A/N: Holy crow, I'm really sorry about the lack of update. I am swamped with schoolwork and midterms are this week (eek!). But I've been having such a great time lately with a certain…man friend and it's got me in the most romantic mood, which then inspired my muse like never before. So here's a lighter chapter for ya:)

Chapter 17: Awakening

Sandor's eyes fluttered open. There was sunlight drifting in through a window and a smell – not just any smell: fresh air. Something was wrong. This was not his room. He pulled himself up and nearly fell back down from the swimming sensation in his head. A loud, deep groan escaped through dried lungs. Not being used to the sun while waking up, he kept his eyes squinted but tried to look around. No, this was definitely not his chambers; but it also wasn't a room of importance either, at least not too much importance. The sheets were soft and comfortable and a deep red comforter was draped across the medium sized bed. He had more than enough to room to stretch. If only his body would allow him to do it. There was a small but fresh flower next to the bed: the smell that had woken him up. He concentrated hard on the scent, trying to place it in his memory. And that's when he saw her. Not in his room, but his memory. With a bit of strength he turned to the small flower and smirked, his lips cracking with the effort.

'Sansa Stark,' he thought. The scent was unmistakably hers. It was ingrained in his memory the first time she passed him in the hallway. Could she have put that there? His brain immediately rejected the idea – she was a highborn and he a dog. But his body told him there was something more to it as mad as it was to hope. The door opened slightly and a slim figure slid through the crack. She looked familiar but he couldn't figure it out. "Who are you?" he rasped.

The black haired maid yelped quietly before a quick smile appeared. "It's me," Shae replied. She gathered a cup and began to fill it when she noticed his lack of acknowledgment. "If you don't remember, that's okay. Maester Pycelle said your memory could be affected."

"Where am I?"

"You shouldn't try to get up," she urged softly. With a firm but gentle hand she kept him pressed to the bed. She gave him the water. "Slowly," she directed. She helped him lie back though he had to fight the urge to move around. "You've been gravely wounded. It is a miracle you survived."

"You don't talk like a maid," he said suspiciously.

"I have had a good teacher in that regard," she smiled sweetly.

"And who is that?" Her face fell for only a split second but the pained expression was there. "What's wrong with you?" he snapped.

"Nothing," she replied with a sigh. "Do you need anything?"

"Yeah, where the fuck am I?"

"That's not a need," she replied smartly. "But since you asked so nicely, you are in one of Lord Tyrion's guest rooms."

Sandor stared at her. "Say what?"

"The king wanted you next to his room but the queen regent put up such a fuss that he moved you down one floor next to Lord Tyrion."

"Why?" Sandor was genuinely curious.

"The king favors you of course. You are his sworn shield and part of the kingsguard after all."

"Yes, I know that," he growled. "I meant about the fucking Imp."

"Oh, well that was because the king knows you and his uncle don't get along."

Yep, that was Joffrey. Sandor shook his head. His memories of the king were sharp as knives. "How long have I been in here?"

"A week." Sandor's breath came out in a whoosh. All the questions he had lined up went right out the small balcony. Shae saw his confusion and remembered her instructions. She laid a hand gently on his arm and kept it there though he tried to shake it off. She scooted closer to him and smiled. "It'll come back," she said. Her voice had a hint of desperation in it. "I pray every night it does." His lack of response worried her. "I'll leave you alone now. Let you get back to resting. Pycelle says that the more you let your body rest, the quicker you'll heal."

With that, Shae replaced the flower by the bed quickly and nearly ran out of the room before Sandor could even form a sentence. But the flower switch hadn't gone unnoticed. It was a white flower but someone had dulled some of the petals to look almost as dead as he felt. The woman's visit had stirred up his resolve to figure out just what in the seven hells had happened. The king moving him he understood, being placed next to Tyrion was something he probably would have done to the king actually; he remembered his fight with the fucking Kettleblacks; but everything other than that was a haze. Winterfell, King Robert, the execution of Ned Stark, Sansa Stark being beaten every time her brother won a battle…They were all clear as glass. But something was missing and it had begun to nag him. Like a bite from an insect that refuses to be sated no matter how hard you scratched.

He gulped down the water and decided to try and move. When he threw the cover off, he was disgusted at the wound that greeted him – green and white oozed from the deep cut. It was painful but he had suffered far worse. With a hard shove, his body launched from the plush bed…and on to the floor, his hand knocking over the table as it landed. The flower wafted down to the ground and he quickly took a hold of it. Gray and white: Stark colors.

"Dog!" Joffrey squawked from the door.

Sandor put the flower in the back of his pants with a nervous hand though he wasn't entirely sure why he acted like that. He was never nervous around the king. "Your Grace," he managed to say.

"I heard you were up. I wanted to see it for myself." Joffrey's lips pursed together as though he were disappointed. "You look terrible."

"That's just my face," he snipped.

"Ha! There he is," the blonde clapped to himself. "My mother didn't want me to come see you. But Lady Margaery thought it would be good for you to see your king." He played with the silver pitcher Shae left behind. "Who brought this?"

"Some maid. I think she fancied me," he smirked wickedly, not expecting to be taken seriously.

"Why do you say that? Did she fuck you?"

"If she did, it wasn't worth remembering."

Joffrey's worm lips parted in a smile. "What'd she look like? Maybe I can see if she can do better."

"Black hair. Foreign."

"Shae," the king replied. "She comes quite often to see if you are awake."

"Did you send her?"

Joffrey nodded carelessly. "Pycelle said that it would help if you saw familiar faces. Since she is your lover I assumed you would recognize her. I would have come myself but a king's work is never done."

Sandor had a sickening feeling he knew what Joffrey had been up to lately. He could always tell when a man had recently taken a life. It was written all over their countenance. The king's remark about her being his lover didn't bring up any memories like that, at least not of that particular girl. That small voice spoke again though and told him to keep his mouth shut about asking when he had fucked the girl. There were other people he could ask. "When can I resume my duties?"

"There's no rush," Joffrey assured. "I don't want you collapsing in the throne room."

Though the words sounded nice, Sandor knew it had very little to do with him as a person. The king didn't want it spread that the fearsome Hound had fainted. Joffrey prided himself on being surrounded by intimidating people and the Hound was one of the worst of the lot. It would be a pain to replace him. "I'm ready." He wasn't really but he didn't want to be locked up for one moment longer than he had to be.

"Good. You have ten minutes to get down there."

Sandor watched as the king had one of the goldcloaks shut the door when he left. His armor was stacked against one of the benches. Joffrey must have had it brought up so that Sandor could get straight back to work. His body was stiff but he managed to get the suit on. His fingers flexed instinctively around the long sword before he hauled it over his back. A deep breath to suck in the pain and Sandor finally made his way back to the living. The flower was crushed inside his breastplate but it made him feel better – something he would rather be tortured over than to admit. Truth is, he could barely remember what the Stark girl looked like except a few glances of her here and there: a flash of red hair; a blue eye peeking through long lashes; soft lips saying that sounded a million miles away. Those were what his mind's eye could put together. For reasons beyond his comprehension, it chafed him to the core to not be able to remember her face. Had he ever touched her? Felt those perfect lips around his scarred face? The obvious answer was no; but things had been less than normal today. Perhaps if she came around him he could get an unblemished recollection of her well-known features.

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The throne room was buzzing with whispers of his return. Sansa wanted nothing more than to bounce on the balls of her feet in anticipation. For a week she had waited for this moment. Shae made it clear before Sansa arrived that he hadn't remembered her but Sansa had never been one for thinking negatively. Surely he would never forget her – the only person in the entire kingdom who loved him. But Joffrey had taken his seat and there was no Sandor in sight. Confused, Sansa bent to Margaery's ear and whispered, "I heard from my maid that Sandor Clegane is awake."

"It's true," Margaery replied. "The king was elated on the way back from the man's room. He said the Hound wanted to come back today but he had to refuse. The queen didn't want a kingsguard who couldn't guard. I thought the Hound was going to challenge that accusation right then. He wasn't very happy but I thought the king told him stay close." Her eyes scanned the same places as Sansa's had. "Hm. Odd. I could have sworn he was lurking about somewhere. Why the interest?"

"My maid and he are…together," Sansa blushed. "She is anxious to see him for more than a few moments."

"I'll ask the king when he's done where he is. Maybe we can arrange a meeting between the lovers."

Sansa grinned. "Let us hope so." An image flashed in her mind about when Sandor had caught her in the bathroom looking at her self and swallowed the urge to smile. "She's been miserable since he fell ill." Her lips had missed him most of all. They felt restless at the lack of attention they received. As a reminder, she licked them quickly and tried to focus on what Joffrey was saying. But her eyes continued to wander the crowd. Every face got a thorough look before she would move her glance over to the next. She didn't want to risk missing him because of her impatience.

"Sansa," Margaery said when the crowd began to disperse. "Wait here. I'll go ask the king."

The redhead watched as Margaery glided up to Joffrey and wrapped her arm through his. As the pair talked Sansa studied them intently. Joffrey glanced back and then called for a young boy. Margaery gave a sweet smile to the king in response. It was clear that Joffrey was wrapped his betrothed's finger and for that, Sansa was thankful. Margaery dipped her legs in a seductive bow and returned to Sansa, a smile wide on her face. "What is it?" Sansa asked.

"Good news for your maid," she winked. Her eyes shifted behind Sansa and her tongue came out slightly between her teeth. "He was hiding behind the pillars the silly brute."

"Lady Stark," Sandor called roughly.

Sansa felt the color drain from her face. Her breathing stopped and every muscle in her body cried out for his strong arms to wrap around her. Had they been alone, Sansa wasn't entirely sure she could herself from tackling him. His mouth twitched and she recognized the motion as a smile he was repressing. The thought made the color return to her cheeks in full force. "S-Hound," she stuttered. "You're alive I see."

"The Stranger didn't want me."

'I do! I do!' her mind bellowed. She turned to Margaery before she said what she was thinking. "Thank you," she said politely. "Shae will be happier than I can imagine."

Margaery gave her a sly smile. "He's here to escort you back to your room. The king said he could have the rest of the night off for his friend."

"How did you do that?"

"I'm a woman," she smirked. "Sometimes all we have to do is ask."

Sansa watched in awe as the brunette joined her grandmother and the Tyrells headed out the door. She felt Sandor shuffled closer and steeled herself for what might come next. "Shall we?" He didn't answer so Sansa led the way.

The crowd had dispersed rather quickly to Sansa's relief. That feeling was suddenly squashed when Sandor made no gesture or even a look of recollection. "I'm glad to see you are feeling better," she said shyly. He was behind her so she slowed her pace to match his. "I know the king was worried."

"Your maid too," he replied in a slightly accusatory tone.

"Shae," she clarified. Her feet came to a stop and it took him a little longer to do the same. When he faced her she couldn't hide the disappointment. "Is it true you don't remember her?"

His gray eyes flew to the floor and his brow furrowed like he was angry with himself. "What's it to you?"

She knew him well enough to know that he was irritated at being the topic of everyone's gossip on top of his fellow guards seeing him as weak. It was storming inside his mind and she wanted nothing more than to soothe it. "It's everything to me," she replied sadly. Tears threatened to well up inside so she resumed her path. His heavy boots echoed as he followed.

"You're marrying the imp," he said out of the blue.

"I am."

"You don't look happy."

"Tell me, Sandor, what do you recall?"

"Not much," he frowned. "I mostly see you."

"Me?" Sansa's heart leapt at the prospect. "What about me?"

"When I came to Winterfell."

"That is all?" He nodded and she bit her lip. "I see. Thank you, Sandor. I can make it from here."

"Your maid," he called out when she turned. "Do I…Am I...Who is she to me?"

"When you're ready to accept the possibility, I'm sure you will find out." She let a smile filled with despair cross her face before turning the corner to her room.

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Sandor was walking back to his room in a daze. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. His mind had actually dulled her beauty; her scent was intoxicating and he was hard just thinking about her milky skin that seemed to catch the light, making her glow. But for all her beauty, she was miserable and that made him hurt for her. His heart clenched at the idea of Tyrion fucking Lannister getting to bed her. One look from her and the ever-present hatred that had consumed him for so long disappeared. A woman like that deserved better than a Lannister.

When he had seen her across the court, he had actually lost his breath. Bright blue eyes were roaming the faces. She was clearly looking for someone. They were almost to him when he ducked behind a pillar and stayed there till Joffrey finished. Truth was, he had spent the entire time looking at her. The more he did, the harder his mind worked to put pieces of a puzzle together but something kept them from doing so. It was infuriating. He didn't have long to ponder it; a short squire came and told him the king wanted him to walk Lady Stark back to her room. 'Fuck me,' he thought. 'Here we go.' But just as he thought he could handle a little distance, she turned and his heart literally skipped a beat. Then she asked him how he was! What was this girl thinking? Didn't she see the burnt skin and how people ran from him?

It was the king who told him that she was marrying Tyrion. It enraged him. But at least Tyrion wouldn't beat her or torture her. He had to give the dwarf credit for that at least. He saw how hurt she looked at first but then disappointment etched itself into her skin and stayed there until she left. He was left standing in the corridor, pondering her meaning about accepting possibilities. A violent shake brought him back to the present. He started back toward his room when he recalled that he was no longer staying there. With a silent curse flying from his mouth he turned the other direction.

"Ah, Clegane," Tyrion sang when the man opened the door. "It's about time. I was wondering if you had gotten your memory back after all and decided to move back to your room."

"What are you doing here?" Sandor growled. His body tensed at the intruder; though he was vaguely aware of the fact that this room technically belonged to Tyrion.

"I came to say hello. You disappeared before I got a chance to say anything in the throne room."

"What could you possibly have to say to me?"

"Lots of things believe it or not," the small man sighed with exasperation. "But let's focus on the most important: how did you find Lady Sansa?"

"I saw her through the crowd," he shrugged.

"That's not quite what I meant," Tyrion chuckled. "How was she when you walked her back?"

"You were spying? Figures."

"Watching," Tyrion clarified. "There is a difference I assure you."

Sandor grew tired rapidly at the games he knew the little lord could play. He was in no mood for them. "What do you want, imp?"

"Don't be rude," the Lannister scolded. "Here, have some wine. It's your favorite."

"I know that," Sandor replied sharply.

"Well, how am I supposed to know what you remember and don't? Other than the Stark girl."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What that girl sees in you, I will never know," Tyrion said to himself. "Let me guess: you are having some bits and pieces of visions of her but can't quite place them together. Am I correct?"

Sandor narrowed his eyes. "Aye."

"You feel a certain pull toward her but don't know why."

"Get to the point."

"I can't I'm afraid. Just drink your wine and I'll be on my way." Sandor sniffed, making Tyrion release a soft chuckle. "If I wanted you to die, I could have just left you in Pycelle's hands. It's not poison. Drink. You'll feel better."

Sandor watched as the man waddled from his room. He couldn't relax in here. The bright sunshine and clean air made him sick. His armor dropped to the floor with a clang and without thinking, gulped the wine down in one motion. When night fell, his head began to swim again, making everything around him spin and fade into black. His feet tripped on the way to the bed and he hit his head on a table. With a viscous thud, he fell to the stone floor.

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"He's out," Shae whispered softly. Sansa slipped through Sandor's door on the balls of her feet and let the others follow. "I don't think he made it to the bed."

"I don't care," Sansa replied.

"Remember Sansa," Tyrion called quietly, "it must be on the lips."

"And for at least thirty seconds," Varys added. He was dressed in a bland outfit that blended into the stones. His presence gave the others a strange sense of comfort.

"Are you sure it will work?" Sansa asked hesitantly. "If he wakes and doesn't remember me, I don't think I could bear it."

"From what I have heard, this is the only way." Sansa moved around the bed until she came upon Sandor's hulking frame, leaning halfway on a table and the rest of his body splayed out against the floor. Shae moved to help her move him when Varys clucked his tongue. "It must only be Lady Sansa."

"Why?" Shae asked.

"Later. Sansa, kiss him."

Sansa was already settled with his head in her lap. He looked so peaceful that it sent a pang of desire through her. With a soft touch, she moved his hair out of his face and rubbed a thumb tenderly across the burnt flesh. "Please work," she whispered against his lips. Her soft lips pressed gently to his twisted ones. It was a strange feeling not having him return it and it made her all the more desperate for him to remember. They were all warned this might happen. Luckily for Sansa, Varys was an expert in poisons as well as secrets. Sansa let go of her kiss after losing count of how long it was. If she didn't need to breathe, she would have stayed there until he woke. "Come back to me," she said with a swipe of her fingers against his cheek.

"How long will it take?" Shae asked the eunuch.

"I'm not sure. A full recovery is exceptionally rare and not even I have seen it done."

"But it will work," Tyrion urged.

"That is what the woman told my little spiders."

"What woman?"

"Later, later. Now we must go."

Shae helped Sansa from the floor and the group slid into the blackness that engulfed the Keep. Keeping against the walls they made their way through the forgotten tunnels until they reached Varys' room.

"What did you mean by the woman?" Sansa asked. "What woman?"

"She is the one who gave me the remedy," he said.

"How do you know you can trust her?" Shae asked accusingly.

"My dear, in the world of spies, you trust no one."

"What if it doesn't work?" Sansa asked. "How will he be mine again?"

"I suppose you would have to start over."

"Do you remember what she went through the first time? What we all went through?" Shae challenged.

"Then you will know what not to do." Shae glared at him briefly before sitting next to Tyrion. "I still cannot believe Bronn got Osney Kettleblack to say what kind of poison it was."

"Bronn can be persuasive when he wants to be. That and Osney was very drunk."

"I hope he knows how grateful I am," Sansa said sweetly. "Even if it doesn't work, at least we know something about it." Sansa hadn't seen the sellsword after the night Sandor got sick. Tyrion had him running all over the place looking for any answers.

"I only wish the Citadel knew something," Tyrion replied. "They at least are trustworthy in some aspect."

Though no one said it, their hopes were beginning to climb. Varys would never do anything unless he sure of the outcome and though Sansa wondered why he was taking such an interest in her, she was too preoccupied with Sandor's well being to care. One thing did puzzle her though. "What was the price of this cure?"

"She has not said."

"Maybe she does not want anything," Shae offered dully.

"Everyone wants something, especially old women who live in forests," Tyrion quipped. "Let's hope it isn't too high of a price."

"Somehow," Varys interjected, "I don't think she cares much for gold – or money at all."

A shiver involuntarily ran up Sansa's spine. "Did she say anything else?"

"Only that a kiss from a lover would awaken the lost memories."

"I know you wanted to wait but I can't. You didn't see his face when he looked at me. It wasn't him. I couldn't watch as he returned back into something he has always hated."

"I understand," Varys smiled. "The decision was not mine. It was yours and I respect that." Varys wasn't going to say it, but he applauded Sansa for taking control. She had none when it came to other things around her, but she could do this. "You two better return," he directed to Shae.

They agreed and followed Varys' instructions about the tunnels to the letter. Sansa gripped Shae's hand tight as the pair wound their way through twists, forks, and false alleys. There was a close call when a rogue guard passed not ten feet away. It wasn't until they reached the Stark's chambers that Sansa realized they had both been holding their breath. Just when they thought they were safe, a knock echoed through across the floor.

"Help me," Sansa whispered fiercely. Shae's fingers flew through the strings that wound across the dress while Sansa tussled her hair to make it look as though she had been sleeping. With a swift pull the dress came off and Sansa pulled a nightgown over herself.

Another knock reverberated through the room and Sansa cried out in response. She held her voice steady and asked who it was. "The kingsguard," came the rough reply.

"One moment please." She looked back and saw Shae dip into the bathroom. She opened the door and there stood Meryn Trant. "What is it? Is the king all right?"

The man stuck his head in and looked around. "I saw someone come in."

Sansa yawned and let her head spin to look. "I don't see anyone." Trant pushed his way in and looked everywhere in the chamber. "Surely you won't inspect my privy. Even to a traitor's daughter, some things are private and I have such terrible stomach aches since the engagement to Lord Tyrion." Trant had the deceny to look slightly disgusted and he backed away. He looked out in the balcony before finally leaving the room. "Thank you for your diligence, Ser Trant. I will feel so much safer in the privy knowing you are out here."

After the door closed, Sansa heard Shae come in. "Nice touch my lady," she grinned.

"Sandor has had such a terrible effect on my wits," she said with a quiet giggle. She climbed in the bed and Shae joined her. It was much too dangerous for the maid to leave now.

If the cure worked, neither Sansa or anyone else could tell. Two weeks had gone by and Sandor was as rude as ever. When Sansa tried to talk to him, she only got half grunts and fewer words as a response. He went out of his way to avoid her and Shae. Tyrion had him move back to his room below and tried to talk to him as well to no satisfying result. He barked orders at the young squires and was nastier than anyone could ever recall him being.

"It seemed to have the opposite effect," Tyrion noted one night in the godswood. "If I thought the Hound was bad, this man is even worse."

Sansa was torn between fury and devastation. She had demanded to see the woman Varys got the remedy from, which was why they were all gathered in the godswood so late after Sansa had given Sandor the kiss. It was the earliest the woman could get there and when she came through the trees, Sansa could see why. She was old and decrepit; even Old Nan looked young in comparison. She sunk deeper into the tree she was leaning against, suddenly afraid of this woman.

"Why didn't it work?" Shae asked.

"You are not the one who called," the old woman screeched. Her blind eyes found the redhead, making Sansa uncomfortable. "Child of the wolf," the woman said quietly. There was a hint of awe in her voice. "Not the same one, no; another, beautiful and tragic. I see you."

Sansa's skin prickled at the words. "Hello." It was the only thing that came to mind.

"You feel it don't you, girl? Such a pretty girl. I can see why they love you."

"Feel what?" Tyrion asked.

"Ah, the little giant," the crone sang. "I see you too."

"Magic," Sansa whispered.

The crone turned her head and smiled with some teeth showing. "Magic is rising this winter. I see it in you."

"That's what the cure is," Sansa guessed.

"Aye."

Out of curiosity, Sansa asked, "What else do you see?"

"Many things. I see you with purple serpents in your hair, venom dripping from their skin. And you again slaying a savage giant in a castle of snow."

Despite the woman's atrocious appearance, Sansa walked toward her. "Who are you?"

"An old woman."

"And what does an old woman want for her services?" Tyrion asked.

"A song." She turned her attention back to Sansa. "You know which, girl. Your Nan used to tell you of it." Sansa was bewildered for a minute. Then her voice took on a life of its own and she began to sing the song of the Dragonfly Prince and his lover, Jenny of Oldstone. As she sang the woman closed her eyes and Sansa could feel the magic rolling off of her. It was potent and by time she finished the song, Old Nan's tale of the children of the forest resounded deep in her mind. "Thank you, my child. Go now. He is waiting for you."

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Red. Fire red. That's the color her hair is as it flies around her face. The blue is a Tully shade that makes up her eyes. Her pink lips are saying something to him while the night sky burns green behind her. Not just any green – wildfire. The smell of blood lingers around him and he can feel the sting of a few scratches on his hands. Then her body is melting into his. Her pale fingers are grasping at his neck and hair. Their lips crash against each other in an urgent kiss. That's when he feels it.

Love. He says he loves her…and means it. Those Tully eyes become brighter than the wildfire and she puts everything she has into them. It takes his breath away. He doesn't quite believe that she feels the same but for once, he takes her at her word and doesn't fight it.

Other sights overload his senses: the roses she uses in her bathwater; the way she blushes when he looks at her a certain way; the tears she sheds when she is hurting; the forgiveness she lets him have though she is dying inside. It is this moment that he accepts it: her love. She is not teasing, playing, or using him. It is real. He can feel it in her touch and see it in her eyes. She is not happy, not by any means, but she is a tough little bird. The determination in her voice tells him that she is not going anywhere. When she kisses him again, he knows it's her. His eyes are shut and his body is numb but her touch awakens it. Only slightly at first – a stirring here and there to let him know he isn't dead; then his lips mold against hers as she keeps it there, pouring her soul into him. He can feel her desperation the more his bones sizzle in her presence.

Out of nowhere an old woman appears to him and touches his temple.

Sandor's eyes flew open and his lungs gasped for air as though he had been under the water. He immediately recognized the room as his but there was something strange in his body. It was a foreign feeling but it settled in deep as he got up from his bed. He stretched his hands, the tingling sensation still prevalent. Then it was gone. He studied them for a moment before it occurred to him that Sansa was probably around and it had been far too long since he held her. A clean pair of clothes was draped over the chair, abandoned for the dirtied ones he favored this past week. He pulled a shirt over his head and quickly laced up the pants. Without even a sword he left the room and headed straight for Sansa.

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"Where could he have gone?" Sansa whined when she opened his door. "He wasn't on duty. Oh gods, he isn't at the brothel is he?"

"Shae, go check with Varys and see if he has seen Clegane," Tyrion ordered. "Sansa, you should go back to your room. I don't want anyone to suspect you of anything. I'll take a walk around the Keep. One of us will find him. Go, now."

Sansa tried to keep from drawing attention to herself by running, but every fiber in her being was humming with anticipation. She found she was so excited she was bouncing in her steps. 'Stop it,' she chastised. Her mind was trying so hard to calm her heart but it was failing. Her feet began to follow the beat of her heart and within a few steps she was swinging through her door and closing it fast. She sighed heavily and ran to the balcony. Sometimes she could see people from the Keep going in and out. Her eyes scanned the ground but it was so dark she couldn't see more than a few people. "Where are you?" she asked the air.

"Maybe it's just me," Sandor called from the other end of the room, "but these curtains are fucking awful."

"Sandor!" Sansa breathed. Her eyes filled with water as he marched to her. "Is it really you?"

"You bet your pretty little ass it is," he growled as he started toward her. Sansa ran and flung herself into his arms. He picked her up like the light person she was and pulled her up so he could support her weight by holding her by that bum he liked so much.

"Gods, I've missed you so much," she gasped as he attacked her mouth again. She opened her lips and drank in his taste as much as he could give. Her hands grasped his face and hair and she held on tight. A flood of desire strung through her system and she found herself grinding into him, pulling him into her.

One hand slid under her leg and he pressed it against her center. She sucked in a sharp breath and gave a wicked smile. "I'm so sorry," he said.

"Shut up," she interrupted. Her body ground into his hand, her control gone. Too long she had been away from him, his touch and his love. Her lips came back to his and she sucked on his bottom one, making him release a guttural moan.

He stumbled and they crashed against the bed with Sansa giggling like she hadn't done since she lived in Winterfell and she caught Theon Greyjoy yanking on himself in the bath. Theon – and the rest of her problems – were far gone at this moment. There was only him and her bed. She climbed on top of his bulging trousers and let her body take over; she was tired of being a lady and exhausted from waiting for him to return.

"Sansa," he moaned. His hands went to her hips, guiding them in a direction since he knew she was completely lost when it came to anything sexual. His eyes rolled back briefly when she planted one hand on his stomach and another on his thigh while she jerked her hips down on him. The pleasure was unbearable. When he went to look at her, he saw those blue eyes turn almost black with lust. She wasn't holding back and it amazed him. Sansa was so in control of herself most of the time and to see her unleash the wolf on him, literally, made him harder than Casterly Rock. He felt her hand gently tug on his pants and realized she was untying the strings. "Sansa," he said seriously. "What are you doing?"

"I missed you," she replied shyly. Her brows knitted together like she was hurt. "Didn't you miss me?"

"Of course I did," he said roughly. "I don't really remember much about it, but I remember enough."

"Then you'll know that it's been far too long for us, for you. I love you so much and this past week has taught me that I need to stop being afraid of what's happening between us – all of it. I'm not saying I'm ready for everything, but I'm ready to learn…and be taught."

He knew what she meant but he couldn't resist playing with her a little. "What would you like to be taught?"

A blush enveloped her cheeks and she suddenly became shy. "I don't know."

"Yes you do." He pulled the strings completely out of his pants, making his erection spring up and out. Sansa's eyes went wide at it and he had to repress a laugh. "Touch it."

Hesitantly, she put a finger on it. "It's soft."

"Never say that to a man," he remarked. He guided her hand around it and began a rhythm. "Just like that."

Sansa was a quick learner when she wanted to be. She saw the power it gave her to control him like that and she embraced it. This was one of the lessons Shae had taught her but in the harsh light of reality, this was a much different experience. Sandor put his head back on the pillow and let out a moan. Sansa's lips spread into a smile and she squeezed a little harder. Her movements became quicker; herself becoming more heated at the sight of this large man that incited so much fear crumbling at her touch. She took it one step further and, with Shae's instructions clear in her mind, she dipped her head and flicked out her tongue. Sandor cried out in surprise and Sansa felt like a true woman when she did it again. Her mouth stretched to take him and sucked on him like she had his lip. She felt clumsily and completely inexperienced but he didn't seem to mind. The memory of what happened in the bathroom a few weeks ago echoed in her mind – the sensation of feeling him against her so intimately; she felt her undergarment getting soaked again at the thought. It was such a passionate moment and she wanted that again; to reclaim him as hers.

He stopped her with a hard squeeze on her shoulders. "Stop," he managed to say.

"What's wrong?" she asked confusingly.

"Nothing," he smirked. "I won't last long if you keep doing that."

Shae had told her about that. Sansa nodded and gave a small smile. So were they done? "If you want to stop, that's okay. I guess."

"I don't want to stop," he corrected. He grabbed Sansa by the waist and flipped her on her back. He hiked up her dress and hooked his finger into her undergarments band. Slowly he pulled them down, dragging the burnt side of his face against her soft skin. She gave a small shudder at the conflicting sensations and he rubbed her leg, letting one hand travel up until he hit her entrance. With a smooth motion he glossed over it, making her huff out of impatience. He smiled briefly before moving himself over her. He could see the fear in her eyes. "Don't you trust me?"

"Yes." His hands ripped the pin holding her dress together and he groaned at the sight of her breasts straining against the corset. He didn't let it get in the way though as he slowly, seductively untied it. Sansa was heaving at the idea of being so exposed but having him here was something she had craved for what felt like ages. When a rough palm went to her neck, she grasped the blankets for something to hold on to while he dragged the hand down her chest and onto her stomach. They wrapped around her bottom again and she felt him raise her up like he had before. He was resting on his knees and she felt him drag her up one of his legs, making her core ache with desire. When his hardness brushed against her leg she let out a gasp. They were so close. One of her hands flew behind her and on to the bed to keep herself up as her legs were on each side of him; the other went to his shoulder so she could support herself when he lifted her up.

He rocked her body on him with expert precision. One hand on her breast, squeezing it while the other went to her bottom, guiding her direction. Sansa's head fell back as she embraced the vibrations going through her. Her gasps were loud and filled with surprise at each brush against him. "Look at me," he said roughly. She did and the pleasure was amplified. Watching him get gratification out of watching her lose control was the biggest turn on she had ever experienced. She grasped his other shoulder, bringing her above him. Her breasts swayed in his face and he eagerly brought one in to his mouth. Fingernails started to dig into him and she grasped his hair as she grinded her hips down and around on him. Using both hands, he sped up the pace and thrust up, almost going in. He slid a finger in, then two and groaned at how warm and tight she was around them. He used a scissoring motion, hitting that special spot that made her scream but he caught it with his mouth. He felt her clench with an iron grip around him but he did it again, sending her back into another orgasm. It was only when her hands loosened on his shoulder and neck that he let her go. She fell back to the bed while he ran and finished himself off. When he came back, he wiped them both clean.

"That was…" she muttered. "I don't know what that was."

"That was the best non sex I've ever had," he teased. She gave him a goofy smile before turning serious. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied. Her arms wrapped around him and she brought him in for deep hug. "I'm just happy you're better. It wasn't easy to watch you from so far away."

He brushed a stray hair out of her face and wrapped an arm around her. "I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere until you decide that you don't want me."

"That will never happen."

"I certainly hope not," he smirked. "Not with this winter coming. It'll be awfully cold for a dog with no wolf to keep him company."

"I thought I was your little bird?" she teased.

"Not after what you just did," he snorted. She blushed again and he laughed. "I have to go. Someone might want to check on me in the morning."

"Can't you stay?" The words were out before she could think of them. It was ridiculous to be so shy after what they just did but she couldn't help it.

"If I stay, I won't want to leave. And that would look strange if I was seen coming from your room at early hours." She looked dejected but he kissed her nose lightly and laced himself up. "Believe me, I want to stay, especially after being away for so long. But I can't risk it. Not now."

"I understand."

"One day we'll be able to do it all, Sansa. Just not yet."

"Good. I'll pray to the gods they make that day come fast."

"Ask all seven of them if you must."

"Not them; the old gods."

That caught his attention. He knew she was devoted to both, but she seemed to favor the Seven. "Why them?"

She hesitated slightly before replying. "They saved you."

"A tree saved me?" he scoffed.

"Don't mock," she rebuffed. "They did."

"How?"

"I'll tell you some other time. Right now, I just want be with you."

Sandor slid on to the bed next to her. He pulled her beside him and sighed. Soon he felt her steady breathing, indicating she was asleep. With great effort he left her in bed and snuck back to his room. The room felt tiny compared to Sansa and even more desolate than usual. He crashed on his bed and let his eyes close, dreaming of the redhead upstairs. One day she would be his fully and he was counting down the minutes till it happened.