I sat on a log with my back to the fire and began sorting the herbs in my basket. Beside me, facing the pit, was Thoros. He was silent, gazing into the flames, hoping to see something as they danced on the kindling.

"Will the fire tell you whatever happened to Steve and Riddell?" I playfully asked over my shoulder. "I've been so spoiled with their help these years, even after Artemys was born. Then you sent them to spy on the Freys and they haven't come back yet."

"They were good lads. Not the best we have to offer in the Brotherhood. It's likely they're dead," Thoros replied with hardly a shred of humor. He didn't even turn to look in my eyes, still focusing on the flames.

I gulped. "I hope they're not," I whispered more to myself than the priest beside me.

As I set to tying the herbs together, I looked ahead of me once more and felt my lips curl into a smile. I saw Sandor perched on a large rock across the way with Artemys crouching down in the space between his feet, her little back to him as he watched over her. She had a stick in her hand and she was trying to draw something in the dirt.

"They're getting on alright, it seems," I mused.

"Hmm?" Thoros replied.

"Artemys and Sandor," I explained. "I don't think she understands that he's her father, but…she knows there's something special about him."

"Special," Thoros echoed absentmindedly.

"He means something to her. I can tell," I continued, my smile almost hurting my cheeks.

Sandor looked up and glanced over the clearing towards me. Even through his thick beard I could see the ghost of a smile on his face. I beamed back at him, hoping I wouldn't burst into tears yet again.

He was learning to be a father, something I doubt he'd ever thought he'd become in his lifetime. I knew that he was unsure of himself, that he didn't believe he could be what Artemys needed, but I believed in him. He had taken care of Sansa, he had taken care of Arya. He would be incredible with Artemys once he had more faith in himself.

"Need to speak with Beric," Thoros hummed before standing abruptly.

"Have you seen something in the flames?" I asked.

Thoros had seen cold winds rising in the north not long before Sandor had found his way to us. I wondered what else he might have seen this day. Whatever it was, it must have been important because Thoros walked off as if he hadn't heard my question.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and tied off my last bundle of wormwood before tossing it into the leather satchel where I stored my supplies. I slung the strap across my body and hooked my arm under the handle of the basket so I could carry it on my elbow. Then I stood up to cross the camp, feeling the satchel bounce against my hip with every step.

"Hello, loves," I smiled down at my daughter and Sandor.

Sandor nodded to me and slid the tiniest bit over to the right on his rock. I set the basket down beside the rock and put my satchel inside of it. I sat down beside him and put my hand on his left thigh. Sandor covered my hand with his and let me crane my neck to kiss his cheek.

"What are you making, Artemys?" I asked, glancing down at the earth she was carving into with her stick.

Much like Thoros, Artemys didn't answer me. Her tiny hand was gripping the stick so tightly her knuckles were white. All I could see before my daughter was fresh dirt and dark lines.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Sandor mumbled to me. "Been hacking away for some time now."

"Silent and hacking away at things?" I nestled my head against his shoulder and wrapped my other hand around his forearm. "And to think you ever doubted she was your daughter…"

Sandor laughed sharply through his nose. "There's plenty more you in that girl than there is me."

"Oh?" I grinned.

"Insistent, impulsive, stares at me too long," Sandor said with a tinge of jest in his voice.

"How you suffer," I played along.

"Should've never gotten that bastard to return yer lute at Winterfell," Sandor shook his head. "Would've saved myself all this trouble if I hadn't made you think I was a good person."

"My apologies for recognizing you as a human being," I grinned. "I never meant to trouble you with all my love and affection. How selfish of me."

Sandor squeezed his hand over mine and leaned his head down to kiss the top of my head. He was quiet for a moment as we watched our daughter stand up and find a new spot further past his feet to dig into the ground.

"She looks like you," he said quietly, almost like he didn't want me to hear him.

"She has your eyes," I told him.

Sandor sighed beside me and looked up beyond the three of us. His eyes darted around the brothers before finding me against his shoulder once more.

"You were the only woman amongst all these men," he began when he felt Artemys was out of earshot. "None of them put a finger on you?"

I thought of Gatins and his threats. I thought of his high-pitched voice and his sharp knife, and I shivered in response. No had seen him or Morgan, not since Lem and the two others were hanged for attacking the sept.

"Some would have tried to," I admitted. "Thoros made it clear that I was not to be touched. As did Beric. As did Anguy."

"The archer?" Sandor furrowed her brow.

"I'm impressed you know his name."

"He wanted to execute me."

I gulped. "I'm sorry to hear that, my love."

"Held me responsible for my brother's deeds," Sandor sighed.

"You're not your brother," I said, slipping my hand out from under his to wrap my arms around his waist.

He sighed once more and then looked down at me. He cradled my temple in his large hand and leaned down to kiss the top of my head again. Then he snaked his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in closer.

We sat there for a moment, breathing along with each other. We watched our daughter stand up and hold the dirty end of her stick closer to her face. On the end was something small and pink, a worm she must have dug up. She pulled it off the stick and put it in her hand, squealing as the worm wriggled on her palm. Artemys met my eyes and matched the encouraging smile on my face before she crouched down once again and put the worm back in the upturned soil.

"Speaking of Anguy, did I tell you that I attempted to learn archery?" I grinned in spite of myself.

Sandor tore his eyes away from Artemys, who had returned to drawing in the dirt. He cocked his eyebrow at me, inviting me to go on.

"Anguy taught me the basics very early on in my days with the brothers," I explained. "I tried my hardest, I truly did. But it was a lost cause, believe me. I was complete and utter shit."

My comment made Sandor snicker louder than before, a clear smirk on his face.

I had gone from being the lowly daughter of a tavernkeeper in Flea Bottom to the trusted handmaiden of a Stark. I had been recruited as a court musician by the king of the Seven Kingdoms himself. I had even survived living amongst Lannisters as a Stark loyalist. But making Sandor Clegane laugh—twice in the same conversation—that was my greatest accomplishment.

"Just as well, songbird. Archery's for twats who can't hold a sword," Sandor smirked.

"And I'm just a twat who can't do either," I chuckled bitterly.

Sandor didn't respond at first. He pulled me even closer against his side. With one more glance at our daughter, he began to scan the area. I followed his eyeline, worried that he had perhaps sensed danger. I was underwhelmed, yet relieved when I found his eyes locked on Thoros.

The priest was standing with Beric, far enough away that I couldn't hear a single word they were saying, nor could I even try to read their lips. I could, however, see Thoros as he raised his flask to his mouth and took a healthy swig.

"Yeh've spent a lot of time with the Brotherhood," Sandor started, his voice still playful. "Yeh ever give him a hard time about drinking?"

I knew he meant his words in jest, I truly did. But the memories attached to the message made my heart grow heavy. I held onto him tightly and heaved a great sigh.

"I'm so sorry," I murmured. "I shouldn't have… I shouldn't have gotten so upset with you all those years ago. I should've never left that tavern." When I looked up at Sandor's face once again, I felt my eyes start to water. "All this time wasted…spent apart… It's all my fault."

Sandor took a deep breath. "'Snot yer fault, songbird. You had every right to be upset with me."

"Those awful men wouldn't have taken me if I had just been more patient with you," I shook my head. "I'm so sorry."

"Those awful men are at fault, not you."

My lips quivered at his words and I raised one of my hands to wipe at my tears before they fell from the brim of my eyes.

"Yeh're safe. Unhurt. That's all that matters," Sandor told me.

I craned my neck again and he leaned down to kiss my forehead. I nuzzled against his shoulder once more and felt him rub circles into my arm. I was so happy to be with him again, to feel his touch, to hear his deep and raspy voice.

"Not so far, Artemys," I called out as our daughter started to walk farther away.

Artemys stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me. She stared for a moment before plopping onto the ground where she was and continuing her artistry.

"So, are you one of these red cunts now?" Sandor asked.

"Fear not, my love," I felt myself grin. "I can't say I am."

"Course not," he breathed. "Yeh didn't much believe in anything as I remember."

"I didn't think I did, but…sometimes…" I shrugged. "With all that I've seen…and all that has happened to me in this life… It's hard to definitively say that there's nothing out there."

"Hmm?" Sandor grunted.

"It might all just be magic. It might all just be luck. It might be the gods themselves. And if it is the latter, I can't help thinking they've punished me several times over," I said in a low voice. "I was sent away from Arya, the little girl I loved like she was a sister; a daughter, even. Then I was tortured by the Crown, as I'm sure you'll remember."

Sandor went rigid alongside me. He put his hand on my back, exactly in the middle of the scars from Meryn Trant's whip.

"And I was taken from you—the man I loved more than anything on this earth," I continued. "Then I heard you were dead and I wondered what I had done to deserve all of this.

"That's when I remembered…I'm a kinslayer. I killed my own father," I looked up into Sandor's eyes, no longer trying to hide my tears. "All of this and then some, it's my punishment from the gods."

I watched Sandor's throat bob under his beard. His fingertips dug into the back of my dress before he answered.

"He wasn't yer kin," Sandor finally said.

"He was my father," I pointed out. "His blood runs through my veins."

"Fuck that. Fuck what the gods think. Blood or not, he wasn't yer kin. Just as my brother isn't my kin either," Sandor scowled. "Yer father deserved to die, Fallon. And you deserved to kill him. I would've killed him myself if I thought otherwise."

I squeezed my eyes shut, causing the tears to stream down my cheeks faster than before. My body was shaking against Sandor's, so he held me close to him, not knowing what else to do to comfort me. Little did he know, this was all I would ever hope from him. His words, his arms—I needed nothing more.

When I started to calm down, I used both of my hands to wipe my face. I looked up at Sandor, who had glanced over at Artemys. His eyes met mine again and I gave him a wobbly smile.

I allowed myself a chuckle and leaned my head against his arm. "I believe that's the first time I've ever heard you speak my name."