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Serpentine - Ch. 10

Sansa closed the door carefully, wishing she could slam it. She’d thought she was angry when she overheard the women at the wells, but that was nothing compared to how she felt now. She had never known she was capable of feeling such deep, overwhelming rage. She wasn’t even horrified about slapping the Hound, twice, even though she knew she should be. A lady should always maintain her composure. Only little children resorted to hitting people when they were upset. Until now she would have been aghast at even thinking about striking anyone, but at this very moment she didn’t care. She paced about the room angrily, picking things up and putting them down again, and imagined how satisfying it would be to hurl them at the walls. Or at the Hound. I must have been mad to have wanted him. What kind of lady threw herself at someone like the Hound? Her mother and Septa Mordane would have been so ashamed if they’d known how wantonly she’d behaved in these past few weeks. Let him have his kitchen maids. He probably had whores, too.

When she passed by her dressing table, Sansa caught her reflection in the mirror and stopped dead in her tracks, startled by what she saw. Her eyes flashed with anger and were a deep, dark, stormy blue. With her cheeks flushed and hair tousled from the wind, bosom heaving with the effort of containing her wrath, she looked as if she had just been with a lover. She looked magnificent, and she studied her reflection with pride. He could have had me, but he chose a kitchen wench instead. He would be feeling the loss much more painfully than she would, that was for certain. Thank the gods he showed me his true nature now, before I gave him my maidenhead. The Hound had no honor at all. She couldn’t understand why she had ever believed otherwise.  She had prayed to the old gods to help her win the Hound’s heart, but she should thank the Seven for rescuing her from her folly. I will go to the sept and light candles to the Mother and the Maiden. And from this day forward, she resolved never more to let herself care about who the Queen finally betrothed her to. It was useless to fret over it. The most she could do was to accept her lot in life. Sandor Clegane was the only man she had ever wanted, and he had betrayed her. There would be no one else, and there was no use hoping for something she would never have.

Sansa was deep in thought and didn’t hear the footsteps approaching her rooms. She poured a cup of wine and began brushing her hair, and nearly jumped out of her skin when a heavy mailed fist pounded at her door. Had the Hound come back to beg her forgiveness? She wanted nothing to do with him. It might be a summons. She sighed and knew she could not ignore it. As she crossed the room, she prayed that Joffrey was not calling for her. Her hands shook a little as they always did when someone came to her door, and she reached out to open it.

It was Ser Meryn. Gods be good.

“I’m to bring you to the Queen,” he announced, giving her a look of pure loathing. Sansa asked leave for a moment to tidy her appearance and change her gown before resigning herself to the cruel knight’s escort. All of her defiance had drained away. She felt a small relief knowing she wouldn’t have to face a beating. Perhaps the Queen wanted to show her the gowns she’d been measured for recently. She focused on thoughts of her new wardrobe to distract herself from her mounting anxiety. And then she realized they weren’t going in the direction of the Queen’s solar at all. Ser Meryn was taking her to the room where the small council met. Cersei wouldn’t be calling her before the small council to discuss her clothing. If it was something involving the small council, it could only be… Sansa’s heart slowly began to fill with dread. She is going to tell me I must marry, I know it.

By the time they reached the council chamber, fear had overwhelmed her so she could scarcely breathe. Her throat was so dry she couldn’t even swallow, and her fingers felt cold and bloodless. I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell. I am a wolf. I can be brave. Several guards flanked the opening to the room, and Sansa walked past them with quiet dignity, Ser Meryn at her back. But when she heard the hinges creaking as the heavy doors were closed behind her, it was all she could do not to run away as fast as she could.


Sandor walked angrily along the battlements, hating himself with every step. He would be on duty for the next four hours, which gave him plenty of time to think about his fight with Sansa when he would much rather be drinking to forget it. She would know by now that she was to marry him. He wondered how she’d taken the news. Bloody fool, how do you think? The pain in her eyes when he told her he’d sworn no vows—before she found her rage and slapped him—haunted him worse than her blows or her iciness afterwards. Stupid fucking dog. This wasn’t the first time a woman had been angry at him, but it was the first time he felt like it was his fault. He thought he was being so gallant to try and tell her the news of their impending marriage first, so that the small council wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing the shock on her face. He’d come to her door like some fat lord all puffed up with honors, assuming she would be happy to see him. The cold greeting he’d gotten instead had irritated him, but he didn’t pay it much mind because he imagined that she would soon be crying tears of joy when he told her they were to be husband and wife.  He’d never gotten that chance though. She’d torn into him with a fury he never imagined she possessed, and he’d lashed back at her like he always did when he was provoked, when he should have been trying to calm her down and comfort her.

It was unthinkable to him that she would be jealous of a kitchen wench.  He almost never even fucked the same woman twice. Sometimes one or another of them would make more of it than there was and become jealous. It was no hair off his arse. But Sansa Stark? She was the only woman he’d ever cared about. He’d never given any of the others reason to believe he wanted them for more than a fuck; if they wanted to pretend he did, that was their foolishness. On the rare occasion one of them bothered him about it, he would laugh in her face and tell her to bugger off. Surely Sansa could see that it was different with her. He’d mocked her when they met in the godswood that first night after they collided on the serpentine, when she said that she’d felt drawn to him, but the truth was, he had been feeling the same way about her… for years. Fucking a kitchen wench had nothing to do with how he felt about Sansa.

He could tell that it had upset her deeply, but it was so fucking absurd, he’d lost his patience and said the worst possible thing. I swore no vows to you. If he’d been nicer about it, she might have forgiven him for fucking the other woman. But it was about more than that. The root of it all seemed to be his refusal to fuck Sansa because he thought she only wanted him for his cock. He groaned inwardly. Bloody buggering fool. He didn’t know how he’d gotten such a notion in his useless head. She’d always been so courteous, treating him the same as any high lord from the day he’d met her. She had even cupped his cheek and prayed for him when he came to her after he’d abandoned the Battle of the Blackwater… while he was holding a dagger to her throat. There was another night, when she was even younger, when he’d terrified her on the way back from the tourney grounds, then told her how he got his scars. He’d thought she would start to cry, but she had instead reached out and laid her soft hand on his shoulder and whispered words of comfort. Walking the battlements, he realized that she was the only person in his life who had ever treated him like the man he was. Everyone else treated him like a dog. And after this afternoon, he wouldn’t blame Sansa if she started to also. He had denied her the same respect he’d demanded she give him.

Seven bloody buggering hells.


Septa Mordane had a saying. More tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones. When Sansa was little, she refused to believe it. It was beyond comprehension. How could anyone be sad if the gods gave them something they wanted? She understood it now. She couldn’t remember if she had ever prayed to the gods to let her stay in King’s Landing with Joffrey, when her father wanted to send her and Arya back to Winterfell. She probably had. She had experienced no end of grief as a result. And now. She had prayed to the gods to help her with Sandor, and they had. She had also prayed to them not to let her be married to some high lord she didn’t know, or worse, a Frey. She laughed bitterly. They had certainly answered that prayer. The small council had informed her that she was to be married… to a high lord that she did know.

Her heart had been pounding so hard in her chest as the Queen said the words, the blood rushing in her ears as she knelt in a curtsey, head bowed low, so she could scarcely hear. It had taken several moments for her to comprehend what she’d just been told.

“The Lord of the Crossing, whose seat is at The Twins on the Green Fork of the Trident, formerly held by House Frey, now held by House Clegane.”

Not a Frey.

Sandor Clegane.

It was all just a blur now. Sansa had been so shocked, she couldn’t remember exactly what was said, except for those words. And Joffrey. His Grace had cackled with laughter after the announcement was made. “Marry a wolf to a dog, how do you like that, Sansa?” She was sure she’d been gaping at them stupidly.

Sansa shook her head with a sigh. She wouldn’t have to fear beatings from Sandor, but she would never be happy with him either. Not after today. She could still hear the women’s raucous laughter as they gossiped about him. “He fucked me twice last night, and I said his cock is so big he should be called the Horse.” She wanted to hate them, but now that her anger had burned away, she couldn’t. She, too, had wanted the Hound. “I swore no vows to you.” She winced. That hurt more than anything, even more than finding out he had gone looking for another woman after he’d taken her back to her rooms. He’d probably been fucking the blond girl while Sansa was sitting in her window seat, thinking about him. An image came to her, of Sandor lying on top of the kitchen wench, sweating and grunting, hips bucking as he thrust his cock into her, the girl’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her face burned with the humiliation of it all. But if he hadn’t been so hateful to her when she confronted him about it, she probably could have forgiven him. He could see how upset I was. He should have tried to comfort me, but instead he hurt me even more. If he loved her, he would never have been so cruel. He’d made her feel foolish, and used. Had it all really happened only just this afternoon?

It was late, and Sansa was utterly exhausted. She would get little rest between now and the wedding. The Queen’s seamstresses were coming in the morning to deliver her new wardrobe, and she must needs decide what to bring with her from the Red Keep to her new household at the Twins. She had little enough to call her own, having been the Lannister’s ward for years, but it would still take some time to go through it all. Yawning, she rose from her dressing table to strip off her gown, then blew out her candles and tumbled into bed. She tossed and turned, trying in vain to stop her mind from flitting uselessly from one thought to the next. Too much had happened all in one day. Finally, she threw her covers back and put on a warm robe, taking the remainder of her flagon of Arbor Gold with her to the window seat. There she sat, sipping straight from the flagon as she watched moonlit clouds flitting across the sky ahead of a storm. Lightning flashed on the horizon. The faint rumble of thunder grew louder as she nursed her wine, and brief gusts of wind teased her hair. Rain began to fall just as she finished the last of it, and she closed her shutters reluctantly when the wind began to bring too much of it in through the window. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched her pillows.

The next day dawned dark and dreary. Rain was still coming down in sheets. Sansa struggled with the urge to stay in her warm bed, but she knew it would be better for her spirits if she got up and kept busy. She felt so listless. Her maids brought up a bath and washed her hair and scrubbed her until she was pink. They were brushing her hair by the fire when the seamstresses were ushered into her room, with several chests full of gowns, smallclothes, cloaks, and even jewels. As the women fussed over her, Sansa began to feel better. Her new wardrobe really was lovely to behold. The Queen had spared no expense, she thought, as she stroked the fine soft wools, delicate silks, and richly patterned brocades. The jewels were beautifully wrought. There was a necklace of rose gold and amethysts in all different shades of purple, each stone set in rows of filigree, jade bracelets and earrings set in yellow gold, and another necklace of silver with the most beautiful sapphires she had ever seen. As blue as my lady mother’s eyes once were. It had earrings to match. There were also silver and gold chains unadorned with jewels, and she liked those just as much as the more showy pieces. Her maids dressed her in each gown for the dressmakers’ inspection. Sansa looked at herself in the mirror in wonder. Her old gowns had been so ill-fitting, but the new ones revealed her willowy figure, and she could see that her breasts were ample for her age, although not so large as to seem brazen. Her torso narrowed to a tiny waist, and her hips swelled enticingly. I truly am a woman now.

She chose to wear a soft wool gown in a rich shade of brown with flowers and vines embroidered in gold thread along the neck, sleeves, and hem. Her maids drew back the curtains, and she sat beside the fire working on her embroidery while the rain beat against the stained glass of the window. It was wonderfully soothing after the events of the previous day, and Sansa felt herself relax for the first time in weeks. The weather was too foul even for the short walk to the sept, giving her an excuse to stay shut up in her rooms so she wouldn’t have to go anywhere and risk running into Sandor Clegane. She wondered what it would be like to have him as her lord husband, especially now that… Well, she would find out soon enough.

Truth be told, she was more concerned about making a life for herself at the Twins, in the very castle where her lady mother and brother Robb were murdered. Would their souls haunt her? Would her grief be overwhelming? Could she ever feel at home there? Perhaps she could take up residence in the other castle. But if Robb’s and her mother’s spirits still dwelled in the castle, would they not be offended if she shunned the place of their death? She decided to honor their memory, and that of all of her family, even Jon Snow, by having grand tapestries made of their likenesses and hung in the great hall where all the important events took place. It would bring her comfort to look on their faces and remember how happy they had all been before King Robert and the Lannisters had come to Winterfell.

Sansa went to bed early and slept peacefully the whole night through, for the first time in days. The morning dawned bright and cold, and she decided to visit both the sept and the godswood. As distasteful as the idea of marrying the Hound was to her now, she could not deny that she had been extremely fortunate. She knew he would never physically hurt her, and she was going to be leaving King’s Landing at last. She owed both the old gods and the new her thanks. She broke her fast, and her maids bathed her and dressed her in one of her new gowns, a beautiful sea-foam green damask. She declined to wear any jewels for fear of seeming above herself, choosing a simple gold chain instead. She threw a deep green cloak over her shoulders too keep off the chill. She enjoyed her new finery, but when she left her rooms she felt a bit conspicuous and was even more glad of the cloak.

She would visit the godswood first. It felt like ages since she had been there. As she crossed the drawbridge and made her way up the serpentine stairs, she found herself remembering the night she and the Hound had been brought together. How their chance meeting had awoken something inside of her that she’d hardly been aware of. How excited she’d been, so that the moment she was alone again she had taken her pleasure just thinking about what it would feel like to lie naked beneath him and feel his huge cock inside her. A sweet ache begin to build between her legs and a flood of wetness soaked her smallclothes, the memory was so vivid. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. I swore no vows to you. She would not let herself forget how he had wronged her.

The godswood was so different in the bright light of day. She hadn’t noticed the last time she was here because she’d been so angry with the Hound. She strolled its grounds, perhaps for the last time, and felt sad knowing that once she was gone, no one would visit the trees that had given her so much comfort over the years.  She found herself standing in front of the pool in the glade deep in the woods, where the Hound had first given her release and spilled his seed on her belly while she held him in her hands. Her throat felt tight with sorrow. What is wrong with me? The Hound has no honor, but at least he will take me away from King’s Landing. I will soon start a life of my own, as a woman grown. These trees will not grieve for me! She walked back to the heart tree, blinking back tears, and knelt in front of it. I am leaving soon, and may not ever come back. I would give thanks to you gods for listening to me and watching over me all these years. I know you could not always help. But you helped me with the Hound. He is no true knight, but he will never beat me or let anyone hurt me again. And he is at least known to me. She couldn’t think of what else to say, so she rose and dusted off her dress, and returned to the Red Keep. 


Sandor was crossing the drawbridge when he saw the little bird walking towards him with her head down, lost in thought. He couldn’t look away from her. She was wearing a new gown, one that left no doubt that she was a woman now. His eyes traced the line of her cleavage and followed the soft curve of her breasts, remembering how perfectly they filled his hands when he cupped them. He felt his cock growing hard and could almost taste her hard pink nipples in his mouth. He stood in her path and said nothing, waiting for her to bump into him, but she raised her head just in time and saw him. Her pace faltered for a moment, but she soon regained her composure. “My lord,” she said coolly, and moved to pass him.


She stopped and turned to face him. “Yes, my lord?”

“Walk with me,” he said, and then as she took a breath to answer, “Please.”

She looked at him in silence for half a heartbeat, and then nodded.

He led her in silence past her rooms and up the stairs to the roof of Maegor’s Holdfast, and watched her while she gazed out over the city, across the river to the Kingswood. It was windy this high up, and Sansa wrapped her cloak tightly about herself. Sandor wasn’t quite sure what to say. He cleared his throat and asked, “They told you?”

Sansa finally looked up at him. “How long have you known?”

Sandor considered lying and telling her that they’d told him just before he came to her. But if she somehow found out about the lie, it would make everything worse. “A sennight,” he admitted.

She jerked back as if he’d struck her. “A sennight? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sansa, I…” Fuck. He should have thought this out better. He didn’t know how to tell her he’d been waiting for her to... Prove her love for you, you great bloody fool? Waiting until he knew she wanted him for more than his cock. But he couldn’t say it. It sounded bad, there was no denying it. He cursed.

“Perhaps you were hoping to fuck all of the kitchen maids before I found out! Perhaps I should ask leave of the Queen to bring them to the Twins, so you won’t be lonely!” she said, almost shouting.

He could feel his anger beginning to boil but this time he didn’t let it get out of hand. His face darkened, but he took a deep breath before he spoke. “Sansa,” he said calmly, “I hardly ever fuck the kitchen wenches.”

“But you fucked her and you KNEW we were to be married!” Gods, she looked beautiful when she was angry. He tried again. 

“Sansa, what I did was wrong, but—“

“Speak to me no more, my lord. And I will thank you not to follow me back to my rooms,” she said haughtily, and whirled away from him. He knew he should try to stop her, but he had fucked up enough for now. Her wounds were still too fresh, and he needed to give them more time to heal.


Sansa folded another gown into her cedar chest. It had been four days since she last saw the Hound. She had seen him once or twice about the castle, but they never came close enough to exchange words. She was thankful for that. The last time she saw him, he had destroyed the little peace she had managed to find within herself. As her wedding day drew near, she was finding it more and more difficult to hide her feelings. She would snap at her maids for the smallest things, such as tugging her hair when they brushed it, and was increasingly prone to weeping spells at night. She wished she could be happy, she did. Sandor was trying to woo her, and it should have gladdened her heart to know that he wanted to show her how much he cared for her. That evening after their last fight, a dozen lemon cakes had been brought up with her supper. There was no note, but Sansa knew they had to have been from him. She hadn’t asked for lemon cakes in ages. The next day, when she came back from the sept, she found on her table a beautiful pair of gold-handled embroidery scissors cleverly fashioned to look like a long-legged water bird. After that, an embroidered sash of yellow silk, with black dogs intertwined like vines, and tiny white birds and flowers here and there in their midst. Yesterday, a page boy brought her a heavy package wrapped in linen. When she opened it, she saw it was a book of songs, all of her old favorites, and many new ones too. It was gorgeously illuminated. Nothing had come yet today.

But as much as she wanted them to, Sandor Clegane’s gifts did nothing to soften her heart. She felt empty inside. It is easy enough to send gifts. Harder to admit fault. Harder still to beg forgiveness. Her seething anger had grown cold, and a feeling of heavy sadness had taken its place. They would be departing the Red Keep for the Twins in two days. Not very long ago at all, she would have been giddy with excitement, and she wished she had never gone to the wells that awful day.

A knock at the door brought her back to the task at hand. She stood and smoothed her skirts. What did he send me this time? she wondered, and opened the door. But the Hound himself stood outside. Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. I almost feel glad to see him, she thought, wonderingly.

“Sansa,” he rasped. “Will you come to the godswood with me? Please.”

She almost refused, but that would have been rude, so she threw on her cloak and stepped into the hall. Sandor offered his arm, to her surprise. She took it. One of the guards on the drawbridge sniggered as they walked past and Sansa braced herself for the Hound’s anger, but he ignored the man, so she did, too. Together they climbed the serpentine steps, side by side. She found herself enjoying their closeness in spite of herself. Being so near the Hound, knowing they were to marry, made her feel safe in a way that she had not felt in many years. Even though she no longer cared for him, she felt a twinge of pride when she glanced up at him and took in the silhouette of his strong features against the brilliant blue sky, the long black hair stirring in the breeze, and his magnificent physique. But an image flashed in her mind’s eye, of him fucking the kitchen wench in some dark corner while she sat in her room thinking about him. And just as quickly, that vision was replaced by the look on his face and the rage in his eyes as he’d snarled and told her he’d sworn no vows to her. She looked away. I mustn’t grow fond of him again.

They entered the godswood, and Sandor led her to the heart tree. For long moments, they simply stood and looked at each other. The Hound seemed different somehow. He looked the same, but something was off… Sansa could smell the smoky scent of his soap. Normally he smelled of sweat and leather and wine. She studied him more closely and saw that his boots and leather jerkin had been buffed to a soft sheen, and the lank hair that fell about his shoulders had been washed and brushed. He wore a cloak of thick, dark wool, finely woven, not the drab roughspun cloak he normally wore. It was fastened with a jeweled brooch that she had only seen him wear once before, during Joffrey’s name day tourney. She suddenly realized that he had taken great care in his appearance this morning. He wanted to look his best when he came to see me, she thought, feeling a stab of tenderness towards him in spite of her misgivings. She was deeply touched that he would make such an effort to make her see him favorably.

Neither had said a word since leaving her rooms. Sansa wondered if he was expecting her to say something, when he spoke.

“Seven hells, Sansa, I’m a damned, bloody fool,” he said. “I shouldn’t have fucked the kitchen maid. You were right to be angry. I should have been faithful, especially knowing I was to take you to wife. Even if we weren’t to be married... I acted like a dog, not a man.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not just about the wench, I know that. I shouldn’t have made little of your feelings for me, either. I’ve wanted you for years. I never thought you would want me. I should have given you anything you asked for. I dishonored you in that, too.”

Sansa’s throat was tight. She knew what it meant for a man like the Hound to admit he’d wronged her and make an apology. He’d had to… to be brave, even though it was a different sort of courage than one he’d need on the battlefield. She knew and understood this kind of courage; it was something she had discovered within herself that day so many years ago when she had walked alone into the throne room and begged Joffrey for her father’s life.

He went on. “We’re to wed in a week. I want to be a good husband to you. I want you to be happy as my lady wife. A fortnight ago… I wish I could… I never wanted to hurt you, and I am truly sorry for what I did to cause you so much pain.”

As Sandor struggled to find the words, Sansa’s heart began to melt. She struggled to stay aloof, but she wanted so much to be able to love him again, and to believe that he truly cared for her too. He was trying so hard. He sounded so sincere. She looked deep into his eyes and wanted to believe him.

“Sansa, I’ve been unfaithful to you only the once, since I started meeting you in the godswood. I’ll not touch another woman again, besides you. You have my word. I only want you. I’d promise never again to make you cry, but I’m a bloody fool and I’m bound to fuck up again, more than once. But I’ll do my best not to.”

Sansa hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out. He’d told her what she needed to hear. He’d made a mistake, and he knew it, that was plain to see. It was a big one, but hadn’t she made her own mistakes? She didn’t want to think about what some of them had cost her. And she realized that she didn’t want Sandor Clegane to be one of those mistakes. Now was the time to forgive him; he had too much pride to keep after her about it if she didn’t, when he’d done so much to try and make things up to her. And he might come to resent her, as she had resented him in the last week. It had been awful. She didn’t want to feel that way anymore. She reached out and took his hand.

“We’ve both suffered enough over this,” she said, slowly. “I thank you for… for trying to make things better. On our wedding day, I want us to declare our love for each other before the gods and not have it be a lie. I… I will put all this behind me.” She smiled at him, shyly.

“Sansa…” He gathered her into his arms and held her close. “I’ve bloody well missed you. We’re not like to meet again until the day we wed.”

“Then you must give me something to look forward to,” she teased, but she caught her breath at the hunger that flared in his eyes. He kissed her hard, twining his fingers in her hair, and Sansa threw her arms around his neck, suddenly bursting with need, her mouth devouring his. Gods, but she had missed him, too. He’s mine, she though, triumphantly. A thrill went through her knowing that no other woman could ever have him again, much as they might want him. The thought of it was incredibly arousing. She moaned, kissing him deeply, and reached down to rub his manhood through his breeches, parting her legs so she could grind her hips against his muscular thigh. Sandor cupped her breast in his hand and squeezed as he stroked her nipple with his thumb. She gasped as his other hand cupped her arse and pressed her hard against him while he thrust his hips against her hand. She was blazing with desire and whimpered as her smallclothes became soaked with her wetness. Sandor abruptly tore his mouth away from hers and stopped her hand. He stepped back, breathing hard.

“Little bird, we keep going like this, you’ll not come to me a maid on our wedding day,” he said hoarsely.

Sansa lowered her gaze, struggling to calm herself. Sandor was right, of course. But after all they’d been through, she felt an almost overpowering need to be close to him, like they’d been before their fight, to feel his hands on her and to touch him, stroke him, kiss him and feel his tongue sliding against hers, to wrap her arms around his powerful shoulders and feel him thrusting his manhood against her, for him to stroke her between her legs and bring her to release and as he spilled his seed on her belly. She licked her lips and tried to focus on what he’d said, even as her eyes lingered on the bulge between his legs.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sansa, and I want it too. But I won’t be able to stop myself this time,” he warned.

In just a few days, she would be his wife and he would finally take her maidenhead. It almost didn’t seem real. She took deep breaths, and found her composure. Sandor let go of her hand and Sansa looked up at him again, smiling. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and she reached up to cup his cheek in her hand.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she said, softly.

Sandor took her hand and gave it a squeeze before releasing it. “Little bird…” he murmured. Then he turned her back towards the entrance to the godswood and gave her a gentle push. “We’d best get back to the Keep.”

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I've had a lovely self indulgent day and the best part was reading your fic. So well written and all this talk of his massive cock is driving me wild! Cannot wait for the wedding!

OMG really??? Thank you so much, you made me so very, very happy! Truly, to read that the best part of your self-indulgent day was reading my fic is just beyond any of my expectations, ever. I'm about to float away on happy clouds, I mean it... <3 <3 <3

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