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

SANSA

She could not tear her eyes away from the wild beauty of the Northern plains. Why did I ever wish to leave this place? How could I have thought to prefer the heavy heat of the south and the filth of King's Landing to this? Sansa wondered.

Eventually she forced herself to head back down into the tower, knowing that she ought to speak with Hildred, to make sure they were leaving the supplies in the right places, to be there to say goodbye to Jon. By the time she made her way down the stairs, some of the food had already been brought to the common area on the fourth level, Hildred had a straw pallet for herself and her children on the third level, and a few of the cells on the second level were stocked with the longer-lasting rations. The only thing left to be done was to stock the fifth level with her own necessities.

"It is getting late already," Jon said when she approached him. "I for one need to get back across the lake and make for Castle Black. The voting for the new Lord Commander will begin soon - if it hasn't already - and I mean to be there for it."

"Go if you must," Sansa insisted. "We will be fine here. I will return to the village ruins with you, though, to see you off." She said this knowing that Sandor would have to go back to the village as well, knowing that she did not want to remain in the tower if he was not there with her. A ghost of a smile flitted across Jon's face, and then he offered her his arm and they took to the rowboat again. By then many of Stannis's men had already started back across the bridge, and at Jon's word Sandor followed them.

Back on the other side of the lake, Jon pulled Sansa aside and said, "I've had the men leave a raven in the holdfast. It will only go to Castle Black, but if you ever have need to write keep your message cryptic. Sign it 'A Lady' and I will know it is you."

"I will hope to have no need of the raven, but thank you, Jon. Thank you for everything." Sansa reached up and cupped his face in her hand; the same gesture she had used with Sandor, only this time she felt she must be looking into the face of her father and the tears welled in her eyes and ran unbidden down her cheeks. "Be careful."

"You as well." And then Jon reached up, removed her hand from his face, gave it a quick squeeze and was gone.

Sansa went to find Sandor; he was with his destrier Stranger, a couple of Stannis's men standing nearby. "Take care of this horse," Sandor growled, the "or else" left unsaid but certainly understood. "I'll be checking on him, but you'll never know when." The men were looking at Stranger with trepidation. One reached for the destrier's lead rope and Stranger snapped at him; the man immediately backed away and Sandor laughed. "And watch his teeth. And hooves," he added for good measure. He turned and saw Sansa standing there. She was shivering and the sky had somehow become even grayer within the past hour.

"It will snow soon," she told him. "We should..."

"Yes," he simply said. He handed Stranger's lead to the closest of Stannis's men and came to her; she put her hand in the crook of his arm and they walked back to the rowboat in silence.

"Will Stranger be okay?" she asked as they got into the boat and Sandor started rowing them across the lake. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched; in amusement this time.

"Oh yes. I'm more worried about those fools who think they can take care of him," he admitted with a chuckle.

They fell silent again. When they reached the little island, Sansa entered the tower and Sandor dragged the boat up into it behind them. It barely fit through the door and took up nearly all of the space in the strongroom, but Sansa knew that it was best for the boat to remain hidden.

Hildred had built fires in the hearths in her own chamber, the common area, and Sansa's room on the top level. While Sandor spent the rest of the morning and a good portion of the afternoon lugging two straw pallets, furs, blankets, and a few other accoutrements to her room, Sansa sat with Hildred and the children in front of the fire on the fourth level. She played with Grigg and remembered how small Rickon had been when she left Winterfell. How old would he be now, if not for Theon? she asked herself.

As the daylight waned and snow began to fall, Sandor finally came to sit with them and Hildred toasted slices of hard bread over the fire. She spread each piece with a bit of lard and Sansa gave her leave to mull a jug of wine over the fire. Though there was not much conversation, Sansa realized how wonderful it was to feel warm and safe and to not have to make inane conversation with people she despised, as she had been required to do in King's Landing. Finally she stood and stretched and announced that she was going upstairs; Hildred nodded to her, the children ignored her, and she felt Sandor's eyes on her back as she crossed the room and ascended the steps. It had been snowing for several hours now and the world was blanketed in white, white that somehow reflected off of itself and made the night near as bright as day. Sandor had yet to hang the furs over the doors to the balconies and Sansa moved out onto the closest one, stepping carefully on the wet stones. She stopped and tilted her head toward the sky, closing her eyes and just feelingthe snowflakes dust her eyelashes, the tip of her nose, her lips.

When she felt his hands wrap around her waist, she smiled.

SANDOR

There was a brief moment, when Sansa began ascending the stairs, where he wondered whether she truly meant for him to follow her. He glanced at the wildling woman, but she was tending to her children, pointedly averting her eyes from him, an amused little smile playing on her lips. Bugger her, then, he surmised as he heaved himself to his feet and started up the stairs after his little bird.

She was on the balcony, her back to him again, and as he approached her he thought Gods, she is beautiful. For a moment Sandor watched her as she tilted her face up and the snowflakes started to catch in her hair, but then something in him drove him forward. He hesitated for just a moment before placing his hands on either side of her waist, but he did not even have to turn her - she spun around to face him, and she was smiling, and then he bent and kissed her, crushing her little body to his. She was perfect, perfect, and she was not struggling or pushing him away but kissing him back. He took her in his arms, lifting her feet from the floor of the balcony and carrying her into the room. He set her back down next to one of the pallets and broke the kiss. Her face was flushed prettily, her lips swollen, her eyes bright. Sandor reached up and gently brushed a tendril of auburn hair from her forehead.

"Little bird..." he murmured. He wanted to say so many things, wanted to ask if she was sure, but he was afraid that even if she said no he would not be able to listen - not now with her chest heaving and her skin hot on his.

"Yes," she said, though he had never even asked the question. She turned and lifted up her hair for him; he ran his calloused fingertips over the soft skin above the neck of her gown and then took the laces in his hands, fumbling like a boy as he untied them. When he was done he reached up and gently tugged at the sleeves; the dress crumpled to the floor, pooling around Sansa's ankles, and she was standing in just a shift, a sad wisp of a thing that had no place in this Northern cold. When she turned back around he could see the curve of her teats beneath the thin fabric, her nipples hard little buds and he did not care if it was from the chill or because of him as he reached up and cupped his right hand around her left breast, in awe at the sheer perfection of her. Sansa gave a slight shudder and he pulled her to him again, clutching at her chest as he kissed her ferociously and lowered her onto the pallet.