I bring her down onto my knees, and pull her in, gentle as I'm able, and kiss her properly. She's sweeter than any apple. She's - there, and shy but wanting it, and putting her fingers on my mouth and I'm as hard as a bloody anvil but she's just away enough not to notice. And I'm kissing her again, my hands in her flaming hair, thinking, let's just end the world now and that'll be fine.

Hells, this is madness. I'm looking into the maw of a bottomless well. I get our blankets while she's off taking a piss and think, don't do anything, for Gods' sakes. She's got her head way up in the damn clouds, doesn't seem to know how dangerous this is – for me, if not her. Innocent as a bloody lamb. She comes and lays down next to me, staring at me like I'm a bloody prince or something. She digs, too – tells me I wanted this all along.

I've nowhere to hide. It's like she's slicing me open, carefully, not much blood, just a deadly thin cut, all the way along. She says how many ladies have you kissed and I think, fuck, Sansa, how many women do you think have willingly put their face on this? I've never had a woman's mouth on me without having half-fucked them first. But I can't help myself, she's right there, and I'm kissing her again, and teasing her, and kissing her, pulling that damned feather from behind her ear and using it on her, putting my fingers on her neck. She's lying there like she'd just let me fucking have her and it's all I can do to rein myself in, remind myself she's quivering like a fletchling because she's never done this before.

Fucking Others take me now, I'll go quietly. She's lying there with her head on my shoulder. Well, she'll not get a fever at least I think. Yes, 'cause that's all you are, you great fool, a bloody great fur blanket.

In the morning I've brought her arse right into my lap, and my cock is laid halfway up her back. Fuck. She's bloody awake and all, wriggles round, grinning. Gods, those eyes – like you're on top of the Eyrie with the bright winter sky slapping you round the face. She's kissing me again, getting used to it, and she's so damned warm and I'm thinking Gods, to have your thighs around my ears right now, then you'd give me your bloody wide eyes. She's getting bolder, and I'm pulling her onto me, and her knee's up against my cock and I wrench myself away, talk her down. Talk myself down. Tell her she's got lords waiting for her. That she needs to be a maid. Listen to your own words, man. This can't happen.

She sulks then. Sulks getting up. Sulks when I consent to an inn. Sulks on the horse. Fat bottom lip and little knot on her forehead, not knowing that it's cuter than anything else she's pulled. It just makes me grin, feeling her silence, heavy as an anchor. Fact is, she's sulking 'cause I'm telling her she can't have more of me. Talk about my head bloating up like a pumpkin.

I don't want to think about what happens tonight at the inn, and asking for rooms. One is safer, for keeping the outside world out. Two is safer, for me. And for her. Gods.

We come down to a bloody great waterfall, foaming like an old drunk, loud as anything. Sansa's looking at it like it's a jewel swinging in front of her face. I gibe her about wanting a bath and before I know it, she's risen to it and I'm helping her with her dress and the panic's rising in my throat. Gods. Don't think I've undressed a woman before. Skirts up around their arse is usually enough for me.

I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. How is she suddenly in charge? She's not saying anything, just steps out of her dress and takes her boots and stockings off, furiously, like they're itching. She walks up to the pool, toes right up to the water, like she's forgotten all about me, in her white smock - I can see her shape under it. All of her. Everything's gone dead quiet, watching. She's got her back to me, straight as a sapling, holding her arms stiff by her side, fingers just a bit apart. And I'm about to say, Sansa, I was just joking, you don't have to go in, when she pulls her smock off.