A/N: I've marked the begining of a scene with (*) If you want, you can listen to The Capercaillie song "The Tree" while reading it until the next (*). You can look for it in youtube.

CHAPTER 20

SANSA

The day the first raven arrived, the little beams of sunlight filtering through the clouds melted the Wall the same way Sansa's hopes had been melting as days went by.

That day, Jon and she were studying the map again at the Lord Commander's Keep, thinking of ways to reach Winterfell and considering possible strategies. Although it would be worth nothing if the help they needed didn't arrive. Sansa had waited, confident news would come, but after four long days of silence, her initial expectations and illusions were fading little by little. So when Clydas knocked timidly at the door and entered with a little scroll grasped tight between his fat fingers her heart stopped beating for several seconds before they opened and read it together.

She had been aware that King Stannis had watched them closely everyday day since the twelve ravens left; there was always a king's man near them or watching Sandor's training, which left her little time to be alone with any of them without being under suspicion. So it didn't shock her when, barely moments after Clydas had left Jon's chambers, several of the King's knights asked to accompany her at the King's request.

"My Lady," Stannis welcomed her. As usual, he was surrounded by a great part of his court, "I've been told you have been exchanging some correspondence since our last meeting."

"Yes, your Grace," she answered cautiously.

"I was already warned you would do a move against me. I don't like people plotting behind my back."

"Pardon me, but my concerns should not affect you. It is for my own interests that I am working."

"I offered you my help. I offered you to recover Winterfell in your name; and you refused," Stannis hissed through clenched teeth.

"The offer was not made in terms of my convenience, your Grace, you already know that."

"And what terms are those, you proud girl? You have nothing to bargain with except yourself. Sooner or later you will have to marry to make an alliance."

"I still have my House Name and a fair claim. And it seems to me this should be enough for loyal men to join my cause."

She handed him the little paper roll she carried in her pocket, the first one of the ravens that had returned. Stannis unrolled it and read:

"My Lady Stark,

The North Remembers. My swords are yours.

Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour"

Sansa waited quietly until the King returned it to her.

"Now maybe we could talk again if you wish, your Grace," she offered.

"Talk about what?" Ser Patrek suddenly exclaimed from the corner of the room, "About sending a few northerners to die at Winterfell gates? You have nothing to do against the Bolton forces! Marry me," he added with a lustful grin, "and you'll have my knights at your service."

"There you have your answer, Lady Sansa," Stannis agreed "Become his wife and you'll get what you need."

"I'm afraid this is not negotiable," she answered without looking at the man who had just spoken. "My father died supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. He did what he thought was right and paid for it with his life. Your Grace, I also ask you to do the right choice now. You know I'm not alone in my cause anymore. Help me to recover my father's home, and you'll have my word that Winterfell will back you. Do what is right."

Stannis fixed his iron gaze in her for a long moment, during which the atmosphere grew dense. The red woman who was always by his side leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear while he didn't take his eyes off Sansa. The King finally nodded.

"I'll give you fifty knights, no more. And I wish your word to be as strong as your father's."

"You won't regret this decision."

Sansa smiled and bowed her head as a growing whispering filled the room. But before she left the King's chambers, she could see in the corner of her eye how Ser Patrek's face darkened with anger.

The Lord Commander waited for her outside with a straight face.

"Stannis knows, right?" Jon asked worried.

"Yes, I showed him Manderly's letter. Then I convinced him to help me."

"Really? How?"

"I recalled to him that father died for him. At least he owes me that. He promised me fifty knights, though I know that isn't enough. We'll need more men."

Jon handed then to her another message. "This one came while you parleyed with Stannis. I haven't opened it yet."

Sansa unrolled it quickly devouring the words. "It's from Cerwyn Castle. Jonelle Cerwyn is coming with a group of men to Castle Black to meet me!" She smiled and hugged her brother. "Oh Jon, could it be true that I can really do this?"

"I hope so, Sansa," he muttered. "I think you should tell Clegane too." Sansa agreed and hastened to the training yard.

Since Jon asked him, Sandor Clegane had been training the black brothers every day at the courtyard, along with Grenn. There was a growing respect for him from the boys as the days went by; they feared his temper and his hard lessons covered them in bruises at the end of the day, but they also valued his advice and respected his experience. And it seemed their skills were improving under his teaching. Sansa watched from a reasonable distance how he made them fight one against the other as he yelled instructions and mockeries alike. When he finally noticed her, she raised her fist holding the two little letters and smiled at him. He twisted his mouth into a sort of grin and nodded in understanding before continuing his task.

(*) That evening Sansa's sweet voice filled the Common Hall again. Florian and Jonquil, The Dornishman's Wife, Seven Swords for Seven sons, The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, the King Took Off His Crown... The festive songs reflected her mood and she sang for long; almost all the ones she could remember. The men cheered and joined her until their throats ached, clapping and following the melody as they pounded the ground with their feet. She laughed, answered petitions and joined them in the toasts. The wine went to her head making her giggle and she finally agreed to sing The bear and the Maiden Fair, realizing maybe for the first time of the naughty true meaning of its lyrics. She had to sing Six maids in a Pool twice and make up half of the lyrics of The Winter Maid as she could barely remember it. Even Tormund Giantsbane dared to sing The Last of the Giants with great success among wildings and black brothers. Though not once again she sang Sandor's song nor did he leave the Hall.

When she was certain she didn't know any more songs, she left discretely, leaving the men to sing on their own. (*) Once outside, Sandor reached her.

"You better not go alone, I guess more than one that is too happy tonight because of you."

"I am too," she told him. "Saw the letters I showed you? These are our way home. And I'm sure that's only the beginning."

"Yours, not mine" he growled, "I'll help you as much as I can, but I don't belong there."

"It could be your home too, if you wish," she offered. But as he didn't say a word they kept walking in silence toward Hardin's Tower while the cold air cleaned a little the effects of wine from her head.

Sansa was climbing the stairs before him but stopped half way and turned to face him. "It could also be your home," she blurted stubbornly, "How could I call Winterfell home again if there is no one that I love to share it with?" Only ghosts...why doesn't he want to understand?

The man stared at her intently as she smiled shyly and lifted her small hand to touch his face. He climbed one more step until he was at her height. His arms encircled her waist and lifted her as easily as if she was a child as she rested her face in his scarred neck and let him carry her to his place.

Once in his cell, Sandor took of his cloak and tunic and threw it to the floor before sitting on the edge of his cot.

"Undress. I want to enjoy the sight of you."

Lit only by the dim light of his room, Sansa undid the laces of her grown that fell to the floor followed by her undergarment, revealing her pale smooth skin. She had never been wholly naked in front of any man before. Feeling exposed, she tried timidly to cover her bare breasts with her hands but Sandor grabbed her wrists before she could.

"Sansa fuck! You are so fucking beautiful…"

He yanked her closer until she sat on his lap. Sansa encircled her arms around his broad shoulders as he pulled her closer and buried his face in the curve of her neck.

"I meant what I said to you," he muttered, his breath warm against her skin, "Every bloody single word. And if you want me to stay at the damn Winterfell, I'll stay."

Sandor stroked her back from her neck to her buttocks and then his hand slid from her waist to her breasts. She simply let him go, allowing her body to enjoy what it had longed for the last nights. He cupped her left breast in his calloused hand and then grabbed her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rubbed it before licking it carefully and thoroughly; first one then another, until both of her nipples hardened making Sansa moan. As his tongue's attention diverted to her throat, his right hand forgot her breast and slid between her inner thighs, searching cautiously until his middle finger found her soft spot and began to brush it with gentle circular motions. She shuddered at his touch but when her mouth opened to gasp, he covered it with his own lips while his tongue battled its way down her mouth.

She had tangled her fingers in his thick black hair letting him guide her to that unknown place where the hand between her legs and his tongue were leading her. A warm pleasure was beginning to fill her and when Sansa's body started to shiver slightly and her breath quickened, Sandor removed his hand. He licked his finger and grinned before lifting her and laying her over the cot. From there, she watched how he devoured her whole body with eager eyes while undoing the laces of his breeches. They fell to the floor revealing for the first time to her eyes his naked body in all its magnificent and tragedy—a powerful chest and strong arms and legs crossed with countless deep wounds and scars—the marks that had shaped the Hound's persona and Sandor's facade for years. Sansa admired his overpowering body silhouetted against the light provided by the two candles on the table, and slowly raised her hand to him as an invitation to shorten the distance between the two of them. Sandor approached the cot and resting his elbows on either sides of her he loomed over her body until his skin covered all of hers and his face was all she could watch.

"You can't even imagine the things I want to do to you..." he whispered with dark voice.

Sansa couldn't, of course, she was just an inexperienced woman, what she knew instead was how her body wanted that man who had lusted and respected her for so long. She felt the weight of his massive body against hers, his hot breath over her breast as he leaned to kiss her neckline and his hand searched again the wetness between her thighs. She felt the pressure of his manhood, hot and hard over her thighs and how that aroused her. Sansa's hand made him raise the head from his breast and looked him in the eyes.

"Show me."

If it was a plea or a command, she couldn't know for certain. Slowly spreading her legs, she glimpsed a quick mischievous grin on his face before he licked her nipple again. Her hands grabbed his arms as her body arched forward; offering herself to him, seeking every inch of skin that could be in touch with. When Sandor settled on top of her, she saw how he took his manhood in his hand and rubbed it against her moist folds before it found its route inside of her. Both of them moaned; his was a guttural howl of pleasure, hers only a shy soft exhale, and when he began to move inside her, it didn't hurt as much as the first time, though sometimes it seemed he could easily split her in two if he wanted. Sandor's thrusts were strong and hard but she also was aware of how he was watchful of every one of her expressions and sounds. He frowned as he stared at her; the movement of their hips adjusted and they moved together again and again and again... Sansa smiled to ease his worries and threw her head back, closing her eyes and letting all her senses be quenched by him. He laid over her kissing her neck and lips once again. Instinctively she lifted her legs and pressed her knees hard against his hip. Sandor moaned with desire and grabbed one of her buttock with his hand pressing her hips closer and leading his manhood further inside of her. Sansa's world vanished then; there were no other sounds than their heavy breaths, no other smell than that of their sweaty bodies, no other sight than his face and no other feeling than the heat and tingle that raised from the bottom of her body spreading all along her being. She wondered if she would melt right there between his arms, if she would blend with him and Sansa would simply disappear to become just a little part of him. A wave of pleasure shook her and she pressed her body tighter to his and sunk her small fingers in his back—as he'd told he'd like her to do—fearing and lusting for her release to come.

"Sansa..." he panted in her ear.

In a tiny moment of lucidity she thought she loved the sound of her name through his scarred lips and she wished he said it more often. Then Sandor embraced her and lead her right to a moment where her body seemed to explode, shaking hard, and her mind seemed to get lost in thousands of different feelings. Her lips parted in a long complaint of pleasure that was silenced by his heavy hand over her mouth.

"Shhhh... do you want the entire Castle to know, little bird?"

While she was still lost in the last waves of her pleasure he gave her a few more hard thrust, his body and legs tensed, he groaned and fell undone over her finally finding his release. Panting heavily, he went out of her and rolled to his side; though this time he reached out his arm and pulled her to him. Sansa nuzzled against him while their breaths calmed little by little one against another without saying a word.

She didn't know it was possible to feel so much and wondered if he was aware of what had just happened between them, if it had been something as strong for him than for her. Sansa looked at him searching his eyes for an answer to her thoughts. What she found disturbed her; his sight, so many times filled with anger, lust or mockery glowed now with something she wasn't sure to understand. He stroked her cheek with his knuckles; she smiled at him and rested her face on his shoulder. There was so much peace in that moment... it was like a little bubble out of time where only they lived—their little private place of safety. She brushed his chest absently and then turned to him to embrace him. Their legs tangled and their bodies shivered with the renewed touches and they remained so for long.

"Little bird..." he muttered at some point against her temple.

She thought again if that was how it was meant to be between a man and a woman; the silent current of understanding between two people, the way in which one person guides the other step by step so none of them were ever alone again. Sansa wondered if a man like Sandor Clegane, despite his harsh vision of the world could also notice that little moment of beauty they were sharing, if he would feel less alone now that he had her. She hoped so. She thought he deserved to. She had once known a girl who would expect words of love and promises in those moments, but the woman she was now didn't. The way he was holding her now—cradling her into his body so tight it seemed he feared she was going to fly away—told her everything she needed to know. Perhaps something similar to love had settled silently between them and would enlighten their lonely lives. She hoped so. They deserved to.