A/N: Here's chapter eight. Sandor does more talking in Hawaiian in this chapter, so the translations will be at the end of the chapter this time. Except for the title, which means 'lies'. The noun, not the verb. That being said, have fun reading, and many thanks to all of my followers and favoriters, and to Mari88, soubifan700, and an anonymous guest for reviewing.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Her Interactive and George R. R. Martin. Except for Sam, but he isn't really in this one.

Dearest Sam,

No. Too personal.

Dear Sam,

Sansa absently tapped her pen against the nearly blank sheet of paper and then sighed. It shouldn't be this difficult, she chided herself internally before flipping the pen back around and continuing to write.

I hope that America is treating you well, and that your surgery went smoothly. I've been praying for your safe return—

No, that wasn't true.

—safety since you left, and I do hope that God has seen fit to answer those prayers.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her stop again and she glanced over her shoulder to see Sandor walking in from one of the many tunnels that led to the central underground chamber where he lived.

"Where have you been?" She asked with a hint of worry at the sight of his grim expression.

"Nowhere, manu li'ili'I," he said gruffly before changing the subject. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a letter to Sam," she replied, glancing back down at the paper. He frowned at that and she sighed in exasperation. "If I don't, then he'll get suspicious."

Sandor waved her logic aside with a grunt and disappeared from view. Sansa stared at the spot where he had been standing just a moment before before rolling her eyes and lifting her pen again.

Nothing much has happened in your absence.

Though that too was a lie, there was nothing else that she could say. She couldn't very well tell him that she had spent every free moment of her time for the past month with Kāne 'Ōkala, who she had taken as her...

She interrupted her own train of thought as the question arose as to what exactly Sandor Clegane was to her. They certainly weren't lovers—the thought alone made her blush—but she couldn't truly say he was her beau either. It wasn't as if they were dating. In the end, she concluded that it truly didn't matter and all that did matter was that he was hers.

I've been keeping myself busy at the hospital. Tending to other wounded soldiers makes me feel as though I'm a bit closer to you.

She set down her pen for a moment and sighed again. What else was there to say?

I hope that your new leg is treating you well and that your therapy is successful.

Love,

No. She couldn't very well get his hopes up like that.

Sincerely,

Sansa

She reached into the pocket of her nurse's uniform and absently fingered the photo that she found there. Myranda had agreed to take it for her since Sam had requested a picture of her, but the other nurse had insisted that the picture be taken of Sansa in her bathing suit and while the suit was modest, the thought of sending such a picture to Petty Officer Collins made her a bit uncomfortable.

P.S. I completely forgot about your request for a photo until now, but I promise that you'll get one with my next letter.

Sister Mordane from the Catholic school she had attended as a little girl would be rolling over in her grave if she knew what a proficient liar her favorite pupil had become.

With that, she folded the letter and sealed it in its envelope before rising to her feet and stretching out her cramped limbs.

Sandor still hadn't reappeared since his earlier exit, so Sansa decided to just leave him be and left quietly after placing the picture of herself on his pillow.

"Sansa, wait! Where are you going?"

She froze at the edge of the jungle, momentarily paralyzed with fear.

"We hardly see you any more, Sans," Myranda said a bit petulantly as she reached her friend's side. "As soon as you're off shift you disappear, and Shae said she thought she saw you leaving the hospital in the middle of the night sometime last week." She regarded the younger woman with undisguised suspicion and lifted one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. "What's going on with you, Sansa?"

She floundered for a moment, caught tightly in the middle of her own deception. "I..."

Myranda's gaze immediately shifted to one of scandalized excitement. "Oh my God...it's a man isn't it? You've got a man on the side, haven't you? Oh, you little minx!" She swatted Sansa playfully on the shoulder and laughed gleefully.

"No, Randa," she snapped hastily, pulling away from her touch. "It's just..." she looked away and sent up a silent prayer for forgiveness before meeting her gaze again with tears in her eyes. "None of you realize how hard all of this is for me."

Myranda's expression changed to genuine concern and she frowned slightly. "What do you mean, Sans?"

Sansa sighed heavily. "This war...it's just all so much. Now that Germany and Italy have declared war on us, we're right in the middle of everything, and about a month ago, right when Sam left...I got a letter from my parents. Both of my brothers have been deployed to Germany."

Though that wasn't quite true, she imagined that it wouldn't be long before it was, and she had received a letter from her parents the day that Sam had flown to America.

With a sound of distress and sympathy, Myranda gathered her friend in her arms and held her as she cried.

"Oh, Sansa...we had no idea. You poor thing...no wonder." She pulled Sansa out to arm's length and gave her a stern look. "You need to stop working so hard, do you hear me? Take some more time off if you need to; we won't ask questions. And you can go anywhere you need to to get through this, hon. I'm sorry we were starting rumors about you, although I have to say, a good man may be exactly what you need right now. You know, Captain Tucker, the fella that I spent New Year's Eve with, boy, he sure knows how to get a girl to smile..." She laughed and then looked up to meet Sansa's unamused gaze. Her laughter died quickly on her lips and she sighed. "Yeah, I know. We cope differently. But seriously, Sansa. If you need anything, we're all here for you; I hope you know that."

Sansa nodded and allowed herself a small smile. "I do know that, Randa. And thank you. I just...need some time to myself for a while. To think, and to sort everything out."

Myranda nodded in understanding. "Sure, hon. No problem. Just come find me if you need me." With that, she waved and then gave her friend one more quick squeeze before hurrying back to the hospital to finish her shift.

A moment of silence passed before Sansa let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and a moment later, a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

"My pretty little wahaheʻe..."

Sansa blushed even as she gasped in surprise. "Sandor! Somebody could see you here. See...us..."

He snorted. "We aren't even doing anything. Though gods know there are plenty of things I want to do to you..." His eyes were dark with desire when he looked down at her and Sansa's thoughts were suddenly muddled by the swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

"Sandor...they would kill you if they saw you."

She could feel him shrug. "I can put up a fair hakakā , little bird."

"I'd prefer it if you didn't have to though," she replied quietly, turning around to face him and placing a chaste kiss on his ruined mouth. "So, please, let me go so that we can go somewhere safer."

Silently, he acquiesced, and after a moment of walking side by side through the jungle, he looked over at her with a smirk. "That was a nice picture of you." She was about to thank him when he added as an afterthought, "I'd like one of you kohana though."

Sansa could feel her face turn red and she stammered for a moment before replying hotly. "Well, this way, there's more left to your imagination."

Her retort had the opposite effect than she had planned and he stopped to grab her roughly around the waist and pull her into him for a deep kiss. "I don't want to have to imagine it anymore." His voice was a throaty growl that vibrated against her lips and she shivered at the sensation.

"Sandor..." His name sounded a bit more breathy leaving her lips than she had intended and she gently but forcefully pushed him away. "Sandor, please. Be decent."

A dark look of anger washed over his features for a brief second before being replaced by a cocked eyebrow and an expression of borderline amusement. "Hewaʻole manu li'ili'i."

She decided not to even ask what he was saying about her, so instead she continued walking, reaching out to take his hand in hers in the hopes that he wouldn't be too angry with her. She just wasn't ready for anything more than the kisses and caresses that she was already allowing him to bestow upon her.

It wasn't until they had reached Sandor's hidden sanctuary that she allowed herself to speak again. "Where were you this morning?"

Sandor looked down at her for a moment then sighed and ran a hand over his face. "With Pele."

A surge of jealousy welled up in her chest and she silently patted the empty half of his cot in an attempt to get him to sit with her. To her surprise, he obeyed, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she leaned into him.

"Why?"

"She needed to talk with me," he replied gruffly, absently running his fingers through her long auburn hair. He was quiet for a moment before adding, "She's getting impatient." Sansa didn't respond for fear of hearing what he may be forced to do in his mistress' name and after a few minutes, he spoke again.

"You look like her," He mused quietly, twirling a strand of her hair through his fingers. "Though you're far more beautiful." Sansa smiled at that, but still said nothing, so he continued. "With your red hair, you're what she'd call, 'kissed by fire'."

At that, Sansa spoke up. "But you're the one who's been kissed by fire."

Sandor smirked. "Yes, I certainly have been haven't I?" Sansa blushed and then Sandor added with a hint of amusement coloring his words, "I think she's jealous of you."

Sansa raised an eyebrow. "She knows I exist?"

At that, he nodded. "Of course she does. She knows everything that happens on her islands." At her look of confusion, he elaborated. "Pele…She is these islands, little bird. As are Kāne, Kanaloa, Kū, Lono, and all the others. They're a part of it all in a way that's hard to comprehend."

"Yet they can appear in physical form?"

Sandor nodded. "If they so choose. I believe the same can be said for your god?"

Sansa frowned. "Not exactly...but he did exist in human form once, a long time ago."

The man beside her shrugged and then smiled when she yawned. "No matter. It's nothing you need to worry about, ʻano'i. Rest now and I'll get you back to the hospital before your friends begin to worry."

Sansa nodded, already beginning to doze off, and she allowed herself to fall asleep beside the comforting warmth of Sandor's body as he moved to hold her, his lips brushing against her forehead as he smiled down at her and whispered quietly beside her ear.

"Aloha ahiahi, manu li'ili'i. Moeʻuhane maikaʻi."

wahaheʻe – liar

hakakā – fight (specifically a fist-fight)

Kohana – naked

Hewaʻole manu li'ili'i – innocent little bird

ʻano'i – term of endearment, most akin to 'dear' or 'sweetheart'

Aloha ahiahi, manu li'ili'i. Moeʻuhane maikaʻi. – Good night, little bird. Sweet dreams (literally 'dream well')