A/N: So how about that Red Wedding? Pretty intense! Can't wait to start writing for that little gem lol.

I knew the last chapter was going to be a hot topic lol. But I write as the story takes me and it's taken me down this route. If you don't agree, that's cool. There are plenty of warm, fluffy stories out there:) Fortunately, it seems that most readers know how truly sick Joffrey is and how tame the show makes him in comparison to the books. It was all for a very specific purpose I assure you; but I really don't want to ruin what's in store later on.

15: They Think I'm Weak

Sansa glared across the fire at Bronn. "Don't ever say that to me again," she warned. Her ferocity surprised her; Bronn only relaxed and smiled.

"I'm only making sure, lass."

"Sure of what?" she bit.

"That you're not one of them."

"Never."

"Don't make a promise you can't, especially to yourself." He straightened his form and led Sansa further into the dark hallway.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." They didn't speak for a few minutes until he spoke up again. "You know why the king did that don't you?"

"Because he has no honor."

"You northerners and your honor. Is that all you think people do things for - because they either lack honor or they don't?"

"Real men have it."

"Like your father you mean," he finished for her. "And look what happened." He stopped and turned to her. "Honor has no place here. You should know that by now."

"Yet you're helping me."

"I like ya and I respect him. You don't have to have honor for that to happen. Don't mix them up or you'll pay the price."

Sansa swallowed hard. "Why did the king do it?"

"Because he thought it would make you squirm." He lowered his face again so that he could see her better. "And you did. Now he knows what he should do to get a reaction from ya."

"And what about Tyrion?"

"Same thing if I had to guess. That boy despises his uncle and desires you in the worst way. If there's a way he can hurt you, he'll find it and use it until you can't take no more."

"What made him so evil?" Sansa asked herself. "Will he ever stop hating me?"

"There's no cure for being a cunt," Bronn replied matter of factly.

Although Sansa cringed at the language, she couldn't deny that particular truth. "Are we almost there?"

Bronn put the torch up in the air. "Aye, we're here. Just a few more steps I reckon."

It was indeed only a few; a door opened before Sansa even saw it.

"Ah," Varys cooed. "Lady Sansa, do come in."

Sansa was thoroughly confused. "Lord Varys?" She was ushered into a small, dark room. She was expecting it smell moldy or old but instead found it to be filled with perfume. "What is going on?"

"Don't be frightened, my dear. Thank you, Ser Bronn. I shall take it from here."

Bronn bowed out with a wink to Sansa and Varys closed the door softly.

"Would you like something to drink, my lady?"

"No. Lord Varys, please tell me what is going on."

"I am sorry for the secrecy, my lady but I thought it best considering what has happened tonight."

"You know about that too?"

Varys gave her a sorrowful look. "Everyone does; if they don't, they will by this time tomorrow. That is how it works in the Keep."

"I'm so embarrassed."

"Why? It wasn't you who was forced to lay with the Hound."

"I was there."

Varys looked alarmed, which made Sansa uncomfortable in every way. "You were?"

"Yes. Did you not know that?"

"No." He sounded disconcerted.

"Lord Varys," Sansa remarked to break the silence. "Why am I here?"

"I know about your engagement to the Tyrells. And if I do, that means Lord Baelish does as well."

That's what this was about? Sansa shook her head. "Is that a bad thing?"

"I wouldn't trust him, Lady Sansa."

"Why ever not? He has never harmed me; on the contrary, he has treated me kindly, which is more than I can say for most."

"He may have ulterior motives."

"I don't understand."

"You know how he felt about your mother I presume?"

"Of course. But he does not think of me that way. I am more of a daughter to him than a wife."

"Littlefinger has wanted many things over the years, but never a daughter."

"Then what do you think he wants with me?"

xxxxxxxxxxxx

After what felt like forever Sandor was left alone. He could barely see the memory but the humiliation was enough to convince that what happened was real. He felt empty. Sansa's face continued to harass him. All he could see was her hurt and disgust. A wine cup beckoned him and he answered the call.

Sleep threatened to overtake him as he tried hard to forget the day. The only moment that he cherished was that morning when he got Sansa all to himself. He smiled as her face came into view. The way her skin glowed after he brought her to her very first climax. It was an honor he would never forget and never thought he would have. It was her first sexual experience and knowing, she was probably concerned that she was with child or something of the sort. Had it been a normal day, Shae would help her cope with what occurred; but thanks to Joffrey, things were going to be tricky amongst the four of them.

His eyes grew heavier by the second and finally, he succumbed.

The wind was making a bird struggle. He found that odd - the bird, not the wind. It was nothing he had seen before. The flower the tiny bird was trying to suckle on had no honey yet still it stayed. It's petals turned old and dry. It broke from its stem and blew away, too fast for the bird to catch. Sandor looked closer to see the bird still flying in the same spot as if it was waiting for the flower to return. The light became dark; morning turned to night yet still the bird stayed. The days passed quickly. Other flowers wilted and died around the tiny bird but it paid no attention to them. It was only when a new flower bloomed from the same stem - fresh and full of honey - that the bird finally moved. Still it provided no suckle. The bird poked until the flower bled. Before it could heal, the flower drowned in its own blood. Sandor sank to his knees as the bird began to swim in the lake of blood. His hands reached for the limp petals, heartbroken that something so beautiful could be so easily destroyed. Underneath the blood came thorns that pricked him till his callouses softened and his skin broke. But when his blood met the flower's it turned to honey. His wounds began to heal and the flower regained its life. It blew from his hand into the air. The bird began to chase it but Sandor caught it and crushed the animal in his large hand. The bird poked and bit him but it could not get away. Sandor squeezed until the bird's body crunched together; he released it and fell down dead. The flower returned and settled where the bird had been.

"Don't crush it," Sansa said gently. His head jerked to the right and saw her leaning into him. "You'll ruin the effect."

"What effect?"

"See how the blood and honey mix? It's beautiful in a strange way." Indeed it was beautiful - grotesquely so but it was. "Your hand!"

Sandor turned his palm over and saw the little pecks that the bird made had turned into a burn, eating away at the flesh. The pain hit rapidly and he dropped the flower. The moment it touched the ground, Sansa began to disappear. "No," he pleaded. He tried desperately to grasp any part of her body but it was nothing but air. "Don't leave me."

"It's you who is leaving me," she replied with a sad voice.

Sandor opened his eyes with a jerk. He didn't know if it was morning or night; it didn't matter he supposed. Sansa would hate him. Hells, he hated himself. If he kept a mirror he wouldn't have been able to look at himself - not that he ever did anyway. Sansa though, she would stare all day to make sure that every hair, every detail was in place. The thought brought a wry smile to his face. Perhaps that would keep him going through the day.

He put on a shirt and changed his pants before heading down to the kitchens. His stomach was growling louder than those wolves the Starks had back in Winterfell. He looked out a passing window and noticed the sun wasn't fully up yet but he could see its rays peeking through. Everyone would be up soon. He walked into the kitchens and stopped in his tracks. Sansa of all people was talking to the cook.

"The king's dog is hungry then," the cook teased as she saw him in the doorway.

Sansa didn't turn her head but her body tensed.

"Not unless the lady wants to be alone," he replied.

"The lady doesn't care," Sansa said with her back turned. "You may eat wherever you like."

Sandor grabbed a piece of meat cooling by the hearth. He didn't bother with a plate like Sansa.

"Beg your pardon, milady," the cook said. "My assistants need to be woken."

Sansa dismissed her with a weak smile. "By all means. I'll be okay here. The Hound will scare any of the ghosts should they come calling."

The pair watched the old lady walk ungracefully out of the stoned room. Silence settled between them like a heavy weight.

"What bring you down here?" he asked finally.

"I couldn't sleep. You?"

"Bad dream."

For some reason that caught Sansa's attention. She finally turned to face him and saw the disturbance on his countenance. "What happened?"

"Is this what you really want to talk about?" he probed gently.

Her eyes went down to her hands. "I don't want to talk about that; not yet."

"Good. You know I hate talking."

Sansa stifled a laugh. It eased the tension. "Would you like a lemon cake?"

"I thought they didn't make these." He picked the cake from her hand and sniffed it.

"They don't usually. Margaery had them bake some for me."

"That girl sure does know how to make friends."

"That girl has been a friend to me - something I find lacking lately."

"You're right," he conceded. "I shouldn't try to take that away from you. I've done enough of that."

Her blue eyes blinked back a tear. "As have I, I think."

"What?" he snorted. The sound echoed through the stone walls.

"It's true. But we shouldn't say anything here. If we both get through the day, we can talk later."

He nodded in agreement. "You're not angry then?"

"I said we can talk later," she snapped quietly. "Please don't make me regret that decision."

"Okay." Another pregnant silence. "Why can't you sleep?"

Sansa took a deep breath and sighed. "I don't know."

"Is it because…"

"No," she shook her head. "It's something else. I can't place my finger on it though."

Sandor watched her bite into the tiny cake. "Maybe you can a sleeping draught."

"I'll get some soon." She could see his worry but was confused on how to proceed further. They had shared something intense and intimate the day before. It should have brought them closer but instead it was a source of pain and made her want to push him away. "I should go. Shae is probably waiting for me."

"Shae?"

"Yes. That's something we'll talk about later too," she said quietly.

xxxxxxxxxxx

When the cook returned with a full kitchen in tow, Sansa took her leave. Being around Sandor sent a plethora of feelings through her both good and bad. His face when she told him about Shae was priceless though and they still had chemistry, maybe even more than before.

The door to her room opened quietly and she stepped through. Shae was in the bathing room putting roses in the water. The handmaid hadn't seen her until Sansa was in the doorway. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's your room." Shae said in a formal tone. "You may startle me all you like."

"Shae," Sansa called. "Please sit. We have to talk."

The brunette looked like she wanted to disappear. "If you want to."

"I think it's important that we do. You're not going anywhere now that the king thinks you and Sandor are lovers nor I since he knows that I find that kind of display disgusting. I would rather have it be a relationship based on truth and clarity instead of awkward moments. That would serve neither of us very well."

Shae looked her over and headed straight for the door. With a hard lock, she made sure the door was sealed before joining Sansa. "Okay."

The young redhead took a seat and made room for Shae. The two sat for some time before Sansa spoke first.

"I know you think I hate you."

"Don't you? I would if I were in your position."

"You aren't in my position," Sansa pointed out. "And I would be grateful if you and Sandor stopped trying to make assumptions on how you think I feel."

"And what might that be?"

Sansa had to think about that. "I'm not quite sure. But I don't want it to be hate. That's what I see the queen and the rest of the Lannisters do when something they don't like happens. I'm determined to not be like that. I may hate what happened, but I don't hate you. I've learned the difference between them."

"I don't know what to say," Shae responded.

"There's only one thing I want to know. Tell me the truth, please."

Shae nodded. "Of course."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"No." Her tone indicated like she had been insulted. "Even if I did, he has no regard for me; it is only you he cares about." She took a deep breath. "Now, are you going to make use of this water or no?"

Sansa smiled cautiously. She stood and let Shae help her out of her nightclothes before stepping in to the steaming water. It almost burned her skin but she welcomed the feeling. It distracted her from her thoughts. She slid under the liquid slowly, letting the warmth seep into her skin. Below the surface there was only her; no Sandor and Shae debacle, no Joffrey or Lannisters - only herself. Arya began to penetrate her peace as memories of their time together grew more prominent. It was the time just after they arrived at King's Landing. Arya was stabbing the table at breakfast; she and Sansa were arguing over who was at fault for Mycah's death. At the time Sansa didn't understand why her sister was so upset. She had barely known the butcher's boy! Sansa had said it was Sandor who killed the child but Arya vehemently argued that he only did as he was told.

"He does what Joffrey commands him to," she had declared.

Joffrey faded into view, flushing out her sister. His smug face didn't bother to try and mask the elation he felt as Ilyn Payne swung her father's sword. Then it was her Septa, telling her to run as the Lannister soldiers came for her; next came Cersei's satisfaction when Sansa told her about her father's plans. Suddenly, she was in the throne room, watching as her fellow northmen were slaughtered. Then she saw herself standing on the embattlement walking toward Joffrey. She was so close to ending him. But a hand caught her shoulder. Then it was her and Sandor in the bathing room just as they were the day before. This time though she was watching herself. The same happened when the memory shifted to the king's room; she could see everything as though she were a spectator: Sandor was gritting his teeth and looked miserable; Shae had her eyes shut and held no real expression while Sansa's hands were digging into the armchairs. Tyrion looked as disgusted as she did. When Sandor was done, he pushed the brunette away like she was a plague ridden cat. Joffrey was gleeful.

But then her mind was no longer her own. Someone was in there with her. Flashes of a green field, a giant and other strangers started to overlap. The control was no longer hers.

Shae's hands brought her out of the tub. "My lady!"

Sansa coughed hard as water came out of her lungs. She was blinded for a few moments and it panicked her. "Shae!" she cried. Her arms searched for the maid and found her.

"It's okay," Shae soothed. She wrapped a towel around the frightened girl. Sansa was shaking in her arms. "What happened?"

"I couldn't see," she screeched.

Shae furrowed her brow. "How are you now?"

"I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

Sansa nodded, still shaky. "Yes. I think I just need a moment alone."

"I don't want to leave you alone."

"Please. I need a moment."

Shae kept her brow knitted. Finally she acquiesced. "I'll be just outside."

The stones beneath Sansa chilled her since ll the warmth from the water had evaporated. She waited until Shae left before taking a sharp breath. Her skin held goosebumps and she felt nauseous to the point where standing up was difficult. Inside, her stomach was doing flips and her head swam. Heat overcame her despite the cool room. She laid against the floor for relief against the dizziness. A sob let out as she curled into herself; another followed shortly. When she wiped the tears away, she found herself still empty - relieved but empty.

She had so many questions about so many things yet there was no one she could talk to about them. It was incredibly frustrating. The only one even remotely interested in her well being was Margaery but talking to her about this was out of the question. She couldn't begin to understand a relationship that Sandor and Sansa had. Margaery wasn't interested in relationships; the game of thrones was her husband. Being around Shae would hard for a long time but at least Sansa could trust in the knowledge that she wasn't under Cersei's thumb. And Sandor…What about him? He was the first person to make her see the world. His touch, his lips, his support had carried her through everything. He saved her life more times than she probably realized. Would she now abandon him for trying to do it again because she didn't like the method? It was clear he hadn't either. There was no need to punish him since he no doubt would do that himself.

"Oh mother," Sansa said to the air. "I wish you were here."

Seeing her mother interact with Sandor would be a sight she would love to see.

"My lady," Shae said through the door. "The royal dressmaker is here."

For the first time in hours, Sansa felt like herself. "I'll be right out." She quickly dried herself and put on a robe. When she emerged, Shae was holding the dress. But she was slightly disappointed. "It's rather plain."

Shae helped her put the dress on. "But you are not the bride," she replied slyly.

"Of course. It's Margaery's day. I'll get my chance when I marry Willas Tyrell."

Shae paused briefly at the words. "You've decided to take their offer then?"

"I have," Sansa said with confidence. "It's best for everyone if I do. It can end the war, save my family, and maybe even reunite us. I can't deny Robb and his men that opportunity."

Before Shae could answer, there was a knock.

"Come in," Sansa called.

"My lady," Tyrion replied. He saw she was getting dressed and turned to leave. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm just trying on this dress for the king's wedding."

Tyrion tried to get her alone, which confused her. What did he have against Shae? "It's all right," she assured.

The Lannister looked so uncomfortable that Sansa began to feel the same way.

"This…is awkward," he said in a small voice.

Both she and Shae showed their confusion.

"My lord?" Sansa remarked.

"I am truly sorry to tell you this - in fact if it were up to me, I wouldn't have to all - but your engagement to Willas Tyrell has been called off."

Sansa blinked, not wanting to believe the statement. "Wh- What? No," she scoffed. "No, that's not true. The Tyrells - they said I would marry him."

"I'm afraid things have changed. You will be married, just not to him."

"Then who to?"

Tyrion glanced at Shae, who was quicker on the uptake than the Stark. "Me."

"If this is a joke, I admit that I do not find it funny."

"It is a joke Lady Sansa to everyone except my father. Despite my best efforts to change his mind, he assures me that this will happen."

"And if I refuse?"

"I hate to state this but you don't have a choice; nor do I for that matter." He mumbled the last part but Shae heard it.

Sansa's lip began to quiver gently. A tear came to her eyes and she felt sick. "Excuse me." She ran to her chamber pot and heaved everything in her stomach. It was an hour before she was calm enough to come out. Shae handed her a wet cloth and a cup of wine.

"Lord Tyrion had his servant bring it. He thought you would need it."

Sansa noticed she was crying as well. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm sad for you." Shae even thought that sounded pathetic; though there was some truth to it.

xxxxxxxxxx

Sandor was drinking. Again. It was his eighth jar of wine and so far all he had accomplished was learning how to direct his piss into the hole of a tree. He walked behind the king all day, which suited him since he wasn't in the mood to talk or even look at anyone. He desperately wanted to beat something into a bloody pulp.

The tavern had slowly built up a crowd yet no one paid him attention. That was until Osmund Kettleblack saw him.

"There he is, boys!" the hooked nose man shouted. "All hail the Hound. A man who fucks likes he lives: hard and fast!"

Sandor rolled his eyes at the boisterous men tipping their cups to him. "Fuck off, Kettleblack."

"What's the hostility for?" he questioned. "Why, all the kingsguards wished they could get orders like that! Was she loose? That's it, isn't it? I don't blame ya. Now, her lady on the other hand should have a nice tight hole for the king to fuck."

Without preamble Sandor grabbed his fellow kingsguard by the throat and squeezed until the man's eyes rolled back. "You should learn when to keep that mouth shut, Osmund." Sandor threw the man away like a piece of paper. Osmund Kettleblack coughed violently. "Next time I hear you talk, I'll take your tongue and shove it so far up your ass you wouldn't be able to shit it out."

"What the hells is wrong with you?" Osmund challenged.

Sandor sulked back to his table and drank the rest of his wine skin. He didn't even bother to pay for it as the tavern keeper was too frightened to ask for the money.

"I'll get you for this, Clegane!"

"Good luck with that," Sandor mumbled to himself.

The Keep looked as dismal as ever when he entered it. The hollow sound of his footsteps through the hallway followed him every second. On a whim, he turned left and walked into the empty throne room. There in front of him was the ugly iron throne. A loud scoff escaped as he stepped closer. 'So many deaths for such an ugly thing,' he thought. Often he had thought about what was going through the Targaryen king's mind when he ordered it too look like this.

Since his hands were calloused, he could barely feel the sharp edges poking at him. He turned around to look at the large room from this angle. He didn't think it would look so different.

"It's tempting, isn't it?"

Sandor didn't bother to move his head. "What do you want, Varys?"

"Nothing, really. Just taking a walk."

"I doubt that."

"The whole castle is buzzing with what happened yesterday."

"I'm sure it is."

Varys tipped his head. "Are you that indifferent toward the gossip? I know you aren't one for it normally but this was hardly normal."

"There's nothing normal about King's Landing," Sandor sneered.

Varys nodded his agreement as he walked around to stand next to the giant man. "Do you remember the Mad King, how he used to sit in here in the late hours?"

"Of course."

"It was a habit with him," Varys sighed. "Staying up and wandering the halls. As his mind grew wilder so did his paranoia. He was sure that there were assassins in the walls; his council scheming to kill him. Many times he would interrupt meetings with cries of a Faceless Man chasing him or his wine poisoned."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about a man who was so obsessed with power that it consumed him. He was threatened by things he thought were harmful when in fact they held no threat; meanwhile, the people he thought to be on his side were plotting against him. I tried to warn him when Lord Tywin was at the gates to not let him in. You see, I knew which side they had chosen. But my advice was deemed less important than Maester Pycelle's."

"Your point?"

"If the king had listened to me, he would still be alive. Think on it carefully, Clegane. You'll see the truth in it."

With that, the Spider slipped silently back into the shadows. Sandor just blinked. He hated games; Varys spoke only in the game language. Talking to him was like collecting random puzzle pieces and forcing them to fit together. It was beyond irritating, especially today.

"Seven hells," he cursed. This day needed to be over. He made his way back to his room slowly, trying to keep his balance.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Sansa couldn't sit still. She had come to Sandor's room an hour ago and he still wasn't back yet. Back and forth she paced until she was sure the ground was worn out.

Today had been taxing to say the least. She for one was ready to get it over with; but first she needed to get something off her chest. Sleep would never come if she didn't, that much she knew. He needed to hear about her engagement to Tyrion. Once she had finished crying, Sansa went to say goodbye to Littlefinger, who had departed that afternoon for the Vale. Another flood of fear and regret overcame her and she broke down again. It was a missed opportunity she had given up and now she was condemned to a life as a Lannister.

Shae had returned to the Keep so that she could have time to herself. The only thing Sansa wanted though was to reverse time and correct all the mistakes she had made. Since that was impossible, her only option was to seek him out. Was she still upset? Yes; that hadn't changed at all. But now she had far worse things happening. She needed to sort her priorities out if there was any chance of retaining some self esteem. Otherwise she would lose her mind.

It struck her how bare the room was. No sense of comfort, family, or even warmth; it was a stark contrast to the man she knew. A chill filled the emptiness making her shiver. The door swung open and hit the wall with a thud. Startled, she turned and saw Sandor's figure stagger into the room. He threw himself on the bed with a loud groan. The wine jar swung wildly when his arm relaxed.

"So you're drinking again?" she said disturbed. His reaction matched hers only a few moments ago. "Sorry to sneak in. I didn't know if you would open the door."

Sandor's eyes appraised her carefully. "Not tonight, Sansa."

"You might want to sober up for this," she said forcefully.

"Why would I want to be sober when you tell me that you want nothing more to do with me?" he growled.

Sansa swallowed hard. "I can see you aren't going to care so let me regard you as the same. I will not be marrying Willas Tyrell."

Sandor perked his head up. "Oh? Why is that? You realize that you don't want to be married to a freak?"

A bitter snort came from deep inside her. "You have no idea how ironic that statement that is."

"Sansa, it's been a weird day even for this place. If you have something to say, please just come out and say it."

"I'm marrying Tyrion."

Sandor coughed a laugh - harsh and unforgiving. "That's not funny."

"It's not meant to be."

Sandor turned his head and saw that she had a dark expression. "Are you serious?"

"I thought you should know before anyone else."

He sat up too fast and almost fell off the bed. Sansa rushed to catch him but he resisted. "Don't. I don't deserve it."

"I know. But I want to anyway."

He caught her eye. "After everything I've done?"

She took in a deep breath before joining him on the bed. "I was taking a bath earlier and I remembered something Arya told me. Do you recall on the way here that you killed that butcher's boy?"

"Aye."

"Arya and I got into a fight at breakfast one morning about what you did. She blamed Joffrey for Mycah's death; I blamed you. She told me that you were only doing what you had been ordered to do. I didn't care at the time. All I wanted was for her stop provoking Joffrey. I remember being so angry that she didn't care that I was to be his wife. Our relationship was never very strong but Joffrey…He ripped us apart without doing anything at all. He and the queen had manipulated everything so that our family would be weak and fragile. They made me trust the queen while hating my family. I condemned my father to death and my family to ruin because I was afraid of them." Her blue eyes flew to his with a steely determination in them. "But not anymore. They think I'm weak; that I won't fight back because I have too much Tully in me. Turns out I'm more wolf than fish. It just took me a long time to see it. I owe that to you."

"Does this mean we're okay?"

Sansa thought on that for a while. "It means I won't let them take away anything else I love because I was too afraid to fight. You told me that I was your sun. Well, you're mine too and just because a few clouds darken the skies doesn't mean we can't shine again. We'll just have to weather the storm."

"It's one hell of storm," he muttered.

"I won't deny that. No doubt there will be many more though we can only pray they aren't as complicated as this one."

"And Tyrion? Are you going to marry him?"

"I have no choice."

A smirk made his mouth twitch. "So now our roles will be reversed. You will be the one on display."

Sansa agreed. "Yes. But you will not have to watch us consummate our marriage."

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what Joffrey had in mind."

"What would you do?" He looked confused so she asked again. "If it comes to that, what would you do?"

Sandor's throat went dry. "I don't know. I'd like to think I would kill them all."

"But you wouldn't. I never want you to experience what I felt looking at you that day. I have never been so disgusted in my life. In that moment, I hated you. I hated her. I hated everyone in that room. That's exactly how you would feel too. I know that you want everything to be the way it was but tell me: if it was you sitting in that chair watching me be with Jaime Lannister, would you be able to look at me the same way again? Will you be able to look at me the same way after I get married?"

He stared at her, emotions warring within him. "No."

A sad smile spread across her lips. "I know you didn't mean it; nor will I when the time comes. But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen."

His voice thickened as he let her words soak in. "If I could take it back I would. I'd tell him to go to the seven hells and burn forever."

"Then we both have things we wished we could undo," she replied morosely. "I don't want to hold this over your head no more than I want my family to hold my mistakes against me." She took his hands gently in hers. "But I don't ever want to see you around her again unless I'm there."

"Okay," he said without a second thought. He felt her squeeze his hand lightly. It still sent a shock through him.

Things would never be the same again but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. He had always known that being with her was a risk; now that they paid a price for it, they both realized that it wasn't as bad as it could have been. The only true damage that was inflicted was the kind no one saw besides themselves. Other couples weren't so lucky. She was right though: time would be the only medicine for the wounds.

A/N: Just so I don't get any more "WTF are you doing?" reviews, let me say one tiny thing: Sansa is traumatized. This is her way of dealing with it. You may not like it, but that's how it is. I am simply following canon. The world Sansa and Sandor are in is still the canon world of Game of Thrones. That never changed. The characters simply grew while everything around them has stayed the same (in terms of playing the game). That makes it hard for them to maintain their relationship while trying to act like their old selves. And we thought our lives were complicated.