I must have a death wish.

That was the only logical explanation Sandor could come up with for what he had done. And while he would gladly die for Sansa under any circumstance, this particular way was not one he had accounted for. All he had to do was send her away after being interrupted by the bloody maid. The maid hadn't actually seen anything, and while he and Sansa were a little disheveled when the maid saw them, nothing could actually be proven.

Now, though, well - he had gone and touched her in a spot meant only to be seen by her husband.

The thought disgusted him for many reasons. For one, he felt Sansa should be able to decide what she wanted to do with her body rather than have it dictated by her brothers or society or a future husband. If she were not a lady, no one would bat an eye at her sharing a bed with Sandor. And even if she didn't want to be with him, it still angered him that she wasn't free to do what she wanted. The more selfish part of him, though, acknowledged that he did not want anyone else to ever touch Sansa. He imagined that she would not be amused by his possessiveness, but he could hardly help it. After everything that had happened that day, he felt like she was his.

What the fuck have I done?

As it turned out, that was the question that haunted him for the rest of the night. The whole day had been nothing but madness. He had watched that Tallhart shit kiss the woman he loved. Then he had kissed her, clearly forgetting his place. Then she had showed up and kissed him.

And then-

He couldn't stop thinking about the soft little sounds she'd made or how passionately she had returned his kisses. When he closed his eyes, he could see her pale skin bared to him, soft curves that his hand fit perfectly, and blue eyes gone dark with desire. He may have restrained himself from truly taking her, but it was a near-miss.

Sandor thought that he would be strong enough not to lose control, not to give into all the things he wanted to do to her, but he wasn't sure. He had managed to rein in his desires this time, but what if there was a next time? What if she showed up at his door again and wanted more than what he'd given her tonight? He wasn't sure he had the strength to push her away. He had wanted her for years and managed to restrain himself, but it seemed that his control was fraying quickly.

And, oh, how he wanted to relinquish the control. There was no wine in the world as potent as Sansa's kisses. And the sounds she made- it only made him wonder what else he could draw out of her. He had managed to keep from completely ruining her, but did he have the strength to do it again if she kept on coming to him?

He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything, and while that was nothing new, now that he'd had a taste of her, he wondered if he could keep himself from going mad if he was never able to touch her again. Certainly he would never be able to watch someone else touch her. Just the thought of Tallhart kissing her again, after what they had done in his bed, made him feel a twinge of his old homicidal tendencies.

He couldn't do this.

Because logically he knew that, even if nothing came of that maid walking in on them, he would never be able to truly have her. She loved him, perhaps, and he loved her, but Lord Snow was very clear about what he wanted from Sansa. And Sansa, being the good girl she'd always been, would eventually break under the pressure.

When it came down to it, Sandor was nothing but her sworn shield. He wasn't even a knight, and while he didn't regret it, it was one more mark against him. He didn't come from true nobility either - he was the son of a landed knight and Sandor no longer had access to those lands. Clegane Keep and its lands had been taken back by the Lannisters after Gregor had died. He literally had nothing to offer Sansa except his sword, which was what he'd done almost as soon as he'd met her again.

Spilling his guts to Sansa had only complicated things. He should have turned her away when she appeared at his door. He shouldn't have kissed her to begin with. And no, it should never have let himself fall in love with her, but he was smart enough to realize he'd had no choice in that matter. Now he'd let the two of them get into such a mess he wasn't sure how to find his way out of it.

Arya always woke up with the sun, no matter what time she finally closed her eyes to sleep. As per her usual routine, she dressed for training, preferring to get her exercises out of the way before the yard was full of men-at-arms. But because she never skipped her morning meal, because was always fiercely hungry upon first waking, she went to pilfer from the kitchens before breakfast was served. As she snatched up some bacon, she overheard a group of the younger maids talking a bit too loudly in scandalized tones.

"...you must go to Lord Stark…"

"Lord Stark won't care, you need to go to Lord Snow."

"I always knew he was improper, but to touch Lady Sansa that way!"

"Lord Snow will cut off the hand that touched his sister, if not his whole ugly head!"

"You should have seen her!"

Arya crept up on them and cleared her throat. The four girls gasped in unison and whirled to face her, looking embarrassed at being caught gossiping. "Did something happen that you would like to share?" Arya asked the group at large.

A couple of the girls shook their heads, but one, Arya was sure her name was Loreen, began talking immediately. "Something happened to your sister, my lady! Something highly improper! And I told Kari she needs to go to Lord Stark immediately…"

"Wait, something happened to Sansa?" Arya's hands balled into fists as she imagined one of the young lords getting too handsy with Sansa. "And Jon doesn't know?"

"See, I told you Lord Snow is the one who should be told!" One the other girls insisted.

"Yes, yes, he does," Arya said. She wanted to ask which one it was - Tallhart or Hornwood - but for once in her life, she decided to show restraint. If the girls told her who had touched Sansa, she couldn't promise she wouldn't seek him out herself. "I need to find my sister," Arya muttered, "But you," her eyes landed on Kari, glaring at her for not immediately going to Jon, "You don't need to delay reporting this anymore. Find Lord Snow and tell him now."

Kari nodded her head so vigorously that Arya thought it might pop right off her neck. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, determined to get Sansa to talk. She turned to start up the steps that would lead her to Sansa's chambers, but froze in place.

The sun was barely up. Sansa wasn't in the habit of waking up as early as Arya. And while Arya knew that Jon had already dragged Rickon out of bed and they were likely dressing for breakfast, Sansa was always one the last to eat. With a heavy sigh, she turned back around and decided to go on to the training yard and work out some of her frustration.

She hoped she didn't run into either of the two stupid lords because if she found out which one had touched her sister - well, she couldn't promise herself she wouldn't do something stupid.

Sansa woke later than normal, her head pounding as though she had consumed too much wine the night before. She supposed that crying would do that. Part of her felt silly for crying because Sandor hadn't done anything to her. Not really. But the sensitive, emotional part of her whispered he kicked you out of his room and didn't properly kiss you good night. He didn't hold you afterward. He's sorry for what you did.

She was at war with herself. The mature, logical part of her admonished the sensitive part. Don't be a silly little girl. But then, she had never done anything like what she'd done with Sandor the night before, and when she could separate herself from the disappointment of what happened afterward, the memories were delicious. She had never felt anything in her whole life that felt better than that. She wanted to do it again, wanted to make him feel that way too.

A nasty thought entered her head, along the same lines as the one from last night - perhaps he worried she couldn't please him. She had no experience touching a man, afterall, and Sandor - she knew that he had plenty of experience. Aside from how he'd touched her, she remembered hearing stories during her time in King's Landing. She heard he'd visited brothels, though that wasn't too out of the ordinary for knights or men-at-arms in service of the Crown. But apparently he'd had his fair share of serving girls and washerwomen because while Sansa had no reason to hear gossip from whores, she did hear quite a bit from giggling servants.

The serving girls had liked him. Or rather, they commented that he was grumpy and gruff and half his face was a mess, but there were never any complaints as to how he treated them in bed. He never hit them and he always shared in the pleasure rather than greedily taking his own. Sansa recalled that sometimes the giggling girls had the nerve to giggle in his presence and he would snarl at them and tell them to shut up and they would scamper away, still giggling.

What if he saw her as nothing more than another giggling girl?

No, that wasn't right. He'd told her he loved her. That he'd always loved her. And when she could manage to think rationally, she knew it was true. Because while her memory of certain events may have been flawed, she remembered well enough how he'd always watched out for her, never lied to her, and later on, how devoted he'd been to keeping her safe. He had exposed her to the harsh realities of the world because he didn't want to see her broken. Perhaps he was one of the reasons she hadn't been. She lay her hand over her heart, almost surprised that her chest could still contain it. She whispered into her empty room I love him a hundred times because it finally felt like something she could admit, even if only within the quiet walls of her room.

And he had been so earnest with his words and his feelings last night. And he had looked at her like she was just - everything.

She wished he was with her right now, or that she was in his room with him. She never wanted to be apart from him again, even if he was only down the hall. She had no idea what she was going to do about Jon's marriage prospects for her, but if she could explain to him, tell him that she was in love and that the man she loved felt the same, maybe he would listen.

Feeling purposeful, she rolled out of bed and began her morning routine, washing her face and combing her hair. Her maid would check in shortly to help her dress, so Sansa chose one of the many dresses she owned in light gray wool with pretty stitching around the neckline, wrists, and hem. She decided she would wear her hair down today rather than plaited because Sandor seemed to like that way. When her maid finally came in, she had to rein in her impatience.

It hardly helped that the girl - Eloise - was giving her odd, careful looks. Sansa had already checked her throat and collarbones to make sure that Sandor hadn't left any suspicious marks on her, but there had been none, so she was unsettled by the way the Eloise kept studying her face as though she was looking for something. Sansa decided to ignore it because she didn't have time to worry about anymore nosy maids when she had bigger problems.

Once she was laced into her dress, she thanked Eloise and strode to her door. She knew that Sandor would likely be waiting just outside her door. He had been accompanying her almost everywhere since they'd had guests. He was standing on the other side of the corridor waiting for her, but barely glanced at her when she emerged from her room. The maid shuffled out after her, throwing a quick, curious look at Sandor, before striding quickly down the hallway.

Sansa's looked this way and that, checking that the corridor was clear and then pinned Sandor with a look.

"I want to speak with you before we go to breakfast."

Sandor stiffened and eyed her warily as she reopened the door to her room, beckoning him to join her.

"I'll speak with you out here," he said, gruffly.

Sansa's brows drew together as she stared at him. "It's too sensitive a conversation to be had in public."

"Corridor's empty enough. If it's too sensitive to speak about out here and then mayhaps it's not a talk we should have."

Sansa loosed an exasperated noise. "When has impropriety ever stopped you from anything, including coming into my room?"

He was silent for a few moments, studying her with hard, grey eyes. "It's different."

"Yes, different, which is why you should get inside." Sansa rarely lost her patience and she rarely used her lady voice to throw around what little authority she had, but Sandor was about to push her to do both.

He obviously wasn't scared of her though because he just stubbornly crossed his arms over his huge chest and glowered down at her as though to say make me. At any other time, she might have found it endearing, but her hurt feelings from the night before and his current bullheadedness were so discouraging that she felt the fight go out of her. She slumped, which was something she never did, and turned away from him, trying to collect herself.

She couldn't make him do what she wanted and she felt that it must be some failing on her part. If she couldn't make the man who supposedly loved her acquiesce to a private conversation, then how was she going to get what she wanted out of this? If Sandor wouldn't cooperate, her chances at making Jon cooperate seemed less likely.

"Sansa…" Her name on his lips had her turning back to him and she was happy to note that there was at least some concern evident in his eyes.

"If you will not accompany me into my chambers, then we can speak out here."

He looked half a second from protesting when the sound of footsteps coming quickly up the staircase had them both freeze to listen. Seconds later, Arya turned the corner and stopped when she saw them. Her eyes shifted between the two and a strange smirk turned up one corner of her mouth. She shook it off quickly and turned her attention solely to Sansa.

"I need to speak with you."

Sansa frowned. Why was it that Arya could be so commanding with so little effort? "Well, I need to speak to Sandor…"

"I'm sure you do," Arya muttered as she closed the space between them. "But it looks as though you've just been speaking to him. Clegane, you stay out here." Arya bodily shoved Sansa into her chambers as Sandor rolled his eyes, but stayed put.

Once they were inside with the door closed, Sansa narrowed her eyes at her sister for more or less manhandling her into the room.

"What is so urgent that you had to interrupt my conversation?" Sansa asked, looking down her nose at Arya as she did sometimes when they were children. Arya had always been more than a little rude and doubly pushy.

"Which one of those fuckers touched you, Sansa?" The growl demand was almost amusing - that threatening tone in her childish voice might have made others snicker, but Sansa knew that Arya was dangerous enough and now she was a little concerned with the look of naked murder in her eyes.

Sansa was about to tell her that it was nothing, that it was barely a peck, and that Tallhart obviously liked Arya more anyway...but then she recalled that she hadn't told Arya about Lord Tallhart kissing her. She'd only told her about Sandor kissing her.

"Did-did Sandor tell you?" Sansa asked.

Arya's eyes widened comically and her mouth parted in apparent shock. "Sandor knows and he hasn't killed anyone yet?"

Sansa frowned. "He doesn't go around just killing people Arya."

"Sansa Stark!" Arya cut in. "Did someone put their hands on you when they shouldn't have?"

"No, ofcour…" She trailed off. Technically, Sandor had, though it was welcomed and wanted and amazing, but probably considered inappropriate. And while Sansa knew that Arya wasn't talking about that, her stubborn, inner good little lady tripped over the lie and Arya honed in on this.

"Which. One. Was it?" Arya asked through gritted teeth.

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "How did you know that something inappropriate happened?"

"Does it matter? Who did it and what did they do?"

Sansa sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was too early for a headache. "Lord Tallhart kissed me in the Godswood yesterday. It was nothing though. Certainly not worthy of further scrutiny and not at all inappropriate. I know Sandor didn't like it - and neither did I - but he must have heavily embellished what happened for you to be so angry about it."

Arya stood staring at her for a moment, her grey eyes hard as she considered Sansa's words. "Nothing else happened?"

"No! That's it. Everything else that happened, I've already…" She swallowed the rest of those words because that was certainly a lie and Arya was an expert on liars. She shrugged instead, hardly caring that it was unladylike.

"Sansa," Arya looked past her, seemingly out the window, but Sansa could tell she wasn't really seeing what was outside, but was ruminating over something. "Sandor didn't tell me anything about Lord Tallhart."

Sansa stared at her, then blinked at her in confusion. "Who would you have heard it from then? No one else was there?"

Arya chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "It was the maids in the kitchen. They were gossiping and I picked up part of the conversation. Told them they should have gone straight to Lord Snow."

There had been no maids in the Godswood. No one had been there but Sansa, Sandor, and Beren Tallhart. And why would a maid or serving girl care about some lord kissing a lady? She supposed it might be something fun to giggle over, but Arya spoke as though this was a very serious matter. It wouldn't be the first time that a young maid had been overdramatic when relaying a story, but something just didn't sit right with her.

"Perhaps Lord Tallhart told someone that he kissed me?" Sansa wondered, grasping for the pieces of the puzzle. "I wonder...did he boast, make it seem like it was more than it was?"

Arya looked confused now too, which was a sight, truly, because she always seemed to have a better grasp on the goings-on in the castle than Sansa did. Arya shook her head distractedly. "That's not it." She chewed at her bottom lip thoughtfully. "The maid - Sansa, she acted as though she'd seen it…"

"You know how some of the girls can exaggerate though," Sansa reminded her. "Especially when they believe they've encountered a particularly interesting bit of gossip."

"Maybe…" Arya said, looking very distracted. Her brows were pinched together and she was staring off into the distance as though her mind was elsewhere. "She seemed rattled though, not excited."

Sansa rubbed at her forehead as though to ease away the headache that was already starting. "The point is that nothing happened, but-" She trailed off and looked up at Arya in mild panic. "You told her to go to Jon?"

Arya blinked in confusion. "Yes, of course."

Sansa groaned and covered her face. "Arya. Lord Tallhart didn't actually do anything. And now you've sent some hysterical maid to report to Jon that…"

"Seven hells," Arya hissed, realizing what Sansa was getting at.

"I need to speak to Jon," Sansa said. "Before he decides to toss poor Lord Tallhart out onto his arse."

Arya's mouth quirked at Sansa's use of the word arse, but she recovered quickly enough. "You're right. I'll go with you. Unless of course this was all part of your elaborate plan to get rid of one of your suitors?"

Sansa glared at her sister. "I would never…"

Arya shrugged. "It isn't a bad idea, really. So long as Jon doesn't kill Lord Tallhart, but then, he's never been too temperamental. He's fair. But I suppose we should go save the poor lad before Jon starts interrogating him over an innocent little kiss."

Sansa nodded in agreement and turned back to the door. "Sandor can vouch for him as well. He was there too, after all." But as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway, she gave a jolt as she realized that Sandor was no longer standing against the opposite wall.

In fact, the corridor was completely empty.

Sandor had disappeared.