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

* Onborrowedwings is the beta behind this work, and I am so very grateful to have her helping me! x)

- 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.

*The title of this chapter is taken from the book Vanity Fair: A Novel without a Hero by William Makepeace Thackeray.

52. The Girl I Left Behind Me

Snow eddied around them all, making skirts and capes snap noisily. Sandor had never seen the New Castle so crowded. Cooks, servants, blacksmiths, stable boys, ladies, bannermen and knights, among many others had all gathered together in the castle's yard to watch the garrison depart, and outside soldiers were ranked up in lines waiting. They won't have to wait for long though. Everything was ready, only the usual speeches and formalities had to be done, and then the little bird and he would say their farewells together with the others, and then they would depart.

They were fifty strong, yet none of the men that would be joining them in the march to Winterfell had been allowed to be free riders or sworn swords at Ser Marlon and Sandor's decision. Over everyone's heads, banners emblazoned with the direwolf of Stark and the merman of Manderly whipped back and forth in the wind, but as soon as they reached the outskirts of the city Sandor was going to have the Stark banners pulled down, since the north could not yet know about the bloody vengeance he and the others in their host were taking to Winterfell.

Sandor took a deep breath of the crisp morning air, glad for the plain but warm clothes on his back. He was wearing high leather boots and leather gloves, and beneath his chainmail and armour roughspun breeches and tunic, and a sleevless leather jerkin. The heavy woolen cloak that the Manderly sisters had given him as a sign of their good will towards him was fastened with the wooden clasp in the shape of a dog and a direwolf Rickon had given him yesterday.

His little bird meanwhile confirmed what he had always known all along- that she was the most beautiful woman in this world. She stood beside him in the dress she had been meaning to wear on the day she stepped into Winterfell's grounds again, her cheeks flushed due to the cold and a glint in her eyes. Sansa claimed that she had gained a little more weight since her last fitting for it and felt a bit uncomfortable in it, but Sandor couldn't agree less, for to him she had never looked more beautiful.

"Everyone is looking at us," Sansa whispered to him as she stood tall beside him, her head barely reaching his shoulders, fidgeting on the spot with the skirts of her gown with her hands.

Sandor glanced at her sideways, raising his eye in amusement and muttered, "No, little bird. They're looking at you."

Sansa understood what he meant, and gulped. It's time. Everyone that had come to see the men ride off to war, from the lowest kitchen scullion to the ladies dressed in velvet, had their stare fixed in their direction, yet for once the reason for them looking at Sansa was not out of resentment at having married him, but because they were waiting for her and young Rickon to climb the dais and say some words of encouragement and hope to them on this morning, since such formalities had to be observed.

The Manderlys had just told the crowd that Sansa and Rickon would be staying behind in the city, and the people of White Harbour looked honoured to be the ones that would be keeping the last Starks safe. Ser Marlon had just finished his speech by commenting to the shocked bunch of idiots before them that Sandor was the best seasoned commander he could have ever wished for to lead the garrison to war, and therefore hoped everyone would treat him with respect.

Sandor hadn't liked the old bloody knight saying that, for he could deal accordingly with any bastard who thought he was still a spy for the Lannisters, but he had been forced to mind once again that now as Sansa's husband he could not do something so sodding disrespectful.

With a nervous smile Sansa turned to look at him as Osha lightly pushed Rickon forward, and Sandor gave his wife a wink of encouragement before the little bird followed her brother up the raised dais in the middle of the yard, with Osha and Hagen Edar at her heels, the former wearing her new spear, shield and armour to show she was ready to guard the Starks at any moment.

The latter though, against Sandor's wishes since if the madman sunk in the snows, how the hell where they meant to find him, was wearing white from his bow and quiver to doublet and down his boots, topped by that heavy white cloak Sansa had made a gift to him, and which Sandor didn't really like since it reminded him too much of those days when he had been a member of the Kingsguard.

And what a fucking empty jest Joff's little surprise turned out to be, Sandor thought, as he watched the Manderlys step aside to let the Stark siblings stand at the front of the dais side by side, with the former outlaw and the wildling woman standing guard behind them.

And yet, now that he remembered, the day he had been appointed to wear the white cloak he had remarked sullenly how he had nothing or no one to forsake, unlike now. That was also the day when Sansa had pleaded for mercy and her father's life. But today she was going to plead for a different man. For me. Sandor knew Sansa could never understand how he felt about that, for he didn't know it himself. He didn't like anyone doing his battles for him, but Sansa was not doing this for him. Not really. She is doing it for our child's future.

It's strange, he mused fleetingly, for he had gone to war and fought in battles before, but never had there been someone- and a wife he adored at that- whom he knew would miss him and long for his safe return. Even his trial in Norvos had been different, for back then Sandor's fate was decided in the matter of days, whereas this separation could take months, and even a couple of years.

Yet there was one thing that was the same though. Sandor was going to feel conscious of his every move for what he was about to do next, just as he had back when the Council of Magisters had judged him before the eyes of their city.

Clenching his jaw, Sandor finally strode over to the raised dais, and his boots tore ankle-deep holes into the smooth surface of the snow as he had passed frosted shrubs and think dark trees. He climbed the steps and went to stand behind his wife, not wishing to anger the people of White Harbour by putting himself beside the Stark siblings, remembering all the while that Sansa wanted him near her as she announced to the world for the first time about their child. He was only too glad to do as she asked him though, for he wanted to see everyone's reactions, and see how they all would take the news. Sandor could not help but notice how the northerners before him were still regarding him with fear and suspicion and resentment.

His eyes scanned the crowd, noticing the resentful, angry, sullen and fearful looks everyone was giving him, before he settled his stare on his wife as she pulled back the hood of the cloak trimmed with grey fur and winter roses she was wearing, her auburn hair blowing in the wind, and streaked with sunlight. Sandor felt the urge to reach out to touch his bird's hair, but held back, positioning his hand on the pommel of his longsword in warning to anyone who cared to take it as one.

Sansa was nervous, but she nodded reassuringly at Rickon before she cleared her throat and said in a loud and clear voice, "Good people of White Harbour, today is a special day. A day to be remembered in memory by the north for years to come, since it is on this morning that hope is born once again in our hearts as our brave men set out to recover what has been stolen from us…"

The little bird gave a speech fit for the queen she had been meant to be, rallying the morale of the loyal Stark bannermen by proclaiming that the North would fight to the very end to recover Winterfell from the clutches of their enemies and avenge their murdered Lord and Lady Stark at long last, along with their King of the North, Ser Wendel Manderly, and all the relatives and bannermen slaughtered by the Freys, and in the south. And when Sansa talked about how all the thoughts and prayers of every woman in the north would be about the men who were leaving them behind to fight for the lord and lady of Winterfell, and for the land they had all been born on, Hagen could not help but remark to Sandor in a whisper, "She's besotted them all."

Sandor agreed with pride swelling inside his chest at the current sight of his bird before him. White Harbour looked upon Sansa and what they saw was the daughter of Ned Stark, a beacon of hope in the dark times that had settled in the north lately. But all Sandor could see right now was his little bird as she had been last night after she had fallen asleep with her head resting on his shoulder, her soft skin pressed against him for her hand had been thrown across his chest and her long legs had been in his even longer ones.

What Sandor was seeing was his lover, his wife, his best friend and the only person he had ever trusted and the only one he would die for in an instant without a second thought. As she slept beside him a while ago, Sansa had looked so young and innocent, so defenseless and pure, that all Sandor could do was wrap his arms around her and listen to her quiet soft breathing, no longer wondering how such a girl could love him despite knowing exactly what he had been like in the past, just grateful for having had the opportunity to get to this point in his life with the little bird beside him, unable to even think of what a life without Sansa at the end of the long road would be like for him.

Sansa, the woman who had changed his life like he had no bloody idea someone ever could, proving to him that she could accept the good and the bad and the worst of him and even let his seed grow inside her with the proudest smile he had ever seen; the girl who had grown from the proper little bird trapped in a golden cage that managed to survive the pit of vipers that was King's Landing on her own, to the young woman who stood before a city, not for the first time, and showed the direwolf inside her.

It had been true what Sandor had told her last night, after he had watched Sansa trying so hard to guard her emotions. Yet when Sandor had seen sadness and anxiety and worry etched so clearly on his little bird's beautiful face due to the feeling of loss and pain Sansa was enduring because of their separation, he had reminded her that she was stronger than what he could ever hope to be.

For when Gregor had fucked his life up, Sandor had grown into a broken man who expected the worst of the world, and was therefore not disappointed when fate wasn't fair. But Sansa had remained as good and kind on the inside as she had always been even after the Lannisters or the High Sheep, and had even been able to change some of his ways with time by testing everything he'd thought he knew about himself, for he was really only himself when he was with Sansa. Sansa, the strong woman to whom he really meant something, and who he was forced to leave behind as she carried his child inside her.

I'm leaving them both behind, Sandor thought, still disliking it to the point where he hated himself, since being unable to decide what to do always made him angry. But he knew it was of no use to go down that road of regret again. Not anymore, not on this day. All he could do was hope, and deal every day with the ever present knowledge that the consequences of his and Sansa's decisions could either turn out to be good, or deadly for them both.

"Winter is our best weapon," Sansa pointed out as Sandor brought his thoughts back to the present, gaining confidence with every word she spoke. "And if used to our advantage, that and the righteous justice to our aims, will be what shall keep our brave men going in the time they are to spend fighting in the bitter cold. My husband, whom most of you have met, or at least heard of, I'm sure, will help us all if you allow him in reaching our goal, for Lord Sandor Clegane is a legendary fighter.

He knows about formations and trenches and crossfire and camps and counterattacks, on the move or not, as well as how to build necks and tramps and delay defenses. It is partly because of my lord husband's skills that he has been made commander of our brave garrison by Ser Marlon, but also because as part of my family, he wants fight for the honour of House Stark more than anything, and is ready to prove it to anyone who cares to allow it."

Sansa's words about him made Sandor's mouth begin to twitch, and he shifted his weight from his right leg to the left one as all eyes were turned to regard him under either suspicious or uncertain frowns. Silly little bird, Sandor thought, shaking his head, not really surprised she would do this. He had never doubted that when the moment came Sansa would face anyone unflinchingly about how matters stood with him, never wavering in her respect and affection for him so that the world had no choice but to accept him, however grudgingly. But Sandor knew she hadn't yet accomplished that, not that it was her fault.

They want the best for you so long as it's something of which I have no part. They hate me for being lowborn and the Lannisters' former dog, and because I outrank them all as your husband. They still think of me as an upstart who took you for my own ambitions.

He could never get angry at his wife for what she was doing, but Sandor couldn't help it if one part of him still considered that her words about him to the northerners were useless since they were falling on ears that didn't wish to hear anything that was not bad about him.

"If you still doubt my words about Lord Clegane," Sansa was saying with determination now, "there is something he and I can do to give you all hope for the future. Hope for victory and for the spring, because in this winter of our revenge, a child will be born of the blood of Winterfell- the Winterfell broken and burnt and usurped but still standing strong- who will be Eddard of the Houses Stark and Clegane if it is a boy."

Sandor didn't look away at all from the crowd before him as Sansa finally revealed that she was carrying his child. He wanted to register how everyone reacted to the news as the memory of the little bird's reasoning to announce this publicly ran through his mind.

Sansa had told him that using it would be extremely uplifting for the northern people's spirits if they knew that the Stark line would not perish since she was carrying a little direwolf pup in her tummy, because even if there was Rickon, the boy was too young and there was still danger to the bloodline should any harm befall him.

"It will be good for the people of the north to hear about our child, and will also help us secure my family's hold on Winterfell," she had assured him as they broke their fast the other morning. "And help Rickon's bannermen and all the rest respect you too, as gods forbid, the father of a possible Lord Stark, regardless of how little we would actually want that to happen in the end."

And Sandor was relieved and a little surprised to see that Sansa had been right, for once she stopped talking about him and spoke the tidings of their babe, the crowd began to cheer and clap in honour of Lord Rickon, little Lord Eddard and Lady Sansa. He could not help but feel relieved then that he had at least done something right in the eyes of these people by naming his son- if it was a boy- after Eddard Stark- a deed which would not add insult to injury thankfully.

They can't say Sansa is going to have my bastard and call that truth. Not for the first time Sandor was glad he had waited to fuck his little bird for so long back in Essos, despite them both going mad with anticipation and frustrated pleasure. If anyone dared called her the Hound's bitch behind her back, questioning her honour…

Yet when the excitement at the news of his son or daughter died away, Sandor was taken aback by what the little bird did next, for she had not told him she had been intending to do that.

"If you do not mind, then I would now like to take a brief moment to bid farewell to some of the brave and gallant knights that ride out today," Sansa told the people of the New Castle, earning even more of their love than she already had.

Sandor had grown up with the Lannisters, and knew what the smallfolk and nobleborn thought of the lions of the west, so it was not difficult for him to catch the sharp contrast between people who actually seemed happy and proud of their rulers, and the way everyone had hated or at least disliked Tywin Lannister and his sick offspring.

With wary eyes and a loosened sword inside his scabbard after the little bird asked him to please remain on the dais with her brother, Sandor watched his wife descend the steps and walk over to the first line of knights, flanked by Hagen Edar and Donnel and Damon, two of the three brothers the Manderlys had assigned to guard over Sansa and Rickon and Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla after Sandor had at last decided to accept those men near the people he cared for most in this world.

The little bird greeted fifteen knights, and whenever she was done with one idiot, the man would call out a blessing in her honour. If they've grown to love the Starks n the weeks we've spent here, they're going to go mad for them now. Yet what surprised Sandor was to see how Sansa decided to stop and talk to the fucking knights who had wanted to draw steel against him after they had first arrived at White Harbour.

Seven hells, she wouldn't dare, Sandor thought in alarm, even as Sansa actually turned to look at him with a smile after she left her place before Ser Arron and the sodding Manderly brothers, Ser Rickard and Ser Rorn. Sandor knew by his wife's smile and the expressions on the knights' faces what his mad little bird had just interceded for him to those sons of whores. She probably told them how much we mean to each other and how she is sure that by entrusting me to their bloody care she is certain no harm will come to me, Sandor gathered, a suspicion that was confirmed when Edar looked over at him and gave him a look that defy him to question his wife's actions or the naïve reasoning behind it.

But when the little bird climbed back to the dais and walked over to him as the crowd began talking momentarily amongst themselves about everything that had happened that they had just learned, Sandor wasn't able to reproach Sansa for what she had just done for him, and only rasped roughly when she stood before him and he had regarded her with an annoyed frown, "I didn't know you were going to do that."

"Are you angry with me, Lord Clegane?"

Sandor shrugged, but also gave a brief shake of his head to let his wife know he wasn't. If only for Sansa's sake Sandor wished her pleas about him to the puffed up knights would work better than the ones she'd done for her father to Joffrey.

Looking thoroughly relieved that he was not angry with her for asking the sodding knights to stop resenting him, Sansa chirped prettily, "I'm glad, then. I actually feared I would give myself away to you at any moment and you would then find out about it and ask me not to do it."

"Why?" he growled.

"Because I'm a terrible liar, remember? You've said so yourself more than once in the past. And it-"

Sandor cut her off before she could finish by snarling, "You're not as bad as you used to be, Sansa. And you did well with your speech. Better than well."

"Thank you," Sansa said, as he reached out to give her hand a quick squeeze, mindful of all the eyes that were on them as they stood upon the dais. "I was so nervous at first, but your child gave me the strength and courage that I needed."

Fuck. The little bird couldn't have said anything better to make him feel as if his heart had lodged in his throat. Sandor had already bid his farewells to their child last night, marveling at the taut firmness of his wife's belly, as he tried to gather his thoughts to see what exactly he could tell his child, because even if Sandor knew how bloody stupid talking to the bird's tummy must have looked like, he wanted his child to know who its father had been. Had I said nothing to him- or her- I would have regretted it forever.

Sansa's Tully blue stare was piercing as Sandor took a step forward, and gently yanked her closer to him. He would have cursed the crowd before them to burn in seven hells and not even turn to look as he took Sansa in his arms and kissed her long and deep, but just in that the moment between them broke as Rickon's voice cut through the air as he said, "My sister Sansa and I can't fight because she is going to have a baby and I am not big enough yet, though we both wanted to go home very much. I agree with everything she said because I know our men will win. Even if I can't go, I've chosen for my direwolf Shaggydog to go with Sandor to win Winterfell back for us, and kill the bad people that stole it from us, for even if Sandor was born in the south, he's a northerner now."

Sansa and Sandor turned to look at the men and women before them as they all drew in their breath as one. They all looked as shocked as when Sansa had told them about their babe, but Rickon had faced worse thing that disapproving stares or unbelieving whispers, and despite his age, he was already their lord, and the northerners didn't dare contradict him- at least not to his young face- about this decision.

So the boy, who looked the part of a lord after his sister had made sure he was washed and his hair was cut, went on saying after the tumult had died down a bit, "Sandor's horse Stranger will be going as well. Stranger and Shaggy will frighten anyone who comes upon them. You can all trust me on that. You'll see. Shaggy, come!"

And then, without another moment to lose, Sandor saw how the big black direwolf who had squatted on his hindquarters this whole time at the back of the dais, his green eyes observing everything and everyone, bounded to his feet and stalked towards his masters side.

"Sandor, you must come here too," Rickon told him, looking back at him and Sansa.

Sandor strode forward after Sansa gave him a little smile of encouragement, but he didn't really like doing this, since he hadn't even wanted to take the wolf with him in the first place, but if the little bird's brother didn't do this, then Shaggy wouldn't to part from the boy's side.

"Shaggy, you must go with Sandor now," Rickon told the direwolf as if the animal was a person as he cupped the wolf's head in his hands and looked deep into his eyes. "You must protect him because he's your brother now, too, but also because the North needs you. You know I'm too little and can't go. So you must go and fight in my stead, for the Starks, for your brother Grey Wind and your sister Lady.

I want you to obey Sandor in everything. That's an order. You can't leave him alone, not in the day or in the night. Follow him everywhere just like you follow me. Do you understand? You can't fail me, Shaggy, because if you do then me and Sansa will be alone again, and you too, cause then how could Summer and Nymeria and Ghost have a home to return to like Jojen promised? I will meet you again here but we must each hunt alone for a time now. Promise me you'll return too, Shaggy."

The wolf looked his master in that moment as if he understood every word, Sandor thought. A deep growl came from Shaggy's throat as Sandor caught Sansa's stare then, and though the little bird looked moved by what was happening, she didn't cry. She only stared at him as if he was the only man in the world left.

A sniff caught Sandor's attention though, and when he turned around to look back at Rickon and the direwolf, Sandor was surprised to see that the boy was not staring at Shaggydog, but was actually looking at him as he said, "Promise me by the old gods you'll return."

He's asking me to promise him I'll not fail and will return alive, Sandor realized quickly. And the boy was doing it by asking him to swear by his gods! He's pretending to talk to Shaggy to appear brave, but he's talking to me.

With a brief curt nod he hoped not many noticed, Sandor had no other to choice but to silently promise Rickon that he would come back, disliking it because he knew there was a chance he wouldn't, and lying to the boy was not going to do him one bit of good, but Sansa's brother was looking at him the way Sansa always did just before she was about to cry, and thinking about his little bird crying was not something Sandor needed in these trying moments. I have to be strong for her sake.

After he had nodded in Rickon's direction, the boy started crying as he threw his arms around the direwolf, but Shaggydog was so big Rickon couldn't really even wrap his arms around the animal's neck. The wolf nuzzled at his master first, before he decided to instead roughly lick the tears that were falling down the lad's cheeks, but when Rickon said loudly, "Go now," Shaggydog twisted free of the boy's grasp, his ears pricked up, and bounded to Sandor's side as he stood upon the dais before several dozens of people.

Feeling conscious of his every bloody move, and of the whispers and the stares that were directed at him, Sandor went on one knee beside the direwolf and scratched the thick black fur on his neck, remembering that morning back in Braavos when this very wolf had thrown him to the ground in the middle of Ragman's Harbour. His eyes remind me of the wildfire every single sodding time I look at him.

"Shaggydog," Sandor rasped, as the wolf observed him, his hot breath rising in a white mist before his face. He could have laughed right there and then as he wondered if he was the first man who was not a Stark who had ever had a direwolf- even if only for a while. Yet Sandor's laugh would have been a bitter one, for he had just gained a wolf, but would be leaving his wife and child behind.

When he raised his head to look at the little bird, Sansa was smiling softly down at him because she knew that was better than letting the crowd see her grief. When the Manderlys started walking towards the steps so they could get down from the dais, Sandor, Sansa, Rickon, the direwolf, Hagen, Donnel and Damon followed. Sandor and Sansa both did it with a heavy heart though, and the moment their feet touched the ground the little bird reached out to grab his hand in a tight grip as she stared for a moment at her brother as Osha said to him, "Say your goodbyes, little man," when Hagen and The Onion moved forward in their direction.

His beautiful Sansa turned around to look up at him after a moment only to find him already gazing down at her with longing in his eyes.

"You have the dagger with you, don't you?" Sandor asked her in a serious tone.

Sansa's eyes widened a bit at that, but after a moment she nodded and patted a pocket of her skirts.

"Yes," she assured him, already drawing it out to show him.

Sandor reached out to stop her, glancing to his side before he shook his head and growled, "Keep it hidden. At all times. And don't forget that I've thought you how to use it if the need arises."

She opened her pretty mouth to say something, but didn't get the chance to get the words out for in that moment Davos strode over to them so he could bid his farewells to Sansa. Reluctantly they turned away from each other, though they were close enough so that their backs kept on grazing against the other as the Manderlys stepped beside him so they could bid him farewell.

Sandor tried to pretend that he was listening to what Wynafryd, Wylla and Ser Marlon were telling him, but all he could think about was his little bird, and how these were truly the last moments they would be together.

When the Manderlys moved off to talk to Seaworth after he had asked them to look after his family, Sandor turned around and looked at his wife as Hagen hugged her like a long-lost sister, while she chirped, "Please make sure he takes care to keep warm. Please keep him safe, Hagen. He means the world to me."

"I will," Hagen replied, meeting Sandor's eyes, amusement etched over his bloody face. "You are an extraordinary woman, Sansa, and I hope that as your sworn arrow I do not disgrace you in the trials at hand."

"I know you won't, my gallant sworn arrow" Sansa said, leaning her head on Sandor's chest as he walked over to her side, settling his hands on her waist. "Take care as well, my dearest friend. And please, remember to be careful with Stannis."

Bloody hells, Sandor thought sullenly when Sansa and he had to part sides once again while he bid farewell to Rickon once he was finished with Osha and the Lorathi had stepped forward to shake the wildling woman's hand, thanking her for all her patience when she had taught him about the Common Tongue and the customs of the north. She's sending Edar as my sodding wet-nurse. That annoyed him greatly.

"Back when I was at Winterfell," Osha told Hagen with a wry smile. "I thought there could not be a better archer than that smiley Theon Greyjoy, the old gods curse him. But you've proven me wrong. You're better, and those whole bunches of kneelers you're taking to war with you are lucky to have you teaching them."

"Ah my dearest lovely Osha! I thank you," Edar exclaimed, laughing and giving the startled wildling woman a hug.

When Hagen moved away Sandor stepped forward so that he could ask Osha to please protect and look after Sansa and Rickon both. And my child too."

When Sandor was done warning Dammon and Donnel to be on their guard, he walked over to young Rickon, who was standing all by himself, looking at him as Shaggydog followed his footsteps.

"I don't want you to go," Rickon said, lips trembling and eyes still shining bright with tears once Sandor had reached him. "Nor Shaggy. Do you think you will have come back by my name day? Sansa says it'll be soon, but I don't remember when it was."

"I don't really think we will be able to make it when you turn eight," Sandor admitted. "But what I can promise you is that I will take care of your wolf, and will do my best to return to your sister's and your side as soon as possible. You believe me?"

Rickon sniffed and nodded vigorously. Good, Sandor thought, considering for a moment if he should risk it before deciding that he should. Fuck, I'm going off to war. I have to ask someone trustworthy this even if that someone is only a seven year old.

"Now it's my turn to ask you to do something for me, boy," Sandor rasped, squatting before Rickon as he put a hand on the boy's shoulder to steady himself. "Rickon, you're the Lord of Winterfell. You're the man in your family, and have to take care of your sister. If- Rickon if something were to happen to her-"

"Sandor, she's my sister," Rickon interrupted, sparing him the need to go on. "I'll protect her like Robb and Bran did with me, and her baby too. Like you and Osha have, and I will keep on practicing my training too."

To have Rickon say these things, and to hear how certain he seemed that just because the little bird was his sister, it was obvious he was going to protect her, surprised Sandor more than anything that had happened this morning. The sharp reality between the relationship between the Stark siblings and the one he and Arwyn had had with Gregor had never been clearer.

Trying hard to hide his smirk, Sandor reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, and snarled, "You'll be a good Lord of Winterfell one day, Rickon. I'm proud of you."

Rickon looked at him with big wide hopeful eyes- eyes that looked too much like Sansa's. Looking quickly around him to make sure no one saw, Sandor leaned over to give Sansa's brother an awkward hug. He had meant for it to be brief, but Rickon clung to him as a drowning person would a raft in the middle of sea, so Sandor had no choice but to give the lad a couple of pats on the back, before Osha moved forward and said, "There there, Rickon. Let Lord Clegane go bid your sister farewell now."

After Rickon and Osha had walked away, Sandor sighed long and deep, and stood up slowly. His eyes met Shaggydog's as the wolf kept on staring at him and Rickon with the head tilted to one side, as if he was still trying to understand that he was meant to leave the boy's side for good. With a shake of the head, Sandor turned around to see where his little bird had flown to, knowing with a heavy heart the time had come for them to bid their farewells.

Sandor was not surprised when he saw moments later that Sansa was standing by her own a little distance ahead looking at him as she hugged herself. Her eyes said so much there was no need for her to even chirp for him to understand or feel what was going on behind the beautiful composed masked she had donned on as an expression.

Slowly, Sandor walked up to her in five long strides, and when he'd reached her he took one good look at her before snarling quietly, "Will you come with me?"

With a little smile Sansa nodded, and then they started walking side by side, she followed him towards the shadow of the castle walls where he had tied Stranger up earlier. Before they had even reached the horse they were already holding hands. Once Stranger saw them and gave a loud neigh of recognition, Sandor led the little bird around his warhorse so the animal could conceal them and give them some sort of privacy in these moments.

Everything that he had lived through with the little bird was running through his mind as he pushed Sansa against the wall, making it harder for him to say everything that he wanted to tell his wife now. So instead Sandor looked Sansa over top to bottom, before taking her in his arms, holding her close to him, his hand buried in the hair at the back of her head, his scarred lips pressed to her forehead. She smells so good, so sweet. She always has.

"I don't want you to go," Sansa told him in a hoarse voice, as she started trembling in his arms.

"I don't want to go," Sandor admitted roughly, as his bird raised her face, tilting her neck back.

Sandor lowered his face, and at first Sansa kissed him lightly, but the merest brush of her lips on his only made him claim her mouth hard, and before long his little bird was pressing kisses on both sides of his face, lingering on his burns a heartbeat more than she did on the stubble that grew on the other side. Sandor could feel his eyes burning, and overwhelmed, he suddenly dropped to one knee and grabbed Sansa's gloved hand, kissing the ring he had made for her.

He raised his eyes to look at the woman before him, noticing with pride how Sansa wasn't weeping in these moments. Young as she was, she truly was a princess born. Her smile was a little tremulous, but she was bearing herself with courage and dignity.

"Come back to me, big man," Sansa told him, cupping his face with one hand, as she grabbed his hand with her free one and placed them both over her tummy, looking up at him with such intensity that Sandor felt his insides tightened. "Come back to us both."

Sandor quickly stood up and pulled the little bird back for more kisses, refusing to let her go just yet as he growled, "I love you," kissing Sansa's face in between every word. "And don't worry about me."

By then Seaworth and Edar were mounting, and grooms and squires were coming forward to give their mounts to the knights and bannermen. When Sandor got up on Stranger, he gave his little wife a smirk and ran his finger down the bridge of her nose as she came over to place her hand on his knee, asking him with ill concealed concern, "You aren't missing anything, are you? I made sure you had food in your saddlebag and water in your skin, a blanket for Stranger and three for you, but I feel as if there's something else that-"

"I haven't forgotten anything, little bird," Sandor assured her, smirking down at her. "And I'm certain neither have you."

Sansa's eyes left him momentarily when Shaggydog appeared before them all of a sudden, staring at Stranger as the warhorse lowered his face to him. With a weak chuckle Sansa ran the fingers of her free hand over Stranger's dark mane, telling Sandor's horse, "We'll take care of Nan and Horse for you, but you must also take care of my husband, you know."

Stranger gave a loud neigh at Shaggy as the wolf turned around, alert, and with resigned laugh, Sansa turned back to look at Sandor again.

"I love you too, Sandor," she said softly, giving his knee a squeeze.

"Sansa," was all Sandor could rasp, as he leaned down towards the little bird for one last kiss. Take care of yourself, and- and of the babe."

The little bird nodded, promising him silently that she would do so. It almost felt to Sandor as if the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life was ride away from Sansa's side afterwards...

They poured out the castle gates in a river of white, grey, blue-green, and polished silver as Shaggydog, who was flanking Sandor's side along with Hagen, gave a long howl, to Stranger's snort of approval. Sansa had told him that she would climb the walls of the New Castle to watch him leave, and Sandor could not help himself and kept turning back to stare at the distant figure of his little bird as a strong northern wind caught in her loose long auburn hair.

He was glad to notice the hulking figures behind Sansa, since it meant Damon and Donnel had already taken their place as his wife's guards. Sandor knew that his neck would be hurting by the time dusk fell and they settled down for the night, but he didn't care about that one bloody bit as he and his men made their way west, to a land not only full of enemies on all sides, but which was been stricken by the worst winter that the north had seen in decades. Sandor was relieved at least that his wife would be spared all of that, as he imagined the day when he would be riding in the opposite direction- on the day he came back to White Harbour to the little bird.

A/N: A big thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, leaves kudos or bookmarks this chapter/story. I couldn't write this fic without your constant and encouraging support :D