CHAPTER 9

Sandor's laugh was genuine and rumbled loudly. The energy of it forced him to double over in his chair by the fire, gasping for air in short bursts, his large bulk jiggling freely as he revelled in the joy of the moment. He had perceived that it was something of great substance that she wished to discuss with him, but this was beyond his imaginings.

"So, you mean to say he's been screwing his aunt this whole time?" He said, smiling snidely and adding, "Fucken Pervert!"

Sansa failed to see the humour in it. She had finally sought Sandor's counsel on whether the time had come to tell Jon and Dany of Jon's lineage, and here he was behaving like the news was part of an elaborate mummers' fest.

Locking him with a steely gaze, she said. "There is no law against it. It is not as if they are siblings."

"True." He said, tilting his head sideways as if to allow the thought to sink further into his brain.

"But, it doesn't stop it being fucking funny!" He rolled with laughter again.

Sansa looked at him bent over, spluttering and realised his mirth was not going to reach its limit any time soon.

"You're making me regret telling you." She said, annoyed.

"Oh, no little bird. You should regret nothing. It's your brother, ah cousin, who may have misgivings over where he warms his cock." He said, not attempting to stifle a giggle.

"Really Sandor, you are behaving like a child!" She chastised him, adding "He's my brother, he was raised my brother."

"Lighten up, little bird." He said, finally registering he was truly getting under her skin. He coughed out a final laugh, and straightened himself in his seat to better able respond with the gravitas she expected.

"I suppose it could become a situation where the longer you hide it, the harder it becomes to reveal the truth." He said, thoughtfully.

Sansa nodded, acknowledging the valuable contribution to the conversation, despite its delay in arriving.

"Who is it who is going to have the vexatious task of breaking the news?" He said, covering his mouth with his palm as if his beard were harbouring an itch, when in truth he obscured a grin.

"I suppose Bran and Samwell would be best to do so? They are the ones who discovered the truth after all and can speak plainly of the facts." She said.

Thinking a moment, she asked "So, do you think the Queen will abandon us if she knows it?"

"No, I doubt it." He said quickly, alleviating some of her stress. "She hates the bloody Night King and his grey dead fuckers as much as we do. They took her child from her after all. She's bloody attached to those beasts, brutal and scary as we may find them."

"Then it's time?" She said, with a hopeful knot in her chest.

The secret was not one she enjoyed keeping. As the days passed, and with each contact she had with Jon, she found it increasingly arduous to hold it comfortably. She had begun avoiding him as much as she could, and she was sure that he would notice soon.

"Aye, I'd say so. But, what of the issue of succession?" Sandor mooted.

Sansa, sighed. "I had considered that. It is a difficult issue."

She began pacing as she spoke, "I do think that Jon harbours no true desire for the throne. He's never found great comfort amongst crowds." She spoke as if trying to convince herself.

"A life at court would not be his first choice - it never is for any true man of the north. Having already abdicated to her once, he would not surprise me by doing so again. Beyond that, if they were to make their bedroom arrangements more public and permanent, well they may share the throne?" She said hopefully.

She stood silently for a moment, and looked to Sandor. "I only pray to the old gods and new that Dany sees it that way." She said, her nervousness apparent.

"Hmm, that's the real problem." He replied, thoughtfully. "If she perceives a threat to her quest for the iron throne she could bugger off."

He pondered some more. "But, regardless of whether Dany takes him on now or later, he's threatening Westeros and ultimately the iron throne. She's going to have to go up against him at some point if we fail overcome him."

Sansa looked at him nodding, his concern reflected in her eyes. He stood and moved over to where she was standing, pulling her into a hug.

"I do believe that delaying revealing the truth any longer could make the situation far worse, little bird." He said quietly. "She could think we meant to manipulate her and she could decide we knew the truth far longer than we did."

"Best to lance the wound, before it festers and floods us with a sea of putrid ooze." He said decisively, as he lay a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Her relief was obvious. "I'll go to Bran now." She said. "He's bound to still be in his chambers at this hour of the day. Could you please go and find Arya and send her there immediately?"

"Certainly, my love." He said soothingly. "Don't worry yourself. On the scale of disasters, we currently face, this is more like someone pissed in the wine or shit the bed." He said, as he rubbed his hands firmly on her triceps, as if fortifying her resolve.

He reached for her cloak and wrapped it around her, before getting his own.

"Shall we go?" He finished.

He found Arya where he expected her to be. In the courtyard, besting anyone who was brave enough to go up against her. He smiled to himself as he watched. She was vastly entertaining. Her sly and sinister aura put opponents on edge, no matter their size or skill. If it didn't, all the better to watch them fall ungraciously in defeat. Gaining her attention, he pulled her over to a quiet wall.

Leaning down to her ear he said, "Your sister has told me of the Snow situation."

Arya looked at him blankly, before realising what he spoke of. "Oh." She replied.

"She's gone to talk to Bran, and she wants you there too. It's time the truth was known, and you need to discuss how." He said.

"Fuck." She said simply.

"Yes, fuck!" He replied. "I'm glad I'm not Bran. Sansa thinks he and Samwell should be the ones to break the news."

Arya stood just looking at him. "Bugger off then." He said with a flick of his head, and watched her go.

Samwell looked as if he may well crap himself, as he sat next to Bran, an unnatural sweat sprinkling his forehead on a cold day. Arya stood stoically behind Bran's other shoulder. She wanted Jon to see her face when he was told, to know immediately that she felt no less love for him and perceived him as nothing other than her brother. Sansa sat nervously in a chair the other side of Bran, clenching her hands together, and breathing out regular short puffs of air to calm her nerves.

They had decided they would tell Jon first, and leave it to him to determine how Dany was told. Jon was unused to being summoned by his siblings of late. Since the death of their father and Robb they had all looked to him as their elder and treated him with the deference the honour deserved. When Jon walked in and saw not only his siblings, but Samwell there nursing a large book on his lap he knew something odd was about to take place.

"Would you like to sit?" Bran asked.

Jon looked at them all perplexed, and with slight apprehension pulled a stool under himself. Flicking his cloak out behind himself he sat and pushing his dark curls from his face.

"What is it?" He asked.

Bran immediately began telling a story about his time beyond the wall. How he had gained the power to see past events, to stand alongside history and witness it unfold. Jon, did not guess what was coming.

When Bran suddenly said, "I know who your mother is." Jon went pale.

He had a sudden feeling that he was not quite in his own body, as if he floated somehow. His eyes seemed to stretch their focus, as if he looked down a tunnel and his ears rung a little. He had longed to know who his mother was his entire life and he was about to find out. He had guessed a bar wench, someone who his father, so young and at war, sought comfort with following terrifying and bloody battles. He could not blame Ned for that need. He had himself sought comfort with Ygritte and could never regret it, no matter the tragic outcome.

Jon took a deep breath and said, "Go on."

"Perhaps it is best, if we start with your father." Bran said.

Jon looked perplexed.

Without preamble Bran said, "It was not Ned."

Jon blinked. He could barely believe his ears, and immediately mourned his loss. Ned was a father to be immensely proud of. His blood was important in the north, and he'd been respected throughout the country. No-one had put any stock in the traitorous cloud he died under. In fact, his death had fortified many against House Lannister, as it was well known that despite the king being of House Baratheon it was a puppet house and the strings were firmly pulled and played by House Lannister. Jon had been without a mother his entire life, and now his father had been wrenched from him in a moment.

"So, I am neither Stark nor Snow?" Jon said slowly, his sadness not disguised.

"You are Stark by blood. Ned's sister Lyanna is your mother." Bran said quickly, alleviating some of Jon's sorrow.

The air suddenly leeched from Jon's lungs. "Lyanna?" He said, barely allowing himself to believe it.

"But, why keep it from Caitlyn for all those years? She hated me for being Ned's bastard, and he wasn't even my father. It could have all been so different." He said, a rising bitterness in his core. He sat, with his head in his hands, incredulous at what was playing out before him.

"You know Ned. He could not go back on his word once given, and he gave Lyanna his word that he would take you and keep you safe. Lyanna made him promise to share the truth with no-one. She died not long after your birth, having haemorrhaged delivering you. Ned found her before she did, she gave you to him and told him your name.

Jon looked up, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowly trained on Bran.

"Your name …" Bran hesitated, "Your true name, is Aegon Targaryen."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then Jon stood up suddenly, knocking his stool over in his haste. "So, Rhaegar raped Lyanna when he took her?" He said quietly, the realisation bringing a harshness to his voice.

"No." Samwell, spoke quickly. "No, she was not raped, nor was she kidnapped." He looked to his friend, his eyes begging his soul rest.

He continued, "Gilly found this book when we were at the citadel. A maester made a private record of all he ever did, and I mean all; he even recorded his bowel movements." He added with disgust.

"He recorded that he saw to the annulment of Rhaegar's marriage, and immediately thereafter he married Rhaegar and Lyanna." Sam looked to Bran.

"It's true." Bran said, "I saw them wed. Lyanna chose him freely, she was neither forced nor coerced. Robert's war in search of his stolen love was a lie. She was never kidnapped, she ran away with her lover.

Jon swayed on his feet. Sansa stood and fetched the toppled stool. She held Jon by the shoulder and was encouraging him back on to it.

"I'm Targaryen." Jon said in disbelief, the words not falling easy from his tongue.

"Legitimate?" He said, wary of the truth, as he sat shaking his head, before suddenly saying "How long have you known?"

"I have known you were Lyanna's child for some time. More recently, Targaryen, although I assumed you a bastard still. When Sam arrived here at Winterfell the parts fell into place. You are the true Targaryen heir." Bran said.

"Why was I not told when I returned?" Jon said, anger rising in his voice.

"Please understand, we felt we couldn't. We were fearful of losing the Queen's support in the war to the north." Sansa pleaded.

Jon sat silently taking in her words. "Seven hells! The Queen!" He exclaimed. "She's …." He could not finish the thought.

"Your aunt." Bran finished for him.

Jon stood quickly again, this time kicking the stool purposefully across the room. Sansa thrust herself towards him, embracing him, he made a small effort to buck her off but quickly gave into her.

"It's alright." She said, holding him.

Arya rushed to join them in their embrace, and the three stood together wrapped in each other for a long moment. Sansa broke the silence, with quiet soothing words. She whispered that they had not wished to keep it from him, and begged him to understand the predicament at hand. When they felt his body lose its tension, Sansa and Arya released him from their hold. Stepping back to give him space, they looked at him cautiously.

"So, the iron throne. It is mine by right." He said, a glimmer coming across his dark eyes as incredulity made way to reality.

"Yes." They said in unison.

Tormund was shaking his hips in an almost dance. The furs which draped him shimmered under the shards of winter sunlight, and swayed as if making a beastly mating display.

"Oh, it is a glorious day. An afternoon!" He said, excitedly. "I have been promised an afternoon on the morrow." His head faced the sky as if his prayers had been answered, before excitedly returning his attention to his friend.

Sandor rolled his eyes at him. "If you behave like that anywhere near the big bitch, she'll cancel it in a heartbeat." He said gruffly, waving a large finger in the direction of Tormund's crotch.

"Oh, I doubt it, my friend." Tormund said confidently. "She's liking what I have to offer."

"I take it your morning went well then?" Sandor deduced.

"Indeed! An hour spent training. Oh, she was rough, red faced and angry, but you can be assured that I made the most of it. I mounted her as often as I could, and …" He sighed, grinning "she mounted me."

"She was in armour you great twat! As if that was an erotic thrill? You could no more rub your cock up against her, as light a fire with it."

"True, but the weight of her upon me." He said reflectively, "It was intoxicating. Those eyes, her steely blue eyes pierced me to my core."

Sandor rolled his eyes again. "And then what?"

The wildling reached for Sandor's shoulder and quietly spoke into his ear. "Then we walked to a stream, to splash fresh water on our faces and talk. She did not stride off without me, she waited for me to join her at her side and we strolled together."

"Hmm." Sandor said. "It would seem you are making progress."

"Oh, yes I am." Tormund said, suddenly pushing down on Sandor's shoulder, jumping slightly into the air and clicking his heels together.

"For fuck sake man! Stop it already! If she sees you dancing like a girl it's all over." Sandor said gruffly.

"She has said, I may choose the time in the afternoon." Tormund said. "So, I have decided upon late afternoon. I'm off to the kitchen to arrange some food. I will take her back to that stream, and we shall train beside it, then enjoy a small meal beside the river. I will take a fur for us to sit upon."

"Gods! It sounds almost romantic. I didn't know wildlings had it in them." Sandor said, vaguely curious, if not a little impressed.

Tormund hunched his shoulders, "We don't, but I have been talking to your beauty, and she suggested the plan." He said, his grin so broad he could not contain it.

His eyes glinted as he spoke conspiratorially, "If that goes well, Sansa has suggested a ride the following day. She's to draw me a map, so I may study it. There's hot pools that bubble up in a stream, in a nearby forest, that we may wish to soak our muscles in."

"Bloody hells!" Sandor said, eyes wide open. "Sansa has far more confidence in your banter than I do. You'll be lucky if Brienne doesn't push you into the rock pool and watch you drown. If she's remotely fond of you, she'd probably just drop a boulder on your cock and cackle whilst she did it."

"You're forgetting brother, I have plenty of time to soften her between now and then. Just not completely alone. There's a lot a man can achieve in public." He winked, smiled smugly and wandered off.

"So, how did it go with your brother, little bird?" Sandor faced the hook on the wall as he spoke, so he could hide any grin that came unbidden.

"Better than I could hope really." Sansa said. "That's not to say it was easy on Jon or us, but it's done now. He is going to think upon it and decide how best to tell Dany."

Sandor could see the relief all over her now and cursed himself for not having been more observant. He should have seen something tormented her, but he had been so tied up by his own passion for her that he'd missed it.

"What's this I hear about a hot pool in a stream?" Sandor asked, changing the subject.

Sansa just looked at him. "Oh, that. It's north of the castle. Why?" She said.

"Why pass that little gem on to the ginger when you've not shown it to me? He said, embracing her and rubbing himself up against her.

She laughed. "Would you be interested?"

"Of course, any small adventure with you would be pleasant, but I'll not want to soak in it once that hairy ginger has sullied it." He said, screwing his face up in mock disgust.

"We could go now if you like? It's only a short ride, not even half an hour. If we take towels and furs to warm with afterwards, it could be nice despite the dark and cold. In fact, it could be nicer." She said, not hiding her hopeful grin.

"Lead the way." He said, spinning himself around and reaching for his cloak again.

He'd saddled his horse, whilst she fetched wineskins and furs. He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle once she was ready, and strapped the fur roll so it sat on the rump of the horse. Pulling open the cork of a wineskin with his teeth he took a large slug and handed it to her, before strapping his sword to his back and climbing into the saddle. Pulling her close, he wrapped his cloak about them both, and she giggled as they set on their way.

The night sky was dark but clear, stars shone brightly in the sky and the moon looked huge. They were in no rush and allowed the horse its head to amble slowly towards their destination, enjoying the solitude and fresh air. The castle was rank with too many people and animals crowded into an enclosed space despite its substantial dimensions.

He pulled a glove off with his teeth and placed it under the strap which secured his sword, and then squeezed his hand into the neckline of her dress, so he may cup her breast warmly. He seemed to always gravitate to her left breast, as if it were home to him. He did not fondle it in a sexual way, it was just a comfort to them both as they rode. When they'd ridden north a while, she pointed to a large rock at the side of the road and a barely perceptible break in the trees.

"There." She said.

He pulled gently on the reign and the horse turned to follow the path. It was only wide enough to allow a single horse through and, although the path was not well worn, you could tell it had seen enough traffic over the years to compact the soil and dissuade plant growth. They were slowly climbing a hill, and could hear water babbling nearby although trees obscured it from their view.

Despite the dark they could make out a tall pile of stones ahead and another small break in the trees.

"Best dismount here." Sansa said.

His hand was reluctant to give up its cosy place, and he screwed up his nose as he pulled it free and reached for his glove. He swung down, and lifted her from the horse, giving her a small kiss when she landed.

"We'll leave the horse here." She said.

Without the noise of the horse's footfall and their conversation, he could tell they were nearer to the water than he'd suspected. He removed his cloak and tossed it over the horse, gathered the furs and wine and slung them over his shoulder.

"Down here." She said, smiling sweetly. "Watch your step."

Over the years the smaller path leading down to the water had been formed almost into a stair, with previous generations of bathers having placed helpful rocks to step upon. Within a short walk of where they left the horse he could see moonlight glinting on the surface of the stream. Once they were level with it they followed alongside it north for a few moments and came to a tiny clearing. They stretched the furs out under a tree and he watched her strip, shivering before stepping gingerly across the rocks and lowering herself into the steaming rock pool.

You could see where bathers had built up small walls by laying stones on top and against each other to change the course of the stream, diverting it away from where the warm water bubbled up, allowing the heated water to form a pool large enough for three if not four people to lay in comfortably. Other small pools were dotted around. The hot spring must have broken the crust of the earth in at least ten places he thought.

"Aren't you coming?" She asked.

"Yes, I'm just enjoying the view." He smiled and winked.

She submerged her shoulders under the water as she spoke. "It was always exciting coming here as a child." She said, remembering. "Although I suspect this will be nicer."

He started to undress, and the cold air encouraged him swiftly to her side. He stood naked above her, as she raised her arm up to stroke his thigh. The warm water she dripped quickly became cool on his already cold skin. He stepped into the pool and felt a painful tingle as though it burned. His skin adjusting to the change, allowed him to cautiously sit down in the pool, before leaning back to submerge himself so that only his head sat above the water.

"Tell me again, why you never told me of this place?" He said.

"I just didn't think of it." She said. "You've kept me fully entertained of late."

She looked at him tenderly and pulled herself towards him. They kissed, warm and wet for some moments, but neither one seemed mad keen to take it further, both simply enjoying the peace of the pools and the sparks simple kisses provided.

Sandor leaned back and looked up at the night sky, framed by the tree canopy above them.

"It's so peaceful." He said.

"Hmm." She agreed. "I'm glad we came. There will be precious few moments to ourselves soon. I don't know how long this war will last, but it will be like no other. There will be no negotiations, no prisoners, no surrender. We will win, or we will lose." She said simply, resigned to it but not fearful.

He reached a hand out to hers and locked fingers with her. "If we lose, I am glad I no longer pine for you. The years I had longing for you were long, and with luck we'll defeat this cunt and the years I'll have you in my arms will be longer."

She smiled at him and slid on to his lap, touching his face, looking deeply into his dark loving eyes and kissing him.

"If I trust my heart, that is the outcome I believe in."

When they tired, of the water, they climbed out and grabbed the towels.

"Fuck it's cold!" Sandor said, as he rubbed dry her legs whilst she was drying her arms.

"Quick, get under the furs." He instructed, smacking her bottom.

She did as was told, only reaching out from beneath the deep furs to snatch a skin of wine. He made short work of drying himself and slid in beside her.

"That's better." He said, as he pulled her close, and began kissing her.

Their bodies were still deeply warm from the pool, despite their skin cooling rapidly when they climbed out. Within moments, the contact with the lush furs and their own flesh on flesh heated their skin to a cosy temperature. She giggled as he turned her over, lining her back up against his front, as they lay on their sides.

"Gods, that feels good." He said, adding "The fur, the warmth, your breasts." With an appreciative air to his voice.

She could feel his cock harden behind her, and she pushed her bottom against it encouragingly. He growled as he nuzzled her neck, and a hand fondled his favoured breast, brushing the nipple slightly, teasingly.

"Fuck me gently." She said.

"Are you sure?" He said, his tone implying he knew her better than that.

"I'm sure I don't want great gusts of cold air beneath these furs, which will be the case if you roll around like you usually do." Her tone brooking no argument.

"Ha! You think it's me that's all over the bed, little bird? You do a fair amount of rolling around yourself." He said as he caressed her.

He kissed her neck again, as his hand softly stroked her stomach. She loved it when he put his hand there. It felt as if it covered the expanse of her core, as if his long fingers and broad palm could grab her soul. His fingers finding her mound, lingered amongst her curls. She bent her top leg forward, granting him access as she again encouragingly pushed her bottom against his cock, and leaned her head back into his shoulder. She could feel his knob pressing up against her entrance and the smile grew on her lips.

He pushed his cock into her, his knob only just entering her, it took her breath away. He pulled out and she screamed inside her head with the loss. In a heartbeat he was back, and pushed in again, only deeper. She felt as if she were on the cusp of satisfaction, but he wasn't that easy on her. He went only deep enough to heighten her desire, and was then gone again. Again, she screamed in her head, and her bottom pushed up against him unbidden by her. It knew its own desire and sought it out itself. Then he entered again, and slid so slowly it felt as though it could kill her. It travelled the fine line of fulfilling and denying her desire. He pushed in deeper still and she was filled by him. She let out a sound.

"Gentle enough?" He asked.

"You're killing me!" She said.

"I know." He growled happily.

She could feel his lips curling into a smile on the back of her neck, and she was glad she could bring him joy. She'd seen his face so severe and moody for so many years, and she knew it was she who had changed him. He slowly, so slowly, withdrew again and just when she was going to scream at the horror of losing him again, he stopped and pushed back in full depth again.

"Argh." She called out in pleasure.

He laughed. "You're so easy to torture."

"Shut up. You're glad of it."

"That I am, little bird, that I am." He said satisfied.

He began a more regular thrust. A pump that combined all the gentleness in him with all the determination of his sex. He would have her fall apart in his hands, and she knew it. His fingers were brushing against her nub, helping her find her release. The fur was so sensual against her skin, his body so hot and hard behind her.

She called out again. She knew that would heighten his desire, his need to pump harder, but he resisted it. She felt herself crumbling at his touch, her senses overwhelmed by his love. Just when she felt as though she would melt into the earth and never be human again, he began to pump harder, quicker, her soft calls of pleasure matched by his own soft grunts, which filled her ear and made her happy. When she finally burst apart she felt that hand, that huge hand pulling her belly into him as if grasping hold of her very soul, never to return it to her again.

He could tell she wanted to drift off to sleep, warm, comfortable, satisfied and he whispered in her ear.

"Sleep now, little bird, we shall wake in an hour or two and I will have you hard and fast before we ride home." He promised.

Her cheeks lifted into a broad contented grin as the sleep took her, because she knew a Hound would never lie.

The horse was skittish, pirouetting in circles and clawing at the dirt instead of turning south when they exited the forest. It was then that they saw it. A blue light flashing high in the dark distant sky. Sansa reached behind herself to grip Sandor's leg.

"Do you think it's him?" She asked, her voice breaking with nerves, whispering in fear.

Sandor didn't answer, instead she felt his knees squeeze the horse's ribs.

"Hold tight." He growled.

Flicking the reigns, and directing the horse south at a run. They rode hard to Winterfell, never stopping until they reached the gates.

"Open the fucking gates!" He called, to a nervous guard.

"Who is it?" The guard called back.

"It's Sandor Clegane, and if those fucking gates don't open now, I'll be the bloody Hound by the time I get in there."

AN: Thank you so much for taking the time to read. I struggled this week, I loved chapters 7 & 8 and when I reviewed previous chapters I wondered why the heck I was writing the story. It's so impossible to get anywhere near to a standard that I am happy with. I was completely disheartened, and thought I would abandon it for good. Then I forced myself to find the start of the next chapter - any words on a page were better than none at that point; so I did and it came. I hope you guys like it. As always, let me know if it meets expectations. (WOW! Was about to publish this chapter and read your review shoshanacohen! You have no idea how much your review meant to me. Heartfelt thanks)