Chapter 29

-Some months later-

Sandor watched her nimble fingers moving along the fabric expertly, her mind clearly in another place. The soft cotton cloth was bunched up in her lap as the evening sun drifted idyllically through the open window in her solar, casting a fiery halo about her head. It had been a record short winter, lasting less than a full year and astounding all of the maesters at the Citadel. Many speculated that it was due to the death of the Night King who had brought the cold with him, though only time could say for certain. For now, the early breaths of spring were drifting across the North, melting the snows and dragging each day longer than the one before.

Sansa looked up from her work, her gaze drawn to the open window where a breeze drifted through and caught up the wisps of hair that surrounded her face. She closed her eyes momentarily, her hand moving to her swollen abdomen as it often had in the months that followed the great battle for the living. A delicate, contented smile lifted the corners of her lips, those perfect lips, he thought, as he watched his wife from his position on the lounge.

She felt his gaze and turned quickly to meet his eyes, blushing for him as she used to do long ago. She laughed at Sandor's admiring chuckle, "Don't tease me, I know I'm distracted easily lately." She sighed and glanced back out the window before looking back down at the bundle in her lap. "Sewing has become so tiresome, and I used to love it." She stuck her needle into the tiny, white outfit she'd been laboring over and tossed it onto an empty cushion as she stood awkwardly. It was a laborious effort now, Sandor saw, as her midsection had grown larger than he'd thought possible for such a delicate person. She easily rested a hand atop it as she walked toward where he sat on the lounge, a book forgotten in his lap.

When she drew close he reached out a hand for hers, and she took it, lowering herself awkwardly beside him. "What are you reading, love?" She kissed his shoulder as she asked and reached down for the volume in his lap.

"Not really reading, the words are too big. It's a pain in the ass," he grumbled, leaning back and relaxing against the cushion. Sansa laughed as she opened it, confirming for herself that the words really were too big for him yet. When he cast her a scathing look, she clarified.

"No I'm not laughing at you, Sandor. I mean, I'm just laughing at your comment. You'll get it before you know it, I'm actually quite impressed at how quickly you've learned already." Sandor folded his arms and scoffed, not quite ready to be pleased about anything related to reading just yet. The maester and his wife had insisted that he learn, that it would be expected of him in his new position. He'd scowled and grumbled, but did his duty, though he grew frustrated easily in the process. Sansa mostly was his tutor, though he'd been learning from the maester as well.

Sansa smiled and stroked the hair back from his face as she leaned against him. "You'll be pleased when you can read to our child. His favorite will be the stories of knights and fair maidens." She grinned wickedly and Sandor laughed, remembering how he used to taunt her for her love of fairy tales—the stories that were so unlike real life which had taken her years of suffering to learn.

He snatched the book from Sansa's hands and pretended to read a page, his finger underlining the words as he went. "No, I'll read him, 'How to not be a pansy little nance. Chapter 1, reading is for pansy little nances. The end.'" He clapped the book shut with one hand and chuckled at Sansa's outburst of laughter.

"You fool," she pushed him playfully. "Our little one will be a lord or lady one day. He'll have to be educated you know." She stuck her nose up a bit, still grinning at her husband.

"Aye," he pulled her into a kiss. "So you teach him that crap and I'll show 'im how to swing a sword. Why in blazes do I need to learn to do this?" He lifted the book as he said it.

Sansa giggled again. "Because you're a lord now." She rolled her eyes, "You know it, you're just being difficult. How about this. I'll do all the work in making this little love, I'll carry him and suffer through the pain of childbirth. In exchange for me doing all of that, you can just learn to read. Fair?" Her eyes twinkled.

Sandor chuckled gruffly and pulled her into him. "Fair? I'll tell you what's not fair is you using those eyes against me. At some point you realized that I'd do anything for you, and I've been a nance ever since." He kissed the top of her head and his hand found the curve of her belly. "When's this one going to come and wail the nights away and take you from my bed?" His gruffness could hardly disguise the pride that was in his voice every time he spoke of their child.

Sansa sighed deeply and stroked her huge stomach. "Maester Wolkan says he can come any day now." She glanced down and shifted uncomfortably. "And gods know I'm ready for this to be over."

Sandor chuckled and stood, pulling her to her feet with him. "Come, let's go get you some supper."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

That night seemed the longest of his life. He paced the floor, squeezed his wife's hands, and paced the floor again. Seeing her in pain was almost unbearable, knowing he had no way to make it better. He stroked her hair, held her hands, and massaged her back when she asked. In the years to come, Sansa drew great comfort in remembering how he'd been that night, how the anxious look in his eyes and the desperation he had felt to help her had touched her heart with how intensely he cared for her.

Sandor was beginning to feel that he could not bear to hear his wife's screams of pain for another moment. The sweat pasted her hair to her face and her hands squeezed his with a strength that he didn't know she had. The maester and the midwives fussed about at the end of the bed, yet he only had eyes for her. He knew some women never made it through childbirth, knew that their intense pain would not end with the joy of holding their child, but with their last breath. He swallowed past the fear in his chest and stroked her damp brow, feeling utterly helpless.

Just when he felt that he could take no more of the torture of hearing her screams, a new cry ripped his heart in two. It was tiny and yet so robust, and the change that came over his wife's countenance at hearing it nearly made him melt with relief. He hardly heard the maester declaring it to be a boy, hardly knew what was happening until an old woman was unceremoniously dumping a bundle into his arms. "You have a son, milord."

Sandor looked down at the child, fearing he would break something so incredibly tiny and helpless. He awkwardly cradled the babe as it squeaked and squirmed in his arms before falling silent, staring back up at him. Sansa choked out a sob of joy, reaching for her child and her husband simultaneously, drawing them both to her. He tore his eyes from the babe to settle on his wife, a huge smile lighting up his face as he placed his son in his mother's arms.

Sandor could never have described the joy he felt in that moment. To see the two pieces of his heart lying before him—safe and happy—was more than he could ever have hoped for himself. All those years ago he'd been wrong. Wrong when he thought life was nothing but pain—that the sweetest thing in life was killing. What a fool he'd been to think so, to think that the feeling he had on the battlefield could ever compare to what was in his heart now, overwhelming him with its intensity. His lovely wife, the woman he'd once never dreamed could be his, looked up at him now with a radiance that only new mothers can possess.

"Oh, Sandor, he's perfect!" Her voice broke in her joy, the pain of moments ago forgotten completely. She stroked the babe's face gently, admiring every wrinkle and curve, before placing a kiss on his forehead—the first of many to come.

"Aye," Sandor agreed huskily, trying to disguise the emotion from his voice. He reached down to stroke his son's face with his thumb, dwarfing the infant with his huge hands. "Of course he is, he came from you."

Sansa looked up at her husband and smiled, "He came from you as well. Look, he looks just like you."

Sandor looked and saw that it was true. He chuckled softly, still bewitched by the moment. "But he has your eyes." He grinned at his wife then and kissed her, loving her more in that instant than he ever had before. His Sansa, his little bird who had given him everything, who he'd died for, who he lived for. The first person who'd ever truly loved him, and the woman who'd changed his whole world.

"And have you settled on the name then?" He asked, looking down at his likeness in her arms once more.

Sansa's blue eyes looked up to meet his, and she smiled as she stroked the burned side of his face tenderly, all the love in her heart shining forth from her eyes. "His name is Sandor."

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