Chapter 21:

Roose Bolton lay at their feet, still twitching as he entered death surrounded by his own blood.

Could it really have been so simple and quick? Sansa couldn't help but doubt he was dead. None of the songs and stories she had ever known as a child had ended so quickly with the death of the monster.

Sandor appeared to read her mind. She felt his arms come around her in the gloom and the coldness inside of her began to melt. Despite the comfort of his closeness she didn't like being trapped here in the Godswood when there was a battle about to be fought nearby. It felt too unnerving. Being entwined with Sandor was good for her, yes, but she was slowly beginning to become more excited in his arms when she knew she should be fearing for their lives. She could feel something surging within him and knew he wanted to kiss her. As he took her by the hands and lead her away from the body, deeper between the trees she understood that should Greyjoy's men fail this would probably be their last night.

Once more, Sansa found herself among the wilderness with the one they called the Hound yet she was kissing him as if he were the knight they sang of in the songs which had lulled her to sleep as a child.

He tells me he is no knight but he has always saved me. He once told me knights are for killing, and he has killed every time I have been in danger.

The shouts and roars of men preparing to fight outside the Godswood was becoming ever louder, and Sansa could feel herself beginning to tremble. As if in reaction to this Sandor began to kiss her even harder, and she felt her stomach tighten. She felt queerly light inside, and almost breathless as they sank to their knees. His grip on her intensified.

She could no longer hear the sounds of war. They were far away, as if all was still beyond the walls of Winterfell. All Sansa could hear was the pounding of her heart and feel the cold earth beneath her back and Sandor's hands in her hair and his mouth running down her throat, as if he wanted to devour her. Her hands were exploring, running across his chest and feeling the black hair beneath his undershirt. The next thing she knew his hands were running further down her body. Wherever his fingers went, her skin shivered in response, asking for more. Their bodies became tightly pressed together and Sansa wanted nothing more than to remain this way. None of the swords beyond the walls could hurt her.

When I wake up from this dream Winterfell will be mine. So will he.

Her body suddenly gave a lurch, and she knew he was inside of her. His hot breath on her neck made her throw her head back, and she was staring at the stars. Their brightness was nothing compared to what she was feeling. It made her laugh to think that she had once wanted to be known as a great lady and be sung of and be rescued by a chivalrous hero. Only Sandor could fulfil the longings she had. A thrust harder than the previous sent a sensuous energy straight to her maidenhead and she couldn't help but gasp.

Gods, I never knew such a feeling existed. This is what they should be writing songs about.

There was a slight pain between her legs, but every movement he made against her drove a force of pleasure straight through her which blocked it out. It was as if her body was shrinking back from the unknown sensation but then came back. As she curled into him she gave herself up to the fact that she would always be yearning for Sandor to give her what she knew she wanted, what she needed.

A sudden light beyond him alerted her vision. Before she could properly see it the wind began to pick up, and the leaves were collecting all across the ground. Looking up Sansa could see the inky sky filled with fire, and for half a heartbeat she found herself back on the night of the Blackwater with Sandor's lips pressing down on hers. But this fire was not green. It was a stinging orange and yellow brighter than any flame she had ever seen, and weaving in and out of it was a looming black shape. Staring up at it her heart seized in terror as she thought Winterfell was to be burned. As powerful and strong that a Direwolf was, it would find this creature that had set the night sky alight an impossible challenge. She could not believe it. All her life Sansa had heard that those creatures were completely gone.

Surely I must be imagining. The last one died hundreds of years ago.

There was a deafening roar that crushed all other sound out of her ears, and she dug her nails into Sandor's back from the intensity. If I am to die tonight it will be like this. As he spent his seed inside of her she cried out, and kissed him with a fierceness she never knew she was capable of.

That is the wolf inside of me.

Sandor was aware that the sky was on fire now, and he suddenly looked up. He saw the flame and Sansa could see it in his eyes and on the burned side of his face.

He pulled out of her and though she didn't want to let him go she understood. He stood up, lacing up his breeches, and helped her to her feet. The two of them looked up across the edge of the Godswood. It was undoubtedly fire, and even though the roar they had heard could not have possibly been made by any other creature, Sansa had to see before she could finally believe. She held Sandor's arm and could feel his muscles beneath his sleeve were tense.

He must have felt something like this the night of the Blackwater, when Stannis' fleet went up in flames. He could not have known he would come so close to fire again. He was not looking at her. For a few minutes all that could be heard was the screams of agony drifting from the distance and the crackling of the flames. His eyes were fixed on the glow coming from over the trees. She gently cupped his burnt cheek. As his gaze moved slowly down to her, she gave him a light kiss on the corner of his mouth, just where the red skin began to descend into ruin.

Come back to me when you're ready. I'll always be here.

Before either of them could say anything, they suddenly heard a high shout.

"Sansa!"

It was Arya, rushing through the trees, not even noticing the body of Roose Bolton, and throwing her arms around her sister. Sansa held her tightly, thankful she was alive.

"It was a Dragon," Arya was saying breathlessly, "It burned the Bolton men but left Winterfell completely unburnt, and all our men are safe!"

Nothing could register to Sansa but the fact that it had been a Dragon that had really won them their battle.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Asha Greyjoy was in front of her now, giving her a weary but happy smile. She had two of her men with her, who were helping Theon to stand. Brienne was there also, and Sansa could not help herself; she threw her own arms around the Maid of Tarth. Obviously Brienne was not accustomed to such intimacy- she awkwardly patted Sansa on the back and took one step back. But she was smiling the warmest that Sansa had ever seen her.

"I could not believe what my eyes were showing me at first, my lady," She said, "But they saw it true."

A new face came forward then, one that Sansa had read about over and over whilst studying the great houses of Westeros. As she looked upon the violet eyes and silver-gold hair in wonder she knew this was the Dragon's daughter. This was Daenerys of House Targaryen.