Arya sharpened Needle while Sansa paced the room, anxiously awaiting Sandor's return. Outside the sounds of the changing of the guard echoed through the hall, signaling time for the noon meal.

"Where could he be?" Arya muttered, swinging her legs off the bed and kicking the trunk below. "It's almost time to eat."

"I do not know; perhaps he is in conference with Father and Robb." Sansa rubbed her head fretfully. Or arguing with them; at this rate it will be a miracle if Sandor doesn't end up in the cells beside Jaime…

Arya turned to Sansa, her eyes dark and serious. "Do you think the Hound will agree to take me away, as Father said? I know I was rough on him during our travels."

Sighing, Sansa set both hands on Arya's shoulders, squeezing them lightly. "Of course he will. You are his goodsister. Now, go to your own room and try to rest. Sandor will be along any minute."

"Okay," Arya nodded hesitantly. "Tell me once you've talked to him."

"Certainly; as soon as I talk to him, I will send word to you," Sansa smiled reassuringly. "Now hurry along."

After Arya left, Sansa lit the fireplace and the candles, then opened a bottle of wine to breathe. No doubt Sandor will be in a foul mood when he returns. Remembering her mother's training, she bustled about the room, eager to make things as pleasant as possible for her husband.

The steward brought bread and cheese, leek soup, stewed rabbit and honeycakes for their afternoon meal. After setting the table, Sansa poured two glasses of wine before changing into her finest lace dressing gown. She loosened her hair the way he liked, dabbed perfume behind each ear and turned down the furs on the bed in case he wanted to rest after their meal.

When Sandor entered the room, he looked around suspiciously before chuckling low. "You mean to bribe me, Little bird?" He asked, the wicked gleam in his eye causing Sansa to flush nervously. Leisurely he traced his finger along her jawline, looking very much like a dog about to devour his prey.

His eyes turned from steel to dark ash as he regarded her. Suddenly Sandor gripped her chin tightly, his jaw clenching as he did so. "You know I don't like these fucking games you highborns are used to playing. If you want something, lass, you only need ask."

Exasperated, Sansa tried to pull away, but Sandor tightened his grip, pulling her body flush against his as he spoke. "Well? Do we have an agreement? Do you mean to tell me the truth?"

"Well nothing! How dare you insinuate I would lie or deceive you! Turn loose of me at once!" She jerked her head back as she squirmed in his arms. Sandor chuckled and held fast, her pitiful wriggling leading him to refuse to let go.

"I knew you would be frustrated after dealing with Father, Robb and Jaime; I merely wanted to make you comfortable," she explained angrily. "My mother trained me thus, Sandor; there is no harm in it. Must you always be suspicious?"

"Don't play with me, Sansa," his breath felt hot against her cheek. "I enjoy you but I won't put up with your chirping those stupid songs to get your way with me." Sandor allowed his eyes to heatedly travel over her figure. "You want something bad enough to put on quite a show for me-not that I am complaining, mind you."

Averting her eyes, Sansa lowered her head and rested her hands on his chest. "Sandor, I am not trying to persuade you to do anything; but I am desperate, it is true." She then met his gaze, which at once softened as he observed her. "Father has told me the worst imaginable thing…you cannot imagine what Robb has done!"

Heaving a great sigh, Sandor nodded and loosened his grip. "The young wolf betrothed Arya to the bastard of Bolton, aye; your father told me. I told him that degenerate little bastard would get what was coming to him with such a match. Your sister would gladly take that thin blade of hers and carve his liver in front of the septon." Sandor chuckled mirthlessly. "Ramsay wouldn't know what hit him."

Sansa's lip quivered; unable to hold back her tears, she looked down at her hands. "There is nothing funny about this situation, nothing at all."

"Worried a bit, are you?" Sandor rasped in her ear, pulling her close once more. "Want me to kill Bolton's bastard for you?"

"Yes," Sansa breathed against his chest. "gods forgive me, I do, if it comes to that. Or else take my sister away with us, steal us away as you've always said you would. I know it is a lot to ask, Sandor, but I cannot bear to see Arya wed to that monster."

"Your Father already asked me to do it, little bird, and I said yes," Sandor whispered into the crown of her hair, his admission bringing a flood of relieved tears from Sansa. "Shh, easy now, lass." He squeezed her in a tight embrace. Fingering the lace material of her gown, he added, "I'll not make you pay for it, either."

"Oh Sandor, you mustn't think I would manipulate you in such a way," Sansa hurriedly clarified, "I was telling the truth: I did mean to put you in a good mood and make things nice for you, to show you that I appreciate and love you."

He raised his eyebrow at her warily but said nothing.

"Look at me," Sansa tipped his face down to meet her gaze. "You know I speak the truth."

Sandor's deep grey eyes took on a softer expression still; gently the man brushed her hair from her eyes. "Aye, I see it in you, lass." He smoothed his hands over her sides and settled them on her hips. "You're not a manipulator, and a terrible liar, too, which I mean as a compliment. You must ignore my foolishness, wife-too many years with Cersei, I'm afraid." He sighed, the sound resigned and ireful.

"I-I am loathe to ask anything more of you, especially where Arya is concerned," Sansa sheepishly acknowledged. "I know you are not fond of her."

"I like teasing her and she is a pain in my ass for true, but I wouldn't allow any of your kin to end up with the Boltons, you best believe."

Sansa sobbed in relief. "Thank you, my love-thank you for everything!" She brought his head down and kissed him with a tenderness that took Sandor's breath away. Overwhelmed, he cleared his throat and gently moved away from her, shame filling his face. "Let's eat, lass."

Readily agreeing, Sansa eagerly went about fixing a plate for him and then one for herself before she sat down across from him. "Come here." He growled, patting his leg and staring at her heatedly. Laughing, Sansa settled herself on his lap and took his plate in her hands. "Forgive me," he rasped against her ear. "Say you will."

"I forgive you," Sansa leaned into him. "What would you like first?"

"You." Sandor growled, bringing his mouth to her neck and nibbling there; Sansa sighed and rested her back against his chest, reveling in his embrace. Chuckling, Sandor gestured to the plate. "But that rabbit smells tasty, too."

Smiling, Sansa delicately pulled the meat off the bone with a knife and fork and held it up to his mouth.

Frowning he shook his head. "With your fingers, wife."

Blushing heatedly, Sansa took a piece from the tines and placed it to Sandor's lips. Sandor then took her fingers into his mouth as he captured the morsel, gently nibbling and sucking them clean before pulling away with a devilish grin.

"Sweet." He murmured approvingly.

As they ate, the couple discussed the situation at hand.

"What did Father and Robb say when he returned?"

Scowling, Sandor pursed his lips together. "Your brother means to trade Jaime for gold at the Frey wedding, along with Gendry."

"Oh good gods! What is Robb thinking?" Sansa wrung her hands. "He cannot possibly believe the Lannisters will let Gendry walk away from such an event. Sandor, they will kill him-and Robb too! A Lannister always pays his debts!"

"Aye; very likely, that." Sandor gently stilled her hands a popped a bit of honeycake into Sansa's mouth. "Fool boy; your father looked as though he'd seen a White Walker when your kingly brother spoke. Even Jaime-"

"What?" Sansa probed, needling his side. "What did Jaime do?"

"He told Robb he'd be better off letting me take his head than to go to the Twins."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that advice was well received." After a moment, she whispered, "What are we going to do?"

"Your brother, goodsister and uncles make for the Twins tomorrow to arrange Arya's betrothal and begin the wedding celebrations. Your father and mother will stay behind on the premise that you and your sister need time to recuperate and that I will bring you and Gendry along in three days. After the king leaves, we lit out of here with Arya and Gendry."

"The Lannisters will kill Robb as certain as we are sitting here; good gods, what is the matter with my brother?" Eyes widening, Sansa looked upon her husband, who shrugged and stared at her intently in return. Something in his manner made her suspicious-was there more to it than Sandor was willing to divulge to her? "And what of Father and Mother?"

"They will rendezvous with your brother and then make for the north to collect your younger brothers. Your Father means to treat with the other northern lords as well on behalf of your brother." Sandor shifted his gaze and cleared his throat.

"But what if the Lannisters or Freys hurt my family-mayhap even take them prisoner?" Sansa anxiously went on.

"Your father tried dissuading him, lass, but he won't hear of it; stubborn fool," Sandor shrugged once more. "He's determined to collect a war chest on the kingslayer and ally with the Freys and Boltons through marriage."

"But could not Father forbid it? He is the Warden of the North, and perhaps more rightfully king of the North than-"

"Sansa, Robb's a man now, and a fool one at that," Sandor interrupted, "Power has gone to his head. In any case, once a man takes hold of an idea, he's loathe to let it go."

"Yes of course," Sansa mumbled, bitter tears staining her cheeks. "Even if it means his death."

"I tried to convince your father to take Robb north but he won't do it. All he said was, "Willful and dead before his time," Sandor huffed. "You know what he meant?"

"Yes," Sansa cried in earnest, "It is how he described his sister Lyanna." Sobbing, she buried her face into his chest.

"You won't end up like her, lass, you or your sister, believe that." Sandor tipped her chin toward him and then stroked the length of her hair soothingly. "You aren't going to want to hear this, but it needs saying just the same. I don't give a buggering shit about your brother or your mother and father or this bloody war. I'll not risk you to try to save them. All I care about is you, you and the wolf bitch. I promised when we wed that I would take care of you, keep you safe. I mean to do it or die trying, one."

Stunned at his admission, Sansa stared in the steely gray gaze of her husband. Though it pained her to hear Sandor admit he did not care for her kin, he already made his true feelings about her family known to her many times. During their travels, Sandor would drink too much wine, then shout and swear he would never forgive them for not trying to save her and her sister from the Lannisters with a fervency that pained her deeply. Tenderly Sansa stroked his face. "And I care for you, my love; you above all. I trust you."

After a while, Sandor took away her hand from his face and kissed it while running his fingers through the length of her hair. "Your sister is more like me at her age than I care to admit; mayhap I can do for her what no one did for me." The burned side of his face twitched as his spoke.

"You already have, Sandor," she kissed his cheek tenderly while stroking the burned side of his face. "You promised to keep us safe. You have kept your word, and you will do it again, I am certain." Turning his face up to hers, Sansa whispered against his mouth. "I love you for it, Sandor." Sighing, she kissed him deeply before asking, "Where will we go?"

"Once the Freys realize our deception, they are bound to set a bounty for Arya's return, as will the Lannisters for Gendry, unless the kingslayer manages to talk that little shit out of it."

"That's highly unlikely," Sansa murmured, she knowing just as well as Sandor how determined the young king on the Iron throne was to hold his claim. "He means to kill Stannis; I do not see why he would do any different with a half sibling, one bastard born and older than him at that."

Sandor nodded. "Your father has given me a map to a minor holdfast in the Vale he had built for you on the land gifted to him by Hoster Tully on the day he and your mother wed."

"This is wholly unbelievable! Father had a holdfast built for me? Why?"

"He said that he hoped if anything went badly for you, that it would give you a place to escape, else mayhap it would be an inheritance for your sons. He meant it to keep you safe."

Sansa stared blankly at him. "…so you would not end up like his sister."

"Oh."

"We needs tell your sister, but not everything, understand?" Sandor stared levelly at her, and Sansa nodded eagerly. "Not Robb's plans for Gendry or they'll be no holding her back."

"Yes, certainly. I'll call for her directly."

"You do that," Sandor murmured into her ear, pulling her close to his chest and allowing his fingers to trace the curve of her breast through the lace material of her bodice. "And afterward, I want dessert; understand?"

"Yes," Sansa stammered, a bright flush illuminating her cheeks as she spoke. "I-I want that too."

With that she scurried off to Arya's rooms, leaving Sandor to his wine and lascivious thoughts.