Thank you for the kind words and reviews. I was in the hospital for a bit so sorry this update is a little late :D
Once Sandor closes the door behind them, Sansa tightly clings to him and begins to wail in anguish. "I cannot believe that monstrosity who claims she is my mother would…would…" Sansa stutters out, burying her face in her husband's tunic.
Nymeria sniffs Sansa thoroughly, whining and nosing the young woman in response. Raising her head to the air, a mournful howl resounds in the room as the animal voices her distress over Sansa's sorrowful state.
"Easy wife, this isn't good for you. Shhh, you're still getting well, remember that," Sandor murmurs low while clutching her tightly against his chest. Leading her to the window seat, he sits her on his knee and rubs soothing circles over her back.
"Poor Lady Brienne! She was a gentle, kind woman even though she was a powerful warrior as well. Sandor, she was so very concerned over how distraught I was when she related the news of your death. And Podrick, he was always so good to me in King's Landing! Do you remember how he was always so polite and helpful?"
"Aye, wife, I remember."
"It is just unimaginable to me that they are gone!"
"Shhh, I know, love. Their troubles are over now, lass," Sandor whispers in her hair, caressing her arms and shoulders. "They are with your father and brother now. Might be they watch over us, too."
"Yes, that is true." She sniffs while burying her face into his neck. "I had not thought of that." Sansa desperately needs to get closer, to experience Sandor's strength. Lifting his tunic, she runs her hands along his bare skin, eliciting a shiver from her husband.
"Is the Little bird hungry for her dog again?" He gently teases and kisses her shoulder. In reality he shares her yearning for closeness; her pain is so raw that Sandor is overwhelmed by an urgent need to strengthen her.
"Forgive me, I…" Sansa begins, blushing as he tilts her face up so she will look him in the eye.
"You needn't apologize, wife," he chuckles, stroking her hair. "I'd be a bloody fool to ever turn such a beauty as you away."
Sansa sadly smiles at his teasing mood. "I do not wish to offend you, husband, but it is not for our coupling that I am longing. It is just that the feeling of our skin touching, the warmth of our bodies against each other is so very soothing to me."
Sandor nods. "I understand, Sansa."
"Since the cabin on that first day you held me in your arms without clothes," Sansa hesitates, blushing.
"Yes?" He grins mischievously.
Reddening, she looks away. "That day I discovered that I experience a sort of healing in your arms, if that makes sense. The feel of your body alleviates my fears and suffering both physically and emotionally. With you I am complete-I am made whole, somehow. It is quite powerful and-"
"And?" He grins devilishly, gathering her close.
"And I would call it transcendental, even. When I am frightened or sad, my first instinct is to touch you, to get as close as possible and bury myself in your arms. You are my shelter, my safety, Sandor," she whispers the last words. "It is not only the bond, my love. I have felt it since King's Landing. That is why I kept your cloaks."
Swallowing hard, Sandor tenderly wipes the tears from her cheeks. He understands more than she realizes and her words move the man deeply. He has never told her how profoundly her small acts of kindness towards him shaped him or that she has been his only comfort ever since King's Landing. Long before they were bonded, the soft touch of Sansa's hand on his shoulder on the serpentine steps offered him more solace than he had ever known in life.
When she stroked his cheek the night of the Blackwater battle, her compassionate gesture simultaneously shattered him while comforting and strengthening him as well.
Sansa's empathy in King's Landing forever changed him and from that day forward being in her company began molding him into a different man, a better man.
After he left her, he drank himself into a stupor every day trying to achieve the same consolation but to no avail; he was lost and sick without her. Though it took him to the brink of death to admit it, it is she who made him understand the need to put an end to the vengeful Hound.
"My beloved wife, I feel it with you as well," he finally manages, removing his tunic. "I have felt it since the serpentine." Shedding his breeches, he sits down on the bed and pats the spot beside him. "No need to fret. I won't press you for more in such a state. Come here, lass," he says as she draws near, turning so he will unlace her gown.
"Do not say such, Sandor. How could I ever fret over my husband wanting to love me?" Sansa chides softly while running her fingers through the hair on his chest. Once freed of the gown, she eagerly casts off the rest of her clothing and climbs into bed with her husband.
Sandor wraps his body around hers, pressing her tightly against him. Reveling in the warmth of his skin, Sansa's sniffling soon abates and after several minutes she sighs contentedly while Sandor strokes her back. Discerning the tension slowly leaving her body, Sandor kisses her softly in the crown of her hair and continues his ministrations, leaving no part of her form untouched.
The couple derives reassurance from the security of their bond growing ever more resilient through interaction. Closing her eyes, Sansa presses her cheek against his muscular chest, willing the world outside to disappear. She longs to have nothing more than Sandor and this closeness for the rest of their lives.
"I know, love," she hears him quietly rasp, running his fingers through her hair.
"Did you hear my thoughts?" Sansa asks, looking up at him suddenly.
"What? No, Little bird. I heard what you just said now," he rasps in a whisper, nuzzling into the crook of his wife's neck and tenderly kissing where her pulse flutters beneath the skin.
"Sandor, I did not speak," Sansa answers, rising up to look at him. "I thought to myself how I wish we could stay like this."
Alarmed, Sandor stares at her. "You didn't speak those words?"
"No, love, I thought it. Perhaps Bran is helping us know each other's thoughts."
"Fuck me-I hope he can't read them as well. That boy sure as hell doesn't need to know what I think of his sister," Sandor growls into her ear, sweeping his tongue over the tender flesh.
"We should go to the Heart tree and tell Bran of our plans. Perhaps Jojen and Howland will help him assist our escape."
Sighing, Sandor nods. "Alright, wife, we'll go," he says, throwing back the down coverlet.
"Husband, I did not mean just yet," Sansa whispers, pulling him back beside her. "First I wish…"
"You wish for what?" He grunts, curiously watching the color rise in her cheeks.
"I wish for you to- to love me first," Sansa whispers, twisting the sheet in her hands. "I…I need to feel you inside of me, to be joined to you. But if you think that would take too long, I understand-"
Chuckling low, Sandor eagerly nips along her collarbone. "I can be as quick as need be, my wanton Little bird," he growls, pulling her on top of him.
"My love, please, I need you. I want you," she gasps in between Sandor's hungry kisses. Rising up to straddle his lap, Sansa takes hold of his hands for balance, lacing her fingers through his as she positions herself over him.
Throwing back her head, a deep moan escapes her lips as she sheathes him deep inside and slowly begins thrusting against his length. Watching her in the throes of passion with her lovely skin flushed with need, Sandor can hardly believe this beautiful creature desires him as he desires her. Yet, through their bond, he feels her love coursing through his heart, leaving no doubt the little bird both wants and needs him, body and soul.
"Look at me," he rasps hoarsely, his voice almost pleading. "Look at me."
Sansa opens her lovely eyes and smiles down at him, taking the man's breath away. "I love you, Sandor," she sighs, staring deep into his eyes and rolling her hips. "You must never doubt my love for you." Hearing Sansa give voice to those precious words while she loves him sends his body and heart to the Seven heavens.
Eagerly Sandor arches his hips to meet her as her movements turn feverish. Suddenly Sandor feels her body squeeze his manhood tightly, Sansa attaining her peak as he reaches his own. Out of breath and giggling softly, Sansa collapses against his chest. "See, I can be as quick as need be, too, my wanton husband."
Laughing, Sandor tightly holds her against his body, too overcome with emotion to speak. Experiencing her love is still so very new to him, so very precious that despite the bond there are times when he cannot help but wonder if it is all a dream.
"I know, my love," she whispers. "I have wondered the same myself. But it is real. I am here with you now and I will never leave you. I am yours as you are mine, forever."
"As I belong to you, Little bird. What is it that you know?" He asks as he tilts her chin up to him, tenderly kissing her supple lips.
"I know that this all feels like a dream, just as you said," she whispers, caressing his jawline and running her fingers through his beard.
"Sansa, I said no such thing. I thought it," he frowns.
"Oh, truly? How very odd. I heard it in my mind as though you said it out loud."
"Aye, lass, I know. We best go speak to your brother at once."
With Nymeria following them, Sandor leads Sansa by the waist toward the entrance of the Eyrie facing the godswood, occasionally stopping to kiss his wife along the way.
Brynden Tully and Lord Royce meet them in the corridor. "The Stone Crows will be leaving at dusk, Clegane. Elder brother will also make for the Quiet Isle," the Blackfish sighs, exasperated.
"No shit. I bloody well heard them at breakfast," Sandor grouses as he releases her, annoyed by the interruption. Blushing, Sansa straightens her hair and smiles. Lord Royce chuckles low and nods at her.
"Must the two of you carry on in such a way in front of others?" Brynden sighs again, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Lord Royce. "It is most unseemly."
"Bugger that. She's my wife and I'll fucking kiss her wherever I damn well please," Sandor snarls, pulling Sansa closer to his side.
"Sandor…" Sansa softly chides, blushing prettily once more.
"There's a good man, Sandor!" Lord Royce laughs, slapping him on the back. "Lord Tully, as a lifelong bachelor perhaps you do not appreciate the unique gifts of newly wedded life. It's a dangerous thing to interrupt a man so newly wedded as Sandor."
"Lord Royce, you are most kind. Really, we are newly married after all, Greatuncle," Sansa giggles merrily, ignoring Sandor's dangerous air. "Pray, is there some way we may help you smooth the progress of their parting?"
"What Sansa meant to say is: get to the point," Sandor grunts, still fuming.
"Newly married or no, Elder brother has requested that you, Sandor, escort him out of the Vale for protection. The Stone Crows will go along part of the way but with your, shall we say, fearsome reputation, he would be more at ease, preferring that you take him as far as the Inn."
"Damn it all to the Seven hells." Sighing heavily, Sandor turns to Sansa. "As much as I hate to leave you, Sansa, the man did save my life." Pausing, he looks down at the little bird, taking her hands in his. "I hardly feel I can deny the old man, Sansa. He wed us, after all. It is a little thing that he asks of us. What say you, wife?"
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she retrieves Sandor's handkerchief. "Oh, husband, must you go? We have only been together a few days." She asks tearfully, dabbing her cheeks and sniffing loudly.
The Blackfish shifts uncomfortably in front of them and turns away. "Really, Sansa, your mother must attend your manners. I expect you to control yourself in front of Lord Royce, young lady."
My undead mother who is now bent on vengeance will attend to my manners? Sansa simmers ruefully. "Forgive me, Greatuncle, this is so very sudden. I did not know when the men said wanted to leave they meant to take my beloved away from me," she sobs out into the handkerchief.
Good girl, Sandor thinks, inwardly grinning at his wife's performance. They won't question a crying woman. "It will only be for a few weeks, lass, and then I'll be back here with you."
Clutching his tunic, she sadly shakes her head. "Well, if you must. You are my lord and husband, after all. I cannot deny whatever you wish."
"Sansa will be safe with us, Clegane. Honestly, such a fuss over nothing! It will only mean a few weeks of travel and a temporary curtailment to your other activities. Cat will be here soon as it is. Your untoward behavior must stop sooner or later."
"Bugger that. Bugger you." Sandor grimaces. Brynden looks about to respond when Sansa gazes up at Sandor and caresses his cheek. "Sandor, Greatuncle Brynden makes a good point. The trip will only be for two weeks at the most and perhaps it would be better if you were not present when Mother arrives. There is much she and I need to discuss and it would only bore you to listen. I…I think it best you not come across the Brothers without Banners, as well."
Watching Sandor softly regard his wife, Lord Royce chuckles and clears his throat, eying Brynden. "You offered the wrong approach, it would seem, Lord Tully."
"Want me out of your hair, is that it? Look, Little bird, I fucking well didn't wed you to spend my nights freezing my balls off on the road," Sandor growls, causing Brynden to roll his eyes and walk away.
"Clegane, we all know you as the Hound but really-must you use such coarse language with my niece?"
"Mind your own business, Blackfish," Sandor grits his teeth and turns to face him. "Or I'll show you coarse language."
Lord Royce chuckles. "Such is the way with newlyweds, Lord Tully. Come; let us leave them to their first quarrel."
"I'll allow you two you privacy to work out the details. Sansa, Sandor," Brynden grumbles, shaking his head. "Meet me by the stables before you go."
"Oh, Greatuncle, we must pray for everyone's safety in the godswood first and then I will ready my husband's things."
"The maid can do that, Sansa. Really, you forget yourself."
"I would not feel right entrusting my husband's belongings to another."
"Sansa! You sound like a smallfolk woman with such speech! What would your father say?"
"I do not know. My mother would pack his things when he journeyed away from Winterfell, Greatuncle."
My father would say I shouldn't have to endure such indignity. My father is with us and knows my brother is helping us as we speak.
"Oh Brynden, come now. Such is the way of women. It's only natural she wants to take care of her new husband. Let the child be." Lord Royce admonishes, smiling at the newlyweds.
"As you wish, Sansa," the Blackfish mutters testily. "You be prepared at dusk, young lady."
"Yes, Greatuncle. Thank you. It is most kind of you to indulge me."
Once the men are gone, Sansa looks up at her husband worriedly. "Do you think I was convincing?"
Grunting, Sandor nods with a twinkle in his eye. "That you were, lass. Nothing like a woman's tears to make a grown man uncomfortable. Or childbirth."
"We must make haste to the godswood," Sansa nervously says, taking him by the arm.
"Brother! Bran, can you hear me?" Sansa calls softly as she enters the godswood hand in hand with Sandor. Nymeria curls up at the base of the Heart tree, whining softly and sniffing the dirt.
"Maybe we should offer prayers first," Sandor suggests softly.
"Yes, you are right."
After the couple spend several moments in supplication, a strong wind gusts through the godswood, sending the fallen red leaves of the weirwoods swirling around them. "Brother," Sansa whispers.
"Sandor, Sansa," Bran's soft voice echoes in their hearts. "Here me, the both of you. You must calm yourselves so you can hear me."
Desperately, Sansa clings to Sandor and wills herself to still the tumult in her mind.
"Take a few deeps breaths, Sansa, the way I showed you," Sandor whispers to her, squeezing her hand.
Slowing her breathing, Sansa empties her mind of her worries. After several moments she hears Bran's voice clearly in her heart. "Sansa, you must leave tonight. Lady Stoneheart is nearing. Jojen says she and the Brotherhood Without Banners will cross paths tonight with the party leaving the castle."
"You cannot see her yourself, Bran?" Sandor asks.
"She is shrouded from me, goodbrother. Howland says it must be the doing of the R'hllor. Do not fear; the old gods are far more powerful than he is, I swear it."
"Boy, are you certain? I mean no disrespect but in my experience everyone thinks their gods are the most powerful and their religion the right way." Sandor frowns, glancing at Sansa.
"Father has told me. In fact, Sansa, you might want to know that it was Father who interceded on your behalf with the old gods to bond you to Sandor."
"Father? He asked the gods to bond us?" Sansa chokes out as Sandor pulls her close. "Oh thank the gods! Dearest Father! He has been looking out for me this entire time!" When she gains control of her tears, she says, "I feared he would not forgive me for believing Joffrey's promise."
"That was Joffrey's wrong, not yours, Sansa. Father never blamed you. I saw him die, Sansa, and I never blamed you, either. Let go of your guilt, sister; you must not blame yourself any longer."
Silently Sandor thanks the Seven, for he too has feared that Eddard would not forgive him for the part he played the day of his execution. Sansa's voice stirs him from his thoughts. "Will we always be thus between us?"
"Yes, sister. It will last forever, in this life and the next."
Sobbing, Sansa bows low to the ground and reverently runs her fingers along the roots of the weirwood. "Thank you," she whispers. "You've given me far more than I ever dreamed I would have in this life. To have my beloved forever is the greatest gift." Sandor whispers his own thanks but Sansa is so intent on the Heart tree that she does not hear him.
"Sansa, we will be together soon. You must dry your tears, sister."
"Bran, my love, they are tears of gratitude, not sorrow. I beg you: entreat Jojen and Howland to help us escape tonight."
"Jojen has already seen your escape, Sansa. Sandor, you must keep her away from the main party of travelers tonight and rejoin them later. The Brotherhood and Lady Stoneheart will cross their path during the second quarter of the moon."
"But-but how will we do this, brother? I cannot find my way in the dark."
"You must trust me. I will warg into Nymeria and guide you to Sandor, Sansa."
"Can you do such from so far away?"
"Yes, Sansa. You should know that; you have already done so yourself. You just did not understand it."
Wringing her hands, Sansa frowns and shakes her head. "No, I do not believe so, brother. What makes you so certain of that?"
"I felt her connected to you, Sansa. It is not as powerful as it would be if you knew how to control it. Could you not feel her?"
"Yes, yes she was furious-vicious, even, and the closer she came to us the more intense the feelings became. It went away as soon as Sandor's blade came down on Petyr's neck."
"It is the Stark bonding with the direwolves. Father was also giving his approval of Sandor executing Lord Baelish. Your distress called to her and drew her to you, just as it called Sandor. We are all connected, sister. Your distress and prayers called to me through the weirwoods. Nothing could have prevented Nymeria from coming to your aid, Sansa. She loves being with you, I have felt it. She has been lost since Arya chased her away and you remind her of our sister."
"But how? We are so different," Sansa pleads. "Brother, I do not understand."
"You may be as different as the sun and the moon but the same blood flows through both your hearts and mine, Rickon and Jon as well. You need her, as she needs you…and I need both of you. Arya and Jon are coming to join us as well. I have called to them."
Sansa's tears fall freely as Sandor lifts her gently into his arms. "It's almost over, lass. You'll be with them soon."
"We will be with them, my love," she whispers, resting her head on his chest. "I will not be parted from you, not ever."
"I didn't mean it that way, Sansa. I meant you will be with your family."
"You are one of us, now, Sandor. You are part of our pack," Bran intones. "I feel the doubt in the both of you. It is to be expected but you must believe in order to escape. The gods have shown Jojen that you will succeed but only if you have confidence the old gods will help you."
"Yes, Bran, we believe," Sandor answers low, his declaration startling Sansa. "Help us when we waver, can you, boy?"
"Yes, goodbrother, I will."
"Brother, I promise as well," Sansa adds, squeezing Sandor's hand.
"Then tonight I will be with you," Bran quietly says before a large gust of wind flows through the godswood once more.
As the couple makes their way up the winding staircase, Lord Royce's son Andar calls out to the couple. "Clegane! Lady Sansa!"
"What do you want, boy?" Sandor grunts, eying the young man suspiciously.
"I have the coin owed the…woman you wished preserved, Lady Sansa," he says, holding our three large purses of coin toward Sandor.
"Oh!" Sansa says, understanding his words. "Thank you, Lord Andar. It is so good of you to handle this matter for us."
"It is my pleasure, my lady."
"I'll take it up straight away," Sandor says, whistling low as he fingers the large amount of coin carefully.
"Is it enough for her to establish another place of, well, business and a home?"
"More than enough," Sandor nods. "Meet me in our rooms, Sansa. I have an idea."
Sansa smiles and moves toward their chambers. Sandor waits for her to disappear before rapping sharply on Ros' door. Faintly the sound of moaning comes from inside the room.
"Ros, open this damned door. I know your fucking someone in there," Sandor growls, kicking the door in warning. "The next kick will bring it down, wench."
Ros jerks open the door in a see-through robe and smiles at him. "It won't help your case any to show me what I've already seen many a time," he growls, tossing her the coin pouches and walking inside.
Her eyes widening, Ros counts the contents greedily. "Most generous of you, Clegane, most generous indeed. You want me to give you wife a few lessons? It would be on the house," she teases apprehensively as she watches him jerk open the door to the bedchamber.
"Bugger that, wench. Anymore talk like that and I'll cut out your damned tongue. The Hound is still within me. Might be here now, even," he snarls, causing the smug look on her face to dissolve into fear. "You remember what I said if I caught you at this?" He grunts, drawing his katar.
"Yes," Ros falters, backing away from Sandor, all the while keeping an eye on his weapon. "Please, I'll leave right now-"
Moving through the solar, he sees one of Lord Andar's friends frantically pulling on his breeches. "Get dressed, you bloody bastard. I should geld you for disgracing my wife's family."
"Please don't kill us, Hound!" The young man begs as he pulls his tunic over his head. "I'll do whatever you say-pay you whatever you want! Please, I-"
"Quit your simpering, the both of you." Sandor growls. "You both want to live, do you?"
The sheepish pair nods, gaping at him incredulously. It is a rare thing to be given a second chance by the Hound, and Ros cannot help but think Clegane has changed, indeed, from the days he visited her in King's Landing.
"Then you both best do exactly as I say, no questions asked. Or I'll gut the both of you right here and feed your remains to my wife's direwolf."
"Of course, Hound," Ros whispers and nudges the frightened young man to answer him.
"Yes, Clegane, whatever you say."