Sansa VII

Sansa felt the babe stir within her. She had wondered when she had first found out that she was with child if she would feel less sad. As fatigue and nausea overtook her as months went by, Sansa still felt the same sadness that had haunted her since Sandor's death. Did you know I was no longer alone as you died, Sandor? Was that why you were so calm and at peace? They had only had made love twice during their short time together, and their marriage had been even briefer. She hadn't been married to the man she loved for even a fortnight when Stannis had come and had taken Sandor's life. The babe will never know his father, Sansa thought sadly as she lied in her bed. He'll never know how brave and honest he was. Sansa knew that the babe she carried was a boy. She didn't know how she knew, and she wondered if her mother knew that she was a girl when she had carried her. It was after Sandor's somber funeral that Sansa found that she was carrying a child. She remembered how the cold wind had shaken her very bones, but hadn't shaken the nausea that had persisted since arriving in Winterfell. The only joy she had found was reuniting with her brothers again. Bran reminded her of their father with his solemn gaze, and Rickon had first thought that she was their mother. Tears had threatened to overwhelm her as she remembered Lady Stoneheart. I can't tell them, she vowed. It would break their hearts. Sansa remembered how she had trembled when Bran had suggested burning Sandor's body. She remembered when Sandor had told her the story of how he had gotten his terrible scar on his face, and how he had come into her chambers, drunk, angry, and most of all, frightened. A sudden and cold fear had overwhelmed her, and the only peace she had from that moment was sleep. "Don't burn him…please. Please…my husband…don't…" Lord Davos and Lady Brienne had dug a grave in the frozen snow beside the godswood. There was no marker to be made, but Sansa would always remember where her Sandor was buried. I will never forget.

Sansa realized that her moon's blood had stopped as she lied in bed. I'm no longer alone, she had thought. When she had told everyone that she was carrying her husband's child, only Bran had cracked a smile, and Rickon had excitedly asked when the babe would be born. Eight more months, Sansa had replied, and she saw to her confusion that Robert flinched. Lady Brienne wouldn't meet her eyes, and Lord Davos had a pensive look on his face. Sansa continued to feel empty as months went by and as her womb grew. Her life had ended with Sandor's and she felt more dead than alive. With his last breath he told me that he loved me. He called me by my old nickname, little bird. Sansa's tears had ceased as her milk grew in her breasts. Her tears had frozen like the diamond glint in the snow. Sometimes she felt that she couldn't move or couldn't breathe, and more often than not she wished she had stopped breathing when Sandor had died. But she couldn't. She was carrying a child, his child, and had to live for their unborn son. At times Bran came into her chambers to try to console her. Sansa knew that her younger brother meant well, but he didn't understand true sorrow. Eventually his visits had stopped; Bran had to rejuvenate Winterfell and gather a measter and the like for the broken castle. Outside Sansa could vaguely hear Robert train with his knife. The knife that ended Lady Stoneheart. She had heard Lady Brienne complain that he wouldn't allow her to train him when she was outside Sansa's door. Robert Arryn's only master was Sandor Clegane. Robert couldn't bring himself to look at her when he tried to visit. Otherwise, tears would appear in his eyes. He thinks I will die in childbed, Sansa came to realize. Somehow she wasn't afraid of such a death. I want this. I want to meet the same end as Jon Snow's mother, Lyanna, and my husband's own mother. I want to be with my love again.

The debris surrounding Winterfell were gone and the castle was scrubbed clean and slowly being rebuilt. Fires kept the occupants warm as winter raged around them. Winterfell did not have as many servants as it did four years ago, but for the moment Bran was content. There was no measter to be found during those long eight months. Sansa was waiting for the babe to be born. She was watching Robert and Rickon play in the snow when she felt her water break. The hem of her dress immediately felt damp, and felt a sudden rush of pain. Her womb clenched and loosened as her labor began. Sansa felt an inhuman scream tear from her mouth as blood continued to flow on her bed. The room seemed to spin from her sudden nausea and she was only able to dry heave. Another scream to at her throat as another spasm from her womb came upon her. Bran was suddenly by her side. She felt his sweet breath in her ear as he told her to calm her mind. Summer was curiously sniffing her; she smelled different. Sansa eased her hand onto Summer's fur and started to stroke him. The direwolf visibly calmed and whined. A sudden painful clench made Sansa take back her hand. She hissed in pain, and wondered why servants hadn't come to help her when Bran came. Her sluggish mind remembered that her mother had midwives and Measter Luwin when Rickon was born. Sansa felt a smaller hand clasped in her own clammy one, and felt Bran's calming squeeze. Vaguely she heard footsteps echoing in her chambers and heard Bran shout for warm water and blankets and the footsteps retreating. Suddenly Sansa felt calm. She felt the babe's body ease out of hers.

The babe started to howl and cry. Blinking away her own tears, Sansa saw Bran gently take the babe in his arms and ease him into the warm water to be washed. The babe was male and had downy black hair. The servants – she saw them for the first time – smiled at her. "You are blessed with a healthy son, Lady Clegane." Sansa felt the babe eased into her arms and saw how small he was. Rickon had been twice his size when he was born. But the babe had grey eyes. His grey eyes. The infant quieted in her arms. "Anlaun," Sansa whispered smiling. "Your name shall be Anlaun Clegane." The babe stared at her with his dark grey eyes that he had inherited from his father. "Meaning great hound, in honor of your lord father." Suddenly weariness overcame her. She felt that she couldn't even hold the babe in her arms. Silently, she slept. Her chambers were dark when she awoke. Sansa felt weak and felt blood leaking out of her. The babe was no longer in her arms. Where was he? She had a hard time keeping her eyes open. One of the servants had her son in their arms, staring at her in despair. I'm…dying. She was not afraid, and wanted to tell them so, but her mouth felt too weak to move. I…will be with my husband now. We'll meet at his sister's favorite lemon tree that he told me about, and stay for that night and for all night's to come. Sansa heard little Anlaun Clegane, her son, crying for her. Sansa sighed deeply in release, knowing that Sandor was waiting for her and died.