Sansa

When Sandor presented the dress to Sansa she could not keep the smile from his face. She touched the material, looked over the stitching, saw the laces on the back and felt like she was floating. It was a real dress, not as good as the ones she had before, but was fit for royalty compared to the brown sack she wore now. She draped it down on the bed to look at it, and that was when she spotted the cloak. She beamed at him, seeing the grey color, the thick wool, and the warm animal pelt around the top. It would no doubt keep her warm out in the forest, and she would not need Sandor to press up against her like he had before.

"I'll step out so you can dress," Sandor told her after a few moments of watching her admire the news clothing. She turned toward him as he began walking to the door, her cheeks pink with embarrassment. She had not yet thanked him and she scolded herself for being so inconsiderate. She had been angry at him for being so cold to her when she tried to reach out to him, but she had been furious with him when he left her alone in the inn. She did not care that he spent a half hour with her demonstrating how to best kill an attacker twice her size. He should not have left her alone.

But when he returned, knocking on the door and informing her it was safe to open up, her anger had almost immediately dissipated upon seeing him. He had the dress draped over one arm, the cloak draped over his shoulder. She should have thanked him immediately, but she reached out like a child on Christmas with no manner or self control, grabbing the dress from over his arm and taking it into the room with her. He followed her in silently, taking the cloak from his right shoulder. After holding the dress up to her body and spinning around in it, she draped it on the bed for a better look. It was then that he lay down the cloak.

"Thank you, Sandor," he said. "For the dress and the cloak."

He grunted and gave her a nod before closing the door behind him. She moved to the door before undressing and opened it a crack. She was greeted with Sandor's back, but upon hearing the door open he looked down at her over his shoulder.

"Will you be staying right outside the door?"

"I'm not going anywhere, little bird," he told her and she closed the door softly. She threw the old wool dress off of her, glad to be rid of it, and picked up the new one. She slid it on, but despite her struggles, realized she would be unable to lace it up on her own. She chewed on her bottom lip as she arched her back and bent her arms, desperately trying to tie up the laces herself. She groaned in frustration and stomped toward the door, her face already red with embarrassment. She hesitated, her hand on the door knob, and took a deep breath. When she opened the door Sandor had his back to her again, his strong arms crossed over his powerful chest. She was acutely aware of the cool air on the bare skin of her back.

"I need help tying up the back," she informed him and he followed her back into the room, shutting the door behind him. She moved her hair to drape over her shoulder and leave her back open for him. She bit her lip hard as she felt his knuckles brush over her spine, moving down the hardly visible bumps along the perfectly smooth skin. She said nothing when the knuckles touching her skin turned into finger tips, or when the finger tips turned into a flattened hand. His hand was large and hot against her, and she felt a pulsing between her legs. She pressed her thighs together and her eyes wandered over to the bed.

It would be so nice to finally sleep in a bed tonight, if nothing bad happened again, but as she glanced at the lumpy but comfortable looking mattress she was not thinking about sleeping. His hand slid downward and slipped into the fabric of her dress, touching her waist, and another hand appeared. She felt his fingers message her soft curves gently, kneading the soft skin. His hands moved in further, sliding over her flat stomach and up to her rib cage, stopping just under her breasts. Her nipples tightened at the thought of his hands touching her there and she waited, her mouth dry.

"Tell me to stop, little bird, and I will," he breathed close to her ear. She felt his hands put pressure on her and she took a few steps backwards until she was pressed against his chest. Her eyes darted over the bed. Did she want him to stop? She did not know.

"Stop," she whispered her voice soft and weak. But his hands left her and not a moment passed before she felt her laces being yanked at roughly as he tied up the dress. Her eyes were on the bed as he finished, wondering what would be happening right now if she had not told him to stop. Would they be on the bed yet? Would Sandor be inside of her? She shivered slightly, but it seemed to go by unnoticed by Sandor, who was stepping away.

"Are you hungry?" he asked and she nodded.

"Very much so, ser… Sandor," she blushed. "I keep forgetting."

He said nothing but draped her knew cloak over her shoulders. Because of her height it did not touch the floor, as it would have on most young girls, and she was proud of that. The cloak already gave her some warmth, and though the dress and cloak were not new, she walked downstairs as if she had just been given a brand new silk dress. When they sat down Sandor ordered some meat and wine, a flagon for him and a flagon for her.

"I couldn't drink an entire flagon," Sansa told him and Sandor flashed her a rare grin.

"You could if I were a lucky man," he told her. She was not sure what he meant by that. She looked at him, and the moment she realized his hair was pushed back away from his face, he pushed it back to fall over the left side of his face. She felt the question of 'does it still hurt' bubble up from her tongue but she thanked the Seven it did not come out. He appeared in a good mood and she did not want to change that. The ham was placed in front of them, along with two flagons of wine. Sandor paid the man and he went on his way.

"We aren't far from Riverrun now," Sansa said as she cut into the ham. Sandor was stabbing at it with the fork and bringing an entire slab to his mouth, ripping off bits as if her were a pop. "We are just a few miles south of Acorn Hall right?"

"That's right," Sandor said curtly and Sansa thought he must be angry that she was talking about leaving. But she did not understand that. It was him that was insistent on leaving. She wanted him to stay as her sworn shield. Surely her brother would do that for her if she asked.

"How many more days do you think? A week?"

"Depends on how fast we move," he told her.

"What if we continue on this pace," she said.

"Four days… five days maybe," he told her. "But we aren't going to Riverrun anymore."

She looked up from her meal to his face. He was taking a gulp of wine.

"Why not?" she asked, her voice nearly shrill.

"Your mother and brother are at the Twins. I've gathered your brother broke off his engagement to one of the Frey girls. Instead your uncle is marrying one. There's to be a wedding at the Twins."

"The Twins?" she asked, her face falling. "That's another week."

"Another two weeks at this rate," Sandor answered. He looked at her from over his flagon. "You'll be rid of me soon enough, little bird. Do not fret."

"Why is it you assume I am disappointed I will be longer with you and not the truth of the matter that I want to be with my family?" she asked him, laying down her fork and knife daintily. His eyes twinkled but she did not know if it was from amusement, or the wine.

"Why not both? Drink the wine, little bird, I spent a lot on that," he told her. She flushed.

"I didn't ask for it," she mumbled, but brought it to her lips anyway, as to not be rude. She took a few sips and corked it.

"Robb will send me to Winterfell after I see them. You will not stay to escort me?" she asked and froze at the look in Sandor's eyes. "What? What is it?"

"Little bird," he rasped softly. "I had hoped your mother or brother would be able to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Theon Greyjoy has taken Winterfell for the Iron Islands," he said and she stared at him in disbelief.

"No, not Theon. Theon was like family," she said.

"But not family," Sandor said. "The boy was always a kraken, never a wolf. Winterfell is lost. No doubt they will keep you in the river lands."

Sansa felt tears come to her eyes but she did her best to beat them back.

"Winterfell has fallen?" she asked softly. Sandor only nodded. She reached out and grabbed the flagon of wine. She took a deep breath and then a deeper swig.

"Your brother will get it back, little bird," Sandor told her and resumed eating. "Greyjoy took a castle protected by a babe and a cripple. He will crumble when faced with an army."

Sansa nodded, comforted by his words.

"Thank you," she told him and he fell silent again. She finished her ham and took a few more sips of wine. By then there was a warmth creeping through her body, her face felt hot, and she felt at peace.

"Slow down now, little bird," she heard Sandor tell her when she uncorked the flagon again. She had begun struggling with the cork, her fingers not doing what her brain told them to do.

"You told me to drink it all," she told him haughtily.

"I did not think you would," he replied and reached out to take the flagon from her. She wretched it away from him.

"I am a lady!" she yelled and he shushed her and stood.

"Oh, yes my lady," he said sarcastically, loud enough so people thought he was mocking her. "You can be a lady upstairs in bed."

A few men cackled, and Sansa stood to go upstairs with Sandor. Her foot got caught on something on the floor, though she could not see anything on the floor, and was saved from falling only by Sandor. She fell against him and began to giggle. She still had her flagon in her hand and was going to finish the entire thing just to show him she could. She lifted the flagon up in her hand to test the weight and frowned. She still had a little over half in it. She let out a little gasp when Sandor wrapped a single arm around her waist and lifted her from the ground. He carried her up the stairs and placed her back on her feet just outside the door. Once inside she lay down on the bed, her arms and legs spread, not once considering how inappropriate the pose was in present company. Were she with a group of girls her own age it would be a way of expressing happiness and contentedness. With Sandor in the room it was entirely different.

"No more wine tonight," he told her and tried to take the flagon from her.

"No," she told him. "You have to listen to me."

"Oh do I?" he asked, some amusement in his voice.

"Yes and I say you cannot leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, little bird. Not with you in such a state."

"No. I mean ever," she said sitting back up.

"I order you to swear to be my sworn shield. Pledge it right now," she told him.

"I can't do that, little bird," he said softly.

"You can. You won't," she said and fought with the cork in the flagon. She finally got it undone and took a few sips.

"Here, let me hold it so you do not spill any on your new dress," he offered and she handed it to him, grateful for his good thinking. He corked the flagon and put it on the table on the other side of the room. His own flagon was nearly empty. She reached out for him and he moved to sit next to her on the bed. She reached out to touch his face, his burnt face. Her finger tips trailed over the raised, saw skin. His eyes fluttered closed but he did not tell her to stop.

"Sandor," she said softly and his eyes opened. "Kiss me?"

He gave her a little smile and a little amused "humph" but did not move toward her.

"If I kiss you, little bird, I'll have you on your back before you can blink," he told her and she felt a tremor run through her body. The area between her legs was pulsing and hot, she felt dampness as well. Her stomach tightened and she felt lightening rush through her limbs.

"Do you promise you will stay?" she asked. She followed his gaze to her lips. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. His head dipped, and she was sure he was going to kiss her but his head dipped back again.

"I'm leaving, Sansa. I promised I'd take you to your mother and I'm going to," he said. "They will not let me stay."

"It doesn't matter what they want," she told him. He smiled, his hand touching her cheek and then sliding down to rest at her neck.

"Yes it does," he told her.

"But you want to stay with me?" she asked him.

"I want nothing more," he told her.

"Then just stay," she pouted.

"You have beautiful eyes," he told her. "Even blood shot and glassy."

She blushed.

"They aren't so bad," she said, running her fingers over his burns again, from the top of his scalp, down to his throat.

"If only the world could be so drunk all the time," he answered.

"Just one more time," she said and moved to sit in his lap. She remembered watching her brothers remove armor after practicing and began unbuckling his breast plate.

"You will be angry with me in the morning if I do this," he told her, though he made no move to stop her movements. She could not lift the plate herself and so he lifted it off and lowered it to the floor. He let her remove the armor from his arms next.

"I won't," she told him. She began pulling at the strings of his leather jerkin, unlacing it at his front.

"You will," he told her.

"I'm angry at you most of the time," she countered and he chuckled, deep and raspy.

"This is different," he told her and she removed the leather jerkin from his body and put it with his armor. Underneath was his tunic, yellow with the black dogs on it, like his surcoat. It was easily hidden though and so he had kept it. She traced the dogs with her fingers.

"Robb used to say we were all a pack," she told him. "Rickon, Bran, Arya, father and mother, even Jon Snow. Dog's have packs too."

"I don't have a pack," he told her.

"Yes you do," she told him. She removed his tunic, and then the light shirt he wore underneath. She felt her face burn as she looked over his bare chest. She wished the candlelight were stronger, but she could make out most of his hard, muscled body. The wine urging her on, she reached out and touched his chest, feeling the fine, dark hair that lay there. Her hand moved lower, down the line that marked the middle of his body, over the ripples of his abdomen. She gasped when he grabbed her wrist and brought her hand lower, pressing it to his throbbing erection.

"Grip it," he said and she obeyed, wrapping her fingers around him through his breeches. "You torture me. How could anyone expect me to say no? I didn't pour the wine down your throat."

Her hand tightened around him a moment before she let go. She reached behind her and managed to untie the laces that held her dress together. It was easier to untie it than tie it. She slid it off over her shoulders and carefully lay it on the foot of the bed. She slid into Sandor's lap and his hand went straight to her breast. His other arm wrapped around her waist and his hand slipped between her thighs.

His finger tips brushed over her hard nipples and played with her between her legs. She moaned and wrapped her arms around Sandor's neck, arching her neck back to kiss him. He pushed his hips up, grinding his clothed erection against her bottom, slipping a finger into her.

"Say no, Sansa," he said and the use of her name brought her out of her daze slightly. "Tell me to stop right now. Tell me you are too drunk, that you don't want it."

"Yes, don't stop, I want it," she whispered back. His lips were back on hers, and she felt herself being lowered down to the bed.

()

A/N:

Sandor still has the wolf's head, he just hasn't given it to her. There is also more to why Sandor wants to leave once he drops Sansa off. That will also be explained. (though the red wedding will occur in this story). Next chapter will explain why.

Let me know what you think! I think I captured what Sandor would do in this situation. Maybe you disagree. I will find out soon I hope!