Author's Notes: It has been a while again, but it is always difficult to find how to write the millionth version of a familiar theme... There is tension, there is passion, there is joy...well, whatever there is, it is here now!
Sandor & Arya
"What now, why did you come back? Where is Sansa?"
"She is resting in a camp I made for her. She's fine."
"Shouldn't you be with her?"
"I will be soon. Just one thing I have to take care of. Come here and bring that blanket of yours."
"You have enough blankets! I need some too. And what are you doing with Stranger's saddle cloth? It is not that cold here, you know."
"Do me a favour, lie down here."
"Why? Why do you want me to lie on top of these? Are you measuring something? You know that Sansa is much taller than I am?"
"Just for once do as you're told, wolfling!"
"Very well, no need to get grumpy about it. Here – so what?"
"Stay still now."
"Hey! What, uh, mmmphhh! What in the seven hells are you doing?! Let me go!"
"The more you resist the tighter the wrap will be. Just relax and you'll be fine. Now I'll just tie the cords…"
"GET OFF ME! You can't do this! Arrrgghhh!"
"…and another down your legs…"
"Release me at once! I'll tell Sansa!"
"I don't care if you tell High Septon himself, but tonight you are going to stay here. Your sister has enough to worry about without having to fear you sneaking around."
"Damn sure she has enough to worry about, married to a monster like you! You can't do this!"
"Quit whinging, you'll be fine. You can move your head and wiggle your toes, you can sleep even. Nothing into it. But at least now I know that you won't be lurking around us."
"Is this about that one time, when you proposed to her? I swear it was that time only, and I promised Sansa I will not come anywhere near you tonight!"
"As much as I want to trust your word, I trust this wrap and my knots better."
"I can't move my arms! I can't even scratch my nose!"
"Nothing wrong with your nose that needs to be scratched. Stop bleating now, that is not going to do you any good. I'll come back after and release you."
"When you do I'll run right to Sansa and tell her what you did!"
"And she'll thank me for it. Listen, you stay still now and get some sleep, I come and free you when I am well and ready. You promise – and I mean truly promise - that you will stay on your bedroll from now on and we don't have to ever talk about this again. Or…"
"Or what?"
"I'll do this every night until we get to Riverrun. Your sister will pout and protest, but she'll settle. So, what is it going to be?"
"Drop dead!"
"Good night to you too, little wolf."
Sansa
"You did this?" Sansa was speechless. In front of her stood a small edifice leaning against the cliff face; four thick tree branches resting against the rock just above a naturally concave half-cave. The branches were covered with leafy tree saplings as densely as any thatched roof. The structure was covered at one end and open at the other, where a small fire had been lit and shedding light into the interior.
Bending down and peeking inside she saw that the base of that cosy den was covered with a thick layer of leaves and moss, clearly freshly gathered from trees and boulders all around them. Their heady green scent filled her nostrils and reminded her of the possets of dried flowers buried between her dresses in Winterfell coffers. Tentatively she tested the bedding by pressing her hand down and it gave in, suggesting a surface softer than what she had rested on since they left the Red Keep. Surprised she looked up at Sandor, who was arranging their bedrolls on top of the base to make it even more comfortable. He stared at his task and didn't meet her eyes.
The weeks on the road had made Sansa used to sleeping on the hard ground and the prospect of soft bedding was inviting – and yet knowing its purpose made her heart run faster. To cover her nervousness she fumbled with a frayed corner of fabric and heard more than saw Sandor getting up again.
She glanced at her newly minted husband and met the same intense stare she had been aware of the whole afternoon. Her voice quivered only slightly when she addressed him.
"What a lovely surprise this is, Sandor! Such luxury in the middle of wilderness."
"It is our wedding night and I mean to have you, little bird. Time for bloody chivalry is over - but the least I can do is to try to make you as comfortable as I can."
Shivers travelled down Sansa's spine. Is it a threat – or a promise? Or both? She had no answer and Sandor didn't seem to expect any.
"Settle yourself comfortably. I'll be right back." And then he was gone, disappeared into the darkness.
Sansa's nervousness had returned with a vengeance after the momentary lightness brought upon by the strong spirit. She swayed on the spot unsure of what she should do. Sandor had clearly worked hard to make the shelter, cutting the branches, hacking the saplings and stripping the leaves, painstakingly building the solid structure in front of her. It must mean that he too considers tonight as something special. Not like with the other women. Fleetingly Sansa wondered if he had ever prepared a love nest for anyone else, and was surprised by the strong pang of jealousy even thinking about it caused.
Yet she felt touched by Sandor's consideration and in the lack of better ideas, she knelt down and crawled inside. The bedding was as soft as she had surmised, and after she had smoothed their bedding to cover it fully it was quite snug. Like the day, the evening was mild and the fire was strictly speaking not necessary, but she liked it nonetheless. She settled near the entrance, then noticed the blankets laid down on the side and pulled them to her. She wondered where Sandor had gone – did he have another surprise for her, even more preparations?
Lying there in wait of her lord husband to come and claim his rights Sansa wondered what he would expect of her on his return. 'Settle yourself comfortably', he had said. Should she undress – was that what he had meant? Or would that be too forward? She fingered the laces of her top apprehensively but couldn't make up her mind. In the end she removed her boots as she did every night, placing them side by side outside the shelter.
Loud steps, crunching of twigs under a heavy weight, and Sandor was back.
"Where did you go?" Sansa asked timidly.
"There was something I had to take care of in the camp. Are you well settled?"
Sandor sat down, his big bulk shaking the whole shelter. He too removed his boots, throwing them carelessly to the side, then crawled inside, landing by Sansa's side. Grunting he fell on his back and crossed his hands behind his neck.
"Does this suffice? I hoped to find a proper cave, or an abandoned shepherd's shack or barn, but we are too far away from farmlands to find any. Which is probably a good thing anyway. Where there are buildings, there are people."
"But we are getting close to Riverrun. Isn't this safe yet?" Sansa raised up and leaned on her elbow to observe Sandor. He stared at the roof and furrowed his brow.
"The septon's servant said it is three, maybe four days away. It is safer here than before but it is not only Lannister men we have to avoid. Any group of leaderless men coming across us, you a fetching young maid and all, would mean trouble. I'd defend you, of course, but I'd rather keep my sword clean for now." He glanced at Sansa and smirked. "Besides, I have better things to do with my time."
Sansa blushed at the insinuation and looked down. "So three or four more days and we'll be with my family? And yours…your new family."
"Aye, all going well. Might not be a happy family meeting you'd expect though. I might as easily find myself in the deepest cells than sitting above the salt in the great hall."
"Oh not they wouldn't! They couldn't! You are my lord husband now!"
Sandor's expression was solemn when he turned to her. "Not yet. Mayhap we better do something about it."
Sansa's blush deepened. The marriage had to be consummated for it to be legal and sanctified in the eyes of gods and men. She had known that all along, and she wanted that too, but…
"I…I don't know what to do. You have to guide me," she whispered – and felt Sandor's hand hovering above her head, hardly touching. It brushed her hair, her cheek, then travelled to her shoulder and arm and down her body, pressing on the fabric of her blouse and skirt so she could feel the warmth of his large palm. Then he leaned closer and claimed her lips.
"You could start by revealing yourself to me," he growled into her mouth. Sansa responded by returning his kisses – at least she had done that before, although she still felt quite inadequate and inexperienced. Yet she had a feeling that she was not the only one; Sandor's kisses had always been somewhat awkward and tentative and this time was no exception. They oscillated between pressing down on her lips almost painfully hard and sometimes missing their mark, gracing her cheek or nose when she moved. It was as if his usual ability to read Sansa's reactions and anticipate her actions had deserted him. His uncertainty encouraged Sansa and she met his hunger with an increased enthusiasm.
To illustrate the meaning of his words better Sandor reached for the cords of her blouse and tugged them sharply. With shaking fingers Sansa took up the task and one by one opened the knots. Sandor's hands that had travelled up and down her body returned to her shoulders and started to pull the fabric down, and Sansa let him.
The kisses, the keenness of his touch and the thought of her nakedness soon being exposed to his eyes made blood course through Sansa's veins hot and fast. Tingling and anticipation fluttered at the pit of her stomach and after releasing her arms and pulling her top away Sandor didn't need to instruct her any further as she started to wiggle out of her skirt and pull it down along with her smallclothes. It felt odd, it felt wicked, it felt mortifying, but she didn't hesitate.
"You too," she gathered her courage and piped up. She had once chanced upon Sandor crouching by the river's edge, bare-chested and washing himself in cold water. She had stopped on her tracks before he had detected her presence and taken in the spectacle of him, so unusual and so unguarded. His upper body had been sinewy and solid, hard muscles roiling under his skin as he had raised his arms and flexed his shoulders. He had coiled his long dark hair into a messy knot at the back of his head, and the sight of his neck, so pale and so exposed, had made Sansa's breath stricken. He had been like a giant beast unaware of his own strength that was so obvious to an onlooker, and yet so vulnerable.
When Sandor had gotten onto his feet and turned around she had caught a sight of dark hair covering his chest and arms. It had served only to reinforce her perception of him as a wild beast, untamed and one with nature. Sansa had slinked away then, backing carefully one step at a time, but she had seen enough. She knew it to be ridiculous to think about Sandor in those animalistic terms, but on that day she had seen a man in a completely new light for the first time in her life and that new awareness had excited her and haunted her ever since.
And now she wanted to see him again.
Raising his good eyebrow Sandor didn't ask questions but obediently lifted his upper body and swiftly pulled his tunic off. It went the same way as Sansa's top, towards the back of the shelter, soon to be followed by the rest of their clothes.
And then they were naked, the heat of their bodies meeting under the blanket. Sandor didn't hesitate to pull her to him and the feel of his skin against her own was the most exhilarating thing Sansa had ever known. She sighed and allowed her body to mould against his, his hard angles meeting her soft curves and matching them as if their forms had always meant to complement each other.
Soon Sandor's hands were everywhere; grasping, kneading, exploring her shape, squeezing the swell of her breasts and her buttocks. He was greedy, he was impatient, and at times Sansa had to suppress a yelp when he pinched her too hard or pressed too heavily at a sensitive spot. Yet she didn't want him to stop.
Her own hand swept along the angular lines of his body, the hard contours and firm muscles. She didn't know what she was doing, only that she couldn't get enough of it. This is what I wanted, flashed in her heated mind. To be close – ever closer.
Their bodies were so flush against each other that she felt coarseness of the hair on his chest against her breasts and down below his member, that had grown hard and rested stiffly against her belly. It was as if a foreign object had been placed between them, odd and yet tantalising. Sansa had a vague understanding of what it meant, but her mind refused to accept the logic of something so big to be able to be associated with what was supposed to happen…no, it couldn't be.
"Gods, woman," Sandor sighed in strained undertones. "I will hurt you, I know I will." His shoulders were taut and tense as he pushed her on her back and positioned himself on top of her, taking the most of his weight on left arm, his other reaching down and in between them. When he pushed his fingers between Sansa's legs, still coyly pressed tightly together, and swept them along her secret woman's place, the jolt made her shudder – but not of pain but of pleasure. She could feel the wetness from her core and to her horror Sandor's fingers dipped in it and spread it further. Seven heavens! Is that… normal? What must he think of me?!
"You're so wet, little bird, so fucking wet. Gods, do you know what that does to me?!" Sandor didn't sound scandalised – on the contrary. Sansa stole a peek and saw his eyes tightly shut, his face strained. His fingers teased her further and then he fumbled with himself and the next thing Sansa knew was his stiff member being pushed against her sex. It spread her wetness even further and despite the heady sensation it caused, she instinctively flinched in preparation of the inevitable pain.
Against her expectations Sandor didn't try push her legs apart – quite the opposite. He positioned his own thighs on either side of Sansa's and squeezed her legs even tighter together, before resuming a steady motion of pushing himself in and out of the cavern between them. In every movement the length of him swept slickly against Sansa's sensitive spot and she exhaled noisily, adapting to the rhythm, her own breathing adjusting to the tune of his actions. In and out. In and out.
The pain she expected didn't materialise – as a matter of fact, with the curiously mounting pressure on her womanhood focussing on the pulsing of her own heartbeat down there, it felt opposite to painful – it felt glorious… She started tentatively to push her hips up to meet his motions, wanting something more – what, she couldn't say, but still more.
Then Sandor cursed, reached once again between them and fastened his pace. Sansa could feel him lift his groin and his hand stroking his manhood – he cursed again and his movements became erratic and jerking. Sansa held on to him for her dear life, at loss of what was happening. Just as she started to worry that something was not right, Sandor tensed once more, let out a deep animalistic growl, and she felt something wet and warm spreading on her things and the juncture between them.
Gasping Sandor collapsed on top of her, but when she struggled under his heavy bulk he rolled aside and landed heavily on his back. He took in deep lungfuls of breath and Sansa stared at him, hoping to find some indication of whether what had happened was good or bad. His face was twisted – was it agony?
Hesitantly she touched his heaving chest. "Sandor? Is everything well?"
One more shuddering gasp and he turned his face towards her. In his eyes Sansa saw something she had never seen before – a twinge of shame? But surely it couldn't be? They had just consummated their marriage and it hadn't hurt at all – he had no reason to be ashamed!
"Are we…was it…was that it?" Sansa didn't know how to ask the question properly. Sandor's surprised expression didn't help – she felt a bit foolish.
"That? Do you think I took your maidenhood just then?"
"Well, yes… I think so. Didn't you?"
Unexpectedly Sandor burst out laughing. Not his usual low chortle, but a boisterous roaring laughter. If Sansa had felt foolish before, now she was petrified.
"Bloody hells! I'd like to think that when I take you, you'd actually know it! Gods but you are still an innocent little birdling, aren't you?" His face was relaxed and he was clearly in high spirits. Sansa enjoyed seeing him thus, so far removed from his general sullen demeanour, but she was starting to get annoyed at the way his mirth was directed at her. Seeing her expression Sandor seemed to grasp it and got serious, pulling Sansa against him.
"No, Sansa. It was just me letting off steam. I had to do something or I know I would have hurt you in my eagerness. Fuck, like a lad with his first wench, I was."
Oh.
"So we didn't…"
"No, we didn't. Yet. You deserve better than a rutting beast too consumed with his own pleasure. Mayhap now I can take my time to be careful with you." Sandor's skin was still sweaty under Sansa's touch, but his breath had settled and he felt calmer than before. Although still annoyed by her foolish mistake and how hilarious he had found it, Sansa snuggled closer to him, glad to hear his reasoning. She had much to learn, that much was true.
The situation still raised one question though.
"So…when do you think that will happen? I mean, we have only a few more days before…"
"Days?! Give me a few moments, you eager wench!" There was laughter in his voice again and Sansa hit him with her fists in mock anger.
"I told you I don't know about these things!" Sandor just chuckled and Sansa joined him, having given up her indignation. To laugh with him, to feel so alive, to have her senses awakened and to let go of trepidation she had carried with her the whole day… Sansa felt warm and fuzzy and happy and quite spontaneously she planted a bit wet kiss on Sandor's chest – the only place within her reach as he was holding her so tightly.
"Did you like it though?"
Holy Maiden! Sansa couldn't imagine it being proper to admit anything of the sort – ladies did not discuss such things. And yet…
"Mmmmmh," she purred against his skin, torn between desire to be honest and not wanting to appear wanton. Whether he heard her or not she wasn't sure, but from the squeeze of his arm she thought he might have.
Languid after their exertion she nuzzled against Sandor's chest, breathing in his scent and letting his wiry hair tickle her face and nose. How is it possible that I want to get even closer to him? Sandor had curled his arm around her shoulders and stroked her hair in lazy motion. Time stopped and that one moment seemed to last forever - there was no need to talk, no haste to cover themselves or disentangle their intermingled limbs. The night was mild and the still burning fire warmed them even after the heat of their bodies had dissipated.
Emboldened by the tranquillity of the moment Sansa let her fingers slide down his chest, drawing the map of his muscles and many scars as she did so. A pale white line across his side, a red welt near his lower ribs, another ragged red line across his stomach – all long ago healed but having left behind memories of past injuries. There were so many… it made her sad to think about the life of violence he had lived, but she was grateful that he had survived through it all. It was selfish, and Sansa knew she should feel sorry for all those he had slain – but still she proffered silent thanks to the gods that it had been he who had been victorious.
She also stole a curious peek to his nether regions, in full sight as he had kicked off the blankets and the glow of fire was quite bright. To her surprise, where she had imagined some kind of an impressive staff, a macabre display of manliness, all she saw was a soft wrinkled shape resting harmless against his thigh. She stared at it, trying to reconcile whether it could be the same object she had felt moving between her thighs, so hard and relenting.
"I said give me a few moments," Sandor grumbled and Sansa flinched, feeling guilty of having stared. Looking up she saw him glaring at him, still amused. "I guess you haven't seen a man naked before?"
"No, of course not!" Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, genuinely perplexed, "How does it…change so much? Why does it do that?"
"Bugger me if I know. That's just the way it is. All it takes is a woman, a touch or a thought stuck in my head about a certain redheaded beauty and her pert little ass." A low chuckle. "Why don't you touch it and see what happens?"
Sansa's first reaction was to pull away. I couldn't! But as scandalised as she was about the prospect at first, it was more than curiosity that soon saw her inching her fingers closer. She wanted to touch him.
The trail of dark hair from Sandor's navel to his groin guided her and she held her breath as she got closer. A soft sweep, a press of her fingertips – she was surprised how smooth and soft his manhood was.
Nothing could prepare her for what happened next though, as that harmless looking object soon started to grow…and grow…and grow. Eyes widened she stared at it, still holding on to it and sensing under the palm of her hand the complete transformation that was taking place. Soft and smooth it was still, but now rigid and hard, twitching almost as it had a life of its own. She sighed and her apprehension returned.
"Sansa." Sandor's voice was low. "Look at me."
She tore her eyes away from the fascinating sight at display and obeyed.
"I try not to hurt you. But gods, I have waited for so long…" The intensity from earlier had returned and Sandor's breath had become forced.
"I don't mind. I am ready," Sansa whispered.
Lying once again against Sandor's chest, her hair spread over both of them like a silken curtain, Sansa couldn't help smiling back at her innocent self from just some time earlier. No wonder he laughed at me.
When he had taken her for real, it had hurt just as she had anticipated. What she hadn't expected though was the fulfilment and elation after her stretched flesh had adjusted to the invasion. When Sandor had eased himself into her, little by little, taking his cues from her reactions, the sensation of being torn asunder had gradually given way to a feeling of being fulfilled and consumed – satiating the longing and hollowness she had felt earlier. Whatever had been missing from their earlier encounter was granted to her tenfold. With the tentative swings of her hips, adjusting to the strange rhythm, Sansa had welcomed him with newly found fervour.
When Sandor's gasps had become harsh and uneven and the cords in his neck had strained, he had fumbled between them once again but instead of attending to his own pleasure he had stroked Sansa's flesh. Relentlessly, unevenly, clearly distracted by his own upcoming peak, Sansa had nonetheless felt a burning, pulsing awareness that had seemed to concentrate on her core, on that very specific spot. She had been almost afraid of feeling something so out of her control, and Sandor's peak while she was still trying to process her own reactions had left her somewhat confused – but happy. To see her lord husband so spent after he had gained his pleasure from her had been a reward in its own right. Even the discomfort of her invaded flesh and bruising of her thighs, chafed against Sandor's sharp hips, didn't trouble her. It was worth it. I am his wife now for real.
"Just so you know, now I have taken your maidenhead," Sandor had muttered to her afterwards, pretending to be serious.
And once again Sansa had been surprised by the sudden appearance of joy in a situation she had expected to be solemn and serious. Tension that had hung between them for such a long time; initially born from wariness and mistrust, later from uncertainty and improbability, and even that same day from the fear of unknown, had been lifted and discarded and the two of them were finally completely comfortable with each other.
Yes, Sansa was happy.
Just as she was about to drift into sleep Sandor roused, got up and started pulling his clothes on.
"What, where are you going?"
"There is something I have to take care of in the main camp. I'll be right back. Just rest."
Sansa wondered drowsily what took him back and forth but decided to worry about it another time. For now she was too spent to extend energy for that.
By the time Sandor returned and claimed his place next to her, she had drifted into a relaxed half-sleep. She felt his arms around her and how he pulled her closer, and everything in the world was right.
