"The alternative," she chided him, "is to have our tummies full and our persons tucked under more furs than this. Before a roaring fire." But then Sansa paused, shook her head, and corrected herself: "Roaring fires." Plural. Separate. In her indulgent fantasy she must not allow them to be sharing that same fire's heat -- after all, what they shared now was only due to a lack of other options.

Even so, she snuggled nearer and suppressed a shudder as she leached his warmth.