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.
* To my dearest onborrowedwings: thank you for being such a wonderful beta, my friend! 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.
41. Across the Narrow Sea
The King of the Seas had been a bloody good choice for the rough waters of the Narrow Sea, Sandor had grudgingly admitted to The Onion Knight, as they took a moment from all the careful planning they'd been conducting about what they should do once they reached the shores of Westeros. Sandor hadn't been very sure that Beren the Stout's galley had really been the best choice from among the other ships available to them back in Ragman's Harbour, but by now he had to relent and agree with Hagen Edar that they had been lucky to end up meeting Seaworth- who still seemed to remember his old trait well enough, and who Sandor was starting to come to respect to his surprise.
I would never have thought I'd have interests in common with Stannis' sodding smuggler, Sandor would think, whenever he managed to have The Onion agree with him some of the high lords or knight puffed up like bladders with their honors they had both met over the years. And so long as they didn't start comparing their views about Stannis Rigid Baratheon, all went well.
The galley had been two weeks at sea so far, sailing beneath grey skies with the days and the nights all running together one after the other. But Sandor could not complain, since so far the sea voyage had been calm enough, considering that autumn gales had hounded The Onion, Osha and Rickon across the narrow sea after they'd left Skagos but a short while back.
But we are not in autumn anymore, Sandor reminded himself, looking across the grey and choppy waters of the Narrow Sea. Autumn storms were more frequent than winter ones, he knew, but the latter were worse. Yet the most that passengers on board The King could only complain of was the black rain that had fallen for four days a week ago, accompanied by thunder and lightning by night.
Captain Beren the Stout had told them that he reckoned the sea voyage would take about a month or maybe even more, yet there were times though when Sandor found himself wishing that the journey would last a while longer, for even if the days were fucking cold and grim, he had never been happier. The time he had so far spent with the little bird in their cramped cabin beneath the stern castle had seen to that.
"She is keeping a brave face, you know," Sandor suddenly heard himself rasp out loud, as he stood on the deck beside Seaworth one morning. "For all of our sakes."
Davos turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, confused. "A brave face? What-?"
"Sansa," Sandor explained, lowering his voice, and looking behind him to make sure none of the sailors were nearby. "Her belly can't stand much food, and she hates the motion of the ship, but she eats everything nonetheless, and even washes it down with ale when there is no chance to boil the water."
Sansa had thankfully not grown as seasick as she'd been the three previous times they'd boarded a ship, but Sandor knew that only being able to eat oaten porridge in the mornings, pea porridge in the afternoons, and salt cod, salt beef, or salt mutton every single sodding night was not something the little bird looked forward to. If there was anyone who was finding the journey rougher than the others, then it was certainly her- not that she ever said a word of complaint about it.
"You know, Clegane," Davos said, turning around to regard Sandor with a curious expression. "The world isn't going to be happy about your marriage to the Lady Sansa."
"Don't you think I fucking know that?" Sandor spat at once, scowling. He was used to receiving hard looks and far worse things by bastards who thought themselves better than they really were, and had been ready for a long time now to face all the suspicion and resentment that was awaiting him in the Seven Kingdoms.
"All of those poxy gnats can go bugger itself with a hot poker for all that it will matter," Sandor snarled roughly. "Sansa knew who I was, and she chose me willingly nonetheless. I thought you knew that by now, smuggler."
"You didn't let me finish," Davos answered, patiently. "I was going to tell you that it is a rare thing to find a man who wouldn't mind walking one step behind his wife, allowing her as much liberty as you will the Lady Sansa."
Sandor actually laughed at that, the tension ebbing away from him. "I am not ashamed of being a Clegane, Seaworth. But I do know that as a Stark she was meant for great things, and I won't try and stop her from achieving them."
"No, I don't believe you would," Davos agreed. "It could take years but with time they may all stop thinking of you as the Hound. If we defeat the Lannisters and survive this winter, I hope the North comes to appreciate you for making Ned Stark's daughter happy at least. And I hope they do not resent you for trying to help their liege lord cope with all that has happened to him as he grows up."
That was something Sandor highly doubted would ever happen, but he knew why the Onion was telling him this. For here on The King of the Seas, the little bird had finally started to behave more like her old self. The loss of Robb Stark and her mother was still too painful toher to brood upon it much, but at least she was once again laughing often and openly, and Sandor could tell that she was as happy as he was with the way married life was turning out for both of them.
Though his little wife still preferred to spend her days below decks, there were times when Sansa had surprised him by joining him on the ship's pow, with Edar three steps behind her, already taking up the role of Sansa's sworn arrow seriously. In the past weeks Sandor had discovered that standing by the ship's prow was a good place for him to go and try to clear his thoughts. And unsurprisingly, his thoughts, whether they were concerns or hopes, revolved around the little bird. Every day she shows me a life I thought I would never know ever since Gregor burned my face all those years ago.
But Sandor never spent too long a time away from the cabin he and his wife shared, for not only did he not like one bloody bit leaving Sansa alone for too long, regardless of whether Hagen was with her or not, but also because now that Sansa was his wife, there was no way in seven hells Sandor was going to keep on controlling himself any longer.
Fucking had become a necessity to them, and in the darkness of the ship's cabin, Sansa gave herself to Sandor with no restraints, becoming bolder with every passing day, to the point where he was left having a hard time catching his breath and regaining his senses, amazed at the boldness his little bird was frequently displaying around him now whenever they were alone.
Sandor could still remember the way he'd felt this morning, with Sansa calling his name, wrapped all around him as she came. He had lost it then and fucked her faster, spilling himself inside of her with a loud groan, happy in the knowledge that this was a side of his bird that no one else would ever come to see or know but him.
"Thank you, Seaworth," Sandor said suddenly, bringing himself back to the present moment, knowing he was grateful for the recognition Davos had just spoken about.
The former smuggler nodded. They both fell silent until Sandor rasped, "Sansa has agreed with what you said yesterday by the way."
"Agreed about The Three Sisters?" the Onion wondered, looking mildly surprised.
"Yes," Sandor answered. "Just because Borrell helped you and his father helped Ned Stark it doesn't mean he would be willing to do the same for Stark's children."
The Onion had told them about his last visit to these islands, after his famous friend, the Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan, had left him there rather than taking him all the way to White Harbour as Stannis had commanded him.
Sandor and the little bird had exchanged a meaningful look as Seaworth went on with his tale, remembering that the ship that had taken them to Pentos had belonged to Saan, but neither said anything to Davos about it.
Afterwards, Sandor had breathed in relief after the little bird had seen reason last night. Everyone knew that The Three Sisters were fickle bitches, loyal only to themselves, rather than to the Arryns. And even if the little bird's mad aunt hadn't been murdered by a sodding singer, leaving the Vale in hands of Littlefinger in the process, Sandor would have still not deemed it wise to take Sansa to those rotten islands where they would have to end up buying their passage out of it in the end anyways- if they were discovered first by Borrell.
Seaworth was looking thoughtfully across the water as he said, "I'm glad then, but it's a pity I will not get to try sister's stew any time soon."
Before Sandor could even have time to blink, a sudden loud scream of, "There you are!" interrupted them.
Sandor and Seaworth both turned quickly around at that, to see Rickon making his way to them. Sandor found himself smiling down at the young boy in approval, even as The Onion asked the lad, "And where have you left Osha, my lord?"
"She stayed with Shaggy and Sansa down in the hold," Rickon answered, standing before them with two brooms in his hands. "Sandor, can we fight now? Will these two work? They're the only ones the sailors let me have."
"Later Rickon, but these will do," Sandor answered, taking one of the brooms and examining it with a snort. "Just don't let Shaggydog near these ones again or we will be left with no more swords to practice with."
"I won't," the boy promised him at once, nodding eagerly. "Shaggydog won't get to bite these ones."
He really is taking this training business seriously, Sandor thought proudly; glad at how quickly his future liege lord had warmed up to him, and did not mind him for marrying his sister. For even if Bran Stark was found, Sandor doubted he would ever be able to sire children after his fall, therefore making Rickon the Stark of Winterfell once he came of age. And not until Rickon marries and sires children, the pups and birdlings I have with the little bird will be heirs to Winterfell as well. Sandor did not like to brood much on that.
At least it was a good thing that they had found Rickon before Davos turned him over to the northern lords, or else he would have been kept under their clutches for as long as they could have it so. And I reckon they would have given been too concerned with correcting Rickon's upbringing after the way the boy turned out to be like after Skagos. By what Seaworth had so far told Sandor and Sansa, the Skagosi had welcomed Rickon into their midst, and the boy had warmed up to their customs easily enough.
The lad was wild and energetic, and even if he was difficult to handle, Sandor had not been Joff's shield for years for nothing. He had gathered that if there was anyone who could help the boy, it was him.
Rickon's energy and time could be spent in something worthwhile, and that is where the idea of starting to train the boy at swordmanship had come from. But since archery was easier than swordfighting, Hagen had began teaching Rickon to practice with his bow and arrow first, sending all the sailors running around the deck whenever the two were practicing, afraid that they would accidentally hits someone with an arrow.
"He was too little to have started learning how to fight when we left Winterfell," the little bird had told Sandor the night before Sandor started training Rickon, as they ate their dinner, scooting over until her thighs were touching his under the table. "I am not sure if Ser Rodrik ever got the chance to teach him how to fight with a blunted edge tourney sword."
Snorting with contempt, Sandor had snarled, "I don't think your master-at-arms ever trained Rickon, little bird."
"Yes," Sansa had agreed with a sigh, leaning into him. "With the war and all breaking out so soon, I doubt little Rickon ever even got to drill in the yard."
Sandor didn't say anything after that for a while, remembering a morning long ago in the courtyard of Winterfell where he had mocked the great stout keg of a man that Cassel had been for thinking that Robb Stark and Joffrey had been too young to fight with anything but blunt swords at an age where most men were already being treated like grown men whether they wanted it or not.
I wonder what the old fool would have to say if he were to learn that I married Sansa, and that Rickon is now under my care, Sandor thought for a moment. But he guessedthat it didn't really matter. Cassel was probably long dead, and couldn't care less.
Yet regardless of what he had told the man about his training methods, Sandor did think it better for Rickon to start learning in more or less the same manner as Brandon Stark and Prince Tommen had trained back in Winterfell when they were made to fight one other. But since Sandor and Rickon lacked padded wooden swords on the galley, Sandor had gathered that the next best thing was to train with a pair of some of the ship's brooms.
There was something about Rickon that reminded Sandor of himself when he'd been young, from before and even after he was burned. There was a lot of hurt and loneliness and anger in me back then and there is in Rickon too. But Sandor had had no one to help him learn how to live and cope with his anger, whereas Rickon did. Maybe that was why Sandor found himself siding with the boy whenever he refused to do clean up or speak correctly or remember his manners. There will be time for him to learn all that soon enough anyways. Better that he got to enjoy these last carefree days like a boy of six was supposed to do.
And maybe that was also the reason why he had defended Rickon so readily four days ago against his sister, causing Sandor and Sansa to have their first true bloody disagreement since their wedding.
It had all started after the boy had yet again begun telling Sandor how much he was looking forward to showing Robb how good he was getting along with their training lessons.
"And Mother too, I bet!" Rickon had exclaimed, before running off below decks, leaving a frowning Sandor holding two brooms in his hands on the deck, as he brooded upon the meaning of what had just happened.
He had always hated liars, and keeping the boy in the dark about the fates of his brother and mother didn't seem right to Sandor, despite the boy's young age. He knew that Osha and the Onion Knight had kept the truth hidden from him in an attempt to shield him from the world after all the shit that had happened to him, but now that the little bird was showing signs of being perfectly content with delaying telling her brother the truth too, Sandor had known that it had all gone too fucking far.
"You are doing the same as your parents did with you, Sansa," he had pointed out to the bird later that day, back in their cabin. "And that turned out bad for you, didn't it?"
Sansa had flinched at that, before narrowing her eyes and answering, "I have thought about it, but Sandor, he is not even seven."
"Seven hells, so?" he'd replied, shrugging that defense away. "He won't be a boy forever, little bird, but Lord Stark soon enough. As your father and brother's heir he needs to know. You can't protect him by hiding him behind your skirts. I am teaching him how to fight back and not let the world fuck him over again without a good struggle, but what good is that if he goes on believing that he will meet your mother again as soon as he is back North, and keeps on telling everyone about how much he is looking forward to it?"
The little bird's lips had trembled as he went on, and for a moment Sandor had almost felt like a bastard as he wondered if he had driven her to tears by making her face the hard truth, but once he was done Sansa simply and silently sat on the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands, sighing, considering his words.
Sandor had stood rooted to the spot, wishing he could go over to comfort, but he knew that it wouldn't do any good this time. She needed to realize that what he was telling her was for her brother's sake, and in the end, she had.
Raising her beautiful face to meet his, Sansa had finally stood up and said in a strong voice, while she looked every bit the strong northern wolf that she had become, "Very well. He'll know as soon as we reach Westeros. You know how wild he becomes when upset. I don't think it wise for him to learn this while we are on the ship. When Shaggy senses his anger, he could end up killing someone."
"Aye, and I reckon that wouldn't be good," Sandor had agreed.
For a moment they had looked at each other hard, but the tension in the air quickly vanished, as Sandor watched his wife's pretty features softening under his gaze. He ended up holding out his arms to Sansa, and in the blink of an eye Sandor was pulling little bird to his chest, kissing the top of her head as he ran his hand through her soft hair.
"If you need me when the time comes," Sandor had growled, "I'll be there beside you. You don't have to do it alone, love."
"I know," Sansa had replied, hugging him tighter. "I know."
Sandor was brought back to the present as the smuggler suddenly said to Rickon, "How is Shaggydog doing? I overheard some of the sailors saying that they couldn't sleep thanks to him last night."
Rickon shrugged. "He doesn't like to be kept locked away down there. I told him that he could only come on the ship if he behaved, but he didn't listen to me."
"At least there hasn't been a need to chain him up," Seaworth pointed out, scratching the back of his head with the hand that still had all his fingers.
"Shaggy doesn't like chains," the lad reminded them for the hundredth time, rolling his eyes at the Onion's words.
"I wonder what he does like," the smuggler had replied, the shadow of a smile upon his face as he looked down at Rickon. "Besides Stranger, that is."
Sansa's brother had shrugged, before replying, "Destroying our brooms?"
Sandor laughed with The Onion at that, but he was in truth relieved that the direwolf hadn't caused any problems so far with the sailors. The captain had ordered his men to keep away from the hold where he had been placed, and so far the men had obeyed. They can't go ten steps close to the door that's barring the wolf in without pissing themselves.
The poxy sailors had all looked on with eyes big as saucers the first time they saw him taking down Stranger to the hold where the direwolf was kept, Sandor remembered now with a grin.
At first the little bird had not agreed to have Rickon teach Shaggydog how to get use to Stranger's presence, fearing Rickon, him, and the animals could end up hurting each other, but after Sandor had pointed out that it was not only necessary to improve Rickon's behaviour and to tame Shaggydog, but also because it was required for high lords to be good with weapons and commanding men.
"And your brother had three experts to teach him, bird," Sandor had told Sansa as an afterthought, when he was done. "But who will train Shaggydog if not us to attack any of the Baratheon lords? You know how wild he is, and if it were to happen Stannis could demand that the wolf be put to death just as it happened with yours, or at least Rigid Baratheon would command to have the direwolf chained permanently."
Sansa had relented after those words, so now Sandor was teaching Rickon how to train Shaggy daily, while the boy kept on practicing his archery with Edar, and had also begun to learn how to use daggers in a fight, as well as having Osha teach him lacing, and The Onion Knight everything he knew of shipwright and sealore.
Yet by far the most difficult training that had happened aboard the galley had been the one involving Sandor, Rickon, Shaggydog and Stranger.
Since the direwolf had a better temper than Stranger had when Sandor had first bought him as a colt, and since Sandor knew how to train dogs as well, and dogs were not so different to wolves, he had thought it really wouldn't be that hard at first to train Stranger and Shaggydog to get accustomed to each other's presence down in the hold of the ship, but he had been damned wronged about that.
The bad tempered beasts at first hated each other, and more than once they had been certain that given chance, they would attack each other instantly, but since Sandor and Rickon were there to calm the animals, over the weeks the warhorse and the direwolf finally became friends.
By now they were so protective of each other that Shaggydog would snarl at anyone who wasn't Sansa, Rickon or Sandor if they approached Stranger; and the destrier would in turn neigh menacingly to anyone who was not the bird or him or Rickon, if they approached the wolf when he was peacefully resting nearby.
After exchanging a few more words with the Onion and with Rickon, Sandor left them, wondering if the little bird was done with her visit to Shaggydog as he quickly grabbed a wineskin from the ship's reek-smelling kitchen. He went below decks to their cramped cabin, but Sansa wasn't there. Sandor sighed in disappointment, unbuckling his swordbelt and placing it beside the narrow sleeping shelf, shaking his head in still amazed at the way he and Sansa were able to both fit in it.
This is definitely better than that cabin in The Summer Bird though, Sandor thought, glad that at least in this cabin he was able to stretch his legs, since it wasn't as low or as cramped as the other one had been. And even if the two bedrolls he and Sansa had bought back in Lorath could not be compared to a real bed, neither him nor the little bird had seemed to mind the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements, as they always made the best of every night they'd spent aboard The King of the Seas.
Sandor sat down on the sleeping shelf, smirking at those memories and leaning his back against the wooden wall, taking a long drink from the skin, closing his eyes, deciding he would wait here for Sansa to come back. He didn't have to wait long though. Less than ten minutes had passed by when he heard footsteps on the hallway outside, and his little bird's voice saying, "Thank you, Hagen. I am going to take a nap now. No, please, do go. I will see you later."
Sandor undressed his bird with his eyes as she opened the door and gave a little surprised, "Oh!" when she saw him, a beaming smile appearing on her face at once at the sight of him.
"Darling!" she exclaimed, shutting the door behind her in the blink of an eye, before quickly reaching him in three steps.
Sandor grinned back at her as he grabbed her by the waist, steadying her while she unceremoniously seated herself on his lap, still smiling down at him. She threw her arms around him, clinging to his neck as she hugged him as tightly as if she hadn't seen him only this morning.
"I missed you, little bird," Sandor rasped, hugging her back, smiling into the crook of her neck, kissing her there.
"I didn't wake you up, did I?" his bird asked him, as he shifted his weight upon the sleeping shelf, grabbing Sansa by her firm round arse to keep her from falling down. "I am sorry if I did."
"You didn't," he answered, meeting her beautiful Tully blue eyes with his as she rubbed her nose against his, sliding her knuckles against his good cheek and down to his neck.
"I missed you too," she continued, kissing him quickly in between each word. "So very much."
Sandor claimed her mouth after her last words, kissing her deeply. His little wife kissing him back eagerly, opening her mouth for him at once. When they broke apart long moments later, Sandor observed with a raised eyebrow, "I thought you were planning on taking a nap, Sansa Clegane."
Sansa Clegane. Sandor loved calling her that, even if he knew the world would hate it- not only because of his own past as The Hound, but because the Cleganes were landed gentry, with Sandor's father and Gregor having been no more than landed knights, a step above a hedge knight, whereas the little bird was a Stark of Winterfell, and daughter to the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old.
Sandor was now a lord due to his marriage to one of the ladies of highest rank in Westeros, but not one formally. He knew that the North would not warm up to him either way, and had therefore asked the bird to please keep her maiden name of Stark, since her father and brother's bannermen would resent her if she went about calling herself a Clegane. Sansa would be Lady Sansa or Lady Stark to the world, but to him, in moments such as these, she was just his wife, his little bird. Sansa Clegane.
"That was just to send Hagen away," his little bird admitted now, her cheeks flushed from their kiss while she ran her fingers through his hair. "He seems to think that there is danger awaiting me around in every corner of this ship. Even in here."
He snorted, but could not say he disapproved of what Hagen was doing. Moving his hand in circles on Sansa's thigh, Sandor said, "He is only doing his duty."
His bird sighed, running her fingertips above his mouth, staring at his half scarred lips intently before confessing, "Yes I know. I- I am really grateful to Hagen for becoming my sworn arrow. I really am, but he follows me everywhere, big man."
"That's the point, little bird," Sandor said, even as he sucked one of Sansa's long fingers into his mouth. After a moment he had to let it go so he could say, "And you better get used to it, my bird. If all goes well in the end, he is going to be stuck with us forever."
"But doesn't he get tired of it?" she wondered, resting her head against his.
"I'm sure he will soon if he hasn't already," Sandor replied, as the rumble of his throat betrayed how he was starting to feel, while he twirled a lock of auburn hair between his fingers. "But that's not the bloody point."
Sansa smiled at that, chucking softly in resignation as she answered, "No, I guess it is not."
She brought her mouth to his and then they were touching and kissing roughly once again, Sandor feeling the tightness in his breeches increase as the little bird straddled him, moaning as he pressed her closer down on him by her arse. As he kissed the line of her jaw, his bird's hands moved down between them so she could start unlacing his breeches, making him jerk his hips upwards at once, a gasp of pleasure escaping him even as his hands fumbled with the laces on the back of Sansa's dress in return.
Sandor grinned, the scars on half of his pace pulling tight, for he knew by now what it was that Sansa wanted to do to him, as her eyes turned dark with lust and her mouth opened in a little wide O.
Sansa was sitting up on the narrow bunk bed of the cabin, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she stared down at Sandor sleeping with a little contented smile on her face, wishing these idle moments could last forever. Her husband's tunic was open to reveal his neck, and Sansa was already raising her hand towards it so she could slide it inside the tunic and caress the hairy chest underneath.
Her big man was snoring as he slept on with the peaceful expression upon his features that Sansa loved so much, for she was the only one who ever got to see it. Sansa had woken up this morning from a serene slumber, stretching upon the narrow bunk bed beside Sandor, promising to herself that the day she and Sandor moved to Winterfell, she would commission a bed big enough for ten people to sleep in for herself and her big man.
Last night, as Sandor made love to her, and Sansa had clenched the bed roll underneath her in a strong grip due to the rough manner in which he took her, she had feared for a moment that they would both fall from the bunk bed due to the force of their thrusting. Thankfully nothing of the sort had happened, and when they were done, Sandor had only exhaled raggedly into the crook of her neck, with their hair plastered to their faces as Sansa wondered how it was even possible to feel so alive, so good.
But that had been hours ago. In this moment she was watching the rise and fall of Sandor's powerful warm strong chest, with her hand resting above his heart, recalling the way he had groaned every time she had traced the battle scars upon it with her eyes and hands and mouth until the point where they were as familiar to Sansa as the ones she carried within her soul and upon her body ever since King's Landing.
Yet Joffrey never managed to leave a mark upon my soul the way Sandor did, Sansa gathered, still smiling as her mind drifted away to the memories of their travels and adventures in Essos yet again. There was a chance that one day a song would be written about those times. About the princess in exile and how she fell so deeply in love with her scarred sworn shield.
Suppressing a giggle as she imagined Sandor's reaction if he were to learn what she was thinking, Sansa brought her eyes to rest on her husband's face, only to find that he was already awake, and was looking at her sleepily. Yet he returned her grin when she whispered, "Good morning, husband" and lowered herself until she was lying beside Sandor, her head resting on his shoulder.
Sandor took hold of the hand she had above his heart so they could start playing with each other's fingers, and closed his eyes, grunting, "Morning, wife."
Silence fell between them for a long moment, but no matter how much she tried, Sansa could not fall back to sleep. Not even if resting here with her big man felt wonderful and peaceful.
"Darling?" she whispered, wondering if Sandor had already fallen back to sleep.
When he did not answer her, yet failed to pretend he was snorting, Sansa smiled, biting Sandor's shoulder beneath her lightly as she nudged his leg with her knee, calling to him once more.
"What?" he finally replied, still sleepy as he opened one eye to regard her with slight amusement.
"Dearest, we have to get dressed or else we will be late for breakfast again," she told her big man softly.
"Since when are you so eager to eating the cook's food, little bird?" he wanted to know, the low rumble of his rasping voice sending a warm fluttering feeling to begin in Sansa's tummy.
Chuckling, and pressing herself closer to him, Sansa reminded him that the cook had promised her to bake me some lemoncakes this morning. Sansa had not been able to eat much of the ship's cooking with enthusiasm, and had been startled when the cook had searched her out two days ago, demanding to know the reason why.
After she had explained to him about her seasickness, and he had asked her what was her favorite food in the entire world. When she answered that lemoncakes were her favorite, the man had told her she was lucky, for there were still some lemons he had yet to cook, and which he would be using on a dozen warm lemoncakes for her this morning.
"Don't get your feathers all ruffled up," Sandor snorted, shifting on the bed bunk so he could lean his forehead on hers, while he gave her a soft kiss and placed his knee between her legs. "Bet they will taste like horse's shit-"
Before he could even finish Sansa pressed a kiss on Sandor's mouth and said against his lips stubbornly, "No, they won't."
Blinking at her in surprise, Sandor watched her in silence as she sat up on the narrow bunk bed again and stretched her arms behind her head. She gave a little sigh when Sandor suddenly ran his rough calloused hand down her bare back, and lay perfectly still as he sat up as well a moment later and hugged her from behind, his arms pressing her into him, loving the way it felt to have his breath fanning her neck.
"We have to get dressed," Sansa sighed again, remembering at last the cook's lemoncakes.
"Very well," her big man replied, suddenly letting go of her and going on one knee before her on the wooden floor. Sansa watched with an amused expression as Sandor reached out for one of her gowns and rasped with a grin as his mouth twitched, "I'll help you, little bird."
Feeling butterflies on her tummy at once at the way her big man's eyes darkened with lust, Sansa had smiled as Sandor had placed one of her feet on his chest, and had started kissing her leg, forgetting her gown on the floor beside him.
The lemoncakes were not as bad as Sandor had predicted, but even after she had eaten five of them, Sansa's tummy remained as queasy as it had always been in her previous experiences aboard ships. She still hated the motion of the ship, and the way the deck rolled beneath her feet, but at least on this journey, rather than spending her time feeling greensick and nervous, she was actually happy. Even though Robb and her lady mother were not awaiting her back home, Sansa had Sandor and Rickon with her, along with friends that loved them both; even if they seemed to enjoy shooting meaningful glances in their direction whenever they dismissed themselves early from dinner, or were suddenly interrupted as they kissed.
Hagen would always wink at them and laugh, while Osha would simply roll her eyes Edar and tell him to mind his own business. Lord Davos would study in these occasions, her and Sandor carefully, still sighing in a manner that made it clear to them that he was still finding it hard at times to believe they were really married, and thanks to him in some way.
Sansa would always laugh and blush on all of these occasions, while Sandor barked at them all to mind their own business after he had rasped a curse to them. But both Sansa and her big man knew that their companions meant them no ill will in the end, and were already quickly adjusting to the sight of them together behaving as man and wife.
It's the rest of the world the one that should concern us, Sansa reasoned, after she and Sandor had made love one night, both of them lying on their backs upon the narrow sleeping shelf, holding each other in the darkness of their cabin on the night when Captain Beren had broached a cask of firewine to fortify the sailors spirits.
Sandor, Sansa, Rickon, Hagen, Osha and Lord Davos had been dining on salt mutton, laughing and exchanging tales as they forgot for one evening the difficult road ahead of them, when the captain had come down to offer them some firewine as well.
Sansa had tried a cup herself for the first time, trying desperately not to cough and failing miserably when she felt hot snakes wriggling down her throat and through her chest, driving everyone present to bursts of laughter, and Sandor to pat her on the back, laughing that rasping, racous laughter of his louder than anybody else.
This time with Sandor aboard The King of the Seas had been everything Sansa could ever have hoped to find in a marriage that was full of love and trust and care the way her relationship with Sandor was, now that they really knew each other completely in every possible way. Many times in the past she had not believed she would ever be able to love Sandor Clegane more than she already did at that time, but she had been wrong.
As they journeyed across the Narrow Sea, Sansa had started to learn how to cope with the pain of what had happened to her family. And even if it had been hard at first to learn how to live with that sense of loss, her love for Sandor was burned so deeply in her heart that it had been easier for the last couple of weeks than she would have imagined to enjoy her new life as Sandor's wife.
Sansa had found out that making love with Sandor was fun and new, and empowering, and never failed to be passionate and tender and wonderful all at once, even in the beginning when she had found herself fumbling awkwardly with Sandor's laces, or when she asked him, blushing all the while, if he would show her how to please him in return. Both her big man and she were trying to make the most of their time on the ship, treasuring every chance they could to be together, because they knew that once the journey aboard The King of the Seas was done, they were not going to be allowed as much time to enjoy each other due to the war in all fronts, while they tried to keep themselves and Rickon alive.
Sansa could not allow herself to forget that there was more to life than the sweet feeling of being safe falling asleep in Sandor's arms made her feel. So far, by what Sansa could tell though, everyone else seemed to be enjoying the sea journey too.
Rickon was very happy with the training Sandor, Osha, Hagen and The Onion Knight were imparting to him every day, making Sansa thank the Old Gods and the New for the quick manner in which Rickon warmed up to Sandor, aware that not many young boys would have reacted thus upon meeting The Hound.
Her little brother was also enjoying the time he spent with the galley's sailors, and would always bring back tales of strange and wondrous happenings from the wide world, about wars and rains of toads and dragons hatching, the latter making Sansa recall that Arman Nervere had spoken to her about dragons and a Targaryen princess in exile, back in Great Norvos.
Arman told me once that the wind that blew people across the narrow sea seldom blew them back, Sansa remembered. Yet he was wrong about that just as he was of so much else.
Sansa's brother was also learning sailor's japes and riddles, along with tricks and even curses, which made her suppose that it was a good thing her brother and future liege lord seemed willing to learn about other people's lives and tribulations by himself, just the way their father had once done long ago.
Stranger and Shaggydog's growing friendship was also a matter to make not only Rickon, but every member of their little company happy. And as to their companions, Osha would only mutter when asked how she was finding the journey that as long as the ship didn't sink, she was well content. Lord Davos spent most of his days with Captain Beren, or discussing plans with Sandor or taking Rickon to different parts of the ship each day to learn shiplore and shipwright.
Hagen Edar, on the other hand, would spent his days aboard The King of the Seas either following Sansa around like a shadow, teaching Rickon archery, or receiving lessons from Osha about the Common Tongue. Sansa and Sandor would always laugh whenever the Lorathi started pronouncing words with a wildling accent. So far Hagen was proving to be such a good sworn arrow, that in took less than no time for her to start thinking of Hagen as her own personal Kingsguard.
I will make him a grey cloak with a direwolf embroided on it as soon as I can, she promised to herself one day, watching the former Lorathi outlaw teach Rickon how to play dice one afternoon, as she reflected on everything that Sandor had told her about Edar's past troubles with Arman Nervere.
A month after their departure from Braavos, they finally came upon the sight of Westeros, with The King of the Seas rounding the east coast of The Fingers after they had sailed west and then north and then west again around the Narrow Sea. The first sign of land the people aboard the galley had was a great grey bird flying high above them. Sansa could tell at once that all she had ever heard about this place was sadly true though.
It does indeed look like a cold, dismal place, she thought, standing on deck, watching the uninviting bare and stony strand of windswept and treeless land that stretched off the bow of the ship. Yet even so this was the most welcoming sight she had seen in a long time for what it represented.
For not only was she at long last finally gazing upon the Seven Kingdoms once again, but also because The King had been a long while clawing its way back on course. The last of the two storms they had suffered on this sea voyage had had swept them out of sight of land, sending such waves crashing over the sides of the galley that Sansa had been certain they were all going to drown, and no attempt from Sandor to reassure her that this was a good sound ship had made any difference as it was happening. She had overheard Captain Beren tell the cook that one man had fallen from the mast and broken his neck during the storm, while another one had been swept overboard.
Thankfully, there were no treacherous currents in these waters, and after The Fingers dwindled to no more than a few dark shapes in the sky that might have been mistaken for thunderheads, or the tops of tall black mountains, or both, The King of the Seas struck north and then west across The Bite for the shores of White Harbour.
It began to seem to Sansa then as if the ship was flying across these northern waters, with the wind in the sails and the days running together after they had passed by the massive and mountainous bleak grey peaks that were The Three Sisters, rising up from the imposing sea, as she and Rickon stood on the forecastle of the ship with Hagen Edar at their side.
Their little company had spent many days and evenings planning the careful measures they would all have to take if they meant to survive the hard road ahead of them. Sansa had waited for so long to be back in the North, and yet she had never imagined the sort of arrival she Rickon and Sandor would have to take until they could learn how matters stood with the Manderlys; an arrival clad in secrecy as she, Sandor, Osha and Rickon hid in the wild waiting for Lord Davos and Edar to return to them from White Harbour with further proof beyond what they had been told back in Braavos.
Sansa shook her head, straightening her shoulders as she smiled down at her brother. There was so little certainty in regards to all of their futures. Only winter is certain in this world. Sansa knew what dangers awaited her, Sandor and Rickon as soon as they got off this ship, but she was not frightened of them.
In the months she had spent away from Westeros Sansa had acquired a strength that made her feel determined that one day she would be back in Winterfell, with Rickon restored to her father and Robb's seat in they never heard from Bran again. And maybe we will Arya with us too by spring if they are still alive. Bran, Arya and Jon as well. It would be so sweet to see them all again.
Her musings were suddenly interrupted when Rickon exclaimed, yet again, "We should go to The Sisters."
Sansa shook her head, running her fingers through her brother's hair. "We can't, Rickon. They are not our friends."
And even if they were, Sandor was right. The Three Sisters were not known for their steadfast loyalty as much as they were known for their avarice.
"But Lord Davos told us the lord of the Sisters helped him, and father before him," her brother reminded her, turning his face up to look at her.
"Yes, I know what Godric Borrell and his father did, Rickon, but they won't be able to help us out. At least not today. Our best hope lies with the Manderlys, little brother."
"I remember him, I think," Rickon replied, thoughtfully. "From when he visited Winterfell, and Bran was playing the lord. Wasn't he the fat old man? I liked him."
Sansa tried to hide her giggles at that, for she could also remember Wyman Manderly. Still, it would not do for her brother to go around calling the man who was the head of House Manderly things like that.
By the time The King of the Seas sailed past Oldcastle and entered the White Knife, all Sandor, Sansa, Osha, Rickon, Hagen and Lord Davos could do was wait for a signal from the captain that the time had come to put their plan in action.
A/N: Thank you SO much for reading! Please review if you feel like it :D