Beyond the Ice & the Fire How Fragile is the Heart

by CaroH99

Sansa escapes with Sandor during the Battle of Blackwater, little guessing that it will change both their fates forever. Far away lands and a journey of self-discovery for both await them.

48. Chapter 48

A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.

* Onborrowedwings is the great beta that helps me out with this fic. She always does a fabolous job and for that I thank her! :D

- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.

*I would like to dedicate this chapter to Moonlight Sonata Muse! :D

48. Snow

Today was the coldest day in White Harbour since they had arrived at the city. Though the New Castle was protected from the worst of the northern winter winds by the towers that encircled it, Sansa had closed the windows and made sure there was a fire roaring fiercely in the hearth that would keep even the tiniest cold breeze away. She had woken up with a terrible headache this morning, but by the time the seamstress had arrived she was feeling much better.

It was a good thing that on the day of the appointment for her fitting, almost everyone at the New Castle was staying indoors due to the weather. Well, almost everyone. Sandor, Lord Davos and Osha had gone to see Rickon and Hagen train at the archery butts. Sansa would have joined them had she not been previously engaged, since she wanted to see for herself how much Rickon was truly improving in the lessons he had at sword, daggers, bow and arrow.

But still, Sansa could not say that she was completely sorry she was missing being out in the cold watching men train, for it was something she had seen daily for many years. And besides, overseeing the preparations for the journey back home to Winterfell had been taking most of Sansa's time of late. Between making sure that the necessary food provisions and clothing were assembled for not only her pack, but the escort of soldiers that would escort her, Sandor, Rickon and the others across war and winter as well; visiting the people down at the Old Mint; and performing her duties as Lady Stark and Rickon's regent of sorts, Sansa had been grateful for this day of leisure in which she could rest a little and gain back her strength.

I have been feeling so tired lately. Not that she had let anyone notice it. But still, maybe doing this fitting- an event she had always immensely enjoyed- was the reason for her being in such good spirits today.

"Please lift up your arm, my lady," the dressmaker asked her, as she took the measurements for her right arm with a length of knotted string.

Sansa did as she was told, sighing happily as her mind drifted off to the day when she would be wearing this new dress she had commissioned for the first time. The grey and white long dagged sleeved lambswool gown trimmed with lace and silver buttons the seamstress was measuring her for right now was what she would wear on the day she arrived at Winterfell, in honour of the colours of her house. I do hope people will like it. She could picture it all so well in her mind. From the way her home would look once it was rid of the Boltons and their allies, to the way she would fall to her knees, speechless and overwhelmed, tears of joy streaming down her face at the sight of Winterfell before her.

During her journeys in the east, Sansa had learned not to mind wearing what she would have once considered to be shabby gowns, but in the last weeks, as she visited the Old Mint, she had understood that the people of the north would feel more comfortable with her if she dressed more plainly whenever she was around them. Her currents dresses were pretty, but now that she was back in the north Sansa had to remember certain aspects of what being a Stark meant, and she could not very well appear before Stannis Baratheon or her father's bannermen looking anything but the northern princess that she was. I also have to make Robb and mother and the others proud, and honour the Starks, and the Tullys too; Even little Rickon, though he doesn't know it yet, and could not care less if the whole world suddenly decided to dress like wildlings.

And Sansa not only needed new gowns, but smallclothes, hoses, kirtles, undersilks, mantles, nightgowns, cloaks, and shifts too. It wasn't only because of the upcoming journey that Sansa needed this new wardrobe. She had grown two inches in the past months, but her body was changing as well, and not only in stature. Sansa could have sworn that the gowns she had bought back in Lorath felt a little tighter of late, and not only did her breasts at times feel sore, but she also had trouble catching her breath. But that is probably because Joselyn always laces me up so tightly.

She had dismissed her previous maid Maddy, disliking having that woman near Sandor after the talk Sansa had heard by the wells of one of the New Castle's courtyards about Maddy's way with men, which had secretly caused her a little unease, and had made her wonder about the women she supposed her husband must have been with before her. Sansa had giggled at that, imagining the sight of Sandor's face if she were to ask him about them.

Maybe one day I will, she'd thought, realizing that she wasn't upset by the thought. Still, even if she trusted her big man, Sansa did not trusted Maddy anymore, therefore now she had Joselyn attending her, rather than Maddy.

The dressmaker went to one knee before her, measuring her hips now, startling Sansa out of her thoughts as she said, "You will look so beautiful in this dress, Lady Stark."

Sansa smiled. "I am certain it will be wonderful. I can't wait to see it. But are you sure you will be able to find enough freshwater pearls to sew in both the bodice and the sleeves? It will be all right if you do not, really."

"I most certainly will, my lady," the woman assured her. "I hope that the gown pleases anyone who sees it- you most of all- so that when the war and the winter are but a memory, your ladyship may remember me and commission your new gowns from none other than myself."

"If the gods are good and we all live that long, then you have my promise," Sansa kindly guaranteed her, telling herself to remember to thank Wyn and Wylla for their thoughtfulness in lending her the services of the best seamstress in White Harbour. Those girls are too good to me.

"Thank you, Lady Sansa," the dressmaker said, measuring the inside of her legs. "That was the last measurement."

"What? Are we done?" Sansa asked, surprised.

It had been so very long since she was measured for a dress that she had forgotten how much she enjoyed the process. It was a pity that it was now over.

"We are. I will make certain to have this gown ready for when you leave the city, my lady. Here, let me help you out of that."

Sansa towered over the woman as the seamstress removed the pieces of clothing she had put on her to give her an idea of what kind of design the gown should have, until Sansa was left standing in her pale blue long loose underskirts and lilac corset.

She thanked the dressmaker kindly for her time as she playfully grabbed a cloth of silver sash that was used to belt a dress, placing it around her shoulders like one would a scarf. Then she walked across the bedroom in pointed slippers of soft velvet, pretty and warm, and went to sit by the wooden table in the room, singing absentmindedly. Sansa smiled as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, regarding the way several angles of her nose, jaw line and cheekbones looked if she turned her head to different directions.

I look so beautiful, she thought joyously, reaching out for her brush so that she could start curling her hair. Her eyes fell on the surface of the table before her, and she smiled. There were papers, quills, ink, The Seven-Pointed Star, and little bottles before her, but there, over by the corner, was the baby pearl comb that Sansa's big man had given her back when they were living in Old Hrolf's castle by the Bay of Lorath.

Recalling the day when Sandor had given her this gift, and the life they had known back in the east, she grabbed the comb and placed it in her hair, admiring how it looked there. She wanted to look nice for her husband.

"If you'll excuse me, my lady," the seamstress said behind Sansa, giving her a curtsy after she had gathered up her things.

"Thank you again for your time and your services," Sansa told her, nodding. "I can't wait to see my gown."

"I thank you, Lady Sansa. Good day," the woman replied, opening the door and taking her leave.

Placing her brush on the table, Sansa grabbed the little green bottle with the rosewater and jasmine water so she could dab some of it on her wrists, behind her ears, on her neck, and on her chest. But when she brought her hand to her face so she could smell the scent she loved so much, Sansa ended up wrinkling her nose at it in distaste.

How odd, she thought, shrugging just as she heard voices coming from the hallway outside her door, followed by rasping laugher. Sandor, Sansa knew, fidgeting with her auburn hair at once, and smoothing down her skirts.

"Well, maybe they were drunk?" a man's voice that Sansa recognized as that of The Onion Knight said right outside her bedroom, as she became aware of the fast beating of her heart at the prospect of seeing her big man.

Sandor laughed again, the rough sound sending a thrill through Sansa, before he snarled, "Drunk on rain? They don't have enough coin to buy a cup of wine, Seaworth."

Sansa stood up quickly, feeling dizzy for the blink of an eye due to the swift motion, before it was gone, as quick as it had come. She was about to call out, "Who is it?" when Sandor opened the bedroom's door without knocking.

Their gazes locked at once, before Sandor's grey eyes left her face, roaming over her body, as she stood in the middle of the room in her corset and skirts. The sight of Sandor on the threshold made Sansa's heart beat even faster. He was plainly garbed, wearing his old boots, brown lambswool breeches, a sheepskin jerkin, a thick quilted woollen coat and a dark blue tunic. For a moment she did not even know what to say, so rather than speaking, she looked at her big man with a wide beaming smile.

Her husband however, didn't return the gesture. After the first startled brief moments of finding her before him without a gown, Sandor's mouth began to twitch. Frowning, Sansa was about to ask what was the matter when her eyes widened in surprise as she saw that Lord Davos had no idea he was walking into the room while she was partially undressed.

It all happened very fast then. Sansa stood rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, as Davos managed to get the briefest of glances of her before he stopped still beside Sandor, commenting, "Well no, but there are other ways a man can get drunk that do not involve necessarily any coin, Clegane. I'll wager that-" before he stopped abruptly, completely shocked.

Sansa's big man elbowed Seaworth out of the way a moment later, rasping a curse, and closed the door in the blink of an eye right in the former smuggler's face, nearly missing knocking him backwards with the force of the push.

"Seven bleeding thrice damned hells!" Sandor roared, jealously looking over at her as he loudly barred the door behind him. "Bugger, what the fuck do you think you are doing standing there like that, little bird?"

Oh gods, Sansa thought, covering her mouth as she realized that she was about to burst into giggles. This isn't funny, Sansa Stark! It's so embarrassing.

"Hush," she finally managed to say, with a wry smile. "You should have knocked, Sandor. How was I supposed to know that you were intending on letting him enter our bedroom?"

"I was just going to give him the map you showed me last night so he could give it to Hagen," Sandor said in defence, scowling as he glanced down at her. His eyes regarded her from head to foot again, before he asked, "Why are you still dressed like that? I didn't know taking your measurements would take so bloody long."

"Oh, my fitting is finished," Sansa explained. "You just missed the dressmaker. I was actually just getting ready to go out in search of you. I still have to choose what dress I will wear today, but how do I look so far?"

"You well know the answer to that, my bird," Sandor rasped, unbuckling his swordbelt and placing it on the chair beside the door, his rough voice hoarse with awe. "Beautiful. Is that the comb I gave you?"

"Yes it is," she answered, nodding and feeling quite pleased with herself as she giggled not only because of her husband's words but because of the rumble in his throat.

When her big man was standing before her and was about to reach out for her, Sansa, feeling playful, suddenly turned around and walked away, deciding she wanted to tease him a little as a way of paying him back for the embarrassing incident that had just occurred.

"Oh look dearest, let me show you the designs I chose for my new dress," she told Sandor, grabbing a pair of little white and grey strands of fabric that the seamstress had brought her to see if the colours were to her liking.

She shook them out and showed them to Sandor, who walked over to stand beside her with an expression that showed he did not care one bit about her gowns' designs.

Shrugging and towering over her, Sandor said, "They look like every other piece of fabric in the colours of House Stark."

No they don't, Sansa thought, frowning briefly. She composed her features quickly though, and said in a light tone, "I suppose that is good then. I hope you like them though, for I had a velvet doublet, and an ermine mantle of the same fabric and colours sent to be made for you."

Sandor could not have looked more surprised had Aegon the Conqueror suddenly burst through the window, riding on his dragon.

"What?" he spat, with wide eyes. "Why?"

"Well, as my husband and Lord Clegane, I thought it would be nice if our clothing matched when we are brought before Stannis," she lied, highly amused by the sight of Sandor's face. "But don't worry. I know you don't like to dress too elaborately, so I asked the seamstress to not add any little dog designs in silver thread at the hem and collar of your tunic. Though on second thought, maybe you would have liked your clothes to be in the colours of House Clegane?"

"You have to be fucking kidding me, Sansa," Sandor said in a rough whisper, staring with something akin to horror at her. "I'll be damned before I wear that."

"But Sandor, you have not even seen it!"

"I don't need to see it, Sansa. I won't-"

Sansa burst into giggles, reaching out to touch Sandor's arm, as she said, "Oh, I am sorry. Of course I didn't have anything made for you. I was just teasing you for letting Davos see me like this."

Looking thoroughly relieved, Sandor let out a sigh and a weak laugh, before shaking his head and raising an eyebrow as he growled, "Teasing me, is that the way of it? Be careful, little bird. You don't want to tempt me. I ought to call the Onion back in here just for this little joke of yours."

Sansa threw back her head and laughed until she felt her tummy starting to ache as Sandor drew her closer to him after he had placed his hands on her waist.

"Oh my big, angry, man, if you did that I don't think I would ever speak to you again. And I wonder what would you do then," she teased in mock submission, before Sandor covered her mouth with his as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth playfully.

When they drew apart, Sandor, pressing his forehead to hers, grunted, "All right. I won't call for Seaworth. Might be though that I would still like to make you pay for the joke nonetheless, bird. So what would you do if I did this? Would you like that?"

Sandor let go of her waist, only to lower his eyes to her heaving flushed chest, as he reached out to tug at the ribbon at the front of her corset, between her breasts. The mere fleeting graze of his warm touch there left Sansa feeling overwhelmed.

"I would love that more than anything," she finally answered softly, pulling up Sandor's tunic so she could caress the skin underneath.

A flush crept up Sansa's neck as Sandor swiftly removed his sheepskin jerkin, and she felt as if she would easily drown in the grey pools of her big man's eyes once his scarred mouth began to twitch.

Standing on her toes so that she could run her fingers through her husband's dark hair, Sansa kissed the corner of Sandor's mouth until the twitching stopped. That little gesture was enough to make Sandor grunt, and when Sansa opened her eyes to take a quick peek at her big man's face, she found him already doing that himself, staring at her with eyes darkened with desire. The way mine must be by now.

Registering Sandor's hardness against her belly after some moments, Sansa moved her hand between them so that she could cup her hand around him, before she began to fumble with the laces of his breeches until they came loose. Sandor groaned helplessly through gritted teeth as she finally wrapped her hand around his hard warm length, not even a little bit embarrassed at her boldness by now. She began to stroke him slowly, before her big man suddenly caught her hand, and holding it tightly, they increased the movement of their wrists, while Sandor slid his other hand down her belly to her lady parts, making her legs go weak with desire for him.

By the time they had reached the bed, their heavy breaths and the fire in the hearth were the only sounds disturbing the silence that had descended on the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed while Sandor took off his tunic as he stood before her, between her legs. Sansa, who was still wearing her lilac corset and underskirts, reached out to grab her big man's backside with her hands. He was still wearing his breeches, and though he was narrow of waist, it was difficult for her to pull them down.

Moments later, Sandor cupped Sansa's face and kissed her hard as he moved towards the bed, placing his knees on either side of her, his manhood pressed tightly between them. Sansa slid her tongue over Sandor's lip as he gently sucked on her own, and arched her back, needing to feel her breasts pushed up against Sandor's powerful chest in these moments where her whole body felt as if it was on fire.

She dipped her head back when Sandor released her mouth so that he could kiss her neck and the hollow of her throat, her chest still heaving quickly up and down. Sandor and Sansa became a jumble of limbs as the mattress underneath them sank under their heavy weight once they fell on the bed, sprawled across it, with the furs they used to keep warm at night cushioning the fall. Her big man towered over her with his hulking form, and all Sansa could do was caress the magnificent muscled nearly seven-footer body that was Sandor, from his wide shoulders and the shoulder blades at his back, to his legs.

"Bugger this! Little bird, I can't take this thing off of you," he groaned loudly against her ear when he failed yet again in unlacing her corset with his fumbling big hands.

"Then leave it," she urged him in a hoarse whisper, hoping she would remember to tell Joselyn not to lace her up so tightly again, and fearing Sandor would rip apart her beautiful corset, as her heart threatened to burst inside her chest with excitement.

Sandor abandoned her corset, and a loud moan of pleasure escaped Sansa's mouth when her big man pushed her skirts up and tore her smallclothes in two, ripping them away to lay discarded on a white puddle on the ground. She was glad when Sandor kissed her after that, mindful that someone could hear them if they were too loud.

"Wait," she managed to cry out, though her words came out as a moan, while she felt Sandor moving between her legs as he left her mouth.

Sandor stopped, meeting her eyes and exhaling raggedly. Propping herself up on her elbows, Sansa let her big man know that she wanted to change positions. She quickly turned around, showing her husband her back as she knelt on all fours on the bed. Sansa heard a groan of pleasure escape her big man then, and felt him placing one hand on her hip as he knelt behind her, lifting her skirts up and placing them around her waist with the other hand before moving it to her back, bending her down towards the bed. Her blue eyes fell on the headboard some distance away, and Sansa wished fleetingly she could have something to hold on to for support as Sandor took her from behind heartbeats later.

We are one, Sansa thought then, and her words were only confirmed when they breathed in and exhaled together in the exact same moment, when Sandor's length was at last completely inside her. And will be forever.

It was warm under the furs. Sandor was resting on the bed, his long legs entwined with Sansa's, as he propped himself upwards with one elbow as he stared down at the little bird before him in silence, admiring her. Sansa's bare back was to him, the furs covering her up to the waist, revealing her breasts, back and arms to him as she stared in front of her at the fire that was still burning in the hearth across the bedroom.

The little bird had taken off that bleeding buggering corset and her skirts after they were done fucking the first time, but Sansa had asked him to hand her the shift she had left on the arm of a chair near the bed when he had stood up to clean himself after they were done the second time. Sandor had brought his bird a wet cloth and washed her from her head to toe, forgetting her shift in his haste to get under the furs of the bed again with Sansa.

Sandor was currently tracing light patterns on his little wife's soft flushed skin with his large hand, grazing his knuckles and his fingertips from Sansa's face to her neck; from her shoulder blades to her back; and from her breasts to her waist, occasionally swiping away from her eyes the auburn hair that kept on hiding her beautiful face from him as he went on admiring her.

Admiring her beauty and the way she proved to him how much she loved him every bloody day and night, whether it was with one of her shy glances, her warm smiles or polite chirping, her daring touches, her words and actions and behaviour to him when others were around, or by the passionate deep intimacy she sought to find with him whenever they fucked, as she urged him on while he thrust hard and deep.

Everything she did was worth not only his, but the whole world's admiration, Sandor gathered, and he was sure no one could understand just how thankful he was that he no longer had to restrain himself around Sansa the way he had done for so long until their first wedding back in Braavos about three and a half months ago.

Sandor's mind strayed off at some point to the past, and the first months he had known the little bird, back in King's Landing after first seeing her in Winterfell when Robert went up north to make Ned Stark his Hand. It was hard to believe at times that the girl he had frightened so easily and readily all the way down the Kingsroad, and to whom he had confessed the truth about his scars had become the woman lying before him, his wife, and by her own free will and choosing.

The little bird that survived the lions, and saved me along the way. He did not even care to think about what both of them would be doing now had Sansa not agreed to flee the capital during the battle of Blackwater.

Seven hells, why do moments like this never last? Sandor wondered for the hundredth time since he had fallen for the little bird. This morning I was freezing my balls off in the archery butts, and now I don't think I can even remember what it is like to be cold. The warmth of Sansa's body threatened to consume him in moments such as these. My northern she-wolf. There was nothing but her and him right now, and the world could go bugger itself with a hot poker and it would be no hair off his arse.

His eyes fell on the fire before them as the little bird's soft breathing went on lulling him into this serene soothing peace that had settled between them. Sandor would stare at the fire from time to time, the way one did a fucking enemy, knowing in the back of his mind that if the moment ever came for him to choose, he would burn again before he allowed any harm to come to Sansa. Coming from him that meant everything. The bleeding septons could preach about the seven hells, but only a man who's been burned knew what hell was truly like. And Sandor was willing to go there for Sansa.

That's how much I have buggeringly allowed myself to need her, Sandor thought as he bent down to kiss the back of his wife's neck after moving her hair out of the way. But Sandor knew, even then, that he would never change anything that had happened between them if given the chance- that he was grateful for the way things had turned out between him and the little bird so far. My little bird. He closed his eyes.

"I love the way you love me," Sansa suddenly whispered softly, as Sandor let his scarred lips linger on her white skin.

Surprised, Sandor raised his head and regarded the little bird silently as she shifted on the mattress and tilted her neck backwards so that she could meet his gaze. She did that with a tired sleepy smile, and the sight of her flushed face then was just too much for Sandor.

He bent his head down again, only this time it was Sansa's forehead that he kissed, just before he rasped, "Do you, little bird?"

"Yes, I do" Sansa answered, raising her hand up to his face so that she could hold back the hair that was falling across his burns.

The way she had come to look at his face without anything but love- on the twisted mass of scar, slick black dead flesh that was hard as leather and pocked with red craters and fissured by deep cracks- had Sandor throwing a protective arm around Sansa, as he grunted, "Kiss me."

Before she could even answer him, Sandor claimed his wife's warm full soft lips, parting her mouth with his tongue, which was enough to drive any man in his right mind mad. They kissed until they lost track of time, and afterwards, the little bird started chirping about how excited she was to finally be going home to Winterfell, recalling memories from her childhood there that Sandor hadn't yet heard.

I could stay here listening to the excitement in her voice till I die, I'd wager, Sandor thought, snorting in amusement at the things Sansa told him about her past, and how her brothers and her sister would ambush her in some way whenever they were playing. Sandor didn't get the chance to see if he would win the bet, since by the time Sansa was done talking, rather than staying in bed with him, his wife reached out to don her loose shift, giving him a smile before she stood up from the edge of the bed and reached out to drape a necklace the Manderly sisters had given her. Then Sansa hugged herself and went over to stand before the window.

How is it possible for anyone to feel this good? To be this happy? Sansa wondered, as she stood before the window, hugging herself due to the cold weather that was starting to creep inside the bedroom, still relishing the memory of the release she and Sandor had sought in the other as they made love. It was in times like this that Sansa remembered that in a way, all the pain she and Sandor had endured since their time in King's Landing had been worth it if they could now be together like this, and enjoy life with the other.

"I love the way you love me," Sansa had told her big man, hoping her husband could see through her eyes how much she cared for him. How readily she would give up everything in the world in order to avoid losing him.

Sansa stared at the view before her. From the windows she could see the streets of White Harbour beyond the castle walls, and even the harbours. In the midst of a war, Sansa would never have expected that she would love the days in this city so much. But she had so far. Through the window, White Harbour's walls of whitewashed stone rose below her, on the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged into the firth. Some of the city's defences had been strengthened lately, Sansa noticed with a feeling akin to pride.

That was Sandor's doing, since he had insisted upon it to Ser Marlon Manderly, Wynafryd and Wylla's uncle. The jetty that divided the inner and outer harbours had also been fortified with a long stone wall, thirty feet tall and almost a mile long, with towers every hundred yards. Sansa was staring at the smoke that was rising from Seal Rock by the time Sandor joined her at the window, standing behind her as he wrapped his muscled arms around her, pressing her body to his, his face buried in the crook of her neck. Sansa's heart felt as if it was about to burst.

Burst with happiness and joy and love. In the back of her mind though, she knew that these carefree moments alone with her big man would not last forever, since once they left the safety of the city and struck for Winterfell, it would be hard to find times when they could fool around like this. These moments were of the sort she would have to treasure for a long while in the upcoming months, since she would no longer be able to forget the war a fortnight from now.

Sansa almost told Sandor then that she loved him until she remembered that she'd already done so after they had made love but a short while ago for the second time, when he strode over to her, encircling her from behind with his arms.

"I feel like I am in a dream," Sansa confessed instead, resting her arms on the hairy ones Sandor had wrapped around her, her hands on his as she leaned back, letting Sandor support her weight.

They could lose themselves in this world that was as real to them as the love they bore for one another, but which they must leave as soon as they walked out of this bedroom tonight for dinner, then it would fade away to a memory until they won over their enemies. That thought made Sansa's straight her back in steely strong determination to be sure she and her pack survived not only the war but the long winter as well.

Sandor's answer was a grunt of agreement, before he began to nip at the skin of her neck and shoulder blade. Sansa smiled at that, feeling her tummy rumbling in protest. She was hungry.

"We should ask for some food to be sent up here," she remarked, running her fingers across Sandor's hands.

"Hungry, are you?" her big man growled, lifting his burned face as he released her from his arms, swiftly kissing her cheek.

Sansa went to relieve herself as Sandor pulled on his breeches, and donned a loose tunic, before walking outside to the hallway to instruct a servant to bring them some food. When both of them were done, and Sansa had fed the fire, not wishing to wait for the servants to do so, she returned to the window, and when her eyes fell on a great galley that was leaving the port, sailing for The Bite, she exclaimed suddenly, "Oh Sandor, let's play a game!"

"I could think of something better to do with our time," Sansa's husband snarled, making her shake her head, amused. Again? Oh my...

Quickly, Sansa turned around to face her big man, saying in a pleading tone she hoped would convince Sandor, "Oh, let's play! Wylla and Wyn taught it to me."

"Little bird, I don't want to-" Sandor began, joining her once again by the window.

"Please," she said, blinking up at her big man as she stood before him. "Please big man."

Sandor sighed in resignation after a moment, asking while he brushed her cheekbone with his thumb, "What's the game about, bird?"

Beaming, Sansa turned around, facing the window again, as she raised her arm to point towards the harbour. "Let's invent a story about where every ship at the port is going to, and why. I'll start. You see that big merchant galley that is just leaving? Yes? Well, that one is going to Dorne, and it's carrying silk, and it's supposed to bring back wine in exchange."

Snorting, Sandor rested his chin on her shoulder while he asked, "Why Dorne?"

"Because it's beautiful and warm down there," Sansa sighed. "The perfect place to wait out the winter. At least in the Seven Kingdoms."

"I've met some Dornishmen who were not so beautiful or warm, little bird," Sandor told her, biting her shoulder.

He is going to leave a mark there, Sansa thought, a little alarmed, blushing as she imagined what her maids would say about that.

"Sandor, stop that and don't ruin the game," she told her husband. "It is your turn. What about that one there?"

Giving a loud resigned grunt, Sandor raised his head and stared at the view before them, finally grunting, "The one with the red sails is going to Volantis."

"Why?" she asked curiously.

"Because Hagen told me and Rickon this morning. The Manderlys need provisions and with Littlefinger ruling the Vale, Essos is the only place where they can get some of the supplies that are growing scarce."

Sansa was pleased to hear this, yet nonetheless, this was supposed to be a game, and her big man was just answering what he knew was the truth. So she elbowed him, saying in protest, "Sandor, that's not how the game works. You are not supposed to just blurt out the right answer."

"Seven hells, why should I make up a story when I know the truth, little bird?" Sandor snarled a little exasperated. "Don't you remember that I hate liars?"

"Because it's just a game, darling," Sansa explained again.

"Aye, but I already know where the ships are going to. Look, the last one to the left side down is carrying wine and will sail tomorrow morning for King's Landing. I overheard Ser Marlon telling Davos. What sodding story can I make up for that?"

"Oh I don't know, big man," Sansa answered, remembering how little she had known of the world before she left Winterfell for King's Landing, and meeting Sandor's grey eyes. "Maybe you could say something about how the captain and sailors aboard that ship are going to risk their lives at sea just so that the lords and ladies of the capital can get drunk with better wine than they deserve."

For a moment Sandor didn't even blink as he stared down at her, clearly taken aback by her last words and the contempt behind them. But Sansa couldn't help it. Recalling the Lannisters was too much for her in these moments for some reason.

Sandor surprised her in return when several heartbeats later the stern scowl on his face disappeared as he suddenly threw his head back and burst into a loud rough raucous laughter, snarling, "Fuck, now you are starting to sound like me, little bird. Not sure if that's such a good thing."

Without another word her husband drew her to him in a tight hug, placing her head under his chin. Sansa ended up laughing weakly at that, burying her nose in Sandor's chest, drinking in his male scent, wondering why she had become upset as she realized that maybe it was better to play the naming game with anyone but Sandor.

They stood there for some moments in silence, before Sandor kissed the top of her head and rasped, "Rather than talking about other places strangers are going to, why don't we talk about somewhere much closer? Why don't we talk about Winterfell, little bird? We're going there ourselves."

Sansa's face split into a wide smile at that. Yes, we are going home, she thought excitedly, before she looked up at Sandor's face, exclaiming in agreement, "Yes, Winterfell. Oh dearest, I can't wait to see it. Every time I even think about it, I feel as if I can't breathe. I only need to close my eyes to see it as it last was when I left it. But I do know what we expect of course. We still have to face many things before I can sleep under Winterfell's roof again, but the mere thought of it is too much to bear!"

Sandor watched her as she talked with an approving expression, smirking down at her. The sight warmed Sansa's heart. She was not expecting his next words though.

"I wanted to talk to you about the journey to Winterfell, Sansa," her big man told her, running his calloused fingertip down the bridge of her nose. "About the men who will be marching with us."

The little bird nodded, replying, "Oh yes. Hagen and I talked to Wyn and Wylla about that. They said that Oldcastle, Widow's Watch, Ramsgate, the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch will send men to White Harbour as soon as their grandfather openly proclaims his allegiance and that of the lands east of the Knife to Stannis and Rickon, and will wait here for our call of need."

Sandor already knew this. His eyes could not help but stare at Sansa's nipples through the fabric of her shift as she talked for some moments, before rasping in reply, "Aye, but we won't be getting any heavy horse from Widow's Watch or the others to accompany us to Winterfell, Sansa. Instead I am going to have to lead that bunch of puffed up knights that hate my guts to war. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I was listening to Osha and Rickon talking the other day, and it struck me that maybe Skagos could be of some help to us and your brother, you know."

Sansa stared at him at a loss, before chirping in surprise, "Skagos? But Sandor, the Skagosi rebelled against Winterfell a hundred years ago. They killed my forbearer and hundreds died on both sides."

Sandor grabbed Sansa's hand and led her to the chair next to the fire, saying, "Yes, I know that there is little love between the north and the Skaggs, but they helped young Rickon out when he arrived at their isle. By what little Osha and The Onion have agreed to tell me about their time there, the Skagosi seemed to think that your brother and Shaggydog were some sort of gods. I know that they are a bunch of mad savage halfwits, little bird, but with time, if they are trained properly, who's to say they wouldn't fight for your brother if he were to call for their aid?"

He sat down on the chair and waited for Sansa to sit down on his lap. She was staring at him with her mouth open in a little O, considering what he had just told her. Sandor waited patiently for the meaning of his words to sink in, grabbing a lock of auburn hair between his thumb and forefinger, pulling and playing with it.

The fire in the hearth was the only sound in the bedroom for some moments. Well, the fire and the sound of the distant sea far away. The ocean was never silent, and it seemed to Sandor at times that the sound of the waves washing against the rocky shores could be heard even in the deep of the New Castle.

At last, the little bird finally said in a soft voice, "If an allegiance with Skagos were to happen, we would first need to win the war against the Boltons and the Ironborn, and Stannis Baratheon would have to be far away south for him to be unable to protest about it. You have heard what he is like. If someone doesn't believe in the red god, then he will only grudgingly consider striking a deal with them, and not much else if they are important enough, like the Night's Watch. We won't tolerate R'hllor in the north, so that's already going to make matters complicated between us all. When one adds the dreadful rumours about the traditions the people in Skagos keep to this day, it is clear that King Stannis won't agree with us. And not only him. Many Northmen won't like this, so we would have to wait for Rickon to be a grown man and decide if he wants Skagos to join his cause. If he agrees, then we would have more men to join our forces against the Lannisters and the Freys, I suppose."

Sandor nodded, pleased with the little bird's words, and glad to see her agreeing with him in this. He ran his hand along Sansa's back, massaging the small of her back at one point, as he registered his little wife's expression change as she looked down at his chest with a frown.

Something's wrong, he knew at once, so he asked, "What's the matter, my bird?"

Her Tully blue eyes met his then, and gathering her courage, Sansa finally dared ask him in an uncertain voice, "Will Rickon agree for the right reasons though? I want to believe that we are doing a good job in raising him, Sandor, but how can we be sure that he will grow up to be a good man like Father and Robb before him?"

"Your brother is young, but he learns quickly, little bird," Sandor assured her, kissing her forehead. "I hope that he agrees for the right reasons, but in any case, I should bloody well expect he turns out to be a better Lord of Winterfell than your father and the Young Wolf were, bird. They were good honourable men, but they were betrayed and died. We have to make sure Rickon doesn't end up making that same mistake."

"And so far do you think that what we are doing is working?" she chirped, while he shifted her weight from one leg to the other.

"I don't know. We are doing the best we can, Sansa, but it's not all up to us. Even the fucking knights of White Harbour- those buggers who are only too eager to see the last of me- are involved in this. They look up to Rickon and let him know it every day, and the lad's starting to realize that he has to be their lord."

Sandor knew that his little bird was looking for some kind of assurance from him that everything would be all right in the end, but he couldn't give her that. She would always only have the truth for him. Sansa nodded in understanding, and leaned over to kiss his scarred cheek before asking him, "How are you getting along with training Ser Rickard, Ser Rorn and the others? Have you decided which men will be joining us on the journey home?"

Bugger Ser Rickard and Ser Rorn and the others, Sandor thought, not wishing to talk about those idiots in these moments. It's enough that I have to see their bloody faces every day staring daggers at me alone start talking about them with my wife. So far, there had not even been an exchange of words between him and the bloody knights of this city, and though that sodding clack of hens had all been reluctant witnesses of his third wedding with the little bird, they all like to keep their distance from him. I am still the Hound to them.

Sandor had been glad of the distance, since it not only made it easier for him to keep the promise he had made to the little bird on the day they'd gone out hawking shortly after the encounter with the idiots in the training yard of not letting their words affect him. But when Ser Marlon Manderly, that old bugger that had finally started warming up to Sandor, begrudgingly starting to show some sort of respect for him, had asked Sandor if he could oversee the training of the knights that would join him and the others on the long hard road to Winterfell, he had been unable to refuse.

The old knight, Sansa, and even Seaworth and Edar had thought it would be good for him to get to know those men, but Sandor had only accepted so that he could find out what sort of risks would he be taking by allowing the little bird, Rickon, himself and the others to trust their lives to the likes of Ser Arron, Ser Rorn, and Ser Rickard, as they struck for the war. If the worst came to pass once they confronted the Boltons and the Freys or the Greyjoys, Sandor needed to be certain that the men who would be expected to hold the lives of Sansa and Rickon in their hands didn't have shit in their fingers.

It doesn't matter if they all wish me dead so long as they care for what happens to Sansa and Rickon. The little cunts hated Sandor just as much as he loathed them and their sort, and now that he had to rub it in their faces every day just how unprepared they still were for a battle, they hated him more. None of them had the experience or knowledge Sandor possessed in delaying defences, building tramps and necks, or about campers, formations, trenches, counterattacks, and camps. Manderly had taken the men he deemed good enough to pass as soldiers with him to Winterfell, so now Sandor and Ser Marlon were left with the task of sacking White Harbour of the fuckers that had been left to protect them, to fortify the men Stannis had brought north, that according to the Onion were at this point less than fifteen hundred men.

Since Sandor knew that the little bird would expect the truth from him right now, and since he could not easily forget how Sansa had stood beside him as she let White Harbour and the world how much he meant to her, always reminding everyone that they had to at least grudgingly respect him as her husband, he never hesitated in answering his little wife with the truth now.

His mouth began to twitch as Sandor replied in a rough rasp, "Not yet. Some buggers are slightly better than others, but none of them would really be happy to face me, even with blunted steel. Now imagine what they'll do when the Bastard of Bolton and his Boys are before them."

Sansa sighed deeply, remarking, "They may not be very good knights dearest, but they are the ones Lord Wyman trusted White Harbour to," as she grabbed his hand so she could brush his knuckles on her face, kissing each of his fingertips in turn.

"Aye, because he had no other bloody choice-" Sandor began to say, before his bird interrupted him with, "Sandor, I do thank you for keeping your word and not allowing any encounter to happen between you and the men again. But please big man, please keep on being careful and wary when you train them. Don't make them despise you. They may not be ready, but they are the only men who will listen to you when we are in the middle of Stannis' army. I don't want you to be surrounded by foes on all sides."

The way Sansa said those words, in a voice that sounded almost like a plea, was too much for Sandor, even if he could discern the wisdom behind them. He didn't want the little bird to start worrying about him when he knew how busy she was with preparing and gathering the supplies and provisions they would need for the journey to her home, among other things. She has enough on her plate already. Sandor didn't want to complicate matters for her.

So with a resigned sigh, he relented with a nod, cupping his wife's face as he snarled, "All right, little bird. It will be more difficult than just keeping my distance, but I'll try to make matters between me and those puffed up hens better."

Sandor knew that this was likely going to prove to be a hopeless cause, but what other options did he have?

"Thank you, Sandor," his little bird chirped, leaning down to kiss him as she sat on his lap.

When the food arrived shortly after, Sandor and Sansa decided to eat it sitting down on the floor, reaching out to feed each other from time to time. They ate honeyed chicken, cod cakes, brown oatbread, and vension pies, and a bottle of wine to distract themselves for these last few days in White Harbour. Who knows when I will have all the wine that I want so close at hand again.

As the little bird finished a cod cake, she reached out for a letter in which she had written all the provisions she had gathered so far that they would need for the road to Winterfell. Sandor wolfed down his food a lot sooner than his little wife. Sansa was alternating between eating and reading her list to him so he could point out anything she might have missed, but Sandor was not able to hold himself for long once he was done eating.

The sight of Sansa before him with one bare leg propped up before him, as she sat on the floor with nothing but her shift could not fail but catch Sandor's attention, stilling him into gazing at her, as his blood started running faster through his veins, making the thought of fucking again cross his mind. The little bird must have noticed it, for when he gave her a sidelong look, he found that she was doing the same.

Sansa narrowed her eyes as he moved closer to her bare leg, asking with suspicion, "Sandor dear, are you listening to me?"

"Yes," Sandor lied, sitting before the little bird, and drawing her bare long leg to him with his hands.

She stared at what he was doing for a moment, before giving a little shake of the head, as she went on chirping, "I was just telling you that it would be wise to buy grain and seed across the Narrow Sea somewhere, somehow. Maybe from Lorath, and ask Hagen's sister to support our cause."

"And where would we find the coin for that?" he asked her, his eyes fixed on the perfect white soft limb before him as he reached out to touch Sansa's knee with his fingers.

"Well, Lord Manderly should help us. Once we leave White Harbour we are going to sack much of this city's warehouse, leaving its people with even less food than they already have. I feel so bad and guilty about that. We take their food and their soldiers and leave them with nothing in return. I wanted to help them in any way I could, but getting to know the people down at the Old Mint is making it harder for me to feel less attached to the fate of the people of the north."

Sandor looked up at Sansa as she confessed that to him, considering what to say. With a frown that he knew would only twist the burned side of his face into an ugly scowl, he rasped, "Keeping you and your brother alive is what is important here, little bird."

"But the smallfolk are also important," Sansa argued. "Why, even the husbands of the women down at the Old Mint have gone off to the war. Their efforts-"

"That mob of peasants that you care so much about is just compromised of the wives of swineherds and tanners and masons, Sansa. You think carrying a wooden spear makes those men soldiers? They didn't want to fight in this war. Most of them came to the city running from it until Lord Oaf took them away to Winterfell, and even if they were still here, the moment you and Rickon appeared in this place, it was fucking obvious that White Harbour would be dragged into the war whether its people wished it or not."

"All the more reason for me to feel bad about the way we are leaving good people that think White Harbour is safe even more unprotected, Sandor," she replied, her gaze never faltering under his measuring look. "I- I know you have always thought that those who are weak do not deserve to live, but I don't think you truly believe in those words, because if you did, you would have left me to die in King's Landing."

Sandor met Sansa's eyes at that, and was proud to see that the little bird didn't look away first. With a snort, he shook his head and returned his eyes to Sansa's leg, sliding his hand up her thigh as he remarked, "All this talk of provisions and food is making me hungry, bird."

"There are still some vension pies left," she answered.

Smirking, Sandor leaned forward so he could kiss the inside of his wife's thigh, drawing a sharp intake of breath from her as he muttered, "That's not what I am hungry for, love. Sing me a song, little bird."

Giggling, Sansa exclaimed, "But I am reading you my list, big man."

"I'd rather you sung," he admitted, earning him a light punch on the arm from Sansa.

"You are hopeless, my love," Sansa chirped, running her hand through his hair and kissing his temple quickly, before she sat up right with a little gasp exclaiming, "Oh, I forgot to tell you about it, Sandor! I've had so many things on my mind, it just slipped away. Anyway, do you know what I heard yesterday afternoon?"

"What?" he said, caressing soothing circles on each side of the leg he had taken hold of.

"That Wynafryd likes Ser Rodrik, that handsome household guard who is always by her side. Apparently, they have liked each other for more than a year now-"

"Those two? Is that the tale now?" Sandor wondered with vague interest, reaching out for Sansa's shift so that he could pull it backwards and reveal more of his little bird's leg.

"We should feed the fire soon again. It's getting cold. But yes, as I was saying, that's what Wylla told me. I know it's not my place to gossip, but apparently poor Ser Rodrik nearly went mad with grief when he heard Wyn was to marry Rhaegar Frey. But when her grandfather left the city, Rodrik learned the truth. Wynafryd is older than me, so I don't know what she expects to do. Do you think they'll secretly marry soon?"

Sandor looked up with incredulity at his little bird, barely able to believe she was really asking and talking to him about this. "How the fuck would I know?" was what he almost snarled in reply, but was thankfully properly shut up by the sight of Sansa staring down at him with a warm smile on beautiful her face, regarding him kindly as she waited for his answer.

Seven hells! Taking a deep breath, Sandor rasped, "I don't know, little bird. If they feel like getting married, they'll get married. And if they only feel like fucking, then they'll fuck, I expect."

Sansa reddened at his words, and started giggling a moment later, before she said, "Oh big man, what am I ever going to do with you?"

Shrugging, Sandor growled, "You wanted to know my opinion," before he returned his attention to the little bird's leg. "But I can think of many things you could with to me, and I with you."

Sandor sniffed at the inside of Sansa's legs once he had placed one of them on his shoulder. That made his wife blush, as she gave a little moan before remarking shyly, "You have such warm hands. I can feel them through the fabric of my shift."

Sandor groaned at those words. He met little bird's blue eyes with his, grateful to her for the way she always so readily trusted him.

"I love you, little bird," Sandor rasped, as he turned his head around so he could kiss Sansa's ankle, which was at a level with his face as her feet rested on his shoulder.

Sansa beamed at him as she began to reply softly, "And I you, my big man. I truly-" before her breath caught in her throat and she gasped loudly, stopping abruptly.

Sandor stared at her at a loss as Sansa looked back at him with wide scared eyes for a moment, watching how she pulled down her leg from his shoulder in the blink of an eye, before she swiftly stood up, looking pale as a ghost in the matter of a heartbeat.

Startled, Sandor got up as well, grabbing Sansa by the arm when he saw her sway where she stood.

"What's wrong?" he asked at once, frowning.

She didn't even seem to hear him. The little bird was staring down, bending over as she allowed him to support her weight.

"Fuck Sansa, what's happening?" he demanded, shaking her slightly to see if that would make her return his attention to him. Sandor was starting to fear something was wrong. "Are you in pain?"

After a moment Sansa shook her head, and answered in a voice that was so tremulous Sandor could scarcely believe it was her own voice, "No."

"Then what the hell is going on, bird?" Sandor rasped roughly, his heart beating madly inside his chest with fear, impatience, rising anger, and who the fuck knew what else.

Raising her head to look up at him, Sansa lifted her hand to cover her mouth. Sandor hadn't believed it was possible for her Tully blue eyes to widen even more, but they did.

"Sandor, what's happening?" she blurted in a tight voice. "My tummy!"

Completely puzzled, Sandor allowed Sansa to put his hand on her stomach. For several long heartbeats it was impossible for him to understand what was going on, since nothing was happening, unless he counted the increasing tight hold Sansa had of his wrist.

"Little bird, what-?" Sandor began to ask, before his bird interrupted him with a loud, "Wait!"

Just as he opened his mouth again, meaning to ask his wife if he should call for help, already fearing that someone had poisoned Sansa, Sandor suddenly felt something moving inside the bird's belly. It felt like the lightest of kicks, and had he not been expecting the movement, Sandor may not have even paid it much attention under other circumstances, but as his eyes met those of the little bird, they both knew that they had just been struck with the realization that this could very well be their first child.

Sandor felt as though his heart had lodged in his throat as Sansa gasped.

Seven bloody buggering hells!

Sansa was still feeling the slight fluttering inside her tummy when the obvious possibility of what could it mean hit her. That's my baby. That's our baby. It's my child. Goods be good, a baby! She was going to have a baby. Sandor and she were going to have a baby. A child!

It was too much for Sansa. Her throat felt dry as her heart suddenly burst inside of her, making it hard for her to breathe or gather the thousands of thoughts that were running through her mind in these moments, as she tried to make sense of everything that could possibly confirm that this was indeed a baby and not the belch she had at first suspected was the reason for her tummy to have tighten into knots.

This was not the first time she had felt this, but she had believed her tummy was just telling her that it was sick or hungry, but the movement had been too strong this time to dismiss as such.

"Little bird," Sandor rasped before her in a hoarse rough voice, still resting his big hand on her tummy even if the light kicking had ceased a moment ago.

Sansa raised her face to meet Sandor's gaze, not even realizing that tears were starting to slide down her cheeks until her big man wiped them away gently with his thumb. Overwhelmed, Sansa could only raise her hand to cup her husband's face in return, feeling the hard leathery skin beneath her palm, glaring excitedly into his grey eyes. His mouth had begun twitching.

"Little bird, are you- are you?" Sandor began to ask her with uncertainty, clearly as surprised by these turn of events as she was.

Oh but this was just the best turn of events Sansa could think could happen to her! She wondered fleetingly if her heart was beating so wildly because she was happy or because she was scared, or because of both.

With a tight voice, Sansa gave a tiny nod, as she answered, "I think I may be. I- I have to see a maester or a septa for confirmation, but- but darling, what else could it have been?"

Sandor's mouth gave another twitch. He shrugged, regarding her with so many emotions that only served to overwhelm Sansa more than she already was. It's so silly that we didn't see it coming. How it didn't occur to me before. Sansa placed her hands on her belly, marvelling at the way she still felt as if this was her body, even if right now it was highly probable that there was a little person inside of her.

"How long do you think you've been like this?" Sandor asked her, running a hand across his face, still blinking down at her in surprise.

"I don't know," she admitted, wishing her mother was here. "I mean, I for the last months I've barely bled at all, and when that happened, it was a day or so later than the day it usually does. But I've never drunk moon tea, Sandor. That was the last thing in my mind, and I haven't cared to find out about where I could get some."

Sandor nodded, still looking incredulous because of what had just happened, as he asked her, "And is not bleeding the only way a woman can know that they- that they are with child?"

Sansa shook her head, wishing so much she could have her mother with her to tell her that everything was going to be all right. She hugged herself as she replied, "No, I don't think so. Septa Mordane always told me it's not the same for every woman. There is also swelling and morning sickness. I haven't felt those. Maybe just a little swelling now that I think about it, but I've woken up with headaches more than once, and felt lightheaded or dizzy too."

"And why in seven hells didn't you tell me about it?" her big man demanded of her.

"I didn't want to worry you. I didn't believe they meant anything," she replied, clapping her hands in excitement at the sweet realization that she was going to have a baby and be a mother. "Oh Sandor, it was really silly of me not to expect it, but it's just that I've had so many things in my mind of late- from Rickon and the war and visiting the Old Mint, and the preparations to the journey to Winterfell, that I never stopped to recall that we could very well be in the way of starting our own family. But yes, it all makes sense now! Of late I've had different moods taking over me when I least expect it, and my breasts at times feel sore And even this morning as I had my fitting I remembered that of late my clothes seemed to fit me a little tighter. What else could all these mean if not a child?"

"I don't know," Sandor grunted, looking around him till his eyes fell on the chair they'd sat on earlier. "I have to sit down."

Sansa started giggling as her big man strode across the bedroom to take a seat, realizing she was finding it hard to stand and talk all at the same time. She was sure she was glowing. Thank you gods. Thank for this. Please, let it truly be a baby. A child with Sandor. There can be nothing better than that.

Her husband looked her over with an intense stare, before rasping, "Come."

Sansa did as she was told, suddenly remembering that just as she was going to be a mother, her big man was going to be a father. He must be as scared at the meaning of that as I am happy. Sansa had longed ever since she was a little girl to have babies, but she knew that had been something Sandor had never considered or believed he'd wanted until his feelings for her turned into the deep and meaningful love and care he had for her now.

He is going to look after us, Sansa thought to herself, fancying already that her baby could hear her thoughts, as she walked across the room towards her big man. Sandor stared at her tummy as she approached him, and gently turned her around when he splayed his hands on her hips, before drawing her down towards him until Sansa was sitting on his thigh, her feet over his big ones.

Sandor supported her body by carefully throwing his arm around her waist, taking care to hold her not too closely to him as if he feared causing her or the baby some harm. Sansa looked downwards, resting the back of her head on Sandor's shoulder, waiting for her big man to speak or do something, knowing that Sandor just wanted to hold her close as he wrapped his mind about the wonderful tidings.

But when the silence had gone on for too long and she could bear it no longer, Sansa finally voiced one of the questions she was wondering about.

"Did you not expect it to happen?" she asked Sandor softly, ready for whatever answers he was prepared to give her.

Sansa turned her head around to face him, and was relieved by what her big man said next.

"What? I- fuck, of course I expected it, little bird." Sandor snarled, surprised, making a sound that might have been a laugh. "We've been at it more than enough, so I'd had hope- but I didn't like to bring the matter up since you hadn't, and I didn't want to upset you. I didn't know how to even ask you. I was sort of waiting for you to say something, but if in the end we couldn't- well, so long as we were together and you were safe, I wasn't about to start complaining, Sansa. I thought too that maybe you wanted to wait till after the war, when Winterfell was restored to you and Rickon, and if you wanted to drink moon tea, then I would support your decision. I- ah, bloody hells, I don't know what I thought anymore, bird, but I did hope for this to happen. I've always wantedpups and birdlings with you, my little wife."

Sansa was crying again tears of joy by the time Sandor was done with his answer. She had never loved him more and seeing him struggle to try and made it clear to her that he did want this baby, she could not help herself. She turned around and threw her arms around Sandor, burying her face in the crook of her neck as she began to allow her tears to fall freely.

Her husband hugged her to him as he ran a hand down her long loose cascade of hair falling down her back, murmuring how much she meant to him in her ear, telling her again that he loved her very much, thanking her for making him happy, bursting into earnest laughter as he rasped incredulous that he couldn't believe this was happening, echoing her own feelings on this matter, and promising her too that he would try to be a good father.

Moments later, when she finally raised her head to meet Sandor's burned face again, sniffing, her cheeks wet, she could not help but laugh as her dearest love looked back at her with love softening his harsh features, as he arched his eyebrow at her and asked her in play, "So I take it that you want this too then?"

"Oh yes, I want this too, my silly big man," she finally replied, leaning forward so she could press her brow to her husband's scarred forehead, before they started kissing after Sandor brought his hand to rest protectively over her tummy.

They never knew how long they stayed like that, waiting with eagerness for their baby to move again, and trying to adjust their minds to the joy and responsibility that had just occurred between them, and which would accompany them through their lifetimes as they became parents and started a family, if the old gods and the new were kind enough to let them live that long.

At one point, sometime later, as Sandor cradled her body to his, and Sansa hummed a song for her husband and the child inside her with her eyes closed, her big man suddenly startled her from the soothing stillness that had fallen in their bedroom, as he exclaimed, "Little bird, look!"

Opening her eyes, Sansa turned her gaze towards where Sandor was pointing. And then she gasped when her eyes fell on the window. Snow was falling at long last in White Harbour.

A/N: So... I shall keep my fingers crossed that you enjoyed this chapter. I do thank you all very much for reading, and I hope you all know how much I appreciate it :D Thank you!