Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews, I'm glad you guys are enjoying it and trust me, I appreciate the kind comments more than you know :) I hate that it's taking me so long to update but now that I'm back from vacation hopefully I won't be going weeks between new chapters anymore. Hopefully. Unfortunately stressful real life crap still gets in the way sometimes. Sigh. I swear, though, slowly but surely I'll finish this one :D Thanks for reading!

He could see the pleading in her eyes, and he hated that his anger was so nearly forgotten after just a few sweet chirps from the little bird. But he couldn't do this, couldn't spend the night with her, alone in the godswood, alone with Sansa Stark...

Could he?

Of course you can...and you can also give in to your baser instincts, give her what she thinks she wants and -

No. No.

Sandor must have been shaking his head, because suddenly Sansa tore her hands away from his. He caught a glimpse of the tears welling in her eyes as she spun away from him, and without hardly knowing what he was doing Sandor reached for her, clasping his hand over her shoulder to prevent her from flying away. She stiffened under his touch, but he was too strong for her, even now when he was being as gentle as he possibly could.

"Please release me," the little bird said, but it was a cold sort of chirp that made her courtesy sound as empty as he'd once thought it was.

"Will you say the same tonight, when we're alone in the godswood and I've drunk the flagon of wine I'll bring with me and kiss you and - "

"Perhaps I will," she interrupted, "and if I do, you'll do as I say, because you don't have it in you to force yourself upon me."

"And how do you know that, little bird?" he rasped, clenching at her shoulder though he didn't mean to do so, feeling her tense in pain and hating himself for it.

"Because you could have forced yourself on me quite a few times by now, yet it was I who kissed you. And you have always let me go before." Sansa Stark turned to him then, her eyes meeting his in that way so few others dared to. Her look reminded him of the serpentine, of the top of Maegor's, of her bedchamber with wildfire glowing in the sky, of their first time in the godswood together…and of their last time in the godswood together.

And he knew that she was right.

They arrived in the godswood after the moon had risen high in the sky, armed with a sack of food, a flagon of wine, two cups, and several blankets. Sandor was at turns amused and confused at how this had come about, but before he could think of getting too comfortable they once again stumbled upon Ser Dontos - only this time, the fool-turned-knight was not sleeping. He smelled strongly of wine and was pacing back and forth, staggering unsteadily in his usual drunkenness, and though Sandor himself turned to wine more often than not he could not help but curl his lip in disgust. This man is more a mess than I ever was.

Sandor's loathing of Dontos flared up even more when the little bird drew a sharp breath and dropped back a step, presumably so that Sandor would be seen first. Does this arse come here often to watch her, to bother her, to repeat any words she might utter in prayer to Joffrey or the Queen...or even the Imp? he wondered.

"I - err - Hou - Cleg - erm - " Dontos stammered, rubbing at his eyes as if he must be seeing things.

"You again. Out," Sandor growled, and as Dontos hastened to obey he noticed Sansa standing just behind.

"My...my lady..." he began again, but one low grunt from Sandor sent Dontos on his way. Sandor watched him go, saw him glance back at them - no, at the little bird - several times, before finally disappearing from view.

"How often is he here?" Sandor asked, fixing his eyes on her so that she couldn't lie to him...but Sansa looked away, didn't answer at all, and so he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "How often is he here?" Sandor repeated, his emphasis on the question sounding as threatening as he meant it to do.

"I...he..." Sansa glanced in the direction Dontos had gone; she was flustered, perhaps even...frightened?

"What is he playing at, little bird? What are you playing at?"

All at once Sansa began crying, went limp in his arms and whispered, "He promised to take me away from here."

Sandor released her, anger and frustration and somehow even shame burning through him like the fire he hated so. "He did, did he? And you would go? With him?" The real question hung unspoken between them, and when her shoulders shook and she did not reply he knew the truth of it. That stupid drunken Dontos had offered exactly what he himself had offered - but she had agreed to go with Dontos, she must have, while she had refused him, refused him and then asked him to stay...

You are more the fool than he, dog.

"Why don't you ask Ser fucking Dontos to spend the night in the godswood with you, then?" Sandor snarled, his lip curled in disgust at - at what? At her? At Dontos, the fool?

Or at himself?

Sandor took another step back. Part of him wanted to leave her here; another part of him wanted her to tell him that none of this was true, to beg him to stay - again.

"Please, se - Sandor. Please. He contacted me...met me here...before...before you...before I knew..." Sansa was reaching for him now, but that little bit of pride that he kept tucked away, deep down inside of him, was rearing its head just now.

"Enough," he said sharply. "Enough. Tell me true, girl - were you still thinking on going with him, whenever he found the courage to make good on his promise?" I stayed for you. I stayed...

"I...I don't know..." she admitted, begrudgingly. And then the words tumbled from her, and idiot that he was, he listened. "You scared me, that night...when you asked...you were drunk...I knew you could protect me, but...it could have been a trick, and you...you were always so hateful...things are different now, I know this, I know you...for so long I was not even sure as to when he would take me, not until..."

Here she paused for so long that he forced himself to rasp, "Until what?"

"I told him that the Tyrells thought to marry me to Willas...and then he promised to take me the night of Joffrey's wedding." Sansa's tone was unsure; Sandor knew that she thought she shouldn't be telling him this. "But then the Lannisters..."

He knew what had come next; how could she not see the connection? "You told that fool that the Tyrells wanted to whisk you away, and next thing you know you're married to the Imp. Do you not see what they've done, girl? That arse is not working alone, he's far too stupid and - " Sandor stopped himself from saying drunk. After all, how often had he been sober, especially in the past? Yet apparently Sansa had not thought of all this before; the recognition that dawned on her face just then was quickly replaced by anger, then by fear.

"Oh," she said. "Oh...oh, I worried at times that this was a trap...but I hoped...I hoped..."

"My guess is that he was going to take you away and conveniently get caught. He would no longer be a fool, and in exchange they could name you a traitor and take your head as they did your father's. Stupid girl. Didn't I tell you they were all liars? How could you think Ser Dontos was any different?" Even as he said the words Sandor knew that he was saying too much, yet he could not stop himself. "But take your chance, if you will. Go with him, and see how things turn out. As for me...well, I suppose I'll stick around until I find another convenient moment to leave, and to hells with you."

He didn't mean a word of what he was saying, he knew that, but gods, she made him so damned angry! So silly, so simple, so trusting, and apparently she'd never really listened to a word he'd said. "Here." Sandor shoved the provisions at her. "Keep your vigil, but do it alone." He had to get away from here, from her. He should have done so long ago. He turned to leave, allowing the sack to drop to the ground when she didn't take it from him quickly enough, but then he felt her hand on his wrist and knew that she was gripping him with all her strength.

"No. Please, please don't go. I'm sorry, you're right, I was...I shouldn't have...I'll go with you, with you. If you'll take me I'll go, but it will have to be soon, before the wedding, or during, or else Dontos...I...who knows what will happen..." The little bird was crying, apologizing, begging...

"And if I can't? Can't get you away, take you away, do what you're asking? Then what?" Sandor growled, but he knew as soon as he'd spoken that he was lost. He'd let go of his chance to walk away from her...again.

"You will." She gave him a tremulous smile, tears shining in her eyes. "You will. I trust you."

Sandor felt the twitch of her hand as it tightened around his wrist, and though he hated himself for it a hot surge of lust burned in him just then...and before he knew what he was doing he yanked the arm she was holding back toward himself, wrapping his other arm about her waist to press their bodies together. Gods, her breasts were fairly heaving, though with what he couldn't say. Something similar to what he was feeling, perhaps, but he could see that she was still upset, confused, concerned...his little bird, he'd hurt her again. He hadn't meant to do so, and he didn't know how to fix it, really...all he could think to do was bend his head down and press his mouth to hers. She went nearly limp in his grasp, her hand dropping from his wrist as she wrapped her arms around him, let him part her lips with his tongue. It defied all logic, that Sansa Stark could fairly melt into him like this when moments before he'd...he'd...

Yet just now none of that mattered, it seemed. He would take her away from here, he would, but at the moment this was the only thing he could focus on - the little bird enveloped in his arms, kissing him, wanting to kiss him, and he had her here - alone - in the godswood.

For the rest of the night.