Author's Notes: So I had a mishap in writing this – most of the already written chapter inexplicably disappeared from my laptop into a thin air – aaarrrgghhh! After lots of detective work (that led absolutely nowhere) it still remains a mystery what happened, so alas, I had to restart from the scratch again. Bleh. But anyway, here we are – getting closer to the end, inch by inch… Thanks for sticking along!


Sandor & Arya

"So I guess you'll have to start calling me goodsister from now on? No more 'little wolf' or 'girl'."

"Goodsister my arse. And if you as much as mutter goodbrother to me…"

"Why not? I have two big brothers and one little brother already, but you could be my biggest brother of them all!"

"I doubt your lady mother would care much of such thing."

"You don't know that. As long as you treat Sansa well, she'll get around."

"Treat her well? If dragging her through miserable backwaters on horseback, making her cook and clean and sleep in the open, and to top it all up, making her wed in rags in the middle of fucking forest is treating her well, your mother and I will get on splendidly!"

"Sansa doesn't mind that. I know she doesn't. Besides, you can get married again in Winterfell, in the Godswood. She'll like that, and she would get her big wedding day then."

"If we get to Winterfell."

"Why wouldn't we? Of course we will go there!"

"You may, not so certain about myself. I am sure your family would rather welcome bloody Mad King himself than me, even freshly risen from his grave. I know the little bird thinks everything will be solved by us getting wed, but marriages can be annulled quicker than one can say 'he forced me to it'."

"Well, now it is up to you two to make sure it can't be annulled."

"Haven't you happened to notice that we are still on the run? Still camping under open skies, sleeping on a hard ground. With one much-too-curious-for-her-own-good-wolfling sniffing on our steps. Do you take me a monster?"

"It neither doesn't matter to her. I have seen the way she throws lovey-dovey eyes at you. It makes me a bit sick to think about it, but meh. Has to happen."

"Has she said anything to you about it?"

"No, but she doesn't have to. She is not stupid. She too knows that marriages can be annulled if not done properly. But you do know that she would never say anything about you forcing her, don't you?"

"Maybe not her, but she may not be given a chance to talk for herself."

"We are not like the Lannisters, you better learn that. In the North every man – and woman – is heard out before condemned."

"Aye, I believe that. I can see your folks enthralled to hear me telling them that only by happenstance I come about to be in the steps of Great Sept of Baelor when Ned Stark's head got chopped off."

"It doesn't matter what you did before! Or maybe a little. But you are not doing that anymore, just tell them that."

"Pffft! And they'd believe me, you say?"

"They would, if you talked to them. You know, being surly all the time and looking like you have a stick up your arse might work with Lannisters, but if you want to be accepted by our family, you have to learn to share. I thought Sansa has already told you that."

"Gods be cursed, I knew I made a mistake in sticking you in that whorehouse – I should have found you a place with Silent Sisters. That language doesn't do you any favours either when you get back. In your case you'd better stay silent."

"Bah, I am not stupid, I know what I can say and to whom. Would you listen to me better if I told you that your demeanour is not endearing you to your new kin, and that you should contemplate about the virtues of opening up to make your good intentions known to them?"

"Do you mock me, girl?"

"Goodsister to you. And no, I do not. I just… I just want you to get along with my family. Could you do that? For me, and for Sansa?"


Sansa

Immediately after the decision had been made it had seemed a straightforward proposition to execute it; find a septon, wed, bed, and continue their journey to Riverrun. Yet the reality was that septons were not quite so easy to find in the forest while trying avoid unwanted attention and possible sorties still searching for them in the Riverlands.

It had been several weeks since they had departed King's Landing but Sandor had warned them that Joffrey's wrath was immense and Cersei's even more so, and that those two would not stop until they had tracked them down one way or another. It was true that the closer they got to Riverrun, the looser the grip of the Lannisters was in the lands they travelled through – but a small group of soldiers could still travel relatively unnoticed if they had eyes only for their mission and had disguised themselves well. And Sandor was not ready to take any chances.

They discussed their options yet another evening, Arya arguing in her typical fashion in favour of the simplest option: finding a village with a sept, waiting until everyone slept, sneaking in and persuading the septon to wed them – with force, if necessary. Sandor had none of that though, grumbling that if the septon made noise, they would be captured by the villagers and word of it soon would soon spread to Lannister men who had their ears on the ground exactly for something like that.

The exchange was just one of many alike, Arya making suggestions and Sandor shooting them down. Although Sansa was sure he was not making excuses in order to go back on his word, she was concerned that even after several days they were not any nearer to find a solution to their dilemma. Since accepting that Sansa truly wanted to marry him, Sandor had not questioned her or shown doubt, but the circumstances seemed to be against their union.

Her shy suggestion to wait until they reached Riverrun, slip in under disguise and seek a septon there, was met with even less enthusiasm. Sandor's argument against that was that if they were recognised, they would never be wed, which assured but also despaired Sansa. Without any further inspirations they retired to their bedrolls none the wiser.

After lying down, Sansa brushed her hand against Sandor's side in search of his hand. Since the proposal he had even more steadfastly refused to touch her intimately, but she could feel his eyes on her more than before. She didn't understand it fully – being betrothed, surely they could kiss and embrace without shame? Yet she didn't try to break his resolve and settled to feel his closeness when they rode and to hold his hand when they were lying on their bedrolls at the end of the day, gaining satisfaction from those innocent gestures.


The next day the solution to their dilemma however quite unexpectedly fell straight into their laps.

Turning around a bend in the road – if the partially overgrown carriageway deserved to be called one – they saw a horse and a carriage and two men stopped on the side of a clearing. Sandor halted and raised his hand to stop Arya, who was following close behind as usually.

Sansa's initial fright settled as soon as she took in the scene: A covered wagon pulled by an old horse who had seen better days, a young boy dressed in peasant's clothes attending a fire and another man, fat, smooth-shaven and wearing a dull-brown habit, sitting on a fallen tree trunk looking expectedly at the lad's exertions.

But what really caught her eye and made her tug at Sandor's sleeve to get his attention was the crude painting on the side of the wagon; a seven pointed star.

"Sandor, could it be…?" she whispered, but before she could finish, she was interrupted.

"Greetings, fellow travellers," the fat man called, staring at them warily. Yet he too seemed to calculate that they did not present an immediate danger – just one man, a woman and a boy - and his voice picked up a friendlier tone. "A lovely day to travel, isn't it?"

"Greetings to you, my good man. Aye, a fine day." Sandor urged his mount ahead and they strolled closer.

"Where you'll be heading, if you don't mind me asking?"

The youth looked up from the fire, but seeing his master conversing with the strangers, got back to his work.

"To Riverrun. And you?"

"Myself, I am coming from Riverrun, on my way back to my flock in Pinkmaiden. Yes, it is House Piper that I serve and Septon Merigold is my name."

"How were things at Riverrun?" Sansa couldn't help piping up. The septon looked at her, somewhat surprised, but answered none the same.

"Things were as well as can be in these times of trouble. Lord Tully is abed and young Ser Edmure rules in his stead. Lord Stark – or King in the North as many say – is in residence and many Northmen with him."

Obviously having had enough of chit-chat Sandor leaped down from the saddle and addressed the man brusquely, but courteously.

"Since you are the servant of the Seven, we have a request for you. You see, this woman and I would like to wed and if you'd do us the honour we would be thankful. I have coin – a fare reward for fair work."

The septon glanced between him and Sansa, only mildly curious.

"Wedding is a joyous affair. Wouldn't you rather celebrate it with your loved ones in your own home?"

"Our home is far away. We'd rather wed now than wait. Waiting leads to temptation."

Sansa blushed. She realised Sandor played with the septon's aversion to sin and sinners, but she couldn't help being conscious about what the man must think about them. Yet whatever that might have been, he didn't show it. Turning to Sansa the septon addressed her directly.

"And of what of your parents, dear child? Have they approved of this marriage?"

"My father is dead, but my mother is keen for me to marry," she said, feeling only slightly uneasy about the half-truth she proffered.

"Hmmh." Septon Merigold glanced at his servant behind him and the fire he had stoked into full flames, then at the sky, then at Sansa. Sandor rattled the pouch in his belt to remind him about the promised coin. Which of the factors settled the matter wasn't obvious, but finally he nodded.

"Let it be so then. This is highly irregular, but unusual times call for unusual measures." Turning to the boy he called to him. "Sylvan, will you fetch me my copy of the Seven-Pointed Star from the cask?"

"We would also like to acquire a written statement to bear witness for the marriage. So we can prove it has taken place," Sansa added.

"We'll pay for the extra work and parchment." Sandor clinked his pouch again.


Sansa swiped her hands on her skirt, rubbed her face with her sleeve and ran her fingers through her hair. I must look a fright. No wedding dress, no preparations – only a hasty affair by the roadside. As if reading her thoughts Sandor approached and muttered to her under his breath.

"Not exactly the wedding day you imagined? Not too late to pull back, little bird. Had you any sense you would."

Sansa's heart constricted – how could he even think she could do anything so cruel? She reached for his hand.

"When I was younger I used to think about my wedding day all the time. How I would be dressed in the finest clothes and my hair would be made up in elaborate curls and woven with ribbons and pearls. It was always in a grand location, first in the Great Hall of Winterfell, but later I pictured the Great Sept of Baelor." She didn't let go despite Sandor trying to pull his hand away and only squeezed it tighter. "But do you know the most curious thing? I never gave much thought to my husband-to-be. If I considered him at all I took it for granted that he was someone my parents chose for me. And later, for a while, I expected it to be Joffrey." Sansa's face clouded at the memory of her naivety.

Sandor was quiet so she continued. "But that was before. What I do know now is that I'd rather wed the man of my choosing by the roadside, or in the pigsty if needed, than any other man in a great sept. No, I will not pull away and this will be our wedding day for true."

It was Sandor's turn to hold her hand so hard that she almost yelped. He didn't say anything but his eyes conveyed to Sansa all she needed to know.

Arya approached them then, grinning broadly. "The septon is ready. Are you?"


It was a short ceremony, witnessed by Sylvan the servant and Arya. Soothed by Septon Merigold's droning voice Sansa closed her eyes for a briefest moment. She had heard the words before in the rare occasions when couples in Winterfell had wed according to the faith of the Seven rather than the old gods, and she remembered some of the words. And the colourful lights filtering through the stained glass windows, the melodious songs, the solemnity of the event…and she felt a small tinge of regret for missing all that.

Then she opened her eyes - and saw the soft green grass under their feet, the light and dark green foliage of the surrounding trees flickering in the calm wind and the vast expanse of clear blue sky above them. She felt the warm rays of sun on her face, smelled the fresh air tinged with the scent of forest and heard the singsong of the birds. She glanced at the man beside her, so tall and solemn, the good side of his face towards her, and any remnants of remorse disappeared without a trace. Strong and brave and gentle – my husband to be. Sansa hoped her father would see them from beyond; see how his words were finally coming true. In this life he would have objected, she knew, but if he could see into Sandor's heart and into all that had transpired, he would approve, she was sure.

When came the time to give their vows Sansa knew as well as Sandor that they had to give their true names, as a marriage under false names would be as false. Hearing Sandor's name the septon swallowed hard but didn't seem overtly surprised - he had already started to throw curious looks in his direction when Sandor had lowered his hood. The Hound's looks and reputation were widely known, but as he had behaved cordially until then the man must have concluded that he was not in an immediate danger from him.

When Sansa declared her own name, the septon's eyes widened and a sudden fit of coughing overcame him, interrupting the proceedings. Sansa gave him her most reassuring smile and whispered for him to continue, and Sandor lifted his hand but instead of the pouch of coins he reached for the hilt of his sword. Pale as a ghost Septon Merigold licked his dry lips before croaking the remaining words and pronouncing them man and wife.

Visibly shaking he then sat down, weighed by his vast bulk and sudden weakening of his knees. Sandor pushed the parchment and the quill his servant had dug up in front of him, but seeing the frightened state the poor man was in, Sansa motioned Sandor to move further away. Arya seemed to be bursting with excitement and dragged him with her without delay.

"Dear Septon Merigold, do not fear. You have done nothing wrong and you will not be punished for this. On the contrary, you have my eternal gratitude and a silver dragon for your troubles."

Seeing that Sandor had moved out of earshot, the septon seemed to recover his composure and leaned conspiratorially towards Sansa.

"My lady, does he keep you against your will? Shall I alert someone about your predicament? I would help you myself, but as you can see, the two of us would not amount to much against the Hound…"

"I thank you for your concern, but truly, I am with him of my own true will and have entered this marriage in the same spirit." Sansa felt sorry for the man but at the same time she couldn't let him draw attention to them. "It will be in your best interest to stay quiet about this whole encounter. Should you send anyone after us, my lord husband and I would not take it kindly. And he can be quite unpleasant if aggravated. I suspect you would not want to risk his wrath."

The septon swallowed once again and nodded, turning his attention back to the parchment. Hearing Arya's name as a witness didn't seem to worsen the state of his discomfort, and after scribbling down what was required he handed the document with shaking hands to Sansa, who thanked him sincerely.

After talking with Arya Sandor had been conversing with the boy, but seeing the transaction concluded he came back and gave the septon a silver dragon as promised. When the man took it Sandor fingered the hilt of his sword meaningfully, saying something into the septon's ear so low that Sansa couldn't hear it. She saw the fear in the man's eyes though and concluded that whatever it was, it was Sandor's way to make sure that they would not be betrayed.

Last tense greetings and they mounted their horses and continued on their way, leaving the grassy clearing that had borne witness to the marriage of Lady Sansa Stark, princess of the North, and Sandor Clegane, a masterless warrior, behind them.


I am married. I am Sansa Clegane now. It had happened so quickly and so unexpectedly that Sansa had difficulties in comprehending that it had really happened. That morning she had woken up a maid, this night she would lay down as a wife. Tomorrow morning I won't wake up as a maiden. The tight knot in her stomach got tighter at the thought.

The kisses and embraces she had shared with Sandor had woken new sensations in her such as she had never felt before. Sandor's reticence had had quite an opposite effect on her as perhaps intended; the more he pulled away, the bolder and more curious she became. Sometimes Sansa lay on her bedding and revoked the memory of their first kiss and how Sandor had hungrily claimed her then. It had scared her at the time but in the safety of her memories she relived the breathless excitement and felt the fire it had lit in her. Women and especially young maids were not supposed to be wanting those things but gods, she wanted to feel his touch again, his tongue teasing hers, his strength against her.

Sansa couldn't put into words what she was experiencing. What was it that she wanted? What she knew about marriage bed had always sounded revolting or at least peculiar - she couldn't imagine that the act itself could be pleasurable. Maybe what she wanted was not that at all but something else, a heightened sensation of being with her loved one? The other thing… yes, that was part of being married, she realised, and was determined to endure it with good grace. What she craved was to be close to Sandor, and whatever came after was to fulfil his desires. Men had needs, everyone knew that.

Tonight I will lose my maidenhood.

Although it was not late, Sandor started to eye out a camping site whenever they passed a promising area. After riding along the dilapidated road for a while and not seeing anything that satisfied him, they once again ducked into the woods. From thereon every time they saw a rocky boulder or a hill, Sandor guided Stranger there and explored it. What exactly he was looking for was not clear for Sansa, but when she asked him about it, he only mumbled something about needing to find a good spot.

Eventually they found a place he was happy with. Sansa didn't really see what the difference was to the others; it was just another slightly elevated spot leading to a rocky boulder tightly surrounded by the forest. The edges of the boulder were sprinkled with smaller rock formations, jutting out from the forest floor. The main boulder was so large that riding around it took a good while.

After declaring that this was to be their camp for the night they attended to their duties, each to their own in a manner that had been polished and made effective over time. Arya unpacked their horses and established the fire, Sansa attended to their dinner and Sandor set the warning lines around the perimeter to alert them about anyone approaching, and lay down new snares for catching their next night's meal.

This time he however stayed away much longer than normally. Even by the time their meal, two plump birds, were fully cooked, he hadn't come back.

"Where do you think he has gone?" Sansa wondered if Arya knew something she didn't.

"I don't have an inkling. But do not fret, I believe it highly unlikely that he would abscond now at all times," laughed Arya at her worried expression.

"I didn't mean that. I was just wondering." Sansa removed the birds from the spit lest they char too much. Arya became serious.

"Are you nervous? About tonight, I mean?"

"Of course I am not." Sansa sighed deeply and her shoulders sagged. "Of course I am. I know hardly anything, and I have no one to tell me how to prepare for it. I wish Mother was here. Or, I mean, not here right now, but…"

"I know what you mean." Arya nodded. "If it is any consolation, I don't think he is going to be that bad. He had some compensations to his ugly face, Aline said. I don't know what, but..."

"I don't want to know what some…paid woman said about my lord husband!" Sansa shrieked. She couldn't believe Arya chose that very moment to bring it up again! Dropping the wooden platters she held in her hands on the ground with a clatter, she stood up and stormed away, huffing in irritation as she went. There was nowhere she could go though, so after reaching the perimeter of their camp she turned around. She was still angry, but seeing her sister's stricken expression soothed her hurt feelings somewhat. Oh Arya, still putting your foot into your mouth.

Sansa walked back to Arya and addressed her more softly. "I am sure he means well for me. I am sure it will all be fine. But Arya, can you please promise that you will not eavesdrop on us? I couldn't bear it if I thought you heard me and him. Please?"

Arya looked still chastened but nodded vigorously. "I promise. I will stay on my bedroll and see nor hear anything, I swear. I can move to sleep on the other side of that rock. You'll hear not a peep from me."

She pointed to a mossy rock leaning against the wall of the boulder. To Sansa it looked still embarrassingly close to the main camp, but before she could say anything they heard the heavy footfall heralding Sandor's return.


The dinner was unusually quiet affair. Sandor hadn't explained what had taken him so long and Sansa hadn't ask. Her nervousness increased, especially as she could feel and see Sandor's eyes trained on her, intensely, unrelentingly. He didn't talk much but whenever Sansa glanced at him he was staring at her, grey eyes flashing in the firelight. It reminded her of the times in Winterfell and on the Kingsroad when she had thought him to be regarding her like a hunter assesses his prey, and how uncomfortable his gaze had made her feel then.

"Hey, do you know what this is?" Arya broke the silence with a loud announcement. Both Sansa and Sandor turned to look at her.

"It is your wedding banquet! I'll admit this is not much, but we'll have to make do."

Sansa let out a nervous laughter. Indeed. In her childhood dreams she had seen long tables creaking under the weight of many delicacies and exotic foods; roasted boar, pike and salmon, wilted greens and vegetables lathered with butter, freshly baked breads and stews, spicy sauces and the best of all, lemon cakes and sugary desserts to her heart's content.

"Aye, so it is. A banquet fit for the occasion." Sandor lifted the wing in his hand and nodded. There was no mockery in his tone and just like earlier in the day Sansa regarded the reality in front of her.

The roasted birds were plump and succulent, and the valuable pouch of salt Sandor had sensibly packed with him was all the spice they needed. They had bread, bought from a baker they had met on the road only two days hence, and it was still soft and not dried into rock-hard chunks. They had no vegetables nor butter and sugary treats were just a dream – but they had food to fill their bellies and it was not bad at all.

"I think this the most unusual wedding meal but this is all we need," she declared, smiling at her companions.

"A wedding feast calls for a toast." Sandor got up and rummaged through his saddle bag. "Took this for emergencies or special occasions and almost forgot all about it. If this is not a special occasion, I don't know what is." He lifted a half-full wineskin and brandished it triumphantly in the air. Arya reached for it and grabbed it from his grip.

"Since I am the official master of ceremonies, I shall raise the first toast." She turned the stopper until it cracked open with a loud pop. "My most worthy wedding guests, the distinguished couple of honour, and all you revellers," she gestured towards Stranger and her own horse, which she had rather ambitiously named Fast Wind, "let us offer our felicitations to this young couple who have become man and wife this very special day. Let their union be long and happy and fruitful."

Arya lifted the skin to her lips and just as Sandor called 'Careful, little wolf, it is not for young girls', she took a sip – and grimaced and spluttered most of the bitter concoction on the forest floor. The shock on her face looked so hilarious that Sansa giggled, the tense atmosphere mere moments ago forgotten.

"Bloody hells, I tried to warn you. It is strongwine, good for grown men, but not intended for little girls." Sandor reached for his skin muttering darkly, but from the twitching in the corner of his mouth Sansa knew he was not angry in earnest. He took a good swig himself and when he offered it to Sansa, she grabbed it keenly. She wanted to toast her own wedding, but having been forewarned she sipped from the skin very carefully. The liquid was strong and burned like fire going down her throat, but she prided herself for not choking on it as Arya had done.

"Your turn! The bridegroom's toast!" Arya cheered, and Sandor glared daggers at her. Throwing a quick look at Sansa he however seemed to accept the demand and reached for the skin once again.

"You lot, you are the best group of honest souls I could ever have imagined to celebrate my wedding with." A nod towards the horses who were nibbling grass, completely oblivious to the important role they were playing at the feast. "Had I ever imagined it – my wedding, that is. Never thought I'd marry, even less thought I'd marry a bride such as the little bird here. To the bride!"

The skin made a new round around the fire, landing last on Sansa's lap. Her second sip went down easier than the first, and whether it was the strongwine or the playful spirit they shared, she raised it again enthusiastically.

"Dear guests!" The compulsory nod to their horses. "I am honoured that you have chosen to join us in this joyous occasion, this joining of the houses Clegane and Stark. A bride could not wish for a happier day, or for a better lord husband." She downed yet another gulp of the fiery liquid before handing it to Arya. Before her sister had her turn Sandor pushed ahead and snatched it.

"No more for you, little wolf. You are not used to strong liquors."

"Neither is Sansa! This is not fair!" Arya's face was flushed and Sansa grinned at her protestations.

"She doesn't need any more either," Sandor measured Sansa and this time the intensity of his scrutiny only made her giggle. She felt warm and a bit lightheaded and boldly returned Sandor's gaze. Their eyes locked, and it was as if it had been some kind of a sign, because Sandor put the skin aside and stood up.

"Come with me."

He offered his hand to Sansa. She took it without question and stood up, trailing after him when he led her past the rock Arya had pointed and further. The warm feeling in her belly and the lightness in her head had chased away all her concerns, and made following her lord husband into the looming darkness the easiest thing in the world.