Bells! There were bells ringing. Loud and bellowing, they carried their message into the black chasm of night, pulling him from sleep with a force like being shoved off his horse in a joust. Bells on the Isle meant prayer or food; all things simple and good. Bells in Winterfell, Sansa had warned him, meant danger, and nearby rather than far. If the walls had been breached the bells would sound. He rose from his bed and was on his feet before he was even fully awake and aware of his actions. The soldier that lived on in his mind reminded muscles of the movement needed to defend with haste. His long sword was in hand as he took in deep lungfuls of air and shook his head, clearing the last remnants of sleep from him. He should have dug under the bed for the one piece of leather he'd saved from the Isle. Hells, what he should have done was visited the armory weeks ago, he scolded himself. But he heard shrieks from the hallways and his stomach became a ball of lead within him, pushing all thoughts of "should haves" out of his mind to be replaced with only now.

Anteros' face and Sansa's swam before him, pushing his feet out of his door and into the poorly light corridors. He cursed at himself. Why had he remained in the guest chambers, leaving Sansa's care to the tall blonde? Brienne had seen her through safely for years; it was obvious the woman had some skill, but still, Sansa was his duty. She had always been his duty and he swore more harshly at his folly. He'd been so wrapped up in hoping, in building dreams, and sharing kisses in stairwells that he'd forgotten the dangers of the world. Sansa's gentle side had taken him in and he'd surrendered to it, disregarding the direct, honest words he'd given her weeks ago. Sansa had said Winterfell was blessed by his presence; the bells hadn't rung out once since his arrival. He told her she was kind to a fault and to wait. They would call out, given enough time.

He had been proven right once again. There was never any true era of peace. No chance at a long, uninterrupted stretch of time where violence and ruin wouldn't follow him. Only spaces here and there, like sleep. His life of peace and war was like dreaming and waking. He was fully awake now, following the shouts of alarm coming from the first floor. Taking the short staircase at a side step, he was able to make it down to the bottom level of the household quicker on his bad leg. It didn't like to bend on stairs without letting him know about it.

The great entrance-way to the house was in chaos. Soldiers and servants all crammed into the space, shouting and moving like warring storm clouds; each set a separate task and only managing to slow the progress of the other. And no where in the crowd did he see Sansa's bright flame. Pin pricks of panic tingled at his spine. He grabbed at a passing soldier, a young man of perhaps twenty. The man had more mass than some of the other soldiers and was moving with intent, yet his grip spun the man on his heel to face him.

"The Lady Stark!" he barked. "Where is she?" He stood and hollered, shirtless, barefoot, scars bared and a good two heads taller than the other man.

"I don't know!" the man shouted back at him. "All's I know is there's raiders over the wall. They've not yet taken the house. We're to search the perimeter and make sure they don't make it in."

"Where are the Lady's chambers?" he boomed. The man wasn't giving him the information he needed.

"Wouldn't know," the man said, starting to move in place. "Not my business to be knowing where a Lady's chambers are. Ask a maid," the strong man offered, pointing around the room to the servants dashing about. The man shrugged out of his grasp and

took off to where he'd been called to serve.

He scanned the room for a maid he knew. The only form he could recognize in the mass of people was the blonde who talked too much. She'd have to do. Pushing through the crowd, he seized her by the wrist, pulling her close to him. Her eyes lit with interest and he scowled at her. The light in her eyes dimmed but she didn't cower.

"The Lady Stark! Sansa!" he shouted, making sure to use the Little Bird's first name. "Where are her chambers?" His stupidity left him enraged. The Hound howled in anger at him for not bothering to learn where her rooms were. He had been trying to be courteous. He should have told courtesy to bugger off as he had done in the past. Now he was at the mercy of damned scullery maid.

The kitchen wench batted her eyes at him before answering. "Back at the North Tower. There's a hallway. Her rooms are set back there. But you don't need to worry about her. I've seen that giant of hers slay three men at a time. She's safe enough. But me?" she simpered, sticking out her bottom lip. "I could be in need of rescuing."

He rolled his eyes at her. "Piss off," he spat, shoving her into the arms of a passing boy soldier. "Lift your skirts for that one. I've no interest." He might have taken her up on the offer years upon years ago. Back before, when he knew only how to hate and not how to love. Now, girls like her did nothing but remind him of a life he longer wanted to live. The tart had been useful though, as his mind recalled the small hallway he'd seen Sansa walk down after they'd finished seeing Anteros off to bed.

There was a room before the North Tower and before that a passageway. Four soldiers were in the passage, at attention and alert. That was good though none of them seemed experienced. As he slid to a halt in front of them, none raised their weapons, only looked at him curiously. He laughed internally. He was one man with no armor and barely any clothing. There were four of them, yet they stood puzzled, wondering if he was friend or foe and not moving to find out. It wasn't until he reached for the door of the next room that they moved.

"Here now," one said, trying to grab for him and he growled, raising his steel. He didn't wish to attack someone on his own side but he wasn't going to let anyone stand between him and what lay in the North Tower.

"I know him," the man on his farthest left called out. "He's down in the yard sometimes. Bloody good with a sword. He's the Hound, you bastards. He's one of the lot came in with the monks. Not a raider that's for sure."

"The Hound!" the one who had tried to grab at him said, backing off. "What you need back in there for? The Lady's got a guard already."

"The Lady doesn't yet have her guard dog," he snarled. "A giant and dog's better together than separate. Let me pass or I'll pass anyway. None of you've drawn steel yet and Bullis will hear of it! You should have cut me down and asked after. Let me by!" he yelled his final warning. The first man stepped back as he glared his way through the door.

The door clicked shut behind him. It was pitch black in the room. There were no candles or torches to light the way but he knew from memory there would be a large table four paces ahead of him set with chairs. A buffet was to the right and the door he wanted was in the back left corner. He took a step and froze. The room was wrong. It was too cold. If he could have seen he knew his breath would be nothing but a clouded puff of air. It stung his lungs and made his skin pucker into goose flesh. And then he felt a breeze. The front right window was open and he immediately threw himself against the stone wall trying to scan the room with eyes still adjusting to the dark. There! In the far corner, near the door he wanted, was a flash. Two flashes. One the white of eyes and the other the glint of steel. His eyes darted, looking for more flashes in the night but there was only the one back in the corner.

Gripping the sword in his hand tighter, he advanced. There was no sense in calling for the men in the hall over one lone scavenger. He'd have it done and over with before they made it into the room. The raider must have separated from his ilk and found a lose board to pry off of the window. The eyes in the corner shifted to the right as the raider moved. The flash of steel in the man's hands was small; a dagger. Even better. He had far more of a reach than the other man. He towered over the raider and lifted his sword, a feint to draw the man out. When the raider thought he'd missed with his blow, and lunged at him with the knife, it was easy enough to shift his weight, drawing back from the dagger and spinning to thrust his sword into the man's back. He hit rib and pushed harder, through the initial thrust and up, hearing the crunch of bone as his sword made it into the man's rib cage and up to his heart. There was the usual gurgle and groan of death. He could feel warm blood on his feet. It would always pull at him sweetly. The ease with which he could move and strike. It felt even better to do it in for her sake.

He let the filth he'd slain lie on the floor. Someone else could deal with it. He still had his family to find. Pushing through the door to the North Tower, he stopped short. There was a blade at his throat. He'd let his guard down thinking the hallway would be safe. But then he heard a woman's laugh, while the sword was lowered.

"If the Lady would have taken my bet she'd owe me a handful of gold," Brienne chuckled. "She knew you'd come. I said you'd be less than ten minutes. She said there's no way to walk that distance in such a short time. She was wrong. Looks like you ran! And blood on you too! Seven Hells! Are they in the house?" Brienne questioned, her tone growing more serious.

"Only the one I know of ," he quickly answered back, holding his sword up. "Won't get any trouble out of him. Where's Sansa? Anteros?"

"Both back in her room. They're fine. This has happened before. Many times. Only twice have they breached the house and I kept her safe each time," Brinene assured him but he couldn't help the worried glance he stole over her shoulder, down into the hall he knew must lead to Sansa'c chambers.

"Last door on the right," Brienne laughed, clucking her tongue at him. "Go on. The worst of it is over. I'll hold the door and shout if I need you. Here," she added, reaching into her pocket for a bit of cloth. "Wipe your feet. You'll trail blood down the hall."

He did so hastily, throwing the handkerchief on the floor when he was done and took to as much of a run as his leg would allow. At her door he knocked and tried the knob, finding it locked, which pleased him.

"Sansa," he rasped, letting more gravel take his voice so she would know it was him. "Open up!" He needed to see her. Brienne, the soldiers, the maid; everyone could reassure him of her safety until their last breath, but until he could look upon her with his own eyes none of their statements were true.

There was the sound of two bolts being undone and then the door slowly creaked open to reveal pale blue eyes through a crack. He pushed at the door, hard enough to force his way in and kicked it shut behind him. Sansa backed up as he entered, clutching a gold hilted knife in her hand, loosely and at the wrong angle. Anteros sat, in plain sight, on her bed. He'd have something to say about all that later. Now, his feet carried him straight to her and the same force he'd used to open the door, he currently used against her mouth. It was desperate and hard and he didn't care. He'd been frightened; terrified that somehow he'd been too late. For what, he couldn't even speak of and now relief had flooded his system.

There was truth to the notion of battle raising a man's blood. Where wine started with a warm blossom in the belly, battle began with a snap; raw, sharp and alive somewhere higher in his chest. It sizzled through his veins, from heart to limbs, to the tips of his fingers and then back again, gathering momentum as it traveled. He'd protected what was his and won. He'd faced danger for her and he needed for her to understand. One man or one hundred it mattered not. There was something left inside him only she could draw out. She let out a surprised sort of gulp and let him do as he pleased. She seemed to sense his need to let his fear and anger out in the form of passion. The knife in her hand clattered to the floor. They both lost themselves in the moment until they heard Anteros' voice.

"Mummy, he's kissing you!" the boy shouted. The little one sounded both cheerful and disgusted. Sansa laughed into his mouth and stepped back a pace.

"Yes, dearest, I suppose he is," she called, a deep scarlet creeping onto her cheeks. "He was worried about me. And you. But everyone's fine, aren't they?" She was reassuring both himself and their child. The lad turned to him. Anteros sat up a bit taller and it struck him the little one was trying to act a man.

"Are you and mummy going to get married?" the boy tried, hesitation in his voice. The child was speaking of adult matters he'd only just begun to understand. There was a pause for a bit as he thought on what to tell the lad. The question was directed to him and he would answer. He wasn't one for dodging the truth to begin with; lying to his own blood seemed a terrible thing to do.

"Aye," he stated. "Not quite yet. Later on if that suits you?" It was odd to feel nervous waiting on the answer of a child. He and Sansa were grown and could do as they pleased. But if for some reason the young one objected he didn't know how right their actions would be. He'd only been at Winterfell for two months. Perhaps the lad hadn't gotten used to him yet. Anteros bounced in his seat, kicking his feet and nodding. And that was all that seemed necessary as the child smiled at both of them.

"You've got blood on you," the boy observed. Sansa gasped, taking in the sight he must have made. There'd been a spray of warmth as he'd hacked through the raider. He'd wiped at his feet but nothing else in his hurry to see to her safety.

"Are you hurt?" Sansa asked, the kiss of moments ago forgotten in the wake of threat against him. She flew around him, touching and looking him up and down.

"Don't think so," he chuckled, watching her fuss and allowing her to spin him around so she could check his back. "None of it's mine, Little Bird. Stop worrying."

She drew herself up sternly to face him. "Do you ever stop worrying about me?"

The truth she was trying to show him hit immediately as he answered. "Never."

There was no more to say on the matter. She gave him a single nod of her head, indicating the issue was settled. There was a pitcher and basin in the room, which she busied herself at. He picked up her dropped knife in his hand, resting it in his palm and testing the weight. It was heavy in his grip. Too heavy for her delicate wrists and small hands. No wonder she'd held it wrong.

"Where'd you get this?" he asked flipping it in the air a few times while she rung out a cloth over the basin.

"Halloway," she answered, walking up to him with the damp cloth. His laugh was short and derisive as he tossed the thing onto a nearby table with a small crash.

"The man's got an eye for what's pretty but not for what makes sense," he informed her. "Later today we'll find you something you can wield and I'll teach you to use it properly."

She didn't give any indication that she had heard him. Dabbing at his chest and arms she made her way around him, wiping blood from his skin with her light touch.

"The boy needs to remain out of sight. Not under the bed. That's the first place they look. We'll need someplace else. The men at the door are useless. I'll speak with Bullis. Either you need others or I'll give them an earful and more. Are you listening, girl?" he barked. It had been a long time since he'd had reason to resort to that name but she was humming while she worked. Fucking singing when just minutes ago he'd slain a man at her door.

She smiled faintly. "We've managed so far," she shrugged.

"And only the Gods know how! Brienne, Halloway, Bullis and I! That's all you've got that's any good around here. You've managed somehow, aye, but you're not going to keep at it once winter breaks. When there's soldiers at your door, and not raiders, this place will fall. You need men not boys! You need them properly trained. Bullis can't do it alone. I'll not be mucking stalls and unloading wagons anymore. I'll be in the training yard trying to make something out of your mess!" He was yelling by the end of his lecture. She had grown bold and strong over the years, that was true enough, but she still only saw half the world for what it was. It was up to him to show her the other. She'd stopped wiping him down, her hands twisting into the wet cloth she still held. For a moment he thought she would break and weep, but instead she stiffened her spine and nodded her head.

"You're right," she told him. "When spring comes we need to be better prepared. You'll remain on the council." The last bit was a question but she made it seem a statement. Mulling over the answer seemed to bother her. "I need you there as well," she added.

"Fine," he agreed, noticing a shadow at his side. Anteros had climbed off the bed to stand near them. The little fingers of their son reached out to touch his sword, curiosity dancing in the lad's eyes.

"Don't," he warned. "It's sharp. It will cut you." Anteros pulled his hand back with speed.

"My da was a soldier."

"I've been told," he grumbled. The charade was getting old. He was going to go mad waiting on a wedding. Remaining quiet until a time when he could claim Anteros as his and Sansa as well. He'd remembered the last part of the changes that would be made in Winterfell. Looking to Sansa he gave her his final order.

"I'll be taking a room back here. I'm not sleeping half the house away anymore."

Sansa shook her head, eyes growing wide. "I understand your want but there's no room. Brinne and Tessa occupy the hallway along with me."

"I count four doors and three women."

"The fourth is a storage room for linens, soaps and such. There's nothing but a stone floor and shelves."

"I'll sleep there."

"You can't! It's too small. There's only a bit of floor."

"Throw a pallet in there. Or don't. That's where I'll be from now on."

"Sandor, it's a woman's hall. You mustn't. Not until we're wed. It's not proper."

"Fuck being proper. You don't want me there? Let's go to your godswood today and I'll stay right here from now on."

Anteros giggled and Sansa cast a reprimanding look over to the both of them. "Must you do that in front of him?"

"Bugger being proper then?" he corrected while Anteros slapped his hands over his mouth, going red faced with laughter. It made his mood change for some reason. Somehow it had become he and Anteros that were standing together. "He'll learn it from me or others. Better me than some stranger."

She was gaining tears in her eyes now. He'd gone too far and he softened his voice. "It may not be proper but it's what's right. None of that highcourt rubbish matters stacked next to losing you. Or him. I'm second in command of the house guard am I not?" he tried to sway her with her own reasoning. "If I say you're safer with me back here that's the way it is. Bolt your door at night and let me do as I must." He'd do what he wanted anyway, whether she agreed or not, but it would make it all easier if she would relent. She did, after a few more seconds of hesitation.

"I'll have some of the maids drag in a pallet later today," she said gently, pulling at his free arm until she was wrapped up in his embrace once again. Anteros had gone back to the bed, where he jumped on his knees, a giggled, "bugger" heard coming for the boy's lips. Sansa sighed wearily and he laughed deeply. He tipped her head back so he could kiss her once again, glad that their disagreements could end this way now.