Chapter Text
“You sure this is what you want?”
Sandor Clegane was nervous as fuck. It was not a feeling that he was accustomed to, and it was setting him on edge. It had him teetering on the brink of an emotion he was fairly intimate with: anger. Not at his Little Bird of course, but at himself.
He could even see that his constant need to mutter that exact question was beginning to piss her off too.
She might look like some fantastical woodland sprite, with her pretty flowing green dress and all the little flowers dotting her long hair, and especially with her bare little toes poking out between the soft grass and the bottom of her skirts, - why the fuck they had no fucking shoes on was still buggering lost on him, but they did - but she was as annoyed about him asking, as she had been the night before when she was getting ready to suck his dick, while he lazed back on the bloody tiny bed with the stupid amounts of bleeding pillows, that they were sharing in the ‘quaint’ bed and breakfast she had hired them for the weekend. And just that morning when they were eating breakfast on the little patio overlooking the water of the Gods Eye on one side and the ruins of the old castle on the other. And again when they got on the ferry to cross onto The Isle.
She was getting pissy at him needing to know she was absolutely fucking certain, but he couldn’t fucking help it.
He’d never thought of getting married… Just like he’d never thought that he’d ever have a kid. Yet there was Sansa, determined to give him both, whether he could wrap his head around it or not.
He’d nearly bloody choked on his own tongue when her Father had slyly asked what their plans were for their weekend away, when they’d dropped Stranger off to be looked after while they were gone, and Sansa had up and openly fucking stated that they were getting married.
Ned Stark had laughed, admitted that he’d already been informed of that fact, and then congratulated them, as if it was a fucking normal thing to spend the weekend doing. And that it was a normal thing for a man to accept that his daughter was running off to get married without him there to witness it too! Meanwhile Sandor had to spend long moments processing the fact that he hadn’t bloody dreamed her proposing and him saying all that sappy shit, the night before - as he’d assumed he’d done.
That wasn’t true either… He had known he hadn’t dreamed it, but it was just so fucking surreal, that he wasn’t sure that he could trust that it really did happen.
Yet there he was all of two days after she dropped the bomb that was a proposal of marriage on him, following some secluded grassed path bordered with wildflowers, in some woodland that looks like it came straight out of a fucking fairy tale, with bare fucking feet, as he’d been instructed by some strange little man on the ferry, towards his own wedding ceremony, and it still didn’t feel real to him.
So yes! He needed to ask her again, just to be sure.
Sansa pulled him to a stop quietly and shoved him around until they were facing each other fully, his arms unceremoniously tugged at, until they were wrapped around her, while her own found their way around his neck.
“This has been what I wanted since I thought it up. It was what I wanted when I asked you if you’d marry me, and it’s what I wanted every single time you’ve asked me that exact question - if I’m sure .” Sandor swallowed uncomfortably as his Little Birdy licked her lips and blinked up at him with her pretty, concerned eyes. “I love you. I want to marry you, Sandor. But if you don’t want to do this, can you please tell me now, before we make it to the clearing?”
Sandor sighed heavily and leaned into press a rough kiss to her forehead, dodging her weird flower crown, so he didn’t sneeze and fuck up her ‘look’ on her.
He felt like a cunt for making her question herself, that wasn’t what he bloody meant.
“Still don’t get why you keep picking me, girl. But I’m bloody here aren’t I?” He muttered. “I’m fucking barefoot in a forest, looking for all the bloody worlds, like some sort of poncey buggering hipster, with the bloody suspenders and the linen shirt, and the fucking man bun - top knot fucking thing you put in my hair, for fuck sake. I can’t think of anyone else I’d agree to shit like this for - I wouldn’t fucking agree to it for anyone but you. I want you to be mine forever Birdy, no matter how that fucking happens… Married or not, a dozen kids or just the one… whatever… Just don’t know why you want the same from me.”
“We don’t choose whom we love-“
“That some Lannister bullshit? Sounds like something fucking Tyrion would say!” He snorted.
“Jaime actually.” His Little Bird laughed. “But the sentiment holds, and I wasn’t finished.”
Sandor blinked and waited, as Sansa turned her attention to tugging at his hair until it fell free from the tie she’d forced it into high up on his head, less than an hour ago. - He was not about to tell her not to! He’d hated it when she did it.
“We don’t choose, but I still did choose you. And I’ve done so, because, Sandor Clegane, I have loved you in some capacity or another, since the day we met.” She tugged at his hair again, this time much lower, more where he was used to his hair being tied when he was working out or purely because his hair was annoying the shit out of him. “Now, your man bun is gone, you poncey hipster, it’s just a regular old ponytail now, so can we please go and get married?”
“Aye.” He huffed at her calling him a poncey hipster, and kissed her nose. “Guess we can. Let’s go make me a Stark then.”
“We are making me a Clegane.”
“The fuck we are!”
His Birdy just laughed at his outraged words, and dragged him down the pathway, almost fucking skipping her way there as if she really was the fucking fae creature that she looked. Her mirth was even echoing and bouncing off the trees surrounding them, like tinkling chimes on the wind, or some such shit.
He was hardly a bleeding poet, but as he followed along dutifully behind her, he couldn’t help but think the moment was at least a little bit magical… Even if she was fucking wrong about him letting her sully herself with his fucked up family name.
Before he could truly formulate a plan for how to convince the stubborn woman that that was not fucking happening, he was standing hand in hand with his woman, before a giant fucking white tree, with blood red leaves that had a creepy as shit face carved into it, while the same strange little man from the ferry, led him through speaking the words that made his best friend his wife.
Before he could blink, they were kissing and the strange little man was throwing fucking flowers at them while someone - he hadn’t even fucking seen a second person but apparently there was one - took photos, thankfully of his good side.
And before he could truly voice his objections, his Birdy was signing her name next to his on what would be their marriage certificate… As Sansa fucking Clegane née Stark!
He wanted to be pissed at her for pulling that one on him.
Except that she seemed so happy twirling around, using his hand to spin herself in the dappled light that seeped through the canopy of leaves, as if she hadn’t a care in the world, fitting in so well with their surroundings.
His barefoot bride.
“Come here, you crazy bloody bird.” He laughed roughly and tugged her back into his chest, into his arms properly. “You’ll make my kid dizzy.”
Sansa scoffed playfully and tugged his head down until they were nose to nose.
“You make me dizzy.”
Sandor barked a dark laugh at her corny line and slapped her ass.
“You make me bloody crazy, wife.”
The tiny smile she gave him made his heart thud hard inside his chest.
His Little Bird was his wife! And being so made her fucking happy.
“You’re the bestest best friend there ever was, husband.” She whispered softly. “And I love you for it.”
“Aye. You’d bloody want to love me Mrs. Clegane.” He snorted at her high pitched squeaking and smacked her ass again, because it just felt to fucking good in his hand - his wife’s sexy little ass. “First you want my cum to make a kid, then you want my dick properly, and as if that wasn’t enough, you up and steal my heart. Battered and bruised as the fucker is… Now you want my blasted name - as if it’s good enough for you.” Sandor cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the suspiciously emotional lump that was firmly choking him. “It is lucky I bloody love you, girl.” He rasped finally.
“You really do have to stop calling me ‘girl’ now… I am your wife after all.”
Sandor growled a low, rumbling laugh and laid a smacking kiss to her puffed up, pouty lips, but refrained from replying. She could get her panties all bunched up about it all she bloody liked, he’d never stop calling her that and she bloody well knew it.
She might be his wife, but she would always be his Birdy. She was his best friend, soon she’d be the mother of his kid too. But she’d always be that girl who got under his skin, right from the first moment they met.