The Secret Wedding
Sandor leads her to the hearth, gently lifting her on his lap facing him. At first startled, Sansa gladly submits, noting the serious expression in his eyes. "You ready, Little bird?" he asks, his voice rough and low.
"Yes my love," she whispers back, her eyes glistening with happy tears.
Reaching into his pocket, he nervously retrieves a braided cord of golden thread adorned with and intricate pendant. Examining the ornament closely, Sandor polishes it on his tunic first before taking it in his left hand. Sansa curiously watches him reach into the pocket closest to his heart and take out the pink strip of cloth from her dress. With surprising tenderness Sandor lightly fingers the material before giving it to Sansa.
"A strip from my old gown in King's Landing! I cannot believe you kept this for so long!" Sansa gasps, immediately recognizing it as a part of the gown she wore the day of the riots.
"Aye, I went back to see if you lost anything. Found it in the chaff next to those bastards."
"But why Sandor? Why did you keep it? I would have gladly given you my favor had you asked. I thought to do it but figured you would laugh at me for being foolish."
Snorting, he shakes his head. "A lady's favor? For Joff's dog? I kept it to remind me of you and everything you went through. For all the times I should have done more."
"My love," she whispers, shaking her head. "You must not burden yourself with this any longer. Let us put it away once and for all and begin anew."
Clearing his throat, Sandor takes her hands in his. "I don't know how it's done. Should we pray first?" Prayer still does not come easy for Sandor but he finds having someone he loves to pray for certainly makes it easier.
"Yes, I think that would be right." Sansa closes her eyes, thanking the old gods for returning Sandor to her and asking a blessing on their union.
He is so nervous he no longer recalls the blessings he heard Elder brother offer over the peasant couples he married on the Quiet Isle, all desiring a fresh start away from the war-torn areas of Westeros.
Taking a deep breath, he chokes down his lack of faith and says the first formal prayer he has offered since arriving north of the Wall. First, Sandor entreats the Mother for protection for Sansa and that they are blessed with a long happy marriage and children. To the Warrior he prays for the strength to defeat anyone that may try to harm Sansa or their future children; to the Crone he prays for the wisdom to be a good husband to his beloved little bird. Sandor cannot help but think what drastic changes living on the Quiet Isle and his little bird has brought to his personality. Though there is plenty of Hound left in him, he is glad to put it aside for her sake, for Sansa his beloved wife.
Upon opening his eyes, Sansa squeezes his hand, her face glowing with excitement and happier than he has ever seen her. "I…I've only heard the vows of the Seven, Sansa. Do you care if we say them to the new rather than the old gods?" Smiling brilliantly she reaches up and holds his face in her hands. "Sandor, it does not matter. The Old gods will hear our vows too."
Trembling slightly, Sansa begins. "Sandor Clegane, I am yours as you are mine, from this day until the end of my days. With this kiss, I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband before the old gods and the new," she whispers, covering his mouth in a deep kiss.
When finally she pulls away, he places the woven cord with a highly polished weirwood carving of a dog with a little bird sitting on its shoulder. Sansa gasps, affectionately fingering the workmanship of the ornament. "Oh Sandor, it is lovely! Wherever did you get this?"
"I made it on the Quiet Isle. Not a lot to do there so I took up wood carving. I wanted to give it to you but never found the right time. Too many buggering people in the way." Throwing her arms around his neck she kisses him once more with such ardor it takes his breath away.
Clearing his throat, he gently pulls away from her, taking her hands in his own once more. "Little bird-Sansa, I am yours as you are mine from this day until the end of my days. With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife before the old gods and the new."
While swearing his vows, reality strikes Sandor: Sansa is now his and will forever belong to him in the sight of the gods and men. It is an answer to his most fervent prayers and after the destructive life he has lived, Sandor can hardly believe the gods have seen fit to bless him at all, let alone with the deepest desire of his heart. A sudden darkness invades his thoughts, for the brutal, unyielding Hound side of him cannot help but wonder if this is all a dream, another cruel jape of the gods at his expense.
He never hoped to take a wife or have a family, never even allowed himself to hope one day to have such things. Who would want him? In spite of his time on the Quiet Isle, Sandor Clegane is still the Hound, after all, the ugly scarred dog who deserted the Lannisters-not a husband or family man.
Pressing his forehead to hers, Sandor struggles to put aside his negative thoughts and gather his composure. Taking her face in his large hands and reverently kissing her, Sandor feels a lightness in his heart his has never known. As he pulls away, tears of happiness stream down her cheeks and gently Sandor brushes them away with his rough pad of his thumb. Sheepishly he holds his wrist out to her, silently cursing himself for being a sentimental fool while he waits for to tie on his marriage favor.
"I carried that with me ever since that day. It was the only piece of you I had left." Sandor mutters quietly. "Tie it on then, girl, if you mean to be my wife."
Eyes brimming with tears, Sansa raises the cloth to her lips and kisses it before tying it around his wrist. "There. Now my love, at long last we belong to each other!" Sandor clutches her tightly against him in response as hot tears fall on her hair and gown.
Pressing his large hand against her cheek, Sansa lightly touches the delicate pink silk material around his wrist. "My husband," she says, trying out the word for the first time. "Perhaps I should place it higher so it will be hidden from view."
Laughing low, he barks, "Hidden from who? Anyone who dares mock me for it will get the beating of his miserable life and can go bugger himself with a hot poker besides."
As the couple laughs together, a soft tapping comes from the door, eliciting a groan from Sandor. "First thing tomorrow I'm getting a bloody lock made for that door and dogs, too. It's so bloody cold I never thought so many people would snoop around this place after nightfall!"
"Everything all right, lass?" Nan's silvery voice asks. "I gots stew for you and your man."
Opening the door, Sansa cannot resist hugging the old woman, bringing a toothless grin to her kind, weather-beaten face. "What's all this now? Tis nothing ta get worked up over child. Men get hurt protectin' their kin ever now and again is just part of life."
Setting down the stew on the table, she jerks her head at two young men still out on the porch and then gestures toward the tub. "You boys fill it full, ya hear? He's a big'un, needs lots o'water." When the men finish filling the tub, Nan winks at Sansa. "You do like I said, lass. Take care of your man now, ya hear?" and then just as quickly as she entered the old woman closes the door behind her.
"I don't want no bath, woman," grumbles Sandor as he watches Sansa stoke the fireplace, gather fresh towels and place a bar of soap in a tray. Sitting on the bed, drinking from his wine flask with his clothes bloodied and his hair damp with sweat, Sandor's appearance reminds her of the last time he sat on her bed after a battle. "I could take you with me. I'll keep you safe. Do you want to go home?" His words resonate in her heart and the memory recalls her feelings that night, emotions she thought long buried. If I had gone with him, we would not have lost so much time…but then who knows how we would have ended up?
Pulled out of her reverie, she leads him by the hand toward the steaming bath while gently removing the flask from his hand. "My love, Nan is right. You must bathe to keep the wound from becoming infected. You learned healing. I'm certain you must have given the same advice yourself many times over on the Quiet Isle. Here, look, I added the salts Sam left for you… please, Sandor?"
Begrudgingly he nods. "Aye but I'm going to need help with my clothes. You want to call one of those boys back in here?"
"No love, I wish to help you myself." Before he can protest she lightly places her fingers over his lips, hushing him. "Let me do this for you Sandor. I am your wife now and it is the least I can do, considering you were wounded protecting me."
"For fuck's sake Sansa, don't break your heart over it. It's barely a scratch, that."
Smiling, she lifts off his jerkin first and then the under tunic. Despite his gruff words he relents and lifts his arms for her, earning a merry laugh from Sansa. "Grumble and growl all you want, it is to be expected. After all, a dog never likes getting a bath."
Barking out his harsh laughter, he watches her in amazement, the pounding of his heart increasing as she slowly divests him of his clothing. "Depends on who's giving it," he growls low and she beams up at him coyly, blushing a lovely shade of pink. Once he is down to his breeches, she then removes his boots. Sandor grabs her wrist lightly, a wicked grin twitching on his face. "You planning on finishing what you started, Little bird?" He devilishly grins at her, thoroughly enjoying the deep flush spreading across his new wife's cheeks.
"Of course, love. I am your wife and it should be thus between us," she sweetly smiles at him. Her eyes never leave his as she begins unlacing his leather breeches, her boldness quickly dissolving his bravado. Her soft fingers brush against his manhood, instantly arousing him.
"Let me do that, Little bird," he mutters and Sansa giggles, gleefully noticing it is his turn to look embarrassed for once. "I'd like to see the day I can't take off my own bloody breeches, damn me."
Standing naked before her, Sandor chuckles wickedly and Sansa cannot help but stare at his heavily muscled, battle hardened body. With her cheeks aflame, she averts her eyes and hands him a towel, all the while stealing brief glimpses at him through lowered lashes, fascinated by his muscular physique and aroused state.
"Well you might as well have your look, wife, since you insisted on getting me naked," he rasps, lowering himself into the steaming bath. "No need to play the modest maiden with me. You're mine now, remember?"
Nervously smoothing her skirts, she starts to protest at his coarse words but cannot bring herself to do it. Seeing his eyes twinkling with amusement, Sansa discovers a warmer expression emerging as well, as though a fire has been ignited within the man. Gazing into his eyes, she feels it spreading throughout her own body as well. "Yes," Sansa finally whispers, her voice sounding breathless in her ears. "Let me help you Sandor," she says quietly while removing her heavy gown, leaving on her shift and smallclothes.