Author's Notes: It is time to reveal the reason for the story prompter shigureblack's choice for the excruciating 11 years gap before Sandor's return! According to her, it was "[…] because I also wanted some POV on the son. Sometimes San/San fics only focus on those two and never on the children […]. I just want some insight on what a son would think, his interactions, and his feeling/anger on a father he did not know. Would he even embrace him as a father? I think eleven was just about the right age for him to know some things about the world […]." So hence this chapter starts with Eddor's POV…

Summary: At first he had felt a twinge of jealousy, afraid that he would lose his place as his mother's favourite. These concerns had been allayed the previous night when she had told him in no uncertain terms that he would never stop being her number one priority. Although she loved Sandor, Eddor was the one who was part of her and that bond could never be threatened.

Eddor

Eddor had always known he didn't have a father like other boys did. Most of the time it didn't bother him; his uncle Robb was as good as one for him, and Lord Willas had treated him as his own son when they had lived in Highgarden.

He had asked his mother about him, and over the years he had gradually heard his story. A renowned warrior, a feared fighter and non-ser of the Kingsguard. He knew that the king in question had executed Eddor's own grandsire and warred against his House, but also that his father had abandoned the bad king and changed his allegiance to his mother. Eddor could never understand the not-a-knight part of it; if a man was a member of Kingsguard and a famous warrior, surely he had to be a knight as well? His mother had however been adamant, telling him he had chosen not to be one.

One thing Eddor had been even more puzzled about was why his father had left, if he and his mother had been in love - but adults sometimes did strange things without a good reason, as far as he was concerned, so he had let that be.

Eddor had also learned what other people thought of his circumstances. 'Bastard', he had been called, and although initially he hadn't known the meaning of the word, it had sounded like something unpleasant. He had asked many people about it, including his mother, his uncles and aunts, his grandmother and other trusted friends. Although he hadn't understood everything they had said, he had concluded that basically it meant that his mother and father had not been married when he was born. And somehow that was a bad thing.

Eddor walked towards the training yard, thinking hard about his new situation. The events of the last few days had been exciting to say the least. The man who turned out to be his father was like no other man he had met before. First of all, he was huge, and something in his demeanour showed him immediately that he was not a man to be taken lightly. Yet he had been kind and answered his many questions patiently, unlike some other visitors who looked down their noses at him, not bothering to respond to a young boy's queries with any level of seriousness.

He had been equally repelled and fascinated by Sandor Clegane's appearance, but after his mother had explained the reason for it, he thought he understood it better. His friend Tommo, son of Winterfell's ironworker, had fallen on the forge when he was but a toddler, and had carried the signs of that incident ever since on his torso. He liked to proudly show the puckered and scarred tissue on his back to other boys like some kind of battle scar, so the sight of burned flesh was not new to Eddor.

Eddor had been impressed by Sandor's knowledge, and how he had seen and experienced so much outside Eddor's own limited knowledge. Foreign lands and exotic cities – it had been as if the stories of far-away places he had always loved had come to life when Sandor had described them in his rasping voice. That this huge, mean-looking man could be her mother's good friend had been difficult enough to believe – but that he was Eddor's own father, was something else.

He had seen how happy his mother was, and how she smiled easily and looked at the scarred man with an expression Eddor had only seen her direct towards him before. At first he had felt a twinge of jealousy, afraid that he would lose his place as his mother's favourite. These concerns had been allayed the previous night when she had told him in no uncertain terms that he would never stop being her number one priority. Although she loved Sandor, Eddor was the one who was part of her and that bond could never be threatened.

Eddor reached the yard and could see that the news had travelled ahead of him. As soon as his cousins and their tutors saw him, they fell quiet and stared at him as if they had never seen him before. Finally Brandon moved.

"Eddor, is it true? Has your father returned?" His face was curious. He had been Eddor's best friend ever since they had been babes, and they shared everything. He knew as much as Eddor about his history, and had been equally mystified about why the adults had made everything so complicated.

"Aye, it is true." Eddor didn't know why he used the word he had only recently heard Sandor using, but it sounded serious and solemn and he liked the sound of it.

"Is he as ugly as they say he is?" Brandon ignored Joren's attempts to shush him.

"No…he is not ugly, he only has half of his face burned off, like Tommo. It might have been a dragon." Eddor added that as an afterthought. It was possible, he concluded, for a man so widely travelled. Maybe his mother didn't know everything.

Brandon was impressed, as were the other boys; Warrick, Benno and Eddard, all Robb's sons.

"My father has fought in all the best sellsword companies across the Narrow Sea; in the Golden Company, Second Sons, Long Lances and the Company of the Cat. And many others besides; in armies far, far away in the east, beyond the Dothraki Sea and Red Waste. He was in the Kingsguard as well, wore a white cloak for the Baratheon kings." Eddor was getting excited, and the other boys listened to him with increasing enthusiasm, seeing acts of extreme bravery and heroic battles with their mind's eyes.

Eddor had saved the best part last. "He said he is happy to show me how the Dothraki screamers use their curved blades! And how the other soldiers over there fight with their swords!" Seeing the disappointment in other boys' faces, he added, "He said he can show it to you too."

Cries of delight followed this announcement, and Eddor found himself thinking that maybe having a father was not a bad thing at all.

Sansa

Sansa could almost feel the stares they attracted when entering the Great Hall that evening. In her younger years she might have been intimidated by them, but after all she had gone through, she took them in her stride with ease. Sandor walked tall and proud next to her, as befitting the role in which he was now cast...although what that was, even Sansa wasn't sure. Paramour of Lady Tyrell? Natural husband of Lady Stark?

People they passed stared at them openly and whispered to each other in low voices, but when she glanced around she couldn't detect malice in anyone. She knew she was held in high esteem by the folk in the North, especially since her return from Highgarden. She had taken up many duties from her mother, and with Jeyne being busy looking after her ever-growing brood of children, Sansa had naturally settled into the role of the lady of the castle. She managed the household, servants and even men-at-arms when it came to domestic matters.

She also knew that the folk in the North were less mindful of social conventions than those in the South. The Ironborn had salt wives, wildlings stole their wives – and sometimes their husbands – and marriages celebrated in front of the Seven didn't carry the same weight as those conducted in front of the weirwood and the old gods. Still, open adultery and cohabitation with a man when one's husband was still alive was not common – but Sansa was prepared to make her stand and be an exception to the rule. With Sandor and Eddor by her side there was nothing she couldn't tackle.

Lady Catelyn, Robb and Jeyne rose from their seats to welcome them to the high table, indicating to all in the household that the unconventional couple had the support of the Lord of Winterfell and all of House Stark. Sansa saw Sandor had been set a place on her right, and they settled in their seats as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sansa stole a glance at Sandor and admired his countenance, knowing that the experience must have been uncomfortable for him. That he endured it with good grace because of her made her love him even more.

Rickon welcomed them excitedly, having apparently been fully briefed by his family, and he, Sansa and Sandor exchanged a few pleasant words while the food was being brought in. Arya, who had not been in the hall earlier that day, sat on Sansa's left and watched Sandor with narrowed eyes.

Since Arya's return from Braavos they had put aside their petty childish squabbles and learned to love and trust each other as adults. Arya was still wild and unconventional and neglected to behave like a true lady, and had taken a role in the defence and training of the northern forces instead. She taught them new and unusual techniques of dispatching their opponents, and had gained the respect and admiration of the folk just as Sansa had.

Sansa was not worried about Arya's condemnation – she was, after all, hardly in a position to say anything. It was an open secret that the dark-haired blacksmith with strikingly blue eyes, who had arrived in the North soon after Arya's return, was her lover. When Sansa had enquired of Arya why she didn't marry the man, she had announced that she didn't believe it was necessary. Sansa knew one of the reasons to be that Gendry was so conscious of the gulf between their positions, and resisted any attempts to make it official. He was also probably the only person in Winterfell who thought that their relationship was clandestine and not known to all. Maybe Sansa scandalising the household with her brazen behaviour would encourage Gendry to finally do something about his situation with Arya.

Sansa noticed Sandor's uneasiness and reassuringly patted his thigh under the table. In the course of the evening his stance relaxed, and overall the night went better than either of them would have expected.

That night they slept together in Sansa's bed. It had been comfortable for her, and the nights when Eddor had climbed in to sleep next to her it had easily accommodated the two of them. However, for her and Sandor it was too small and they ended up spending most of the night spooning against each other in a tight embrace. Not that either of them minded – but as she woke up, Sansa decided she needed to talk to the castle builders that same day to commission a bigger bed.

Somehow that practical and domestic little detail made her finally realise in the most tangible way possible that all that had happened was real. Sandor had returned to her and they were going to stay together until the end of their lives.

"Sandor," Sansa murmured sleepily and reached for him. Sandor yawned and stretched his long limbs.

"What is it, little bird?" he muttered. Sansa opened her eyes and drank in the sight of him as she had so many times before over the last few days. Few days! After eleven years it had taken only few short days to irrevocably change her whole life, and his.

She had experienced in the past the feeling when her heart's fondest wish had been fulfilled. When she had been a child, it might have been a whole plate of sweets or a new doll, and when she had grown in years it might have been her first gown made in a grown-up style. Later still her fondest wish had been a golden prince as her betrothed. All those wishes, once fulfilled, had led only to a fleeting happiness, the last one turning into an unspeakable nightmare.

Without being able to explain it to herself Sansa knew that her happiness this time was different. It would not wilt or fade. The man next to her, the man who had suffered but grown strong, the man who had lived a life marred with hardships and cruelty, yet had not lost that soft spot inside him that contained his humanity – he would guarantee her happiness. That, and the strength she had found inside herself and relied on until it had become an essential part of who she was.

"Sandor," she repeated. "You will never leave me, will you? I don't have to send another song after you, do I?"

Sandor, now fully awake, pulled her against his broad chest. His fingers swept along her face as he whispered into her hair, softly.

"No, little bird. Do you truly think I could go away now? I will never leave you, you have my word on it. The only song you have to worry about is one about the little bird and the hound finally finding each other."