A/N: Inspired by these two works by Kallielef:

post/75735273109/quick-follow-up-to-this-help-me-the-septa

post/75707645966/jessie-o-rama-kallielef-quick-sketch-because

From the day he and Sansa wed, Sandor Clegane rose with the sun, inspected the keep, and once assured it was secure, he would then return to her. He never could shake his sense of duty and there were some duties he preferred doing himself.

Winterfrost Keep had been gifted with plenty of stable hands by the queen but Sandor enjoyed caring for his warhorse. Besides, Stranger had either kicked or bit so many of the groomsmen that most were loath to go near the animal. Truth be told, Sandor couldn't remember the last time he rode the old man into battle, and in his later years his ferocious mount was put out to stud in hopes of strengthening the northern stock.

After finishing the morning rounds, Sandor returned to their rooms and changed into his work clothes. Sansa had just finished bundling up Catya, no small fete now that the birdling had started crawling.

At seeing her father, Catya let out a loud cry of delight. "Ba!"

"Oh, so that is the way of it, my little lady? Ma is all but forgotten once her Ba comes into the room," Sansa laughed as she bounced the little one on her hip.

"Give her to me, lass," Sandor held out his arms. "Ba is here now, my sweet babe." Gently he nuzzled into Catya's neck. "Just had your bath now, did you? Smell so sweet, I may have to take a bite."

Playfully he grazed his teeth on the downy nape of her neck and Catya giggled excitedly. "Like that, do you? So does your mother." He grinned devilishly at the little bird.

"Indeed I do. You may soon regret getting her all riled up, love," Sansa kissed her husband and daughter by turns. "Osha just got called for me to help Sam with Gilly."

"Is she in childbed?"

Sansa nodded.

"Seven hells, they need another hobby. What is this, the sixth babe for them now?"

"Yes, love, and with the blessing of the gods, one day we will have as large a family as the Tarlys."

Grunting, Sandor raised his brow at her. "Something you want to tell me, wife?"

"No. Now listen, I must go right this minute," Sansa hastily threw on her cloak. "Please keep Catya with you, Sandor. The septa isn't feeling well this morning."

"Bloody hells, I was just going to tend Stranger," Sandor snarled. Catya's eyes widened at the sound and she reached out and touched his mouth gently. More softly, he hissed, "Get her worthless arse out of bed and put her to work."

Sansa shook her head impatiently. "She is old, Sandor. I cannot demand too much of her."

"We don't feed and house her so she can lounge away the day, lass. Either she cares for the babe or she'll find herself out of our home, one."

"Must you bark over every little thing?"

"You married a dog-what did you bloody well think I would do? Besides, I don't like her spending too much time with the babe anyway now that she's getting old enough to understand things," he sat Catya down in her playpen. "She'll fill her head with that same worthless shit you were. I'd rather keep the birdling with me."

Rolling her eyes, Sansa pulled on her gloves. "Then with you she shall be. I do not know when I will return but you know where to find me should Catya need to nurse."

Sandor shrugged. "One of the Wilding women could serve the purpose easy enough." This was one of his favorite ways of needling her, for Sandor knew Sansa entrusted Catya's feeding to no one but herself. Sansa reddened so prettily when she was angry, however, that Sandor could not resist the opportunity.

She bristled and turned the color of a peony, just as he expected. "You know better than that, Sandor Clegane."

Grinning wickedly, he muttered, "Aye. Go on, then."

After a swift peck on Sandor and Catya's cheeks, Sansa hurried out the door.

"Come on wee one, we're off to see the horses. Would you like that?"

Catya grabbed his nose and yanked. "Ba!"

"Alright then, let's get to it."

From the time she was born, Sandor had taken Catya with him as often as he could. Osha had taught him the Wilding way of wrapping a sling around his chest and swaddling her, thus freeing up his hands. After securing the squirming baby, Sandor made his ways to the stables, stalking through the keep with the same dangerous air he always carried, all the while mindful of the cooing bundle cradled against his chest.

Catya let out a screech when she saw Stranger. "Ha!"

"Yes, babe, horse. His name is Stranger. You must never go near him without me. One day I will teach you to ride."

Turning, Stranger nickered softly at them. Carefully Sandor sidestepped a pile of manure one of the stable boys left. "Buggering worthless pieces of-"

"Ha!"

"Your Ba has to clean Stranger's quarters now," Sandor checked himself as he unfastened her from his chest. Now that Catya was beginning to recognize words he was more mindful of his language, though not without the slips here and there.

Where could the birdling nest while he worked? He spied an empty trough nearby. That will do nicely; the sides are high enough to keep her inside. She'll be safe enough. After filling it full of hay, he then layered furs over the top and tucked the birdling down inside. "Now you stay put while I muck out Stranger's stall."

Catya grabbed his nose as he pulled away. "Ba!"

In his best firm voice, Sandor stated, "Stay here, daughter."

Hurriedly he mucked out the stall, shoveling the manure into the stable boy's pile and then set about forking the hay. He kept his ear keened to Catya's babbling, and after a while, her little noises seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the barn. Anchoring the pitchfork into a bale, Sandor hurried out of the stall to see his daughter settled in the manure, squishing it between her fingers and shouting delightedly.

"What in bloody hells, girl?" He stared in amazement. This pretty, perfect thing he and Sansa made was now covered in filth and clearly loving every minute of it. Stranger dipped his head over the stall and nosed the top of her head curiously.

"Ba!" She held her hands out to him, showing off her handiwork.

"Seven save me from little highborn girls; buggering hells, what a mess." Sighing heavily, Sandor bit the inside of his mouth to keep from cursing further. "Catya babe, what have you gone and gotten yourself into?" Kneeling down, he gingerly wiped off her hands on his tunic. "Not out of the bath an hour and this is how you end up."

"Ba! Ha!" Catya shouted, crawling away from him.

"Yes I see you. You have horse shi-, horse dung all over you."

Though exasperated, Sandor kept his tone gentle and held out his arms. "Come to me, lass." When she stopped mid-crawl, he scooped her up in his arms. "I've got you now." She shrieked angrily but submitted to him. "Let's get you out of these clothes."

Holding up her hands proudly, Catya wriggled impatiently in his arms. Despite the mess, Sandor felt his irritation draining away and he chuckled as he eyed her. "What would your sweet mother say if she saw you now? You're meant to be a little bird of a lady like your mother, not take after that hellion you have for an aunt. We needs get you out of those clothes before it ends up in your mouth, bloody hells."

Quickly Sandor then stripped Catya of her soiled stockings and gown, leaving on her smallclothes, diaper, and dressing gown. Opening his tunic, he placed her next to his skin so she would not catch chill and cradling her tightly, he ran toward the keep, all the while his little soiled lady laughed and squealed delightedly in his arms.

Osha spied Sandor from across the yard and hastily chased after him. "M'lord, what's the trouble? Is the babe hurt? Taken sick?"

Sandor stopped midstride. "No, she is just… well, look at her, will you?"

Eying the filth covered little one tucked in his tunic, Osha doubled over and laughed, holding her sides as she did so. "So you put her down and she made for the horse, did she? Don't you know babes are drawn to messes?"

"Shut up, woman," Sandor growled low.

"Take her to Lady Sansa's bathing room and I'll fetch her nurse." Without waiting for a reply, Osha sprinted off toward the resident rooms.

Once inside the bathing chamber, Sandor stoked the fires in the hearth and stripped off the rest of Catya's clothing. Her little mouth screwed up into a pout before the little one then let out a very angry shriek. "Now you sound like your father," Sandor grunted, pleased with her spirited ways.

Osha knocked and then brought in two buckets of hot water. "The elder woman ain't comin', M'lord."

"Why in bloody hells not?" Sandor shouted angrily. Catya began to cry, and so he began rocking her in his arms. "Shh; forgive me, babe."

"Said she didn't sign on to clean up the messes of the parents." Osha shrugged. "What use is a septa, anyhow?"

"None! Why, that stuffy old bit-" Sandor stopped cold when Osha nodded at Catya with a raised brow. "Tell her to get her things and be gone," he snarled, his voice low and mean. Fumbling through the cabinets, Sandor quickly took out several bottles he saw Sansa use when bathing Catya. "She'd better not be here when I'm through with the birdling."

"Gladly, M'lord," Osha nodded, pouring the water into the basin. "Anything else you needs me to do?"

"I'd say skin the old prune but it wouldn't please the little bird none."

Laughing, Osha gestured to the bath. "You want me to bathe the lass for you?"

"What in buggering hells for?" Sandor scowled at her. "I bathe Stranger, for fuck's sake!"

"I only means that menfolk usually leave the bathing of the babes to their women."

"No, bloody hells, I brought her forth; I sure as hell can give her a bath." Frowning, Sandor sniffed the contents of the jars suspiciously and then dumped copious amounts of each into the bath water.

"As you say." Osha smirked at him before taking her leave.

"Come on, Catya babe, let's get you smelling sweet again." The only soap Sandor could find was the lye he used on himself; that would never do, for Catya's skin was delicate just like her that of her mother.

Rummaging through the drawers, Sandor muttered testily, "Now where's that buggering bar of soap your mother makes special for you?"

"Ba!"

His eye fell to the special bird-shaped soap dish he brought back from Wintertown sitting on the side of the basin. "Ah, now we can get down to work." After testing the water on his wrist, Sandor washed his hands and put on a clean tunic and then settled Catya in the bathwater carefully. At once she began splashing about, waving her arms in the water and squealing happily.

"You look like a little birdling in a fountain, Catya babe," he grinned at her, patting her nose with his index finger. "Now hold still and let me scrub you."

"Ba! No!"

"You would learn the word 'no' just now," Sandor grumbled irritably. "You don't say no to your Ba, you hear, Catya?"

Catya pouted before shouting, "No! NO!"

"You needs a bath, lass!" Sandor growled loudly when she wriggled away from him, howling angrily. "Bloody hells; hold still so I can scrub you off." Swiftly he passed the sudsy rag over her head and washed his way down to her toes. "You even got horse shit in between them," he shook his head and set to work.

Catya's shrieks soon turned to laughter. Kicking wildly, she squirmed away from him. "Ba! No!"

"Come on, stop it now! I needs clean you up before your mother returns and brains me for letting you get so filthy."

So absorbed in the task at hand was Sandor that he did not hear the click of the chamber door. At his words, Sansa's melodious laughter rang out against the marble walls. He jumped at the sound, his face flushing with annoyance. "Back already?"

Catya held out her arms. "Ma! Ma!"

Sansa kissed the top of her daughter's head. "Indeed I am, and glad of it, too, else I would have missed this tender scene of fatherly devotion."

"Bugger your scene," Sandor muttered, though he grinned sheepishly at her. "I thought you'd be gone til after the noon meal."

"Did you now?"

"Aye. Is the babe birthed already?"

"No, Gilly was in false labor. She's sleeping now." Resting her hand on his shoulder, Sansa kissed his cheek. "Sandor, Osha told me what happened."

"I should cut her tongue out for that," he muttered angrily. "How was I to know the babe would make for the horse like a duck to water?"

"Never mind that; babies always seek out messes. It is part of childhood."

"Not yours. A proper lady you are."

"No, not mine, but I was the only one out of our entire family who didn't end up in a manure pile at one time or other. You did everything just right, husband." Sansa caressed his cheek softly and then tickled Catya under her chin. "Have you been good for your Ba?"

"No, damn me, she's kicking like a mule. I never seen her so riled over a bath."

"Well, I avoid bathing her after a nap when she is lively and ready to play. Have you not noticed that I always do so after she nurses, when she is full and sleepy?"

Sandor had to admit that he had not noticed that. "I thought it was because she always makes a mess."

"Well, that too." Gently Sansa leaned over him and guided his hand over Catya's feet. "This is the way. She is very ticklish."

"Where in bloody hells does she get that from? You always enjoy me kissing your feet and toes," he grinned lasciviously at her. "Might have to do that later."

Sansa blushed and handed him a warm towel. "She gets it from you, dearest. Remember that time I tried to massage your feet after the hunt? You almost kicked me!"

"Aye," he chuckled while drying off the babe. "True enough, that."

"Once I get her down, I will give you a bath, my love."

"Might want more than a bath, little bird." Sandor bent down and nipped at her ear.

"You shall have whatever you wish, husband," Sansa demurred.

After dressing the babe, Sandor watched as Sansa nursed Catya in awe, the man amazed that the gods he derided for so long saw fit to bless him with such two beautiful creatures.