[ at first she doesn't show any outward reaction. petyr had taught her certain things, of course; taught them to her by pressing his words to her ears and his fingers to her arms, her shoulders, her waist.

never so visibly untoward, he's too smart for it or thinks himself too clever, but sansa understood before she truly understood.

and like locks tumbling open from within, sansa softens. lets her shame and anger and fear rise to her cheeks, to the tenseness of her jaw. ]

You'll take me North? You will swear it to me? [ to jon. to what remains of her family. and if there is none that remain — well, she'll figure it out when she gets to that point. but— ] How can you protect me while you're unable to do so for yourself?

[ the leg. the damaged armour and bloodied clothes. ]

Ask me again when you're better.

[ she owes him kindness and grace. she owes him to be treated as a knight, even if he claims otherwise; despite his roughness, his coarseness, he has never given her reason to believe he means her harm. he had many chances, and he had tried it in that stairwell, when he was deep in his cups or his feelings or whatever it was that kept him hateful.

she will give him this. ]

Heal first, Clegane. [ she leaves out the ser. ] Please, for me.