He's been through this four times already, but experience never makes it any less terrifying.

"You're driving me nuts with your pacing," Rory groaned as he slumped on the couch with his massive arms crossed over his equally massive chest. Leila sat next to him with a needle and thread in her hands and a decently long blanket on her lap. She had just finished embroidering the C in Clegane and was waiting for the birth of her sibling in order to embroider the letter of his or her given name.

Sandor didn't reply and consciously stopped his dizzying strides around the drawing room. He carried Ciara in his arms, but despite having her cheek on his shoulder and slumping against him, she was not asleep. The anxiousness floating in the air was enough to keep anyone awake in anticipation.

Everyone tensed up when they heard Celeste's screams echo into the corridors.

"Leila, go check on your mother," Sandor spoke softly. "Eloise said she'd be back and it's worrying me."

Leila nodded and set aside her blanket and needles to hop off the couch and exit the room. When her footsteps dissolved into the corridor, Rory began, "Why is it we can't go in there with mama?"

"Someone once told me it's bad luck," Sandor frowned. "We've been over this."

"And you believe that?"

An echo of a scream rattled the stone walls of Clegane's Keep again, and Sandor didn't speak until only the crackling of the fireplace filled the room. "I don't—not really," Sandor adjusted Ciara in his arms. Her doll almost fell as a result, but Sandor was quick to grasp it before it hit the ground. "But I won't risk it—not with your mother."

"So you weren't there when we were born? That's cold, papa."

"I was there, you little twat," Sandor scowled, knowing his son was trying to get a rise out of him by the smirk plastered on his handsome features. "Just not in the room."

"She's asleep, so you know," Rory pointed out. Indeed, Ciara had managed to fall asleep—no wonder her doll almost fell. Sighing, Sandor carefully set her down on a nearby armchair and placed her doll in her arms. When he turned around, Rory was already by his side with Leila's unfinished blanket in his hands, ready to drape it over Ciara. Sandor watched him with gentle eyes, amazed that despite having his size and brute strength, Celeste's temperament managed to sneak its way into Rory in the most subtle of ways.

Sandor's chest tightened at the mere thought of the blood his son carried in his veins.

"I'm sure you've heard how I got this scar on my face, haven't you?" Sandor spoke so suddenly, Rory sprung up in attention. His eyes were wide and flickering, thinking of what to say next.

"When I was about Leila's age, I asked her about her scar, and about yours," he admitted. "I remember Eloise telling me it was none of my business to know—she's never really cared about what you or mama look like."

Sandor rolled his eyes in amusement. Eloise has always been a papa's girl through and through—all his daughters were, and while Rory teased him and spoke to him freely, he always hovered behind his mother's skirts. However, all his children always preferred to ask Celeste the personal and embarrassing questions, and Sandor was a bit grateful for this. He's always been shit at handling emotional situations, and when his children go to Celeste for any issue, she always tells him and keeps him in the loop of things.

"What did she say?" he knew the answer; Celeste had told him all those years ago, but he wanted to hear it from Rory.

"She told me she got her scar during the Battle of Winterfell before I was born," Rory said. "She said one of those undead surprised her from behind, but she killed it."

"She actually killed two of them; she's being humble," Sandor let out a ghost of a smile at the thought of his wife stabbing and killing something. Celeste is dainty, but she turns into a mother bear very quickly when she feels her children are at risk. "What did she say about mine?"

"She said I should ask you."

"And why haven't you?"

"I'll ask you now," Rory grinned meekly. "How'd you get it? While you worked for the Lannisters?"

"No," Sandor nodded at Ciara sound asleep on the armchair with her doll hugged against her chest. "I got it around Ciara's age—my older brother thought I stole one of his toys and he was so angry, he grabbed my head and held my face over a brazier."

Rory looked horrified, and Sandor swore he saw his dark amber eyes shine with tears. His voice was breathless, "What happened to him? Is he dead?"

"Aye, he burned to death when that Targaryen bitch turned King's Landing to ashes," Sandor said simply. "If an old friend of mine were here right now, he'd say it was divine justice."

Rory still looked mortified by the revelation and Sandor knew the thought that went through his head: I'm related to someone like that? Sandor clasped a hand over his son's shoulder, "I'm telling you this because your mother is sure we're having a son tonight—which means you're going to have a younger brother—"

"Aye, you're telling me this so I don't end up pushing my brother into burning braziers."

"You're nothing like Gregor, Rory; you will never be like him because you're my son and because you carry your heart in your sleeve like your mother does," Sandor furrowed his brow. "If you have a brother tonight, know that he will not grow to look up to me, he will look up to you—never forget that."

Rory smiled softly but the tender gleam in his eyes was quickly replaced with a mischievous spark. "Is this your way of telling me I shouldn't fuck the blacksmith's daughter?"

"If you bring that up one more time, I'm going to put your fucking head through a wall."

"I love the sound of threats this late in the evening," Eloise walked into the room with a grin wider than Essos. "Especially when they're meant for Rory."

Before Rory could shoot back an insult, Sandor asked hastily, "What's happened?"

"You are now the proud father of three gorgeous daughters, a creature," Eloise gestured towards Rory, making him fume silently, "And a bouncing baby boy—looks like you're not so bad at making them after all, papa."

When they entered the room, the midwives and maids congratulated Sandor as they quickly cleaned up and left the room. Celeste was sitting against the wooden headboard cradling a bundle of blankets on the crook of her arm. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was sweat-plastered on her forehead, but Sandor never thought she'd look any more beautiful than she did now. Leila was kneeling next to her mother, looking down at the bundle with an ecstatic grin. Ciara, fully awake now, immediately ran to the bedside and Leila helped her up so she could sit beside her.

"I was right!" Celeste laughed.

"I never doubted you for a second, woman," Sandor chuckled. Eloise and Rory rushed to the bedside where Leila and Ciara were, leaning over their younger siblings to catch a look at the new member of the family. Rory was first to speak, "He's a redhead like me!"

"Let's hope he has a brain in there," Eloise nudged her brother's shoulder. Rory merely glared.

Sandor paid no mind to his children's antics and took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. He pressed a kiss to Celeste's cheek before looking down at the baby boy whose red curls stood out so vividly against the ivory blankets. Sandor could already tell this boy was going to look exactly like his mother.

"What are we naming him?" Leila asked. "I have to finish the embroidery on his blanket."

"Rory had suggested one the other day that I liked," Eloise said, to everyone's surprise. She frowned at the wide-eyed stares. "What? Rory has good ideas sometimes."

"Lucan," Rory smiled. "He's the traveling bard in the book mama used to read us—remember?"

"Yes, I recall there's a charming sailor in that same book named Rory," Celeste smirked knowingly and reached for Leila's cheek to pinch it playfully, making the girl blush. "And a beautiful princess named Leila." She smoothed down Ciara's curls, earning a giggle from her youngest daughter. "And her very cheeky lady-in-waiting named Ciara."

"Where did my name come from, then?" Eloise asked, genuinely curious.

"Where did it come from, Sandor?" Celeste volleyed the question onto Sandor.

"I looked into a fire and it spelled out your name for me," Sandor said as if it were the most normal thing that could happen to an individual. "And your mother and I both liked it."

It was late into the night and while the rest of the Clegane children were sound asleep in their beds, Celeste and Sandor were awake with their newborn son. Already experienced from caring for four newborns before Lucan, she had him latched onto her breast before he could make a peep. As he drank his mother's milk to his heart's content, Sandor sat on a wooden chair beside the bed, recounting the events of this morning in Casterly Rock.

"I think it's very thoughtful," Celeste said, pulling her sleeve over her shoulder. "But you don't seem very enthusiastic about it."

"It's not that," Sandor shook his head as he took the bundle from her. Lucan was already sound asleep, and Sandor chuckled at seeing he looked almost drunk. It always happened to all his children right after they were breastfed, and it amused him to no end. "I never thought anyone would offer me something like that—I know Tyrion trusts me, and we've been working together to make the Westerlands profitable again on something other than Lannister gold, but this…"

"In the end, it's your choice," Celeste told him. "You'll be the one carrying that enormous title. Personally, I think you can handle that weight and there's no one else I can say will rule Casterly Rock and this region fairly and with the people's interests at heart."

"But I don't want to give up Clegane's Keep," Sandor looked down at Lucan, the baby boy curling his little fingers in his sleep. "We've raised our children here, and I can finally look upon it and see happy memories rather than Gregor killing everything in his path and making my life hell."

"Eloise runs the vineyards very well, and so does Rory whenever he's not charming the ladies in the village," Celeste pointed out. "Perhaps I can handle Clegane's Keep while they can run the vineyards, and you can go back and forth between here and Casterly Rock; it's only a two-hour carriage ride, after all."

"I suppose," Sandor looked up in thought. He could leave early in the mornings, run Casterly Rock and the region's affairs, and be home in time for supper. He could even alternate days between going to Casterly Rock and working on the vineyards. He could even start teaching Eloise and Rory how to work the more administrative aspect of the family business as well.

"Let's not focus on this now," Sandor finally found his words. "Tyrion gave me time to think about this decision, and now that we've got this little rascal, I don't want to be away from him for too long."

Celeste smiled lovingly, taking in the sight of her massive husband cradling his newborn son expertly in his arms. She remembers how nervous he was when they first had Eloise, how he was afraid he'd hold her too tight, or make her cry, or accidentally hurt her. Now, that fear he once felt was no more. "Sandor?"

"Yes?"

"We set the goal at having five children all those years ago," Celeste said this firmly, but her tone was light. "And we've achieved that goal, so the bakery is officially closed."

Sandor let out a laugh so loud, he thought he'd wake Lucan. Thankfully, the baby kept snoozing. "I think we can have two more, don't you?"

"Sandor."

"Oh fine," he chuckled. He loved teasing her. "We can do other things that are just as fun."

Celeste glared at him pointedly, but her smirk was playful. When Sandor carefully stood from his chair and sat himself next to Celeste, she immediately curled up on his side, resting her head against his shoulder. Sandor balanced Lucan on the length of one arm while the other wrapped around Celeste's small shoulders, bringing her closer to him. He buried his face into her curls, taking in the sweet scent of her flowery soap, before leaning down and taking her breath away with a deep kiss.

He wanted to thank her for loving him all these years, for standing by his side through the good times and the bad times, for giving him five beautiful children and raising them with him and giving him happiness he never thought he'd ever have in his life. He wanted to thank her for showing him he didn't have to be bitter and that he could open his heart to let others in and that it didn't always mean it would hurt him. He owed her such an enormous debt, and all he could do to repay her was to give her unconditional love for as long as he lives.

"I love you, woman," Sandor whispered to her when their kiss dissolved. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, I do," she ran her fingers through his beard. "I love you too."

FIN.

Author's Note: We've finally come to the end of this tale, and I'd like to thank all my readers and followers for being so supportive and consistently leaving such kind words. Thank you for such a wonderful journey, and I wish everyone the best!