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.
* You are the best Onborrowedwings! Thanks for helping me with the beta work even when you're having a full schedule :D Means a lot :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 Onborrowedwings because of everything she's done to help me improve as a writer, and for all her help with this fic, and for being such a nice friend! x)
49. Promises
Sandor closed the door of the healing room behind him, offering the little bird his arm as he turned around to face her, returning her wide smile with a grin that he knew twisted his burned face into an ugly scowl as they started walking down the empty hallway, his heart pounding inside him in rhythm with his footsteps.
I'm going to be a father, were the words Sandor kept on repeating in his mind, over and over again to see if that would help this turn of events finally sink in. Sure, those light kicks he and Sansa had felt yesterday inside her belly had all but confirmed it, but having another person erasing any possibility that the light kicking had been anything but an actual child- my child- seemed to make all the difference to Sandor in these moments.
Yesterday, Sansa and Sandor had decided not to tell anyone about this until they were really certain that they were going to have a pup, and had therefore told Rickon, Edar, the Manderlys and the others that Sandor's back had been hurting him lately, hoping it would pass as a decent enough excuse if anyone asked them why had they visited Septa Tilla at the healing room. Since the maester the Citadel had sent to White Harbour had left the city to oversee Wylis Manderly's recovery, Sandor and his little wife had sought out the family's septa, with the bird making the woman promise them she wouldn't say a word to anyone.
While Septa Tilla examined Sansa, Sandor had asked her how long the little bird had been like this, and had been more surprised than he really should've been when the septa answered, "It wouldn't be out of the question that Lady Sansa has been with child ever since the wedding night or thereabouts. She's been expecting for nearly four months, I would hazard as a guess, and that is how long you two have been married, is it not?"
"But how?" the little bird had chirped in a dazed voice. "I've had my moonblood."
The septa had narrowed her eyes and considered thoughtfully for a moment, before asking, "Was it a heavy bleeding?"
Feeling really uncomfortable, Sandor saw Sansa shift and frown before answering, "No. It was very light- just like on the day when it first visits me, only it has remained that way the whole time."
"Was it the same colour as it usually is?"
"Oh dear, I couldn't say exactly. Maybe- maybe I think it's been more like the colour of dried blood. Since it was there I think I sort of dismissed the possibility that I was expecting from my mind, but with every month it's been appearing later than it usually does, and this month it was meant to visit me last week. Do other women have their moonblood as well in such cases?"
"You didn't have your moonblood, my lady," the septa replied. "No woman can if they are with child. What I think you had was a spotting, and yes, other women do have it. It usually stops after the first three months, and since you just said you were meant to have bled last week, I don't think this is something we should worry about. If the spotting persists, then I would advise to pursue a more drastic solution, and we could send a raven to Maester Theomore."
"Why do I have it in the first place?" Sansa wanted to know.
Sandor gulped. He had never felt more aware of just how little men really knew of all of these, and all he could do was listen and learn and be surprised that Sansa wasn't embarrassed to discuss this so openly with him in the room, considering that back in Pentos she had woken up crying for having stain the sheets of their bed with her blood. Or back like when she almost burned her whole room in fear of what the golden fucks would do to her now that Joffrey could take her into her bed. By the way the septa kept throwing unsure looks in his direction whenever the woman dared to turn towards him for more than a moment, Sandor could tell that she was more uncomfortable with talking about all of these with him present, than he was in the first place. Bloody stupid, as if I hadn't seen or learned worse things before.
Turning quickly to regard Sandor with wide eyes once again, the septa hesitated before taking a deep breath and saying, "It could be for different reasons, to be sure. Miscarriage is one, which is not your case, thank the gods. Or it could be due to some disease or- or for lying with your husband while you are expecting, Lady Stark."
Sandor and Sansa's eyes locked at once, the same thought running through their minds. We've been at it long enough, Sandor thought, aware that the true answer to Sansa's question was the last option as the little bird's flushed, as red as an apple.
As they made their way silently through the New Castle side by side, with both of them trying to wrap their minds around this whole affair, the grip the little bird had on Sandor's arm tightened, making him shake his head and return his attention to the present.
An old knight Sandor thought he'd seen before passed him and his wife in the corridor then, and when the man acknowledged them with a nod of the head and a smile, Sandor turned his head around to catch a glimpse of Sansa, and had to grin again at the sight of her face all lit up at the septa's confirmation, wondering for the briefest of moments if their faces wouldn't give away their secret to any attentive passerby.
Fuck, she looks so happy! Sandor thought now, dazed and proud as hell even as the thought of shoving Sansa up against the wall so he could kiss her hard flashed across his mind.
But they wanted to keep this a secret for a while longer, and Sandor would have to wait till they reached the bedroom for the kiss and maybe more, since that was the only place where they could do whatever they wanted and talk and really be themselves in this city, away from prying eyes, if maybe not from the ever ready listening ears. At least it's not as bad as the Red Keep, he concluded grudgingly.
So Sandor ran a hand through his hair as they reached the hallway's end instead, still amazed that the baby had been with them for so long now, as he stifled the laugh that came to him. Sandor and the little bird had expected this to happen- they both had wanted this, and after all the time they'd spent fucking, Sandor shouldn't be surprised.
Yet somehow, knowing that Sansa was carrying his pup for truth, amazed him, making him proud and happy, but fucking scared as well in more than one way, for hundreds of new thoughts were beginning to take hold of his mind, and not all of them were good.
Gregor may not be around anymore, but there are plenty of others who will seek to harm the babe, and not because of whom its parents are, but because of whom it would be. His children would be Rickon's heirs until the lad sired his own wolf pups, or Brandon Stark came back and could use everything below his waist, and since neither of those options seemed likely to happen any time soon, Sansa's safety and that of their child had just made matters more complicated.
But it's not even that, Sandor reminded himself suddenly, gulping as he covered his little bird's hand with his own as she went on holding on to his arm while he steered her down corridors and up staircases. One of his worst sudden fears was Sansa dying in childbirth.
The septa had told Sansa that she had good hips and was tall for her age, and would probably carry his child better than most women, but to Sandor it didn't matter. It was as if half of him was struggling with the joy of being a father and with all the apprehensions he couldn't allow himself to forget, with emotions clashing within him he wanted to keep at bay so as to keep the little bird from noticing, and start worrying about them herself.
If the choice comes to me- and Sandor was going to do everything in his power for others to be secretly aware of it since he knew the little bird would oppose him- then I would rather that those in charge of the birth- the soding midwives and the others- know that keeping Sansa alive is what matters most.
He wanted a family with the little bird more than anything, but not at the expense of Sansa's life. I can't lose her. Sandor couldn't even bring himself to brood about what that would mean for long, wishing he could believe in the bloody gods, so he could find some sort of comfort in the hope that they would listen to him. But there were no gods, whereas there were still plenty of other concerns they had to consider.
Sandor sighed for the loss of the simpler life he and his little bird had known back in Essos, remembering how happy he and Sansa had been yesterday afternoon after the baby had kicked- when none of these thoughts were troubling him since the broader scale of things hadn't yet sunk in when he and Sansa had gone down to the Waterway Stairs to play in the long awaited snow, before the others joined them.
"Would you like a boy or a girl?" Sansa had asked him back then, hugging him from behind as he knelt on the ground before her, resting from the snowball fight they'd had and which he'd won, with the sky darkening all around them, announcing dusk.
Sandor had snorted at that and looked over at his little bird in surprise, taking in the hopefully beaming face with which she was regarding him, holding her breath in anticipation for his answer.
What did I ever do to have her look at me this way? He had wondered, struck speechless for a moment as he treasured in his memory the warmth and love with which Sansa's Tully blue eyes had regarded him, her cheeks flushed and her mouth slightly parted.
"I don't mind if it's a pup like me or a pretty little birdling like you, love," Sandor had truthfully rasped in reply, gathering that the only thing that mattered was that it was healthy and happy, and that they could keep it safe. "I'm just happy."
The silent walk from the healing room to their bedroom felt like the longest one Sandor had ever taken in his whole life, but the memory of Sansa's kiss on the burned side of his face after he'd told her that helped him through it.
Sansa was sitting beside her big man on the edge of their bed, silently holding his hand as she played over and over in her mind the way it had felt to have her baby move inside her. She could never have suspected that she would love someone she had not even been aware existed a day ago so much, but she did. It was as if her heart had suddenly grown to twice its size, only now instead of only being filled with the love she had for Sandor, the seeds of an equally stronger bond were filling her up.
If she only closed her eyes Sansa could picture perfectly her and Sandor sitting together in Winterfell's glass gardens, with their children sitting in their laps. We could have two little girls. One that looks like me and one that looks like Arya since Sandor has the Stark colouring.
In her mind, Sansa's sons looked almost like the brothers and the father she had lost. We can name our sons Eddard and Brandon and Robb, and raise them to be as strong as their father, and as good mine was.
Her child changed everything and yet, despite that, Sansa could not really bring herself to wish this change of circumstance wasn't happening to them. Ever since she had been a little girl herself she had longed for the day when she would be a mother, and it made no matter that back then the children she had wanted were golden lions, because now the very thought of having Sandor's baby was better than any princes and princesses she would've been forced to give to Joffrey, or any children belonging to Arman Nervere.
I must go to the sept and thank the gods for this precious gift. And I must visit the Wolf's Den too, to pray to the old gods, was what Sansa was thinking when Sandor reached out to brush back a loose strand of her hair.
Sansa smiled at her love at that, before she took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She then slowly stood up and went to stand before the window, staring at the snowfall that lay thick upon all of the ground of White Harbour and its surrounding lands as she rested her hand on her tummy. Sansa could barely believe that it was really snowing in White Harbour at long last.
Her eyes were rooted to the landscape before her, mesmerized by how beautiful it was to see snow descending from the sky again. It has been too long. Snow was even falling on the wilderness beyond The Bite by now. As she watched the flakes drift down as soft and silent as memory upon the city below her- at White Harbour turning into a white city, with white towers and snowy bridges and rooftops- the sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago, in the summer of her childhood.
She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell, though she remembered that one had been a lighter fall than this. Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me and the snowball Arya tried to make kept coming apart in her hands. It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning, unaware of what lay in store for her in King's Landing.
Hullen had helped her mount, and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her, off to see the great wide world. Growing up at Winterfell, all I ever wanted was to escape, to go to the capital. To see the southern knights and their painted armour. King's Landing after dark, and all the candles burning in all those windows. But now, after the long path that took me half a world away, from Pentos and Norvos, to Lorath and across the Narrow Sea, here I am again, back in the north.
Yesterday, after Sansa and Sandor had felt their baby kick inside her for the first time, they had gone down to the Waterway Stairs, and Sansa's favourite place in the New Castle had taken her breath away. As drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses, melting on her cheeks, Sansa had wondered if she had stepped into a dream. But no, dreams could not have matched those moments, nor the happiness that had been coursing through her veins, making her heart beat with a new purpose at the prospect of becoming a mother.
It had felt like a new day- a new beginning- as she stood in front of the courtyard in the center of the Waterway Stairs, beside the wide pool after having played a dozen snowball fights with her big man, her little brother, Hagen and Osha, and the others, Sansa had turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes, feeling the snow on her lashes, tasting it on her lips, thinking that that was the taste of Winterfell. The taste of innocence. The taste of dreams. Maybe that was why she and little Rickon had ended up building a castle out of the sudden snows that was meant to be Winterfell.
But winter could be as dangerous as it was beautiful. Sansa was a northerner. She knew better than her big man could how terrible the winters in her land were, even if she had grown up during the long summer. She was a Stark, and the lingering knowledge of just how cruel winter could be was in her blood.
A sudden howl cut across the silence in the air, and the sound echoed perfectly the inner struggles that were troubling Sansa's soul. It was a howl that was a voice drawn and desolate which Sansa knew at once to belong to Shaggydog, and which made her feel dizzy, for it drew her back to her reality, away from the castles in the air she had been losing herself in to escape voicing one of the most important matters presently at hand she and her husband had to face and discuss.
The threat that had been taking over her thoughts came back to her at the sound of her brother's direwolf, making her lips trembled because for an instant her head had been full of dreams, but now they had all been snatched away. How Sansa missed her Lady!
Nothing is ever easy, she gathered, collecting herself as she turned around to regard her big man, who had remained seated on the edge of their bed, lost in a brooding stillness very much like the one she had been in mere moments ago. This silence was intolerable, so Sansa broke it when Sandor's eyes met her own, asking the question that had hung in the air between them.
"Do you think I will be able to accompany you now?" she said softly, feeling as if every word weighted her down with a pang of sadness the moment it left her mouth.
Sandor's burned features hardened at that at once, and his eyes momentarily left her face to settle down on her tummy, before he grimaced and stood up, making for the bottle of sour red he had brought back from the kitchens yesterday so they could toast in celebration of becoming parents.
Sansa watched her big man as he silently offered her a cup, which she declined, before lifting the flagon to his mouth. She could see the muscles of his neck working as he drank it down while staring at the fire in the hearth. When he was done Sandor wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and returned his stare to her, weighing her down with those grey eyes Sansa loved so much. Eyes our children will have, if the gods are willing.
"You can, little bird," Sandor finally rasped. "It's few months into your state, and you can still ride a horse."
Her big man took a deep breath then, but Sansa knew he was not finished. She could register clearly how much her husband hated saying the next words that came out of his mouth, not because of the rough rasp of his voice, or the way the burned part of his scarred lips began to twitch, but because she was thinking and feeling exactly the same.
"But I would prefer to have you on the side of safety, Sansa, and not risk your life or that of the babe."
"I understand," she said, trying hard to keep her voice from breaking. She wanted to go and win Winterfell back, and Sansa didn't want to part from Sandor's side at almost any cost, but she could not go home yet because of her child' sake, whereas Sandor had no other choice but to go to war.
The moment she spoke, something in Sandor broke as well, and in the blink of an eye he had crossed the room in four long strides, wrapping his powerful arms around Sansa, crushing her to him as he lifted her from the ground. She buried her face in the warm crook of his neck, her arms thrown tightly around him in return. The meaning behind the realization of what they were saying was running through Sansa's mind as Sandor kissed her forehead and ran his hand through her hair, growling.
When she raised her head from his neck to look at him, Sandor leaned down to kiss Sansa's cheeks, nose and eyelids, before snarling, "It's not only because of the bloody climate, little bird, or the dangerous travelling. We are going to face hunger and-"
"Sandor, I know that," Sansa interrupted, but Sandor just shook his head, and kept on explaining, "We are going to travel light and without many commodities, since we have to move fast and stealthily so as not to be detected by the enemy, avoiding roads-"
"Yes," she agreed, nodding, wondering if Sandor had forgotten that she had overseen the plans with him personally. "I know that there are going to be snowstorms and the snow will be feet high. I know that we were going to travel with a small baggage train, taking only the necessary things for survival.
I know that at some points we would even have to move on foot because the warhorses will sink in the snow, and if we were forced to take any roads, they would probably be bad roads we would have had to clean ourselves in the first place in order to move.
I know that the caravan was going to be compromised of men able to fight, not women or children, but for me and Osha and Rickon. But I now know too that even if I could manage to do the bodily effort, I shouldn't risk it. And so I won't."
Sandor rested one of his large hands on her neck, caressing her jaw line with his calloused thumb as he looked down at her with several emotions twisting his features.
"Of course you know, she-wolf" Sansa's big man said proudly, finally listening to what she was trying to tell him, as he lowered her to the ground. "I can't take my wife and child to open war, where not even the usual camp followers that go behind an army are likely to follow us; where we will probably have to fight our way to Stannis, be it to attack or to defend ourselves from ambushes. But it's really more difficult than that, little bird. The most important thing is that it's not just the two of us anymore, the way it was in Essos."
Nodding, feeling her heart already breaking inside her chest, Sansa agreed. Yes, now I have to two children to take care of. Rickon and the baby, she thought, touching her belly protectively. Gods forbid, if something were to happen to my brother, then my child and any other that came after would be the next Stark heirs to Winterfell and the North. Sandor and she could be the parents to the next Lord of Winterfell.
They could not let the Stark line perish in the war against the Boltons and the Ironborn, and later on the Lannisters and the Freys. Sansa was not one bit happy at the thought of being left behind, but she had at this point accepted it as a necessity, since her child's safety was first and foremost in her mind now.
"Oh Sandor," Sansa said, overwhelmed at the thought of her big man leaving her side. I can't believe we are going to do this. "Do you realize what this means?"
She placed her hand on her big man's hard chest, above his beating heart, realizing that Sandor was not going to be around to see her grow big with their baby, and could possibly not even be back when the time to give birth arrived. I won't wake up to find him beside me anymore, and I will not hear his voice as he snorts at something I say or do. I won't be able to see his face light up as he grins widely whenever I enter a room, and may not even reach out to hold tightly on to his hand when the time to give birth arrives.
They had been together for almost every day since the night they'd left King's Landing behind them, and now, to part ways after so many months and months and face the several daunting tasks ahead by themselves, was just too much for Sansa.
"I cannot lose you, Sandor," she finally confessed, speaking out loud the thought she feared would become a possibility if stated, her hand fisting the fabric of Sandor's tunic tightly.
Her big man blinked down at her in surprise, but it was only for a heartbeat, because a moment later his mouth began to twitch again as a smile appeared on his face, and he snarled, "Silly little bird," before he leaned over to kiss her. His dry lips nibbled hers before she slipped her tongue inside his mouth, wishing for time to stand still.
"I am serious," Sansa protested when they had broken apart, their noses touching and their foreheads resting against the other, hoping she could hold back her tears. I do not mind if I sound silly. I have to tell him this.
Chuckling softly, Sandor kissed her forehead before saying in a voice that sounded sad rather than boastful, "Anyone who wishes to kill me is bloody welcome to try, Sansa. But that doesn't mean that the only thing the buggers will earn for their troubles will be a sword stuck through their bellies."
"Yes, but what if someone tries to kill you in a battle?" she asked him, unable to hide the desperation and fear in her voice. "Or what if someone uses poison or a hired sword or- or what if Stannis tries to harm you in some way like Arman Nervere did?"
Sansa knew that Sandor understood what she was truly afraid of. They had heard the most dreadful gossip about Stannis Baratheon burning people alive more than once.
"That can't be helped," Sandor told her finally. "It's not called the bloody game of thrones for nothing, bird. There will be many dangers for us all. But we knew that, didn't we? There is no going back now."
"Yes, but what if-" Sansa began to say, before Sandor cut her off by taking her jaw between his thumb and forefinger, and snarled, "Sansa, after everything that we have lived through together- after how sweet you showed me life can be- I would be fucking mad if I allowed someone to kill me without giving the whoreson a good fight. Bird, I am the only husband I plan on you ever having. So now- Sansa, look at me."
With silent tears sliding down her cheeks, Sansa returned her gaze to Sandor's face, looking at him.
"Look at me and tell me if you don't trust me- if you really think that I won't do everything in my power to make it through till the end," her big man instructed her. "Till I've won back your home and I come back here and have you beside me once again?"
The way he looked as he said those words made it hard for Sansa to keep back the tears that were threatening to blur her vision.
"Sandor," Sansa whimpered, feeling a couple of tears slide down her cheeks, leaving a wet trail behind them as she pressed her mouth against her big man's scarred lips as she whispered, "It isn't that. I- of course I believe you."
"Good," he grunted solemnly, closing his eyes as he brought his mouth to claim hers in a hard kiss.
Burying her face into his chest, Sansa hugged Sandor around the waist, allowing her tears to fall freely at long last, not caring that she was wetting Sandor's chest. Sansa cried, clinging to Sandor so fiercely in an attempt to stop herself from shaking, because despite his words of reassurance, the thought of losing her protector and friend; her husband and lover, and the father to her baby, could not stop haunting her. Before she knew what had happened, Sansa found that she and her big man had fallen to their knees as they hugged each other.
Sandor kissed the top of her head, rasping in a hard tone once he had cupped her face so she would look at him again, "And now it's your turn, little bird. Promise me that you will take care of yourself. We've been lucky so far, looking out for each other for months and all, but now- now I won't be here to take care of you or the child. I'll have to do something that I hate, and trust you to others. It doesn't matter that the Manderlys aren't as bad as the rest.
If anything were to happen to you- during the birth, or in any other time- You are a part of me, Sansa and there wouldn't be any fucking point in me returning from the war with my head still attached to my shoulders if I were to learn that something had happened to you. I am the one who could not live without my little bird."
Letting a sob escape her, Sansa reached out to run her hand through her husband's hair, with tears glistening on her face as she whispered softly, solemnly, "I promise, Sandor. I promise..."
Two days later, on a clear white morning, Sansa was heading towards Rickon's room, humming a tune absentmindedly as she smoothed the skirts of her dress down. Hagen had told her that her brother had had a nightmare last night, and Sansa had at once decided to go check on him.
"Sansa!" Rickon exclaimed, after she'd knocked on his door, greeting her with a smile.
"Good morning, Rickon," she said, walking over to give her baby brother a hug and a kiss as he stood up on the bed to reach her height better.
Rickon allowed her to hug him, but when she pecked his cheek he squirmed in her embrace, much as she remembered little Bran and Arya doing when they'd been Rickon's age.
Osha picked up a pair of discarded boy's breeches from the ground, muttering, "Morning, little lady."
"Hello Osha," Sansa replied, sitting on the bed and reaching out to ruffle her brother's hair. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough," the wildling answered, jerking her head in Rickon's direction. "Until the little lord woke up screaming, calling out for your lady mother."
Hagen had already told Sansa that. She nodded, looking over at Rickon as he sat back on the bed, reclining on his pillows as he returned her gaze with a defiant little frown.
"Did you dream of mother last night, Rickon?" she asked him softly, reaching as she placed her other hand on her tummy. I wish mother was here now. I need her more than ever. Rickon needed her too.
Sansa wondered for a moment if Rickon would answer her truly, going so far as to think that she ought to have brought Sandor with her since maybe her brother would open up to her easier if her big man was around, when Rickon met Osha's eyes briefly, before surprising Sansa as he said truthfully, "No. I- there was a lady there, but her face was hooded."
"What was this woman doing?" Sansa enquired, smoothing back Rickon's auburn locks.
"Nothing," Rickon answered, shrugging. "She was just sitting on a horse, with many shadows around her. I couldn't make out the shadows, but I think they were men. When I urged the pack to move forward, I-"
Sansa's mouth opened into a wide O at that at once, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her. Did he just said what I think he said? she wondered, raising her hand to her mouth as memories of her own previous dreams- dreams where she was Shaggydog looking for his lost pack came back to her in a rush. Oh Lady.
"What did you say?" she whispered, afraid at the hoarse tone of her voice. So it is not happening to me only!
Turning around to look at Osha, Sansa found that the wildling woman was studying her reaction with narrowed eyes and a growing little knowing smile on her harsh features. Sansa blinked and looked back at her brother, who was puzzled by her reaction as he hastily said, "I- I don't know what it meant though. I woke up soon after."
"You know what it means, boy," the wildling woman corrected her brother, not unkindly, walking over to place a hand on Rickon's shoulder as a sigh of silent support. With dark bright eyes Osha looked at Sansa and pointed out, "You both know."
Confused and utterly unready for this unexpected revelation, Sansa leaned forward, asking Rickon, "Do you ever dream that you are Shaggy?"
Gulping, Rickon never looked away as he answered, "Yes. Bran dreamed he was Summer too. Did you dream that before Lady died?"
Realizing that she was still holding her breath, Sansa sighed long and deep as she shook her head.
"My favourite dreams are when Shaggy runs and hunts squirrels and birds and sheep and horses," Rickon went on confessing. "Last night Shaggy was doing that even as he led other wolves to the river, but then the hooded woman appeared."
When he was done her little brother awaited her reply, but Sansa could not answer. She was shocked speechless by what this could mean, and was certain that she would never have believed the possibility that was starting to gnaw at her mind had she not experienced something similar to Rickon herself. And apparently similar to Bran as well. Oh, if only she had Robb and Arya and Jon Snow with her right now!
Sansa's tummy tightened into a knot, but for the first time since she'd learned she was with child, all thoughts of her baby had fled her mind. I dreamed I was Shaggy the night before we found Rickon and Osha and Davos in Braavos, and I was dreaming I was inside the direwolf's skin when Wyn, Wylla, Hagen and the others found us in the woods too. What had Rickon dreamed of himself that turned out to be true?
Staring at Rickon, her throat dry, Sansa asked in a tremulous wary voice, "And is that all you have ever dreamed about when you are Shaggy in your sleep? Hunting and this hooded woman?"
"No, m'lady," Osha suddenly answered, making Sansa recall that the wildling woman was in the room. "He and Bran dreamed of your Father visiting the crypts beneath Winterfell the night before the news arrived from the south that Lord Stark was no more."
Rickon's blue eyes flashed with anger at that, and he exclaimed loudly with resentment behind his words, "I saw Father that time, and Father promised me he was coming home. I waited for him down in the crypts, but he never came."
Just as Sansa had been certain that Shaggydog was not going to harm Sandor that morning back in Ragman's Harbour when the wolf had thrown her big man to the ground, Sansa was certain that her brother and Osha were not lying to her now.
Fighting back her tears at the memories of seeing her father die before her, fearing her resolve would soon wither, Sansa took her brother by the hand and said softly, "Has Father been the only one you've seen in a dream? You have never had a nightmare of something bad happening to the others? To Arya or me or Mother or Robb?"
Her baby brother was looking at her with hurt in his eyes, as if wondering why she was making him remember this. But Sansa needed a sudden dreadful thought that had sprung on her head to be either confirmed or denied. If he dreamt of Father around the time he was killed, maybe he also dreamed of Mother and Robb at The Twins.
As Rickon was about to answer her, Hagen Edar suddenly appeared on the doorway, his bow and arrow attached to his back, and a beaming smile on his face as he exclaimed, "Good morning, my lord, and my ladies! Rickon, what are you doing here? Sandor is waiting for you in the practice yard already."
Before Sansa or Rickon could recover from the tension that had hung in the air between them during their conversation, Osha answered the Lorathi by saying, "The little lord has been ready for at least half an hour, Edar. It's not his fault that you and Lord Clegane took so long in getting your arses down to the yard."
Hagen burst out laughing at that, exclaiming fondly, "Ah Osha, why doesn't your sweet behavior surprise me one bit?"
Completely unperturbed, acting as if nothing of consequence had occurred so far this morning, Osha answered Hagen back, as Rickon and Sansa stared at each other.
"We'll talk another time," Sansa promised her brother, following Osha's lead. "Best you don't keep the big man waiting, brother."
Silently, Rickon nodded in agreement. As her sworn arrow and her brother left the room, Sansa took a deep breath, gathering her courage. She stood up from the bed and walked over to where Osha was standing. Sansa placed a tentative hand on the wildling woman's arm and asked, "I- I've been meaning to ask you about it, but with so many preparations and worries going on lately, I'm afraid it slipped by mind. But Osha, do you- can I ask you a question?"
Snorting, Osha replied, "Seems like you just did, little lady."
Sansa smiled faintly at that. She began to rub her hands together, considering the best way to ask what was troubling her.
"Osha, after you and Rickon left Bran and Hodor and the Reeds, did my brother have a nightmare one night? A nightmare he refused to talk to you about but which you knew was important, and probably not just some random hunting dream?"
A grin appeared on the wildling woman's face, before she chuckled sourly, and replied, "I think you knew the answer to that question before you even asked it, girl."
It can't be true, Sansa thought desperately. What she was starting to consider as a reality was right out of Old Nan's tales, but it was the only explanation she could find to all these dreams her brothers had had and which had ended up turning out to be true. And there are also the dreams where we are under the direwolves' skins.
"But it can't be true," she whispered without thinking, more to herself than to Osha. Her hand went to her throat.
"I would've thought a princess would have more sense, girl. You know it is true," the wildling said with a snort, stepping closer to her, even if Sansa had not actually said what she was thinking. "I've been waiting for you to speak of it, but yes, Bran had green dreams, and could go on for three days without eating or drinking as he slept and slipped into Summer's skin. And Rickon has had wolfdreams about the times when your father was killed, as well as when your brother and mother where butchered, I suspect. When the Skagosi first saw him and Shaggydog, they knew at once your brother was a warg. They followed him around as if he was some god too."
Sansa covered her mouth with her hand, staring wide eyed at Osha, shaking her head in refusal, thinking only upon one word in her mind.
Warg.
Sansa had heard that word many times as she grew up. The stories of brave knights and fair ladies had always been her favorites, but since Arya and her brothers and even Theon Greyjoy had cared little for them, Sansa had been outnumbered on almost every occasion, and had therefore acquired a vast knowledge on songs and tales she would have rather not had anything to do with.
Whenever Old Nan or her Father told her and her siblings around the stories around the fire of skinchangers, Sansa had always shivered in fear as she imagined a horrible man like the famous wildling Varamyr Sixskins changing into some dark beast, with blood dripping from its fangs.
"Am I one too?" Sansa heard herself ask Osha.
The wildling chewed on that a moment, before replying, "You are a Stark. A part of you was your wolf, and your wolf used to be a part of you. Your direwolf may be dead, Sansa, but it's in your blood. Maybe not as strong as with your brothers, but the bond is there."
"How do you know so much about this?" she asked hoarsely, too stunned to do much else.
"The Free Folk grow up leaning this the way you learn your letters, girl."
"Who else knows about this?" she asked in a low voice, winding a lock of hair around her finger.
"Besides sweet simple Hodor," Osha answer, "Jojen and Meera and the Skagosi. They thought your brother was some sort of god because of that. I told Rickon to keep quiet and never said a word myself of this to Lord Seaworth cause I reckoned it was none of his concern. Will you tell your husband?"
Sansa shook her head, still too uncertain to do much else.
"I don't know," she confessed, lowering her voice, and looking at the door to make sure no one was without. "Maybe I will, but do you know what this means? If someone finds out, they will call us beastlings, and many will refuse to help us claim back Winterfell."
"Then no one must ever find out if we can help it, m'lady," Osha said solemnly. "Rickon already knows this."
I must be going mad, Sansa thought, stepping back till the back of her legs touched the mattress of the bed, and she sat on its edge, her face buried in her hands, reminding herself that she herself had had such dreams before; dreams where she had felt the wet ground beneath her four paws perfectly, and smelled the scents of rain and men and fear before she'd lifted her head up to howl at the moon.
She never knew how long she and Osha remained like that, in a respectful silence so that Sansa could try to understand and make some sense of what she had just learned. When the wildling woman spoke again though, Sansa looked up at her in surprise, remembering that she was going to have a baby. Will my child be like me and my siblings? There were direwolves left for her or him, so maybe it wouldn't.
"How far along are you?" Osha asked.
"How- how do you?" Sansa wondered, startled.
"It wasn't hard guessing it," Osha replied, snorting. "But it beats me how Hagen and Lord Davos and those Manderlys haven't guessed yet, what with you and Clegane throwing doe eyes at the other, grinning like only two fools in love all day long."
Sansa managed to chuckle weakly in the midst of everything that was happening, before she answered, "Three and a half months. Since the ship, we believe. But please, we want to keep it a secret for a few more days."
Osha nodded, before she wondered, "Will you be going to Winterfell now?"
"No," Sansa said, shaking her head as memories of her conversation with Sandor about this matter flashed across her mind.
Nodding in understanding, Osha told Sansa, "Aye, I thought as much. Will Rickon stay here with you?"
"Yes. I cannot part with him. Not now that I have him back."
"I see. Will I be staying?"
"I- I don't know," Sansa admitted. "We haven't really talked about it yet."
If it was up to me I would have you and Hagen go with Sandor so you could look after him, she thought. But her big man wouldn't agree to it, Sansa knew.
Osha's dark eyes turned hard at those words as she regarded Sansa intently. Sansa was certain the wildling woman would object at being parted from little Rickon, but after a dozen silent heartbeats, Osha pointed a finger at her and exclaimed her with a fierce passion Sansa had never heard before, "If I have to leave him, you take care of that boy, Sansa. He may be your brother, but I've looked after him long enough to make it my place tell you this. No matter what happens, promise me that you'll teach that boy not to fear what he is. What you both are."
"I promise," Sansa vowed, startled to see a tear sliding down the wildling woman's cheek, but nodding fiercely nonetheless. "I promise, Osha."
They first people they told about the child were only Rickon, Edar and Osha. The little bird's sworn arrow laughed and congratulated them both looking pleased and surprised, while Osha only snorted when Sandor and his little wife told her the news, confessing she had suspected it weeks ago.
When Sansa and Sandor had first told Rickon that they were going to have a child, the lad had looked pleased at the news, asking Sansa why wasn't her belly fat, before he began questioning them about things Sandor had not even yet spared a sodding thought about.
"What's going to be his name?" Rickon had asked first, and before they could answer him he went on with, "Is it a boy or a girl? I hope it's a boy. Girls are silly and boring and cry all the time. But I remember Arya didn't. When will he be born? Can I play with him? Can Shaggy play with him? When I am big and he is little, can I help him train like you are helping me, Sandor? What room will we have when we are at Winterfell? Will he be born by the time we are back in Winterfell?"
"Bloody hells," Sandor had muttered under his breath once the boy finally shut up, thinking that a cup of wine would help him with his headache, as Sansa laughed beside him, and hugged her brother.
But when Rickon learned that he was expected to remain behind in White Harbour with his sister and the babe, the Stark heir had not been pleased. The little bird had hoped that by this time Rickon had forgotten most of the wild ways his character had acquired when living in the wild, but Sansa had been wrong.
"I want to go home!" Rickon had shouted over and over again, crying and running to his bedroom, punching Hagen along the way as the Lorathi tried to stop him. His sister had tried talking to him, but Rickon hadn't listened. He'd only let his direwolf enter his bedroom, and had even told Osha to go away when she'd brought him his meal.
Sansa was scared, knowing that gossip of Rickon's conduct would spread beyond the walls of the New Castle, and after seeing the wide frightened eyes on his wife's face as she wondered out loud if a dozen spankings wouldn't help correct her brother's character, Sandor had decided to go speak to the boy himself, hoping he could stop this even as he helped Rickon understand. Let's see if he listens to me.
Sandor opened the door without knocking at that, wondering once again how the fuck he had ended up taking such a direct role in Rickon's upbringing, whether it was by showing interest in the way the little bird's brother learned how to be good with a sword and ensure he was cleverer than his father or the Young Wolf; or by wishing to help him cope with the loses of his family; or just by being concerned if the boy got upset or hurt because he could understand better than others could why the boy behaved the way he did.
Stepping inside the bedroom, with the heavy oak and iron door creaking loudly behind him, Sandor stopped once he saw Rickon lifting up his face from his arms as he sat on the corner of the room, meeting his stare with red-puffy swollen angry eyes. Those eyes that look just like Sansa's.
The lad's big black wolf walked over to meet Sandor at the door, sniffing at him once before moving back to sit beside his young master.
"What do you want?" Rickon asked at once, cleaning his running nose with his arm.
"To talk," Sandor answered, shrugging, wondering if this is what it would be like, if all turned out well for them the end, and he got the chance to get to know and raise his own children.
Sandor looked about the room, noticing that snow was drifting in the window, before he closed the door behind him and walked over to sit on the floor beside Rickon, the burned side of his face to him. The boy didn't object, for which Sandor was grateful.
They stayed like that in silence for a long time, before Sandor finally rasped, trying hard to keep the amusement hidden from his voice, "You've shocked half the castle, little lord. Poor Edar still has a black eye from where your elbow hit him."
Rickon's eyes quickly met his at that, and though remorse and guilt could be seen on his young tear-glistened face, the lad just hugged his legs tighter, saying sullenly, "I didn't mean to hurt Hagen. But I don't care about the others. No one cares about what I want, so I don't care for them now. I wanted to go home when Lord Davos found me and Osha, but he took me to Braavos. I wanted to go home and instead we come here. We were going home in less than two weeks and now I'm staying behind. I'm staying while others are going to Winterfell in my place. They are not Starks. Winterfell is not their home."
"Your sister isn't going and she's a Stark," Sandor pointed out, trying to not say those words with contempt, still hating the thought of leaving his little bird behind with all his guts. "Do you want to leave her alone?"
"Sansa is having a baby. You can stay with her or she can come too, but she told me she wants to stay here. That's Sansa. I don't want to stay here."
"You don't understand, boy," Sandor growled, rubbing his tired eyes and his scarred temple with his hands. "It's not that we don't care for you. We do, and that's why you have to stay here where it's safe. Before Sansa was going to look after you as we made our way to your home. But that's too dangerous for her and for- for our child. Now that she isn't coming with us, who do you suppose will look after you, Rickon? We can't afford anyone to look out for you. It's not a bloody tournament we are heading to after all.
The north- your north- needs every man, and that's also why I am going away. I'd much rather stay behind and be with my wife and child, but bugger, I can't. I need to go win back Winterfell for you and Sansa and the babe. Your bannermen don't like me, so I have to go prove to those bastards that I'm loyal and true to you and the little bird. The idiots may not know it yet, but before this is all over, they'll see that they need me. You are young, but not as young as to not to be able to understand most of this."
"But I'm Robb's heir. I should go home with you even if I am little and can't fight," Rickon protested, resting the back of his head against the wall behind them. "What am I going to do here? Who's going to help me train so I can fight better?"
"Aye, you're your brother's heir, Lord Stark" Sandor agreed. "But being a lord is not all fighting, boy. You have to know when battles happened, and why, and between whom and where. You have to learn all that you can about everything and anything, or else you'll be a foolish lord, and if there's one thing I won't allow you to grow up to be if I can help it, is a man that rather than look up to, others laugh at."
Young Rickon's face and that of Shaggy's looked up at him at that. Regarding him with a frown, thinking about what Sandor had just told him, Rickon sniffed, and bit his lip, turning around to stare at his wolf.
"Do you know why Theon Greyjoy grew up in Winterfell, Rickon?" Sandor suddenly asked the boy.
Rickon's head jerked at once at that towards him.
"Theon was bad," he told him.
"Aye, but do you know why he grew up with your family rather than with his own back in the Iron Islands?"
Slowly, Rickon shook his head in answer.
Sandor grinned and lay back on the wall, stretching his long legs before him, as he snarled, "So I take it you don't know about Balon Greyjoy's rebellion? Didn't your maester teach you about what happened back then?"
If the Starks' maester ever did, Rickon had forgotten. So Sandor spent the next hour trying to explain to Rickon what had happened all those years ago when mad Balon rebelled against the Iron Throne for the first time, hoping it would prove his point and make Rickon understand that being a lord was more than just being a good warrior.
He tried to make it interesting for Rickon, and by the eagerness the boy started to show with every tale Sandor told him about his time in Pyke, fighting the fucking iron squids just because he was younger and good at killing and liked it, rather than because he believed in Robert Baratheon's cause, Sandor believed he'd succeeded.
And if he'd had any doubts about it, by the time he and Rickon left the room, he was proved wrong. Rickon surprised him by saying, "The men down at the training yard were talking about Robb the other day."
Sandor turned around at that at once. He had been very careful with what Sansa and her brother overheard about their brother and mother, and he preferred to keep it that way. If the stupid cunts that passed off as knights had told the boy any of the gruesome details about the way the Young Wolf and his mother had ended, Sandor was ready to break some necks. Bloody bastards.
Scowling at the mention of those men, Sandor grunted, "Were they? What did they say?"
"They were calling him the Young Wolf, saying he was a great warrior, and then they saw me and called me over to talk with them. They told me about Robb in his wars and that whenever he let loose Grey Wind among some battle or enemy camp, Robb's wolf turned into what songs are made of."
His mouth began to twitch at that, and Sandor hand moved to rest on his longsword, tightening on its pommel until he was sure his fist had turned white, for he had a very different opinion of Robb Stark and his bloody wars. The memories of a particular day long ago back at the Red Keep when that little shit Joffrey had forced Sansa to be punished for her brother's victories.
Sandor had been with Joffrey when the king had received the news, and had known at once that it wouldn't bode well for the little bird. After he'd escorted her to Joffrey and the others, and she'd been told of how the Young Wolf had defeated Stafford Lannister before his army supposedly feasted on the slain, Sansa had been beaten and her dress had been torn open, revealing her breasts to everyone who'd been present, after Sandor had barked "Enough!"
He had cursed in relief when the Imp waddled forward to stop Joffrey's play, throwing his Kingsguard cloak at Sansa so she could cover herself up, even as Sandor felt his insides coil in helpless rage at his inability to do more for her.
I'll never forgive myself for standing by and allowing those sons of whores to beat her bloody, Sandor knew, but neither could he forgive Robb Stark for not doing anything to try and save his sister from the lions. Those ghosts from the past would never let him rest, but Sandor didn't care. He would not let that happen if the choice came to him.
Sandor must have lost himself in his thoughts, for the next thing he knew Sandor was tugging at his hand, calling out his name.
"What is it, boy?" Sandor snarled, shaking his head.
"I was telling you that I want you to do something for me," Rickon answered, looking up at him with a big wide smile. "Shaggydog will do it if I tell him to, and he'll even like it, I know."
"What do you want?" Sandor growled.
Rickon took a moment to consider, before exclaiming, "I want to, but you say I am too little to go to war. But you forgot Shaggy. He misses home too, and also wants to fight for Grey Wind and Lady, and Nymeria and Summer. Shaggy is big and will fight, and I'll tell everyone that I was the one who asked you to take him. But you'll have to promise to look out for him because-"
"What are you getting at?" Sandor spat, frowning as he started to understand where the lad was getting at. Seven bloody buggering hells!
"Shaggy has to follow in Grey Wind's steps, Sandor. I want you to take him to Winterfell with you."
"What?" Sandor roared, surprised. "Fuck Rickon, what the hell are you thinking? I won't take your wolf away from your side!"
"But I want you to take him," Rickon pointed out, before Sandor cut him off with a firm and final, "No. And that's the last I want to hear about this, understood?"
That night, Sandor was left speechless when the little bird told him that she agreed with Rickon in wishing for Shaggydog to accompany him to the war.
"It'll make him become as ferocious as Robb's Grey Wind when in battle, darling," Sansa had told him, reaching out to hold his large hands in her own soft smaller ones. "And if Shaggydog is by your side then there is a little less risk of you coming to some harm."
Sandor's mouth had dropped in utter bloody disbelief, and even though he told Sansa the same words he'd told her brother, pointing out the dangers that could befall her and Rickon if they didn't have with them the great black beast that was Shaggy, it didn't matter. The little bird kept at it for three days straight, asking Edar and Rickon himself to back her up, until Sandor agreed to take the blasted damned wolf with him to Winterfell.
A/N: Please keep your fingers crossed that one of my last finals tomorrow goes well (tried to do revision, but yeah… anticipation for tonight's episode gave me a severe case of lack of concentration!) :O Hehe anyways, Thank you to everyone for reading this! Reviews are love ;')