A/N I am currently in the hospital. I'll reply to each comment once I am home again. :)
The Gathering of Wolves
After the birth of the twins, Nymeria howls at the top of her voice until Sandor finally allows her inside. The huge direwolf immediately seeks out the babies, dancing and barking excitedly. "She knows her kin, love," Sandor grins, shaking his head at the sight.
"The babies don't seem to fear her, for all the commotion," Sansa smiles wanly. When finally Nymeria settles down, she stubbornly positions herself beside their bed and refuses to leave.
In the weeks that follow, Sansa's recovery is slow. Pale and weak, she does her best to care for her children from their bed despite Sandor's objections. Sandor brings in maesters and healers from the Vale to attend her but to no avail.
When Jon learns of her illness, he summons Jojen Reed to the Wall, who promptly sends Crannogman healers to her aid and begins devotedly supplicating the old gods on her behalf. Sandor also sends for Elder brother, who makes the journey to care for her and spends a fortnight at her side. "It will take time, Sandor, but Lady Sansa is strong. Her milk is rich, and your children are thriving. I know it is folly to say this, but you must try to relax. Pray to the Seven to see her through, as you were taught."
Grunting, Sandor nods, and though he does not admit it to Elder Brother, he has been entreating the Mother on behalf of his wife and children since he learned she was with child. The presence of the man who brought him back from the brink of death does much to bolster his spirits and Sandor finds a measure of comfort in the company of his teacher and healer.
"I do not remember my mother being so weak, husband," Sansa tells him one day, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is such common, do you suppose? I have asked each of the healers, but no one will answer me."
"No need to fret. It was different for Lady Catelyn because she didn't have twins, love, and ours are rather big at that. Your weakness comes from all the travel, lass," Sandor reassures her, though deep in his heart he is plagued by a fear unlike any he has ever faced. Unwilling as he is to entrust her care to another after Elder brother leaves, Sandor spends the majority of his time tending to her and the babies. The neighbors take turns cooking his beloved wife as many meals as she will eat, always followed by alfalfa and barley teas to strengthen her.
Too weak to balk at his orders, Sansa relents, staying in bed a full moon's turn and a fortnight before trying to resume her activities. Some five months after the delivery, when Sandor is satisfied she is strong enough for the journey, he sells off their belongings and uses the money to build a wagon especially for trip to Winterfell.
"What have you done, my love?" Sansa laughs from the door. He looks up from his work to see her balancing the chubby infants on each of her hips while watching him maneuver the rig into the courtyard.
Sansa's lovely skin is flushed pink and glowing in the morning sun and the luster has returned to her deep auburn hair. Her figure has reverted back to her former slenderness, except that now she is fuller from nursing their children, and Sandor takes every opportunity to drink in the sight of her. "I've been taking care of our affairs before we leave, wife," he grunts, his mouth pulling into a grin at the sight of his family.
"So I see," she whispers against his lips when he kisses her and the babies by turns. "I want you safe and secure, you and our babes." Catya squirms in Sansa's arms at the sound of his voice and Edric lets out a squeal of delight as Sandor strokes his head.
"They both want to go to their father, the little cubs," Sansa smiles at him.
"My sweet little Catya babe, come to Papa. Here, give her to me, lass," Sandor says impatiently before lifting her in his arms, nuzzling against the downy nape of his daughter's neck.
Initially he was very cautious with his children, afraid they would be frightened at the sight of his scarred face and by his deep, rasping voice, but to his relief both children eagerly look for him and smile at the very sound of his voice.
Catya coos and gurgles contentedly, snuggling against his bicep. "Missed your Father, did you, little one?" He rasps as softly as his voice will allow.
Edric soon howls and holds out his arms to Sandor. "Come here, son, I've room for both of you." The boy continues fussing until he too is in his Father's arms nestled down beside Catya.
"You tuck them into your arm the way Robb would hold a ball to keep it away from Jon and Arya in their games of sport. If only Cersei and Joffrey could see you now," Sansa laughs out loud. "The fearsome Hound with his children."
"Fuck Cersei, and fuck that little inbred bastard. My only regret is that they didn't taste my steel," he growls low. Both of the babies eyes grow wide at the change in the sound of his voice, and so Sandor straightens himself and says quietly, "And fuck whoever said caring for children is woman's work. I'm not embarrassed to look after our babes. Dogs take good care of their pups, wife."
"Indeed they do, and I love you for it," she says softly, amused to witness her husband temper his anger, if not his language, for the sake of their children. "What have you there?"
Sandor points toward the wagon with a grin. "Old Hagen and I built it for our journey. I stocked it well. There's plenty of clothing, food and furs to keep us warm. I stuffed feathers into a large cotton sack for you and me, a small cradle for the babes. Hagen fashioned a leather cover for the wagon. It cost more but well worth it, you best believe."
"Why did you and Hagen choose to cover it in leather, dearest? Would not wood have sufficed?"
"It's warmer, love, and tanned to repel the weather. Sewed it myself, and Hagen lined the inside with sheepskin, too. I mean to see you all warm and safe the way there."
"You are too good to me-forgive me, to us." Sansa blinks away tears. "The gods have blessed me with such a thoughtful, caring husband. I cannot wait to see your handiwork."
"Again with the chirping," he teases, kissing her softly before gently lifting all three of them into the wagon. Ducking her head, Sansa peers around the inside. "What a clever father my children have! You have always thought of my safety, and you how you plan for Catya's and Edric's as well! The wagon is a wonderful idea, love," Sansa nods with a smile. "Even with spring arriving, the weather is bound to be inclement at best further north."
"Jon's last raven said the snow storms still blow through regular, though they're not as fierce as when you two were growing up. Spring is coming with the Others defeated, so he says."
"I am glad to hear it." Sansa replies softly, instinctively pulling her children closer to her breast. The mere mention of the White Walkers causes the young mother to fearfully recall their narrow escape.
"We'll be safe, lass," he murmurs low, caressing her chin between two large fingers. "You believe me?"
"How could I not? You have never lied to me," Sansa gently runs her face against his beard. "When shall we leave?"
"I think day after tomorrow, wife. We'll spend one more day in the home where our children were born."
"I never would have taken you for sentimental, Sandor," Sansa teases.
"Bugger that chirping, Little bird. We'll go when you want, then," He frowns, shaking his head at her. Edric grabs his finger and jams it into his mouth, gnawing contentedly. "You want your dinner, don't you, son? Well, I can't help you there; go on to your mother, lad," Sandor whispers to him before handing him to Sansa.
"For all your growling, your eyes give you away, my love. They always twinkle when you are jesting, no matter how much of a scowl you wear."
"Aye so I fear; living with you has made me soft."
"Is that so very bad?"
"No, lass," he grunts, clearing his throat. "The meanest dog never bites the hand that pets him." Turning serious, he holds out his hand to her. "Sansa, come sit down a moment. I've something to tell you, if Edric and Catya can manage to wait a moment."
Fear flickers across her face as he leads her inside to the sofa in the solar. "What is it? Is everyone in the family safe and healthy?"
"Yes, wife; Jon, Arya, Rickon and Bran are all safe. I need you to remember that as I speak, alright?"
"Alright," Sansa nods, swallowing hard.
"I promised Jon I would not say anything until the pups where brought and you were strong enough to bear it-what I have to say is bound to come as quite a shock to you. He wanted to tell you in person, but bugger that; you should hear such from your husband." Taking a deep breath, he carefully begins, "When Jon and the queen were battling the White Walkers, your brother was overtaken by them."
"No! Oh, gods, Sandor," Sansa gasps, and at her reaction Edric squirms and begins fussing in her arms.
"Give the lad to me, now," Sandor says quietly, holding him in his arm next to Catya. "Sansa, remember what I said; Jon is alive and safe."
Taking a deep breath, she nods slowly. "Yes, please go on; I can bear it."
"Now, you know that if those undead sons of bitches had dealt a death blow to him, he would have come back as a wight. "Sandor reaches out to hold Sansa's hand. "The queen has a massive black beast, bigger than the other two dragons. She calls it Drogon, and he is the one she claims is Balerion the Black Dread reborn. You ever see the Targaryen dragon skulls in the Red Keep?"
Sansa shudders. "Oh, yes, Arya and I played hide and seek down in the cellar once and came upon them. They were huge and glittered like polished onyx and I shrieked when I saw them. One look was enough for me, but Arya was fascinated by them. To keep them there is a disgrace, Sandor. They were majestic beasts and their skulls should have been buried, not kept as trophies."
"Well, Daenerys has trained those bloody fire breathing beasts of hers to understand Valyrian. When Jon thought he was finished, he called out the word for dragon fire, and that fucking black of hers roared a torrent of flame upon him," Sandor says slowly, watching his wife closely.
Tears fill her eyes, and Sansa grips his hand tightly. "Yes?"
"And your brother didn't burn," Sandor says solemnly. "You understand what that means?"
Sansa sits in stunned silence before raising her hand to her mouth with a gasp. "It can only mean one thing, Sandor. Jon has Targaryen blood-there is no other explanation."
Pausing, he gives her a moment to absorb his words. "The thing about your brother is, well, he's not really your half-brother; he is your cousin. Jon is your Aunt Lyanna's son."
"My Aunt Lyanna's son?" Sansa shakes her head. "No, that is not possible, my love; she died very young. She was never married."
Sandor raises his eyebrow at her. "Babes don't only come from married people, lass. Heard about what happened to her, did you?"
"Yes, my Father found her in Rhaegar Targaryen's holdfast, the so-called Tower of Joy in the red mountains of Dorne."
"Aye it was used as a hideout by the queen's brother, and that is where he kept your Aunt Lyanna during Robert's siege on the capital. She was dying in childbed, wife. Your Father took her son and raised him as his own. He didn't want Robert or anyone to know of the child's true parentage, fearing someone would kill the babe if they learned he was both Stark and Targaryen. Lord Eddard never even told your mother so as to keep Jon safe."
"Dearest Jon! Gods be good-this is wholly unbelievable! How-how do you know all of this?" Sansa asks weakly, squeezing his hands while searching his eyes.
"Jon wrote and told me the details of the whole bloody story. He and the queen put two and two together, and Varys sent ravens filling in the rest. When Daenerys was very young she had heard her brother birthed a child with Lyanna from her warden, but the babe was never found. Everyone assumed Gregor killed it. When Daenerys came back to King's Landing, she searched high and low for information about the lad, and went so far as to spare Varys as a reward for admitting to her that he knew Lord Eddard and she shared a nephew. The eunuch did not know whether the young man lived after Joffrey killed your Father."
"I-I am speechless! Father and Varys both kept it a secret? Do you know if Arya and the boys know of it too?"
"Jon told all of them. Arya is at Winterfell now with your brothers and the queen."
Sansa nods slowly and takes a deep breath.
"There is more, wife. Daenerys has made Jon her heir to the Iron throne, and she wishes to make you Warden of the North together with your sister."
"She would have Arya and I serve as Wardens of the North? There has never been a woman placed in that capacity in the north that I have ever heard." Sansa pauses, knitting her brows. "I am most surprised-this goes against tradition and I hardly doubt the Northern lords will submit to it." Pausing, she adds, "Arya has already agreed to this?"
"Jon says she did, but only if you serve with her. Daenerys has given Arya free rein to do whatever is necessary to gain the cooperation of the liege lords of the North. Gods help us all with the wolf bitch running the show," he chuckles. "Her first order of business will be removing my head, believe that. Won't she be pissed when she learns that her little pet has taken a fancy to me?" Sandor barks out a harsh laugh, glancing over at Nymeria lounging on her back in front of the fireplace.
"What of Bran? I do not feel right about denying him his birthright. It is his in the sight of the old gods, and next in line of course is Rickon."
"Bran is undergoing some kind of change, Jon says; bloody hells, I don't claim to understand it, something to do with your Northern gods. Bran has told him the plan has the approval of the old gods your family worships. Your youngest brother is far too wild as of now to handle such a load and so far has resolutely turned down any rulership offered by the queen."
"I see," Sansa says thoughtfully. "Poor Rickon, I feared all of this trauma would have a terrible effect on him."
"He was not raised to serve like the rest of you Starks, with your duty and all. The simpleton your Father kept at Winterfell, the one taller than me, he kept Rickon and Bran safe with the help of some Wilding woman this entire time. They too have returned to Winterfell and Jon has given them a permanent place there as a reward for their loyalty."
"Do you mean Hodor?" Sansa nearly shouts, her eyes widening before she bursts into laughter. "Gods bless him! Father and Old Nan must have guided him from the afterlife."
"Jon says Rickon is doing better since he befriended Stannis' girl, Shireen. He's quite taken with her. Arya won't let up on the lad about it, either."
"Yes, that sounds like her," Sansa laughs and shakes her head. "I guess Rickon is at the age now; in my mind he is still just a babe." Wiping her eyes, she adds wistfully, "It has been so long since I've seen them."
Edric begins to cry, and Catya soon follows. "Tired of hearing your parents jaw away your mealtime, pups? They want their lunch, I'll wager."
"Oh, yes, it is past time to feed them," Sansa says, unwrapping her gown and removing her corset.
"Seven hells but I love this part of motherhood, wife," Sandor grins wickedly at her, unabashedly staring at her full breasts. "If only I could convince you to disrobe at a moment's notice without a hungry babe in my way."
Laughing, Sansa holds out her arms and settles Catya and Edric to each breast. "You are shameless, Sandor Clegane. Whatever shall I do with you?"
"Can't help myself, wife," he snorts, bending down to kiss her. "You are more beautiful than ever now that you're mother to our children, Little bird, though gods knows how such a thing is possible. I'll never get my fill of you. If I had my way I'll put another babe in you in a year hence."
Sansa blushes and rewards him with a brilliant smile. "I would like that very much."
Turning serious, he sits beside her and stares into her eyes. "Sansa, the queen believes with your gift of speech and way with people, together with your experience in court and in the Vale, you will be most skilled at easing negotiations and such for her. If it comes to battle, the little hellion can take it from there," he glances at her, gauging her reaction. "What say you, wife? Tell me truly, do you want to serve the queen as warden with your sister?"
"Sandor, this is all so overwhelming-I just had twins, for the Seven's sake. I feel like I am just starting to learn how to be a proper mother to my children-how can I care for the needs of everyone in the North? Truthfully, I do not know if I even want such a responsibility," Sansa says. "My Father died trying to do his best for our people. I-I need time to digest everything, and time to pray to Father about it. Perhaps I will know better once we are back in Winterfell."
"Listen to me now, wife: I know it's been bred into you to serve the North and you would make a fine warden, though it matters not to me what you decide. Just say the word, lass, and we'll find a way to make it work-whether you want to serve with your sister or not. You have my word."
"Thank you, my beloved," Sansa whispers, tears pearling in the corners of her eyes. "Tell me truly, with all that has come about, is it not very dangerous for us to travel alone to Winterfell? There must be quite a few strongholds of resistance from both Stannis' men as well as the Boltons along the way, not to mention the Ironborn."
Drawing a deep breath, Sandor takes her hand once more. "When Daenerys heard you were with child, she dispatched her Unsullied and Yunkish armies to the north, sending them by ship into White Harbor before we arrived. They have soundly defeated all of the remaining insurgents together with Ser Jorah Mormont and his family, as well as the dragons. As for the Ironborn, your sister personally killed off all that was left of them with the man she travels with. Do you remember Syrio Forel, the Braavosi dancing master who your Father hired to teach her to use Needle?"
"Oh, yes, I thought he was killed when Father was taken captive, that day you came for me. He helped Arya escape, though he only had a wooden training sword."
"That's far more than the likes of him would need. The man escaped that day. Syrio was far too much for that toad Boros-it's a wonder any of them survived. He knows some buggering magic that allows him to literally change his face, or so Jon says. Damned if I believe it until I see it. He followed her to the Wall for a bit and ended up at Harrenhal, where he took the name Jaqen Hgar. After she left me for dead, she headed to Braavos to find him and there he trained her in the arts of the Faceless Men."
"She never told us any of this! Why would he do that for her?" Sansa asks cautiously.
"Don't fret; he holds no lascivious ideas for her, if that's what you're thinking. Such devotion is part of their religion."
"The Faceless men are a religion? I have heard of them long ago from Shae. She was from Lorath, and that is just east of Braavos. I recall now that she spoke tales of them," she muses.
"Syrio sent her to look after you, as he did Arya."
"Truly? I cannot believe it-I would have never guessed such a thing! Wait, aren't they assassins as well?"
"Aye, your handmaiden killed the one that found your moonblood easy enough."
"My poor sister!" Sansa shakes her head sadly. "Is there no end to what our family has suffered?"
Chuckling, Sandor shakes his head. "Don't pity her, wife; she can handle herself just fine. He did a good turn training the wolf bitch, that one."
"Please do not call her such, dearest," Sansa reproves. "She is your goodsister, after all."
"Forgive me, an old habit," he barks out a laugh. "She and I had quite a go at each other every day when we traveled together. I had to wrap her in a blanket and tie her to Stranger to get her to go along peacefully. The gods will punish me with Catya; she'll take after her aunt, just wait and see."
"Bite your tongue," Sansa laughs at him. Sighing, she finally says, "The gods have truly acted on our behalf, though we did not realize it at the time. Considering all that has happened, I feel as though I should accept the wardenship."
Grinning, he pats her leg. "I thought you'd say as much, wife."
Smiling, she leans forward and kisses him. "Well, I suppose I must have faith the old gods and the new will help us bring the North back to its former distinction, just as it seems they have planned. With so many waiting for us to return to Winterfell, husband, I believe we should leave at first light, if it pleases you."
Sandor kisses her again, before bending down and kissing the foreheads of each of their children. "All the way North as I traveled to you, I heard men and women-smallfolk and lords alike-tell me the wolves would come again. I suppose the time has come for it at last."