#Sandor fetch

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

all I think about is House Clegane core

続・ついろぐ

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, smut (piv, emotional sex, praise kink), enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, miscommunication, baby fever, fluff!, typos, etc.

A/N: i said i'd end this on p5 but i think i'll be ending at p7 HAHHAH lol. originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @minttea07 @fluffpudel @j3nn-1 @jelsasnowflakes1

"My lady," followed by high pitched barking made me turn around from where I sat in the garden.

Maester Yannick was walking over to me, with three puppies on his trail. He lifts his robe when he feels one of the critters nip at it. He hisses at them and tells them not to bite. Rose barks and takes it as a challenge.

I chuckle and shush her, raising a finger as I bend down to reinforce the discipline.

Rose looks at me then scurries off.

I straighten up on the bench as Yannick sits beside me. We both then turn to the soldiers in the making, training across the grounds of Brown Wood.

The Hound barks at them when they get their positions wrong.

"He is lovely today," Yannick tells me.

I turn to him and chuckle, but nod nonetheless.

He continues observing my husband, "he's been training long, hasn't he?"

"Mmm. Perhaps a couple hours," I look back at Sandor, "why? Do you think it is bad for his wounds?"

"I think it is bad for you," he looks at me.

I pull my head back, "me?"

The maester stands, "you are wasting precious time. Both of you are in good conditions," he links his hands together, "for the good of your house, it would be wise for you to be more... vigilant about producing heirs."

I feel my face drop and burn.

"As you know, my lady, the herbs I make for you are not cheap. It would be a shame to put them to waste due to a lack of effort."

I clear my throat and turn away from him.

Maester Yannick nods, "which reminds me, I will go and fetch you some tea right now."

I watch him walk away.

Once he was gone, my attention is averted back to Sandor. In truth, now more than ever has his hound persona been more apparent to me. Besides his fierceness, his snarling, his grit, the way he bared his teeth and howled at everyone, I could see his loyalty, his need to do good by the people in his life, his protectiveness, especially when it came to fighting, and his warmth.

I begin to think about Daisy. I turn to my side and watch as the pups begin to wreck the garden with their paws.

I find myself thinking about that night... that night when he said he loved me.

I rub my belly, not liking the way my stomach churned at my string of thoughts.

I watch as Sandor straightens up a boy, who was about to fall flat on his face, with one hand. He shakes his head at the child and says he can't fight if he's fighting himself too.

I imagine him speaking the same way to our son.

It was a horrible mistake. As quickly as I thought of it, I then remember telling him to give me a child by another woman.

I've set him free. He does not belong to me; in truth, he never did.

I quickly stand and wipe my face.

This was no longer leisure, this was torture.

I quickly run inside, retreating to my bedroom. Once I am there, I takes my shoes off, plop on my bed, and stare up at my ceiling. I look at the cobwebs in the distant corners and I wonder why I felt like crying but had no tears to shed. I lie there in silence, wishing nothing but to waste away.

I lift my head up from the sheets and turn to the door when I hear it open. I immediately stand and brush my skirts, "Sandor."

The feel of the cold floor on my bare feet send a shiver down my spine.

Sandor cautiously looks at me, "is everything alright?"

"Mmm?" I raise my brows, "what- why do you ask?"

"You ran inside and left your babes in the garden"

My lips part at his words. My hand instinctively comes to my belly.

"Pups," he raises a hand, "I meant pups. I didn't mean--"

Sandor is cut off by the voice of maester Yannick calling my name as he knocked on my door. Sandor opens the door for him and the old man enters, smiling when he sees the two of us. He is about to hand me the tea but then decides otherwise and puts it on my vanity.

He turns to Sandor, "I am pleased you decided to attend to your wife. Her fertility herbs are slowly being depleted. I was beginning to fear it would be for naught."

I grow frigid.

With that, the maester nods and exits, "please do enjoy each other's company."

The sound of the door closing leaves me red in the face. I lock eyes with Sandor then look away, clearing my throat. I flinch when he calls out my name.

I turn back and rub my arms, "yes... husband?"

"I didn't come here for that," he mutters, raising a hand cautiously.

My chest tightens. Of course not. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I could make a sound.

"I came to check if you're alright," he slowly steps forward.

I tense and nod, "I am well."

I feel my heart race when he takes another step towards me.

"Y-you needn't worry about me."

"I always worry about you," he mutters as he walks closer.

My words catch in my throat, "what?"

"Let me help you," he speaks, now only a few steps away from me.

My heart is pounding. I step back slowly, "h-help?"

"In the way only a man can," he lets out a heavy breath.

My calves hit the bed. I stop in my tracks and stand frozen. The Hound is now looking down at me. I am too overwhelmed by his presence to do anything else but stare.

The next thing I know, my gaze is drawn downward as he sits on the bed and peers up at my form.

"If you want a child from me," he whispers, "I'll give you one by no other woman but you." 

I look at him, heart in my mouth, body burning. I scratch my fingers and nod at his words.

Sandor sighs, "I need to hear you say it."

"I-" I shakily speak, "I want a child," I face him, "a child by you... my lord."

His brows knit.

My breath hitches when he touches my waist.

I can hear his heavy breathing as he whispers, "Sandor. Please."

I gulp as his palm rubs slowly across my belly. The action makes my skin prickle with goosebumps. My hand comes atop his. I oblige, "Sandor."

He gently tugs me in between his legs and my breath nearly escapes me. He rests his hands on my hips then pulls me in, sinking his face into my side. My ribs rattle with how quick my pulse was.

Sandor inhales deeply, "gods, you smell good."

I feel my body burn, "i-it's lavender oil."

I squeak when he pulls me down onto his lap. He cages me against him, my back flush against his chest. He sinks his face into my neck and slowly draws in a breath. His arms snake around me as he hotly speaks, "it's you, my pretty squirrel."

I feel his hands slowly lift my skirts up. My hands latch onto his arm that was still around my belly.

"Be calm, my wife, I cleaned up before coming here, in case I had to wipe your tears."

I make a sound as he knocks his nose into my jaw and exposes one of my legs to him. 

"I don't like it when you're upset."

My breath hitches, "I-I'm not upset."

"Good."

Sandor feels the goosebumps on my skin when his hand makes contact with my bare thigh. He shushes me as he rubs and kneads my flesh. I whimper and begin to squirm when his hand hikes up my inner thigh.

His fingers touch my clothed center. He breathes hotly against the pulse of my neck, "I'm going to take this off, mmm?"

I gulp and nod slowly at his words.

I maneuver with him when his hands come under my skirts to rid me of my smallclothes. He doesn't like the space that is created between us and rips me back into him. He ruts his hips into mine to add to his point.

I whine when Sandor's right hand rubs into my heat.

"Fuck," he hisses, "you've worked yourself up over nothing."

I make a louder noise when he prods his fingers into my pulsing entrance. I can feel his fingers slide with ease against my warm folds. I instinctively grip his arm when he sinks into me.

Sandor's other arm, in turn, tightens around me, "you can take it. You've taken more than my fingers, beautiful."

I whimper when he sinks another finger into me and begins to pump in and out. My breathing grows heavier and I throw my head back on his shoulder as he moves into me.

I feel his beard scratch into my neck. I feel his teeth graze lightly into my skin. His fingers languidly move in and out of me, even as I clench my thighs together. He makes no move to part them, and in truth, it doesn't hinder his movements at all.

I feel his tongue dart out on my neck, "I want to taste you."

I slowly lift my head from his shoulder just as he pulls his hand away from my thighs and brings his fingers into his mouth. I feel sobered by his action, taken aback by how filthy it was yet how eagerly he did it.

The next thing I know, he pulls back and lets my body fall in a space between his thighs. He quickly undoes his trousers. After, he pushes me onto my feet, and grips my hips. He rather impatiently rips up my skirts and I feel my thighs shake when he grips my bare flesh.

He pulls me back down on him, and I mewl when I feel his hardened length slip clumsily between my thighs, not yet entering me. I settle on him; the sensation of his clothes on my skin makes my belly roll.

"Fuck," he growls, as my thighs instinctively clamp around him. Sandor is unable to withhold the bucking of his hips.

When he does this, pleasure, crackling like embers, tingle up my body.

"Open up," he hisses, one hand coming between my legs, "I have to be inside you. I have to come inside, have to come inside your weeping cunny."

"Sandor," I whine as I slowly part my legs.

"I know, pretty squirrel. You're so worked up, for me," he breathes against my ear then nips at my lobe, "so fucking eager."

A drawn out whine escapes my lips when he sheathes himself into me.

He wastes no time in moving. I end up squeaking as he braces me against him and firmly thrusts upward into me.

My cries grow louder as his arms tighten beneath my breasts. I feel his hand knead one breast, but it doesn't last very long.

I am throttled onto my chest and pressed down on the sheets. Sandor lifted me up like I was nothing and adjusted me on the edge of the bed.

I'm barely on my tiptoes, as most of my weight was shifted on my spine from of how my husband was hoisting me up to cater to himself.

His movements quickly pick up the pace, and our position becomes reminiscent of the time he had me like this once before, only this time, his one hand was rubbing my scarred hip and he was much more vocal.

"Look at you, all bent over and mine," he groans.

I nails dig into the sheets.

"I'm gonna fill you up. You're going to be so fucking full of me."

I squeal into the sheets. The idea drives me wild. I plead into the bed but I don't think he hears it.

Just as I felt something begin to build in me, he slows.

I open my eyes, not realizing I had closed them as Sandor drops one of my hips. I squeak when I feel him grab my shoulder and slowly turn me on my back.

My jaw drops; I breathe heavily through my mouth. Sandor looks down on me as his hands grip my sides. He pushes me upward and presses my legs by my ribs

He slowly thrusts into me, hands working their way across my body. He rubs my thighs, my belly, my breasts. His brows furrow, "fuck. So fucking soft and warm."

He massages my breasts then works his way up to my shoulders. His one hand rubs my neck before clutching my jaw. His other hand slides back down my hips. I whine when his thumb rubs circles around my sensitive nub. It makes my toes curl.

He sighs, "so fucking beautiful."

I whimper when his other thumb swipes my lips. I find myself licking at it. It makes him groan and buck into me faster.

I push my head back and arch my spine, "fuck- Sandor."

Both his hands land on my hips. He digs his nails into my flesh and begins to move deeper. Eventually, he sinks one hand down by the side of my head for support. My hands latch onto his hips.

"Come for me, pretty girl," he groans, "I'm not gonna last much longer."

I tug at his clothes.

"Be a good girl and come all over my cock, mmm. I want to feel you tighten around me-- get all messy and wet and loud and," he gives deliberate thrusts, "so fucking beautiful."

I whine, "Sandor, I want- I want to-"

I begin to tighten and shake against him. My legs wrap around him and my hands cling onto him for dear life. I find it futile to conceal my sounds, as I cannot find the strength to shut my mouth as I ride the feeling of bliss.

With a loud cuss, Sandor rams into me as deeply as he can. His movements are rough and slow. Both of his hands secured on my waist as he spills his seed into me.

I can feel him throb and can feel myself dripping with warmth.

Sandor takes his time, really drawing out the feeling before slowly coming to a halt. He lets out a final moan when he does stop then takes a deep breath.

I look at him as he closes his eyes and straightens up. My body burns when he looks down at me through hooded eyes and rubs my body again. He enjoys rubbing my breasts the most.

My hands come to his arms, and that seems to stop him.

I am about to tell him not to stop, but he speaks before I can, "wrap your legs round me."

In truth, I didn't have to do anything as he wraps my legs around himself and picks me up in his arms. I hook my feet around each other and am careful not to touch his blistered back as my hands go to his shoulders.

Sandor crawls up the bed with me clinging onto him; I feel the strength in his muscles as he moves. He sets me down on the pillows. He arranges one under my head and brings one beside me.

He looks at me for a moment then whispers, "I'm going to pull away now."

He waits for me to respond before doing anything.

In truth, the thought of him pulling away from me makes my body ache with sadness, but I slowly nod anyway.

I close my eyes as Sandor gently draws away from me. My emotions immediately overcome me in my vulnerable state. I rub my eyes when I feel tears build behind my lids. Sandor fixes my skirt and gathers my legs together. I feel him take the pillow beside me and stuff if bellow my bum.

"This will help keep my spend from dripping out."

His explanation makes my body burn.

I feel Sandor shuffle beside the bed and I hear him fixing his clothing.

I clench my jaw, dreading what I knew exactly was to come next.

I open my eyes when he calls my name. I look at him pathetically, noticing how his skin glowed with sweat, the last evidence that he was ever in me beyond his untucked shirt.

He reaches out to me and I really don't want to take his hand knowing he'll leave me after, so I don't.

I have no idea why he still grabs my hand. The action feels like a betrayal. He rubs my knuckles before kissing them. I chew my lip, feeling wronged over the fact he has never kissed my lips and probably never will.

"I will be leaving now," he mutters.

His words gut me, as always. 

I rip my hand out of his and turn away from him, "very well."

Sandor knits his brows at the sharp withdrawal. He was gentle was he not? Still, he's being turned away.

His mouth goes dry. He slowly steps back, "I..."

I turn my body away from him. I draw in a deep breath and try to make my voice as even as possible, "thank you, Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He steps back some more, "I-I'll bring your dogs here for company."

I chuckle dryly. Company. My voice breaks, "I'm tired."

Sandor's mouth twitches. He backs all the way up to the door, "I'll let you rest then."

I cover my face with my arm and hum in agreement, not trusting myself to speak anymore.

The moment I hear the click of the door, I begin to sob. I whine as his words replay in my head. How could he tell me such things, call me beautiful and say he wants me, then leave me right after? How could he touch me like that then want nothing to do with me?

I pull the pillow from underneath my head and wail into it.

Sandor, who couldn't find it in himself to step away from the door, decides not to walk back in when he hears the crying. His belly curdles with self-loathing. He feels like he's going to choke because of how hurt the noise sounded, nevermind how lovely it was seconds ago; it meant for nothing.

He walks away trying to figure out where he went wrong. He relives every touch, every sound in his memory. His eyes water when he comes to the dreadful realization it must have been horrible being with him. He forced his wretched looks onto an unwilling witness.

He gulps as he sniffles and wipes his face in frustration. He feels like walking into the forest, never to be seen again, but then he steps out to the garden and hears small barking sounds. He looks at the three pups, playing with the boys, who should have been training, and feels his heart twist.

He finds himself imagining what the scene would've been like if Daisy was here... if his pretty squirrel-- he shuts the thought away.

I knock on Sandor's office door and enter when he tells me to come in.

He looks up, does a double take, then immediately stops doing whatever it was he was doing. He clears his throat, "Lady Clegane."

His words pierce through me. He's never called me that before. I close the door and walk towards him, "Lord husband. Good morrow to you. Where is Andrew?"

His shoulders tense, "he... should be here any minute."

I nod as I halt in front of his desk, "he has gotten good enough at reading and balancing coin, I hope?"

Sandor sighs, "yes."

I notice the crumbs on his beard, then I notice a plate on his desk. He must have broken fast here. I fidget with my fingers and wipe my chin, hoping he would get the message. He doesn't. I decide not to note on it and simply get to the point, "maester Yannick said your wounds have dried up, and that if you liked, you could go on your rounds again."

Sandor nods and straightens in his chair, "I think I'll start once I'm confident in the bloke balancing our coin."

I nod slowly and link my hands together, "alright," I shift in my spot and turn to the door.

I look back at him and feel my body burn under his scrutiny. I offer a smile, "that is all I wanted to say," I rub my hands together, "-wanted to check on you."

I gasp when he jumps out of his chair.

I clutch my chest and stare at him. He had an arm raised and reached out to me. It dawns on me he said something but it was too quick for me to catch.

I release a breath, "pardon?"

Sandor lowers his hand, rolls his shoulders back, and clears his throat, "I... I asked how you're doing."

It takes me a few moments to realize the meaning of his words. I shift and my spot and rub my chest. I feel my neck burn when he further clarifies his question.

"Yesterday, when we... bedded, I didn't hurt you, did I?"

I draw out a deep breath and smile softly, "you were... gentle with your touches."

Sandor is unsatisfied.

I aimlessly look around, "and, anyway, I am not as fragile as you think."

He purses his lips and tilts his head. He takes a moment before speaking, and when he does, he does so hesitantly, "I was afraid I made my pretty wife weep again."

I instinctively let out a laugh, but it was clearly unamused and pained. I feel like I was being scorched alive when I look at him looking at me. I shake my hands, suddenly in denial, "no, I was quite satisfied!"

Sandor's eyes widen a fraction.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. What am I saying?

He blinks twice and wipes his mouth. Finally his crumbs fall off. He mutters, "that's... good."

I release my final chuckle. He turns to his desk, fixes some things, then looks back to me. He looks like he means to smile but he doesn't, "I'm glad."

He slowly sits down afterwards.

I feel like I'm being weighed down by anchor.

That was it. That was the conversation.

Sandor is no longer looking at me. He shuffles the paper into a file and I slowly begin to feel the air around us thicken.

He sets the parchment down and darts his eyes to me. He purses his lips again and I catch the way his face twitches. He opens his mouth and slowly points to the door, "if that's all... I would not keep you."

I don't know why I laugh again, but I do. It's not even funny. I feel like being stabbed would have been better, more amusing at this point. I curtsy at him and shuffle backwards, "of course. I do not mean to keep you either."

Sandor feels sick. He clenches his fists and turns to his desk. He breathes in deeply, trying not to rile himself up any more than he already was. Gods knew he would use all his strength to keep this room locked.

I walk towards the door and turn the knob. I feel a wave of tears threatening to spill, and I slap my mouth when a squeak leaves me.

Sandor is immediately alerted. He looks up and pushes himself on the edge of the seat, "what?"

I turn to the ground and wipe my face. I take two seconds for myself then turn to him. I cover up with a chuckle, "I said... y-your beard."

Sandor immediately rubs his beard.

I chuckle louder, trying to convince myself that I actually found it funny, "you have crumbs on your beard."

Sandor looks at me like I grew another head.

I laugh enough that I actually start laughing at myself.

When I stop, the silence is loud.

Sandor clears his throat and cautiously asks, "you find that funny?"

My stomach drops when I see the red tinge of his ears. I walk up to his side and shake my head, "wait, no- I- I didn't mean it like that."

Sandor shakes his head and offers me a quick and small smile, "it's fine. I just wasn't expecting that from you," he looks back to his desk, "anyway, I'm used to it."

I feel like my entrails were being grinded.

A line forms in his brows, "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before."

"I wasn't laughing at you!" I whimper under my breath. The air in my lungs begin to catch in my throat as I exhale, "I was just- I ju-"

Sandor turns to me, face slipping when he catches my teary eyes.

He stands and takes my shoulders.

I blink my tears away and smile in an attempt to calm myself. I am glad I do not shed a tear. I speak through a loud breath, "I'm just nervous when I'm around you!"

Sandor immediately releases me. He sighs through his nostrils, "scared, you mean."

I shake my head and take his shoulders, "nervous."

The Hound seizes up like there was a knife to his neck. I take a moment to look at him and pull back.

I cannot deny it hurt when he immediately steps away from me.

I really should have left at this point, but my mouth had a mind of its own. I furrow my brows and give him an earnest look, "I can trim your beard for you."

He steps back one last time, then looks at me as if I now had three heads.

I realize my mistake, "if-if you want me to. I'm not saying you should, I'm just offering to-"

"You want to do that for me?"

I turn to stone. I look around nervously, "mmm... o-only if you'd have it... ... my lord."

Sandor's face twitches. He sighs and slumps forward. He furrows his brows, "you'd be staring at my face the whole time."

I watch him as he rummages through his things.

My stomach rolls again and I step back, "ah... I see."

Sandor stops to look at me.

"If you do not feel comfortable, I will not..."

My words run dry when he pulls out shears. I watch him as he straightens up. He grips the tool in his hand, "it's you I'm worried about."

I look up at him, not knowing what to say.

"I don't mean to scare yo-"

"I'm not scared of you," I mutter.

Sandor stares at me. After a moment, he slowly takes my hand and hands me the shears, "maybe you should be."

My chest pounds at fleeting touch.

I cut his beard in the garden, as I didn't want to make a mess in his office.

He sits on the bench there.

The breeze blows at both our hair.

"You needn't touch me so gently, girl," he says, "it will take a lot of you to hurt me."

I do not change the manner in which I touch his cheek. I can feel Sandor looking at me, but I do not avert my attention away from his beard, "just because you do not hurt easily doesn't mean I cannot be gentle with you, Hound."

The Hound reaches out to my thighs when my foot rolls on a rock. I barely even fidget, but, still, he holds me in place to keep me from a potential fall. He does not release me. I gulp when I feel his thumb rub my skirt.

"You can hurt me if you like," he says.

I pull back and furrow my brows, "would you like that?"

He grinds his lower lip in his teeth. He debates for a moment and I decide to snip his mustache. I shush him when he tries to speak. He purses his lips tightly.

A moment passes with just the sound of cutting.

"I wouldn't want to cut your lips off," I shift in front of him, still ever so aware of his touch of my thighs, "you still need them to kiss."

I pull away to check if his mustache was straight. I notice his expression, dumbfounded, and continue snipping. I sigh, "that was a jest."

I pull away and again and move to the other side. Sandor still keeps his hands on me. He looks at me as I gently move his head.

I add, "I'm quite funny actually."

He chuckles lowly.

It makes my heart flutter.

He smiles, "oh, I don't doubt it, little girl."

I flatten my lips into a line, unsure if he was serious or not. I trim the hair by his jaw.

"You must like kissing then."

I freeze in my spot. I stop what I was doing, then continue, "what do you mean?"

He pulls his hands away. I watch him link them together and rest them on his lap. He shrugs, "you thought of kissing."

"Do you like kissing?"

I place a hand on my hip. He turns to me and shrugs again, "s'fine."

I furrow my brows and mimic his shrug, "well, you've never kissed me, so I wouldn't really know, would I?"

"You've never kissed a man before?"

"No," I impatiently respond, "I've kissed you, but you did not kiss me back," I take a few last cuts off his beard, "on our wedding day, remember?"

I see Sandor's look of disbelief when I finish and brush him off. Specks of hair fly off with the wind.

"You never kissed a little lord in secret as a little girl?"

"Only a big lord," I make a face, "as according to you I still am a little girl."

He stands from where he sat and peers down at me.

I purse my lips and cross my arms. I shrug, "point taken."

His brown eyes glimmer with confusion. I find myself raising my brows. Just as he is about to speak-

"MILORD, MILADY!"

We turn to the three young men walking over to us. I recognize them as Sandor's training apprentices. They push each other as I turn and smile at them.

"Good morn', lady!" Harry says, bowing exaggeratedly at me, "your dress is very rambunctious."

I furrow my brows at his words and find myself chuckling, "uhhh, thank you?"

Sandor raises his brows and curls his lips.

Daniel slaps Harry behind the head, "YOU MUG, D'YA KNOW WHAT YOU SAID, EVEN?"

Harry hisses and shoves Daniel, "DON'T HIT ME!"

Daniel gets shoved again when he incidentally elbows Richard, "OI, WATCH IT!"

The boys begin to quarrel. 

I step back before they can accidentally hit me, in turn, knocking my back into Sandor's.

"Enough!" the Hound barks, making the three brothers, or at least they acted like that, stop and turn to him.

My eyes widen at the sound of the Hound telling the boys off. I watch each of them tense as their Lord Clegane goes on a whole speech about biting off more than they can chew, and that, "if you lot want to act all tough around me, know I'll knock all three of your egg-heads with my hands tied."

I turn to the Hound, "Sandor."

He lets out a deep breath then eyes the three before him, "fuck off."

The boys immediately scram.

I bend over and grip my hips as I catch my breath. Lucy laughs at me as she beckons the puppies over with a stick. They come running over then she throws the stick for them to chase.

I huff, "these pups will be the death of me."

Lucy snorts, "and here I thought you wanted children."

I glare at her as the three small dark furred creatures begin to chase her around the garden as she runs. I call out in offence, "I do!"

Lucy runs over to me, "well, don't you know babes are far worse that this!" 

She giggles when she grabs my shoulders and uses me as a shield for the dogs. Though I was still winded, I laugh with her as the puppies prance around me. I grab Lucy's arm and begin to wrangle with her, "at least my babes will learn to speak. These pups know no sense!"

Lucy pushes me forward, encouraging me, "no, no, go on, s'your time to run, milady!"

I whine, "I really can't, Lucy."

"Oh, come on, lovie, you used to be full of energy! You're actin' as old as maester Yannick."

I hold back a laugh and shoot Lucy a look.

She shoots one back, "what? Did I lie?"

"Girls."

Lucy and I stop and turn to whom spoke. Sandor looks at us the way he always did, scrutinizing and serious.

I straighten up and nod in regard, "my lord."

Sandor sighs and looks away with annoyance. Wind blows his hair, adding effect to his expression. He looks down when the puppies begin to run towards him. They stand on their hind legs, pant, and bark. I swear I saw his exterior break into fondness.

But then he looks at me and it's all gone, "this came for you." He holds out a letter to me between his fingers, "I don't recognize the house sigil."

I walk up to him, smoothening my skirt out, then take the letter. I look at the wax seal for only a second then open the letter.

Sandor watches me raise my brows. He chuckles.

Lucy watches Sandor smile softly before purposefully frowning.

I look up at my husband, "it's from house Alistair."

Sandor's face scrunches up, "never heard of it."

I huff and delay my response to stop the puppies from chewing at the Hound's trousers. Sandor watches as I do this and gently shakes the puppies away. He takes my arm, preventing me from bending down, "I don't mind. They're just pups."

I give him a look, "if I don't stop them now when they're tiny, nothing will stop them when they're big."

Sandor watches as I sternly tell off the puppies and shoo them away. He chuckles at it, but then freezes when Lucy chuckles as well. The two make eye contact. Sandor doesn't have time to react.

"Cedric."

He turns to me, face contorting, "what?"

The puppies run off and Lucy runs along with them. I continue to explain, "Cedric is from House Alistair. You know, the lord that gave us a place to stay. You called him pretty bo-"

"I remember the fucker," he snaps.

I tense.

The Hound's nostrils flare, "what does he want?"

Suddenly, the letter in my hand feels heavy. I shrug, "he's invited us to his nameday celebration."

Sandor scoffs, "you mean he's invited you."

I release a frustrated huff when he begins to walk away. I follow after him and open the letter. I clear my throat and read aloud, "Fair greetings to Brown Wood, the home of House Clegane. May this letter find you in good spirits and health."

Sandor rolls his eyes as he walks back inside. He makes no haste, but I do, in order to keep up with him. I continue, "Seven days from now, I, Cedric Alistair, will be celebrating my--"

"I don't fucking care, little girl," he stops in his tracks and turns to me.

I nearly collide with him, but I gladly don't. I purse my lips and continue anyway, skipping to the part that holds my point, "if the Lord and Lady Clegane be so courteous in taking time out of their day to attend my feast, I would gladly-"

"Do you want to go, squirrel?"

I look up at him, blinking at the sight of his stern expression. I have to say, the omission of the word pretty for his petname made it feel... wrong. I clutch the letter by my belly, "he hosted us, me, Lucy... Daisy, even you, when we had nowhere to go. I think it only proper to attend his nameday to show appreciation and respect."

Sandor's eye twitches. He looks away and sighs.

I chew my lower lip, "he was kind to us, Sandor. I only mean to-"

"Fine," he cuts me off, "but if he touches you," he walks off, "I'm going to kill him."

His statement make my stomach churn. I cannot for the life of me understand what the intent of his words are. I chase after him again, "what if he asks me to dance with him?"

Sandor chuckles dryly, "a fine reason to chop him up."

He stops when I grab his arm. He looks at my hand on his bicep then gives me a look as I say, "you cannot kill him."

Sandor places his hand atop mine, "then don't fucking dance with him."

He squeezes my hand but it is not rough at all. It's gentle and extremely warm. He doesn't even try to pry my grip off, in fact, it's like he was tightening it on hm. My lips part and my body begins to burn.

I then realize when he was close enough for me to feel his breathing that he had been leaning in. I catch the way his eyes dart down to my mouth. I find myself slowly pressing my lips together.

I close my eyes when Sandor comes close to my cheek. I swear I felt my heart leap into my mouth when he pressed his face against mine.

He draws in a deep breath then sighs, "have you ever seen a hound share?"

The silence between us is deafening.

"Hmm?" he hums.

I open my mouth but nothing but mindless sounds leave me.

"I don't even think your pups do that."

My breath catches in my throat when he I feel his beard and his lips press gently against the crook of my neck.

Then the next moment, he releases me and pulls away like nothing happened.

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. I feel like I'm on fire. What's worse is that I don't think he realizes just how affected I am, or actually... maybe it was good he couldn't tell I was dying inside.

"Still," he nods, "a dog is a dog and I will do as my master commands."

I feel light headed when he walks away.

I clutch my belly and walk to the nearest surface for support. I rub my neck, wondering if that really just happened.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sandor Clegane x reader

Chapter 7

Previous chapter here

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

CW for this chapter- SMUT, MINORS DNI this chapter is basically all smut, unprotected sex, p in v, size kink, praise kink (if you squint), aftercare, fluff, confession of feelings, deep pen., 18+ action, words, and themes. Fingering (fem reciv.), over stimulation, literally breathing the bed.

Kicking the door open to your shared chambers sandor carrying you to the bed placing you down. 

“I-im fine sandor really I'm alright.” you say 

“Was she trying to fucking kill you?” he huffs. 

“Shall i fetch the maester now milord?” joss asks. 

“No joss i'm alright.” you say he nods. 

“Away with you!” Sandor barks out at him. 

“Thank you joss you've been helpful.” you say and get up going over to your desk and grabbing a small pouch of coins handing it to him. 

“Th-thank you, milady but I cannot-” he begins. 

“Take it. Get a hot meal from the kitchen and rest earlier tell them I sent you.” you say. You bow before thanking you again and leaving closing the doors behind him. 

You turn back to Sandor who stands by the bed. 

“I'm alright. You have to stop looking at me like I've got a gash through my stomach.” you say and pull off what's left of the cut dress. It easily falls loose into a pile of fabric on the floor. You sigh in relief as you pull out your hair from its updo, happy to have it back down resting on your shoulders yet still keeping half of it up. 

“What's that? Another deadly gift for the queen?” he asks dreadfully, seeing the black and yellow dress still hanging on the outside of the wardrobe. 

“No. It's nothing…” you say shaking your head combing your fingers through your hair. He looks at you knowing it's nothing. You sigh and look down at the dress then turn to face him. 

“I was going to wear it tonight…I had put an order into the seamstress two days ago for the festival. I-it was supposed to be a surprise. Your house colors.” you say looking down. It's quiet as you look down at your feet. Also have taken off your shoes. 

“Put it on,” he says. You look up at him surprised he would respond. 

“Wh-what?” you ask. He nods and repeats his statement again. 

“Put it on. I'll help you.” he adds. You nod and walk to it, taking the dress off the hook and laying it on the bed. He walks to the other side where you stand. You pull off your underclothes now nude once again in front of your husband but he's more focused on wanting to see you in the dress than anything. 

You step into the dress, pulling up the sleeves. You feel his hands on your waist as he trails them to your back and ties up the back tightening it just enough to fit perfectly. You take a breath before turning around to face him. His eyes look down to you moving up and down your body at your perfect form in the dress. Never having been more turned on from a woman putting on clothes.

“Wait.” he says you frown looking up at him when his eyes meet your face. He reaches up his hand and moves behind your head pulling the last pin from your hair letting it all fall down your shoulders tucking a strand behind your ear. 

“there…I like your hair down better. You look beautiful.” he says. Pulling his hand away. 

“There's one more thing I wanted.” you say. 

“What?” he asks wanting nothing more than to please you in this moment. 

“You can so no…but. I wanted to dance with you. At least once but I'm afraid I've lost that chance.” you speak. 

“Mm.” he says, taking your hand leading you to the empty middle of the room as he pulls you into him, his hand resting on your lower back, your hand on his shoulder. 

You begin to sway despite the lack of music. The sounds of the crackling fire, and the light clinking of his metal armor such comforting sounds as you move through the space. Moving around as he dances with you, his eyes never taken off of yours, your heart skips a beat everytime his hand is placed back onto your waist. He pulls away for just a second to twirl you.

“Sandor.” you speak, you meet him back in the center. He holds you still looking down to you waiting for you to finish as you look into his brown eyes.

“I love you.” you say. It's quiet almost making you regret confessing but his lips against your treasures everything back into you. Your arms wrap around his neck. He pulls you up off the grown spinning around once. You know he wouldn't be able to say it back but just tell him to give you a lift. 

He places you back down on the ground and you take his hand reaching one hand to your back pulling the string out of the bow he he tied loosening the dress all while walking backwards twords the bed. 

He stops you before the dress loosens enough to fall from your body. Taking your hand in his he pulls it up the strap of his armor set. You give him a smile as you unclip them letting his armor down. You pull off the pieces, shoulders, chest, you take off his dagger and sword belt. He removes his boots to be equally as bare footed as you now leaving him in his pants and shirt. 

He takes one last look at you in the dress before pulling you to him reaching behind you to loosen the ties enough for it to slip off you once again leaving you naked. 

Wasting no time your lips are on each other's hands searching your body. You pull off his clothing and hastily help him remove his pants so he's just as nude as you. 

He picks you up with your legs wrapping around his waist as he lays you down on your back still kissing your lips. You push on his chest pushing him away about to protest. You flip him over so he's on his back and you climb on top of him, your cunt already slick with arousal as your folds brush against his hardened cock. 

He lets out a grunt at your eagerness, you having been so submissive the first time now being more confident. His hands searched up your waist to your breasts giving them a squeeze, his thumbs brushing over your budded nipples. He sits up kissing your jaw and neck for once your height is now level. Your hand presses against his chest unknowingly pressing against the scar he first told you not to touch. 

You look down as he lets out a pained grunt. 

“I'm sorry.” you say. He shakes his head looking at you moving his hand from your breast to your cheek, warmth spreading all over your body as he presses his lips against yours once more. He takes your wrist in his other hand and keeps your hands over the scar before you can pull away. 

On your own terms you move your other hand down his sheet reaching his cock grasping it he groans at the feeling of your touch against him. You raise up a bit, lining it up with yourself. You moved him, the tip sliding up and down your wet folds as you tried to stay steady, your other hand holding onto his shoulder as you centered him to you. Sinking down onto you, you watched as he disappeared into you. 

A moan leaving your lips as he stretches you back open for the second time. He groans deeply burying his face in the crook of your neck, the texture of his scar tickling your neck, a welcomed sensation.  and moved him inside. The pure pleasure you both felt against each other. Sinking down further you engulfs him fully, now having barely adjusted to his size he fills you so well. You place your hand on your stomach feeling the bulge he leaves. 

You move your hips letting out a squeaky moan as he feels so amazing in this position. He kisses your neck finding the sweet spot to make you weaken into him back into the submission state you were housed in the first time you two bedded. 

“F-fuck s-sandor..you feel so good.” you let out a stuttered voice. 

He lays back onto the plushness of the mattress. His hand gripping your hips he views the fading bruises left on your skin only wanting to make more, to mark you up as his. Pure lust blows in his eyes. You look better than the banquet spread early. 

His thrusts up into you getting a moaning yelp from your mouth. 

“Say it again,” he says roughly. 

“Sandor..” you paint already needing to cum just from him entering you and grinding a bit. 

He thrusts up into you again, pleasure surging through you. 

“I won't ask again, little fox.” he says. 

“Ngh..s-so good.” you speak. Prompting him to fuck up into you again this time not stopping. Your nails dig into his chest as he fucks you your hair falling over your face. Two more thrusts and he has you early cumming. 

Your walls spasm around his cock clenching down. Only making him chuckle as you've given out so quickly wanting to last long to please him. But just your presence pleases him. 

You flip you both over, cock still buried inside of you. He pulls your thigh up against his hip resting the rook of your knee on the bone as he thrusts into you. His moans and grunts mixed with your noises fill the room once again. His face hiding in the crook of your neck wanting to be closer to you than he already is. 

“I love you..fuck I love you.” you hear him mumble. If it weren't for the fact that his mouth is close to your ear you wouldn't have heard it. But youre so glad you did. The sound of those three little words go straight to your core as you squeeze down around him causing your tight cunt to suck him in further somehow when he's already balls deep. 

Just like before he pulls your leg higher on his body pushing intro to hitting right up against your special spot one hand now placed behind your head gripping the headboard the other now between your legs thumbing at your clit. The sensation of movement added causes your back to arch in pure pleasure. 

Your head falls to the side, your hands once all over his body fall to the sides of your head gripping the pillow and sheets. Your moans muffled as you bring your hand to your lips biting the back of it. The sound of wod cracking hits your ears before sandor covers you from the splinters of wood from the now broken headboard he broke. 

None of it matters with how much and how good hes fucking you. His thumb is still toying with your clit overstimulating you making you cum for a second time. your hands feel numb and your legs begin to shake. The way you're squeezing him sends him over the edge finally as he roughly thrusts down into you surly bruising your cervix as he cums into you filling you so much you can feel it. 

Your moans are muffled as his lips meet yours and a passionate kiss. The lingering touches and caresses. Before he pulls out away from you. Without having to ask he moves off you pulling you into him letting you know he will not be leaving for the night. 

—----

Nothing could be more perfect than the way you wake up. Sandor sleeps with his head against your chest listening to your heart beat. Your arms around him cradling his head into you his arms strong arms engulfing your waist and ass as your leg is draped over your chest. 

You look around the room not seeing your ladies in waiting who are usually annoyingly roaming around the room. You look at the door seeing that it's latched. Most likely Sandor who got up after you fell asleep and locked it to make sure they stayed out. 

You feel his hand move up your back before he speaks. 

“Stop moving.” he says, his eyes still closed. 

You didn't realize looking around the room was causing a lot of movement. 

“Good morning.” you say kissing his forehead and face. 

“Mm” he grumbles his morning voice somehow deeper than usual. 

He shifts from the position he's in reluctantly but only to move over you and press his lips against yours in a morning kiss. Pulling away he looks at you seemingly glowing to his vision. You get a look at his beautiful brown eyes before he pulls away from you sitting on the edge of the bed you crawl over to him wrapping around him his warmth paced back onto you in the cold room. Even though you're wearing his shirt which he’d put on you during the night.

“Don't go.” you say kissing his scared shoulder blade, a sword scar from a mishap during training. He places his hand on your arm that's around his neck looking down and kissing it before trying to pry you off him. 

“Nooo.” you whine he chuckles, shaking his head and finally succeeds in taking you off. He stands walking over to his scattered clothes before picking them up and beginning to dress. 

“Please sandor.” you whine. Moving to get out of bed but once you stand your legs immediately turn to water, as if you're a baby deer learning to stand for the first time. He hears a soft thud as you hit the ground with a little shriek. 

He turns to you seeing you grabbing the bed pulling yourself up chuckling to himself. 

“Didn't mean to disable you little fox,” he says. 

“That's alright, I don't need to walk today anyway.” you say brushing it off before standing again your legs stronger this time regaining strength. 

“Go back to bed,”  he says, gathering his armor pieces, setting them on the table by the burnt out fireplace. You watch him as he does this. You sit on the bed, legs crossed, his shirt more like a dress on your body. He Looks around for a shirt as if you’re not wearing it. A smile forms on your face as you watch your shirtless lover. 

He takes notice of you sitting and smiling at him. 

“What are you smiling about?” He huffs and notices you have his shirt. 

You shake your head, continuing to smile at him.

“nothing.” You answer. 

“You find my struggle amusing?” He says walking to you making you giggle and scoot back on the bed. He crawls over to you and you wrap your arms around his neck pulling him to you as he kisses your face and neck. 

“I’m gonna need this back now.” He says gruffly. 

“Mmhm.” You answer by pulling him close to you. 

His hands move, hiking up the shirt to your waist. Before you pull him close enough to kiss him. He happily returns it. As his large hand rests under your breast giving it a squeeze causing a gasp put out you breaking the kiss allowing him to pull the shirt up and off of you leaving you naked to his view. 

He gets up and off you walking over to the rest of his armor pieces as he places the shirt on himself, seeming morphing to fit him perfectly. 

You whine now wanting him. He puts on the armor you once took off. 

“Come on little fox don’t act like that.” He says clipping the last of his armor on. 

“What am I doing while you're gone? Relieve myself on the pillows?” You huff. 

“Such crude words.” He grunts. 

“Bad luck to leave your wife wanting and nude. Many things could happen: she could invite a man over clouded by her judgme-“ you're cut off with his hand around your neck pulling you to him a giggle leaving your lips. 

About to speak he decides not to and leaves you with a deep kiss. You shift standing on your knees, his hand tracking down your waist one to the front farther down, swiping your folds, his thick digit entering you, making you gasp out gripping onto his armored shoulders as you moan out of the kiss. 

He pushes in a second thick finger thrusting them in and out of you, his thumb firmly pressed against your clit. His other hand firmly grips your hip keeping you in place. His eyes never leave yours.

“Ngh…s-sandor.” You moan you only promoting him to grab your ass making you moan out as his fingers sink deeper fucking you over and over pressing against the spongy spot against you. Your walls clench around his digits, knees giving out as you cum. You grab onto him wherever you can as he rides out your high.

Pulling his hand away from you You pant at the residual over stimulation. 

“You speak like that again you won’t be able to walk the castle halls for the next day and half.” He says leaning down pulls the sheets over you and around you. giving you one last kiss he turns and walks out making sure not to wipe you off his hand wearing you like a prize for the day. Your hand maidens who were waiting outside rush in making you sigh. 

they stop in thier tracks looking around the room at the scattered garments from you, the broken bed and you wrapped in the bed sheet, hair messed.

Chapter 8 here

[prismatica-the-strange]

Soft Cruelty | Someone a Whole Lot Like Me

Warnings: 18+, nudity, mentions of sex.

She Was by Woods Tea Company

It's been nearly three weeks since Aläea had been welcomed home by her brother, with Sandor in tow behind her like a guard dog.

No one in court knew what to make of him at first. Did she hire him to protect her? Was he a mercenary she'd hired to kill her brother? Or was he a lowlife planning to sell her back to her family?

Imagine their surprise when she'd taken this brute by the hand and introduced him to her brother, the king, as her lover.

It 's strange to him, the whole ordeal. Being the guest of a royal instead of being hired to protect them especially.

They're much further north than the Red Keep and Stronghold is frigid in comparison.

Not that he notices with the roaring fire in the hearth and Aläea curled against his bare chest under heavy quilts.

He brushes her hair from her face, melting when she nuzzles closer.

"Stupid girl," He mutters, but there's nothing but warmth in his voice.

What a fool he is. Falling for angel like her as he has.

His calloused fingers catch the silk sheets as he goes to to move and he curses under his breath when she stirs.

"Sandor?" Her voice is full of sleep and he does his best to shush her.

"Go back to sleep, girl."

Her hand slides up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck to pull him closer, "Stay."

He could easily pull away if he wanted to, but her sleepy pleading moves him. He settles back down and it isn't long before he hears her soft snores.

As carefully as he can, he slips out of the bed.

Not only have his clothes been laundered, but newer, nicer ones have been given to him, to which he begrudgingly wears.

As eats in the dining hall, one of the lady's maids hurries in, coming to a stop when she only sees him.

"The fuck do you want?"

"Is Miss Aläea still in bed?" She asks.

"Aye."

"Oh, I'll go fetch-

"Leave her be," He gives her a stern look.

"But Laurie is in the foyer..."

"Who the fuck is Laurie?"

"He's um..." She hesitates when his head snaps up at her, "I-if you'll excuse me ser..."

He watches her scurry off, huffing to himself before getting up and following her.

"I'm sorry Laurie, my lady is-"

The door swings open as Sandor walks in and the maid squeaks.

Standing in the middle of the foyer is a man holding single blue rose. A young, strapping, man, not as tall as him, but taller and broader than most. With long black hair tied back out of his striking blue eyes.

"Where's Laea?" He asks, crooked smile on his scruffy, unmarred face, "Still sleeping is she?"

He hates him already.

"The fuck is it to you?"

"I have a gift for her," He holds out the flower, "Blue Agathian Roses are her favorite."

"Are they now?" He roughly grabs it from him, looking it over. The petals are the same color as her eyes, "And why would you be bringing her flowers?"

His smile turns bashful, a look Sandor knows most maidens would swoon over, "We were... friends before she left."

"You fucked h-"

"Laurie?"

They all turn to see Aläea standing in the doorway, silk robe wrapped around a nightdress she didn't sleep in.

Sandor watches in shock when the man rushes past him and lifts her in his arms, spinning her around in a tight hug.

"I knew you'd come back to me," He sighs, setting her down. Before she can say a word he leans down to kiss her.

She freezes, eyes wide, and he's suddenly gone.

"The fuck you think you're doing?" Sandor growls, holding him by the back of his neck.

"S-sandor-"

"You put your hands on my her in front of me like that, you dumb cunt, you're lucky I don't-"

"Sandor!"

He looks over when she snaps at him, her hand gentle on his shoulder.

"What?"

"Put him down, please."

His face scrunches in contempt and he all but throws him to the ground before storming off, spitting one last 'cunt' in his direction.

He hears her running after him a minute later, rolling his eyes when she tugs on his wrist.

"Sandor?" He can hear her biting back a smile, "Love... Are you Jealou-"

"Don't you finish that damn sentence."

She can't help the small giggle that slips out, leaning her head on his arm, "I thought it was cute."

There's a word he's never heard to describe him.

"You fucked him," He says, changing the subject to hide how much her words affected him.

"We were together, yes," She smiles, "We've been friends since we were little and when we got older it... turned into something more."

"He was waiting on you."

"It seems that way," Her face falls slightly, "I was hoping he'd have moved on by now, we hadn't... been together for quite a while even before I left."

"Why's that?"

"Why are you so interested in my past lovers? Afraid I'll fall back into an old flame?"

His silence is more than enough to answer her question and she steps in front of him.

"Sandor," She says softly, taking his face in her hands. When he avoids her eyes she gently tilts his face down at her, "Hey."

He reluctantly looks back down at her, almost drowning in her loving gaze.

"I love you," She insists, "I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

He'd never admit it, but her reassurance means everything to him. Romance and relationships have never been his strong suit and her words warm his heart.

He chuckles when she leans up on her toes to kiss him but still can't seem to reach, and he ducks down to capture her lips.

"You're a big softie," She murmurs into the kiss.

"Shut it," He grumbles, pulling her closer.

"Make me."

"I can do that," He pulls away and hoists her up over his shoulder.

"Sandor!" A shrill giggle erupts from her when he slaps her ass and starts for their chambers.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Between a Wolf and a Hound I

Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x Baratheon!Reader

Summary: Sandor Clegane was never naïve enough to think he could marry the king's daughter but it doesn't make it any easier to see her married off.

Warnings: Full disclosure I wrote this in sections over the course of like two months so it's a bit jumbled. POV will randomly switch from first to third and back to first with no clear indication (sorry).

Real Warnings: Arranged marriage, cursing, angst, fighting, smut, public consummation, non/dubcon (didn't enter marriage willingly, therefore consummation is not consensual esp with witnesses)

Word Count: 5.8K

Masterlist | Part II

“Ooh and I’ve heard Robb Stark is the most handsome man in all of the North,” my sister, Myrcella squealed in excitement for me.

I tried my best to feign the same excitement, especially in the presence of my mother. She initially wasn’t particularly thrilled about the betrothal between the Stark heir and me but it was my father’s decision. So, making the best of an unideal situation, she had been grooming me to be a perfect princess and wife. “Myrcella, princesses don’t gush,” Cersei chastised. My sister’s excited expression quickly dropped and she looked down at her feet. Fortunately before my mother could turn her poison tongue on me, there were a few shouts calling for us to halt and the carriage stopped.

Cersei opened the curtain to the carriage window, revealing the barren land of the North, a looming wall of stone obstructing our view of what I assumed to be Winterfell. Of course there wasn’t much of a view to be found in the North. Everything was cold and grey, either dead or dying. The only thing that kept me me from casting myself from the towers of the Red Keep was the fact that in the north, my family wouldn’t bother me. I could be away from the schemings of the Lannisters and the general sense of betrayal within King’s Landing. “Remember, you curtesy and smile politely. You speak only if spoken to and then it’s right off to your chambers until dinner,” my mother told me.

“Yes, mother,” I agreed, nodding my head obediently. The carriage moved again shortly and I watched as the walls moved past us, bringing us into a cold courtyard. After another minute the door to our carriage swung open, letting in a gust of cold wind.

Myrcella crept out first, being met by a guard. I made my way to the door next, revealing my sworn shield, Sandor Clegane. I was relieved to see him, seeing as I haven’t been able to speak to him since we left King’s Landing. “Princess,” he greeted. I only stared up at him, reluctant to let him lead me to greet my future husband, a task he didn’t take pleasure in either.

A gentle tug on my hand brought me back to reality and I let him march me up to my father and brothers. I could feel Sandor’s presence behind me as I observed the Stark family. The young man, who I presumed to be Robb had his gaze on me before looking up, likely to meet the glare of my lover.

Robb quickly averted his gaze from the intimidating guard flanking his betrothed. He returned his gaze to her, admiring her summer beauty. He knew he could fall in love with her just as his parents had after they were married.

I didn’t pay attention to to the reunion of my father and Lord Stark, just wishing to run back to the warm summer of King’s Landing with Sandor.

As my father began to suggest a tour my mother cut in. “I suggest we send the girls to their chambers until the feast.”

“I will escort-” Robb began to offer but was quickly cut off both by Sandor’s growl and Cersei’s sneer.

“No, The Hound and a maid will escort them,” she dismissed.

“Of course your grace,” Lady Stark obeyed, calling for a servant to fetch her most trusted maid.

Not even a minute later a very out of breath woman scurried in. “This way your highnesses,” she quickly cut to the chase, beginning to lead us away. I followed after her first, Myrcella reluctantly following, disappointed at the loss of excitement, and Sandor surely following behind.

We wordlessly walked through the cold hallways until we reached two rooms. Myrcella took the first one and I took the second. I was reluctant to leave Sandor but he stoically took his position outside the doors.

The room was large with a canopy bed in the center between two windows. There was a washroom and closet attached. I was surprised to find my trunk laid at the foot of my bed.

Heading towards the window I found nothing but miles of grey trees lying just beyond the walls of Winterfell. My mind wandered to all the horrific creatures that could live in these woods as well as beyond the Wall that separated Westeros from the rest of the continent. But before I could delve too deep into those thoughts, the opening of my chamber door interrupted me. Turning around I found Sandor. I opened my mouth to greet him but he spoke before I could. “I don’t want you marrying that cunt.”

I sighed. This wasn’t a new topic, I was betrothed the minute I was born, and neither Sandor nor I were naïve enough to think that we could ever be married. “I know, I don’t want to marry him either.” I approached him, wrapping my arms around his large frame. “I don’t want to live here,” I nearly began to cry. “It’s cold and I don’t know anyone and no one will let me bring guards or servants that I’ve known all my life.”

“Fuck ‘em I’ll be here with you,” he swore, tightening his arms around me.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that while I’m married off to someone else.”

“I’ve known this would happen the whole time, I’m not leaving you with strangers,” he grunted out. “Besides you and I both know you’re mine.”

“I am,” I heard myself agree, pushing up onto my toes to press my lips to his. Sandor still having to lean down to kiss me because of his stature.

I pulled back a little, not expecting to do anymore than kiss him right now but his lips followed. I allowed our lips remain connected as I felt his hands reach under my ass and thighs. He lifted me up, taking the short trek to my temporary bed for the time we stayed.

Laying me down gently he got right to work hoisting my dress up to my hips, never disconnecting our lips. I let out a soft moan into his mouth as his fingers briefly brushed over my clit. In an experienced move he tugged at my undergarments, leaving my core vulnerable to him.

Quickies were a regular occurrence for us seeing as our relationship was forbidden and I was hardly every left alone. We had to make the most of our time together.

In a well practiced move Sandor had his armor and pants down, exposing his length to me. I felt his cock drag up my already wet slit, teasing me slightly before pressing inside me. I tried to muffle my gasp at the sudden intrusion, wary of what may lie just beyond the walls of the room.

“Squeezing me so tight,” Sandor grunted in my ear, continuing to thrust himself inside of me. His hand slipped down to where our bodies met, his fingers finding my clit once again. I let out a soft moan, wrapping my legs around his waist at the feeling. “I’m the only one who can make you feel like this,” he groaned out. “This pussy is mine.”

“It’s yours,” I agreed with a moan. He then suddenly pulled out of me and I whined at the loss. He reached for the only spare piece of fabric to catch his seed, my panties. I watched breathlessly as he fisted his cock twice, cumming into my panties with a muffled groan.

Once he had thoroughly milked himself dry he tucked the soiled fabric into his armor before delving in between my thighs. He wasted no time licking at my already leaking hole. I involuntarily let out a soft moan, reaching down to grip his hair in order to ground myself.

It didn’t take me long to finish as my lover had his face pressed against my weeping core. And when I did cum on his face he simply took the panties he had used earlier to clean myself and him up before tucking them back into his armor. “Did so good for me, Princess,” he praised, pressing a rare, gentle kiss to my forehead. I relaxed into his touch, enjoying the comfort of his large frame.

He began to get up but my arms slid around his broad chest. “Wait, just… stay with me a moment?” He hesitated for a second before relaxing against me once again, wrapping me in his embrace as I had done to him.

“I can’t stay too long, little one,” he explained softly.

“I know I just need you right now,” I murmured, pressing my face into the crook of his neck.

~

I was jolted awake by a knock on my door. My thoughts were immediately of ‘how do I explain why my guard is in my bed?’ but I found myself alone. Relieved, I called whoever knocked in.

“You fell asleep?!” I heard my mother gasp. “You’ll have to change quickly,” she groaned, immediately going to my trunk. She angrily sifted around until she found a suitable gown, tossing it onto the bed. “Get dressed, The Hound will be here to escort you to dinner soon. Myrcella is already dressed,” she spat. Cersei had always favored my siblings over me, I suspect because I took after my father while they looked more like Lannisters. She had always taken great pride in her Lannister name, not Baratheon although she loved her title as Queen even more.

“Yes mother,” I obeyed, grasping the dress as she exited, slamming the door behind her.

I quickly slipped out of my traveling clothes into the more ornate dress. I managed to get it on alright but struggled with some of the bindings in the back. Fortunately Sandor came to my rescue, knocking on the door gently before letting himself in. “Do you want some help, Princess?” he asked half mockingly.

I sent him a glare before begrudgingly agreeing. I could feel the warmth radiating off Sandor as he stepped up behind me, grabbing the laces. He gave an unexpected sharp tug, causing me to stumble backwards into him. “Woah, Princess.” He caught me before pushing me back up onto my feet.

“Not that tight,” I told him. He adjusted, tying my dress snugly before stepping back. I looked up at him sadly seeing as this feast would be my formal introduction to my husband.

Upon reaching the hall full of cheers, laughter, and music, I was ready to turn back and run to the stables in order to find myself a horse to bring me home. But I steeled myself like the princess I am and marched into the room. Those who noticed my presence stepped aside and bowed their heads but most were already too drunk to notice. My father was already dancing with a servant directly in my mother’s eyeline. Fortunately she was too focused on my father as well as the Stark women to notice me. So I quickly found a goblet of wine, going to a remote wall with Sandor dutifully following after.

As I leaned up against the wall, I offered Sandor a drink but he just shook his head in refusal. “You never deny wine,” I stared at him quizzically.

His gaze never found mine, instead his eyes continued sweeping the room. “‘m working. Gotta keep you safe.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” I challenged. “You and I both know it takes far more than a glass of wine to intoxicate you.”

“I don’t trust these cunts,” Sandor answered, glaring at the rest of the room.

“Why? They seem like perfectly fine people. No worse than the people in King’s Landing.”

“I don’t trust the people in King’s Landing either.”

“Well I hardly doubt anyone will attempt to harm me at the feast to honor my father. Please relax, enjoy yourself.”

“That thinking is why you need a guard, little one.”

I just huffed, continuing to observe the room. Everyone was drunk and laughing with the exception of a few guards and women. My mother and Lady Stark looked quite stoic as they conversed occasionally. My youngest siblings sat with our uncle, Tyrion, while my younger brother, Joff, sat making eyes at Sansa, the second Stark child.

Meanwhile the eldest Stark was making his way over to me. “Princess,” he greeted, taking my hand gently. “Ser,” he looked up at Sandor, “might I borrow the princess for a moment? Get her acquainted to her new home?”

Sandor made no expression except to follow us. “He won’t allow me out of his sight, Queen’s orders,” I informed Robb.

“Ah, yes, well I suppose the maintenance of a princess’ safety and virtue are principal,” Robb mused as we exited the feast hall. “And your brother, the heir, he is…”

“A prick,” I filled in for him. “Don’t call him that to anyone but me but everyone knows it. Everyone but my mother, he can do no wrong in her eyes. Even my father isn’t thrilled that he is the one that will inherit the Iron Throne. I know he’s been making eyes at your sister, I’d advise both our fathers to keep them separated. They’re already joining our houses through us.”

“I don’t think Sansa will take too kindly to that,” Robb laughed. “She is holding firm in her belief that she will be queen.”

“Advise her that queen is a position one should not covet. The kings have their men, their counsels, and their whores. Queens have less authority than any other woman. And she’d be dodging attacks from all my relatives for the rest of her life.”

“You seem relieved to be leaving King’s Landing,” Robb observed.

I shrugged, looking out a window into the dark, cold, barren land on the North. “My father is refusing to allow me to bring any comforts of home. Please don’t take offense but the North is strange to me and I’m not even allowed to bring any familiar servants or guards. Even my sworn shield, Sandor, must leave me.”

Robb took a second to observe my guard. “My mother came here, alone much like you will. She tells me she was terrified to live in the North but she has found happiness here.” Robb’s hand reached up to softly stroke my cheekbone. “I sincerely hope you too will find happiness here, little doe. And I will speak to my father about your guard. If anyone can convince the King, it is Lord Stark,” he smiled before walking off. I looked around, realizing that he had led us to my chambers, giving me an excuse to retire for the night.

So I entered the room, Sandor following me inside. “Robb is… honorable,” I said.

Sandor just grunted. He’d never admit it but if she was going to be married off to any lord, Robb Stark was probably the best choice. He seemed to take her feelings into consideration rather than drag her into his life in the North.

~

By the next day Winterfell had shifted from celebrations of the king to celebrations of the next Lord Stark’s marriage. The fortress’ servants were bustling around for wedding preparations while the dressmakers of both King’s Landing and the north constantly flitted around the princess. “The princess cannot possibly be married in such… rough materials. A princess dresses in silks and fine linens,” my mother’s seamstress argued, gesturing to the trunk full of fine fabrics.

“The princess cannot be married if she freezes to death,” Lady Stark’s seamstress said for the hundredth time. “It is customary for northern women to wear furs to their weddings.” I just sat on a bench, deep into my wine as they continued to bicker.

“But the queen-”

“She will be of the North!”

“‘Of north,’ ‘of south,’ gods,” I groaned to Sandor as he stood beside me. “I may as well just walk down the aisle naked seeing as this dress will never be made.”

Sandor chucked from beside me. He kept his voice low so the women wouldn’t be heard but they were so wrapped up in their bickering I doubt they’d notice if we had begun kissing. “I’m sure the queen will have her way and you’ll be married in the finest of silks whether or not you freeze to death.”

“If my mother had her way I’d be blonde and marrying one of my Lannister cousins,” I mumbled.

“Well, I’d rather you marry the Stark boy than any of the Lannister cunts.” I just hummed, keeping my focus on the glass lightly pressed to my lips. The door then opened, revealing Lady Stark and Robb.

I stood up, giving a slight curtsy to my soon to be mother-in-law. “We heard your dress is being made and we wanted to show you this,” Lady Sark said, gesturing to the bundle of fur in Robb’s arms.

He stepped closer to me. “This is the cloak I will present you at our wedding. This will be the cloak I wear when I am made Lord of Winterfell. Stark Lords present their cloaks to their brides as a display of honor and my duty to you.”

I looked down at the cloak in awe, reaching my hand up to touch the fine furs. They were soft and thick, more than enough to keep me warm. “Thank you, my Lord. Believe me, the sincerity of this gesture is not lost upon me.” I looked up, finding Robb’s smile.

Lady Stark smiled upon seeing how the soon to be couple interacted. It was clear that Robb was taken with the girl and she was relieved a royal Baratheon-Lannister was kind and fair. That she didn’t treat Robb and the rest of the Starks as lesser than. Or show contempt for being moved north.

I turned, finding the dressmakers still quietly bickering. “The dress will be of Southern style and material but I want the embroidery to be Northern. I trust the dress paired with the cloak will be acceptable to both cultures?” I asked rhetorically. The two dressmakers gave me nodded agreements. “Tell my mother of my plans, I’m sure she’ll take issue with it but she will want to know,” I told the southern seamstress.

“If you want your part of the wedding to have southern influence I don’t mind,” Robb began.

“The southern traditions are simply to appease the Lannisters. Believe me I am anxious to be separated from many aspects of my former life.” All aspects except Sandor.

He offered a small smile. “Well then, I hope the North provides a better home for you,” he said before leaving with his mother.

“Spoken like the true Lady of the North,” Sandor said in a mildly mocking tone.

I just looked at the northern dressmaker. “Leave us for a few moments.” She complied, scurrying out of the room. “Sandor…”

“You didn’t like your life in King’s Landing? Too many servants prepared to get you whatever your heart desires?” he spat, venom on his tongue. He knew his anger was misplaced but he couldn’t help but burst. He was angry at the king for marrying her off and not allowing him to stay. Angry at the Starks for falling in love with her so quickly. And angry at the princess for slipping into this life without him so easily. “Too many guards risking their lives, dying to protect you? Did the noise of me fighting to defend your honor disturb your slumber?” He was circling her as he spoke while she just stood in the center of the room.

“Sandor, you know that’s not what I meant,” she said, her voice strained.

“Then what did you mean?” he sneered.

“When I said I was anxious to leave my former life that did not include you. It will never include you. I do not rejoice in the pain I’m sure I’m dragging you through but have you failed to consider that I’m in pain too?”

Sandor knew he should stop but he didn’t. “I’m sure your husband can take your mind off of that whilst you warm his bed.” The hurt look on her face at that comment was nearly enough to make him forget his rage. Nearly. “I’ll send the seamstresses back in, don’t leave this room until I come back,” he growled.

“Is that all I am to you? Something to warm your cock?” I spat making him stop dead in his tracks. “What? Did you just want to fuck a princess so you could brag to the others? And I just became this pest you couldn’t get rid of?”

Sandor sighed. “No, little one. You’re more than that.” And with that, he walked out. I knew his last words were an apology and that he needed some time.

~

I stood before my parents in my father’s chambers, begging for them to let me keep Sandor. “Father, please. I’ll have no one here. There is no one familiar to me in the north.”

“I’m sorry my dear but we cannot spare the Hound to you and only you. Besides, it would be an insult to the Starks’ promise to keep you from harm if we left a guard with you.”

“Robb has already given his blessing,” I insisted.

“We need him,” my mother spoke up. “Your time with the Hound and with our protection is over. It’s time for the Starks to take care of you. As the heir to the Iron Throne, your brother needs him more.”

“But he has been my guard these past three years.”

“That’s enough,” my father chastised. “Leave, go get ready for your wedding.” Unable to ignore a direct order, I turned, leaving the room like a scared puppy. As I stepped out the door and down the hall, Sandor found his step beside me. He allowed his fingers to find mine, intertwining them briefly before letting go for fear that we would be spotted.

We made our way to what would serve as my and the other Stark women’s dressing room. But before I went in, I hesitated. I looked up at Sandor. “I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you too, little one,” he murmured before opening the door for mw.

I was immediately confronted with the Stark women. Lady Stark, Sansa, and Arya were all dressed in formal northern dresses. Servants were flittering around them, doing the finishing touches on their outfits and hair. When they saw me, several descended, bringing me towards a vanity. They sat me down, immediately undoing the fastenings in my hair so they could redo it for the wedding. I stared blankly in the mirror as they did my hair. I could hear Arya fussing about her gown and hair, Lady Stark trying to soothe her while Sansa continued directing the servant doing her hair.

After a while of more tugging they finally deemed my hair good enough. There were several intricate braids twisted in it, pulling my hair back. A northern hairstyle. They then ushered me to put on my dress. It was white and made of mostly silk, tied tightly around my neck and lower back to keep it on me. The gold threaded embroidery on the hem showed scenes of nature in a Northern stitching style. Decorative gold chains also fell against my arms and up my back. As everyone stepped back to see a shiver went up my spine and I realized the dress was backless. I approached the mirror, turning to see the silk of the dress begin again at the dimples of my lower back.

“A bit nippy for the North,” I laughed.

“We’ll get you in that cloak soon enough,” Lady Stark smiled. “Leave us,” she ordered, all of the servants filing out. “You too,” she told her daughters. They complied with little argument and soon enough it was just the two of us. “Are you ready for the ceremony tonight?”

I blinked confusedly. “What ceremony?”

“The bedding ceremony. You didn’t know?” she asked, surprised. “Oh I’m so sorry my dear,” she placed a hand on my arm. “Lord Stark and I tried to fight it but the Lannisters insisted. Said it was tradition and was the only way to ensure the marriage.” She recognized my panicked expression, immediately going to soothe me. “No, no it’ll be alright. It’s a dull affair. Trust me, no one wants to be in that room. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Did you have one? A public bedding ceremony?” I asked.

“Well no but—”

I moved to sit down, it felt as if I couldn’t breathe. But before I could burst into tears and ruin all the prep work that was put in to making me look as flawless as possible, there was a knock on the door. My father entered, a cheery smile on his face. “There is going to be a bedding ceremony and no one told me?” I asked angrily.

His smile dropped and he sighed. “I’m sorry. Your Uncle Jamie and grandfather insisted on it. You’ll be alright, your mother and I had one. And many princes, princesses, lords, and ladies have had one before you.” Seeing as there was no time to argue or to have a breakdown I took a breath, steeling myself just as my mother had taught me in the face of adversary. “Atta girl,” he praised, seeing my now calm exterior.

I took his arm, allowing him to lead me outside. We headed to the Godswood of Winterfell, meeting the cold outside with shivers. I could not believe I let my dress be of southern influence. "Why is the wedding outside?" I asked between shivers.

"Ned said that Robb had always wanted to be married in front of the Weirwood Heart Tree. I just nodded as we reached the center of the woods.

I stood at the end of the aisle, holding my father’s arm as I faced the rest of my life standing in front of the tree. As the orchestra began I took in-sync steps with my father until I was at the end of the aisle. Robb stepped towards me, taking my hand and lead me to the Septon. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. I could not muster any words so I just gave him a small smile.

As I took my place beside Robb the Septon spoke. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” Robb then took the cloak he promised me from his back, wrapping it around my shoulders with a swing, bringing both arms around me. I was grateful to feel its warmth, but it was so large and heavy it nearly slipped off my shoulders but he caught it, fastening it around my throat. He then took my hand, facing the Septon who wrapped our hands together in cloth. “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife: one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Let it be known that Y/N of House Baratheon, born of Lannister, princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and Robbert of House Stark, born of Tully, the heir to the Lord of Winterfell are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the sight of the Seven, I hereby sinew these two souls binding them as one for eternity,” he smiled. “Look upon one another, and say the words.”

I turned slightly, facing Robb as he did the same and we began to speak in unison. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger.

“I am hers and she is mine,

“I am his and he is mine,

“From this day until the end of my days,” we finished together.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Robb declared before pulling my body to his, his arms around my waist. I reached my hand up to his face as our lips connected. When we separated I could finally hear the cheers of the Starks and their guests. Meanwhile my family clapped politely as Robb took my hand with a large grin, leading me down the aisle.

~

I snapped out of my daze, realizing that Robb had placed food on my plate. I rushed to thank him, hoping my mental absence wasn’t too noticeable.

A small smile formed on his face. “You’re not really one for large gatherings or ceremonies are you? At your father’s feast you stood secluded with the only person you trust. Then at our wedding you only seemed to be paying attention when you were looking at me.”

I looked down at the table, a little embarrassed. “No, not really. Embarrassing isn’t it? A princess who cannot face a crowd.”

“You’re Lady of the North now. I can handle all the formalities,” he smiled. I returned it gratefully.

As the night wore on more people came up to our table to give us congratulations and present their gifts. Robb spoke mostly, always gracious. He was already a great leader.

“So my mother tells me you were a bit blindsided by the bedding ceremony?” he asked. I looked down at my lap, fiddling with the table cloth. “I cannot believe your relatives would be so cruel to not tell you it was happening.”

“I think they were cruel to suggest it in the first place. Although I think they didn’t tell me for fear that I’d run away,” I laughed. Robb joined me.

“It’ll be alright, and please don’t judge my capabilities as your husband from tonight alone. I have no intentions of being a selfish lover but I am told we cannot leave until I finish. They don’t expect you too…”

“Right, of course,” I agreed, placing my hand on top of his. “Do whatever you need to get us out of there as quickly as possible.”

A new presence in front of us interrupted our deal-making. “It’s time,” my mother announced. I nodded, standing up with a shaky breath. I followed her through Winterfell until we reached a remote room. “Remember, just lie back it will all be over soon,” she advised me. As much as she held resentment for her first daughter being Robert’s child as well, she still held some love for her daughter and couldn’t help but pity the poor girl who was about to go through the most traumatic experience of her life.

“But mother, what if I don’t bleed like I’m supposed to?” I cried, terrified of what they would do to me.

“Not everyone bleeds,” Cersei assured me. “I didn’t and I still became Queen. You will be fine. Now go.”

I wanted to cry as the doors opened. Inside was a single “bed.” It being merely a mattress on top of a bed frame with no coverings to shield myself aside from a sheet meant to display the loss of my virginity. Several men lined the walls of the room, there to assure the consummation of my marriage. I recognized all the Lannister men as well as Lord Stark and cringed as I saw my father. But my heart sunk when I found Sandor’s gaze. I didn’t want him to have to see this.

A lower lord waved his hand over to the bed, gesturing for me to get in. I began to crawl onto it when a voice stopped me. “Disrobe, girl,” I heard a man sneer. I burned with humiliation as I was forced to remove the beautiful dress within everyone’s view, leaving me vulnerable to a few greedy men’s gaze.

I laid on the bed, trying my best to cover myself with my hands, refusing to look anyone in the face.

Soon enough the door opened again and Robb entered, looking nervous as well. But I watched him steel himself as he marched confidently over to my bed, stripping off his armor as he went. By the time he stood next to the bed he was bare as well, his cock standing up already.

Also wanting to get this over with, he swung his body up onto the bed, his hips hovering just above mine. I could feel his cock already pressing against my most intimate areas.

Robb leaned down as if to kiss me but whispered “I’m sorry,” first. His lips met mine before he quickly reached down to guide himself inside of me. I gasped in pain as he pressed into my completely dry hole.

He began to thrust quickly while I heard myself let out soft whimpers of pain. I tried to recede back into my mind but was unsuccessful as the pain was too much. I even heard myself beg him to stop a few times. But Robb would just lean down and whisper something about almost being done. He would continue chasing his pleasure as he tried to complete the task so we could both retire for the night.

Desperate for help I glanced around the room, not thinking clearly as I should have known that these men would not help me. Most of their gazes were almost bored, focusing on where Robb and I were connected in order to verify our union. I noticed a few lustful gazes from lords whose names I did not know. When I found Sandor I noticed his disassociated expression, something I did not blame him for.

Soon enough I heard Robb groan in my ear before I felt something I had never experienced. Robb released his ropes of cum inside of me, allowing his seed to coat my walls in hopes I would produce him an heir.

He stilled inside of me for a moment, not pulling out until he caught his breath. When he did I felt his seed trickle out of me and I looked down in between my legs, relieved to find blood. In their eyes my virginity had been taken even though the real deflowerer was acting as an observer.

Before I was allowed to move, Robb crawled off of me, quickly finding his pants. Next the King, my father, stood up to observe the proof of our consummation between my legs. I knew it was because he was the king but I still felt that he shouldn’t have to be the one to confirm.

He merely glanced quickly, giving me the slightest bit of dignity before dismissing the men. They all filed out as a maid came, bringing me a silk robe. I took it graciously, standing up so she could take the sheet.

Once I was sure the men had all cleared from the immediate hallways I ran out, desperate to find Sandor before someone sent me to Robb’s chambers.

~

Masterlist | Part II

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.15

(Sandor Clegane x Fem Reader x Cersei Lannister. TW: Domestic abuse.)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

The stand off between you, your husband, and the queen had gone on for days.

You certainly didn't intend to apologize for a bit of teasing, in fact it only made you more determined to win.

Brushing off Sandor was easy enough once you got past his kicked puppy face when you reject his advances. Though you had to admit, the dejected look in his eyes did pull at your heart strings.

The queen, on the other hand, was harder to fend off. It was clear she hadn't expected this stand off to last more than a few hours.

But you were determined neither one of them would touch you until YOU approached them.

But that didn't keep you from your duties, tailing the queen throughout her day and tending to her needs as you had done before.

"Are you still being stubborn?" The queen asked cooly

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And how is your husband taking it?"

You smirked a little.

"I think I saw him hit the training dummy a little harder than necessary, Your Grace."

Cersei couldn't help but chuckle, but stifled it as a page approached them.

"The Hand has awakened, My Queen" the young man bowed. "You asked to be told immediately."

"Finally." Cersei hissed. "I won't let Robert wriggle Ned Stark off the hook this time. Come."

Cersei snatched up your hand and all but dragged you to the Tower of the Hand.

Robert had beaten you both there and was already standing by The Hand's bedside when you entered.

Robert glanced at you a moment but decided you weren't worth the fight as Ned's head shook from side to side.

The onslaught of questions was so immediate, you almost felt bad for Lord Stark, who firmly stood his ground.

The options were simple, it seemed. Lord Stark was to make amends with Jaime, his wife was to release Lord Tyrion, and he was to return to his duties as Hand.

Cersei fumed at this. "You allow his daughter to attack our son, his wife to kidnap my younger brother, and his men to attack my twin?" She hissed. "I took you for a king! I should wear the armour and you the gown!"

You nearly lunged forward when Robert's large hand came across Cersei's face. The queen sat a moment in stunned silence before smirking, rubbing the growing red welt on her face.

"I shall wear this like a badge of Honor"

You felt the burning fires of rage eat away in your chest as Cersei dragged you away. For a moment you looked into Robert's face and only saw red.

The two of you walked silently before you could not longer keep yourself from speaking out.

"That was wrong of him." You said plainly, the lines of your face tight and drawn. "Very wrong."

"I know"

"That wasn't the first time, was it?" You grabbed her arm, daring to show a level of familiarity outside the bed chamber.

Cersei looked stunned but shook her head. "No, darling. It wasn't"

"Do they know? Your brothers, your father?"

"Jaime would cut him in two." Cersei scoffed.

"Maybe he ought to" you sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry your grace. The was a treasonous thing to say and completely out of line"

Cersei's eyes watched you for what felt like an eternity before touching your face gently. You moved to do the same, caressing the swelling side of her face and frowning.

"This needs ice"

Cersei nodded with a thoughtful sigh. "Why don't you fetch me some? Bring it to my chambers."

You obeyed swiftly. You knew Pycelle would have what you needed, and were willing to risk a long winded conversation to get it.

You didn't mention what it was for, which Pycelle muttered in dissatisfaction over. The old man was a wizened busy body, constantly monologuing.

As he fumbled with an ice pick, chipping away at the carefully stored block of ice kept under the floor boards, you glanced around at the bottles and vials, all containing unknown liquids of various makeups.

Your eyes glanced over one that looked familiar.

Essence of Nightshade.

You had delivered this particular potion to Cersei more than once in the past, always with the warning to only administer 1 to 3 drops.

Anymore was deadly.

"Grandmaester" you said curiously. "I do have one more question if you don't mind."

"Of course, my lady" the old man nodded. "Anything"

"It's something of a private matter" you began, "I was wondering if you had anything to boost fertility? As you know it's been several months since my wedding night and I'm afraid we havent had much luck."

"Ah!" Pycelle seemed eager to aid her, fumbling with tomes and ledgers of every combination of herbs imaginable."Of course! Not that you should be worried yet, after all it's only been a few months. But I can understand your nervousness. Yes, it's quite common among older wives, but not to worry. It is still very possible for a wife your age to bear many children."

As he rambled, your hands moved like a shadow. By the time he turned around, the vial was tucked securely in your bodice and your face told his you had listened to every word he said.

"Here you are, my dear" Pycelle handed you a large sachet of strange smelling herbs. "Have this made into a strong tea and drink three cups every day. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly clear, Grand Maester" you nodded, taking your leave without waiting for him to dive into another lecture.

The ice was half melted in your hand by the time you arrived in Cersei's quarters.

"Thank you, pet." The queen pressed the cold bundle to her face. "I take it he took his time?"

"Not as much as he could have" You shrugged. "Are you alright?"

"Fine" Cersei nodded, "Robert is going hunting tomorrow at dawn, so at least I won't have to see him."

You nodded, finding your opening. "What poor souls is he dragging with him this time?"

"Oh, Barristan of course, Renly. And of course Lancel, my poor cousin. I should have known better than to make Robert take him on as Squire."

Lancel, you thought, you knew that name.

"I think I've met Lancel, haven't I?"

"Once, briefly." Cersei beckoned you onto her love seat and leaned against you. Even now she was a true beauty, all golden shimmers and scarlet silk. "You probably remember him running after Robert looking like a scared chicken."

Oh yes, you thought, I remember him now.

"I should get going." You breathed reluctantly. "Pycelle gave me these herbs and they're supposed to help with....you know"

"Ah" Cersei smirked knowing. "So you've decided to call a truce."

"For the sake of House Clegane and my marriage, I have decided to yield" you confessed, planting a firm kiss in your lover's lips before making for the door.

At first, you had no idea where to find Lancel, then you remembered what 90% of his duties were.

The wine cellars of The Red Keep were cold and dank, perfect for preserving the thousands of vintages stored in wooden barrels that lined the stone walls.

"Lancel" you called softly. "Are you down here?"

You spied a crop of white blond hair in the torch light and smirked, "are you hiding?"

A pair of sea blue eyes peered out from behind a set of stacked barrels.

"Please don't tell the king" he nearly whimpered.

"I won't" you assured him kindly. "I'd hide down here too, if I had your job."

Lancel got a good look at you in the flickering flames and frowned, "Lady Clegane?"

You noticed the half empty wine flask that dangled from his hand and motioned to it.

"May I?"

"Oh!" The squire paled and extended the flask to you. "Please, my lady."

"You don't have to call me that, you know." You chuckled lightly, "I'm not a lady. Not a real one."

"Whatever would I call you then?" The young man asked, slowly relaxing as you took a swig from the flask. The wine was sweet and rolled down your throat like liquid silk. An excellent vintage.

"You have good taste" you complimented, handing the flask back to him, "you may call me Y/N, if you like."

"Really?" Lancel blinked, a light pink blush filling his face. "My lady, I don't think-"

"Relax, Lancel" you scoffed, "I didn't come down here to seduce you. I came to check in."

"Why?"

You frowned, moving closer to the squire, "he's very cruel to you, isn't he? I've heard the way he talks to you, and it isn't right."

Lancel paused a moment before nodding, looking at his feet. "He called my mother a dumb whore."

"And that was very wrong of him." You pressed. "It's not right to talk like that to anyone, even if he is the king."

"But what can be done?" Lancel bemoaned. "He doesn't listen to anyone. Not even Ned Stark."

"I think" You began slowly. "The only thing that gets to a man like The King, is to be reminded that he isn't all powerful. That even kings must depend on those around them when they stumble."

"What do you mean?"

Slowly, you removed the Essence of Nightshade from your bodice and handed it to him.

"Put a few drops of this into the king's wine during the hunt tomorrow." You instructed, "when he gets too drunk, he will have to lean on others to make it back to the palace. Maybe then he will realize how vulnerable he really is."

"Do you really think that will work?" Lancel turned the vial over in his hands, "and it won't hurt him?"

"Just don't add more than 10 drops" you instructed firmly. "Just enough to throw him off, not enough to hurt him."

Lancel seemed nervous but nodded.

"Brave Lad" you cupped his cheek tenderly and he seemed to lean into it. "Now remember, this stays between us. We aren't hurting anyone, just teaching him a lesson. Right?"

"Right." Lancel's voice went from soft to firm and you knew he was ready.

"You're a good man, Lancel" you assured him and the squire blushed.

---------------------------------

The tea Pycelle perscribed smelled even worse when brewed.

The scent was sharp and medicinal and it stung your throat when you chugged the liquid to avoid actually tasting it.

"This shit better work" you muttered, trying not to gag.

The door to the chambers squealed open as you looked over your shoulder with a small smile.

"Good evening husband"

"Wife."

"Are you still cross with me?" You said in a teasing tone, curling your feet up into the chair you sat in and tucking them into your night gown.

He didn't answer and you rolled your eyes.

"Can we stop this please?" You sighed

"You started it." He snapped.

"No. You started it." You corrected him with a huff. "This isn't helping."

Sandor kicked off his boots in frustrated silence and you moved to the bed next to him.

"Can we talk about this?"

"Not much to talk about."

"Well," you breathed, "It felt really, I don't know, strange, that you and the queen talked about me."

He glanced at you but didn't fully turn to look. "Why?"

"I don't know" you mumbled, "I guess I just have a different relationship with her than I do with you."

Sandor frowned at this but tried not to jump to conclusions. "Explain"

"The queen is....I love her. I would do anything for her, but she isn't like you. She is the queen, and I am still her servant. She tells me what to do and where to go because when I'm at court and around her it is my job to. And it's a job I take great pride in."

You crossed your arms and leaned on his slightly.

"But you. You're different. I love you so much. If I lost my place in court tomorrow it would hurt. Maybe more than anything ever has hurt. But I know that I could move on from it if I needed to. Because it's a job. But I don't want to be your servant Sandor, I want to be your wife. I want us to be partners. Does that make any sense?"

You waited for a response, but all that came was a large arm draping itself across your shoulders, pulling you into his chest with a deep sigh.

"Come to bed" he grumbled, pulling your body with his as he moved up the bed towards the pillows.

He was a man of few words, you knew that. So if this was the only acknowledgment you were getting, you accepted it openly, curling against his chest as his arms locked around you.

[amplifyme]

Caves and cramps and Cersei

"Did you do this for Cersei?" she mumbles, her question almost lost as she asks it to the ground.

He shouts a laugh. "Little chance of that, bird! Remember the bloody nose I told you about? She gave me that for grabbing her arm when she stumbled going up a stair. She was in a foul mood that day and told me a dog's got no business laying paws on a lion. No, I watched her maid do this for her."

"You are quite good at it."

"The first one's free. Might be I'll want something in return next time. Not a bloody punch to the nose either."

"I am no lion, ser," she retorts and he can hear the smile in her words. "Wolves and dogs are more alike than not, I think. Your nose is safe with me."

"Good thing, that. Wouldn't want to ruin this pretty face of mine."

She giggles and then gets quiet again. He works at her back until his hands begin to ache and he flexes them and pats her between the shoulder blades. "Up," he says as he stands. "Fetch me a tunic from my bag. Don't matter if it's clean."

He squats by the fire and takes what she's dug out. Wrapping it round his hand, he grabs the flat rock from the embers and bounces it in his palm to judge its readiness. "That'll do," he decides, pivoting and dropping off his heels, scooting back until he's slumped against the wall. "Grab the furs and come back here," he tells her. Unwrapping the cloth from his hand, he loops it round the rock, padding it to protect her from the worst of the heat it's leeched from the embers. Sansa settles between his outspread legs and he pulls her back against his chest after draping one of the furs over his shoulders and around them.

"If I had a helm we could heat some water and use a skin instead. This will have to do." Sandor picks up the bundled rock and lays it low on her belly. "Put it where it feels best, girl, the heat will do the work." He sits up, bending them both over as he snatches another fur to cover them in front. He tugs off her cap next, and combs through her hair with splayed fingers. They are soon cocooned, warm and relaxed in their small nest of stone.

"That helping?" he asks after a few minutes.

"Yes, very much so. Thank you."

He wraps his arms round her and covers her hands with his. Her head tips back against his shoulder and she peers up at him.

"How did you know to do this?"

"I've lived twice as long as you, girl. I've learned a few things. Might not be fancy, but it does the job."

"It wasn't right, what Cersei did," she says a short time later. "She should not have hit you like that."

He has grown used to the way her mind works and how she'll hold close something he's told her and think on it, then bring it up again as if they hadn't already moved on to something else. She is a constant delight to him and he squeezes her tightly for a moment.

"Lions, dogs, wolves. They're none of them so different. A pack can only have one leader. She was making bloody sure I knew it wasn't me."

"Not all wild things are like that."

"Most," he argues.

"Not birds. They don't care about things like that. They just want to be free to fly."

He turns his head and nuzzles into her hair, struck by the sadness he hears in her words.

"You may have the right of it, there" he says. "But there's more wolf than bird in you, Sansa, don't forget that."

"Maybe that's why she hated me."

"Who, Cersei?"

"Yes. She pretended to love me, but she didn't. If she loved me she wouldn't have let Joffrey do what he did to me - or to my father. I wanted to be like her once. How could I have been so blind?"

"People see what they want to see. The first time you set eyes on someone, you make up your mind who they are, 'specially if they fit the part. Works the other way, too. Get looked at a certain way enough times and soon you wake up one day and that's who you've become, like it or no."

"Is that what happened to you after Gregor burned your face?"

"Aye, some of it. The rest I took on myself."

"But what you look like, that's not all you are. Not anymore."

"No, and you're no empty-headed bird either."

"You used to think I was."

"Still do, sometimes." His bark of laughter becomes a grunt of pain as she jams a well-placed elbow in his ribs. That makes him laugh even more. He will give her that one. They shift and get comfortable again.

These Scars We Wear - Chapter 16

[ewinofthelake]

Arya was raised on a small farm in the Mountains of Winter. She had never owned fancy dresses, never pampered her long dark hair, but she was all the same the most beautiful girl in the North. She just didn't know it.

Her favourite pastimes were running in the woods with her direwolf Nymeria and tormenting the farm boy that worked for her family. His name was Jaqen, but she never called him that. To her, it was as if he had no name.

Nothing gave Arya as much pleasure as ordering Jaqen around.

"Farm boy, brush my direwolf's coat, I want to see it shining by morning," she told him one day, her hand petting Nymeria.

He was always so quiet, so courteous. "A man must serve." And maybe as handsome as she was beautiful.

A man must serve was all he ever said to her. He just looked at her. He always looked at her, always smiling. He saw her.

"Farm boy, fill these with water," she told him on the morrow, two buckets dropped near him.

He was outside, chopping firewood with an axe. "A man must serve." And a man obeyed.

She never looked at him. She just turned and left. But that day, her eyes stayed on him. That day, she chewed her lip to keep a please from escaping. That day, she was amazed to discover that when he was saying a man must serve what he meant was I love you.

"Farm boy, fetch me that kettle," she told him at the turn of the moon, the kettle so close she could reach it herself from where she was sitting.

He was in the kitchen doorway, a pair of heavy padded mitts soon in his hands. "A man must serve." And kneeling beside her, Arya drunk on his smile, they finally gazed into each other's eyes.

Even more amazing was that day. The day she realised she wanted to kiss that disarming smile. The day she realised she truly loved him back.

How their love survived the adventures with the three outlaws Tyrion the witty dwarf, 'Big Man' Sandor Clegane and Syrio Forel the fencing master, with the evil prince Bolton and his six-fingered goon Meryn Trant, and with the kindly magician in his robe of black and white, well... That is a story for another day.

Arya Stark Valentine’s Day Challenge 2023, prompts Secret Admirer/Alternate Fandom/Fairytale: Jaqen H'ghar/Arya Stark, The Princess Bride AU

[depends-on-the-sellsword]

Some Completely Random And Useless Headcannons:

Pod names every single horse

Davos also names his horses but would not admit it

Meera and Jojen play fetch with Bran/Summer

Renly knew how to juggle and did so at every possible opportunity

Ned would have adored Brienne

Tommen very eagerly showed Ser Pounce to Sansa when she was looking particularly sad, and it made her smile

Sandor talks to Stranger like Geralt when they're alone

Shae & Alayaya hang out

Sansa and Tyrion talk shit about everyone in the middle of the night

[winesink]

WIP whenever! AKA proof I am currently working on the follow up, as promised.

CW: Canon typical description of animal cruelty under the cut (it's the scene in the Bailey where Joffrey shot a cat with a cross bow, but it's non-gratuitious)

The Imp had given the king a crossbow at some point. Sandor bloody hated crossbows. A coward's weapon - cowards who couldn't look a man in the face when they killed him. Cowards who shot at stray cats when they were mad, also. 

It wasn't even a good shot. The cat was long in dying, it's mewls drowning out Ser Lancel's report of Robb's most recent win. It must have been quite a thrashing - reports were already blaming black magic. The king was furious, his glower growing more ominous by the second. Sandor didn't particularly wish to see another cat die, but he'd have given anything to bring all the strays in King's Landing to His Grace's feet if it meant he'd forget his favorite toy.

No such luck, it seemed.

"Fetch me my Lady." Meryn leapt into action immediately but the king stopped him with a glare. "Dog, you do it. I want her frightened."

'Aye, and she might be at that, though not for the reasons you want.' Sandor wasn't good at apologies, but he'd meant to speak with his little bird about the previous night. He should not have called her stupid. She was not stupid for wanting to leave. And here they were now, as if to prove her point, Sandor sent to fetch her for the worst beating of her life, probably. He'd been stupid - stupid to believe the king would not escalate, stupid to believe she was relatively safe in the capital. The king may very well put a bolt in her chest in a matter of hours. Sandor would take the bolt, of course. The first couple, if need be. But eventually he'd die, and then she'd have no shield.

Her maids were still fluttering about when he knocked on her door. The oldest one - one of the queen's he was fairly sure - opened the door and eyed him all over. That was good. She'd run back and tell Cersei the Hound had been sent away from the king to retrieve the little bird himself. She might come to investigate and when she saw her son tormenting the girl, she would be very cross indeed.

"His Grace has requested the presence of his lady."

"Well his lady is not properly dressed," she snipped.

Despite himself, Sandor's eyes darted above the maid's shoulder to Sansa's vanity. Their eyes met in the mirror briefly, but Sandor took in her bare shoulder where her dress hadn't been properly secured yet as well. "Get her decent, and quickly. The king will not want to be kept waiting this morning." At that last, he turned back to the maid and gave her a pointed look. 

She frowned in understanding and shut the door in his face, though she didn't bar it. Sandor waited as long as he thought it would take to tie off a dress and then barged in. He was kingsguard, after all, and Sansa was to be queen; it wasn't completely indecent, provided she was chaperoned. Sansa jumped a foot but the maids didn't think much of it, continuing to brush and fasten her hair, applying powder to the bags under her eyes he felt only slightly guilty about. 

They'd have a chance to speak soon enough. Maybe then she'd get a decent night's sleep.

"The longer you keep him waiting, the worse it will go for you," he warned her.

How Easy You Are to Need

Sansan one shot (for now). Porn with some plot, mutual masturbation, sex ed teacher Sandor, blink and you miss it pet play, open/ambiguous ending. CW for non-con kissing (not from Sandor), and Sansa slapping the Hound (dw he's into it)

summary: There was a proper response to this, she knew. Some well-established line Septa Mordane had probably told her a half a hundred times. 'What to do if some non-knight touches you indecently; how to demure when you knew he was speaking in innuendos.' It was hard to remember such silly courtesies when her thoughts were otherwise occupied, comparing the Hound's sturdy, thick fingers to Dontos' fleshy, clammy grip. Dontos had smelled vaguely of bed sores and day-old sick. He'd been stale all over but for the fog of dry white wine which now polluted Sansa's every breath. Clegane smelled like leather and iron and the sour red he preferred. Sansa hated red wines.

Still, she wanted Dontos' taste gone more thoroughly than her mouth rinse would do.

'Come to the godswood tonight, if you want to go home.'

Sansa had burned the note the second she'd read it but the words felt like they'd been etched into the backs of her eyelids all the same. She didn't trust her handmaids, but it had to be one of them who'd placed the note under her pillow, surely. They'd been in and out all day, a dressmaker having spent the better part of the day in Sansa's chambers, measuring and sampling fabrics for a new wardrobe. The queen had even come at some point to tut elegantly at Sansa's first choices.

Whoever it was must have been very brave. Was it a ploy? Some plot of the queen's to prove her disloyalty? Sansa doubted very much that the queen cared enough to waste her time with such, and Joffrey was too stupid to invent such a game. Varys? Littlefinger had left for the Eyrie, but everyone said that Lord Tyrion was just as cunning. Would she sneak away in the dead of night only to be met with the King's Justice?

Despite her cloudy thoughts, a small tendril of hope squirmed to life deep in her belly. The knights at court were all untrustworthy, she'd learned, but not all songs sang of knights. Florian was no knight, yet he was more gallant than any man of the Kingsuard. Well all except one, perhaps, and no knight himself. Huffing, Sansa scolded herself to not be so foolish. The Hound was loyal to Joffrey and she would do well to remember that. Just because he took no pride in beating young ladies, it did not mean he carried any notion of saving her. Nor did it make him gallant.

Still, if anyone were capable of saving her, surely none were more suited for the task than the Hound?

***

She'd been lucky. Troubles in the city had drawn the guards away from the drawbridge. Sansa pulled her cloak closer about herself and darted over the dry moat. The king would be leading a raiding party beyond the gate, it seemed, his guards helping him into his armor. Sansa was frightened of being noticed, but she could not resist the urge to seek out the Hound's large figure among all the commotion. She did not see him, and despite herself, her heart soared to know it might be because he was waiting for her in the Godswood.

"With me!" The king cried, a clangor of shield banging following him out the gate. 

'I hope they kill him,' she thought, fingering the hilt of the breadknife she'd hidden in her cloak. Maybe she could slip into the fray herself, pretend to be a starving peasant and slit his throat. Instead she slipped left toward the serpentine and continued on her way.

The commotion of the commons fell away as she entered the Godswood, the thick carpet of leaves and moss swallowing the sounds as she walked further and further within. This wood was not overlarge, but it was deep enough that she worried she wouldn't be able to find her accomplice's meeting place before he got tired of waiting and left.

"I feared you would not come, child."

Sansa drew up short, her back to the newcomer. The voice was low but slurred, not the harsh growl she'd expected. She turned slowly until she could make out a man's figure hiding amongst the trees. Heavyset, stumbling as he came closer, Sansa watched in horror as his blotchy and bloated face came into view. "Ser Dontos?" She cried, heartbroken. "Was it you?"

"Yes, my lady," he sighed. His breath smelled of wine and onions and his lips smacked messily. "Me," he reached out his hand.

"Don't!" She hissed. "You must never touch me."

"I am sorry my lady, I only wanted to show my gratitude to you."

"I don't care," Sansa snapped. "What do you want with me?"

"Only to help you. As you helped me."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

“Only one cup of wine, to help my courage. If they catch me now, they’ll strip the skin off my back.”

She'd been such a fool. They would both be dead soon if this was her savior. "Who sent you?" She demanded.

“No one, sweet lady. I swear it on my honor as a knight.”

"What good is that honor?"

“I deserve that, though… I know it’s queer, but… all those years I was a knight, I was truly a fool, and now that I am a fool I think… I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you… your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself.” His voice dropped. “The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all…”

Florian, he meant, but where the song had given her comfort earlier, it nearly made her gag now. She changed the subject, “How… how would you do it? Get me away?” 

“Taking you from the castle, that will be the hardest. Once you’re out, there are ships that would take you home. I’d need to find the coin and make the arrangements, that’s all.”

Sansa frowned, remembering how her father had wanted to ship her and Arya off once. "When?"

"First I must find a sure way to get you from the castle when the hour is ripe. It will not be easy, nor quick. They watch me as well.”

Sansa didn't doubt that. "I will… think about your offer."

Dontos looked miffed. "You'll… think on it?"

"Yes," she answered firmly. "How can I tell you my answer?"

Ser Dontos glanced about anxiously. “The risk is too great. You must come here, to the Godswood. As often as you can. This is the safest place. The only safe place. Nowhere else. Not in your chambers nor mine nor on the steps nor in the yard, even if it seems we are alone. The stones have ears in the Red Keep, and only here may we talk freely.”

“Only here,” Sansa said. “I’ll remember.”

“And if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father’s.”   

She nodded, thinking of the Hound's apathetic glare as Ser Meryn punched her in the belly. Perhaps… perhaps he wasn't quite so cruel as she had originally judged him. “I understand.”

“You will need to be brave and strong … and patient, patient above all.” Sansa frowned. She hadn't told him she'd accept. "And now you must go, before you are missed." She turned to leave but then he was grabbing her wrist. "But before you go, give your Florian a kiss." And then he was pulling her close, pressing his sloppy lips to hers and Sansa couldn't reach her knife with his grip on her wrist.

"No," she hissed, "unhand me or I'll - I'll…" But what could she do? She was alone here, her closest confidants the trees that surrounded them. Still, he seemed chastised enough for he relented, a thin rope of slimy saliva snapping between them and Sansa simply ran.

She was half way down the serpentine when a man lurched out of a hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her. “It’s a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?” His laughter was rough as a saw on stone. The Hound. “Maybe you do.”

Sansa tried to protest but he wasn't in the mood to listen, evidently. "What's Joff's little bird doing flying down the serpentine in the black of night? Answer me," he demanded, shaking her.

Her head tossed limply once, twice, before he stopped shaking and simply held her upright. She settled her hair and stared boldly up at him, taking in the way the torches striped his twisted flesh - the red and cratered bits that had healed bad, and the gnarled black flesh that had healed worse. A spot of bone was visible at his jaw, flashing between deep folds of skin that seeped red when he spoke. But his eye was still good and Sansa thought maybe that was the worst of it. Even swimming in wine, his hard gray eyes all but glinted with implacable fury. 

Sometimes, in the throne room, when Joff was having her beaten, she would look up at the Hound's horrible, ugly face and his strong stature, and imagined carving another pound of flesh from him: a solid chunk of muscle, perhaps his bicep, which she could stretch and mold into a good stiff leather with which to armor herself. He had plenty to spare. It was a stupid, childish thought, but one she often found herself leaning on. Perhaps it was this ill-thought notion of stealing his strength that had her answering honestly:

"In the Godswood. Ser Dontos, he… he-."

"He what?" The Hound rasped, drawing her closer as he continued to leer down at her. 

But he was drunk, and murderous, and it would be a shame to save the fool's life just to send the Hound after him. "It's only… I was there, praying for the king's safe return. And I found him winesick. I tried -."

The Hound had spit at her well wishes, however, and he dropped her altogether when he deemed Dontos no threat. "Think I'm so drunk I'd believe that?" When he stepped away from her, he swayed slightly, and Sansa briefly worried he would tumble down the serpentine. There'd be no catching him.

He was unconcerned. "Bloody hells, look at you. You're a woman, now. Face, teats… you're tall for a woman, you know?" Sansa eyed his shoulder, suddenly realizing most women were probably unable to do such a thing. "These knights almost can't be blamed, can they? All so desperate to lay a hand on you in anyway they can." His voice had dropped to a deep growl, so low she could feel it in her own chest. "But you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you… 'No, please, don't hurt him,'" he mocked and it took her a moment to realize that was supposed to be her, begging mercy for Dontos. "Sing me a song, why don’t you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights still, don’t you?”

'Give your Florian a kiss.' 

'I know a song,' she thought bitterly, 'one you'll rage to hear.' But the Hound would kill Ser Dontos if she told him tonight, and she may never get another offer to leave, so she kept her mouth shut.

At some point he'd leaned closer again, his sour breath displacing the wispy curls around her face that never laid flat in the southron humidity. "You're no knight, my lord."

"Nor am I a lord, little bird. Do I need to beat that into you?" The grip was back at her arm, tightening almost painfully, but it was still much lighter than Ser Boros's bruising grasp. It's his armor, she realized. He only wanted to scare her again.

"You won't hurt me," she breathed and she watched his scowl - the Hound's scowl - melt away as his grasp did.

"No, little bird, I won't hurt you." He gave his head a shake, scrubbed his hand over the unmarred side of his face. "Drunk as a dog, damn me. You come now. Back to your cage, little bird. I’ll take you there. Keep you safe." And then he gave her a gentle push back out the alcove and followed behind her like a proper escort would as she continued on down the serpentine.

They ran into some trouble at Maegor's gate when Ser Boros questioned their whereabouts and how Sansa had been outside the walls at such an hour. But all obstacles were easy when you were as strong and frightening as the Hound, it seemed, for he only had to growl some threats about telling the queen how Sansa had slipped all their minds, and the gates were opened for them promptly.

"Why do you let people call you a dog?" Sansa asked, once the Hound had summarily dismissed Ser Boros.

He'd sobered some throughout their walk, and his voice was steady when he told her about how his grandfather had earned his title. "A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song."

There was a proper response to this, she knew. Some well-established line Septa Mordane had probably told her a half a hundred times. 'What to do if some non-knight touches you indecently; how to demure when you knew he was speaking in innuendos.' It was hard to remember such silly courtesies when her thoughts were otherwise occupied, comparing the Hound's sturdy, thick fingers to Dontos' fleshy, clammy grip. Dontos had smelled vaguely of bed sores and day-old sick. He'd been stale all over but for the fog of dry white wine which now polluted Sansa's every breath. Clegane smelled like leather and iron and the sour red he preferred. Sansa hated red wines. 

Still, she wanted Dontos' taste gone more thoroughly than her mouth rinse would do. 

Some wild daring took over her. Sansa grabbed the Hound's arm and tugged, elated when he either allowed himself to be tipped, or stumbled in his drunkeness. She placed her hands on his shoulders, the better to stand on her toes. 'You're tall,' he'd said, but not quite tall enough. So she slipped one hand into the hair at the back of his head and pulled him down until she could press her lips to his. It was strange, unpracticed. The scarring at the side of his mouth was hard and unyielding, but she found she liked it better than Dontos's slobbery lips. 

The Hound was like stone under her affections for a moment, too shocked to do anything besides grip her chin even tighter, and then he growled low in his chest, the vibrations stiffening her nipples where they pressed into his armor. His arm snaked around her waist, the other cupping her neck delicately, as if he was afraid to hurt her. And then he was opening his mouth and her lips were following his and he slid his tongue along the ridge of her teeth and Sansa nearly gagged on the taste of his sour red wine.

She pulled away from him in a flash, remembering herself. The Hound didn't look surprised by her reticence, grinning like a fool at her shocked face and that was worse than anything had been tonight, she thought, so she slapped him across the unmarred side of his face and slammed the door on him, his laughter echoing off the stone walls of the hall until her room seemed to be shaking with it.

***

Everyone said that the Imp could not be trusted, and as Sansa watched Tyrion soundly reject Robb's peace terms from the Iron Throne, Sansa could see why. The Hand was deft, negotiating his own terms in such a way that showed exactly what the crown thought of Robb's peace; and when the envoy declared as such, Tyrion reminded Ser Cleos that Robb stood alone with no possible hope for allies while Kings Stannis and Renly battered each other to bits in Storm's End. 

He did offer two northern hostages for every Lannister, which would appease Robb - though he posed it in such a way that had the court laughing about their value - and he graciously promised to return her father's bones as a token of Joffrey's good faith. The king himself wasn't available to comment on that, of course, and Sansa couldn't help noticing that the only thing of value Tyrion had relented, was something that wasn't doing a single southerner any good.

"Lord Stark asked for his sisters and his father's sword as well," Ser Cleos reminded the little lord.

"Ice," Tyrion corrected absently, eying Ser Ilyn, where the sword in question could be seen over the man's shoulder. Sansa wanted to rip the name from his mouth, the sword from the false knight's back. But of course, she could do neither, so she stood silently and waited for Lord Tyrion's verdict. "He'll have that when he makes his peace with us, not before."

"As you say. And his sisters?" 

The Imp's eyes found Sansa's briefly from across the throne room. He looked troubled, but not enough to change his mind. “Until such time as he frees my brother Jaime, unharmed, they shall remain here as hostages. How well they are treated depends on him.” 

Sansa's heart ached to hear it, though it could very well have been the broad bruise that covered her chest hurting instead. Ser Mandon had thrown her roughly to the floor the night previous and she hadn't been able to catch herself before taking the ledge of a step on her breast. She viciously hoped Ser Jaimie was being tortured even worse than herself. Fair was only fair, especially seeing as Arya may very well be dead.

A Black Brother begged audience then and Sansa made her excuses as she exited the hall, Ser Preston in tow. Her bastard brother Jon was at Castle Black now, and Sansa couldn't bear to hear what troubles he was facing as well as the rest of her family. She was glad, however, that Tyrion would be hearing the man's petition instead of Joffrey or the queen. Tyrion had visited the Wall after accompanying King Robert to Winterfell and by all accounts the experience had been eye opening for him. The other Lannisters would have laughed him off outright, but Tyrion may actually help.

She was also glad for Tyrion's presence because it meant she hadn't had to see Joffrey. Or the Hound.

The Gods had been kind enough to keep them apart ever since she'd thrown herself at him a few nights prior and Sansa was ever so grateful because she could imagine what he thought of her. If she'd been a stupid little bird before, he must think her still a child now - to steal a kiss from a grown man and then get so overwhelmed as to slap him for it. Gods, but Sansa had never slapped anyone in her life; Septa Mordane and her lady mother both would have dropped dead on the spot if she had.

She would have to apologize eventually, she knew, but the prospect had kept her up the past few nights. The thought of tracking the Hound to some quiet, abandoned corner of the castle was upsetting enough. To then subject herself to the humiliation of acknowledging what she'd done was unbearable. More than once, she'd managed to convince herself the man had been too far in his cups to remember, but for some reason, that thought upset her nearly as much as the other.

Tired, Sansa returned to her chambers. It was too early to retire, but there was some mending she wanted to get done and no one had requested her presence that night so she shut the door in quiet Ser Preston's face and sat at her window until her bedmaid came to prepare her for sleep.

It was dark as pitch in her room when a thud at her door woke her. Sansa gasped as she woke, sitting bolt upright as she tried to orient herself. She'd been dreaming of Lady, of hunting in Winterfell's Godswood, of sitting under the Heart Tree and licking the blood from her paws daintily. But her room in King's Landing was too hot, despite her banked coals having burned themselves out, and she'd no blood on her hands.

The knock came again - no, no knock. A heavy gauntlet at her door that she'd come to know well. Sansa shivered despite the oppressive heat she felt. This was worse than any daydream of hunting Clegane down, surely. If sequestering him in an empty storeroom had been a daunting possibility, having him in her rooms demanding an apology was downright unnerving.

Slipping out of her bed, she found a robe - the lighter one that clung like fine silk but wouldn't make her sweat as much - and pulled her door open for her guest.

He stood closer than she'd been expecting, as if trying to shelter his massive frame under her door jamb. "Ser?" she peeped, but he brushed her aside and strode into her room. By the sound of his scraping boots, he only made it a few steps before drawing to a halt.

"The coals must have died," Sansa supplied lamely, bolting the door on instinct. The only thing worse than the Hound being in her room, was the whole court knowing the Hound was in her room. The last thing she needed was an overeager bedmaid coming to check on her now. He grunted and moved toward the fireplace, sifting through the hot ash until he found a kernel of heat strong enough to stoke to life. Sansa stood awkwardly to the side and waited until the low light unfolded enough that she could see his frame. He wore no armor tonight, she was surprised to find. Which meant his bare fist had pounded against her door so ominously. Sansa's skin prickled. "You don't have to do that, Ser, it's rather warm in here."

"Want to see you." The Hound turned to her finally. Backlit by the coals and kneeling, he looked more beast than man - a hellhound crawling from the deepest pit to warm himself at her hearth.

"Oh," was all she could muster, remembering the last time he'd seen her. He'd be angry tonight, she knew. The fearsome Hound she'd hated so much back at that stupid inn on the Kingsroad. "I'm sorry, Ser, for the way I -."

"Shove it," he growled, standing and walking to the small seat at her table. It creaked ominously under his weight as he sat. "Rather not hear how very sorry you are for the best thing that's ever happened in my miserable life."

"Ser?"

"Not a 'Ser,' girl," he snapped. "You went around shoving your tongue down knights' throats, you know what they'd do to you?" Sansa was too shamed to answer. That had not been what she'd done, he'd done that; but it wouldn't do any good to go reminding him what she had done. "Save your 'Sers.' I'm no knight, just a dog begging for any scraps you're willing to throw my way."

He wouldn't stop staring at her. It was hard to meet his eye, but she knew how much it displeased him when she looked away so she tried her best. Could it be that he'd liked how she'd kissed him? The Hound hated liars most of all, he wouldn't say as much just to spare her feelings. "But I slapped you," she reminded him, her blush creeping down to her collar now.

"Aye, you did," he allowed, but his tone didn't match the situation at all. If anything he seemed… amused, perhaps? His mouth twisted in a feral grin, his eyes absolutely gleaming with something she was slowly becoming familiar as they raked over Sansa's form.

This was… not something she'd expected. Sansa was a woman grown and not naïve to the ways of men and women. And no one lived in the Capital for long without learning about whores with… specialties… so she understood that some men had specific tastes. But Sansa had been slapped many times by now and she could not understand the appeal. "And this… pleased you?"

Sandor snorted, the moment cracking around the edges but not quite breaking. He leaned forward in his seat until she thought he might fall out. "Pleased me more than once, I admit."

"Oh," Sansa peeped. He meant to scare her, she knew, but the image of the Hound finding his own release as he thought of her hands on him washed a wave of goosepimples up her arms that had nothing to do with fear.

"So bloody proper," he rasped, though he sounded more revenant than accusatory. "You've never even pleased yourself, have you little bird?"

Sansa turned away from him then, under the pretense of finding a seat. She flit about for a moment, only remembering her room was not intended for two when she found no chair for herself. She eyed her bed suspiciously for a moment, as if it would tattle to her septa that she'd allowed a man into her room and then entered her bed if she did so; but she sat on the very edge of it all the same. Her fluttering, of course, didn't do her much good. Sandor's hulking form and wolfish gaze had etched themselves into her mind; the way the low light was swallowed by his dark hair and his dark eyes and his dark clothes until he seemed a phantom come to torment her would haunt her even in the daylight, she knew. "No," she finally whispered, and the Hound laughed.

"Of course not. Bet you didn't even know you could."

Sansa knew that some women could find happiness in their marriage bed, though she knew it was uncommon and everyone seemed to agree it was mostly up to the husband's disposition. "I thought… I thought any pleasure to be found in… that… was to come from the hu- the man."

"That's what your septa taught you no doubt," the Hound agreed, though his tone was softer now and Sansa could manage to peek at him. "They lied to you, girl. You can please yourself better than most men."

Sansa frowned, her thoughts turning to Joffrey and the long life of misery she most likely faced. "How?" She breathed.

It was the right thing to say, it seemed. The Hound growled and kicked the table away from himself, leaning forward eagerly into the space he'd created, his eyes alight like the coals he had stoked earlier. He was so… big. Sansa sometimes forgot, used as she'd become to his presence. But even unarmored and folded into a too-small chair, he seemed to loom across her room in a way she could not get away from. The table had been pushed far enough away from him that she could see him fully now: his legs spread and stretched out before him, his elbows perched carelessly on the arms of the chair. "Will you lean back for me?" He requested and Sansa found she did not want to deny him anything right then. So she did as bid, planting her palms behind her and shifting her weight more solidly onto them. Her thin silk robe pulled open at her chest but not quite enough to reveal her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift.

Sansa wasn't sure she would even care if it did.

"Good girl," the Hound praised and Sansa suppressed a mewl. She'd always been such a good girl; she could be a good girl now. "Spread your legs." Sansa did, her robe only holding on by the stay at her waist now. The Hound took a moment to look her over, his gaze just as consuming as it was when he practiced in the training yard. Sansa remembered watching him from afar, how he would laugh as he kicked blooded knights into the dirt.

"I'm going to touch you now. Over your shift. You'll tell me if you want me to stop." Sansa was nodding before she knew what she was about, but the Hound moved slowly enough she could have clamped her legs shut if she'd changed her mind. He slid from his seat until he knelt and then he was crawling the short distance to her bed, his gaze never leaving the apex of her thighs. She didn't like to see him on the floor, she decided, though it made her feel powerful and he looked perfectly content himself, managing not to make the motion look pathetic. 

When he reached her he returned to kneeling, grabbing her ankles delicately and placing them on his knees. His eyes met hers then, holding them as he ran his palms up her calves to wrap around the backs of her knees and pull, Sansa's body sliding across her sheets until her knees were almost at his ears. Her breath stuttered in shock but the Hound never faltered, one hand sliding up under her robe to wrap around her rear as the other skimmed up to her waist. He paused there, rubbing his thumb across the crest of her hip for a moment, the fabric catching on his calluses. He seemed like he was waiting on something but Sansa was beyond words so she pulled one hand out from under her and brought her knuckles to his face, stroking his brow in kind. Sandor sighed at that, the gust of hot air seeping through Sansa's shift to warm her thighs. And then the hand at her hip was sliding inward, her shift bunching until he could press two thick fingers to her sex and she was mortified to find she was wet - the embarrassing kind of slick that only happened when she watched the knights in the training yard - and worse, enough that the Hound could feel it through her shift and her small clothes! But the Hound only cursed under his breath and took a shaky, calming breath, stroking her there minutely all the while.

"This is your cunt," he told her. His voice sounded broken, the whetstone scrape having finally honed the blade brittle. "You can press your little fingers in there if you want but not too deep. You'll feel your maidenhead in there. About a knuckle deep. Don't break it, that's for His Fucking Grace, remember?" Sansa nodded, but the Hound wasn't looking at her. His eyes were locked where he touched her and Sansa wondered if he was talking to himself then. "You're wet." Again his voice cracked. "That's good. So fucking good. Your slick comes from here, little bird. Coat your fingers, as much as you want." 

And then his fingers were moving up, dragging the fabric against her sensitive skin until he met the little fold at the front of her sex and Sansa gasped, her own hand sliding up until her fingers sank into Sandor's hair and if possible he leaned in closer, his shoulders pushing her knees impossibly wide and his breath creating a hot pocket of warmth at her tummy. He adjusted his hand until his fingers framed some tiny piece of flesh, pulling the fabric of her smallclothes across the sensitive pebble as he moved his fingers in a miniscule circle. 

"This is your pearl, little bird," he growled. "This is where you'll find your pleasure when you're all alone in your little cage. Or if a man isn't doing his job properly." His fingers pressed harder and Sansa moaned quietly, her own digits clutching at his scalp and in her bedding. The grip he had around her bottom tightened and he drew her even closer, pressing his nose to the fabric folded into the crease of her hip and scenting her fully, groaning. 

Sansa felt like her bed would swallow her up at any second. Or maybe the Hound would. Or maybe the coals in her fireplace would catch and consume them both. She was hot all over but she shook as if the coldest winds of winter were raking across her skin. Her robe had bunched up enough that it had fallen completely away from her breasts and they heaved with her panting, feeling heavier by far than she knew they were. Her nipples had pebbled until they were visible through her shift and she had a sudden urge to touch herself there so she dropped her weight more fully onto her elbow and removed her hand from the Hound's hair to cup her breast, testing its weight. Then her fingers were moving to the peak, rubbing and pinching until she hissed in pleasure. 

She hadn't noticed the Hound's eyes following her movements until he spoke against her thigh, "Lick your fingers first." Sansa met his eyes and complied, coating her fingers much as he had, sucking herself down to her knuckles. The Hound grunted like a beast, his pace increasing until Sansa mewled and then her fingers were back at her breast but her saliva wasn't quite as thick and it didn't soak through her shift the way her slick had. Frustrated and beyond caring, wanting to feel everything the Hound directed her to feel, she tugged at her stays harshly until her front panels fell away and her breasts were exposed to the humid air of the room and she was pinching at her nipples again.

Sansa sighed just as the Hound cursed, his fingers dipping down to soak her slip in more slick, as if he could tell her own were no longer wet. "Your lord husband will lick you there, if you're lucky." He growled.

"Joffrey won't lick me anywhere." Her voice was ragged. When had that happened?

Sandor didn't respond but his finger returned to her pearl and it felt better now with less friction; so Sansa took his queue, only - he'd said her husband would lick her there and suddenly she wanted the Hound's mouth on her and she was sitting up enough to push her fingers into his mouth and the Hound moaned obscenely, sucking on her digits and coating them with his tongue until she deemed them wet enough and returned them to her nipple.

He was right, that was much better.

The Hound was panting just as much as she was now, staring up at her reverently. When she met his eyes his grip changed: a press of the pad of one finger directly to the nerve bundle and Sansa nearly screamed.

"There, please," she moaned and the Hound groaned, pressing harder against her bud and speeding up until she was shaking, her legs trying to clamp shut on his hand but his massive body was in the way so she was left open, vulnerable to his ruthless assault until her body bowed and she was gasping, his name a litany she couldn't stop reciting.

His fingers slowed and gentled, each slide of fabric so overwhelming it nearly hurt until he stopped altogether, their breathing so loud it almost echoed in her silent room. She sat up until she could see him again, his eyes boring holes into her. He was still panting, she noticed, and she wondered if he breathed like that when he found his release as well.

"Good girl," he praised again and Sansa shivered. His hands pulled away from her and she felt so bereft she was following them, sliding from the bed until she sat in his lap and she was kissing him again. He groaned low in his throat and pulled her closer, an arm around her hips and the other hand at the nape of her neck and this time when he pushed his tongue to her teeth she was opening gratefully, trying to suck on his tongue as he had done with her fingers. His breath did not taste like wine tonight.

The arm around her hips pulled her impossibly closer, her shift riding up until her small clothes pressed to his breeches and - oh gods, that was his manhood. Hot and hard and pressed against her soaked sex. "Sandor," she whined, unsure what she wanted.

"I know," he breathed against her lips, and then he was using his grip to push her more firmly against himself and they were so close now she could feel him twitch. It should hurt, she thought, with how sensitive she had been only moments earlier, but he'd never hurt her before and he certainly wasn't now so she moved with him until he was growling in frustration and lifting her back onto her bed - as if she weighed a feather, she noted with a shutter.

"Show me what you've learned little bird," he prompted, his hands sliding up the skirt of her shift again but Sansa felt like she was boiling out of her skin and even the paltry weight of it was too much to bear so she yanked her skirts up over her hips, shifting the bulk behind her until she could see her smallclothes and she was mortified to be seen like this but the Hound was groaning again and palming his thickness through his breeches so it was all okay, wasn't it? Emboldened, Sansa pulled the stays of her small clothes and the Hound leapt into action with a curse, sliding them down her legs and throwing them to the side. He slid his hands back up her ankles, prying her legs apart when she inevitably tried to hide herself away again.

"Show me," he rasped, "let me see your pretty red cunt." Sansa blushed but complied, leaning back as she had before so he could look his fill. "Gods, Sansa. So damn good for me. Look at you. So wet."

As if disbelieving, Sansa pushed her fingers to her core, though her petals were in the way so she spread them, noting how his breath hitched. "What are these?" She asked sweetly, petting the folds of silky skin just to watch how his eyes followed the motion.

"Those are your lips, girl. Keep teasing me with them and I'll show you how they like to be kissed, too." Sansa gasped, her legs trying to snap closed again. He wouldn't. That was so vulgar! But the Hound only held her legs wide and laughed, his breath fanning across her exposed flesh. "No? That's okay. Someday, when the king has put a dozen babes in you and never once made you cum you'll come crawling back to your old dog, begging me to lick you clean."

The thought of it all revolted her - Joffrey and his babes, the Hound's mouth on her there; but his eagerness sparked something in her. 'Your old dog.' "And you would? Even then?"

The Hound scoffed, his hands engulfing her calves and rubbing at her muscles. "If there's ever a day I refuse an invitation to eat your sweet cunny just slit my throat and be done with it."

Sansa smiled despite his crude words, her fingers dipping down to her center to push her slick around as he had done. She'd pressed a fingertip inside herself once out of curiosity, but she hadn't been wet the way she was now and she'd thought the whole affair very overrated. Now, however, coated in her juices and with the Hound's eyes devouring her every move, she felt strangely empty and she remembered what he'd said about pressing her little fingers in. She wanted to try again.

Sandor's grip was like iron on her legs as he watched, his breath puffing across her heated skin. Sansa pressed the tip of her middle finger against her entrance and pushed until the silky sheath gave and she dipped into herself. It was still strange, she decided, but not unpleasant as it had been before, so she pushed a little deeper into herself until her bravery ran out, about knuckle deep. 

"Curl your finger," the Hound suggested, so she did and it was pleasant - made her feel more full - but still not what she'd been led to believe it would be. "Does the wall there feel different from the others?" Sansa spun her finger to test but shook her head. The Hound nodded knowingly. "I don't think you'll be able to find release in there until after you lose your maidenhead, but you can tease yourself as much as you like. Try another finger."

The thought frightened her. Surely that would tear her open? But the Hound had said it would be fine and he hadn't steered her wrong yet, so she lined her ring finger up with her middle and pushed both digits in - slowly at first when the stretch startled her, and then more eagerly when she found it quite pleasant.

"Good girl," the Hound breathed. One of his hands slid from her calf down to her ankle again, his grip twitching as if he had something in mind he'd rather be doing with his hand. 

"Are you going to touch yourself too, Ser?"

For once, Sandor Clegane did not balk at the title. He made a noise like she'd kicked him in the belly and his grip tightened on her ankle for a moment but then he cleared his throat and told her, "Not yet, little bird. Want to watch you cum when I do."

"Then will you touch me?"

The Hound groaned and used his grip to pull her closer. His mouth fell to her thigh and at first she thought he would bite her, but his teeth only clenched minutely on the taut muscle and his lips kissed the mark as if to soothe her. "Not tonight. I'll fuck you bloody if I do."

Sansa didn't think she would mind that, but that didn't make it a good idea. She curled her fingers inside herself a few times just to test the way it felt but then she removed them and pulled upward, searching for her pearl. They both moaned when she found it. Sansa first tried touching it directly the way he'd been doing when she'd peaked. It felt great but it made her shake too much almost immediately and she found she could not maintain the contact on her own. So she framed the nub between two fingers and tried that way, sighing as she found a slow but promising rhythm.

"How do you feel?"

Sansa felt a lot of things, altogether, but there was only one thing at the front of her mind: "Empty."

The Hound huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. "Have you ever seen a man's cock?"

"Yes." She had, once, when she and Jeyne went peaking around in the Godswood and saw a man bathing in the hot springs.

"Do you think it could fill you?"

"No." She wasn't certain, really. But he'd seemed small from her vantage point, and the ache in her womb felt far deeper than he'd be able to reach.

He did laugh then, and his hands left her legs. There was a rustling of fabric, the sound of skin on skin. "I'm a big man, little bird. Do you think I could fill you?"

Sansa sat up and spread the leg the Hound wasn't leaning on. He was slumped forward and hiding himself but leaned his shoulder away when he realized she was looking until she could see down his front, all the way down to where he'd removed his cock from his breeches, one fist wrapped around the base. 

"Yes," she breathed.

The Hound said nothing but his gaze became consuming again, his fist beginning to stroke his cock until the bulbous head disappeared into his strong fist, fucking back through his grip in a way that had him twitching. The Hound was big. And thick. And veiny. His cock was ugly, really, but it was ugly in the same way his nose was - which was to say not at all - and Sansa's womb gave a longing twinge; she just knew he'd be able to soothe her ache.

"There's a place deep in your cunt, you know," he told her, as if able to read her thoughts. "Behind your maidenhead. Some men won't be able to reach it, but it will bring you the most pleasure."

"You could reach it." He could probably reach her heart with that thing.

"Aye, I could reach it. Fuck you good and deep until you begged me to put a pup in you," he promised; and that was - oh.

Sansa moaned, her movements speeding up. She wanted that violently all the sudden; imagining the Hound's bastards running around right under Joffrey's nose. The Hound had a northern look, she could pretend they'd taken after her father. Joffrey would have a conniption.

"The little bird wants her dog's pups, is that it?" He growled, his movements accelerating to match hers.

"Yes," she hissed.

"You're so bloody perfect," the Hound praised and Sansa keened. She felt like she would shake apart, but the Hound would keep her together. "No one else has ever seen you like this. No one else ever will."

"Only you."

"You'll never do this for the king."

"Never."

"Only for your old dog."

"Sandor -!"

"Come for me, little bird, sing me my favorite song." And Sansa was a good girl so she did as she was told. She made noises, she knew, but she barely heard them over the Hound's own grunts and groans, his praises of 'good girl,' and 'just like that,' and 'fucking perfect, princess.'

She'd leaned back at some point to paw at her breast but she could at least hear his movements slow and still, the ragged breaths evening out until he sighed deeply and pressed another kiss to her thigh. He leaned back enough he could bring her legs back together, soothing his palms along her flesh like he would a spooked horse. 

Sansa was lost for words but he didn't seem to need to hear them. Eventually he stood with a loud pop of his knees that had her wincing in sympathy and moved to her vanity where Sansa heard her flagon of water being poured. Figuring he was pouring himself a glass, Sansa sat up and began to adjust her shift back but then the Hound was between her legs again, far too silent for someone so big. He hushed her gently and ran a wet cloth up her thigh to let her know what he was about and then he was wiping her there and somehow that was far more embarrassing than anything they'd done up 'til then.

"Sandor you don't -."

"I do."

"But it's… dirty."

"That's the problem," he agreed, but his voice was light and teasing and he was done by then anyway. Sandor pulled another scrap of cloth up her legs and Sansa realized it was her smallclothes. She pulled them on properly and righted herself as he cleaned himself off and adjusted his own clothes. 

"Can we do that again?"

"No." Sansa had enough time to feel disappointed before he continued, "Next time I'll have my own hands on you. And maybe my mouth if you'll stop squawking about it."

She pouted at him but he didn't see it, rolling her further into her bed bodily so he could lay down next to her. Sansa snuggled close happily, resting her head on his suddenly bare chest as he wrapped an arm around her. His scent was stronger now, muskier.

"Will you stay?" she found herself asking, too tired to care how desperate it made her sound.

"No." Sansa pouted. "Believe me, girl, I'd like nothing better than to watch you sleep tonight but someone will have to bar the door behind me when I leave and -."

"I could do it! Just wake me. Really, it's no trouble, I'm never still asleep by the time my handmaids come anyway."

Sandor's mouth twitched, a sure sign she'd angered him, but then he was tucking her closer to his side and sighing heavily. "A few hours, then," he conceded, and Sansa grinned against his furry pec. 

"You never told me why you were out of your cage the other night," he said almost conversationally, playing with her hair. Sansa freezes. Somehow in all the scenarios she'd envisioned about confronting the Hound, she'd never considered this avenue of discussion. At her continued silence, the Hound turned stiff under her. "Little bird?"

"I told you I was in the Godswood," Sansa hedged.

"Praying for the king, aye. But what were you really doing?"

If she told the Hound the truth, he would kill Ser Dontos within the hour; and with him, the one real offer Sansa had yet been given to return home. Lord Tyrion had made it clear she would not be set aside, though Sansa desperately wanted to be free of her betrothed.

But was she desperate enough to trust a fool?

Stalling, Sansa appeased the man under her by smoothing her palm across the hard planes of his chest. She didn't truly believe Dontos was capable of getting her out of the city, let alone to safety. Sansa remembers how she'd hoped the letter had come from the very man who now occupied her bed and Gods be good, but she recalls the talk of the scullerymaids in the bowels of the keep; how a man would do anything you asked so long as he knew where his cock was always welcome.

"I found a letter under my pillow…"

[seoness]

(18+) Day 1 of Kinktober - Orgasm Denial

Smut | (TV-show)Sandor Clegane x fem!reader

A tease for a treat

A rat would have been more welcomed. The maester said nothing as you handed over the parchment, sucking at his teeth as he read through the list.

"Do you not have them?" you asked, keeping the smile locked to your face.

"Of course we have them," the man hissed back before turning on his heel.

Of all things you thought you'd miss of home, Septon Chayle was not one of them, but at least the overseer of the library of Winterfell didn't look at you like filth had gotten the ability to breathe.

Roll after roll filled your arms and one particularly heavy book bound in blackened leather.

"You be careful with those, girl. They are worth more than your life and tell your lord to send more suitable hands next time."

"Pardon, but it is not custom for us to question our lords in the North," you replied.

What wasn't worth more than your life? You polished jewelry worth more than you'd make in an entire lifetime and set tables for feasts where meat and mead would be devoured for more than years' worth of wages. What was the southron fool going to say next? Don't swim with the books, or you'll ruin the pages?

The heavy ironwood door closed behind you and the halls of the Red Keep met you. This was your domain. Not the chambers with their tall windows and tapestries of myrish silk, furniture of oiled wood from some land you would never see, and golden candelabras. No, it was the maze of brick and tile that was your home. Where you could walk as a shadow with the rest of your kind, gaze locked low and without sound.

The maester had taken his time fetching Vayon Poole's order. Had he not, you could have taken your time, but soon the excuse of getting lost wouldn't suffice. Where could he be?

The stables?

One of the courtyards?

For each search, the butterflies in your stomach grew. Passing one of the many bridges, the lie of getting lost was becoming more and more true.

Rounding the corner, there he was, standing guard by one of the doors. The Hound was not a man one missed easily. There was the obvious feature, the burn he carried that claimed half his face, but it was the rest you saw. A man that towered above all others and each time he moved, people held their breaths in fear. They were clever, writ right. It was you the gods had gotten wrong.

With each step, the tingle in your stomach grew and your heart began to race as his gaze caught yours.

"On duty?" you asked.

Clegane nodded back at the shut door. "Lesson." But his gaze lowered to the scrolls in your embrace. "The Hand has you running like some page?"

"I offered when Master Vayon requested for the service to be done," you replied and his nose scrounged up. "Is something wrong?"

"That what northerners call those a rung above? Masters?"

Sometimes he just made it too easy. Trying to keep from grinning, and failing, you took a step forward allowing him ample opportunity to see past the scrolls and instead down the neckline of your dress.

"He is the steward... do you envy the steward of the Hand, my lord?"

"This is no time for your games, woman."

"I am not the one," you answered, taking a final step closer. "You are the one being rude."

Even now, as the Hound loomed above you couldn't help but shrink. The intensity of those dark eyes... His hand caught your waist like a vice. Not so harsh that he hurt you, but impossible to slip away.

A shiver ran along your spine as his mouth reached your ear, his deep and raspy voice, a whisper, "Told you I work best with clear commands, no fault of mine you're too coy to give it."

You looked to either side, it was unusual for him to be this open, but no servant or lordling was walking the halls. "And if I gave it now?"

The snort in your ear made you flinch, and Clegane straightened, his brow cocked. "Go on then."

It was he that was playing a game, toying with you, teasing until you were close to madness. He had no issue plucking you up like some bone to carry to bed, but as soon as his need was met, yours continued to go unsated. And the rudest of all? He blamed you. At times you cursed yourself for going out that first fortnight in King's Landing and finding a Hound in one of the wine sinks. Made brave by too many cups you had gone to him. Some men fucked to no abandon, but not him. No, Sandor Clegane had more rules than you could count and his mood was fickle at best. It didn't help, feeling like half of it was mocking, having you name each thing he was to do until your cheeks burned bright red and your breathing so quick you couldn't form the words.

Your lips pressed shut, and a tug at his hold was enough to make it go.

"That master of yours keep a close watch?" the question was out the moment you stepped aside.

"The postern gate?" you asked back.

Night claimed King's Landing, but there was no true silence even in the dark. The stirring of the great city reached its way up Aegon's Hill to the window left ajar in the Tower of the Hand. Not that the sleeping hall gave much peace, snores mixed with the occasional creaks of beds. Slowly you slid out of bed, tip-toeing in the dark to where you had laid the cloak and boots. The dark wool fell over your shoulders. Keeping your feet bare so there was no sound of footsteps as you made your way through the halls. A mouse, no, a cat. No mouse ever felt so wicked.

The brisk night air was nothing to that of the North. Here it nipped, a gentle thing, but back home, cold was like a bite that drove deep into the bone. Your heart pounded as you crossed the inner courtyard, but no shout came, no call, and as you pushed at the gate, it had already begun inside. A throb. Low. It left you empty, waiting for what only he could fulfill. The hinges wailed as the weight of the gate left you; instead of wood, there was dark steel.

Clegane didn't stand there a shadowy figure. He never had. No one would dare question him if found by some lowly guard. The dark gaze didn't keep yours for long before falling down, his lips twisting.

"Do the wolves have that good an ear?"

Ripping the boots from your embrace, Clegane knelt before you, muttering underneath his breath as he pushed them on you.

"I didn't want to chance it," you replied, pulling at the cloak bundled in the fold of his arm.

It was finer than yours, a blue so dark it was almost black, with golden clasps. A broad silk band ran along its edges where yellow gemstones had been needled into its pattern. It swallowed you up. Pulling the hood over your head, you took up your usual role as his tail. There was no way to avoid walking past guards to reach his quarters, but the Hound took care so there was only one thing they saw, just a man that had paid for a woman at one of the brothels in the city to serve him for the night.

You never met the eyes of those guards, your fingers latching onto his belt, allowing Clegane to guide you through the keep. You only knew the sounds, the three door hinges that would creak before all this work was made worthwhile.

Chiiiirrss.

Your fingers curled around the leather, and his scoff made the smile on your lips grow.

Striiiiii.

"Was it a difficult day?" you asked.

He scoffed again, "Little help you offered in that."

Chiiiiiinnng.

The faint light of the brazier filled the bedchamber. Making the red stone glow. Compared to most of the chambers of the Red Keep, it was sparingly furnished. A bed stood against the long wall, a chest at its end, and a table stood ready with wine and cups in the furthest corner. Slipping out from his back, you steered your steps to the bed, finding a seat at its edge. All the while, the Hound watched you, studied you.

It was nothing meager in the sight of him standing tall before you in the dark plate with the sword fastened at his hip, yet the Hound found a softness. It had taken some nights for you to finally put your finger on why.

He breathed out.

The Red Keep, the King and Queen, the crown prince he was sworn to defend, and the court with their whispers and hidden daggers were all left at the threshold. A day of hard work would leave you deflated, crawling into the sheets, but Sandor Clegane grew. There was no tenseness as he moved, and his fingers began to undo the buckles of his armor.

"No help this time?" he asked.

"I enjoy the view," you replied.

Besides, those buckles took twice the time for you to undo. Piece by piece he rid himself of his armor. Your own was a shorter affair, both your cloaks finding a place on the floor with your boots. Left in his arming jacket and breeches, he came for you. His finger tapping your chin, a silent ask for you to meet his gaze.

His rasp low and deep, "And what command is there tonight?"

You leaned back, savoring as his gaze wandered lower. The linen of your nightgown was thin and forgetful as you are the lacing of your neckline was left undone.

"I am at your mercy. Whatever you want to do to me, you may," you said, but his lips pressed to a thin line. "No?"

He was the one to be infuriated? You were the one mocked night after night. How could he turn giving orders to something inferior? What did it matter if he made you wet, warmed you, fucked you if you never reached it?

Clegane towered above you, watching, waiting, but enough was fucking enough.

"Goodnight," you chirped and turned to crawl to your spot.

Breath catching in your throat as his hands closed around your waist. Linens twisting beneath you as he pulled back.

"At my mercy?" Clegane repeated your words and a chuckle filled the chamber. "Couldn't figure what you were, woman, but I see it now."

His fist filled with the back of your nightgown, forcing you up, sitting on your knees. His breath tickled the nape of your neck as he lowered. "What a little fool you are."

You could hear the sound of fabric shifting before a push sent you forward. Yanking your skirt up, he spared no time, and you felt him push against you. Another chuckle left him as he felt just how wet you were.

"A fool and a liar."

"How very kind," you countered.

Before he had been slow, but in one stroke, he entered. The bed creaked beneath as you failed to keep on your arms, the mattress suffocating your whimper.

"Kind now, my little fool?" But you couldn't even push yourself up let alone answer. "No?"

His hips pushed, grinding deeper. The muffled cry made the body behind you halt.

"Hurt?"

A hand slid in underneath you and air finally filled your lungs.

"No," you breathed out, spreading your legs, his size pressing at your walls. "Could- could I be on my back?"

Tipping over, he dodged the leg that flew, spreading further. The brazier's light caught on his face, casting stark shadows, but you could see the worry writ across it. The brow furrowed and jaw clenched. Holding out your arms, the scowl only set deeper.

"I'm not hurt. Come," you sighed.

"Another game?" he asked but heeded your wish, his nose brushed against yours, and his cock fully returned inside you.

"Do fools play games well?" you asked.

Your hands traveled up the arming jacket, arms hooking around his neck, the stubble prickling your lips until you found his. Placing one kiss after the other until they softened to your touch.

"Still at your mercy," you whispered, bucking up your hips, grinning as a groan left him.

Clegane began to move out until his tip brushed against you, only to enter again and return just as slowly. Your fingertips grazed along the arming jacket, joined by his, it found its place on the floor beside the cloaks. The heartbeat that had been running like mad steadied as he pulled the shoulders of your nightgown down, bundling at your waist. Your nails running along his chest, dark hair sprawled across, traveling down his stomach.

Clegane's pace remained calm, and the hands began to travel. You caught his lips once more as his thumb reached your right nipple. Pinching, only for his mouth to take its place. Your breathing grew heavy. Bucking up your hips, you allowed him to hit deeper. Nothing was left to muffle your moans, making them fill the night. His arms curled around your waist, and a shrill giggle filled the chamber as he lifted you up into the air, only cut off by the whimper as he lowered you down.

"Seven hells," with the curse his pace grew quicker.

Lifting just enough so his cock wasn't fully in you, each jerk of his hip harsher than the last. The drop came with no warning, the mattress hitting your back.

A whirlwind of touch, hands hooking underneath your legs, his mouth finding your neck. Kissing and biting along your sensitive skin until the tingle began to fog your mind.

Your hips answered him, meeting each thrust. Instinct guided you, searching for anything to offer pleasure or give it. As he lowered, you pressed your head up, forehead resting against his chest. Able to see him, his cock glistened. Each time there was less of him inside you a throb called out for him to return. Clegane slammed down and you were certain the bed would break beneath you.

The second time a cry climbed out your throat, "Gods!"

His lips caught your ear, biting gently, "Asking the gods for mercy now, little fool?"

Clegane's body tensed around you, continuing where he left off, his pace only growing wilder.

The sudden emptiness made a whimper leave your lips and you felt the warmth of his seed as it struck your lower stomach. The arms rigid as stone around you. The air turned heavy with his scent. Leaning back, the Hound took in the sight, his cock still resting against you.

Rolling his hips, his length began to grind against you. So now your torture truly began?

"I know what you're doing."

"That so, little fool?" A smile spread across his lips, and the throbbing grew, begging for more of him.

Clegane didn't stop, the length of his cock stroking against you until the throb was like a heartbeat. You couldn't keep from rolling your hips. Each pleasure laid itself atop the other, climbing, tensing.

It left your lips a sigh, "Please..."

The weight of the mattress shifted and you looked on in horror as he left the bed. Fetching a rag from the table, he tossed it at the trace left on your stomach.

"Can't do much with a please, little fool," he said.

Your eyes fixed low, his cock had not lost in size, the stiffness gone. The sight left your mouth dry. Fine. What was your pride, what was another sin? As Clegane came close, rubbing away his seed, you spread your legs again and you met those dark eyes that made the rest of the world disappear.

"Please, I want you to..." rubbing your lips together, but it helped nothing against the desert in your throat, pretending not to feel your cheeks burning. "Please make me cum, Sandor."

"Not that hard, was it?"

"Others take you," you muttered as he took to the bed, stretching out.

Clegane smacked at the side of his hip. "Go on then, don't know shit on how to make a woman spent, use me as you please."

Stunned, you blinked at the sight. Use him?

Swallowing the last of your pride, you climbed up on him, straddling his lap. His hands stroked your thighs as you began to grind against him. It took time, to catch up, regaining the pleasure lost as he had broken away. Your hips rolling back and forth. Shutting your eyes to focus on each sensation, how he grew hard beneath you, the warmth of his hands. against your skin. Your breathing grew quicker and each moan left soft and pleading.

This was yours.

He was yours.

It was so close, so ready, so near completion.

The shove knocked you off but the mattress kept your landing pain-free and all your work, all that pleasure was ripped away.

"What are you doing?" you hissed. "I did what you wanted, I gave your stupid command."

"And I am not one for mercy, little fool."

Pulling you to him, the Hound wrapped you up in his cover. "Best get sleep."

"Sleep? Sleep? Sleep is not what I want."

The fact that he pulled someone squirming and hissing to him was little bother for Clegane.

"Never had this power, not going to give it up so easily, little fool," he said.

"What power?"

"A true fool," he chuckled.

"And if I tend to it myself?"

"Then you'll sleep with your hands tied behind your back. Now shut your mouth and get rest, we'll need it come morrow."

[fandom-puff]

Guard

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Requested by: anon ‘Can I get literally anything with Sandor Clegane? Maybe reader is a highborn child of a lord, and the Hound is hired as their bodyguard. And reader is very flustered around Sandor and can’t help but try to seduce them nervously? And Sandor is secretly digging it but tries to remain stoic and scary. Did that make any sense? I hope that was coherent’

Note: I... got a bit carried away here lol, sorry it took a while to write. also the reader in this is Robert Baratheon’s eldest daughter :)

Warnings: drunk shenanigans, references to sex

Gif creds to owner

“Oh father, honestly. What need have I for a guard?” You sighed, setting your book aside as Robert Baratheon sat across from you. “I can barely leave my chambers without a swarm of mother’s little birds to watch my every move,”

“What good are your ladies maids against would be assassins, Hm?” Robert said gently, brushing your dark hair away from your face. “All they can do is tell your mother you’ve had your throat slit,” you didn’t grimace at his bluntness.

“Surely Joffrey would be the prime target?” You insisted. “He’s heir to the throne seeing as he’s the eldest son. And he’s an ass as well,”

Robert laughed, knowing of your disdain for your younger brother. “I know, my girl, I know. Still, I want you protected, especially when we set off for the north. It took a while to convince your mother but... well, she can’t deny her own bannermen will be the best to serve the job,”

“Lannister bannermen?” You asked, taking your father’s arm as he began to walk you to dinner.

“Aye. Don’t worry, I won’t let the Mountain anywhere near you,” he said, patting your hand gently. “But his brother, Sandor, is to be your guard,”

***

The journey north was... arduous, to put it diplomatically. Your mother was overbearing, Joffrey grew bored, Myrcella was travel-sick from the bumpy road and Tommen was dearly missing Ser Pounce.

When the parade of servants and guards and carriages and luggage stopped for dinner before sun down, you sighed, happy to stretch your legs and get away from the claustrophobic Queen’s litter.

After dinner, you followed your father and uncles to their own carriage, insisting you couldn’t bare another moment of your siblings bickering and your mother trying to get you to sew. Your father allowed it and you smiled as he helped you into the carriage, sitting next to him and across from your uncles. Tyrion smiled at you, asking about the book you were reading. You soon found yourself relaxing, under no pressure from Cersei, being treated as an intellectual equal. You even drank some strong wine (under Robert’s supervision of course) and soon nodded off to sleep against your father’s shoulder the way you used to when you were a girl...

“YN, wake up,” you jolted awake, blinking away your sleepiness.

“Are we at Winterfell?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Robert smiled fondly.

“Almost, my dear. Your mother is going spare, says you’re to go to her litter right this instant and put your best gown on,” he grinned, nudging you as you rolled your eyes. “Clegane will escort you, he’s outside,” you sighed and nodded, slipping out of the carriage, almost colliding head on with the Hound.

“Princess,” he said, looking down at you and bowing slightly. “I’m to take to you your mother,”

You smiled sweetly up and him, nodding. “Thank you, Ser Clegane,”

“I’m no Ser,” he said firmly.

“Then what should I call you?” You asked, looking up at him expectantly.

“Well... your brother used to just call me Hound, or Dog, princess,” he said, frowning.

You stared up at him, locking eyes with him, taking in his scarred face and stoic expression. “I am not an ignorant arse like my brother. I’m sure your first name shall suffice, Sandor,” you said firmly and he nodded, helping you navigate the uneven ground to your mother’s carriage

***

Your stay at Winterfell was enjoyable, yet suffocating at times. You grew used to the cold rather quickly, donning furs the way the Starks did. You got on well with Sansa, let Arya show you how fast she could run, held Rickon on your hip when he raised his arms up, let Bran quiz you on the different creatures Old Nan had told him about, spoke politics with Robb. You even beckoned the bastard, Jon Snow over after Robb told you they were as close as real brothers. You admired how warm Lady Stark was with her children, and how Lord Stark was firm but fair with them, disciplining them when need be.

Of course, wherever you went, you had a shadow. Sandor Clegane followed your every move, standing just close enough so he could see and hear you, but far away enough to not stifle you. It was odd at first, but you soon got used to it, smiling softly when you found him waiting outside of your allocated chamber each morning. You couldn’t help but be curious about him. Many recoiled in fright when they saw his disfigured face, but you couldn’t care less. It intrigued you. He was... handsome. In a rugged, scary, gigantic way. At night you couldn’t help but let your mind wander... thinking about his strong arms and great height and low, rumbling voice... you often woke in a sweat, despite the frigid wind of the North, your entire body alight with desire.

It was wrong, you knew it was. He was your guard. Father would have his head if anything untoward happened, and your mother would surely condemn you to a life as a Septa. But still... there was something about his powerful presence that stoked the fire within you.

***

There was a firm thud at your door. “Princess, I’m here to take you to the feast,” Sandor’s gruff voice sounded.

“A moment, I’m just... is there a ladies’ maid nearby?” You called

“No, Princess. They are down at the feast with your mother and sister... should I fetch one? Or perhaps the Septa or the Maester, if it’s women’s troubles that are ailing you?”

You rolled your eyes and opened the door. “There’s no need for that, Sandor,” you said firmly. “I’m simply having difficulty trying to do up the clasp on my necklace. Would you...?” You opened your door a little wider, inviting him inside. Sandor hesitated for a moment before following you, his armour rattling with every step. He admired your figure as you walked; you had decided to wear the colours of your house for the Feast. A black gown, embroidered with twisting golden antlers. You stood in front of the mirror, holding out the ends of your pendant. Sandor’s hands brushed against yours as he took the ends, and you couldn’t help but shiver, goosebumps spreading over the swell of your breasts as you swept your hair aside. Sandor gulped, clasping the fiddly chain against the column of your neck, his knuckles caressing gently.

“There,” he said, clearing his throat as he felt your heated skin. “Come on... before your mother castrates me for making you late,”

You smiled gently, walking slightly ahead of him toward the noisy Hall. As you approached the head table, Ned and Catelyn stood, but you quickly gestured for them to sit. “Please, sit. This is your home,” you said gently, allowing Sandor to pull a chair out for you next to your mother.

“Thank you Clegane,” she said coldly, eyes narrowed. “You may leave us now,”

You turned to him and smiled shyly. “Stay,” you said softly.

“YN,” your mother said warningly.

“Sandor, go and enjoy the feast. Have some food and some wine, I’m sure Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion can spare you some. Go. Make Merry,” you said gently and he nodded, bowing slightly.

“Of course, Princess, your majesty,” he said, before stalking away.

You ignored your mother’s disapproving look and engaged in pleasant conversation with Lady Catelyn, mainly about when you were to be wed, but your mother cut across.

“I believe Robert intended to betroth her to your eldest son, but we must consider Joffrey’s future first. He is after all to be king and needs to have heirs,”

“Of course,” Catelyn smiled. “I’m sure a suitor will come shortly,”

You nodded, although your attention was no longer on the conversation; your eyes had drifted to Sandor. For once he was smiling, looking at ease as your uncles poured him more wine, your father laughing jovially with a woman on his lap. “I’m going to see Uncle Jaime,” you said to your mother, who sighed but let you go.

“Ah, YN,” Tyrion smiled as jaime poured you a goblet of wine. “I see you’ve managed to escape your mother’s side,”

“Don’t,” you said, taking the wine and drinking it quickly, sitting yourself next to Sandor. Robert sent the woman on his lap go, frowning at you.

“Careful now, YN, that wine’s stronger than you’re used to,” he warned, but you reached over to clink your goblet with his. Sandor gulped, seeing the curve of your back as you swayed slightly.

“Oh, nonsense, father. I am your daughter after all... and my uncle is the drunkest man in the seven kingdoms. It’d be rather shameful if I couldn’t manage a cup of wine,” you smiled, sitting back down and knocking back another cup as the men roared with laughter.

Your father was right. A few cups of the strong wine later, you were rather giddy, insisting Jaime dance with you. He humoured you, your father and Tyrion laughing and cheering you on while Sandor smiled bemusedly. “Come now, YN... that’s enough for tonight,” Jaime said, helping you stagger back. “She’s drunk,” he grinned as you giggled, sitting yourself back down. Your fathered grinned, allowing you one more cup before smirking.

“Gods above, Cersei will have my head for getting you drunk...” Robert grinned, although he didn’t really look too worried. “Clegane, take her to her rooms and guard the door. Send for the maester if she’s unwell,” Sandor nodded and bowed, watching as you hugged your father goodnight, before taking your arm and guiding you out of the crowded hall.

As you walked through the courtyard of Winterfell, you shivered in the cold, leaning into Sandor a little more, trying to keep up with his wide strides. He helped you up the stairs to your room, rolling his eyes fondly as you giggled when you stumbled. “Come on, Princess, need to get you to bed in one piece,”

“I’d like you to get me in bed, Sandor,” you grinned, nudging him, fuelled by liquid confidence. He said nothing, opening your bedroom door, helping you inside before turning around. “What’re you doing?” You asked indignantly.

“Turning my back so you can get yourself dressed for bed,” he said lowly, gritting his teeth.

“I can’t undo the laces at the back... my ladies’ maid is still at the feast. Help?” You asked, already clumsily undoing your braids. Sandor sighed softly, cursing under his breath as he turned around. You had your back to him, holding your hair out of the way so he could unlace your gown. When you felt his strong hands against your back, caressing with the gentlest touch, you let out a little sigh, leaning back into his touch. Your gown pooled onto the floor, leaving you in your corset and chemise. His breath hitched, unlacing your corset. You smiled, turning around and he quickly averted his eyes- he could see your nipples through the fabric, thanks to the cold.

“C’mon, princess,” he said, clearing his throat, thankful his armour covered his cock; his trousers were feeling uncomfortably tight. “Into bed with you,” you nodded obediently, letting him help you up into the high bed. He pulled the blanket over you, and as he was straightening, you reached up to kiss him. He froze for a moment, before kissing you back gently, stroking your hair. His whole hand almost covered your head as he cupped the back of it gently. Slowly, he pulled away, much to your dismay. “Sleep, princess,” he said softly, pushing you down. You reached up, pouting.

“Stay?” You slurred, eyes already drooping as the alcohol caught up to you.

“I’ll be standing just outside the door, YN,” he said, blowing out the candles. “Can’t keep you safe if I’m in here, can I?”

***

Tags: @lotsoffandomrecs @zodiyack @rabeccablake @simonsbluee @wonderwoman292 @little-bit-of-randomness @doozywoozy

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Sum-Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more. 

Cw for chapter- 18+ words and themes overall, cussing, mention of death, mention of sandors death, joss and Podrick being cutie pies,

// A/N: just wanted to apologize for the broken links at the beginning of the book since i changed my username they haven’t been working but i assure you I’ll get to fixing them. I will also end up making a goggle docs with the entire book for downloading when this series ends//

Previous chapter here

Chapter 22

You hold your son in your arms walking around the room as you rock him and hum too him. He coos in your arms he holds onto your finger. You smile down at his little face admiring his feature yet to come in your excited to see him grow into his fathers looks. 

There’s a knock on your door. 

“Enter.” You say the door opens and joss enters. 

“Your grace.” You says bowing slightly. You smile at his persistence to come in and check up on you once in a while. Its been just over a month since you gave birth to Joss, and the recovery has gone smoothly and being fully healed your back to doing the normal things relatively. 

“The lady Sansa is looking for you. She’s by the wearwood.” He speaks 

“thank you. Ill be right out. Leave the door open” You say he nods and exits leaving it open as per your request. He dosnt leave he just merely stands to the side to wait for you. with your newfound talent of doing things one handed you lay out the fur blanket on the bed before laying your son on top. 

You turn and pull on your cloak and gloves before going back to your son. You swaddle him in the furs before pulling him back into your arms and heading out holding him close to you and walking out to find Sansa joss follows close behind you as usual. 

“Joss?” You ask him on your way over. 

“Yes?” He asks 

“may i task you with something this evening?” You ask.

”of course your grace.” he answers. 

“Will you go into the town and fetch some new furs as he grows i will need more.” You say. 

“Of course your grace.” He says and smiles before trailing away from your side to the stables to collect a horse for his ride. 

————

You see Sansa red hair before herself. 

“Sansa.” You call. She turns around to face you her face lighting up as she sees you holding joss in your arms. she holds out her arms asking for permission to take a hold of him and you happily ablidge as you both move to the stone carved bench and take a seat. 

“You were searching for me?” You ask her once seated. 

”ah yes. John sent word through raven about the success with the dragon queen. She will be joining us in the next coming months, John will be arriving home soon to prepare…and he says he’s bringing a friend.” She says breathlessly. 

“You dont sound pleased to have another royal arrive.” You say she chuckles and shakes her head. 

“Her father was the mad king…shes a targaryen they are, to say the least, the more so crazy of the rich royal families.” She speaks bouncing joss slightly. you snort at her rude comment. 

“Do you think she actually has dragons?” You ask she nods. 

“John drew a picture.” She says about the ravens scroll that was sent. You nod and sigh looking at the tree. 

“May i ask you something?” She asks. 

“Hmm?” You answer mindlessly. 

“Do…hm..” she trails off thinking on how she wants to word the topic that could either piss you off or make you cry. 

“When…you look at, joss…” She says signalling to your son and not the squire. 

“…is there any part of you that may have resentment, or pain for the death of sandor?” She asks. You sigh and look at her. 

“No..i miss my husband dearly and every night wish that he were still here to see his son grow but..i have a part of him and i'm grateful for that. Although I do sometimes remind him of how much pain he caused me. When he’s king I hope he goes out of this world just as stubborn as he wanted to come into it…with a fight.” You smile looking at your sons blushed face as he sleeps in Sansa’s arms. 

“I wish to have a babe of my own, whether it is born from me, or im to come upon one that needs care.” She says and smiles. 

“I would’ve liked to give joss a brother so he’s never lonely but I refuse to give myself to another man. when the time comes i want to visit the orphanage.” You say. Sansa smiles and looks to you. 

“I shall join you and we can give two children the rightful home they deserve.” She says happily you nod, brushing your finger against your sons cheek. 

“Speaking of…joss. Where is he. It seems he never leaves your side.” Sansa jokes. 

“Ugh can you believe it? I sent him away to get more furs but i know he’s going to have a hard time determining which length or color to pick.” You say as Sansa hands your son back to you before you both get up deciding to head back into the halls to warm up. 

————

Standing in the shop joss looks at the furs just a suspected he struggles with choosing the type of furs asking the store clerk a thousand different question about them. The front bell attached above the door rings making Joss double take at the arrival of the other squire sent out. 

“Joss.” Podrick speaks enthusiastically as he sees his fellow looking frantically at the selection the clerk has shown. 

“H-hello.” Joss gets out before running his fingers through the furs now testing the feel once deciding on the color, granted it should’ve been the first thing he does as now he regrets choosing the type and he begins the process all over again. 

“What are you doing?” Podrick asks. 

“H-her grace has asked me to gather furs for the next coming years for the little prince but i dont know if she sent me away to torture me for I cannot choose the best.” He huffs. 

“For now he is a baby no bigger than forearm so he will only need long furs for the next 2 years and the life spans of furs is four. Six if taken care of properly. So you can get him 2 of the long gray. It has soft enough fibers that it will not cause irritation and prevent choking for the prince. You cal buy six other pertaining the length as as he grows older they are most likely to be worn as a cape to there's no need for a backing it can stay as the Hyde, also better for insulation.” Podrick educates your squire as well as telling the store clerk what is to be bought. 

“When have you become an expert on furs?” Joss asks genuinely although it sounds more like a mock. Podrick scoffs. 

“My time spent with Tyrion lannesister wasn’t just golden roofs and armor plating, i took his orders and lists and he had a collection of fine furs.” Podrick answers. 

“I apologize i mean no ill intent for my question it was genuinely a skill i need to learn for her grace.” Joss replies reassuring. He pays the correct amount for the fur selections of one of the guards that went with him taking some in his hold as theres quite a few. Podrick quickly grabs the fur hes chosen an pays before following joss outwards. 

“I could… teach you if you’d like about the difference in fine things.” Pod offers. 

“Take these back her grace I will be alright.” Joss instructs the guard you puts the furs in the saddle bags of his horse before nodding, mounting and riding off. 

“I would enjoy that very much.” Joss says looking at podrick who puts the single fur pelt under his arm smiling back at the other. 

————

“I was a soldier once. All my superiors thought I was brave…I wasn’t. I mean i never ran from a fight, only because I didn’t want to see who i thought were my friends to see me a coward. And no matter the orders I would do them without a blink. Burn that village im your arsonist, steal from the village, fine im your thief, kill those boys, i'm your murder.” Everyone sits around as Brother ray speaks out on the past he wishes to re-write. He takes a seat looking at everyone who’s listening, including sandor. 

“I went to a village, much like the one we are building, and slaughtered those within, I heard a boy away from his mother as i slit his throat. That night the screams of the mother calling out for her son haunted me. And they still do to this way. And will so for the rest of my life.” He sighs standing up once more. 

“We cannot undo what was done in our past, however we can mold our future to be braver, better, happier, kinder. We can use our wits and our strength for the goodness of our next life.” Brother ray speaks looking directly to sandor. 

Before he begins to speak again the sound of horse hooves trods closer allowing the view of three men to ride up to the group as everyone stands. 

“Good Morrow friends.” He speaks. 

“Whats your business here?” The one in the middle asks looking around at everyone. 

“Building a new civilization my lord.” Ray answers. The man chuckles lowly before speaking again. 

“Have you any more spots? Or steel?” He asks. 

“We are welcome to anyone who wants to help with the thrive, but we’ve no gold, no steel. Your welcome to join us for supper however we’ve many hungers mouths here.” Rays continues to answer kindly. 

The man takes another look at the small crowd before backing his horse up a it. 

“Stay safe then. The night is dark and full of terrors.” He speaks before nodding to the other men. 

“Seven save you friends.” ray replies before the three men turn and ride off. Ray turns to the crowd taking a breath reassuring everyone. 

“Now then let us do some more work and supper shall be prepared.” He smiles. Sandor continues to look at the men who ride off recognizing the symbol in the chest plate. Ray gives him a look before sandor turns and heads back off to his station of chopping wood since he's the strongest and does not tire easily. Brother ray however does not go to his of supervising, he follows sandor watching him pick up the axe and begin easily splitting the large logs. 

Sandor stops a second before turning his head seeing ray walking to him. He scoffs rolling his eyes. 

“Seven blessings, fuck that.” sandor huffs as he goes back to splitting logs. 

“Im a fucking septon what was i supposed to say?” brother ray sighs back to sandor. 

“They dont believe in your seven god shit, theyre from the brotherhood, they serve the redgod…Fucking cunts.” sandor says putting down the axe breifly to talk to ray. 

“Anyway weve got nothing for them.” ray speaks, sandor scoffs at his comment. 

“Sure you do…youve got food, you’ve got steel, even if you say you don't, and you've got women, a man like that whos been out on horse back for long enough is gonna want a women no matter the cost.” sandor retorts back to brother ray. 

“Not you? Youre a man, youre around women?” ray suggests. 

“No not me. I dont need another woman.” he huffs turing back around and picking up the axe once more. Brother ray walks around sandor to face him to continue the conversation. 

“Another? Hm?” ray prods at sandor for mentioning the slightest of you. Sandor huffs and continues to chop. 

“When i found you i thought youd been dead for days. When you were stinking already and covered in bugs, and bone was coming through your leg right there. But youre all healed up apart from the little limp.” brother ray chuckles as sandor looks up at him stopping his chopping yet again for a moment to talk. 

“I was gonna give you a proper burial but the you coughed, Ha, nearly shit myself…i thought, you would die by the time i got you back here, but by that time you didnt. And i reckoned you’d die a dozen more times over those next few days but you didnt…what was it that kept you going?” ray asks. Sandor glances at the ground for a second before taking a breath and letting it out in a sigh. 

“What is her? ‘The Woman’?” ray asks once more. 

“Shes pregnant, with mine, might have given birth by now its been about a year. I made her a promise that i would come back, find her. And i would like to keep it.” he says looking brother ray in the eyes for once. Brother ray nods and walks around sandor beginning his walk back to the village area. 

“Come on now get some supper.” he says. 

Sandor picks up the axe and begins swinging once more. 

“It’s gonna be a cold night. You’ll need firewood.” sandor says chopping and splitting the wood. 

“Ill save you a bowl. Might even have some ale hidden away” ray smiles to sandor before hading back to the village plot. Sandor chuckles and continues chopping although his math is slightly off and with in the next new chops he’ll have to go into the forest for a moment to collect more.

Next chapter here

TAGLIST. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please leave a comment down below.

Taglist @stephyshadows@germansarechill@urfavbiscuit@daphneyblue@takemeaemond@holb32@allison-119@pxstelink@imsolonelyimissyou@myshitaccount@broadsdrinkwhisky@@evie-beanie@eulysa23-2@greeknymph18@rudiruds@ex160-blog1@im-an-assho1e@chompwoman@heartb8k2@lovely--lover ex160-blog1 @midnightprocrastinator @haus-of-a-thousand-fandoms @friendlyspacemartian

[onthesandsofdreams]

In Dreams [9/?]

Pairing: SanSan Rating: T Summary: She leaves after thanking the septon feeling quite unhappy. Words: 1128 Notes: A little bit of filler, but things will ramp up soon!

Read @ AO3

Sansa’s first thing after food and Roslyn, is to return to the library.

They should have death records, right? But she has no idea where to look, so she heads straight for the librarian. “Excuse me,” she speaks softly.

The librarian turns to look at her, she has a round, friendly face. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you could help me, I’m trying to find a death certificate or grave. But I have no idea where to look.”

“Ah, those records are on film. Give me a moment and I will retrieve them for you, do you have a surname?”

“Clegane, please.”

“Very well, C, I’ll go fetch them.”

“Thank you.”

She waits for no more than ten minutes, the librarian comes back with a small firm. “Here you go, miss.”

“Thank you again.” She says and heads to look for Sandor’s information. One by one, she watches as death certificates go on and on. She finds Gregor’s, but not Sandor’s. She frowns, goes over the records two times over just to make sure. But there is nothing about Sandor. She sighs, pulls the film and returns to the front desk for more help. “I’m sorry again, I could not find whom I was looking for. Do you have any idea where else I could look?”

The librarian thinks for a moment, “Perhaps the Sept? They should have records there.”

She nods, “Thank you again.” She grabs her purse and makes her way to the Sept of Baelor. And after some chit chat with the septon, she manages to get the records that she is looking for. The book is big and very old. Once more, she starts looking page for page slowly, she does not wish to miss it. It’s a good thing she has as much information as she does, that helps her narrow down the year.

But once more, she comes empty handed, not even Gregor’s information is in the book. Because this time is due to a page is missing. The book looks intact, but she knows that people can be very sneaky and could have easily rip the page well.

She leaves after thanking the septon feeling quite unhappy.

After picking Lady, she goes home. Once there, she speaks up, “Sandor, I have some good news. I found your sister. All I’m saying right now is, that she had a good life. The rest if you don’t mind, I will tell you once I fall asleep. Is that rude? I’m sorry, I’m just so excited to tell you the news, but at the same time, I’m a bit frustrated. Why? Because I was trying to find where you were buried, but I could not find a thing!

“I found Gregor’s death certificate, but nothing about you or your grave! It’s insane, everything is fine, but you might as well be a ghost. Sorry.”

She made her way to her kitchen, while she did not feel the need to eat at the moment, she wanted her hands to be busy with something, so baking it was. She began to gather the things she would need to make some chocolate cupcakes. “You know Sandor, all I was able to find was that someone by the name of Qyburn tended to your wounds. Did you know him well?

“I read in the journal of the maid who worked here, that Lady Brienne was quite upset at your death. But as I said, I cannot find anything as to where you’re buried! Hell, not even Gregor’s place.” She moved almost automatically, measuring things and prepping the molds. “I don’t know why! It’s like someone is trying to keep your resting place a secret, but I will find out.

“I’m not someone who gives up easily.” She smiled. “It’s something I share with my sister, you know? Our old nanny used to say that I could be as strong headed as Arya on certain things. But it’s not a bad thing right? It’s not like Arya and I have been this way about, say, alcohol or drugs. Arya is very much outspoken and I love her for that.” Putting the batter into the molds, she made her way to the oven. “There have been times when I have not been able to be as outspoken as her, but she makes me brave when I need to.”

She set the timer for the cupcakes and went to sit down. She was about to speak, when her phone vibrated. It was Roslyn.

The text said, ‘Sansa, found something that you should read. Sent to your email.’

She does not run, but it’s a near thing, to her computer. There, she pulls her email and immediately clicks open Roslyn and, her way hits the floor. There, in front of her, is the page missing from the Sept on deaths and burials. She scans it quickly and finds Gregor first, he was cremated and his ashes were sent back to Clegane Keep. Her heart pounds as she reads the information on Sandor. He was not sent back, instead, Lord Jaime had chosen to deal with his body. That is when she knows, when she realizes that there is only one place where Jaime Lannister could have placed Sandor in.

Sandor is buried here.

“Oh my God!” She exclaims. “Sandor, I think you’re buried here!” Quickly, she reads Roslyn’s email. It simply read, ‘Sansa, I found this while looking into our records. My father had this for some reason, and I remembered that you told me about the Ghost named Sandor. Sorry I could not be of more help.’

She responds, ‘Roslyn, you just helped me so much. I owe you.’

Once that she has calmed down, she immediately texts Arya. ‘I think Sandor is buried on house grounds.’

Arya doesn’t text back, she calls. “What the fuck, Sansa?”

“I’ve been looking, and all I could find was that Jaime Lannister took care of the body, and there is no grave, no death certificate. Nothing Arya, what else could it be?”

A beat of silence. “Holy shit Sansa. If that’s true…”

“Then, I have to find him. He has to be somewhere in here.” She looks out the window, it is far too late to run off to find him. “I cannot leave his grave unmarked, you know? It’s not fair.”

“No it isn’t. I’ll be there tomorrow and I’ll bring Gendry and Sam with me!”

She smiles, the Gods bless her sister. “Thank you, I’ll need all the help that I can get.”

“No worries, I’m quite excited myself! This is way too much like a movie to be missed!”

“Thank Arya, see you tomorrow.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Wait until we get there!”

“I will.”

She is ready for this.

[allovesthings]

This is going to be a rant about Arya and some views I saw in the fandom that makes me uncomfortable.

“Arya is becoming as bad as Joffrey.” I’m sorry... where did you get that in the text ? Yeah sure totally, the guy who kill cats and maims smallfolks and abuse girls for pleasure and the person who kill the people because of justice for the smallfolks and become friends with cats to the point where she skinchanged into one are exactly on the same level of cruelty. 

You could maybe argue for Daeron’s death but even that, is far-fetched because that was in part northern justice (and in-parts other issues) and something we saw Ned, one of the most honorable person in Westeros do in the first chapter of a game of thrones.

There is also the case of the doll but that’s a result of trauma in Arya’s case not something that she would do if the red wedding hadn’t happened right before this. Which lead me to my second view that I hate.

“Arya is too far gone”  why the f*ck is Arya the only one “too far gone” when litterally everyone still alive in the books is getting darker and darker ? When Tyrion litterally r*ped a slave and when Sandor, Jaime and Theon attempted or actually comitted child murders ? We never get that kind of talks about any of them and they all are on a redemption arc (of sort) but Arya, the person who kill murderers and torturers is too far gone.okay.

[istumpysk]

I always lol when @ry@ stan tries to paint Sansa as prejudiced and how we shouldn't excuse it because none of her family members save Cat ( another Southern scum ) display that kind of behaviour .

I freely admit Sansa is ableist . Still were @ry@ forcibly married to a Lannister and that too Tyrion, her internal thoughts about him would be ableist . Unpopular opinion - @ry@'s thoughts about him would be far less charitable than Sansa's. It's also interesting how Bran refers to Tyrion as " funny looking Lannister " and Robb is unnecessarily rude to him when he makes his visit to Winterfell from Wall but yeah Sansa is the only Stark who harbours prejudiced notions towards Tyrion .

Also I see this headcanon about how Sansa is racist to Jalabhar Xho but even though in the text it was Jeyne's reaction and later we see Sansa enquiring him about the wedding traditions in Summer Isles . That doesn't absolve her of any underlying racism if she had any but it also doesn't make her a MAGA . Also Sansa inspite of meeting Oberyn and Ellaria, she doesn't try to imbibe any racist connotations unlike Cersei and Olenna . It's hilarious because in the same book @ry@ also meets a Dornishman and her reaction is her judgement of " Dornishman lie don't they " . So much for wokeness.

Also Sansa doesn't slut shame women . For a girl who was raised in a Faith that is heavily restrictive towards sexual autonomy of women when she could have easily judged negatively on Cersei's lecturing on weaponization of sexuality or even Myranda Royce's sex positive humorous nature, is quite commendable .

Sansa's judgement on beauty is also over blown in the fandom . This was the same girl who was ready to marry an older crippled guy in place of the hotter swashbuckling age appropriate candidate if it could make her leave KL and then later chose to marry the disabled man in place of the comely age appropriate nephew ( Lancel ). Meanwhile in the last book Danielle is still simping over hot Daario inspite of knowing that he is a very violent person and Tyrion chose to marry Sansa over Lollys . But yeah it is still Sansa who needs to learn a lesson and be humbled when in fact she is one of the few characters who has tried to water down her prejudices that she harboured in AGOT . For all the talk about how it is regressive for Sansa to be attracted towards a decent looking man when you have people like Tyrion and Sandor Clegane only pining for the younger nubile girl and one of them thinking it is a punishment that Gods have made a person like Lollys . Now it could happen that GRRM pairs her up with either of this 2 in the end ( even though I am certain he won't ), it's still reeks of sexism and unfair dynamic because of the pretty girl sheds her prejudices when the men in the said dynamic haven't at this point of the story expressed any positive feelings let alone something far fetched of a romantic undertones when it comes to disabled women . Also before any Sanrion or S@ns@n talks about how it would be regressive and how the rabid " Stansas " don't understand the gist of Sansa's characterisation if she were not to end up with their male fave then the question they should be asking is whether their male fav would have given 2 thoughts about her if she were fat or disabled and won't fit within the perfect beauty standards of Westeros . The answer is obvious but inspite of admitting their self inserts are more prejudiced than Sansa , they will deflect the blame towards rabid Stansas or Jonsas and how they have made the Sansa fandom insufferable and are trying to project onto Sansa as if they aren't the ones projecting on their male favs 😜 . Now yes Sansa does inspire something in them but their thoughts towards her isn't rooted in unconditional goodness because they too want something from her and when they don't get it, the incel in them jumps out and one of them exhibits resentment in an internal monologue ( Tyrion ) and the other resorts to violence ( Sandor Clegane in her room during Blackwater ).

Also in canon the only Stark who threw bastard status towards Jon is Robb . Now obviously they grew up to very close and Robb trusts him that he would never harm his children but the things is even till ADWD , no matter how the relationship blossomed it still stings Jon and it does far more than Sansa calling him half brother . Also @ry@ throws Gendry's bastard status to his face .

Now even @ry@'s uncharitable moments need to be seen through context. She uses the Dornishman judgement as a visceral reaction to her unable to process the thought of her father loving a woman other than her mother . Also her slut shaming Pia was based on lack of information and her internalisation of how the adults around her talked about Pia and also the fact the kid was enslaved doing hard labour could have ignited the overall negative response . The thing is when it comes to Sansa's not so perfect moments,. they are examined through an extreme lens of scrutiny and she is likened to Regina George for making @ry@ and Jon's life hell ( LOL as if they mean Regina George comparison as an insult when she is an icon 😂 ) .

Before antis try to jump , I want to make it clear that Sansa and Cat are prejudiced and no matter how much Alayne Stone journey Sansa goes through, she isn't becoming completely woke . The thing what I am trying to say is that Sansa and Cat aren't the only prejudiced individuals in Stark household and one can argue that their favs aren't as prejudiced as the ginger mother daughter duo and guess what it could be true because people aren't prejudiced on the same level and there is a variance to it but to act that none of them exhibit it compared to Sansa or Cat and are woke then should know that their fav underdogs are from nobility and not from peasantry .

Wow anon, I feel like you just analyzed every page of the entire series. Even if I wanted to add, I'm not sure you left anything untouched, lol. Good on you.

The only thing I'll say is that I've always found it bizarre when the actions of every character are scrutinized using today's societal values.

Needless to say, themes such as imperialism, slavery, war, corruption, wealth/food scarcity, and blood purity will always be morally objectionable. However, criticisms like classism and sexism... I don't know, it falls a little flat, and it's hard for me to take it seriously. Obviously I'm not condoning the behaviour from any character, but can we get a little perspective here?

It’s the same as when people balk at the prospect of cousin incest in this universe. What are they even doing here? So stupid.