Quick note – a little late to mention it now but ()Lothiel asked me about the age of Sansa [thank goodness because I completely forgot – thank you again!] so I'll just quickly mention here is anyone else is wondering that I picture Sansa while writing this to be around Elizabeth Bennet's age (around 19/20)and Arya around Lydia or Kitty's (15/16) to fit more with the time period.
Any other questions or anything just PM me or add it in a review – whatever you like
Vee
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After the ceremony, Sansa was led to a bedchamber by one of Tyrion's servant to rest, lighting a fire and asking if there was anything she required before leaving. She was glad for it; the night had been long and full of events. All she wanted to do was climb under the covers and sleep for the rest of her life.
But that proved impossible when after an hour or so a sharp knock at the door interrupted her while she washed her face. She dried herself quickly then called for whoever it was to enter.
Mr Clegane – her husband - entered, shutting the door behind him and looked at her with worry.
"What is it?"
"Joffrey will be here soon with your father, your absence will be known by now, Tyrion and my own too. It won't take them long to join the dots. He will try to make it like I forced you into this. We must convince them otherwise."
Panic gripped her and she had to take deep breaths to calm herself, "what will we do?"
''We lie," he said simply, moving over to her.
His hands pulled out the pins from her hair and his fingers were running through her silken strands as they fell around her shoulders, ruffling them into a messy state.
Sansa forced herself to ignore the shivers that ran through her at his touch, "what are you doing?"
"We must make it look as if we have lain together" he rasped, undressing to his flannel shirt and trousers, "they cannot do anything if they believe the marriage was consummated."
"We - oh!" Sansa blushed at the prospect of appearing before her father and him seeing her in such a way – thinking such things. It was so improper and embarrassing. But then Joffrey's face swam into her mind, that horrid smirk and those hands lashing out to her.
She made quick work of her dress, pulling the laces and slipping it down her body. She covered herself with her hands as she stood in her smallclothes. Sandor looked at her then turned to a wardrobe beside the washbasin and pulled out a dressing robe.
"Here, girl," he rasped, draping it around her shoulders.
She pulled the black velvet around her, slipping her arms into the sleeves. It was heavy and cold but it smelled of him. She wondered why, looking up at him questioningly.
"It's mine," he explained, moving to ruffle the sheets of the bed, "this is my room – I stay with Tyrion mostly. One can only suffer the Baratheons for so long."
She pulled it tight around her, her face burning red when he straightened from messing the bed and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. He put his jacket on and looked every bit like he had just been roused from abed. He straightened and looked at her, assessing her appearance then nodding, satisfied.
"I will receive them, then I will send a servant to bring you down – you must keep your lies, little bird, all depends on it" he rasped, heading towards the door. Only when he was halfway out did he turn to her, his eyes looked her over once more and she noticed his face change, though she couldn't' saw what it held. But his eyes softened as they found her face.
"Don't be afraid."
She nodded to him and he left without another word.
She sat upon the edge of the bed timidly and breathed deeply past the fluttering in her stomach.
But when she pulled the hems of the sleeves down past her hands and breathed in the smell of him she found comfort.
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