Author's Notes: PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER (69) - AS THAT IS THE NEW CHAPTER, NOT THIS!

Million apologies for screwing this up...! What I mean is that in my last update I somehow managed not to post the actual Chapter 69, but instead rushing ahead and posting Chapter 70 already...

LOL - maybe it doesn't make a huge difference - but if anyone wonders how the jump from Chapter 68 ("Only One Way Up") to 'so-called' Chapter 69 ("Not Forgotten") was a bit jarring, now you know why!

Anyway, I have now replaced the chapter 69 to be the correct one and posting this Chapter 70 in its rightful place. So if you get a notification of a new chapter, you actually need to go back and read the one before this - the missed Chapter 69 "Farewells". At least that's how I think it works...

I am very sorry about this oversight, clearly I need a break... :-)

Anyway, I might also mention that I, being ridiculously neat and systematic when I can, plan to post the last chapter of this story on February 10th 2020 – as then it has been exactly two years since I posted the first chapter.

Furthermore, I may do a song and dance about finally reaching the end – and yet I find myself wondering about some scenes that I never wrote; snippets, explanations, behind the scenes, 'in the meantime, elsewhere' scenarios, things that were left unresolved and so on. Hence I hope to write a few more chapters as separate add-ons to the main story. They would be a new story, linked to this one as series, rather than new chapters to this one – as after February 10th, this will be finished!

Just out of curiosity: are there any specific scenes or scenarios you would like to see? I have a few of my favourites fixed in my mind already, but it would be interesting to know what you, the readers, think. I can make no promises however about filling them for sure - sorry! :-(

And as always, feel free to come and say hi in Tumblr where I am ladytp too! And many, many thanks to Gefionne for betaing!

In the previous chapter (i.e the correct Chapter 69): Sansa starts her journey of farewells in King's Landing, revisiting the place where her adventure started. She finds out more about the people from her past, finally starting to feel a genuine connection to the people she misses. She also succeeds in filling more gaps, especially those concerning Rufus Hightower and Pod. She traces Brienne and Jaime in Tarth, Arya and Gendry in the Stormlands, and also visits Casterly Rock, Riverrun, inn at the crossroads and the Quiet Isle, every stop healing something inside her. Yet the gaping hole inside her left by Sandor is yet to be filled – a feat she hopes to achieve when finally approaching the Hound's Den.

Sansa

When Sansa steered her car into the half-empty parking lot, she eyed the building rising behind it curiously. It had been brand new once, after Sandor and Sansa had commissioned it to be built, but by now it was like many of the other keeps and castles she had already visited: grey, wooden parts covered with the patina of old age, moss growing at the foot of the stone walls. Yet it was somehow welcoming, the grace of the shape of the main building in contrast with its sturdy materials and the thickness of its outer walls.

Sansa parked in front of the modern building at the end of the parking lot. It was the office of the Hound's Den Stud & Kennel, a business following in the footsteps of its famous past. It was a modern company, not the purely family-owned enterprise of old. Sansa had read somewhere that it was still privately owned and its owners consisted of various consortiums, the Clegane family trust and a significant number of current and ex-employees.

She had called before her arrival, naturally, and talked to a friendly receptionist, who had been somewhat at a loss of what to do with a caller who was not interested in horses or dogs but simply wanted to visit the grounds and the house for some obscure historical research purposes. In the end, she had put Sansa through to the current owner of the house, who had graciously agreed to host Sansa one afternoon.

And here she was.

Clutching her backpack, Sansa stepped out of the car and walked into the office.

Only a short time later she was greeted at the main house by a middle-aged woman with red hair, streaks of silver shot through it. She had an easy smile and an efficient countenance, and she introduced herself as Anneste Clegane. After getting over the shock of her name – Clegane was not that a common name, although Sansa had come across references to people with that surname in her research - Sansa introduced herself and handed her the qualifications that had helped her so many times before. After glancing at them politely, her host handed them back to her.

"So, I understand you are doing here some research on the history of your family?" Anneste gestured Sansa to sit down on a comfortable sofa in the room into which she had directed her. A pot of tea was already standing on the table, accompanied by a platter of sandwiches and biscuits.

"I am, and may I say how grateful I am that you allowed me to visit your home. It may be an unusual quest and I value you taking your time to address it."

"Well, I am more used to people wanting to talk about our animals than our history – but this is a welcome change, let me assure you." Anneste poured them tea and pushed the platters closer to Sansa. "How exactly is your family's history tied to this place? Your email didn't go into much detail."

Sansa had already bitten into a sandwich and chewed it down before answering.

"My mother can trace her lineage directly to Lord Eddard Stark and beyond, all the way to the ancient kings of the North. My father's ancestors are from House Tully, whose members married into House Stark, most notably Lady Catelyn Stark to Lord Eddard in 283 AC. As you of course know, the Hound's Den was established by Lord Eddard's eldest daughter Sansa Stark-Clegane and her husband Sandor Clegane."

It felt all wrong and painful to speak out those names as if they were just figures from the past, not as close to her as they truly were.

"Aaah, of course. Sansa and Sandor Clegane, our esteemed founders." Anneste smiled. "We have much to thank them for."

"We?" Sansa queried.

"My family and me. My husband is travelling at the moment, but if he was here, he could tell you all about the bloodline of the horses and hounds they left, not to mention their reputation and prestige. As to the horses…" Anneste sighed. "No matter how often I see them, they always take my breath away, even after all these years."

They talked for a while about the breeding programs the Cleganes had going on, and Anneste showed Sansa photographs of their past champions, both horses and hounds.

When Sansa asked if it was possible to see more of the house, Anneste took her on a tour covering the whole house, from the attic to the cellars, from front yard to the back garden, including the stables and kennels. They had surprisingly much to talk about, as ignorant as Sansa was about the modern animal breeding, and how little Anneste knew about what went into genealogy research. She knew the history of the house well enough, having lived there all her life—and her family before her.

Soon enough Sansa discovered that Anneste's own lineage went back all the way directly to Sansa and Sandor, she having retained her name even after her marriage. After recognising that they were, in fact, relatives, their interactions passed from initial formality to something much warmer and familiar. In no time, Anneste insisted that Sansa had to stay for the night and cancel her reservation in the nearby hotel – a wish which Sansa was more than happy to oblige.

Carrying her luggage from the car, Sansa couldn't help thinking how strange it was to be in the presence of Sandor's descendant from a line that had started from a child of his.

And Sansa's.

The old jealousy reared its head but Sansa refused to let it fester. This was her chance to get closer to them, and she was not going to let anything as petty and irrational as being jealous of a woman dead these past centuries spoil it for her.

The rest of the day went past in a whirl, since there was so much to talk about and see. Sansa and Anneste went to see the horses brought in from the paddock, and although Sansa would have been lying if she had said she could recognise Stranger in their features, they did remind her of that temperamental horse – and its owner - so much that she had a lump in her throat just from looking at them.

Sansa helped Anneste put together a simple meal of pasta, refusing to be served as a guest. They opened a bottle of wine and the talk soon turned to more personal matters. Sansa told her host about her past year, coma and all, and how her trip was part of the recuperation and an attempt to connect back with her life. She didn't tell her all – Bran was still the only one she trusted – but she shared enough.

Anneste expressed her sympathy in a way that was genuine and caring, and Sansa didn't feel a trace of the awkwardness that often followed discussions like this. Her host seemed to intuitively understand that Sansa's quest for her history had something to do with her recovery and that it was important for her – but she asked no questions as to whys and wherefores.

They withdrew into the living room and lighted the fire in the fireplace and talked more about Sansa and Sandor Clegane.

Besides what Sansa knew and what was common knowledge in the history books, Anneste could also share stories passed down in the family lore. That Sandor's visage had been horribly burned and disfigured had been generally brushed aside in the books, but her host assured Sansa that it had been a well-known feature of his, and singers at the time had written satirical songs about it. She also told Sansa how nobody could understand why Lord Stark's noble and beautiful daughter had agreed to such an unusual marriage – a fact of which Sansa was more than well aware.

Sansa couldn't do anything but nod and agree, while a tight band squeezed around her chest, suffocating and choking her. She had always known their love had been unusual, but to hear it disparaged even after centuries… It was so unfair.

"You know what? I have something that might interest you," Anneste said all of a sudden, and jumped up without waiting for Sansa's reply. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

She stayed a while, letting Sansa come to grips with her surreal day. Although she hadn't been in the house before and couldn't link anything she had seen to her past, just the thought of walking along the same hallways and passing through the same doors that he had, that Sansa had, had moved her more than anything else she had seen on her journey so far.

They might have sat in this very same room a long time ago, staring at this very same fireplace. Maybe enjoying a glass of wine – sour red for Sandor, fruity red for Sansa – just as they had used to when she had been with Sandor.

The thought brought along a new wave of pain and longing, and Sansa wanted to cry. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to come here after all, regardless of how fascinating it had been.

Hurried steps along the corridor snapped Sansa back to present and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Here – you are in luck!" Anneste dropped a large box on the table in front of Sansa. It looked sleek and modern with no adornments, only a plain label affixed to the front.

"Correspondence of Lady Sansa Stark-Clegane and Lord Sandor Clegane, The Hound's Den, 4th century AC"

"What is this?" Sansa asked, stupidly.

"These letters have been on loan at the University of Old Town in the Citadel. There are not many, but one of its researchers is writing her thesis on the early Second Targaryen period marriage equality, and due to the nature of the Clegane marriage alliance, she thought these might bring some insight into the matter." Anneste frowned. "These reside usually in a bank vault along with other valuables, but they sent them back to this address by mistake. I was going to take them to the city myself the next time I went there."

Then she smiled. "You may want to have a look at them. But please, wear gloves if you handle them, and treat them with care. They are fragile, as you can imagine."

Sansa's heart lurched into her throat. Real letters, written by Sansa or Sandor's own hand!

"I…I don't know what to say," she stammered. "This is so much!" She lifted the box and felt its weight in her hand.

Anneste waved her hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. I have enjoyed your visit immensely, so this is the least I can do. I hope you find more of what you are looking for."

They stayed up for a little while longer, talking and sipping wine, and then it was time to retire for the night. Sansa had been allocated a small room on the first floor, and after tucking herself under the covers, Sansa tried to imagine how many generations of Cleganes had lived and breathed in this same room. She sensed something of their spirits still present, but they were benevolent and friendly and she felt welcomed by them, as odd as it might have been.

The last sight she saw before falling asleep was the box of letters on her table, ready to be tackled first thing in the morning.

Little Bird,

I am not used to penning my words, but it is apparently a thing married men do for their wives, so here I go.

Married.

Had anyone told me in King's Landing that I will be married one day, and to a lady such as you, I would have spat on them and called them a liar. But you changed that, and that is the other reason I am writing this. Because I want to.

The Queen has arrived with her dragons and Jon and Robb and the whole Northern host are fawning over her like lovesick boys – and Jon more than others. You told me they will become a couple and Jon told me he has no such desires – but he seems to have changed his mind since then.

Lannister and Tarth are still as sickeningly in love as they were when newly wed, but I cannot blame them, having been there myself. Jaime is leading the Southern troops, and so far there has been no bloodshed between the armies – not even with the wildlings, led by an odd red-headed fellow called Tormund. Maybe this peace will indeed hold.

Robb's missives will tell you more about the preparations for the battle, so I shall not touch them. I would write more about what is in my heart, but I find chasing the words difficult, so I will not. You know all that already, so let me just tell you that it is still so - thousand-fold more.

Take care of yourself and our babe, give him a kiss on that soft forehead of his – you do it so much better than I do.

Yours, always,

S

Sansa stared at the flourished letter 'S' written in bold strokes, and her throat constricted at the sight. Sandor wasn't – had not been – a man of letters, but she had seen enough of his writing to recognise his hand.

That he had written such an affectionate letter to her…

Sansa stopped that train of thought in its tracks and turned another leaf of the folder containing the letters in their special material plastic sleeves. Just in case, she also wore the white cotton gloves that had been in the box, for if she needed to study the letters more closely.

Dearest Sandor,

I cannot stop worrying about your safety even though I know that you, if anyone, will survive this war. I worry about the others too, but you are most in my thoughts.

Edmar is growing strong, looking more like you every day, with his serious grey eyes and dark hair. We have three new foals born since you left, each stronger than the next. Stranger is missed here as well, so make sure you bring him back when you come – hopefully soon. Father says the Others cannot stand dragon fire, and the dragon glass Mother secured from Lord Stannis has been invaluable too, so I trust it will be over shortly. She told us we will prevail, and I trust her.

I know your heart even if you do not repeat the words, but I confess I want to hear them again just the same, but preferably from your own lips. And I will say the same back to you – and write it here as well, as I have no shame.

I love you.

Come back to us soon, my love,

Yours, always,

S

This time Sansa couldn't prevent the tears, already glimmering in her eyes and blurring her vision, falling down.

They were truly in love!

The familiar conflicting emotions warred in her head and to distract herself she picked up a wad of printouts that had also been in the box. They seemed to be email correspondence of the two researchers who had studied the letters at the university; some hastily written short notes, some longer analytical dissections.

WTF?! You didn't tell me it was a love match between these two!

I didn't know it. Does it matter?

I wanted to explore their unusual marriage dynamics to see how class inequality impacted their roles within the marriage. Whether Clegane was still a dominant partner or whether Lady Stark ruled over him, all that stuff – but with this love bullshit going on, it's harder to see.

Never call love bullshit! Isn't it kind of cute, though? The chronicles at the time state that he was ugly as hell and just as rude, and she was beautiful and refined – makes you wonder what got them together in the first place.

He must have been good in the sack, LOL!

Shush, take your mind out of the gutter, please. We are serious historians, after all. :-)

Sansa couldn't help smiling. Some of the correspondence may not have been meant to be shared so openly, but might have been left there by mistake. Nonetheless, it gave her yet another view into how the marriage between Sansa and Sandor had been viewed across time.

Sighing, Sansa put the printouts away. It was still early, only some movement at the paddocks and distant barking from the kennels a sign that another day at the Hound's Den had started. She knew Anneste had to go and run some errands first thing in the morning, but she had promised to be back before noon when they would have lunch together. Until then, Sansa's time was her own and she intended to spend every moment of it facing the past.

She leafed through the folder slowly, reading each letter carefully. There were not many—only half a dozen – which made sense considering that the War for the New Dawn had been rather short, allowing the troops to return to their homes with little delay. In between the letters, she also read more of the printouts, both informal and formal discussions, and made a note to herself about the names of the researchers with an intent to follow up when they eventually published their work.

She also used her phone's digital scanning app to scan the letters, with several close-ups and enlargements. In one them, it seemed that Sandor had been handling something charred, as it contained a few prints of his thumb and forefinger where he had folded the piece of paper. Sansa traced the marks reverently, imagining his long fingers touching the paper, just there… fingers whose touch she was intimately familiar with.

There were a few references in the letters to 'she', just like in the first one. 'She told us', 'she warned', 'if she was here'. Sansa wondered about that, but only when she reached the last letter, the pieces fell in place, leaving her dumbfounded.

Dearest Sandor,

Tomorrow it will be two years since she left - and yet it seems it was not so long ago.

I have thought about her a lot these past few days. I hope she found her way back to her family and is happy with them. We can never know it for sure, of course, but you told me she believed there was a way and that it could succeed. I hope so, for her sake.

I still sometimes have difficulties in sorting out my thoughts about her and me and us. Sometimes I still feel her presence, and memories of her time can bubble up from the deepest parts of my mind quite unexpectedly. Just the other day I was attending one of our smallfolk with a dislocated shoulder and without truly knowing what I was doing, I found myself popping it back into its joint, and I knew it was what she had learned from the Elder Brother. The brewer I did it for was grateful and I suspect it earned me more unwarranted reputation, which I suppose I just have to study hard to catch up with.

There are so many things for which I am grateful to her. I am not sure if I would have ever picked enough courage to act on my affection for you – not to mention bravery and ability to escape from the Red Keep with Father and you, and all that followed. I think I have it now, and that I owe to her as well: she helped me to grow.

And I owe you to her. I love her for it – but is it horrible to say that sometimes I am also terribly jealous of her? She felt your love first, and she gave her love to you, and although I have experienced it all anew with you—our first kiss, first confessions, first everything—I sometimes find myself envious of what you two had.

I know it is ridiculous and I am an awful person, and I truly, truly love her, but on a day like this, I want to be honest with you.

Yet what gives me solace is that I have you now, and that is enough for me. I feel ashamed of my thoughts and I go to the Godswood and pray for her safe deliverance and happiness, and I mean it from the bottom of my heart!

At the same time, I also make sure the wolf's head ring stays exactly where it is: at the bottom of the box of our valuables, in your solar. Call it overzealousness if you want, but I will not… You know I cannot.

Hurry back to me soon, my love, now that the war has been won, and I will seek absolution for my horridness from your kisses.

Yours, always,

S

Sansa stared at the words, not quite believing what she had just read.

She was… jealous of me?

Sansa rubbed her face and eyes and read the letter again, word by word. It was all there, a bold recognition of her and her impact. An indication that she hadn't been forgotten, and that she hadn't been remembered badly - but also that she was seen as having gone away, never to return.

She had had no place in their life besides in their memories. Even in Sandor's.

Sansa got up and walked to the window overlooking green paddocks and lush gardens, with a glimpse of the river in the distance.

When the panic attack hit her, it was sudden and completely out of the blue. One moment she was beholding the view spreading in front of her and another a crushing weight squeezed her chest and heart so hard she could hardly breathe. Her vision blurred and she felt dizzy – not as she had felt before when she had transitioned between times and bodies, but as if she simply didn't have enough air in her lungs.

She reached to take hold of the windowsill with her both hands, clutching it in a desperate grip. The whole world swirled around her and she felt like falling, falling, falling - and then everything came to an abrupt halt.

Sansa pressed her forehead against the glass and gulped for air.

I was the one who stole her life!

She took slow deep breaths, trying to take control over the sense of panic that overwhelmed her.

I stole him.

Breathing in, breathing out.

It was never supposed to be my life. I was the intruder.

Sansa had known that on an intellectual level for a long time already, and after reading more about their marriage, also at the emotional level. And yet…

It seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes before the panic dissipated and she started to feel better. She straightened up and let go of the windowsill, focussing on her breathing. When she felt strong enough, Sansa turned and took a few tentative steps towards the bed. Her legs were still trembling, but gradually that stopped and she reached her destination and threw herself on top of the covers.

Sansa had never felt anything like that before, not even during her first few weeks after coming back. An unexplainable panic attack… What did it mean? Something inside her had been broken – as if something she had held dear had been snatched away from her, and she wanted to hold on to it, draw it back, but the pull away was stronger and she didn't have the power to do anything about it.

It took a long while before she felt in control and was ready to get back to the notes. The letter had been the last one, presumably because soon after that Sandor had returned, and so she had no knowledge of how Sandor reacted to Sansa's thoughts. Yet the frequency she had been referred to and their tone suggested it had not been a novel topic or anything uncomfortable between the couple. She and Sandor had sworn always to be truthful to each other, already back at the Quiet Isle – and apparently, that same mantra had continued.

Wearily, Sansa read the last few notes, where the researchers speculated and argued who the mysterious 'she' could have been. Shae was suggested as an ex-lover of Sandor's, who somehow got entangled with his new romance. That theory was soon abandoned because – to Sansa's joy – Shae's whereabouts had been well known at the time the letters had been written. An ex-camp follower had risen high in life by marrying into one of the masterly houses in the North and had apparently lived a long life as a respected matriarch of the new generation.

In the end, the researchers had shrugged their shoulders and given up, the matter not truly affecting their research.

Sansa packed the letters and the notes away resignedly, then she packed her bags. As much as she had enjoyed the previous day and evening, she knew she couldn't stay any longer. She needed time to think it all over.

Just as she closed the zipper of her luggage, she heard the door opening downstairs: Anneste had returned.

After yet another pleasant meal, Anneste took Sansa in her car to the family graveyard some distance away, where they hadn't yet visited, stopping on their way at a flower shop at Sansa's insistence.

The graves of Sansa and Sandor Clegane were far back, in the oldest part of the private cemetery. One big gravestone, ravaged by age but well-maintained in the honour of the founding members of that proud house.

Their names were engraved in large letters, one next to another, surrounded by a decorative border of leaves and branches. Sansa knelt on the ground as close to the stone as she could and traced her fingers along with the letters. Somehow seeing the grave and realising that the mortal remains of the two people who had plagued her mind for the last few months were buried under that very soil made it real that they were, indeed, gone.

She noticed other engravings in the stone when she studied it in detail, the most notable of them being a large hunting hound and next to it, a small bird perching on one of the branches of the border. Sansa's lips curved into a smile. Of course.

She straightened up and laid a single perfect red rose on the gravestone, an age-old symbol of deep and passionate love. Doing that, she studied her emotions and realised that she did that as much for Sansa as she did for Sandor. Yes, Sandor was the first true love of her life and she would never, ever forget him – but Sansa deserved it equally.

However, surprises were not yet over. As they were leaving, Sansa noticed a small statue behind the grave: a young woman, standing in a serene pose, holding a book in her hands and looking across the gravesite. She had a long, flowing hair, not bound in a formal style, and a small smile graced her lips. The stone-carver had done an excellent job of conveying a sense of ease and natural grace into the figure, and as Sansa marvelled it, Anneste came to stand next to her.

"That's her, everyone believes," she said simply.

"Who? Do you mean Sansa Stark - sorry, Clegane?" Sansa stammered. Taking another look at the statue, she concluded that yes, maybe it indeed was. The likeness could not be determined exactly, the northern stone being not as amenable to fine workmanship as marble, but the features were refined and her hair was slightly wavy, as was hers.

"Yes. It doesn't name her, the base of it only bearing an inscription "She" – but who else could it be? It was commissioned by these two"—Anneste waved towards the grave— "and it used to stand in the garden at the main house, but later it was moved here."

She?

Sansa eyed the statue again, from head to toe – and then she noticed the round shape of its base. It looked like… she stepped a few steps back and squinted her eyes. There was no mistaking it.

It was the ring.

The wolf's head ring, to be precise, or an enlarged version of it surrounded the statue, the woman standing inside it.

And Sansa knew. For what felt like the hundredth time for the last day and night, tears stung her eyes. It was her, the statue had been erected in her own memory.

Could there be a sign of greater love and respect? At the same time, also a sign of something that was honoured and remembered, but not there anymore…

After heartfelt goodbyes and promises to keep in touch, Sansa drove out of Hound's Den and turned towards Winterfell. Her mind was still processing everything she had heard and seen over the last day, the enormity of it being so huge that she could digest it only in small pieces at a time.

Time she had, her car swallowing the road with nothing else to occupy her but her own thoughts.

Eventually, she reached her destination: a motel situated in one of the oldest buildings of Wintertown, which she had booked a few days ago. To her relief, the woman welcoming her was not the talkative type and after showing Sansa her room and amenities, she left Sansa alone.

Still unsettled by her experiences, Sansa abandoned any plans to go out for a meal and instead made a short trip to the nearest fast-food takeaway. Fortified with a spicy and greasy meat roll, she made it an early night and went to bed without even calling her parents or Bran as she usually did when she changed locations.

She would call them the next day.

Sansa felt much better when she woke up. A quick shower and she was ready to face the day – at first still a bit wary, should the panic attack return, but everything seemed normal enough.

She also called her parents, and it being a weekend, had a lovely chat with her whole family at the other end of the line. She described her visit ito the Hound's Den and meeting with Anneste – leaving pertinent details to be shared with Bran for later – and from the reception her tale got, she knew her parents were happy for her.

During her time away, Sansa had gained a new appreciation of the pain her family had gone through. They didn't like to talk about it, but from little slips and snippets of information, Sansa had learned how hard it had been for all of them. Everything they had done since she had returned had been an expression of the purest love, each in their own way.

Her father had done all he could to sort her life out, ironing out all the little inconveniences such as studies, taxes and such. When Sansa's recovery had still been in an upward trajectory, they had gone on many long walks together, talking about everything and nothing.

Her mother had supported her all the way through her physical rehabilitation, taking her to the gym and enrolling in the classes as well – a sacrifice Sansa appreciated even more knowing how much she hated exercise. They, too, had talked a lot, and when Sansa had first started to slide into depression, Alessa had somehow successfully pulled her out of it at first – until even her attempts had proven futile.

And Bran… He was her rock and her confidante. Sansa knew she wouldn't have been able to do what she had without her brother's support.

She loved them so much and as she talked to them, she realised how foolish she had been in pulling away. Her family was her harbour of safety and strength in the turbulent seas she was sailing, and she needed them. With voice thickened by emotions, she finished her call with a heartfelt "I love you all" and felt much better for it.

After a hearty breakfast at the café across the road, she drove to Winterfell, where her long-planned visit took most of her day. Her plan reserved the first day for general sightseeing and examination of the house and grounds – the parts that were open to the public - whereas for the second day she had already booked appointments with the owners of the house and the curator of the museum.

To Sansa's surprise, the rollercoaster of emotions she went through during her visit was more subdued than she had expected. Yes, it was heart-wrenching, but not as bad as before.

Most of what she saw was familiar and even comforting, in a way. The Great Hall, where she had sat so many times at the high dais with her family. The small family solar, where they had had their strategy meetings about their rebellion. The smaller solar, where she had spent many pleasant hours with Sandor after their engagement, and where they had celebrated her decision to stay.

The bitterness of how it had turned out lingered with her for a moment, but she pushed it away.

Sandor's original chamber had been made into a storage facility and was out of bounds for visitors, but when nobody was looking, Sansa pushed the door open – it was unlocked – and peeked inside. Stone walls were the only feature that was the same as before, even windows having been changed to a modern, more energy-efficient type. Her gaze swept across the room, searching for something, anything – but he wasn't there.

Sighing, Sansa closed the door. After the Hound's Den, everything else seemed so…flat.

When she came to Arya's room, her nervousness increased. After the Red Keep, where she had waited in vain in Sansa's old room for something to happen, not sure if she had wanted it or not, she had refused to think what she might do in Arya's room, should she be able to see it.

Still standing on the threshold, her eyes took in the later time period-accurate furniture and wall hangings. Arya's spirit was truly and clearly gone, which was not a surprise, considering how many generations of Starks had occupied the keep since their time.

Sansa rubbed the wolf's head ring she still wore on her finger. Her parents had told her they had left it on her even when she had been in the hospital because it had allowed her at least a small sense of individualism in an environment where everything was so neutral and impersonal. Had they known that it had been the difference between her waking up or not…

It didn't matter anymore, though. If Sansa in the past didn't wear it, she couldn't go back in any case. Sansa rolled the ring on her finger, contemplating.

Would I want to go back - even if I could?

She had wanted it – but that had been selfish. She had been an intruder the first time, she couldn't do that for the second time. Not to Sansa, not to Sandor.

No, my place is here.

Even as Sansa was still forming the thought in her mind, more pieces of her life clicked into place. She was finally starting to get to know who she was and what she needed to do. It might take time, but that she had.

She removed the ring from her finger and dropped it into her bag, then stepped into the room to admire the large wall piece depicting a snowy scene of dense woodland.

The rest of the visit went well, and she found a new level of enjoyment in simply admiring the keep and the objects there from the perspective of someone merely interested in history. She studied the statues in the crypt, standing in front of Lord Eddard's statue for a long time before moving to examine Lord Robb's statue next to his father. It depicted a man much older than the Robb she had seen last; a man with a long beard and proud stance.

She also visited the lichyard and the graves of the famous Stark direwolves. Lady had a plaque of her own, as did Grey Wind and Shaggydog, Nymeria and Ghost having followed their owners and been buried elsewhere.

The next day in the museum was much the same. She admired the pieces of old crockery and old manuscripts and other documents in a display, had a discussion with the curator about Lord Eddard and Lord Robb's rule and generations after them. She found a few more interesting little tidbits about the family, including the fascinating information that the direwolves of the Stark children had, as a matter of fact, not died out without offspring, but that at least Shaggydog and Grey Wind had mated with local wolves and started a line of unusually large wolves, descendants of them still roaming far in the North.

She also saw Hound's helm, and although the sight of it pierced through her core once again, knowing that it was the real thing, she maintained her composure. After all, it was just a thing, made of metal. It was not him.

Her meeting with the current owners was pleasant, too. After identifying her as a relative, although a distant one, her hosts Theon and Erena Stark were more than happy to tell her anything she wanted to know. It was not a lot, though, the couple being young and energetic and with interests that veered to any direction except history. What Sansa was happy to discover, though, was that Theon had gotten his name from another ancestor of his – who after some probing and studying of the documents Sansa had copied from the museum private collections turned out to be none else but Theon Greyjoy from the Iron Islands.

He had stayed in Winterfell after the War for the New Dawn and married a daughter from House Cassel, and his granddaughter had later married a son of House Stark – and ever since, name Theon had popped up every now and then in the family lineage.

The discovery made Sansa happy. To know that her actions had changed the course of Theon's life - from a horrible fate to a stalwart and respected companion of the young Lord Stark, their descendants finally uniting them as one family – was yet another boon on her trip.

On her way back to her hotel, Sansa decided to take a quick side tour to see the site where she had been working to establish a house of healing together with Maester Luwin and local healers and midwives. She didn't truly expect to see it still standing, but was curious just the same.

She was right – the old building she remembered had been replaced with a much bigger construction. From the looks and style of it, it had been built around the same time, though, its period-typical rough-hewn stone façade exuding strength, stability and prestige. After turning the corner to its main entrance, Sansa saw a sign indicating that it was a city-owned community centre. Under the sign, there was a smaller bronze plaque with an inscription, which she read under a light of her mobile phone torch.

This building housed the first public hospital in the North, established by Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell.

She bit her lip. So, her plans had been taken forward by her parents. Had real Sansa perhaps continued on in her footsteps? She hadn't found any signs of it in her research, but it might have been a detail easily overlooked by 'serious' historians.

Sansa had written letters to them all at the time when she had considered returning of her own will - but had they ever received them? Sandor had been the only person she had told about them and showed where they were hidden.

Had he shared them? Had her parents ever found out the truth – or had Sandor only told Sansa?

Her curiosity raised, Sansa came back to the centre the next day when it was open. A grey-haired woman behind the counter listened to her well-practised story about doing research on her family, and when she heard that they were 'The' Starks, there was nothing Sansa could ask that was too much trouble for her.

Unfortunately she couldn't offer much in the way of new information, besides giving her a brief tour of the building and pointing her to visit Winterfell and the local museum – both of which Sansa had already covered. Sansa hadn't really expected much, so she wasn't disappointed - but just as she was about to thank the assistant for her time, she clasped her forehead.

"Oh, I almost forgot. There is something here that might interest you, my dear!" Without waiting for an answer, she got up and walked briskly towards one of the rooms they had passed earlier on their tour. She opened the door and took Sansa into a small meeting room with a large conference table and walls lined with tall bookcases.

"This is for our various board meetings, not used much, as you can see." She brushed her finger across the table and frowned at seeing the clear line it left on the dusty surface.

Sansa looked around, admiring the heavy furniture, full of yesteryear charm. It was a beautiful room full of light, and despite modernisation carried out over the centuries, the traces of the original design and structures were still visible: a fireplace at each end of the room, large windows and high ceilings with age-tarnished heavy beams supporting it.

The woman climbed on a chair and reached for a framed document on the wall, and after successfully coaxing it away from its hook, carried it to where Sansa was standing. It wasn't very large and was covered with a glass and inside it, Sansa saw a handwritten document.

"This is not the original, of course – it is somewhere in the museum archives – but this is a rather good reproduction of it. Even the parchment they used for photo reproduction was created by the original methods by one of our craft class teachers."

She laid the object on the table and Sansa bent to examine it. The bold handwriting looked somewhat familiar and after a moment's confusion she recognised it as Maester Luwin's – and her heart skipped a beat.

"It is the original bestowment of this building to the town. It was unveiled here three years ago for the anniversary of The Greater North Public Hospitals network." The woman used her sleeve to wipe away the layer of dust that had accumulated on top of the frame.

Sansa traced her fingers atop the glass, following the lines of text. The document itself was not long and had been clearly intended to serve as a public reclamation of the bequest and the pledge it contained: not only the lands and funds for building the house for healing but also the promise that House Stark would support its ongoing costs and provide help for its running from its own household, culminating with the appointment of a second maester from the Oldtown, whose main duty was to be in the service of the population of Wintertown and the North.

Sansa's felt a lump in her throat. She had had discussions with her parents – Ned and Catelyn - about a need for something like that, and her plans at the time shortly before her disappearance had been aimed towards it – and seeing that it had been carried out even in her absence, touched her deeply.

The real shock came when she read the last lines of the document.

This bequest is for the future of our people, as the future must always be better than now. It is for our children, and our children's children, as they will carry on what is best of us.

This gift is made in the name of our children; all our sons and all our daughters.

Lord Eddard Lady Catelyn

The names had been written in different hands, Ned and Catelyn personally signing the document that was intended to be shared with their people. Ned's signature was strong and spiky and Cat's somewhat more rounded and more elaborate.

Sansa stared at the text. Besides the ache of seeing such a concrete link to two people she had learned to genuinely love and appreciate, the dedication to their children puzzled her.

They had three sons, Robb, Bran and Rickon, so referring to them as all sons made sense. But as for daughters… there was only Sansa and Arya – there had been no more children even after she had left.

And 'all' was underlined.

'All our daughters'.

Sansa didn't hear the chattering of the woman next to her, telling about the anniversary celebrations and the unveiling of the plaque, as her eyes blurred from tears when she accepted the implications of it.

They had known, they had thought of her - and they had remembered her.

Wiping the corner of her eye with her finger Sansa took a moment to reflect on her discovery – and once more, something profound and heavy was lifted from her shoulders.

Overall, Sansa counted her visit in Winterfell as yet another success. After retiring to her motel room that evening, she considered whether she still had the energy to drive all the way to the Wall and visit the past battlegrounds of the war against the Others and the old headquarters of the Night's Watch.

Maybe she could see the famous dragon tooth held there, from one of Queen Daenerys's dragons? If there was something else besides her loved ones Sansa missed from the past, it was the chance to see the famous dragons with her own eyes – but alas, that was not to be. They had been the last of their species ever sighted, and when they had died of old age in King's Landing, the dragons were seen no more.

Nonetheless, when Sansa woke up the next morning after a wonderfully well-slept night, she felt somehow…different.

Lighter. Relieved. There was no anxiety, no sadness, no overwhelming feeling of futility. Her mind was clear and her thoughts sharp.

Her path was clear. No driving to the Wall – she could do that some other time, as just a holiday. What she needed to do – what she wanted to do – was to get back home.

And start living.