Hi girls!

Here's a little chapter for you all! I hope you enjoy! :)

Sansa

"Oh, it's impossible!" Sansa cried desperately at seeing the knot she had allowed her thread to become without realising it. Frowning, she tossed her embroidery ring onto her lap and sighed.

For the last hour or so, she had been trying to absorb herself in her work yet she was far too distracted and nervous to keep her thoughts on her actions or do anything properly it seemed. Her stitches were not as fine as they usually were and it was the second time since she had begun that she had gotten her thread all messed up. She would need to undo her last few stitches again. It was not like her at all to be so inattentive but there wasn't much she could do to control all the crazy directions her mind flew in this afternoon.

About an hour before, Sansa had sent Jeyne to Maegor's Holdfast to find out if the queen's maids could give her some blue thread since she had just finished her own and didn't want to wait until tomorrow to continue her work. Or at least that's what people were supposed to believe, for the truth was far different. Indeed, the girl had in reality managed to convince her friend to help her once again to get in touch with Sandor. It hadn't been easy to convince her though. The other girl had hesitated a long time before agreeing to Sansa's demand. She had been reluctant to disobey Sansa's father a second time but most of all, not eager to face the Hound at all.

"Please, Jeyne! I'm begging you!" she had pleaded, clutching the young commoner by the sleeves when she had at first firmly refused.

"I don't want to talk to him! He scares me, Sansa!" Jeyne had whined. "He always has but now that you've been caught while I was watching for you, he does even more. What if he decides to beat me for not having warned you in time? Or worse, kill me?"

"He won't do you any harm, Jeyne!" Sansa had retorted, annoyed at her friend's silly suppositions. "On the contrary, he'll be glad that you bring him a message from me. And you don't have to exchange a single word with him: just give him the letter I wrote and walk away, that's all! In fact, it would be preferable that you're not be seen with him by anyone so the faster it's done, the better!" Without waiting for a reply, Sansa had handed the piece of parchment to the other girl. It had been folded so many times that it could easily be concealed without having to be hidden in a pouch or under layers of skirts and Sansa had sealed it very carefully with wax not long before she had sent for her friend. The message it contained was extremely confidential and if anyone - even Jeyne! - read it, she would die of mortification on the spot!

Thankfully Jeyne hadn't been too curious about what it contained. "Why do you want to get in contact with him? You know you can't see him anymore," she had simply demanded as she eyed the letter with suspicion.

"I only wish to tell him goodbye…" Sansa had whispered, heat rising to her cheeks. She wasn't used to lying and hated the feeling it gave her. Even now that she was alone in her room and thinking back upon it all, the idea that she had been untruthful with a friend with whom she had always shared all her secrets still saddened her, yet telling her of her plans had been simply unthinkable.

What is taking her so long? Sansa wondered, raising her gaze to peer at the door. She had finally managed to undo the knot of thread and was resuming working on the flowery pattern she had begun that morning. Hopefully she wouldn't meet more difficulty where that was concerned. But what about Sandor? she mused. Would he prove as difficult as her embroidery? The comparison was ridiculous and brought a smile to her lips. Still, her amusement quickly vanished when she remembered the events of yesterday. Everything had gone so wrong so fast…

Sansa hadn't meant to hurt Sandor when she had refused to give herself to him and she certainly didn't want him to take her restraint for a sign she didn't genuinely love him since naught could be more untrue. Sandor had put so much effort into getting a chance to see her again – going as far as to climb the Tower of the Hand! The notion was awfully romantic and enough to bring butterflies to Sansa's belly, however in reality, having a man as imposing as the Hound appear in one's chamber could prove a nerve-wracking experience, especially if even innocent contacts with said man were completely prohibited. And Sandor had been extremely forward in his approach… Kisses and soft caresses of her clothed body hadn't been enough for him anymore. No, he had wanted more and had not waited for her approval to carry her to her bed and proceed to undress her. Sansa had been completely overwhelmed by the whole situation and the mix of sensations that had assailed her as he explored her nude skin in the most licentious way possible. Nevertheless, naught had caught her off guard as much as feeling the hardness of him rub against her, the skin warm and sticky against her bare belly. The mere remembrance was still enough to make the girl blush madly. All her instincts had told her this was too much and that she had to put a stop to what was taking place immediately. She had always been told to never let anyone touch her inappropriately, that girls who allowed men into their beds outside of wedlock were to be despised. Her maidenhead was precious and needed to be protected, for it was a present meant for her lord husband on her wedding night and no one else. After having these precepts repeated over and over again throughout her life, it was only natural that a highborn maiden should be inclined to follow them, no matter whom she was with.

It was hard for Sansa to be sure of how she felt regarding it all. In some way, the thought of how forceful the Hound had been with her still unnerved her. He had been deaf to her pleas when she had asked him to stop and the girl had had no other choice but to bite him to make him cease undressing himself and afterwards, once his attention had finally been drawn to her words rather than her body, the man hadn't really tried to put himself in her place. On the contrary, he had been mad that she refused him and assumed all sorts of things without giving her a chance to explain herself.

It was to be expected that a grown man would be interested in more than what she had been willing to offer - Sansa understood that reality very well – and she had thus forgiven Sandor his lack of control from the moment he had recoiled from her. Now though, what she was left with was the guilt of not having been willing to go as far as he wanted and most of all, fear that he had mistaken her refusal for proof that she didn't truly love him. The mere idea that he might believe such a thing was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She couldn't stand the prospect that he could possibly doubt her feelings for him and that because of his false conception, the intensity of his own love decreased. They were not allowed to see each other and that was already unbearable enough but at least to assuage her pain, Sansa needed to be sure of the Hound's unconditional love for her. Given the forbidden nature of their relationship and the lack of options their situation offered, the girl had concluded that morning that there was only one way she could achieve that goal. She would have to let Sandor take her maidenhead. By giving him exactly what he had desired, she would combat his misgivings in the most concrete and undeniable fashion there was and although her stomach pulled nervously at the prospect, her decision was made and naught could change her mind at that point. Anyhow, even if she was to waver, it would be too late by now. The letter she had written Sandor was probably already in his possession and the message it contained wasn't hard to interpret in the least.

'Sandor, I love you. I'm sorry about yesterday. Come to my chamber tonight and I'll be yours, exactly as you wanted and as I know I'm meant to be.'

Would he answer her demand and show up tonight? Sansa hoped he would, of course, but that didn't stop her heart from pounding madly whenever images of the Hound climbing the Tower of the Hand, his eyes gleaming with lust, reached her mind. Doing… it wasn't something she truly felt ready for. It was far too grown-up for her, something you did when you were an adult and Sansa still felt mostly like a child although she had flowered and gained a womanly figure throughout the many moons she had spent in King's Landing. Prior to the philtre and most of all, to yesterday's events, she had always believed she would have many years to wait before she got married and learned the mysterious ways of love yet now, she was faced with the fact that the latter would happen much sooner than she had anticipated. However, frightening as it was, that she let Sandor claim her as he had himself worded it was necessary - essential even. Sansa wanted him to know how strong her love for him was and granting him the most precious gift she had to offer was undeniably the best way to achieve it. If she didn't go along with it and her reluctance destroyed their beautiful love, she would only have herself to blame afterwards.

"Sansa!" a call suddenly came from the opening door.

Not having expected anyone to enter just then, Sansa jumped in her seat, inadvertently stabbing her needle into her forefinger and letting out a small cry at the bright pain it brought.

The newcomer was Jeyne, of course. "What is it? Are you all right, Sansa?" she asked, puzzled, as she closed the door behind her.

"Oh, it's nothing!" the girl replied, blushing at her clumsiness while staring dumbly at the drop of blood that was pearling on the curve of her finger. It had been years since she had been so inept as today while working on her embroidery and she was slightly ashamed to be caught doing so when praise was all she ever heard where stitches were concerned. "So?" she started, swiftly hiding her hand, as eager to take her friend's attention from her accident as to know if Jeyne's mission had been successful. "How did it go?"

"It went all right," Jeyne said without much enthusiasm. "Here, I have your blue thread," she added, settling the reel over the desk.

"And the letter?" Sansa whispered insistently, shifting so much that she was sitting at the very edge of her armchair. "Did you give it to Sandor?"

"Yes, I did," the young commoner answered, her face wrinkling with distaste. "He was in the yard training with some other men and I had to hide for a long time before I could finally find him alone. It was so long and boring! When at last he headed for the armoury after about a half hour, I strode to him and put the letter in his hand."

"How did he react?" Sansa demanded, jumping to her feet. "Did he seem curious? Happy? Angry?"

"I don't know!" Jeyne replied, evidently irked. "I didn't even look at him. I just gave him the letter and ran as fast as I could. I wasn't interested in learning if he was furious that I failed in stopping your Lord Father from catching you."

"I already told you: he's not! You don't have to fear him! In fact, he didn't even mention your name when he…" Sansa trailed off, only now realising she had been about to denounce herself. Her breath caught in her throat at the notion.

"When he what?" the other girl asked, narrowing her eyes with suspicion.

Sansa gulped. "Forget it… I'm not even sure of what I was about to say myself," she muttered nervously, averting her gaze from her friend.

After a long silence, Jeyne sighed and shook her head. "Well, if that's all, I'll leave you for now. My father has asked for my help with the organisation of the new dishes and I've kept him waiting long enough."

Sansa nodded at that but then as Jeyne was about to shut the door behind her, she shook herself. "Thank you, Jeyne! Thank you so very much for your help!"

"You're welcome, I guess. Although, I'm still not sure if I did the right thing to be honest," the other girl said with a weak smile before vanishing from Sansa's view.

For the rest of the day, Sansa felt as if she drifted in a strange fog. Every hour was as painfully long as it was dreadfully short. She didn't know if she was looking forward to seeing Sandor and fixing their misunderstanding or fearful of what she was about to experience. Would it hurt? Would he be careful with her? Or most frightening of all, would he even show up at all? No. It's impossible. He loves me too much not to come when I've asked him myself, especially when he knows the lengths I'm now willing to go to, she kept repeating to herself. Yet, it was to no avail. Doubt had permeated her mind and she couldn't rest easy now. She needed to know if he still loved her. And in the event he did, a whole other set of questions came to mind…

Her maids had undressed her, cleaned her and garbed her in a nightgown. Darkness had arrived and Sansa was left alone in her chamber, anxiously waiting. As the minutes slipped by, the possibility that the Hound might not join her at all was becoming increasingly more likely but she refused to consider it seriously. Yet, who was to say he was not so irked with her that he hadn't even wished to read her letter? While the prospect was too painful to truly be considered, Sansa nonetheless couldn't free herself of images of the Hound throwing her letter in the fire. What would she do if he had indeed disregarded her message? What option would she have then? None…

Despite her initial agitation and worries, Sansa had gone to bed at some point and sleep was slowly but surely getting the better of her, dragging her into its sweet mist, when she heard a noise from outside her door. Immediately she sat up, her pulse going from calm to frantic in a heartbeat. In the same breath, her conscious mind was awakened so brusquely that she didn't even get a chance to interpret any of the different thoughts that assailed her before she heard his voice:

"Little bird," the Hound's distinctive low rasp came from the balcony.

Her heart jumping to her throat, Sansa clutched at her cover and gathered it stiffly to her chest. She turned around to look at the door – watching it open wide - and there he was: the Hound, as imposing as ever, standing on the threshold. The light that came from the fireplace was very dim and barely lit him. All the girl could make out at first was the shape of his large body against the moonlit sky. Gradually though, her sight adjusted and she began to discern his features. They were strong, unforgiving and undeniably masculine at once and he was gazing at her with that hard stare of his, his face wearing the unreadable expression it so often did.

"Why so silent, Sansa? Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, a hint of reproach in his gravelly voice, after a moment of staring silently at her.

Realising how petrified she seemed, Sansa shook herself and spoke. "Oh, Sandor… Yes of course I am happy!" she breathed while standing from her bed without letting go of her covers, her limbs trembling in a strange mix of anticipation, fear that she might displease him and excitement to be by his side. "I'm so sorry about yesterday… I didn't want you to… to…"

"No need to be sorry," he interjected nonchalantly, the shadow of a tired smile curling his lips.

Sansa's muscles relaxed a little at that, yet she still was far from completely at ease. "But… I was so afraid that you-"

"Shhh, it's all right now, I'm here," he whispered, slowly coming her way.

Sansa had to fight to stop herself from recoiling from him. His presence was still so intimidating to her, no matter that she loved him. He was so tall and broad and fearsome with his scars and long black hair, all dressed in old, dark leather … His eyes were soft now though, or at least as soft as the eyes of a man as rough as he could become. In an instant, he was standing less than a foot from her, looking down at her with unhidden hunger, his chest moving up and down with every breath he took, each slow and deep. He still loves me… Sansa mused at noticing the effect she had on him, relieved for an eye blink before she became worried for a totally different set of reasons. Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled the blanket she still had over her shoulders tighter around her.

Sandor smirked as he noticed her gesture and laid his large hands over her upper arms. "Girl, you're wrapped up like a bloody newborn babe," he muttered, gazing at the cover with mocking contempt. Then, he narrowed his eyes at Sansa, leaned closer to her and added in a hoarse whisper, "Don't you want to hold me for real? To put those lithe arms of yours around me?"

Sansa giggled nervously at that and let her blanket fall to the ground with the same thrill that one feels just before jumping into the cold waters of a northern lake. There was no point in holding on to whatever semblance of protection she had at this point. And besides, she did want to be in his arms and to feel his love for her, so very, very much…

Snaking her arms around his torso, Sansa let go of her fear, pressed her head against his chest and sighed as she felt his own thick arms encircle her. "Sandor, I was afraid you thought I didn't truly love you, that I didn't want to be yours!" she murmured passionately after a few blissful seconds of simply enjoying his embrace without thinking of anything other than how perfect it was to be with him again.

"Really?" Sandor demanded with some surprise, while petting her long hair with one hand and keeping the other on the small of her back.

The contact of his powerful body was giving Sansa courage she didn't usually have and she added boldly, blushing at her own words even as she spoke them and hiding her face in his chest: "Yes, really… and that fear made me realise that I do want to be… yours... not only in words but in actions too…"

At her confession, the Hound's muscles stiffened slightly, and he loosened his hold on her. Raising a hand, he gently pushed her chin up with his fingers until they gazed at each other straight in the eyes. "You mean it? Because I won't be told twice…" the man muttered, his stare suddenly piercing and shining in a way that made her think of a rabid dog. "I've been dying to have you for longer than you think. If you truly give me the right to, I'll take you tonight and there'll be no coming back," he warned her, speaking in an urgent but slow voice while tightening his grip on her.

Sansa bit at her lip. She couldn't and didn't truly want to step back now, not after everything that had taken place and the written promise she had sent Sandor this very morning. Yet, repeating the same words aloud while he looked at her seemed impossible and therefore she settled on telling him what she felt while hoping it would be enough to satisfy him. "Sandor… I love you…"

It did or at least it seemed to, for the man smiled and took her by the waist. "Little bird, you're all I want… How the fuck could you ever have believed a buggering insignificant little fight like the one we had would stop that?" he chided her gently. "And now, especially after I have received that sweet letter of yours, what kind of bloody halfwit I would be not to have run to your chamber as soon as I could? Seven Hells, Sansa! Nothing could have stopped me…" He paused and a wolfish spark passed through his eyes. "You know I was on duty tonight?"

Sansa's eyes went wide. She hadn't considered even for an instant the possibility that the Hound might be busy guarding the king. "You were? How… how come you're here then?"

Sandor snorted a short laugh. "I managed to change shifts with Boros. The bugger was hard as fuck to convince though. I had to take two of his shifts for him to deign to accept."

"Oh, but this is horrible! When will you rest?" Sansa cried, abashed at what her thoughtlessness had cost him. "I wish I'd thought you might not be available-"

"Little bird, don't be sorry: you're being fucking ridiculous here! Who the fuck needs rest when they can taste something as sweet as you?" Sandor cut her off within a mix of affront and mirth, his lips curved into a mocking, disbelieving half-grin. "Don't you realise you're offering me everything a man could ever wish for?" he added in a rough but intense whisper, raising a hand to her face to cup her cheek. "What kind of fucking idiot would I be to complain knowing that?" Then smiling smugly, he began caressing her bottom lip with his thumb while looking at it with undeniable interest. "I'll take everything you're willing to give me without question. Sansa: you're mine and I'll prove it to you."