Thank you everyone for all the lovely reviews and con/crit! I would love to respond to each of you but my health is a bit worse so I have been unable to do you enjoy this one :D
"Sandor, you must stop…I don't think we can delay any longer," Sansa giggles as Sandor pulls her on top of him once more, eagerly kissing the tender skin behind her ear. "I fear we already keep Lord Royce waiting for us as it is. We must make haste."
"Bugger him and bugger his council meeting, Little bird. I bloody well haven't been able to properly enjoy my honeymoon and any man who tries to pull you away from me now is as good as dead," he growls ferociously in her ear, nipping her neck and bringing more laughter from Sansa.
"Come my love, we must get ready now. There is still the matter of my cousin," she says more seriously, the sadness tingeing her voice stopping her amorous husband in his tracks. Promptly he lets her go and sets her beside him. "Aye, we'll put the poor lad to rest with his kin. Forgive me," he mutters, filling the wash pot with water and setting in on the fire.
"Do not apologize; I wish for our privacy as well my love. It is so very difficult…to pull away from you," she says softly, her cheeks flushing pink. "All I want is to be closer to you, to feel you in my arms. Our bond draws me to you…I crave being with you. When we are physically apart…"
"There is a profound emptiness inside." Sandor finishes, pulling her close once more. "It is difficult, indeed."
"Yes and our…coupling only makes me long for such intimacies with you all the more," Sansa says low, now blushing furiously.
Grinning at her, Sandor laughs, the sound sharp and yet somehow joyous. "You needn't look so guilty about it, Little bird. We are married, after all."
"Yes, I know, I was taught that the marriage bed was just another wifely duty," she smiles shyly at him, reddening even further at her daring words. "That a lady considers it as such and nothing more. I must admit, it doesn't feel like a duty, though."
"No? Tell me what it feels like, then," Sandor's eyes blaze with ill-concealed desire as he stares down at her blushing in his arms.
"It feels…wonderful," she whispers, burying her face in his chest, causing Sandor to throw his head back and laugh long and hard. "Like I am home, at last. It is the truest feeling I have ever known."
Sandor chokes up at her words and clutches her tightly against his chest. "I feel that, too," he rasps into the crown of her hair while Sansa rubs soothing circles over his heart.
"I think the gods must mean for it to be thus between husband and wife."
"Aye that they do, love. We'll have our privacy one day, you best believe that and gods save the man who interrupts us," he whispers into her ear before kissing her cheek, his hot breath against her skin bringing tingles of pleasure through Sansa. "Now get away from me woman or we'll never get to the castle."
"I have nothing clean to wear. Everything happened so suddenly I did not get a chance to grab the bag I keep at the ready," she groans and hears Sandor's rasping laughter outside.
Grinning, Sandor closes the door of the cabin, bag in hand. "I remembered it, love. I saw it in your room yesterday morning as we bathed. When Lord Royce said he wanted a meeting with you I thought to bring it."
"You are too good to me, husband!" She smiles brightly at him, a radiant glow illuminating her face. Sansa looks thoroughly contented and relaxed, to Sandor's great relief, and his heart swells with love for her. "Not good enough at that, wife. Having you as my own is better than I ever thought I'd have in this life."
After she bathes and washes her hair, Sandor follows suit, while Sansa carefully arranges her hair in the northern style. Wanting to evoke her lady mother on this occasion, she parts it down the middle, rolling up the front on either side while the leaving the rest hang loose to her waist.
When she turns toward her husband, she notices he is watching her with a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Seven hells, you get prettier every day," he growls, causing her to laugh. "My love, would you lace me up?" Sansa asks, smiling over her shoulder at him.
"I'll do my best, though I can't say how good it will turn out with a dog dressing you," he mutters, kissing along her spine before fumbling with the intricate lacing. After several attempts and much cursing, he finally steps away, carefully surveying his handiwork. "Good enough."
"Thank you. Is there anything I can help you with?" She asks innocently, pretending not to notice the wolfish grin that spreads across his face.
"Nothing that will help us out of this damned cabin. Come on now if we're going," he grouses, the twinkle in his eyes belying his gruff tone. Sandor places Sansa on Stranger's back and leads her along the narrow path, where soon they are joined by Nymeria. Upon seeing them, the enormous direwolf jumps and barks and then rolls in the dirt in front of Stranger. Sandor cannot help but think she looks like an overgrown pup, save for her snow white muzzle stained red by a fresh kill.
"She wants us to show us her catch," Sandor comments and Sansa smiles in response. "That will have to wait. Come girl, we are going to the castle, come on now," Sansa calls out, patting her thigh. Nymeria bounds alongside them and falls into Stranger's gait, much to the alarm of the normally ferocious war horse.
"Do you think it's wise to bring her to the Eyrie?" Sandor asks, watching the direwolf sniff along the trail ahead of them, occasionally growling at various finds.
"Nymeria is a creature of the north, every bit as much as I am and she has lost her family and her home as well. Her place is beside me there; she will stand beside me in Arya's stead. She will keep us safe and the Royce men on their best behavior," Sansa winks at Sandor, her eyes sparkling. "Bloody hells," Sandor swears under his breath. "The bitch will end up eating half those buggering lords, more like." Sansa nods, bending down to ruffle Nymeria's fur. "We will leave the outcome up to the Royces. Let us hope they choose wisely, for all our sakes."
As the slowly make their way toward the castle, Sandor feels Sansa stiffening in the saddle in front of him, her jittery anticipation creating butterflies in his own stomach in response. Nymeria begins whining at her feet, nuzzling her leg and startling Stranger as a result of her attentions.
"Talk to me, wife. What troubles you?" He asks quietly. Riding behind her in the saddle on the broad lane into the Eyrie, Sandor gently squeezes Sansa close to him while his large hand softly rubs her midsection under the furs.
"I am only anxious for this to be over. After what I have endured I cannot help but be suspicious about the motives of Lord Royce and his sons, for all their bending the knee," Sansa muses. "It is true, they fought valiantly to free the Eyrie, but to what end?"
"I agree, lass, there is something underhanded going on."
Turning back to look at him, Sansa eyes grow large at his words. "Sandor, you feel it too? What do you suppose it is?"
"I can't put my finger on it just yet," he pauses, gathering his thoughts. Hearing the men speaking in the High Hall of the Arryns the night before, a cold shiver descended upon him, though the room itself was quite warm. Andar Royce mentioned Lady Stoneheart and her knight, Brienne. Seven Hells, she'd better not bring that undead wench here…
"After the battle I overheard Andar Royce talking about Lady Brienne and her liege lady-your mother, as was. What do you make of that? Lady Stoneheart has no dealings here."
Frowning, Sansa shakes her head. "I do not know but I want nothing to do with that…creature. She is not my mother; she is an abomination wrought by that horrible Beric Dondarrion that burned you so. If the gods are merciful she will be put to rest; I have prayed to my father that he will see to her. Whatever they are up to, we will find out soon enough, I believe," she says softly, nodding toward the men guarding the massive gates of the Eyrie. Grunting, Sandor spurs Stranger onward, just as eager as his wife to uncover the motivations of the Royces.
As the couple rides through the immense entryway, the Royce sentries step aside for the enormous direwolf, walking several yards ahead of them, growling low and bluff charging any man deemed too close. Sansa is surprised to find that for the first time since reaching the Vale, she feels no dread, no fear, no despair as the castle comes into view; in fact, she feels only the comfort of Sandor's strong arms wrapped protectively around her. The realization fills the young woman with relief and she snuggles back against her husband affectionately.
"It'll be alright, Sansa," he whispers to her. "Remember what I said, I'll take you away any time; you have only to say the word and we're gone."
"Thank you my love," she says, kissing his cheek. Deep down Sansa wishes they could ride out of the Eyrie and never look back. She has had enough of the intrigue and backstabbing, the lies and ulterior motives disguised as loyalty and honor. As they cantor through the gates, Sansa sets her shoulders, determined that she will be the one in control of her destiny, no matter what the others have in mind.
Lord Royce is there to greet them, along with his sons. Sansa notices that Nestor Royce is conspicuously absent. Carrig and his men are there as well, and after exchanging pleasantries with her host, Sansa warmly greets the Stone Crow chief in front of all, much to the old man's delight. "My dearest Carrig, I cannot thank you enough for once again providing your cabin as well as your healer for our beloved friend," Sansa beams at him, taking his hands into hers.
"My pleasure, lass. It does my heart good to see the color back in your cheeks."
"You are too kind to us," she smiles, taking Sandor by the hand and patting her hip for Nymeria to follow. Lord Royce looks as though he wants to protest the beast's presence but remains quiet, motioning for his men to lead the couple into the High Hall of the Arryns.
"Please my lord, allow me to see to my cousin's arrangements, and my husband simply must check Elder brother as well. Would you allow us this before we speak?"
"Certainly, my lady. This way," Lord Royce leads Sansa and Sandor to Maester Coleman's rooms. After spending a few moments in prayer over her cousin, Sansa drapes a silk banner embroidered with the Arryn's sigil over the weirwood casket. "Now you are with the rest of our family, Sweetrobin. I will miss you. I will pray for you until we are together again."
Sandor gently leads her away and the two eagerly make their way to Elder brother. He is up and sitting beside the window, being attended to by Baelish's former valet, Rafe. "You are looking well this morning, Elder brother," Sansa smiles, handing him a soft fur blanket. "I was thinking the very same thing about you, child," the holy man replies.
"We're off to meet with Lord Royce and cannot stay," Sandor says, sitting on the foot of the bed. "We wanted to see you first, make sure you are alright."
"I am fine, Sandor, just fine. Allow me to say a blessing over the two of you before you leave," he says, making the sign of the Seven over them. "Many thanks," Sandor nods. "We'll come back after. Will you feel up to going to the funeral?" Sansa asks.
"Of course, I would not miss performing the sacred rights for him; the boy needs a proper ceremony and I will not shirk my responsibility over a simple flesh wound."
"Thank you," Sansa whispers, kissing his hand before following Sandor out of the room.
"Sandor and Lady Clegane, won't you sit down?" Lord Royce gestures to two empty chairs across from him, wrinkling his brow at the sight of Sandor sitting down beside his wife. "My lady, it is most unusual to have a man of such humble origins sit in council with families such as ours."
"Lord Royce, if I understand you, I believe you mean to say it is beneath your house to discuss your plans in front of a man you believe too low-born. Indeed, had I not been raised to respect the lords and retainers serving my father and lady mother's respective houses, I may very well be inclined to say the same." Sansa replies archly, raising her eyebrow at Lord Royce's sons, both of whom have the dignity to look away at her implication. "However, I'm sure you would agree, Lord Royce, that these are most unusual and trying times and such require a different, more moderate approach to matters. I am most happy to welcome your sons to our discussion and as a man of honor I am sure you will welcome my lord and husband as well, is that not so?"
Swallowing hard, Bronze Yohn nods gravely, warily watching Nymeria draw closer to Sandor. "During your father's time such would be most unacceptable; however I must agree that this way is better suited to our current situation. As it pleases you, my lady."
Smiling sweetly, Sansa nods in assent. "That is most generous of you, my lord. Please Lord Royce, as Lord Eddard Stark's eldest daughter, I wish for us speak plainly in the true northern tradition."
"Thank you my lady, I would be happy to do just that. My plan for the Eyrie is quite simple; I would wish that our family hold it in trust until the anticipated arrival of your great-uncle, Ser Brynden."
"My great-uncle Brynden is coming here?" Sansa asks, her eyes widening. "Yes, my lady. Once we had confirmation from the Elder brother that his last surviving great-niece was alive and held captive in the Eyrie, we sent a raven at once to the Stone Crow clans of the Vale, among whom the Blackfish went into hiding after your Uncle Edmure surrendered Riverrun to the Lannisters. He is most eager to meet with you, Lady Sansa."
Happy tears well in Sansa's eyes at Lord Royce's words. My uncle survived! Though she does not know him very well, it has been so long since Sansa has seen any blood relative that she is quite overcome by the prospect.
So the Blackfish has hidden among the Stone Crows. No wonder Carrig knew right away I wasn't in the Vale on holy business; he probably thought the Lannisters sent me to collect Brynden. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Sandor leans over and squeezes Sansa's hand and then offers her his handkerchief.
"We felt it most fitting to invite him here and considering his loyal service to his niece, the Lady Lysa after the death of her husband, we will gladly offer him lordship of the Vale-if it is agreeable to you. Lady Sansa, were you aware he was the Knight of the Gate and ommander of the Bloody Gate before being called back to Riverrun to help your brother fight the Lannisters?"
"No, my lord, I have had no news of my Tully relations since my captivity in King's Landing."
"Forgive, me, I would imagine not. Ser Brynden had no idea you were here with Lord Baelish. However, rest assured he is well versed in the customs as well as the controversies of the tribes of the Vale and would be most capable as Lord Protector of the Vale, as your Uncle Jon Arryn was before him."
The seven hells he didn't, Sandor frowns, glancing at Sansa. Even the sellswords and clansmen at the Inn knew of a young woman with Baelish; it is bloody unbelievable Brynden Tully was ignorant of her whereabouts. Sensing his anger and apprehension, Sansa asks, "My husband is there anything you wish to discuss?"
"My lady, Sandor Clegane's birth is not as much of concern to me as his affiliation with the Lannisters. I cannot abide his participation here-" Nymeria begins growling low at the sound of his voice, her ears perking up from her place at Sansa's feet.
"Pray forgive my interruption Lord Royce but considering I most eagerly listened to your sons and nephew advising me yesterday, I would ask that you extend my husband the same courtesy. Sandor's desertion of King Joffrey is well-known. He protected me in King's Landing both from the king and others who threatened my safety, and he continues to do so now. I am willing to allow you to handle the matter of Nestor Royce's treachery toward House Arryn in accepting Lord Baelish's bribe without my interference and in return I hope you will trust my judgment about my own husband's loyalty as well."
Setting his jaw, the older man glances at his sons a moment and then the direwolf before reluctantly consenting to her words. "As you wish, my lady."
"Thank you my lord. I know my great-uncle will be most pleased to hear I was advised by you, Lord Royce, as a most agreeable and loyal bannerman of my Aunt Lysa and cousin Robert."
"Indeed," he says curtly.
All this time the Blackfish was here and he never came to see if the young woman with Baelish was his niece? Why? Sandor grits his teeth at the men, his lips curling into a snarl but he remains quiet, waiting for his wife's next words. "Forgive us, my husband. Please, do share your thoughts."
"I'd like to know why the Royce's are so quick to give up the Eyrie to the Tullys. Brynden Tully gave up serving Lysa Arryn and don't try to deny it; I heard it throughout my travels in the Riverlands. It was well-known he was fed up with her behavior," Sandor snorts, crossing his arms. "So much for you agreeing to give him the lordship due to his loyalty to your beloved Arryns. I'm no highborn but I'm no fool, either; no one gives up that much power out of the goodness of their heart. What do you get out of having the Blackfish rule the Vale?"
Andar speaks up, "Ser, Lady Clegane, it is our wish that raising Ser Brynden to such a strategic position will allow your family to eventually retake Riverrun and later, Winterfell, thus returning the Starks and Tullys to their rightful seats."
"I'm no ser," Sandor hisses sarcastically. "You honorable men still haven't answered my question. You're telling us he's been here since Edmure gave up Riverrun and yet he never heard Baelish had a woman with him the same age as his own niece? He never was curious about her, after knowing Baelish was Master of Coin at the same time Sansa was in King's Landing? Bugger that. He stayed hidden for a damn good reason, so I'll ask again: what's in it for you?"
The men glance at each other, sharing an uncomfortable look between them and the curious exchange is not lost on Sansa or Sandor. Rising to her feet, Sansa holds out her hand to Sandor, who readily loops it through his arm. "After speaking to my great-uncle I will know more how we will go ahead from here. My lords, please forgive me but I must rest before my cousin's interment. If it pleases you my husband and I will retire until the service begins."
"Of course Lady Sansa," Lord Royce rises from his seat and his sons quickly follow suit. "We will rejoin in two hours' time in the crypts for Lord Robert's service."
Once they are alone in her room, Sansa settles on the bed while Nymeria curls herself in front of the fire. "What is it my love? I felt an intense wave of anger surge through you at the mention of my great-uncle."
"He'd fucking better well have a damned good reason for not coming here," Sandor seethes, gripping the hilt of his sword as he paces the floor. "Sansa, the clansmen and sellswords at the Inn Elder brother and I stayed knew about Petyr Baelish having a beautiful bastard-born daughter. We met Harrold Hardyng there and he was bragging about you and most of the men in the tavern already had either seen or heard of you. If your uncle has stayed among the Stone Crows as the Royces claim, you best believe he heard it, too. Having brought up Petyr along with your mother and aunt, he also damn well knows Baelish sure as hell doesn't have a bastard daughter your age."
Sansa slowly nods, considering his words. "Indeed. The Vale is vast but not heavily populated and sooner or later newcomers become well-known here. I would have expected such information would have at least aroused my uncle's curiosity."
"Brynden knows you were at King's Landing when Baelish served as Master of Coin for the Lannisters and that you both disappeared at the same time. Those so-called honorable men expect us to believe your uncle had no suspicions about you being here with Baelish? Buggering that."
"But why, Sandor? Why would Uncle Brynden ignore the fact that his niece may be held captive by Petyr? At the very least, he knew Petyr would have given him sanctuary in the Eyrie and the Lannisters could not impregnate the castle, for all their power."
Sandor pauses, allowing his wife to digest his words. Sansa sits in stunned silence, finally offering, "Surely my uncle knows Petyr betrayed and killed my father; it would not be such a stretch he would kidnap me as well. Why did he not come for me?"
Sighing, Sandor frowns and draws her close in his arms. "Well, lass, your uncle is a man of battle, a man of strategy. He'll do what yields the best results in the long run. And Sansa, you must bear in mind that creature Beric raised is not your mother, not the one you remember. You willing to hear my theory on it?"
"Of course," she says, anxiously searching his eyes. "Please tell me, what do you think is happening?"
"Lady Stoneheart is plotting against the Freys and Lannisters; she has been ever since your brother died. If word spreads you are being held by a former Lannister man, it would arouse plenty of outrage and support for her from various groups splintered by the war, such as the so-called Brotherhood Without Banners…fucking cowards, the lot of them."
"Isn't that the group of outlaws that put you on trial and made you fight Beric Dondarrion?"
Nodding, Sandor continues, "Your kidnapping would unite the enemies of the Freys and Lannisters in their desire for revenge, believe that. Your uncle likely acted on the wishes of your mother by leaving you with Petyr. No doubt both of them assumed Petyr's loyalty to the Tullys would keep you safe long enough for them to gather the support of the lords."
"I cannot imagine why they would think such. He killed my father; what makes them think I would be any safer?"
"Baelish always envied Ned your mother as well as his pull with Robert. He merely took the opportunity when it presented itself. He had nothing to gain by killing you, and the Blackfish and your mother know it. They figured they had time on their side to gather an army before they came for you."
"If they came for me, you mean. Robb didn't, after all." Sansa whispers sadly. "Women are always the expendable ones in this life, even to their own relatives."
"Don't say such, Sansa. You are not expendable, and neither will our daughters. The Warrior himself could not take my women from me," Sandor snarls, slamming his fist on the table.
"But what of my cousin? He was the rightful Lord Protector of the Vale. If they felt they had time, could they not wait until he came of age?"
"Robert Arryn's affliction was known even in King's Landing; the boy was not expected to see his twelfth nameday. More like Lady Stoneheart didn't want to wait. Your aunt refused your mother's appeals to support the Young Wolf, you know; we heard it from Tyrion, who was captive in the Vale when your mother pleaded your family's case to her sister. No doubt your mother partly blames Lysa for the loss of your brother and sacrificed her nephew for her own cause. Turnabout is fair play, after all."
"Gods be good," Sansa murmurs, feeling the truth of Sandor words in her heart. "And once the lords turned on Petyr, she would have her revenge for my father's death as well." Gently her husband places her on his lap and strokes her hair, holding her close.
"As it stands now your uncle will be Lord Protector of the Vale and as such he'll hold a strategic position from which to take back Riverrun. From there I expect they will keep amassing their supporters and eventually try for Winterfell, knowing as they do that with you by their side, not one of the northern lords would dare refuse their cause. No doubt they believe this is their best chance to regain what they have lost and the Royces expect to be handsomely rewarded when the times comes, no doubt,which is why they are ready to agree to this."
"None of us will ever regain what we have lost," Sansa whispers bitterly. "Such thinking is folly." Sighing, Sansa wraps her arms around him. "Well, I will draw the truth of the matter out of my uncle."
Trembling, she curls herself against his chest, trying to gather some of Sandor's strength. "Thank you, Sandor."
"For being the bearer of bad news?" Sandor says half-jokingly. Sansa takes his face into her hands. "For always telling me the truth, no matter how ugly it may be. You have never lied to me. You are the only one I trust completely, my love-you and the gods."
Kissing her tenderly, Sandor sets her on her feet. "I hope I am wrong, for your sake. For now, we need to see to your cousin," he says, leading her out of their room. Nymeria whines at the postern and Sandor opens it to her, allowing the direwolf to dart outside.
Afterward, the couple goes to Elder brother and shares their thoughts on what is happening with the Blackfish and Lady Stoneheart. After listening intently, Elder brother closes his eyes in prayer. When he finishes, he makes the sign of the Seven over each of them. "Let us put this aside for now, as difficult as it may be. Your cousin's soul must be laid to rest; the child deserves that much at least. The old gods and the new will provide the answers. I have no doubt this somehow relates to the bond they have made between you. We must be patient."
The funeral ceremony is a somber and somewhat impersonal affair. Sansa decided to have Robert interred in the family crypt and not in the Tully way of sending the body downriver and set aflame. Her decision to honor the Arryn tradition is a strategic one, both pleasing Lord Royce and his sons and creating an air of goodwill between them.
As the guests gather in the crypt, Nymeria suddenly appears, nudging her way toward Sansa. Once all are seated, Elder brother provides a short sermon and prayer, comforting the young woman with the reminder that her cousin has at last found peace. Finally, the boy is at last placed inside the family crypt alongside his Arryn ancestors, the first kings of the Vale. After praying over his crypt, Sansa sorrowfully runs her hands over the engraved name plate and Nymeria lets out a long, mournful howl in response to her grief. Calling to the direwolf, Sansa turns to leave, her and Sandor's departure signaling the end of the service for the other guests.
In the High Hall of the Arryns, Lord Royce has arranged for an elegant meal afterward, but Sansa, distraught and anxious, is in no mood for food. "Everything looks beautiful, Lord Royce and your generosity honors my family. Thank you everyone, for attending the service and paying respects to my departed cousin. However, I must beg the forgiveness of my kind and distinguished guests: I am deeply aggrieved and regretfully will not attend the meal. I wish to go to the godswood with my husband and pray for my cousin. Please, Lord Royce, would you allow our guests to enjoy the meal and hospitality of our house?" Sansa sadly requests the man.
"Of course, Lady Sansa," Lord Royce replies with a bow. "It is most appropriate for you to remain in prayer at such a time as this. My prayers and deepest regrets go with you my lady."
"Thank you," Sansa curtseys in return before hastily making her way to the godswood with Sandor. "Do you not wish to try to eat something, wife? You must be careful with your health, remember that," he rasps low, bundling her in furs before leading her outside, where Nymeria falls in with them as they make their way to the godswood.
"No, not yet, my love. I feel compelled to go to the godswood, like I must get there as quickly as possible. It is an urgent, unshakable feeling I have carried since Elder brother prayed over us."
"Aye, I felt it too, though it seems stronger in you, wife," Sandor nods, patting her hand looped through his arm. "Let's make haste."
Once they enter the godswood, a deep abiding peace descends over them. Leading Sandor over to the deep gray pool, Sansa kneels down before the Heart tree in prayer. "Please, see that my cousin Robert will know peace at last. I pray that Robb, Bran and Rickon will ease his way in the afterlife and lead him to his father and mother. I have faith you will see him reunited with all of our relatives who have gone before him," Sansa sobs out. "Please, help Sandor and I know what to do, what is best for our family," Sansa whispers and feels Sandor's hand tighten around her own at her words. "Help us honor your wishes for us and please give us guidance in all things. Amen."
"Amen." Sansa hears Sandor reply. Gently he helps her to her feet and Sansa moves closer to the Heart tree, reverently tracing her fingers over the ancient carved face. At her touch the eyes begin bleeding red sap and Sansa delicately wipes it away and then holds her hand up to show Sandor. "This is most unusual; I have never seen this happen so suddenly."
Sandor leans closer, staring into the face for a moment before abruptly rearing back, "Do you…do you see it?" Nymeria's ears perk up, a low growl rumbling in her throat.
"What is it, love?" Sansa asks, staring closer at the weirwood face. "Nymeria seems to notice something as well."
"The eyes…it's like it is looking at us," Sandor growls, gripping his sword.
"Well, that is the way it is designed with the faces carved into the sacred Heart tree, love. It is a northern tradition to recall the First men. There is nothing to fear, Sandor; you are just unfamiliar with such things, being a Westerman. Please, return your sword to its place."
Snorting, Sandor sheathes his sword and steps closer. The deep blood-red sap begins running faster as an uncharacteristically warm stiff wind suddenly swirls through the godswood, showering the couple in red leaves. Tilting her head, Sansa struggles to listen. "Do you hear that?"
Another gust howls through the area and Sandor jumps to his feet at the sound. "Someone is calling your name. Show yourself!" He snarls, drawing his sword once more. The huge direwolf begins whining and dancing, just as she did when she first saw Sansa.
"No wait, Sandor…I know that voice!" Sansa cries, eagerly looking around the godswood; the voice is warm, familiar and quite young. "Please, speak to us again…I wish to know who it is that calls to me."
A violent gust rushes through the weirwood grove, the wind howling louder than before. The current of air rustling between the trees incredulously sounds like words to the couple. "It's a child's voice, Sansa; a boy, I believe." Nymeria whines even louder; the direwolf suddenly rolling on her back and yipping in excitement.
No, it cannot be… Bursting into tears, Sansa wraps her arms around the Heart tree, sobbing as she hugs the massive trunk as the young woman suddenly recognizes the beloved, familiar voice from her past. "Yes, it is a child's voice…it is Bran! Bran, I hear you, dearest! Sandor, oh, my love, it is my younger brother Bran calling to us!"