Awakenings

Swirling shapes and shadows play before Sansa's eyes; blinking several times, she struggles to focus. "How are you feeling?" Elder brother's square face comes into view, his shrewd eyes examining her closely.

Deliberately Sansa eases herself upright, wincing as sharp pangs gnaw her wound. "I feel sore," her voice sounds weak from lack of use. "And tired." Hissing, she adjusts herself into a sitting position under Sandor's watchful gaze.

Chuckling, Elder brother nods. "That is to be expected."

"Easy lass," Sandor slips another pillow behind her head. Looking up, Sansa's smile fades as her eyes are drawn to Sandor's bloodshot eyes, dark circles and unkempt hair and beard; his clothing is clean but everything else about her husband is in disarray. The dry stench of Dornish sour faintly reaches Sansa's nose as Sandor moves about the bed, carefully tucking the furs around her. Suddenly the gnawing pain in her shoulder is dwarfed by fear.

"Have you been ill, husband? Please tell me truly."

He refuses to meet her eyes, something Sansa has rarely seen in Sandor. What has happened to him? Why won't he answer me? Anxiously her eyes dart between Elder brother and her husband. Awkwardness settles over the room.

When Sandor does not answer, Elder brother quietly offers, "In a manner of speaking, yes."

Gods, he has gone back to drinking and…no, Sansa would not let herself think that of him. "What is it?"

Did Sandor kill someone at Winterfell? Surely not;even at his drunkest in King's Landing, Sandor never incurred what the court callously called collateral damage, their name for when a knight, drunk and angry, killed an innocent bystander. This is WInterfell, not the Red Keep, and undoubtedly he would have been taken to the cells if that was the case.

Perhaps he has taken comfort in the arms of another woman. Alarmed by his continued silence, Sansa throws back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed before a surge of dizziness sweeps over her. "Sandor-"

Shifting beneath her, Sandor wraps his arms around her waist and rasps uneasily, "Calm yourself, wife. Deep steady breaths; that's the way." His lips graze her cheek as he strokes her hair reassuringly. "Let yourself get used to the feel of sitting upright before you try getting out of bed."

Leaning into his touch, Sansa lets out a soft sigh. "Sandor, I can bear it; tell me what has happened to you."

"Nothing you haven't seen before, lass," Sandor growls into her ear, then tips her face up to him. His deep gray eyes are sullen, dark, and simmering with suppressed rage. "Remember the serpentine?"

A deep shudder wracks her body. "I do, Sandor. But you are not that man anymore." In the far corner of the room, Elder brother mills about, ignoring their conversation.

Sneering, Sandor shakes his head. "Scared of me now, are you?"

"Never," Sansa determinedly meets his eyes, noticing his own piercing gaze softens as he regards her. "You won't hurt me."

"No, Little bird, I won't hurt you," Sandor kisses her forehead with a tenderness belying his fierce countenance. "I'll get the pups."

"You will experience a bit of discomfort once the milk of the poppy leaves your system, my lady," Elder brother warns. "You must move slowly."

"Please, Elder brother," Sansa irritably replies, her gaze following Sandor as he leaves the room. "I have borne two children, Clegane sized children; you need not educate me on the subject of pain."

A gentle laugh comes from the doorway. Queen Daenerys is leaning against the frame with a broad smile, her amethyst eyes twinkling as she looks over Sansa. She is smaller than Sansa had imagined. Her demeanor and coloring, however, is all Targaryen. She is no older than I am and very beautiful at that, Sansa muses, no wonder Jon is smitten with her.

"You may go," she waves away Elder brother. "Forgive me, my lady, it seems this is an unfortunate time for introductions. Your brother Jon thought it best if a woman came to visit first. I just could not wait another moment to see you. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen."

"My queen," Sansa whispers while feebly struggling to sit up. "It is an honor to meet you. My sister and I are most grateful to you for saving our brother and restoring our home to us."

"No, my dear, you mustn't try to talk or arise on my account," Dany moves to her side and gently presses her shoulder onto the pillow. "You will exhaust yourself and tear your stitching."

"But it is not appropriate for me to stay in bed when the queen-"

"Shh," Dany smiles softly. "Jon said you are a great lady; I see it is true. I was raised with such principles as well; however, it is far less appropriate to expect you to stand on ceremony under these trying circumstances. Please, rest and take your ease."

"Thank you, Your Grace; you are too kind." Sansa smiles at her. "I am so glad to meet you. What a lovely gift from the gods, to find you of our own flesh and blood!" When Daenerys stares at her, she adds, "I think it is fair to say that both Starks and Targaryens are always happy to meet new family members."

"Indeed, thank you, Lady Sansa." Hurriedly Daenerys wipes her eyes, seemingly embarrassed by her emotional response to Sansa's sentiment. "Please, call me Daenerys or Dany, if it pleases you."

"It pleases me greatly to do so, and I would be honored if you would call me Sansa. Have you met my husband?"

Pleased, Dany eagerly nods. "Yes indeed. Lord Clegane is most devoted to you, Lady Sansa," her voice softly echoes in the room. "He refused to leave your side even to take a meal."

"Yes, he is," Sansa glances toward the doorway warily. "I see worry has taken a toll on him, though; I would not have him languish for my sake in such a way."

"Indeed, in many ways he did languish. Sandor has frightened all of the castle help as well as the soldiers." the queen agrees. "But that is for the two of you to discuss in private."

"And so we will discuss it," Sansa looks up at her husband as he walks in carrying the twins. "Won't we?"

Sandor gruffly nods and clears his throat while balancing Catya and Edric on Sansa's lap.

"Your children are a delight," the queen wistfully comments, "I thoroughly enjoyed my time with them."

"We are most grateful to you," Sansa takes Sandor by the hand. "Are we not, my love?"

"Aye," Sandor assents, shifting on his feet, the man acting as though both women are able to see straight through him. "We are at that, my queen."

Glancing between them, Dany tries to suppress her smile. "Forgive me but I must leave you now. There is much to do before I make for King's Landing and I believe you two have some catching up to do as well." Her glittering eyes settle on Sandor.

"Of course, Your Grace," Sansa bows her head. "It was very good of you to come to see me."

After Sandor settles the babies in their cribs, Sansa motions for him to sit beside her. "My love, I dreamed of you."

"Did you now?" Sandor took her hand in his and tenderly kissed each fingertip.

"I did," she smiles at him. "Even in my dreams, I felt your presence. Thank you."

Shrugging, Sandor finally raises his eyes to hers, and Sansa responds by cupping his face in her hands. "I love you."

"And I you, wife." Sandor lowers his gaze once more.

"You must not hide yourself from me, Sandor. When we married I feared this would happen to you one day, as is the way of such an affliction," Sansa soothingly rubs her thumbs over his cheeks.

Taken aback, Sandor studies her curiously.

"We had many men in Winterfell suffer in the same manner," Sansa offers by way of explanation, "so I knew what to expect when me married."

"Are you sorry that you joined yourself to such a weak creature?" He drops his eyes, unwilling to face her gaze.

"No, Sandor," and for once it is Sansa's turn to turn his face up to hers. "And you are not weak; you are the strongest man I know. I prayed for your health but in such dire conditions it is to be expected. That you would fall back into old habits is only natural. It is nothing to be ashamed of, dearest."

"How would you know?" Sandor bitterly forces out the words from his throat. "You've never been ashamed of anything in your life."

Sandor knows all too well what she has suffered but Sansa refuses to allow him to redirect the subject of the conversation. "Since when have you become an expert on my feelings?" Sansa mockingly bristles, her exaggerated expression bringing an unbidden smile to Sandor's face. "You know my regrets better than anyone, but this is not about me, this is about you."

"I've been so angry and feared you would return to your father in the afterlife." He clears his throat.

"And?"

"I have drinking some, just to take off the edge," Sandor awkwardly begins. "Well, I've been drinking a lot, actually."

"I understand," Sansa begins before Sandor smirks and tries to move away from her. Willfully Sansa holds on to him. "You felt helpless, unable to keep your family safe." Weaving her fingers through his, she whispers, "But you must not blame yourself. Those men had likely planned their attack for months."

"Aye. They will rue the day they met me." Sandor grips and releases his fists as he speaks. "They will beg the Stranger to take them."

Leaning forward, Sansa kisses each cheek and then softly covers his mouth with her own. At first Sandor stiffens before quickly relenting, the man returning her kisses with passionate urgency. After the initial desperate want subsides, Sansa gently pulls away.

"I see the hatred, the anger in your eyes even now for those men."

"You know the man you married, little bird." Sandor jerks away from her, leaving Sansa deprived of his touch. "I'm no fucking knight in shining armor, wife, no matter what you've deceived yourself into thinking."

"You saved me, dearest; you carried me back to Winterfell on a dragon of all things." Sansa forces Sandor to look at her. "Please, do not punish yourself any longer. I know it is most difficult but let me help you."

Sighing deeply, Sandor rests his forehead on hers, squeezing his eyes shut as he does so. "It isn't as easy as that, wife."

"Of course. But this time, you aren't alone-it won't be as it was on the Quiet Isle. I am with you, the babes are with you-we will do it together. Elder brother will help us, my love; you'll see."

"I've got to finish this first, wife," Sandor holds up his hand when Sansa begins to protest. "I won't be able to live with myself otherwise. The wolf bitch understands; so does the queen."

"You promised you would never leave me," a single tear rolls down Sansa's cheek. "Do you mean to break your word so easily?"

"I am not breaking my word, gods be damned!" Sandor roars at her, pounding his fist on the table with all his might. "I'm keeping it! Don't you remember the night of the Blackwater?"

Sheepishly Sansa stares down at her hands. "Yes. You said no one would hurt me again or you would kill them."

"And I bloody well meant every word of it! Those bastards will taste my steel, each and every last one of them, and I mean to burn their fucking holdfast to the ground!" He raged, overturning the table. Panting, Sandor could barely catch his breath, the look in his eyes wild and frightening.

Knowing full well that her husband needs an outlet for his pent up fear and worry, Sansa calmly watches him while smoothing the furs in front of her. When Sandor finally settles down, she pats the space beside her. Slowly he slumps down on the bed, covering his face in his hands.

"Forgive me." His words came out in a strangled rasp.

"For what?" Sansa asks softly. "For releasing your emotions? I have never asked you to be less than you are, Sandor Clegane. I have never once told you to hold back; I am a woman grown, wedded and bedded, and a mother besides; I can take the good and the bad, and all that is in between."

Turning toward her, Sandor cups her face in both hands. "I'll never leave you, little bird, but this is something I have to do." Sansa feels him trembling beneath her.

Nodding sadly, she rests her hands on his forearms. "I know, as much as it scares me, I know, and I love you for it."

Tenderly he kisses her forehead, each cheek, and then brushes her lips with his own. "Arya and I leave at first light, love." With that Sandor leaves the room.

Arya gently knocks and then tiptoes in. "Sis, it's good to see you up."

"Come in Arya pup," Sansa pats the bed. "Sit with me." When Arya kicks off her boots, Sansa pulls back the covers and holds out her arms. "Sister, I need a hug."

"Just like in the olden days," Arya gently cradles Sansa against her breast and strokes her hair. "Only this time it isn't thunder, it's the Hound, am I right? I heard the blow up."

"I'm sure all of Winterfell heard it," Sansa sniffles. "Is that why you came?"

"Well, yeah," Arya admits, "And I thought now would be a good time to share something with you."

Rising, Sansa looks up at her. "What is it?"

Arya draws in a deep breath. "I just thought if I told you something that happened when Clegane and I were travelling that perhaps you would be able to…understand him."

"I think I understand my own husband," Sansa petulantly replies before pausing at Arya's darkened expression. "Tell me."

"Sansa, the fact that Sandor didn't force you to go leave King's Landing tormented him. That's partly why he stole me from the Brotherhood without Banners."

"I thought he meant to ransom you."

Arya nods. "He did, but the way he spoke of his regrets regarding you during our travels led me to believe that he couldn't live with himself. I guess Sandor decided he wouldn't leave another Stark girl to her own devices."

Chuckling Sansa agrees. "Yes, that sounds like him."

Staring levelly into her sisters' eyes, Arya replies, "That regret nearly killed him, Sansa. Sandor tried to smother it with drink but no matter how drunk he got, it was never enough."

Swallowing hard, Sansa's face falls as she listens.

"Sometimes after we made camp, he would chop wood for hours," Arya continues, "He'd cut up far more than we could use and then fall into the blankets without even lighting the fire."

"Oh, my poor husband," Sansa wipes her eyes tearfully. He had never told her any details of that time, and Sansa's heart breaks anew for him. "He couldn't live with knowing that I was still suffering, isolated from my family."

"More than that, Sis," Arya solemnly stares at her. "When we returned to the inn, one of Gregor's men, Polliver, told us that you had married the Imp and that you flew away. It crushed him, Sansa."

At her words, Sansa begins openly weeping; Arya gently hands her a handkerchief. "Sandor was broken in that moment. He guzzled as much wine as he could get down afterward. During the fight, I saw more rage in him than ever before. If he hadn't been so plowed, he would have killed them all, but instead he was grievously wounded."

"The terrible scar on his thigh," Sansa bites her lip. "It was from that fight."

Arya nods. "In his mind, Sandor failed to protect you, Sansa-and he thinks that because he didn't steal you, you were left to your own devices and made an easy target for Tyrion."

Searching her mind, slowly Sansa puts it all together. "When he came to the Wall, I told him that Baelish took me away. I suppose he blames himself for everything that happened after."

Arya takes her by the hand. "As he lay dying next to the Trident, Sandor sobbed over it all, Sansa-over you. He tried to goad me into killing him by saying you would have better off if he had taken your maidenhead and your life rather than leaving you for the Imp."

Crying softly, Sansa buries her face in Arya's doublet. "Oh, gods have mercy."

"Sister, every day when Clegane pulls on his breeches, he is reminded of that day-of you, and what happened to you the last time he didn't protect you." Arya stares deep into her eyes. "You are his wife now, the mother of his children. Can't you understand why the Hound has returned and why needs to kill the Boltons? Do you get that your husband literally will not be able to live with himself if he doesn't?"

"I do, Arya, I do," Sansa pulls Arya into a warm embrace. "And I thank you for telling me."

Arya pats her on the legs. "What will you do?"

"I'll speak to him before you leave. Will you send him to me at once?"

Grinning, Arya nodded. "I'll do it right now." Before she turns to leave, Sansa impulsively hugs her close. "You're a good sister, Arya. I may not have told you that before, and I regret it deeply."

"Don't go getting sentimental on me now," Arya hastily wipes away her tears and throws open the door. "I've missed you, Sansa."

"I've missed you too, Arya." Sansa calls out after her.