Sansa

"What do you mean you're leaving?" Sansa exclaimed, clutching the blankets and furs to her chest as she watched her husband pull on thick boots.

Sandor sighed heavily, meeting her panic-stricken gaze with his calm one. "Little bird, I told you it will only be a few days. The village needs meat, and the men want to hunt."

Trying to breathe deeply and remember her Septa's teachings, Sansa realized she was on the verge of a full-fledged panic attack. Where was she supposed to go for company? For food? Days, he would be gone? In the back of her mind, she had already considered the concept that Sandor was all that she had, and that was what had stayed her knife in the beginning. But coming face-to-face with the fact that her sole provider of everything in her life at the moment would be leaving her was too much to handle. Especially when that's what she had woken up to - a cheerful "Good morning, I'm leaving, but I'll be back fairly soon."

Drawing herself up in the most ladylike manner she could manage with wild bed-head, Sansa commanded in her father's voice, "Well that simply won't do."

Sandor glanced back at her with an eyebrow raised from across the room where he was gathering various items into a pack. "It won't do?"

She drew her mouth into a taut line, trying her best to mimic her mother's stern posture. "No! You cannot go. You cannot just...just abandon me here!" Accusingly, Sansa pointed a finger at the hulking man and tried desperately not to let her resolve waver at his formidable figure. "You...you took me and curse you if you're not going to take care of me!"

Then Sandor did the thing she feared the most: he laughed. In fact, it was not so much a laugh as a roar, with head thrown back and the booming mirth filling up the bedchamber. He looked at her with such amusement and delight, Sansa was shocked at how young it made him seem. The scars were not so prominent then, but rather his smile. "Look at the little bird now, feathers all ruffled! If I were a less clever man, it would seem to me that my wife will mourn my absence. Is that so, girl? You'll miss me?"

Angrily, Sansa clenched her fist around on of the pillows and considered hurling it at him. She knew Arya would have. "You insolent man! What am I supposed to do? Stay holed up here until you come back? I've barely even seen the town! I don't know anyone!"

Don't you realize you're all I have?

But Sandor only shook his head, as if her concerns were petty. "No one will hassle you. Besides, I've told Osha to look after you."

Oh wonderful, the delightful woman who convinced me to drink my weight in mead will be my protector. "Look after me? Will I live with her then?" A dreadful thought struck her then: what if this was Sandor's way of gently dismissing her? First it was a few nights at Osha's, then a 'why don't you just stay there?' and that would be that. Sansa would be alone, without a protector and without a future. Oh yes, the panic was coming on heavily now.

Her breaths came in short bursts and there was a pressure on her chest. Her husband continued packing as she remained motionless, grasping the soft furs, staring blankly. I'm going to faint. When the Vikings had landed upon the shores of Winterfell she had kept control of her body just fine, why was this happening now? I'm going to be alone. Alone. Alone.

"Are you alright?" Sandor's voice lacked the amusement it had held before and he eyed her cautiously. However, Sansa could not seem to formulate an answer, dizzy as she was. Then he was beside her, hands against her face, his bewilderment clear. "Shh...little bird, shhh...it's okay. Breathe, Sansa."

Watching her shaky fingers with panic, she attempted a shuddering inhale. "You...are...leaving...me...why?" She managed to wheeze out and brought her hands to her chest, fruitlessly attempting to relieve the pain there.

Gently, her husband pulled her onto his lap and rubbed her back, obviously unsure of his actions as the movements were more like awkward pats. But it helped to soothe her nonetheless, the woodsy smell of him tinged with faint wine was familiar and slowly Sansa began to pull in air more deeply. "I'm sorry, Sandor," she murmured and pressed her cheek to his chest. "I'm sorry. Please...please..." Sansa wasn't sure what exactly she was pleading for. Or apologizing for. It was unimaginable that she would actually be begging the brutish man to stay with her, yet the terror of being left behind in an unfamiliar town of Vikings was even more terrible.

With a voice full of confusion, Sandor muttered, "You don't have anything to be sorry for. I told you I would come back, little bird. It'll only be a few days. A weeks time, at most."

No, no, no! A week was far too many days to be left abandoned! So Sansa did the only thing she could think of to make him stay - she kissed him. His surprise was almost a tangible object as she pressed her lips clumsily against his own, placing both hands on his face to keep him from moving. One side was soft, and then bristly with the stubble of his beard. The other was a mass of twisted knots of flesh, hard and puckered to the touch. He had always led the kisses before, and she wasn't sure if she was doing it right. It certainly didn't seem so, since he was as still as stone.

But before she could cover her face in mortification, Sandor responded. With a growl of approval, he removed Sansa from his lap and onto the bed, resting on his forearms above her.

When his hand found its way to her thigh, tracing up higher and higher, she let a contented sigh slip through her lips.

At the noise, her husband pulled back, his gray eyes seeming to calculate her. "Do you like me, little wife?"

She blushed then, red from head to toe. Of course I don't like you! Her mind told her to say. Yet her body was very much opposed to saying anything that would have him remove his hands. Instead of answering, Sansa pressed her mouth against his again and hoped that was a good enough reply.

He indulged her for awhile, hands tracing over breasts and down to lower places. Sansa shivered with a feeling she could only describe as anticipation, all the while wondering anxiously if he would make her his wife in true now. Surely if he took her maiden's gift he would not leave for the hunting party?

Yet her hopes were dashed when pulled away and muttered, "But by the gods, I will miss your sweetness."

Sansa's cheeks tinged with pink, half from his words and half from the frustration that she could not make him stay with her.

"Don't fret little bird, I will come back to your nest soon."

She nodded silently, still somewhat embarrassed by the kiss, but recovering her clarity. I should be thrilled. Arya would already be planning an escape, with or without Theon. Yet all Sansa felt was anxiousness. Sandor was finally somewhat familiar to her, despite his crudeness. Now she would be thrown into a new mess of captors and strange faces, without her protector. His words echoed in her mind then: "You'll be glad of the hateful things I do someday when I'm all that stands between you and the rest of my clan."

But he would no longer be there to stand between her and them. If only for a few days.

"Promise," Sansa whispered and glanced up at the grey-eyed man. "Promise you'll come back."

He nodded his consent and ran a thumb along her cheek. "Stupid girl, if you think anyone would willingly give you up. I told you already you were stuck with me." He took her face in his hands then and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth.

Briefly, Sansa felt the sensation she had felt in the tub return, a fluttering feeling mixed with the incomprehensible desire for more. But he pulled back too soon, and left her with a slight smirk.

As Sansa Stark, or Sansa Clegane, she supposed now, stood with those remaining behind to see the hunting party off, she could not help the ache of desperation within her.

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Osha wasted no time in dragging her all through the village, pointing out various villagers and vendors. The Viking woman appeared aloof to Sansa's obvious distress, and shuffled her through the town like a dog on a leash. Before long, children were trailing after them, curious at the newest red-head in their town.

"What shall I do, Osha?" Sansa asked quietly, staying close to the woman's side and ignoring the dirty palms of stray children which occasionally clutched at her.

Osha raised an eyebrow. "Do?"

"Yes...what is my role? Where should I work? Or should I just manage the home?"

The Viking snorted at that. "They really did raise you nice and proper, eh? Managing the household...bah. You know, I was raised to expect the same. Until I was stolen as well."

A sudden, overwhelming kinship struck Sansa then, and she grabbed Osha's arm in a desire to be closer. For all appearances, Osha seemed as though she was born into this world with a battle-cry on her lips. To know that they had similar upbringings was mind-boggling to Sansa. "Really?" She asked as they walked. "How old were you? Are you still married to him? Was he cruel? Did you miss your family?"

Osha smiled crookedly at her eager questions. "I was five and ten. No, he's dead. He was crueler than some, but more gentle than most, I suppose. And no, I didn't miss my family. This lifestyle appealed to me much more than stitching and singing those knightly songs they teach you."

"If you don't mind me asking," Sansa continued, aware suddenly that her questions were very probing and very unfit for casual conversation. "Did you love your husband? The man that stole you?"

The wild woman led her inside another hill-home then, much larger than the others Sansa had seen, and her question went unanswered. Inside, the men and women who had remained behind were watching over a large cauldron of stew simmering over the large fire at the center of the room. A dozen separate conversations filled the room, and villagers were scattered around, some sitting, some standing, but all glowing with the light of the flickering fire. Metal glinted at almost every adult hip, whether it was a sword, dagger, or axe.

Osha led her to a wooden bench around the fire and then spooned Sansa a bowl of stew. She eagerly accepted, haven't not eaten yet that morning. She had woken early, when Sandor left her bed, but assuming he would be back soon, she drifted back to sleep until late morning.

"You won't always get handouts like this, Red," Osha warned her, handing her a spoon. "But as for now, Askrow is celebrating the return of the ships. And when the hunting party returns, we will feast further. Normally though, meals are taken in separate homes. Though," she said laughing, "without a woman at home, the Hound more often than not found his way to my door for a proper meal. Bloody man can't survive on his own."

Sansa smiled lightly at that, and felt better as the brown stew warmed her chest. Osha sat next to her with her own bowl and together they observed the feasting around them.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Sansa asked, "Could you tell me about Sandor?"

The Viking woman's lips curled into an amused smile, her tousled brown hair falling to one side as she cocked her head at Sansa. "And what is it you're wanting to know?"

Sansa shrugged, suddenly a bit embarrassed of her question. "I suppose just...anything you have to tell. Was he born here?"

"No, no. The Hound came to the clan, but he wasn't stolen. He was actually one of the few boys that joined willingly." She snorted at that. "But you can't really be shocked that his choice, considering the mockery of a family he came from."

This perked Sansa's interest considerably. "What do you mean?"

Osha eyed her carefully, and returned to her stew before making her reply. "He should be the one to tell you. Real protective of that story, he is. Just understand that it takes a lot for a young boy to leave his home for the protection of Vikings. So if he seems...unable to understand you missing your own people, that's why. He don't got anything to compare it to, ya see."

"Was his childhood so terrible?" Sansa asked, quite surprised by what Osha was implying. She couldn't imagine growing up unloved, as she was always smothered by affection. Even her antics with her sister were rooted in fun and mischief, not cruelty.

"Aye, Red. It was."

She sensed that Osha wasn't going to speak anymore on the subject of her husband's past so she let it drop. The clatter of forks and spoons, chatter, hearty laughter, and a drunken song filled the large hall with a surprising warmth. It was much like being with the servants at Winterfell when they had reason to make merry. They were unrestricted by propriety, and thus appeared much more free.

"So Red," Osha began in between sips from her goblet. "How's having the Hound in your bed?"

Sansa nearly choked on her stew, and coughed for good measure. How could she ask something like that of me? Over dinner! "Pardon?"

"I said, how is the experience of having the Hound fuck you?"

"Osha!" Sansa screeched, utterly mortified. She looked around swiftly to see if anyone else had heard her partner ask such an undignified question. Luckily, it seemed no one was in earshot.

"They say men like that are as hung as a horse. No need being shameful!" The vulgar woman laughed. "I bet many a woman would kill to be satisfied with that."

Unable to form a proper response, Sansa merely said, "Osha please...these affairs should not be discussed over dinner!"

Her companion shook her head in amusement and clapped her on the back. "I'll have the story from you soon, Red, don't you worry."

It was going to be a long week for Sansa.

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Yay chapter 8! Thank you all for being so supportive, I know I have been quite slow with the updates. I love every kind word and hope you enjoyed this update :)