Author's Notes: My apologies to all who expected everything to be miraculously solved only because Sandor confessed his feelings… Sorry!

Sansa's lips moved but no words came out. Still clutching at the front of her dress her eyes darted wildly to and fro, and she shook her head slowly almost unnoticeably. Her tenseness was visible, her shoulders raised and stiff.

"I…I know you don't care about such things, but for most men they are important. They seek a bride who can bring them one or the other – and I can understand that. Even Jaime. That is just the way it is."

So - she had chosen to ignore implications of Sandor's words. In any other circumstances that would have been an as clear sign to Sandor as any that it was time for him to back down. Yet circumstances were not normal, and he simply couldn't do that.

"I care about you for your own sake," he continued, stubbornly.

Mouth agape, cheeks flushed, frozen on her spot Sansa stared at him. For a long time neither of them spoke; time that seemed like hours for Sandor – days - but probably was only a few minutes. Then a timid, shaky voice.

"Care about me? You mean you think you owe me your protection?"

Sandor had one more chance to back off. He chose not to do it.

"Aye, that too, but more. Much more. Hells, girl, I don't have the bloody words for what it is! I only know it is."

Never in his life had Sandor wanted to be able to talk smoothly as other men did; to tell her that she was all he cared about, that he had been a lost cause ever since… King's Landing? Or even earlier, since Winterfell? That he had told himself not to be so fucking stupid, had tried to explain it away as a simple lust after a pretty girl, had wanted to deny it and avoid her at all costs… because if he didn't, there was a hell to pay for his peace of mind. And that if there was even a minuscule chance that she could… but she wouldn't, she couldn't…

"What is?" Hardly a whisper, that blue gaze still not letting him go.

Sandor threw his hands up in the air and swore out loud.

"This! You! Me! Us!"

"Us?"

Another long silence. Then Sansa sighed and backed a few steps, taking a hold of the nearest tree. Her form slumped and she looked away, staring at her hand resting on a trunk, eyes wide with wonderment as if that was the most unusual sight she had ever seen.

"All this time… when you came here, and talked to me only when you had to…avoided me, making me think that you despised me and wanted nothing to do with the stupid little bird from your past…"

Sandor cleared his throat which felt like it was stuffed with dry leaves. "Yes."

Sansa continued to stare at her hand, picking the bark. She was meticulous about it, not picking randomly but in neat lines, dropping the discarded pieces on the ground, one after another.

"And why do you tell me now?"

"Because I can't stand by and see you marry another."

Quickly, Sansa raised her head. Sandor swallowed.

"Not that I… it is not my concern and I know you'll marry someone anyway and there's nothing I can do about it, but -" Sandor had no idea how anything could come out of this, but he had run out of fucks to give. "I had to let you know. That's all."

Sandor had lived through many times that magical moment just before a battle, when the clash was inevitable, the combatants ready, and time stopped still and everyone in the field seemed to be holding their collective breath – only waiting for a sign, a movement, a shouted order or someone's nerves breaking in an act that would break the spell and get the bloodpath started. He felt like that the very moment, waiting…for what? A sign, a slaughter to begin?

In the meanwhile Sansa had slid slowly down against the tree until she sat on the ground, not caring about the damp earth or scrunching of her skirts. The last piece of tree bark was still in her hands and she turned it around, contemplatively.

"And then…what?"

Sandor clutched the hilt of his sword, an involuntary gesture. He had to ask now. He had given her all the logical reasons, all the arguments why it made sense. Now it was time to jump into unknown, illogical and mad. Whatever followed.

"Come away with me. Now. I am not expecting anything, so you know, not for you to feel the same. But if you trust me at all – leave with me."

Sansa was still fascinated with the thing in her hand and so Sandor continued.

"I asked you once before, but I fucked it up. And it was different; you were a prisoner and I offered to release you and protect you. Nothing more. Gods forbid you were just a child then! But you are not a prisoner anymore; you are at home and have a keep full of men at your beck and call. You don't need me - I have nothing to offer you."

Only after saying those words it truly hit Sandor how doomed his quest was. He had nothing, absolutely nothing to give to her. She didn't even need his sword, the only thing of worth he had ever had in life. And even so…

"But still I ask."

They had been so still for so long that a curious squirrel had edged closer to one of the nearby trees and now observed them from a tree branch, its nose twitching as it took in the sight of the two of them. Seemingly satisfied that they didn't present a threat, it picked a pine cone and started to pluck it for seeds.

Finally, Sansa lifted her head. Several shades of feelings seemed to find expression in her features; anguish, confusion, disbelief, sadness – and something that looked like joy, but it flashed so quickly that Sandor wasn't sure whether it truly had been there. After that cavalcade or emotions the one that stayed was what he had not expected; sorrow.

"I used to wish I had left with you when you first made that offer." She bit her lip. "I liked to think you would have saved me from…all that came after."

"It was right you didn't. I was fucked up and I would have hurt you. One way or another."

"So you say and yet you are not the kind of man. I suspected it even then. You know, I prayed for you, for the Mother to gentle the rage inside you. And I see she did it."

"Well, she took her bloody good time. And a good chunk of my leg, and burdened me with a Brother who had more patience than sense," Sandor muttered.

Silence fell upon them again. Sansa returned to stubbornly stare at the piece of bark in her hand.

"Twice – twice have you come to me on your own volition, during all this time." Her voice was steady but strained. "The second time you did, to tell me you would understand if I wanted to send you away, I thought you wanted to set things right between us. That it was only the first step, and we would talk more."

She looked up at Sandor, wavering slightly before continuing.

"I came to you so many times after that, in places where you could have come to me should you have so wished. There I was, standing in the yard or at the battlements, all alone, waiting…offering you a chance to talk to me without anyone hearing us."

Sandor shifted his stance. Yes, he had seen her then. Felt her presence.

Sansa's cheeks were flushed and her tone sharpened.

"I couldn't come to you as I was the lady of the keep and you would have had no chance but to hear me. It had to be you coming to me. But you never did." A dry chortle that held no humour. "And yet I tried to approach you once or twice – and when you saw me coming you turned and walked away. Ran away. So I thought – no, I knew that you wanted nothing to do with me. And I left you in peace."

"I am sorry, little bird."

"And now you choose this time, this very day, to talk to me about these things. And ask me to drop everything I have planned for my life and go with you. But I don't even know you!" There was a flash of anger in that last statement, but it subsided soon, leaving behind only that same weary sadness he had seen before. "I saw you were a different man when you came here, and I was glad. And I wanted to get to know the new you. But you never gave me a chance."

"You can get to know me if you come with me."

A deep sigh, almost a shudder. All emotions had drained from her face and it had turned to a blank mask. The same he had seen on her too many times.

"I… I can't."

Feeling awkward Sandor lumbered down to her level, bending his knee so he could face her eye to eye.

"Yes you can." He took her fingers into his grasp and willed his own strength and surety to flow through them to her. She stared at him but didn't pull away.

"You don't want to marry him. I know you don't, you know you don't. Tell me you do and I'll tell you that you are still as bad a liar as you were in King's Landing. Why do you insist on going on with this mummery?" Sansa's hand trembled but he didn't let it go.

"I couldn't do it to Jaime. He has been kind and honourable towards me, and we have an understanding. This marriage is not only for us but for the North, and things have progressed too far for me to change it now. And I couldn't insult him by leaving him on the day of our wedding."

"Yes, you could. He would understand, he doesn't love you either." Sandor knew it was not the thing to say to a woman, any woman, but he had to. He hissed silently and prepared for Sansa's indignant reaction - which didn't come. She only looked at him through that impermeable mask and squeezed his hand gently.

"I think I know it already. Yet it doesn't change anything. I gave him my word. I have to go through with it."

Cutting her prayers short they walked back in silence as there was nothing more to say. Sandor asked her once more, twice more, searching for a way to make her change her mind, but after recovering from her initial shock Sansa had gathered her composure and retreated into herself. She walked fast, a few steps ahead of him, her shoulders slumped and posture stooped. Sandor knew he had lost – and as he could not force her, he only had to accept it. Mayhap the next day… as he was convinced there was going to be the next day all over again.

How things could be different then, he didn't know, feeling numb and lost. What could he say, what could he do?

As they reached the keep and Sansa turned to thank him – never forgetting her manners - he snatched her hand to squeeze it once more.

"Come with me, tonight. Before the ceremony. I will take you away, away from all of this." Was it desperation that made his voice so strangled and odd in his ears?

She studied his face. For a moment her facade crumbled, revealing a spirit that wanted to break free, to shatter the fetters of duty and honour, but then it was gone and she was Lady Stark again, composed and restrained.

"I wish you had come to me earlier, I truly do. I don't know what would have happened – but that seems to be the pattern for us. Not knowing what might have been. Yet I have my duty and I shall do it as I know I must." Her eyes glistened but she blinked it away. "Maybe later, once this is over, we may become…friends." Her voice faded away so Sandor could hardly hear the last words.

As crushed as Sandor was, he only nodded and released her. When she started to walk away he called after her in a low voice.

"When tonight you wrap yourself in the direwolf cloak in your rooms, think of this moment. Think if this is what you would like to change, should you have a chance later in life. If you do, send me a word and I will come and you don't have to go through with it."

He was all out of ammunition and this was his last attempt. Mayhap all she needed was some time to contemplate.

Sansa stopped for a second but didn't turn to look at him. Then she continued her walk and disappeared inside the keep, her downturned head the last thing Sandor saw before the heavy door closed behind her.

There was no word from her, no note or word of mouth. Sandor paced restlessly in his room and listened to every creak and every footstep from the corridor, but none of them came to his door.

And later, when Jaime wrapped his cloak of golden lion around Sansa's shoulders, he could not watch it, staring at the floor instead. His chest felt hollow and empty although his heart was still beating, slowly, rhythmically, but with no joy. Humiliation, unlike any Sandor had felt before, ate his bones.

What kind of a fool had he been, thinking his piss poor arguments and putting himself out there for her could ever be enough – for a lady like Sansa? For a woman who longed for love and family and for someone to care for her – someone worthy of her.

He had gambled – and he had lost.