A/N: Here's chapter four. For one, sort of an Easter egg here, the Nazi soldier mentioned at the end of this chapter is Jaqen H'ghar. Also, the title of this chapter means 'legend', 'a'u ho'ohiki' means 'I promise', and 'wahine' means 'woman'. Thank to all of my followers/favorite-ers and my one reviewer, soubifan700. I hope you enjoy this chapter and, as always, reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin and Her Interactive. Except for Sam; he's mine.

She had run again, this time with tears of fear and anger blurring her vision as she stumbled through the ruddy-tinged jungle. And once again, he had let her go, though this time, she could feel his gaze heavy on her back until she had disappeared from view.

When she reached the edge of the jungle, she slowed and managed to regain her composure before walking calmly into the hospital. Myranda was waiting for her, a worried expression clouding her pretty features.

"Sans, are you alright? Sam told me that there was a fire...?"

Sansa nodded. "Waipahu doesn't exist anymore. Someone must've been careless with a match. It was just a shock that's all. I'm fine, Randa. I promise."

Her friend looked skeptical, but she didn't offer any contradiction, merely sighing and taking Sansa's hand. "Then maybe you should get some rest, Sansa. I mean, a real break. I could talk to Vice Admiral Anderson and see if he'd be willing to send you back home for a few weeks. You've been working practically nonstop since the attack, more so than the rest of us. And besides," she added with a playful smirk. "You know Rick'll let you go if I ask."

At that, Sansa blushed. Her friend was certainly cavalier in her personal life, and a good number of the sailors at Pearl Harbor had had the pleasure of getting intimately acquainted with the pretty young nurse; Vice Admiral Richard Anderson being one of them.

"I said I'm fine, Randa." Sansa insisted. "I just..." she sighed. "I could use some sleep. We all could after what's happened this week."

Myranda nodded in agreement. "In that case, why don't you at least take tomorrow off? Shae can cover your shift, and...I know there's a certain sailor who would appreciate spending a little more time with you." They both looked toward Sam who smiled sheepishly when he realized he had been caught staring and waved. Myranda laughed and swatted Sansa on the backside to get her moving, making her blush even harder.

Although she truly would've preferred to just be alone for once, she knew that Collins was expecting her to come over so she forced herself to walk in his direction, though his smile made her stomach sour.

Don't be ridiculous, Sansa, she chastised herself. You have to be the only one on this island who doesn't wish the most painful death upon the Japanese. They aren't cruel for their anger, just...misguided.

Having settled her feeling of discomfort, she sat down beside Sam's hospital bed and folded her hands in her lap.

"My ears were burning," he said with a smile, taking a pull from the bottle of brandy that still sat on the small table between them.

"Yes, well, that's just because Randa doesn't know how to mind her own damn business," Sansa snapped, frowning when Sam laughed in obvious amusement.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just funny to hear a curse coming from the pretty lips of the perfect lady Sansa Stark."

"Tell me, manu li'ili'i, what makes you so fucking perfect?"

At the memory of Kāne 'Ōkala's cruelty, her stomach turned and she had to look away from the amused smile of the man before her.

Suddenly, his tone was one of concern. "Are you okay?" Were her feelings truly so easy to decipher?

"Fine," she said with a forced smile. "Just tired."

"Alright." He didn't seem convinced, but he shrugged noncommittally nonetheless. "Then since you're so tired, I say we postpone our date until tomorrow. I think I heard Randa telling you that you would be free all day."

Sansa cocked an eyebrow. "Our date? I only remember agreeing to one, Petty Officer."

Sam grinned. "Yes, but if you don't recall, our evening together was rather ruined by the spontaneous combustion of Waipahu."

That it had been, though she couldn't say she had minded an escape from his overwhelming affection. Nevertheless, she surrendered to the pleading look in his bright blue eyes. "Very well. But not until tomorrow evening. You need some rest too, Sam. In case you've forgotten, you had half of your right leg amputated a few days ago."

He sighed. "As if I could forget. I'm hideous now."

"No you're not," she replied reflexively, though she instantly regretted the manners she had learned so well when his eyes darkened slightly and he reached out for her hand.

"I am in comparison to you."

She looked down at her lap, where her small pale fingers were entwined with the dark calloused ones of the sailor beside her, and she could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her slightly parted lips. Some part of her was surprised that she didn't pull away, and instead, she found herself closing her eyes as she shyly returned the kiss. When he pulled away after a few seconds, he had a wide grin on his face and he settled back against his pillow with a contented sigh.

"Tomorrow evening it is then, Miss Stark."

As it turned out, she had needed her day off more than she would've liked to admit, more for the solitude than anything, and she spent it reveling in the peaceful stillness of the empty jungle. Though she had been half expecting Kāne 'Ōkala to materialize from the tree line as he so often seemed to, he did no such thing, and he still hadn't appeared by the time she found herself on a small section of the beach that was shielded from view by the low-hanging trees of the jungle.

After making sure that she was truly alone, she slipped out of her dress and let it fall to the ground as she stripped the rest of the way and then released her long auburn hair from its usual bun. The feeling of the sand between her toes was a strangely freeing sensation and she sighed deeply before stepping into the water.

She happily indulged her guilty pleasure—heaven forbid Catelyn Stark ever find out that her daughter had engaged in such risqué behavior—for the better part of an hour before the sun began to set and she reluctantly started swimming back to shore.

As soon as she set foot on the beach, she became aware of the dark figure seated at the base of a nearby tree and she gasped audibly as her hands flew to cover her breasts. Her attempt at modesty was met with the sound of harsh laughter.

"You—you—!"

"Monster?"

At that, her guilt regarding their interaction the previous night returned and she shuffled her feet in the sand. "I was going to say dirty lecher."

This time, his laugh was a deep, genuine chuckle, and she smiled at him shyly before looking back down at her toes. When his amusement had faded, there was a brief moment of silence before he spoke again. "You look good with your hair down, manu li'ili'i. And naked, of course, though your hands are robbing me of the full view."

She blushed and chose to ignore the latter statement. As if he hadn't been watching her swim the whole time.

"Thank you...Sandor."

Again, a moment of silence passed, and then, "Nobody's called me that for a very long time."

Sansa found her curiosity roused and she bent down to retrieve her dress before asking what was on her mind. "How long?"

He snorted. "Would you believe over two hundred years?" Some part of her had expected a similar answer, but hearing it so casually confirmed was a bit of a shock.

She was quiet for a few seconds, then frowned. "I'm afraid I don't really understand though...I mean, the story I heard about you; I thought it was just a legend."

His expression shifted slightly and he stood. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."

He led her farther inland than she had ever been since she had arrived at Pearl Harbor: past the ruins of Waipahu, and deep into the heart of the jungle where finally, they reached the entrance to a cave. He walked in without a second thought, but quickly returned when Sansa hesitated.

"I'll keep you safe, little bird, a'u ho'ohiki."

Nodding, she gathered her courage and followed him in, feeling blindly along the walls as they descended into complete darkness. Just as the last light from the entrance faded into nothingness, Sansa felt a large rough hand take hold of hers and she was grateful that the darkness concealed the blush that was no doubt rising to her cheeks.

"This way."

Sansa nodded again and tightened her grip on his hand. "How can you see down here?"

"I can't," came the reply a few seconds later. "I just know where I'm going."

That wasn't quite the answer she had been hoping for, but she forced herself to trust that he would keep her safe as he had promised.

It felt like an eternity had passed before she was finally aware of a faint glow from somewhere in front of them and Sandor's pace quickened slightly.

"Almost there." As it turned out, 'there' was a massive open cavern, illuminated by torches along each of its walls. Sansa looked around in awe.

"What is this place?"

"Natural cavern. What we came through was a lava tube. We're underneath Mount Koolau right now."

"That's amazing..." Sansa breathed, turning to take in the full effect of the space. Once satisfied that she had seen all there was to see, she walked over to a bedroll along one wall and raised here eyebrows. Around it were piles of military rations, another set of tattered clothing, and, on it, a faded magazine with an image of a scantily clad young woman on the front. He cleared his throat when he realized what she was looking at and hastily snatched it up with a gruff, "Just something one of the sailors misplaced."

Sansa rolled her eyes.

"So you live here?"

He nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. "It's where Pele trapped me after I was first burned."

Sansa nodded thoughtfully. "How much of the story is true?"

Kāne—Sandor, shrugged. "To be honest, I'm not sure what story's out there anymore. What were you told?"

He gestured for her to sit as she began her story and then did the same. Sandor listened attentively as she relayed Mokoa's tale as best she remembered it, and by the time she was finished, he was regarding her with an almost puzzled look. She noted absently as she tried to decipher his expression that it was getting easier to look at him. Eventually, he spoke.

"That's surprisingly accurate given how much time has passed. The only thing that's missing is the fact that after a few years of getting lost in this underground maze, I finally found a way to get out of here, via the lava tubes, and I've spent the past couple centuries getting to know these islands like the back of my hand." He smirked. "Which is how I can now spend my days following around the prettiest wahine in Hawaii without her realizing it."

Sansa blushed and looked down at her lap. Surely he was kidding.

"So what about Waipahu?" She asked, pushing for a change in subject. "How did it factor in to all of this?"

At that, Sandor sighed heavily. "Well, when the Japanese attacked the harbor, Pele saw it as a personal affront, as she does with anything that hurts her islands. So she came to find me and told me that she wanted revenge against them. The only problem was, they didn't come back. So Pele sent me after the next best thing: Waipahu."

Sansa frowned. "But those people were innocent."

He shrugged. "When Pele's angry, she doesn't take the time to consider things like innocence. In all honesty, it's just a matter of time before she realized that it was your navy who brought the Japanese and turns on the harbor." Sansa looked at him in horror, but he gave no signs that he hadn't meant exactly what he'd said.

"What if you refused?"

"Then I would die. She would no longer have any use for me, so the power that's kept me alive all these years would fade, and me with it."

"So you're trapped."

He nodded. "But I wouldn't refuse even if I wasn't, manu li'ili'i. You know the story. Revenge, violence; I need them as much as she does. It's all I've ever lived for."

Sansa was silent for a moment then said quietly, "But if you had something else to live for?" She could feel his eyes on her.

"Don't know. I haven't found anything else that was worth it in the past two hundred years."

At that, she lifted her gaze to find him staring at her, his grey eyes dark and stormy. Slowly, wordlessly, and against all her better judgment, Sansa reached out her hand and hesitantly, with her eyes closed, rested it against his burn-ravaged cheek.

And just like that, he was gone.

Myranda was at the door when she returned to the hospital, a look of complete disbelief on her face. "Oh my God, Sansa. I can't believe you."

Still replaying her night with Sandor in her mind, Sansa wasn't particularly in the mood for any of her friend's usual shenanigans and she cast her a cursory glance. "What?"

"What do you mean, 'what?'! You stood him up, Sans. The poor thing just kept looking toward the door with those big, sad puppy dog eyes, and you never showed! Finally, he just gave up and went to sleep."

Sansa opened her mouth to respond, but Myranda cut her off. "Don't you say a word. I'm not finished with you yet. Do you realize how long you were out there on your own? You could've been killed, Sansa—or worse!"

Sansa sighed and had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, I'm fine, Randa, okay? You're overreacting." She moved past her, but not before she overhead her friend's muttered reply.

"Overreacting. Hmph. She'd better be glad that man loves her."

That stopped her. The fact that Sam might love her had never even occurred to her. Sure, he had feelings for her—that much was obvious—but...love?

Though a part of her wished she did, she knew that she didn't love him back. Perhaps one day she could, but even that she couldn't be sure about, because she had never been in love before.

Of course, there had been other boys, one in particular, the son of her father's closest friend, but he had soon made it clear that he wanted more from their relationship than she had been willing to give and she had ended it.

But not with Joffrey, or any of the others, and not with Sam had she ever felt the way she knew that she was supposed to. The way her sister must have felt when she had agreed to leave the United States for good so that she could be with the Nazi soldier she had fallen in love with.

It was the realization that she not just didn't, but couldn't love Sam that hurt the most. And she wished for both of their sakes that it didn't have to be that way.