During their travels, Sansa managed to send several ravens to Riverrun, hoping to smooth the way for their arrival in the eyes of her family. Knowing her father and brother would not easily be swayed, she went to great lengths to gain her mother's approval, elaborately describing the various acts of bravery her new husband performed on her and Arya's behalf.

Once reunited with her parents, Sansa knew all too well that her family would require far more intimate details of what led to their highborn daughter willingly marrying the Hound. Predictably, her mother wasted no time making inquiries as soon as they were dismissed from the Great Hall.

"We have been most eager to hear how you and Sandor Clegane came to realize your feelings for each other," Catelyn looped her arm through Sansa's with a smile.

"Of course Mother; I will tell it with pleasure." Sansa stiffened slightly and watched her uncle purse his lips.

"Your husband is most intimidating, Sansa," Jeyne whispered in her ear. "And very muscular as well; such a man is well worth having, is that not so?"

Catelyn frowned at her gooddaughter. "It is true that Sandor is most impressive but I do not think this is appropriate conversation for Arya's ears."

"Oh, Mother," Arya rolled her eyes. "If only you knew half of what I've done, you would faint dead away."

Catelyn gaped at her until Edmure interrupted them. "This way to the family rooms."

Behind them, Sandor snickered contemptuously. "So Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, now King Regent requires an explanation as to how his wolf daughter came to lie down with a dog. Asked his wife to get the details, is that the way of it?"

Exasperated, Edmure turned to face him. "Clegane, a man such as you must realize it is rather extraordinary that a young woman such as Sansa would willingly take a Lannister sworn shield as her husband. Some explanation is hardly unwarranted."

"Edmure, please," Lady Catelyn began. "It is only natural for Sandor to feel slighted after my husband and son's inquiries."

Swallowing hard, Jeyne nervously glanced at Sansa, who swiftly moved in between her uncle and husband. What little courtesy Sandor had left would not be wasted on the Tully side of her family, even if they were sheltering in their seat. Nervously Sansa rested her hand on Sandor's chest as she silently implored him to be still.

His infuriated expression softened as he returned her gaze. "Aye, true enough, that."

"Uncle, please, if you will forgive us, we are most tired; perhaps this conversation can wait until we are refreshed?"

Edmure laughed knowingly. "Of course, my dear." Not sparing Sandor another glance, he turned and continued guiding them through the castle.

In truth, Sansa was not certain how to explain the way she and Sandor came to wed. As Joffrey's sworn shield, Sandor was never far from her from the moment she arrived in King's Landing.

"Well, Mother, it was a matter of her survival that I learn to adapt in the Red Keep," she began uncertainly. "Sandor understood the roles we both were meant to play in the den of lions and took it upon himself to educate me in his own unique way, and thus we got to know it other quite well."

"I see," her mother replied, though Sansa was sure she most certainly did not. "And how did you come to discover your mutual affection?"

"Pray forgive me, Mother, but I would prefer not to speak of such intimacies."

"Of course, Sansa."

Blushing, she lowered her eyes as the memory of that day flooded her mind. They walked on in silence with Sansa now lost in thought.

Joffrey had her stripped and severely beaten for her brother's victories. After Tyrion interceded, Sandor carried her back to her quarters with her gown in tatters and her body bruised and bloodied.

After he settled her on the bed, Sandor stood watching her closely. "Remember what I told you about Gregor, do you?" He asked quietly, shifting uncomfortably on her bed.

"Y-yes," Sansa struggled to control her breathing. "I have never told anyone, I swear it."

The Hound laughed then, the sound as empty and cold as his eyes. "I know, little bird." Leaning in, Sandor handed her a small jar. "When I heard of your kingly brother's victories, I knew that little shit would make you bleed for it. This is the same maester's compound my father had made for my burns."

Deeply touched, Sansa managed a small smile despite the pain. "Thank you, Sandor; how very thoughtful." It was the first time she used his given name, and she saw him tremble as her soft voice formed the sound.

Sandor shrugged. "It did me no good, but it might ease the pain some."

"I am certain it would but unfortunately I will not be able to use it."

Glaring at her, he frowned.

"I cannot reach my lashings," she explained, "and the maids are sworn not to help me under punishment of treason."

Sandor chewed his lip for a moment, watching as she nervously fidgeted with the jar.

"Perhaps if you would not mind, you could apply it," Sansa finally whispered, blushing deeply while averting her eyes.

"Not a very appropriate request from a lady, now is it?" Sandor finally teased; and for once there was no mockery in his tone, only sad resignation.

Sansa's eyes misted over, her face falling into a mirror of his expression. "Yes, I admit that is true, but you have already seen far more of me than is appropriate; is that not so?"

"Aye that it is, lass." Before she knew what was happening, Sandor was easing the torn gown from her shoulders.

Once more Sansa blushed at the memory. No, there was absolutely no way that she would tell her mother that she initiated their intimacies by asking the Hound to undress her and tend her wounds. Glancing around her, she saw that neither Jeyne, Arya or her mother seemed aware of her embarrassment, and for that Sansa was grateful.

Sandor was surprisingly gentle, even tender, as he treated her wounds, bringing a flood of emotions to Sansa's heart and a rush of pleasure throughout her body. He seemed moved by the experience as well, though he never said a word. When Sandor finished applying the salve, he carefully pulled her gown over her shoulders.

"There, lass, mayhap you'll have better luck with the treatment than I."

"Thank you. When you told me the story of your scars," Sansa tentatively cupped the scarred side of his face, "I never dreamed you would assist in healing my own wounds. I am very grateful."

The muscles in his jaw clenched beneath her fingers. "And I never dreamed the pretty bird would allow a scarred dog to tend her feathers." Abruptly he then left the room.

From that day on, the Hound would come to her late in the evening, awkwardly sitting on her bed while rubbing the salve to her bare skin. He continued even after she was certain the injuries had healed sufficiently to no longer warrant his attentions but Sansa did not have the heart to mention it to him.

Deep down Sansa knew it was inappropriate to allow their meetings to continue, but in the den of the lions, somehow propriety no longer mattered. She grew to long for his touch, for Sandor's calloused hands gliding over her skin deeply moved her, and her heart as well as her body responded to his tender ministrations.

Indeed, the realization that her feelings for him were growing ever more romantic came as quite a shock to her. Though he never said much, it even seemed to Sansa that he shared her feelings. One night after Sandor finished, he confirmed her thoughts by gently drawing her into his arms.

They held each other in silence, allowing their tender embrace to speak for them. Sansa rested her hand on his cheek while Sandor leaned into her touch and closed his eyes, sighing deeply as he wrapped her close to him. The rise and fall of Sandor's muscular chest against her cheek, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in her ears while surrounded in his strong yet tender embrace healed her heart and soothed her nerves.

From that night on, Sandor would hold her after treating her scars, and many times Sansa fell asleep in his arms. Ever vigilant, Sandor always left before the maid arrived. Upon awakening, Sansa never failed to be disappointed by his absence, though she knew it would hardly be appropriate for the king's sworn shield to be seen spending the night in the private quarters of his betrothed.

Despite knowing that he detested chivalry, Sansa felt the need to express her growing affection in a tangible manner. Lovingly she made him a knight's favor, embroidering a small bird sitting on the shoulder of a huge black hound on a silk yellow sash. One evening after Sandor tended her scars, Sansa presented it to him.

"I know you detest knights, but I could not think of another appropriate gift for you," Sansa smiled shyly as she placed it in his hands. "I hope you will accept it as a symbol of my gratitude; I truly appreciate all you have done for me."

"Gratitude?" Sandor rasped, chuckling low. "Is that what you feel?"

He hates liars. "No," Sansa heard herself say before she could check her tongue. "I also mean it a symbol of my deep affection for you."

Sandor's head snapped up to meet her eyes, his dark gaze glittering with a new, warm feeling Sansa had never before seen in the man.

"I hesitated to say it just now," she wrung her hands, "because I cannot bear for you to mock my feelings for you."

"Pretty little bird," he pulled her close to him and buried his face into her neck. Sansa felt her skin flush hot clear down to her chest and brazenly she nuzzled closer to him. "You're not meant for the likes of me, lass; believe that."

"Please, do not tell me what I should feel, or for whom I should feel it." Sansa turned to face him, daringly running her hands along the edge of his tunic. Staring wide-eyed at her, Sandor drew in a sharp breath but did not move away.

Smiling softly, Sansa felt her cheeks redden. Edmure cleared his throat, startling her from her contemplations. Anxiously she looked up to see her mother, Jeyne and Arya watching her intently.

"Forgive me, Mother; I was lost in memories there for a bit. It is hard to explain; so much that has happened…it is all quite overwhelming..."

Arya reached over and put her arm around Sansa's waist. "I know Sissy; I know. It's okay if you don't want to talk about it; isn't it, Mother?"

After their experiences in King's Landing and abroad, Sansa and Arya shared a deep, unspoken understanding. Affectionately Sansa pulled her little sister against her breast and squeezed her tightly as her eyes filled with tears.

Lady Catelyn rested her arms around both girls. "We need not talk of it if it upsets you, Sansa. We have plenty of time."

"Thank you, Mother."

The arrival of a large contingency of Stark soldiers in the main hallway caused Sansa to nervously move closer to Sandor, looping her arm through his.

"You have nothing to fear from them, wife," he growled low as he covered her hand with his, patting her softly. Sansa smiled at Sandor, his words recalling the first two vows he made to her. Impulsively she leaned up and kissed his cheek, and Sandor gently caressed her in return, a small twinkle lighting up his normally stormy gray eyes as he did so.

His expression reminded her of the day Sansa realized she wanted more than to just express her love in words; she wanted to show him with her body as well. After she admitted her feelings for him, they stared into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity.

"Sandor, you said that one day I would be glad of the hateful things you would do someday," Sansa finally broke the silence. "Maybe I wish to be glad that I gave my maiden's gift to you."

The fierce man stared at her silently, his eyes softening while his mouth worked as though he were trying to form a protest.

Flushed, Sansa spoke up once more. "When I become queen, what would make me most glad is to have one night of love, one moment of happiness with you to look back upon."

The burned side of his face twitched sharply as he considered her words. "If we do this, the king will know you did not come to him a maid on your wedded night."

"No, he will not," she whispered. "His enjoyment comes from pain, not the goings-on of the marriage bed. Besides, I will not survive long enough for him to discover otherwise, and we both know it. Allow me this, Sandor, please."

Cupping the burned side of his face, Sansa lifted her lips to his, and when their eyes met, the primal hunger with which Sandor regarded her took her breath away. He traced the smooth curve of her cheek with his fingers before his mouth descended upon her, covering her lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

When finally he moved away, Sandor silently led to her by the hand to the bed and lay down beside her. "You need not fear that little shit of a king. No one will hurt you again little bird or I'll kill them; I swear it."

Her heart leapt at his words, and ignoring the teachings of her septa for perhaps the first time in her life, Sansa did not pull away when he carefully unlaced her gown and laid her back on the bed. She did not pull away when his hands roamed her skin, tenderly caressing her most intimate places. With gentleness Sansa did not know Sandor possessed, he carefully kissed and loved each part of her body until a fine sheen of sweat covered her body, until she wept with pleasure, until finally she sang the song he so often wanted from her.

As the night went on, Sandor took her with a frenzied blend of need and lust, and Sansa loved it. Afterward, he did not immediately get up and dress as she expected; instead Sandor clung to her, holding her close to his chest as he stroked the length of her hair. Sansa sensed he was struggling to find his words, and so she remained quiet, tracing small circles through the hair on his chest as she waited.

"You are mine now, little bird, and I'll not give you up." She finally heard him rasp, his voice choked with ill suppressed emotion. After regaining control of himself, Sandor continued, "I'm going, north might be, could be. I could take you with me."

His words came out so softly that Sansa thought for a moment she misheard him. Going? Where is he going? Rising up, she whispered, "What did you say?"

"I'll not let you stay here another night. I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?" Sandor's eyes searched her face eagerly, the man desperately cleaving to hope as he awaited her answer.

"I want to be with you," Sansa leaned up and tenderly kissed him, "wherever you go."

Incredulous, Sandor tipped her face up to his. "What are you saying? You would stay with me even if I didn't take you to Winterfell?"

She nodded.

Sandor's eyes narrowed incredulously. "Bloody hells, you mean it; the truth is in your eyes."

"I do mean it." Sansa caressed his cheek while holding his gaze, willing him to see the love she felt in her heart for him. "I'll not give you up, either. I have fallen in love with you, Sandor; I wish never to be parted from you."

Sandor made a choked sound as he buried his face in her hair, clinging to her with all his might. He made love to her again, holding her gaze as he did so. Later that same night, Sandor stole her out of the castle with surprising ease.

They said their vows in front of the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep, forever binding themselves to each other in the sight of the gods and men. Two months later, they found Arya hiding among a group of 20 recruits for the Night's Watch and Sandor convinced Yoren to allow him to take her to Riverrun. A hound will die for you but never lie to you. True to his word, Sandor did not allow Joffrey to hurt her ever again. He kept her safe and killed any man who tried to hurt her. More than that, Sandor reunited her with her family.

Sansa was stirred to the present when Edmure led them through two heavily leaved doors. Smiling, her mother took her by the hand and guided her into a large room filled with tapestries embroidered with the bounties of the Riverlands, a large river rock fireplace and huge bathing tub.

Moving away from Sandor, she smiled politely. "Thank you uncle, this is a lovely room. Sandor and I are most grateful for your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it, Sansa," he smiled amiably. "I doubt the meeting between your father and brother will be a short one. What say I send up your dinner directly?"

Sansa was grateful that Edmure, her mother and Jeyne all were seemingly oblivious to the lustful gaze Sandor was casting over her. "That would be most welcome, Uncle; thank you."

"Oh, can me and Gendry have our dinner too?" Arya bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently

Catelyn admonished her immediately. "Arya, it is correct to say, 'May Gendry and I have our dinner served as well?'"

Arya rolled her eyes. "Uncle knows what I mean, Mother."

Laughing, Edmure nodded. "Of course, Arya."

"You have been through a most trying ordeal, Sansa. Please, try to get some rest. We will bid you goodnight." Lady Catelyn kissed her on both cheeks, and Arya followed suit.

Finding herself alone with her husband for the first time in three moons thrilled Sansa, and as soon as he barred the door she flew into his arms. Smiling shyly, she led him toward the bay windows and stared out at the deep green water churning below. "Sandor, look at the water below-it is as green as the foliage! The view here is so very beautiful."

"Aye that it is," he rasped into her ear.

The feel of his warm breath caressing her neck sent a familiar shiver of anticipation through her body. Sansa leaned into his embrace. "At last we are alone!"

Sandor nuzzled into her neck and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Tell me about the pressing matter that needs my attention, little bird."

Shyly Sansa traced his forearm with her finger. "It is I, my love, who needs your attention." Drawing his head down to her lips, she shyly whispered, "Let us lie down for a bit, shall we?"

Startled by her boldness, Sandor rasped out a harsh laugh and carried her to the bed.