Author's Notes: This is it, time for another little tale to end! As much I love writing, it is also with a deep sigh of satisfaction that I end this, happy to have completed something again... And once more, you dear readers have carried me in your arms throughout this story with your lovely, funny, supporting and encouraging comments - thank you a million!

*turns gaze into new exciting possibilities, new ideas, new frontiers*

Summary: Only a few more grey hairs in his beard and hair showed his increased years, as otherwise he was still the strongest and most imposing man she had ever seen. He could still defeat any soldier, knight or lord of the North in a bout, and take Sansa's breath away just by looking at her in a certain way.

Sansa

"Eddor! Where are you?!" Sansa shouted impatiently, glancing around the yard. She carried a big, wrapped package in her hands, trying to balance it against her hip, frustrated at how her swollen belly thwarted her attempts to find a good position.

"Here I am, mother," her son's drawling response came to her. She turned and watched him approaching. He was tall and still somewhat gangly in the way young men often were, despite all the bulk and muscle he had built through hard training. He was also handsome, his strong features and grey eyes forming a pleasing picture to all women who appreciated manly qualities. Sansa knew it was not only a mother's pride making her think so. Most of the young women in Winterfell had lost their hearts to her eldest son's good looks and easy manners.

"Here, take this book to Willas. It is about birds-of-prey, newly sent in from across the sea and I am sure he will enjoy it." Eddor took the tome handed to him and put it under his arm.

"Aye, I will throw it in with all the other gifts. Had I known we'd become a trader's caravan I might have sold my warhorse and bought a wagon instead," he moaned.

"Hush, it is not often that a procession such as yours goes South. It is only fitting that you take some gifts with you. Willas and Edmure are doing us a great favour by taking you as their protégée and teaching you the ways of the world, and the least we can do is to show them our appreciation."

Sansa knew Eddor and his cousins were unusually old to start their traditional education in another noble household. To her surprise both Robb and Sandor, who had risen to Lord of Winterfell's second-in-command, had wanted to delay their departure, and Sansa and Jeyne had readily agreed. The North had to always be prepared to stand on its own, and the future rulers of that ancient seat of power growing up elsewhere during their formative years would risk them being exposed to distracting influences.

Yet the time had finally arrived for her son to spread his wings, and as much as Sansa hated it, she knew it was what Eddor needed. He was going to join Lord Willas's household in Highgarden, whereas Brandon and Warrick were to enter into their great-uncle Edmure's service. The young men had decided to travel down the Kingsroad together and were eagerly getting ready for their first big adventure.

"Eddor!" a high-pitched voice cried, and young Rachelle ran after her brother. She was only six years old but already active and courageous in a way Sansa knew she had never been at that age. She was Sandor's daughter through and through, with hints of her aunt Arya, and her younger brother Rickar adored her. Indeed, the three-year-old waddled after Rachelle as usual, shouting his own excited exclamations.

Eddor leaned down and scooped his little sister into one arm, his little brother into the other and laughed. "Rachelle, Rickar, have you decided to come with me after all and enter the service of Highgarden?"

"Careful son, Rachelle might do just that if you encourage her." They heard Sandor's raspy voice as he strolled towards the group. Sansa glanced at her paramour and the father of her children and felt a swell of pride at the sight of him. Only a few more grey hairs in his beard and hair showed his increased years, as otherwise he was still the strongest and most imposing man she had ever seen. He could still defeat any soldier, knight or lord of the North in a bout, and take Sansa's breath away just by looking at her in a certain way. She had learned to recognise that gaze as the prelude to a night of passion – whenever they managed to get away from their children.

"Don't worry, father. Give her a year or two and then send her to me," Eddor grinned.

"Shush Eddor. Next thing I know you'll be demanding that we send the new babe, fresh into this world a few weeks hence, as your squire. Nobody is sending any more of my children away, at least not for a while." Sansa reached out to seize Rickar, who squirmed unhappily in her arms. Before she knew it, Sandor had hastened to her side and taken his youngest son away from Sansa. She recognised the chastising look he threw at her, knowing how he was always so concerned for her health when she was with a child; first with Rachelle, then with Rickar and now with the new babe. She chose to ignore it although his concern warmed her.

"Come now, all of you. It is time for the farewell feast in the Great Hall. You have a long day ahead tomorrow."

"A feast! Will there be singers?!" exclaimed Rachelle, who had been set down and ran towards Sandor.

"There sure will, my little hatchling. What would you like to hear them sing?" Sandor led his daughter by her hand.

"I want to hear 'The Little Bird and the Hound'! How the hound came back, and how the bird and the hound hiss, just like cats do!"

"No my sweetling, they kiss, not hiss," muttered Sansa, leaning her weight against Sandor's strong arm as they walked back towards the keep.

THE END