Summary: He sits dumbly on his place. Never has he been called 'a good man'. From the way she speaks of him it is as if he were Barristan-bloody-Selmy, a white knight in armour so shiny he could see his own reflection in it – should he want to.

Sandor

Suddenly many incidents from their past surface in his mind and take completely new meanings. She touching him when she thought him passed out drunk…not maidenly curiosity after all? The time when she dragged their bedding together, claiming it to be for warmth… That night among Ser Cley's troops; again she had presented good reasons for her actions, but was that all there was? And in the morning, when he had first thought of kissing her… Then something more recent comes to his mind; a situation where he might have read her for true had he cared to follow his instincts instead of being overwhelmed by uncertainty and dread about doing the wrong thing.

"When you came to ask me to become your sworn shield… you sat on my bed, in the middle of the night, in your fineries. Were you ready for me then?" He can't help gaining some mischievous satisfaction from seeing her embarrassment.

"I was ready to think of those things," she sidesteps his inquiry. "Foremost I wanted to make sure that you were not leaving anywhere."

"And why was that?"

"Do you need to ask? Or do you mean to ask why is it that we have come to this?" She looks at him searchingly and Sandor regrets the impulse that made him blurt out the question. He has acknowledged for a while that for some unfathomable reason she seems to accept him and his coarse ways, even want him by her side. And now, she so willing to kiss and touch him – what does it matter why?

"I was always aware that you were not such a horrible person as people made you out to be. I knew you had suffered a lot; you told me so yourself and I could see the rest with my own eyes. Why you chose to tell me, that time, I never knew, but I felt it was something special. As a gift you gave me – although you probably think that foolish!" Her voice is steady and she stares at her lap. "And when you saved me all those times without seeking to claim a reward or favour, I knew you were different."

He doesn't want to move or break the moment and stills his instinct to reach out and touch her hand again.

"And then when we travelled and you looked after me and didn't do as many men in your position might have done… Oh, I know what fate awaits women in the company of men when they have no family to protect them. I also understood very well that you had no real reason to bring me home; you owed nothing to the Starks, you didn't necessarily need the money and even I knew that you wanting to become, or being accepted as a Stark retainer would have been extremely unlikely, for many reasons. And yet you brought me home untouched and in good health."

She looks at him now and he is captivated by her sincerity. He sees no traces of a coquettish woman or a flirting young maiden testing her skills in seduction.

"Yet all of this is what any true knight could have done. Had such a man taken me home, I would have been grateful for him and undoubtedly I would have been fond of him too – but nothing more. Yet you are not a knight, you don't do what is expected of you by the society or the codes of chivalry. You do what you do because you want to. And there is the difference. Moreover, I already told you once that you are the only person who has ever treated me with true respect as a person, not only as a…" she seeks for a suitable expression," …bloody noble!"

He is amused by her use of a word that so poorly fits into her beautiful mouth, but is touched by her attempt to express herself in a way mimicking his own manners.

"You saw me as me, not as the daughter of House Stark, or even just as a woman. I am called pretty, and from what I have lived through I know there are many men willing to have me as their…companion. Yet you saw through all that too." She blushes slightly, the colour of her face only slightly heightened after the flush raised by their earlier fumbling embraces. "And you are a good man, I can see and hear it in all you do, although you may hate to admit it. When I was a little girl my father and mother told me that someday I would marry a man who is brave, kind and wise – and now that I have met him, what else can I do but to fall for him?"

He sits dumbly on his place. Never has he been called 'a good man'. From the way she speaks of him it is as if he were Barristan-bloody-Selmy, a white knight in armour so shiny he could see his own reflection in it – should he want to. Part of him protests against her words and he opens his mouth to refute them, but then he stops. He remembers the way his fellow Kingsguard knights used to look at her, and the rude comments they made. They certainly saw her as a cunt and teats to be ravished rather than a highborn lady after Joffrey had abandoned her, although she was still way too noble for the likes of them. He wonders if any of them ever looked her in the eye, rather than at her teats and her hips. As for the men of her own station; the way how Ser Cley appraised her was measuring her worth in improving his own position, should he have been successful in his attempts to make her fall in love with him as her heroic saviour.

Not knowing what else to do – or say - he turns sideways and lifts his long legs on the couch, pulling her to rest between them. He wants to enclose her in his arms and convey that way what he may not be able to express in words. She acquiesces and shifts closer, her bottom resting against his groin. He can't help it but feels himself stiffen at the sensation. Shit! This was not his intention, to be crude and licentious in a situation as tender as this. He tries to make some distance between them, but she resists his attempts and sits still, her posture slightly more rigid.

"Ah, I remember this too. I though you very rude at the time, behaving so ungallantly when lying next to a lady." Her voice is strained and again he tries to move – as strange as it was to hear her say all those good things about him, it had been oddly satisfying too. This was not the time to show her that she had been wrong after all. Yet she doesn't budge.

"After a while I didn't feel so much like a lady anymore," she murmurs, and he stops his attempts to shift. Suddenly he hates the man he was then, the sullen man who only wanted to goad the girl whose only crime was to be too enticing, too good for him. The apology comes to his lips more easily this time.

"I am sorry, Sansa. I… shouldn't have behaved as I did. You think too highly of me - I am a brute, nothing else into it." He draws a deep breath. "I cursed you sometimes, cursed why we didn't come to think of another story to explain our partnership so we wouldn't have to lie together. Yet you didn't deserve the way I behaved."

She wiggles in her spot, pressing herself firmer against him. The sensation of her curvy backside against his cock is way too distracting and he tries to direct his thoughts elsewhere. Stranger…his leg looked much better this morning. Mayhap I should take him out for a light walk later in the day?

"Please don't apologise; I told you I soon let go of my ladylike reservations. At first I didn't know what you were doing – it sounded as you were hurting. I was worried about you, would you believe it?" She has stopped moving and is now leaning her back fully flush against his chest. She looks over her shoulder and although she is smiling, he sees a tinge of nervousness in it.

"Then I spoke with the women I met on the road, serving maids and farmers daughters. They laughed at me at first but when I told them you were my first man, they told me many things about men and their ways… Gods! When I came back to you I was sure you would see right through me, I was so embarrassed!" She presses her face against her upturned palms as if in shame, but he sees her peeking between her fingers at his direction.

"Why didn't you put me in my place? I know now you could have done it – seven hells, had you addressed me as you did poor hapless Ser Cley, I would have slinked into a corner for sure!" He chuckles, seeing her false modesty for what it is, twinkling of her eyes telling him she is nowhere as ashamed as she pretends to be.

"And what, lose the best part of my night!" She also laughs out loud and he places his hands around her waist and lifts her up, high up. She squeals in delight and laughs and kicks and attempts to release herself, in vain. Sandor's heart swells and he hopes this moment would never end.