"Sansa, it's for the best."

"Father, no!"

"This betrothal was a mistake. Prince Joffrey has no regard for you and Robert won't take him in hand."

"I'm meant to be queen!"

"I'll make you another match. There are worse things than not being queen."

"What about your position as Hand?"

"Another mistake. Robert ignores my counsel, allows Littlefinger to borrow money without a thought as to how to repay it, lets his son to dishonor his future queen, and cares about none of it so much as feasting and," he seemed to remember he was talking to his daughter, "and other things," he ended flatly.

"Maybe if you told King Robert your feelings, he'd be willing to do more."

"Sansa, I've known Robert a long time. He likes challenge and conquest on a grand scale. Everyday matters don't interest him. More and more of his subjects are going hungry and, what does he do? He organizes a hunting party."

"What about the queen?"

"Cersei thinks the boy can do no wrong," he said with disgust. "Joffrey knows no boundaries and shows no restraint. Only his mad dog seems able to contain him, and just barely."

"He's not mad."

"Sansa -"

She was not going to give up. "Father, I know Joffrey will be a poor husband but even married to another lord I'll still be his subject. At least, as queen, I might be able to do some good. I might be able to help him be a better ruler." Hadn't he noticed her coup last night?

Ned sighed impatiently. "One evening of civility doesn't make him Azor Ahai. You're old enough to realize that."

"Please, Father, it's Sevenmas. Please talk to King Robert again before you break the match. Maybe he doesn't understand how strongly you feel."

"All right, Sansa. I'll talk to him. But if nothing changes, we're going back to Winterfell."

Sansa nodded. "Thank you, Father."

After talking with her father, Sansa took a walk along the outer wall. The day was cool but clear and she tilted her face up toward the sunshine and breathed in the fresh air. A crisp breeze was rolling in over Blackwater Bay and she looked out at the ships. After so much sewing, it was good to look upon things that were far away. As she leaned against the stone, she heard the chink and rattle of an armed man approaching. Turning, she saw it was Sandor.

"Good day, my lord."

"Out celebrating your victory?"

She fell in step beside him. "What do you mean?"

"You took my advice, little bird. I didn't think you would."

"Gloating makes you sound like Joffrey."

Sandor barked out a laugh and two sentries at the post ahead poked their heads out at the unexpected noise. He called their names and asked them to send him the two sentries who were posted clear on the other side of the Red Keep. They appeared confused by the order by went, leaving the apse empty for Sandor and Sansa. After stepping into the shade, Sandor leaned up against the wall and looked out at the water, pulling a flask from his tunic as he did so. "So you're not as enamored of your prince as you seemed to be last night."

"I know what he is now and, thanks to you, I know how to handle him."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, girl."

"Now you sound like my father."

Sandor's face grew serious. "How so?"

Sansa explained about her father wanting to end her match with Joffrey and return with her and Arya to Winterfell.

Sandor looked out over the Blackwater again. "You would be safer there."

"I could do more good here."

"You couldn't do good at Winterfell?"

"I could, but here I could help rule."

"So you want to be the one to tell the pretty knights who to kill."

"No, I want to make sure the smallfolk have enough to eat, and -"

"And Stannis will drop his claim to the throne, the Ironborn will be happy with their islands, and Joffrey will never imagine a slight. Simple little bird. You really think last night changed anything? How long do you think you'll be able to keep Joffrey in line?"

"Forever, I hope."

Sandor snorted. "That's a long time. Hardly seems worth the bother. You won't be queen for years. You think you can keep him happy all that while?" He studied her face.

"Over time –"

He pushed off the wall and came to stand close to her, looking down into her eyes. "Over time he'll still be what he is. King's Landing is a nasty place, and it's not going to get any better when Joffrey is king, no matter how pretty his queen is."

"So you think my father's right to end the match."

Sandor set his jaw. "Your father's doing what he thinks is best for you."

Sansa looked down in frustration. Did no one appreciate how well things had gone last night?

Strong fingers squeezed her chin as Sandor tilted her face upward. His eyes were the gray of storm clouds. "Don't be a martyr, girl. They don't live long, and it's not worth the songs they might sing about you."

His wine-soaked breath was gone on the breeze but the intensity of his look remained and Sansa raised a hand to smooth his hair away from his scars. He released her chin and stepped away. He took a long pull from his flask and rested his forearms on the ledge, looking down. Sansa approached and put a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her and looked away again. She dropped her hand. She couldn't think of a thing to say. She realized she'd miss Sandor if she had to return to the north.

After a long moment, he looked at her and said, "Listen, girl, your father . . . some men can't resist the lure of power and would be willing to sell more than their daughters to get it. Not Lord Stark, no. Your father's ready to tell the king and his warhammer to bugger off just to keep you safe. It's no small thing."

Sansa thought of Sandor's own father and flushed. "I-" She had a sudden urge to throw her arms around him. How had she ever found him difficult to talk to? He spoke readily enough when he wanted to and, what's more, he was honest and caring . . . and nobody knew it but her, which tugged at her heart. "I thank you for your kind counsel." Her jaw trembled just slightly and Sandor regarded it with apprehension.

"Don't thank me. Your father can thank me with a cask of Dornish red when you're back freezing up north."

Sansa gave a weak laugh. Finally, after all this time, he'd mentioned something he'd like for a gift. "Is that what you'd want? More wine?"

Sandor grew serious again. "No, but it's all you could give."

Sansa didn't understand.

Just then the sentries arrived. Sandor gave them some orders and then said to Sansa, "Come on. I'll take you back to your rooms. Keep you safe for the prince."

She took the arm he offered and leaned into him. He looked down at her, his brow furrowed as though pained. He laid a hand over the one on his arm and squeezed it for just a moment before conducting her back toward the castle.

After the evening meal, Sansa finished her work on the saddle blanket and thought about Sandor. As she wrapped the blanket in gray cloth and secured it with a white ribbon, she wished she could give him something more.