Two small blue eyes blinked and softened as the mother's voice sang the serene song of sleep. The glow of the sunset through the twin windows set a dreamy feel to the room in which Sansa cradled her child. The day had been long and bitter though the babe did not know it. Snug against her mother's breast, wrapped and dressed for sleep, the baby bird breathed deep and long. Wren knew the song to be one of slumber, and her eyes fell shut before the song's hero met his fate. She did not wake at the sharp creak of the opening door.

Sansa did not have to turn to know who had entered the room. She could feel that it was him. She ceased her song as her husband approached her.

"She sleeps?"

"Peacefully."

Sandor cupped his daughter's head and felt lost in her purity. That he could sire a child such as this was forever a shock to him.

"I am leaving in the morning."

"I have not forgotten. Hush, hush, little one." Sansa stepped away from her husband and towards her daughter's cradle, placing her child softly upon the blanket.

"I must be a right fool to have agreed to go with the lads. I'll be spending the next week pulling splinters out of fat fingers and smelling piss-soaked bedding."

Sansa offered a small smile. "You know full well that you had no choice. Those boys worship you. Not one would go out into the woods without you." She gripped the frame of the cradle, resting her weight on her arms. Though the cradle had been built with hardwood, Sansa felt she could easily crush it beneath her finger tips. Her grip tightened as her husband stepped closer. She both hoped and dreaded that he would fold his great arms around her and nuzzle at her neck as he did in days gone by, but the bulk of his sin kept the distance between them. He spoke softly.

"I would prefer to be in the woods with my wife."

"Not in the bed of a tavern wench?"

She did not mean to speak such words. It had been days since they had spoken by the fireplace in the Great Hall, days since she had invited her husband back into her bed, days since she had become close with the concepts of forgiveness and reconciliation. Though her heart was aching it still struggled against the bitter, jealous feelings that taunted it. Sansa had promised herself that she would look forward, not back, but found before her a road of broken glass and knife-edged rocks. At times she felt drawn to her husband's side, desiring the intimacy and companionship of her marriage. At other times she felt repulsed by the thought of what he had done and at the coldness with which he had told her. Each moment was a battle that Sansa felt she always lost.

The only comfort was love. There was no doubt in Sansa's mind or heart; she loved her husband and she loved her daughter. For love, she would continue to fight.

In a whisper, she apologised. The scarred man returned her apology, desperate to hold the peace that had settled like cobwebs upon them.

"It is hard to forget, Sandor."

He stepped to her side, holding onto the cradle in imitation of his wife. Gods, but her hands were small. If he relaxed but a little he thought his finger might brush alongside her smooth hand. He breathed in.

"Tell me what I can do, Sansa. I know that the past is out of reach but the future... How can I make this right?"

The rich light of the sunset lent a mystic glow to Sansa's appearance. Her hair seemed to be woven with rose gold, with trickles of caramel spilling loose from her braid. Forgetting himself, Sandor reached to cup her cheek. "Gods above, you are a beauty."

Sansa stepped away before her husband could touch her and make her forget herself. She smoothed her skirts and sought a candlestick before making her way from her daughter's chamber into the narrow hall.

"Sansa, please."

"I think we should see this hunting trip as a blessing, my Lord. My mother often said that time heals all wounds. A week apart should serve."

Sandor pushed the heavy door closed before snapping. "Aye, except the wound of a bastard. Time did shit for Jon Snow."

"It got easier for her over the years."

"Bullshit, little bird. You think I've forgotten all you've told me about the way your mother treated him?"

"We will not talk about my mother in this manner."

"No, we won't. We won't talk about anything. We will just pussy-foot around each other, is that it? The other night, Sansa, I thought you wanted to fix this. You opened your door to me, spoke of sharing and talking but all that has happened is you've become colder than before."

Sansa laughed her frustration, rubbing her wrists as she turned to walk away. A few strides and she had changed her mind, turning on her heel.

"It has been but a week, Sandor. What do you expect of me? I am trying, far more than you are. It must be so very hard for you to wait for forgiveness, quietly confident that you will receive it before too long. You don't have to lift a finger, you just have to wait for me to sort through all of this and present a solution to you." Her lip curled as she bobbed her mock curtsey. "Well, my Lord, I am truly sorry, but I have no bloody solution."

Sandor did not stop to let his thoughts dictate his actions. He reached for his wife and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead which felt as hot as a saddle on a summer's day. She stood stiff in his arms, breathing hard.

"Little bird, little bird, come now. Breathe soft and slow." He kissed down her cheek, whispering in her ear. "You've married a green boy who knows nought of a woman's heart. I know only how to cut my way though a conflict and I fear no sword of mine would serve against you."

Sansa felt the right thing to do would be to step away and leave but her body resisted. The heaviness of his arms around her after so long comforted her so powerfully; her mind wandered to the happiness she had shared with him, the familiar smell of his sweat and mouth and skin, the way his lips could both soothe and stir her soul. She cried quietly.

"You think me a Wildling woman that you can win over through capture and kisses."

Sandor grinned. "No lass, I think you a Northerner who has won me over through capture and kisses." He stroked her hair. "I've broken something Sansa and fuck me if I know how to fix it. All I know is that I want to fix it, more than I've wanted anything. I'd do anything, give anything to heal this wound."

Breathing deep, Sansa stepped back. For a moment she chewed at her lip, questioning herself. She reached out a hand and placed it against her husband's broad chest.

"Take your boys hunting, Sandor. A week apart will help us both. Do not think I shall rejoice in your absence, but also do not imagine me to be weeping at the loss. I find it hard to think with you so close."

On the inhale, Sandor felt a numbing fear that he was losing his little bird. On the exhale, he stood tall and winked, turning to the crude humour that he knew delighted his courteous wife.

"Is that right? Are you finding it hard to think right now? Perhaps you could search me out; you might find something else hard."

Sansa laughed, pushing him away. "Come, we should eat. Tomorrow will be quite a day."