A/N: At last we reach the end of my crack head canon endgame for our characters! Thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story for the duration, your support is the only thing that has made the completion of this possible. :D

Raising his arms, Sandor allows her to divest him of his tunic, all the while staring wide-eyed at her daring. Glancing around the godswood, his mouth curls into a mischievous smirk.

"Here?" He looks exhausted, Sansa notices, and yet there is a peace to the man that she has not seen since they were hidden away in the Vale. It brings tears to her eyes, knowing that duty, his duty to her and the family, is what has robbed him of that peace. It is what has brought on the return of the Hound, and the cost is just far too high for Sansa. It is her turn to protect him now.

Staring into his eyes, the weariness weighing heavily in Sandor's eyes solidifies her decision to leave Winterfell with him and the children once things are settled with the queen.

Lightly Sandor raises his hand to her face and gently traces the curve of her face with the back of his hand. There is so much she wants to say to him, so much she feels has been left unsaid for far too long and yet Sansa finds herself too overwhelmed with emotion at present to give voice to it. Once I feel him in my arms, inside of me, I will know Sandor is truly home and so will he.

"Yes, here," Sansa kisses his chest soundly, pushing down her darker thoughts as she playfully nibbles at his throat. While holding his gaze, she unlaces her gown, allowing it to fall from her shoulders along with her shift. "Here among the weirwoods I have prayed for you, waited for you, ached for you, so why should I not love you here?" Sansa feels a deep blush flushing her cheeks as she speaks.

After studying her for a moment, a sharp grin spreads across his face, and dutifully Sandor sets her down while his eyes hungrily drinking in every inch of her body.

"Crazy bird," her fearsome husband tisks lightly while moving closer to her. "By the gods you are the Maiden made flesh. I've never seen a woman as finely made as you, lass." By the way he is looking at her, Sansa half expects to be devoured on the spot, but Sandor is tender with her just as he always is. Gently he wraps his huge heavily muscled arms around her waist and begins massaging the indentations above each of her hips with his thumbs while watching her closely.

Sandor's heated, deep gray gaze suddenly renders her shy, but determinedly Sansa puts her hesitations aside. Without needing her explanation, Sansa has sensed the man has long suspected her reserve with him stemmed from her experiences with Petyr Baelish. In the early days of their marriage, Sansa had needed his tenderness, his consideration but now the time for that is over. It is now time for her to no longer hold back with him, no longer fear his passion or his desire for her, to embrace all of Sandor as the woman she has become and not the caged little bird she once was.

Brazenly Sansa begins unlacing his smallclothes, all the while observing the confusion mixed with desire swirling in Sandor's eyes as he regards her. He is looking at her reverently, the way she often saw the brothers sworn to the Seven stare at the images of the deities, and though she us a bit scandalized by his obvious admiration, the uncharacteristic tenderness in his expression swells her heart with love for him.

"I want you now." Sansa hears herself whisper, blushing all the while.

"There's nothing I would like more," Sandor rasps, his apparent calmness unravelling as he frantically kicks off his breeches, lifts her into his arms and carries her toward the stormy gray pool in the godswood. "But are you certain you wouldn't rather go back to the privacy of our rooms, Little bird?"

"No, I wish to stay here with you," Sansa lowers herself into the steaming water beside him, brushing her naked body against his own as she moves closer, earning a deep groan from his throat. "We've been too long apart, my love. If we go back to the castle now we will be inundated. Let us love each other here, now."

The look of utter amazement in his normally keen eyes arouses Sansa in a way she has never before experienced. Tenderly she rubs soothing circles over the musculature of his chest and back. Sandor watches her with an open appreciativeness that sends sharp tingles up Sansa's spine.

Abruptly Sandor pulls away and rips the remnants of his garments from his body and moves beside her. Standing completely naked before her, the fearsome Hound sheepishly glances around like a naughty stable boy afraid he will be caught by his betters with the kitchen wench. After so long apart Sansa is taken aback by how huge her husband is, a man carved from hardship and war, every inch of his scarred frame covered in rippling muscle.

The contrast between Sandor's appearance and demeanor is so utterly ridiculous that Sansa cannot help but laugh outright, and for once, he joins her. In truth, everything feels so good that it is with very little preamble that Sansa initiates their lovemaking. The reunion with Sandor has left her giddy, reckless and wild and free, and feels so very different than their last at Castle Black. Not tainted with regret, sadness, or painful memories, this is perhaps the first time there is only happiness and love between them, and Sansa means for them never to be parted again.

Several new scars catch her eye, and so reverently she runs her fingers over each of them as Sandor descends upon her neck. "You were hurt-" she breathes out, unable to finish her thought as the feel of his hot mouth moves down to her collar bone and lower, eventually flicking wetly against her nipple. It has been a long time since Sandor has been able to enjoy her in this way, and Sansa's head lolls back as she savors the sensation, the young woman hardly able to focus on his answer.

"A bit, nothing you can't fix," he growls against her skin.

Shamelessly Sansa hooks her leg over his thigh and grinds into him, earning an appreciative groan from her husband. She wants him, and her desire overwhelms all reason. Unable to wait any longer, Sansa reaches between them and positions his manhood at her entrance before sinking ever so slowly, down the length of him.

Gasping, Sandor throws his head back with a long moan and then gently cradles her in his arms as she begins rocking her hips against him. With each movement, Sansa whispers words of love into his ear, whispers all of things she has wanted to say to him in the past and yet never did, whispers the many things she prayed against his pillow while they were apart.

Trembling with effort, Sandor lets her set the pace while holding her tenderly against him. It is too much and yet not enough after so long apart and Sansa senses that he is just as overwhelmed as she.

"I prayed for your safe return here," Sansa pants against his skin, "It is fitting that I love you beneath their red leaves for safely returning you to me, and our children."

"Fuck, Little bird, this is like to be over with quick," Sandor moans out as the thrusting of his hips becoming frantic beneath her.

"Let yourself go, Sandor, please," Sansa cries out, her completion suddenly upon her. At her word, Sandor shudders out his own orgasm while clutching onto her with all his might.

After the tide of passion dissipates, the two of them begin laughing, lightly at first and then loud enough to scare away the birds perched in the trees above them. Gently Sandor draws her against his chest and tenderly strokes her back, the two enjoying the moment of peaceable silence before the chaos awaiting them once they rejoin the castle.

"Sandor, I have something I needs tell you," Sansa whispers quietly. Fingering the curling dark hair on his chest, she slyly glances up at him through her lashes. "Something I hope will please you."

Suspicious as she knew he would be, Sandor pulls away from her and raises his brow, a slight smile twitching onto his mouth as he does so. "Another pup is on the way?" Nuzzling into her neck, she feels him smile against her skin as he waits, a glorious feeling that goes straight to her heart.

"No, not yet," Sansa giggles, pleased that it is Sandor's first thought and one that obviously delights him. "As a wedded present, Jon Arryn gave my father a parcel of land of his own in the Vale." More seriously, she adds, "Do you know the story of my Aunt Lyanna, Sandor? Do you know what happened with Rhaegar?"

His mood suddenly darkens. "Aye, she was said to be like your sister, hellfire in a skirt and all. She was kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen and died before your father got to her. Robert mourned her for the rest of his days, though I expect he mourned the idea of her far more than the reality." Sandor snorts and looks up into the trees as a cloud passes over. "I know my brother's part in the whole sordid mess, too."

Quietly Sansa nods. "Well, when I was born, my father was determined that should I ever find myself in a similar situation-that is, if I had drawn the attention of a man that I did not want and who would stop at nothing to have me-that I would have a place of respite, a place no one else knew about to hide, a keep of my very own."

"You did just that, lass, with Joffrey and Littlefucker both." He studies her silently, the old familiar anger simmering just beneath his cool exterior. "You needed that keep long ago, lass; believe that."

"True enough," Sansa allows before steering him back onto the topic at hand. "Well, Lyanna had no such place and before Rhaegar, it was unthinkable that anyone in his…position would act in such a manner."

"Bloody highborn fools and their honor," Sandor smirks derisively. "The whole of Westeros didn't want to see the forest for the trees with that one. He was pretty and so they overlooked much from that shit stain; your pretty aunt paid the price for it."

Stunned, Sansa stares at him agape. "What do you mean?"

"I saw her once as a squire. Arya couldn't be more like her if she was her own daughter, believe that. Any fool could have spotted Rhaegar's interest. It's hardly a secret that all Targaryens think they are entitled," Sandor shrugs disinterestedly. "Always with the 'blood of the dragon' and all that buggering nonsense. Your father and grandsire both should have known when Rhaegar crowned her at the tourney that the man wasn't go to bow out quietly." His rage is upon him and Sansa allows Sandor time to calm down of his own accord in silence.

"Maybe that is what my father had in mind when it came to me."

Drawing a shaky breath, finally Sandor tips her face up to him and stares intently at her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that due to my father's planning, we need not stay here. We have a place for our family, Sandor, can you believe it?"

"Place? What place? Not Clegane Keep, that's for damned sure-"

"No, no you misunderstand me. The queen informed me that my father had a small keep built for me in the Vale on the lands given to him by Jon Arryn as a wedded present. The location is obscured by clandestine means, for at the request of my father, Howland Reed has used his gifts to keep it hidden much in the same manner as Greywater Watch. Once we take possession of it, thought, it will be openly revealed."

"And why would she do such, lass?" Sandor's jaw is set in a thin line. "Why would she let us just go there, after all she's done for your kin? She expects repayment, Sansa. She meant for you to rule with your sister until your brother comes of age and make no mistake."

"Daenerys offered to allow us to use correspondence as a means of keeping council with both her and Arya and suggested that we could meet halfway at Riverrun three times a year for lengthier, in depth sessions as needs be." Anxiously she eyes Sandor closely. "What say you?"

"You're certain this isn't some kind of trick on her part just to appease you to stay here for a bit longer?"

"No, I felt the truth of her words in my heart when I came to the godswood to give thanks." Sansa cups his face in her hands, desperate for him to feel the truth too. "And I do wish to leave as soon as may be, Sandor. I love it here but I have had enough of this game and Arya is more than capable of ruling without me."

Still doubtful, Sandor scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Even if the dragon queen means her word, I don't recall any such place in the Vale, nor did I hear of one from the mountain clans."

For a fleeting moment she wonders if he will refuse to take her there. "I cannot say where exactly the keep is, nor can Jon or Arya or Rickon." Sansa nervously explains. "In fact, only Bran knows exactly where it is located, and he has promised Jon that he will lead us to it. Sandor, I cannot say what condition we will find the keep in, but if you so desire, we may leave Winterfell with the queen's blessing as soon as ever you are ready. Say you are willing."

Laughing low, Sandor shakes his head. "You want me to take you to some buggering magic keep that no one knows the location but your brother?"

Eagerly Sansa smiles and nods at him.

"Then tell your kin we will leave in a fortnight," Sandor's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Does that suit you?"

"Oh, yes, Sandor, nothing would suit me better! I cannot wait for us to have a place of our own!" Clinging to him, Sansa laughs happily in his arms, relieved to have his approval. "You mustn't worry Sandor; the children will do fine travelling, I just know it."

"You certain you will be happy there, in this magical keep?" He searches her eyes.

"Yes," Sansa takes his hand and holds it to her breast. "I am certain we will be happy there, for it is my greatest wish that we could live together in peace, away from the game of thrones, and that our children will never know the suffering we have."

Smiling, Sandor says nothing, merely pulls her close to his chest, pressing her tightly into his embrace. It is too much and yet not enough to hope such things, to dream of such richness and yet Sansa knows that both she and Sandor treasure it within their hearts just the same. As the sunlight filters low through the tree line, the couple quickly dress each other, exchange a few lingering kisses and then hurry back to the castle. With the reality of their dreams at hand, both are happier than each can remember being in their lives.

Wrapped in the coat of white lion, Daenerys looks out over the lavender moors, watching as Rhaegol and Viseryon fight over a charcoaled sheep's carcass. Jon quietly stands beside her, brooding as is his way, though his mouth quirks into a broad smile as she snuggles closer to him. Since spring has begun, she has enjoyed more peace than she has ever known in her life, even more so than when she carried her son. Yet still she is inexplicably sad.

Though she and Jon have been together for almost a year's turn, she still has not brought forth a child. Long ago she had resigned herself to spending a lifetime without children of her own. It was a miracle from the gods that gifted her with the designation of the mother of dragons, one that enabled her to put an end to the Others once and for all. It should be enough, and for a long time she thought it was, but being with Jon has awakened in her the desire to have a child, a human child, of her own.

Jon does not understand her mood, the sadness that darkens even their most passionate moments together. He has been patient with her, has tried to give her the heir she wants, has taken Maester Tarly's potions and allowed her to use him for her own ends at her own discretions without complaint. However, as she cuddled beneath the furs with him the previous night, it occurred to her that Jon has done such while never appreciating that she truly cares for him.

Dany will make Jon see that she loves him, she determines as she watches his cloak flowing in the cold breeze. Even if her womb should quicken with his child, what would it matter if the man she loves, the father of her child, never knew her true feelings? How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? Dany inwardly curses herself. She truly loves Jon with a depth and passion she has never experienced; but she has for so long played the role of queen, even with him, that Daenerys has inadvertently has hidden her love even from him. For all her titles and gifts, Dany laments that the right way to make her feelings known to him escapes her and it is with a heavy heart that she presses forward in conversation.

"You were most clever in securing the Thenn on our side with Alys Karstark's marriage to Sigorn," Dany breaks the silence between them. "Very clever indeed. She seems happy enough with the match, I suppose."

Shrugging, Jon bites his lip. "It was her duty and she did it. Happiness has nothing to do with it, not for her nor most of us."

Sighing, Dany silently assents though inwardly she wonders why it must be thus. "It was wise to allow the rumors of their cannibalism to stand even among the ranks. Ser Jorah told me many of the Bolton men abandoned their cause on this piece of misinformation alone."

Chuckling, Jon shakes his head. "I did what needed to be done. What my father would have done."

Unblinking, Dany observes Jon carefully for a moment. "And what would your father say to our arrangement? To your sisters married to a houndand a bastard?" She notices Jon shivers at the word. It is cruel but she does not care; she needs to know his true feelings and in her experience a man's first response is usually the truest.

"My father had no love for Cleganes, it's true but I think he'd be glad they married men who love them, who protect them and fight for them and our family," Jon allows genially, though Dany is uncertain whether he truly believes his words.

"I see. And what would Ned Stark say to us sharing a bed without marriage?"

Frowning, Jon takes her hand in his, his voice betraying irritation and something deeper, more painful. "He never wanted any harm to come to you. It wouldn't matter, Dany, and there's no use playing this game any longer. What matters is what we think of it, nothing more."

"I think it is wonderful, what we have. I hope it will always be thus between us," the words slip off her tongue easily, surprising Dany herself.

"It will be, if you want it to." Pensively Jon glances sideways at her. "You asked what my sire would think: tell me, what does your devoted Bear think of it?"

It is Dany's turn to laugh now. "It matters not what he thinks, for he is not mine. I am yours, Jon, as you are mine. Jorah has no place between us. Your thoughts are the only that concern me, the only ones that matter."

Stunned, Jon gathers her close in his arms. "I love you, Danaerys. I would make you my wife if you would have me-that is, if marriage is what you truly wanted."

His words both thrill and confuse the young woman. "It never occurred to her that he would want to marry her even if she remained barren. "I do want marriage, Jon. Are you…are you asking me to be your wife?"

"Aye, I want you, too. I'm asking you to be my wife," Jon leans in and kisses her fully on the mouth, tenderly, reverently. "What say you?"

Her emotions in a turmoil, Dany can hardly speak for her happiness. She has not been kissed in such a manner since Drogo that she can remember nor had any man profess his love, and if she is honest with herself, even that memory may be closer to wishful thinking than honest recollection.

Tearfully she pulls him tightly against her. "I say yes, Jon, as soon as you wish."

Jon kissed her again, then abruptly pulls away with a mischievous smirk. "As soon as I wish? So tomorrow, then?" He pulls her close against him and begins nibbling on her neck. "No frills, no fuss, no bloody septons preaching their tomes? No pomp, no ceremony, no fancy gowns with dragons and direwolves? No seventy course meals?"

He is teasing her, and it melts her heart that he feels free to do so. Now Dany understands why Arya and Gendry married on the spot without regard to expectations; it was love that moved them, just as it is love that moves her now, and everything else seems of little importance in the face of such beauty. Dazedly Dany stares into his eyes while tracing his jawline with her slender fingers. "No, I don't want any of it. I want a marriage, not a wedding. Tomorrow we shall wed, just as you say, Jon."

Sandor and Sansa suddenly appear in the periphery of her vision, causing Jon to break their kiss off with a groan.

"Lord Clegane, I am most relieved to see you returned to your family safe and sound." Glancing between them, it is obvious that Sansa has told him about the keep, and that her mind has been made up.

"My queen," Sandor bows low before her, lying his sword at her feet.

"Rise," Dany smiles, taking Sansa by the hands. "Have you spoken with your husband about my idea?"

"Yes," Sansa blushes deeply. "If it pleases you, Your Grace, our family wishes to leave in a fortnight, as soon as plans can be made."

Sandor pulls Sansa's back flush against his chest, the only visible sign of his anxiety at waiting for her reply. Eager to alleviate his misery, Dany smiles broadly. "It suits me very well. I have already taken the liberty of having the plans for it drawn up and we can make adjustments as necessary."

"How very kind of you, Queen Daenerys. Many thanks and the Seven's blessing on you for your generosity." Sansa bows low, her back a perfect straight line parallel to the floor that briefly inspires a glimmer of envy in Daenerys; for she never learned to courtesy and Sansa's manners are the finest she has ever seen. Beside her, Sandor is gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

Jon's fingers grips and releases her sides impatiently. "We have some news of our own that will interest you," he begins, taking Daenerys by the hand.

AFTERWARD

And so it was that the dreams of the Starks came to fruition. Sansa and Sandor moved to Winterfrost Keep, where Sansa helped Arya rule. Eventually she and Gendry had two children and moved into a completely renovated Castle Black. When Rickon came of age, he took Shireen as his wife, had five children and became Lord of Winterfell. While ruling the Seven Kingdoms, Jon and Daenerys wed and had also had seven children, thus ending the presumed barrenness of the queen and inspiring hope in the realm. Together with their families, all spent the rest of their days rebuilding the the Seven Kingdoms until one by one each returned to the Old gods, to their ancestors and to those they had lost in winter, to begin the dream again.