As days passed, more guests arrived and Sansa found herself alongside Rickon and Ayme and the Tyrells greeting families of House Umber, Glover, Manderly and Reed. Members of the Mountain Clans settled in their winter town homes: some would stay until spring, others would return to the mountains after the wedding to reap what they still could from their lands before winter. Sansa knew many of the old men would not return, choosing instead to die in the cold mountains. She walked through the town and welcomed them warmly, knowing they had respected her father, and that they respected Sandor, whom they called "The Clegane", since his fierceness and stubbornness more than equaled their own.
The Mormont women arrived wearing breeches and mail, bearing gifts of arms, a weirwood sapling for the Glass Garden and, to Sansa's suprised delight, two large and furry black puppies for Brynden and Benjen. She laughed to see their excitement and was reminded of the day her father and brothers returned to Winterfell with orphaned direwolf pups for all the Stark children, including Jon. She bravely suppressed her sad tears and told her sons they must care for the pups themselves, train and feed them and chose their names carefully. When a violent autumn tempest drove both boys and their dogs to seek comfort and refuge in Sansa and Sandor's bed that same night, the pups were named Thunder and Storm.
The rain stops in time for the next morning's hunt and Lord Tyrell and his son Ser Loras are momentarily astonished to see Catya, dressed in worn brown velvet breeches, leather jerkin and high boots, join the hunt alongside the Mormont women. The women tuck daggers into their waistbands and sling their quivers and bows across their backs as the Northmen nod their appreciation and set out to the Wolfswood with their hunstmen and dogs.
The meal in the Great Hall that evening is particularly raucous as they feast on their wild game, from rabbit stew to roasted fowl to spits of boar and venison. The Mountain clansmen, not content with out-riding and out-hunting each other now proceed to try to out-eat and out-drink their rivals as well. The Mormont women are serenaded by the entire gathering with "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," with most agreeing they are equal parts bear and fair maiden.
"Not true!" called the Greatjon. "Not all are maidens," he jested bawdily and good-natured comments fly with great merriment.
"What did the man mean, Mama?" Benjen asked in confusion.
"Look, Benjen: lemon cakes!" Sansa tells him.
"Lord Tyrell," the Greatjon called, "what say you of our Northern huntresses?"
"I say they are as bold and swift as they are beautiful, Lord Umber," he replied, living up to his soubriquet of Garlan the Gallant.
"Do your women join the hunt in the South, my lord?" Sandor asked now, though after years with the royal party he already knew the answer.
"They sometimes ride with us," Garlan replied, "but do not go afoot after prey nor take part in the kill. They are not taught to hunt and therefore show no real interest."
Sandor nodded. "And will my daughter be permitted to hunt in the Reach?"
Many in the hall quieted to hear the answer and all eyes turned to Ser Loras and Catya at the high table.
"If it please her, my lord," Loras answered easily, "someone needs keep the larders well-stocked."
Everyone laughed and Sandor raised his goblet to his daughter who giggled happily.
"If she impressed you with her bow, Ser Loras, wait until you see her with an axe!" Ned jested.
Cries of approval went up among the tables and many of the Clansmen held up axes and called for a demonstration. Torches were brought forth and many headed out into the yard towards the archery butts. Catya accepted an axe from a distant Flint relative and lined herself up to the target. With an indrawn breath, she lifted it above her head and threw it forcefully with a hoarse cry. When it flew straight to embed itself in the wood with a solid thunk and held, the roar was deafening. But before Sandor could embrace her in congratulations, she was already swept up in the arms of her betrothed who then held her hand aloft like a tourney champion. As drunken men now lined up to best the bride-to-be at axe-wielding, Sandor quietly slipped away back towards the hall where he found Benjen standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing there, little man," he rasped, "did you come to watch them throw axes?"
"My tummy hurts," he pouted.
"Too much venison, and too many lemon cakes," he drained his goblet. "Come sit," he motioned to a bench and sat down next to his youngest son. He placed one large hand on the boy's shoulder and the other on his belly and rubbed slow circles. Soon there was a sound like linen ripping.
"I farted," Benjen admitted sheepishly.
"Don't tell the Mountain folk," Sandor warned him dryly, "they're like to make a contest of it."
Benjen's puppy came sniffing at their feet and under the bench, looking for more scraps to eat before giving up and sitting attentively. The boy broke wind again and his puppy tilted his head curiously.
"Why does he look at me like that, Papa?"
"Might be he's wondering why he's called Thunder when you're making all the noise," he told his son.
"I can't help it," he told his father apologetically.
"Nor should you: don't hold them in, son, you'll only feel worse."
"For true, Papa?"
"Aye, your Papa had to do it for years whilst guarding a nasty, evil queen and her monstrous son. Everyone feared me because I looked fierce and mean," he lowered his head to his son's and rasped confidentially, "I really only needed to fart."
Benjen laughed.
"Just try not to eat so much so fast, son; time will come when you needs train with steel you'll find it's better to fight with a near-empty belly," he advised him. "I've seen many good fighters get winded or heave their guts while battling and lose to lesser men."
"A better fighter can lose?" his son asked incredulously.
"In the blink of an eye," Sandor rasped harshly. "All a man needs do is be careless or cocky and let his guard down for the merest instant and he's a dead man."
He saw his son was looking back at him with owlish eyes, overawed. He squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.
"You'll learn, just as your brothers have, and me and your uncle Rickon, and the Blackfish-"
Thunder raised his head suddenly, then rose on all fours and wagged his tail furiously as his brother Storm emerged from the hall, followed by Brynden.
"Why are you all out here?" he asked his father.
"Benjen has a bellyache; the others are hurling axes with drunkards. Come sit by me," Sandor replied.
Brynden came and sat, watching his puppy sniff the ground.
"You've been quiet," Sandor remarked.
Brynden shrugged one shoulder and swung his feet. "Everyone's busy," he mumbled.
"Aye, they are." He put a hand on Brynden's shoulder now. "There are a great many people now but they're our guests so we must attend to them." There was a great splintering sound from the archery butts followed by raucous cheering. "They'll be gone soon enough, then we can go to the Wolfswood, just us three, and I can teach you to lay snares for catching rabbits. Do you like to eat rabbit?"
Brynden smiled now, and nodded. "Can I wear a dagger, and skin a rabbit?"
"Aye, son, we'll pick a dagger out of the armoury for you," he rasped.
Just then Ned and Robb and Willam approached with Catya and Loras behind them.
"They've destroyed half the archery butts," Robb told his father, laughing
"That's why we only left half of them out," Sandor told him.
"Good. You'll still be able to practice then," Willam jeered at him.
"What's this?" Sandor rasped.
Robb looked humbled. "The archery competition at the tourney at Old Oak: I didn't make the last round."
"So?" Sandor challenged, "Not a bad effort; you're better with a sword than a bow anyways."
"That's what I told him," Loras agreed, "though I am clearly no expert in capabilities."
"You must not mock yourself so meanly for an accident, Ser Loras," Catya told him softly.
Loras turned to her eagerly. "I'll win a tourney someday, I promise, and crown you Queen of Love-"
Sandor stood up and towered over him, glowering.
"If you knew this house's history, Ser Loras, you could not wish this on my daughter," he rasped angrily.
Catya eye's widened in surprise. "But we'll be married, Papa," she reasoned.
"Forgive me, my lord," Loras interrupted her firmly. "You are right. I meant no disrespect to you or to Winterfell. I apologize, my lady."
"You should all go inside," Sandor insisted. "You've left your mother alone with all those guests."
His older children and the Tyrell boys obeyed him unquestioningly, and entered the Great Hall with subdued expressions, like chastened children.
Sandor turned back to the bench to see his younger sons looking at him wide-eyed.
"Are we in trouble too, Papa?" Brynden asked.
"No one's in trouble, son; but mayhaps you should go to bed now. Go on, I'll be right behind you," he prompted them.
Both boys slid down off the bench and called to their puppies to follow. Once they were out of sight, he kicked the bench and cursed angrily.
"Sandor?" came a familiar voice in the dark yard.
He turned suddenly and his mouth twitched into a weary half-smile.
"Lord Commander Snow," he rasped. "Welcome home."