The Traitor's Wedding

Chapter Seven

To say they had a rough start to their marriage was an understatement. Sansa felt as if she was at the last string of her patience the following weeks. They bickered, he drank, and half the time she wasn't even sure what all was going on. Some days Sandor couldn't seem to get far enough away from her. She'd snap at him on those days more than anything and worry just what all he could be up to. He'd yell back at her, drink more, and wander off if things got too heated. When he didn't return shortly, her mind began to wander. The worst was when she wondered if Joffrey would one day decide to kill him and marry her off to someone else, someone so much crueler.

It scared her even more to imagine if Sandor just decided not to come back to her.

Despite all of that, she still let him have his way with her. Never had she imagined that she could enjoy kissing or touching him. It was usually only at night that he could look at her as more than just a nuisance. And he had to be drinking to take her. They had a bad start to that too. It was several nights after their first consumption that he'd even lay in the bed with her, much less touch her. And it took over a week before he'd taken her again and that had taken a good amount of wine. It made her feel worse, like she was nothing he could possibly want.

Still, he could make her forget when he touched her. He might not always want her, but when he did take her, he made sure she could enjoy it at least. He played with her, made sure she was a puddle at his feet, and wet before he'd take her. And it wasn't always the same as the first night. Some nights, he took her when she was on her knees, pressing her into the mattress as he thrust into her. Others, he took her like he had the first night. And then there was the few times he was so drunk he just took her wherever she was standing.

When he'd done that the first time, coming into the room, he grabbed hold of her and pulled her to him in a bruising kiss. He'd stunk of wine so heavily, it was the worst she'd seen him in. But his hands still found the right places, instantly coming and stroking between her legs until she was whimpering to his touch. He'd bent her over the table that night, hiked up her dress and slammed himself into her without warning. It had hurt a bit, but the pleasure she'd felt as he'd worked himself faster and harder into her was worth the quick pain. He managed to stroke her between her legs a few times, as he slowed and picked up the pace, and then he'd stilled in her.

For a moment, she'd thought he'd finished, but then he was stroking her, playing with that little button of pleasure. He moved in her, thrusting gently, just enough to where he could still focus between her legs. She clenched around him, moaning and whimpering louder and louder until something broke inside of her. She clenched around his manhood tight, and finally, finally she came. He stopped touching her the moment she slumped against the table, exhausted, and then he'd started thrusting again. She squeaked in surprise, so sensitive that she almost couldn't handle him taking her. Still, that pleasure began to build up again, quicker this time the harder he thrust into her, grabbing hold of her hips to drive into her. Just as she reached her peak that second time, calling out his name, he finished with her, giving her one last hard thrust.

She just never could be sure what it was he felt with her. He no longer yelled at her as if she were the dumbest girl he'd ever met. If she ever tried to be affectionate, friendly or kind, he closed up to her, snapped, and went to drown himself in wine. She didn't understand his reactions, nor did she understand why he shoved her away unless he was drunk. It was something they'd need to address. She knew eventually they'd have to talk, but it was easier to drown in the wine and physical coupling. So, they didn't talk, at least for the time being. That would have to change eventually, but she decided to worry about it later. There were plenty of other things to worry about more. And that was King Joffrey.

He seemed to enjoy the fact they didn't really enjoy each other's company. Dinners were awkward, they hardly talked to each other, and Joffrey lived to see them both miserable. Margaery came to Sansa often, asking about what it was like to be married, what the Hound was like and many, many questions about Joffrey. A week after the marriage, Joffrey set Sandor to work, mostly inside the castle. He went through training soldiers or running messages and a few times the Hound even ended up working with Maester Pycell and the ravens.