Authors' Notes: It is amazing how much things have moved on even in just ten months (I hope for better!). Reviewing this piece again was much more work than I anticipated; I suddenly noticed many awkward turns of phrases, clichés, dubious passages and overall poor writing…and undoubtedly if coming back in a year's time will roll my eyes for the quality of current writing – but that's life!

I can't believe how well received this has been and how generous you have been with your comments – THANK YOU! They really stimulate and inspire me, so my humblest thanks to all of you…

Summary: It had been years since he had slept with his mother, but as he curled next to Sansa it was easy to forget that he was a boy grown and had seen ten namedays. They played childhood games long put aside, Eddor squealing in delight when Sansa tickled him, in return burrowing into her and teasing her so mercilessly that she had to soon surrender to him in breathless fits of laughter.

Sansa

Sansa planned to leave as soon as feasible, keen to tell Eddor the momentous news. She craved having Sandor in Winterfell as soon as possible, but not unless her son – their son – was comfortable with it.

She considered it better to keep up with the subterfuge for a while longer and go on her way alone. They kissed their way through slightly awkward goodbyes in the room, their newfound intimacy still being so very fresh and raw. As Sansa stepped out into the front yard, she looked around her in awe. All her senses were heightened; the crunch under her foot sounded louder to her ears, the sun peering through wispy clouds seemed brighter and the smells wafting in the cool morning air were sharper and more intense. She saw people hurrying to do their chores and couldn't understand how they could behave as if nothing had happened. Her life had been just thrown upside down – how could the rest of the world move on as before?

She glanced at the window she knew to be Sandor's and saw his tall figure behind it, looking down at her. At that sight something inside her broke and she turned back, ran up the stairs, through the corridor and to the door Sandor had already opened, straight into his arms.

They stayed in bed that whole day, loving each other and sharing fragments of their pasts, bit by bit. They continued their explorations of each other's bodies, kissed until their lips were raw and chafed, then rested contentedly in a tight embrace, talking in quiet voices. Sandor told her about the community of silent men and how they had changed his life. She kissed the ridged scar tissue on his thigh, silently blessing it. She was sure that without his injuries and the kind men, he would have eventually died in some foreign field, never returning to her.

Afternoon shadows had started to fall by the time Sansa reluctantly stirred herself from his arms.

"I have to return. I need to find Eddor and tell him about you and us, and give him some time to think about it before you join us."

"You reckon he will accept me?" Sandor muttered, toying with her hair. Sansa had noticed how he couldn't seem to get enough of it, burying his face against it, brushing his large hands through it, playing with the long auburn strands.

"I hope so. He knows much about you already, but he is the kind of boy who wants to think things over and come to his own conclusions in his own time, and it can't be hurried. He also tends to keep some things to himself, not unlike his sire." She smiled a wan smile when she said that, refusing to think of how much it had cost them that Sandor had done just that.

Sansa found Eddor with Maester Lesser. He was keen to follow his mother, happy for any excuse to escape boring lessons on the history of Westeros. They went to Sansa's rooms, where Eddor settled easily on the couch, fidgeting in anticipation of hearing what his mother had in store for him. Suddenly Sansa was nervous. How to explain to a ten-year-old who had grown up without a father, that his life was about to change? Not only that, but also that what she was planning would be scandalous and unheard of, and would only increase the amount of gossip and societal pressure they would be subjected to.

"Eddor, do you remember what I have told you about your father?" Sansa started. Eddor nodded.

"You remember I told you how we loved each other, even though it was not proper? How he went away because my kin didn't approve, and how I always missed him?" She hadn't told Eddor the reason for his departure, and considering she herself had only heard it two days ago, she was glad she had never tried to give him her own interpretations as to why.

"You also remember that he was the most famous warrior in Westeros at the time, the strongest and the most skilful? How he was considered by some also to be the ugliest?" She glanced at Eddor.

His expression started to change, and he raised his head to stare directly at her. He knows, he is not stupid, Sansa thought. She didn't have to continue further when Eddor spoke.

"Mother, you must be telling me this for a reason. Is this about your friend, Lord Clegane?" His expression was calm.

Sansa stretched her hand out to touch her son. Normally he would have squirmed and tried to avoid it, embarrassed by the way his mother treated him as a child when he was already almost a man grown. However, he didn't mind when she placed her hand on his arm and stayed still, looking keenly at Sansa.

"You are right, it is about him. He is your father. He has been away, but that was because he didn't know you existed. As you are learning about him right now, he only learned about you two days ago."

Eddor took a deep breath, then stilled. Sansa's heart raced as she studied his face, so familiar to her and yet at that moment so… grown-up.

She hoped Eddor's own experiences would help him to understand what it was to be an outsider, rejected and denied as his father had been. She had always wanted to protect Eddor from the cruelty of the world, but in Highgarden he had been subjected to it nonetheless. There for the first time he had been teased and called names, and like any young child he had been hurt by it although he hadn't truly understood it at the time. In Winterfell nobody dared – or wanted – to call him bastard, but every now and then a visitor broke the code, jeering at how a noble lady's shame was so openly flaunted. Those visitors were usually quickly silenced and sternly chastised by the castlefolk, and if they didn't learn their lesson the first time, they soon found themselves evicted.

She allowed the silence that ensued, knowing her son was careful to express his views on any matter rashly. Eddor stared at his hands, his face unreadable. For a moment Sansa worried that she had overestimated his ability to take in the confusing news. Then he spoke.

"Does this mean that you will be happy now?" Sansa felt tears in her eyes, so relieved she was at his words. Her son had understood immediately what the revelation meant, not only for himself, but to his mother, whom he loved as fiercely as she loved him. Due to circumstances, and despite all the love his kin showed to him, Eddor had always been unusually close to Sansa and their bond was stronger than that of many other mothers and their sons. Sansa smiled at him and squeezed his hand.

"Yes, I am very happy. I know this is a big change for you, but I hope that in time you will be happy too. I don't expect you to embrace him as your father straight away; I know he is a total stranger to you and it will take a while before you get to know him. All I ask is that you give him a chance."

Eddor looked at her again, uncertainly. "Do you want me to call him Father?"

"No my sweetling, you don't have to. But don't call him 'Lord' either, nor 'Ser'. He is neither, although he could have been both – but he didn't want it. He is not like most men, as you will learn. Just call him Sandor."

"Very well…." An enquiring expression crossed Eddor's face. "Will he stay with us? If so, where will he live?"

"He will stay here, and he will live with me in these rooms."

"Will you wed?"

"I wish we could, but we can't as I am still married to Lord Willas. I will write to him to explain everything, and I hope he will understand." Sansa leaned closer to Eddor.

"This will be highly unusual arrangement, and most people will not understand it. Just like they didn't understand why I was never ashamed of you, even though you were born out of wedlock. I am being honest with you, Eddor; people will gossip, they will point fingers. They will call me names if I dare to live with the man I love although my husband still lives. They may call you names too – but at least you know that you now have a father that is truly yours. You may not be able to take his name, but you will always be a Stark. Yet do we care about what people say? As long as we know what we do is right for us, and we love each other; you, me, Robb, Jeyne, Arya, Rickon, grandmother Catelyn, all your cousins…and Sandor."

Eddor nodded affirmatively. "We don't care what other people think." He raised his head proudly, and yet again Sansa was struck by the way his mannerisms mirrored those of Sandor. She had known him all along to be much like his sire, but after she had seen them side by side that had become even clearer.

She squeezed Eddor's hand again. "This has been big news for you. If you want, you can skip the meal in the Great Hall tonight, and we can have our meal brought here. Would you like that?"

They spent the evening in Sansa's rooms, mother and son, almost like the days when they had lived together when Eddor was but a toddler. He had only moved into the room he shared with Robb's eldest a few years ago, as was the custom for young boys when they became older. However, as night arrived, Eddor stayed with Sansa.

It had been years since he had slept with his mother, but as he curled next to Sansa it was easy to forget that he was a boy grown and had seen ten namedays. They played childhood games long put aside, Eddor squealing in delight when Sansa tickled him, in return burrowing into her and teasing her so mercilessly that she had to soon surrender to him in breathless fits of laughter. After exhausting themselves in the childish games they both secretly enjoyed, Sansa told Eddor more about Sandor; how she had first met him, how he had saved her from the hands of her jailors and how misunderstandings had separated them.

She kept things simple, knowing Eddor to be too young to understand all the intricacies and the complicated histories of the alliances and hostilities of the war fought so long time ago. The frailties of human heart were even more difficult to explain to a ten-year-old, so she kept those matters simple as well. After all, what really mattered was that he knew Sansa and his father had loved each other, and were in love still.

Eddor listened to her intently, asked a few questions, but mostly seemed to be content with the things Sansa told him.

"What do you think about Sandor arriving to Winterfell tomorrow?" Sansa asked him. "Are you ready to face him – and the reaction of the people, when they see him and you and learn the truth?"

Eddor scrunched his face contemplatively. "I wish he would come here as soon as he can. Can I be there to greet him when he arrives?"

Sansa was surprised. "Are you sure? You are most welcome, and I know it would mean a lot to him, but it may be difficult at first. People will stare and they will whisper."

"I don't care. I would rather meet that head on than hear people snickering behind my back." Eddor's voice was steady and Sansa realised that the little boy who just a moment ago had shrieked with the joy of being a child again, was truly growing up. When had that happened?

That night, when Sansa hugged her son's gangly limbs and stroked his dark tresses she wondered how her heart could contain all the love that was welling inside it; love for her son, love for Sandor, love for the family unit she knew they would form.

A pack of hounds and wolves.