9.

Sandor

He remembered. It was one of those first early days of spring, one of the first mornings he had woken up early to a smell drifting in through the window that was quite distinctly and unmistakably spring. It was familiar, in a distant way; he could only just remember back to the last one, before the long summer; he had been a young man then, young and so angry. It seemed to him now that he had been twisted up inside and out back then, a thing created of knotty bits of string held together with battered armour. No, he had no nostalgia for youth. It was strange, to look at the sleeping girl beside him and realise that she was no older now than he had been then. She was miraculous; to look once was always to look again. He stroked her hair upon the pillow, bright like a fire that would never frighten him; she had untied him, somehow unpicked all those knots inside that he had thought could never be untangled.

It was barely six in the morning but the world was alive outside. One thing he had learned on the Quiet Isle was that the world was always full of noise. It was true this morning- he could hear the breeze ruffle the curtains, the birds setting up a cacophony outside, his wife's snuffling breathing as she slept – gentle breathing was what he wished he could say, but the truth was she snored like a wriggling puppy, although she complained that he was the one who sometimes twitched in his sleep as though he was chasing rabbits.

Another sound added itself to the symphony on the morning air; he thought perhaps he had heard it before. It was maybe this that had woken him up, the wolves down in the courtyard, howling back and forth as though in conversation. They were chatty this morning; over the months he had learned to recognise their voices; Summer with his loud clear bark, almost like one of the dogs, Shaggydog, always more growling, gruff like he was himself. Shaggydog was his favourite; Sandor often came across him in the morning, asleep in Stranger's stall. Somehow, the horse who made friends with nobody but his master seemed to have found a kindred spirit in Shaggydog, and he would often see the wolf streaking along at their heels as he rode. Ghost was out there too, he knew, silent but listening; he would be talking too, but in his own way.

One morning not long before, they had come down to find Ghost back from beyond the wall, a sad and silent look in his ruby eyes. I'm home, it seemed to say, but sorrowful for his lost master. Tears had jumped in Sansa's eyes and she had dropped to her knees and hugged Ghost as though he were a child – A wolf without a human, she had said, more to the wolf than anyone else – and I was a human without a wolf. Ghost latched himself to her after that, true to his name always following close by her.

Wolves within the walls of Winterfell, he thought – it had taken some getting used to, but in truth, not that much. They were very like dogs to him and there was not a one of them disliked him.

And so he knew, hearing them this morning that something was different. It was not something bad; he knew that as well, their calls were more expectant, excited than they were of warning. They had become louder too, and Sansa stirred beside him. She yawned; she was never quick to really wake, she looked at him and smiled as she always did, and it never stopped making his heart sing to see. Then she frowned as he knew she would –

"The wolves –" she murmured and he nodded and, as if by mutual unspoken agreement they threw on some clothes and went down to the yard.

Hardly anybody was up at this hour, even with the noise the wolves were making. Only Arya and Rickon, in fact, and they looked at Sansa accusingly;

"We've been waiting for you for ages," Arya moaned.

"Can't you hear them?" Rickon added. A gentle rumble added voice to theirs and they all looked up to see Bran circling in the sky as though on the same errand.

Sandor looked from one sibling to another and suddenly felt out of place – this is a Stark thing he thought, for want of better articulation, and he got as far as saying as he started to back away –

"Maybe I should –" when Sansa and Arya each took hold of his arm, impatiently and almost in unison, to make him stay.

"You're a Stark now," Sansa said, as though reading his thoughts; and it was true enough he supposed, he had little attachment to his own name, and their children would be Starks- but it was Arya's hold on his arm that really convinced him maybe he should stay. Besides, a figure at the front gate called –

"What are you all standing around for?" and they made off, with the wolves leading, to go in the direction Osha was pointing.

Outside the castle wall they looked down, to one side the Queen's Road and to the other the field sloping down towards the forest. Mist still hung upon the morning, coiling across the grass and out from the trees beyond and so by the time they made out the figures coming up from the woods they were closer than expected. Summer set up a delighted barking first and he and Shaggydog almost leaped out to meet the newcomers, Ghost running like a gentle wind behind.

Out of the humans it was Arya who worked it out first, as the largest shape came into view;

"Nymeria!" she shrieked, loud and unrestrained, tears darting into her eyes as she ran the way of the wolves. Rickon kept close to Osha, and they kept a little behind, but the four of them followed down the meadow and when they reached the little group Arya was on the grass, damp seeping up her skirt, laughing and crying into the dire wolf's neck.

She was huge, this one, Sandor noticed, even bigger than the others, and yet she licked her little owner's face and neck like an excited puppy. There were tears sparkling in Sansa's eyes just watching them, but they were tears of joy. Her own wolf could never return to her, she knew, but it would never have made her sad to see Arya so happy. More happy even than the day Gendry had come to them to take up the blacksmith's role at Winterfell.

It seemed like an age and like no time at all, before Nymeria broke away from Arya, who was still sobbing in delight, to evaluate the rest of them. She licked Sansa's hand, nuzzled Rickon, greeted the massive dragon who had landed near them with a friendly bark and then sniffed the two strangers. She made a motion of the head that suggested she approved of Osha then came and sniffed at Sandor for the longest time.

"She doesn't like the smell of you either," Arya laughed through her tears. But then, as if in defiance of her mistresses words, Nymeria licked him exuberantly on the hand. He had never been so happy to be covered in drool and Arya regarded him for the first time with a look he had never expected to see from her.

And then, as though she were making an introduction, Nymeria trotted to the smaller shapes she had brought with her, that sat and wriggled clumsily in the grass. Six of them, just as she had been one of six, barely more than a few weeks old, squishy and clumsy on soft paws. She picked one of the littlest up decidedly by the scruff and deposited it gently and deliberately – everyone was sure – at Sansa's feet.

Sansa went to her knees in the grass then too, reaching out to the wolf pup gently, looking at the mother all the while as if to say may I? When she touched the soft fur the started to cry silently, it was happy and sad all at once and the pup all but leapt into her arms. When she stood up it came with her, nestling its head beneath her chin.

Nymeria stayed the rest of the day, conducting her visit as though she were a queen, not resting until she had met all the new inhabitants of Winterfell. When it came evening and she sloped away with silent goodbyes, Bran told them, through Gilly, that she would be back to visit often. She was wild now and would not live within the castle like the others did; only the little one she had given Sansa would stay and she would be back often to see them all.

Sansa did not let go of the pup all day and Sandor was reminded, fiercely, of the very first time he had seen her; a child walking with a great wolf, unafraid and free. She was unafraid again now, but a child no longer. He remembered back then how hard he had tried not to love her, but to see her now he wondered that he had ever bothered.

"You should call her Lady," Arya said that night at dinner, the pup sat between them on the bench, begging scraps from her mistress's hand. Sansa looked at her, dreamy and decided all at once –

"No –" she said steadily, in truth she had been thinking about this much of the day – "No, Lady was. And I won't replace her, it would be….rude. I thought I might call her Cat."

Arya snorted and laughed –

"You can't call a wolf Cat."

Sansa nodded, with all due respect to their mother she supposed she could not, not really.

"I'll call her Alayne then," she nodded, firmly, adding in a murmur for anyone who understood – "part of me – but different."

Sandor understood.

-x-

And now, in the clearing, with everyone who mattered nearby, all of the wolves came too, bounding upon them unaware of their size, the little ones thinking they were puppies still, leaping and rolling in a great licking tumble.

Truly Sandor thought – the whole family, together again.

_x_

I know, I know it's a happy ending but Jon Snow has died. I'm sorry, I can't fit everyone in here, and – I know – I'm sorry – I don't really like him that much *holds up hands in advanced surrender!*

I don't know if they'd re-name the King's Road if there was a Queen on the iron throne, but I figured they might so yeah, did that. :-)