A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.
*For all your help, suggestions, corrections, time, patience and feedback, I thank you so very much: onborrowedwings & nysandra:D
- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
38. Marriage
Sandor was staring at the little bird as she sat on the steps that led to the back of the shack, watching her brother play rats and cats with his direwolf outside in the garden. The boy had been eagerly telling Sansa every single thing that came into his mind, trying hard to remember all that had happened to him since Sansa had gone South.
The house wasn't big, so sound carried easily within its walls. Sandor could hear his little bird answering Rickon from time to time, but she was mainly silent, taking in the sight of the boy and his wolf running around in circles. She is still trying to make sense of how much her life has changed since yesterday morning, Sandor knew. He wasn't sure if Sansa was thinking about him, or of all the shit that had happened to her family, or maybe both, but bloody hells, he was damned if at least for today the most important thing he was able to think about was the day before them. I can't fucking help myself. The reasons didn't matter.
They had waited too long for this day, and despite the manner in which it had come about, Sandor was happy that they were going to been able to get married before setting sail for Westeros. Otherwise they may have been expected to hide what was between them, and after the many months of living here in Essos with Sansa's touches and kisses and open displays of love, of growing as used to them as breathing, Sandor would have starved like a hungry dog for her affections back in the north. This is better for us both.
By nightfall he would at long last be able to call the little bird his wife for true, and the promising night that came afterwards made Sandor lose himself in his thoughts, until the sodding Onion Knight brought him back to his senses when he exclaimed, "Clegane, I asked you if you agreed with me."
"What?" Sandor rasped, running a hand across his face as he tore his gaze away from the little bird, sparing a glance at Seaworth. "Agree with that?
The Onion snorted, sparing a glance in Sansa's direction, leaving Sandor in no doubt that the reason behind his lack of concentration was pretty damned obvious.
Sighing, Davos repeated the question. "I asked you if you agreed with me in not sending any word yet of our coming to Lord Manderly. The raven could get lost or be intercepted, and we cannot risk the Lannisters learning that we are all alive, or the Boltons finding out that I am returning with two of Ned Stark's children."
"I agree," Sandor answered, seeing the wisdom behind those words, thankful that according to the Onion, the power of the golden fucks was weakening considerably. "No one can know yet, so Lord-Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse will have to do a bit more waiting, I reckon. The moment the ship arrives at White Harbour we must all take cover somewhere safe. If there's anyone who will be giving us trouble, it'll be the wolf. But Osha and Hagen will have to go and look around the city undercover again. In fact, don't you think they bloody should be here by now?"
He didn't want his anxiety to betray him, but this delay by the wilding woman and the mad Lorathi was starting to gnaw on his already strained nerves. After Sansa had cut her brother's hair in the morning, he had accompanied the little bird to The Inn of the Green Eel so she could fetch her wedding gown. Sandor would have married Sansa right here right now if he could have had his way, but since he was aware that this was certainly not the sort of wedding someone like the little bird deserved or may have wanted, he had agreed to the delay.
Sandor was already ready for the ceremony, wearing the cleanest plain tunic and old breeches he owned, with his mail and boiled leather underneath the clothes, since donning his armour would have attracted unwanted attention to their already conspicuous group.
Besides fetching the wedding dress, Sansa and Sandor had also fed Stranger and Nan, and tried and get some proper rest, as well as a bath. They had then returned to the small house where Davos Seaworth was waiting for them. While they'd been away, Hagen and Osha had been sent to pay a visit to the sept-across-the-sea in the Isle of the Gods, making inquiries as they pretended to be interested in a marriage ceremony under the Faith for themselves. Sandor had been certain that the archer and Rickon's wet-nurse would be back by now, but there was still no fucking sign of them.
Sandor rested his hand on his swordbelt, remembering for a moment that day long ago in Norvos when Sansa had given him his nameday gifts, as Seaworth commented, "There is still time, Clegane. So long as we arrive at the sept before sunset it may all very well go according to plan."
Snorting, Sandor raised an eyebrow at the Onion. "May, smuggler? It all better fucking well go according to plan."
He shook his head before Davos could answer him, before returning his gaze to the little bird's back. Sandor didn't even think about it twice, suddenly deciding to stride over to Sansa's side. Silently he stopped beside her, and placed his hand on Sansa's shoulder, announcing his presence. The woman he loved lifted her face up to him at once, her beautiful thoughtful features suddenly softening into a small smile.
"Hello," she said warmly, as she brought her hand up to reach for the one he had on her shoulder when he brushed the thumb of his free hand down her nose in affection.
"Hello," Sandor rasped in return, smiling down at his bird, the anxiety that Osha and Hagen's delay caused him forgotten for the moment. He took hold of Sansa's hand in his before the little bird rested her back and weight against his leg.
"Down Shaggy!" Rickon suddenly yelled, laughing as his wolf rolled on the ground before him, and throwing himself on top of him in play. Sandor heard the little bird sigh, making him smirk. Sansa had cut the boy's hair short, and had even coaxed him into taking a bath, drawing approving nods from Osha and surprised expressions from the Onion Knight. But once he was dry enough, the young Stark had run out into the garden to play with his animal, taking less than two minutes in getting dirty once again.
His sister seemed to have resigned herself to yield in this quarrel. After everything that's happened to him at such a young age, it's a bloody miracle he isn't much wilder. But our children won't suffer so early if I can do anything about it. The pups and birdlings they had together were definitely going to be lucky to have Sansa as their mother, Sandor gathered. I can't even truly believe my luck at having her as mine sometimes.
"Having fun?" Sandor asked his bird, going down on his knees, squatting beside her. "What has the boy told you?"
Sansa moved closer to him as he brought his arm around her shoulders, burying her face on his arm.
"I can't concentrate" she admitted in a whisper. "You voice kept distracting me from my brother's stories."
Sandor's eyes widened. "Me? How so?"
Sansa raised her head from his face and brought their entwined hands to her mouth, placing her lips on his knuckles, pressing small kisses, saying in between each one a word. "I don't know. It- it soothes me somehow to hear you."
Looking at his little bird with incredulity, Sandor barked a laugh. "It calms you to hear me talking about the war with the Onion? Well that's good because not only is that the only thing I reckon we are all going to be talking about from now on, but because it's a great improvement. Remember when I used to scare the shit out of you?"
"That was a long time ago," his little bird chirped in reply in a deep tone that made his chest clench painfully for some reason.
"Aye, it was," he agreed, cupping Sansa's cheek, leaning down for a kiss almost hesitantly, for Sandor saw how the little bird's blue eyes widened slightly as she realized what he wanted. Thankfully, she didn't pull away. Sandor claimed his bird's mouth, and kissed her long and deep, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be all right somehow. The kiss started out innocently enough, with his half scarred lips nibbling at Sansa's plump red ones, but in the matter of moments they both seemed to forget everything, and started to lose themselves in the kiss, their tongues sliding against the other, sending a pleasant shiver across his body when she whimpered slightly, both clinging to one another.
It took Rickon's scream of disgust at their behavior to make Sandor and Sansa remember where they were. Not alone yet. Soon enough though. They broke the kiss slowly though, not minding the boy much, smiling and chuckling at his reaction, as they reluctantly let go, holding hands, the air between them hot and heavy. He better get used to this sight, along with everyone in the North.
Rickon suddenly decided that Seaworth was far better company and left them alone, Shaggydog following in his master's footsteps. Sandor sat down at last on the floor, leaning against the left side of the doorframe, staring at Sansa, one leg sprawled before him and the other one propped up. Sansa scurried over close to him, placing her cheek against his knee, gazing at the gathering afternoon outside. Sandor raised his arm so he could run his hand through his bird's soft thick hair, looking down at the top of her head contentedly.
"Sandor?" the little bird asked him after a moment.
"Yes?" he growled.
Looking up to meet his eyes, and placing her pretty chin on his knee, the little bird said, "How do you feel about your brother's death?"
Seven fucking buggering hells! He stiffened, and snarled at once, "I don't want to talk about it, Sansa. At least not today."
Regarding him silently, taking in the way he scowled broodingly at the mention of sodding fucking seven-thrice damned Gregor, Sansa finally nodded in understanding, respecting his decision, not pushing the matter forward.
"All right," she whispered after a moment, once again resting her cheek on his knee, bringing her hand to absentmindedly run down the length of his leg, her eyes fixed on the overgrown garden before them. Sandor tried hard not to let his thoughts trail back to his brother as Sansa sighed longingly, before chirping in a quiet even tone, "I am happy, you know. About today. About marrying you. You know better than anyone how much I've wanted for this to become a reality."
Blinking in surprise at Sansa's confessions, Sandor stared at the back of his bird's head quietly for a couple of heartbeats, loving her for this, for reassuring him, before answering truthfully, "I know, love." I wish you could be happier today, he wanted to tell her. I wish this day did everything but dampen your spirits.
"I- I am just sorry I can't show you how much this day means to me at the moment though," she admitted hesitantly.
"Enough," Sandor heard himself snarl. "Sansa, look at me."
He waited until she was once again gazing up at his burned face before continuing. "Don't say you're fucking sorry, little bird. There is no need for it. You don't have to explain yourself to me. Not in this. I know you."
Sandor would never hold Sansa's present mood against her. He was certain that the little bird loved him and wanted to be his wife and that was enough for him. What matters is that she is alive and we are together. And I mean to keep it that way, Sandor vowed to himself.
"Thank you," Sansa replied smiling a little, clearly moved by his words, her little dimples appearing on both of her cheeks. The bright light which had shown in her eyes every day till yesterday morning had returned for a moment.
Seven bloody hells. "I'm the one who should be thanking you," he rasped.
"For what?"
"For what you told the smuggler about me in the morning. About us," he snarled in reply, clearing his throat. For sticking with me even when you were suffering through hell after what we learned yesterday.
Sansa frowned up at him slightly, and shrugged. "It was the truth. Every word. And that is what I will tell Stannis Baratheon and whoever else that is necessary."
Sandor grinned from ear to ear at his little bird's words, not caring that the burns pulled tight across one side of his face. He grabbed her hand in his and brought it to his scarred lips to kiss it, saying, "Little bird, whatever they all say about me when we return to Westeros, about who I used to be, just remember that whatever it is that I've become now, it's yours to do as you please."
"I know who you are," his bird whispered softly in return, her hand giving his huge one a tight squeeze. "And I love you for it."
Silence settled between them, the only sounds coming from Rickon, the direwolf and the smuggler inside the latter's bedroom. Sandor and Sansa didn't tear their gaze from the other's, as the mutual knowledge of what they were about to do became a prominent thought in their minds, one which their eyes and expressions betrayed.
You'll be my wife and my bird in every way now, and I'll be your husband. Not your bloody betrothed's guard, or your own sworn shield. Not even her companion or her friend, but something much more meaningful than that. Something that would last forever if had say in the matter, and every man and woman be damned to seven hells if they didn't fucking like it.
A sudden knock startled them both, but Sandor quickly registered that the person knocking knew the secret code Davos had established. He was already standing up, drawing out his longsword, when Seaworth said, "It is Osha and your friend," as he peered outside through the window. "They are back from the sept."
Feeling anger boil through his veins, Sandor spat, "Took them too bloody long."
He offered Sansa his hand to help her stand up. As they both walked into the living room, still holding hands, Osha entered the house followed by Hagen, with some bags under his arms.
"Gods be good," Sansa said in surprise, covering her mouth with her hand, stopping dead on her tracks. Sandor stared at Edar and cursed out loud, forgetting his anger momentarily. The former outlaw, who had dressed in black every single day for years in memory of his beloved wife, had entered the house clad all in white, from his new boots to the quiver attached to his back.
"Oh, Hagen, what happened?" Sansa asked with concern, beside him. "Why are you dressed like that?"
Sandor couldn't take it anymore. He threw back his head and laughed right in the madman's face, "What the fuck happened to you?"
Sandor saw young Rickon looking at him with a frown, before deciding he found Edar's clothes funny as well, and making Sandor nod at him approvingly. He looks different with his hair cut. The little bird did a good job with him. Rickon laughed, looking around the room at them all.
The Onion didn't seem to care why the Lorathi archer was now wearing white, but the wilding woman eyed the Lorathi with a sour smile for a moment, before saying, "I'll tell you in a moment, m'lady. But it be best if you start getting ready for this wedding of yours now, if you are still meaning to go through with it. Won't do you much good since they don't have no old gods here in this place, but Lord Davos says it'll be good enough for the southrons."
"Did you have any problems at the sept?" Sandor asked them, remembering that the little bird had asked the wilding to help her get ready for the wedding. "Why the hell did you take ages in returning?"
Hagen shook his head. "None. There were but three people in the sept when we asked the septon if he could perform a marriage this afternoon. We told the old fool it was for me and Osha, but he didn't seem quite convinced about marrying us once he realized that neither of us were really familiar with his gods or his faith."
"He can't know who he is going to marry till it's too late," Davos said. "Now we must hasten if we are to go all the way to the Isle of the Gods before the sun sets."
The little bird and he certainly agreed. Sansa exchanged one last look with Sandor, betraying at long last the first signs of nervousness, before stepping inside Osha's bedroom.
This is my wedding day, Sansa thought dazedly for the hundredth time since this morning, still barely believing it. She only wished this could have been a day full of joy. It tore at her heart to remember the reasons behind their marrying today, in such haste. Now she only had her little brother with her, since Bran's whereabouts were unknown to the world, and, if Arya was not the girl they had married to Ramsay Snow, then Sansa did not know where she might be.
No, there is still Sandor, she reminded herself. When it had seemed as if she had lost everyone she cared for in this world, he had proved to her yet again that she was not alone. My big man. Sansa fisted the fabric of her gown in silent protestation at the way fate had tricked her, even as she gathered that her mother wouldn't want her to be sad on this day, despite everything. I am marrying the man I love after all.
Her eyes fell on the cloaks she had sewn for Sandor and her with the direwolf of the Starks and the dogs of the Cleganes, lying beside her wedding gown on the bed. She stared at it intently. It was the dress in the colors of House Stark she had been intending to wear the day she was to be brought before her family, since there wasn't the time or the coin to buy or have a new one made. Sansa vowed to herself then and there to make certain that her family's memory was never forgotten once she had returned to Westeros.
Sitting on the edge of Osha's bed, Sansa stared at the wilding woman, Rickon and Shaggydog as they follow her into the small room. She lost herself in her thoughts for a brief moment, until her brother's direwolf stalked over to her suddenly, and pressed his black muzzle against her. Sansa threw her arms around the tall wolf's neck, trying to avoid his slobber from falling on her, as she whispered a question she had suspected more than once by now.
"It was you I dreamed of being back in Lorath, wasn't it?" she asked.
Her eyes met Shaggydog's green deep burning eyes. I can't explain it, she thought, remembering her dream. Though Sansa didn't know why she'd dreamed so vividly of being inside Shaggy's skin, she could still recall how it felt to be the animal with vivid detail. The only explanation she could come up with was one right out of Old Nan's tales.
Sansa realized that Shaggy was giving her courage somehow. I am a wolf too. I am a Stark and a Tully, and though Lady may not be here, Shaggydog is. I can be brave.
Her brother was exclaiming stubbornly that he wanted to stay with his sister. It took some explaining from her, some pointed looks, and a smack on the back of the head from Osha to make Rickon understand that he couldn't stay with his sister as she got ready for her wedding.
When they finally managed to make her little brother leave, Sansa sighed tiredly, rubbing her temples with her fingertips at how fiercely Rickon needed her. He is going to be difficult to handle, but with this woman's help I will try to raise him to be a good man. Sansa wanted to believe that sweet Bran was still alive, but she would nonetheless try and teach Rickon how the rightful Lord of Winterfell should behave. The heir to Father and Robb. I will be strong for him, Mother, I promise. I will be strong for him and for Sandor and the children we will have one day.
The thought of having children with her big man made Sansa recall what was going to happen tonight after the marriage ceremony. My wedding night. She wouldn't be a maiden for long now. By nightfall I will be a young woman in truth, wedded and bedded. The bedding had seemed wonderfully wicked to her when she was a girl, but Sandor and her weren't going to have one.
Yet the lack of one did not take away the excitement of the promise of what awaited her in a couple of hours with Sandor once they were alone again; the nights in Lorath exploring and pleasuring each other in their bedroom at The Ruins burned in her body and in her mind most fiercely. She couldn't help herself. The mere thought of Sandor making love to her overwhelmed her even in these difficult moments.
But it was more than simply what they were finally going to do tonight that she was currently treasuring. It was the memory of the simple but honest conversation they'd had but moments ago, where they had both assured each other of their growing love. How can being close to him make me feel so much better?
She could not answer herself, but she knew that what she shared with Sandor was beautiful. Had she not learned about the loss of her family, she would have been certain than she was dreaming all of this. But life had taught her that such happiness came with a price.
Looking up at the wilding, her mind clearer and her heart full of purpose, Sansa said with full honesty, "Thank you for taking care of Rickon, Osha."
The wilding snorted and shrugged carelessly. "I'm fond of the little lordling. No need to thank me. He and Bran are good lads who didn't deserve to suffer what they have. I would have gone on taking care of Rickon even if Shaggydog hadn't found you."
"Still," Sansa insisted. "The Starks will always be in your debt, Osha. If we survive the war and the winter, then I shall see to it personally that you are well rewarded for your services."
Osha looked down at her with something akin to pity in her dark eyes as she replied, "You forgot to mention the Others, summer child. We have to deal with them too."
Sansa opened her mouth to answer, but found that she couldn't think of anything she could reply to that. What does she mean?
"At least you're kissed by fire," the wilding woman said, nodding at Sansa's hair. "You and your man both, which is lucky as all Free Folk know."
With a slight frown and a shake of the head, Sansa steered the conversation to less unfamiliar territory, and asked, "What has happened to Hagen? Why did he change his black clothes for white ones?"
Osha grabbed Sansa's brush from a nearby stool and started to brush her hair from behind her. "I think it's my bloody fault. After we left that sept, I started taunting that smiley archer for dressing up like a crow, and then had to tell him what sort of crow I meant. Edar said that since you were grieving and Clegane didn't have the patience, he was going to start pestering me about life in the North. So I did the best I could and told him of you Starks and of living beyond the Wall, of how bloody cold it can get. I told him of Winterfell and of the old gods, of the weirwoods and the giants, and everything I could think of right till we came upon that bank."
"What bank?" Sansa asked.
"Hagen will have my head if he knows I told you."
"I won't tell him you spoke of this," Sansa promised.
Osha arched her bushy eyebrow, studying her. "Not even to your husband?"
"Not even to Sandor," Sansa said, feeling butterflies on her tummy as she repeated Osha's words on her mind. My husband.
"Fair enough, then. Hagen and I went to this Iron Bank to get some gold, which he said had been sent from the bank in Lorath by his man, Amon."
"He went to collect gold from Amon in the Iron Bank?" Sansa repeated in wonder, wishing to understand Osha correctly. Neither Sandor nor I knew anything of this.
"Aye, he said he hadn't wished to carry so much coin with him on the ship..."
From what Sansa could make of the wilding's hush whispers, it appeared that Amon, the Edars' old servant, who had never married nor had fathered any children, had given Hagen the coin he had earned after a lifetime in their service. Since he was Amon's favorite and didn't have two coins to rub together in his name after what had happened to him in Norvos, the steward had decided to give the man he loved as a son his life's savings.
"He said this Amon was so old he told him he wouldn't bet on living long enough to see him again, and ended up forcing the gold on him," Osha finished. "He lent a deaf ear to Edar's protests because all the coin would only serve to feed grave worms. Hagen told me that he wants to quietly pay for lodgings and such things discreetly, and that what he left on the bank will be used in helping you against the flayed men, the squids, the stags and the rest along the hard road ahead."
Gods be good! Sansa was utterly surprised at the lengths Edar would take for her and Sandor due to his thoughtful and selfless nature. The old gods and the new were smiling down upon us on the day Hagen's path crossed with ours. Sansa promised to herself she would try to make Sandor be less harsh upon the former outlaw, without revealing to her big man what the Lorathi archer had done, respecting his decision to keep his actions a secret.
Afterwards, Osha pulled two braided strands of hair behind Sansa's head to join them at the back, and curled her auburn hair until it fell down her back in soft ringlets. Sansa sighed, for she wished she could also have her nails trimmed as well. There was no need for her to take a bath now, though, for both Sandor and she had bathed as the other rested earlier today. Sansa remembered the way the steaming hot water had made her think of Winterfell and its hot pools. She had taken strength from that, and scrubbed herself until she glowed pink.
Though her wedding gown was not made of a rich fabric, it was a lovely thing. It was ivory, and had silver trimmings. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. When Osha helped her into it, Sansa knew that the bodice at the front, slashed almost to her belly, would draw Sandor's eyes all evening long, despite the deep vee covered over it with a panel of lace in dove grey. That thought gave her a funny feeling below her tummy. The skirts of the Lorathi gown were long and full, and her grey slippers hugged her feet like lovers. She would don her maiden's white cloak with the fierce direwolf embroidered upon it until she reached the sept, for precaution.
Her wedding gown was not difficult to lace up, but Osha had such wiry strong arms that when she helped her into the dress, Sansa had to hold her breath at the pressure the wilding inflicted upon her ribcage. Yet she could hardly complain. She would have wanted her lady mother to be here with her instead, or even Arya or Frema, or her septa, but Osha was better than being alone.
"You are beautiful, m'lady," Osha told her, once Sansa was ready.
Sansa smiled as she spun in the middle of the bedroom, her skirts swirling around her. She did not need to see herself in a mirror to know that she looked beautiful and glowing, despite her grief.
"Oh I am," she said in awe, thinking that she could not wait for Sandor to see her like this. I can't believe this is finally happening. I am going to become Lady Clegane at last.
Osha opened the door for her after Sansa had taken a deep breath, the former wrapping the wedding cloaks into a bundle which she placed under her strong arm. Sansa thanked the wilding woman for her help, as she pinched her cheeks and bit her lips to draw some colour to her face, and walked outside the room, her head held high, beaming, allowing herself to be happy.
Sandor stared at the little bird as she went inside Osha's bedroom to get ready for the wedding, before he shook his head, and gulped and unclenched his hands. He turned to look at the smuggler and the archer, only to end up snorting again at the sight of Hagen Edar dressed all in white. Unbelievable.
"So the crow has switched his black plumage for a white one, have the seasons changed so soon already?" he said, making fun of the Lorathi, as he went to pour himself a cup of the wine that tasted like horse piss.
Edar smiled and explained, "It's for camouflage. Osha said there are perpetual snows in the north, and white is invisible in the snow. I will be able to fight and attack with stealth in this way."
Sandor shook his head, amused against his will, grateful to Hagen for this distraction as he finished the wine cup, for if he had been left here to talk with Seaworth, then they would be talking about the war or the ship or who knew what else. And while Sandor wouldn't have minded that any other day, his nerves were already strained enough for him to hear about all the shit that had been happening in Westeros. Seeing Sansa enter the bedroom to change into her wedding gown had robbed him of the peace talking with her given him moments ago.
This is bloody ridiculous, Sandor thought, as he poured himself another cup of wine to calm himself. He was feeling as nervous as any common green boy. Not even at the start of a bloody battle or of a fucking fight do I feel this way.
"You will not be outside freezing your arse off in the snow," Sandor reminded the little bird's Sworn Arrow, once he had stopped his mind from wandering away down tonight's road. "You'll be inside a castle guarding Sansa... Bugger, Arthur Dayne must be turning in his grave at such a poor imitation of a Kingsguard."
"Who is Arthur Dayne? What is the Kingsguard?" the outlaw asked, completely at a loss.
"A bunch of pathetic men appointed to defend the king," Sandor rasped harshly in answer. "While I was one of them, it was full of toads with painted stripes that pretended to be tigers. They were cowards who did not hesitate to beat helpless young girls, taking as much delight in their suffering as the cunts they served."
He fell silent after that, but the Onion quickly started to explain to Edar that not all the knights of the Kingsguard had been so pathetic. Sandor didn't care what Hagen or Seaworth thought.
Fixing his gaze on the door that barred the room into which the little bird had disappeared, Sandor realized that he was almost shaking with fury, as he remembered the sight of Boros and Meryn striking Sansa with the edge of their swords, or tearing her gown in two in front of the whole useless court– himself included.
At least now Joffrey, that little golden shit, was dead: poisoned by that imp of an uncle he'd hated so much. And who helped in bringing an end to Gregor's miserable existence along the way. Sandor's mouth began to twitch. If only he had been able to kill either his brother or Joffrey with his bare hands. To look them in the eyes as they left this world, and good riddance.
"I am wearing the Stark colors," Edar insisted, showing them his white cloak, trimmed with gray fur, which made Sandor remember the two white cloaks of his time in the Kingsguard he had given to Sansa long ago. "Not those of a Kingsguard."
And now I am about to drape the cloak of House Clegane over her shoulders if nothing goes wrong, Sandor thought with a mixture of pride and disbelief. Now that they were going back to Westeros, there would be time enough to call some unpaid debts with the lions and all the rest, but for now he deemed it wise not to let the past dampen his spirits anymore.
In that moment Sandor almost fell from his seat as he saw the door to the bedroom open, but it was only Rickon who was coming out, followed by Shaggydog, not his pretty bird. The wolf started pacing the living room, sniffing here and there, before sitting beside the table on his hind legs.
"Osha is going to help Sansa change," the boy informed them sullenly, as he moved to the table where they were all seating down.
As Davos moved a chair for the little bird's brother to take, Sandor turned to the madman and snarled, "If you ever sink in the snow, people will be able to locate you only because of that line of fur, you know."
Hagen shrugged. "I'm used to your dry humor by now, sour burned man. Make all the japes you want, but I am keeping the white outfit, and I will have a white bow too as soon as we reach this White Harbor, for I've heard that there are longbows that can be made of white wood, of a weirwood."
Shrugging, Sandor stood up and cleared his throat, "Do as you wish, I don't care so long as you don't make a bloody mess that affects Sansa."
After that, Edar and Seaworth began to talk to young Rickon, while Sandor began to brood silently, with a scowl on his face as he wondered why time had appeared to slow down so much since Sansa had entered the bedroom. Why is she taking so long? He wanted to know, his heart beating fast; he stood up suddenly, and began to pace restlessly across the living room, once, twice, again and again and again, drawing curious glances from Hagen, Davos and Rickon.
This would be a good moment to go to a training yard, Sandor gathered, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Putting his longsword to good use had always served to clear his mind. Still, better to not use it than to have to meet and kill one of that bloody eunuch's spies.
Bugger it all, Sandor thought, running his hand through his hair as he strode over to the door of the bedroom Sansa was in. Just as he was about to knock, intending to ask his bird how much longer she was going to take, Osha the wilding opened the door herself to reveal the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
He stared down at Sansa with his mouth hanging open, blinking twice to make certain his eyes were not deceiving him, for even if there wasn't a single day that went by in which the little bird didn't look beautiful, right now, as she stood before him in her wedding dress, Sandor could only clear his throat, at an utter loss for words, for that dress set off her charms perfectly, to the point where she was irresistible to him.
Sansa was looking up at him with the biggest smile he had ever seen, bright eyes, her face an open book that he alone could ever read when it looked like this. Sandor almost wished he could believe in the bloody gods just so he could have someone to thank for this, for her, for this opportunity that had been given to him when he least expected it.
I would never have believed in a hundred years when we first fled King's Landing that we would end this journey as man and wife. The little bird who had once been too frightened to look him straight in the face now loved him in return to distraction. She deserves a pretty life. Sandor would strive every day of his life to make sure all of her days were worth it. To never make her regret marrying me.
He let his eyes travel from her face down her body, taking in the way her gown revealed her full breasts and her curves, a sight that only served to make his cock go hard inside his breeches, the only part of him that seemed able to react at once.
The little bird blushed and lowered her gaze, a small tempting smile on her face. Sandor cleared his throat and placed his hand under her chin, in. "Look at me."
Sansa raised her head, her eyes meeting his own at once, while his hand left her chin only to rest on her neck.
"You're so beautiful, little bird," he growled, taking a step closer to her, grinning.
Her dimples appeared as she replied in a soft voice, "Thank you, Sandor."
The little bird certainly looked pleased at the way his eyes were completely taking in every detail the sight of her had to offer. Sandor's eagerness to get married as soon as possible was not forgotten, but right now he was having trouble remembering anything.
Sansa and he couldn't take their eyes off each other, and those blue eyes and full mouth were distraction enough for any hot blooded man. Fuck, I am grinning like a bloody fool, from ear to ear. Not that his bird minded the way his burned features twisted and stretched at that, though.
It all comes to this. To the moments ahead, and to tonight when we are back at the inn, finally alone. The long journey he and the little bird had lived since they had left the Red Keep behind them flashed across Sandor's mind. Now he was going to spend the rest of his life beside the little bird as her husband, making her happy, keeping her safe, and loving her with every fucking breath.
His musings were interrupted soon though, when Osha stepping beside Sansa, saying, "Thought we were supposed to be hurrying?"
Edar snorted at that, but Sandor ignored him. He took hold of the little bird's hands, gulping and grinning. When they both finally returned their attention to the others, the Onion Knight took the chance to pay his compliments to Sansa, before going to help young Rickon, clasping an old small traveler's cloak around his shoulder.
"You look nice, Sansa," Rickon called to his sister from across the room, making the bird beam at the young lad. The Lorathi then stepped forward towards the little bird, as he adjusted the strands of his bow attached at his back, and said, "No need to tell you how lovely you look."
"Thank you, Hagen," Sansa replied, still smiling, gazing up at Sandor even as Edar offered her his arm. The archer and her still had to pretend to be man and wife while they walked the streets of Braavos.
Osha managed to coax the direwolf out of the house into the garden sooner than Sandor would have believed, and locked Shaggy outside, while Sansa, Rickon and Hagen walked out of the shack by the front door. Rickon had not been happy at the thought of leaving Shaggydog alone, not even after he was threatened by Osha to be left alone in the house did he relent to leaving his direwolf behind. Only after Sansa had promised him that as soon as her wedding was done, he and Osha could return to the small house did he agree.
Sandor quickly donned his own traveler's cloak, pulling his hood up to hide his burned features as best he could, while the Onion made sure to check that the windows of the house were locked. When he finally stepped outside, Sandor noticed for the first time that that the day was crisp and clear and bright, a small mercy, for Braavos only had three kinds of weather, according to Osha and Seaworth; fog, which was bad, rain which was worse, and freezing rain which was the worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty; this had turned out to be such a day.
Rickon and Sansa where talking, Sandor saw. Her brother had grabbed the bird's hand, and was asking, "Sansa, are you going to marry Sandor again when we go home? When Mother and Robb and Bran and Arya and Jon are home?"
Sandor knew the little bird too well by now to not read the expressions behind her composed mask. It hurts her to lie, but she will do it as long as it avoids giving the boy the pain of learning the truth. But he must be told the truth one day about everything, and if Sansa is the one to tell him, then I will be there to lend a hand in any way I can.
She nodded and answered, "Yes. As soon as we reach the north we will seek a heart tree and say our vows to the old gods, Rickon."
"There is a godswood in Winterfell," Rickon pointed out.
"I know," Sansa sighed. "But I am intending to marry in the first godswood we reach, darling. We can't wait till we reach Winterfell."
"I played with Lord of the Crossing with the Walders in there, and me and Bran, Jojen and Meera, Osha and Hodor left Maester Luwin beside the hot pool."
Sansa turned to look at the wilding woman, as she said, "Aye, we left him to rest there. I gave the master the gift."
"Oh," Sandor heard Sansa whispered, before striding over to her side, and placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. He knew what sort of gift the wilding meant, and he had little doubt in his mind that Sansa had not failed to understand the other woman's true meaning.
When his little bird turned her neck around to look at him, Sandor found himself remembering the day in the Kingswood when he had shown her how to give the gift of mercy to a man. There will be many ghosts to return to.
"We will visit the godswood together soon, Rickon," Sansa promised the boy, cupping his face. "And we will thank Father's gods for bringing us together again and for Sandor as well, for he is going to be the one to look after us both from now on."
Feeling pleased at the bird's words, Sandor nonetheless couldn't help but snort in amusement as he heard Sansa's reply when Rickon asked her if he was a good fighter.
"Yes," Sansa assured Rickon with a smile. "He is the fiercest warrior in the world, and he has kept me safe for months and months. I would be lost without him."
"He can fight well with a sword?" Rickon asked, wrinkling his brow and nose in concentration.
Nodding, Sansa chirped proudly, "Oh, yes, he is, and I am sure that if you ask him, he would teach you how to fight with one until you are as good as him."
Aye, I'll help the boy, Sandor thought, smiling as he stared at Sansa talking to her younger brother for some reason, glad to allow himself the possibility of picturing a future after the war was over where Rickon was a grown man, and he one of his most trusted bannermen. And it would be good to have his liege lord or king approve of him for a good brother, young as the boy was.
"I'll ask him to teach me," Rickon was saying enthusiastically. "So when I'm big I will be as good as Father and Robb and Jon and beat them all!"
Sansa kissed her brother's forehead at that, pinching his cheek gently, nodding in approval. "You will make us all proud."
They made their way through the twisted maze that were the streets of the Secret City, walking over bridges and across canals until they reached the Isle of the Gods. This part of Braavos was rightly named, Sandor gathered, for there were more than twenty buildings, all belonging to different gods from all over the world.
He spied a mighty mass of snow-white marble topped by a huge silver dome whose milk glass windows showed all the phases of the moon, and from which clear music could be heard. A pair of tall marble maidens flanked its gates, supporting a crescent-shaped lintel. There was also a huge brick structure festooned with lichen, which The Onion told them was called The Holy Refuge or The Warren, where Braavosi honored the small gods the world had forgotten.
When they passed by the red stone temple that had a fire blazing in an iron brazier at its great square tower, as well as smaller fires flanking its brazen doors, the sodding smuggler didn't have to tell them which god was adored in there. Memories of R'hllor, which Arman Nervere had worshiped so fervently, crossed Sandor's mind, but he forced those recollections of his time in Great Norvos away. He would have grabbed Sansa's hand when she turned around to look at him for reassurance, as he glared at the temple with hatred in his eyes and belly, but the little bird was still holding on to Hagen Edar's arm.
We are not done with that bloody god yet, Sansa reminded himself in sullen resignation, aware that he was the god Stannis stupidly believed in, to the point of burning men alive if the rumours were true- which Sandor did not doubt. Davos had told him and Sansa that he followed the Seven still, unlike the Queen's knights, that worshiped the god of Stannis Baratheon's red woman, Melisandre of Asshai.
They quickly left that damnable temple behind, and after walking on the right bank of a small canal that ran between two buildings as tall as the warehouses in Lorath, their little party came upon the Sept-beyond-the-sea.
It is just as big as the royal sept in Maegor's, Sandor thought, just as his bird gulped and turned to look at him again. She disentangled her arm from Hagen's, and walked over to stand beside him.
"Ready for this, little bird?" he heard himself asking Sansa, grinning like the fool in love that he was, trying to keep his hands steady.
The little bird nodded determinedly. "Yes." She brought her hand to grip his arm, as if seeking to draw some secret strength from him.
So far Sansa had been the composed little lady he knew her to be, but the sight of the sept was affecting her to the point where little cracks that only he could see were appearing in the armour she had donned since yesterday. We can only open up with each other, he thought, taking her small hand in his own, recalling a time when Sansa had tried to chirp her pretty lies at him, making him angry, and thinking he could see right through her. How wrong I used to be about her and so much else.
"I'll go inside and look for the septon," Hagen said, offering Osha his arm. "And I'll inform him that there has been a change in plan in regard to who is actually going to get married today."
Davos Seaworth nodded and turned to look at Sansa, saying in a low voice after he had gazed around him in caution. "My lady, since your brother is too young, Edar doesn't believe in the Seven, and I am King Stannis' Hand, I think it best for me to take your father's place."
"I agree, my lord," Sansa replied. "I would be honoured if you gave me away. We will never forget the kindness you are doing to us in agreeing to be our witness."
The Onion Knight's hand moved upwards, as if to touch something near his neck, but finding nothing. Hagen Edar opened the door of the rather small sept, stepping aside with Osha so that an old lady with a crooked back could step outside the building into the street. The archer and the wilding disappeared inside, leaving Seaworth, Rickon, Sansa and Sandor standing outside, waiting.
There was nothing left for them but to wait, though they did need to that for long. Less than a quarter of an hour later, one in which Sandor and Sansa had done nothing but steal quick glances at the other, Sansa hiding her smiles even as she blushed, and Sandor grinning wickedly down at her, while they touched and told the other in hush voices how happy they were and how much they loved each other, Osha suddenly appeared at the sept's entrance, and, addressing Sandor, said, "Byan, the septon says he is almost ready. Little lordling, come inside as well," Osha told Rickon.
"You're coming too, Sansa?" her brother asked her, taking a hesitant step towards the wilding.
"Of course I am," Sansa assured him. "I wouldn't miss my wedding for the world."
Sandor gave a short nod, and cleared his throat as he growled, "I'll see you in a moment, little bird."
He strode over to the steps, climbed them and entered the sept, turning around quickly to look at the little bird one last time, for the next time he left this place they would be married. The Onion had walked up to stand beside her, and was telling her something that made her smile and nod her pretty head at the smuggler.
Once the sept's doors were closed behind him, and Sandor's eyes had quickly registered that there was indeed no one in the temple but them, he relaxed the grip he had on the pommel of his sword. The septon, a man old enough to be on age with his father, was making his way towards him, Osha and Rickon, with Edar by his side.
"I see. So this man here is the one who will be marrying this woman?" the holy man said, staring openly at Sandor's face and height with fright, his small eyes settling quickly on Osha once Sandor scowled at him.
"Yes, he is the one getting married, but I am not the wife," the wilding woman replied, instructing with a jerk of her head at Hagen for him to take Rickon by the hand. The boy and the Lorathi walked over to the front row of the benches, their excited voices echoing in the cavernous roof, followed by the septon.
"Here is your cloak," the wilding told Sandor, handing him the cloak Sansa had sewn in the colours of House Clegane. He looked at it with interest, grinning at the sight of the little bird's embroidery, remembering the times when he had stared at her sewing this. Sansa had done a fine job with the cloak. No wonder there, though. Everything she does is always bloody perfect.
Sandor clasped the cloak about his neck, gulping, feeling his heart at his throat as he pictured the moment when he was going to put it around the little bird's shoulders. He cursed under his breath as he strode down the aisle, taking in small even breaths.
Edar stepped beside him, while young Rickon was fidgeting on his seat on the other side of the aisle, looking at the closed door of the sept. The old septon settled himself on the small dais between the altars of the Mother and the Father, coughing; clearly still unaware of whom exactly he was going to be joining together in marriage.
Sandor's eyes travelled around the room registering every crook and crevice and corner. His gaze fell on the decorations around him as he waited, noticing the way the shaft of rainbow-colored sunlight slanted through the crystal in the high windows, while candles burned bright below the altars of the seven gods. The air was heavy with the scent of incense.
Some moments later, the doors to the sept opened at last. As Sansa and her companion passed through the threshold of the sept, Sandor couldn't stop his heart from beating wildly inside his chest with excitement, his eyes sweeping swiftly toward her at the sight of Sansa entering through the threshold of the sept on the arm of the Onion Knight.
They stopped but a moment at the entrance, long enough for Osha to clasp the cloak of House Stark about Sansa's neck, and then in the blink of an eye she was finally walking over to him. Sandor barely saw Osha quickly making her way to Rickon's side out of the corner of his eyes, in awe even now. For the one thing he'd ever truly cared about was her, and now Sansa, this beautiful graceful woman, was walking towards him was his, and actually loved him.
Sansa may have been grieving the loss of her family since yesterday, but in those moments as she walked down the aisle, Sandor was struck by the manner in which her beaming face lit up as brilliantly as the sun itself, making his knees go weak. Bugger, she looks so fucking beautiful. It almost seemed obscene that such beauty wanted to be bound to someone like him. Yet knowing that she was happy with him really did change everything.
Sandor gulped nervously. But it when the little bird finally reached him, and looked up at him, mouthing, "I love you," Sandor's troubled heart finally found the familiar peace being with Sansa had made him discover.
It almost seemed as if every single thing that had happened in his life had been worth it, because this was the outcome somehow. He standing at the end of the altar with his precious little bird walking over to him with the biggest smile he had ever seen. She was all that had ever mattered. She was worth everything. She was his world, his life.
Sandor was simply grateful, certain that what he and Sansa had was real and solid and strong. It will never break.
He stopped his musings once she had reached him and simply concentrated on looking at her, at times having difficulty believing that the little bird was here beside him, really wishing to join her life to his forever.
Both Sandor and Sansa were brought back to the present when the septon cleared his throat before asking in incredulity if they were truly the two that wished to be married. Sandor had glared at the fucking old fool at that, ready to bugger him to seven hells, but the little bird had quickly nodded, trying to avoid causing a scene.
"Let us begin, then," the septon finally said, before calling upon the non-existent gods to be witness of the union that was about to take place. "Who comes now to be joined in marriage?"
Sandor replied at once with the strong rasp of his voice, "Sandor of House Clegane, son of Ser Haldor and Lady Arwyn."
It seemed that the surname Clegane didn't sound familiar to the septon, for he only nodded and turned to look at Sansa. The little bird cleared her throat before saying in a clear loud voice, "Sansa of House Stark, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn."
Once the bloody septon had recovered himself from the sodding surprise of learning of their true identities, there were prayers and vows and signing, as well as seven vows to be made, seven blessings to be invoked, and seven promises to be exchanged.
Sandor hated himself for realizing that he remembered the prayers and holy songs he'd been taught as a child, but since he was considering his wedding to his little bird something sacred, apart from the mockery he knew was the bloody Faith, he didn't mind it so buggeringly much.
Despite his skepticism, Sandor would have liked to enjoy the ceremony. But he was busy in wishing the damnable septon would hurry up, in case someone suddenly came bursting through the door. It really was a fucking wonder how he ever managed to reply whenever the septon indicated.
The wedding song was sung, and the challenge, which made Sandor realize that at one point he had reached out for Sansa's hand, since he was clutching a it almost painfully, made his heart stand still. But the challenge went mercifully unanswered, making Sansa and Sandor let out a small sigh of relief at the same time. And then, at long last, it was time for the cloak exchange.
Sandor looked on as Davos swept away Sansa's maiden's cloak, and unclasped the one about his shoulders, thinking that his jaw was actually starting to hurt him after smiling so much for so long. But he didn't care. After the little bird had exchanged a quick glance with the Onion Knight, and nodded her thanks to him, she took a deep breath and met his eyes again with her Tully blue ones. Sandor strode over to stand behind Sansa before he swept the cloak of his protection over her shoulders, holding his breath as he did so.
When he leaned forward to fasten the clasp, Sansa smiled at him lovingly and allowed him to kiss her cheek. Sandor took a moment to admire the sight of Sansa in the cloak of his house once he had straightened forward, noticing that his bird's eyes were finally beginning to shine bright with tears of happiness.
"With this kiss," Sandor rasped, moved by the sight of Sansa looking up at him with so much love. "I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife. I am yours, and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days."
"With this kiss," Sansa repeated in a trembling voice, "I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband. I am yours, and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days."
His little bird stood on tiptoes as Sandor cupped her face in both his hands, and kissed her deeply, while she threw her arms around his neck. Both were too happy in that moment to do anything but cling to each other, pulled the other closer, as if their lives depended on it.
When they drew apart, their foreheads resting against the other, chuckling and grinning widely as they realized what that had finally just become, the septon raised his crystal high in front of them, its rainbow's light falling down upon them, as he proclaimed, "Here in the sight of gods and men, I do solemnly seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity, proclaiming Sandor of House Clegane and Sansa of House Stark to be man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever, and cursed be the one that comes between them."
When the old man was done, Sandor and Sansa stared at each other in awe, desire burning deep within Sandor. A voice inside Sandor's head whispered, It's done. It's happened. You two are finally married now. Before he had even finished that thought though, Sandor grunted pleasantly and deeply as the little bird jumped into his waiting arms with a cry of joy. She is Sansa Clegane now. She is my wife.
He tried not to press her against him too tightly because of the chain mail shirt underneath his shirt, but it was hard. Sandor placed his hand on Sansa's waist, and the other one her neck before bending down, his eyes never leaving hers. Their lips met, and then all was lost. Forgetting everyone around them, Sansa returned Sandor's hot, eager and loving kiss with all her might, not holding back any emotion as their tongues darted inside the other's mouth, kissing to the point where they drew a pointed cough from the old septon, and laughs from the others around them, clapping in congratulations.
In between his kisses, Sandor's rasped in a low and moved voice, his arms holding her so tightly she was certain her gown had split up, "I love you, Sansa."
"And I you, Sandor," she answered, overwhelmed, as he kissed the tears that were blurring her vision from her cheeks.
Sandor snarled in a voice that dripped lust, "You're mine now, my little precious bird."
Burying her face in his neck as he gave her a hug that lifted her off her feet, "I've been yours for a long time."
Both were smiling as they kissed again, and Sandor was struck with the powerful strength this simple ceremony had on him. They hugged each other one last time before Sandor settled his little wife back on the ground, feeling complete and whole and simply happy. He was still holding her hands when Hagen Edar suddenly went to one knee before his little bird, laying his quiver, arrow, and daggers at her feet.
"Lady Sansa," the former outlaw said, his head bent down in respect. "I wish to swear my fealty to you as my liege lady from this moment until the day I die as your new sworn shield… or rather as your sworn arrow, as your husband has started to call me behind your back. I will serve you, my lady, if you would have me."
Sandor couldn't help but grin and laughed at the way Sansa reacted, for it was exactly what he had been expecting. The little bird, clearly startled, stared open-mouthed at the Lorathi, blinking, taken by complete surprise.
She turned to look up at Sandor, who, regarding Hagen with a measuring look, finally nodded and snarled truthfully, "I don't want any random northman we do not know or trust to guard you, little bird. I can't be your husband and your sworn shield both, Sansa, so I figured Edar was better than no one."
Everyone was watching the little bird, awaiting her answer. When she at long last looked at Edar, she asked him, "Are you completely sure about this? We take such matters with great importance back home."
Hagen never broke her stare as he replied in a serious tone, "More than anything, my lady."
"You know war awaits us, little bird, and on more than one front," Sandor added. "I will be one of your army commanders in the Stark forces if you'll have me, for the northern lords won't. They won't trust me because of whom I bloody was, and will only obey me because you say so. Hagen can be my second in command. I know he is mad, but that doesn't make him stupid. He knows how to lead men well, as his past life can attest."
The Lorathi nodded solemnly. "Aye, I'll fight and save some lives and kill these Others that Osha spoke of, among many other things."
Sansa's eyes fell on young Rickon, who had been staring at the whole ceremony with eyes in front of the wilding woman, who had her hand on his little shoulder. Osha is Rickon's sworn shield in a way, Sandor gathered.
It was fucking unbelievable, but this service by Hagen was reinforcing on Sandor that Sansa may still stand a chance as Rickon's regent, and Lady of Winterfell until the boy came of age in around ten years or so, for the sight of her now was that of a queen.
"Very well, Edar," Sansa said at last, agreeing. "I accept to be your liege lady."
"To Sansa of House Stark alone do I pledge my faith," Hagen Edar vowed. Osha had offered to help Hagen Edar with memorizing the northern vows, since both Sandor and the Onion were more familiar with southron customs.
"I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be," the Lorathi continued. "My longbow and daggers are yours to command, for I yield them up to you, my lady. May I never fail you. I swear this by my wife's memory, which has been the one worthwhile belief I have valued in this life. I swear it too by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire."
Sandor watched with pride as Sansa stepped in front of her new guard, clasping his hands between her own, smiling. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. Arise, Hagen Edar."
She raised him by his hand, accepting Edar's vows of allegiance to her until death claimed one of them. Hagen bowed his head at her in respect, gathered his weapons, and stepped beside the smuggler quietly, drawing approving nods from Osha and Rickon.
The septon that had married them had been staring open mouthed at them all, and almost pissed on his robes in surprise as Davos suddenly addressed him.
"Shouldn't the witnesses sign the papers now?"
"The papers? Oh yes, the papers. Please, may the witnesses be kind enough to step forward," the old bloody septon said, shaking his dazed head.
Osha, Edar and Seaworth walked over towards the dais, even as the latter continued talking to the old holy man.
"My friend here is considering becoming a believer of the Seven," Davos informed the septon. "I was wondering if you couldn't help me convince him right now that it would be the best course for him to take."
Sandor didn't care if the septon believed that stupid sodding story or not, for he was bound by office to accept it. They had all planned what they where they going to do once the ceremony was over. Edar and Seaworth would keep an eye on the septon for as long as possible, making sure that the man could not go running to inform someone about what had just happened- a notion which Sandor agreed with wholeheartedly. He didn't fancy one fucking bit getting interrupted tonight in order to flee from the Secret City at any moment. Meanwhile, Osha and Rickon would return to the shack, to keep an eye on Shaggydog, as much as to hide from any prying eyes.
Wondering briefly if all of this had truly just happened, Sandor turned towards his wife eagerly, grinning broadly, looking at her stare at their witnesses sign the wedding papers. Sansa felt his burning gaze on her quickly enough, and turned around to gaze at him with wide open eyes. She stared at him for a moment with happiness and love written clearly upon her face, making him wonder if he looked the same as she did right now. I probably do.
When the little bird blushed and lowered her gaze, Sandor grabbed her by the waist suddenly, and pulled her lightly apart from the others. He could sense that she was as excited and nervous as he was as he leaned down to rasp low and deep in her ear, "Come, my pretty little wife. It's time for our bedding."
A/N: I hope you liked this chapter Please let me know. Reviews are more than welcome. Thank you for reading!