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.

50. Chapter 50

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 my beta, and she simply rocks xD

- 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.

50. The Merman's Court

Sansa was glad to see that the afternoon's preparations inside the Merman's Court for tonight's feast were turning out quite well so far, as she walked on painted crabs, clams and starfish, half-hidden among twisting black fronds of seaweed and the bones of drowned sailors, even as servants hurried all about her.

"It's just as I remember it," Sansa called out to Wylla, while her friend paced atop the dais where her grandfather's empty cushioned throne stood, hands on her hips.

Wylla Manderly looked about her with a smile, and Sansa followed suit, staring at the pale sharks that prowled in the blue-green depths painted on the walls to either side, and at the eels and octopuses that slithered amongst rocks and sunken ships. Shoals of herring and great codfish swam between the tall arched windows, and higher up, near where the old fishing nets that dropped down from the rafters, the surface of the sea had been depicted. To Sansa's right a war galley stroked serene against the rising sun; and to her left, a battered old cog raced before a storm, her sails in rags. Behind the dais a kraken and grey leviathan were locked in battle beneath the painted waves.

"It used to terrify me when I was little," Wylla observed, pointing at the white sharks. "But now I find every nook and crevice of this hall beautiful. I will be sorry if the day ever comes when I have to leave, and I won't be able to come down here to visit grandfather. If we all survive the war and the winter that is, of course."

"When I visited with Father and Arya I felt the same," Sansa admitted, knowing that if she just closed her eyes, memories from her first visit to this city would come back to her in a heartbeat. "I think I was around Rickon's age, and couldn't stop looking all around me. It's both beautiful and- and daunting, I think, to think about what lies beneath the surface of the sea. Not that my sister would agree with me. I remember Arya saying that wolves were not afraid of leviathans or krakens, so why should she fear some stupid painting."

Wylla's expression softened at that, and her friend must have heard the grief and the longing behind Sansa's words, for it was almost as an afterthought when she suddenly remarked, "This great hall has certainly hosted grander affairs than the one that is going to take place tonight, but we will do our best to make it a memorable occasion, despite the humble fare and all."

"I agree," Sansa replied, gathering herself, and walking over the Myrish carpets that had just been placed to cover the floor with, and which spared them the need to lay down the rushes.

Serving men were erecting a long trestle table to Sansa's right, beside the dozen heavy-oak-and-leather chairs that had been brought in here this morning. Two chairs would be placed at the head, and the other four along each side.

"Let's see what I'm forgetting," Wylla said, counting off with her fingers the tasks her eldest sister had appointed her.

"You've forgotten the fresh scented beeswax candles," Sansa observed, running her hand down the length of a statue in the shape of the merman of House Manderly.

Wylla cursed, stamping her feet on the dais. "You're right. Oh my, I'm going mad with all the chores I have to oversee! Thanks to my dearest sister nonetheless."

Sansa laughed. "You are not mad, Wylla."

"If you don't think I'm going to end up going mad tonight if Wyn keeps on sending me word of yet another task I must ensure is carried out, I'll think you're going mad, Sansa, and where would we be then?"

"I'll go see how your sister is faring in the kitchens," Sansa told Wylla, shaking her head, still giggling, as the youngest Manderly sister observed in resignation that Wynafryd would probably be doing better than her.

So Sansa left Wylla there, crossing the New Castle's corridors and hallways, and walking down the shortest flight of stairs she knew led to the kitchens, as she remembered how tonight's feast had come about in the first place.

Sandor and she had to oversee the final arrangements for the march to Winterfell with the Manderlys, besides telling them the tidings regarding the baby. So they had summoned a meeting with their hosts, but to Sansa's surprise and delight, Wyn and Wylla had proposed that instead of just meeting, they should all have a little feast to celebrate their friendship and the time they had been able to spend to get to know each other with a dinner.

"We can have it in the Merman's Court," Wylla had exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands together. "I only wish we could have a little music and some dancing. We haven't had the opportunity to dance for so long."

Her eyes had seemed to look past Sansa in that moment, as if she had suddenly strayed into a land of memories in her mind compromised of dances and music from long ago.

Wyn had just shaken her head and added, "I think it would be quite the small affair in comparison to what Wylla is recalling indeed, since we can't really invite anyone but Uncle Marlon, Lord Rickon, Lord Clegane, Hagen Edar, Osha and Lord Davos. But it would please us greatly to plan it, and to have a pleasant memory to remember you all by when you leave us."

Sansa had stared speechless at the sisters, unsure if she should tell them then and there that if they accepted, she was actually planning on remaining in White Harbour once her big man and the other men went away to war for quite some time, but had decided to hold on to the secret till the actual meeting, or rather small feast now, took place.

So she had just replied to her friends' suggestion with, "I think that would be lovely," hoping they would not take offense that she had held back the truth from them for a little while longer.

Yet the idea of a small feast before the war- before Sandor's departure- made Sansa very happy, especially since overseeing the preparations alongside Wylla and Wynafryd kept her mind from brooding as much as it normally would've at the daunting prospect of what lay in store for her and her husband in the coming months.

For Sansa knew it was pointless to cling to the belief that there was a possibility that Sandor would arrive back from the winter wars before her time to have their baby approached. She knew that even if the battle for Winterfell against their foes was brief, and the arrangements with Stannis Baratheon could be settled quickly, it was unlikely that her big man would be back in the next months. It was so hard to imagine that she would not be able to kiss or hold him in her arms. To not be together for gods knew how long. But she had to be strong and brave and let him go.

Sansa sighed long and deep as she left the New Castle's kitchens, since all seemed well in hand there. Wynafryd was seeing to the mulling of the wine, commanding the cook to bake bread enough for about a dozen people and find a suitable wheel of sharp white cheese.

It is not forever. Do you really think he would not do everything in his power to come back to you? Sansa asked herself after she had left the eldest of the Manderly girls. To come back to you and the baby?

But Sansa would miss Sandor so terribly once he was gone nonetheless. The prospects of carrying a child and preparing herself for what motherhood meant made Sansa feel whole somehow; as if having Sandor's baby would fill the empty space that having lost so many of her family members had left inside her.

In a strange way, Sansa's child already made her feel something she had never felt before- not even with Sandor, but that just ended up making Sansa remember that Sandor and she would have to face the upcoming months all on their own, away from each other. He won't even be here to experience the anticipation and nerves and thrill that the prospect of becoming a father will mean.

The constant hope Sansa could cling to in an attempt to live another day with her head held high and smile on her face was that her big man and she could have more children one day, making up for the lost time in the dreadful months of parting. That was what was keeping Sansa from falling apart, succumbing to her tears and fears and uncertainties.

Just please gods, please let Sandor come back to me safe and sound, she prayed to the old gods and the new, as she made her way outside to the castle grounds, covering her shoulders with the shawl that was hanging loose about her shoulders, to keep the cold winds at bay.

Snow had stopped falling on White Harbour days ago, but the weather was colder than before now. Treading carefully through the white grounds lest she slipped, Sansa found her footsteps leading her to the New Castle's stables. She still had to bathe and wash her hair and change for the feast, but Sansa told herself there was time enough still for that.

She suspected she knew where Sandor and the others were, and her assumption was confirmed when she saw Hagen, Osha and Lord Davos gathered beside a tree outside the stables, the last two laughing at Hagen as the Lorathi failed to impress them from what Sansa could hear at a distance with some of his most daring schemes from his days as an outlaw. Shaggydog was sitting on his hind legs behind the group, as if waiting for his master. Sansa stared at the wolf, not looking away when the black beast's green eyes met her own and held her stare, remembering what Osha and she had discussed the other day about the chance that the reason behind Sansa's dreams was that she was a skin changer.

Warg. That single word sent shivers down Sansa's spine, because it seemed as if taken right from one of Old Nan's stories she had feared to hear so much as a child. After father died I understood that the stories and songs could not exist in the real world, whether they were tales of knights and their ladies fair, or of grumpkins or other monsters beyond the wall. And therefore, what the wildling woman had confessed to Sansa had shaken up every belief and experience she had come to develop throughout the past years, and now Sansa was unsure as to what she should do about it.

But all of her past experiences with stories seemed of little consequence now. She would never have dared to even consider this mad strange reasoning as something that could actually really be happening to people, but once the wildling woman pointed it out to her, the thought never left Sansa, and she had to admit that if this was the truth, many of the things she had experienced so far with relation to her dreams would make much more sense.

Sansa had worried at the mad possibility of being a skin changer like a dog at some old bone on many a night, tossing and turning well past midnight on her bed, listening to the wind howl outside her bedroom's windows, considering what being a warg could mean, resisting falling asleep, fearing what her dreams would end up being about.

This had precisely been the main reason behind why had she agreed to have Shaggydog part from Rickon's side in the first place, joining Sandor in the road to war. Sansa had been surprised at first when she heard that her little brother was willing to part with his wolf, but as Sandor went on telling her about the conversation between him and Rickon about Shaggydog following in Robb's Grey Wind's footsteps, the more Sansa had convinced herself that it was not such a bad thing to do.

The sharp realization had hit Sansa that were she truly a warg, then if Shaggydog went with Sandor to the wars, she would probably be able to know at times what was happening with Sandor and his camp, were she to dream again that she was inside Shaggy's skin.

Sansa had not yet confessed to Sandor the true reason behind her backing up Rickon's plea to allow the black direwolf to go to war though, not having mustered enough courage to tell her husband what Osha had said that Rickon and she were. Not because she feared Sandor would take it badly, but what could she possibly tell him? If he finds out why I really want Shaggy to be around him, he won't like it one bit.

Sansa knew Sandor would not judge or condemn her or Rickon for this rare connection they had with the direwolves, but she was certain that Sandor would do everything in his power to make sure Shaggy remained by her and her brother's side, rather than his, fearing for their sakes more than he had ever feared for his.

Raising her hand now to wave it in greeting at her friends once they caught sight of her, the others greeted her with the same gesture just before she stepped inside the stables, feeling warmer at once inside the large building. The baby wouldn't be able to have a direwolf that was truly his or hers though, Sansa knew, recalling Lady. Sansa wondered if her child would also have the wolf dreams her siblings and she had or not. I had Lady, who was Shaggy's sister, but who would my baby have?

Sansa looked about her as she walked down the long aisle that led to the other side of the stables, between the stalls. This place could house at least five and twenty horses, and at present only three were empty.

"That's it," Sansa heard a rough voice say. "See if he's breathing easily."

Sansa could not help but stifle a giggle then, as she thought, I guess the baby would have a big, loyal and strong former hound to guard her or him.

"I think he is," Rickon answered, before he turned around and caught sight of Sansa and waved at her. "But I can't really see his face. He isn't looking my way."

Sansa heard her husband snort just before she came to stand in front of Stranger's stall, smiling as she stared at Sandor, crouched beside his warhorse as he rubbed down the black destrier's legs with a warm thick blanket, to make sure the horse was warm. She saw that her big man was wearing patched brown breeches and his favourite pair of scuffed old boots. He really likes to take care of his horse. There was no denying Sandor loved Stranger very much.

She could not help but giggle as she imagined the terror in the faces of the Freys and the Boltons as they turned around and ran in fright as fast as they could from Sandor, Stranger and Shaggydog. My big man will look like the Stranger himself with such ferocious black beasts by his side.

Sansa shook her head at the sight presently before her, recalling fleetingly the afternoon when Sandor had left her speechless as he came back from a ride, telling her that when he left White Harbour, he was going to leave Stranger behind with her, along with his armour and his longsword, since he wished for her to have enough valuable goods to sell if the need arose when he was away, and Stranger would bring quite the high prize anywhere in the world.

It had taken Hagen's confession about how he had enough coin saved in the Iron Bank to help Sansa and Sandor in their cause through the winter or for any other need that may arise, whether it was them fleeing for their lives or just the city or the troops needing provisions, to make Sandor relent at last and promise to Sansa that he would end up taking his destrier to the war, as well as his armour and longsword.

Hagen told a surprised Sandor of the coin that Amon, the Edar's old steward, had given him, and of how he had saved most of it in the Iron Bank, intending to discreetly help her and Sandor and the north in their fight against the Boltons and all the rest of them.

Osha had already told her back in Braavos all of this, but Sansa had pretended that their conversation had never taken place as her sworn arrow went on with his confession. Sansa had thanked Hagen kindly after her efforts at attempting to make sure the Lorathi had no intentions to change his mind about what would happen to his coin.

"Don't you worry about it, Sansa," her friend had assured her. "If you are sent word supplies are needed- or if you see fit to buy provisions and what else for White Harbour, please don't hesitate and take my coin.

I brought some with me from Braavos. It won't last forever, so be careful with not spending it too soon, since I am sure it'll be needed sorely before this long bloody winter ends, but the Iron Bank gave me a valid note with their signature and seal that would allow only you to withdraw any amount you see fit"

"Oh Hagen," Sansa had replied, really speechless and thankful for this act of generosity as she took her faithful sworn arrow's hands in hers. "Is there nothing Sandor and I can do for you to-?"

"Nothing, but promise me to keep this matter between ourselves and your big man," Edar had answered, winking at her as only people who share a secret do as Sandor thanked him and actually patted the Lorathi on the back.

The neigh of a horse nearby brought Sansa's mind back to the present.

"How is he doing?" Sansa asked her husband with a soft smile on her face.

Sandor raised his head from Stranger's legs in her direction at once at her words, and the burned side of his face split into a wide warm grin as his grey eyes met hers. Her big man knew who was she referring to, and answered, as he went on rubbing his animal's legs, "As well as might be expected. Half the time he's as alert as any colt can be, and the other half he's spending it nursing at his mother's."

"He's been doing that since yesterday," Rickon told Sansa, grabbing her hand and leading her to the stall next to Stranger's. "It's boring."

Sansa winked at her big man before she turned around and chucked, exclaiming, "Oh they look so sweet together!"

There were no other words to describe it. To see Nan, her sweet gentle mare, nursing her one day old jet black colt made Sansa's heart contract with emotion, and she could already begin to feel just as overwhelmed as she had been yesterday, both when Nan was birthing Stranger's colt, and when the foal stood up for the first time.

It had all happened yesterday around midday. The stable boy had come running to meet her as she walked the walls with Hagen Edar and Sandor, and told them that her horse's time had arrived. They had all run to the stables then, and had seen the whole birth's process from beginning to end. Stranger didn't seem to know he was becoming a father, snorting loudly in annoyance at having so many people disturbing the tranquility of his stall for so long, but besides that, all had gone well.

Sansa was so proud of her strong Nan, and tears of joy had slid down her cheeks as she watched the foal come into this world, wondering if she would live through her confinement and the birth with the same quiet determination her Nan had. Sansa had not even realized she'd been crying until Sandor raised a hand to wipe her tears away with his thumb.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since we went to that paddock in Great Norvos, when Nan was in heat, Sansa had thought then, sniffing as she stood on tip toe to kiss Sandor's cheek.

Her and her husband's lives had been so different in those days. Back then they had pretended to be Edric and Alysane, and had spent their days with dear Vintos and Frema, and their nights in their little house at The Three Bells inn and boarding house, trying to pretended that the High Magister of the city had not taken a painfully acute interest in them- in her.

We've lived through so much since then, Sansa remembered. From Arman Nervere's memorable ball, to the horrible days that had followed that event, made unforgettable not only because of the first kiss that had occurred between Sandor and she, but because of Sandor's trial and the near brush with death during the duel with Arman.

And then there was the caravan journey through the Hills of Norvos, where we met Hagen before we took shelter at old Hrolf's castle by the sea. Their stay in Lorath followed after that, and then Braavos, their voyage across the Narrow Sea, their time in the wild northern lands, and finally their current time here in White Harbour.

But it was even more astonishing to realize that it had been around a year and a half since Sansa had been a hostage to the Lannisters, before Sandor fled the city, taking her along with him on a journey that would see them survive the Kingswood, Pentos and the long and lonely Valyrian roads. Yet through it all, there is one thing that remains as constant as ever, if not stronger. The love Sandor and I have for each other, and which has only been growing stronger since we first became more than just Joffrey's abused future queen and his Hound.

"I want to play with him," Rickon was exclaiming beside her, standing on a stool so that he could see inside Nan's stall.

Sansa looked down at her little brother with a sad smile, remembering how she had told Sandor the other day that her brother must feel lonely, since there were no boys his age he could play with.

"Not yet, Rickon," Sansa replied kindly. "He has to be with his mother."

"Do you think he'll get scared if he sees Shaggy?"

"Yes," Sansa answered at once. "Stranger's the one who who's become Shaggydog's best friend, you know. Not Nan, and certainly not her foal. At least not for a long time."

"Oh," Rickon replied, frowning as he returned his attention to Nan and the dark colt.

"We can train him to not fear Shaggy later, but we can still change his name right now though," Sansa dared proposed, though she already knew what her brother would say.

"No, I like the name Horse," Rickon answered, making Sandor chuckle as he stepped outside his destrier's stall and strode over to stand beside Sansa, drawing her closer to him as he casually wrapped his large hand around her waist.

Sansa sighed deeply, shaking her head in disapproval of the name, regretting having accepted her brother's proposition to be the one who named the foal yesterday afternoon.

She had been thinking on naming the coal Strider, while Sandor tried to come up with another blasphemous name for Stranger's foal that could match his sire's, and both of them had been curious enough when Rickon asked them if he could be the one to come up with the name. Sansa had nodded in agreement; thinking her little brother would say something like Longlegs or Highhooves.

But Rickon had ended up coming up with names like Fang, Darky, Horse and Shaggydog the Second of His Name, making Sansa's mouth drop open and her eyes grow wide in horror, and drawing throaty raucous laughter from Sandor. What had left Sansa speechless was not the fact that in the end her little brother had settled for the name Horse, but the fact that her big man had actually sided with Rickon, and told him that was a good name for the colt.

Sansa wasn't quite sure what to make out of a horse called Horse, and just as she had began to imagine how proud she would be to see her child one day riding Nan and Stranger's foal, Sandor had made the colt a gift to Rickon, saying that he wished for her brother to have a horse now that he would be parting with his direwolf, since Sandor would be taking Shaggy to war.

"How is the feast coming along?" Sansa's big man asked her, leaning down to kiss her forehead while he placed a large hand over her tummy.

Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the warmth and smell of her husband's body, despite the strong smell of horse to him, and ran her hands up Sandor's stained leather jerkin, fisting the fabric of his green tunic beneath her hands, as she replied, "Splendidly. Wylla and Wyn can run a castle as well as my lady mother ran Winterfell's household."

"You could do a better job with that than any of them any time," Sandor rasped in her ear, making her giggle as the rough stubble of his cheek brushed her earlobe.

At the sound, Sansa's little brother turned around, and when he saw the way Sandor was hugging her, and the way she was trying hard to keep from laughing in her husband's arms, Rickon made a sound of disgust and quickly ran away, seeking the other's company outside the stables.

Sansa could not help herself and laughed happily at that, shaking her head at her little brother's behavior because that was just the way sweet Bran or Arya would have reacted, while Sandor only snorted and held her closer, commenting, "He'll like girls soon enough."

"I suppose he will," Sansa agreed, as Sandor chuckled, a sour sound, part rumble, part a snarl, and Stranger's head suddenly appeared from above his stall's door to stare and neigh at them, calling his master back to him, for all the good it did the poor new black coated father, since in those moments Sandor had slid his hands to cup Sansa's bottom, making her squeal between her giggles, and stammer, "Sandor, don't do that here!"

Yet her husband didn't listen to her, and even slapped her down there, earning him a punch on his forearm from her fist. When she raised her eyes to Sandor's grey ones once their laughter had died subsided, her husband lowered his head forward until his forehead was resting on hers, their noses touching and kissed her quickly, before he asked, "How have you been feeling today?"

Sansa could not help but smile at that, a little amused because ever since they had found out that she was expecting their child, Sandor would always ask her about twenty times a day how was she feeling.

"I'm all right," she told him, giving him another kiss as they rubbed their noses together. "Earlier today I felt that pain near my ribs I was telling you about, but it quickly went away."

"Bugger, little bird, why the seven hells-" Sandor began to growl at her in a voice that sounded like two wood saws grinding together, laying his heavy hands on her shoulder.

She interrupted him by placing a finger on his scarred lips, saying, "I am feeling much better now that I am with you, so please don't start telling me that I should take a seat or go lie down, love. It's sweet of you, but you have to trust me when I tell you I'm fine."

Sansa's big man looked like he was about to protest, but something shifted in his eyes as he regarded her with a frown, and in the end he only snarled some protests but didn't go on about the mild cramps she had started to feel of late near her ribs and chest, but which she had been assured was not an uncommon pain.

Wrinkling her brow as Sandor started rubbing her shoulders, Sansa turned around to look at Nan and Horse, saying once again, "They are so beautiful, aren't they?"

Sandor stare didn't follow hers. He remained looking down at her as he rasped, "Yes you are," and reached out to brush her cheekbone with his knuckles.

"I was talking about the horses," she muttered, already feeling herself blush at the compliment.

"I wasn't," Sandor replied.

Sansa returned her gaze to Sandor. Her smile grew wider at the look on his face as he went on staring her with a calm grin, and opened her mouth to thank him, but no words came out. He knows already what I feel and want to thank him just by looking at me, Sana knew.

"When will I be able to-?" she began to ask, reaching out for Sandor's hand with her own.

"You could right now," he answered with a shrug. Sandor had spent enough time already with Nan and Horse, so the foal could start trusting him at once. "But I think its best that we wait till tomorrow morning when we take him outside. Nan won't mind your presence, but the stall is too small in case Horse tries to run.

"All right," Sansa agreed with a nod.

"He'll know you soon enough if you keep at it, Sansa," Sandor told her moments later as they started walking down the middle aisle of the stables, after Sansa remarked that they should really start getting ready for the feast. "So make sure to talk and touch him a lot the way I taught you, and I reckon that by the time I go away, you won't need me to be around anymore."

Sansa stopped walking at those words, letting go of Sandor's hand, and causing him to stop talking and turn around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

"That's not possible," she whispered, looking at her husband with wide eyes that were as full of love for him as they were of concern and care. "I am always going to need you, regardless of whether you are here with me or not. We both will."

"Sansa," Sandor rasped, his eyes leaving her face to settle on her tummy. "Do you know how much I'm going to fucking miss you, little bird?"

"Yes," she answered, truthfully.

She could tell just how much those words meant to him- how grateful he was to her for them too. Sansa could as well he feel the strong beating of his heart as they left the building side by side, her arm going around Sandor's waist even as he placed his own arm around her shoulders.

"Sansa, there's something I wanted to talk to you about," her husband continued as they walked out of the stables, frowning.

"What is it?" she asked him, braiding a strand of her auburn hair.

Sandor looked around for a moment, and rasped, "Let's not go meet with the others just yet. I don't want to be around anyone right now."

"All right," she agreed, and they started walking around the grounds of the New Castle.

"What is it you wanted to tell me?" she wondered, once they were far away from where Rickon, Hagen and the others were at.

Sandor's turned his head to his sides to make sure there was nobody around, before he answered, "We haven't yet talked about how we should call the babe."

Sansa blinked up at her big man, her mouth hanging open in a small O, before she stammered, "Oh- yes. Yes, you are right."

If she was honest with herself, she had not expected that Sandor would bring this matter up himself. She had thought about what names their child should be called, but the thought of her husband spending his time doing the same was quite a pleasant surprise for Sansa.

"Have- what names have you thought of?" she asked Sandor once he failed to say anything else himself, as they walked past the currently deserted training yard.

Nodding, he replied, "I'm running out of reasons why we shouldn't call him after your father, little bird."

Sansa could not help but draw a little intake of breath at that as she stared up at her love with wide eyes. Over the last couple of days she had found herself wondering what name their son should bear, alternating in her decision between either her lord father's name, or one of her brother's, but the moment her big man growled the former, Sansa knew it was just right.

Not for the first time the intrigue of what exactly Sandor really thought of her father crossed Sansa's mind then. He came to mock him and his honour to my face, but that was long ago, and we were so very different back then, Sansa reasoned. Father can't remind me of Sandor in more than one way at times for nothing.

"Our child will be born in winter, Sansa," Sandor suddenly snarled, stopping beside the shade of a tree, making Sansa realize that she had been so lost in her own thoughts she had forgotten to voice what she thought of Sandor's proposition.

He grabbed her hand and led her towards the hidden grey bench behind it. Once they had sat on it her big man cupped Sansa's face under her jaw, and lifted it upwards so that she could look at his burned face.

"He'll be a proper little northman of an old line, and I reckon that Rickon's bannermen would like it," her husband further explained. "They can go on the way they always do, hating me all they like, but my son is going to be one of them, and they should do best if they never forgot that, and stopped dwelling on the fact that it is going to be the former Lannister Hound's pup. Calling Eddard Stark's first grandson in his honour will make sure no one ever does."

He may not be here for the baby's birth, but he can at least choose its name, Sansa told herself, her heart beating a little faster for the bittersweet meaning of that thought, her tummy already clenching painfully, twisting into knots, at the memory that these were her last days with her big man. He must see me happy in these last couple of days, so that the memories he takes with him to war are of my smiles and kisses, not my tears and worries.

And so Sansa smiled, her dimples appearing in both cheeks, and reached out to encircle the wrist of the hand Sandor had on her face, saying softly, "I could not agree more, dearest. It would mean a lot to me, not only the north, to name our son after my father."

Her big man could tell that she meant every word, and therefore grinned as he let his eyes roam over her with a sudden hungry light shining in the grey waters of his eyes. Sansa returned his grin with a raised eyebrow, and suddenly teasingly asked, half in suspicion, and half in amusement, "But big man, wait a moment. You're speaking as if you were completely and utterly certain that our baby is going to be a boy, my love, but what if we have a little girl? Shall we go ahead and call her Eddara then? It's not an uncommon name here in the north. If I recall correctly I think that's how Ser Helman Tallhart's daughter is called, you know. "

"Fuck no," Sandor answered at once, with a sour chuckle. "Please not Eddara, little bird."

Laughing, Sansa shook her head and moved her hand below the sleeve of Sandor's heavy woollen tunic, caressing the hairy skin of his wrist and arm there.

"I would like if it was a girl," Sandor admitted casually a heartbeat later, with a shrug as he let go of her chin only to move his large hand to rest on her neck, his fingers encircling her neck as his thumb started brushing her cheekbone back and forward. "But I'm bloody certain we'll have a son."

"But how can you be so sure?" she insisted.

"Because boys are more common in my family than girls," he answered with a shrug. "And apparently so are in the Starks, seeing as you had four brothers and only one sister."

"Oh," she said, realizing there was truth behind Sandor's words. Father had two brothers as well. Uncle Benjen and Uncle Brandon. "Yes, I suppose you could be right."

Sansa wasn't completely sure yet what her baby could end up being, but she wasn't going to let this opportunity pass now that the moment had presented itself.

"We'll call him Eddard if it's a boy," Sansa agreed. "But only if we can call our baby after your sister if it's a little girl."

She could see that Sandor had not been expecting that, and in that first moment after she had uttered those words her love's scarred face- that face which had mastered the skill of hiding its true thoughts behind a mask of indifference- was like an open book to Sansa; a book which contained surprise, unease, and a hint of some emotion she could not quite discern.

"You want to call her Arwyn?" Sandor rasped incredulous, his arms dropping to his sides as the corner of his lip started to twitch. "Are you sure, Sansa?

The shadows of his past were coming back to haunt Sandor's mind at this though, and Sansa did not care for her husband to dwell in them, so she just nodded in complete certainty.

Ever since she first began to imagine a future in which Sandor and she could be married and have children together, naming one of their daughters in honour and memory of the long lost sister Sandor had known when he was just a boy, and which the horrible Mountain had murdered, had been something Sansa had wanted to do, and she was not going to back out of it now.

"Yes," she told her big man, assuring him that she was not joking. "And I've never been more certain about anything in my life, my love."

"Seven hells," Sandor muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. "I always thoughts you'd want to name her after your mother or something, little bird. Though certainly not after that wolf girl of a sister you had."

Oh Arya. Sansa looked away, not prepared to hear her sister brought up in those moments. She closed her eyes briefly, making sure the pain that crossed her expression was hidden from Sandor's view, before she said in tremulous hoarse voice, "Sandor, could I ask you to do something for me, please?"

"You know you can."

Straightening her shoulders in determination, Sansa said in a strong clear resolute voice, "If- if Arya ends up being the girl they married to Roose Bolton's bastard, and is being held captive in Winterfell, please bring my sister back to me, big man. Please promise me you'll do your best to make sure she lives through it all."

Sandor reached out to clasp her chin with his large hand, and as he made her turn her face around so he could regard her intently, her big man ended up snarling roughly after a long moment of consideration, "Yes, Sansa. I promise to bring you your sister back if I find her."

"Thank you," Sansa replied, smiling sadly as she supposed that one day, if the old gods and the new were good ad willing, one of her girls could very well take after Arya, since Sandor shared the characteristic traits of a man of the north.

Maybe that is what Sandor has that reminds me of Father. The dark hair and grey eyes, and quiet nature. And Sandor once told me the Cleganes were descendants of the First Men after all. He's already a Northerner, and we should all care to remember that. Sansa would make certain they did.

"I know that it would mean to you just as much as it would for me to have our first girl called after your sister, or our first son after my father, Sandor," Sansa told her husband now, wishing for the first time that rather than just one, she was instead carrying twins inside her.

"My bird," was all her big man told her, clearly moved as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Neddie and Arwyn Clegane," Sansa whispered her heart full of hope once again at both at the pleasant feeling of Sandor's mouth on her skin, and at how those words sounded together.

"Bugger, there's this other thing though," Sandor told her, meeting her eyes once again. "I don't think the children should be called after me alone, little bird. I think they should be named Eddard or- or Arwyn of Houses Stark and Clegane."

"But," Sansa objected at once, taken aback. "But- but Sandor, you are their father. Surely you cannot wish for them to bear your house name after mine? Shouldn't they be just Clegane?"

She had understood the necessity behind Sandor's inclination to encourage her to call herself Sansa Stark rather than Sansa Clegane ever since the days when they had crossed the Narrow Sea, leaving Essos behind them, but she had not expected her husband to share a similar view when it came to their children.

"Under the circumstances, little bird, I don't think so," Sandor snarled, reaching out to grab her hand. "The world has to know that the Starks were not defeated, and our pups and birdlings should therefore all be called after both of us."

"But- but dear, in the north that's not the custom-"

"It surely isn't, but it isn't outlandish either, Sansa," Sandor pointed out. "Bugger the custom. Are you forgetting who you are and who I am? You're as highborn as they come, and my family were just landed knights. You know every house and every sodding sigil in Westeros, but do you know why are the Dornish called Nymeros Martell and not just Martell?"

Sansa nodded, remembering against her will Prince Dorna's stranged wife, Mellario, and the woman's connection to Arman Nervere.

"Because Queen Nymeria was of the higher birth, and Prince Mors was just a lord at the time they married," she answered.

"Aye, clever bird," Sandor agreed, reaching out to stroke her hair as Sansa gave his hand a squeeze. "And while Martell had an army to offer the queen and the Rhoynish who were mad enough to follow her to Dorne, I only have my sword and my love to give you and your brother and the babe. The least I could do for our son, or our little bird, would be to allow the Stark Clegane line to be born.

They say your brother lost the north because he married the wrong person, among other things. They won't be saying things like that of you, Sansa. Or of our child if I can help it. You two are Rickon's heirs now, and-"

"Sandor, please stop," Sansa interrupted in a quiet voice, shaking her head and digging her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy twisting and pinching in response to how worried Sandor's words made her. This isn't right. He doesn't have to prove anything to me. The men of the north may be another matter, but Sandor was her husband by her own choosing after all, wasn't he?

"Don't say such things. If- if you really think it would indeed be better for our children to be Stark Clegane, then I agree..."

Later that day, when night had fallen, Sansa's big man escorted her to the Merman's Court, her hand on his arm, and a nervous smile on her face as Sandor kept assuring her that all would turn out well in the meeting, and Wyn and Wylla would not object at having her remain in the New Castle with them.

"You know they won't mind you and Rickon staying here with them, little bird," Sandor muttered, looking ahead of them down at the empty corridor. "So stop fidgeting."

Sansa could distinguish the anger that lay behind Sandor's rough rasp as he answered her well enough, but chose to pretend that she did not, not wishing to get into another argument with her husband regarding something that they had been arguing about for days now.

Neither of us will be happy with the outcome of it once we settled it in any case, Sansa gathered, thinking once again about who would it be best to stay with her in White Harbour between Hagen and Osha, and who should go join Sandor on the road to war. Only time will tell if the choices we end up deciding will be the right ones. Sansa wanted both the wildling woman and her sworn arrow to accompany Sandor to Winterfell, but her big man wanted them both to remain here behind with her.

With a shake of the head, Sansa began to smooth down her skirts in an attempt to distract her nerves. She was wearing a dark blue velvet gown slashed with silver that woke all the colour in her eyes. The fluttering feeling in her tummy was too much, and Sansa even hit her hand once with the hilt of Sandor's longsword beside her, and was somewhat relieved when they finally reached the thick oak and iron doors that had been erected at the entrance of the New Castle's great hall.

Wylla and Wyn greeted her at once with open arms, and even smiled and curtsied at Sandor, asking him how he was doing. Sansa saw that Ser Marlon, Osha and Hagen and Lord Davos were already in the hall, all of them with a cup of wine in their hands.

"Osha told us that little lord Rickon could not manage to stay awake," Wylla told Sansa, as they joined their friends beside the roaring fire that was blazing in the great hearth.

"He was looking forward to it," Sandor commented, looking about the hall, taking in the beauty of the Merman's Court now that all of its decorations had been brought in, with a smile.

The candles had all been lit; the hall smelled of nutmeg and other costly spices. The long trestle table and the heavy-oak-and-leather chairs were waiting for them.

"My lady," Ser Marlon said, kissing Sansa's hand, making her return her attention to the people before her. "Clegane."

"Lady Sansa," the Onion Knight mumbled, giving her a modest smile before he started looking at his feet, and raised the hand that lacked the joints of his fingers to his neck as if searching for something.

Sansa tried hard to keep herself from chuckling as she recalled that ever since that morning when Davos had walked in on her wearing nothing but her corset and skirts, The Onion Knight would turn the most embarrassing shade of red when he was around her. Her big man had told Sansa that Lord Davos had confessed to him that he had been certain Sandor would hit him for having stumbled upon her in her undergarments.

"Good evening, Lord Seaworth," Sansa greeted Stannis' Hand with a smile, winking up at her husband beside her. Sandor returned the gesture by discreetly caressing the small of her back.

"So Clegane," Ser Marlon said without preambles. "Ready to face our northern winters, are you?"

"I am," Sandor replied without a trace of hesitation or fear in his raucous voice, crossing his arms about his chest as Sansa looked away from him, taking a deep breath as she remembered that she was not meant to face the long winter with her husband by her side.

"We are ready to leave as we had planned," Sandor was saying. "The men are as ready as they will ever be. There is no point in delaying the date we decided any longer."

Yes, there is no point in delaying, Sansa silently agreed, lowering her gaze to the floor lest her face betrayed her secret or her pain.

She and Sandor had actually considered him remaining in White Harbour for just a few more days, but when they'd asked Hagen's opinion, their friend had replied, "Just for a few more days you say? And what then? What will you do when those days are over? You can't run away or avoid stumbling with what the future has in store for you."

They could see the wisdom in Edar's words of course, and so now Sansa and Sandor only had just a few more days together and that was it.

"How many men will you be taking with you?" the elderly knight was presently asking Sansa's big man.

"Around thirty," Sandor answered, gulping down his wine and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The ones who won't so readily drop their blades and piss themselves at the first blow of a war horn.

"And I'll keep on training the ones that stay behind, as well as the ones that arrive from the other towns and villages. And then I'll send a few to you as soon as I see they are fit for the task. But most must stay here to guard White Harbour."

"Is there any word of where Stannis is or how he's faring?" Sandor enquired.

"There haven't been any new tidings of the king's whereabouts," Davos answered sadly.

"Yes, well, regardless of Stannis, you've won my respect, Clegane, I have to admit," Wylla and Wyn's uncle expressed, as he raised his cup in Sandor's direction for a toast. "And I'll tell the men as much before you set out for Winterfell. I'll tell knights and soldiers alike that you've earned my respect, and that they are lucky to have acquired such a seasoned commander as yourself to lead their garrison to war. A toast to Lady Sansa's husband!"

Sansa smiled and raised her wine cup along with the others, and they toasted to the health of a very uncomfortable Sandor.

Afterwards they all made some small talk before heading over to the long trestle table, sitting down on the heavy-oak-and-leather chairs. Sansa and Wynafryd took the seats at both heads of the table, with the others settling to their right and left.

Sandor sat down beside to her right, and Sansa could not help but smile as he reached out and place his hand on her knee, for it somehow felt fulfilling to know that the days were long gone where her husband had been her sworn shield, and rather than being expected to share her table he was supposed to stand guard behind her chair.

They began their little feast with a warm tasty stew of mussels, cods, crabs, winkles and whitefish, accompanied by white cheese, olives and bread. There were three different types of wine for them to drink, and a variety of elaborate plates, compromised of lobster, salted fish, lamprey pie, and vension roasted with chestnuts. As they ate and drank, Lord Davos and Sandor asked about the news the ravens had brought in the afternoon, and were told by Ser Marlon of the events that had occurred in the past weeks in the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa was startled to hear of Cersei Lannister's walk of shame through the streets of King's Landing, but since almost everyone in the table seemed to notice her discomfort, they quickly turned the talk to Euron Greyjoy and his attempts to invade the Reach, and of these holy brothers that called themselves sparrows that had been taking power all over Westeros after the Iron Throne allowed them to have an army of their own once again.

Sandor turned to look at Sansa with discretion more than once during dinner, and Sansa knew that her big man would wait until she thought it best to finally announce the news about her baby, but so far, Sansa hadn't found the right opportunity to do so.

Or maybe I'm just fooling myself, Sansa considered. It has nothing to do with the reason behind it, but maybe I just don't want to confirm that Sandor and I will be parted soon.

The right moment to announce the tidings of her child arrived when Sansa would have least expected it. It was when the talk around the table turned to the hundreds of wildlings Sansa's brother Jon had allowed to cross the Wall, and the rumours of giants been spied near the shores of Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Ser Marlon had asked Osha to comment on her opinion on this, and they all listened attentively and considered what the wildling woman had to say about the Free Folk.

Sansa had been thinking about Jon and the way she had once treated him, hoping that he would not hold her behaviour from when she was a little girl against her, when Wylla suddenly turned to look at Osha, saying excitedly as she reached for the wildling's hand, "Don't worry, Osha. We are all taught when little to fear the Free Folk, but now that I've come to know you I see how not all of those tales we were told by our wet nurses and septas can be true. I am sure that the Northern troops will come to appreciate you and your people's efforts once they see how skilled and courageous a spearwife like yourself can be during battle."

Those words managed to break Sansa from her reverie, and she straightened in her chair, shifting around in immediate self awareness. Osha had looked with a raised eyebrow at Wylla Manderly even as Hagen and Sandor turned to look at Sansa. It was then when she met Sandor's grey eyes that Sansa knew the time had come. If I don't say it now I never will.

So she folded her hands on her lap and coughed politely, breaking the momentary silence that had settled on the Merman's Court, drawing everyone's attention to her. Sansa covered her tummy with her hand as if just by touching her child she could find a secret source of strength within her from which where she could draw strength, and said softly, "We are not sure yet if Osha will have the opportunity to fight in some battle, for she may not be going to Winterfell."

The Manderlys looked at her with raised eyebrows, silently asking her what she could possibly mean by that. So Sansa, shouldering her reserve, continued with, "And the reason for that is because I am with child."

A sharp intake of breath from the Manderly sisters greeted the little bird's revelation, followed by a stunned silence as they looked at Sansa, then at him, then at the others, and then at each other, before returning their gaze to Sandor's wife, all the time staring with eyes as wide as saucers. Ser Marlon's reaction was the one Sandor had been more interested to watch, yet the man just blinked at first, but didn't really seem surprised at the news, nor angry. Sandor reached out for his wife's hand under the table in those moments, giving it a squeeze.

Sansa turned to look at Sandor for a moment before Wynafryd finally remarked as she clasped her hands together, "Oh Sansa! That is so wonderful!"

The little bird sighed in relief, and smiled a little as Wylla Manderly remarked excitedly, "We have been wondering when this would happen ever since we've known you, but of course we couldn't ask you, since it wasn't our place. But Sansa, this makes us feel so happy for you and your husband both. What a happy night and tidings!"

"My most sincere congratulations," Ser Marlon expressed, bowing his head in respect in Sansa and Sandor's direction, as the Onion actually stood up and walked over to shake Sandor's hand, laughing and shaking his head in disbelief.

"I don't know what King Stannis will say about this," Seaworth remarked, not at all offended that they had held back the news from him as well. "But I am glad for you both. I think I know what this must have meant for you two."

"Thank you, Lord Davos," Sansa told the former smuggler, as Sandor snarled with a grin, remembering the time when he had had to convince Seaworth that he meant no harm to Sansa, and truly did love her and had her best interests and well being foremost in his thoughts, "I appreciate your well wishes, smuggler."

Sandor liked the Onion well enough, but no matter what he thought of the smuggler-turned-Hand, or how much his opinion of Seaworth had changed in the past months, the fact remained that Davos was loyal to Stannis Rigid Baratheon and him alone at the end of the day, and so neither Sandor nor the little bird had wanted anyone who was not those closest to them to know about the child.

Sansa started thanking the Manderlys again, so Sandor had to joining her, and a moment later they were all toasting in honour of his child, wishing him good health and a long life, while Sandor stared in awe at Sansa, wondering even now after such a long journey beside her, how the little bird could be carrying his pup.

Eddard of the Houses Stark and Clegane, Sandor thought, grinning as he raised the cup of sour red to his lips, remembering that were they to have a little birdling, then Arwyn would be her name, after his long lost little sister. Sandor knew that he would never be able to find the right words to tell Sansa just how much that meant to him. How in awe he was to this day that she had ever been willing to let him have her, and share so much with a man like him.

His little bird placed her hand above the one he had on her knee right in that moment at such thoughts crossed him mind, and as she gave him a beaming smile, Sandor could not help but consider that maybe there was no need for him to tell her. Maybe she already knows. Fuck, how was he ever going to leave her?

"I am sorry we did not tell you sooner," Sansa told the sisters as soon as the toast was over, and she looked away from him. "But we wanted to keep it a secret between us for just a little while."

"Oh, it's all right, Sansa. Really, don't apologize," Wylla assured the little bird, even as her sister asked with a frown, "Forgive me, but I just remembered, I- surely you aren't thinking on joining the men in the march of Winterfell anymore, are you? You have to take care of yourself. I'm sorry if I am being imprudent, but we've grown to care for you Sansa. You are quite young, and I really don't think you should risk it. Won't you consider remaining here with us?"

Sandor gulped and reached out to place his hand on Sansa's knee, as the little bird allowed Wyn to take her hand, and chirped, "I confess that we had hoped you would ask me to stay here. I do wish with all my heart that I could go back to Winterfell with Sandor and my brother's troops. It's been so long, and I was so close, but we have to think of my child now. So Sandor and I came to the agreement that if you were all willing, it should probably be best that I didn't leave White Harbour."

"Oh we would be so happy to have you stay here with us for however long you wish," Wylla Manderly promised Sansa, nodding vigorously. "You have been such a support to us in our visits to the poor and have turned out to be a great friend. You've made the days in this city more fun, to tell you the truth. You all have. And with a baby- Wyn and I used to love taking care of all our little cousins before the war, so we are not completely ignorant where children are concerned."

"Wylla, they understand," Wynafryd pointed out, shaking her head as Sansa chuckled. "They've seen us with Lord Rickon often enough to know that."

"They'll be great parents, won't they?" Edar remarked, laughing. "Just imagine, a Stark baby born in the midst of winter. From what I've learned so far of northerners, that will certainly raise everyone's spirits, I think."

"Yes," the Manderly girls agreed, nodding at the same time. "The child will also strengthen the Starks' hold on Winterfell once we seek to reclaim it in your name too."

"Talking about Lord Rickon," Wylla remarked, frowning. "Well, what will happen to him? Surely he'll remain here with you, Sansa, will he not?"

"Yes, my brother is staying here with me."

That got the Onion's attention, Sandor was quick to notice. Davos straightened in his chair, and almost spilled the wine he'd been drinking. But before he could even get a word out of his mouth, Sansa arched an eyebrow in his direction, and stated what Seaworth was having such a trouble understanding, "Yes, Davos. Rickon will remain by my side. After everything my family has been trough I trust you will all understand why I cannot part from my brother."

"But- but my lady, King Stannis won't like this-" the man began to stammer, before Sandor cut him off by pointing out, "It wasn't Stannis the one who asked you to bring the boy back. It was Lord Manderly, and I reckon the old man wouldn't get angry at us for leaving Rickon under his family's care. It won't be safe for the boy out there, and you know it just as well as I do.

The bloody Onion was not very pleased with this, but after staring at Sandor with growing annoyance, he said nothing. Sansa hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"There is more yet," she told their hosts, returning her attention to the Manderlys after sparing a look in his direction.

"It has also been decided though that Shaggydog should follow the men to war," Sansa announced.

"But is it wise to separate Lord Rickon from his wolf?" Wylla commented at once, looking in disbelief at Sansa after she had recovered from her surprise at the news. Good, they don't like it anymore than I do. Maybe they'll manage to make the little bird see sense.

The little bird raised her head high and straightened her shoulders as she replied confidently, "My brother would have gone to war in Shaggy's place if he'd had his way. As it is though, what would be wise would be to prove to our enemies that they should fear most terribly for their lives now that the direwolves are back, Wylla. They have to suffer the consequences of the words you told me when we first met. The north remembers."

"Indeed," Ser Marlon nodded in agreement, making Sandor stare at the man in fucking disbelief! This is so bloody stupid.

He had been counting on the knight to be the most likely to back him up, but the sodding knight only said with a fucking nod, "The north remembers, Lady Sansa, and I don't think there is anything more uplifting in these troubles times for everyone's spirits than the tidings that you are carrying a direwolf pup, and that the Stark line is not only coming back with a vengeance, but will not perish."

Sandor's eyes narrowed as he heard those words, knowing what they would mean in the long run after what he had overheard Edar mentioning to Sansa the other day to him.

At least this proves that I was right in wishing my son to be called after his Ned Stark, Sandor gathered, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly, as he shot a look of anger in Ser Marlon's direction.

"The men who despise Sandor now may end up respecting him not only for his reputation in the battlefield," Sandor remembered Edar telling his bird. "But because he could very well be the father of a possible Lord Stark in case something happened to Rickon, you know."

Sandor and Sansa had talked about that and had both agreed that that was not a prospect they liked for their firstborn, but neither did Sandor liked to think that the Manderlys were already considering his child as a future pawn in the game, since that only made him even more suspicious about what that family would choose to do were the little bird's life at risk during the birth. They could decide to let her die in favour of the babe. They may like her well enough, but was it enough to spare her were the worst to come to pass?

Seaworth was looking thoughtfully at Ser Marlon after the knight had stated his thoughts on this matter, and finally the Onion asked, "So let me see if I understood correctly. Lady Sansa will remain here with Lord Rickon while you go off alone with the direwolf to the wars, Sandor?"

"Yes," he nodded, wondering if Davos was going deaf.

"But what will happen with Osha and Hagen?"

Sandor's mouth began to twitch in distaste as the reason behind the fights Sansa and he had had was finally brought up. He tried his best not to look in the little bird's direction now though, since it was one thing to argue amongst themselves, and another for the Manderlys and Seaworth to learn that the bird and he were not of the same mind in this bloody mess.

For when the time had come for them to talk with Hagen and Osha about whom would be staying in White Harbour and who would be going to war, Sandor and his little bird had had one of their worst fights, since neither of them was happy with what the other wanted.

It had been a long time since Sandor felt the seething anger he'd lived with for so long from the days when he was still serving the Lannisters. But the moment Sansa proposed with a confident smile that it would be best for both Osha and Hagen to go with him, leaving her, their child, and her brother, all alone in this city, Sandor couldn't help himself.

Even if Sansa and he had agreed that the Manderlys, a house not only powerful and wealthy, but valuable in the game for the loyalty they were supposedly prepared to show to Sansa and Rickon, were the best option they had, since if they couldn't really rely on them, then the cause of House Stark was truly fucking lost, Sandor could not even consider the bloody possibility of leaving Sansa and Rickon to fend for themselves with the Manderlys.

Had this bloody matter not been one of life and death, Sandor may have even laughed when his stubborn little bird proposed it, but since that was not the fucking case, the fact that Sansa didn't even seem to be joking, had only angered him more.

Sandor had asked Sansa what would she even do by herself if their enemies learned where she was and attacked White Harbour, questioning her about how she even proposed to get herself and their child and Rickon to safety and out of a city under siege, making it clear that he would prefer it if both Osha and Hagen stayed behind in the city with her, while he went away with only Shaggydog for company.

"If things get fucked up I don't want you to stay behind waiting for me, little bird," he had snarled at his wife, in a voice that was rough and hard as an iron grasp, clenching his fists at his side. "I know I told you I would take you home, but I also said that I would keep you safe, Sansa. So I'll be damned if the day ever comes when I walk away and leave you alone and unprotected.

If we lose, I want you to flee White Harbour and take everything with you that you can and sell it. Anything that can get you and your brother on a ship back to Essos. But you won't be able to do that on your own. Why the fuck do you want me to take away any protectors you could have in this damned city?"

Sandor had been shaking with anger by then, since he could remember well enough what had happened to the Targaryen children after Robert won at the Trident. They had fled Dragonstone with help, but if Sansa was on her own, what then?

Before Sansa was even able to reply, Sandor had continued, questioning her by snarling, "You could flee to Lorath or somewhere with Hagen, and instead here you are asking me to take away from your side the only sodding hope that keeps me going. The only sort of reassurance that I bloody well have of knowing that you won't be completely alone when I can no longer keep you safe!"

But Sansa had made it clear that she was not going to give up on her case easily, and had gone on and on about how much she feared that he was not well protected when he left White Harbour to face the Boltons and the Freys and Stannis Baratheon.

"Sandor, just listen to me!" the little bird had exclaimed. "You are going to be completely surrounded in the march to Winterfell by men and knights who resent you for marrying me. If Hagen and Osha go with you, then at least I am sure they can keep an eye on you and make sure that you don't make even more enemies."

"So you want me to take three wet-nurses in case I scratch my knees?" he'd spat back angrily, thinking about Shaggydog, Osha and Edar.

"Gods be good," Sansa had answered, trying hard to keep the anger in her voice in check, Sandor had managed to register. "You know it's more than that, Sandor. Stannis may seek to hurt you in some way when you are brought before him. He burns people, remember? How can you even think that I will let you go meet that man on your own?

Whether it is because of the man you were when you served the Lannisters, or because you married me, or won't bend the knee to him or his red god, it doesn't matter. I have as much right as you do to want to keep you safe! I know that asking Hagen and Osha to join you could not end up mattering much if the red god has turned Stannis as mad as Arman and Quallo were, but I have to do something. I have lost nearly everyone I've ever loved, and couldn't stop them from being murdered. But now I do have the choice and the chance to do something."

"Little bird," Sandor had replied as patiently as he could in those moments, trying to keep calm, since he was moved by Sansa's concern and the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes made him feel as shit.

"I know how to behave around men like Stannis," he'd explained to her, thinking back on Gregor. "I've survived worse men than him after all. If that bloody fanatic isn't as stupid as I remember and actually listens to me, I still stand a chance. Trust me.

I'll do everything I can so that the fucker ends up accepting us and our terms, even if he hates them. I don't care. King Rigid Baratheon will just have to sit and grind his teeth to powder, because Westeros will end up just like Norvos if that bloody red god is tolerated here."

But no matter what he said, the little bird was not convinced. When it became clear that neither of them was going to get exactly what they wanted, they had decided that they would let matters rest for the meanwhile, but until today neither had mentioned it again.

Sandor knew why Sansa was trying to pretend that they still had time before they could decide what to do, since she had behaved similarly back in Essos whenever he wanted to discuss what Robb Stark and Sansa's mother would think of them getting together, and probably because she didn't wish for them to spend their last days together fighting- the only thing in this bloody mess Sandor agreed with, and the reason he suspected, if he was honest with himself, was behind him agreeing to play this game along with this game with the little bird.

"We have not yet decided who will be going with Sandor and the men and who will be remain here with me," Sansa was answering the Onion, as Sandor reached out to take a drink of the Dornish red before him, shaking his head.

"But shouldn't Hagen remain here as your sworn arrow, Sansa?" Wynafryd wondered, looking at a loss.

Yes, he bloody well should, Sandor thought sullenly, but knew better than to actually say those words out loud in these moments.

"Osha would be just as capable of taking care of me and Rickon, as Hagen would. Yet my sworn arrow's skills and knowledge would be wasted if he were to remain here in White Harbour, for he is the best man with bow and arrow the north has seen in a long time.

On the other hand, Osha would be valuable to the troops due to her knowledge of Winterfell and the hidden ways beneath the castle that could be useful to them once they reached my home. So you see? I am afraid it is not so simple. But we value your opinions on all matters, my friends, and wanted to ask you all what you think should be done with in this situation."

The Manderlys and the Onion were all more than ready to make it clear what they thought should be done, and it took them well past midnight for them, along with Osha and Edar, to agree on what should be done. The final decision still had to be taken by Sansa and he though, and Sandor and his little bird could tell that neither of them was still happy with what had been proposed during dinner in the Merman's Court.

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! Hope you're enjoying the story, and if you feel like reviewing please do. Your comments are some of the best highlights of my week :D

I have some news for you all. I am like 90% sure I'm going to go away for a week this Thursday, so I won't be able to update the fic next Sunday. I apologize for making you all wait 2 weeks for chapter 51, but this is the first time this sort of gap would be happening, and I promise it won't happen again. I'll probably be away from the fandom during that week, but I'm going to miss you all! Take care and enjoy the final episode of season 3 (,;

Love,

Caroh99