Sandor

The Stranger shuddered as she made anchor. The port was quickly filling up with her sister ships, the rest of the Viking fleet. Fleet was a term applied loosely, as that made it sound as though there was a strict discipline. In reality, the rag-tag cluster of sea vessels were held together only by a common love for pillaging and mead. But that was enough.

Sandor stood tall on the deck, the little bird at his side. She was watching the port with wide eyes, seemingly surprised by the amount of ships that continued to fill the docks. Men and women ran on and off the decks like ants, helping to unload the treasure-heavy ships. This voyage had been a long one, more than a few turns of the moon, and the crews had the bounties to show for it. Yes, many towns had witnessed their fury, and Sandor knew they would be well-provisioned come winter.

"How many are there?" The little bird asked, as Black Wind added to the number of docked ships.

"Three and twenty set out. Some may have been lost. We will see." He rasped in reply, eyes scanning for the captain of the most recent arrival.

Ah, there she was. Asha Greyjoy leapt to the railing of Black Wind, waving her arm in greeting. "Oi, Hound!" She was tall and stocky, with brown shoulder-length hair flying in the wind. Her axe she fondly named her husband was strapped to her hip, and her eyes were alight with her typical vivaciousness. "Come on down and have a word with me! I want to show you what the ocean spat up."

Sandor raised his arm in greeting, and nodded. "Time to go, little bird. Welcome to Askrow."

She looked up at him, eyes blue and wide and oddly trusting, and gave a slight nod.

Placing his hand on the little bird's back - gently, yes he needed to be as gentle as possible - Sandor led her down the plank to the dock, watching carefully for anything she might trip on. She smiled slightly at his over-attentiveness, and that smile went straight to his gut. He cursed himself, not for the first time, for being an utter boy whenever Sansa Stark was concerned. The wind blew her hair back and revealed the marks he had left on her otherwise milky skin. It sickened him.

No more wine for you, you fucking bastard. Sandor wanted to blame the alcohol for the actions, wanted to blame anything at all rather than realize what he had done to the fragile girl. Ashamed, he looked away from her neck and focused on making sure she didn't get jostled by the streams of people unloading cargo.

He led her over to where the captain was leaning against her boat. The smell of salt and fish surrounded them, not unpleasantly. To Sandor it smelled like home.

"Ahhh, looks as though the ocean was kind to you as well, Hound." Asha noted, eyeing Sansa up and down. "But my gain is much more exciting, I assure you."

Sandor chuckled, though he doubted that very much. The little bird looked almost comical standing next to the rugged Asha, as different as night and day. Where she was petit and quiet, Asha was muscled and exuded confidence. He watched her, half listening to Asha, and half absorbed in Sansa's features. Sansa was watching the crowds around her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Meanwhile, the axe-weilding captain was still speaking. "-so of course, I turn him over, expecting a dead boy. But he's spurting up water and trying to stab me still, and that's when I realize, I recognized that son of bitch's face! You'll never believe it, but it turns out to be-"

"THEON?" The little bird shrieked, and suddenly she was running from him, sprinting faster than he would have thought possible, up toward where Black Wind was tied to the dock. Her flaming hair flew behind her, and her too-large tunic fluttered and rippled.

That's when he spied the tall and lanky boy running just as fast off of the ship, arms wide open and laughing wildly. Anger coursed through him as the pretty boy called, "Sansa!" and ushered her into his embrace. She giggled, a sound he had never heard, as the boy called Theon twirled her around in the air. He noticed then that the sun reflected off the tears falling down her face, before she buried her smile into his shoulder. Theon placed kisses all over her head, grinning like an idiot.

"Your pretty wife knows my brother?" Asha seemed amused by this. "Uh oh. Theon better watch where he puts his hands."

Sandor growled. "Your brother will be lucky if he still has hands." He began storming toward the happy couple, and Asha quickly stepped in between them, palms held up and all amusement gone from her face.

"Hound, stop." She backtracked, facing him, as he pushed through others toward his little bird. "He doesn't know. He doesn't know! They're both from Winterfell, of course they know each other, it's only natural they'd be happy to see - please, stop!"

"Get out of the way," Sandor snarled, not wanting to get into a confrontation with one of the only people he considers a friend, yet not entirely unwilling to if she stands between a dog and his prey.

By then, he was close enough that the little bird has noticed his angry approach. She was out of the boy's arms and stared at him with an open mouth. Theon looked away from her finally, and when he met the Hound's looming figure and scarred face awash in rage, his jaw set in a firm line and he reached for the sword at his waist. Of course Asha let her baby brother keep his sword.

Then Asha was between them, axe raised and in a ready stance. That made Sandor pause. "I've only just got my brother back, and I swear Hound, you'll have to kill me first if you try to touch him." She eyed him warily for a moment, and Sandor was caught in a deadlock.

"He's my brother Sandor," the little bird pleaded, and to his infuriation, raised her arms in front of Theon as if to defend him. The boy stood wide-eyed behind her, light brown hair shaggy around his face. Sandor growled at her obvious lie, and drew his sword. As if she could stop me from removing his arrogant head from his shoulders this very moment. Asha though...Asha could put up a fight. And when Sandor looked around, he noticed they had gathered quite an audience. Asha's crew stood around, hands on blades, ready to act if it proved their captain was in trouble. Likewise, his men from The Stranger were behind him.

"Please Sandor," Sansa begged, teary eyes meeting his own. "Please."

I promised I wouldn't hurt her again. Bugger me. He put down his sword.

Sansa

She couldn't believe Theon was here. Just to make sure it wasn't all a dream, Sansa ran her hands over his face again, his perfect boyish face that had taunted and teased her her whole life. He smiled under her fingers, and tears prick her eyes again. I thought I would never see that dumb lopsided smile again. "Can't keep your hands off me, can you sweet sister?"

Laughing through tears, Sansa pulled her brother close again and he rested his chin atop her head, just like Robb would do. That brought on more tears. Yet joy was filling her up, a warm happy feeling Sansa believed she had forgotten. Theon was a a piece of home, right here in this new strange village where the women were just as intimidating as the men.

One such woman was Asha, Theon's long lost sister. After Sandor's outburst, he had stalked away silently, leaving her with Theon and his strange new sister. Surprisingly kind, though rather crude, Asha took both of them to her home, which was built right into the hills. When Sansa first saw the home carved out of the grassy hill, she felt as though she were in one of her stories and this was where the fairies lived. Asha was anything but a fairy however.

Apparently Asha had been slaughtering her way through Winterfell, an image that made Sansa sick to her stomach, when she came across Theon who had tried to kill her. Though she recognized him, Theon had only been a young boy when he washed up on the shores of Winterfell, and he knew nothing of having any other family, nor where he came from. Yet Asha claimed she would know her baby brother anywhere, and so she had her men drag him back to Black Wind, where she proceeded to keep him tied up until he accepted who he was. Not a Stark, but a Greyjoy.

The resemblance between the reunited siblings was striking, so Sansa did not have a hard time believing the tall tale. She was just happy he was here, alive and solid and breathing.

"I thought you dead, Theon. Do you know of the others? Father and Robb? Jon?" She was hesitant to ask, already feeling dread pool in her stomach at what his answer would be.

Theon shook his head. "Everything was aflame. I remember fighting along side Robb, and suddenly I was alone. I cannot say for sure. But I wouldn't hold on to hope, if I were you."

Nodding, she said, "I understand. I'm glad you are here."

"Tell me about the Hound then," Theon implored. "How has he treated you? On Black Wind Asha said he was a stern man, sometimes cruel."

Sansa folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair, trying to decide how to answer that question. Was he stern? Absolutely. Cruel? She was undecided. "Sandor - I mean the Hound - he has treated me better than I expected," she confided. "Though I'm not sure if you could say he has been kind."

Theon thought this over for a moment. "I'm sure it will get better with time."

"Time?" she asked, brow furrowing. "Aren't we..." she leaned closer and whispered, making sure Asha could not overhear from another part of the house. "Now that we have each other and we're on dry land...well...aren't we going to run?"

Her brother frowned and looked away from her. She didn't understand his reaction. Surely out of all her brothers he would be the one with the daring plan, the glorious escape! Who cared if they lived or died, it was an adventure! Yet Theon did not share a treacherous escape route, rather he said, "I'm not leaving, Sansa." He waited for an answer but when none came, he continued. "Asha is my true born sister. I...I belong here. I was never meant for Winterfell."

A minute passed. The only sound Sansa could hear was the beating of her own heart as she stared blankly at Theon. "What are you talking about?"

Theon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Listen...I...Sansa I had fallen overboard and washed up on Winterfell, just like your father found me."

"Our father," she corrected, beginning to comprehend what he was saying.

He paused and shook his head slowly. "Your father, Sansa. Yours. I was born in this town, an Ironborn! Made for this life, for the ships for...the Vikings."

Betrayal rushed through Sansa, coloring her cheeks a fierce red. How dare he, how dare he, how could he?! Angrily she stood, looking down at him, comfortably seated in his new home where he belonged. Her throat began to sting, and her eyes felt heavy with unshed tears. She had shed happy tears for him only but an hour ago."How could you say such a thing? I am your family! You belong with me!" She cried, jabbing a finger in his face.

Theon stood as well, holding up his arms in surrender. She noticed for the first time his tunic, black with a golden kraken, the same sigil that was the Black Wind's flag. She shook her head blindly, trying to comprehend this betrayal. "Sansa please, try to understand. I've finally found my home."

Anger and hurt made her hands shake. She clenched them into tight fists in an attempt to control herself. "Winterfell is your home! I am your home! Arya, Jon, Robb, Rickon, Bran, Mother and Father - they are your home! How...how could you even," tears began to fall and Sansa angrily brushed them away. "Traitor," she hissed and was satisfied when he flinched. "You're a turncloak, Theon Stark.

He tried to grab her hand but she shrugged him off, turning for the door, unsure where she was going, so long as it was away from here. "Sansa, you will learn to be happy here," he called after her. "And then you will forgive me."

She wanted to wound him, hurt him deeply as she walked out the door so she said the only thing she could think of: "Robb would be disgusted by you."

Sansa heard Asha entering the room as she left asking, "What was that all about?" But she didn't stick around to hear his reply. Instead she left the house under the hill and slammed the door behind her, venturing into the foreign town with a setting sun alone.

...

The kindly woman with two boys clutching her skirts pointed Sansa toward a modest home a little ways off from the hustle of center Askrow. Sansa nodded and smiled at her helper, and began the slow trek up toward the wooden cabin. She was not sure where else she could go, except to Sandor. Her husband. At least he hadn't betrayed her, at least he was honest. Her newfound anger toward her brother ran bone deep, and Sansa knew for certainty she could never forgive him. He chose their captors, the killers of their family, over herself! Unbidden, flashes of memories from her childhood danced across her eyes. She saw young Theon over and over again, playing with Robb, telling her she was the most beautiful princess, and he would save her from the dangerous beast (usually played by Arya). Yet he remained in Asha's home, and let her leave, obviously not even thinking enough of her to come after her.

She felt a pain she had not known since the day the Vikings landed.

Though she kept a wary eye out for any who might try to accost her, everyone in the village seemed busy with their own endeavors. The town itself was surprisingly quaint, with a large market area in its center, worn dirt paths where emerald grass threatened to poke through, and young boys chasing each other to and fro, usually mock-fighting.

Sansa was not sure what she had been expecting - a dark and dreary castle maybe, where the evil king would hold his court and send forth the Vikings to do his bidding - but Askrow was anything but unusual. In fact, the little town seemed remarkably similar to Winterfell, apart from the apparent lack of women. For every woman Sansa saw, there were at least five men. Perhaps the boy soldier told it true. Though she did not know for certain, it hurt her heart to think of many men coming home to find their wives dead from sickness. It hurt her even more to think that then those men went out and replaced them, stealing girls from neighboring villages. I wonder if Sandor lost a wife.

For some reason, that thought made her stomach clench. But then she remembered his drunken words on the first night: "Never had a wife before. But I think I'll enjoy having something so sweet in my bed come night."

So she was his first. Sansa pondered this, as her feet carried her up and up the sloping hill, following a well-worn path. Perhaps that was why he was so crass with her - he had never been in the close company of a woman! Surely he had sisters, or cousins, she thought. Sansa couldn't imagine growing up a single child, without the constant love and irritation from her siblings. But maybe Sandor never knew such a family. That would explain why he was so shocked when I mourned mine.

She felt sad then, for the man who had never had a family, and was now in the company of a wife who wished he had never found her. It was a strange thing, this pity for a man who was so intimidating, yet she could not will it away.

Finally, Sansa reached the house, which looked very sturdy and well-made, obviously taken care of. The roof was grassy like Asha's had been, and looked like it had simply sprung from the ground. Hesitantly, she raised her fist and knocked lightly. When there was no response, she knocked again. "Sandor?"

Movement was heard behind the door, until it swung open, and the doorframe was filled with her massive husband who had removed his armor and was instead in a rough-spun tunic and black breeches. At least he did not have to duck down to fit in the house, as he had for some areas on the ship. "Little bird," he rasped, and she smiled at the familiarity. He stepped aside and ushered her in, closing the door and the cold behind her. The sun was beginning to set, so golden light streamed through the small windows of the house, causing the main room to be cast in a warm glow. Sansa took in her surroundings carefully. The house was very similar to Asha's, with a fire pit in the center, surrounded by a short stone wall - though Sandor's was not lit. There were wooden benches around it, and a large table to the left. Off to the right she saw a door, supposedly leading to a bedroom?

There were a few things in the room that obviously stood out from the rest: a ruby-incrusted sword which was hung on the back wall, a large chest in the corner, adorned with carvings and precious stones. Sansa knew these were stolen from villages, maybe even from Winterfell.

She felt Sandor's gaze on her, but pretended not to notice as she explored Sandor's home. Opening the right door, she saw that it was indeed a bedroom, furnished with a large four-poster bed and many furs. She wondered if he had to make the bed himself, just to have something that could fit him. In the corner of the room, walled off partially by a divider, was the most lovely sight Sansa could ever remember seeing. A bathtub. It was gray stone, large and rounded, and Sansa leapt with joy, feeling every bit the dirt and sea salt all over her body.

"Found that in a castle we took," Sandor said, noticing her appreciation. "It's bloody heavy, took three of my men to carry it."

Sansa looked over her shoulder at him, forcing herself to look past his scars which scared her so and into his eyes. "Can I...?"

He smirked. "Yes little bird, I will bring water for you."

...

Sandor

He had tried to stay out of his chambers while the little bird was bathing, by gods he tried. But every time he would hear a splash or hear her humming, all he could think of was the fact that she was utterly bare and soaking wet. He had tried to banish the image from his mind, to think of anything except the beautiful girl, his wife for godsake, but Sandor still grew uncomfortably hard despite his efforts. Even when he attempted to call back his rage earlier at the stupid green boy who dared touch his bird, it was still not enough to distract him. Because, after all, Sansa was with him now, in his room not Theon's, naked. Sandor waged a serious war with self control.

Until, and Sandor knew for certain the gods had heard his prayers at this point, the little bird called, "Sandor? Could you help me?"

All but leaping to his feet, he opened the door and stepped in to the bedroom, hoping fruitlessly that she needed help being fucked.

She had her back to him in the basin, and peaked over her shoulder shyly, obviously embarrassed. Her crimson hair was a darker shade now and though she was submerged almost entirely, he still had a perfect view of her bare shoulders, white as cream.

"Could you...could you help me wash my hair? My mother used to."

He nodded slowly, and dragged the heavy chest from the foot of the bed to the back of the tub, so he could sit behind her. From this vantage point, he could clearly see the tips of her breasts teasing the edge of the soapy, bubble-filled water. Sandor remembered hazily the first night he had had her, when he had been so drunk to have thought her willing, and what her teats felt like in his hand. He stifled a frustrated groan and he felt himself straining through his breeches.

This was going to be a difficult night.

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Sorry for such a long wait between updates. The holidays have been hectic, and getting back to school has been even worse haha. But here you go! Chapter six as promised. Thanks to everyone who has left a kind word or a favorite...and I leave you with anticipation for the next chapter ;)

Once again, I'll beg you to review. And I hope everyone's new year was safe and delightful and hopefully filled with sansan.