After kissing him leisurely for a while, Sansa gently pulled away. Surprised, Sandor studied her closely.
"Can we not read the scroll first, my love?" Outwardly she appeared calm as she folded her hands in front of him, though her nerves betrayed her when she laced and unlaced her fingers fretfully. "I am most eager to see its contents."
Her words faded away as he focused on the movement of her pretty red mouth. She had worked him into quite a lather, nibbling and sucking on his lips and neck, matching his own hunger eagerly at every turn; and he knew it would take some doing to calm his raging erection and focus on her words. Clearing his throat, Sandor struggled to still his hands, which were currently roaming her curves.
Seeming to sense his mood, Sansa daintily rose and put on her robe. Sandor acutely felt the loss of her lush body pressed against him.
"Aye, we will. Come to me now," he patted his thighs distractedly.
Eagerly she returned to him.
After settling her on his lap in front of the fire, Sandor unrolled the letter. The first detail that drew his eye was that the scroll was addressed only to him. A surge of equal parts fury and anxiety rushed through Sandor's blood, and the man turned away so that he may read it in private first.
Though Sandor's abrupt actions undoubtedly made her more pensive, Sansa, ever the dutiful wife, silently took up her sewing in the window seat while awaiting his response. Glancing down at Lord Eddard's sprawling script, he began to read the contents to himself.
"Goodson,
Petyr Baelish has taken Lady Arryn to wife, and the Lannisters now control the Eyrie and the Vale. Word has reached us that a combined Lannister and Arryn army has been sent by Lady Arryn to search for Lady Sansa and Lady Arya. In a bid for Cersei's favor, Baelish called for Gregor Clegane to lead the search throughout the Vale, and Lord Tywin assented. The hill and mountain clans have rebelled against the soldiers and are gathering together to make a stand against the Mountain and his men. The fighting is fierce, so it is vital that you stay within the safety of the keep.
Your instinct as a man of war is to make a bid for escape. I understand that you also would wish to cause the death of your brother, goodson, but this is one time you must trust in the power of the old gods."
Apprehension transformed into a black fury within Sandor. Cursing under his breath, he lept to his feet and paced the room before continuing.
Shrinking, Sansa laid down her needlework and wrung her hands as she watched him.
"Easy, wife, I'm alright." He muttered before continuing his reading.
"Lord Reed is keeping you safe by reinforcing the glamour over the keep. Bran and Jojen are watching over the goings on there through greensight and skin changing. Lord Stannis' woman, Melisandre, a practicer of R'hllor, wants to help, she claims; however we Starks know no gods but the old gods of the forest and will not include hers in our matters."
"Bugger the Red priestess and her fire god." Sandor cursed out loud before he went on. "Stannis is a damned fool for trusting her."
"I cannot believe Father or Robb would be so easily swayed by her," Sansa quietly remarked while staring curiously at the scroll in his hand. "Is it not so?"
"You speak truly. But your father's been known to make less than wise choices in the past." When Sansa frowned, he added: "Bringing you and the hellion to capitol, for one."
"Must you always bring that up?" Sansa's lowered lip quivered.
Sighing, Sandor grunted. "I will until the day your safe and not a buggering moment before."
Abashed, Sansa lowered her eyes.
"I sent Jory Cassel and Lady Brienne to you, for I would trust no bird to carry such dark words to my own kin. Ser Jaime is to be used as a last resort; should Gregor Clegane prevail, the only hope of stopping him short of a blade through his neck is by the orders the captain of the Kingsguard, his liege lord's firstborn son."
Sandor snorted at that, the derisive sound drawing Sansa's attention to him once more.
"Sandor, I know well what your brother is capable of; understand me when I ask you, please, to do whatever you must to keep my daughters from suffering the same fate as Elia and her children."
A sharp shiver travelled through him then. Swallowing hard, he cast a short look at his lovely wife, the young woman trying so very hard to focus on her sewing and not on him.
"I swear it, Lord Eddard. Your buggering gods better not fail her." Sandor whispered beneath his breath.
"King Stannis and I have gathered the northern lords to join with them as well as other, less conventional armies. I will provide details about it when we arrive.
I fear Sansa and Arya will take this hard; so tell them carefully and for the love of the old gods, do not let them read the entirety of this letter. We need all the power of the Starks together at this time, and Jon Snow has joined us as well. We are a sennight's ride behind my messengers.
Reassure my daughters that Robb, Jon and I are coming for them and we are bringing all the might and power of the north with us.
May the old gods and the new save us all.
Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell
Sandor felt his mouth curl into a wicked snarl as he contemplated the implications of Lord Eddard's communication. Gregor coming to me, he shook his head. Well, then, let the bastard come. I'm ready for him.
The feel of Sansa's soft hand on his arm stirred him from his thoughts.
"Tell me, Sandor, please: I can bear it." Sansa appeared composed, though her hands trembled as she spoke.
"Your Aunt Lysa has gone and married Littlefucker." Sandor took her hands in his own, smoothing his thumbs over her knuckles soothingly. "She's sent soldiers to look for you and Arya."
"I do not understand," Sansa fretted in earnest, "Why would she seek us? She doesn't even know us."
"You never met her?" Sandor queried, the man mildly surprised. "I thought your family was closer than that."
"No, we never met. Lord Jon travelled to us once when I was little, but she did not accompany him. Father was relieved." Sansa shook her head, "She did something bad, that much I remember. Mother wouldn't tell us the details but Father expressly ordered us to stay away from her, should she arrive one day. I do not think Mother ever told Robb or Jon what happened, not even when they reached manhood. I cannot imagine why she would instigate such a search."
Frowning, Sandor outstretched his arms to his wife, and she readily entered his embrace. Gently he gripped Sansa tightly about the waist and drew her close to him.
"Little bird, I know of what your Father spoke. Your Aunt Lysa was unfaithful to your uncle. She loved the Master of Coin, and fucked Petyr Baelish whilst in the Red Keep. I can't say that he returned the tender feelings she obviously held for the man but he used her just the same."
"The Seven save me," Sansa placed a hand on her stomach, "You're certain of this?"
"Aye. Caught them in the act myself a few times." Sandor nodded severely. "Old Robert thought it a great joke on his Hand. Selmy and I had our doubts as to the true identity of Robert Arryn's sire, for the boy was so unlike Lord Jon in both temperament and looks."
"How so?" Sansa searched his face.
"Lord Jon was robust, broad shouldered and brave as anything, with blue eyes, blonde hair and an aquiline nose. Lady Lysa favors you and your lady mother, just as your brothers do," Sandor continued. "But Robert favors neither side."
"Lady Arryn is touched, it is widely known." Sansa quietly said, her eyes downcast. "Perhaps this is some wild random order of hers. Baelish is using her-"
"Never mind that now," Sandor spat out, "He knows I am here, a traitor to the throne, and that I have the sisters of the King in the North with me. We have a bastard of Robert's as well and that boy's mere existence threatens their claim to the Iron Throne. The Lannisters will stop at nothing to get to us-Baelish marrying your aunt is just the tip of it all."
Sinking into him, Sansa's face paled, making her hair stand out brightly against her pale skin. Sandor held onto her tightly, the scarred warrior veritably encircling her in his protective embrace, willing her to feel his devotion to her safety.
"The Mother have mercy on us and the Warrior protect us." She shuddered against him as she snuggled against his neck.
He sighed. "That worm Baelish used the affection your aunt holds for him to manipulate her into supporting the Baratheon claim to the Iron throne."
When Sansa began trembling in earnest, Sandor poured a tankard of wine and urged her to drink. Obediently she swallowed the contents, coughing and sputtering as she did so. When the color returned to Sansa's face once more, he went on speaking.
"As Lord Protector of the Vale, Baelish has convinced Lord Tywin to order Lannister soldiers to join the search for you."
"Good gods above," Sansa's eyes widened. "Tywin's men…you mean the Mountain, don't you? That is why Ser Jaime has come-that is why you turned so fierce just now-"
Sandor could not bring himself to confirm her words but it was clear Sansa saw through him.
"Your brother is looking for us," Sansa cried out. "You need not confirm it with words. I see it in your face."
"They won't hurt you or Arya, lass, I swear it on every one of your gods," Sandor's voice dropped menacingly, gripping her jaw tightly with one hand while he cupped the back of her head with the other. "Listen to me now: I swear to you that I will die before I let him hurt you or your sister, and I will go to the Seven hells and plunge my steel into the Stranger himself." Panting, Sandor struggled to control himself.
"I trust you, Sandor," Sansa answered quietly, resting her hands on his chest and rubbing them soothingly through the fine material of his tunic. "You will keep us safe."
The trust shining in Sansa's eyes cut straight to his heart. Clenching his fists, Sandor added: "We're not alone in this. Your father and brothers have rallied the Northern lords to come to your aid. "
"Our aid," Sansa gently corrected, burying her face in his neck once more and breathing him in. Feeling her warm breath on his skin sent another wave of protectiveness through him, and Sandor squeezed her close to his chest.
"We must hold them off. We must not allow any Lannister soldiers into our keep."
"Don't you fret, wife. Lord Reed, his son and your cripple brother are holding them off using some buggering magic." Sandor grit his teeth so hard he tasted blood, for it galled him to depend upon some mystical force that he neither believed in nor understood. "The rest of your father and brother's men will arrive shortly. Your menfolk are rallying an exclusive militia as well."
"Is that so?" Comprehension flickered through Sansa's bright eyes. Pursing her lips, she calmly stared into his confused gaze.
"You know what he speaks, don't you?" Sandor studied her closely. "I've not heard of such. Is it some elite northern force your father trained without Robert's knowledge?"
"Well, I am not certain how to explain it, but I think I understand him," Sansa hedged. "Did you ever learn of the Kings of Winter from your maester?"
Puzzled, Sandor thought a moment. "Aye, come to think of it, he did. They fought the so-called Warg King, a monarch and a skinchanger in the North after the Long Night. He was allied with the children of the forest, but they were defeated by the Kings of Winter of House Stark."
"Yes," Sansa nodded eagerly. "Yes, that's right. The Starks killed his sons, beasts, and greenseers, but took his daughters as prizes. Because of this, Stark blood carries within it the ability to warg."
"You mean, Starks can control animals through their minds?" Sandor wiped his face in disbelief. "The hells you say."
"Yes, it is true. Bran has the gift, I saw it myself. Arya too. Please don't get upset, my love." She held onto him. "We…we all have the gift, to varying degrees."
"What are you saying?" Sandor demanded, gripping her arms tightly. "You too have the gift?"
"I don't know. I lost my wolf," she replied sadly. "When she died, I felt it, that is all I can say."
"What do you think your father is about, Sansa?" Sandor was growing more alarmed by the moment.
"I'm not entirely certain myself," Sansa whispered as if to herself. "A long time ago, I remembered my father saying that when the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."
Sandor stared at her hard, but for the first time in memory, Sansa's demeanor gave no clue as to her thoughts. In fact, she seemed further away from him than he had ever seen her.
"Sansa, for fuck's sake, tell me-"
Distractedly Sansa drew in a deep breath and paced the room. "I must go pray, Sandor. It is the only thing I know to do-"
He could not mock her faith when she was so distressed. The man hurried next to her and wrapped his arms about her.
"No. Calm yourself. I cannot let you go in this state, lass," Sandor whispered against her ear. "Your gods bloody don't need you to tell them the bad that's happening, believe that."
"But what of Arya?" Sansa blankly stared into his eyes. "We must tell her. And we must ready the keep-"
"We will, wife," he led her to the bed, settling her back on the feather mattress and kneeling in front of her. "But for now, we rest. Let me hold you for a bit, lass; it will settle us both, and then I'll take you to pray."
Reluctantly, Sansa agreed. After they lay down, she immediately fell into a deep sleep, while rest eluded Sandor the rest of the afternoon.
