It was dark. They couldn't have a naked flame amidst the piles of sweet hay and straw. They had to rely on touch to find the bed. It wasn't really a bed, rather a thick pile of straw covered in furs with a patchwork blanket to cover them with. Sansa was already lying down. She watched his shape move from the dim light that shone from the small square space where the ladder was then he vanished into the shadows. She could hear him as he removed his clothes. The clink of the weapons he always carried on him. The smell of him, metal polish, leather and something else, something that was uniquely him; she had missed that smell. She shivered in anticipation.

She was glad it was dark in here, now he wouldn't have to look at her. She had thought to send him away, but her longing for him was too much, she wanted to be held by him. Yet she was afraid of what he must think of her now. He had been so shocked when he saw her; he looked as if he might strike her. Sansa felt like she had been invaded by Prex, washed away with the boy disguise. She was so repulsive without her hair. Pearl had washed what was left, but it was hopeless. Her most attractive feature was gone and she was bony from the weeks in the dungeon. Her body still showed the scars of the beating she had endured when she had been taken to Harrenhal. The red marks stood out vividly against her pale, freckled skin. It looked vile; it made her want to be ill when she had stood before the mirror. She didn't look like the woman the Hound had fallen in love with. Sansa wasn't even sure who she was anymore. The old Sansa who loved lemon cakes and knight tales seemed a thousand years ago. Sansa clenched her fists to stop herself from crying.

Sandor was by the bed now. Sansa could hear his soft breathing as he lowered himself down next to her. He was naked apart form his linen breeches. His chest was so close to her cheek she could feel his body heat. She leant her face against him and he wrapped his huge arms around her. She could hear his heart beating and the regular thump of it calmed her nerves. He was so tall, so big compared to her that Sansa felt safe for the first time since they parted. Then she began to sob, great wracking tears but he didn't let her go or ask her anything, he just held her tightly and stroked her back until she fell asleep.

'Here, little bird,' the Hound's voice rumbled, 'I brought you some water.'

Sansa sat up as he offered her a bone cup. She blinked in the morning light that was seeping though the cracks in the wooden roof. She put the thin lip of the cup to her mouth and drank down the cold draft in one deep pull. 'Thank you, Se…' She almost said it, but stopped herself before she did. He looked at her from beneath raised brows but he didn't chastise her. Instead he looked concerned, an expression she had never seen on the Hound's brutal face before. It fit him uncomfortably, like a child trying on his father's cloak. Sansa wished he would bark at her or growl his displeasure at her foolishness. Or that he would huff into her skin and murmur half made words as he licked her flesh. Instead he stared at her from a few feet away.

'Come here, sit with me,' Sansa patted the patchwork blanket. 'Please.'

He obeyed her. Clumsily settling his large frame next to her he muttered, 'You slept deeply. I could not sleep. I walked in the woods for a while.'

'Why could you not find the path to sleep? It came easily to me.'

'I was thinking.'

Sansa sighed. Sometimes speaking with Sandor felt like conversing with a rock, immovable and stubborn. He felt as remote as a star to her at this moment and just as unreachable.

Still, she persisted, 'Thinking about what?'

'What happened to you at Harrenhal. I was wondering why you do not say.'

'Nothing happened. They kept me in a dungeon for a time. Then Lord Bolton ordered me to be moved to a tower room. Then Grendle came.'

'Did they… mistreat you?' His voice sputtered as he spoke. He could not look at her.

'What do you mean exactly?' She pushed him hard on his shoulder and he jumped in surprise. 'If you are asking if they used me, just say so. I can understand that would alter your feeling for me as your wife.'

'No,' he said grabbing her by the arms, 'Are you fucking mad girl? Nothing could change how I feel about you. I just want to talk to you about what you…went through.'

'So if all of Bolton's men had raped me you would still want me?' Her voice was sharp, her eyes stared defiantly into his dark ones.

'Yes, Sansa, I would still want you but you would have to wait until I killed every last one of those bastards before I could rest again and be your husband.'

She continued to stare at him. 'You really mean that, don't you?' She reached out and touched his burnt skin.

He pushed his face into her hand and closed his eyes. 'Of course Sansa, this dog mates for life. I'm yours; do with me as you will. Command me to kill Roose Bolton and I will do it.'

They sat still. Neither could speak. Then she put her hand under his rough chin and lifted it so that he was looking at her again. 'Sandor, they beat me and starved me but they didn't rape me. Let me try to explain, it is hard to understand what happened and I cannot give details exactly, it felt like an evil dream, but I will try to tell it as best as I can remember. Much of the time I was in pain, I thought you were dead and I gave up hope.'

Sandor was stroking her arms now, 'Just tell me slowly, we have time now, as much time as it takes for an evil tale, my little bird.'

'Once we arrived at the castle two men beat me. I passed out and when I woke up I was in the dungeon. It lasted for ten days or so, I tried to count the times it got dark but sometimes I think I slept for a long time.'

'Were you badly hurt?'

'Yes, it felt terribly painful, worse than anything I had felt in my life but no, it wasn't serious, do not fret. It was not real wounds, not like these.' And she placed her hand on the angry red scar tissue on his chest. 'How did you survive?'

He growled, 'Longing for you and longing for vengeance.'

Sansa laughed and they moved closer to each other. 'I wanted vengeance also; once Lord Bolton came to tell me my mother and brother are dead. That Winterfell is a ruin. I wanted to kill those men who had left you dead in a ditch. I imagined different ways.'

'I don't understand why Bolton did not send you to Kings Landing.'

'Oh, he explained how that would ruin his plans. He needed me to be dead. He apologised, he was very polite about it all.'

'But then, why are you alive? Bolton is not a man to shrink from killing a little wench like you.'

Sansa slumped in Sandor's arms and her voice became low, 'This part I thought I had dreamed. Then I thought I had gone mad. But it was real, as real as Joffrey showing me my father's head. It was the night before they were to leave for the Dreadfort, I guess, because it was so hectic and noisy everywhere. I was terrified because I thought they would kill me before they left. Then Bolton sent me a yellow dress to wear and had me take supper with him in his quarters and he…'

'Go on,' Sandor encouraged her, 'you can't upset me, just tell me what happened.'

'He told me how I was too beautiful to kill, that he wanted to keep me as his woman, how he would have me kept somewhere for his pleasure and wasn't I thankful for his mercy?'

'Were you thankful? I am fucking thankful he thought you were too beautiful to kill, even if you had to pay for that favour from him.'

'He said I was a beautiful maiden.'

'Aye, you are.'

'No, I am not a maiden and I told him so. I told him how I had enjoyed it with you many times, all over the countryside. I told him in detail how the Hound had fucked me every possible way and how I had loved it.'

'Sansa!' His mouth dropped open and his eyes went round. 'We hardly… made love at all. Why would you provoke him when he was offering you the chance to live?'

'I didn't care if he killed me, I didn't want to be his woman. I am your woman.' Sansa shuddered, 'His skin was clammy and he had eyes like a snake. Dead eyes. He killed Robb!'

'What did he say? What did he do?'

'He ordered his guards to take me to the yard outside. It was night still, but I could see many guards and men around me in the moonlight. I was not frightened. I wanted it to end.' Sansa sounded stronger as she remembered it, 'Bolton was seated on a horse, many others were milling around on horseback. They began to leave but he stood over me. He said to them, you can all have the Hound's bitch, use her until she is dead and then burn her body. Then he turned on his horse and galloped away from Harrenhal.'

Sandor pulled her close to him. 'No, no,' he whispered, 'not my little bird.' He kissed her on her cheeks and lips. Sansa could feel he was weeping for her.

'There is not much more,' she said, 'I collapsed on the floor, I gave up and waited for them to attack me, but no-one did. Not one man touched me. After a while, one of the soldiers picked me up and locked me back in the tower.

'Weeks passed; they fed me, but none of them spoke to me. Nothing until Grendle came. I thought he was still there in castle, Bolton I mean, that it was some kind of trick or mental torture. Then I would begin to believe he was really gone, that he had left thinking I was dead, but I couldn't understand why those men had not killed me, as he had ordered.'

'You are too beautiful to kill. Perhaps they thought that.'

Sansa laughed bitterly, 'Perhaps they were all true knights?'

Sandor laughed too, and the pain between them felt lightened, just as the sun rose higher and filled the little loft with a joyful radiance.

The big man went to kiss her but she pulled away once more. 'I am not beautiful anymore, I am ugly,' she said. Sansa rubbed her cropped hair and screwed up her face in disgust. 'Even you thought I was a boy last night.'

He shook his head, 'No, you bloody well are not, you daft bird. Grendle fixed you a good disguise, that's all, and it washed off. You look like a woman again now.' Sandor ran his fingertips down her clavicle to her breastbone and slipped his hand beneath the neckline of her dress.

'You loved my hair,' she said pitifully, 'it was my best feature.'

'Yes it was damn pretty stuff, but that wasn't what I wanted to fuck now was it? It was Sansa and you are still you.'

He kissed her then, a long, deep kiss that made her forget her self-pity.

'You are so vain Sansa,' he whispered, 'so silly, you don't realise that your best feature is your courage. Lots of pretty women at court, but you were the bravest. That's why I desired you. All the times Joffrey taunted you or beat you and you never flinched or screamed for help. You are brave, like your father was. A true Stark. You are the strongest woman I ever met and it made me want you. It made me love you, little bird.'