DISCLAIMER: Characters etc. belong to George RR Martin. No copyright infringement intended.

SANSA

She was surprised at how little Jon Snow had changed.

He was older, of course, and sadder as well. There were scars on his face that had not been there when he'd lived at Winterfell, and he was quite lean. But he was still quiet and brooding and he still had her father's eyes.

Our father's eyes, she reminded herself.

Sansa and Jon had never been close. Her lady mother had not cared for the boy, him being proof of her husband's indiscretions, so Sansa had been polite but not warm with her half-brother. That would change now. It had to. They only had each other left.

"Jon..." she said softly. The hand that had hold of her arm twitched in response. "Will you be returning me to Winterfell?"

He looked at her with sad curiosity, and when he spoke his voice was dead, defeated. "Winterfell is burned to the ground, Sansa."

"I...I know...I suppose I thought..."

"I'm not sure what they will do with you," Jon admitted.

"They?"

"King Stannis and Lady Melisandre. You must take your lot up with them."

"But...but Jon...you are my brother...I thought..."

"I'm a bastard, Sansa. I'm a Snow, not a Stark. The men of the Night's Watch are my brothers; I have no sisters. The king and his red woman will decide what to do with you. For now I can give you a room, a fire, and food...maybe a few other comforts, but not much. Have you need of anything?"

Sansa bit her lip to hold back her tears. She wanted to rage at this pathetic boy, to scream and hit him and knock some sense into him. You're all I have! Everyone I've loved is dead, I am alone, and you would toss me to this false king as if I were only a piece of meat! But when she spoke, the only thing she could say was, "A hot bath...if such a thing is possible." Jon gave a brusque nod, and then led her into a tower that seemed closer to ruin than she would have liked. The room he showed her to was up a set of stairs and had a thick wooden door that bolted from the inside. Jon busied himself with building a fire in the small hearth and Sansa sat on the straw pallet that would apparently serve as her bed. Once the flames were licking merrily at the logs, Jon stood and eyed her sadly.

"I'll find one of the stewards to bring you a tub and some hot water. It may take a while, but you'll have your bath. Food as well - it's probably not best for you to dine in the Common Hall with the men."

She merely nodded in reply, afraid that if she spoke the words that came out of her mouth would be the angry ones that needed to stay locked in her head. When her brother - half brother, bastard, she reminded herself haughtily - was gone, Sansa stood and warmed her hands by the fire while she waited. It was quite some time before there was a knock at the door. "Come in," she called. A boy entered - a handsome boy, all dark eyes and smooth skin and black curls - and Sansa gave him a sweet smile.

"I'm Satin, if it please m'lady," the boy grunted as he carried in a large tub that seemed far too big for him to be hoisting by himself.

"Hello, Satin," she replied courteously, wondering what in the world a boy like this was doing in the Night's Watch. Some may have thought that about Jon Snow, once, she told herself. The boy was silent as he brought in some buckets of water, dumping them into the tub for her. Lastly he pulled a loaf of bread, a chunk of cold capon, a jug of something that could only be ale, and a circle of hard cheese from the pouch hanging across his chest. He then bowed himself out of the room before she could speak to him again, but once the door was shut Sansa had eyes only for the tub. Though she had been able to wash on the ship, she hadn't bathed properly since the morning of Joffrey's wedding. The morning of his death, she thought, her lip curling at the memory.

Though it was still cool in the room, the fire had helped things along and the bath water would not be getting any warmer. Sansa stripped off her clothes and slid quickly into the tub, sighing as the water enveloped her. It was more warm than hot, to be sure, but it was a bath. Finally. She pulled her hair up over the edge of the tub and sank down until the water was lapping at her chin, her eyes closing involuntarily.

She could not have laid there for long; the water was still quite warm when the door to her chamber suddenly swung open. Sansa only had time to sit up, startled, when she heard the Hound call out, "Little bird, I've brought your things," and then stop short as he saw her. Sansa gasped, her hand moving instinctively to cover her breasts. She expected him to immediately turn around, to leave, but he did nothing of the sort - he just stood there staring at her, his face registering first shock and then amusement as she struggled to find words.

"What are you doing?" Sansa finally hissed. She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She wanted to leap out of the tub and clothe herself, but if she did so there would be no hiding, well, anything.

"You weren't so shy last night," the Hound chuckled. "But if you want me to leave, I will." He strode past her and dropped the small pack containing the few items she'd brought from King's Landing and the extra clothing Varys had had waiting for her on Captain Dougan's ship onto the straw pallet. Sansa eased herself back down into the water and thought for a moment. When she glanced over her shoulder he was still behind her but no longer staring at her, at least.

"If you will wait outside I'll dress," she finally said, softly. He gave a curt nod and made for the door, but just before he left the room she heard herself ask, "Will you sup with me?"

The Hound stopped with his back to her. "If you want me to do so," he rasped.

"Yes," she said decisively. And then he was out the door and it closed behind him and Sansa was leaping out of the tub and drying herself with a blanket and thinking This is it, my last chance, he must not join the Watch and leave me as Jon has done.

SANDOR

When Cotter Pyke had brought him to Jon Snow, the bastard had continued to eye Sandor with contempt - but contempt, he could stomach. For now. What he would not stand for was Snow's attitude upon hearing that Pyke wanted Sandor to continue guarding his little sister. Half sister. "No. I'll do it if I have to. Not him."

Sandor scoffed at Snow. "No one else has taken issue with my guarding her. Not Varys, not the ship's captain, not the red woman, not even your own brother here. Why should you?"

"She is a girl. And you, ser, are a monster."

"Your little sister is a woman flowered, else they could not have wed her to Tyrion Lannister. She is as much a 'girl' as you are a Stark," sneered Sandor. "As for me, I'm a dog, not a ser or a monster, and so far no harm has come to Sansa while she has been in my care."

Jon's lip curled in distaste. Sandor could see the anger in his eyes, but somehow the bastard kept his calm. "None that we know of."

"Enough. Snow, we do not have men to spare to guard the girl. Not even you. No, especially not you. At least until Marsh arrives. This man will continue to watch over her, is that understood?" snapped Pyke.

"Yes, my lord."

"I'm no lord, Snow, you know that. Where is the girl?"

"Hardin's Tower. My old chambers. I didn't know where else to put her."

"King's Tower would have been better, but I suppose that's right filled up with Stannis and his men," Pyke replied thoughtfully. Jon nodded in reply. "The door bars from within?" Pyke asked. Another nod. "Good. Take Clegane to her."

Sandor followed Jon Snow to Hardin's Tower. The bastard did not say one word to him; just left him at the tower door and pointed up the stairs. When he reached the small landing the door to Sansa's room was closed, but all was quiet. Assuming she must be sleeping or eating, Sandor pushed on the door. It opened for him and his first thought was how silly the little bird was for not locking herself in; he kept that thought to himself and instead called out, "Little bird, I've brought your things"...but then he saw her and his mind simply went blank.

The only light in the room came from the fire, which was new-made and flickering madly. Sansa was reclined, head bent back and eyes closed, in a steaming tub of water, naked as her name day. Her eyes popped open and she sat up and for one blessed moment Sandor could see the slim curve of her waist rising into two perfect teats, the sweet pink nipples suddenly hard in the chill air. Even when she gasped and covered herself, he could not stop staring, could not think, could not speak. Several long moments passed before she finally whispered angrily, "What are you doing?" She was flushed, either from the hot water or her embarrassment, and he could not help but laugh when he thought of how she had pressed herself against him the night before. Gods, if he had known what he was truly missing...

"You weren't so shy last night," he heard himself say, though he knew he shouldn't. He attempted a save by telling her he would leave if she wished it, then finally tore his eyes from her nakedness and moved to put her things down. He turned and waited for a moment, forcing himself to look anywhere but at her, and finally she told him to leave the room so that she could dress. Of course he obeyed, but he was still surprised when she asked him to eat with her. After all that, the girl wants to have dinner together, he thought, shaking his head at her naïveté. He left the room and closed the door behind him, but only needed to wait a minute or two before she was opening it and inviting him back inside. She would not look him in the eye, but that wasn't surprising...she so rarely looked at him, period.

"They brought me some food," she offered. "And ale." She eyed the jug with repugnance. "You can take that."

"Don't mind if I do," Sandor replied, his mouth twitching with amusement. He popped open the jug and took a long drink, then set it back on the table when he saw that Sansa was still standing some ways from him and wringing her hands. "Speak up, girl," he insisted.

"Sandor," she spoke his name quietly, and if he was not mistaken...with a touch of affection? "I...I would ask a favor of you."

He waited, but she did not continue. "Go on," he encouraged, but there was a frustrated growl beneath his words that he could not hold back.

And then she stepped forward and reached for his hands, twining her fingers through his and lifting her eyes to his face. "Do not join the Night's Watch," she whispered, and then she tucked her head into his chest and guided his arms around her before releasing his hands and wrapping her own arms around his waist, clutching at him as she said, "Please. Stay with me."