Sansa's eyes shot open. She can't meanme!She stumbled back to bed and drew up her covers with shaking hands.Are they speaking of Jeyne? Sansa's eyes widened even more. Yes, that must be it . . . Except it couldn't be because Jeyne would have told her. Her mind ran through all the women of childbearing age in the household and came up empty. There were several for whom it would be possible but none who would also draw the notice of her father. He was an attentive lord but he wasn't that attentive. But he would notice if it was her. Sansa did a quick scan of her body. She didn't feel pregnant but she had no idea what that would feel like so she couldn't rule it out. Her heart began hammering in her chest. When did I last have my moonblood? She gritted her teeth in frustration. Calculations were always difficult for her but never more so than in her head while trying to suppress panic. It was possible. It was possible and . . . oh no! What if she waswith child? The thought made her giddy. No. No. She'd know. She felt sure she'd know. She could not be so obviously with child that her mother would detect it before Sansa herself was aware. She took several deep breaths. No, it had to be Jeyne. Nothing else made sense. But the nagging thought that she and Sandor had been reckless kept her up late into the night.
The next morning Sansa dressed in record time and bolted from her room. A lady does not sprint.She forced herself to slow to a decorous walk as she took the most direct route to the great hall in search of her friend. The sooner she confirmed the pregnant party, the sooner she'd be relieved.
"Jeyne!" Sansa called when she saw her friend near the kitchens.
Jeyne turned with a smile and greeted her.
"Congratulations! I heard the good news!"
Jeyne flushed. "What do you mean?"
Dread robbed Sansa of her assurance. "You're pregnant. Aren't you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh!" Sansa goggled at her friend. "I'm sorry. I heard my mother say something and I'm afraid I misunderstood -"
"Your mother? But how would she know?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Lady Stark knows I'm pregnant?"
"Knows?"
"Thinks?"
Sansa shook her head. "I'm more confused than ever!"
"As am I! Your mother told you I'm pregnant?"
"Well, no, not exactly . . ."
"But how would she know?"
"Know what?"
"That I'm pregnant!"
"You are?"
"You just said so!"
"In error!"
Jeyne laughed. "You are not in error. How your mother knows, I can't imagine, but she is correct."
Sansa's eyes shot wide. "Jeyne!" She hugged her friend hard but then jumped away, afraid of hurting her in her fragile state. "How are you feeling?"
"A little queasy but nothing like being on that godsforsaken boat."
"Ginger tea might help anyway."
"Oh, it does. I have some every morning."'
"Jeyne, this is wonderful!"
"But how did your mother know?"
Sansa opened her mouth but no reasonable explanation came forth. "I don't know. I overheard her say something to my father and I just assumed -"
"Well, I suppose after five children one recognizes the signs . . ."
"Yes. That must be it. Oh, Jeyne, I'm so sorry to have intruded on your privacy! I just thought, if my mother knew . . ."
Jeyne smiled and placed her hands on her still-flat belly. "Willard and I couldn't be happier but we haven't told anyone else just yet and don't intend to for another moon."
"I won't say a word. I promise."
Jeyne nodded. "Perhaps Lady Stark meant someone else."
"Who?"
"Well, surely not Arya or Beth."
"No. Had it been any of us, she would have sounded angry."
"Maybe you should just ask her."
Sansa nodded but knew she wouldn't admit to eavesdropping. Instead she peppered Jeyne with questions and found out the little one was expected in seven moons or so, which told Sansa Jeyne had gotten pregnant right around the time she'd gotten married. She was excited for her friend but had promised not to say anything. Still, the secret made her happy and lightened her steps as she moved through the castle. For purely irrational reasons, Sansa also felt that if Jeyne was indeed pregnant than she herself most likely was not.
"What were you and Jeyne talking about so secretively a minute ago?" Arya asked as she dropped into the chair next to Sansa's.
"Nothing."
Arya gave her a look as she reached for the preserves.
"I've got something to tell you, though. I'm worried about Nymeria. I think she might be sick. She bared her teeth at Sandor last night. That's not like her at all."
"I know. He told me first thing this morning." Arya said, slathering preserves thickly on her toast. "We took a look at her along with Father, Hullen, and Farlen."
"Hullen and Farlen? She's not a horse or a dog."
"Well, we don't have a master of direwolves, do we? Anyway, she's not sick. She's going to have pups!"
"WHAT? How?"
Arya shrugged. "Rickon said there's a big black wolf around but I haven't see it."
"I have! Twice!" Sansa said without thinking.
"When?" Arya asked through a mouthful of toast.
"Once when we were nearly home and again the, uh, other night. I wasn't sure this last time, though. I just thought I saw something big in the dark. With green eyes."
"Rickon mentioned green eyes, too. I half thought he was making it up." Arya didn't seem that interested in the pups' parentage. "Hullen thinks the pups will be born in another moon or so. It's hard to tell. No one's ever seen a pregnant direwolf before. Won't it be so much fun, though?! Remember when Jon first found ours and -" Arya suddenly seemed to realize this might not be a happy memory for Sansa, what with Lady being gone. She closed her mouth to finish chewing.
"We should make her a proper bed," Sansa suggested.
Arya enthusiastically agreed and, after they finished eating, the sisters scoured the keep looking for a basket large enough to hold Nymeria. None could be found so they took several large baskets to Arya's room and cut the sides from all but two of them. They secured the baskets together with ribbon, the cut round baskets creating a scallop shape. Arya stole some pillowcases from the laundry and stuffed them with hay while Sansa threaded more ribbon through the edges of the bed and decorated the middle with a large bow. Arya brought Nymeria to her room and showed her the bed. The direwolf sniffed at it, prodded the padding tentatively with a massive paw, and then laid down and closed her eyes.
"She likes it!" Arya exclaimed.
Sansa nodded as she looked at Nymeria's round belly, wondering how she hadn't noticed it before.
The days went by and Sansa sewed until her fingers cramped and her vision blurred. Despite offers of assistance from the women in her sewing circle, Sansa wanted to do most of the work on her own. It had not escaped her notice, either, that some of the women exchanged appreciative looks when Sandor had finally been cajoled into his fitting. He stood straight and glared at the opposite wall as if he'd like nothing more than to bang his head against it as Sansa stood on a stool and measured the breadth of his shoulders. She'd read the numbers off the measuring tape as matter-of-factly as she could but even she heard the slight breathlessness in her voice.
Sandor insisted she was working too hard, a fact made much of by the ladies, but Sansa's needle continued to fly through the fabric. She completed his cloak first. Catelyn quietly but firmly told Sansa that she would be sewing her daughter's bridal cloak so Sansa moved on to her own gown. She'd selected a style with clean lines so putting it together was fairly simple but even she had to admit Greta's bead work was superior to her own and handed over the gown to her for completion.
Some of the women teased Sansa about her haste, joking they'd sew loose seams so as not to delay the bedding, but Sansa only smiled demurely and returned to her work. Robb had been gone long enough. She wanted to be ready.
The night's stillness was broken by a piercing cry. Sansa shot bolt upright in bed. The sound came again and Sansa realized it was Nymeria. She threw on a robe and dashed to Arya's room, nearly colliding with her father in the hall. They burst into Arya's room and found her cradling her wolf's head and talking softly to her. Catelyn came in behind them.
"Take her to the stables," Catelyn ordered.
"No!" Arya said with a glare.
"The carpet -"
"It's too late to move her," Ned said quietly, approaching. "Get Hullen. Have him bring Farlen."
"I'll go," Sansa volunteered.
"You will not!" Catelyn huffed. "You're not dressed and to be entering the bedchambers of -"
"I'll go," came a rough voice from behind.
"Yes, Clegane, you go," Catelyn said with a dismissive wave. "And tell them to bring some straw!"
Sansa had barely registered his presence before he was off. Not knowing what to do, she perched herself on the edge of Arya's bed and pitied the animal before her. Nymeria's head was lolling to and fro and her cries had fallen to gut-wrenching whines. Sansa reached out to pet her but somehow sensed her touch would not be welcome just then. Her father was on his knees, gingerly pressing the wolf's belly, while Arya smoothed her pet's ears and murmured words of encouragement. Catelyn paced. It felt like forever before Sandor returned with the two other men. Sansa noticed none of them had brought straw. The men all got down on the floor. Sansa couldn't see much but got the impression from their quiet tones that they were planning to proceed as if Nymeria was any typical domestic animal.
"What's going on?" Bran asked sleepily from the doorway. Rickon appeared next to him a moment later.
"Nymeria's having her pups," Catelyn said as she moved to them. "She'll be fine. Let's get you back to bed."
"I want to stay," Rickon said.
"No." Catelyn ushered them into the hall and closed the door behind her.
For a long while nothing happened except that Nymeria seemed to be in an awful amount of pain.
"This is taking a long time . . . Is she going to be all right?" Arya asked with a nervous edge in her voice.
Rapid assurance came from all quarters. Sandor added to Arya's soothing monologue, stopping only to quietly ask Sansa to bring some cloth and water to the room.
Sansa wasn't sure how long it took for the pups to be born but, in the end, there were six. Arya cheered. The men, once Nymeria let them, examined the pups and found all to be healthy. It wasn't until Sansa realized none of the pups looked like Lady that she realized she'd been hoping one might. Still, she couldn't get over their cuteness. Sandor put one in the cloth in her lap and she gently cleaned it before placing it beside its mother. The pups quickly began to suckle and Nymeria rolled to her side, exhausted.
"Never thought I'd see that," commented Hullen.
"Nor I," agreed Farlen.
Except for Arya, who never abandoned her post on the floor, they were all standing in a semicircle around Nymeria's basket. Sandor put his arm around Sansa's shoulders and she leaned into him, feeling the long night to her bones. "You should get back to bed," he murmured quietly. "She's fine now. Nothing to do but let her care for her young."
"Clegane's right," her father said. "I thank you all for your help."
"Me, too!" Arya chimed in, reaching over Nymeria's neck to run the backs of her fingers over one of the pups.
Sansa nodded but didn't move. Hullen and Farlen bid everyone a good night and left. "I'll help you clean up," Sansa said to Arya.
"There's not much to do," her sister answered. It was true. Somehow the men had already taken care of it.
Sansa covered her mouth as she yawned. She really was very tired. "If you're sure . . ."
"Go to bed, Sansa," her father said. "You've done enough for tonight."
"Will you ask mother to tell my maid not to come tomorrow, well, this morning? I'll break my fast in my room later."
"I'll tell her."
"Thank you."
Sansa nodded and made her way to the hall. She opened her door and then, inspiration striking, closed it again before dashing off on her tip-toes to Sandor's room.
Breathless but exhausted, Sansa dropped into his bed. Not long thereafter she heard him come in and give a small chuckle when he realized she was there. He washed up quickly, stripped off whatever he'd thrown on to get to the family's quarters, and rolled into bed beside her. She turned toward him, felt his arms go around her, and sunk into a deep sleep.
Sansa leaned against the railing with her father and watched as Sandor, Ser Rodrik, and some of the men-at-arms oversaw the younger boys' sparring. Ser Rodrik's arm was still healing and Maester Luwin had it bound in a sling. It was unclear how much use of it he would regain. Still, Ser Rodrik shouted out directions to the boys and was largely ignored by Rickon who insisted on swinging his wooden sword around wildly. The other boys were glaring at him with resentment.
"Rickon, enough," Ser Rodrik called.
"I don't want to learn how to fence. I want to learn how to fight!"
Sandor stepped forward. "Show me how you fight, then."
Rickon's eyes grew big and he immediately lunged into an attack. Just as quickly, Sandor dumped the boy onto his backside. Over his shoulder he said, "You have a lot to learn. Get back in line."
Rickon glared at him and then threw himself bodily at Sandor's retreating form. Sansa gasped and was about to call out but Sandor merely drew back his elbow and let Rickon bounce off it.
"That boy," muttered her father.
Sandor turned around and looked down on Rickon with surprise. "Little lord Rickon. What are you doing down there?"
Sansa knew Rickon's pride would be badly hurt but she was more concerned about his ungovernable temper.
Rickon stalked back to the line of boys and ignored the chuckles of the men-at-arms. Ser Rodrik continued as if there had been no outburst.
"We love Rickon, Father, but no one else will if he continues on this way."
Her father heaved a great sigh. "Sansa, it is time I put a great many things in order."
Just then Gendry came stamping along the perimeter of the yard with Arya at his heels.
"Here's one situation I've let go on too long. Gendry!" He motioned for him to come inside and Sansa and Arya trailed along after them to the solar.
"Gendry," Ned began, "I've been overdue in communicating to you -"
"Lord Stark, I thank you but -"
"You can't let him leave, Father!"
"Leave?" Ned turned his eye back to the young blacksmith.
"That's what he was just telling me!" Arya fumed.
"He is not a hostage, Arya, he can leave if he wishes."
"Isn't that what you were about to tell me, m'lord? That the war's over and since you've got Mikken you won't be needing me, too?"
"No, I wished to talk to you about another matter entirely. Something I should have addressed much earlier."
Gendry's eyes darted to Arya and then dropped to the floor.
"We can discuss your employment later -" Ned began.
"Why did you keep him here all this time?" Arya demanded. "Why did you spare him from the Night's Watch only to send him away now when he has nowhere else to go?"
"Because the boy is not just a smith's apprentice," Ned said wearily. He looked at Gendry. "There is no easy way to tell you this. You are the son of Robert Baratheon."
Gendry's jaw swung open.
Sansa felt sure her eyes would pop from their sockets. He'd reminded her of Lord Renly when she'd first encountered him. It seemed forever ago now, that chance meeting in the woods with Yoren, Jack, and the others.
Arya dropped into a curtsy. "My lord," she said with a wide, wicked grin.
"Stop that," Gendry muttered. "So what did you mean to do with me, Lord Stark?"
Ned's brows grew together. "Do with you? Nothing, aside from keeping you safe until you could be told of your parentage."
"He has a claim to the throne," Arya pointed out.
"I don't want the throne," was the grumpy response. Sansa couldn't blame him. It was a lot to take in.
"Not as a bastard," said Ned bluntly. "Stannis sits the Iron Throne and there he'll stay. If you want to challenge him, you'll need an army you don't have and allies it will take you a very long time to win."
Gendry glared at the floor. "So why tell me at all?"
More softly, Ned said, "Robert was a friend. I couldn't just send his son off to the Wall without at least telling you of your lineage."
"I thank you, Lord Stark," Gendry said and abruptly walked out.
Arya just stared after him. "Now what?"
"Now the boy decides his path. He can stay. Or go. But if he wants to challenge Stannis for the throne, he'll do it without me."
"Why didn't you tell him before?"
"Wait a minute," Sansa cut in, something else rising to the surface of her memory. "How long have you known him? Certainly before we encountered him in the woods on our way home. You called him by name then."
Arya's eyes grew wide. "That's right! You did!"
"I'd first met him in King's Landing in Tobho Mott's shop. I had reason to believe he was one of Robert's." Before his youngest daughter could interrupt again, he added, "I didn't tell him then because Cersei would have tracked him down and had him killed. It was better his existence remained unknown, though Varys detected it first and arranged his apprenticeship. I only discovered the truth when I began investigating Jon's death. It was purely the gods' will that we crossed paths with Yoren after that, though the Wall wouldn't have been such a bad destination for the boy."
"Of course it would have!" Arya exclaimed.
"Arya, it might have been better. Knowing who his father was may only torment him," Sansa suggested quietly.
Ned added, "He was upset to be driven out by Tobho Mott, which is reasonable given his talent. He had a right to know why. Maybe I should have told him before the war but he knows now and, once he's had a chance to calm down, I'll talk to him again and explain everything. Then he can stay here and help Mikken or he can move on."
"You should make him stay!" cried Arya.
"You seem to have taken a keen interest in that boy's affairs," Ned observed coolly.
Arya closed her mouth and rocked back on her heels. "We're friends."
Ned looked skyward and muttered an oath.
"You don't seem very concerned that Father thinks you're wildly in love with Gendry," Sansa observed a few days later as she made herself comfortable on Arya's floor. She smiled as she looked down at the pups. They were growing fat and wiggly, their little snouts capped by adorable button noses. She laughed when one of them suddenly sneezed and then, surprised, barked and looked around at its siblings.
"Why should I be?" Arya asked. "Gendry's the son of his best friend."
"Gendry's one of many bastards of his best friend, of whose faults we became all too dangerously aware," Sansa said as gently as she could.
"That's not Gendry's fault."
"No, but it might help if he were a little less . . . sullen."
"Says the one marrying the Hound. Father and he have talked. They get on fine. Gendry's not mad at Father and Father said he could stay."
"Is he going to?"
"For now, at least."
"So what are you going to do?"
Arya shrugged. "We'll see what happens."
Sansa wasn't surprised at her sister's ease and instead turned her attention to a grey puffball that was trying to scamper into her lap.
When they were weaned, Nymeria began to take the young direwolves one by one into the woods. Arya, of course, had wanted to keep them all but Ned said, with no little relief, that their mother knew best and to let her manage her pups. Sansa was sad to see them go. Arya didn't seem to mind when Nymeria sat by Sansa's side but Nymeria was not hers. Therefore it was unexpected when Nymeria came into the solar without Arya and whined and nudged at Sansa's side.
"What is it, girl?" Sansa said, ruffling the direwolf's fur and looking across the room at Sandor with questioning eyes.
Nymeria tugged at the hem of Sansa's gown and then turned and barked at Sandor.
"She wants us to follow her," he said.
They did, and Nymeria led them to Arya's room. In the basket were the last two pups. Nymeria took one in her mouth, a silvery female, and deposited her at Sansa's feet. Then she nudged the other pup toward Sandor. It was a male whose coat was pure black on top but a spotless white underneath. The pup bared his little teeth, wiggled his hindquarters, and promptly attacked the toe of Sandor's boot. Sandor laughed and scooped him up with his big hands. "This one's a fighter," he said, clearly delighted by the pup's scrappy personality.
Sansa knelt down and took the other pup in her arms. "Do you mean for them to be ours?" she asked Nymeria.
The wolf barked and bumped her nose against Sansa's shoulder. Sansa hugged her and said, "Thank you."
"My thanks," added Sandor as he reached down to pet Nymeria while trying to prevent her son from chewing on his tunic.
Nymeria gave a few motherly licks to each of her babies and then returned to the basket. She circled a few times and then lay down with an air of exhausted satisfaction. Sansa smiled and she and Sandor left the direwolf to enjoy having her bed to herself for the first time in weeks.
Sansa and Sandor strolled through the corridors of the castle with their new pets. Sansa cradled hers like a baby. Sandor's ran wildly up and down the halls, yipping excitedly but turning often to make sure Sandor was still behind him.
"He's going to be difficult to train," Sansa commented, suppressing a smile at the way Sandor was beaming at his wolf.
"No. Time and patience, that's all it takes." He glanced at the ball of fuzz in Sansa's arms. "Yours will be another Lady for sure. What are you going to call her?"
Sansa looked down at the wolf. Her fur was gray at the base but then faded into a light silver and was almost white at the tip. She was beautiful and shimmery.
"I'm not sure. Maybe I should name her after her mother and Arya for sharing her with me."
"Nymarya?" Sandor said in a dubious tone.
Sansa laughed. "No, maybe not. Maybe Beauty?"
Sandor considered that. "She does have a nice coat."
Yet it didn't feel right to Sansa. She was beautiful but she was something more, too. "I think her name is Song. Song of Steel."
"Because you like to sing?"
"Because she's as beautiful as a song but strong, too, and her coat looks like polished steel."
Sandor smiled down at her. They both turned away as Sandor's pup growled at a door but then squeaked and retreated to safety between Sandor's feet as a startled servant entered the hall.
Sandor picked up the wolf and playfully rubbed his knuckles over the pup's belly. "He has distinct markings. I like them."
"What will you name him?"
Sandor chuckled. "Turncloak."
"No! He's as faithful as can be, I can tell!"
"Help me name him then."
Sansa thought hard. What name could possibly fit the pet of a man like Sandor? After a long moment she suggested, "Valor?"
"Valor?"
"Don't all the Cleganes have names that end in -or?"
"My mother didn't."
"She didn't start life as a Clegane."
Sandor laughed. "True enough. Though it seems unfair to give him such a name before he's earned it."
"Well, you like his markings. Maybe something about that."
Sandor tilted his head in consideration.
"How does he make you feel?" Sansa prompted.
"Lucky, just like you do."
Sansa smiled. "'Lucky' is a nice name."
"Just Luck, I think. Goes better with his split markings."
"I like it."
"Luck!" Sandor called as his wolf began to gnaw on the leg of a chair. The pup's ears immediately perked up and he bound back down the hall toward them. Sandor laughed, "Luck it is."
So Sansa and Sandor continued walking along together, she holding Song to her heart while Luck nipped at their heels.
With a pup to train, Sansa told the women of the sewing circle, she had no choice but to call upon their generosity to complete some of her wedding tasks. To Sansa's relief, if not her surprise, the ladies readily accepted and declared themselves honored to assist with their lady's wedding clothes. Once the self-imposed obligation was gone, she wished she'd done it sooner for she greatly enjoyed her time with her pup. Also, watching Sandor and Luck together gave her a simultaneous glimpse at what she supposed Sandor was like as a young boy and what she imagined he'd be like as a father. He was firm yet gentle and loving and quick to reward good behavior. Luck had a zest for freedom that warred with his desire to please his master. He'd bound off to go hunting with his mother and siblings but only after whining and nudging Sandor's hand for some pats and a word of encouragement. Song, on the other hand, was possessed of a docility more usually displayed by the house cats lolling on the sun-warmed stones of the garden than a direwolf. She seemed to sense Sansa's mood and complied without much more than a word from her mistress. So, for Sansa, at least, training amounted to daily walks with her pet, teaching her where she was welcome to go in the keep, and allowing her to grow accustomed to the various people they encountered. Sansa smiled whenever someone referred to her pet as "Lady Sansa's Song." Gentle though she was, Sansa knew Song was a wolf through and through. She could feel the steel in her as surely as she'd come to know it within herself.
"The training seems to be going well," Ned observed soon thereafter as he ruffled Song's coat.
"Aye," Sandor said. "Lady Sansa has done a fine job with her."
"I'd say you've had more to do than me," Sansa laughed, watching as Luck restrained himself from jumping at her father in excitement.
Sandor gave a quick whistle and Luck moved to his side.
Ned shook his head in amusement and ruffled Luck's fur, too, nearly sending the wolf into fits of joy. "I wasn't pleased when I learned Nymeria was pregnant but," he shrugged, "you've both done well."
"Thank you, Father."
"My thanks, Lord Stark."
"I mean that in the larger sense as well. Clegane, you've done everything I've asked of you and more. After your betrothal to Sansa was announced, I told you I'd given your place here a great deal of thought. I believe I've come up with a plan that will work well for everyone. I'd like to discuss that with both of you."
Sansa's heart skittered.
"When?" Sandor asked.
"Now," Ned replied. "Lady Stark is waiting for us in the solar. She needs to be apprised, too."
"And so," Ned concluded after delineating Sandor's leadership capabilities and efficiency on the battlefield, "with Ser Rodrik wounded, possibly beyond the point of a full recovery, we may need a master-at-arms -"
"Absolutely not," Catelyn declared. "Ser Rodrik sustained those wounds in defense of Sansa and myself. To strip him of his stature merely so -"
"Fine. I thought you might object. As it happens, I have a second idea. Clegane, I understand Arya has requested dagger training lessons from you."
"She has."
"And I understand from Lady Stark that you took it upon yourself to train Sansa in the use of a dagger while we were in King's Landing."
"I did."
"Before his fall, Bran dreamed of being a knight -"
"I'm no ser, Lord Stark -"
"No, but you have the same knowledge and training as a knight. Rickon, as you already know, has grown wild from neglect but will need to be of reliable service to this house."
"What are you saying, Ned?" Catelyn asked.
"I'm saying, if he agrees, I will put Clegane in charge of the education of our children -"
"You need a wet-nurse, not me -" Sandor began.
"Maester Luwin -" interrupted Catelyn.
"Their martial education. You will be personally responsible for their training, including Bran's." Ned turned back toward Catelyn. "Ser Rodrik will retain his post as master-at-arms but Clegane will oversee our children exclusively in terms of arms, horsemanship, trapping, strategy, intelligence, leadership in the field, and so on. You will," Ned said, turning back toward Sandor, "of course, serve me and, when the time comes, Robb, should you be needed in battle. For now, though, I believe a more instructive role would suit you and your strengths." He looked at Catelyn again. "I believe this would be seen as sufficiently prestigious such that our people would not view Sansa's marriage as a degradation. No one would be displaced so we'd avoid any complaints from within the household."
"Ser Rodrik would have cause to complain. To imply he's no longer of value, no longer good enough to train the Starks . . ."
"Ser Rodrik is as well aware of his capabilities and limitations as a man can reasonably be expected to be. However, in deference to your concern, perhaps Ser Rodrik and Clegane can be equals in arms training."
"Why do you believe this specialized training is necessary at all?" Catelyn asked. "Surely you can expect the loyalty and protection of King Stannis after your service on his behalf."
"I believe it is better to rely on ourselves. I trusted Robert far too much and he was an old friend. Stannis will have much with which to contend: wildlings, this Targaryen girl across the sea, Wights and Others if the rumors are true."
"Lord Robb has married into a family of warriors," Sandor commented. "Some may see that as an attempt to consolidate the north and make an eventual play for the throne."
Sansa beamed at his intelligence though Catelyn scowled.
"Yes, there is the distant future to think of as well," Ned said. "I fear Robb's focus will be very much external. Lyanna is well suited to help him meet those challenges. Though an intelligent, energetic girl, I believe domestic concerns are not her interest. Sansa, you may correct me if I'm in error, but I believe you would enjoy running a keep. I believe Robb would be grateful to have you assist him with managing his people and the affairs of his household. You have a talent for talking with anyone. Clegane's efforts would prepare our family to defend Winterfell to the last. Yours would sustain us from within."
"Well, yes, of course I'd be happy to help Robb. I'm not much good with numbers but with my lady mother's guidance -"
"So you accept then?" her father asked.
"Of course, Father -"
"Clegane," he immediately went on, "will you serve in the capacity I've suggested?"
"I will."
Ned exhaled. "Then I thank you both."
Sansa had just taken Sandor's arm to leave when her mother said, "You may as well tell them the rest of it, Ned."
Sansa felt Sandor straighten up next to her. "The rest of what?"
"We've settled enough for one day," her father said.
Sansa's eyes ricocheted back and forth between her parents. Her mother's stern look prompted her father to go on.
"I'm sorry, Sansa, but, due to some plans I've put into effect, your wedding must be delayed a little longer."
"But why? Robb should be back any day now."
"I've sent Robb to the capital."
"Whatever for?!"
"To meet King Stannis. To bend the knee. I'm abdicating my claim to the north."