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Sansa watched from a distance as Turmond cried on an irritated Sandor’s shoulder. She bit her lip, suppressing a smirk as two women approached the men - then sucked in her breath, worry niggling at her; would Sandor choose this girl? She had never seen him with a woman on his arm. Turmond left with one girl, apparently over his break up with Brienne. The last serving girl took her seat next to Sandor and asked him a question as he finished his drink and the girl reached out for him. Something in Sansa snapped, an ugly monster that was jealousy and possessiveness reared her head. She walked over to him and the girl's eyes snapped up to meet hers, trying to tell Sansa to leave this man alone. Sansa put her cup down next to Sandor’s and he turned to her, seemingly lost with two women so close to him. His eyes wide, not expecting Sansa to be so close to him willingly, not after the last time they left each other.

 

Sansa pressed her advantage, cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. She closed her eyes as his smell of bitter wine and leather enveloped her. Large hard hands gripped her forearms but she refused to budge. Her lips moving across his twisted ones, telling him what she couldn’t say out loud, what she had wanted to say since she saw him in the Dragon Queen’s Train. She’d missed him every day, she missed his heat, his shadow, his smell but couldn’t bring herself to see him - what if he had died in the battle? Sansa would never forgive herself for opening herself up to him only to have him snatched away.

 

But he’d survived the dead, he’d survived everything and she would be damned before she let him slip through her fingers again. Slowly his hands traveled to her back and circled her thin waist, and he pulled her toward him roughly bringing her belly flush against his chest. Sansa was dimly aware of the noise stopping around her, barely registering the silence as her body melded to his. The Lady of Winterfell was kissing an old grumpy dog, stealing him from a serving girl to horde as her own treasure. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs and she prayed for the first time in a long time that she understood his longing looks from years past. That she wasn’t acting on one-sided love.  

 

Sandor’s hands landed on her forearms- she was kissing him, Sansa fucking Stark was kissing him of all people, her soft hands holding his jawline, her thumbs resting on his cheeks. Her lips impossibly soft and her small tongue demanding entry at his mouth. He granted her what she wanted, earning a tiny pleased mewling sound from her. Years and years of pent up longing flooded him, she was the sweet wine he had been missing all his life. Slowly she broke the kiss and traced the bruise on his cheek with her thumb, her blue eyes fluttered open meeting his dark brown ones. He watched her teeth drag along her bottom lip then her tongue following as if savoring the taste of him. Gradually he became aware of how quiet the main hall was but he still couldn't break his gaze from this woman. His massive hands came to rest on her wide hips, “Little Bird...” He rasped.

 

A deep rumbling belly laugh came from somewhere behind him and Sandor could tell Tormund was laughing at him. Slowly everyone in the room started to laugh, the meanest one of them finally had a lady in his arms. Sandor turned to see the red-headed man with both girls on either side of him. He glanced around the hall, everyone was laughing - looks of sheer relief dominated her brother’s face and the Imp’s. Jon simply held his cup up to him in a toasting sort of manner. Everyone knew Sansa’s story, knew about her past - for her to choose him of all people… His eyes settled back on her pretty face, “Used to be you couldn't look at me.”

 

She smiled, “That was a long time ago.” she bent to whisper in his ear, “I should have gone with you, Sandor. I’m sorry I didn’t.” he wrapped his arm around her waist again and picked her up as he stood. She was thicker than the last time he carried her over his shoulder, her body no longer held the slim curves of budding womanhood but the full curves of a woman made to love. They left to the sound of raucous laughter, a few barks, and howls mostly from the wildlings.

-

 

Sandor set her down in the hall, her cheeks her blazing, her long fingers gripping his soft jerkin and pulled him toward her. Sandor bent his neck and took her lips again, earning another soft moan from the back of her throat. He backed her against the wall, wanting to take her then and there as he was want to do back in King’s Landing.

 

Hot aching heat pooled between her thighs as her back hit the cold stone of the hallway wall, his hands were rough and demanding on her body and in her hair like a man desperate for her affection. He pulled at her skirts, his rough hands gripping her soft thighs and she pushed against his chest, “Sandor,” She panted, “slower, please.”

 

“Seven hells woman.” He looked down at her, her braid was half undone, her lips kiss swollen and her dress half undone. “I can try, for you, gods know I’ll try.” She smiled prettily and took his hand in hers, leading him through the twists and turns on the inner castle. Finally, she came to her door and despite a maid still cleaning in her rooms, she pulled in him to her inner chambers. Sansa tugged him into her room - the maid ignored by both of them. Thoroughly ignored by both the maid stopped her task immediately and ducked out of the room, listening to her mistresses giggles and a deep rasping voice.

 

Sandor pulled the rest of the pins from her hair, letting the small metal pieces fall to the floor finally allowing his hands to trail through the glorious mane that was her hair. His hands cupped the back of her head, angling her head to deepen the kiss as her hands explored his jerkin, finding the ties and undid them. She shoved the leather to the side, breaking the kiss to look at his chest, a litany of scars and gouges lingered there clearly visible through the coarse hair on his chest. Dark purple bruises still fresh on his chest from the recent battle. Carefully she traced the edges of a large one on his left pectoral as he shrugged off the garment. “Thank you Sandor,” She whispered.

 

He caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger, brushing her lips with his. “For what?” He rumbled.

 

“Everything,” She answered and tugged at his laces on his pants, “For King’s Landing, for Arya, for fighting...everything.” Sandor pulled off her chain, letting it hit the floor then moved to back to her dress, undoing the last of the tiny knots that held it in place.

 

“Better be no corset under this damn thing.” He growled, not knowing what to do with her thanks.

 

“Sorry to disappoint you.” She smirked and stood on her tiptoes taking his lips again. Through keening kisses, Sandor managed to undo her dress and corset until she stood in front of him with just her shift and stockings. He gripped the edge of it starting to lift it, but Sansa pushed it back down, “Ramsay...he…”

 

“I heard what he did to you. Heard he broke you in rough.”

 

“He got what he deserved.” She looked up at him. He was so much taller than she, “I gave it to him.” She said wanting his approval.

 

“How?”

 

“Hounds.” She answered. Sandor busted out into a deep rich laugh, his hands coming up to her face and cupping her cheeks.

 

“Thinking about me were you?”

 

“I’m always thinking about you, I always wondered what happened to you. If you were okay,” She breathed, Sansa saw the heat in his eyes and for an instant, the shutters of his hate were lifted, she pressed it, “I missed you so much, every day I thought about that night. I still have your cloaks...both of them. I still sleep in them sometimes.” She ended on a whisper. His eyes had an intensity she had never seen in him before, something deeper than either one of them would dare say out loud tonight.

 

“Do you now?” His voice had dropped to a deeper octave than normal, “And why would you do that? Keep my cloaks?”

 

“You know why,” She whispered, “You’ve always known,” Sansa reached up and caressed the burned side of his face. Did he dare think they wanted the same thing? A woman so young as her with him, so pretty as her with him? On a groan, he gripped the end of her shift again and pulled it off of her before she could protest or shove it back down.

 

Sansa didn’t know what to cover; her breasts, the curls between her thighs, or the scars on her body. “Stop it.” Sandor grabbed her arms and held them at her sides, “Stop it, Sansa. Let me see you.”

 

“I...I’m not like I used to be in Kings Landing.” She whispered.

 

“No girl, you’re not. You're even more beautiful.” When her blue eyes flew up to meet his he continued, “Don’t let that bastard Ramsay take your beauty, Little Bird. Don’t let him take your power, don’t let him have anything. He’s shit now and you are still the most desired woman in the Kingdoms.” She flushed at his words, her pale cheeks darkening with the pretty rose color he liked on her. He knelt in front of her focusing on a raised pink scar that dragged across her belly in the Bolton ‘X’.

 

“He said, only a Bolton would ever own me. That he marked me forever so no one else would ever want me.”

 

“No one owns you Little Bird.” He pressed a kiss to her belly, tracing up the large scar and down with his lips. Sansa let her head fall back at the sweet intimate kiss, his hands gently gripping her hips, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. Fuck me for a monster, I wanted you from the moment I say you.” She sucked in her breath as he descended lower to the patch of curls at the apex of her thighs. She reached out to a soft chair to balance herself, finding the opportunity he shifted her so she would sit on the chair.

 

“Sandor?” She asked as she sat, “I’m confused.” He remained kneeling in front of her.

 

“Just… trust me little bird.” He gently pushed her legs apart and lowered his face between her thighs a rough hand traveled up her thigh and hooked one of her thighs and brought it to his shoulder. At the first press of his hot tongue against her, she gave a startled yelp. The grip against her hips intensified as she arched her back, her hands threading through his thin hair.

 

She started to pant his name as his tongue slid from her hole to her clit. He lavished his attention on the swollen bud needing to hear her soft cries. Sansa’s breasts felt heavy, her nipples tingling matching the buzzing sensations in her lower belly- building growing into a tight ball of heat and power. “Sandor!” She tried to shift her hips away from him. She needed more wanting him inside of her, taking his pleasure within her. He refused to release her, instead, he closed his lips around her bud. Sansa tried to close her legs at the pressure building between her legs but his hand on her thigh stayed her, his fingertips digging into her supple thigh. The sensation grew brighter and brighter within her until that was all she could focus on, the hot rippling waves grew in intensity, pushing her closer and closer to an oblivion she didn’t know. He growled against her, nuzzling against her curls, Sansa burst. Light eroded her vision as she cried out her intensity, Sandor stayed between her thighs, licking up her juices.

 

Finally, he relented and let her thigh slip from his shoulder. Sansa’s hands were still in his hair as he slid his hands up to her hips and dragged her to the edge of the chair, “You taste better than a damn peach, woman.”

 

“A peach?” She asked him dazedly as he stood and pulled her up with him.

 

“Mmmmm.” He answered her backing her up to the bed. His lips descended on hers again and she tasted her essence on his lips. His hands came up to her sides and he lifted her to the bed, reluctantly she broke the kiss and pushed further up on the bed to allow him to follow.

 

Sandor watched her recline against the pillows on her bed, her face flushed and her eyes open and welcoming, her legs spread wide waiting for him to take his place. Not like the last time they were in a room alone together. He shoved the thoughts down as he pulled off his britches and boots. Stepping out of them he pressed his knee to the bed and crawled on top of her. “Never had a woman like this. On her back”

 

Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, tracing her fingertips against the scars there, “Never?”

 

“Always from the back.” He bent his neck, kissing her lightly, “None of them wanted to see my face.”

 

“I want to.” She said against his mouth, “I need to see you.” She reached between them and let her fingers trace down his stomach before she gripped his manhood in her small hands. Her eyes widened as she stroked him.

 

“Aye, my face may not be pretty girl, but that,” he thrust up in her hand, “That I was gifted with.” Sansa closed her fingers around him as he thrust up again. She drew up her knees and gripped them to his sides, he was so much bigger than Ramsay in every aspect. Sandor shifted so his knees slid under her thighs and took her hand from his member, kissing her palm before he put her hand to the back of his head. He dipped his head once again and Sansa thought he meant to kiss her as he entered her. But he instead pressed his forehead to hers and entered her slick channel, his thick shaft stretching her to the point of near pain.

 

The quick inhale and gasping sound she made as he sank inside of her was better than his fantasy, better than every heated dream, her fingernails scratched the back of his skull as her ankles cross behind him. Her hot wet channel gripped him tightly as he stretched her to his size, she pressed her head back unknowingly giving him access to her delicate throat. He kissed her at the hollow on her neck, reveling in the goosebumps that he brought to her flesh.  

 

Sansa gasped as he ground his hips against hers making small tight circles, the tingling sensation started anew, this time deeper more powerful. She didn’t know how but his arm was under her and his hand in her hair fingers tangled in her red locks, he reared his hips and stroked forward. The sound she made nearly sent Sandor over the edge, he licked and nipped her throat rewarding himself for every sweet sound she made for him.

 

She was lost in his thrusts and kisses, her body flowering for him, contracting then releasing making him groan on top of her. Sansa rolled her hips as if she were alone and got a strangled moan from him, he raised his head from her neck and kissed her, “Keep doing that, woman.” His next thrust was more forceful making her echo him from just moments ago, they moved in unison his strokes coming harder and faster tantalizing a bundle of nerves deep inside of her. Hot blinding sensation built up in her quickly and powerfully, every stroke brought a broken gasp from her lips.

 

Sandor held her gaze as her quim started to ripple against him, her eyes open - inviting - accepting. The hand that gripped her hip slipped to her knee pinning it to the bed and increased his pace. Hammering in and out of her, her cunt tightened around him like a vice. Raising himself up on his elbow he watched her, watched as her thighs gripped his slim waist and her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades. “That’s it Little Bird, come for me.” Her eyes were squeezed shut and her head pushed back against the pillows. His hips snapped back and forth, gaining a wet smacking sound in the room as his cock was coated with her cream. “Sansa…”

 

Every stroke brought Sansa back to the edge of oblivion, she didn’t want to let go, she wanted to stay here. Stay with him stroking and out of her wanted to be sore from his love but with his lips on her throat. Sansa was powerless to stop the edge he pushed her over. A tidal wave of heat and sensation rushed through her. Her back arched and her thighs gripped him.  A strangled whimper came from her lips as bolt after bolt of pleasure rushed through her body making her shiver and scream his name. Her body contracted around him, the action making him larger and drawing him in deeper. She barely had time to open her eyes when he took her lips and gently tugged on her hair, his hips crashing into hers at a rapid pace. Sansa moved her hands from his back to his face and held him there while he slaked his lust in her. In three strokes he was jerking erratically on top of her, groaning into her mouth.

 

When she finally released his lips he pressed his forehead to hers, “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be inside you, woman? How long I’ve wanted to take you and make you scream?”

 

“Tell me.” She whispered under him, nuzzling his neck and kissing him there, earning a soft groan from him. “Tell me everything.”

 

He told her between loving her and holding her. Between quiet admissions of his past and her desires for the future. When she rode him, he admitted he wanted to fuck her the first night he was here, when he’d seen her for the first time in years. “Seven hells woman.” He groaned as he thrust up into her body, his fingers digging into her fleshy hips. Sansa arched her back gyrating her hips on his hardness bringing herself to peak, her body once again gripping him and drawing his seed from his body.

 

When she finally fell asleep on his chest, sore but sated, Sandor played with a curl of her red hair between his fingers. His plan had been to go to King’s Landing and end his brother, not caring if he died in the processes. But Sansa changed that, she changed all of that. He needed to kill Gregor, that was true; he could never have a family with her as long as the asshole was alive. Gregor would be a constant threat to everyone around him and to his little bird. When he finally fell asleep, her arm was wrapped around his barreled chest, clinging to him.

 

****

 

In the early hours of the morning, Sansa reached out for Sandor. His spot was empty but still warm. Sitting up, she glanced around the room. He was tugging on his boots, “Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?” She asked him. Sandor’s head snapped up.

 

“...You know what I have to do Little Bird.” She looked down at her hands in her lap, “I can’t stop until he’s dead.”

 

“Daenerys will kill him.”

 

I need to kill him.” She flung the furs back and made her way to him, standing between his legs, and his hands came up to grip her naked hips, “You know I need to, for her sake.” Her, Sansa knew he missed his little sister. Knew that was the real reason he hated his brother, the abuse inflicted on him as a child was nothing compared to losing Eleanor.

 

“Come back to me, Sandor. Don’t you ever leave me again.” She whispered, taking his jawline in her hands, “I almost lost you after the Blackwater burned, and again with the army of the dead, please not to your brother.”

 

“I don’t intend on dying Little Bird, not anymore.” He pulled her to him, her naked body pressed against his armored chest and his head resting against her breast. “Tell that big bitch to guard you while I’m gone. Anything happens to you and I’ll kill her.” Before he left, he took one more scorching kiss from her, his hands tangling in her hair. As demanding as it was, it was the most tender one Sansa had ever received from any man. They both knew he would likely die in King’s Landing. That he would likely never come back to her, and likely never warm her bed again.

 

“Sandor…”

 

“Save it for when I’m back Sansa.” He whispered to her, wiping a tear from her cheek. “When I come back I want to hear it from your sweet lips.”

 

***

 

Sandor shoved the wall debris off of him. He’d landed on his broken brother; it the only thing that saved him from the fall. Gregor was still twitching as he stood up and shoved himself back, barely keeping his feet on the rubble that was the Red Keep. The fire had long died down around him, and he gazed through the ashes that was now King’s Landing. Looking to the sky he realized he only had half his vision. He reached up to his face and felt excruciating pain when he touched where his eye should have been. Drawing his hand back, all he could see around him was blood and ashes.

A cough racked his body, forcing him to his knees. Sandor braced himself on the debris around him and spat up some blood, “Fuck me.” He assessed his body internally and felt at least two ribs out and a deep breaking pain in his stomach and he glanced down, half expecting to see something sticking out of his torso. Nothing was there, but another cough racked through him bringing up more blood.

 

A fluttering caught his attention and he looked up, a small red bird had perched on one of the crumbled stones. “Fuck, Sansa...I don’t ..think I’ll make it back to you.” Another cough and more blood, fuck why didn’t he listen to her. He could be in bed with her, her long limbs wrapped around him. His chest rose and fell as his lungs heaved for air, gasping he fell forward again the pain in his chest near agonizing.

 

As he fought for his breath Sander felt the texture of the broken stones under his fingertips, broken jagged edges mixed with the soft silt of mortar. His fingertips curled into the rubble so much like his own life, Sansa had offered him the one thing he really wanted; acceptance. He’d thrown it back in her face for vengeance-the very thing he told Arya to throw away. Grabbing fistfuls of the broken building he roared into ashes and stone beneath him. Another cough, more blood, the realization that he was dying after so long made him angry, he’s only loved her once and denied her saying the words that would have made him stay. Denied the words so he could end this petty feud that started thirty-nine years ago. Soft hands gripped his jawline and tilted his face upward to the sky.

 

She was there, her red hair flowing out behind her, her dress a soft silty white, “Come home to me, my Love.” She said to him, kissing his forehead. He started to laugh, the dry sound made him cough more, he was seeing her damn ghost now, her soft hands left him. “Sansa…” He coughed not ready for her last touch to be so damn brief.

 

“Seven hells, you’re still in love with her aren't you? Fuck,.. you're even uglier now.” His eye snapped open to see the little Stark girl holding out her hand to him. “Do you really think Sansa would forgive me if anything happened to you? She’s been moaning on about you since I got back to Winterfell.” She was covered in ash and blood, stained across her face.

 

“Told your ass to run, Wolf Bitch.” he spat to cover the surge of happiness that ran through him.

 

“I did run. And I came back. Now, come on.” He took her hand and let her guide him through the rubble of the Red Keep. When they finally got to the base, he turned his head to see the devastation that was King’s Landing.

 

“Your sister...” He rasped, coughing more, bending over and grasping his knees as he caught his breath. “Fuck me.”

 

“Shut up,” Arya said, her head snapping to the direction behind him. Sandor turned to see men running down the alleyway, “It’s Jon…”  The bastard came over to them.

 

“Have you seen her?”

 

“Not since she blew up Maegor’s Holdfast,” Arya said. Sandor coughed again and spat out some more blood. “Where’s your field medic?” Sandor managed. Jon called out a man’s name and soon he found himself seated, listening to Jon and Arya argue.

 

“Nothing I can do about the eye,” Sandor grunted as the man poked and prodded at his face. “I’ll have to get the rest out. Drink this.” He handed Sandor a large wineskin, he took it gratefully and downed most of it.

 

“Go home Arya…”

 

“I said I was here to kill the Queen...just not which Queen.” She shot back.

 

“Daenerys is still our Queen,” Jon said a bit weakly.

 

“If you will not fight for us, I will declare Sansa our Queen, since you threw the title away, and take the Northmen home. None of this shit would have happened if your Dragon Queen had listed to her. You know that!”

 

Sandor, having been distracted by conversation, yelled in pain as the medic cut the rest of his eye out, “Worst part’s done.” He murmured over him. Sandor fought to keep his hands to himself and not lash out in pain.

 

The medic patched his eye and told him he would need to keep it covered for three moons. After a brief discussion about his coughing and blood the medic told him it was a damn miracle he was even alive, the blood was likely from his broken ribs. After a quick assessment he told Sandor to find a bed and lay in it, the Gods wouldn't grant him another life. The bigger man grunted that he understood then rose. “You won't win this one boy, hell I wouldn’t win it.” He limped over to Arya, “Kill that Dragon Bitch, Arya. Make her suffer for burning King’s Landing.”

 

Arya looked up at him, her brown eyes set in grim determination, “Go home Sandor, she’s waiting.”

 

***

 

4 Weeks Later:

 

Sandor trotted his horse into the courtyard of Winterfell, spotting Tormund immediately. He swung down from the steed and handed the reins to a groom, “My Lord?”  Sandor ignored him as he limped over to the wildling.

 

Tormund turned and stared at him, “Fuck, you’re even uglier now, you going to meaner too?” He laughed, pulling him into a great hug. Sandor stiffened at the contact then, begrudgingly, hugged his friend back.

 

“Nice to see you still here.” He rasped, “Thought you were going back North.”

 

“I was until that blonde idiot left the Big Woman here alone.”

 

“Fucking Lannisters,” Sandor grunted. Tormund told him about the Keep as they walked into the main hall, told him how Sansa was making repairs and had been devastated when she heard about Kings Landing. She thought him dead.

 

Sandor saw Sansa there in front of the hearth. Her back was turned to him as she dealt with something. “Tell them,” She said, but her hand flew to her mouth, clearly she was fighting something but the craftsmen in front of her only waited patiently as if used to this occurrence now. She took several deep breaths before clearing her throat and speaking again, “Tell them to rebuild it the way it was. I want the ramparts wide enough for four men abreast.”

 

“Aye milady.” The builder gave her a slight bow, then Brienne caught her attention. The knight jerked her head in Sandor’s direction. Sansa turned to see him, her blue eyes going wide, a strangled cry came from her as she nearly lost her knees her hand on the table stopping her full decent. Unable to stand the distance between them any longer scrolls spilled from her arms to the ground as he closed his around her; lifting her up and burying his face in her shoulder. He felt the wetness on her cheeks as she pressed her face to his. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she cried softly into him, Sandor hugged her tighter watching her shoulders shake as the tension from her body left through her tears.

 

“You’re alive.” She cried into his neck.

 

“Aye, barely.” he agreed, his gloved hand covering the back of her head. “Wasn’t sure you’d still want to see me after…” He’d chosen his vengeance over her love. Something he didn’t understand until he was falling from the tower in the Red Keep.

 

Sansa snorted in his good ear, “Don’t be stupid, I love you.scars and all. You know that. He’s gone, right? He can’t take you from me now right?”

 

“He’s dead...took out my eye.”

 

“If that is the only thing you suffered, then good.” She kissed the bandage over his eye. He set her down gently, and she reached up to cup his face, “Never leave me again.” He swiped away the tears still falling on her face with his thumbs.

 

“Aye Little Bird. I’ll be here. However you need me, captain of your guard, arms master anyway you’ll take me.”

 

“Sandor...I want you to be more than that. I need you by my side, I need you with me in every way. I need you,” as an answer to that, he picked her up and made his way to her rooms.

 

He deposited her on the large bed he started to divest her of her clothes and his. “Sandor?”

 

“Mmmm.” He grunted as he knelt to take off her boots.

 

“How do you feel about children?” He tugged her boot off and let it fall to the floor.

 

“Never thought about them.” He answered honestly standing and coming over her, “Never had a woman want one with me.” He took her lips then pressed her down to the bed. Sansa let him settle between her legs before she took his face in his hands.

 

“Fatherhood doesn’t scare you? Being my consort doesn’t bother you? Would you rather be my husband?” she asked before his passion could take her mind over.

 

“Sansa,” he stroked his knuckles down her face, “husband, consort that shit doesn’t matter to me. If you want to get married then we will. If you can’t then we won’t. Fatherhood, let me worry about putting a pup in your first.”

 

“You’ve already done that.” Shock radiated through him, he glanced down between them at her still flat belly, “Two moons,” She whispered, bracing himself on his forearm he twisted to allow his palm to spread out over her flat tummy. Ah fuck, a pup already, his mind swirled pulling him in every direction. What if it was a boy or worse a girl? What if he couldn’t protect her, what if he was like Gregor? “Sandor…” She brought his attention back to her, “It will be okay my love.”  

 

****

 

17 years later:

 

Sansa stood on the ramparts with her husband as she watched their three boys spar against each other. Winter had come again, forcing everyone about the keep in be in heavily furred cloaks. Sansa glanced over at her consort. They had never married, she never wanted to wear a white gown again and Sandor didn’t push it. His only request had been one of their three girls be named Eleanor, which she as happy to do. His brown hair was now streaked with white, the wrinkles on his face had set in, carving deep grooves around his eyes and mouth. The black eye patch across his face had taken some getting used to but she thought it added to his fearsome reputation. It certainly had deterred more than one suitor from their twins.

 

Jon had naturalized all their children to the Stark name to ensure the family’s continued survival. Sandor’s snort brought her back to the present. He’d moved his eyepatch slightly to subdue an inch and had forgotten to move it back, so she reached up and tugged it back into place, bringing his attention to her. “Did you just see that?” He pointed down to their boys. She glanced down at Eddard, Benjen, and Rickon. They had all managed to knock themselves down and were now wrestling in the snow. “Broke the damn practice-swords.”

 

Sansa smirked, “They are their father’s sons. You couldn’t have expected wooden swords to last long.” Sandor glared at her for the compliment; even through the years he had never gotten used to her praise.

 

“Mama!” Catelyn ran out to them, her black hair half loose from the braid Sansa had put it in this morning. “Eli and Lyanna won't let me play! They said they said I was too little.”

 

“You are too little.” Sandor glanced down at his youngest daughter, who though just barely over 8 years old and nearly came up to Sansa's breast. “Let your sisters be. It’s just dresses.”

 

“I wanna new dress!”

 

“You’ll get one on your nameday.”

 

“Daddy!” Sandor sighed and looked to a smiling Sansa. Silver streaked her hair and fine wrinkles started to appear at the corner of her eyes from laughing over the years.

 

“Don’t you dare give in, I’ll never hear the end of it from the twins.” She chastised him. Sandor bent over and kissed Sansa soundly, enjoying the little moan he got from her. If that was all his daughters had to complain about, then he would take it.

 

“I’ll make it up to you tonight, Woman,” he didn’t miss the heat in her eyes.