Safe and secure at long last Sansa blossoms open like a winter rose in Sandor's arms and for the first time her reality is more beautiful than her dreams. Nestling into his muscular chest while listening to his plans, she finally allows herself to relax for the first time since reaching the Eyrie over a year ago. Darkness has overshadowed her for so long she finds it hard to accept this new reality full of hope suddenly thrust upon her.
Many questions fill her mind that she cannot bring herself to ask just yet, fearing the answers will spoil the cherished happiness they have found together. Hanging on each precious word from him, Sansa can hardly believe she is reunited with her beloved Sandor, afraid this is all just a beautiful dream ready to disappear at any moment. Sansa's connection with him continues to heighten in his presence, soothing her frayed mind and shattered heart.
She finds herself very conscious of their skin pressed together creating an arousing warmth that spreads throughout her entire body. Sandor's hardened manhood is markedly noticeable against her belly; her own body responds to him with a sudden rush of wetness between her legs, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
A sudden wave of shyness flushes Sansa's cheeks; she feels as naked as her nameday lying in Sandor's arms wrapped only in furs. She wonders if he can feel the wetness soaking through her smallclothes and her heart pounding against his chest. She averts her eyes, hoping her blushing in his arms will escape his notice as he speaks of their future. "Does he think me wanton?" she worries as she smiles up at him.
Sandor pulls away slightly, studying her face."Are you feeling feverish, Little Bird?" A slight smile emerges from her lips and she shakes her head ever so slightly. "No, I am only feeling...very warm." Chuckling knowingly, he kisses her forehead, "Are you now? Whatever would your septa say to that, Lady Sansa?" Reaching under her furs, he begins caressing her bare back down to her hips in even rhythmic strokes.
Hearing Sandor's voice rasping her name sends shivers of pleasure throughout her body. Being with him in this intimate position is all she has prayed and wished for many months. Sansa wonders if he has wanted the same with her. Smiling she whispers,"Being so close to you...touching you so intimately while we have this powerful connection, it's just so very...intense. I...I've never had such feelings."
"Aye, that it is love, very intense indeed...this is a first for both of us Little Bird. You feeling better now?" His Little Bird deserves to be made his wife before he beds her but Sandor finds it damn near impossible to hold himself back when she is lying in his arms looking at him with unmistakable desire in her eyes. Sandor begins kissing her below the ear. Slowly he nibbles his way to her collarbone, sending heated sparks of arousal throughout her body. Letting the furs fall away, she forgets all inhibition and moans and grips his neck, running her fingers through his long black hair. "Yes, Sandor...oh my love."
Growling low, he takes her breast into his mouth, languidly tracing every curve of her nipple with his tongue, awakening a new overwhelming passion within her. Gasping, Sansa wraps her legs around his waist, drawing his hips close to hers, her entire body hungering for more of him in every way possible. "I want you...I need you so my love," she whispers hoarsely. "Take me Sandor, I am yours."
A deep groan resonating through his chest, Sandor runs his hands down to her hips and pulls her body flush with his own, grinding his manhood against her woman's place, eliciting a long moan from Sansa's throat. As he licks and kisses his way down her stomach Sandor suddenly pauses, taking notice of her clearly visible ribs protruding from her body in a most alarming manner.
Fear for her health instantly overrides his ardent passion for her. "What is this? Just what the fuck has he been doing to you?" his asks running his large hand across her stomach and sides. "Oh, that... I have only lost weight."
Pulling the furs further down, he carefully pulls down her smallclothes and runs his fingers over the sharp points of her pelvic bones jutting out from her hips, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through Sansa. "Answer me Little Bird," he softens his tone, trying to still the rage seeping into his voice so she will speak freely.
"Must we speak of this now, my love?" she whispers shyly, blushing furiously under Sandor's heated gaze. "Yes gods damn it now woman...I must know, tell me," he repeats a bit more forcefully. "Littlefinger is as good as dead for this...I'll skin him alive ever bit as good as one of those fucking Boltons."
Insecurity creeps over her. "It isn't that Lord Baelish is denying me food, my love. I am so nervous with him around all the time-and well, he's always trying to kiss me or...press himself against me. Every day I wake up and shudder to think what will happen-you have no idea the constant fear I feel with him. I cannot keep anything down, Sandor...and once I learned of your death, I gave up trying," she blurts out, hot tears welling in her eyes.
Guilt wracks Sandor's mind and heart. He has always regretted not forcibly taking her with him the night of the Blackwater. Sickened with the knowledge her fear and grief has led to her frail condition, he briefly looks away from her, so full of shame he is unable to meet her gaze. Closing his eyes, his thoughts go back to his gnawing stomach pain on the Quiet Isle; now he understands he was experiencing Sansa's suffering as she tried to eat with Baelish.
Sandor lays his head on her breast and begin tenderly caressing her stomach and sides. "No Little Bird, you are a wolf; you mustn't give up now. You must eat for your own sake or you won't recover. This not eating business cannot continue, do you hear me?" he says. She runs her fingers through his hair. "Yes, I'll try to eat better, I promise."
"Right now we start," he says, using all of his self control to pull away from her and get out of bed. Though he had allowed himself to get carried away in the heat of the moment having her in his arms, he would not have her give herself to him in such a weakened state. "How long have you been ill like this?" he asks quietly, knowing full well it must be at least two months since Brienne visited the Eyrie. "Uh, about two moons I would say." she answers, confirming his fears. "Why the fuck has Baelish let you go on like this for so long? Littlefucker could at least have sent for a maester and have as many lemoncakes as you can eat available."
"He provided delicacies...but the food wasn't the problem." she whispers, looking out the window. Scanning over the carefully set up canning on the shelves, he surveys the assorted dried meats and vegetables. "No more not eating and no more fearing that little bastard, either. I will keep you safe, believe that Sansa."
"I believe you...I will eat, I promise. I know I am no longer pleasant to look upon," she mutters while she hastily covers herself once more. Moving onto the bed beside her, Sandor takes her hand away from the covers.
"Don't do that. Never hide from me Sansa. You are and always will be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen...I've wanted you ever since I laid eyes on you in Winterfell." He sighs, pulling her close to his chest. "I remember how you were after your father died-I had to get you out of bed. This time your grief and fear have just about overtaken you. Damn it Sansa, I won't lose you after I've just found you. I love you and I want you healthy and strong, alright?" Smiling, she nods as she watches him closely.
Pulling out a muslin pouch filled with alfalfa, he puts a kettle of water on to boil. "Elder Brother has been teaching me the art of healing herbs for the past few months. Drink this three times a day, it will help you put on weight and give you strength. You need lots of meat and milk, too. I'll see what I can fix us for supper."
Sniffing the pouch, she jerks her head away suddenly, causing Sandor to bark out a laugh. "Oh! That doesn't smell very good, does it?" Wrinkling her nose, she sips from the steaming mug slowly. "How did you find this place?" Sansa asks, looking around the cabin. "I helped an old Stone Crow bury his wife; this was their place. He offered to let me stay in it, said he was going back to his people."
"I wish we never had to leave." Sandor grunts but says nothing, busying himself with the meal to avoid her next question. Sansa can feel he's trying to delay thinking about later but she knows it must be brought up."I have to go back tonight Sandor, to Petyr-we both know that. If I just disappear now he would follow us to the ends of the Seven Kingdoms."
Sighing deeply Sandor pauses, struggling to control his fury at the thought of returning his little fragile bird to Baelish."Yes, I know-I'm working out the details still but you will be safe Sansa. I'll take you back in a while. Let's enjoy our meal first." Turning to her he lifts her chin, looking her straight in the eyes. "You must trust me Sansa. I won't let him hurt you I promise. I'm walking into the Eyrie with you whether Littlefucker likes it or not and the Warrior himself could not stop me."
"Of course I trust you. But Sandor how-" Moving away from her, he pulls out a small wooden chair and fills her tin bowl, then his own. "Not now Little Bird; now you eat your dinner. Come on over her and sit with me, tell me how you like my cooking."
Dinner is a simple vegetable and venison stew, made with the dried meat and canned vegetables stocked in the cabin. For Sansa, it will long be remembered as the first and most delicious meal she ever ate with Sandor. He does not press her and she finishes two bowls before pushing her dishes away. "Thank you Sandor, that was delicious. This is the first meal that has tasted good to me in over a month at least...and the best company I've enjoyed, too."
Sandor grins and gives her a cup of hot water with mint sprigs. "This will ease your stomach pains. Drink it whenever it hurts and after your meals, understand? I'll take some with us so you will have it at the Eyrie. You need plenty of Dornish red for strength- don't drink that shitty Arbor gold the ladies favor, you hear? Fucking Littlefinger must have some of the good stuff on hand."
At his words Sansa bursts into laughter, her lovely voice filling Sandor's heart with hope that in time his beautiful little bird will recover from her ordeal, both mentally and physically. Her laugh soon dissolves into sleepiness and she stifles a yawn. "Must we leave now? I am so tired, could we rest a bit more?"
"Aye, we'll rest. You need to sleep as much as you like when you're in the Eyrie if you want to regain your strength." Sandor replies, lying down beside her pulling her close to him. Smiling she takes his hand draped around her waist and kisses it. "Then you'll have to come in and sleep beside me."
"Aye woman, I'll kill any man that tries to keep me away, you best believe that." he growls into her ear, kissing her neck. Basking in his tender embrace, once more Sansa is lulled into a deep restful sleep. Content with having his precious love cradled next to his heart Sandor follows suit, a deep sleep quickly overtaking him as well.
Blue moonlight seeps in through the frosted cabin window, awakening Sandor. Glancing over at Sansa, he cannot help but stare at her. Her beautiful features relaxed in slumber, her full red lips part as her breathing comes deep and even and he does not wish to rouse her from her peaceful dreams. It must be the first deep sleep the Little Bird has had in months and he cannot bear disturbing her. Shivering with dread Sandor's heart aches at the very thought he must return her to Baelish.
Carefully moving away from her, he looks out at the night sky. By the position of the moon he can see the hour is somewhere close to midnight. One more look at Sansa sleeping peacefully snuggled into the furs, he makes up his mind: he'll take her back in the morning.
The engagement festivities in the Eyrie wind down around the third phase of the moon. Soldiers and whores alike occupy every available room and alcove in the chasmal guest quarters of the castle. Disentangling himself from Ros's arms, Petyr rises and wraps his silk robe around his body, then quietly leaves her slumbering in his room. Walking down the hall, he speaks to Sansa's maid. "How is Lady Alayne this evening?"
"Milady ate and went to bed early after her last fitting. Poor thing, she was suffering stomach pains and looks very tired Ser. All the wedding excitement, mayhaps."
"No visitors-her betrothed, perhaps?" he raises his eyebrow at her in mock suspicion. 'Oh no my lord. Her honor is quite safe, I assure you."
Smiling knowingly he curtly nods and turns the handle on her door. Satisfied finding the room darkened and the door locked, he stealthily moves down the stairs to the guest rooms.
Coughing loudly several times, he watches the doors carefully; soon one of his finest trained girls, a lovely blond named Selene, peeks out from one of the rooms and winks at him. "Did you make sure he drank all of the wine as I asked?"
Nodding, she smiles slyly at Petyr. "Of course, Lord Baelish-I made sure he was quite thirsty. With no garderobe in that room I expect he should be trying to get up soon." she giggles and Petyr laughs in return.
"Good girl, two gold dragons for your work here my dear," he says, slipping the coins into her corset. "Tis nothing my lord. Should you require anything more, I'll be in the room at the end of the hall." Baelish smiles and dismisses her without a word, then shifts into a darkened alcove, watching for Harry's appearance.
A half hour passes and Baelish's mood turns impatient, anxiously pacing as he waits for Harry to enter the hall. Loud banging echoes in the corridor; Petyr recognizes it is coming from from Harry's room and slips back into the shadows just as the young knight slowly emerges, holding his head.
Rounding the corner, Baelish calls merrily, "Dearest good-son, what tears you away from such warm and willing company? Is Selene not to your taste? I will find you another if you wish, even more beautiful-what say you?"
Laughing harshly Harry replies, "Yes, later though. I need the garderobe, my room does not have one." Tisking, Baelish shakes his head, "An unfortunate oversight, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies-I will amend the situation at once. I have another larger room free and prepared for guests near the staircase. Follow me," he waves his hand and walks away before Harry can protest.
Reaching the winding staircase, Baelish gestures to the second room closest to the alcove. "Isn't this room here closest to the stairs?" Harry asks, stepping backward toward the top step. Eyes widening, Baelish nods emphatically. " I believe you are right, this one then. Forgive me, I too have enjoyed quite a bit of wine this evening."
As Harry steps closer to the staircase, Petyr slyly grins at the young man, "You should have never trusted the voice of a mockingbird, Harrold Hardyng," he hisses before reaching out and roughly shoving Harry backward, the young man's startled shout suddenly silenced by his head squarely striking the marble landing below. Smirking, Petyr looks around a moment before hurrying back to Ros.