A/N: I am profoundly sorry for the delay in updating. But thank you so much for all the great reviews and follows and favs! They are always great to read. Hopefully this chapter is good and y'all like it:) It's shorter than I wanted it to be but it got my muse going. Enjoy!

Chapter 13: Winter Sun

Sansa's head was in some serious pain. It was as though someone had stuck a blacksmith in there and he started going to town on her brain. The throbbing sensation rendered her helpless but still she clung to the piece of paper that held the news of her brothers' deaths. For her, it was the last connection to them - those precious boys; brave Bran who feared only a dull life and baby Rickon. Though she supposed he wasn't much of a baby now.

She had just come back from meeting in the godswood with the Tyrell women when a messenger came out of the black hallway. "Don't," he warned just as she was about to read it. "Wait." He indicated to her door and slunk back into the dark.

'That was strange,' she thought. 'Just when I thought this night couldn't get any weirder.' On one hand, what Margaery and her grandmother were planning elated her; on the other, she couldn't just leave Sandor - even if they weren't exactly getting along at the moment. That thought made her pause just as she opened the door. Why were they mad at each other again? She couldn't even remember. Her mother had said once that if you can't think of a reason to be angry, then don't be. "Some things aren't worth staying mad over," the Lady Stark had declared. Since Sansa couldn't remember for the life of her why she and Sandor weren't speaking, she concluded that maybe this was one of those things. She had to tell him about Willas Tyrell though. He was going to find out eventually since he was in the kingsguard and so was Loras.

Sansa snorted. Loras. How could she think he was better than her Sandor? Physically, he was beautiful and charming but Sansa had had enough of those type of men. Could she really throw him away for something so trivial as safety? Willas Tyrell never stood up for her in front of the king. He never told her she was beautiful when she felt lower than a common whore. He never rescued her from a vicious crowd or kissed her senseless. He had never told her he loved her and made her feel it every day since. And he never could. Because he wasn't Sandor.

But how could she deny her brother the victory that would ensue should she marry? Sansa sighed heavily and went to scratch her head when she felt the slip of paper crunching. The candle's flame licked the air as she brought it closer.

The rest of the hour was spent in a daze. All she remembered was reading the words and then closing her eyes. When she opened them again her cheeks were stained with tears and her body was covered in chills from the breeze blowing across the balcony. She was also acutely aware that someone was calling her name. Without her consent, words started coming from her mouth. She told Sandor that her brothers were dead but she didn't even notice the oddity of him already knowing about it. She was numb. The candle strained to flicker again. The whole room had an eerie glow, like it was mourning with her. She watched as the broad shadow that made up Sandor Clegane rested on her bed. "And I am to marry Willas Tyrell."

Sandor noted that the last sentence came out as lifeless as she looked. Her skin was luminescent in the chilled moonlight. Tonight was not the night to talk about his insecurities. But she had different ideas. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, his skin covered itself with goosebumps. She knelt down in front of him - blue eyes staring right into his soul. It made him ache deep in his bones. "I'll take care of you. I promise."

Her head turned to the right and she let out what felt like the thousandth sigh. "I'm sorry."

Sandor blinked at the unexpected apology. No one had ever done that before. "For what?"

"How I behaved that night in your room. I was stupid."

"You're not stupid," he snapped. She still wasn't looking at him so he gently turned her chin. "And I'm the one that owes you an apology. I didn't listen to you when you needed me to. That will never happen again. I swear it by all the gods."

"You don't believe in the gods."

"But you do. And what's important to you is important to me." He grasped the paper in her hand and placed it beside him. He bent down and knelt in front of her. "Sansa," he whispered. She finally looked up at him. He wiped his finger down to dry her cheek. "You'll get through this." He was concerned that maybe he had said the wrong thing. He wasn't good at these fucking sweet talks or whatever people said when bad things happened. He could only offer himself and hope that was enough. When she let a small smile grace her lips, he opened his arm and she fell right into the nook of his arm. All he had to do was hold her as she cried.

It wasn't until a hand shook him violently that Sandor realized they had fallen asleep on the floor. Sansa's body was cold and for a split moment a flood of panic filled him. Thousands of men had met their silent end during a cold night due to improper accommodations.

"You must go," Shae urged. "I have been trying to wake you for ten minutes. Maester Pycelle is on his way here. If he catches you -"

She hadn't even finished the sentence before Sandor was on his feet. He quickly picked Sansa up and set his little bird under the covers. "How long do I have?"

"Not long." A knock on the wooden door echoed through the stone walls. "Or none at all…"

"Fuck," he muttered.

"The bathing room." Shae pushed the Hound hard into the room. "Don't make a sound."

Sandor rolled his eyes at the brunette. What did she think he was going to do, bang on the door?

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Shae opened the door and let the old man in. Littlefinger also took it on himself to see to her lady's health. Shae wasn't surprised; the snake had kept his eye on her ever since Joffrey announced the dissolution to his and Sansa's engagement.

"Has she said anything?" Pycelle asked, his voice barely audible.

"No. She has been resting since she came back from dinner."

"What exactly did she say was the problem?" Littlefinger said.

"She didn't say anything. I came in to help change her into her nightclothes but she just stood there. Her hands were freezing and she never even looked at me."

Pycelle ran his hands over Sansa carefully though Shae (and Littlefinger) knew he was feeling a little more than he should. "Yes," he huffed. "Her body is cold. The change in the weather may affect her a little. I can give her a cure for the head pains and a sleeping draught if they are keeping her awake."

"Thank you, Maester," Littlefinger said. "You may go."

Shae saw the defiance on the old man's face and had to smother a smile. The ancient maester had been reduced to nearly nothing in the recent months. Had he been a good man, Shae would have felt sorry for him.

Once the maester had left, Littlefinger turned to Shae. "How has she been?"

"She has been well, Ser Baelish."

"You needn't lie to me. I care about Lady Sansa."

"As do I."

Baelish's eyebrows knitted together. "How are the Tyrells treating her?"

"I do not know, ser. You should ask her."

"Surely you must know something," he replied in that creepy way he was known for. "I've seen you keeping a close eye on her. She likes you."

"And I her."

"Yet she doesn't tell you how the woman who has replaced her as future queen is acting? I find that hard to believe."

"I am only her handmaiden. I do not share her confidence in such matters." Shae knew he didn't believe her. But she kept her face blank until he bid her goodnight. She locked door behind him and heaved a relieved sigh. Then she went to fetch the Hound and found him staring daggers at her. "What is wrong?"

"That fucking cunt."

"What?"

Littlefinger," he growled. He shoved his way past her and hit the wall with his hand out of frustration. Shae winced at the sound. "What does he want with her?"

"I-I don't know."

"I wasn't asking you," he barked. "He wants something. He always does."

"What could he possibly want from her? She has nothing anymore."

"She has the North, which means she has power. And Littlefinger always wants more power."

"But she has no control over that. She is only a woman."

"Haven't you ever heard of Maege Mormont?" Of course she hadn't. "She rules Bear Island - with an iron fist too. Could put the little shit king on a spike with her finger if she wanted. But she's with the Starks. Believe me, Sansa has more power than she knows, probably more than the Young Wolf. She has the beauty, the charm, and the loyalty needed to rule the North. The only things she and the rest of her family lacks is the experience to play the game. Whoever marries her would have the northern kingdom in the palm of their hand but he would have to be smart and cunning to maneuver such an arrangement." Sandor's mind began to work out Littlefinger's plan as he talked. He turned to Shae and let a tired smirk. "He's going to try and marry Sansa."

Shae's eyes grew wide and she shook her head. "That's not possible."

"Any recipe is possible if you have the right ingredients coming together at the right time. And Littlefinger is a master cook. Oh, he's been planning this all along the clever little fuck. He's always had a soft spot for the Starks. I just didn't think he was this sick."

"You fault him for loving her?"

"He's not in love," Sandor insisted. "He's obsessed. He would marry her and put a son in her belly the moment our backs were turned."

"That's disgusting." Shae was physically revolted at that thought.

"I don't blame him. I want the same for myself."

"Yes, but you are…"

Sandor quirked his one eyebrow at her. "I'm what?"

"Different."

He let out a gruff snort. "I suppose that's a compliment."

"How could he plan any of that out? The Lannisters would know."

"Contrary to what people think, they aren't as smart as they appear. It's the Imp that has that family informed. The queen has no brain for running a kingdom; manipulating everyone around her to get to that point, yes. But she doesn't have what it takes to keep herself on the throne. Her beauty is fading and her paranoia has increased since the Tyrells appearance. Margaery is no Sansa - she knows how to play. The queen will be too concerned about her to care about Littlefinger; the dwarf has been reduced to nothing now that his father is here and Tywin is too cold to notice Sansa."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Sandor whipped his head around to face her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure what he is planning, but Lord Tywin is up to something. I'm sure of it."

"Did the Imp tell you this?" Sandor mocked.

Shae narrowed her eyes. "No. I don't just see him and my lady all day. I have spare time too. And the maids are easily persuaded to talk."

"Whatever he's doing, I'm gonna have to keep a sharp eye on him."

"Let me know if I can help."

"Why are you doing this?" Sandor genuinely wanted to know.

Shae glanced back at the sleeping form breathing steadily. "I don't know."

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The door to Sandor's room was open. Hesitantly, he moved closer until he was inside, drawing a dagger. Moonlight slowly creeped through the clouds and gave off an unsettling aura. He sensed someone was there but only shadows greeted his eyes.

"Whoever you are," he growled. "I'm giving you one chance to run otherwise your ass is mine."

He was fully inside when the door slammed shut. Whirling around, Sandor blinked at the figure in front of him. "Littlefinger," he said, his tone rough and curt. "What the fuck are you doing in my room?"

"I know you aren't one for words, Clegane so I'll get to the point."

Sandor snorted silently and moved to pour some wine in his cup. Since he and Sansa had been together his desire for wine had been tempered but not completely tamed. He didn't offer Baelish any, hoping that would speed things along. "Get on with it."

"I have a proposition for you that should you choose to do it, could be very profitable."

"I don't care about money."

"Profit isn't always about money," Petyr smiled devishly. He watched the Hound take a seat, looking less impressed the more time passed.

Sandor tucked his lips together as the wine trickled down his throat. His gray eyes hardened. "Spit it out, Baelish."

"Things are…changing and they're changing fast. I need to make sure someone of great importance will survive the transition."

Setting his cup down, Sandor leaned forward on his knees and said, "I'm going to count to three. If you haven't stopped talking in fucking riddles I will tear your throat out. One."

"I want you to help me make sure someone isn't being watched."

"Two."

"Clegane, be reasonable."

"Three."

Petyr Baelish saw the Hound get up and panicked. "It's Sansa Stark." That stopped Clegane. Littlefinger let out a shaky breath.

"The Stark girl? What about her?"

"I know the queen has you watching her. But I want to know what she knows."

"Now why the fuck would I risk my neck for the likes of you?"

"I know you want to take your brother's life. I can make that happen."

Sandor examined the man suspiciously. "How?"

"The king has given me Harrenhal. The Mountain is there now, waiting for his next command."

"My brother is the Hand's pet. I would be killed if I touched him."

"You can't be held accountable if you aren't there."

"More fucking riddles," Sandor sighed. His frustration was mounting.

"I have a plan, Clegane. You can finally have your revenge. The only price I ask is your cooperation."

"I'll think about it."

"Make sure you don't take too long. One never knows when calamity will strike them."

Sandor didn't appreciate the threat. "Get the fuck out of my room." When the slender man left, Sandor collapsed on his bed. Littlefinger made the third person to ask him to watch her. What was it about Sansa Stark that had everyone so on edge? And why were they coming to him? "Fuck me," he sighed. It had been a very long, very peculiar day for him. He had hoped to clear things up with his little bird but that could wait. The last thing she needed was more drama.

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Sansa woke with a start. Her eyes were heavy and her lids were stuck together due to the dried tears. She felt a body next to her. "Who's there?" she asked shakily.

"It's me, milady."

"Shae? Oh thank the gods!"

"How are you feeling?"

"I can't see." Sansa's voice had risen at her panic but Shae soothed her nerves.

"It's okay. I'll get some water and we can wash your face. That should clear everything up."

Sansa felt a cool towel on her face as her trusted maid gently wiped it around her eyes. When she was done Sansa opened her eyes. "That's better. Thank you."

"Are you hungry?"

"No," Sansa shook her head. "I'm tired. So tired."

When Sansa laid back on her pillow, Shae went to throw the water out. "I'll fetch you some food. You need to eat."

"No," the redhead pleaded. "Stay with me a little longer."

Shae's heart bled for the girl. But she wasn't the right person to comfort Sansa. "Give me a moment. I'll be right back."

Sansa drifted off to sleep. She could feel someone looking at her though so she reluctantly opened her eyes again. "Sandor?"

Sandor Clegane had been watching her for a few hours. When Shae came to get him, he had almost resisted thinking it was too risky. But it was his day off and nearly everyone in the Keep had things on their mind to keep them from noticing his activities. No one had ever paid attention before and they weren't paying attention now. And no one had even come to see his little bird until well into the afternoon according to Shae. The queen had taken away the extra maids and employed them in Margaery's service and they had their hands full with the brunette.

"Hello, little bird." He gave a warm smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Giving your girl a break. She's been keeping prying eyes away all day." That was true enough. Littlefinger, the Spider, and Tyrion all had their most trusted slave come to inquire about Sansa's schedule. But Shae was a fierce protector and she sent them away with nothing more than a cold look and a shove of the arm. "She thought I would be able to help but I thought you would still be upset with me."

Sansa smiled weakly. "I am."

"You want me to leave?" he asked.

"Why would I want that?"

"You're upset."

Sansa rolled her eyes and giggled quietly. She sat up and looked at him. "Sandor, just because I'm upset with you doesn't mean I have stopped loving you."

"…Really?"

Sansa sighed hard and patted the spot next to her. He plopped down and she gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Really."

"How do you know?"

"My mother used to tell my father that all the time when they would have fights."

"And they loved each other," he said more to himself than her.

"They did. Very much. They were happy but that didn't mean they never argued. Frankly, I think it's good for us."

Sandor raised his eyebrow at that. "You do?"

"I do. Being with you is always interesting, Sandor; but fighting keeps us sharp - like a knife needs a whetstone. If a knife is never sharpened, it becomes dull does it not?" She moved some hair from his face so she could see every inch of it. "I love you. We are both new to this and there are a lot of obstacles in our path and there is sure to be many more in this lifetime but we can't just pack up and leave because it gets too messy. You wouldn't leave in the middle of a battle because you thought it was hopeless would you?"

Blackwater flashed across his mind and what he almost did. "No. But I'm prepared for that. This…" he motioned to her. "This is not what I wanted."

"I know. I'm just as lost as you when it comes to things like this. But I think - I know - that if we put our minds to it, we can make a life together; a happy one."

Sandor kissed her gently. "I promise I will never do that to you again."

"Me too." Sansa kissed him back. "I missed you." He smirked and buried his fingers in her untamed hair. "Did you miss me?"

"I always miss you," he said carelessly.

"Good," Sansa beamed.

"You feeling better now?"

"A little. I can't believe Bran and Rickon are dead."

"I'm sorry, little bird."

"How did this even happen? Winterfell was under Theon's rule. He would never hurt them."

"You thought he would never turn on your family either but he did."

"Winterfell is one thing but murder? He saved Bran when they were attacked by wildlings. Why would he do that and then turn and kill them? And where were their wolves?"

"I don't have any answers for you, Sansa. I wish I did but I'm in the dark too."

Sansa's head started to clear. There were things to be done and answers to be found. She wasn't going to get any of those things lying down. "Where's Shae?"

"Outside I think."

"Can you get her for me, please?" Sandor nodded and went to fetch the maid.

Sansa grabbed her robe and went to the wardrobe. "Ah, Shae. Will you please draw a bath for me?"

"Yes, milady," the woman curtsied.

"Sandor, I have a favor to ask you."

"Anything."

"I need to see Lord Tyrion."

"What? Why?"

"He has answers. I'm sure of it."

Sandor really didn't want to see that little fucker. But Sansa was right: if anyone could get her questions resolved, it was him. "All right. When?"

"As soon as I can."

Shae helped undress her while Sandor went to talk to the imp. It was a quick bath to make sure she was presentable and before she knew it, she was dressed and her hair was up in the southern way. She didn't want to draw suspicion in any way even though she loathed the style. A light blue dress helped give her skin a healthy tint.

The door rapped with a knock and Sandor entered.

"Nice dress," he smirked. Her long hair cascaded down, accenting her waist and hips. Her breasts were slightly exposed giving her an air of innocent seduction. He cleared his throat as she blushed. "The dwarf says he can see you now."

"I do wish you wouldn't call him that," she chided. She stepped out into the corridor with Shae and Sandor following. "He's done more for me than anyone else in this place."

"I can think of another who has done more."

"You know what I mean."

The Hound knocked on Tyrion's door and opened it when he was told to.

"Ah, Lady Stark. Do come in. Have a seat." He waited to take his own until Sansa settled in. He offered her some wine and she drank it greedily. Tyrion was impressed. "How have you been feeling?"

"Cold."

"I see. What can I help you with?"

"I think you know," she said with a confident voice. "What happened?"

Tyrion sucked in a deep breath and swallowed his own cup of wine. "Ramsay Bolton."

"Snow," Sansa corrected. "I would not give him the privilege of being called a noble."

"My apologies. It was Ramsay Snow."

"Did Theon help him?"

Tyrion's silence made the atmosphere awkward. "Yes."

Sansa closed her eyes and turned her head away. "How could this happen?"

"It's war," Tyrion said in a defeated tone. "One does what they must to survive."

Sad blue eyes met his. "How did they die?"

"We're not sure of the details."

"Then tell me what you do know."

"I'm not sure you're ready for it."

"Is it that bad?"

"It…isn't something a lady should hear."

"Please, Lord Tyrion. I need to know."

Tyrion Lannister was torn. Sansa was tougher than she seemed but the details were quite gruesome.

"They weren't flogged, were they?" Sansa asked in a shaky voice. "I couldn't bear it if they were."

"No," Tyrion replied gently. "From what I have understood, your brothers were hanged in the center of Winterfell and then…" he grew hesitant before continuing, "and then they were burned."

Sansa gagged slightly. "B-burned? Were, uh. Were they alive?" Her throat had closed up and she couldn't swallow. Her breathing had become shallow.

"I can't say for sure but I don't think so."

"Where were they buried?"

"They weren't."

Sansa paled. "They just left them up there?"

"Sansa?" Tyrion had noticed the color drain from her face. "Sansa, have some wine. It will calm your nerves." He poured her another cup. "You shouldn't be hearing this."

"They're my family."

Tyrion often wondered what it would be like to have a close knit family. As of late he had been sleeping with one eye open in fear of his sister. If only Jaime would return! "I'm sorry. I don't seem to be much help in this instance."

"The fault is mine," she conceded. "You were right. I should never have asked."

"You have every right to know. I only wish there was some better news."

"Perhaps one day there will be."

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Sandor paced inside the godswood. He had been there for the better part of an hour waiting. She would come here to pray, he was sure of it. He heard a twig snap and saw the familiar red hair come through the trees.

Sansa stopped in her tracks. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying not to burst into flames. How did it go?"

"Well I learned my brothers were hanged and then burned in Winterfell's courtyard."

"Oh, Sansa."

She sat gingerly on the large tree trunk whose roots had come up. "They died in a place where they used to play. Bran and Arya would chase Rickon around all day in that courtyard. Jory would have to pull them by their ears to get them to stop. Mother would worry about their baths being too cold or too hot; Father would stand above and laugh so hard we thought he would die from lack of breath. Robb would pretend to sword fight with Jon and Theon. Those were the happy days." A tear ran down her cheek. "And now everything is wrong. Things weren't supposed to be like this. How did this happen?"

Sandor was at a loss for words. "What do you want me to do?"

Her blue eyes lingered on the ground before coming up to see him. "Nothing. There's nothing you can do."

There was one thing he hoped would help. He kneeled down in front of her knees and brought her in for a deep kiss. She returned it passionately. Her hands ran down the back of his neck until they reached the top of his tunic. He tried to pull away but she refused and brought him closer. He smiled into the kiss and returned it in kind. When they finally did break, both were breathless.

"Thank you," she said.

Sandor let out a light laugh. "What for?"

"You know just what I want even if I don't."

He shrugged carelessly. "I do what I can."

Sansa smiled at him brightly before she shivered. "I'm angry."

"I know. And you should be."

"How do I make it stop?"

"You let it out."

"What did you used to do when you were upset?"

"I fucked."

A deep blush encompassed Sansa's figure. "Oh," she giggled. "What do you do now?"

"I still fuck. It's just more…private now."

Sansa's face became even redder. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It's becoming tedious to keep track of them."

"Tedious? That's a big word for you."

"I heard it from the Imp a few days ago. You impressed?"

"I am. I'm very proud."

He examined her closely as she fiddled with her hands, trying not to think about her family. "Do you know how much you mean to me?"

Caught off guard, Sansa blinked at the unexpected gesture. "What?"

"I know I don't always tell you what I'm thinking or how I feel and I'm sure that annoys you in some way. All you women want flowers and sweet words to fall out of a man's mouth every moment but I'm no good at any of that. I used to be good for only one thing: killing. But you opened my eyes and made my heart beat again."

"Sandor-"

"Let me finish." Her mouth closed and he continued. "You've had a terrible loss and I can't begin to sympathize because I was never close to my family. I understand you feel alone most of the time but just know that even if I'm not saying how much I care about you, I am always thinking it. And should you ever want my full attention, all you have to do is ask. My life was little more than a bleak winter with no end in sight until you broke through the clouds and melted everything. You are the sun, Sansa. I will do everything in my power to keep you as such for as long as I can."

She was speechless. What could she say to that? It was the most romantic thing he had ever said and she knew that it took a lot for him to say it. After a few minutes, Sansa got her wits back. "I know who you are, Sandor; I accept it all."

They shared another kiss and he helped her up from the branch.

"You can get through this," he said. "You're stronger than you know."

"I hope so."

Sansa left the godswood first and headed straight to her room. Shae had gotten her a plate of food and the noble girl ate vigorously. While her maid brushed her long hair, Sansa relayed the details of her meetings with Tyrion and Sandor.

"So he hasn't been with anyone since you two have been together?"

Sansa shook her head. "No. Do you think he was telling the truth?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you. That man has eyes for no one else." Shae listened as her lady talked about the kiss they shared and what Sandor had told her - not all of it; she wanted some memories to herself. "That poor man," she snickered.

"I know," Sansa pouted.

"He has very good self control over himself to not do anything."

"Doesn't he? I'm very proud of him. I just wish there was some way to…you know, help him out or something."

Shae smiled into the mirror. "I told you about some things I've learned. Are you ready to hear them now?"

"I just received word about my brothers. In a few days, maybe I'll feel up to it."

"Soon then."

"Soon."