A/N: I am so sorry for no update. Things have been chaotic lately in my personal life so this has taken a backseat. Anyway, I finally got some free time to punch this thing out and hopefully it does the job:) Things have been a little tense the past few chapters and slightly depressing so this one is a little lighter and has our favorite couple reconnecting.

Chapter 25: A Lannister Always Pays Her Debts

Sansa found herself hip deep in books inside the Red Keep's library. At first she was afraid Tyrion would be lost forever as they entered the enormous chamber. It was the biggest room she had ever seen and looked as though it could fit Balerion the Black Dread several times over. It was located underneath the Keep with the Sept and the Godswood just above; an apt place for keeping history, Sansa thought.

"Please tell me whatever you're looking for can be easily recognized," Tyrion remarked wryly. "Otherwise we might spend the rest of our lives looking for it."

"At least we wouldn't have to be part of the war," Sansa replied. "Hello!" she hollered toward the back of the room. A small grin spread across her lips as she heard her voice bounce back. "How are we to find each other should we split up?"

"This." Tyrion pointed to two yellow rags each attached to the end of a large stick. "Jamie and I made them up after we spent four hours looking for each other during our first visit."

"Do you know your way around in here?"

"Not as well as I used to but I dare say that I can remember where certain things are. Now, what are we looking for?"

"Greensight," Sansa replied in a questioning manner.

Tyrion cocked his head as he ran through the memories of where something like that would be. "Greensight," he murmured back. "That would probably be under the Bloodraven – at least that would be a good place to start. If we can't find anything, which I doubt that will be the case given his reputation, then we can split up and search for the Children of the Forest and House Reed."

That was where Sansa was now, rifling through anything that had to do with the Bloodraven and greensight. Anything that had to do with those dreams she had been having, in addition to Arya's warging, was up for grabs.

"Who was the Bloodraven?" Sansa asked her partner, who was sitting on a pile of papers that he had already discarded. "What did he have to do with greensight?"

"He was Brynden Rivers, a bastard of a Targaryen king, who was also a sorcerer and some thought he was a spy as well."

"Why was he called Bloodraven?"

"A birthmark on his cheek. Though from what I hear, the lack of one eye should have been enough to change that nickname."

"He only had one eye?"

Tyrion nodded. "Lost it in battle during the first Blackfyre rebellion – his half-brother took it. Anyway, he was sentenced to the Wall where he became Lord Commander. There was a saying about him that I heard once: How many eyes does the Bloodraven have? A thousand eyes and one. Apparently one of him equaled thirty Varyses."

Her blood prickled as Sansa heard the tale, especially the part where Brynden's brother maimed him. She rifled through the book in her lap and found only inquiries from smallfolk about their land or small references to the Targaryens. An unhappy sigh filled her lungs as she brought another book to her lap.

"I think I have something," Tyrion announced. He made room for Sansa as she crept closer to see the page.

"What does it say?"

"My sweet S, Aemon has indeed pledged himself to the Night's Watch. He will be leaving on the morrow with the prisoners from the black cells. I have been called upon to escort the king's brother as well to ensure that he is not surrounded by the greatest threat of all: his uncle. Yes, I have seen the Bloodraven for myself. He is a frightening creature – he wears his hair in such a way to cover up his socket but it was undeniably him. Those eyes were full of secrets and such hate that I wonder who or what could ever quell the fire that burns in them. He is surely a Targaryen. My love, I beg of you do not keep this letter. Should the king find out that the Bloodraven is still alive and you know of him, he would not hesitate to ensure you could never speak of it. People find comfort in his death and who are we to disillusion them from that? More so, I feel the stirrings of unease and malcontent throughout the Keep and I cannot bear to think of you in danger because of this. Once I have returned, we will flee this place and never look back. I would have you come with me save for the men that will be in this company. It will be full of rapers and should one see your lovely face, they would know you are no man. Should anything happen to me, know that you have my heart fully and completely. Though I am nothing more than a lowly knight and you are above my station, nothing could separate my soul from yours. We are one. Until my return, S."

The pair sat in silence as they let the words absorb.

"Wow," Sansa breathed.

Tyrion nodded numbly and gently put the letter back into the book he found. He wasn't even sure where it had come from, only that the sheet of paper slipped from between the pages and into his lap. He had seen the word Bloodraven and assumed it was something that pertained to the mystery surrounding the man. He had not been prepared for the true content.

He cleared his throat and pulled out another stack of papers. "I thought it would have information," he explained.

"It did. Bryden was alive at the time this Aemon left for the Wall."

"Aemon," Tyrion repeated quietly. "As in Maestar Aemon. He's a Targaryen?"

"You've met him?"

"I met him at the Wall when I went with Jon. He's old now; feeble is probably a better term for it." He chuckled lightly as a thought crossed his mind. "Oh, what Robert would have done with that information. But then again, what better way to hide than in plain sight? Smart man."

"What's this?" she murmured. "The History of the Great Houses. This could be helpful."

"Try the Reeds first," Tyrion suggested. "Howland Reed has a son who is supposed to have greensight. Maybe it is a family trait?"

The only thing the giant book offered was a lineage of the Houses, not the deeds. The more she looked at it though the more she saw that it was less recent than she'd hoped. With a heave, she tossed the book to the side. "Why did the people want the Bloodraven dead?"

"He was a terrible influence from what I gather. People, especially smallfolk, are easily frightened when it comes to mysterious things. That and he was considered a kinslayer and therefore cursed. No one wants to keep a cursed sorcerer so close to the king. I would have been surprised if the people didn't want him dead."

They decided to move down the aisle as they searched. Hours went by before they settled near the end of the shelving. There was an immense pile of books and papers in their wake. Some had gone back to where they were found but the rest were left on random shelves.

A tiny squeal filled the area as Sansa shifted into a more comfortable position. "I think I found something too. It's a letter from my father to King Robert." She gripped the page tight and struggled to control the rising emotions within her. She had vastly underestimated how much she missed her father. As Tyrion encouraged her to continue, she read, "My King, I have been sent word from Howland about the greywater fever that has ravaged the Crannogmen. He assures me that it is contagious only in the Neck. I have sent several maesters to help but alas, Jojen has contracted the fever. Howland has agreed to send me word either way of the boy's fate. I pray to the gods that the boy survives. Yours in honor, Ned."

Tyrion grabbed a handful of papers above her head and took a seat next to her. "Where did these come from?"

"They were from this," Sansa replied, holding up a small hardcover book in her hand. "There's a bunch of them. Look, here's another one. It sounds personal too; maybe that's why they were hidden?"

"It's possible. Cersei has never liked your family so to have her husband constantly communicating with her sworn enemy would ensure Robert to take a more stealthy approach. If only he had taken that stance with his whores…"

Sansa frowned before turning back to the papers. "Here's something about skin changing," she stated. "And there's his name again. But listen to this: Brynden Rivers, also called Bloodraven, was known to have been able to change his appearance and did so on the occasion of the Whitewalls. Several servants in the Keep have also attested to his strange behavior as he often speaks intimately of things that have not yet come to pass and things that have already happened before his time as if he were a witness to such events."

Tyrion peered up at his wife when she finished and saw her deep in thought. He blew out a hard breath and wiped his brow. He was getting hungry and damned tired from the stuffy air. "Why are you so interested in this, Sansa?"

"Hm?" she replied, her thoughts a million miles away. "Oh, just curious. Besides, there's nothing else to do."

"You could always visit Clegane."

"He needs rest," she countered politely. "Seeing me seems to upset him."

"Only because he can't do what he wants to you."

"Tyrion," she scolded.

"He's a man, Sansa. It can drive us crazy to have women so close but not be able to touch them, especially for a man like him who is used to getting what he wants when he wants it."

"I just…" She huffed her frustration but continued. "Aren't you ever angry about it?"

"Of course I am; but anger won't change what happened. None of us are in a position to defy any order, least of all Shae and Clegane. They don't have the same security in their positions as we do. I am not saying that it was right," he assured. "But while we were enjoying the privileges of being a highborn, they were scraping out an existence. It may disgust or even frighten us what they're willing to do but that has always been their life."

Sansa remembered back to when she met Sandor in the hallway after the riots and she tried to thank him. To her, his actions were brave and heroic; for him, they were merely an extension of what he does on a daily basis. She had admonished him for not accepting her thanks and in turn he was irritated by her courtesies. Now that those courtesies were her armor, he wasn't as frustrated because he understood that she didn't mean them – they were merely a façade to keep her alive. Were his actions that day and each day since any worse than hers, truly? Though they were prisoners together in a sense, their odds of surviving were vastly different. He was a second son of a minor house with a fearsome reputation and a hideous face; she was a highborn and heir to the North with renowned beauty.

How could she possibly think that he would feel secure in his position in order to defy the king in front of an audience and get away with it no repercussions? The answer was simple: he couldn't. Yet her father had ingrained it in her that there was always an honorable way out. "There is always a choice," she challenged feebly.

Tyrion grasped her hands gently. "There are also consequences to those choices and most of the time they don't have the outcome you want. It's a messy world, Sansa and eventually, you will have to get dirty."

"I don't like getting dirty."

"Then it's a good thing Clegane is willing to do it for you."

Sansa blinked at his words. Something in the way he said it made her mind start racing. "Is this the way we're supposed to live? Watching everyone we love do hateful things while we suffer in silence? I can't even look at him for too long in case someone gets suspicious! It isn't fair!"

"No it isn't," he replied firmly. "And I know this isn't the road either of us would have thought to be on at this point but none of that matters now. There's no use in mourning what never was." He took a breath and added, "Did you know he was going to leave the night of the Blackwater?"

"What? No. He – He never told me that."

"I suppose even he has his limits."

"What made him stay?"

Tyrion smirked wryly. "I think you should probably ask him that."

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Sandor groaned at the relief that came from taking off the bloodied bandage on his leg. The wound was still open but showed signs of great progress. Whatever the maester had done to him worked fast and he was immensely grateful for it. He tried standing and after a couple of tries he found the proper footing. There was still a slight limp but overall, he was able to walk without feeling like he was about to faint. He figured that within the next few days, he would be back to his old self.

It couldn't come soon enough.

He hated being on bed rest ever since his face was burned. His jaw flexed as if the memory made his skin itch. With a long stretch, he took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Today was his only day off before his duties brought him back to court, only this time he wouldn't be guarding the king. A small grin played around his mouth at the thought of whom his sword belonged to now. There was a small amount of doubt that scratched at his mind, thinking that perhaps it was part of a fever dream from the medicine the maester gave him. He was going to have see Jaime about that.

But for now, he was going to enjoy a much-earned day off. He took a step out into the hallway and searched for any signs of life. There was not even a mouse to be heard. With a firm gait he made his way to the guards' hall for some food. He figured it had to be after noon by the way the sun beamed through the slender windows. A good night's sleep had done him good. The muscles in his body were relaxed and his bones felt lighter with each step. His stomach growled when the scent of food hit his nose and he realized how ravenous he was after the past few weeks. Sitting down at the empty table, the silence soothed his aching mind.

After eating, he found out that Jaime was in the White Sword Tower along with Joffrey and Trant. Once they were gone Sandor leaned against the doorway and watched while Jaime stared pensively at the Book of Brothers.

"Looking at it won't make good deeds appear," Sandor remarked lightly.

Jaime's expression was wiped away before he glanced at the tall man. "I see the weeks away from here haven't improved your looks."

"Nor yours," he retorted sharply. But his words seemed to have no affect on the Lord Commander. "I saw the king leaving. What did he want?"

"Nothing of importance," Jaime replied, a tinge of sadness hid behind his voice. "What to do you want, Clegane?"

"To make sure you keep your word about me being removed from the kingsguard."

Jaime looked relieved at the change in topic. "Consider it kept. The king agreed this morning. However, my brother already has a man for protection; the Lady Sansa on the other hand does not. So you will be her sworn shield. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Jaime was frustrated at the lack of improvement in his quest to uncover the secrets surrounding him. The news that he would be guarding the beautiful Stark seemed to have made no impression on Sandor, which increased Jaime's aggravation. "You are to guard her."

"I know what a shield does," Sandor snapped. "And I do it well, which is why your nephew is still alive. I think I can guard a traitor's daughter."

"If you say so," Jaime shrugged. "You start tomorrow. I'll tell Lady Sansa about the change."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Sandor eyed the Lannister as if the blonde had grown another head. "Because you're family just slaughtered hers."

His throat closed up as Jaime turned back to the book that held his name and a single paragraph disclosing his only noteworthy deed as a kingsguard: his assassination of Arys II. The irony was as painful to him as the loss of his hand. He glared at the Hound, who was standing as if there were nothing with the world. "Fine. You can tell her."

"Me?"

"You suggested it."

Sandor thought it over before shrugging carelessly. "If you say so."

"I see Moore died."

"Since the Blackwater."

"What happened? Why was he out in the vanguard and not with the king?"

"I was too busy fighting for my own life to worry about that piece of shit. All I know is what I heard from Podrick – that Moore was about to kill your brother when he went down."

"Who killed him?"

"I assume one of the many men that hated him. Battles are a good place to even scores."

"Did you get even with the one who gave you that?" Jaime directed a finger at Sandor's leg.

"I will."

"Make sure to do it when you're not on duty," Jaime said casually.

With that, Sandor left the White Tower and headed for Sansa and Tyrion's room. On the way, he ran into a familiar brunette, who was fuming judging by the manner in which her jaw ground against her teeth.

"What's wrong?" he asked roughly.

Shae looked annoyed at being interrupted during her duties. "Nothing," she bit.

"Where are they?"

"I don't know. When I went in the bed was empty."

"They sleep together?" he asked curiously.

"She sleeps in the bed," Shae clarified hotly. As she struggled to lift the crumpled sheets back into her grasp she was able to catch a better look at the Hound. "Aren't you supposed to be resting? Milady said you were injured."

He cocked his head at her formal tone when he heard footsteps behind him. A large, buxom servant skittered past the pair and disappeared around the corner. "I am resting," he informed her once he was certain no one else was coming.

"How is walking around resting?"

"Because I'm not doing anything," he retorted blandly. He sighed heavily and turned on his heel. "Let me know when they're back."

Shae pushed past him and angrily replied, "I am her maid, not yours. Find another lackey to do your bidding."

Sandor watched her stomp down the back steps that led to the lower levels. He entered the room anyway and stood in the solar for a few minutes. Sansa's scent was everywhere and though it should have thrilled him, he felt the opposite effect. It meant she had spent so much time locked away from everyone that the room had become her world – a world he used to play a central role in. And by the gods, he was going to be in it again.

But first, he needed to find her.

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"This was a monumental waste of time," Sansa grumbled.

"I don't think so," Tyrion quipped. "You've found some letters. Those are always important."

Sansa's body suddenly covered itself in goosebumps as they rounded the corner and saw Sandor Clegane speaking with a frightened maid. He hadn't seen them yet and Sansa took a moment to appreciate the man in her view. Without his armor on he looked strange, as if someone had taken a limb from him. His face was scrunched into his familiar scowl and his hair looked matted against the rough edges of his scorched flesh. Still, her need to be with him was as strong as ever and she fingered the letter she had taken when Tyrion wasn't looking. The thought of being torn away from him forever with only a letter for comfort at night made her heart clench in pure dread.

Sandor saw a flash of red in his peripheral vision and squeezed his jaw tighter as his nerves registered her presence. He turned and saw her staring at him with bright blue eyes. The desire that flashed inside them made his blood burn with lust. He forgot about the maid he had cornered for information and acknowledged the pair, letting the bony and underfed servant slip away.

"Lady Sansa," he addressed coolly.

She tipped her head ever so slightly. "I thought you were resting."

"I got bored,"

"I see. Did you need something?"

"I have news for you – both of you."

"Then we shall adjourn to my solar," Tyrion interjected. He waved his hand forward and added, "Ladies first."

The trio walked idly up the serpentine steps and into the higher level where Shae was putting clean sheets on the bed. Her stare hardened when Tyrion entered the room – an action that did not unnoticed by Sandor.

"What is it?" Sansa asked once the door closed.

"I'm your new shield."

Sansa's eyebrows rose as he made the announcement. "Why?"

"Because Bronn already guards your husband and you have no one."

"I meant why you?"

His massive shoulders fell in a shrug. "The Kingslayer arranged it. Now that he's back, he has taken up his duties as Lord Commander, meaning that I am the odd man out in a group of seven. Since Jaime watches the king, I was out of a job. He suggested that I guard you instead and here we are."

"I see." Sansa swallowed hard at the thought of having him all to herself.

"Are you okay with that?" he questioned gently.

She looked at him with a hunger she hadn't felt in a long time and said to the others, "Can we have a moment, please?"

Tyrion assented and left the room with Shae. Sansa waited until she heard the door close before going to lock it. When she turned, Sandor had concern written on his features.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied seductively. "I've missed you is all."

A wide grin came across her lips and she walked closer to him. Her hand sought his and felt the calloused fingers caressing her soft skin. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around her waist. She squealed quietly when he picked her off the floor and held her to his wide chest. His arm snaked up her back and she sighed in content at being in his arms.

"Gods, I've missed you too," he breathed into her neck. He put her down but let himself be escorted to the bed. "Have you missed me that much?" he teased.

She smiled broadly and patted the spot next to her. "I have. But you know that if I have any hope of getting out this marriage to Tyrion that we can't…"

"Fuck like rabbits?" he finished with a sly grin.

A deep blush took hold of her cheeks. "Yes. But if the circumstances were different, I would want you all the time."

Sandor couldn't hide his surprise if he wanted to. "That's not a very ladylike thing to say."

"Being very ladylike has not gotten me anywhere except a marriage to a Lannister," she countered bitterly. When Sandor looked amused, Sansa added seriously, "One day, Sandor, we'll be together. Nothing will ever make me change my mind about that."

"I believe you," he snorted. But her smooth features hid a shadow of sadness. "Hey, what is it?"

"I can't tell you, right now anyway. Maybe tonight?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"I have a visit to make but afterward, we can meet."

"Whatever you want, little bird."

She grasped his hand and squeezed tightly. "I can't wait. I have a surprise for you."

"Now I can't wait either," he replied, his voice thickened by lascivious thoughts.

Sansa saw what he was thinking and smirked. "Clegane, I don't believe you are being honorable."

"You'll thank the gods for that one day, believe me."

Tyrion's words rang in her mind and she gave him a small but grateful smile. "I already do."

He wrapped an arm around her waist and frowned slightly. "What's this?"

"Something from the library." She turned the letter in her hand and put aside.

"Is that where you were all day?"

She nodded in assurance. "I have to go down. Walk me?"

"I am yours to command."

"And you'll thank the gods for that one day, believe me."

"What happened in that library?" he teased.

She smiled at him. "Later."

"Does this mean you're not angry with me anymore?" Though he still wasn't entirely sure what he had done wrong to begin with.

Sansa opened the door with a roll of her eyes and replied, "We'll talk about it later."

"I'll be on guard tomorrow," he informed her as they entered the corridor.

"Will you be all right by then?"

Though their tones were indifferent, Sansa was genuinely worried about him. He looked better but he was still in need of rest. Tomorrow, she would stay put as much as possible.

"I'm sure a walk in the gardens will test my strength," he replied drolly. "I might have to guard against those violent roses."

"When did you get a sense of humor?" she snorted.

"When I drank all the wine in the kitchen."

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Sandor flipped the hood over Sansa's head, breaking away from her path only to meet up with her after making sure no one followed. They met up one floor later and kept walking down until they reached one of the lowest levels. Sansa knocked on Varys' door while Sandor kept a keen eye on any movement. When it opened, Arya was at a table, carving out a knife. The pair entered the stuffy room and Sandor barred the door.

"I don't know how you can concentrate with all the noise above," Sansa commented.

Arya glanced up at her sister and put aside her new weapon. "It helps me think. Did you find anything in the book place?"

"It's called a library, Arya," she rebuked flippantly. "And I'm not entirely sure yet. There was so much information it was hard to find anything… if that makes sense."

"It doesn't, but go on."

"We found someone called the Bloodraven but his real name was Brynden Rivers, and he had these gifts that sound a lot like what we've been experiencing."

Arya was intrigued. "Who was he? Can he help us? Where is he?"

"First off, I'm pretty sure he's dead; and second, Tyrion could only find a few texts about his fate, which includes the Wall as he ended up being Lord Commander. After that, there's nothing."

"What about the boy?"

"I think that might be Jojen," Sansa guessed. "There was a letter from Father talking about the greywater fever – the one that Mother told us about – and he said that Lord Howland's son, Jojen, had contracted it. Greensight is given to those who have been at death's door at one point – or at least that's what Old Nan used to say."

It occurred to both girls simultaneously that perhaps they should have paid more attention to Old Nan's stories.

"But neither of us have been nearly killed," Arya pointed out.

"Maybe it has to do with our blood?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said it yourself: our ancestors are the First Men; and there are all sorts of myths surrounding the magic in the north; Old Nan used to tell us about them all the time. The real trouble is finding where the myths ends and the truth begins. Then again, myth is all we seem to find regarding the Bloodraven." She turned to Sandor asked, "What about you? Do you know anything about this Brynden Rivers?"

He furrowed his eyes in confusion. "You're kidding, right?"

Sansa gave him a glance over and sighed. "Yes I guess I am. The only person who could help us is Tyrion and even he has no idea where to begin."

"If he was a lord commander, maybe Jon's met him!"

Sansa gave her sister a doubtful look. "He lived about a hundred years ago according to what we found."

"Oh." Arya was crestfallen.

"But see, that's where it gets confusing," Sansa stated. "He supposedly went to the Wall sixty-six years ago."

Arya waited a beat before stating, "I'm not sure why that's supposed to be confusing."

"Because Brynden Rivers was born over a hundred years past but he went to the Wall only sixty-six years ago? That would make him impossibly old; his own great-nephew is at the Wall now and according to Tyrion, he's pretty old himself."

"What she's saying," Sandor put in, "is that this is an example of truth being shadowed by myth."

Sansa pointed a finger to indicate he was right. "Exactly. If we can't even get his age straight, what hope do we possibly have to get correct information about something most people don't believe in?"

"Not to mention the Old Bear is now lord commander of the Watch and that only happens when his predecessor is dead," Sandor informed the girls.

"It has to do with our blood," Sansa insisted.

"How do you know?" Sandor pushed.

"Because I feel it – deep down, I know it has something to do with that. Nothing else makes sense."

"Sense?" Sandor chuckled. "Nothing in the world make sense anymore."

"Some things do," Sansa rebuffed gently.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong place?"

"Where else could we look?" Sansa pressed.

"Winterfell," came the swift reply.

"Arya…"

"Or the Citadel," Sandor offered. "They would have plenty of books and there would be no bias since they don't serve any particular House. It might have been one of the few places that wasn't destroyed during Robert's Rebellion."

"The Quiet Isle might have something too," Sansa mused. "How are we going to get there though?"

Sandor and Arya shared a quick glance before Sandor cleared his throat. "Well, we," he said pointing between the three of them, "wouldn't go." He then shifted his finger between him and Arya. "But we would."

Her eyes narrowed and Sansa replied icily, "We'll talk about that later too."

"You said you found a letter from father?" Arya interjected hastily.

Sansa's face cleared itself of any negative feeling. "Yes. I found a few of them and some are from before the Rebellion."

"I want to see."

"You want to go to the library?" Sansa asked dubiously. "That means you'll have to read."

"I know. When can we go?"

"Tomorrow, I suppose. Oh, wait. I forgot. I have lunch with Margaery and that could take hours."

"I can go by myself." Arya saw the couple raise their eyebrows in unison. "I could."

Sansa turned her new sworn shield. "Maybe you can show her the way?"

"I'll have to be with you."

"Varys could do it," Arya announced. "He knows all the secret passages so no one would have to see me."

The door handle turned unexpectedly, jerking them from their conversation. Sandor directed the Starks behind him and against the wall. He then unbarred the door and creaked it open slightly.

Varys entered his chambers cautiously. "Can I help you, Clegane?" he said in his typical smooth voice.

"No," came the rough reply. Sandor replaced the bar against the door. "But you can help them."

"Oh, my Lady," he bowed to Sansa. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good afternoon, Lord Varys," she greeted sweetly. "I apologize for the intrusion."

The eunuch directed her to a seat. "I hope everything is okay."

"It's not perfect, but I suppose things could be worse."

"That is a good way to look at things," he smiled. "Now, my dear, tell me what you need and I will do my best to help."

"I went to the library today with Tyrion to look at some things…things of a mythical nature."

"Greensight," Varys clarified.

"How-?"

"Little spiders are everywhere, my lady. Except in here, of course."

Sandor noticed Sansa tense faintly at those words and he found himself doing the same. They would have to be on guard every moment they were together. He was suddenly grateful to have Varys on their side. Now that he thought it over, it was possible that the only reason he and Sansa had gotten away with it for this long was because of the Spider controlling his underlings.

"Your spiders were correct," Sansa stated. "We had great difficulty getting sufficient information though. I was wondering if you could help with that."

"Information on what?"

"Not what, but a person. A man called Brynden Rivers."

"Ah," Varys cooed. "The Bloodraven. Yes, that would be a good place to begin your search; though I suspect not much was said regarding his abilities."

"Correct again."

"Fascinating fellow," Varys mused.

"He was," Sansa agreed genuinely. "I would like to learn more about him when the time is right." Sandor's rough cough behind her reminded her about the mission. "Anyway, I have an engagement with Lady Margaery tomorrow but Arya wants to explore the library. I was hoping you could help with that."

"Of course, my Lady."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Lord Varys."

"Think nothing of it, Lady Stark. I also have a plan to get your sister out."

"Do go on."

"The wedding."

"As in Joffrey's?" Sandor asked.

"That's perfect!" Sansa exclaimed. "How could I not see it before?"

"How is that perfect?" the Hound challenged. "Sansa, there will be guards everywhere."

"At the wedding," Varys explained. "However, a disguise and good timing could prove to be what we need for a clean escape."

"I'll be at the wedding," Sansa frowned. "I won't get to say goodbye."

"Say goodbye beforehand." Sansa and Arya glared at the massive soldier. "Or not…"

"Lord Varys, you are a wonder to behold," the redhead grinned. She kissed him lightly on the cheek in her excitement.

Varys nearly blushed. "You are too kind, my Lady Sansa."

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Sandor relaxed against his arm while resting on his bed. He was staring at Sansa pouring him a drink – water, much to his chagrin. One pleading look from her Tully eyes had him agreeing to it though.

The rest of the day had passed by in a blur. One moment they were in Varys' room and the next they were in hers talking to Tyrion. Since the tiny lord wasn't involved in their escape plan for Arya, they instead focused on news of the wedding and security as well as the discoveries in the library. Afterward, Sandor adjourned to his room and ate in silence so as to not draw attention to his long presence in the imp's room. It would not do to have Joffrey or Cersei know they were on civil terms. When his dinner was done, he took an hour or so to soak in the tub and cleanse his body of the dirt and grime stuck to it. He then gingerly wrapped his leg with clean linen after putting on more of the maester's cream. It made his skin tingle even now and he hoped that was a good sign.

"I feel very uneasy sending Arya into the library," Sansa declared softly.

Sandor focused on her pale skin as she moved in the candlelight. It had cast a soft glow around her face, illuminating her features. Sometimes he wondered if she ever knew just how breathtaking she truly was.

"Why?" he replied.

She handed him the cup and took a place next to him, tucking her leg beneath her. "She's difficult to control."

"So stop trying to control her," he said as he took a sip. The water felt strange on his tongue and he didn't like it. "Ugh. Please stop torturing me while you're at it."

"I'm not trying to control her," she defended. "She can't even obey a simple command. I don't want her to do something wild and get caught."

"It's only the library, Sansa."

"It's the library now but what happens if she sees Joffrey?"

"I doubt she'd see Joff anywhere near that place."

"I'm serious, Sandor. I'm worried."

He brought his hand up to rub her arm. "Hey, she'll be okay."

"You promise?"

"No."

And with that, Sansa felt at ease. It meant he would keep an eye for her sister. She gave him a broad smile and kissed him passionately. "Thank you."

"Not that I'm complaining but what was that for?"

"I missed those," she gestured to his lips.

"I missed those." He grabbed one of her breast, earning a playful yelp from the Stark. She smacked his hand away and he went back to drinking the water. "What else is bothering you?"

There was no point to lying so she sighed heavily and said, "You wouldn't really leave me behind would you? If you went to the Quiet Isle, I mean."

"Yes, I would; and I would never go to the Quiet Isle."

"Why? I could help."

"You would only slow me down," he replied carelessly. When he felt a chill he glanced back up and saw a pained expression on her face. "Oh, gods," he groaned. "What?"

"How would I slow you down?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"Fine. You bathe too much."

Sansa shook her head, baffled at his response. "What?"

"Sansa, when I leave to travel, I try to get there as quickly as possible. That means no bathing and, for the most part, no sleeping for sometimes weeks on end."

"Are you implying that I should bathe less?"

"Is that what makes you smell so good all the time?"

"…Yes, Sandor."

"Then no, I'm not implying you should do that less. I would prefer you to do it more if it means I get to do it with you."

Sansa blushed deeply at his remark but let him kiss her anyway. She could always feel the heat from his body as if it were connected to her own. It made her sizzle all over. She remembered her promise earlier and broke from the kiss.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern.

"Nothing," she replied. She held his hand tight as she changed her position so that she was between his legs. "Remember when I said I owed you a debt for bringing Arya back?" He nodded. "Well, I'm a Lannister now-"

"Don't remind me," he growled.

"I don't like it either," she retorted. "But now I get to say that Sandor Clegane, I am repaying my debt."

Sandor's mouth went dry and he found that his voice had gone. He watched as she bit her lip and slid her hands up his thighs, carefully avoiding his wound. Up they went until she met his lips with her own. As the heat crackled between them, her fingers grazed the hem of his shirt and slid underneath the thin material. Sandor pulled himself up and helped her take his shirt off. Her pupils dilated as she took in his chiseled form, sending his ego soaring.

Sansa took in a sharp breath as she steeled herself for what she was about to do. As if he read her thoughts, the burnt side of Sandor's face stretched as far as it could. Now that she knew him better than anyone, Sansa wasn't frightened by his scowls. She had come to know when he was scowling and when he was smiling. Had anyone else bothered to take the time to get to know him, they would have seen it too. But they didn't; he was all hers.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" he asked when she moved to sit on her heels.

He clenched his teeth when her fingers found his hardened length and let out a sharp hiss as she rubbed her palm against it. She smirked impishly at him as she untied his trousers but it quickly vanished when she saw how big he really was. It shouldn't have surprised her like it did considering his body size but she couldn't help herself. She'd never seen one before and wondered if they all looked like this.

"You're so big!" she blurted.

"You know how to make a man feel good," he chuckled huskily.

Before she lost her nerve, Sansa's mouth lowered onto his pulsing manhood. When she glanced up to see his face, she was met with a dark pool of desire staring back at her. The confidence he gave her encouraged her to try something she hadn't learned. With her lips locked on him, she sucked hard as she drew her head back until she reached the tip, where she let him go with a firm pop. His reaction was immediate as he let out a deep moan and his head flew back while his hand gripped her head.

Sansa repeated the motion and delighted in his response. He was firmly under her control and it gave her a thrill knowing that one of the most feared men in Westeros was unraveling at her touch. Her hand brushed against the base before moving down to the most neglected part of a man, according to Shae: the balls. She cupped them gently and squeezed, earning a gasp of surprise for her initiative.

"I can't hold on for much longer," he said through gritted teeth.

She had no idea what that meant but she kept going. Suddenly his hand buried itself in her hair, clenching the strands in a strong grasp while he went rigid underneath her. Her name fell from his lips as a warm liquid seeped down her throat. Shae had warned her that if it happened, it would taste disgusting but Sansa didn't think that at all. It was no lemon cake, that was true enough; but there was a salty aftertaste that she hadn't minded in the least. 'Maybe it's all the wine,' she thought.

Sandor's breath was shallow as he tried to recover from what she had done to him. Stars were still in his vision when he met her eyes.

"Was that okay?" she asked innocently. He pulled her to him so that she was lying on his body and kissed her as thoroughly as he could. Their tongues wrestled as each tried to gain the upper hand and she mewled her contentment. "I'm serious," she said once they broke apart. "I want to know if I did it right."

"Look at me. Do I look displeased?" he assured her. She gave him a shy smile and he knew she was embarrassed. "Where did you learn that?"

"Shae told me to practice on bananas. So if you want to say thank you to anyone, it should be her."

He grunted his dissatisfaction with that thought as he hitched up his laces. "I'd rather thank the bananas."

Her soft chuckle echoed through the room. While he was putting his shirt back on, Sansa recalled Tyrion telling her about the Hound's near desertion. "Sandor?"

"Hm?" he hummed.

"The night of the Blackwater...Tyrion said you wanted to leave King's Landing but you didn't. What made you stay?"

He stared at her as though she asked him what a sword was made of. The answer, he thought, was obvious. "You."

She supposed deep down she knew the answer but Sansa smiled broadly at him anyway and kissed his cheek as he flopped back on the bed. There would be ample time to ponder the numerous situations they found themselves in over the course of the past few days but for now, Sansa was focused on the one thing that made her feel secure: him.