A/N: Last SanSan travel chapter! Woohoo! So, with this final chapter before their arrival in Windhelm, there are a few notes. One, the story that Sandor tells, for those of you who have in fact read it, is obviously paraphrased, but I did get the gist of it, so no one should find it terribly lacking. Also, for anyone who either doesn't know the Elder Scrolls deities, or just gets super confused between Dibella and Mara like my dad does, I will make the distinction clear. Dibella is the goddess of beauty, and Mara is the goddess of love. The latter is much more highly regarded, because Dibella's followers focus on sexual love and aren't particularly discerning about who they share that with. And...that should be all, so I'll stop talking now and you can start reading. Many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, The Thief of Virtue belongs to the former.

Rating: M for strong language, sexual references, and the consumption of alcohol

Sansa looked peaceful when she slept. There was a certain serenity in her features that was hard to find in the times of war they were forced to live in. It made Sandor wonder what she had been like before. Before her father had been killed. Before her brother had joined forces with the traitor Stormcloak and her name had kept her forever tied to the bloody conflict.

She still had some of her old innocence, but it was easy to forget that she was still young and inexperienced when she had her knees gripped tightly on either side of his broad chest and the heels of her perfect, delicate feet pressed to the small of his back.

Sandor's gaze wandered from the toes barely visible beneath the woolen blanket, along the curves that made it so hard to think of her as anything but a full-grown woman and to the pair of Tully blue eyes that fluttered open softly to meet his gaze.

"Good morning." The corners of her soft, full lips curved into a smile even as they moved to form her words and he felt himself smiling back without meaning to.

"The same to you, little bird. Did you sleep well?" He wasn't sure when exactly he had started to care.

Sansa stretched out, raising her arms above her head and pushing her chest forward in a flawless imitation of the goddess Dibella before slumping back against the pillows with a coy smile. "Oh yes, very. Although..." She stifled a giggle with the back of her hand. "You do have a tendency to snore."

Sandor grunted noncommittally and stood, fully aware of Sansa's appreciative gaze as he strode to the other side of the room, flaunting his state of undress just as she had moments before. "My lungs give me trouble in the winter is all," he grumbled, tossing her a brilliantly red apple.

Sansa raised an eyebrow and bit into the fruit, the juice running down her chin and dripping into the space between her breasts. "Oh, surely." Sandor scowled. Sansa beamed.

"When did you get to be such a nuisance, little bird?"

Her other eyebrow joined the first as her forehead creased in amusement. "I thought I always have been, Hound."

Sandor snorted and returned to the bed. "Aye, that's the truth."

Sansa leaned over to give him a kiss and when he wrapped a hand around her neck to deepen it, her apple dropped from her grasp, forgotten as her hands wound in the thin strands of his hair. After a moment Sandor pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, keeping himself just far enough away to prevent her from reclaiming his lips.

"We should be in Windhelm by today," he murmured, his stomach twisting involuntarily at the thought of handing his little bird over to Ulfric Stormcloak. Though her brother would be there—an honorable man by all accounts—the thought still made him uneasy. He didn't trust Stormcloak, and didn't think that the Jarl would be likely to overlook his former service for the Legion.

Sansa, on the other hand, smiled widely at his words and she tilted her head to kiss him again. "Thank the Divines. I'm not sure how much longer I can wait until you're mine for true."

Sandor snorted. "What's there left to have? You've already made yourself welcome in my bed."

"And your heart?" Her timid smile made her look her age and he frowned slightly before giving a grudging nod.

"Aye, that too."

"What's left," Sansa replied, returning to answer his question. "Is for us to be truly united in the sight of the gods."

"And the law."

She gave a slight nod of concession. "And the law, though the name Sansa Clegane on a piece of parchment means far less than the ring blessed by the Lady Mara that I will wear upon my finger."

Ignoring her comment about the Goddess of Love, Sandor raised his eyebrow and lightly traced her high cheekbone with his thumb. "Sansa Clegane, eh? I like how that sounds."

Sansa laughed, a clear, pure sound that echoed off of the crumbling walls of the fort and rang pleasantly in Sandor's ears. "As do I. And to think that I once wished to be Sansa Tyrell, or even Sansa Stormcloak." When Sandor's expression darkened, Sansa brushed her lips against his and smiled softly. "That was many years ago, when I was still a young girl who believed that the songs she loved so much were the only road to happiness."

"And what do you believe now?" he murmured between the soft presses of her lips against his own.

Sansa pulled away and shrugged slightly. "I don't know. But I trust the gods to guide me until I do." With that, she stood and retrieved her discarded smallclothes from the floor. "Now, let's be off before our inactivity makes poor Stranger get moody again."

Sandor chuckled quietly in agreement. "Even if we stayed, I don't know how much 'inactivity' there would be." He threw a devilish grin in Sansa's direction and she blushed prettily, but ignored him so that she could finish getting dressed for the road.

Once all of their things had been packed up, Sansa struggled with the heavy oak door to the fort's exterior and let out a small gasp of surprise when she finally managed to get it open. Sandor looked up sharply at the sound, but she was already gone. Trying not to panic, Sandor hastily gathered their things and all but charged through the door, only to find his lover flopped down in the freshly fallen snow with a wide grin across her face.

Frowning, Sandor grumbled to himself and settled their bags on Stranger's saddle as Sansa moved her arms and legs to make an impression in the fluffy white powder. "Stop fooling around, little bird," he barked with half-hearted irritation.

"Make me!" she shot back, her lower lip jutting out into a childish pout. Sandor met her gaze with a raised eyebrow and Sansa scrambled to her feet as he took a step forward, darting across the snow-covered yard toward the steps of the battlements. Easily outrunning the shrieking girl, Sandor reached down and caught her under her knees before tossing her roughly over his shoulder and swatting her playfully on the backside. She yelped in surprise and hit the back of his thigh in response, earning a laugh.

"Don't underestimate me, girl," he teased, turning her upright and plopping her down on the front of Stranger's saddle before mounting behind her. "I may be old, but I still have longer legs than you." Sansa smiled, too breathless from laughter and the cold to respond, and she snuggled happily against his chest as he nudged Stranger forward.

The snow continued to fall around them as they rode, leaving a thin layer of powder over their thick cloaks and the burlap sacks that held their meager belongings. Stranger seemed happy to be on the road again and less averse to the cold as his owner, snorting into the lightly-falling snow and flicking his ears around to follow the sounds of the forest around them.

"It seems you Starks are right for once," Sandor commented absently, breaking a half hour of silence.

Sansa looked up at him for a moment before nodding and turning back to the road before them. "Yes. Winter is coming." She smiled slightly. "As it always does."

Sandor nodded. "Aye, though it's not so harsh in the West."

Sansa was quiet for a moment before replying cryptically. "Winter is only harsh to those who do not know her."

Unsure of how to respond, Sandor merely frowned and lapsed back into silence, slowing Stranger to a walk as a group of large stones—larger than was usual for natural formations—rose up beside the road to meet them. As they got closer, a carved statue of Talos was revealed with a shrine beneath it.

"May we stop?" Sansa asked politely, looking up at him with her plea reflected in her expression. Sandor nodded wordlessly and steered Stranger off of the road before pulling him to a halt and watching as Sansa slid down from the saddle and approached the shrine.

Sandor had once believed in the Divines, as a young boy learning of the gods and their realms from his father's court wizard so that he could one day rule as a good and just lord in his father's stead—after Gregor, of course. But ever since his brother had taken his childhood from him, he had a hard time believing in entities that showed no signs of their existence, not in his war-ravaged land and certainly not in his life.

Sansa knelt down in the snow and bowed her head as her fingers rested gently on the edge of the metal shrine. Awkwardly, Sandor dismounted and made his way to her side, standing silently beside the statue of Talos as her lips moved slightly in prayer. She stayed that way for longer than he thought necessary and he began to shift uncomfortably, crossing his arms over his chest and shuffling his feet in the snow as he looked toward the dark clouds that were swiftly rolling in their direction. He looked down when he heard the tell-tale rustle of skirts and Sansa met his gaze with a small smile before taking his hand and walking back to where Stranger was attempting to graze on the frosted grass.

"We must be close to Windhelm if there's a shrine to Talos that has yet to be desecrated by the Legion," Sandor commented as he helped Sansa back into Stranger's saddle. Sansa nodded in agreement and then followed his gaze to the sky as the ground shook with a low rumble of thunder. "Looks like there's a storm brewing, little bird," he said grimly, swinging up into the saddle behind her.

"Perhaps we should rest then," she suggested, pulling her cloak tighter around her thin frame and huddling closer to the warmth of Sandor's broad chest behind her.

"Aye," Sandor mumbled as Stranger plodded back onto the road, the courser's ears flattening against his head as another clap of thunder echoed menacingly behind them. "But if it's going to be as bad as it sounds, we'll need more shelter than the trees can provide. With any luck there will be another fort nearby. Gods know there are plenty with the damn war."

They continued on at a brisker pace, Sandor scanning the surrounding trees for anything that looked like a viable shelter to wait out the storm as Sansa peered out anxiously from the hood of her cloak, one hand holding it tightly to keep it over her face.

"Do you think it's a bad omen?" she asked quietly as a steady torrent of rain began to drum against the leaves of the trees around them.

"I don't believe in omens, little bird," Sandor replied brusquely. "But it won't mean anything good for our pace. We aren't like to make Windhelm by nightfall if this lasts as long as it looks like it will." She made a noise that sounded like a whimper as she nodded and Sandor frowned, wrapping one arm around her waist beneath her cloak to offer as much comfort as he could. Thankfully, it seemed to help.

Within a matter of minutes, the storm had caught up with them and Sandor was beginning to lose hope of escaping it unscathed when he caught sight of the familiar stone arch of a ruin beside the road. Stranger eagerly obeyed the command from his master to veer off the path and Sandor swung effortlessly from the saddle once his warhorse had settled beneath the little cover provided by the ruin's stone overhang.

"Wait here," he ordered Sansa, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before hefting open the heavy iron door as silently as possible and stepping into the gloom of the ancient ruin. The familiar warmth and loud crackle of a campfire greeted him, as did two bandits, one sleeping and the other poking through a sizable pile of loot in the opposite corner.

Silently, he slid the dagger from his belt and slit the throat of the unconscious one before moving forward and pushing it to the hilt into the back of the other brigand. Once he was sure they were both dead, he moved the bodies to the farthest corner of the room and covered them with the blood-stained bedroll that had served as the first's deathbed. Satisfied, he braced himself for the onslaught of rain and pushed through the door to the outside, helping Sansa drag Stranger through into the entrance of the ruin and then wedging his sword against the door to keep out any unwanted visitors.

Sansa looked around, her gaze pointedly avoiding the bandit's makeshift grave before settling down beside the fire and removing her cloak for it to dry. "I should have a look around," Sandor said gruffly. "The bandits that were here before us might have some things of value." He was about to move toward the gate that separated them from the rest of the ruin when he felt a hand on his wrist and he looked over to see Sansa staring up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Don't leave me. I could not bear it. Not here. This place..." She looked over toward the barred doorway and shivered. "It frightens me. It...it reeks of death."

Although Sandor was fairly certain that the cause of such was the smell of the men in the corner, even he had to admit that there was something about this place. Something dark.

"Alright, little bird," he said quietly, sitting down behind her and running a hand through her hair. "I'll stay. And we'll leave this place, as soon as the storm has passed." At that, Sansa nodded and she moved to sit between his outstretched legs, leaning back into the comforting warmth of his chest and staring into the flames that danced before them.

He thought she was asleep and was on the verge of unconsciousness himself when Sansa finally spoke again, her voice quiet against the sounds of the fire and the raging storm outside. "Tell me a story."

"A story? What kind of story, little bird?"

She shrugged. "Any kind."

Sandor exhaled heavily and leaned his head back against the wall behind him. He wasn't a very well-read man, but surely he could come up with something.

"Have you heard the tale of the Thief of Virtue?" He was almost certain she had, for most of the young women of Tamriel had read it in secret sometime during their years as a curious maiden, so he was surprised when she shook her head.

"Well, heard of it, yes," she amended. "But..." She blushed slightly. "I was never allowed to read it, and never had access to it, even in King's Landing."

Sandor smirked in amusement. "Still so innocent. Alright, I can tell you the story, if you promise not to hate me for marring your purity." Sansa gave him a weary look and he chuckled. "Very well then." He cleared his throat and then began.

"There was once a Breton noble, in Hammerfell, who was a collector of rare coins, his wife, the Baroness...something or other, and—"

"Something or other?" Sansa interrupted. "You can't continue unless she has a name."

Sandor sighed in exasperation. "She has a name, little bird. I've just forgotten it. If you quit interrupting, I'm sure it will come to me." Sansa rolled her eyes, but quieted nonetheless.

"As I was saying...the Baroness, and a famous thief, Ravius Terinus."

"Oh, so you remember his name."

Sandor ignored her. "So one night, Ravius Terinus decided that he would steal the Baron's collection of rare coins, for they were said to be worth a fortune. So he infiltrated the castle using his various talents as a thief, the specifics of which are unimportant, and he took the coins, but by that time, the Baron had realized that something was afoot and he called on his guards to search the castle. Not having any other choice, the thief was forced to flee deeper into the castle, and he ended up in the Baroness' room—Veronique, that was her name—and she turned to him and asked him if he was there to take her virtue."

Sansa frowned. "Had it not already been taken by her husband?"

Sandor shrugged. "She may not have been a maiden, but surely fucking a man who wasn't her husband would rob her of any virtue she had had." Sansa nodded in agreement, but looked a bit unsure. They hadn't discussed the matter at any length, but he suspected that the nature of his relationship with Sansa went against much of what she had been taught in her youth. It would explain her insistence on marriage, in any case.

"So Ravius told her that he had come for the coins, but found a more valuable treasure in the Baroness and then asked why the Baron had such security to protect his coins, while his wife was left unattended. She responded saying that her husband protected only what was dear to him, and Terinus, seeing that Veronique would be his only hope of escape, set down the coins and told her that he would be honored to fuck her."

"He did not!"

"Well, perhaps not with the same words, but I hardly have the story memorized as it was written, woman," Sandor grumped. "Now do you want me to finish it or not?" Sansa hesitated for a moment then nodded and settled back into his arms.

"So the Baroness hid him when the guards came, and handed over the coins, claiming that the thief had dropped them as he fled. And that night, as thanks perhaps, Ravius Terinus robbed the Lady Veronique of her virtue—several times, if I recall correctly."

Sansa blushed, then turned when he stayed silent after that. "Is that all?" Sandor nodded. "But...what happened? Did Veronique leave her husband and run away with the thief?"

Sandor shrugged and reached over into one of the saddlebags to retrieve a bottle of wine. "Does it matter?"

She sighed and watched as he raised the bottle to his lips. "I suppose not."

It was in the silence that followed that Sandor made the realization that the storm had ended and he put the wine bottle back in his saddlebag before withdrawing the map instead. Sansa joined him in looking it over and then tapped one of her thin fingers against an inked-in symbol made to resemble an inn.

"Perhaps we could spend the night there and then make our way to Windhelm at first light. They aren't far from one another."

"Aye," Sandor said absently, his eyes trailing up her finger to her thin wrist and along the length of her arm. "The sun has yet to set, though, so we could still reach Windhelm by nightfall if we make haste along the roads."

Sansa looked down at the map and rubbed idly at the smooth leather edge with her thumb and forefinger. "Surely Jarl Stormcloak would be less willing to see us if we arrived at his court in the late hours of the night."

Sandor shrugged noncommittally, but was relieved that Sansa seemed as reluctant to reach Windhelm as he was as they got closer, so he gave a curt nod of agreement. "Aye. We'll spend the evening at Nightgate Inn then and get you to your brother in the morn." With that, he stood, and no more words were exchanged.

The storm, though short, had left its mark on the forest and the time added by avoiding fallen limbs and wary rain-soaked travelers delayed the couple's journey just long enough to where the sun was setting over the nearby mountains as they arrived at the tiny inn that lay just off the beaten path.

Sandor left Sansa to get Stranger settled out front and entered the inn, walking wearily toward the barkeep in the common room as he withdrew a handful of coins from the pocket of his breeches. "How much for a room?" he asked, ignoring the growling of his stomach as the scent of cooking stew wafted in his direction.

"How big of a room do ya need, traveler?" the proprietor asked warmly, a smile gracing his ruddy complexion.

"Big enough for me and my wife," Sandor replied, glancing over his shoulder and frowning when he noticed that Sansa had yet to come in from the cold.

"Traveling with your woman, eh? Winter and the war have both made travel hard these past few months, and I can tell that you've been on the road for a while. For you, only seven septims, and that'll include some of the stew I've got boiling for both you and the lady." Sandor nodded his thanks and counted out the coins before laying them down on the counter and getting directed to a modestly furnished room along the west wall of the inn.

Weary from travel and still anxious about what would happen when he walked into the throne room of the Stormcloak leader, Sandor was grateful for the man's hospitality and though he wanted nothing more than to partake of the promised meal and fall into a deep sleep, he managed to drag himself outside in search of Sansa.

It didn't take long, and when he found her she was standing at the edge of the dock that overlooked the lake beside which the inn rested. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her thin waist and she stared out toward the setting sun on the horizon with a vacant expression. He walked silently to join her and when she became aware of his presence, she reached out and grasped his hand tightly in her own, her grip unyielding even as he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles in a soothing gesture.

Her gaze fell from the sunset to the distant walls outlined by the twin moons and Sandor realized with sudden dread what it was that she was looking at: Windhelm. The city stood tall and proud against the mountains that surrounded it, its walls glowing faintly above the horizon as Masser and Secunda rose to illuminate the nighttime sky. It was within those walls that all of Sansa's hopes and fears laid, obscured from her view by doubt and insecurity. It was because he understood the fear in her expression that Sandor stayed silent when she turned toward him and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. He held her tightly in return, keeping her trembling limbs still as she began to cry.

That night, they found both comfort and pain in each other's arms, their passion overshadowed by a fierce desperation that only served to fuel Sandor's creeping fear that this would be the last night he would ever spend in her arms. That it very well might be the last night he would spend on Nirn.