"Surely that's a jape!" Arya said in shock. "You'd let some other man have her? After all your pining away for her, laying against that tree when you thought you were dying, crying about how she didn't give you the song, and how you should have . . . ."
"Enough!" He roared, slamming his hand on the table.
The little she-wolf wasn't intimidated. "Pretty little bird, blah blah blah." She mocked him. "You're in love with her! Stop denying it. You chased her all around King's Landing, saving her arse for something or someone. Don't pretend it wasn't for yourself. Why'd you kiss her in her room that night of the Battle of the Blackwater?"
"I never kissed her." He denied it calmly as a matter of simple fact.
"You did! Sansa told me all about it. Tell him, Sansa!"
Sansa nodded.
"I never kissed you, girl." He said gently but firmly.
"Yes. In my room, I remember. I closed my eyes, and you kissed me. You were too drunk to remember."
"No. I remember it well, drunk as I was. You closed your eyes because you couldn't bear to look at me. I demanded a song, and you sang. If I would have kissed you, I promise I would never have forgotten it, and I would never have been able to stop myself . . . ." His throat was tightening.
"Told you! He's in love!" Arya interrupted.
Sansa stood up and walked over to his chair. "I didn't close my eyes because of your face. I was long-accustomed to you by then. Didn't you realize that, after the song, when I touched your face?"
His face grew hot. She was staring into his eyes, seeking some recognition, trying to read his memory through his eyes.
"I closed my eyes because I thought you were about to kiss me. So many times I've thought of that kiss. It was a dream, then? My imagination?"
"Seven hells!" Arya's voice reminded them of her presence in the room.
The Hound was determined to change the subject. He turned to Arya. "You played a dangerous game girl, calling yourself Wenton and feeding me some horse shit about a Fiery Mermaid, singing and pissing yourself, seasick and that bit with the serving girl behind the winesink. "
Arya bowed her head. "You fell for it. I take credit for all but the seasickness. That couldn't be helped. And Wenton was an exceedingly clever guise for a girl who 'went on' quite a journey to bring you here." She turned to Sansa, "As for you," she accused, "all your stupid little songs are about him. The night I found you here in Lorath, you whispered to me in the bed that you wished that he . . . ."
"Arya!" She screamed. "That was a secret between sisters! Please don't!" She pleaded.
Arya walked over to her sister, who was still standing at the Hound's chair, "Tell him how you snuggled up under his white cloak on the floor after he left you, even though you had a perfectly good feather bed and a blanket not five paces away! Oh, and that handkerchief. Where is that bloody handkerchief you drag around?" Arya reached into the top of her sister's dress, near Sansa's left breast. She yanked out a white handkerchief and threw it on the table. He immediately recognized it as his own.
Wordless and defeated, Sansa began crying, again.
"Out!" He proclaimed, and dragged Arya by the shoulder to the door.
"I'm going, but not because you told me to go. My bath is getting cold." She closed the door behind her.
He turned to Sansa, gently wiping her tears with a new handkerchief. "You are too trusting, Little Bird. I was a dangerous man who held a dagger to your throat, and neither of us should ever forget that. I did a shit job of protecting you, and when I thought I was dying, it was my great regret. I am old, broken, and bound for seven hells. Still, I'm offering you whatever you'd have of me. I could stay here, keep you safe, be your sword and your shield. I might lurk in dark corners, but I promise to never let myself into your bed chambers, drunk or otherwise. I won't hurt you. Just tell me what you want. Do you want to stay here, or do you want go home?"