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CHAPTER 21

SANDOR / SANSA

This might be a delusion and when I wake up I'll be in the seven hells paying for my sins…

Sandor stared at Sansa lying by his side. He could barely believe what had happened to him during those last days. A woman like her was never supposed to lay eyes on someone like him, though there she was, peaceful and confident, her body pearled with sweat after allowing him to fuck her to the bones. As the Seven never gave a shit for him, it should be the Old Gods she so worshiped who had granted him the gift of her.

I think too much about gods, I'm getting old...

He would like to act the way he used to, when he'd been with a woman before—fucking her and then throwing her out of his room—to find something familiar to hold onto in all the madness, but not only could he not find the reason to follow the way the Hound would act, he realized he didn't want to. He had taken his time with her and had found pleasure in watching how she'd enjoyed his attentions. When she'd climaxed, barely moments before him, there had been a moment of dizziness in which he had bitten his tongue not to tell her some of those stupid words he was sure knights would tell their ladies in these moments. Would she like to hear them? He wasn't a man of such things, but he could say them if she asked him to. Such was her power.

Sandor brushed her back and hair and exhaled deeply, etching in his memory every single detail of what he'd just lived. The moment would pass, though he was certain the memory of what he had felt would haunt him to the grave.

"Did you ever imagine this would happen?" Sansa asked softly, "I mean you and... me..."

"I've fucked you a thousand times in my mind before today and I've thought about doing things to you that would embarrass the whores at Littlefinger's brothels. I still don't know how I controlled myself every night we spent together on the road having your body so close..." Like if I was a bloody true knight of those you like so much, he mocked at himself, "I tried to think of others things, other women, but all led me to you again. Not for a single moment did I dare believe it could come true."

Sandor glimpsed how her cheeks blushed, and couldn't help thinking how beautiful she was, even when she looked flustered.

"Have you been with many women before?" she dared to ask again, very cautiously. That was the first personal question she had ever asked him.

"A few," Sandor answered, glancing at the ceiling.

Sansa lowered her gaze. He looked at her, surprised by what he guessed was troubling her, "Whores, mostly. Some servants at Casterly Rock too," he shrugged, "Few of them dared to fuck me twice. And none dared to have my face near hers." He turned to face her closer, grinning,g "You're more fearless than them little bird. I grant you that."

Sansa look at him again, "You used to scare me too," she confessed, "Though it wasn't so much your face as your eyes; they were so full of wrath! It seemed you were always fighting against the entire world, always angry... But I didn't find any of that when we met again at the Quiet Isle."

She smiled, and then leaned in to kiss him, pressing her warm bare body into his. His arms enclosed her, pulling her even closer as they kissed and ate each other's mouth until their lips were bruised and swollen and their breaths stirred again. When they separated just slightly to grab breath, Sansa's hand molded tentatively to his arm before sliding it to his chest and then to his abdomen. Sandor followed her gaze, and was shocked again at the realization that she was admiring his body. She had already stared at him that way when he'd stood in front of her until she had invited him to lay with her. She had quenched in the sight of him as he had done before and that pleased him. It was true he was a huge mass of hard tight muscles, shaped by years of training and fighting, though he had never given a second thought about it; it was his nature and his brother's too, just another tool for his job. But the way she was looking at him now filled him with pride—the pride that she could find his body desirable and the pride of having her all to himself. The soft touching of her fingertips over his stomach turned him on; he wanted her hand to continue its way down his groin. The mere thought of those delicate fingers around his cock hardened him. Sansa should have noticed it, because the corner of her mouth rose into a slight smile. Sandor's hand left her back to grab hers and lead it where he wanted it to be right now, but stopped when he heard her murmuring something very low to herself.

"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..."

The bloody song. His hand stood still on top of hers while she hummed it very softly.

"If I lose sight of them, where would I live? If in your pupils I left my chambers within..."

Sandor interlaced his fingers with hers and held her hand tight against his chest as the hypnotic lyrics engulfed him once more.

"And I left over your belly my pillow..."

Her sweet voice faded as she fell asleep. This wasn't a situation he was used to, and somehow felt strange, but maybe for the first time in his wretched life he let her be and allowed himself to enjoy the pleasure of cradling a woman who cared for him into his arms. He recalled Elder Brother's words: the Hound might have done something right in his life to deserve her. And the man had been usually damned right.

"Little bird," he muttered, just to win a soft complaint from her. "Little bird," he insisted louder, "time to leave the nest."

Sansa looked lazily at him through her long lashes for a moment before her eyelids closed again. Sandor left the bed and reached the door in two strides. He glanced into the corridor to check if it was clear and when he went back he had to suppress the impulse of lying again with that red haired goodness that rested on his cot. Putting on his breeches and tunic, Sandor took Sansa's cloak, wrapped her in it and carried her in his arms as silently and quick as he was able, to her room at the end of the corridor. After placing her carefully in her cot, Sansa's arms reached to his neck and pulled him closer.

"May come a day when I do not have to leave your room, if you wanted to..." she whispered in his ear.

Sandor just caressed her cheek and left. He knew he should be pleased by her words, though in some way they stung. He wanted to fight for her, to advise her, to protect her. To watch how she wrote those letters. To listen how she spellbound the Stark's bannermen, as he was certain she would do if she had the chance. He wanted to have her all for his own in his place, night and day, kissing and licking and fucking her pretty body and listening to her moans.

Back in his cell, Sandor lay down on his cot again, and let his hand slid under his breeches and reach his cock. Immersed in the feminine scent that impregnated the room driving him mad, he stroked it hard, almost angry. He wanted everything with her but he was aware that, in a world where the little bird were the Lady of Winterfell, there was not such a place where that was possible.

When the sunlight entered through the window waking her up, Sansa reached instinctively her hand looking for him. He wasn't there, of course—she remembered he had carried her to her room last night before falling asleep—but she wished he were. Sansa recalled gradually the previous night and, despite the pleasant memories, she felt a traitorous sting on her chest and felt suddenly ashamed of her inexperience and naivety and odd jealously of those women he had met when war and bitterness hadn't overwhelmed him. She wished some day she could wake up curled against his powerful chest listening to his heartbeat. Instead, she heard the common sounds of the courtyard from outside and realized it was late and there were plenty of things to organize; ravens to send and strategies to prepare. She yawned and stretched; she felt strong, pretty, sure of herself and reasonably happy—feelings she had thought she would never be able to enjoy again. Could it mean that her fate was really about to change once and for all?

Sansa washed and dressed with the gown she had sewn some weeks ago and left to the Lord Commander's Tower to talk about the news of the day with Jon. Castle Black was full of life at that hour; black brothers, wildings and King's knights were busy in their tasks. She peeked at Sandor at the other side of the yard training with the boys and smiled remembering how those strong arms, which now gave hard blows, had also caressed and held her carefully mere hours ago.

"Well well well, what do we have here? The proud little lady of the Castle in the Air!"

The disgusting thick voice of Ser Patrek suddenly broke her reverie. He had approached her silently, accompanied by four knights who were now laughing at his lord's mockery. Sansa barely looked at him and continued her path, but he stopped her.

"Are you in a hurry, girl? Do have many balls to attend?" he continued to mock her.

"Please let me have my way, Ser."

"Or what? Are you going to call for your bastard brother and his bunch of ragged brothers?"

Sansa gave another step but the man grabbed her wrist.

"Come on, girl, I'm a generous man; I give you another chance to get in my bed. It can't be as bad as been fucked by a dwarf, hahahaha!"

"Not even if you were the only man in the Seven Kingdoms! Now let me go; you're hurting me!"

"I guess you need to be taught a lesson girl!" he growled enraged while trying to grab her other wrist.

Everything then happened all of a sudden. First a hard blow on his stomach and then another that broke his nose, and Ser Patrek was on the ground growling and spitting blood. A furious Sandor Clegane had come running fast from where he was followed by Grenn and the ten boys they were training and had knocked the man.

"I should had done this days before, you bastard!" he spat raising his sword.

The four knights that were with him had also drawn their swords and were about to attack, but were easily outnumbered by Grenn's boys and several wildings who were nearby ready to fight back.

"All right, so that's what you really are then, the dog's bitch!" the man snorted from the ground as he tried to stop the bleeding from his nose.

"Please, let me pierce that that fabbly arse with my sword!" Sandor asked Sansa, his eyes red with rage. The rest of the Castle was coming to the noise and now all of them were surrounded for more than thirty men.

"No! Stop, all of you! I don't want to cause any trouble for my brother nor need any of you to fight for me!" She told the men. "Now, Ser Patrek, you better stay away from me as long as we share a roof here or... well, as you may have appreciated it seems I have a mean dog. I may let him test what his sword can do with your... private parts."

A wave of laughs and cheers followed her words. Sansa didn't really know how had she been able to grab the courage to say it, but she smiled at them and bowed her head in a sign of gratitude for their help. She was shaking like a leaf and hoped no one noticed as she began to walk her way again, and heard how Sandor spat at the man once more before following her.

"It seems the she-wolf is showing her claws," he teased her.

"That man is disgusting but I don't even know how I was able to tell him that!" Sansa told him, "Thanks for your help, but I don't want you to get into any trouble during the time we still have to stay here," She smiled proudly and then noticed his hand was covered by Ser Patrek's blood nose. "Does it hurt?" She made as if to take his hand, but he didn't let her.

"Don't give them anything to gossip about," he muttered. Sansa understood, but her face saddened. "Look at them," he added waving his head towards the yard, "You have more support than you thought."

It was true; black brothers and wildings had backed her equally when she was threatened, something she didn't expect.

"It could be. But I'm glad I still have you," She gave him one of her sweet smiles. "I have to go. I'll see you after dinner."

Sansa didn't attend dinner at the Common Hall that night. She excused herself saying she had to answer some of the letters and stayed in her room the whole evening. But Ser Patrek did, and so did Sandor. He watched the man from afar, drinking and laughing with his fellows and waited patiently until he left the Hall and followed him quietly. The man was taken a leak alone away from the main buildings. Sandor thought how easy it would be to stab him in the neck and drag him to a dark corner of the castle. Maybe no one would miss him. Instead, he approached him from behind and covered firmly his mouth with his left hand. The man released his cock and tried to resist, trying in vain to hit him, until he felt the cold of Sandor's steel knife piercing his throat.

"The only reason you are still breathing is because she spared your life today, bastard," he rasped in his ear. "I don't have such a gentle heart. Mine is a dark pit, and believe me, I'm eager to drag you into it."

Ser Patrek stood still, and it seemed he had lost his desire to pee or laugh anymore. Sandor slid the knife along his throat as if to open it in half.

"So if I ever see you laying your bastard eyes on her again, or even breathe the same air she does, I'll hunt you. And there will be no place in the seven hells where you're safe until I rip your heart out of your chest. Do you understand?!"

The man nodded nervously under his hand and his legs began to wobble. Sandor let him go and stepped back in the shadows while he crumbled to the ground rubbing his neck. He wished he could kill him, but the little bird wouldn't approve it. Bloody knights! So brave to threaten a woman and so craven when facing death! He had hated them all his life and he still hadn't met one worthy to change his mind.

Sandor left the man and went to Hardin's Tower. Walking to his cell he saw light coming out Sansa's ajar door. She was at her table, staring thoughtfully at her papers, her fingertips stained with ink again. He knocked at the door and as soon as he came in she welcomed him with a warm smile that despite his mood he couldn't help but appreciate. Her presence was the only nice thing that had been in his life and he was willing to enjoy and protect it all that was needed.

"Do you have any more news?"

"Yes, besides Lord Manderly and Jonelle Cerwyn, a raven from The Bear Island arrived this evening," she said handling him a little paper roll, "Alysane Mormont says they'll fight with us too. She says that "women should support each other in such difficult times," and that they loved my mother and my brother Robb. The Umbers answered too, but they are indecisive yet; Lord Frey still holds prisoner some of their siblings at The Twins. I fear that's the situation with House Blackwood too."

"I can't blame them; they have lost too many men in your brother's war."

"I know..."

She shifted the letters spread over the table and took the old map that had been her obsession during the last days.

"Even with Stannis' men, even if Umbers, Blackwoods and Tallharts finally join us, it still isn't enough." Sansa looked at him with a worried expression. "My father always told us that Winterfell's walls were unbreakable, that they will stand a many months siege if necessary. But we won't have so many men or so much time and I don't know what to do. I've been thinking about it for days and don't have a single clue yet..."

Sandor took the map and studied it. Winterfell was a week ride from the Wall, Snow had said. Enough time for the Boltons to be prepared for the arrival of Sansa's men. He'd been in the Stark's Keep too—so many years ago, it seemed another life—but she was right, it could only be taken by force by a strong army, and they didn't have it. So, there was only an option...

"Make them leave the Castle and ambush them at the Wolfswood. That's the only way both forces are balanced and we have a chance."

Sansa looked at him, her glance bright with hope as a smile crept on her lips. He thought how it'd be to eat them for the rest of the night.

"That's right! We should fight them on the field, not inside Winterfell's walls. But, how could we do that? I don't want to set the castle on fire!"

Sandor chuckled with her idea, "And burn your nest, little bird? No, they should have to leave it because something different..." Sandor approached his chair to hers as they considered the surroundings of Winterfell again. His shoulders where touching and suddenly the North and the Boltons vanished and there was only her. Though in fact, there had always only been her.

"My brother left Winterfell when the Lannisters imprisoned my father... maybe-maybe if we capture someone important for them, they'll leave to rescue him too..." Sansa was thinking aloud. Though he had barely pay attention during the last moments, he tried to focus. The little bird had a point.

"No, not capture. Most of Bolton forces are at your Keep, so theirs should be poorly guarded." He pointed to another little drawing of the map. "Attack the Dreadfort. Burn it to the ground if necessary. They'll have to march to defend it. And we'll be on their way to give them a nice steel welcome."

Sansa gasped, "Yes, that's it! But... we'll need to split our forces in two and that will weaken us, as I've told you I'm not sure if I'll gather enough men."

"You do have them," he replied under her watchful gaze. "Look around you girl, you may not have noticed it yet, but you're surrounded by men who would kiss the ground you walk on. None of them are knights or lords though."

"The Night Watch doesn't take part in the Realm wars; I can't ask their help but the wildings... They don't make any oaths; they're free to choose who they want to fight for. Do you think they'll fight by my side? I have nothing to offer them but a piece of land if we succeed."

Sandor shrugged, "Why not? They've fled their frozen homes because they were afraid, your brother says. Give them the opportunity to live on this side of the Wall. You're good with words, and they've already defended you. There, you have part of your army. They could do that or live among the crows, and I'm not sure they'd like better the second!"

Her blue eyes stared at his intently; studying him the same way they had studied the papers on the table. He took a lock of her hair and placed it behind her ear.

"You are a pretty smart woman, you'll get it. And I'll be there to watch you crossing Winterfell's gates and claim what is yours, if that's what you want."

Sansa grinned again with that smile that showed only in his presence, when she felt comfortable and safe, the one that made her squint and tilt the head slightly. Seven hells! You've even got used to it, dog. Her lips parted slowly as she spoke softly.

"Are you aware of how much I... need you, Sandor Clegane?"

Sandor's lips curled into an ironic grin. Are you aware of how much you have become the only aim of my life? He leaned to kiss her as he should have always done since she had crossed his path and changed his fate; fervently, eagerly. He pulled her closer, tightening her body against his. She could claim whatever keep or House she wanted; he'd claim her—the woman who was meant to be queen or someone else's lady and had chosen him. He had longed for her all day, missing every inch of her skin and the deep and overwhelming peace her presence provided him. He thought in taking her to the bed and fucking her until she cried out his name again, in getting lost in her and fire burn in his mind her body before those old proud lords of the North take her from his side. But he recalled the incident during the day and tossed it aside. What good would do to her that kind of gossip about them? How was she supposed to gain her Lord's trust if they knew she was the dog's mistress? The world hadn't changed so much during his retirement in the Quiet Isle not to know no bannermen would accept him by her side. When he broke the kiss, she was heated; her wet lips were slightly open grabbing breath, making her breast rise and fall and her gaze matched his with desire. Lost into their blue waves, he glimpsed himself through her eyes, and what he saw startled him: the man who was there was somehow better, an improved version of who he had been since, simply by looking at him, she made him worthy. Unable to hold her gaze for much longer he embraced her against his chest. Are you aware of the power you hold over me Sansa?

"Go to sleep, tomorrow you have to get yourself an army," he finally muttered breaking the moment.

Sansa separated from him and fixed her dress while he rose and walked to the corridor. When he peeked over his shoulder before closing the door, Sansa's longing stare shredded him.

"May come a day when you don't have to leave my room if you wanted to..." she whispered.