I wanted to try my hand at this old classic trope. I hope you enjoy. Part 2 is coming soon.


Never had Sandor been so scared in his life than at that accursed moment he'd seen the ice break under the little bird's feet. He didn't even have time to open his mouth and yell a warning that her small form had already disappeared under the surface of the frigid water of the lake. They were nearing Winterfell after nearly two moons of travelling and with the weather being so cold and harsh in these parts, walking on the lake had seemed perfectly safe to him. Sandor would never have guessed that at the centre of it, under the snow lay only a thin crust of ice, that inches under Sansa's feet, water ran freely. He should've been more wary seeing as he was a stranger in these lands. How stupid of him to have allowed her to leave the edge of the forest. And now, here he was in this bloody fix thanks to his carelessness.

Things could've been far worse, there was no denying it. At least, Sandor had managed to grab her little hand in time. Lying flat on his stomach over the ice, he had pulled her out of the water, agonizingly slowly. Water had gorged into the girl's woollen clothes and fur cloak, making her much heavier than usual. Despite the cold, Sandor had sweated like a pig under his many layers as he listened to the strident noise of ice cracking under his weight. Yet by some miracle, they hadn't both ended up at the bottom of the lake and he'd succeeded in pulling her out of the water.

Sandor had known that while he may have saved her from drowning, Sansa was still far from out of danger. She might very well still die if the coldness of her clothes and skin managed to reach her bones. And indeed, the shivers had begun mere seconds later and only increased as he carried her away from the surface of the frozen lake.

The memory of that empty little cabin they had passed by not so long before had quickly come back to him. He needed to get Sansa to it, but not before having stripped her from her sodden clothes. The girl had been too scared and cold to resist or be embarrassed - or so it had seemed - and Sandor had been too panic-stricken to harden at the sight of her nakedness, which certainly said something about the gravity of the situation. In a frenzy, he had wrapped her nude, quivering body in his cloak, installed her before him over Stranger and rode to the cabin as fast as he could with the little bird's mare in tow.

In his youth, Sandor had been taught by a knight he had squired for during the war how to save from a certain death a person who had fallen into icy water. First, you had to strip them, which Sandor had done already, and then you had to undress as well, for nothing could warm up a body better than the heat of another body. There had been no time to think this over when they arrived at the cabin, no time to light a fire either. Sandor had done what he knew he had to in order to save Sansa and, after having stretched both of their bedrolls over it, he had laid her on the wooden pallet, taken off his own clothes as fast as he could and rejoined her under all of their furs and covers. He'd been horrified by her state, had feared to lose her. Her normally luminescent pale skin had turned ashen, her lips violet and she was so cold, so bloody cold...

"Stay with me, little bird," he had bid her. "We didn't go through all we did, escape from the Vale and travel across this bloody desolated realm, just for you to die at Winterfell's threshold." If she were to perish as abruptly and meaninglessly as that, she might as well have stayed with Littlefinger where she had been sheltered from the element at least, Sandor had thought desperately. It might have been better that she never accepted my help, that I never offered her my sword...

Her sole answer to his pleas was the constant chattering of her teeth and the long whimpers she let out, sometimes. The girl had been as weak as could be and yet, had shaken so violently that Sandor had had to still her even as he stroked his hands all over her glacial skin. He did it for hours it seemed and while he avoided her breasts, arse and cunt as best he could, a part of him had been far too aware of the way the tip of her tits had rubbed against him and the hair between her legs had tickled his stomach from time to time. Still, his fear for her life had been strong at the time and kept his mind from wandering too far in any indecent direction. Unlike now...

After her shacking had subsided, Sandor had finally been able to leave her long enough to build a fire in the small hearth at the centre of the cabin with the wood that was piled by its side. And then gradually, she had gotten better and warmer to the touch.

"Thank you, Sandor. You saved my life," she had whispered to him not long after the sun had set.

Her eyes had glistened in the darkness of the cabin and Sandor had held her against him afterwards, so fucking relieved he might have teared up had he been a weaker man. They'd fallen asleep not long afterwards, both of them exhausted by all of the emotions they had lived, Sansa snuggled against his chest.

When Sandor had awoken on the following morning, not so long ago, the first thing he had grown aware of was the softness of the girl's skin against him. Sansa had been breathing steadily and with it, the arm he had around her had moved up and down ever so slightly. Long curls of her silky auburn hair had danced around his face as he breathed, tickling his nose, yet instead of taking his distance, he had approached his face to her and inhaled in that sweet scent of hers, shutting his eyes. It had been a relief to note there was no more shivering. She seemed so peaceful in her sleep, out of danger.

The thought was laughable to say the least and Sandor would have snorted at the memory of it had he not feared it might rouse her. The girl was in no danger of dying anymore, that was true enough, yet for a maiden as beautiful as her to be nude and unconscious in a bed with a man like him was in no way what anyone might have called safe. As most men, Sandor always woke up with a tension and today was no exception. Often, he thought of the little bird as he took care of it, had done it even as she lay not so far from him lately. Only in those instances, they'd never shared blankets…

As Sandor had slowly grown awake and aware of her curves against him, he had felt his erection become increasingly stiff. At first, he'd tried to ignore it, but he'd come to terms with that fact that it was impossible by now, not with her being so impossibly near and unclad. The little bird was sleeping on her side with her back to him, her arse all but pressed against his swollen shaft. Sandor was sure he had never been so hard of his life. His cock had become this aching, pulsing thing standing solidly between them and he longed to grab her by the hips and rub it hard between the cheeks of her arse...

Biting at his lip, Sandor lifted his head up slightly. While it was still early, he could see her well enough in the wan morning light. Her body was covered with furs up to her shoulders, its shape visible under the thickness of them. Sandor wished he could remove them all from her and admire her flawless young body. She'd be a feast for the eyes, he was certain of it. Hells, he'd seen her naked yesterday, undressed her himself even, only the situation had been far too dire and urgent for him to appreciate it in any way. Now though, things were different and he could recall the memory of her tits and of those pretty red curls she had between her thighs without any guilt...

As if it had a mind of its own, the arm he had under him shifted and his hand solidly grabbed his cock. The sensation was so intense it almost hurt. Sandor groaned lowly in his throat , shutting his eyes for a moment, and started moving his closed first up and down his length, slowly. He kept his movement as discreet as possible in order not to disturb Sansa, didn't even remove the arm he had around her for fear that it would interrupt her sleep.

Had Sandor been smart, he'd have put a stop to this nonsense at once and turned around to fuck his hand in silence - or even better, get out of the cabin and find himself a tree to lean on as he did his dirty deed. This was some risky business he was involving himself in, yet how was he supposed to turn away from the little bird when she smelled so sweet and her skin was so smooth? He couldn't do it, and thus he kept at it, his movement getting wider, freer.

Then without willing it, he accidently slapped her arse very lightly with his cock. She made a little noise, but to his relief, didn't wake up. Seven Hells, he mused, his breathing coming in laboured. Cold sweat was covering his brow, yet somehow, his cock grew even harder. It was utterly reckless of him, insane even, still the next thing he knew, Sandor was doing it again, the gesture perfectly intentional this time around. Sansa didn't so much as make a sound and so he repeated the motion, again and again, until with each of his strokes, his shaft hit her pert, little behind. Never too hard. She was still asleep and he'd rather she remained as much.


What first brought Sansa back to reality was the constant movement she felt behind her and the sound of heavy breathing in her ear. Unnerved, she stayed motionless and silent as she tried to make sense of her situation. Her confusion was overwhelming and for a few seconds, she didn't even recall where she was and knew even less who the man behind her might be. Gradually though, the events of yesterday afternoon came back to her and she relaxed slightly. The memory of the freezing water of the lake, of how it had swallowed her whole and sucked the breath out of her was terrifying. She would have drowned if not for the Hound.

Sandor always saves me, she thought. Agreeing to his proposition had been wise, but Sansa had never doubted it. She had not hesitated to take him in her service when he'd offered to help her escape from the Vale. He'd promised to protect her with his life if she was to accept and already, he had proved himself a dutiful and worthy sworn shield.

After having pulled her out of the bitterly cold water, Sandor had done what he had to in order to keep her from losing any more body heat and then help her regain some. Sansa would have blushed to find herself unclothed before him in any other circumstance and she'd averted her gaze uneasily when he stripped bare as well. His hands on her had been warm and his muscles as solid as stone. To be nestled against him had seemed awfully intimate, still Sansa had known that it was necessary, that there was nothing more to it.

This morning though, as she listened to his hoarse breathing and felt his arm so tense around her, things didn't seem so straightforward anymore. Such proximity woke an odd, anxious fluttering in her stomach… The Hound seemed agitated, restless, and the wooden pallet they rested on creaked every now and then under him. What could he be doing? Oh, gods, Sansa thought, as she tried to convince herself her instincts were wrong. He couldn't very well be… be… No, this was absurd. She had to be mistaken! He wouldn't do that, not while she was supposedly slumbering in his arms.

But then even as she was trying to rationalise his incessant fumbling, he slapped her on the buttock with something very hard. Sansa let out a small cry and bit at her lip to muffle it. It was his manhood, she realised in shock. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pretended like she was still asleep, her heart hammering in her chest.

There was no denying the truth anymore, especially as he repeated the motion, over and over again. By the Maiden, but it seemed huge...

Sansa was aghast that he could do such a thing while they shared blankets. He even had his arm around her by the Seven! On top of that, the fact that he included her in this made it quite obvious she was the cause of his arousal. The notion was a bit alarming, especially seeing the vulnerable position she was in. What was she supposed to do? There was no simple way out of this. By now, he seemed pretty confident that she would never wake up and kept brushing his shaft to her cheek with each of his strokes, the sensation of the large and thick thing against her tightening the knot in her lower belly so much that her centre pulsed rhythmically.

It was perhaps better that she let him finish what he was doing and then, pretend like naught had happened. How awkward it would be if he was to realise she was awake? Sansa wasn't sure how they would deal with it afterwards. The mere idea of it made her nervous and incited her to stay as motionless as she could and keep her eyes squeezed shut.

Yet suddenly, the arm he had around her shifted and he began touching her breasts, very lightly. Sansa's breath caught in her throat at the feel of his calloused fingers on her, even as warmth pooled down her belly all the way to the junction of her thighs. His touch grew firmer and soon, Sandor was moulding her breasts and pinching lightly at her nipples, teasing them in the most maddening fashion possible. His hand was so large, he could easily engulf her breasts in it even though they were by no means small. With his touch, Sansa was getting pushed against his torso, his body like a wall of muscles behind her and his strong, musky scent enveloping her completely.

Sansa could sense herself growing flush and lightheaded. The pulsing in her belly had reached her woman's place and the sensation was so acute, she was losing herself in it. Without willing it, she arched her back and moaned, this time loud and clear, and all of the Hound's movements abruptly came to a halt.

Sansa opened her eyes at once, dread rising in her. Seven help me… she mused, unsure of what to expect.