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CHAPTER 18

SANDOR

"I am the crude sap of a spring field,

I climb the sand and see how they yield.

Tell me what you see in my gestures,

Now look at yours to see what you're doing.

I'm like the rain, I splatter when I fall.

Tell me what you see under my lips,

Now look at yours to see who deceives."

The melody filled the Common Hall as the song held dozens of hard men spellbound. The words were more than simple music—they were like a magic spell, that soothed hearts and let minds travel to an unknown land, where no man had set foot so far—and Sansa Stark was the sorceress that had made it possible. She stood at the main table, sharing the song with them as if it was something unimportant; simple words that just flowed from her lips to the world like the most natural thing. But it wasn't. It was strange and different, and every inch of Sandor's body knew it was meant for him.

He'd been late for dinner, and could only find a seat at one of the bottom tables, but even from there he could hear clearly how she had offered to sing a song during dinner time as a gesture of gratitude for letting her stay there. "I hope it lets you forget your hard day, at least for a few minutes," she had said, and all of them had cheered her, as there were not many distractions to enjoy at the Wall. She had explained that according to the tale her Old Nan told her, thousands of years ago a wilding man disguised as a bard, had sung this song at the Winterfell Hall to seduce the Lord of the Keep's youngest daughter. He told her he had learnt it beyond the Wall, from the elders of the village he lived in, and it was supposed to be an ancient lyric that the first men had learnt from the children of the forest. Whatever it was, he had never heard it before; but Sansa's voice was crystal and its unusual prose and rhythm had left knights, wildings and black brothers dazzled alike. Only she was singing it just for him. He knew it with the same certainty he could still feel the ache he had under his breeches when she left. When she stood to sing, her eyes had flown over the Hall and she had smiled mischievously when her gaze had dropped absently on his. His skin still soared where she had touched him. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly he almost didn't let her leave his cell… and she wanted him too. Who in the seven hells would know why, it made no sense for him, but Sandor wasn't going to question it even once. So many things hadn't made sense for so song he didn't fucking care anymore.

"I don't care if it's yes or not, I control the game,

But not in your eyes, in them I left my life.

And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?

If in your pupils I left my chambers within.

I don't care if it's hot or cold, I control my wounds

But not in your eyes, in them I left my life.

And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?

If in your pupils I left my chambers within"

He drank another gulp of brown ale from his flagon as the song—his song—covered the atmosphere with a veil of unreality; like they were in a bubble out of time, not at a frozen and forgotten place nobody in the Seven Kingdoms cared about. Sandor realized he was frowning in disgust at the men that surrounded him; all of them were staring at her between awestruck and lustful. She is mine!, he thought in an abrupt burst of anger. Did any of them know what she really needed or wished? Who really cared for her, not for her family name? No one. Many of them would marry her just to try to claim Winterfell, ignoring her after, and many others would have raped her if they had the opportunity to meet them on the road.

He was bringing the cup to his lips again when a southern knight sat on the bench next to him. Sandor had seen him around Castle Black sometimes, always next to the Queen. Ser Patrek of whatever, he was called.

"Nice song, and beautiful singer," he said softly, pointing at her with his chin, though Sandor didn't even look at him. He was still listening to her, it was his reward and he deserved to enjoy it.

"I'm like a chord that holds a story,

I'm a mess, as hell and glory.

Tell me what you see under my armor,

Now look at you to see what you're hiding.

I'm like a cloud before the clap of thunder,

Sometimes I'm the hunger, I hurt when I appear

Tell me what you see under my fur."

"I bet there is honey sweet under that garment," the man said smacking his lips and waving his head like he was undressing her with his eyes. Sandor held the instinct to smash the mug in his face and break that ugly nose of his, but it seemed the man wasn't done yet. "Anyway, I'll find out soon, when Sansa Stark is my wife," he finally said with a nasty smile.

Sandor snorted and drank again, "Keep dreaming man, that will never happen!"

"Oh, but it is happening! King Stannis had betrothed the Stark girl to me this same afternoon."

Blood ran cold through Sandor's veins, "What the hell…?" he could barely mutter as he finally turned to look at the man.

"Didn't you know?" Ser Patrek made a weird chuckle with his mouth and he realized he had provoked the situation on purpose and was enjoying Sandor's confusion. "His brother knows it too, it's a shame they didn't tell you about their plans to recover Winterfell."

Then he finally understood. Her refusal to talk about the meeting, the worried look she had when he discovered her at his door—that was all about her marriage. But then why come to his room, why let him kiss and touch her, why the wordless promise, why the song, WHY?

Sandor stared at Sansa again as she sang the chorus beautifully, smiling at him as she had been doing the whole night, so beautiful that looking at her hurt. But now he could feel a pit in his stomach.

"I don't care if it's yes or not, I control the game,

But not in your eyes, in them I left my life.

And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?

If in your pupils I left my chambers within.

I don't care if it's hot or cold, I control my wounds

But not in your eyes, in them I left my life.

And if I lose sight of them, where would I live?

If in your pupils I left my chambers within"

The song. The bloody buggering song. So warm, so meaningful, so full of veiled promises he couldn't take it anymore. And he realized he could neither bear those men any longer, as he couldn't bear the thought of any other man being with her. He finished his flagon and rose to leave, but not before taking another full flagon from a black brother who sat next him. He felt he was going to need it.

"I'm sorry man!" he heard Ser Patrek saying in a mocking tone as he walked toward the door seeking for fresh air.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Sansa's glaze followed him, but he didn't dare to look back. He was angry, disappointed and empty and he knew for certainty he couldn't look her in the eyes again, so he left the Common Hall without looking back. The night was cold and windy and the song that once was meant for him was about to end.

"And I left over your belly my pillow,

And I left my future written in the trunk of a weeping willow…"

Sandor leaned against the wall of a nearby building and finished the flagon of ale in one long swig. Even from the outside he could hear as the men cheered Sansa's performance, whereas deep inside him, he hated them all. He walked away from the building and noticed that his steps were clumsy and his eyes were blurred. Dammit! I'm getting drunk…

He hadn't walked but a few steps when he heard footsteps approaching hastily. Of course, it had to be her. She couldn't leave him alone even at that fucking moment.

"Sandor, please wait!" she called to him "Why did you leave so suddenly?"

He kept walking, trying to not turn to look at her, but she hurried and finally reached him. He made an effort to look up at her and when he did he saw the reflection of his anger in her eyes. She was scared of what she was seeing in him.

"What has happened? I thought you'd like the song…" she said in her usual kind voice.

"Why don't you better go and ask to your new husband?" he reproached her bitterly.

Her eyes opened wide and they shone in the moonlight "I-I'm so sorry you heard that but it's not…" she tried to explain.

"Stop apologizing girl, you're always fucking sorry for everything! Be getting used to assume what you do!" he barked at her.

"B-but it's not true!" she stammered.

Sandor grabber her arm and dragged her to a dark area of the courtyard, out of sight of onlookers.

"Such a pretty thing and still such a bad liar! After all you have endured, haven't you learnt to lie better, little bird?" he growled as his iron fingers clenched her forearm.

"Please, Sandor, you're hurting me…let me explain…" she begged. She looked scared of him again, which fed his anger.

"Did you enjoy singing tonight? Well, great for you! For now on you'll only have to sing for that stupid knight of the Queen! But tell me little bird, when you came to my room, what was that about? Was it your farewell, the way you thought a dog must be paid for his services?" he snarled while he shook her by the arm as if trying to shake out an answer out of her.

"No! You are not being fair, I-I'd never…I just…" she muttered with tears filling her eyes "I didn't mean that!"

"Bah! Lies over lies…" He said before finally free her arm. He stepped back and turned to walk toward the stables, away from her.

"W-where are you going…?"

"Somewhere; anywhere away from this place. I'm sick of all of you. You stay to play knights and ladies with the king and your brother, bet they'll enjoy it," he snarled angrily. I should never have let you leave my room today… His unsteady steps led him to the stables, where he saddled Stranger and rode through the main gate.

Sansa stood paralyzed as she watched his hulking figure disappear into the darkness. After a few moments of shock, she cleaned her tears and walked to the stables with cautious steps. She tried to quiet her heart, though she feared what she was going to discover there. She had felt so clearly his disappointment, his jealousy, his frustration…he exuded so many harmful feelings that she had recalled the times he still lived at the Red Keep. But the worst were his eyes...it'd been so long since his eyes weren't so full of rage! He'd scared her so much she couldn't even find the right words to explain to him what had really happened. If only he had listened to her!

Her legs faltered when she finally found out Stranger's stables were empty, from both rider and horse. He's gone, she realized. Suddenly the certainty of his absence filled the air with heaviness and pain. Her shoulders weighed as if they carried a heavy burden. She took a few steps toward a hidden dark corner where no moonlight entered. Lowering herself over the ground covered with straw, Sansa pulled her knees to her chest and huddled as warm tears began to fill her eyes. She cried silently, feeling an overwhelming loneliness nobody but her would understand. She had never felt so little and defenceless.

He's gone. He is gone. He is gone...

Stranger ran like a thunder through the main gate into the darkness as his rider spurred on his flanks mercilessly forcing him to run faster and faster. Night was cold and his heavy breath swirled in small white clouds around his snout as they rode down the King's Road. Nobody tried to stop them and that was for the better; Sandor Clegane's mood was such that he would kill anyone who tried.

Bugger Stannis! Bugger Snow! Bugger all the inflated bastard knights who ever lived in this bloody Realm!

WWWWWOOOOORGH!

His howl echoed all around the road until his throat sored. Didn't the woods know his world was falling apart? Didn't anyone care? Bugger me! Stupid old dog, you're such a fool! Her brother had already told him that someday she'll marry someone worthy of her, but who would have thought it'd be so soon? And why didn't she tell him by herself? Maybe she feared his reaction, though who doesn't? He was a man to be afraid of, that was the way it had always been. Only sometimes she'd managed to make him feel... something unexpected he hadn't ever dared to imagine before. But the reverie was over now and the rough reality had taken its place.

Damn you girl. Damn you!

If only he could hate her! That would make everything easier. Though that was impossible.

He'd heard that some nights the black bothers left Castle Black and went to a small village called Mole's Town to dig for "buried treasures" so he decided to go there. Everything could go to hell; I need a good sour red wine. Or a whore. Or a fight.

Mole's Town's main tavern was easily recognizable because of the red lantern that hung over the door. Sandor tied Stranger outside and came in. The place sucked even more than the inn where they stopped to sleep during their journey. It seemed that was a lifetime ago. He sat on a bench next to the fireplace and quickly a dirty woman came to sit on his lap.

"Does my Lord need something?" she asked wickedly showing her black rotten teeth as she tried to smile. Sandor found her repulsive.

"Bring me wine" he ordered pushing her off him. The woman stumbled back and rushed to the kitchen. He spat on the ground and drank in one gulp the cup she brought him. Though it sucked, he ordered a flagon; he needed it. What else could he do? He had nowhere to go and getting drunk was as good as any other plan.

The hall was occupied by some of the worst people someone could meet. The girls were ugly and skinny and their dresses threadbare, but the worst was the smell; they all smelled of mold and sweat. As he emptied the jar and watched those women, he couldn't help thinking back on that evening. All his scars seemed to hurt even more now that the little bird's lips had claimed them. He put his hand over his side again and felt an unbearable pain where once she had managed to grow something warm. Now that root had been abruptly torn and there was nothing but a bloody hole. Dammit! I deserved it for being so stupid! Her gentleness, her warmth, her body…the trail of good things her presence gave off wherever she was, was never meant for him. So then, that was it? Everything they had gone through together would end that way? The idea of her marrying another man again made him feel sick. She was mine! My little bird!

He finished the wine and rose. The room was blurred now and his steps unsure. He stumbled against the table and one of the women came and took his arm to lead him. Bloody buggering hell, I'm drunk as a dog…

"Night is cold, my Lord, don't you prefer to stay here with some company?" she whispered as she tried to undo the laces of his breeches. Sandor looked at her making an effort to focus his gaze, "Leave me alone, woman!" he growled as he got rid of her hands. He wobbled when he reached the door and the wind hit his face. He managed to take the bridles of Stranger, but when he tried to put a foot on the stirrup he lost his balance and fell backwards on the ground. The hit put his stomach at the back of his throat and he had to roll to the side to vomit. When he was done, he cleaned his mouth with the back of the hand and somehow managed to creep to lie against one of the walls of the tavern. That's what is left of me, a drunken old dog longing for a woman too good him. When did you become such an idiot as to fall for her, uh? he mocked at himself. Bah, I should have died by the Trident…

Sandor breathed deeply and shut his eyes. He saw her glancing at him with a conspiratorial smile; good morning!, she said as a snowflake landed on her nose. Then she huddled against his chest and grabbed his tunic. I'm just a woman who needs to be cared and cuddled…He reached his hand and it seemed to him that he touched her hair. Sandor… She called him as her soft fingertips stroked his face and she was smiling again at him, her eyes half-closed as she usually did when she was happy. I don't want to be anywhere else…He kissed her lips hungrily and fucked her a thousand times in his mind until he had to give a hard punch to the ground to escape from those ravings. I wish I'd have never let you leave my room! I should have fucked you all night before leaving you to that buggering knight!

A sobbing sound reached his ears and it took him a few seconds to realize it was his.

Hard kicks on his feet made Sandor squirm in dreams.

"Grrrrrr…" he complained, still asleep.

"Clegane!"

"GRRRR…"

"Come on Clegane, wake up!"

Suddenly a stream of cold water fell over his head and forced him to sit up on the ground. Grenn and Pyp stood in front of him; the latter was holding in his hand a wooden bucket whose content was now poured over Sandor's head and shoulders.

"What the hell?!" he snarled.

"Look at you man, you look like you've been to hell and back!" Grenn mocked him.

Sandor threw a furious gaze at them, though they might be right. Covered in dust and mud, his head seemed to be about to break at any moment. He looked around, even though it wasn't dawn yet, he'd lost the sense of time and wasn't sure how many hours he'd spent sleeping outside.

"What are you doing here? Did Snow order you to come to meet some girls?" he asked.

"Sansa Stark. Is she with you?" Grenn directly inquired.

"What?" He frowned at the men, "Fuck, no! Why would she come to this filthy place?"

"So where is she? What have you done to her?" the boy asked again.

"Bugger you! I've done nothing! Can't a man have a drink alone? Bet she's still sleeping!"

"No, she isn't," Pyp cut him off. "Jon looked for her after dinner, but couldn't find the girl and nobody had seen her since then. She hasn't even used her room tonight. Satin saw your horse leaving Castle Black, so Jon asked us to find you. It's taken us a while though."

Sandor's head began to clear a little. He'd left her at the Wall—alone. A wave of guilt took over him. If something happened to her because he wasn't there…

"The Lord Commander gave us orders to take you back. You have to come with us," Grenn ordered. Sandor didn't give a shit about Jon's commands, but he was worried about what they'd just told him, so he agreed and rose for his horse.

The way back to the Wall was very different from what had been the night before. It was at least two hours before dawn and the bluish-white sky light spread along the King's Road. He felt dizzy as he rode, and had to stop to vomit again under the men vigilance. When they could make out the Wall, his stomach already felt a bit better.

The Castle was quiet and with little movement at that early hour, save for Jon Snow, who hurried to reach them when they'd just crossed the main gate.

"Where's Sansa?!" he confronted Sandor as soon as he set foot on the ground—his face a mask of seriousness, but with anger in his eyes. "Where is she?!"

Sandor frowned angrily at him. "Why don't you ask her betrothed, Snow?"

Without warning, Jon delivered a hard blow to Sandor's jaw that his numbed reflex couldn't avoid, and that made him step back. When he regained his balance, he had to spit a little blood before speaking again.

"The man told me last night," Sandor snarled, bringing his hand to his jaw and looking at him with icy eyes. "He said they were getting married, and that you agreed so you can recover Winterfell!"

"Are you jealous Clegane? That's what all this is about? I never thought you were so foolish! For the Old Gods, I asked you to watch her!" Jon reproached him contemptuously; "Stannis wants her to marry one of the Queen's knights but she rejected him in front of the whole court. Sansa left him exposed, and now the King is furious."

Sandor stared at Jon as all the pieces fell into place, and everything began to make sense. Sansa had tried to tell him, but he was so mad at her he didn't want to listen. He felt ashamed and remorseful.

"She's not going to marry anyone," Jon continued, "I tried to convince her yesterday evening that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, but she stood her ground. Sansa is stubborn; she said she preferred to run away before marrying again."

"Of course she doesn't want to marry," Sandor muttered, suddenly realizing the truth. "she hasn't managed to arrive here alive to get involved in a marriage that she neither wants nor needs."

"She won't marry anyone while you're with her," Jon stated with a worried look. "She hasn't told me, but I sense it. I bet Ser Patrek wanted to provoke you so you would leave, and she would be left without her only ally. With you out of the game, it'd be easier for the King to force her to do what he wants. And you played it."

The boy was damn right; Sandor had fallen into the trap like a rat. The two men held their gaze for a moment—both were concerned about what these new circumstances could lead to. But the worst feeling was the shame; the knowledge of how he'd treated her last night, the things he'd said during his burst of anger. He'd been a complete arsehole.

"Last time I saw her was after the dinner," Sandor admitted.

"Clegane, we need to find her first, before…"

"Lord Commander!" suddenly Satin called, "Please, come here!"

They ran to the stables, where the boy stood balancing nervously, bouncing from one foot to another. When they reached him, he pointed silently to the bottom corner of the stable. Her slim figure was barely visible; huddled as she was she seemed another small shadow at the corner of Stranger's place. Sansa was wrapping her arms around her legs, and she had buried her face between her knees. Sandor's blood went cold and he stepped towards her, but he was quickly stopped by Jon's firm hand against his chest and a shake of his head. "You stay here for now," he ordered firmly. Sandor growled but he remained outside.

Jon walked into the stable and squatted in from of her. "Sansa," he asked quietly,touching her shoulder gently, "Sansa, are you ok?"

Slowly, she lifted a sad face and looked at him through swollen eyes.

"Jon?" She frowned trying to distinguish who he was.

"Aye. Are you ok? Why have you been here all night?"

"Oh, Jon!" she moaned. "He's gone. He's left me alone. He was so angry with me… I-I tried to talk to him but…" she stammered as the whimper began again.

"Shhhh…don't worry Sansa, everything will be fine," He smiled at her comfortingly as he cleaned the tears from her cheeks. She sniffled sadly. "But first you need to rest properly and get warm; it's frozen here and you are shivering." She nodded slightly and closed her eyes as she rested her head over her knees. Jon rose and waved a hand to Satin who approached quickly.

"Take lady Sansa to her cell and make sure one of the stewards lights her fireplace. Hurry up!" he ordered.

The boy bent to pick her up and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and buried her face in his chest absently while he took her outside the place.

Sandor had heard everything, he could even glimpse her just for a second, and her unhappy face stuck in his mind. He watched helplessly how the boy walked towards Hardin's Tower, carrying her in his arms. He wanted to be the one who did it; he wanted to tell her he was back, that he'd been a bastard and that he would never leave her again. But the only thing he could do was watch how they left without her even noticing his presence. It was dawning when Jon stepped out the stable.

"She'll be fine. Although she's shaking from the cold, she just needs to rest. And I'm going to regret saying this, but she needs you too." Sandor stared at him. He had also heard her and was very aware it was he who was to blame for the situation. "I don't want to know what happened yesterday, I don't ever dare to guess," Jon continued, his stare ice cold, "The only reason why I let you stay here is because of her. I don't care for the feelings you two have for each other, but I don't want this happening again. Stannis wants her to be another pawn in his war and I can't help her as much I'd wish. Do you truly care for her, Clegane? So dammit, act like a man! Take care of her and protect her even from yourself!"

Sandor's fingernails pierced his palms until it hurt. He clenched his teeth and looked away. He had no words for him, so he just nodded and walked back to his cell.

A few hours later, Sandor was knocking at her door. After washing the remains of his descent into hell from last night and changing into a clean loose tunic and breeches, he had been trying to find the right words for the moment when he met her, but he was not a man of arguments, and less of words of apology or regret. He didn't know what he could say; he simply wanted her to know he hadn't left. Sandor knocked again, though as nobody answered, he pulled open the door, and walked into the room. He gave a few a steps toward the bed and watched her. Sansa lay curled in the cot with her back to the door. She looked so little there, so vulnerable—and so alone. He sat on the edge of the cot and touched her shoulder carefully. When she still didn't react, he lay down beside her, his chest close to her back as he held her tight, and allowed his hand to rest on hers, now over her belly. Her slim body fit perfectly into his—his knee into the back of her knees, her hip into his abdomen, her waist the perfect curve for his arm to hug—and her warmth filled his own body making him shudder. Sandor buried his face into the soft waves of her hair as he pressed her tighter.

"Sansa," he muttered.

It's me. I'm here. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm a bastard; he knew he should say, though no words were able to come out of his mouth.

"Sansa…."

Please, forgive me. I'm not leaving you. I'll keep you safe. I'm so sorry… He tried to tell to her, but all he could pronounce was her name as a litany, the only plead of forgiveness his mind knew.

"Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa. Sansa…." He whispered, begged, mourned, and groaned to her with a tickly voice.

Finally he felt how her fingers gently interlaced with his, and she squeezed his hand. All of a sudden, they were in the woods once more, alone in the middle of nowhere, sharing their heat, trying not to freeze at night. And for the length of a heartbeat, it seemed there was nobody else but them in the world. Then her body began to shake slightly, before Sansa rolled slowly to his side, her hands clenched into little fists with which she gave desperate clumsy punches to his chest as she couldn't stop sobbing.

"Don't you ever leave me alone again!" she whimpered. "Never!"

As Sandor withstood her harmless blows, he enclosed her into his arms. His body seemed to swallow her whole until she finally stopped, exhausted from the helpless complaint, and she grabbed his tunic and snuggled against his chest. They remained that way for a few moments while he stroked her back gently, until the moan was over and her breath calmed.

"I never should have gone little bird," he muttered, against her crown.

When she pulled him just a little so she could look at him, her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks wet from tears, though he found her as attractive as ever.

"But you've come back," Sansa whispered with relief. "I should have told you as soon as I saw you, I just… I simply couldn't…" she apologized sadly.

Sandor wiped off the tears from her face with his thumb. "It's alright; your brother has already told me everything," he said before he let his hand slid to her neck and rest there.

She was so close he could only breathe the air that came out of her lungs. He got lost in her gaze, which was now confident in him again and he couldn't help but shiver. It was because of that gaze that he still was worthwhile; it reminded him that there was still a reason to live, someone who trusted him, who needed him. No only someone, but her.

"I'll be with you whatever your choice, until you ask me to let you go." He promised, and though it was a meager offer, it was the truth.

She looked at him very serious: "I won't marry him, Sandor, not even for Winterfell. He is… he is not who I want."

Their bodies were still attached to one another and he felt every inch of the little bird's against his. Despite having spent the night outdoors, she was still warm and beautiful—and she was in his arms. He knew he had surrendered to her long ago, but only now he realized that—sometime between Kings Landing and the Wall—she had also submitted to him. Sansa lifted a hand from his chest to brush a strand of hair from his face, allowing her fingers to rest over his neck when she finished the movement. She moved her face to his until their noses touched; then she fixed her eyes to his as if asking for permission before her lips pressed to his. That was the first time she kissed him for her own initiative and he pleaded to the Stranger it wasn't the last. Sandor opened his mouth to receive hers and kissed her back; keeping one hand on her neck and the other all along her back. He ate hers enjoying her taste, her scent, how she pressed slightly against him, the way she tangled her fingers into his hair. Every single movement of her body aroused him. He slid his hand down to her lower back and pulled her to him so her hips brushed against his abdomen. She opened her lips to gasp when she felt his cock against her thigh but he covered it again quickly with his, joining their tongues in an endless tangle.

They separated their lips just slightly to grab breath. Timidly, her fingers had slid from his head, running over his back and were now softly pressing his biceps. Her breast rose and fell as she tried to quiet her breath. She smiled nervously and bit her lower lip before meeting his stare. Sandor licked her lips again, this time a little less eagerly, and then diverted his attention to her neck. Feeling his excitement grow unbearably, he lifted a hand to touch one of her breasts. Even over the fabric of the dress, he felt its softness and how his massive hand covered it all, as he continued kissing and sliding his tongue through the silky skin of her neckline. Sansa gasped and pressed her fingers tighter onto his arms as Sandor caressed the nipple with his thumb; its hardness, along with her body pressed against him fueled his desire. He was already hard; she should be noticing it but said nothing to stop him—little gasps and moans being the only sound that came out of her lips.

He wanted her badly. He wanted to fuck her, to possess her, to know if she was wet; it was because of him, if her nipples would still be hard if he slid his cock inside of her. With skillful and unrefined manners, his hand left her breast to lift without any delicacy the skirt of her dress. He was sure his calloused palm scratched her skin as he caressed her tights until his fingers reached the fabric of her underwear and removed it to her knees. He knew he couldn't withstand it much longer; he was hard as a rock and lusted for her as for any other woman before. Leaning with one elbow on the mattress, he undid the laces of his breeches before setting his body over hers, adjusting his hips to hers. She let him do as he spread her legs and his hand led his cock through her inner thigh into the wetness that was welcoming him. Sandor closed his eyes and moaned at the pleasure of having her around him—the warmth, the wetness, the pressure and the cascade of feelings that being inside her caused in him. When he opened his eyes to look at her, he noticed her face winced in pain as a soft guttural groan left her half-open lips. Sansa went rigid as his eyes looked for hers. Her breathing was stirred, and though her hands still rested over his arms and she hadn't complained yet, she now looked troubled and uneasy. Sandor stilled, suddenly realizing what the cause of her anxiety was.

"Seven hells Sansa!"

She bit her lower lip again and blushed before avoiding his stare, "I already told you. Tyrion and I never… he never…" she mumbled visibly embarrassed.

Supporting his weight with both elbows on the cot at each side of her, Sandor loomed over her as gentle as he could, though he was sure he was still hurting her.

"Look at me, little bird," he said in his usual harsh voice an inch from her face. "I don't fucking care if you're still a maiden or if a hundred men of the Vale had already fucked you. I want you. I want you now and I'll still want you tonight. I want to make love to you night and day, every single day that my fucking life allows me to be next to you. I want to eat your lips and lick your nipples and make you wet with my hands. I want to learn every corner of your pretty little body and hear you moan in my ear. I want to feel your nails sunk in my back and how you tighten against me when you come, and hold you after you're done. I want to kill that bastard who wants to marry you so he can't dare to ever touch you, and ride to Winterfell and take it back all by myself if that means that you smile again and I can be with you one more day. So please little bird, look at me and grant me the honor."

When he finished, Sansa's blue eyes were staring intently into his, overwhelmed by Sandor's words, the closest to a statement of fierce loyalty and love he'd ever pronounced. She cupped his cheek and brought his face so close to hers that her lips brushed his.

"I want it too, I want it all…" she whispered. After kissing him again, her hips began to move up and down, slowly and tentatively at first, guided more by mere primal instinct than any kind of experience about what should be done, until Sandor's own movement matched hers. He moved unhurriedly, trying to be careful each time he slid in and out of her, though he knew that even with all his caution he was probably still being harsh and rude with her. She still grimaced and groaned a few more times, until her body got used to his weight and thrusts and her face relaxed. Sandor couldn't stand much more. When her first moan of pleasure slipped from her lips, he felt his self-control abandoning him. Giving her a few more hard and intense thrusts he came with a hoarse guttural growl. His body tensed for a few seconds, until he came out of her and rolled undone over the cot next to her. Panting, he shut his eyes and covered his face with his forearm trying to catch his breath. It'd been so long since he'd had sex with a woman that all he was able to offer now was a miserable and painful version of a fuck.

When his heartbeat quieted, he opened the eyes and turned his head to look at her. Sansa had put down her skirt and was lying by his side, still and silent, staring at him with anticipation—probably not knowing what was expected of her in those moments. He realized she had entrusted him with the most important gift she understood she could give him, and although he was aware he wasn't worthy of it, he kept that act of loyalty deep inside his heart. Sandor turned to her and enclosed her in his arms, pulling her close to him and brushing his hand up and down her back until she also calmed in his embrace.

"Little bird let me kill him. Let me kill the bastard".

She lifted her face and grinned, as if amused by his words. "No. If he dies, the King will sentence you to death and after that there will be another one he'd like me to marry."

"Then let's go. We have already done it. Let me find a safe place for you," he urged.

"That's what I'd like, but Stannis won't allow us to reach further than a mile from here, and he would send soldiers after us."

"What about your father bannermen? There must be someone still loyal to your House, someone who could help you."

"I'm so tired of hiding…" she answered, though then a smile lit her face, "but you're right. Why should I be pleading for help? My House has ruled the North for thousands of years. I'm sure there must be plenty of northmen still loyal to the memory of my father or my brother. I am still a Stark, a daughter of the North. I've being raised here, I belong here, and Winterfell belongs to the Starks."

Still between his arms, she raised a little to look at him.

"I can do it, Sandor. But I can only be strong enough if you are with me," she pleaded. "Maybe the time has come."

"The time for what?" he frowned.

"To play." Sansa stated with a smart spark in her eyes, "Play the game of thrones."

A/N:

* The song Sansa sings at the beginning of the chapter is a song from a Spanish songwriter called Carlos Chaouen called "My room in your pupils" (Mi habitación en tus pupilas) and I've done a free translation of it. I like it because it has a very subtle meaning about love and it pictures beautiful images in my mind.