Hello girls!

Whoaaa! The final chapter! Let's see if you like it!

I'd also like to give a giant thanks to my beta Wildsky_Sheri who helped me all through the process of writing this story. Without her, it would never have been as good!

Sandor

The weather had been far from pleasant over the past few days. Well, more precisely, it had been fucking horrible and Sandor had kept cursing the Riverlands and the buggering rivers that gave the damned region its name every time the stream was revived. Sure, autumn was humid everywhere but this was not just the regular seasonal rain any other part got. No, it was much worse, as if some mocking god had decided he had seen enough of Westeros and its thrice damned war and concluded that drowning the continent under a whole new sea was the wisest thing to do. Or perhaps it was a message from the Mother, a way she had found of punishing Sandor for having stolen someone's daughter. Stop that, Dog. You'll grow devout next, he chided himself, irked. The thought might have held some mirth but it only made his mouth twitch.

Thankfully, the sky had at least stopped pissing on them so bloody heavily today. The showers hadn't ceased completely but they were much lighter now to the point where someone who'd spent his whole life in times such as those he and the little bird had known previously might have actually taken the drops for mist. Neither of them was fooled, of course, but the respite was welcome anyhow. While it wouldn't be enough for Sandor's cloak to dry even slightly, the piece of clothing wouldn't get further soaked either and thus the man was certainly not about to complain. In the end, what mattered most in his eyes was the girl's condition and as she had been wearing a good quality cloak – probably made of the pelt of some local beast - on the morning he had come to fetch her, the dress she wore underneath was still almost completely dry. At least he wouldn't have her suffering a fever and although the knowledge was a small relief, it was still something Sandor could cling to.

Five days had passed since that dawn Sandor had crept into the Northerners' camp and stolen always their most precious and beautiful jewel. Five long and miserable days, where Sansa sat in front of him in the saddle – as she did just now - sheltered under both their cloaks while leaning into him and accepting the warmth he had to offer but without giving him any of what he truly yearned for in exchange. Aye, she had stopped ignoring him completely after the fight they had had on their first night and she did reply whenever he addressed her now, however, the conversations they had – and using that word was quite an overstatement – were mostly monosyllabic and always on his initiative. Still, the girl's cold attitude wasn't something he could really reproach her for if he wished to win her back and thus he kept trying to swallow up his anger and be gentle with her no matter how hard it was.

And by the Seven Hells was it fucking hard indeed! More than a few times Sandor had had moments where he feared he might explode and let his annoyance show all too plainly, or even worse, yell at the little bird and shake her as he had done in his small room at Riverrun. Anytime the threat that he might lose control became too strong, the man would go for a short walk in the woods, sometimes letting off the steam by cutting down a tree or two - turning their trunks to pulp when he forgot himself.

Every night, the girl settled her bedroll as far as possible from the tree she thought he'd be more likely to sleep against and made it clear by her demeanour that she didn't want him to get too near. Repeatedly, Sandor had not heeded her unspoken suggestion and let his most basic instincts take the lead by snaking an arm around her shoulders, caressing her face or nuzzling at her neck and hair. These impulses were stronger than his restraint; it was as if Sansa's skin called for him, begged for his lips and teeth to nibble at every inch and Sandor certainly couldn't refuse such an appealing demand. The only problem was that the girl was apparently oblivious to the temptation her own body presented to him. While she never squirmed or tried to chase him away, she was always so cold and stiff under his touch that he hadn't insisted further and instead let her be each and every time. In those lonely moments, Sandor hadn't been able to restrain himself from wondering if, stoic as she was, the little bird would truly resist if he raised her skirts, spread those smooth thighs of hers and buried himself in the depths of her cunt. Surprisingly, although his guess was she wouldn't, Sandor had never crossed the line as he yearned for far more than a simple fuck from her. He wanted all of her, in every bloody sense of the word. After every rejection, the man always promised himself he'd wait for Sansa to come to him but he nonetheless never failed to crack up and try his luck again. Evidently, each attempt was as useless as the last. The girl had basically shut down on him.

Why the hells should I be surprised that a young highborn girl is so horrified at being abducted by the likes of me? It was written in the fucking sky and all the buggering stars that shine in the night that things would go this way. How Sandor had not envisioned that Sansa might react so if he tore her from the family she had waited tobe reunited with for almost a year was indeed a wonder to him in retrospect but at the time, he'd been too fucking blinded by all the sweetness she had given him to see straight. In the end, he was highly tempted to believe he couldn't be blamed for his actions. After all, a woman shouldn't be so generous with a man – especially one as starving as him – if she didn't intend to stick with him. It was her own bloody fault really, Sandor kept repeating to himself. It was absurd and stupid that he felt guilty now. How did I ever turn so damned soft? he wondered, scowl deepening and jaw clenching tightly. He had sincerely believed that after some reluctance and tears at first, the girl would end up being grateful he came back for her. Stupid dog, he mused, spitting on the floor beside Sandor was as naïve as his little bird, believing in his own foolish sort of song. Chances were though, that if he was patient enough, Sansa would eventually let go of her grudge and become all warm and tender for him again– it was a well known fact after all that stolen brides never resisted their forced husband for too long - but he would never find out now.

Sighing, Sandor let his hand creep under Sansa's hood, slowly caressing her long curls and brushing her face with his fingers. Her skin was so soft and perfect under his touch; it was as if his dirty, killing hands caressed a gem not meant for him. The girl didn't even flinch at the incongruous contact but her acceptance didn't mean much, for even if she had willed it, in the proximity of a horse's saddle her options of flight were obviously quite limited. She was as stuck with him as she had been with Joffrey, Sandor had to admit and the parallel frankly disgusted him.

The girl's recent stoicism was even worse than her ancient rejection, the man had realised pretty quickly. He had always secretly yearned for her smiles and gentleness, that was true enough, but most of all, her attention was what he had always willed her to give him. It hadn't truly mattered at first, while they were still at the Red Keep, if her reactions were triggered by fright and disgust; all Sandor had wanted – no, needed – was to watch her do something while knowing he was the sole cause of her actions, even for the shortest of moments. He hadn't demanding at the time; even seeing Sansa shiver or squirm in panic under his gaze had held its sweet appeal but his criteria had dramatically increased as he had travelled with her and learned what it felt like to be regarded with something other than fear by a woman he desired so fiercely. Now that he knew the taste of it, Sandor couldn't bear losing it all. The current situation was made even worse by the fact that the little bird was by his side at all times, so near and untouchable at once. He felt like a man dying of thirst damned to watch an unreachable river shine under the sun yards from him while never getting a chance to taste a single drop of its pure water. In that sense, Sandor regretted having abducted her. At least if he had left the little bird in her nest, the last image he would have kept of her would have been one of her moaning and writhing in ecstasy under his touch, overjoyed at having his cock sheathed deep inside her, not one of a pouting girl not even daring to look at him longer than a glance. There was no use regretting it. Whenever Sandor tried to figure out another manner he might have acted after the night Sansa had crept into his bed, he came face to face with a dead end. There was indeed no fucking way he possibly could have let her fly away without at least one try at getting her back in his clutches. She was his and meant to be. It was simply a desolating pity that she didn't realise how buggering true it was. The idea still tortured him and always would most likely.

The morning after Sansa had visited his bed and showed him every bloody thing she had to offer, Sandor had been completely amazed that the shy girl he had known thus far truly hid such a fierce little creature behind her usually so proper facade. She was hot-blooded and willing in truth, although still innocent and hesitant but mayhap it was that mix of keenness and timidity that had aroused him so much. The little bird's maidenly curiosity had sent his blood boiling to an extent he had never experienced previously. Before that night, Sandor would never have dared to hope that Sansa might be interested in even a tenth of what he dreamed of doing to her. He had been mistaken though. The girl wanted him back with an eagerness that couldn't be denied. Naught had ever been so beautiful to him as witnessing the object of his every desire beg for his cock to thrust deeper into her folds. Her cunt had been wet and ready as no whore had ever been for him and the notion that his little bird could surpass in such a matter –without even realising it - these women that had made fucking their profession was simply mind-blowing. How could he have doubted her lust for him after that? She had been a maiden, oblivious to her own need but Sandor had seen it, touched it, drunk it… Her cunt had screamed her longing and he had obeyed its command, fucking it senselessly while listening to Sansa's sweet cries of pleasure.

And as if all that hadn't been already fucking astonishing enough, not only had Sandor fucked her but his little bird had fucked him back too, relishing his cock like a famished beast craves food. She had jumped onto his lap as if she yearned to swallow his shaft and make it disappear into the boiling heat of her insides. At some moments, the friction between the skin of his member and the tightness of her cunt had been so intense that Sandor had almost been ready to believe his manhood might turn to smoke. Oh, but would that have been a nice way to lose his cock… He'd be ready to risk it again anytime.

Once he had been shown the door by the girl's kingly brother mere hours later, Sandor had had but one idea in mind: get Sansa back by any means necessary. Unfortunately, there had been but one option to make that happen. He'd need to steal her away. During his stay at Riverrun, Sandor had heard about a wedding that would soon tie the Tullys and the Freys that the Northerners would be heading to shortly. If he could follow their party as they travelled to the Twins without being noticed, he'd surely get the girl isolated sooner or later and then, it'd be only a question of seconds before he set his hands on her again.

It was of course slightly ridiculous that Sandor would go to so much trouble abducting the girl when she had been under his charge just a few weeks ago. No obstacle had prevented him from snatching her away back then… apart from Sansa herself, of course. True, she had been pretty generous with her kisses and smiles as they travelled the Westerlands and he couldn't really have been blamed if he had read those gestures as an unspoken assent to do whatever he willed with her but Sandor had nevertheless not been fooled. There was no trusting the actions of a maiden as innocent as the last rain. If she consented to such intimacy between them, it was merely because she perceived him as a convenient first subject she could test her seductive might upon. In those conditions, kidnapping Sansa would have meant the end of the sweet little game she played and the beginning of a lifelong hatred instead. Some men wouldn't have stopped themselves over such a trivial detail as a woman's consent and Sandor envied them their simplicity. Life would have been made much easier if he had shared their carelessness. Instead, he had the bloody malediction of wanting Sansa willing and therefore,he had forced himself to forgo any abduction plan and escorted her to the Riverlands as planned.

His view of the situation had been dramatically transformed however, once Sansa sneaked into his bed of her own free will, offered him her maidenhead and told him she loved him. As much as the gift of her innocence had staggered him, the little bird's unexpected confession was undeniably what triggered Sandor to reconsider his previous resolution. If she loved him, she'd want to be with him and forgive him for kidnapping her once all was done. She'd even be grateful for his actions with time, or so Sandor had stupidly believed…

With that unshakeable conviction clouding his better judgement, the man had not waited very long before turning back once his escort left him to his fate some way south of Riverrun. A column as big as the Northerners' was anything but hard to locate and thus, it had been only a question of days before Sandor followed in its wake from afar. By night, he had made a habit of approaching the camp, getting increasingly bold as the days went by, until he was comfortable enough to bypass the useless sentries the girl's buggering brother used while knowing his intrusion would pass unnoticed. During those visits, Sandor had taken note of the soldiers and workers' routine and of the hours he might expect them to be distracted. He had even beheld the little bird from afar on a few occasions and marked the placement of a number of tents in which she was likely to sleep in. From then on, Sandor had always favoured that area when he approached the camp and spent hours hiding in the distance in hopes of a chance to glimpse her. At one point though, he had grown tired of watching impassively and decided it was time he took the fucking matter into his own hands. He'd known it was best to act and soon before they reached the Twins and the girl was caged in a castle once more.

Every morning, Sandor knew Sansa took a walk with that lanky friend of hers while the column got ready to leave. He'd never find a more convenient moment to get her in his reach and hence on the chosen day, the man had waited until he located the little bird - unmistakable among a thousand others even from afar with her long, red curls and light gait – and headed immediately towards the woods where the sentries were supposedly hidden. Naught said efficiency and discretion like the straightforward killing of anyone who might get in your way and thus Sandor had not hesitated an instant before cutting the throat of the few men he felt were more at risk of stumbling into him later. Once that was done, finding Sansa again had been just as easy. The only real challenge of his morning had been to neutralise the warrior wench without killing her. Not that he'd have lost any sleep over some additional blood on his hands, only, as the little bird was certain not to appreciate witnessing her friend getting slaughtered before her eyes, Sandor had made the extra effort and managed it just fine. With the wench bound and the sentries annihilated, Sandor had decamped from the area moments later, his precious prize over his shoulder.

The girl's reaction at being captured had been similar to what Sandor had predicted but his own weakness at withstanding her rejection had surprised him. In a way, he had foolishly hoped - even though he'd never have dared admit it to himself - that she wouldn't resist and that she'd forgive him and kiss him almost instantly. If she saw how much he wanted her - Sandor had believed - and how far he was willing to go to get her back, Sansa would doubtless jump at his neck the moment she saw him. Wasn't that what women did when the man they loved came back for them? She had indeed told him she loved him and the sincerity with which she spoke the words had been indisputable, only in the end what did a young, barely-flowered girl know about love? He shouldn't have taken her confession for granted as he had done so blindly or perhaps – and this was more likely - Sandor simply didn't understand the damned feeling at all. What's a bloody brute like me supposed to comprehend about a thing as useless and fucking ridiculous as love anyhow? At the thought, the man snorted in derision. He knew more than he was willing to admit to himself, or else, why do something as witless and senseless as what he was doing just now? Why make such a bloody irrational decision as the one he had two days ago?

The forest was getting sparser around them. They were indeed on the right track; just there on their left, Sandor could now discern the broken tower of a ruined castle they had come across a few days back. It wouldn't be long before they reached the Twins and if the Northerners had left the place already, the column would be as easy to locate this time as it had been previously.

"The tower…" Sansa suddenly whispered, speaking her first words since dawn.

It was about time she realised they had turned back. Sandor was quite surprised she hadn't taken notice before.

"It… it looks exactly like…" Jerking her head upward, the girl gazed at Sandor with wide, questioning eyes. When she saw his wry, unchanging expression, her mouth opened in shock. "You're bringing me back?" she stated more than she asked.

At that, Sandor sighed in annoyance at himself. "Aye, I am," he rasped wearily, shaking his head at his own stupidity and gazing anywhere but at the little bird.

A moment of a silence passed and the man was quickly irked that he didn't get a greater reaction at his revelation. Scowling, he lowered his stare to the girl and clenched his jaw when he saw how little pleased she seemed with that delicate face of hers frozen like a statue and her usually white skin now ashen and sickly.

"Wasn't that what you wanted, Sansa? I stole you away but despite what I've told you, I'm about to give you back. After you've cried all these days for that damned family of yours, I'd have thought you'd at least thank me for freeing you," Sandor hissed between gritted teeth, his frustration getting thicker with each word he said.

Lips trembling, the little bird fixed disbelieving eyes on him. "You can't really mean to do that, can you, Sandor?" she asked weakly.

The situation was growing increasingly less comprehensible to Sandor. While he had grudgingly come to understand that she might be unhappy about the prospect of spending the rest of her days with him, he had believed that once the girl learned he intended to give her back to her family, she might at least resume offering him the genuine smiles and gentle touches he had grown accustomed to. Sandor had badly wished for a few last nice gestures on her part - something sweet he could remember afterwards - whatever happened to him once they met with the Northerners again. Apparently, even that had been too high a demand. Instead of smiling kindly at him as he had assumed she would, the little bird was now staring at him with the same amount of terror shining in her eyes as if he had kidnapped her all over again. The realisation that he would never get anything more of what he desired from her – even the chaste part of it - stirred the rage that had been boiling in Sandor's veins for the last few days but that he had by some fucking miracle been able to keep at bay until then. "Why, you think I'm riding in circles in a buggering war zone just for the fun of it?!" he snarled at her. "This is no jest, Sansa. I'm bringing you back. I've had enough of you wetting your bloody pillow every night."

Seemingly shaken by the intensity of his reaction, the girl jumped back but she nonetheless managed to utter a faint retort after a few seconds. "I just don't understand. How will you ever manage to get to my family?" she murmured, eyes gleaming with moisture. "There are thousands of soldiers surrounding them!"

"You're mistaken, little bird. Their number is exactly what will make the job of finding them easy," the man grunted flatly.

"That's not what I meant, Sandor. I was wondering how you'll ever be able to bypass all my brother's men this time around. I'm certain the camp will be far better guarded now, after what happened. You'll never succeed at getting near enough to the column to give me back without being noticed," she stated, her tone anxious and convinced at once. "How could you possibly manage such a thing?"

"Do I look like a fucking soothsayer to you?" Sandor retorted, a whole new wave of annoyance flowing over him. The burned corner of his mouth was twitching more persistently now. "I don't have any fucking idea how or if I'll ever manage to decamp from your northern buggers but I truly don't give a damned shit. I've made up my mind to lead you back to that twice blasted mother of yours so you can hide in her skirts again and I'll do it, whatever the buggering cost is."

Apparently getting nervous, Sansa began to glance around her as if lost. "But, Sandor! If you do that, they'll catch you and I don't see them being merciful once they do!" she cried, voice breaking before she raised her gaze to him once more. "This is not a good idea, Sandor. I'm sure you'll be seen and once you are, they won't let you flee, you can be certain about that! They must surely think you took me against my will-"

"I did take you against your will, Sansa! Don't you fucking remember?" Sandor exploded, totally incredulous and angry at once.

"Yes, but they don't know that I love you! They have no idea of what we shared!" Tears were welling in the little bird's eyes and she pressed her hands over his chest, clutching at his armour. "Sandor, you have to turn back once more, you can't-"

"Now what? You've changed your mind again? Because you're frightened for me?" He laughed bitterly at the thought. "Don't be, I'll be just fine." Raising his stare to the horizon, Sandor tried to ignore the pleading look the little bird was giving him.

"No, Sandor! Listen to me!" she exclaimed desperately while clenching the sodden cloth of his cloak in her tiny fists. Tears were rolling down her cheeks and mixing with the light rain that still fell over the forest. "Forget everything I said and did. I don't want you to get executed for me and we'll never make it into camp without you being seen… Sandor, let's turn back. I'll go with you to the Free Cities and won't complain anymore, I promise."

"You can't keep on changing your mind like this, little bird. You'll only confuse everyone around you," the man sneered, his face lowered over hers but then he grew serious again. "I don't want you unwilling, Sansa. You're not changing your mind because you want to follow me but only because you don't want to have my death on your conscience," he rasped in a low, sombre voice.

"No! You don't understand. I've always wanted you, Sandor," Sansa exclaimed, out of breath through sobs and sniffs. "I just had to make a choice and as I wished to fulfil my destiny as a Stark, that's the one I picked but I don't care anymore-"

"Don't lie to me. You still do," the man snapped. His scowl deepening, Sandor spat on the ground beside him and sighed. "Now, stop squirming and calm that damned weeping. I'm bringing you back to those foolish Northerners you love so much so you can be a bloody Stark as you've made so damned clear you yearn to be more than anything else." Bracing his back, Sandor raised his gaze from the girl. "And just so that you know, I don't mind risking losing my head," he added in a bitter growl. "It's ugly anyhow and my life's not worth piss."

A lightning bolt passing through her eyes, the little bird vigorously shook her head. "No!" she shouted before unexpectedly jumping from the saddle and running away from him.

"Sansa! What are you doing! You told me you wouldn't try to flee from me again!" Sandor yelled. In a brusque and sudden movement, he halted Stranger while watching the little bird's silhouette disappear into the thickness of the woods. Would he continuously need to race after her until the very last instant he'd have her under his care? It seemed to him at that moment as if it was all he had ever done. "Sansa, stop! Don't be stupid! Where would you go if you lost me? There's no one out there! You'd die in the woods!" he shouted, jumping from his horse and sprinting after her.

Sandor hadn't worn his armour the last time he had needed to chase her and the damned thing slowed him quite a lot now. He couldn't let her lose him though; it would mean her death for certain. After all, it had taken the damned girl more than two full days before she finally noticed they had turned around. How could she ever possibly know where to go and how to subsist by herself in these conditions? A sweet little creature like her wasn't meant for the real world. She had been trained her whole life to act the proper lady in every buggering situation; to sing, dance and stitch but these skills were totally useless outside of a castle. Said more plainly: her survival instinct was close to non-existent! The awareness of how helpless she'd become without him pushed Sandor to run even faster and yet, he was still quickly losing sight of her. What a stupid, stupid little bird! he thought to himself. Without slowing down, he unclasped his bulky and soaked cloak from his shoulders and carelessly let it fall onto the forest floor behind him. If he ran faster freed of that extra weight, he couldn't say for sure but anything was worth trying. There was not a fucking way in all the Seven buggering Hells that Sandor would let Sansa flee from him only to die of hunger and thirst in the wild mere days after. If it had to come to that, the girl was far better off staying with him. When he caught her, perhaps he'd listen to her pleas and bring her along with him across the Narrow Sea after all. Although, that was something they could discuss later. For now, all that mattered to Sandor was for the little bird not to vanish in these woods with naught more than the clothing she had on her back to shelter her from the cruelty of the weather. He wouldn't allow her to die.

Just as he was getting increasingly out of breath, sweaty and worried the girl had indeed succeeded in losing him, Sandor glimpsed the pale grey of her cloak peeking through the branches some distances before him. The sight gave him a burst of energy and he began rushing toward Sansa with renewed ardour until he could discern her shape with more definition. Only, something was queer. The little bird had stopped moving and was standing in place, staring before her. Good for me, the man thought even though her stillness woke an uneasy feeling in him. When a heartbeat later he had rejoined her at last, Sandor caught her by the upper arm. At the contact, the girl jumped and gazed up at him with eyes big and scared but the fear he saw in them was not directed toward him. His curiosity instantly piqued, Sandor raised his stare and looked right before them, the stench that filled the small clearing reaching his nostrils the very instant he saw the source of the little bird's fright. A few yards from them, the dead body of a man was propped against a tree – or so Sandor believed before he saw the cadaver open his eyes and look in their direction.

"Wine… Please," the sorry bastard begged in a voice that was even more hoarse than his own.

Feeling much better at realising how little of a threat the man they had stumbled upon was but most of all for having retrieved Sansa, Sandor relaxed and squeezed the girl's shoulder. "It's only a dying man, little bird. No need to be frightened." Gulping, she looked up at him and nodded.

"Wine…" the wreck repeated in his rough, pleading voice.

Mouth twitching, Sandor left the girl and walked toward him. "I don't have any. I'm dying of thirst myself," he replied truthfully.

Soft steps were heard from behind him and soon, the man felt the little bird timidly hook herself onto his arm. The long forgotten sensation of her affection almost brought him to smile but Sandor had learned years ago to keep his feelings from showing on his face. Scowling, he returned his attention to the dying man.

"I'll give you water, if you want, and the gift of mercy," he proposed flatly.

Squinting, the wreck began sweeping his red, feverish eyes from Sansa to him, studying them for some time, until his dry lips opened in shock. "I know who you are, both of you. You're the Hound… and the girl here… she's the young Stark princess," he muttered, sounding stupefied even though he might die any minute and by all logic, shouldn't have given a rat's arse about anything.

The discovery of their identity seemed to startle the little bird and she pushed her head against Sandor's arm. Her hood had fallen and the rich colour of her hair shone under the dim light. However horrid the scene before him was, Sandor couldn't stop himself from feeling exhilarated at her change of attitude and he had to fight the urge to nuzzle at her long curls.

"I heard about you both," the wreck continued. "We all did. They tried to quell the gossips but the story of how the Lannister dog turned rabid and stole the young and beautiful sister of the king was too spectacular to stop spreading once it was known."

"He didn't abduct me! I followed him willingly," Sansa intervened, taking a step toward the wreck as if she wished to protect Sandor from a blow.

"No use lying to a dead man, little bird." Raising a hand to her shoulder, Sandor gently pulled her against him. "Were you in one of the squads sent to find us?"

"I wish I'd volunteered," the dying man rasped, falling into a fit of coughing at the end of his sentence. "I was looking forward to going to that wedding… if only I'd known."

"Known what?" Sansa swiftly asked, fear lacing her voice.

The wreck gazed at her for an instant with something like pity gleaming in his eyes. "You… you still haven't heard?" Seemingly pondering something, he stared straight at Sansa as much as he could with his lack of strength. "Your captor has ironically saved your life, young lady. If your fate is better for it, it's not for me to judge though."

At hearing that, the girl tensed under Sandor's touch. "What… what do you mean?" she demanded, her words weak and trembling.

"The wedding… it was a trick. They butchered us all, starting with the Young Wolf and his mother-"

"No! You're lying!"

"It's the truth I'm telling you, lass," the poor bugger said, the hint of a sad smile curling his lips. "Look at me… it's a wonder I even got that far-"

"No! I don't believe you. People don't do such things at weddings-"

"Shh, Sansa. Let the man talk," Sandor muttered, tightening his hold on her. As if to endorse the veracity of the news, a cold wind suddenly rose and the sky grew dark and threatening. Nodding at the wreck, Sandor bade him to continue. "Speak. The girl needs to know."

Apparently reluctant to follow a dog's order, the dying man glared at Sandor for a heartbeat or two but then he obeyed and gazed at the little bird again. "The Freys yearned for vengeance, it seems. They got what they wished for. I'm only a soldier and don't know much about any of what happened but I saw what I saw. They wanted to kill the Northerners and they did. They murdered the high heads firsts but no one was saved in the end. You're all that's left of your kin, lass."

"No…" Sansa protested, although the tone she used made it clear she had understood. Shaking, she turned around to clutch at Sandor and began sobbing against him.

For a long moment, time was suspended. At a loss as to what he should do, Sandor was as petrified as the girl had been when he had found her here but he eventually shook himself and gathered her in his arms. "I'm taking her away from here. I'll come back with some water for you afterwards," Sandor told the wreck as he began striding into the woods again.

The walk to Stranger seemed to take forever. Sandor could feel the little bird's frail body quiver in his arms as he marched and in response, he held her as tightly as he could without hurting her. He wished he knew what to tell her but as he had never been very skilled with words, he gathered staying silent was preferable. When they reached the stallion at last, Sandor settled the girl into the saddle and caressed her face and hair for an instant. "I'm leaving you for a few minutes. I'll be back soon though. Don't worry."

Wordlessly, Sansa clung to him. Her eyes were filled with tears and Sandor was torn between feeling enlivened by her need for him and dejected by the sudden sorrow she was faced with. "I'm not going to be long, little bird. I'm not abandoning you."

Once he had gently pushed her from him, he fished a water-filled wineskin out of the saddlebag and began striding into the woods again. The dying man was easily found and Sandor didn't care to ask him any additional questions before he killed him. He had heard enough. On his way back, he recovered his cloak and cursed when he realised it had fallen into a puddle of muddy water. He wrung it out and tried rubbing off the worst of the dirt against a tree but got little result from his effort. When he rejoined the little bird and Stranger at last, Sandor had already decided he'd be riding all night if he could. There was no sense in staying in these parts any longer.

The next few days were spent in a blur of riding only interrupted a couple of hours at a time when they halted to rest and eat. The little bird stayed silent most of the time and only spoke when it was strictly necessary but her muteness didn't bother Sandor anymore. He knew he had naught to do with her state and thus left her deal with her grief without uttering any complaint or feeling threatened by her attitude.

As they rode and slept, Sandor nearly always kept an arm folded around Sansa, all too eager to offer what comfort he might and the girl never tried to push him away. On the contrary, she always kept her small body pressed deeply into his and while she cried, she would snuggle against him, calming only once he'd wrapped his arms more firmly around her. While Sandor was more than willing to offer Sansa his touch, the same still couldn't be said about his words. It wasn't exactly that he was reluctant to share them, for he'd have given her anything he might. No, what stopped him had more to do with the man he was, or more precisely, the one he wasn't. Even before he had left his father's keep, Sandor had always known he'd grow to be a warrior and naught else and as such, developing the courtly art of conversation had been the last thing on his mind. It wasn't as if he had any aptitude where social interactions were concerned but his lack of skills in such a useless field had never stuck him as a weakness. When he had followed Cersei to King's Landing years later, his opinion on the subject had only been fortified. Quickly, he had realised how filled with whippersnappers the bloody court was and while the whole lot of them could flatter themselves, being refined talkers, none of those buggers would have had a chance surviving against Sandor in battle. Of what use were words when someone with a blade could cut you down so easily, however sophisticated and clever your attempts in swaying them to be merciful were? The unshakable logic of that reasoning had been one of the basics Sandor had always believed in and the notion that his taciturn nature might one day come to be a liability in any bloody manner would have been naught but laughable to him if anyone had dared suggest it. How the fuck was I to predict that I'd one day come to have a dependant and fragile little bird under my care? I'm certainly not to blame if I didn't prepare for the inconceivable.

Whatever tricks fate had played on them, a young highborn girl like Sansa was nevertheless certain to expect soothing whispers from her lover and yet, given his background, that wasn't something Sandor could provide. His sternness and lack of sophistication were traits the little bird would need to learn to accept if she wished to be satisfied in her life with him. Thankfully, Sandor had no real worry that she wouldn't. Even now, after all, she appeared content, as much as that was possible in her condition, with the silence and arms he had to offer. As for Sandor, he'd ride to the edge of the world with her quietly nestled against his chest if that was what she desired and would never find it in him to complain. The duty he felt to her was greater than anything he had ever envisioned for himself and he was queerly thrilled at the idea that she truly needed him now. Sandor had no stronger aspiration than to become the shield that protected her from the harshness of the world.

In some twisted way, the man felt tortured over the fact that Sansa's misfortune had played to his advantage, that because of the disaster that had befallen her kin and people, she was his for real as he had always longed for her to be. He knew he should be fucking jubilant that fate had turned to his benefit for once and he cursed himself for being unable to rejoice over the situation as he ought to. The little bird's dolour had irrevocably seeped into him, it seemed. Mayhap was it what caring for someone felt like: sharing their heartaches even when logic commanded that you shouldn't give a shit.

Yet however torn Sandor may have felt, he still knew that by abducting Sansa, he had unknowingly saved her from much worse than a life spent with him. Chances were she'd be dead if he hadn't acted on his compulsion and stolen her away, or perhaps even more likely, she'd now share both bed and name with her family's killers. In the end, it was a buggering mercy Sandor was such an untameable brute. It was indeed thanks to his reckless behaviour and possessiveness that the girl had escaped the Freys' dirty clutches.

Of course, there were undoubtedly more appropriate suitors than him for such a highborn maiden as Sansa in a house such as the Freys', many of which were probably well-mannered and good looking but who would want to mix their blood with the people who had annihilated everything you loved? While Sandor's face was burnt and hideous, the sight of it would at least never remind the little bird of the slaughter of her family. There were people uglier than him in this world and Sansa had once more had to realise it at her expense.

Still, as the days went by Sandor kept trying to ignore the lump he felt rising in his throat whenever Sansa broke into a new fit of sobs. There was no reason for him to regret her destiny - not even slightly! - but he nevertheless kept wondering if there had been something he might have done to change the events. You stupid dog! She's yours! The gods have answered your every unspoken prayer, so why should you complain? Life is good to you and the little bird will heal eventually. She'll be thanking you later, when she comes back to her usual self.

Throughout all this, Sandor was well aware that he'd had it pretty damned easy in the end. By saying no to any compromise and taking what he wanted, he had paradoxically become his victim's rescuer but the beauty of it didn't even stop there. Just before he and Sansa had learned the terrible news, Sandor had been about to reconsider his decision to return the girl to her kin. After he'd seen her cry and beg him so beautifully not to bring her back to her family at the risk of his life, there had been not a bloody chance in all of Westeros that Sandor might possibly have resisted the temptation of taking her with him to Essos. He didn't need to tell her that though. If she could keep on believing he had been willing to sacrifice himself for her and that naught could ever have possibly made him change his mind, it was all the better. He'd have her grateful to him in every sense of the buggering word. Life was beautiful. Or so Sandor logically should have thought.

Days had passed since the afternoon they had stumbled upon the dying man and learned the news of the Northerners' massacre, although Sandor couldn't have said how many even if his life had depended on it. The little bird didn't cry so much now and while her bleakness was still undeniable, she was nevertheless getting more and more affectionate and tender toward him. Sandor would have been the worst of liars to pretend he didn't enjoy that change in her. The girl would recover; she was a strong little thing despite appearances and that was certainly a source of pride to him.

His guilt was also fading. Sandor was now convinced he had done the right thing abducting the little bird even though he had not realised how true it was when he made the decision. Notwithstanding his growing certainty, it didn't stop the man from getting increasingly weary of their intent travelling pace. He barely got to sleep on the best days but at least the worst of the danger was now behind them. Logically, any men who had been sent after them would have learned of their masters' fate by now and quit the hunt. After all, working for ghosts is to no one's benefit. With that in mind, Sandor had left the depths of the woods some time past and brought Stranger onto the main road. After days spent in the forest, the openness of the lane had made him feel exposed and uneasy at first but the dramatic increase in their speed was well worth the lack of cover.

The parts they were crossing lately were gradually growing less desolated than the ones they had previously. Villages and farms were beginning to sprout around them and after some reflection, Sandor had decided that if they passed an inn, renting a room would be the wisest thing he could do. They both badly needed the rest. Sansa was already half asleep in his arms and the risk that Sandor might follow her into the abyss of unconsciousness was getting higher with each hour that went by. Falling from the saddle was not something Sandor had much desire to experience and therefore, he kept fighting against the heaviness of his eyelids, trying to stay as alert as he could for any anomaly on the road but his strength was quickly deserting him. Chances were they'd need to sleep in the wild once more and yet Sandor's stubborn determination kept him going.

The sky was already dark as tar when the little bird unexpectedly stirred in his arms. The man had been just about to believe she had fallen asleep for good and thus, he was slightly surprised when he felt her twist in the saddle.

"Sandor," she breathed, gazing up at him. In the gloom, he could barely see her but the moonlight caught her eyes and her beauty was revealed to him once more. She looked drowsy but somehow, it only added to the perfection of the picture she made. In the blink of an eye, Sandor was absorbed by her stare. "You do realise you have saved me again? I owe you my life once more," the little bird said in a voice as faint as a summer breeze. Turning around, she pressed her head into his arm. "You always save me."

Snorting softly at her comment, Sandor tiredly smirked into the darkness. "I came to the same conclusion myself, little bird," he murmured with satisfaction.

"You're always there for me, Sandor. Always," the little bird whispered so softly the words were almost lost in the night. Shutting her eyes, she hugged his arm with the same innocent tenderness a child would hold its ragdoll.

Naught could ever have been more moving to Sandor than the blind faith the little bird now had in him. The idea that she trusted her life and destiny to him without showing a single sign of reticence woke all sorts of queer tingles in his core but strangely enough, the feeling was far from unpleasant. For the hundredth time since they had started their flight, he swore to himself and all the gods he didn't even believe in that he wouldn't disappoint her in that at least.

They had ridden for about an additional hour when Sandor finally glimpsed some light from afar. Before too long, the shape of a small village took form and simultaneously, Sandor's hopes of sleeping in a proper bed were revived. The place was more hamlet than village, he quickly realised but there was indeed an inn in its centre and that was all he required. Sansa had been deeply asleep for some time now and the man decided he'd rather not wake her unless it was strictly necessary. If he could manage to bring her to a bed without disturbing her rest, her surprise at waking in a warm room would be all the stronger and Sandor yearned for naught more than to be the cause of some additional smiles from those luscious lips.

The hamlet was a puny thing- about ten houses or so – but the man suspected its size was one of the factors that had preserved it from the rigours of war. For as much as he could judge, the place had apparently been left intact. Although, how long can it be expected to stay as such? he wondered, not truly caring to find out. He'd be gone on the morrow but not before having asked around if any of the villagers had changes of clothing to sell to Sansa or any of the other bloody things a woman was sure to need for her comfort. While Sandor didn't have a damned clue of what that might be and really didn't care one bit to learn about it either, he'd nevertheless get the little bird anything she asked him to purchase. It wasn't as if he lacked the gold with all he still had left from the Lannisters and the purse Sansa's brother had given him before he left Riverrun. Mayhap the glorious King in the North would have been even more generous with me if he had known how events would unfold and foreseen that I would become his sister's protector. The idea made Sandor's mouth the Young Wolf had had access to such knowledge, the lad wouldn't have gone to the damned wedding to begin with and never let him get anywhere near his sister thought was a pure waste of time.

The inn was situated in a rather small house and the place was most likely empty that night, for when Sandor reached its step, the keeper was already waiting for them in its entrance, probably alerted by the sound of Stranger's hooves

"Looking for a warm bed and a meal?" he asked by way of a greeting.

"Aye. I'll take a room if you have one," Sandor responded, adjusting his hood over his head. Somehow even as he did it, he realised any effort at disguise was useless. Anyone with a fit pair of eyes couldn't perceive the two of them as anything but conspicuous.

Sweeping his gaze from Sandor to the little bird, the keeper gave him a wide, fake smile. "I have more than one room available, ser. The girl could get her own chamber if that was your wish," he said while bowing his head in a show of respect.

Scowling, Sandor stared down at the man for an instant. Chances were he was only hoping for some extra income but the keeper's assumption nevertheless irritated him. How could anyone question Sansa was his? "She's my woman," he snapped without thinking. "Why the fuck would I waste my gold on an extra room?" It took a moment for Sandor to realise he had spoken the words perhaps a little too threateningly but thankfully, the keeper didn't seemed the least impressed by his outburst.

"Sorry if I offended you, ser. I certainly didn't mean anything by that," he replied, his annoying smile even wider than before. "Follow me inside. I'll show you the way."

Gently gathering the little bird in his arms, Sandor dismounted and walked into the inn's warmth. My woman, he inwardly repeated to himself, enjoying the sound of it. That's what she'd be from now on and no one – not even all the buggering kings and queens that led the wars of this world - would ever change the veracity of it. Sandor knew he'd kill anyone who ever dared contest the truth of it without hesitation.

The keeper led him to a room on the second floor before going back downstairs to mind his business. Stepping inside, Sandor took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The place was far from a palace but it would do for the night. Anything was better than the precariousness of the woods anyhow and while the chamber was small, it was clean and had a fireplace and that was much more than Sandor had expected. Gently, he put Sansa on her feet and began freeing her from her wet cloak and damp dress. In the process, she roused for an instant and complained at being disturbed in soft moans but once she was down to her shift and laid under the covers, the girl shortly went back to her dreams.

The idea of leaving her was painful to him but Sandor still had Stranger to tend to, the keeper to pay and his saddlebag to retrieve. Reluctantly, he hurried down the stairs with the intent of being as effective as he might. While he was there, he'd make the most of it and get Sansa and him both food and drinks. After all, there was no denying he was starving – his stomach had kept complaining with loud rumblings all through the day – and some wine in his belly was never unwelcome.

Once Stranger was in the stables and cared for, Sandor entered the common room again, his saddlebag under his arm. The keeper promptly offered him some cold meat pie that had been left from the previous meal and began describing the dish as the finest creation anyone had ever set tooth over. Sandor almost rolled his eyes at his excessive eagerness but nevertheless accepted a few pieces of the pie without being begged, some of which he ate in place, while he kept the rest for Sansa. Before he left, he paid for everything and bought a couple of wineskins too, drinking a few gulps as he went up the stairs.

When at last he was back in the warmth of the room, where he longed to be, Sandor barred the door behind him and set the pie, wineskins and saddlebag on the table in the corner. Cautious not to wake Sansa, he began unburdening himself of his armour very attentively, taking care not to cause any unnecessary noise. Once the damned thing was all gathered in a pile on the floor, the man undressed himself, barely containing the disgust he felt at the stench of his garb. He wasn't usually sensitive enough to give a shit about his own body smell but his little bird didn't deserve to abide with that. Having gulped a few mouthfuls of wine and gotten rid of the last of his clothes, Sandor walked to the small basin that had been left on the table. Cursing at the bite of the ice-cold water on his skin, he proceeded to rid himself of the filth that covered him, using an old towel he found. While doing so, he never faltered from keeping an eye on Sansa's sleeping form. There she was; the last northern princess, all for him and waiting. The Queen in the North, Sandor mused, snorting a short, dry laugh. Although he didn't give a rat's arse about her claim, the idea strangely still held some sort of appeal to him.

More than anything else, Sandor longed to join his little bird and very soon, he was settling his tired body beside hers. The straw-filled mattress shifted under his weight as he lay down and a few twigs dug into his skin but no surface had ever felt more tender. Rolling onto his side, Sandor began gazing at the little bird's shape and he was quickly stunned once more by her beauty. Sleep was begging for him to claim it but Sandor couldn't surrender just yet. No, he needed to appreciate the prize he had won most unwarrantedly, to drink in the sight of it until he was drunk. The light of the fireplace wouldn't be enough for that though and thus, Sandor swept his stare over the room. Beside him on the bedside table, an unlit candle stood and the man grasped it as soon as he glimpsed it. Jumping off the mattress, he brought it to the hearth and lit its wick with the flames before settling it back to its place. Much better, he mused, eyeing Sansa's perfection glowing under the orange light. He needed to see her in all her glory and admire her through the night as she unknowingly slept. As he retook his place by her side, he almost felt like one of those evil creatures the night crones often warned children about. Like them, he had crept into a sleeping maiden's chamber with the design of taking some of her purity for himself. The thought instantly aroused him.

Leaning on his elbow, Sandor let his stare rove over the girl's dainty features as she breathed evenly and peacefully. She was so breathtaking, never had he laid eyes on a woman so perfect… and more astounding than anything else, she was his. The notion was absurd but oh, so satisfying. Although he hadn't removed her nightgown and a couple of thick blankets covered her body, Sandor was already hard as a rock. Her smooth, feminine face alone was enough to rouse the latent beast that slept in him. Purposely avoiding the most erotic parts of her body, he began caressing her as softly as he could and pressing himself against her. The thin fabric of her shift was teasing him as it brushed against his bare skin and all he yearned to do was to tear the buggering cloth apart and find his way to the warm sanctuary of her womanhood but he didn't dare bother her sleep. He'd have plenty of time to claim her later and therefore, he resolved to content himself gazing at the flawless oval of her face and caressing her amazing red curls.

Each time the girl inhaled, her delicate nose and mouth moved and her pure, youthful skin stretched very slightly. The sight was beyond moving to him. My woman, he repeated to himself once more, savouring the words. The gods had been terribly cruel to her but all the while, they had given him the most precious present a man could ever wish for. He'd keep her as jealously as he could.

Although Sandor had not faltered from his resolution to respect the little bird's peace, his cock was aching to a point where it was getting fucking unbearable. The pressure in his shaft was so intense that getting some of his seed out was actually more a question of sanity than a simple search for pleasure. With that in mind, Sandor seized the damned thing and began to stroke its length very slowly. He felt instantly better and rolled onto his back for more comfort all the while never detaching his stare from Sansa. The purity of the spectacle she made was certainly arousing to Sandor but the knowledge that he had already spoiled some of that innocence and triggered her maiden's blood to leak between her creamy thighs with the very cock he held was even more stirring. Entranced by the almost mystical way her porcelain skin glowed under the dim light, the man increased the rhythm of his movement. His eyes racing madly between the tip of her shoulder that shyly peeked out of her shift, her angelic and serene features and the violent redness of her fine hair, Sandor let his climax hit him with not an ounce of restraint. He shook and panted, his heartbeat resounding loudly in his ears and sustained the movement of his hand with the same unwavering vigour until his balls were freed of any trace of excess seed. Eyes slitted open, the man inhaled and exhaled deeply while watching the dancing flame of the candle for a long moment afterward. Once he had regained some of his composure, it took him all the will he had to sit up and put it out. His exhausted body immediately falling back onto the mattress, Sandor didn't even care about his seed drying into the covers and happily let the mist of sleep envelop him. Less than a minute later, he was snoring with his little bird tucked in his arms.

Soft lips were covering his face – unmarred skin and scars alike – when he awoke several hours later. Almost instantly, Sandor opened his eyes and saw his little bird leaning over his torso, blue eyes narrowed as she pressed her plump mouth over his face with no discrimination. That girl's fucking blind, Sandor thought to himself, astounded. Couldn't she see what lay under her?

Seemingly pleased with the passionate look he was giving her, Sansa smiled shyly at him. "I love you, Sandor," she whispered in a voice as sweet as honey.

Dawn was well upon them by then and rays of light were permeating the room, finding their way through its small window. Looking at her, Sandor had no choice but to admit the girl he had before him was even more stunning than he had believed on the previous night. In all the wide circle of the world, there was beyond a shadow of doubt not one woman that could rival her beauty. Her perfection didn't stop there though. The little bird had been gifted with a heart as pure as that of the Maiden herself. Even after all the horror she had been faced with throughout the last few years, her kind, gentle nature had not been blemished to a single degree. The notion that such a goddess reposed over his torso, telling him she loved him sent Sandor's blood boiling instantly. Without hesitation, he rolled her over onto her back and pressed his mouth over hers. Sansa squeaked in surprise but shortly opened her lips for him, meeting his tongue with hers with a fervour matching his own. Timidly, she raised her lithe hands over his shoulders and began caressing the skin there before slowly lowering her palms and tracing the muscle of his upper arms with her fingers. Sandor was already hard and ready and the feel of her delicate hands only reminded him of another place where he'd like to be touched. Almost instinctively, he seized her wrist and brought her hand over his stiff shaft. At the contact, the little bird's eyes widened and the sight made Sandor grin in contentment.

"See how hard I am for you, Sansa?" he rasped wickedly.

Blushing, the little bird nodded shyly but despite her reserved expression, Sandor felt her slender fingers curl around his cock. Slowly, she began moving her fist up and down exactly as he had shown her a few weeks ago. Biting at her full lips, she lowered her eyes at first but swiftly gazed at Sandor again, apparently waiting for a sign of approval. Taken off-guard by her boldness, it took the man a couple of seconds for his surprise to fade but he nevertheless shortly narrowed lustful eyes at her and bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. The girl's eyes lit at the sight of his twisted face and Sandor had to wonder once more how crazy she was. Just enough for you, dog, he decided, grin broadening.

Laying his hands on her body, Sandor began cupping her tits but the fabric of her shift was getting in the way. "Take that off," he softly whispered in her ear while pulling at it. "I won't suffer being the only naked fool in this bloody bed for very long."

Giggling, Sansa got on her knees and pulled the damned piece of cloth over her head. The shift had not even reached the floor when Sandor grasped her by the waist and brought her over the mattress again. Just as soon his hands were trailing down her curves, seizing her underclothes on their way and making history of those too.

Although Sandor had seen his little bird naked before, he felt as excited as if she was revealed to him for the very first time. The circumstances they were in this morning were indeed much different than those of their first night together. The room where her deflowering had taken place had been badly lit and windowless for one and Sandor hadn't been in his best state either with all the wine he had drunk during the evening. Things were much different now though, for with each passing minute, the sunbeams were getting stronger, bathing Sansa in their crisp light. And besides that, I'm as sober as a fucking newborn, the man mused to himself. On the previous night, he had only drunk about half of a wineskin and to him that was really only a starter. All the better, he concluded with a smirk.

Her delicate body lying on its back, Sansa was displayed in all her bloody splendour. Even in Sandor's most perverted fantasies, his little bird had never surpassed the vision she was now. Her nearly white skin was flawless and seemed as smooth as polished ivory. As could be expected of a girl of her youth, Sansa was very slim with a waist so small he could certainly hide it completely under the circle of his two hands. The roundness of her firm tits was almost shocking in a stirring sort of way next to her thinness and the curve of her hips was similarly enhanced by the contrast. Pink and adorable, her hard nipples were pointing at the sky as if begging to be sucked and nibbled at. Sandor was just about to answer their prayers when his attention got caught elsewhere. Between the silky perfection of her thighs, hair as red as that on her head grew and the man was taken by an urge to find his way to the sweetness he knew was hidden there the instant he laid eyes on it. Just looking at her, he could feel his mouth water and his cock stir in frustration. He needed to fuck her and badly.

When Sandor finally gazed in her eyes again, the little bird was looking at him with a mix of innocence, passion and desire that nearly sent him over the edge of madness. In a heartbeat, he was covering her small body with his heavy one, well aware that he'd never be able to wait very long before he spread her legs and took her like the beast he was. Their naked skin rubbed against one another as Sandor kissed and nuzzled at the girl's throat and hair, her sweet moans only encouraging him to continue. Yearning for more of her pretty song, he lowered his hand over the silkiness of her folds and began caressing her there with an attentive care he had scarcely ever showed. The girl's groans instantly became more frantic and the sound finished convincing Sandor that he immediately needed to fuck her. Plunging a finger into the depths of her cunt to make certain she was ready for him, the man was elated when he found her even more soaked than he remembered from their first time. Only a buggering septon would refuse a woman his cock in these conditions and Sandor was anything but that.

With no additional foreplay, he aimed the head of his cock against her entrance and began thrusting his shaft into her cunt, careful not to go too fast although that was all he really longed to do. Sansa was squirming and sighing under him and when – halfway inside her - he gazed at her face and saw how tense it looked, Sandor wondered for an instant if the process still pained her. Just as he was about to enquire about it, the little bird bit at the plump pinkness of her bottom lip and opened her eyes slightly, lust gleaming in them.

"Oh, Sandor," she then whimpered softly, in a voice that definitely sounded more delighted than distressed.

Relieved, the man smirked at her enthusiasm and resumed sheathing his cock until its length was completely hidden inside the little bird's belly. Once he was confident there was no danger of tearing her sensitive skin, he began moving his hips against hers. Her insides were slick and willing, ready for him as no woman should be and the sensation of that inviting tightness was all Sandor needed to lose his wits completely. In an instant, all rational thoughts were chased from his mind by that primitive part any male had in him. A slave to his animalistic instinct, the man increased his speed and began to thrust more frantically, well aware that he'd only know respite once he'd planted his seed deeply between her thighs.

Brow buried in the pillow, Sandor had almost forgotten himself for good when he abruptly remembered he wasn't fucking a mere whore. No, Sansa was anything but that and a woman of her quality required to be admired while she was taken. He'd worship her like a bloody goddess as he fucked her, Sandor decided, and watched her face as she came.

With that in mind, he calmed himself, braced his back and got on his knees without letting his cock slip out of the little bird's cunt. The girl's long legs were propped against his torso, her feet resting against his shoulders and Sandor couldn't resist the urge to nuzzle their soft arches on the way. Sansa giggled at the sensation and the sound of her soft laughter only added to the man's elation. While their new position wouldn't allow him to kiss her, the view he had of the little bird's body was amazing. Seizing her hips with both hands, Sandor began letting his shaft enter her very slowly. With each of his movements, he could see Sansa arching her back to meet him and her face contorting with pleasure. Soft moans kept escaping her luscious mouth and getting louder with every thrust. Stretched around his width, the plump lips of her cunt stirred around him and caressed his cock as he shoved it inside her in the loveliest lover's embrace he had ever beheld. Engrossed by the sight of their mingling bodies, the man suddenly pulled his gleaming manhood out of the girl's warmth and watched in fascination as it re-entered nearly as smoothly as a warm knife cutting through butter.

The view of his manhood sliding so perfectly into her transporting him, Sandor raised his gaze to the little bird's face and stared into her eyes. The passion and longing he saw in them was undeniable. She was relishing the feeling of their sensitive skins as much as he was as they rubbed and joined in the most intimate manner possible. They shared the same thirst and hunger at that moment, their coupling being the centre of the world for both of them. The realisation was enough for Sandor to lose it completely. His peak would be coming on him shortly and for a heartbeat, he considered pulling his cock out of her burning cavern but then stopped himself. Why should he bother? She was his now with no family left to shame if he planted a bastard in her belly. With that appealing excuse in mind, Sandor gifted her with his seed, grinning when he saw how unconcerned she appeared by the present he had bestowed upon her as she came to completion herself.

A few minutes later, Sansa was resting against his torso and lovingly caressing the hair on his chest.

"Sandor?" she suddenly asked, raising her head to gaze into his eyes.

"What's that, little bird?" the man replied with a satisfied smile, tightening his arm around her.

"Promise me you'll always be with me," she demanded softly, her eyes shining with hope. "Tell me you'll never abandon me."

Snorting a short laugh, Sandor shut his eyes and smirked. Did she really doubt he'd make certain to be the only man who'd ever get to know the taste of her sweet love? She might come to regret his possessiveness with time but she'd certainly never need to complain about him forsaking her. "Aye, Sansa, I promise. Till the day I die, you'll be the center of my world."

His statement seemingly pleasing her, the little bird snuggled against him, holding Sandor with more tenderness than he even knew existed. "While I was in King's Landing, I prayed for a knight to come and rescue me," she breathed so very softly after a few heartbeats.

At that, Sandor snorted in derision.

"Don't mock me, Sandor! With all the stories and songs I have heard and sung throughout my childhood, it's only natural that as a hostage I dreamt of something similar. What other hope did I have?"

"Aye, perhaps you're right," the man grudgingly admitted. After all, there was no denying that the girl had been the most naïve thing to ever enter the Red Keep when she arrived at the capital. She was still innocent most of the time but she had nevertheless learned her lesson the hard way and grown quite a bit since then. "You've been forced to lose a lot of your illusions through that harsh journey of yours, haven't you, little bird?"

"Some… but not all," Sansa answered with a mischievous smile. Sandor narrowed his eyes at her with suspicion. "After I prayed for a knight to save me, I was disappointed at first. I believed the gods hadn't heeded my demand… but I was wrong, so wrong."

The discussion was not going in a direction Sandor enjoyed very much. Knights, he mused with contempt while losing his smile. Why the fuck did she need to bring up those bloody bastards in their bed for?

Her head leaned against his chest, Sansa had not noticed the change in the man's demeanour and continued with her inane assertion with the same dreamy voice. "Ever since I first arrived in King's Landing, you were always there to protect me… even when you didn't realise it! You saved my life many a time before we left the capital and then volunteered to escort me to my family because you knew you were the only one with whom I'd be safe. Later, when your mission was done, you came back to get me and although you didn't know it, while doing so you saved my life again. Sandor, you are the knight I prayed for. You're my knight." With that, she wrapped her arms around him and held him as strongly as her thin arms allowed.

Her knight, Sandor repeated to himself, jaw clenched 't the damned girl learn anything from the fucking shit storm that had blown over her life for the last few years? She seemingly hadn't heeded a single buggering word that Sandor had ever told her. Those countless occasions where he had attempted to teach her some much needed wisdom and given her advice had apparently been lost to thin air as if they had never taken place at all. The notion of her incurable foolishness was beyond frustrating to Sandor at that moment. By all the Seven bloody Hells, how Sansa could still be willing to believe in such fucking idiocies was beyond him. He was no knight! Hadn't he told her enough already? Highly irritated, Sandor was just about to push the little bird away and share his wrath with her when something suddenly hit him.

Just as Sansa's life had been shattered by her arrival in King's Landing, Sandor's existence had been turned upside down from the moment he had set eyes upon her. She had been Joffrey's betrothed back then and he the Lannister dog and by all logic, he shouldn't have given a fuck about the heartaches and ordeals of this stupid northerner girl. Why should a brute like him feel any sort of responsibility toward a traitor's daughter no one cared about? There had been no rational answer to that question but there had been no denying either that Sandor felt compelled to protect her. Every fibre of his being had been hopelessly attracted to her and his interest and curiosity had shortly turned into obsession. While they were at the Red Keep, the man had quickly begun tracking her whereabouts and following her around during his free time to assure himself of her safety. A helpless little thing like her needed a protector and though she had ignored it at the time, he had already acted thus. At court, anytime Joffrey was cruel toward her, Sandor would attempt to soothe him and draw his attention elsewhere. While he did not always succeed where the king was concerned, he nevertheless stopped Sansa from pushing the little bastard off the battlements and even saved her from the mob on the day of the bread riot. Progressively, his protectiveness had evolved into devotion and even before the man had had a chance to realise it, every fucking detail of his life had become about her. All he had desired was to be there for her, to be her bloody saviour… It was without a doubt the very reason he had volunteered to be her escort to the exchange.

His mind racing at a hundred miles an hour, Sandor finally came face to face with the truth. Chances were that in the end, he was as foolish as those bloody knights he despised so much. Like them, he'd been ready to move mountains if the effort might make the lady he served happy. It was beyond pathetic but Sandor had seemingly reached that level where Sansa was concerned. The idea was infuriating - but aye - she indeed had the right of it. He was the bloody saviour she had prayed for. If she wished it, he'd take her to the edge of the world, avenge her whole family and kill any bugger who so much as touched a single lock of her hair. He'd become a slave to her happiness for the rest of eternity if it meant she allowed him to stay by her side. He was hers as completely as anyone could ever become.

Shutting his eyes in a queerly pleasant despair, the man waited for the bitterness he expected to appear at the back of his throat while he prepared to respond. It never came. Confused, he nonetheless growled his reply.

"Aye, Sansa. I am. Your… knight."

THE END

So here's the end of a year-long writing process for me. I hope you all liked reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would really love to get your comments on this chapter, the ending and the story in its whole if you have a minute or two to spare. :)

And if anyone is wondering, yes, I'll be writing other fics. I'm a SanSan addict!