Author's Notes: Three more shortish chapters and this tale is done! What is with me and the prompts…I simply don't seem to be able to write a short one-shot…

XV – "I knew…"

Sandor's morning was slow, his thoughts scattered and hard to pull together. Yet he was not used to allowing his inner turmoils to distract him – if he had, he would have spent half of his time doing nothing and moping over all the things that had gone wrong in his life. Not that the incident had been exactly wrong. And if not that, had it been right, then?

And suddenly Sandor realised that good things had never appeared to him precipitously but had sneaked in when he had not been looking. The satisfaction of finding a place he felt at home; respect of his peers and companions; work he could put his mind and soul into.

Not knowing what else to do he turned to his task and after a few stops and starts it grabbed him in its hold once again. If anything, now he had a reason to be even more attuned to every detail under his touch.

Every now and then an unbidden memory flashed through Sandor's mind and he dropped his tools remembering the way how smooth the skin in her inner thighs had felt; how silken her hair; how gently her fingernails had scratched his back. It was disconcerting, it was wildly arousing and the memory caused both pain and pleasure. Then, after gathering his wits again, he shook his head and got back to work.

After the midday meal which he enjoyed sitting on the doorstep with his back leaning against the wall and the rays of sun falling on his face, Sandor closed his eyes and invited her back by his own will. He allowed himself to recollect every little moment, from the first whispered words until he had succumbed to deep sleep after exhausting himself in her arms.

He wondered once again why it had happened. Had it been her way to say goodbye? Had Doctor Elder's treatment helped the boy? Had Sansa and her son already left the inn to return to their palatial home?

Sandor didn't truly expect her to return but nonetheless, he was alerted by every sound and movement outside as the day and then evening went on.

Of course, she didn't come.

Sandor went to bed with little expectations; as the day had progressed he had become even more convinced that it had been an odd sort of goodbye and Sansa had done exactly as she had planned by disappearing from his side before the morning had arrived. Unfathomable, incomprehensible and inexplicable goodbyes – but surely she was gone by now.

And hence the feel of Sansa once again sneaking under his blanket took him by surprise. This time, though, he reacted swiftly, grabbing her wrists and holding them firmly against the pillow, staring at her flushed face.

"What the fuck is this? Why did you come last night? Why did you come now?"

Sansa had been taken by surprise; her eyes wide she breathed hard – but didn't struggle against his grip.

"I told you. I had to." She stared back at him, unflinching.

"Fuck you had to." Sandor couldn't tell why he was all of a sudden angry.

Sansa's features softened and she looked down, then up again. Her gaze was not hard this time but muted, almost pleading.

"I wanted to. I knew…" She stopped, looking away again.

Sandor knew it was not his face that disturbed her anymore – so what was it? He shook her, not too hard. "You knew what?"

She took a deep breath.

"I know now that all that time ago in the court you really cared for me. I didn't understand it then, but later I saw it in your actions and your words, even though you tried to cover it. I hope you don't think me presumptuous for saying so – but I do think I am right. And I knew you didn't do it because of my family's wealth or power or my father's ties with the King, or because anything to do with my position. Or because I looked like my mother."

Sandor was dumbfounded. What had that anything to do with this? It had been so long ago and both of them had been different people then. But there was truth in what she said, and he owed her that much.

"I did. I don't deny it, I wanted you. But you were just a child then. I would have never…"

A slight narrowing of her eyes interrupted him. He almost had.

That night.

XVI – "Come here then."

"…I didn't." Sandor replied stubbornly to the accusation that was never raised, uncomfortable about the unbidden glimpse into the past. He released Sansa's wrists and threw himself on his back, staring at the ceiling.

It was Sansa's turn to raise and hover above him, elbow resting on the mattress.

"You didn't. And hence I knew it was more than just wanting. That you were different. That your feelings towards me were different."

He didn't say anything. Didn't know what to say.

Sansa's long hair – combed and released from the elaborate hairdo of curls and ribbons – hang down her sides, its tips resting on his chest, tickling.

"I guess I wanted to experience how it would… feel to be with someone who cares."

Sandor couldn't follow her logic although he tried. She had been courted and married and she was beautiful and rich and kind… Something didn't add up.

"If that was all you wanted, I am sure there is no lack of men for that. You are a handsome woman, capable and kind. There are scores of men who'd want a woman like that, with or without your connections and fortune. And you are a free woman so nothing is stopping you."

Sandor spoke dryly, not sure what to think of Sansa's revelation. That husband of hers; 'weak' she had called him, and 'not always wise'. Well, if he hadn't fallen head over heels in love with his wife, he was all that and worse.

"But there is also the matter of my own feelings. And I told you that I thought of you a lot. I remembered you always." The last words were almost a whisper.

Sandor turned his head and looked at her. How could it be?

He didn't hate himself as much as he had used to – he didn't hate anything or anyone as much – but when it came to her there was doubt he had done absolutely nothing to earn her affections. Quite the contrary.

Or so he had thought.

Sandor stared at her for a long time, trying to decipher things she had said. Was this all only a misguided folly, an attempt to colour the dark past with rosy hues to make it more palatable? To conjure a love story from thin air…or from something that only could have been… If so, he suddenly felt sorry for her. He had found his peace and if she was still searching for hers - well, he wouldn't begrudge her that.

Calm came over him and he extended his hand to touch her cheek.

"Come here then."

She bent down and their lips met.

Afterwards, they rested peacefully side by side, Sansa snuggled against him and Sandor's arm curved around her shoulders. There was no need to talk.

It had been gentler this time, the urgency having transformed to something else. Reverence, perhaps. Gentleness. More kisses, more whispered words, more care in touch, fewer inhibitions. They had even laughed once when Sandor had gotten himself tangled in the sheets and struggled to lift himself on top of her. Easy laugh, her soft giggle and his low chuckle sounding in the stillness of the night.

"Come with me."

Interrupted from his reveries Sandor struggled to take in her meaning.

"Where?"

"To Norwich. To my estates. You could set up your workshop there. Surely people there need clocks as well. And you said yourself you do all kinds of repairs and have a way with widgets."

"Why?"

"You are still asking that question?"

Without conscious thinking, Sandor's mind flashed back to the last and only time he had visited a city since his escape from the capital. It had been only a small one, not even one of the great trading centres - and yet it had stifled him. Living in the country amongst his own people – yes, these people were his now - was the only way he could see his life going forward.

Then again, he hadn't been exactly offered any other choices so far, had he?

XVII – "If you let me."

Sounds and smells of the night surrounded them. It had been a warm evening and Sandor had left the window open, and now the smell of fresh earth and wet leaves permeated the air. Owls hooted in the forest on their deadly missions of tracking creatures of the night.

He was silent so long that Sansa shifted again and lifted her head.

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"I heard a proof that you are more a fool than I thought. I believed nothing would top you stealing here not once but twice – but this did it."

"Now you are just teasing me," she sighed, exasperatedly, but lay down again. Her fingers twirled in the hair of his chest, lazily.

"What would I do there?"

"I told you. Anything you want. Your clocks, other repairs. Every village would be happy to have a master clocksmith and a woodcarver as you."

"I would stay in the village and you in your mansion nearby. With your sons, and surrounded by your society friends."

"You could set up a shop in the estate if you wished. We have tradesmen doing their trade within our grounds. Most just prefer the village because there are more people there." She lifted her leg on top of his, knee on the thigh, in an innocent gesture that bore no hint of seduction. Sandor liked its weight there.

"My sons are almost grown up. Edouard is nearly finished with his schoolmaster and will soon travel to spend some time with my relatives in the North before taking up the duties of his position in earnest. Robert is much better now and with the continuing care following Doctor Elder's instructions should soon see him returning to his education as well."

"And you will sneak into my workshop when you have a chance? Without anyone noticing?" There was a hint of tease in Sandor's voice. Noble ladies were never alone but surrounded by other ladies, relatives and curious folk of all kinds, and their actions were scrutinised by all and sundry. Sansa's own words had confirmed as much.

Despite the flamboyance and loose habits of the new court, country gentry was as prudish as ever and even a hint of impropriety caused scandals.

"If you let me," she whispered into the hollow of his neck.

Sandor felt as if the world had turned upside down and he didn't know which way was up, which down. Something was not right in this setup – things simply didn't turn out this way. He stared at the ceiling for a long time but didn't see it.

"Sleep now, little bird. I will wake you up before the dawn so you can steal back to your room," he finally sighed.

"I should leave now," she whispered, "but maybe I can stay just for a moment…" – and almost as soon as the words left her mouth she fell asleep.

Sandor stayed awake and watched the moon and the sky and clouds, the light turning first to a lighter grey, then into a golden hue as the sun peeked above the horizon. He was not tired; he could not sleep in the face of such enormous offer.

He woke Sansa at a time when he knew most of the people were still abed, and she got up disorientated and yawning, slid on her plain dress and stepped softly out of the door. No kiss of goodbye, just a quick turn of a head and a smile.