A/N: Thank you to all my readers! I truly appreciate the kind words and helpful reviews-it keeps the muse going!

On her way to the den, Sansa noticed the front door was still unlocked, so she latched both the screen and the door before she settled down to watch television. The Princess Bride was on, and so she happily wiled away the time she waited for Sandor to finish discussing his deployment with Bronn.

The man didn't come back inside the house, much to Sansa's relief, for she had nothing to say to him. She was not about to apologize for holding him with Sandor's rifle, not after what happened with Joffrey. Friend of Sandor's or not, Bronn would forever be a Lannister man in her mind, and would have to go quite a ways to prove himself changed to Sansa. She could not help but wonder, however, how he managed to leave the Lannister's service and live to tell it, for in Sansa's experience, no one left that household without bloodshed.

The creaking of the back screen door drew her attention. Warily she called out: "Sandor?"

"Aye, it's me, lass. Don't fret now." Sandor answered from the kitchen. "You lock the front door?"

Letting out a breath, Sansa snuggled under the furry throw. "Yes, I did. I don't want any more former Lannisters walking through the front door." If Bronn could do it, so could Joffrey.

She heard Sandor sigh from the kitchen. "He feels bad that you were afraid enough to pull the rifle."

"Well, he earned it, as did the rest of that household."

Snorting, Sandor let out a harsh laugh. "I'll bet they did."

Sansa didn't want to talk about Bronn or the Lannisters anymore. "Is it still snowing?"

"Just about." Grinning, he tossed the kitchen towel on the counter and then joined her on the couch. "Only a few flurries now."

It is done, then. The prophecy of my dreams, it is true. Father gave us the sign that winter was coming, and it has indeed. Sandor has his orders, and only the gods know what the future holds for us. Father promised that if I believed, Sandor would survive. Wringing her hands, Sansa still had difficulty comprehending her dream. She desperately wanted to tell him about it, but with everything that was happening, she was certain Sandor was not ready to hear it.

Sandor eyed her nervous behavior but said nothing; still, it seemed clear enough that while he wouldn't press her, Sandor still wanted her to offer the source of her unease.

I need to speak to the holy woman at the Shawnee sept as soon as possible. Biting her lip, Sansa pulled back the throw and beckoned to him. "You must be frozen. Let me warm you up." Sandor eagerly wrapped his arms around her, pulling Sansa close to his body.

"I'm not as thin blooded as you are, lass. Besides, you're the one that's cold." Sandor rasped into her hair. He smelled of pine and wood smoke, the familiar scents comforting Sansa. When the cold metal buttons on his flannel met the skin on her abdomen, she jumped away with a squeal and in so doing earned a hearty laugh from Sandor.

Moving away, he then pulled it off, Sandor taking note of the way she winced as he turned loose of her. Frowning, he then turned toward her once more and studied her side. "Still sore a bit, are you?"

Sansa nodded. "Yes, it's my ribs again."

"You're swollen still. You haven't fallen or such recently?"

"No, I just carried in supplies at work three days ago."

"What sort of supplies?"

"You know, bags of coffee, filters, cups, and pastries. Maybe it is the extra exertion that's causing it."

Sandor eyed her carefully. "Might be. Could be. Fucking Loras should lift the heavy stuff."

For some reason, Sansa felt moved to share the story. "I'm not sure if it would matter, Sandor, for I have scar tissue all over the area. Joffrey used to have me beaten by his man Meryn Trant, and he seemed to favor striking me in the ribs."

"Scar tissue, you say? From someone named Meryn Trant?" The man gritted his teeth until blood began seeping from the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, Meryn Trant. He serves Joffrey still." Sandor's silence was beginning to make her nervous, and Sansa could not stop talking. "He's quite big, though not so big as you." Sansa swallowed hard. "It happened pretty frequently, and toward the end, it was on a daily basis."

"Meryn Trant," Sandor repeated, giving Sansa the uneasy impression he was repeating it to remember the name. "The buggering piece of shit. One day we'll see how he does with someone his own size."

Before she could say anything more, Sandor abruptly went into the bedroom and then returned with a container Sansa didn't recognize.

"What is that?"

"I told Elder brother about the swelling in your ribcage," Sandor muttered while fumbling with the bottle in his hands. "He gave me this for you. Said it would reduce the pain and swelling. He gave me healing salts, too, to put in the bath."

"Thank you, Sandor, you are too good to me." Sansa gingerly sat up with a smile. She had not expected him to tell the Elder brother about herhealth woes.

Shrugging, Sandor kept his eyes fixed on the hardwood floor, tracing circles there with his toe as he spoke. "Not near good enough, little bird."

Sansa ignored his comment. "I don't wish to sound ungrateful, but I hope it doesn't smell like Ben-Gay." She hoped her remark would lighten his mood.

"This is arnica and lavender oil, not that other shit," he shrugged with a laugh, handing her the bottle. "I can put it on, if you like." Sandor's hopeful gaze fell on her then, bringing the now familiar deep flush of excitement coursing through her.

"Yes, that would be nice, Sandor." Beaming, Sansa opened up the flagon of oil and inhaled deeply. "Oh, it smells lovely." She brushed away the single tear that had fallen from her lashes.

Kneeling beside her, Sandor heatedly stared at her for a moment and then gave her a devilish grin. "Then take off the sweats, lass, if you mean for me to do this right."

"Oh, so you have an alternative motive, do you?" Sansa laughed as he eagerly divested her of her sweatpants and top. "I should have known."

"Bugger that. Let me help you." The feel of his rough hands smoothing over her skin ignited her desire for Sandor once more. She reached around and unhooked her bra, tossing it into the pile with the rest of her clothing but left on her panties, the young woman not wanting to appear tooeager.

Frozen, Sandor stared at her with all his might, but he did not touch her beyond running his hands over back. After his eyes roamed over her, Sandor took her face in his hands. "There's nothing secretive about the way I feel about you, lass, you best believe that." His tone was gentle, soft even, and so uncharacteristic that Sansa's eyes immediately were drawn to his own.

"I do believe it." Sansa whispered quietly, his words moving her deeply.

Carefully Sandor lay her back among the furs and then began massaging the oil into the skin over her ribcage, lightly at first and then applying more pressure as he went. She never had a massage before and Sansa loved it. The tenderness in his hands moved her deeply, in fact, it felt so good that Sansa couldn't hold back the sigh of pleasure on her lips.

Grinning, Sandor leaned up and leisurely kissed her, unhurried, undemanding, before he continued moving lower toward her waist. By the time Sandor finished, Sansa was half asleep, and so carefully Sandor removed his shirt and pulled her on top of him. "Sleep, lass," he breathed into her ear, and before long Sansa indeed had fallen sound asleep.

In the middle of the night, she felt Sandor's large hands heatedly stroking her body. Warm, rough and yet pleasurable, his touch soon roused Sansa from sleep. His manhood was hard and pressed tightly against the cleft of her bottom while Sandor's hands caressed her hips and thighs, then moved up her sides until finally he squeezed her breasts. Arching against him, Sansa moaned deeply.

Sandor suddenly sat up and tried to move away, likely to get a condom, but Sansa shook her head and rolled over, straddling him instead. "Let me feel you inside, Sandor, please," she whispered low into his ear, her breasts brushing the soft hair of his chest.

"No, Sansa, I don't want to get you with child, not yet, anyway." Sandor half spoke, half moaned into her ear as she ran the length of her slit over the head of his penis, allowing his member to dip inside as she did so.

"You won't," Sansa answered low, "I thought of that. I've been on birth control pills to treat another problem for over a year now. It's safe."

Suddenly alert, Sandor sat bolt upright while wrapping his arms around her waist to steady her. "What problem? What is the matter, Sansa? Tell me." His deep gray eyes searched her own.

She did not want to talk about it but felt that since they were lovers, he had a right to know. "It is nothing too serious. I have an ovarian cyst that was causing heavy menstrual bleeding," Sansa looked away, but Sandor held her face firm in his hands. "So much so, in fact, that I was anemic. The pill is supposed to shrink it. I'll go in a few months for an ultrasound."

He let out a deep sigh. "Are you in pain?" Sandor gripped her chin so she couldn't look away. "Does it hurt when I-"

"No, I'm fine my love," Sansa whispered against his mouth before deepening the kiss. "My blood count went back to normal, as did my monthly flow." Gods, Sansa would have rather burst into flames than tell Sandor about her menstrual cycles but what could she do? Well, she could change the subject… "What about you? Are you healthy?"

"You mean: do I have an STI? Is that your question?" He stroked her cheek with his fingers.

"Um, yes." Sansa stared levelly at him.

"Well bloody hells, you should have asked me before now, if you wanted to know," he laughed mirthlessly. "You know better than that, with all your nursing education."

It was true; she knew better than to beat around the bush when broaching such a serious matter. Nervously Sansa bit her lip until Sandor shook his head.

"No, lass, I don't have HIV, AIDS, or any other STI. If I did, I would have told you straight away." He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. "I want you but I would never endanger you just to satisfy my desires."

Smiling, Sansa raised up on her knees and rubbed her slit over his length. He felt so good, that Sansa felt a rush of wetness from her woman's place that soon soaked them both. "Then let me have you this way, Sandor. Please, I need to feel you, all of you, inside of me."

Groaning out his assent, Sandor gripped her thighs and laid her on her side with her back to him and then wrapped her leg over his hip. "I can feel all of you like this. Your whole body, your hair in my face...by gods but you feel good." Sandor moaned into her ear as he positioned his manhood at her entrance, gasping as he slid inside of her. "Fuck but you're wet for me. Let me do the work this time."

Sansa wasn't sure what he was about to do, but Sandor's hands were on her again, with one guiding his penis inside of her while the other tugged at her nipple and then smoothed down over her belly toward her slit. With his arms wrapped around her, skin sliding against skin, the tops of Sandor's thighs resting on her legs while his manhood was buried deep inside all gave Sansa the feeling of being completely enveloped by him. She marveled at how entirely surrounded she felt in this position, and that Sandor's manhood caressed a place deep inside that drove her wild with desire with every thrust of his hips.

With his face buried into her neck, Sandor kissed and suckled her pulse point while guiding her hips as the couple slowly settled into a rhythm. Sansa arched into him with each thrust while Sandor circled her clitoris with his fingers, his manhood plunging in and out of her at a faster pace with each whine from her throat. Grinding into his touch, Sansa felt she was on the precipice of something just beyond her reach until suddenly her peak hit her with a force that left her sobbing out her pleasure and begging for more.

Carefully Sandor settled onto his knees with Sansa kneeling on his lap before he began thrusting hard and fast, his passion suddenly breaking through the measured control the man had previously displayed. His frenzied passion drove Sansa toward her next peak before she felt Sandor pulse deep inside her, his orgasm ripping a cry from his throat that was so loud that Sansa wondered if entire neighborhood heard them.

Panting and covered in sweat, Sandor cradled her back against his chest and tenderly moved her to lay down in his arms. When Sansa regained her breath, she could not help but ask the question that had been looming over them: "When are you leaving?"

Sighing, Sansa felt Sandor's tears dampen her shoulder. He remained silent for a long time until he whispered against her skin. "Tuesday. I leave Tuesday."

A sharp pain seared through Sansa's heart, and quickly her eyes snapped up to meet his sheepish gaze. "No-it cannot be! So soon? And without Elder brother's health clearance?"

"General Tywin requested Bronn and I specifically, Sansa, because Jaime is his son. He called up a few other men as well-Barristan and Oakheart."

"Even still," Sansa sobbed out, the young woman desperately grasping to understand his words. "It isn't right."

"Sansa, love, you don't say no to a four star general when you're in the service." Sandor snorted, "Though I'm sure you'd give him a piece of your mind."

Overwhelmed with what could only be described as grief, Sansa choked: "I know you cannot question orders, but what of your PTSD and the nightmares and-"

Sandor shook his head. "Doesn't matter to him and I'm in no position to question him. The only benefit to this is that if I come back, my service will be over and I'll be able to retire with full military benefits. We can move anywhere we want, you and I, start a business together, whatever." He nuzzled into her neck. Grief-stricken, Sansa could hardly speak.

"But if I don't, well, you'll be taken care of," Sandor inhaled deeply. "You'll have everything you need and you'll be safe from that little shit Joffrey. That's all that matters to me."

"No!" Sansa cried, unable to hold back. "That is most certainly not all that matters. What matters is that you return to me." Sansa turned to face Sandor, holding his face in her hands so that he could not look away from her. "You will return to me, Sandor, I know it."

Anger flickered through his eyes. "You cannot know such a thing, Sansa."

"I can and I do. Father showed me in a dream that you would survive, and that we would be together. But you must have faith in my words, Sandor; you must!" Her tears flowing freely, Sansa kissed each cheek before claiming his mouth. "Your survival depends upon it! You must believe in my gift, and that you will survive, no matter what! Say that you will believe, say that you trust me as I trust you."

Trembling, Sandor seemed taken aback by her outburst. Tenderly he held Sansa's face in his hands as he ran his thumbs along her jawline, soothing her. "I do, Sansa, I do. But-"

She put her finger over his mouth. "No, there is no room for doubts. There must only be faith and trust. You must believe Sandor, or you will not survive."

Nodding, Sandor pulled her tightly against him. "I believe in you, Sansa, gods know that I do, even when I have no explanation for it. I-I dreamed of you, when I was over there. Dreamed of returning to you, dreamed of what we would do together, and everything has happened-and even more than I dared hope."

Stunned, Sansa pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes. The truth was there in Sandor's gray gaze. Gently he pressed his mouth to her cheeks and to each eyelid, and then tenderly kissed away her tears until finally Sandor swept his lips over hers in a long, slow kiss. "I believe you, Sansa. I have faith in you, if not the gods, and I'll keep saying it until I feel it as you do."

"You must, Sandor, for I want to be with you forever," Sansa sobbed out before she buried her face in his neck. They stayed that way the rest of the night, the couple crying, embracing, and making love by turns.

When Sansa awakened the next day, Sandor was there by her side, watching her intently. "Sansa, I have something to ask you."

"What is it, Sandor?" Sansa rubbed her eyes. "I'll do anything for you, my love. Name it and it's yours."

"I want to marry you before I leave," Sandor pulled out a small antique diamond band and took her by the hand. "Today, lass. I want to come back here tonight and have you in my bed as my wife. I want to leave here knowing that you are mine, that everything that is mine is yours, and that nothing can hurt me so long as you love me."

"Yes, I would love to be your wife," Sansa anxiously whispered as he placed the ring on her finger. Her heart was full, both of happiness and pain at hearing his proposal. She could not just ignore the many problems that plagued them, and even though they were sharing a bed, there was much they didn't know about one another. Pulling away sadly, Sansa avoided Sandor's puzzled expression. "Please don't be hurt, Sandor, but we have so many issues to deal with-and what of counselling? I thought we both wanted to go and get Elder brother's advice."

Abruptly, Sandor embraced Sansa then, pulling her tightly against his chest. "Gods help me, Sansa, but you are an honest hearted woman. We'll do those things, lass, I swear it, as husband and wife. Things have moved fast, 'tis true, Sansa, but there's something at work here that's beyond our understanding, that much is plain even to an unbeliever like me. What say you, lass? Will you put your faith in me as you would have me do with you?"

"Yes," Tears filled Sansa's eyes and she smiled, for nothing had ever felt as right as saying those words to Sandor then. "I will marry you today."