It was the lack of warmth beside him that drew him forth into wakefulness. Only a moment was required to remember where he was. The crimson wood of the weirwood shone like fresh blood in the moonlight as it filtered through the hollow trunk of the tree. The storm had ended and the night sky was clear and bright. The constellations shone down upon the world, and with the help of the full moon, lit up the forest with almost unnatural blue light. His knees creaked and popped as he got to his feet, using the side of the tree for support. Sandor worked the stiffness from his joints as he peered out into the night, searching for his little bird.

Normally her absence would have induced panic and swift anger. Not in this place, however. He wasn't sure if the serenity came from the location, or the sudden fulfillment of years of longing. Luckily he didn't even have to leave the tree to find her.

She knelt before a different weirwood, head bowed in prayer. Her hair fell about her face in soft waves, ignited in a soft glow by the moonlight. It wasn't brushed, and had tangled in the back, but he doubted if she'd ever looked lovelier. The sweet innocence that came naturally to her had not been totally destroyed by the taking of her maidenhead, it seemed.

The tree she knelt before had its eyes closed and a smile on its carved lips. It was just like her to look for the most benevolent face. He wondered what it was that she was praying for, and if this meant she was giving up the seven southern gods and returning her faith to the old gods from her childhood; the gods that her kin worshiped before their untimely deaths.

If we're going south, we'll need the prayers now. The further we go, the fewer weirwoods we will come across. The old gods have no power where they do not have eyes. The thought brought him no comfort, but neither did it bother him. He was not a pious sort. No gods had ever really listened to him, save once. He would never admit it to anyone, but he still thanked the Mother every morning for returning Sansa from the arms of the Stranger.

She prayed for a long time, and he was loathe to disturb her in her prayers. Instead, he contented himself with watching her. It was a skill he had learned a long time ago. Being the sworn shield of Joffrey had taught him many things. He learned to seek out flaws and weaknesses, to sniff out threats if there were any to be found, and to do both of those things with no more than a glance. Who better than a dog to accomplish such tasks?

There were no flaws or weaknesses he didn't already know about with Sansa, and he was well aware of all the threats she posed. Hadn't he gone over them endlessly in his head for days at a time? He watched her for a different reason now. His eyes noted the slender curve of her waist, the long, delicate fingers she had pressed together, and the small hint of color on her cheeks from the chill in the wind.

He saw faint traces of the child she used to be, like the way she would chew on her lower lip when something troubled her thoughts. More often he saw the woman she was becoming. The strength in her chin when she made up her mind and set her jaw, the way she had better control over her tongue when she saw something she didn't like, or the complaints of discomfort or exhaustion that she swallowed instead of voiced. She had been through hell and back and somehow still managed to hold her head high and walk with a certain unintentional confidence.

The thought made his scarred lips twitch in a faint smile, but it soon left his face. She was blind too, and that was a problem. What had transpired earlier that night should never have happened. As much as he wanted…needed her, they would need her maidenhood intact more. There was nothing he could do about it now, but he knew the repercussions of this would haunt them both in the future. It wasn't proper for a lady to do what she had done, especially with who she had done it with. If she was going to be Queen in the North, it wasn't going to be a good mark on her name if they found out that she had slept with such a lowborn dog.

Sansa seemed to feel his eyes on her, and she turned to look on him. A smile slowly spread across her face and into her eyes at the sight of him. No one in all of Westeros had ever been so happy to look at his twisted features and mutilated skin.

Bugger being proper.

oOo

She was still praying when she felt his eyes on her, and she felt guilty. Sansa had taken pains not to wake him, but here he was anyway. He had never been a deep sleeper, but she knew that when she slipped into the night air that he hadn't stirred. It wasn't all bad though, she had been out here for some time before he came upon her.

Sansa finished her prayers and then turned to look at him. The darkness hid his scars, and he almost looked normal until he stepped forward into the light, bringing the harsh valleys and mountains of his scars into view. Once they had terrified and disgusted her…but somewhere along the way that had changed and they now brought a smile to her face.

"You prayed a long time," Sandor commented as she brushed the snow and dirt from her knees, and then strode towards him.

"I had a lot to pray for," she replied, thoughts returning to the things she had asked of the old gods. If they did not hear her here, then they wouldn't hear her anywhere.

"And what did they say?" he asked. Normally it would have been a sarcastic remark, but that didn't seem to be the way he meant it this time.

"Old gods or new, they never say a word," she sighed. The thought was sad. A reply from the gods was not something she had been taught to expect, but in such a sacred place she had expected something different.

"Did they chirp, perhaps?" he asked with a mischievous glint in his stone colored eyes and she felt her nose scrunch up as he teased her. Her expression drew a deep laugh from his throat as he tossed back his head. She took the opportunity to brush away the five fingered leaves from the ground before her and to scoop up a handful of snow. Once packed, she lobbed the snowball at him as hard as she could.

Her aim was true, which surprised her…but he was quicker. His hand came up to block the wet projectile and it splattered against his hand. Some slipped through the gap between his fingers and hit him in the forehead. This time she laughed at the surprised look he gave her. His brows pulled together in a scowl that would have made most people run away in terror. Instead she laughed again, and danced out of his reach as he tried to catch her arm.

"It's the middle of the night and you're playing games with me girl?" one eyebrow arched high as he gazed at her, his eyes hard and unyielding. She felt the grin on her face and a lightness on her shoulders she hadn't felt in what seemed like years.

"Mayhaps I am Ser," she teased right back. That got the reaction she was looking for as he gave a small growl and then followed her out into the open. She spun around and darted into the woods. It felt good to run for running's sake; too long had they been running out of fear. Sansa heard him give a curse, and then a small chuckle before his heavy footfalls came after her.

She weaved in and out of the white trees, mindful of the upturned roots she could, and could not see. He wasn't far behind her, but she had age and size on her side. Occasionally she would slip between two trees that his wide shoulders would be unable to pass through, and she'd use the opportunity to scoop up some more snow, and toss it in his direction. He got wise, however, and soon he was pelting her with his own balls of soft snow. She was not as quick at deflecting his projectiles as he was, but he never aimed for her face.

The game turned from a chase into an all out snowball fight. They both found shelter behind different trees and tried waiting each other out, or tossing when one or the other poked their heads out from behind the white bark. The weirwoods looked on with frozen expressions, indifferent to their antics.

It didn't take long for Sandor to win the game. After the first one she threw, she didn't have much luck in hitting him again. His aim was much better, and he was clever. His next snowball hit the branch above her head and sent a layer of heavy snow cascading down upon her like a cold, wet blanket.

She gave a startled shriek as she fell and the next thing she knew he was at her side, easily pinning her to the ground amidst the fallen snow. Sansa started to laugh and it took her a good deal of time to get a hold of herself again. It had been years since she had had that much fun. It may have been childish and not very ladylike…but she was deciding that she didn't really like being ladylike all the time. Plus, the amused look on his face more than made up for it.

"See, the gods don't speak, and they don't chirp either. I'm sure they would have said something about all that," she pointed out with a breathless grin as she glanced at the closest face. When she looked back at Sandor, the smile had been replaced with another look that sent her heart pounding again. Sandor leaned forward, pressing her into the snow a little more. He was heavy, but she didn't mind. The weight was reassuring.

"Then I suppose it is up to you to make your own prayers come true," he replied and pulled her into a kiss that left her unable to think of prayers, gods or anything other than the warmth of his body against hers as the snow started to melt beneath her.