A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've started another fic AND I have my registration due for my profession and it requires a LOT of paperwork.

Thanks for the reviews and PM's.

Epilogue – SANSA

Four years later . . .

The first notes of dawn played on the frosted window panes. It has been a serenely peaceful night, the first in some time. Sansa tried not to stir as she watched the grey light pinking up. Before long it would be a fiery orange against the vivid azure sky she loved so much. Sansa sighed contentedly, eyes roaming about her dimly lit bedchamber. The silence was only punctuated by the rumbling snores of both man and beast. She stifled a giggle as she idly wondered who was louder; Sandor or Lady?

"What's so amusing at this ungodly hour, Little Bird?"

Startled slightly by his rasping voice in her ear, Sansa turned slightly to look at the great hulking figure of her husband lying next to her. She had never once in her life feared him, but in the years since their marriage took place she had come to truly and deeply love him. It was something she scarcely believed would happen when her friend Tyrion had come up with the plan for them to join, but when she thought back now she could not figure where her doubts came from.

"I was just enjoying the lovely serenade you and Lady often treat me to in the wee hours, my love," Sansa teased around a yawn. Even though she had been early to bed the night before, she did not feel she had slept more than a wink or two. And yet she was still up with the sun. It had been that way for years now, and despite her exhaustion she found it a difficult habit to break.

"You should rest more," Sandor admonished her gently. Well, as gently as he could. He'd always had a rough edge to his voice, but Sansa found early on that she did not mind it so much. She was not the only one.

"I am fine," she assured him.

His massive arm wound around her waist, one giant hand splayed warmly over her growing belly. She smiled. He did this often. It was as if he wanted to be sure the child they had created was still there, that they had not dreamed it up. Sansa placed her hand atop his and stroked his rough skin while his fingers played on the thin scars that decorated hers. She felt herself start to doze when a deafening slam echoed off the stone walls. Sandor groaned into his pillow while Sansa giggled into hers.

"Papa!" called a high, singsong voice moments before a tiny body flew gracefully through the air and landed roughly on Sandors' chest. The great huff of air he expelled was overdone, and she knew it was purposefully so by the sound of musical laughter that tumbled from their early morning intruder.

"Who let you in here?" Sandor snapped gruffly. No one was fooled by his vibrato.

"Uncle Tyrion!"

Sansa did not hide her laugh one bit as Sandor growled in earnest this time.

"That blasted dwarf is not your uncle."

Sansa turned over just in time to see their daughter, Beccah, as she gave Sandor her frostiest look. With her Tully blue eyes and raven hair, it was like watching a little Arya stare down her great warrior husband. She was the best parts of them both, and Sansa knew that despite his roughness, he absolutely adored her.

"Not nice, papa," she scolded.

"Too true, my little lady," Tyrion chimed in as he sauntered casually into the room. "Your manners have not improved, Clegane."

"Neither has your height," Sandor quipped back, but it lacked the venom their interactions of the past had always been laced with. Sometime over the years since Sansa and Sandor's marriage, the two men had come to a sort of truce. They would never be the dearest of friends, but they got along fairly well.

"Lady Sansa, I fear we have disturbed your rest. Come, Beccah, let us go pester Bronn. Maybe he will let you brush his hair," Tyrion said with a devious smile.

"And put flowers in?" She batted her great doe eyes at him and Sansa watched as Tyrions' smile grew more indulgent.

"Let's find out, sweet one." He extended a hand towards her.

And with an energetic squeal, Beccah bounced off Sandor once more and scampered back across the room and excitedly followed Tyrion out the door.

"Who invited him here?" Sandor groused.

"I told you when I got his raven that he was on his way. I did not expect him so soon, though," Sansa added thoughtfully.

She had been very pleased to hear from Tyrion, and even more delighted that he was coming North for a long stay on his way to visit the Wall. But that raven was scarcely a week ago, and it took a considerable amount of time to travel from Lannisport. He must have been near the Twins when he sent her word . . .

"You're thinking too hard," Sandor stated as he smoothed the crease between her brows. "You'll wrinkle like an old crone."

Frowning more deeply, she swatted his hand away and pursed her lips in annoyance as he rasped a deep laugh. Over the years she had become accustomed to his teasing, but it still irked her at times. He sounded just like Arya.

"What would that make you?" she inquired with a raised brow. He merely chuckled again before he nuzzled into her neck and murmured something she could not make out.

She shoved his shoulder hard, but knew that he only moved because he was giving into her, not because she was actually capable of moving the brute. It was her turn to snort with laughter as she slid from their bed and heard his very disgruntled groan at the loss of her.

"We should rise, Sandor. We have guests and matters to attend to." The latter statement was putting it mildly. Sandor, like every other lord in Westeros, had received the raven not a week past that delivered the news of Joffrey's death. No doubt it was what had brought Tyrion to them so swiftly.

"Like I care what killed that shit of a prince," he all but spat. Still, he threw the furs and blankets off and stalked to the washroom. Sansa may have taken more than a moment to admire his naked form as he stomped away.

"Quite staring, Little Bird," he tossed over his shoulder before he shut the door. "It's not very ladylike."

Sansa giggled as she recalled just how 'unladylike' she had been the previous evening. Septa Mordane's hair would have stood on end.

"Lydia," Sansa called as she donned a thick robe. The handmaiden bounded into the room with a glowing smile.

"Milady," she greeted with a slight bob. Her grin stretched impossibly wider as she patted Sansa's growing belly. "He's getting big!"

Sansa laughed. Lydia had predicted Beccah would be a girl, and was under the notion that this time Sansa carried a son. While all she truly longed for was a healthy babe, Sansa was secretly hopeful that the maids' prediction was true. She wanted very badly to give Sandor a beautiful little boy he could raise and train to be lord of their little keep one day.

And they said this would never happen for you . . . let along twice.

As they were wont to do these past few months, tears flowed swiftly down her cheeks without warning. She tried to brush them away without bringing them to Lydia's attention, but did not succeed. The girl smiled a little and handed her a kerchief to mop her face.

"Happy or sad this time, milday?"

Sansa rolled her eyes and laughed through a sob. "Who can tell at this point? It's all so ridiculous."

"Just part of the wonder, Lady Clegane," Lydia replied airily as she helped her don a gown with enough room for her stomach.

That was another change these past years. Before she had birthed their daughter she was 'Lady Sansa'. Since becoming a mother she was only addressed as 'Lady Clegane'. It did not bother her in the least, but it did show her where she stood among their people. She was no longer a girl in their eyes, but a woman, a bonafide lady. Beccah had changed everything for the better, especially Sandor.

Before she had the opportunity to dwell on her memories of those early years with their daughter as a babe Sandor beckoned her from their solar. Once Lydia completed fastening her dress she went to join him. They made their way down to their great hall, greeted all manner folk as they broke their fast, and made their way out to where Sansa knew she would find Tyrion and their daughter.

Sansa had fully expected to see Beccah directing both men in that imperious yet endearing way she had about her, but the picture before her was more than she had anticipated. They were just outside the gates of the keep, partially hidden by a copse of birch and weirwood trees that surrounded a tiny meadow. Wildflowers had bloomed there early in the year once the frosts and snows had melted away enough. There were still patches of ice here and there, but that was to be expected in the North, even in spring. Still, it was a place of unique beauty and Beccah begged to visit as often as she and Sandor could arrange.

Beccah stood high on a felled log as she tapped both Bronn and Tyrion with a long stick wrapped in shiny, bright ribbons. Behind her, Stranger stood tall and proud with ribbons and wildflowers braided into his mane and tail. Sansa tried to stifle a giggle as Sansa spluttered in outrage next to her. Leave it to their wild, loving daughter to tame the beast that only her father could handle.

"Now rise knights of West . . . Westa . . . of the North!" Beccah stuttered before she shouted gleefully. "Queen Beccah has spoken!"

"Still can't say it," Sandor muttered in comment to her inability to correctly pronounce their country. Sansa snorted lightly and shook her head.

"She's not yet four, Sandor. She will get there eventually," she chided him.

"Before or after she conquers the Seven Kingdoms?" he shot back with a smirk.

"I'd say the hard part is already done if she's conquered your fearsome steed," she countered around a chortle. Sandor's face darkened and Sansa tried not to double over with laughter.

"Could have lost her fingers that way, or worse," he muttered darkly.

Sansa did not bother to disagree with him. Stranger still bit and kicked at anyone but the three of them. It was a wonder the stable boys had gotten him saddled and bridled.

"Papa!" Beccah squealed suddenly, and her face lit up brighter than the midday sun.

"Come to play, Lord Clegane?" Bronn asked as he picked the wildflower wreath off his head and tried to conceal it behind his back. Tyrion did not bother with such a charade, but merely smiled crookedly at Sansa.

"Oooh, yes! Please play with us, Papa. Please?" She clasped her hands together in front of her and batted her large blue eyes at him. As he always did when faced with a begging Beccah, Sandor gruffly cleared his throat and tried to look as if it was not his hearts' greatest desire to give in to hers.

"Later, perhaps. Run along now and play. We've got grown up business to attend to." He was not too gruff with her, but still her little shoulders slumped.

"None of that now," he tried to scold, but it fell short due to the look of immense guilt that shadowed his face. In three long strides he had her up in his arms so that she was nose to nose with him. "I'll come find you when we're done here. It won't take too long."

"Can I make you a flower crown, too?" She looked up at him through her thick lashes and sniffled a little.

Sandor eyed her warily but nodded. "Aye, you can."

Her little chin lifted slightly. "And you'll wear it?"

Sansa tried not to snicker openly at the way their daughter expertly stared her war-worn father down without as much as a blink.

He heaved a heavy sigh and gave her a weak glare. "Aye."

And just like that the little girls' grin was back in full force. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed with all her might before peppering his face with her tiny kisses. Sandor pretended to be put off by the display of affection, but no one was fooled, least of all the tiny tyrant who had him firmly wrapped around her finger.

He set her down and lightly swatted her backside. "Off with you now. Take Sir Shithead with you."

Beccah clucked her tongue at him and shook her head. "Bad words, Papa." But she grabbed Bronn by the hand and led him away.

Sandor grumbled as he pulled flowers out of Strangers tail and took apart the braid left there by their daughter. Sansa laughed openly as Tyrion wisely stepped closer to her.

"She will be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty someday, mark my words," he warned half-heartedly as he finally reached up to remove his crown.

"I will deal with that once it has happened," Sansa replied before she turned to give him her full attention. "Now, please tell me to what we owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Can a friend not visit a loved one? It has been too long since I graced you with my presence and drank your wine." He winked.

Sansa thought she heard Sandor mutter something along the lines of 'not fucking long enough', so she started speaking to cover up for his rudeness.

"Of course you can. It just seems peculiar that you were able to get here in such a short amount of time. Lannisport is at least a week's ride for you, and yet you were here in a matter of days. Did you acquire a dragon and not tell me?"

Tyrion gave a wry smile. "I always wanted a dragon when I was a small boy."

"You're still small," Sandor called over his shoulder as he detangled the flowers from Strangers' mane. Sansa flicked her hand at him and rolled her eyes.

"This is true, but though I have long dreamed of such a wonder I still have no dragon. What I do have is information about a certain tyrannicide that has happened recently."

Sandor was suddenly back at her side, his face set and angry. Even after all their time together, it still startled her at times how fast and silently he could move.

"Aye, we got the raven."

"Yes, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms got that raven," Tyrion said cryptically. "What did you take from those dark words, Lady Clegane?"

Sansa eyed him suspiciously as she relayed the short message she was sure Tyrion already knew. "The crowned prince Joffrey was killed during a hunting accident. He was gored by a wild boar. The beast was slain by the prince before he took his dying breath and was served at the funeral feast. Prince Tommen will now be the new crowned prince and heir to the throne."

Sandor gave a disbelieving snort and shook his head. "Knew that shit since he was a babe. He never hunted. Never cared to. Always said that if he wanted a beast he could snap his fingers and have one brought to him."

"Ah, yes, my nephew never did have the stomach to slay a beast," Tyrion agreed.

Sandor sneered. "No, he saved that for high born ladies."

"I do not deny what my nephew was, Clegane," Tyrion said evenly, his mismatched eyes narrowed on Sandors grey ones. "There were more than just the three of us who were aware of Joffrey's shortcomings."

Sansa knew Tyrion well enough to decode what he did not say aloud: this was no accidental death. She drew in a sharp breath and eyed him in anticipation.

"Walk with me," she requested before she strode deeper into the woods. She heard Sandor's muttered curses but chose to ignore them when she could also hear his heavy boots as he stomped after them.

"Spring seems to be in the air, even up here in the North," Tyrion mentioned casually. "You have many flowers in bloom already. Perhaps you'll soon see a rose or two."

Sansa's eyes darted to his as she hummed in agreement. "Roses are lovely. I wouldn't mind at all if they were to suddenly appear."

"Lovely indeed, but do mind the thorns," Tyrion warned with a half-smile. Sansa nodded once to show she understood then bit her lip as she considered her next statement carefully.

"The worst a thorn can do is prick you," she hesitated. "It's not as if they are deadly."

Tyrion stopped and looked meaningfully at her. "You may be surprised what a rose is capable of."

"Enough, Imp," Sandor growled menacingly. "Keep your intrigues to yourself, I want no part in them."

Tyrion stared at Sandor for a few beats before his gaze shifted back to Sansa. "If that is your wish you need to say it now. Otherwise you might need to prepare of sudden outcropping of flowers."

"How many?" Sansa breathed.

"More than you have fish, but less than you have wolves," he answered cryptically before Sandor finally snapped.

"ENOUGH!" he roared. His voice echoed off the bare trees and startled a flock of birds into sudden flight.

"Sandor," Sansa chastised only to be met with an angry scowl.

"No," he argued. "We're not getting involved in this shit."

"Even if it was done to avenge me?" she challenged quietly. He was not deterred.

"The Queen of Thorns doesn't give a flying fuck about you, Little Bird. This was about her granddaughter and the babe she carried. It has nothing to do with us."

Sansa could not mask her surprise at his words. Not that he was vulgar – that was a daily occurrence – but that he had followed their conversation so easily. Sandor's scowl deepened at her expression.

"Do you think me so simple? I may not be a highborn, but even I know the banners of the great houses, wife," he snapped. "Your code could be cracked by any squire or whore in Kings Landing or the Vale or even your beloved Winterfell."

Sansa had the decency to look abashed at his words. She did not think him stupid, truly, but she had not thought he was listening too closely either. She reached for him, but he withdrew before she could make contact and instead turned away from her angrily. The rebuff stung, but she knew it was best to let him settle down a bit before she spoke to him again. His fits of fury no longer lasted as they once had. She simply had to wait them out.

"Will they definitely come this far North?"

"They will go to see your father first, as he is Warden of North. It will be under the pretense of never having been to visit Winterfell before," he replied while carefully eyeing the way her husband tensed at his words.

"When?" She knew she was taking a chance and pushing Sandor too far, but she wanted as much information as possible.

"No more than a month."

Sandor swore under his breath and Tyrion huffed in annoyance at him.

"You do realize it is part of your duty as lord of a keep to be hospitable to those of greater houses than you? Surely even you are capable of that," he quipped.

"Only when that company is welcome," Sandor snarled back.

"It is not like they are fleeing from the crown!" Tyrion cried in exasperation. "They are merely getting some distance from Cersei in her heightened state of paranoia. Trust me, they are not the only ones."

"For fucks sake, who else should we expect to barge through our gates?!" Sandor kicked at a dead log in frustration.

"No one!" Tyrion shot back, equally as annoyed. "Good Gods, Clegane, get a fucking grip on yourself. If I didn't know better I would think you were –"

"Be very careful with you next words, Imp," Sandor threatened as his eyes flashed dangerously. "They could very well be your last."

"Sandor, that's enough!" Sansa finally stepped between them and stared her husband unflinchingly in the eye. She had let his go on long enough. Deep down she knew that Tyrion was right in his assessment of her husbands' behavior: he was afraid. It deeply upset her to see him that way since it was such as rare emotion for him to feel, let alone express.

"Is the Queen the only one who believes they could be responsible?" Sansa asked carefully.

"It is not even as dangerous as that. Cersei wants someone to blame and since Joff was out hunting with Mace Tyrell and the Knight of Flowers, she is quick to place his death at their feet. BUT –" he practically shouted when Sandor opened his mouth to speak again. "There were at least a dozen other men there to witness what happened, including the King himself. Everyone agrees that the men, Joff included, had drunk too much and were being careless. That is what killed my nephew: wine, not roses."

"Why come up here then?" Sandor grumbled, but Sansa could see that he had already calmed considerably at the news.

"Because they had planned a visit anyway. It would be more suspicious for them to run back to Highgarden than to continue on their tour of the Seven Kingdoms," Tyrion explained wearily while he rubbed his brow. "I thought you were cleverer than this, Clegane."

"That's enough out of both of you," Sansa scolded. "Honestly, you are worse than me and Arya."

Sandor gave a loud snort. "No one is worse than you and the she wolf."

Sansa glared icily at him for a moment but gave up when only stared back at her impassively. A sudden jolt in her belly sharply drew her attention and she gasped loudly as her hand flew to rub a sore spot off to the side. Both men snapped to attention, ushering her over to a fallen tree, helping her to sit carefully, all the while they peppered her with worried questions tense looks. It would have been laughable if she was not in so much discomfort.

"You've been on your feet too long," Tryion muttered as he shook his head. "I apologize, my lady. I should not have kept you outside for so long."

"I am fine, really – ahhh!" Her assurance was cut off with a squeal when Sandor suddenly lifted her into his arms and headed off towards his courser.

"Put me down!" she practically shrieked. "Sandor, I can walk, I do not need to be carried like a child."

"You're having a fit like a fucking child," he groused as he tossed her up in his grip more, which pulled another startled cry from her mouth.

"Indeed," Tyrion agreed from a few paces behind them. "Really, my lady. Your daughter is better behaved than this, and she's only three."

Sansa gave a very unladylike gesture to Tyrion. She would have slung a few curses his way except that the pain came back to her belly again and she could only groan and clutch Sandors' shoulders tightly until it passed.

"Your time is not near, is it?" Tyrion suddenly asked, worry clear in his voice. "Surely I had not miscalculated by so much."

"No," Sansa panted around the pain. "Not for another month at least."

"You need to rest more," Sandor snapped at her, but she knew he was only worried. Like any great beast, when he was afraid he would lash out at the world around him. Despite his harshness he set her down with extreme delicacy atop Stranger.

"Which is what I intend to do for the rest of the day," she assured him. "Right after I have the maester and the midwife take a good look at me," she added for good measure when his glaring did not cease.

He huffed heavily as he took Stranger's reins and led them back through the gates. He did not even let her walk the stairs to their rooms, but carried her despite her protests. He carefully set her down on their bed but then leaned down so close that she practically went cross eyed as she tried to stare at him.

"You will stay here," he growled at her. "You will not move, you will not get up without my help, and you will not fucking argue about it."

Sansa scowled back at him but threw her hands up in defeat when she realized she would get nowhere by fighting him.

"Fine," she relented mulishly. "Then you will send Tyrion and Bronn in here to keep me company while you tend to our home and people, my lord."

"It's not decent to have men in your room that aren't your husband or kin," he argued half-heartedly.

"Fuck what's decent," she shot back, and enjoyed very much the way his eyes darkened at her use of that word. She did not utter it often, but she knew to expect a glorious reaction when she did. She was not disappointed.

The kiss he laid on her was indecent in its own right and made her toes curl with want and anticipation. His tongue did wicked things inside her mouth and when he pulled away from her she was glad to see it was not only her that was left panting and desperate.

"Again, Little Bird," he all but crooned in her ear as his hands pulled at the laces of her gown. Sansa grinned evilly as she pressed her hands against his massive chest and pushed him away from her.

"You'll not hear that word from me in a way that pleases you ever again if you dare manhandle me that way again," she threatened.

His answering smile was wolfish as he slid a hand into her bodice. "Seems you like the way I handle you."

She could not deny that in the way he meant it. Still, she would not give him the upper hand.

"Be that as it may," she argued as she swatted his hand away and primly adjusted her gown. "I'll not have you treating me as if I am a child."

"Then do not act as one," he growled hotly before pressing his lips to hers again before she could respond.

"Stay up here with me and I'll show you how much of a woman I am," she panted against his mouth after he pulled back again.

"Can't," he replied shortly and struggled to breathe normally. "Too much to do. Especially if I've got more visitors coming."

"If you are just a little bit more welcoming to our new guests, I promise to wake you in a way that has proved very popular with you in the past," she vowed as she slid her hand up his thigh.

A string of curses flew from his mouth before he crushed her beneath him in another heated embrace. They remained entangled long enough for Sansa to consider keeping him locked in their rooms with her until the end of time. When Sandor drew back for the final time he looked slightly wild with passion, but straightened his jerkin and adjusted himself within his breeches.

"Little bird, you make good on that and anyone can fucking visit. Flowers, Trouts, Stags, Lions; all of fucking Westeros could parade through gates. I'll greet them with a smile and even wear one of Beccah's crowns," he swore as she giggled at his vehemence.

Despite the fire that raged deep within her Sansa sighed in utter contentment as she stared up at her husband.

"I love you," she whispered.

His expression softened slightly as he reached down and gently stroked her flushed cheek. "I love you, wife."

A little voice sang from the solar, "Papa!"

"Your queen beckons," Sansa teased.

"She's my princess," he corrected. "You're my queen."

"That was a nickname of mine, you know," she mused quietly as she stared up at him. His expression hardened and he grasped her chin carefully in his calloused grip.

"Said by stupid fuckers who never felt your heat," he snarled. She melted a little more into his hand.

"No, that is a gift I only give to you."

His eyes shone brightly as he tapped the tip of her nose with one finger. "Better fucking be. I'd hate to have to geld someone."

Sansa giggled. "Do not lie, Sandor. You would actually enjoy gelding someone very much if you thought they had tried to lay even one finger on me."

"Let's not find out," he warned darkly.

"Papa!" Beccah called more insistently.

Sandor hung his head in defeat and sighed. When he lifted his gaze again he briefly laid his hand across her swollen, but thankfully calm, stomach.

"You'd better be a boy," he grumbled half-heartedly. "I can only wear so many flowers in my hair before the men stop taking me seriously."

"I take you seriously, you big, tough, warrior man," Sansa said with mock pity.

She instantly knew their daughter would have to wait a few more minutes when Sandor growled playfully at her and pinned her down on the bed. It was no matter. It was time that their child learned a little patience. The Gods knew her father didn't have any.

A/N: So, just a few short outtakes on the way. Once I have the time, of course. They WILL be posted though, so thank you for your interest and patience.