Thanks to Julia Arelia for helping me pull this together a bit better :D And thank you to everyone who left reviews, I meant to answer each of you but life is being a pain right now.
The Lone Wolf Returns to Winterfell
"Welcome home, my lady," Stannis greets Sansa as Sandor leads Stranger inside the massive East Gate leading to the castle courtyard. Melisandre stands beside him, red and terrible, her appearance in sharp contrast to the bleak wintry surroundings. Catching sight of the lord and his priestess, Sansa stiffens but nods politely, forcing her mouth into a taut smile.
"I killed Beric Dondarrion and his fucking red priest could not stop me, Little bird. Say the word and I'll kill that red witch, too." Sandor mutters, glaring at them.
"Let us see what they have to say first," Sansa whispers against his cheek before kissing him softly. "Aye, have it your way."
Turning toward the welcome party, Sansa smiles winningly, her mask of courtesy firmly in place. "Thank you Lord Stannis." Turning to the red woman, Sansa bows her head. "You must be Lady Melisandre-what a pleasure it is to meet you at last."
"The pleasure is mine, Lady Sansa. Your family seat is a most beautiful place, indeed. It pleases R'Hollor that you have welcomed his chosen one into your ancestral home."
"I am happy to hear that, Lady Melisandre," Sansa nods, struggling to hide her confusion. "That's their fire god, little bird," Sandor coughs behind her.
Stannis nervously glances at the two women. "Please my lady, won't you get down and take your ease? Once you have refreshed yourself I would like to escort you and your husband on a tour of the castle."
"Yes, Lord Stannis, that is a most excellent idea, thank you." Sandor dismounts first and then carefully lifts Sansa out of the saddle. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she squeezes her husband close for a moment before resting her feet on the ground.
The courtyard is alive with soldiers and Free folk bustling about, eager to show their gratitude by working hard on the repairs to the outer wall and cleaning the soot from the granite exterior. Drawing a deep breath, Sansa quietly takes in the destruction around them before her eyes settle on the inner courtyard. For a moment Sansa pictures her younger brothers standing in the same area, filled with terror the day of the rebellion. Here it was that Theon, the man we considered a brother betrayed us and killed members of our household.
"I'm glad you killed him," Sansa says softly, reaching for Sandor's hand; Sandor wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him in response. "I'd kill that bastard a thousand times for what he has done here," he growls menacingly. Nodding, Sansa pats his large hand resting securely at her waist, "Thank you, my love. Our family has justice because of you."
Silently, Stannis patiently watches the private exchange between husband and wife. "Forgive me, Lord Stannis, I am a bit overwhelmed by all of this as you may well imagine. I would go to the godswood with my husband first to pray. We will meet you in the Great Hall in two hours; does that suit?"
"Yes, Lady Sansa, we will meet you then. Enjoy your worship," Stannis bows and walks away, followed by the red priestess.
"All that buggering politeness. So unlike the Stannis I remember," Sandor mutters.
"Only because he needs me to ensure the north's support before Daenerys arrives. He's no different than the rest of them." Sansa says with resignation.
Kneeling together before the Heart tree, Sandor and Sansa take turns offering their prayers to the Old gods. Sandor gives thanks for his wife, for their safe journey and that they have allowed them to return to Winterfell together, while Sansa asks for strength, protection and their blessing on returning her family to their ancestral home. After they finish, the couple sits together next to the pool beside the Heart tree in silence, each meditating on their current situation.
"My love, I am so grateful the gods brought you to me. Your love gives me strength, more than you know. Winterfell is your home now, too. I hope one day you will come to love it as I do."
"I already do, wife, because Winterfell is a part of you. Just like the winter and the direwolves and the snow, you belong here. You are stronger inside these walls, Sansa, believe that." Smiling, she settles herself into Sandor's lap. "We are stronger inside these walls my love; we are stronger together. The Old gods have seen to bless us in such a way and I will forever be grateful," she whispers before kissing her beloved husband soundly.
Later that afternoon, Sansa quietly leads Sandor by the hand through Winterfell, surveying the damage during the tour of the castle with Stannis Baratheon and Melisandre. The castle smells of smoke and ash but most of it remains in relatively good condition. Shivering, Sansa wraps her arms around herself as they proceed through the First Keep.
"The Maester's Keep is in ruins, as well as one entire wall of the Great Keep. The collapse of the roof of the Great Hall renders the traditional Stark receiving area uninhabitable," Stannis says severely, his voice fading into the background as Sansa's eyes fall on the carved granite statue of a direwolf in the lichyard.
"Lady," she whispers, running toward the final resting place of her beloved pet. Kneeling down beside the granite direwolf, Sansa gently runs her hands over the statue before resting her head against the figure for several long moments. Sensing her mood, Sandor goes to her, wraps his arms around her waist and gently pulls her to her feet. Pressing her back close to his chest, Sandor whispers to her while tenderly stroking her middle. "I know, love. You miss her still."
"She was a part of me, Sandor. She always will be," she says tearfully, allowing her husband to gently lead her away. Continuing onward, the group moves toward the Great Hall. Sighing, Sansa frowns at the sooty ruins of the once great reception area. Running her hands along the remaining wall, Sansa shakes her head sadly. I am Sansa Stark, now Clegane, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. I am stronger within these walls…
Lost in her memories, Sansa can almost hear the music playing inside the Great Hall the day of the feast for King Robert. Jeyne Pool sat at her side and they whispered and laughed, so excited they were that day. She had eaten her fill of lemon cakes and Arya had thrown of spoonful of stew at her before Robb carried her off. Now only the ghosts of days gone by occupy the damaged space.
Sandor gently rests his arm around her waist. "I remember how it once was, too," he whispers into the crown of her hair. "We will bring it back to the way it was in former days, I swear it."
Nodding, Sansa moves to the center of the room. The whole household was together that day and we were so very happy. Mother and Father, Rickon and Bran, Arya and Jon, Robb…and Theon. Maester Luwin, who taught her how to mend wounds when her lady mother fainted at the sight of her brothers' injuries. Old Nan, who told them scary stories and tucked them in on the coldest of nights. Hodor, who loyally cared for Bran and loved him as much as any blood relative. Jory, the captain of the guard who asked for her hand in marriage on her twelfth name day…now, none of them are here to welcome her. She wonders what her father and Robb think in the afterlife, knowing that it is Stannis Baratheon, of all people, who welcomed her home this day.
"Theon Greyjoy," Stannis mutters, the sound of his voice taking her out of her thoughts. Patting the sooty granite walls of the Great Hall, he clicks his tongue. "Robert told Lord Eddard he should have killed the boy when he captured him. I'm afraid your father paid a terrible price for his kind heart, my dear. I am very sorry for all that you have lost."
Baratheons do not belong in Winterfell. This is the home of wolves, not stags… Bristling, Sansa wipes away her tears and sets her shoulders. "My father was a man of honor, a man of his word, a man of principle. It was not his way, nor is it our way to kill an innocent child based on the fear of what that child may become later, as Robert tried with Daenerys Targaryen. Let us be thankful his assassination attempts failed or the gods only know where we would be now that the Others have returned."
"No, it was not his kind heart that led to this, no more than it led to his execution. The responsibility lies solely with the men who hated my family. Their names do not deserve to even be mentioned in my family's seat. I hope that in whatever hell the gods saw fit to send them to, they are aware of their absolute failure. I would ask that you see that no one utters the names of the traitors inside these walls, Lord Stannis," Sansa whispers, hastily wiping away her bitter tears.
"It has already been commanded, Lady Sansa. Rest assured my lady, with the success of your brothers plan brought to fruition, you will be able to return Winterfell to her days of glory in the very near future," Stannis replies, his voice confident and strong.
Melisandre drops back, walking beside Sansa and in response Sandor pulls her closer to him, glaring at the red priestess. "The dragon queen is an abomination, my lady. The Lord of Light stands behind Stannis as the rightful heir to the Iron throne."
Stunned, Sansa raises her eyebrow at the red priestess. "I will honor my father by seeking peace and a mutual understanding with the Queen, just as he wished to do in King's Landing."
"His will cannot be ignored or denied, my lady. R'Hollor will not tolerate Daenerys' existence indefinitely and she will be soundly defeated. I have seen it in the fire and one day you both will be witnesses of this truth."
Eying the red priestess cautiously, Sandor chuckles low at her words. "Fire against fire, is that the way of it?"
"Death by fire is the purest death, Sandor Clegane," Melisandre replies archly.
Snorting, he moves between the red priestess and his wife. "Pure, you say?" Sandor growls, pointing to his scarred countenance. "Bugger that. Bugger your cryptic religious double talk, too. Where was the Lord of Light when the Others rushed Castle Black?" Shaking his head, he draws Sansa's arm through his.
"I understand your lack of faith, given that you have met his one of his servants before in battle, Sandor Clegane."
"Aye, I met Thoros and Beric. Defeated them, too. They hoped to send me to the Seven hells and they failed, for all their sorcery and bloody fire. I know what hell is, believe that. You challenge the Targaryen queen and you're like learn that first hand, as I have. We'll see then how the Lord of Light stands up to her dragons." Sandor snarls at her, leading Sansa away.
Noticing Sansa's grave expression and Sandor's insolence, Stannis steps forward. "Melisandre, would you see the information for evacuation prepared in my ready room? I want to make sure Winterfell's daughter is fully apprised of our plans before leaving us."
"Certainly, my lord," Melisandre smiles before walking away. "I look forward to talking to you later, my lady."
"Thank you," Sansa replies, her pleasant smile dissolving once the red priestess disappears. "My lord, please believe me when I say I wholeheartedly respect your religious devotion. As guests of House Stark both you and your priestess are free to worship as you see fit while you are here."
"Lady Clegane, you are most gracious; thank you."
"It is the Stark way to accept others who are different from us though we worship the Old gods of the forest. I do not wish to be rude but neither do I wish to receive her testimony about the Lord of Light during our stay. I am confident that our beloved ancient godswood will remain untouched, is that not so?"
"Of course my lady," Stannis replies through gritted teeth. "Neither Melisandre nor I would desecrate Winterfell or its godswood, you must believe that."
Folding her hands, Sansa purses her lips before speaking. "Pray forgive me but I do not, my lord. Word reached us in King's Landing about your priestess' treatment of the Seven at Dragonstone. I am also aware that you burned the godswood at Storm's End as a sacrifice to your god. The Starks have experienced the power of the Old gods for centuries and I will not have them dishonored in our ancestral home. My brother Bran is most intimately connected to the Old gods of the forest and I assure you, no Stark or Clegane will accept anything less than respect for our beliefs. I am confident you will abide by our wishes while you are here," Sansa smiles genially, smoothing her skirts as she waits for Stannis' reply.
Sandor watches Sansa with pride and stands sword at the ready in case more than words are required to convince the lord. "Of course. Pray forgive me Lady Sansa, we meant no offense. There will be no more discussion on the matter of religion here and you have my word that the sacred places in Winterfell will remain as they have for centuries."
"Thank you my lord. I certainly appreciate your reassurance. Forgive me but I am quite tired and wish to pray and rest up a bit. Might we have the pleasure of you and Lady Melisandre's company in the family dining hall this evening?"
"It would be my honor, Lady Sansa. I will leave you to your husband now," Stannis bows before walking back to the former servant's quarters functioning as his ready room.
Once Stannis is out of sight, Sansa sinks to her knees, covering her face with her hands as she sobs out her grief, finally allowing herself to mourn all she has lost. Her cries are primal, anguished, wrought from years of suppressed suffering and sorrow. Sandor paces as he watches her, helpless and uncertain. After several long moments he decides to move her into their rooms. Placing one arm under her thighs and lifting her into his arms, he notices Sansa pays little heed to his ministrations, her wailing continuing unabated. "Let it out, little bird, it's all right," he rasps against her neck, gently nuzzling the soft skin there. "Let's go back to our room so we have some privacy."
Carrying her inside, Sandor kicks the door closed before gently laying her down on the fur covered bed. The room only faintly smells of smoke yet the inside remains relatively untouched. Sniffling Sansa sits up and reaches out for him. "My love, I just need you to hold me for a bit," she whispers and Sandor lies down beside her, gathering her close in his arms.
Soothingly stroking her hair, Sandor whispers words of reassurance to her as her breathing slowly returns to normal. "We'll rebuild, Sansa, believe that. Your brothers and sister will return and soon the castle will be as good as it ever was. Just a little while longer to wait, that's all, love. It will all be over soon."
Soon the exhausted pair drifts off to sleep. Sandor awakens a few hours later to the dinner bell sounding in the family dining hall. "Sansa, get up. Dinner's ready for us."
Smoothing down her hair and skirts, Sansa stares at herself in the mirror, remembering when her mother used to brush her hair and tell her stories of knights and fair maidens. My prince turned out to be a monster and the Hound became my knight in shining armor, she smiles sadly at her reflection.
"Am I presentable?" She asks her husband worriedly, pinching her cheeks to bring back the rosy color. "You're beautiful, same as always."
"Can you tell I've cried?"
"Yes but for fuck's sake, Sansa, who wouldn't after what you've been through today? Stop fretting now," he says more gently, pulling her on his lap. "Are you hungry?"
"Yes, very much so."
"Good, let's go eat. I'll make sure that bloody witch keeps her opinions to herself. 'Fire is a pure death'…bloody hells! I should have slit her throat for that buggering load of shit!" Sandor swears angrily, sounding very much like the Hound and causing Sansa to laugh in spite of her solemn mood.
"You showed remarkable restraint my love," she smiles, kissing his cheek and tweaking his chin playfully. "Melisandre is most fortunate to have met you after you lived on the Quiet Isle. She would not have fared half so well with the Hound from King's Landing."
"Aye, true enough, that. And you have shown remarkable strength, wife. You have grown into a wise and beautiful woman, lass." Sandor replies seriously, brushing a stray curl from her face. "You do me and your family proud."
His words touch her deeply and she smiles happily even as her eyes fill with tears. "Thank you, Sandor. I needed to hear that," she whispers, tenderly kissing each side of his face and then his lips. "Let us hurry through this meal so we can be alone once more."
"As you wish, wife," he laughs, taking her hand and leading her to the dining area.
Dinner is a modest meal of root vegetables, venison stew, sourdough rolls and iced blueberries. Save for a few comments, Stannis and Melisandre keep the conversation to the business of repairing Winterfell and evacuating the Free folk, much to Sansa's relief. Sandor spends the evening glowering, demonstrating he is in no mood for their religious talk. Sansa hates to think what he might have done if they had renewed their earlier prophetic speeches after she expressly asked them to refrain.
Excusing themselves early under the guise of needing to an early start, Sandor and Sansa retire to their room. Snuggling down under the furs, Sansa smiles to herself, listening to the familiar wailing wind outside. "As a child, I went to sleep every night to that sound," she whispers against Sandor's warm chest. "Aye, love, and you will again. Our children will grow up as their mother, listening to the same sound every night as they huddle together under the furs."
In the distance a lone wolf howls, filling the night with its song. "Your kin are welcoming you home," Sandor chuckles, pulling her close and running his hands languidly over her bare skin. "The wolves will come again," Sansa says quietly. "Bran said Jojen Reed dreamt it; it is a prophecy. I believe it is meant for us-for the Starks and now the Cleganes."
"So do I, love," Sandor grins at her before blowing out the candle.
In the early morning mist, the couple departs from Winterfell and eagerly makes their way to the Kings Road. After three weeks heading south Sansa notes the chilly weather still has the feel of the north. "I do not remember it being this cold on the King's Road when we traveled to King's Landing, do you, Sandor?"
"No, I don't recall it feeling this wintry then, either. "I'd take it as a sign we need to keep travelling hard, little bird."
After six weeks on horseback the couple reaches White Harbor. Allowing for a day of rest, together with their horses they board the first ship leaving for Gulltown, eager to reach the Vale before the snows close up the mountain passes. Two weeks of rough weather, terrible food and sea sickness mark the difficult journey and it is a great relief when the bustling harbor of Gulltown finally comes into view. "At last! I see land, Sandor!" Sansa excitedly shouts, dragging him to the porthole to view the harbor with her.
The people of the city are all abuzz about the red comet, which has remained visible in the sky the entire time they traveled. Avoiding the masses, Sandor and Sansa spend a week recuperating at a small inn, allowing the horses the opportunity to rest up before heading into the treacherous mountains of the Vale.
On the first relatively warm day since arriving in the port city, the couple packs their belongings and begins the arduous ascent into the mountains.
A full turn of the moon and fortnight pass until at long last, weary and cold, the couple reaches the modest cabin just as the first heavy snowfall descends upon the Vale.
"Is this home, Sandor?" Sansa asks excitedly as the small log structure comes into view.
"This is home, little bird. It's no Winterfell but we'll be warm and safe here."
Sansa beams up at him. "Home at last! It's perfect, my love-just like our little place in White Tree."
Barking out his snarling laugh, Sandor pulls her close. "Anywhere looks better than the inside of that dirty tent, eh little bird? After we rest up, I'll send word to your brother that we have arrived. Now he and the dragon queen can rid the world of those bloody undead bastards at last."