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Rebirth and New Beginnings
"Father! Ygritte!" Jon whispers, expecting to draw his final breath at any moment. Drogon keeps his molten eyes fixed on the young man as he disgorges the torrent of flame upon them. Though it defies logic, he senses the intense heat will not hurt him. He has no idea how he knows such a thing. Briefly Jon wonders if he is in the afterlife already, if his father took him before there was any pain. Surrendering himself wholly to the fire, Jon finds there is no pain in the heat, only a strange kind of comfort and belonging; he is one with the fire.
Embracing the wall of fire, he turns to see the Others at his side quickly reduced to ashes and yet amazingly, he lives. Over the roar of the flames Jon faintly hears Daenerys shouting in High Valyrian as she rushes to his side. Impervious to the dragonfire, her form is barely visible as the air itself seems to liquefy around them. Through the shimmering heat he watches Ser Barristan and Gendry backing away as the whisps of fire whirl and writhe around him, igniting his black bearskin cloak and clothing.
As the dragonfire intensifies Jon senses he is growing stronger, transforming into a new and fiercer man, scoured clean and reborn. "Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born," the old man's words echo in his ears while the flames lick at his flesh. In the distance he hears the howling of a direwolf. "Ghost," he cries out, before the world goes black.
Jon awakens shivering violently in the absence of fire. Drogon snuffles, nudging his hip with his snout. The beast grunts softly when Jon opens his eyes and pats him gently. "It's alright, boy," he mutters, stretching out his stiff limbs. At Jon's movement, Drogon roars loudly, flapping his wings.
Daenerys is beside him, her lovely face full of amazement. Startled, Jon sees she is nude and Ser Barristan quickly steps forward to cover her with his cloak. Viserion and Rhaegal stare down at him intently, emitting high pitched shrieks and flapping their massive wings when he moves to sit up, adding their voices to Drogon's call and filling the morning air with dragon song.
"Blood of my blood," Daenerys whispers as she crouches down next to him, carefully running her hands over his arms. Blinking, Jon quickly moves to cover his manhood, at once bashfully realizing he too is completely nude and sitting in a muddy pool of melted ice and ash.
Tears stream down Daenerys' face, the young woman seemingly unperturbed by their state of undress in the presence of so many men. "Ilyo and Ser Barristan had told me Rhaegar had a son with Lyanna but I never dared dream it was true. Against all odds the babe survived. The gods have seen fit to bring us together."
At her words Ser Barristan kneels before him and bows low. "The blood of the dragon," the knight states simply. "Child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, we meet at last." Watching the knight, Gendry quickly follows suit and bows before him, a slight smile on the young man's face.
"I-I am not a Targaryen, I am the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark," Jon frowns, rubbing his skin as if to ensure he is not dreaming. Suddenly the stories Old Nan shared with him run through his memory. "One day Jon, you'll have the answers to your questions for the end of this tale lies within you, lad." Old Nan's words replay in his mind. Her stories weren't fairy tales. It was the story of my family. Father kept me safe, not even telling Catelyn of my true parentage. Overwhelmed, Jon turns his head and vomits.
"Are you alright?" Dany quickly asks. "Ser Barristan, give him your canteen at once."
"He is in shock, Your Grace. When you realized you where a dragon, you had been raised with Viserys telling you the stories of your family. This is all very new to the Lord Commander here. He is both wolf and dragon."
"Are we dead?" Jon asks weakly, wiping his mouth.
Laughing, Dany shakes her head. "No, Jon, we are very much alive. The White Walkers have been exterminated. The Seven Kingdoms are safe at last."
"Are you certain we are not in the afterlife?" Jon asks again. He has heard of the Seven heavens but judging by their surroundings they appeared to still be north of the Wall. Looking down, his skin is covered in soot as is Daenerys, but they both are unharmed.
"I am most certain. Ser Barristan, Gendry and the rest of them men's presence confirms it, does it not? You have experienced an extraordinary thing. Jon, Ser Barristan knows of your true birth."
"You knew, Ser Barristan?" Jon asks, starting to rise while Gendry hurriedly hands him his cloak.
"Yes, your Grace. Your father and I knew after your mother died. We vowed to never tell anyone, not even Lady Catelyn. Your mother's dying wish was that you be kept safe from Robert Baratheon. Lord Eddard promised her he would. Why do you think he sent you to the Night's Watch when he made for King's Landing?"
Reeling, Jon staggers forward and Gendry rushes to his aid. "Easy, Your Grace," the young man says softly, staring at Jon intently. "Now neither of us are bastards anymore."
"Please just call me Jon, Gendry."
"Yes, Gendry, you are family, too, as is Ser Barristan. We are the last surviving members of our houses. We have made our own family, have we not?"
"Yes, my Queen," Gendry beams.
"Jon, you are the son of Lord Eddard's sister, Lyanna and my brother Rhaegar. You are no bastard. You need never need use the name "Snow" again," Daenerys says assuredly, taking him by the arm. "I will feed any man who dares call you such to Drogon-alive." Touching his cheek, she whispers, "You are the dragon's son. How do you feel?"
"I am-well, I am astonished, obviously, though Old Nan used to tell me tales of Lyanna and Rhaegar as a child that she never shared with the other children."
Laughing, Ser Barristan nods. "That wise old woman! Ned knew he would never be able to fool her. She never believed you were Ned's boy; you look too much like your mother."
"I-I must say I am in shock and yet I feel strong, too. It's hard to put into words. I feel almost-"
"Reborn?" Daenerys smiles understandingly. "I had the same experience when my dragons hatched. I sat among the ashes of my husband's funeral pyre all night, trying to process what had happened. And the gods gave me them," she smiles, gesturing to the dragons.
Laughing, tears of joy run down her cheeks. "You are the blood of old Valyria, too, Jon. My brother's son. I never dreamed I would find another Targaryen, let alone my nephew."
Smiling, Jon nods slowly. Where once he was a bastard, now he has more family than he ever imagined possible. "You are blood of my blood, Jon. You are a Targaryen and a Stark, the wolf and the dragon together. No doubt you are all the more powerful for it. We must call your siblings back to us at once!"
Dazed, he nods and turns to see the rest of the members of the Night's Watch and a host of Baratheon soldiers all staring incredulously at them. Podrick Payne and Samwell Tarly step forward and bow immediately before them.
"My good men, you prove yourselves wiser than the rest," Daenerys nods approvingly and rises to her feet. "I give each of you a place on my nephew's counsel for your loyalty."
Lifting her chin, she defiantly stares at the remaining men surrounding them. "I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons. Today you have witnessed the gods return the son of Rhaegar to me. Jon Snow is Snow no longer. His Grace is born of House Stark and House Targaryen, blood of my blood, reborn in ice and fire as prince of the Iron Throne. I command you to bow before him or face death."
At the sound of her voice Drogon whirls around to face the men, roaring out a warning and flapping his wings while Rhaegal and Viserion each take positions beside Dany and Jon. One and all the men kneel before them and satisfied, Daenerys nods approvingly.
Ghost races into the midst of the dragons toward Jon, whining and wagging his tail as he sniffs his master thoroughly. Curious, Drogon steps forward. "Drogon, hold fast. Ghost is brother to Jon and to you. The dragon and the wolf together," she pronounces with a smile.
Ser Barristan shouts, "Here, here! All hail Jon, the Targaryen prince of the Iron Throne!" Gendry, Podrick, Sam and the rest of the men add their voices to his as Daenerys holds her hand out to him. "Arise, Jon. Your people are eagerly offering their allegiance to you."
After praying before the flourishing weirwood tree, Sandor and Sansa take a moment to look over their cabin. "I will miss this place," Sansa whispers, reverently running her fingers over the face Sandor carved into the tree.
"We'll come back when winter is over, wife," he says, drawing her close in his arms.
The couple begins the journey out of the Vale with Nymeria in tow. Stranger and Sugar take to the daily routine with ease, carefully navigating the winding narrow mountain passes through the Vale.
The trip is long and arduous, taking them nearly double the amount of time they traveled into the Vale from White Harbor. Due to the increasingly heavy winter storms, after much discussion the couple decides to travel through the Vale to the Fingers before chartering a boat.
Nymeria routinely disappears at dusk and despite the apparent lack of game in the area returns with a fresh kill each night. "No one is going to let us in any inn along the way with this beast," Sandor mutters, earning a laugh from his wife.
"On the contrary, love, who will dare turn us away with such a pet?" She winks at him.
"Aye, good thing we brought you, bitch," Sandor says, scratching the direwolf's ears after she sets down a young deer at his feet. "A good companion you are, and earning your keep, at that. Without you we would starve at the rate your mistress is eating these days."
"Forgive me, love, but the fresh air seems to have increased my appetite," Sansa says with her mouth full, a small knowing smile playing across her lips.
"Don't apologize, wife. I like my women soft and rounded out," he grins, slapping her backside as she moves past him.
Later that evening, Sansa snuggles down under the soft cushions and furs Sandor has arranged for their bedding. "Before we board the ship, might we stop at an inn for a few days, husband? I am so very tired. I need to build up my strength before we head out to sea."
After closely regarding her a moment, he slowly nods and pulls her close. "Aye, I know of one near the water that will do nicely, lass," he agrees. "Crannogman and his wife run the place: Tierney's the name if I remember right. Had enough time on horseback, have you?"
"Yes," she smiles, her eyes sparkling merrily. Bending down to kiss her goodnight, Sandor briefly wonders at her expression before rolling over and falling asleep.
Three moons after leaving the cabin, Sandor and Sansa finally arrive at the tiny but well kept inn. Sore and pale, Sansa gingerly stretches her limbs after Sandor helps her down. "Rest here, wife," he says with a look of concern. "Are you ill?"
"No, husband, not ill," she answers with yet another mysterious smile.
The small inn is old but tidy. Sansa thinks it a lovely place after being on the road for so many weeks and longs to lie down on a real bed. Sandor raps on the bar several times until a small grizzled man comes out from behind the curtain.
"Give me the best room here, innkeep, with a featherbed if one is to be had. I want the largest tub you have brought up and filled, and a hot meal for the wife and I. Wine, if you have it, ale if you don't."
"I remember you, Clegane. You did right by us here. I've not forgotten. The wife, Milly, will be up direct with your meals and such."
"My love, what did you do for them?" Sansa whispers to him as the man hurries to ready their things.
"I chased some rowdy northern louts out of here that were bullying the old couple. Let 'em believe I'm the Hound back from the dead haunting the place."
Giggling Sansa's eyes twinkle with fun. "Truly? And it really worked?"
"You don't see of them buggering bastards in here, do you?" He growls, sipping his ale while he surveys the other patrons warily.
Once the couple finishes bathing, Sansa buries herself under the downy coverlets while Sandor sharpens his blade. A small knock on the door announces their meal. "Here you are, big man, and there's more if you want it," Milly says sharply, handing Sandor a large tray. "And I brought hot stones for your wife."
Pushing him aside, she hurries toward the bed. "Outta my way, man, I know how to set things right for your lady. Don't you fret none on that score."
Puzzled, Sandor frowns and steps aside to give the woman room as she bustles about Sansa, placing the hot under the covers at her feet. "Now isn't that nice, lass? It'll ease those pesky aches and pains. You'll sleep like a babe, too. You watch how you travel from now on, and take good care, you hear? All will be well, child, mark my words." The woman smiles, patting Sansa's legs beneath the covers.
"Yes, Milly thank you so very much for your kindness," Sansa smiles wanly.
"Now eat up. A tiny thing like you needs her strength for the burden you're carrying," the woman says suggestively, looking Sandor over with a raised eyebrow.
Laughing, Sansa hands her another coin and smiles. "Indeed. I will finish everything, you have my word. Oh, the food smells delicious."
"What the buggering hells was that about?" Sandor grouses as soon as Milly closes the door. Sitting on the bed beside his wife, worry etches his face as he looks at her intently. Shyly smiling, Sansa lifts her shift over her head, sits on the edge of the bed and beckons to him. "Come closer, my love."
Swallowing hard, Sandor's eyes widen as he takes in Sansa's rounded middle, wide hips and full breasts. He has not seen her fully unclothed since they left the cabin many moons back. "Sansa," he rasps low as she takes his large hand and rests it on the swell of her abdomen. "Are you-?"
"Sandor, our child has finally come to us, my love!" She laughs happily, tears filling her Tully blue eyes . Eagerly Sansa watches him and awaits her stunned husband's response.
Choking down his tears, Sandor can hardly catch his breath for the sudden surge of happiness in his heart. "Little bird," he finally breaths out, his face twitching into a large smile. "My beautiful Little bird."
Kneeling before her, Sandor wraps his arms around her waist and rests his cheek against her stomach, delicately running his hands over her body. "How long have you known, wife?"
"I suspected it when my appetite grew so large. I have been nauseous in the mornings and, well, you can see for yourself the changes in my body," she laughs, running her hands through his hair.
Reverently Sandor caresses and kisses her swollen belly and then each of her breasts. "Our first babe," he whispers in amazement against her skin. "Our family has come at last. Gods be good."
"You are not unhappy that the babe comes now and not after we reach Winterfell?"
"Seven hells, no," he growls softly, and Sansa feels his warm tears falling on her skin. "We'll take our time heading north and rest as often as you wish. You only need say the word, lass. Whatever you and the pup want, it is yours."
"My love," she giggles softly, her tears of joy flowing freely. "Our dream has come true!"
"Aye, true enough, love. I have wanted this babe since the day we said our vows," Sandor rasps low, gently laying her back on the bed and tenderly covering her mouth with his own.
Moaning into his mouth, Sansa wraps her legs around him, drawing him closer to her. "I have hungered for you even more since I have been with child," she blushingly whispers.
"Have you, now?" Sandor rasps, a deep laugh rumbling in his chest. Lying down beside her, he deepens the kiss, slowly moving his hand to the inside of her thigh. "Is this, uh, safe with the babe?"
"Yes," she answers, her voice heavy with desire. "My septa taught me it is safe until right before birth. Then we must wait until two moons after."
"Then let's not waste any time, wife," he growls, running his tongue over her breast and hitching her leg over his thigh.
The couple spend a week resting at the inn, sleeping, loving and eating their fill in preparation for the next portion of the journey. The rosy glow to Sansa's cheeks returns, her eyes sparkle and her figure seems to grow daily, leaving Sandor more in love with her than ever.
"Don't ride so far without stopping, lass. You must rest every two hours a'horseback," Milly whispers in her ear, handing her a lavender sachet. "Put this in your pillow at night and you'll have sweet dreams. It will ease the morning sickness, too. I let out your gowns so you should be fine for awhile yet."
"Thank you so much, Milly," Sansa smiles.
The passage to White Harbor costs the couple nearly double with Nymeria along. The dire wolf howls nearly the entire trip, upsetting the horses and men alike. After a week of smooth sailing they arrive in White Harbor. After sending a raven to Winterfell explaining the trip is taking longer than usual, Sandor rents a small house to give Sansa time to rest.
One crisp morning Sandor disappears for several hours, only to return dragging an older man by the collar into their solar. "I found you a maester, wife," he grunts, clearly pleased with himself. "You make sure she's fit to travel, old man. If not, we'll stay longer."
"Sandor, my goodness, I-," Sansa starts to protest but Sandor holds up his hand.
"No refusals, wife. Let the old man do his job. I paid him good coin and he's said to be good at his trade." Turning to the startled maester, he growls low, "See that you do it well, healer, or you won't live long enough to regret it."
"Sandor, really, I cannot believe you-" Sansa begins irritably before Sandor winks at her and leaves the room. Sighing, she shakes her head. "Please, ser, forgive my husband. This is-"
"Your first child?" The maester smiles knowingly. "I figured as much." After examining her thoroughly, the maester washes his hands. "I will call in your husband, now."
Puzzled, Sansa asks, "Is everything alright with the child?"
"Oh yes, my lady, yes indeed."
Sandor cautiously enters the room, eying Sansa closely. "What is it? How is Sansa? Is all well with the babe?"
Smiling broadly, the old maester chuckles to himself. "Your wife and children are in perfect health, Clegane. Strong as can be."
"Children? As in more than one babe?!" Sandor repeats loudly.
"Yes, your wife is carrying twins, I am certain of it. Strong and big for this period of the pregnancy, too. You are most fortunate."
Laughing incredulously, Sansa wraps her arms around her equally shocked husband. "Twins? Oh my love, how wonderful! We don't have twins in the Stark family, at least none that I can recall. Do they run in the Cleganes?"
Rubbing his forehead, Sandor slowly nods. "Aye, come to think of it, they do at that." Drawing her close, Sandor clings to his wife. "Two babes. Gods be good, lass," he murmurs before rasping out his harsh laugh and happily lifting Sansa into his arms.