Sansa reaches for the stoppered glass vial of eucalyptus oil that Prince Oberyn has given her and holds it up to the light of the candle on her dressing table. She squints as she peers into the substance and tries to think of how she will ask her husband to let her make use of it. Berena has already found her a bigger vial of almond oil with which to mix it and brought her an earthenware bowl that she can warm the oils by the fire. Finally she signs resignedly and pours a quantity of both into the bowl and swirls the oils together; then she rises and walks over to set it by the hearth.

As she is removing the shell combs that hold her hair in place, the Greatjon enters their chamber and shuts the door behind him. She turns to him and sees that he looks tired.

"Have our guests retired, my lord?"

"No," he replies wearily, "but Smalljon is with them still…" he trails off and then smiles to see her sitting at her dressing table. "I would much rather be with you anyway, Sansa." He coughs suddenly.

"I am pleased to hear you say so; I-I have something for you…" she says as she glances to the hearth.

When he sees what she has done, he is perplexed. "What is all this?"

Their chamber has several bearskin rugs. Sansa has never cared for them: they remind her of the dirty snowbear cloak, complete with the animal's head for a hood, that Mors Umber wears. But now she has dragged them to the hearth and piled them one atop another and added the furs from their bed.

"Prince Oberyn, my lord, has gifted us a Dornish remedy for your chest cold: I thought-"

"Oh gods," he groans, "not that perfumed oil that will have me stinking like a Planky Town whorehouse…begging your pardons, Sansa."

She drops her eyes before looking to him again. "I will needs take your word as to how such a place may smell, my lord," she tells him archly, "but I find the smell quite pleasing and invigorating. The prince swears that it will ease both your cough and labored breathing, and soothe your muscles and warm your skin," she continues hopefully.

"The Red Viper. Sansa, Prince Oberyn is known for using poisons; gods be good, all the Dornish are," he grumbles. "Do you not think I see how he looks at you? The only person his remedy is like to cure is you…of being Lady Umber. He'd like to see you widowed, I have no doubt of that."

Sansa's tummy twists inside her to remember the prince's words and the way he looked her over when last they spoke; but she cannot believe that he intends to poison his host when he had encouraged her to pleasure him.

"Prince Oberyn told me that he offered the remedy to the maester even before I returned to Last Hearth," she observes reasonably, as much to convince herself. "And if it should be poison, well, then he must certainly intend that we should perish together, my lord, for it was the prince who suggested that I should rub it into the skin of your back and chest. He- he said you might find that more…more pleasing," she tells him delicately and she sees that he is still hesitant. "Here," she stands and offers him her hand, "I thought that since you must be stripped to the waist, my lord, you would be more comfortable lying before the hearth fire: I have piled the rugs and furs for you to lie upon; and I have set the oil to warm-"

He takes her hand in both of his great big hands and speaks gently. "You are very sweet to want to care for me, my Sansa; but you needn't tend me like a nurse with a sick child."

She tilts her head as she looks up to him. She sees that he does wish to appear weak or sick and needing her help: he does want to think that she may pity him. She steps closer to him.

"Please, my lord," she says softly, "I to not tend you merely out of duty; I truly wish to comfort you because…because I love you…and wish you to be well again"

He stares at her with an uncertain surprise and blinks before speaking again: "You…you-"

She steps even closer to him now. "I love you very much, my lord," she repeats as she looks up into his eyes.

He still looks down at her; then he looks to the furs before the hearth and back to her.

"Well," he begins and clears his throat slightly to clear the hoarseness that threatened to take his voice away, "well: that…that is settled then, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is, my lord. Will you lie before the fire to keep warm?" she asks.

He nods once curtly and then again before reaching to untie the furs he is wearing. Once he has shed the outer fur, Sansa reaches to untie the neck of his woolen shirt and to help lift it over his head. Then she takes his hand again and leads him to the furs spread out on the floor of their chamber. He kneels on the furs and then bends to sprawl awkwardly on them face-down. Sansa reaches to brush his shaggy grey hair away from his neck and shoulders and then pours oil into her palm and lets it trickle onto his broad back.

"Is it warm enough?" she whispers soothingly.

"Hm," he grunts breathily, "I guess so."

"Good." Sansa spreads the oil evenly over his skin in slow circles until he is covered; then she begins to rub firmer circles, pressing with her fingertips as she does.

After several moments, her husband begins to make little rumbling sounds of pleasure that grow deeper as she continues to rub him firmly. She feels his muscles relax their tension under her gentle hands. Instinctively, she presses the heels of her hands alongside his spine and then moves outwardly, and he grunts and then exhales in a deep sigh. The aroma of the oil is filling the room as well as her senses and she can feel herself breathing deeper; she hopes that it is helping with his congestion, but she is happy just to touch him and to know his body is responding to her ministrations. She hums airily under her breath and watches as the firelight flickers across his skin and smiles languidly to herself. When she has worked her way across his back and down from his shoulders to where his breeches reach his waist, she sits back on her heels and wrings and rubs her hands together to lessen the strain of pressing hard onto his strong body. The hearth fire continues to crackle and hiss and sputter but otherwise their chamber is dark and silent. Finally, she leans forward to whisper softly to him.

"My lord, will you turn over now?"

She thinks she hears him sigh and so waits for him to rouse himself, but instead he takes a deep breath and emits a loud snore, startling her. Sansa sits back on her heels again and touches her fingertips to her mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise that threatens to erupt into a giggle. He certainly had need of the relaxation it has afforded him, she surmises now. My poor dear: he must have been very tired.

Sansa decides to let him sleep rather than waking him to move to their bed. Standing now, she stretches and wipes her hands clean of the eucalyptus oil before reaching behind herself to unlace her gown. She undresses carefully and leaves her clothing across the back of a chair for the young girl who is helping her new maid. The new woman is older, and kind; but she tires quickly and struggles to climb the stairs and Sansa does not think she will be able to keep her in her service once Winter has ended. Despite her gnarled hands, the woman braids her hair swiftly and beautifully, and so Sansa intends that she be set to teach girls to weave fabric in the Spring, so that she may sit at her task. She hopes then to send for a new maid from White Harbor or Torrens' Square. She quickly dons her bedgown but leaves her robe at the foot of their bed before returning to the fire. She stands looking down at her sleeping husband before kneeling beside him and then curling up next to him on the furs.

She gazes at him in the firelight and then reaches out to trace her fingertips across his shoulder and down his back again before moving closer to him. She can smell the eucalyptus oil and feel the warmth of his body next to hers as she lays her head down onto the soft furs.

He will be well again. We will have more time together.

Soon, she is asleep.

….

She wakes with a start when she feels the body beside her move suddenly. Sansa lifts her head slightly and sees her husband look around confusedly.

"How-" he begins but then he settles again. "I fell asleep."

"Yes," Sansa whispers as he turns onto his side to face her. "I did not wish to wake you, and we are warm here and so I came to sleep beside you."

"Hm," he remarks sleepily, "shall we stay here? Are you warm enough?"

"Yes, I think so. Would you like for me to rub more oil onto your back, or onto your chest now? It seemed to ease your breathing and help you sleep soundly."

"Would you not rather sleep, Sansa? You must be tired with guests in the castle," he yawns now.

"I- you seemed to enjoy the…the oil and its benefits. It would please me to offer more comfort to you."

He smiles warmly at her. "Well, I would like to please you by letting you please me, my sweet Sansa," he tells her as he rolls onto his back and looks up at the ceiling. "I don't believe any man has ever had to do so little to please a lady as I am doing now," he jests mildly, and Sansa giggles.

She sits up now and reaches across him for the little bowl of oils and, as she does, he runs big warm hands up her arms caressingly. She pours oil into her palm and rubs her hands together before placing them on his abdomen and rubbing slowly up his chest into the thick hair that covers him. The strong, sharp smell fills the air again and she begins to rub the same firm circles with pressing fingertips up his body towards his neck before running her hands down his arms. All the while he smiles up at her and sighs and grunts when she lingers over a spot of hard muscle to loosen the tension. Within a short time, there is a far sweeter tension growing between them, and Sansa feels her face flush under his warm gaze. He reaches a great hand to cup her face on one side.

"You are more beautiful than dreams: do you know that, my Sansa? I should know, for I dreamed of you so often at the Wall…and beyond," he murmurs to her.

Sansa smiles gently and continues stroking his skin with her fingers. "I missed you very much when we were apart," she whispers to him,

"All I could think of was being with you in our bed, of holding your sweet, warm body close to keep warm and of seeing those big blue eyes and that fiery hair of yours…it warmed my blood and kept me from freezing at night," he coughs briefly now.

"I- I thought of you as well…" she tells him hesitantly, "of…of lying together so…so I would not feel so very lonely without you," she whispers almost hoarsely, uncertain that saying such thing are appropriate for a lady. "I- I wanted so much to be in your arms…where I am safe and happy," she reaches now to stroke her hand down his grey beard and then through is thick hair. "I am so very happy that we are here together, my lord, and that we will have more time together-" she draws a breath suddenly to keep herself from becoming overwhelmed and teary-eyed.

He reaches out with his arms now as he sits up. "Come kiss me then, Sansa: I'll keep you safe and happy now," he says in a voice tight with emotion.

She leans towards him and puts her hands on his strong shoulders, and they come together with a full, soft kiss that takes both of their breaths away. They continue kissing, full kisses and little teasing kisses at the corners of each other's mouth and bottom lip as they look into each other's eyes. Sansa runs her hands slowly down his hairy chest, inhaling the sharp scent of the eucalyptus and the deep, warm smell of the skin on his neck under his beard. His great big hands slip around her waist and pull her close to him, and she feels her swelling breasts press into his chest and she stretches her arms up around his neck. Her heart begins to beat faster and she gives a squeaky whimper.

The Greatjon chuckles: "What's this then?" he murmurs close to her. "Has my lady wolf turned into a mouse?"

Sansa blushes and shakes her head. "No, I-" She wants to tell him how happy she is that they will lie together again but his grip on her waist tightens and he presses his lips over her ear.

"I'll get better than a squeak from you," he growls.

I'll have that song, she remembers now; and her shyness dissipates like the little streams of steam blown off a cup of tea. She looks him boldly in his eyes now. "Mayhaps you'll even have a song from me," she whispers huskily, "but I am no mouse to squeak before a great giant."

She kisses him again, hungrily and passionately, and draws a long limber leg over his middle to straddle him. She can feel the hardness of him through his breeches, and so reaches to unlace the placket. Once she pulls back the woolen fabric and uncovers his engorged manhood, she takes it between her hands and rubs it slowly.

"Mmph," he stifles a grunt by biting down on his lip but his body quivers at her touch. "Are you cold?" he asks.

Sansa shakes her head no and so he grips the thin fabric of her bedgown in his fists and begins to drag it up her body until she needs raise her arms so that he can pull it over her head and leave her naked to his gaze in the firelight.

"Beautiful…" he murmurs and coughs once. "My beautiful Sansa," he repeats and trails his fingertips down her neck and throat and between her breasts and under the fullness of their curve before gently palming them with calloused hands.

Sansa closes her eyes and lets her head fall back, surrendering herself to his caresses as she gropes to find his member again. She rubs the length of it with her closed hand while she swirls her fingertips over the rounded head of it with her free hand. When he mirrors her swirling motion over her nipples with his thumbs, she gasps and looks at him dreamily with dark blue, heavy lidded eyes.

"Lie back now," she whispers, "and let me love you."

The Greatjon curls back down slowly into the furs and his hands run gently down her arms as she braces herself by placing her palms flat against his chest. She gives a hum of contentment as she feels herself open to his solid, straining manhood but then her breath catches and she winces suddenly.

"It hurts you?" he asks, alarmed for her.

"No," she grits out, but it does hurt. She has not lain with him in many moons and she needs take a deep breath to ease him inside her slowly and gently. She sighs now to feel herself stretched tightly around him, and to sense the throbbing in his body as well as her own and to hear the pounding of her own heart and of swiftly coursing blood thud dully in her ears. "Oh," she exhales breathlessly now.

"Easy now," he soothes her though his own voice is tense and his jaw is clenched tightly. "We have time, Sansa…take your time…"

She smiles tenderly down on him as she begins to rock her hips slowly. "Yes," she tells him happily, "we have time…and each other…" Despite their words, she feels her excitement build quickly and her entire body is flushed and tingling. She cannot stop from tightening her insides around him as she moves, making him pant and shiver and stretch out his neck as he arches his back and head. He cannot stop from gripping her hips and pulling her down harder onto him; and the rocking of her hips soon becomes a steady bucking that makes them both gasp and keen and cry out as they peak together in a drawn-out shudder of joined bodies and tense, clutching limbs.

"Say it again," he commands gruffly, almost desperately: "Say it-"

"Oh, I love you," she cries as her pleasure courses through her and makes her feel warm and glowing and alive; so alive and happy that she nearly laughs, and then they are both laughing softly as she subsides and reaches forward to lay her head down on his chest to hear his beating heart and feel his arms come around her to hold her to him. She is as wilted as a tall wildflower after a heavy rain, and as sated and blooming. She inhales the scent of eucalyptus from his skin and hair and smiles against him.

"I love you so very much…and we have time," she breathes.