," he informed her in a gentle tone that was probably meant to soothe and calm her fears. It did neither. "Lady Amarah said she would send word as soon as possible. We must be patient."
Sansa shook her head in frustration and removed the injured thumb from her lips in order to answer. "I cannot," she said in a strangled voice, struggling to keep her rioting emotions at bay. "My mind keeps imagining the worst. If they should fail – "
"Stop your fretting, Little Bird," a gruff voice abruptly ended Sansa's speculation. "The keep is won. The Boltons are dead. "
Sansa looked beyond Gendry to find Sandor Clegane's hulking frame blocking out the last of the rays from the setting sun. Her stomach which had been wound into tight knots of anxiety since her cousin's departure at daybreak, slowly began to ease at the reassuring sight of his scarred head. She could have told herself that the sense of relief was merely due to the welcome news he carried, but she knew it was more than that. She was simply relieved that he had escaped the struggle unharmed.
"Have you come to take me to the keep?" she asked, her lips trembling slightly with the rush of relief that poured through her.
His eyes dropped to her quivering mouth for just a moment before he lifted them again. "Yes, and be quick about it."
Sansa stood still and looked at him expectantly, waiting for any further explanation of how the battle had fared. When none came, she blew an exasperated breath between her teeth and turned back the way she had come. Once away from his cold gaze, she was horrified to find hot tears pricking at her eyes, threatening to spill over any moment.
She wasn't certain of the reason for her tears, perhaps relief or frustration. She surmised that it was most likely a combination of the two. What precisely did you expect? For him to fall at your feet in thanks of returning whole and unharmed? She silently cursed her reaction to his less than enthusiastic response at being reunited with her once again.
He was such an abominably rude creature, but for some inexplicable reason, that fact did not endear him to her any less. She closed her eyes and pictured his face as it had appeared moments ago, as harsh and unforgiving as the scar that marked the side of his head. Her heart that had slowed its frantic rhythm of worry at his reassuring news from the keep, began beating quickly again.
Her lids flew open at the strange reaction. Giving a mirthless laugh, she shook her head at her body's perverse reaction to such a man. Once upon a time, it had taken the sight of a bonny and brave knight to inspire such a feverish reaction from her, not the scowl of a hulking brute.
As she stood there contemplating the absurdity of her current state of emotion, she caught sound of another person entering the tent behind her. She didn't need to turn around to see who it was that had joined her. "Did you not trust me to be quick enough?" she asked, keeping her back to him.
She waited for a reply, but one never came. Finally turning around to face him, she saw him crouched over the ground with her bloodied embroidery dangling from his large fingers. It was a stark contrast, seeing the delicate linen in his rough, scarred hands. One of his fingers traced the stitching that outlined the wolf's head, and he looked up at her with an inscrutable expression.
"You're not the only wolf left now, Little Bird," he said, carelessly tossing the scrap into the dust and rising with a soft grunt.
Her gaze flickered from the abandoned cloth to his face with a silent question dancing in her eyes. He finally took pity on her and explained his cryptic remark. "The bastard of Ned Stark's, he's come home from the Wall. Says he's the Lord Commander now."
"John?" she spoke her half-brother's name in an amazed whisper. With all of her siblings gone and presumed dead, he had been the only link left to her childhood, though it had been a long time since she had laid eyes on him. She had thought of him very little since his departure to the Wall, but the news that he had returned hit her with more nostalgic longing than she could have anticipated.
Though the two of them had never been close – a condition that had been due to her resistance more than his – he had been part of a happier time in her life. A time when the Starks had been together. The last time she had been truly happy.
"The Lord Commander he's called now," Sandor responded to her whisper, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil at hearing the man's name. "And the Lady Amarah wants you returned to her and the keep as soon as possible."
His last remark had been a thinly veiled order for her to stop standing about and begin gathering her things, but her reeling mind had made that task impossible for the moment. For so long she had been laboring under the assumption that her former life was completely gone, but a figure from her past awaited her even now within the walls of her family's home. It was almost too much for her weary mind to comprehend.
She must have been too lost in her thoughts to take note of Sandor's movements, because the next thing she knew, his strong grip was on her chin, tilting her face up to look him squarely in the eye. "Lady Sansa," he said, taking her off guard with his use of her given name. When he was certain he had her attention, he continued. "We must go."
Sansa knew it would be foolish then to delay their departure any longer, but with him standing so close to her, invading the space around her and filling it with his menacing presence, she delayed one moment longer. She had to ask him a question that had been on her mind since their arrival at Winterfell. It was a question that had been torturing her for longer than she cared to think about. "What will you do now? Now that the keep has been retaken," she quickly clarified her thoughts.
The hard look in his eyes relaxed just a fraction at her soft-spoken words. "I haven't thought about it," he grunted, but he didn't release her chin, keeping her gaze locked with his whether she wished to look away or not.
She swallowed jerkily before giving voice to her next question. "Would you stay?"
He looked genuinely confounded at such a simply worded request. "Why would I stay?"
She knew the answer even if he did not. Before she could think better of it, Sansa did was she had been longing to since his arrival to her tent a short time ago, bloodied and battered from the battle. Surging up on her tiptoes, she locked her arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her mouth. As soon as his lips met hers, she felt him stiffen in surprise.
Not willing to let him withdraw from her in rejection, she did just as Petyr had taught her. She knew how to use her body to persuade a man. She opened her lips under his, darting out her tongue to trace the hard, unforgiving lines of his mouth. For a few agonizing moment his lips remained tightly sealed under hers. Just as she was about to withdraw from the embrace in embarrassment and shame, she felt him finally surrender.
Giving a growl every bit worthy of his infamous title, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her hard against him before ravaging her mouth with a desperation that equaled her own. Sansa wanted to shout in triumph, though such an action was made impossible by the way his tongue marauded her mouth, twining and tangling roughly with her own.
If there had ever been any doubt in her mind before that the imagined kiss between them in the capital had been real, such a doubt had been confirmed irrefutably by this kiss. She had never felt anything like this in the entirety of her existence. Not in the Vale with Petyr's practiced, lecherous kisses nor Harry's skillful embrace. Sandor cared nothing at all for skill or precision in his kiss. He simply ate at her mouth as if it were the last meal he would ever be afforded in this world. He consumed her with his blatant need, and she reveled in it.
Before she could bask in her victory, she felt him pull abruptly away, shoving her a bit harder than necessary to put some distance between them. She was too stunned for a moment to do anything but gape at him with a look of abject disappointment. "Why..." she began to ask him, but the question died on her lips at the look of misery that he gave her.
"You should not have done that, Little Bird. I should leave and never come back for that reason alone," he choked out, turning away from her in the dim light of the tent. "Be ready within the hour," he barked out the order before storming out of the tent with a labored stride.
Pressing her fingers to her bruised mouth in stunned silence, Sansa could only watch helplessly as he left her standing alone once more.
It was a short chapter, I know, but I liked the thought of dedicating a small chapter to my San/San obsession. I had originally meant for this entry to include a dinner scene at the keep, but I decided to save that for the next one. Anyway, be a bit more patient with me and you will see that next chapter show up fairly soon! Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.
Edit: In response to someone's question, this chapter is about Sansa b/c she is now an element of my story and an important part of Amarah's journey. Some entries from here on out will be dedicated to her POV (just like several others before). We will get back to Amarah in the next chapter, but I wanted to take a moment to check in with Sandor and Sansa as well. If you're not a fan of them, we'll be back to Jaime and Amarah with the next update! Thanks!