"I want to make him happy," Sansa revealed to Marga in the garden one day. The remark felt strange once it rolled off her tongue, as if her lips betrayed her. In that moment Sansa realized that she had never considered Sandor's happiness before. He had abandoned everything for her sake: his station, his duty, his honor, all to give her a life of her own.
And what have I done for him? Sansa was considerate and polite in everything that she did for him. She had mended his clothes, complied to his orders, and tended to him when injured. Everything was out of duty, but had any of that made him happy? Is there anything more I can give to him other than that? The thought of, if she could not, frightened her.
"It doesn't take much to make men happy," Marga commented.
"I've mended his clothes, made him new ones, and have been nothing but dutiful but-" Marga cut her off.
"But you don't think those things make him happy." Sansa shook her head. Marga picked a flower from the rose bush beside their seat and offered it to her. The gesture reminded her of a friend, now far away, who had done the same.
"He is most likely grateful for those things, but gratitude and happiness are two different matters."
"What can I do that will make him happy then?"
"Do you know what makes him happy?" Marga asked back. Did she? Happiness was not an emotion that Sandor Clegane was akin too.
"I know he likes fighting with his sword.. his horse.. and wine.." The more she spoke, the deeper she realized that she didn't know her husband well at all.
Marga laughed, and although it upset Sansa, she felt as if she deserved it.
"And you say you both are married to one another?"
"Yes," blushed with furious embarrassment. Marga rolled her eyes and shook her head.
"I have an idea," she grinned.
That day Sandor had a visitor at the jobsite.
The little bird had come with the woman Marga, who also visited her husband during their lunch break.
"Are you hungry little bird?" Sandor asked, digging into his lunch like a hungry dog. The two ate lunch on the side of the building, where the wall was just high enough to sit on.
"I already ate," she said politely, and unwrapped a juicy pear from a cloth and put it in his lap. "I thought you might an extra something."
Cutting a piece of pear with his knife, he offered it to Sansa, which she accepted. If she had taken a bite of it, there was the threat of it dripping on her pretty clothes. And Sandor knew that his lady liked to keep her hands clean.
Sansa also offered him a fresh water-skin, which he gratefully took a long swig from.
"Here my lord," Sansa said, holding up delicate handkerchief, which was clearly her own to wipe his brow. She brushed the fine cloth across his dirty brow, cheeks, sweaty nose, and mouth. When she pulled away he could see the cloth had soiled. "Much better," she gave him a smile.
The gesture made Sandor's chest tighten. Whether it was the way she cleaned his face, or the sweet smile she gave him, Sandor had never felt such warmth from the little bird before.
"Alyssane?" Marga called for her. It was time to leave.
"I'm glad you visited me today," Sandor thanked her as he stood, brushing himself off. I wouldn't mind if she did everyday, he thought quietly to himself.
"I will try to come as often as I can!" She chirped, her voice giddy.
"Such beautiful wife!" someone exclaimed, as the couple neared the job site entrance. It was none only than the head stone mason. The man was a genius in his craft, but his work did not harden him the way it did Rhyco.
He took a peculiar interest in Sandor, after hearing the story of how he killed two men in the market square. Often the head mason was hard to understand because he strictly spoke to Sandor in his own version of the Common Tongue. But, today he was quite clear about what he meant.
Sansa smiled prettily, her cheeks red as a beet. All the men at the jobsite seemed to take notice of her.
"Does man not kiss wife goodbye?" He teased Sandor.
Sandor looked at him, shocked. And Sansa felt her cheeks deepen a shade of red.
He pointed to Sansa, "If I were husband, I would never stop kissing!"
All eyes were on them, and he didn't want to hear about it later.
Looking at Sansa's face, he gauged her reaction to see if she was willing. She licked her lower lip and although it trembled, she didn't avert her gaze. He reached her in one stride. And following his cue, she lifted her chin and shut her eyes, and waited for it to happen.
Sansa felt his calloused hands cup her cheek as he pressed his lips onto the other. His rough hands were warm, and the sensation of his beard against her skin made her gasp. When he pulled away, he could see that Sansa was still flushed, and gave her a curt nod before walking away.
"You Westerosi are so cold!" The stone mason called after him, and Sandor pretended not to hear, while Sansa stood breathless where he left her.
"Did you enjoy your kiss?" Marga asked once they arrived back at the estate.
"Yes," she admitted, touching her cheek where his lips met her skin, still feeling the kiss's warmth.
"There are things that feel better than kissing Alysanne." Smiling like a cat, Marga proceeded to tell her all the things she could name that felt better than kissing.
One rainy afternoon, Sansa's curiosity got the best of her.
Her mind could not stray from all the puzzling things Marga had told her a few days prior. The elder woman informed her: touching your woman's place in a certain spot feel good, Alysanne, I hope you can find that out for yourself. With each thing Marga divulged the more Sansa couldn't believe her, but why would the woman lie to her in the first place?
Sansa knew nothing of pleasure, and knew she'd have to find it out for herself.
Shyly, her hand crept underneath her small clothes and into her warm folds. Sansa tentatively rubbed her fingers there, trying to illicit the sensation the elder woman described. Rubbing between her folds felt strange, and in the back of her mind Sansa tried to push away her embarrassment so that she could indulge in the feeling.
"There are other things that you, or a man can do," Marga told her, "He can put his fingers inside you, or he can use his tongue to taste you."
Sansa blushed madly at the idea of someone kissing her, there. The thought made the sensation of rubbing feel even better, until she brushed past something that made her breath catch in her throat. There.
Sansa focused on the spot until she was overcome by the feeling of her body coming undone.
Notes: It entertains me to surround good old grumpy Sandor with men who are much more cheerful than he. And by Essos's standards, the Weterosi culture must seem overly formal, and as the stone mason put it: cold. (Minus Dorne where everyone indulges in pleasure.) For me, writing about Sansa becoming sexually mature has always been important for me. It's something that I hardly find in sansan fanfiction. I mostly see a OOC Sansa who suddenly becomes very attracted to Sandor and indulges in sex with him. (Which I don't mind in one shots as long as theres some background development ya'know?) She's a character who is (in my opinion), naive and prude when it comes to sex, which comes from her sheltered Northern upbringing. I've never wanted to write Sansa as a character who is wanton or submissive to Sandor's sexual advances. To me, that's not her. Since the start of her story line she has always been a character who has been growing into herself, and finding out what she really wants. The same goes for her sexual development. Also- points if you got the scene where they ate the pear. Just me making a little joke, carry on.