It was the bells that woke them, nine dolorous, loud tolls of the city bell that announced the closing of the city gates. On the first ring, Sandor sat up in bed, reaching for a sword he didn't have. By the fourth bell, he was soothing Sansa as she too woke, covering her ears to block out the clamor. By the eighth bell, he sneered to himself wondering if Crupp had forgotten about them or simply hadn't bothered to return. And as the ninth bell echoed into silence, there was a heavy knock from beside the fireplace.

Instantly, Sandor was on his feet, sword in hand. He motioned for Sansa to be quite and she nodded, clutching the blanket to her chest. Carefully, Sandor slinked to the wall opposite the bed and waited. There was a second knock and then finally, a beleaguered, "Brother Digger? May I enter?"

Still wary, Sandor called out the all clear and a part of the wall opened along a seam and in stepped Septon Crupp and a thin girl with green hair.

The young girl gasped and spun around as soon as she'd entered the room and it was only then that Sandor realized he was still naked. "A moment," he growled, keeping his eyes on their visitors. He slipped on his breeches and a thin shirt, then handed Sansa a shift.

"Decency has been restored," he chuckled , gesturing for their visitors to sit. "Apologies. I was fucking aware we were expecting dormice."

Crupp smiled that knowing grin. "I did tell you I'd be back at nine bells."

"You didn't mention the bloody means of your arrival."

"No," Crupp conceded. "My lady, I do apologize." He dipped his head toward Sansa, who sat silently on the bed.

"It's alright, father," she smiled nervously, wishing she was covered by more than a thin shift.

The septon took the seat that had been offered him and, following his lead, the green-haired girl sat beside him. "Allow me to introduce Wylla Manderly. Lady Manderly, Sandor and Sansa Clegane."

Sandor glared at the others and let the tip of his sword rest against the floor, a subtle reminder of his power. "You wished to treat with Lord Manderly," the septon reminded him, unconcerned of the threat, "He is unable to attend for many reasons. Wylla is his granddaughter, a loyal northern girl, and she speaks with her grandfather's voice in these matters."

Wylla stood and curtsied, returning to her seat. "My lady, my heart broke when your brother was betrayed by the Freys. He would have been a good king. I am very sorry for your loss."

Sansa nodded her thanks and smiled. Wylla was about her age, wiry where Sansa was willowy, and her hair … what could have possessed her to dye it green?

"I told you this afternoon that Manderly is called to Winterfell to witness the wedding of Roose Bolton's bastard to Arya Stark. I do not believe the girl is Arya. Lord Manderly and I are of a mind on this. This is not the only reason he was called, however. Bolton is seeking to reestablish the north as a force to be reckoned with. Until recently, Manderly dare not show support for the Lannisters had his son held captive. Thank the gods, he has now been returned, under the provision that several Frey men now hold positions in the White Harbor court."

"Traitorous filth," Wylla offered, her pretty face contorting in disgust.

"Indeed. And they have been dealt with as such. However, there is still the matter of this trek north. Lord Manderly has a proposition for you."

Sandor scowled but found a seat on the edge of the bed, leaving his sword on the table beside him. Sansa scooted forward and perched beside him, managing to look dignified even when dressed in the plainest cotton frock.

"Well?"

"We know who you are," Wylla told them, her voice now calm and dispassionate. "Both of you. We want you to know that you are safe with us. My grandfather means to march north to Winterfell to give back a piece of the rotten meat he's been forced to call veal for months. He wants to reveal 'Arya' as an imposter and use our own forces to unseat the Boltons from Winterfell."

"I want to make it clear now," the septon interrupted, "Manderly is not promising to restore Winterfell to you, nor is he thinking about raising you up as the Queen of the North. His business with the Boltons and the Freys is personal. He makes you no promises of winning, nor of supporting your claim."

"We will see," Wylla consented. "We would have you accompany us on this journey. You will be provided the protection of our men, all of them loyal to the North and, should the pieces fall as we hope, you may well be installed in your home once more. We do not set our sights on conquering it, merely of ridding it of pests. We need you, Lady Sansa, to stand as witness that the girl Ramsay Snow is to marry is not your sister. Lord Clegane, your strength and swordsmanship is legendary. If you would stand in my grandfather's vanguard, he will reward you."

"This is all very grand," Sandor rasped. "But how many men can you possibly have? It won't be enough to shake free the flayers. Not only that, they may well have the support of the other lords."

"The Karstarks, the Umbers," Sansa offered, "Hornwood, Mormont, Reed."

"The Hornwoods, at least, will be with us. My aunt is the Lady Hornwood now and they have long known that the Boltons had designs on their land. The success of this venture is something we must all hope for, work for," Wylla continued. "And we need you, my lady. No one else's word could stand against your own."

"This girl has spent two years locked up in a cage with hungry lions and slimy upstarts. I'll not let you drag her into a war to give the nod whether another girl has a claim to what is hers. And I'll not lay down my life for Manderly. My sword is hers now, I am not for sale."

Wylla's eyes widened and she shook her head desperately. "No, no, you would remain at her side. Grandfather doesn't mean for you to lead the vanguard, only to bring your knowledge and experience to the other men."

"No."

"A moment, Clegane. I presented Manderly with your writ of debt from the Brotherhood. He is willing to take on the note, giving you the full 38,000 in gold that was taken from you," Crupp encouraged.

"Why in the fucking hells would he do that?"

"The Brotherhood, for all their many faults, believe they are serving the realm. Or they once did. Manderly truly does wish to serve the realm. Although their use does not outweigh their sins, the Brotherhood has taken care of some pests that plagued our people. I'm sure one day we will have to deal with them in turn, but for now, we are happier, healthier, and richer for a few of their deeds. Grandfather would take over this debt to balance our ledger with them and to reward you for your assistance. What you do once we reach Winterfell and have confirmed Arya to be false is entirely up to you."

"What if it is Arya?" Sansa asked doubtfully.

Wylla's voice was a hush. "My lady, if it is truly your sister, we will use every man to free her from the Boltons. Whomever this girl is, they mean her no good."

Sandor stood and paced for a long time, glancing alternately at Sansa and at the night sky. When Wylla started to speak again, Sansa shook her head no and continued to watch her husband brood.

Finally, he snagged a goblet of wine from the side table and took a gulp before confronting the visitors. "Manderly pays the 38,000 gold pieces, guarantees safe conduct, and may even fight to support a claim and all he asks in return is for the lady to say whether that's it's her sister and for me to be a wet nurse to his men?"

"You know more about siege warfare and hand-to-hand combat than most anyone alive," Crupp reminded him. "The lord doesn't need a wet nurse, but an advisor."

"And he understands that her safety is paramount to anything? Even if it means his own life?"

Wylla paled but nodded. "And there is more."

The big man sighed heavily. "There always is."

"Theon Greyjoy is not the one who put the torch to Winterfell."

Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She'd never liked Theon much, but hearing of his betrayal had hurt nonetheless. "And he did not murder your brothers," Wylla smiled shyly at her. "We don't know whose bodies Theon hung from the battlements, but they were not Bran and Rickon Stark. We have men out searching for your brothers even now, my lady."

Sansa sobbed happily and covered her face with her hands. "It was Ramsay Snow," Crupp continued. "And there is more, though I doubt it is wise for the ladies to know."

"This lady has withstood more than you'll ever know," Sandor harrumphed, pride evident in his voice as he stroked her hair. "If the mermaid can't bear it, we can wait."

Wylla shrugged and Crupp took a deep breath. "You know the sigil of the Boltons?"

"Flayed man. It's unsettling as fuck."

"Yes. Well, I rather doubt that Roose Bolton has ever actually flayed a man."

There was an uncertain, heavy silence after that. "Meaning that Snow has?"

Crupp nodded.

"Gods. Who?"

"We believe he has been … toying … with Theon Greyjoy after taking him prisoner. And then there are the women. Ramsay's favorite sport has left the neighboring villages rather short on young women. I tell you all this now and yes, I'm still asking you to take the lady Sansa to Winterfell. These are desperate times, Clegane. We must stand together or watch the world shatter around us. We need you."

All of them were surprised when Sansa's voice broke the tension. "And you need me. I know Arya. And I know Winterfell. There are trails through the godswood, tunnels through the keep."

Her chin was held high, her eyes glinting the way they did they day she nearly pushed Joffrey from the battlements. This time though, he wouldn't stop her. Couldn't stop her, maybe.

"We travel by barge?" Sandor asked, his eyes fixed on Sansa's fierce glare. "When? How many are we?"

"Lord Manderly plans to set out before midday tomorrow. He's taking 400 men with many wayns of food to be loaded onto barges. Three Frey lads are being sent overland to be returned to their families."

He considered that a moment, then asked the septon for paper to start taking some notes. "No one expects Lord Too-Fat-To-Sit-A-Horse to make good time to Winterfell. If it took him more than a fortnight, no one would see anything amiss. Send 100 men ahead. Hide them in the wood, in the village. They need to stay out of sight, just be ready. We need to get some clothes, find a way to hide who the little bird is as best we can. There's no hiding me, not really. When we get near, anyone sees me and starts asking questions, the truth will suffice. Left the Lannisters, sword for hire."

Together they drew up a list of supplies he thought they'd need and shortly before midnight, the visitors said their farewells. As Wylla disappeared through the hidden doorway, Sansa called her back. "One other thing. Could you get some moontea?"

She was blushing fiercely but never broke eye contact. As of today, she was a woman wedded and bedded. There was nothing shameful about taking precautions, although it embarrassed her deeply to give even a passing mention about bedsport.

Wylla assured her that there would be some in their things when they arrived in the morning and bid her a goodnight. The door closed and silence descended. Eventually, Sandor banked the fire and came back to bed, stripping off his clothes as he crawled back in with her.

"Don't set your heart on this," he warned her. "Winterfell is a keep. If they have the sense of a damn fly they could hold for years before that place was seized."

She ignored his gruff tone and snuggled closer to him. "I want to see Winterfell again," she admitted. "If we can't win it, we'll raze it. Better to have it destroyed for true than to leave it in the hands of the Boltons."

"Who is this in my arms? I can't imagine Jonquil ever planning the devastation of her family lands," his voice was harsh but she knew he was teasing her. "Not very maidenly."

"You may have forgotten," she murmured, rubbing against him, "but I am no longer a maiden. A brave man broke down the castle door to rescue me from the tower."

He grunted as her hand found his belly and slid lower. "I will forget the color of my own eyes before I forget that," he assured her. "And how is the castle?"

"Hmm?"

Snaking a hand down her body, he teased the curls of her mound. "Is the causeway a ruins? Or can it be breached safely?"

When she only moaned and kissed him, he tried again. "Are you sore, girl? Or do you ache?"

"Both," she sighed. He slid a finger into her folds, rubbing her pearl, exploring the whole of her before pressing into her carefully. She whimpered but didn't push him away or ask him to stop so he slowly built up a rhythm with one finger, adding a second when she relaxed around him enough to do so.

"You're so wet. Now you've had a taste you've a hunger. How does that feel? Does it hurt?" He was hard and dripping, pressed against her leg.

"A little."

He pulled his hand free and she whined. "I won't hurt you more than I have to," he told her. "You'll heal up a bit and I'll take you again. And again. I swear it."

She nodded reluctantly, although she had begun to sling herself over him before he dissuaded her. "Can we … can we do something else?"

"I fucking hope so. My cock is so hard I can barely move. What do you want? What can you take?"

"Perhaps …you kissed me this afternoon?" she offered, hoping he'd understand.

He growled happily and began to kiss along her chest, rubbing her teats, sucking her nipples into his mouth. While he played there, he pressed his hand back into her, circling but never touching her bud. Pull back from her breasts, he admired her wet, hard nipples. Pursing his lips, he blew on them and Sansa nearly broke his nose, bending in half with a snap that surprised him. She whined as she contracted and he stared at her, amazed.

"Did you just come from me blowing on your tits?" he asked. "I was barely even touching you."

She only whimpered and nodded in response, relaxing back against the pillow slowly. "Damn me but you needed that, didn't you? You're so fucking sensitive. So eager. Gods, Sansa."

He began to rub in earnest now, kissing her lips furiously and tweaking her nipples gently. She came again with a quiet wail, grinding into his hand. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered in her ear. "So wet, so wanting. You're like a bitch in heat."

She frowned at him and he laughed. "No, you're a wolf, aren't you? A bloody fierce she-wolf in heat for the first time."

Her lips latching onto one of his nipples silenced his laughter quickly enough and he ran one hand through her hair to the base of her skull, holding her against his chest. She moved to the other one and laved it, sucked it, pulled it gently with her teeth until he was panting. A trail of kisses led her down his belly then, past his belly button and down to his groin. It was the first time she'd gotten a good, close look at his manhood and she was fascinated. It was long and thick, so red it almost seemed purple. It was no surprise she was still sore with this as her initiation. She traced a vein along the underside with her fingertip until she got to what lay beneath. Carefully, she rubbed one of his balls with her thumb against the palm of her hand. As focused as she was, it had escaped her attention that Sandor was now panting, clenching his fists in the blankets so as to not thrust.

She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth nervously, seriously worried that she might dislocate her jaw if she attempted to do what he'd done for her. She daintily pressed her lips to the head of his cock, as polite a kiss as any maid might give a knight. He laughed then, a breathless bark at the absurdity of her minding her manners when playing with his cock.

She glanced at him, concerned. "Did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, little bird, you're doing fine. You're just so damn ladylike, I had to laugh."

Giving him an uncertain look, she tried again, kissing the side of him with an open-mouthed kiss. He groaned and her eyes flew to him once more.

"I'm not sure … what should I do?" she asked.

He took a deep breath to steady himself and, cursing himself, said, "You don't have to do anything, little bird."

"I want to!" She studied him again and gave a tentative lick from root to tip. "Tell me what I should do," she asked again.

Somehow he found the breath to instruct her. "Wrap your hand around the base, yes, like that, good. Now, open your mouth around me. Yes, just like that. Watch you teeth, wrap your lips over your teeth. Oh gods, girl. Can you take more of me?"

She tried to cover her teeth as she slid him slowly into her mouth but soon she was gagging. "Alright, it's alright," he murmured, resting a hand at the back of her head. "Relax your throat. You can't take all of me, I know, it's alright. Oh fuck. Fuck me, you are perfect. Now suck. Oh fuck, yes!"

Although she was being very careful, his encouragement was bracing. She managed to get nearly half of him into her mouth before she gagged again. It wasn't nearly so unpleasant as she imagined when she heard Randa talk about it, in fact, she kind of liked the sensation of sucking on him. It was difficult to breathe and she was sure that drool was making its way down her chin, but she had stopped caring. At his direction, she began to stroke him where her mouth couldn't reach, twisting slightly and sucking, swallowing, sucking. His hand on the back of her head was reassuring, although it also frightened her. She worried that he might shove her further down than she could go and she'd choke, but he restrained himself. He started guiding her head up and down his shaft as she sucked and stroked until she picked up the rhythm herself.

Her jaw was just beginning to get sore when his hand tightened in her hair and he growled out from behind clenched teeth, "I'm going to come, you don't have to take it, just keep stroking with your hands. Oh fuck, yes."

She moved her head back since he'd told her he didn't mind. She wanted to watch and see what he meant when he said he'd come. That time in the woods, weeks ago, she'd seen what he looked like after he came and this afternoon she could feel something but she wanted to see, to know.

So she stroked with both hands, pulling and twisting and loving the filthy, terrible things that spewed from his mouth. "Oh fuck yes, gods, yes, Sansa. Yes. Faster. Ohh. Yes. I love watching your tits bounce with your hands on my cock. Fuck. Sansa, I'm …."

He trailed off with a roar as he came, his cock twitching, pulsing in her hands, sending up shot after shot of creamy white liquid. She froze in amazement, watching his muscles tense and release. He grabbed one of her hands even as he spent, moving it up and down his shaft, milking the last of his orgasm. When it was finished, he lay back against the pillow panting, squeezing her hand gently in a comforting, thankful way. A moment later, she lifted her other hand to examine where some of his seed had landed against her fingers. Remembering how he'd seemed to enjoy her taste that day, she licked his spend off her knuckle. He watched her, fascinated. If he hadn't just had a massive, explosive orgasm, he could have come just watching that. As it was, he twitched a bit.

"You don't have to do that," he murmured. "Most women don't like the taste."

Sansa turned to look at him, her finger stuck between her lips. He groaned and closed his eyes. "I don't mind it," she informed him. "Tastes like the juice from wild game."

Using the edge of the linens to clean him off, Sansa curled up against him. "Sandor?" she whispered.

"Mm?"

"I hope you weren't hurt when I asked for moontea."

He chuckled and stroked her hair. "No pups for my wolf?"

"Not yet," she rushed to correct him. "But one day, if you want them, I'll want to give you children."

"We're supposed to be resting," he reminded her. "You trying to get my blood up again? No, you were right. This is no world to be bringing a babe into, not with the lions on our tail and the flayers before us."

"But someday?"

He growled sleepily and massaged her belly where one day she would carry his child. "Someday, little bird. We'll have a whole litter of pups, hmm?"

They slept then, and Sansa had an achingly beautiful dream of sitting beside Sandor in front of one of the great fireplaces at Winterfell with a little boy asleep on his lap and her belly swollen with another. It was the first truly good dream she'd had since her first days at King's Landing.