Lots of exposition in this one because I love to make up a complete background to any story of mine. Also, this is one of the longer chapters.

SANSA

When Sansa woke up for the second time, an unknown maester who had introduced himself as Denar was hovering over her. She answered all of his questions as best she could, asking some questions in return. The Seven Kingdoms were once again united under the Targaryen rule, Rhaegar's son Aegon having been rescued from the King's Landing as a babe and raised in Essos until he could assume the Iron Throne and Rhaegar's sister Daenerys hatching three dragons that helped them to take back the country. The biggest surprise was the revelation that Sansa's half-brother Jon was in fact her cousin and that he was the half-brother to King Aegon, both men having been sired by Rhaegar.

It was due to that fact and that Sansa herself had become friends with Queen Daenerys that North's status had been raised to the principality similar to Dorne. The rightful ruler of the North and his family were all given titles of Princes and Princesses. Rickon was to assume the role the following year when he turned sixteen.

Maester Denar also spoke of King Robert's death and her father's own, of the War of the Five Kings, of her brother Robb's fate and the Red Wedding, of her lady mother's quest for vengeance and of Sansa's own involvement in casting down the Lord Paramount of the Trident. He glossed over the fight with the Others at Sansa's own request - she didn't feel like coming to terms with the fact that Old Nan's stories had been true. It was the name of her husband that she desired to know but she decided that the question should be handled in the family. She knew he was called Sandor and that he was "a big, ugly man with a nasty temper" as Arya had described him. Funny how that almost sounded like she had married the Hound. Sansa smiled at her jest while Maester Denar went to call Arya in. She felt more comfortable talking to her sister, even if they had never been close.

"How are you feeling?" Arya asked as she closed the door behind her. Sansa was propped up in her bed - she had already noticed just how big it was - and she felt she was strong enough to handle any revelations coming her way.

"Better. I was informed of some of the changes in the land but I want to ask about our family. I understand now that mother, father and Robb are all dead. What about Bran? Is he alive?"

"Alive and well," Arya smiled. "He's Bran the Restorer, helping to rebuild the Wall again. He has spent several years learning to use the old magic of the Children of the Forest and he said he could see into the past to when the Wall was being built for the first time so he really knows what he is doing."

"That is amazing," Sansa said quietly before gathering her courage. "What is my husband's full name?"

Arya looked down, then to the side before facing Sansa at last.

"Sandor Clegane, who used to be known as the Hound."

Sansa wondered if she would faint again and judging from Arya's expression, she was thinking the same thing. She didn't, much to her own surprise.

"How?" she finally asked and Arya sighed.

"I am the wrong person to ask. All I know is that the two of you had some kind of a connection in the King's Landing and when you met up in the Vale again, it grew stronger. I spent several years in Braavos and you were already married by the time we saw each other at last."

"Oh," Sansa looked down. She hoped to find out just how she could have come to marry a man like the Hound but it seemed Arya wouldn't be able to tell her. "You mentioned children, too."

"Yes, three so far. Catelyn is the eldest, she will be five soon. Eddard is three and a half and Daeryssa is seven months old."

Sansa was silent. She had always wanted children and it had also been expected of her to bear them for her husband. But she never imagined having the Hound's children. He was so scary looking and his reputation... How could she have agreed to marry him?

"Sansa?" Arya's unexpectedly gentle voice broke into her reverie. "I admit he is not my favourite person but Clegane is not that bad. You always said you loved him and considering how he has been behaving since your accident, I'm quite sure he feels the same."

"He is worried about me?"

"Yes, quite a lot," Arya smirked, for a moment looking just like the mischievous girl she had used to be before getting serious again. "He spent a lot of time at your bedside and I'm sure the only reason he's not here right now is because he doesn't want to make it harder for you."

"I see," Sansa whispered. She pulled the blankets closer, suddenly chilled. Her husband, worried about her but staying away out of consideration. But he was the Hound! It was hard to imagine him being worried or considerate. Her fingers clutched at the fabric. Eleven years of her life were gone. Exactly half of it. It wasn't fair. How was she supposed to deal with it? Should she just accept what had happened and try and pretend that nothing was amiss?

"Sansa, I know that what you are going through is difficult," Arya was turned away from her, picking at a stray thread hanging off of a blanket. "But we are here for you, Jon and Bran and Rickon and Clegane, too. We are a pack, no matter what."

Sansa nodded but didn't reply. She wanted to be left alone, to let all of the tidings sink in and then sort through them one by one. Especially the news about her husband. If she could get away with it, Sansa would have preferred to hide in the room forever but she couldn't. Even if she couldn't remember growing up, she was no longer a child of eleven. She was a grown woman of two and twenty and she had been raised with her mother's House words. She had several important duties to attend to and she couldn't imagine neglecting them. Her children, even if she couldn't remember them, were too little to be left without their mother's presence for long. And Arya had mentioned something about the regency for Rickon and that needed to be addressed, too.

Lying in the bed while doing nothing but thinking wasn't in Sansa's nature. She looked around the room properly for the first time, taking in the obvious signs hinting at two people who usually occupied it. She was sharing this room with her husband, like her own parents did. The room itself was tidy and the only thing out of place was a bundle of fabric on the vanity that looked as if it had been put there in a hurry to get it out of the way.

"Could you bring that over?" Sansa asked her sister who was hovering quietly by her. Arya nodded and fetched the piece of fabric. It turned out to be a dress, small and childlike, with a half-finished embroidery on the front. Sansa recognized her own work easily. She frowned down at the picture, though. It depicted a black and white bird sitting on a branch. "A magpie?" she asked loudly.

"This must be the dress you were preparing as the namesday gift for Catelyn," Arya told her.

"She is the oldest child?" Sansa asked for confirmation and turned back to studying the bird. "Why would I put a magpie on her dress instead of flowers or something similar?"

"Because Magpie is what Clegane calls her half of a time," Arya answered easily. "It's his nickname for her."

Sansa stared down. He had a nickname for their daughter, a clear sign of his affection for the child at least. The man she remembered was clearly very different from the man she was married to. Or had he always been like that and she had let the judgment of other people form her own opinion? After all, it wasn't like she knew the Hound beyond his name and reputation. Well, she had obviously come to know him better but those memories were all gone now. She knew that she should be asking him - if they really had the good marriage that Arya was hinting at, it would be the most logical choice - but she was still afraid of facing him.

It wasn't just the fear of his burned face, either. From Arya's words, from Rickon's actions, even some of Maester Denar's remarks, she had deduced that she and her husband were quite close. And she couldn't remember any of it all of a sudden. He had to be terribly disappointed, maybe even angry with her. How could she face him before she sorted herself out? She couldn't.

She was growing tired again. It was most likely late in the day and although she had been unconscious for well over two days, she still craved sleep. The maester had advised her to rest, too. She put down her daughter's dress - she still found it hard to believe she had children - and laid down on her side, looking up at Arya.

"The maester-"

"Denar?" Arya supplied and Sansa nodded.

"He told me to rest some more."

"Of course," Arya nodded and helped tuck her in, the gesture incongruous with Sansa's memories but she willed the confusion away. "Do you want a dinner sent to you?"

"No, I will sleep."

Sansa huddled deeper under the blankets, watching as Arya left the room. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sleep to claim her but as tired as she was, something still tugged at her mind. Something was wrong and it prevented her from sleeping. She rolled on her back, carefully repositioning her long hair so it didn't get stuck under her. It was the bed. It was too big for her alone. It was a bed meant for two people, one of them very large.

This remainder of her husband chased the sleep away again. Maybe she shouldn't have sent Arya away. Even though she had been advised against it, Sansa pulled off the covers and made to stand up. She swayed and for a short moment thought she was going to fall but the vertigo passed as quickly as it came. Slowly, cautiously, Sansa crossed the room towards the vanity. There was a wooden box filled with jewellery but she reached for the looking glass instead, looking at her own face properly.

It was so alike and yet so different from what she remembered. Her reflection showed a woman grown and a beautiful one at that. Even if the eyes were shadowed and her skin much too pale but that must have been due to her injury. She peered closer at herself, trying to find all of the differences between the woman in the looking glass and the girl she had thought herself to be. Her fingers ghosted over the corners of her mouth and around her eyes where miniscule wrinkles, barely visible by a bare eye, could be seen if one was to look for them. Her lady mother had had them, too.

"Why do you have wrinkles?" seven years old Sansa asked her lady mother, her little fingers ghosting over the older woman's face.

"Because I smile too much," her mother told her gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Sansa's ear. "And I smile too much because I am happy."

"Why are you happy?"

"Because I love your father and the four of you very much. When you are with the people you love and who love you back, that is all you need to be happy."

Sansa put the looking glass back on the vanity. Did that mean that she had been happy with her family, with her husband and her children like her lady mother had once been? Arya had said Sansa had claimed to love her husband. She touched her mouth again. When you are with the people you love...

Sansa looked back over the large bed. She should get some sleep. And in the morning, she would try and find some more about her life in the past eleven years. It might be selfish but if there was a chance that she had been happy before, she wanted that happiness back. The sleep came easier to her after that.