Sansa woke up to hear him using the chamber pot, loudly, and then emptying it out of the window. He eased back into bed behind her, clearly trying not to disturb her, tucking one arm underneath her head and the other inbetween her folded arms at her breasts, gripping her elbow. He sighed drowsily into her shoulder.

He was right. She didn't feel real. They were a story, an illustration in a book. She couldn't ever have imagined that this would feel so warm, and safe. With him. She lay still, feeling the prickle of his beard against her back, and then turned her head round to him, her back still couched in his chest.

Sandor looked at her dozily, then cupped her jaw in his palm and slid his thumb a little into her mouth. She bit down on it, first gently, and then a little harder, clinging onto it with her teeth as he tried to pull it out, and turning her body round to face him. She released him.

'Ow.' He smiled, furrowing his eyebrows. 'You're dangerous.'

'No, I'm not.'

'Ay. You are. You tried to kick me out of bed three times.'

She tipped her chin, gleefully bashful. 'I don't remember.'

He grinned, lazily, and pulled her on top of him, rolling onto his back. Her crotch was on his hipbone, a leg between both of his. She kissed him, then drew back and put her fingers on his burnt eyebrow, where the skin looked molten, as if it was dripping down over his eye. She could feel him against her hip, hard under his breeches. She lightly moved her hand up to his skull, clumps of hair on angrily reddish skin.

'You don't have to touch that, you know,' he said, his voice a little distant.

'I like this side.' She continued to explore it, not looking at him.

His eyes were on hers. 'I don't deserve this, the Gods know it.'

'Don't say that.' There was a sound from her stomach.

He looked at her, mock-frightened. 'What – was that?'

She squirmed, and tried to whack him, but he gripped her forearm tightly. He pushed his hips against her, holding her leg down with his calf, and then released her, stretching and rueful.

'You are always hungry,' he said, grinning, and lifted her off him, getting out of bed. He slung on his shirt and pulled on his boots. 'I'll get us some food. Bolt the door'.

Sansa did as she was bid and then crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets over herself, shivering and listening to her stomach growl again. She lay looking at the cracks in the wall next to her head, imagining them as the feathering rivers of Westeros. The Red Fork could be there, she thought, running her finger along the tiny fissure as it splintered outwards.

There was a short tap on the door. Sansa grinned and bounded up, naked, unbolting the door. Sandor was standing there, empty-handed.

She folded her arms, enjoying her shamelessness. 'You promised. I want to break my fast. I demand that you go back down and get me something to eat.' Her voice trailed off as he pushed her back into the room, bolted the door and turned back to her.

He was looking down at her with an expression of worry, and something more hard-bitten. 'Get dressed.' She looked up at him, puzzled and suddenly fearful. 'We need to go,' he pressed.

She blushed and silently found her clothes, feeling a fool, and quietly slid herself into her smock as Sandor fixed on his armour. She stepped into her dress and straightened, fumbling at her laces. Sandor took a step up to her and helped her, not looking at her.

'What is it?' she whispered.

'I'll tell you once we're away,' he said, picking up her cloak. His eyes were almost black.