Well folks...this is finally, FINALLY, the end of it all...one last chapter and an epilogue! I said I would do my best to finish it by the end of July, and here it is, right at the wire ;) Thanks again to all those who have stuck with me in the year and a half that it took me to write this damn fic, thank you for the favorites and the follows and the bookmarks and the lovely reviews that at times were all that kept me coming back to it. I gotta be honest, this one was a bitch to write, I'm glad it's over, and though I have another multi-chapter fic to finish (Hand in Glove) I am going to give myself a bit of a break from writing for a while because this ending took a lot out of me ;) I hope y'all enjoy it!
Truth be told, she was a bit surprised that Sandor had assumed that even if she received news of her annulment, they would still wait until they arrived in Essos to wed - but some part of Sansa desired to tease him over such an idea. "Do you have some attachment to Volantis?" she wondered, cocking her head.
"Of course not," Sandor growled. He must have seen the corner of her lip twitch up into a smile because he made a scoffing sound and stated, "But you know that."
"Yes," Sansa admitted, "I do." He glared at her and she knew that the time for teasing was over. She turned to Ellaria. "The captain can marry us, can't he?"
"I would think so...of course it will not be a marriage in front of the gods, as there is no sept on the ship..."
"I care nothing for such things. Not any more. But...we will need cloaks..." We will need something to make it seem like a proper Westerosi wedding, Sansa knew.
"That can be arranged, I'm sure," Ellaria smiled. "While this ship does not have a large cargo hold, it certainly has some goods stored below. If you'd like, we can go speak with the captain now and see what we can find in the way of materials."
"Already?" Sandor blurted. Sansa's heart skipped a beat; could he not want to marry her, could he have changed his mind? She knew that they would have to talk about it - and soon, of course - but not with Ellaria here, not so soon after Sansa had finally received truly good news.
"You don't have to participate," she promised, forcing a smile. "I can let you know what I find later." For a moment Sandor looked relieved, but still it seemed that he was at least slightly panicked. Sansa brushed her fingers across the back of his hand as Ellaria led her away, wondering if there was any chance at all that he would be sober when she found him again in a little while.
Their search for items that could be pieced together into wedding cloaks was as successful as it could possibly be. The cloaks themselves would have to be made from extra sailcloth, but there were plenty of needles and thread aboard the ship, and besides, Sansa knew that the several days it would take her to embroider them would be good for Sandor.
She left the supplies for their cloaks with Ellaria in the larger cabin and went to find Sandor, who was sitting on the bed in their small room, his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and - not surprisingly - a wineskin in his hand. "What, no cloaks?" he grunted.
"I found some things that will suffice for making them," Sansa clarified. "It will take a few days, and it's a bit cramped in here, so I left them with Ellaria. Of course..." She paused and drew a deep breath, almost scared to say what she knew needed to be said. "Of course, if you would rather wait...or not do this at all...I can always put those supplies back where I found them." The last of the words seemed to tumble from her mouth, and when Sandor looked up at her, confusion plain on his face, she wondered for a moment whether he'd even understood her.
"Not do this at all? Of course I want to marry you, little bird. Didn't expect all of this to happen so fast, but I guess I'll get used to the idea damn quick." His mouth twitched in that way she'd long grown used to - but it was in amusement this time, rather than in anger or frustration. She couldn't help but smile in return as she rushed toward him and practically threw herself into his lap, kissing him without abandon. She couldn't help it, she was just so happy - elated, even - and all she could think about was his lips on hers, his hands caressing her, their skin touching in any and every place possible. Sansa lost herself in their embrace, until she suddenly realized that she'd been tearing at his tunic and moving rhythmically in his lap and that he was actually trying to stop her, trying to push her away. She reluctantly obeyed, wondering what she could have possibly done wrong, her desire sending what felt like tendrils of fire through her entire body, from her very core to the tips of her fingers and toes. She was breathing heavily, her lips swollen and her eyes having trouble focusing.
"You sure you want to do this now, little bird?" Sandor said carefully. "Because if we keep this up, I cant promise that I'll be able to stop. Especially as you're no longer married and don't need to be proving your maidenhood again."
He was right, she knew. His words stung a bit; she wanted to believe that if she asked him to stop, he would. Still, something inside her whispered, better to be safe than to be sorry. "It is just a few more days, after all..." she murmured.
"And we've waited this long, haven't we?" Sandor ran his large hands down her arms, his touch far more gentle than she would have thought possible. Sansa felt her skin tingling in their wake, and forced herself to slide away from his grasp and stand up. She decided that it was sweet, him offering to wait until they were wed - it was also, arguably, their best course of action. Or rather, inaction.
"Yes...we've waited this long," Sansa repeated. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, though she knew that he must want her as she wanted him, that it must be quite difficult for him to pretend that this wasn't the case - and she wondered just how quickly she could finish those cloaks.
Meanwhile Sansa spent her nights with Ellaria and Loreza. Ellaria raised her eyebrows questioningly on the first night, but when Sansa did not offer an explanation the beautiful woman seemed to know better than to ask for one. Sansa took her meals in that room, received Sandor in that room - always with Ellaria present - and worked from dawn until long after sundown to embroider their cloaks with direwolves and dogs. Perhaps it was the low light, or the lack of different colors of thread, or maybe it was simply all in her mind, but to Sansa her direwolves looked more like dogs and her dogs, more like direwolves. When she pointed this out to Ellaria, the woman merely smiled and said, "I'm not certain it matters. Your work is beautiful, regardless."
Work. That's certainly what it seemed like. Sansa almost couldn't believe that she'd once enjoyed needlework, for in the days it took her to finish the cloaks it seemed a special sort of torture. I have no patience, she realized when she was but halfway through the second day. I have something better, something more, to look forward to, and I have no patience. She suddenly understood why Arya had hated it so much when she'd had to sit still and work on her embroidery.
It was already well past midday on the third day of Sansa's cloak-making endeavor - the fourth since the raven had arrived carrying news of her annulment - when she knew that she was almost finished. "I have a bit more to do," she told Ellaria, "but please, if you would be so kind, ask the captain if he could wed us this evening. At sunset. I think that would be...nice."
"Yes," Ellaria agreed, "it will be. And Sandor, should I inform him as well?"
"Please," Sansa nodded. "It will be a stretch for me to finish in time, but..." It must be tonight. I'm not sure if I can stand putting it off much longer.
"Of course, I understand." Ellaria smiled, inclined her head, then took Loreza by the hand and swept out the door, leaving Sansa with no choice but to bend over her work again. But being alone in the room - and the silence that ensued - made for the perfect environment. The light in the cabin had changed but not dimmed overmuch when Sansa was finally able to set aside her needle and take in the makeshift cloaks. Though the sailcloth was thicker and heavier and felt quite different from what a normal wedding cloak would be made of, she had begged some onionskins and saffron off the captain to make a yellow dye for Sandor's. It was paler than she'd like, but at least it differed from the bright white of her own cloak. She had then embroidered the three dogs of his sigil across the yellow cloak's back, though they were larger and more fierce-looking than she remembered from seeing the Clegane sigil about King's Landing. For her own cloak, she had left the back blank and embroidered her direwolves prancing about the edges in an almost playful manner that didn't quite become such an animal. She had wanted to fit quite a number of them around her cloak, and in doing so they had also become much smaller than they should have been. She scowled for a moment at her finished product, but then she remembered Ellaria's comment. I'm not certain it matters, the other woman had said - and the more Sansa looked at the cloaks, the more she wondered if something inside of her had caused her to picture the dogs and direwolves in this particular manner - certainly without meaning to, but not without having any meaning at all.
She shook her head to clear it, then took a few moments to freshen up. She found one of the gowns that Prince Doran had given her and donned it. It was no wedding gown, but at the moment it was the nicest piece of clothing that she had, and so it would have to do. Sansa gathered the cloaks in her arms and made her way out of the cabin, struggling with the heavy pile of sailcloth as she attempted to shut the door behind her.
"Here, let me help you." Ellaria was approaching down the narrow passage, and after shutting the cabin door for Sansa she pulled the yellow cloak from Sansa's arms. "I will deliver this to Sandor and return to tie yours on," she promised, and then she was gone. Sansa waited in the hall, feeling a bit queasy and telling herself that it was merely the rocking of the ship - though of course she knew better. It seemed forever before Ellaria returned, though it could not have been more than a minute or two. "He awaits you on the deck," the beautiful woman informed her as she draped the direwolf cloak about Sansa's shoulders.
"Did he seem pleased with his cloak?" Sansa asked, immediately embarrassed by the nervous tremor of her voice.
"I'm certain he is quite pleased with it, though just now he seems much more intent on your arrival." Ellaria smiled as she finished adjusting Sansa's wedding attire. "There. Shall we?"
The hour that followed seemed no more than a dream to Sansa. The ceremony was short and sweet, she and Sandor repeating the usual words after the captain. Her voice trembled the entire time; Sandor's started off as a mumble, but as he went on it became louder, more sure of itself, and put her own quiet tone to shame. When they had exchanged their cloaks and shared a brief, chaste kiss - somehow, anything more than that did not appeal, what with the captain and little Loreza and the sailors watching their every move - food and wine was passed around, though she and Sandor hardly touched either. She could tell that he couldn't take his eyes off her, and every time their gazes met it looked as if he was practically devouring her. That alone made the heat pool deep inside of her and build until she could hardly stand it any more. Sansa grabbed up two of the wineskins and then caught Ellaria's eye. The other woman smiled, nodded, and mouthed the word, "Go."
Sandor, who hadn't taken his eyes off Sansa for more than a moment here and there, saw the exchange and in the work of a moment had stepped close, laid a hand on the small of her back, and with just a bit of pressure there he guided her toward their little cabin below decks.
Once he had shut the door behind them, Sansa quickly sat down on the edge of the little bed and held one of the wineskins out to him. He took it and drank slowly; she followed his lead, though as they each sipped at the Dornish red they did not once take their eyes off each other. Suddenly Sandor snarled, "Enough of this." He grabbed her wineskin from her hand and practically threw it - and his own - then stalked toward Sansa, moving over her so that she was forced to bring her legs up onto the bed. He lowered his body down over hers until she laid back on the pallet. "Are you sure you want this, little bird?" he asked as he pressed himself into her thigh. She could feel his manhood hard against her; that warmth built up in her nether regions again and Sansa felt so alive that she could hardly stand it.
"Yes," she breathed, and she knew that she'd never meant anything so much in her life. Sandor rolled his hips toward her and Sansa moaned, but he quickly silenced her with a kiss. It was very possibly the most gentle and yet insistent kiss that she had ever experienced, and her body rose to meet his as it had so often these past months. She felt him move one of his arms beneath her, and he fumbled with her laces for a moment before grunting in frustration. Sandor suddenly grabbed a handful of her gown in one hand and yanked, hard. Sansa heard a tear and he reached up, hastily pushing the gown off her shoulders and over her breasts. They spilled out, and the chill air - or perhaps her own desire - quckly caused her nipped to form into hard little buds. She gasped into his mouth and he suddenly broke their kiss. Even in the dim light of their little cabin, Sansa could see the outline of Sandor's heaving shoulders, could see his head move slightly as he looked down at her half-naked body, seeming to drink her in from head to toe. He took hold of one breast, cupping it in his calloused hand, squeezing it ever so gently before running the inside of his thumb over her nipple in a way that made her whole being pulse with desire.
His eyes met hers again. "I love you, Sansa," he said, his voice teeming with so many emotions that she could hardly place them all - there was love, of course; and something like wonder, too, but for some reason, sadness as well. I'll not think about that, she told herself as he settled himself on his knees and began to untie his breeches.
"I love you, Sandor," she smiled.
He laughed, then; that rare soft laugh of his that she'd come to love so much, if only because she didn't seem to hear it quite often enough. "S'pose there really isn't any turning back for either of us, now."
"For as long as there's been an 'us', I don't recall a time when I ever wanted to turn back," she assured him.
The corner of Sandor's lip twitched, and silence stretched between them for several moments - but finally he took hold of her hand and guided it toward him. Sansa gently pushed his breeches aside and grasped his manhood, releasing it from its confines. Sandor lowered himself over her again, taking a breast in his mouth and grazing his teeth over her skin as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her nipple. The sensation caused her to grip him even harder; in response he closed his mouth over her breast to suckle on her. And then his hand was between her legs, his fingertips gently trailing up her thigh, pushing her smallclothes aside to find her center, her folds wet with arousal.
Sansa cupped the tip of him with her hand, feeling the wet that was dripping from his manhood and smoothing it over him as she stroked, all the while gently pulling him closer to where he was meant to be. "Sandor..." she murmured, as that now-familiar pressure began to build inside of her. She didn't have to tell him that she was ready; her saying his name was enough.
"Little bird," he rasped in response, pulling his hand away, causing her to whimper with the need to have him touching her, always touching her...
But then she felt his manhood pressed against her opening. "Oh," she sighed, wrapping her arms around him and pressing their bodies close together. "Yes."
He entered her slowly, pushing just a bit before pausing, moving again, pausing again. It was as if he was reading her mind, though later she would realize that he was in fact reading her body, feeling her tense every time the pressure - no, the pain, she admitted to herself - got to be just a bit too much. It seemed like hours and she felt as if she was stretched to her breaking point before he finally stopped moving and she realized that he was entirely inside of her. Sansa was breathing in short, ragged gasps, and when she turned her head to look at Sandor she saw the pained look in his eyes.
"Gods help me, Sansa. I know I'm hurting you, but I still want you."
"It's all right," she heard herself say. "I knew that it would hurt. And it does. But I still want you, too." This wasn't a lie; it wasn't even an exaggeration. As the moments passed it seemed as if the pain was softening into more of an ache, and while she knew that it would hurt later, just now she was beginning to feel that if he did not start moving again she would be left with nothing but frustration.
So she did it for him, arching her back off the bed, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling his head toward hers, losing herself in a hard and lust-filled kiss as he bucked against her. She mimicked his movements, the friction of her skin against his making her feel as if her whole body was on fire. Sandor moved one arm beneath her, steadying himself and holding them together at the same time, while he slid the other hand between their bodies, pressing his thumb into that little nub of sensation between her folds, then flicking it. Press, flick, press, flick, all the while pushing into her. The thought crossed her mind that she felt full - but just as quickly Sansa abandoned it to the idea that really, she felt whole.
Her release came on her quite suddenly, then; her body contracted around Sandor and then seemed to open up, open to every amazing sensation she had ever felt with this man, her lover, her husband. She gasped, surprised, as the waves of pleasure rolled over her again and again, only shuddering to a stop when Sandor himself let out an animalistic shout, his body going still above her as she felt his manhood pulse within her.
They both collapsed back onto the bed, Sandor rolling to the side to stretch out beside her and envelope her in his arms. Sansa knew that this moment could not last forever, but it was late in the day and they still had quite the journey ahead of them. Sandor's breathing was already slowing, becoming more rhythmic, and she herself felt sated and sleepy. She tucked herself against him and felt his body relax against hers. Soon he was snoring softly, and though Sansa tried to stay awake just a bit longer, wanting to relish this moment forever, eventually she drifted off into a heavy and dreamless sleep, a sleep the likes of which only Sandor and his presence had been able to give her for quite some time now.