Author's Notes: Well, here comes a bit more from the world of my fic "This Time, We'll Do Better" - as promised! The overwhelmingly most requested additional bit by the readers concerned past!Sansa finding herself back in her new situation after all that had happened, so this scene is about that very moment when she wakes up in Winterfell among her family and one interesting new addition to it…

Technically speaking this could be considered as a continuation to the fic which I was not (and am not) planning to do, but since this scene kind of had already happened in where we left our story, in modern times, I guess it's okay…

Please take care, hang on there and remember – "THIS, TOO, SHALL PASS."

Sansa

Sansa woke up to something warm and wet on her face.

The feeling was not exactly unpleasant – just unexpected. Odd.

She moved her head and the hard surface against her cheek struck her as another peculiarity. Her bed had a soft mattress, stuffed with down and feathers. She should know, having spent countless hours lying on it, crying for the ruins of her broken dreams. She might have been a prisoner of the court, but one that was kept in a gilded cage with all the comforts.

She felt it again. Wet…lick?

Sansa opened one eye and found herself staring at something white and brown and hairy with a pair of big brown eyes.

A dog?

She took another look, this time with both eyes, and yes, there was no mistaking it. The dog – actually just a puppy – had noticed she was awake and came at her with increased enthusiasm.

"Shush, settle down, umpfff –" Sansa tried to shield her face with an upraised arm but hit her hand against something hard above her. "Ow!"

She was fully awake now, and having established that she was, as it happened, lying on her stomach, she tried to lift and turn around, only to hit her head against the same hard object her arm had already made acquaintance with.

Taking stock of the situation, it took Sansa a moment to realise that she was lying under a bed, on a hard wooden floor. The puppy who had woken her up was now snuggled next to her face, alternating between licking it and panting excitedly, the hot exhale brushing against her cheek.

What, why, how…?

Sansa pressed flat against the floor and crawled backwards to free herself from her predicament, and having surfaced from it, got up onto her knees and swept her gaze across the room.

And froze.

This can't be!

It was her room – her room in Winterfell, not the one assigned to her in the Red Keep. It looked somewhat different from when she had last seen it, but she recognised it immediately. It was less tidy than what she had left it, though; clothes were strewn across the floor and things scattered on the tables and the window sill.

How is this possible?

Sansa closed her eyes and concentrated. The last thing she remembered was tossing and turning in her bed – the one in the Red Keep – after yet another day of misery in her captivity while waiting for the blessed temporary escape sleep provided. She had been worried about the fate of her father and despaired of the path laid out in front of her: forced to marry Joffrey and stay in the court as a pawn in political stakes.

And yet here she was, unmistakably in her own home in the North. How could she have gotten here? Had Robb descended into King's Landing and saved her, as she had always dreamt?

Or had Joffrey beaten Robb's forces, had Baratheon and Lannister troops swept across the country and seized Winterfell, taking her along as a token symbol of Stark blood?

With shaking legs Sansa stood up and looked around again. The clothes on the floor were feminine, more or less, but she didn't recognise any of them as hers. Hanging on the wall was a sword, a slender small thing. A memory tickled her mind; she had once seen Arya with something like it in the Hand's Tower, but could it be the same? She stepped towards it to examine it closer when the door slammed open.

"Sansa – what are you doing in my room?" It was Arya. She had been lost and suspected dead, but was now staring at her if not exactly angry, at least somewhat irritated.

Sansa stared at her sister. She looked different; more grown-up, her hair and clothes not the same as what Sansa remembered. But she was here and she was alive and Sansa's heart soared.

"Arya?" she whispered.

"I see, your rascal again," Arya said, smiling at the puppy who greeted her with a wagging tail. "Diva, I have told you and told you that this is my room – you are not allowed in unless invited! Robb is still angry about the mess in his room, feathers all over the place."

Sansa's jaw dropped as Arya knelt and scratched the puppy's head, cooing nonsense in its ear. Robb?

"Arya, what has happened?" she croaked, overcome by the picture painted by her sister's words. Could it be true? Had she been saved from the clutches of Lannisters? And if she had been… "Where is Father? Is he safe?"

Arya glanced up and frowned. "What are you talking about? Father is at the Wall with Jon – or wait, have you heard some news, has something happened?"

The puppy forgotten, Arya jumped to her feet and rushed to Sansa. "Tell me, what have you heard or seen?!"

Sansa was taken aback. Father and Jon at the Wall?

"Nothing," she stammered. "I know nothing! Why am I here? How did I get here? Did Robb save me and Father?"

Arya took a step back and stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted horns, but at least she appeared to calm down a bit.

"Sansa, what are you talking about? What do you mean 'why am I here'? Don't you remember?"

Sansa collapsed to sit on the bed, her legs finally giving way under her.

"I don't! I fell asleep in the Red Keep and woke up here"—she pointed at the floor—"under this bed, to be precise! How I got here I have no recollection. How is it possible?!"

Arya tensed and rocked back on the balls of her feet, cocking her head and biting her lip, looking unsure.

"You remember nothing? About how you and Father escaped the Red Keep and travelled across the country, and how we met at the inn at the crossroads – and you went to the Quiet Isle and were captured by Tywin Lannister and escaped again, and we came back to Winterfell, all sound and safe, and we made all those plans based on your greendreams…" She stopped, suddenly. "Do you remember your greendreams?"

Sansa pressed her face on her hands, exasperated. "I remember nothing! What greendreams?!"

She felt tears burning under her eyelids. Of happiness or despair, she couldn't be sure. It seemed she was indeed back at home with her family, as she had prayed and hoped, but not knowing how she had gotten there frightened her. And what greendreams was Arya talking about?

Arya came closer and sat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulder. It felt comforting, especially given the circumstances under which they had last seen each other, both still hurting from the events on the Kingsroad and blaming each other. Sansa snuggled closer and Arya squeezed her arm around her tighter.

"There there. I'm sure there is an explanation for this. Maybe Maester Luwin can help. And also -" Arya sprang up again. "Wait, I'll get someone who might be able to refresh your memory."

Without waiting for Sansa's answer she left the room in hurried steps, shouting behind her shoulder for Sansa to sit tight and wait for her return.

Sansa did as she was bid, still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. A few tears flowed down her cheek but she swept them away. Whatever had happened, it must have been good, for them to be back at home, Father being free and Mother and Robb somewhere nearby as well. She took a few deep breaths and started to feel a bit better.

As Arya had promised, she was back soon, but yet another shock greeted Sansa in the form of the person she brought with her.

The Hound!

There simply couldn't be a mistake about his burned visage and enormous size, and instinctively Sansa recoiled, trying to make herself as small as possible. In truth, she wasn't so much afraid of the Hound, he having shown her unexpected patience and rough kindness before, but rather what he represented. If he was here, did it mean that Joffrey was here too? Maybe she wasn't quite as safe as she had thought, after all.

"Sansa," the Hound panted. He had been running from the look of it, his breathing hard and fast and a trickle of sweat running down his forehead. "What has happened? Arya tells me you don't know where you are or some such nonsense."

He was not dressed in his Kingsguard attire nor in the usual simple clothing he wore when not on duty, but instead carried – what is the meaning of this? – Stark colours on his tunic and gambeson. He approached her without hesitation and knelt on the floor beside her, taking her hand in his. It almost disappeared in his huge grip.

Sansa winced and tried to pull her hand away. The Hound had never been so informal with her, knowing his place and her position – and why was he calling Arya by her name, not addressing her as "Lady Arya"? Were they all perhaps still Lannister prisoners and hence he didn't bother with good manners?

The Hound noticed her reaction and dropped her hand as if it burned him. He frowned, his eyebrows drawn together and his whole body tensing.

"Sansa?" he started again, studying her face with an expression that almost scared Sansa with its intensity.

"I… what are you doing here? Is King Joffrey here, too?" Sansa braced herself, slipping on her armour of courtesy and preparing to play her role once again. "My apologies, but I seem to have lost… a grasp of the recent events."

The Hound stared at her for a long time and each moment that ticked by made Sansa more and more uneasy. He had never been overly familiar with her despite his rough manners and direct speech, but now he was leaning so close to her, staring at her so openly… It was as unnerving as it was uncomfortable.

Finally the Hound sighed, a deep sigh coming from the depth of his core. His face transformed, and it was only now that Sansa realised what else had been so different in him: instead of his usual scowl, his expression had been more expressive and oddly enough, openly worried. He withdrew from her and stood up.

"Lady Sansa, do I gather that you have lost your memory? Is the last thing you remember from the Red Keep when you were still at the court of King Joffrey?"

Finally somebody understood! Sansa nodded eagerly. "Yes, that's exactly what has happened. I know we are in Winterfell now, but I have no recollection of how I got here – we got here: you and Arya and … who else?"

She took a deep breath. She would hear the truth of it now. It might have been irrational, but she trusted the man in front of her delivering it to her, no matter what it was. Good or bad.

Arya had crossed her arms and waited at the back of the room, observing them both with open curiosity.

The Hound pulled up to his full height and stared at the wall above her head. His face was blank and closed, although still not as sullen as she remembered it.

"You are in Winterfell with your family. You and Lord Eddard escaped the Red Keep and made your way here, joined along the journey by Lady Catelyn, your brother Robb and sister Arya. King Joffrey is dead and King Tommen sits on the throne. You are free, and so is your family. Lannisters have no hold of you now."

Sansa sighed with relief. She was free; it was as she had dared to hope!

Yet the Hound was not finished. "Lord Eddard has departed to visit the Wall with Jon Snow and your brother Bran, and Lady Catelyn has gone to Dragonstone to meet with Lord Stannis. They will be back, but it might be a while yet. Your brothers Robb and Rickon are in Winterfell, and Ser Jaime Lannister is currently a guest of House Stark with his newly-wedded wife Brienne of Tarth, who has sworn herself at the service of your lady mother."

Sansa shuddered at the mention of Jaime Lannister, which the Hound seemed to notice as he glanced at her and continued in a lower voice. "Ser Jaime has turned his back on his family, as has Tyrion Lannister. They both are allies of House Stark now and Tyrion has gone on a mission across the Narrow Sea to seek a further alliance with the daughter of late King Aegon."

Sansa heard every word but none of it made any sense. King Joffrey dead? Jaime and Tyron Lannister turned against their house? Who was Brienne of Tarth and how could she have sworn service to Lady Catelyn? Ladies didn't swear into someone's service, only men did. And how could her house be seeking an alliance with a Targaryen when her father had been one of the foremost figures in the rebellion against them? None of that made any sense at all!

Yet the overriding sensation she felt was relief and reassurance that her nightmare in the capital was finally over both for her and her father. Whys and wherefores paled in comparison to that liberating realisation.

"That is… that is wonderful news! Although I don't understand how any of that is even possible – but I am so relieved to hear this!" Sansa smiled at the Hound, who was staring at the wall again.

"I could have told you that we were safe – wait, I think I did tell you that," Arya interjected from across the room.

"I am sorry, Arya, I was just – and still am – a bit overwhelmed." Sansa smiled apologetically at her sister, who came closer and dropped down on the mattress next to her.

"If you have truly lost your memories, there is much more to tell you, I guess. I can tell you some, but as I wasn't there from the beginning, Sandor can fill you in with the rest."

Sandor?

Sansa looked back and forth between Arya and the Hound. Arya had hated the Hound with a passion for killing her friend, as far as Sansa remembered, and yet here she was, calling him by his first name and being friendly. How had that happened?

"And how are you here, if you don't mind me asking?" Sansa steadied her voice and addressed the Hound – Sandor?

He turned to look at her and once again Sansa was trapped by the intensity of his gaze. Before he could speak, though, Arya intervened.

"Sandor is a Stark man now. He travelled with you and Father all the way from King's Landing, and he saved you and the others when Lannister men tried to recapture you, and then you and him –"

"Arya, your sister has suffered a shock and needs time to gather herself. The details can wait. I suggest we call for Maester Luwin, who can give her something to settle her down." The Hound's tone was tense and he took a step towards Arya. "Do you understand?"

Arya looked up and some sort of understanding seemed to pass between the two, as she closed her mouth and nodded.

"Of course. I'll go and fetch Maester Luwin." Arya stood up. "Can you stay with her? I don't think we should leave her alone for now."

The Hound nodded and Arya disappeared out of the door, but not before throwing a last quizzical and worried look over her shoulder at Sansa.

Sansa watched the exchange, puzzled by it. Was the Hound - Sandor Clegane - truly serving the Starks? How had that happened? If so, Sansa resolved not to think of him by the name Joffrey had called him; not to call him a dog. Nonetheless, his serving the Starks didn't explain the familiarity between him and Arya and his forwardness when he had first arrived.

After the door closed, Clegane walked to the window and stared out towards the inner yard. His shoulders slumped and with that small gesture his intimidating form transformed; he looked somehow smaller, less frightening. Not that Sansa would have been genuinely afraid of him for a while, but he had been Joffrey's dog and an instrument for his cruel whims. If that was truly over and he wore her house's colours, surely he wouldn't harm her?

The silence stretched on. Neither of them spoke; Sansa's mind was still reeling from all she had heard and from trying to put pieces together, and Clegane seemed to have said all he meant to say.

Sansa looked around the room and realised that it must be Arya's room now, not hers. Where was she staying then? Did she have a room of her own? If so, she wanted to go there – but first, she wanted to see Robb and Rickon. An abrupt longing to see her family, who she hadn't seen for such a long time, swept over her and she almost cried realising that she would have to wait a bit longer to see her mother and father and Bran. But at least her brothers were here.

Sansa got to her feet and made for the door.

Clegane turned. "Where are you going?"

"I want to see my brothers," Sansa said, not being able to help involuntary hesitation as she halted her steps. She was free to go, surely?

"Rickon is out with his wolf, somewhere. Robb has ridden out to hunt. I doubt you would find either of them, at least not easily."

Sansa considered. It was undoubtedly true. Rickon and Shaggydog had loved to roam around even before, and by now he must have grown and been even more inclined to do so… And if Robb had gone hunting, he could stay awhile. Besides, she could run into Jaime Lannister or his wife and she didn't want to, not without knowing more about the recent events.

"Oh," was all Sansa said, but she returned to the bed and sat down again. She'd surely see her brothers later, then.

The silence continued, Clegane still standing by the window. Suddenly he spoke.

"You really remember nothing of the last year?"

A year? That long?

Sansa swallowed. "I do not. I was there and now I'm here and I have no recollection whatsoever of how I got here…" Her words trailed off.

Clegane looked at her, an odd expression on his face: fraught and searching, his lips pressed in a hard, thin line.

He was different from what he had been before, the difference becoming clearer and clearer to Sansa the more she studied him from under her brow. He seemed more alive and the anger always simmering under the surface wasn't there anymore. Yet at that moment it seemed to have been replaced by a stronger emotion, one that Sansa couldn't decipher. Grief? Fear?

It can't be. The Hound fears nothing.

"Do you have any recollections of anything at all, even if hazy and distant? Of people, emotions, sights, sensations?"

Sansa didn't understand why it seemed so important for him what she remembered or not. Besides, it was an odd kind of question. Nonetheless, Sansa took her time to consider it. She closed her eyes and cast her mind into whatever could be there, anything other than her last day in the Red Keep or now this new reality. When she concentrated, out of a sudden she did feel something: a warm feeling, a tingle of excitement, a sense of… pleasure?

Her eyes flew open. It didn't make any sense. It couldn't have been from her time in the capital, as it had been anything but pleasurable after the first excitement had worn off after their arrival. But if not then, when?

"I… I'm not sure," she murmured. "I need to know more of what happened. Was it terrible? Or was I happy?"

"Did you feel happy?" Clegane took in a deep breath and fixed her with his look.

"I don't know. Maybe a little. Something. I don't know!" Sansa raised her voice, exasperated. Why was he asking her those questions? What was it to him?

Perhaps realising that he had stepped too far, Clegane raised his hands, palms open in a placating manner. "My apologies, Lady Sansa. I shouldn't have asked."

"That is fine. I need the answers to those questions myself, soon. Just not yet."

"You are quite right; one step at the time." Clegane contemplated her again. "Hence I should probably introduce you to Diva. She's not quite as impressive as your direwolf was, but she has kept you company for the last few weeks." Clegane pointed at the puppy who had slumped on the floor, apparently bored by the inactivity in the room.

Sansa turned her attention to it, pleased to move onto a less stressful topic. She was a wonderful little thing: white and brown and fluffy with pointy ears and the most beautiful big brown eyes. As if sensing her eyes on her, the puppy raised her head and started to wiggle her tail, then got onto her feet and came to Sansa, jumping against her knee.

"Diva, I am delighted to make your acquaintance," Sansa murmured while scratching her behind the ear. It was a strange name, but that was hardly her fault but belonged to the one who had named her.

The puppy bounced up and down and so Sansa lifted her into her lap. She was plump and cuddly and when Sansa pressed her face against her soft fur, contentment warmed her from within. The shock was still there, but it was gradually fading now that she was assured that things were, as a matter of fact, better.

The mystery of what had happened to her remained and she knew she had a lot to catch up on – but the most important thing was that she was here and she was safe and so was her family.

Everything else – including the mystery of Sandor Clegane and in his strange behaviour– could wait.