The trees in the Godswood seemed to lean over them, listening to their conversation. Sansa reached out and let her fingertips brush across the trunks, feeling the ridged bark that seemed different and distinct on each tree. The oaks had lost their leaves and their branches twisted and pointed like fingers. The yew and pine still held on to their needles. They were trees made for the frozen north. Beneath their branches it felt enclosed and sheltered; safe from other concerns. The needles on the floor made a soft carpet for their feet and gave the forest a feeling of otherness: dark and primal. Sansa could imagine the first men walking in forests like these. She turned to look at the man walking beside her. Tall and imposing, brave and fierce: Sandor seemed at home in these woods. She slipped her hand into his and led him toward the centre of the Godswood. A small pond, chill and flat lay before them, reflecting the trees around it so it seemed like a mirror into another world.

Here there was no bird song, only a listening silence. The Weirwood that grew there was huge. It towered over the surrounding trees and the branches hung down, forming a space like a chapel. The bark was white, like snow. Or bone. The leaves were dark red, darker than Sansa's hair. Like blood, she thought, shivering. The Heart Tree her father had called it, and she had never been scared of it in the past, hardly pausing to really look at it. She had understood her father was attached to it, but she was drawn to the Seven Gods as she had been taught at Catelyn's knees. Now, as she stood there before the ancient tree, the twisted face seemed to pull her in, hold her gaze. She heard Sandor gasp beside her and she knew he felt the same primeval power that was contained there.

They stood silent before it.

Eventually Sansa said, 'The Andals would have destroyed this tree, like they destroyed the ones in the South.'

'I am glad they did not.'

'The children of the forest believed that the Weirwood trees were the Gods, and when they died they became a part of them.'

'Right now, I can believe that.'

'The Old Gods watch us through the face,' said Sansa, 'before them we cannot lie.'

Sandor reached out his hand and touched the white bark. His face was brooding, his eyes closed. He looked exhausted and worn out.

Sansa placed her hands on his arm and turned him towards her. She said, 'Ask me anything.'

For long moments they stared into each others eyes. I will never get tired of his eyes, she thought, for in his eyes she saw his love for her. Dark, emotional and intense; he hid his soft nature in an armour of cool aloofness and terrifying behaviour but he could not disguise his feelings in his eyes. How lucky I am, she thought, that I got to see his tender, secret side.

He said, 'You love me?'

'I love you.'

'Why?'

'Because you didn't care about my title, my land, my potential in power games; you wanted me for myself. I could feel you wanted me.'

'That is true. I do not care about power or titles. I wanted you like a man wants a woman.'

'What did you think when you first met me?'

'I thought you were a silly, simpering, shallow girl.'

'I thought you were a cruel, evil brute.'

Sandor pulled her close to him so he could embrace her. She placed her head against his chest. He was not wearing his armour so she could feel the warmth of his flesh through his clothes. Pressing her head closer she could hear his heart beating, strong and hard as the rest of him.

He said, 'I was cruel. I was a brute. You were brave. When Joffrey taunted you or treated you cruelly you did not stumble or break but you grew stronger. You resisted them. It showed me how weak I was, obeying them.'

'You are not weak; you are the strongest person I know.'

'Strong in body, perhaps, but I was weak in mind. I could only obey my masters. I only found pleasure in killing. That is the truth.'

'Why would I make you change?'

'It wasn't your beauty…you were kind to me.'

'Kind? I was afraid of you.'

'But when I spoke to you, you really listened to me. No one had ever listened to me. You felt sorry for me…when I told you about my scars. It reminded me of someone.'

Sansa listened to him, his voice rumbling in his chest. He was finding it hard to say these things, but he was being honest in front of the Heart Tree. She wanted to ask, who?

Then he whispered, 'Agathe,' and her heart felt a deep sadness for this man and she loved him even more fiercely and protectively.

She said, 'The truth is I found you compelling from the first moment I saw you. I had never seen a man like you before. Other men with swords did not have your intensity or anger. I was intrigued by you. Yes, I was frightened of you but I it was a fear I enjoyed returning to.'

Sandor lifted her slightly so her face was close to his own. His mouth brushed hers and he said, 'You liked being frightened of me?'

'Like a wolf is frightening, because you know it can kill you, but there is no evil in it because it is only doing what wolves do, and you still want to stroke it because it is striking. There was no one else who looked like you. Joffrey, Cersei…they were evil because they were so false and beautiful but you were honest. You did not disguise the fact you despised people or that you could kill if you wanted to. Other people killed in secret, with honeyed words. In that place everything frightened me, but the fear I felt when I looked at you was the only feeling of pleasure I had. You made me tremble, but I enjoyed it. I knew you wouldn't hurt me.'

'I would never hurt you.' They kissed and she trembled beneath his hands. The kisses went on for a long time. They sank to the floor, tangled together, backs against the Weirwood.

'Tell me about Agathe.'

Sandor sighed. He pulled her closer to him, 'Sansa, I have never spoken of her.'

'Did Gregor really kill her?'

'Yes. That is true. He killed our father too. I am sure of it.'

'What was she like?'

'Kind to me. Gentle. Her eyes were blue.'

Sansa began to cry, she could not stop herself.

'Don't cry little bird. Do not pity me.'

'I don't pity you. I love you. I am crying because you have suffered so much pain.'

Sandor said, 'You have suffered too. Life is suffering.'

'No,' said Sansa, fiercely she grabbed his face and fixed him with a steely gaze, 'life is about love. We may live in a cruel world but we can turn our backs on that and just love each other.'

'You are right…love can win, in the end. Gregor is dead. But Sansa…'

'Yes?'

'What if I am cursed? For killing my brother?

Sansa kissed him, over and over she kissed his cheeks and mouth, 'You are not cursed,' she whispered, 'I can prove it.'

Weakly, softened by love and tenderness, he asked, 'How?'

'The Old Gods have blessed us. We are going to have a baby.'

One red leaf fell onto her lap and she picked it up and pressed it into his large hand.