Winterfell was nigh buried in snow. It reached halfway up the outer walls, piled atop the towers and battlements. When they entered the courtyard with Queen Daenerys' convoy, they found Jon Snow's half-siblings shuddering with the cold along with a handful of other heads of houses. Those assembled eyed the newcomers with suspicion, and there was a collective intake of breath when Daenerys and Aegon emerged from their carriage. They had agreed not to ride in on Drogon, but in the distance, the song of the two dragons rang clear, reminding everyone of who they were dealing with.

The northerners were duly cautious of the Targaryens, and put them through a barrage of questions upon entering the castle hall. The tension all around was tangible, and by the time everyone was done talking some individuals still eyed one another distrustfully.

Someone appeared at Qerhan's elbow, and she looked around to find Lady Arya standing there, that unreadable smile spread across your face. Sansa stood behind, looking uncertain.

"My mother never let the dogs in the hall." The Wolf Girl said.

Qerhan stood aside, tugging Sandor forward by the sleeve. His smile was just as mysterious, and she wondered if he held the girl's actions against her.

"So you're still alive then, Wolf Bitch." He rasped, then to Sansa: "And the Little Bird, too. Can you still not look at me, girl?"

As if to prove him wrong, Sansa looked boldly up into his face.

"How?" Arya demanded. "How are you here? You were half dead when I left you."

"Aye, more than halfway." He concurred. "Lucky for me someone came along not long after. Someone who knew what to do. Fat lot of fucking help you were."

"I wanted you dead." She said stonily. "I hated you."

A smirk from him. "'Wanted'...'hated'...I'm still here you dumb cunt."

Arya went for him suddenly, and Qerhan's hand shot to her knife, but there was no need. The girl flung her arms round his middle and hugged him tight. Sandor stood stock still, staring down at her, until his wife nudged him, and he wrapped his arms round his onetime ward. It was only a brief thing, but she could see the warmth it left in his eyes.

Then Arya was gone, and Sansa lingered. She took a few more steps towards them, then faltered. Sandor laughed.

"Say your words, Little Bird."

She sighed. "I should have gone with you. The night of the Blackwater. I was so frightened then, I didn't believe you when you said you would keep me safe. I'm sorry I didn't trust you. Sorry for how rude I always was...to both of you."

Her blue eyes turned to Qerhan then, and she knew the girl remembered her. Had wondered that for a long time.

"You were never rude, Little Bird." Sandor replied. "Always the perfect little lady."

"...and that was rude of me."

They both hesitated a moment, wavering on the spot. Sandor moved first this time, pulling her into a comforting embrace. Sansa curled into his chest, and Qerhan's heart went out to the child. To her sister and brothers, too.

Sandor was a warrior. On top of that, he was a sensible man. He planned ahead, prepared, tried to predict every possible outcome to any situation. It was how he had survived thirty years in such an inhospitable country.

Nothing could prepare him for meeting Qerhan's family. Her nephews were fascinated by him, and sat almost on his knees to ask him all sorts of questions about Westeros, his family, and his profession. They had caught a rabbit and a grouse for dinner, and proudly shoved both carcasses in his face as they told him how they killed them. Little Lynn was shy, and did not speak to him, but insisted on climbing on him at any given opportunity.

Presently, she was clinging to his back like one of those monkeys from the East. Having tried and failed to braid his hair, she was now at risk of falling asleep as he recounted the events north of the Wall to Polfrud. Aosidh made her entrance then, having been at one of the neighboring tents tending to a man who had come down with a fever, and Sandor did a double take, glancing from Qerhan to her sister. Qerhan grinned. Aosidh was shorter, plumper, with lighter hair and green eyes, and her face was spattered with freckles. Still, the resemblance was uncanny, and it was not lost on him.

"Any word from Shoni?" Qerhan asked.

Polfrud shook his head. "Nothing at all from Eastwatch for weeks."

She exchanged worried glances with Wysu. In the other woman's arms, Byron began to fuss.

"They wouldn't send word unless they had to." Sandor commented. "Hard for ravens to fly in this weather."

"Right." She agreed. "I'm sure we'll know when the Wall falls."

"Probably hear it from here." Polfrud added.

Wysu gave a thin smile and stepped out with the baby. Lynn perked up and went running after her.

"Are you here for dinner?" Aosidh asked. "It's almost done."

"Oh, no." Qerhan and Sandor both stood. "We have to go to the banquet. I'll try to snatch some roast pork for you."

They both agreed they would rather eat in that tent than with all of the lords and ladies in the hall. But as members of the party that had accompanied the King in the North on his expedition, they were expected to attend the dinner celebrating his safe return. Qerhan made the most of it by sneaking slivers of meat into her napkin for her sister, but Sandor just sat glumly at the end of the table, jabbing at his potatoes with a knife until they were powder.

She elbowed him. "At least there's plenty of wine."

"Highlight of the evening."

"Cheer the fuck up."

"Make me."

"You know I can't do that with so many people about."

The corners of his mouth twitched, and she winked at him.

He was not the only one looking unhappy. Snow and his two sisters sat at the high table looking genuinely distressed, like they'd received more bad news. The brother, on the other hand, did not seem bothered at all, but he was a strange one. At Jon's side, Daenerys and Aegon seemed to be having a rather heated conversation.

As soon as they finished, Sandor stood. "Let's go."

Qerhan looked around the room. No-one else had left yet. "Is it alright?"

"Don't care, I'm fucking tired."

"Let's at least excuse ourselves."

He growled. "Fine."

She did not like it either. Usually the Free Folk came and went as they pleased, and she was not exception, but she liked these people, and wished to cause no offence. So when Sandor went through the rigmarole of "My wife is tired...please excuse us…", she smiled up at the nobles and feigned humility.

Then she caught the eye of the younger boy, and he seemed for a moment to gaze into her very soul. When he opened his mouth, he spoke slowly, dreamily: "She's happy, you know. In Braavos."

He said it softly, but the words pierced her heart, and she grabbed Sandor's arm for support.

"Yes, I…" She stammered. "Excuse me, I really am quite tired."

Before Sandor or anyone else could say anything, she stormed off. Away from them, out of the hall. Up the stairs to the chamber they had assigned Sandor, slamming the door behind her.