Chapter 13:
Amongst the Greyjoy and Stark forces, hidden on the very edge of the Wolfswood, all was frighteningly still. Out there was Winterfell, standing alone on the rising and falling hills as it had so for all of its years. Sansa could remember seeing it when Asha had found her to tell her it was in sight after riding. Every man had been commanded to dismount and walk on foot, keeping as quiet as possible to prevent anyone inside Winterfell raising an alarm. The strength of the forces was concealed behind the trees and bushes, lying in wait the way a direwolf would.
"There." Asha had pointed, and Sansa had looked without needing her direction. Winterfell was there, and there it would stay. "We will wait for a cover of darkness, and then you can move forward to pass beyond the walls unseen."
Sansa listened only half attentively, for she could not stop staring at Winterfell, as if the minute she turned her gaze elsewhere it would vanish. The walls rose in their ancient grandeur stretching around forever, the courtyard and the great hall, towering above the hot springs the castle had been built over. Thinking of the springs had made Sansa remember her Mother's bedchamber and how toasty warm it had always been, and how Father had declared the Starks were made for the cold. I think you were mistaken, Father. We were made in the cold, yes, and we can abide it where others cannot, but we were not made for it. I was not meant to live a cold life, not with so many to warm me.
Where she was now, in the Wolfswood with Sandor and Winterfell so close, was the warmest she had felt since fleeing King's Landing. She had her arm wrapped around Sandor's as they walked silently together through the stillness. He knew as she, Arya and Brienne did that when dusk came they would need to be ready to move out of the safety of the trees and into the bleak, open vulnerability of the grass between them and Winterfell. Sansa had wanted these last few hours alone with him, and no one else. She had made sure Arya was with Brienne before asking Sandor to accompany her into the forest, and the Maid of Tarth had said quietly into her ear:
"My lady, I must know. Can you trust him? For I do not, no matter how your words try to sway me."
"Yes, Brienne, I can. He won't hurt me."
In a way Sansa had become tired of explaining it. She had once been too afraid of Sandor Clegane to look at him, but after what had transpired between them she knew she had no cause to. As they were now, calmly walking and peaceful the way her parents had once been, she knew this was how she wanted her life to end, and also with the knowledge that her true home was near and open to welcome her back into the safety of its walls. She remembered the panic of her thoughts from only a few days ago when she had been trying to think of something to say to Sandor, and almost wanted to laugh.
A silence for them was like their own language. And now within that she wanted their own actions. As they were walking she gently came to a stop, making him halt his own pace. She could hear him taking one of his long deep breaths as he turned slightly to look at her, take her in. Simply the sound of that made her own breath shorten. Taking one long, unbroken look at him, drinking in every part, she then reached up and took his face in both her hands. When she gently kissed him, she could feel his hand hold her chin with a few of his fingers. The longer it lasted, the harder their kiss became, and soon they were entwined around each other and Sansa could feel her chest tighten with excitement.
Her mother had only spoken with her lightly about what occurred between a man and a woman on their wedding night, and when she had gossiped with Lady Myranda whilst descending from the Eyrie she had not been able to talk boldly without blushing. But with Sandor she found herself uncaring. With Sandor she found herself taking his hands forcefully in her own and placing them on her hips as he moved her back against a tree like before. She could feel heat from his body passing into her as they kissed. That heat began travelling downwards until she began to ache between her legs. As Sandor pressed himself against her she could feel a hardness coming from between his legs which would have made her jump back had she not been against a tree. Why is it always against a tree? Quite the wildling, aren't you? And with Winterfell so close! The thought of being this way with Sandor in her own bed in Winterfell made her want to giggle. When home is yours again it can be like this whenever you want. You know he won't object. She gave a small sigh against his mouth and kissed him harder, if that was at all possible. He then buried his face in her hair, which was undone every day now, and his mouth was at her neck. As she slowly opened her eyes, she could make out between the leaves and greenery the sun slowly sinking beyond the silhouette of Winterfell. Now comes the feast, and after that the greatest dance of all.