Sandor woke to the little bird nestled in his chest, their bodies intertwined with one another.

He was startled by the intimacy they shared. She was deeply asleep, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath, her auburn curls spilling wildly around her.

Sometimes he'd wake with the length of her body pressed into his front, the throb in his small clothes causing him to wake. He'd often leave the room to relieve himself in privacy.

But this was different. Sandor Clegane suddenly felt acutely uncomfortable and rose out of bed. The sun had yet to rise.

"Sandor?" Sansa asked, her voice thick with sleep. When she called out for him like that he felt completely drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. His name was a often a question: are you there? Where are you going? The little bird knew she was safe in his presence and was often worried when he would wake so abruptly and go to leave the room.

"I'm here, little bird. Just needed a drink."

"Mm, okay." Sansa mumbled into the sheets, as she pulled them around her. She was fast asleep once more.

Sandor didn't know what would kill him first: the intimacy they so briefly shared, or his lust for her. Slowly, emotions that he didn't know how to deal with were beginning to consume him the way wildfire engulfs a forest. At first the feelings were merely trivial, ignorable even. But, in moments like these he felt as if he was a pile simmering coals and Sansa was oil that set his body aflame.

He understood how to deal with lust, yes, but he couldn't just fuck Sansa Stark as he pleased. But, he could. It was his right. She was his wife, his property. His. They even had the blessing of the buggering Seven, but he wouldn't bed her. As much as he wanted to, he had to deny himself, over and over. Bedding her was what Joffrey and the whole bloody lot of them wanted. Sansa's honor won't be compromised just because a hungry old dog like me can't control himself, he thought. Once they reached The Twins he'd willingly give his wife to another man. The thought made him livid, but it had to be done.

Sansa woke a few hours later, to find her lord husband sleeping in a chair facing the room's only window. He did not come back to bed, Sansa found the thought strange. Why fall asleep in an old chair that's too small, when you could sleep in a real bed? Tugging her cloak around her, she walked over to the hulking man asleep in the chair. She wanted to wake him, but before she could the sound from the old floorboards kicked him awake. Almost by instinct, he grabbed around his waist as if he were to draw his sword. For a moment his eyes were ablaze with fury, until they settled on her.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, my lord. I only meant to wake you," Sansa chirped.

"It's all right." He said, stretching out his body. With a deep sigh he ran his fingers through his long, shaggy black hair, and stayed like that for a few moments. When he was tired, or sleeping, Sansa felt as if he looked younger somehow. The lines on his face were more relaxed, and his burned side didn't seem to twitch as much.

"What are you staring at little bird?" He chided.

"You, my lord," she replied.

"What a sorry sight I am." He laughed to himself, then turned to Sansa.

"How old are you my lord?" Sansa asked, feeling uncomfortably grounded in place by his gaze.

"Is that what you're trying to figure out? How old of a dog I am?" He laughed, "Seven and twenty girl."

"Oh." Sansa said quietly. She had no clue what age he thought he was but didn't expect him to be that young. If he hadn't been burned she suspected he'd look much more his age.

"Why do you ask? Is this why you woke me?"

"Just curious my lord, I realized I never learned your age," she said honestly. Once their conversation was finished Sansa sat on the straw bed and began to comb her fingers through her hair. Sandor watched as she tried to remove all the tangles. Sansa Stark was a girl of almost four and ten, right on the cusp of womanhood. She might as well be the maiden herself, he thought quietly to himself.

It took them two days of vigorous riding after their stop at the Inn at the Crossroads to reach the Twins. Although they both silently wanted to stay at the Inn for a day longer, they needed to make haste if they were going to make it on time for the wedding.

Sandor could sense the anxiety that was eating Sansa away as they got closer and closer to their final destination. Every hour she'd quietly ask how much farther until they reached the Twins.

On the second day of riding, they rested upon a hill that looked over the Twins. Campfires and Northern men could be seen around the castle grounds.

"What if they don't want to see me Sandor? What if they turn us away?" She asked him anxiously.

"They won't turn us away, stop your chirping and your worrying," he said stiffly.

"Can we please go now? I can't wait another moment," Sansa asked, her voice quivering.

"We can stop for a bloody hour, your family isn't going anywhere." He replied, and the conversation was dropped. Sansa's anxiety must have rubbed off on Sandor, because he suddenly felt his heart sinking with worry. Is this the right thing to do after all? He thought, No. It must be.

Notes:

Decided to keep this one short and sweet, because the next chapters are going to get quite lengthy. This chapter continues from where chapter seven left off, right before Sandor and Sansa went to bed at the Inn at the Crossroad, and the chapter begins with them waking up to each other. They only stayed around a day before they were on the move again. Also, they're getting to know each other more- I mean if you were on a journey for more than a month you'd start to get to know you're companion right? I hope this clears any confusion up!

I've also decided to establish their ages: Sansa 13 1/2, and Sandor 27. I believe she was 14 when she married Tyrion so- I'm guessing her age is correct at this stage of the story.

They've reached the Twins! I hope the chapter title wasn't too misleading ;)

Thanks for reading and thank-you to queen-sansastark for being a wonderful beta 3