As I couldn't decide (ACOK or post ADWD?), I wrote two versions of this prompt. The first one, which is the most faithful to the original prompt in my opinion, is a post ADWD ficlet. In the second one (chapter 2), Sansa is much younger and the setting will remind you of ACOK.
It's up to the reader to decide which version is the best!


The sound of something falling into the water startled her while she came back from the ruins of Winterfell's Glass Garden. Sansa hurried to the pool at the far end of the Godswood, for fear Rickon had slipped on its muddy banks. The surroundings of the pool were treacherous when the mild spell combined to the warmth coming from the hot springs melted the snow. But Rickon is having his lesson in the maester's turret, she recalled, somewhat slowing down. Good luck to you, Maester Aenyd. Her brother had come back from Skagos so unruly she sometimes feared for the maester who taught him how to read.

Once on the banks, Sansa observed her surroundings. Nothing. Not even a ripple on the water, just the steam rising out and giving the place its eerie atmosphere. Arching an eyebrow, she turned around and she would have resumed her walk had she not tripped on a heap of clothes she instantly recognized. The boots were larger than anyone else's in Winterfell - and probably in a much bigger area; the cloak had warmed her some nights, during their journey North and she had mended that tunic more than once. Oh no. She briefly closed her eyelids and wished she could walk away inconspicuous. Escaping was pointless, though. Sandor always sees me when I least want him to.

Determined not to run like some foolish maiden, she stood there but kept her eyes on the melting snow at her feet when a splat informed her Sandor was emerging from the pool.

"Are you decent?" she asked, still staring at the ground.

"Depends on your standards." Was it the North wind or his husky tone that made her shiver? She pulled tighter the pelt warming her shoulders, as if she was the one who ought to cover herself. "I bet you inspected the heap of clothes at your feet so you know I've got my breeches on."

She wanted to glare at him, but when she looked up, his fit of laughter confirmed her cheeks were crimson. Slapping his knees, he spattered water. Layers of thick woolen clothes usually hid his body, but now that his chemise and breeches stuck to his skin there was no way to ignore his broad shoulders and muscled legs. Her turmoil increased. Mother, have mercy- No, I'm done with this, she thought. For a second, she willingly forgot her chapped hands, the food supplies running low, the poor state of Winterfell and she focused on the man who stood knee-deep in the water.

"Will you join me?" he asked, jutting his chin out like the carefree, exasperating man he sometimes was.

"Nn- No." It sounded like a 'yes' and both of them knew it.

Sandor smiled wickedly at her. "Let me escort you to the castle then."

Dripping wet, he climbed on the banks with a growl and put his boots on. She chanced a glance at his torso and bit her lip. I can't help myself.