A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and comments. My ff page has been a bit messed up and I'm not sure if all of my responses have been going through so I thought I'd add another note here. Please know that I appreciate each and every one of my readers and I am grateful to all who take the time to read and leave comments on my story. Thank you!
After Sandor fell asleep, Sansa laid awake a long time listening to the sound of his deep steady breathing. Eventually the rise and fall of Sandor's chest against her cheek harmonized with his inhalations as Sansa gently stroked his sides. Glancing outside, Sansa watched as the snow continued to fall. It is a sign from Father. Winter is coming for both of us but we will survive; the Starks always have.
Sandor I love you. I want to help you. I want you to be healthy-I want us to be healthy. Sansa repeated these words like a prayer, hoping her father would help her know how to reach him. Admittedly it was difficult, however because Sansa had no idea the source of his suffering. Having served so many deployments undoubtedly had taken its toll, but Sansa had the gnawing feeling there was more to it.
What compels Sandor to bring us out into the den? Why can he not sleep in the bedroom? It had nothing to do with physical comfort, of that Sansa was certain. Everything seemed fine when they were in there: they made beautiful love and afterward Sansa was warm and contented, and fell asleep peacefully in his arms. Then in the middle of the night Sandor wanted to move.
It really didn't matter to her where they slept; the den was cozy and warm, and the new sofa Sandor had bought was actually more comfortable than the bed; it was the terrible fear in his eyes, his shifting manner, and the almost panic driven need to move her that worried Sansa. Is it actually the bed itself or the room that disquieted him? Though she could not place her finger on it, there was something in his manner that made her wonder if it was indeed his experiences in Afghanistan or something else that haunted his sleep.
Intermittently Sandor shivered beneath her, cursing low at some unseen enemy, tossing his head and mumbling in his sleep until the man would pull her still closer to him, rendering any real rest impossible. Uncertain if she should stroke his chest to sooth him or lay still least her actions trigger the deadly inner warrior or a knee jerk survival response from him, Sansa decided she would remain as immobile as possible.
When she stirred beneath him, Sandor awakened at once. "What is it? You hear something?"
"No, love, I heard nothing. Please, go back to sleep. It's still early." Sansa turned over onto her side and snuggled down against him.
"Are you sure?" Sandor glanced around the room several times before studying her face. "Tell me truly." Without waiting for an answer, he went to the gun rack and jiggled the lock. Stifling a gasp, Sansa gaped at him, then hurriedly schooled her expression into one of passivity when Sandor caught her reflection in the glass.
"There was no noise, Sandor, only the quiet of the snow," Sansa whispered, hoping her quiet tone would calm him. "If I heard anything out of the ordinary I would wake you. Now, come back to my arms." She waved him toward her. "It's chilly."
Sniffing, Sandor paused and then threw another log on the fire, watching as the flames licked at the dry tinder.
"Is that balsam?" Sansa padded over to him, wrapped her arms around his bare body and squeezed him close to her.
"Aye and cedar and cinnamon. It's only for the scent and doesn't throw off heat for shit." Sandor laid his large hands over hers at his waist. "A trick of my father's."
Sansa inhaled deeply and nestled her cheek into his back. "It smells so home."
"You're already chilled, lass," he smiled then, turned and picked her up. After tucking her in among the coverlets, Sandor settled down beside her.
"You were restless in your sleep," Sansa brushed the hair away from his eyes. "Did you have nightmares?"
"Some." Sandor clenched his jaw tightly, and Sansa watched his neck muscles work as though he struggled to swallow.
"I'm sorry," she allowed her lips to graze his cheeks. "Did you dream of the war?"
"No, not of the war." Sandor cleared his throat. Sansa did not press him, merely drew his arm around her waist and began caressing his knuckles with her fingers. The movement seemed to calm him, and so after a bit, Sandor offered: "Of my brother."
That caught her attention. "Your brother who just recently passed?" She sat up and rolled over onto him. Avoiding her gaze, Sandor gripped her hips and adjusted her position so that her woman's place pressed firmly against his hardened manhood, the movement bringing a deep "hmmm" noise from Sandor's throat as he did so.
He didn't have on a condom, and the feel of his bare member caressing her intimately immediately distracted her. She knew she should at least have him put on protection but since he made no move to go further, Sansa allowed it, and decided to focus on what he was about to say. She sat astride him and smoothed her hands over his chest soothingly, waiting for him to speak.
"Yes," Sandor finally answered; and it seemed he forced the words from his throat. "Gregor, his name was Gregor. I dreamt he came back here. I don't know why, he never came to this house when he was alive-never even knew where I lived, I made damn sure of that."
Nodding, Sansa stroked his chest in broad circles, hoping to comfort him where words could not. "I'm glad you'll never know him, Sansa. Glad that death took him before you came into my life, though I wished I had killed him myself." Restlessly he moved his thighs beneath her, and so Sansa lowered her head to his chest and kissed him tenderly, wanting him to feel safe to express himself with her, even the darkest of thoughts, without judgment.
Told in his blunt way, Sandor's assertions were devoid of emotion, even brutally murderous. The darkness with which he uttered the words frightened her. Something horrible happened between Sandor and his brother, that much was obvious, but Sansa neither could bring herself to ask for details nor think of words that would ease his misery.
Love will build a bridge between our hearts if you let it, her mother used to say, and so Sansa hoped that displaying her affection would speak to Sandor in ways where words might fail. Resting her cheek against his stomach, Sansa closed her eyes, praying silently, until frightening images suddenly flashed before her eyes.
A flaming brazier in a castle made of stone spilled over, setting the cobblestone flooring alight with glowing coals and ash. Two boys, one large and fierce, the other much smaller, struggled until the bigger one gained the mastery over the younger, drug him to the hot coals and pressed his face into the fire. The smaller boy's agonizing screams cut painfully in her stomach, and Sansa squeezed her eyes closed; when she opened them, she saw on the floor lay a discarded GI Joe action figure, similar to one her brothers played with at home.
Gasping in pain, Sansa finally shook herself out of the reverie, raised her hand to her chest and clutched her heart as her whole body trembled violently.
Alarmed, Sandor sat up and worriedly examining her for signs of injury or sickness. "Are you ill? In pain? What is it, Sansa?"
"No, I…" she stammered, the young woman both unwilling and unable to tell him that such visions were an intuition of sorts, a gift Sansa had from the time she was twelve. They began not long after her naming ceremony and intensified dramatically after she lost her beloved wolf Lady, the namesake of her cat.
Just tell him, her father whispered into her ear. He is a part of you, and you a part of him now. Tell him, lass.
"Sandor, I know this sounds very strange but please, bear with me." His curiosity piqued, Sandor sat up and put his arms around her. "As you spoke, I just had a sudden series of images flash before my eyes."
"Imagines-what do you mean? Of what?" Sandor paled while staring intently at her.
"There were two boys in front of a brazier in a stone keep, and from the style of it, it seemed to me that it was in Great Britain. Anyway, they struggled, the boys did, as one tried to hold the other into the flame, and they knocked over the hot coals and sent them spilling onto the ground." She took his hands in her own. "The younger one screamed, and the sound sent a corresponding wound straight through my heart. The boy…he was you."
Recoiling, Sandor began to shake. "No one knows that, Sansa, no one. How the fuck-"
"The story of the boys…it is your story, isn't it?" Tentatively she reached out to cup his cheek. "I know you want to deny it but I can feel it even as I look at you. Your brother, Gregor, he is the one who burned you." Suddenly Sansa's eyes grew bleary with tears she did not realize were falling form her eyes.
His fist grabbed her wrist in an iron grip; Sandor was clearly undone by her uncanny knowledge, but true to his word, he did not hurt her. "How do you know such?" When she hesitated, he inclined his face closer still and growled low. "How?"
"You won't hurt me, but I'll not have this," she whispered softly as she removed his hands from her. "Let me up, please, until you calm down."
"No, Little bird, I won't hurt you-how could you fucking even think that? You're the last person I would ever hurt." Frowning, Sandor turned loose of her, gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply from his nose.
Trembling, Sansa started to move away from him. "Because you scare me when you're upset, I already told you earlier. You hold me too tight, you say scary things-I don't like it. I won't have it, either."
Nervously he sat up, staring at her with all his might.
"I won't abandon you, and I will help in any way that I can." Sansa went on. "But if we are to build a loving, long term relationship, then I need you to learn a better way to cope when you're upset." Sansa spoke firmly, though when she saw his sheepish expression, she no longer had the heart to remove herself from his grasp.
"I will, lass, for you." He sighed once more, and Sansa felt a sharp tremor move through him as he spoke.
"For yourself," Sansa gently corrected.
He nodded. "I'm not upset with you, Sansa; just surprised as fuck. I swear I'll work on it. Forgive me," Sandor wrapped his hands around her waist, entwined his fingers and pulled her closer, the movement at once reassuring to her. "Tell me how you know this."
"I cannot say for certain." Sansa anxiously wrung the throw blanket as she spoke. "It's a gift known to exist within my family, though in the North it is considered natural, a blessing, even. I-I didn't mean to pry into your business with it or spy on your past-it just happened. It's been a lifelong frustration that I don't have any measure of control over it."
"I hold to no one set of beliefs myself and that a man makes his own destiny. But my mother was said to have second sight," Sandor spoke evenly after a moment. "We teased her about it for years, but she knew my sister Elinor had died long before her body was found."
Sansa squeezed his hand but Sandor merely shifted his gaze and continued: "Seen it with some of my men on the battlefield, too. Overseas plenty of men around me predicted their own injuries, had funny feelings that helped them escape by the skin of their teeth. Some even foresaw their own deaths weeks in advance."
"Really?" Sansa asked, leaning in closer. She did not know continentals, as the people referred to those who lived in the lower contiguous states, had such experiences.
She heard her father say such many times but somehow she had believed it only happened to him because he was a Northerner that perhaps the old gods had spoken to him due to the danger he was in during battle. It alarmed her to imagine the extent of the horrors Sandor experienced in his life and despite his distinct ferocity as a soldier, she was frightened for him, not of him.
"Why would it happen now?" Sandor pursed his lips. "What do your Northern gods say of such?"
Sansa bit her lip. Just tell him, her father whispered once more. He is a part of you.
"You needn't hide your faith because I don't share it." Unsuccessfully Sandor tried to hide his annoyance and impatience as he waited.
"Well, my ancestors believed that northern women are bonded to their mates in the sight of the gods from the time they say their vows for the commitment ceremony. These are the same words, as you recall, that we said earlier at school." She felt Sandor's fingers tracing small circles over her back once more, reassuring her. "I believe there is power in such promises, that the gods hear our prayers and act accordingly. And that we are bonded now, in both body and heart and this," Sansa gestured between them. "This is proof."
They remained in companionable silence for a long time after Sansa finished speaking. Finally Sandor spoke up. "It's a bit of a relief not having to voice it to you; I'll say that much."
Sansa knew he was studying her, trying to gauge her reaction. "I understand, I truly do. It's easier not to…speak of sadness, suffering or pain than it is to put it in words." An involuntary shudder surged through her and Sandor pulled her against his chest in response. "But I don't want it to be this way between us, either, Sandor. It isn't healthy for us to hide from each other whenever something hurts and let anger and silence become the norm. I want us to find a better way."
"Then we will go to Elder brother tomorrow," Sandor whispered against her forehead. "He can help us."
Sansa's face lit up excitedly. "Truly? You're willing for us to go for counselling?"
"Aye, lass," Sandor brushed her hair away from her eyes. "I might not be one of those men who gives flowery speeches and the like but even a brute like me knows what we have isn't something that happens every day. This is forever, Sansa." He raised her hand to his chest and laid it over his heart. "You're mine, and I'll fight the devil himself to keep you."
Speechless, Sansa felt her mouth quiver at his words, and Sandor reached up and caressed her lower lip with his thumb. "Forever," she finally breathed out as she stared deep into his eyes.
After kissing her soundly, Sandor smiled and tucked her tightly against him. "Now then, let's go back to sleep."
Sansa rolled over onto him, straddled his lap and sat up. His eyes ranged hungrily over her, and he pressed his manhood against her woman's place in response.
"Can't we try again first?" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She laced her fingers through Sandor's and rolled her hips deeply over him, rubbing his length against her slit as she did so. The feeling was so exquisite that Sansa's threw her head back and moaned while the heavy wetness of her arousal soaked them both. The heat of his member took her breath away, and his own arousal fluids created a slick friction between them she had not felt during their previous encounter.
Groaning, Sandor held the base of his penis and began stroking the head over her slit, barely allowing the tip to enter her as her mewling grew louder. "Fuck but you're a hot little thing," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"Sandor..." she sobbed out, her eyes prickling with tears. "We needs get..." They needed a condom, she knew, but so lost in her pleasure was Sansa that she could barely form words.
Abruptly Sandor moved her off of him and unrolled a condom over his penis with a long moan, then hurriedly moved her back into position. Deftly she sank down over his length with a loud cry, tossing her head back with each thrust. "That's it, Little bird, ride my cock."
Sansa did just as he said, rode him long and hard, rode him until they were both out of breath, until she screamed his name and supplicated the gods by turns, until he pulsed deep inside her and whispered his love for her against her neck. Afterward, he stroked her back gently until once more Sansa drifted off into peaceful dreams.