Servants were bringing out the final course, a series of beautiful desserts, each more tempting than the last. There were fruit tarts in deep round dishes, surrounded by warm flaky crusts and full of dark berries that Catelyn knew would be equal parts tart and sweet. Pears poached in strongwine were followed by sliced winter peaches served with chilled honeyed milk. The iced blueberries with sweet cream were set in front of Arya; the cooks were well used to chasing her out of the kitchen for trying to sneak bowls of it. Catelyn herself looked forward to the baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and cloves, and planned to have mulled wine as well. Sansa, of course, only had eyes for the lemon cakes frosted with sugar, which she was nibbling on daintily, in between laughing at Tommy's antics.

It was Sansa's fifteenth name day, and the feast that night was just a bit more lavish than usual in celebration. Gage and the rest were all too happy to make all of Sansa's favorites, and even fashioned the lemon cakes in the shape of roses especially for her. Catelyn had offered to have a new dress made for her, but Sansa had begged instead for silk and wool and fine thread in yellow and black, eager to make favors for her betrothed in his house colors, although the man was no knight. She had also asked for white and gray velvet in order to make her own maiden's cloak. Her father, of course, allowed the purchases, although he made sure to be clear that Sansa would have no need for a maiden's cloak for many years yet.

The children were laughing and clapping while Sandor's bastard nephew juggled lemons and winter peaches to amuse Sansa, and Catelyn had to admit the boy was quite good. She found it curious that although he seemed better at being a court jester than a squire, his uncle didn't seem to mind. Sandor spoke gruffly to Tommy and seemed to always chide him for sleeping late and asking too many questions, but was in truth strangely tolerant of the boy's shoddy squiring. But then, everything about Sandor Clegane was strange.

Catelyn looked over at the scarred man, and saw that he was smiling fondly at Sansa's obvious enjoyment, and only grinned more broadly when Arya started shouting that she wanted to learn how to juggle, too. His smile did nothing to make him more handsome; in fact, it twisted the scarred half of his face in a most alarming manner, but Catelyn could not be moved to fear him, not anymore.

Despite the initial shock – and yes, despair – upon hearing his name from Jojen Reed's lips, Catelyn had to admit that Sandor Clegane mayhaps was going to be a good match for Sansa. What mother didn't wish for a strong and gentle husband for her daughter? Surely there was no stronger nor fiercer warrior in all the Seven Kingdoms. Catelyn had seen Sandor in the yard practicing with each of Winterfell's best guardsmen, and when he sparred with Robb and Theon and Jon, he took the boys on two at a time, and sometimes all at once. One didn't need to know anything about swordfighting to recognize deadly skill when one saw it. Sandor was bigger and stronger than the others, but also incredibly fast and strangely graceful. Even if she had never witnessed his skill in the yard, his reputation as The Hound spoke for itself.

No-one with knowledge of his reputation would think the man capable of gentleness, yet Catelyn had seen it with her own eyes. He was brutish and rude and alarmingly large, as well as muscled like a bull. He stalked about the corridors and in the courtyards with a scowl and a dangerous air, making even the boldest servants grant him only the barest greetings before scurrying away. Yet he treated Sansa with a tenderness and caution that bordered on reverence...it was remarkable. Catelyn was sure that he really only spoke to her and to Ned with courtesy for Sansa's sake. All his gentleness and politeness was reserved for Sansa alone.

Catelyn thought back to their extraordinary and somewhat awkward first meeting. Extraordinary because she had never witnessed anything like it. Her sweet and lovely daughter, and this scarred brute of a man, merely stared at each other with an uncanny intensity. The moment stretched on and on, but they never exchanged a word. Their eyes were locked together and it seemed nothing could break their gaze, as if the soul bond connection Old Nan spoke of was a tangible thing linking them together. Sansa's Tully blue eyes met the fathomless gray eyes of the Hound, and there was an identical gleam in both gazes, an indefinable spark shared between them that was nearly palpable. Catelyn knew then she was witnessing something quite unique. If she had ever doubted the truth of the bond before that moment, seeing them stare at each other unblinkingly would have settled the matter.

Although her husband did not share the reasons behind his unshakable confidence in the strength and power of the bond, Catelyn trusted his faith and took it on as her own. She desperately wanted to know how Lyanna Stark dealt with her bond and what became of it, but knew better than to ask. Ned never spoke of his sister, and asking would only force him to deny her, which Catelyn knew he was loath to do.

Sansa and Sandor's first meeting was just as awkward for everyone else present. Sansa had confessed later that being near him for the first time had been so overwhelming she could barely think straight, much less form any words. It seemed their emotional overload also meant the pair would not – or perhaps could not – acknowledge anyone or anything else around them. Ned had made the formal introductions, and his words had fallen on deaf ears. When he implored Sansa – usually so courteous and eager to say and do the right thing – to say something, anything, he was met with total silence. She didn't even acknowledge her father! He had spoken directly to Sandor as well, and Catelyn supposed he would have been insulted had he not seen Sansa behave exactly the same the moment before: deaf and blind to all, as if she and Sandor were the only two people in the world.

Only the attention of Sansa's direwolf broke the gaze that tethered them together, and Catelyn had to concede that could only be a good omen. When Ned and the others had first brought the direwolf pups home, Catelyn had felt uneasy upon learning of the manner of their birth and discovery. She knew Ned put no stock in omens and the like, so she had held her tongue. But over the past few months, her opinion of the animals had changed. The direwolves grew fiercer and more defensive of their masters every day. For the most part, they each kept only to whom they belonged – even the other children were barely acknowledged. Only when the direwolves felt their charge was in danger would they react to others, usually in the form of a low growl or a spine-tingling snarl. The fact that Lady did not see Sandor as a threat to Sansa must be a good sign, not to mention the obvious affection she showed him in the courtyard that first day, and indeed ever since then.

Catelyn marveled, not for the first time, how strange life in the North was, compared to life in the Riverlands. She doubted the children of other great Houses had such useful pets, but was thankful to the Old Gods and the new that her children had such an advantage. As Ned was fond of reminding her, winter was coming.

"A better fool than a squire, isn't he?"

Catelyn turned to her husband at the sound of his voice, and saw that he was also smiling at Tommy's entertainment. She smiled too, thinking it funny she had nearly the same thought only a moment ago.

"I thought the same, my lord. But Sandor doesn't seem to mind, does he?"

Ned looked thoughtful, and sipped on his wine. "He doesn't. He treats the boy fairly. Nay, in truth he is lenient with him. I suspect he may even have a fondness for him."

Ned's tone was light, but Catelyn knew what he hinted at. He was impressed that Sandor treated Tommy so well, given he was Tommy Hill, a bastard born to his brother Gregor and some unfortunate Westerwoman. But Catelyn had no prejudice against bastard children, and the poor boy was only twelve. She knew no good would have come to him living among Lannisters or near his terrifying father. It was only her husband's bastard she had no love for. It was another topic not worth broaching with Ned.

"I suspect you are correct, my lord, and Tommy is a good boy after all. But who would have thought the Hound could be so patient and tolerant?"

Ned put down his wine goblet, and his eyes strayed over to where Sandor and Sansa sat together, speaking quietly. Sansa's cheeks were flushed and she was smiling up at Sandor with stars in her eyes, as if he was a hero from her favorite song and the handsomest man alive.

He smiled wistfully. "My lady, you speak truly. Much about Sandor Clegane surprises me. But the same is true for our Sansa. Gods, Catelyn, five and ten! When did she grow up? How is it I am seeing my daughter sit and talk with a man who will be her husband?"

"She has grown my lord, better than I even hoped. I am proud of her. Never would I have thought she would look on a man like Sandor Clegane as if he was Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. I had oft feared Sansa lived too much in her songs, and would never learn to heed her grandfather's words."

Ned laughed. "Yes, Sansa shall have no trouble keeping to the Tully motto, not if it means marrying her hero." Ned smiled the indulgent smile he reserved only for Sansa and Arya. "I doubt she thinks on it as a burden, my lady. It seems our Sansa has made her own song."

It was true. No matter what she and Ned thought of the match, it was clear to Catelyn that Sansa couldn't be happier.

Ned was still smiling as he watched Sansa and Sandor, but Catelyn could see the gray in his eyes darken. He reached out for her hand and squeezed it, and the act made Catelyn's heart race, for she knew what dark thoughts had suddenly clouded her husband's eyes.

"My lady, it pleases me to have this moment with you and our children. I fear the errand we spoke of may take me away from Winterfell and all I love, at least for a while."

He brought her hand to his mouth, and dropped a soft kiss on her fingertips. Fear curled in Catelyn's belly, cold and sharp, and she couldn't help but shiver, although the fires in the Great Hall blazed high and hot. She didn't respond, but merely looked at him with uneasy eyes.

Ned's eyes met her own. "I mislike the situation as much as you, my lady. I know your misgivings for they are mine, also. So many hard questions yet no easy answers. The one that troubles me most is why. Jon Arryn was a good man and well-liked. Why would anyone, even...those your sister accuses...want him dead?"

Dark wings, dark words, Catelyn thought to herself. Never before had the saying rang truer. Only a few days ago, Maester Luwin received a raven marked for Catelyn's eyes only. Inside was a coded message from her sister Lysa, containing a shocking and dangerous accusation against the Queen.

"The answer I would have my lord is why now? Jon has been dead near on a year. Why would my sister wait so long to say something, if indeed she had such suspicions? What does she hope we can do about her claim?"

Ned hadn't released her hand, and now used both of his to clasp hers. "Your questions plague me as much as my own, my lady. What worries me is that perhaps none of the answers can be found here in Winterfell."

She and Ned had spoken on this at length already, although it was no disagreement. They were unfortunately of the same mind. The charge that Jon Arryn was murdered on Queen Cersei's orders was too serious to ignore. But neither Catelyn nor her husband knew what could be done about it, nor even if such a claim could be proven. Ned had the right of it, however...the question of motive was a grave one.

"Let us speak no more of this tonight, my love. It is Sansa's day; we should enjoy it and let another night be clouded by such dark matters. Tonight let us enjoy..."

Catelyn's words were cut off by Robb jumping to his feet to noisily toast to his sister's health. He and Theon had surely indulged too much in the mulled wine, but Catelyn was glad for the distraction. She and Ned both smiled and joined in the toast, while Sansa blushed prettily. Catelyn felt a pang of sympathy for her sister, with only her little boy for company in the high and lonely Eyrie. Catelyn knew she was truly blessed to be surrounded by family.

Family. Although she and Sandor wouldn't marry for years yet, Sansa talked about her wedding and future family constantly. Sansa's enthusiasm alarmed Ned, but it was to be expected of a girl of her age. Sandor did not seem to feel particularly rushed, however; he had not even asked about when the marriage might occur.

Once they did marry, perhaps in a few years, Sansa would likely have no trouble giving him strong, tall sons. She was a tall girl, and unlikely to have any more trouble in childbed than Catelyn did herself. Bran's delivery took an age, and had been more painful than the rest, but in the end, all she had needed was an extra week of rest beyond what she had with Robb and the girls. Catelyn figured underneath those burn scars was no dashing prince, but probably a fairly handsome man. Yes, their sons would be tall and handsome, and look like Starks, too, with Sandor's dark hair and gray eyes.

Catelyn was secretly glad that Sandor was only a second son; she knew that eventually her children would all leave Winterfell, save Robb who would one day be Lord Stark in his father's place, but like any mother she wished it wasn't so. If Sandor's brother was lord of their family's keep then he wouldn't take Sansa away, and Catelyn allowed herself a bit of selfish joy at the fact.

After the toast, Catelyn looked over to see Arya sitting with Tommy and Jon, trying to juggle three winter peaches, and failing spectacularly. One was overripe and fell to the table in a soft splat, and another bounced to the floor and rolled away, to be sniffed at suspiciously by her direwolf. Catelyn sighed and shook her head slightly, despairing that Arya would never learn to behave as a proper lady. Poor Septa Mordane tried her best, but Arya was willful if nothing else. Catelyn couldn't help but hope that when it came time for Arya's soul bonding, Jojen Reed would name someone for her that was as equally good for her as Sandor seemed to be for Sansa. After all, winter was coming.


A/N: Ahh, the plot thickens! I know some of you were very ready to to read about Certain Things happening between our heroine and hero, but you must be patient, my sweet summer children! First we needed to get another's perspective on this whole soul bond thing. Coming up next: Sansa and Sandor start to get to know each other, and Sandor learns what the heckola this "bond" thing is.

Thank you so much for your faves and follows and reviews! Of course I'm greedy and I'd love to hear more - what you think of each chapter, and where you think the story might be going (I'm not going to give anything away, of course!). As always, please review and let me know what you think!