A/N: Hello, this is a revised version of the piece I first posted. I was kindly notified by a reader that there were still things to improve so here is the second try to get things right. Thank you to everyone who has read, followed and reviewed. Happy reading! x.

The message was short and to the point, just like Jon.

"We will be riding through Winterfell on our way to the Wall, stopping for the night. Please have food and water ready for our arrival and our ride north. – Jon."

Sansa read the message and busied herself with the preparations at once, she didn't know how many people to expect, she didn't know if the Dragon Queen, to whom Jon had pledged his alliance without consulting with her first, would be riding with them but she didn't care about that, she cared that there was a war coming and she needed to do her part in helping prepare the army. She thought of little Lyanna Mormont and how she had been right, they just couldn't sit knitting by the fire while the men fought, she had done enough of that already, and while she wouldn't be one swinging a sword, she could still help win this war. Sansa talked to the master at arms and smiths, to the kitchens and to the maester, they would need to arm and feed Jon's men; last she heard the Night's Watch still didn't have a maester and while she couldn't do without one in Winterfell, she could have her maester show at least the basics to whomever Jon and his new army had appointed with this task.

Time had passed quickly since she received Jon's raven and Sansa had used every waking moment to ensure that everything would be ready. She had worked past daylight, working by candlelight on the taxes collected, the amount of harvest they had and how long it could last, counting how many people they would have to shelter and so on. Winter was shaping up to be a tough one, caring for everyone would be a hard task but the Starks had always managed to protect the people of the north, they had seen winters come and go and they had stood firm. But she had never seen a winter before and she wished for someone to guide her in the duties she had taken as Lady of Winterfell.

"You look awful" – Arya said to her as they broke their fast, a fortnight after the raven had arrived.

"I've been busy… You know I've never been too good with numbers, my head was always in the clouds" – Sansa told her sister.

Years ago she had been called a good student but what her septa usually asked from her was a neat handwriting and being skillful with the needle. Grain count, correct storage of food and wood, making sure no one died from hunger or cold? Those were things her brothers would need to oversee. She would have a husband to worry about that, she only needed to look pretty and smile, or at least that was what everyone thought, that was what she thought too, but that was before and this was after.

"You're doing a great job" – Arya said very softly, it was almost a whisper.

"You're doing a great job too. Father would be proud." – Sansa offered, and she meant it, Arya had taken over the task of training the women and girls who wanted to fight, and while it wasn't a mandatory thing for anyone in the north, most women did want to fight.

"They are almost here: Jon, Ser Davos, Brienne and the others." – Bran interrupted – "I'll give word".

Sansa looked at Bran go, well, she saw him wheel himself away and felt sad for him. He had always been such a lively boy, climbing every wall on the castle, running around after Robb or Jon and asking them to teach him how to swing a sword, how to shoot an arrow… he had never been particularly good at it but he loved being active and he had a lovely smile, Sansa thought with sorrow that it must have been at least six years since she last saw him smile. When they first reunited she had thrown herself at him and held him tight only to have him wrap his arms loosely around her, she thought that maybe he was weak from the travels, from whatever he had been up to north of the Wall while she thought him dead, but after their conversation in the Godswood she realized that her brother was really gone and that instead, she would have to settle for the Three Eyed Raven. Sure, the Three Eyed Raven had proven himself quite useful, he had seen the Night King marching, he had seen Gendry running to the Wall to had sent word to Daenerys Targaryen about what was happening, but he had also seen everything that had happened to her. He knew about the beatings Joffrey had given her, the pain of seeing her father beheaded, the way Lysa Arryn had treated her, what Ramsay Bolton had done to her… how she longed to have a way for her little brother to forget what the Boltons had done to her. For the first few days all she could see in Bran's eyes was pain and she felt somehow ashamed, until one afternoon he visited her and took her hand, he told her that he wouldn't try to understand her pain and that even if he couldn't forget it, he chose not to think about it. He told her she was brave and he was proud of her, afterward, he had shut down on himself again, but now when they exchanged looks there wasn't pain, there was only the weight of the world on his frail brother's shoulders.

Beside her, Arya talked – "I miss the old Bran"

Sansa turned to look at her sister. She was sure that Arya had been through a lot, they hadn't exactly talked about it but she could tell, learning to do what she knew surely didn't come without a price. How much the three of them had changed, how much life had challenged them, pushed and kicked while they were down, but after everything they were still standing and still together, and that was how they would remain because the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, she used to think those were just silly words his father used to say… until they had been proven to be true.

"I miss him too." – Sansa said and continued eating, they had a long day ahead, they would need their strength.

The sound of men marching through the gates broke her concentration. She tried to get back to the numbers she had been working on, but the voices of men in the yard, the sound of iron clashing, the laughter, and her need to see her brother once more stopped her from going back to work. As Sansa walked around Winterfell, many men she had never seen before greeted her. She saw Brienne and Podrick and smiled at them) She saw Ser Davos and she squeezed his hand gently. She liked Ser Davos; he seemed like an honorable man. She found Jon at the armory. She waited for him to finish his instructions before clearing her throat, announcing her presence."

"Sansa" – he said quietly and turned around to hug her – "I have so many things I need to tell you."

"As do I, Jon. I'm sure Arya and Bran are waiting for us."

Arya jumped into Jon's arms the moment she saw him entering the main hall and for a minute Sansa felt as if they were kids again. A smile brightened Arya's face in a way she hadn't seen in years and Jon smiled as well, hugging Arya tight against him, they didn't let go of each other for a good while as if they could catch each other up with their lives by only hugging. After a while, they let go of each other, smiles still big on their faces, Sansa was about to leave when Jon reached for her hand and smiled at her too, it was okay, she guessed, they were all family after all.

"Brienne tells me that you've gotten quite good with the sword." – Jon said.

"You'll have to see for yourself" – Arya replied, mischief evident in her eyes. – "Now please tell us how is it that the North ended up pledging their alliance to Daenerys Targaryen?"

Jon explaining how everything had happened: the drawings on the Dragonstone mine, their journey beyond the Wall to find a wight, how Sandor Clegane had almost gotten them all killed, how Daenerys appeared with her dragons and saved them and, sadly, how one of her dragons had been killed by the Night King. Jon considered omitting the part of almost dying and being saved by Uncle Benjen but he knew that Bran would tell them anyway so he included that bit too. He told them about the meeting in King's Landing, how he had blown it and Tyrion Lannister had to save the day, how they were all gathering their armies to fight the dead. Sansa and Arya remained quiet while he spoke; their faces without a trace of emotion, and silence fell over the room as the story came to a conclusion.

"I was there when you were named King in the North" – Sansa started, Arya looked at her a little worried – "I proclaimed you my king… and that won't change. A little notice would have been nice though."

"Jon, did you just say the Hound almost got you killed?" – Arya asked completely out of the blue and breaking any upcoming tension – "Is he here? Is he in Winterfell?" – her voice sounded almost eager.

Sansa didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing to have Arya so interested in the Hound, was Sandor Clegane on her list? And if he were, would she be able to make Arya change her mind? The Hound had never been anything but nice to her; she owed him quite a lot now that she came to think of it. It was him who had stopped her from pushing Joffrey off the bridge the day that she was forced her to look at her father's head on a spike, he had never laid a hand on her even when it was a command from his king. On the contrary, he had been the first to come to her aid many times, like when one of the Kingsguard had ripped her dress; he had covered her with his white cloak or, most importantly, when the mob had turned on the court and she had almost been raped… he had killed three men without a doubt and carried her to safety. Arya wouldn't want to kill The Hound… would she?

"He's here. Would that be a problem?" – Jon asked.

"No." – Arya said with a smile and disappeared.

"She's changed" – Jon said, his voice a mix of concern, pride and nostalgia.

"Haven't we all?" – Sansa replied.

Sansa went back to work before long, she really needed to get those numbers right if she was planning on her people surviving the long night and be able to send provisions to the Wall whenever possible. It was at times like this that she almost missed Lord Baelish, he had been a calculating traitor but he was just as good at planning as he had been at deceiving. Thinking about Lord Baelish made her think about his desperate confession: "I love you", who had time for love anyway? She was nineteen years old, had been engaged thrice, married twice and the only man she had known had been an abusive bastard, literally. The closest thing to love she had found had been in the way that Tyrion Lannister protected her, first when she was Joffrey's betrothed and then as her husband. Tyrion Lannister had never forced himself on her, he had never asked her to do anything that would smudge her honor, he had been loving and caring but she had been stupid and had paid his favor with rejection. She had never been in love with the Imp but he had been more of a man than any other males she had met.

Sansa's thoughts went back to Petyr Baelish, she truly believed that in his own twisted way he had loved her, maybe not deeply and maybe not in the way a man is expected to love a woman, he had, after all, sold her to the Boltons but she had seen the pain in his eyes, the shame, when she confronted him on what an animal Ramsay Bolton had been. She had also seen the plea in his eyes as he declared his love for her just before Arya took a dagger to his throat. Should she have saved him? Maybe, but there was no point in regrets, Littlefinger was gone and that was it. Exhausted, Sansa let a sigh out, it was dark already; winter had arrived, each day the light lasted less and less, soon they would need to devise some way to keep track of time, otherwise they would get so little done. Her belly growled at her in a very un-lady like manner but she pressed on working, too much brooding over the past had occupied her time and she was again behind on her calculations.

The castle was awfully silent, that's how she realized how late it really was. No noise came from the yard or the halls or the armory, everything was silent… Sansa hated it. She hated when the sun went down and the candlelight wasn't strong enough to let her keep working because then she was alone with her thoughts and her memories. At nights she had to fight her own demons, she had to come to terms with every memory she had from the last six years, she had to walk the halls which had been her home and her prison, she had to fight off the nightmares of her dead father and Robb's head and Ramsay's sick blue eyes. The truth was that she overloaded herself with work because unlike Arya she didn't have the skills to swing a sword to take her rage out, she didn't have the skills to kill a man, and unlike Bran, she couldn't just choose to not think about it. On particularly cold nights everything reminded her of her tainted past and made her long for her family before Robert Baratheon damned them by riding north.

Hungry, lost and tired, Sansa walked the halls of Winterfell wrapped in a thick cape and silent as a shadow. She went to the kitchens and gathered some cheese and bread, she then roamed around the training field, she noticed her feet were taking her to the Godswood, would she pray? No, she wouldn't, but she would sit and see the frozen lake, lean on the trees, take a moment to breathe.

As she got closer, Sansa saw what looked like a fire and she could hear something that sounded like a man grunting in pain. She should have walked the other way, she should have sent a guard to check what was going on, she wasn't armed and even if she were, she wouldn't know what to do but somehow she couldn't stop walking. She was scared but at least this was one fear she could face, or so she told herself. As she got closer she saw the outline of a large man, he wasn't wearing an armor and he was bent over at a weird angle; the fire was low, and his back was to her, only when a branch snapped under her feet did the man show himself.

"Who goes there!?" – Sandor Clegane demanded, his voice full of anger, ready for a fight.

Sansa stepped forward timidly, her head slightly down, she hugged her cloak tighter against herself as she walked forward. She remembered the last time they saw each other, the night of the battle of Blackwater. He had told her to come with him and she had frozen, things would have been different if she left then, would life have been any easier? Mayhap, but there was no way to know and even if there were then she would prefer not to know.

"Little Bird" – his voice was so low she wasn't completely sure he had spoken.

Sansa looked up and found Sandor's eyes. What was that she saw in them? Surprise, there was definitely some surprise in them, but there was also... a hint of something that resembled love, if only for just a second. They stood still, far apart from each other, taking a moment to process what was happening, that was when she saw it; the big laceration on the Hound's side, that was why he was grunting, why he was sitting at such a strange angle, he was cleaning a wound that seemed deep enough to need stitching.

"You're hurt"

Sansa moved quickly, her long legs covered the distance between them in no time, the fire flickered and illuminated the wound, without thinking she placed a hand on his stomach and kneeled down, only then did she realize that his chest was bare and a deep blush reached her cheeks. The Hound looked down at her, her hand felt soft and warm against his skin, she had grown in the last six years, 'She looks like a woman now but she still blushes like a little bird I left behind in Kings Landing' he thought, there were very few things Sandor Clegane regretted but leaving the little bird behind was one of them.

"Sit, I'll take care of this" – Sansa's voice was soft, unlike his own.

"I can do it myself" – Sandor growled at her.

"I know. Now sit."

He obliged and sat down, the fire was dying, he was about to feed more wood to the fire when a hand landed softly on his arm urging him to stay still. Sandor watched her as she fed the fire, he watched her remove her big cloak and reveal an elegant dark dress. Sansa leaned forward to inspect his wound and his eyes wandered to her chest, he only found the outline of her breasts. She had developed since he last saw her, he couldn't help but notice the curve of her waist, the way the dress hugged tightly to her body. He shook his head, he wasn't a religious man but there was something inadequate about him thinking, admiring really, her body in the Godswood. He had missed her, he supposed, it was only natural for him to let his eyes wander. Sansa could feel the Hound's eyes on her, ignoring the feeling, she dipped a cloth in what felt like freezing water and pressed it against the wound, cleaning off old blood, she heard a slight grunt and looked up.

"Sorry" – Sansa apologized but continued cleaning the wound, using him to balance herself – "Do you have any ointments? I could run to…"

"In the pouch" – Sandor said, gnawing, there was a reason he had walked away to do this, he didn't want anyone hearing him complain and didn't need anyone's pity, how Sansa Stark had found him was beyond him but he couldn't say he completely hated that she had. She was gentle, much more than he would have been on himself, but that also meant that she was taking longer to do the job, that he had to endure the pain longer.

"This is quite deep; mayhap I should call a maester."

"No" – he said, his voice on the verge of frightening, she had heard that voice many times before but still a chill ran down her spine.

"No need for you to bark, ser, I'm just trying to help."

Sansa snickered and then shut up, her hand froze where it was on Sandor's side, did she just said 'bark' to a man who was called 'the hound'? How stupid can you be, she thought as she continued applying the ointment, trying to act like nothing had happened. Sandor didn't move, she was almost done when suddenly he started shaking, his stomach clenched and she could see the hard muscles under his tight skin, Sansa looked up and then the world stood still. The Hound was looking down at her, he had drawn a breath and then, as he let it out, his laughter roared across the Godswood. He laughed hard and deeply, gasping for air and clutching his side.

"Really, Little Bird? Did you just tell a dog not to bark?"

Sansa blushed once more, her cheeks were burning, she moved so quickly that she was now a good five steps away from him… she thought he would get mad at her, call her a stupid little girl, take offense in her comment. But he was laughing, laughing whole heartedly, and that softened his features, made him look less intimidating… he even slightly approachable. Sansa stood and reached for her cloak, her job was done, she knew she should get going.

"I didn't mean…" – her voice was thin, drowned in his laughter, but somehow he heard her.

"Of course you meant no offense." – Sandor said and took a deep breath, ceasing the laughter – "You'd never mean offense, you with your perfect manners and shy nature, blushing so often…" – he was standing closer now, towering over her – "Tell me, do I still frighten you, Little Bird?"

"You stopped frightening me a long time ago" – Sansa felt uneasy but hoped that her voice remained whole. There was less than a step between them, his eyes had darkened, no trace of laughter left.

"You shouldn't be wandering around the forest in the dark, you could get hurt."

"I've already been hurt" – she said, her voice broke a little.

"I'll kill him" – The Hound's voice was soft, the words came easy for him as if he were talking about any other mundane task: tending to a horse, asking for wine, killing a man, it was all the same to him.

"I already did" – she confessed.

His eyes found hers. She knew he didn't believe her, but she had killed Ramsay. She had asked Jon to let him live just enough for him to be conscious of what was coming for him, she had him placed at the kennels, she released the hounds, she heard his screams fade in the background as she walked away. Some nights she still dreamed of that night, she had nightmares because he had been right, a part of him would always be in her but she could try to control that part, she would control that part. Sansa felt the Hound's hand on her waist, she saw his eyes and saw the realization sink in them, and then ever so softly, he placed his other hand on her cheek.

"I…" – he was fighting to find the right words, he had the look of a man who needed to say something but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear what he had to say, not that night at least, not after her little confession.

"You must be cold." – Sansa cut him off – "Here."

Sansa offered him the discarded shirt he had set aside, he put it on slowly, trying not to pull on the fade scar that had already started to form, the shirt was warm from being set by the fire and only then he realized that snow was falling gently. It fell on Sansa's red hair and he remembered the wilding's claim that redheaded folks were kissed by fire; she was, she really was, because whenever he was close to her he felt warm, his heart started beating again. Sansa saw defeat in the Hound's eyes and her heart went out for him, slowly she extended her hand towards his face, she touched his burnt skin, her fingers tracing the uneven surface, did he just closed his eyes and leaned into her hand? No, we wouldn't do that she must have imagined it.

"I owe you many thanks, ser Sandor"

"I am no ser" – he answered, he wondered if he should try to close the space between them but then remained where he was, she was kissed fire after all and he didn't deal well with fire.

"You will always be a knight to me."

And then, ever so softly, Sansa stepped closer to him, one hand still on his face and her other hand rested on his shoulder, she got on her toes and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. It lasted a second longer than it should, but what a marvelous second it had been, as she lowered herself she ran her hand tenderly against his beard and he did nothing but stand right there like an idiot.

"Thank you" – she said – "For everything."

And then she was gone. She walked out of the Godswood and he stood there, by the fire, watching her walk away from him. Sandor debated whether or not he should go after her but in the end, he simply sat back down and collected his things, he stared at the fire for a while, thinking of how things had gone for him since he heard they'd be stopping at Winterfell. His first thought had been of her, he had heard Jon Snow say that his sister was acting as Lady of Winterfell during his absence and somehow he knew that Sansa was alive. He had heard about Arya from Brienne and he had tried hard not to smile, the Stark sisters did hold a special place in his somewhat ruined heart, only for different reasons. When he met Arya Stark, he had been annoyed by her but as they rode together day in and day out and the girl wouldn't shut the fuck up he started to like her… he reminded him of his own sister, not by the looks, Cleganes weren't blessed with good looks, but because of her witty remarks, sarcasm and desire to fight. He would have taken care of Arya for the rest of his life if it had been up to him, take her to the Wall pretending that he was interested in a ransom, but he wasn't, he just didn't want to see a girl that reminded him of his dead sister, well, dead. But Sansa Stark did not remind him of his sister, he wasn't Jaime fucking Lannister for fuck's sake, in truth, Sansa Stark didn't remind him of anyone he had previously met; no childhood love, no tavern wench who warmed his bed, no previous love interest, but she did look exactly the way he thought a woman should look, even at fourteen, now he thought she looked like a dream.

"Fuck" – Sandor mustered under his breath as he got up and walked back to the castle.

The moment he heard Sansa was alive he knew that he would face anything and everything for her. He would gladly kill any lad who tried to overstep their ground with the Lady of Winterfell, he would gladly kill anyone who even looked at her the wrong way, the had wanted to kill Joffrey so many times but he had held back, the little cunt would have punished him by treating her worst and he didn't need that on his conscience. But from being willing to kill a man to thinking that she looked like a dream, Sandor knew that he was screwed. He liked killing, he really did enjoy it, he enjoyed the fear that overtook a man's eyes before he shit himself and died but he had never enjoyed love. He didn't remember his mother loving him, he didn't remember anyone really loving him for that matter, and he thought he had never loved anyone else other than his sister and that had been so long ago that maybe he had forgotten how to love. Sandor walked the castle grounds, the night was at its darkest hour, the torches barely lit the way back to the main hall, the guards looked at him cautiously as he made his way back to his chambers. It had been Arya who had accommodated him in the castle instead of a tent outside with the rest of the few men that were crazy enough to march with them. She had found him outside the castle, tending to his horse to avoid having to talk to anyone. In truth, he hadn't heard her approach, but when she smugly said that she had startled him, he said that she had been so loud that King's Landing had probably heard her coming. She looked healthy, her hair was longer, she had put on some weight but she was still lean, she hadn't grown an inch though and that pleased him.

"I hear you're very good at the whole killing thing" – Sandor told her as he continued tending his horse, trying to act unaffected by their little reunion.

"And I hear you almost got my brother killed"

There was a moment of silence and then Arya smiled the biggest smile he had ever seen on her, thank the seven that she didn't go in for a hug; that would have been awkward. Instead, they got into an easy conversation, she asked what he had been up to after nearly dying, asked how he had survived, asked about what happened beyond the Wall and he gave her all the answers she wanted. In return, she told him what she had done after he left him to die, she kept all her training very vague but he honestly didn't care, he actually was about to cut her off when she fell silent, a little worried, he had looked up and seen her smile softly, he followed her eyes and found her looking at that Gendry boy.

"Sorry for leaving there to die." – Arya said looking straight into his eyes, fucking Starks with their fucking honor.

"No harm there, I didn't die." – he replied, she was still half distracted by Gendry – "I am still on your list?"

"No, you already died once" – she said with a smile – "I have to go"

Sandor remembered how he had seen Arya going in the same direction that Gendry had disappeared to, and for the rest of the day he didn't see either of them, he decided that on the morrow he would have a pleasant talk to Waters on their march to the Wall. He entered his chambers and went straight to the bed, not minding his dirty clothes and not wanting to wash away Sansa's touch, sleep found him easily but how could it not when he had a soft bed and a warm fire during those cold winter nights. He woke up feeling well rested, broke his fast with the other men outside the castle and started getting ready for their march, he accepted and even thanked the wench who gave him some bread and cheese for the road, he was on his way to the armory when he saw Sansa in the distance. She was talking to Jon Snow, probably going over last minute details and the likes of it; she must have felt his eyes on her because she looked up and wrapped up the conversation, she walked towards him, her face showed no emotion.

"Did you sleep well?" – he noticed how she didn't add the 'ser' after her question.

"Quite pleasantly" – Sandor replied awkwardly, he was looking for some kind of emotion in her face, in her eyes, but she was giving nothing away, would she act like the night before didn't happen?

"Please wait here a minute, I have something for you"

Sansa disappeared into the castle and he, for once, simply stood where he had been asked to stand but she was taking her time and he was growing restless in the cold wind. Freezing, he went to the little bridge in which he had seen Sansa and Jon talking, it provided enough shelter from the elements but still gave him a clear view of the camp and made him easy to spot. As he waited, he tried to convince himself that he didn't care if she found him or not.

"Sorry I took so long" – Sansa said as she came to him – "This is for you… it's nothing really, just more cloth, some ointments and something the master says will burn but keep the wound from getting infected… to make sure that you tend your wound" – her fingers touched his as she handed him a tightly wrapped packet. He could have sworn that there was the ghost of a smile on her face – "Be safe out there, we have a conversation to finish upon your return."

They locked eyes once more, hers asked him to come back after the war, his promised that he would do everything in his power to stay alive. After the unsaid promise, she went back to being a blank canvas, she bid him farewell and went back to being Lady Stark. But his Little Bird had been there for a second that it would be his Little Bird waiting for him to return.

"You love her" – Arya's voice startled him, she was very good at sneaking up on people.

"Aye" – There was no point in lying to her, if half of what he had heard was true then she would surely be able to call out his bluff.

"Because she's pretty?" – she asked, not a hint of jealousy in her voice, but why would she be jealous anyway, especially after the way she had been looking at the Waters boy.

"No, but that doesn't hurt" – Sandor said and walked away, he needed to ready his horse, they had the army of the dead to face and he had a Little Bird to come back to.