A/N: Well, that's all folks! Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and support for this story. I have thoroughly enjoyed reading your comments and getting to know some of you better, Sansan fans are the best!

TheCatTheWall made fanart for this fic. I can't seem to get it posted here so I put in on my Tumblr. Enjoy!

post/62174834669/look-what-thecatthewall-made-for- my-a-curious

Sansa awakened at dawn to her mother knocking softly on the door. "Sansa, Sweetling, let me in. Your maid locked the door."

"Peg pardons, Mother. Allow me a moment to put on a dressing gown and robe, I beg."

A quick glance around the room revealed Sandor had slipped out during the night. She let out a sigh of relief and hastily drew her sleeping shift over her head.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she smiled softly at the light bruise blooming on her collarbone where her husband earlier ravaged the spot covering her pulse. Draping her hair over her shoulder, she pulled on her robe and padded to the door. She opened to find her lady mother wearing a stern, if not somewhat relieved, expression.

"Sansa, I must speak to you at once."

"Mother, please, come inside. It is hardly an hour after daybreak," she took her by the arm. "Tell me truly, is something amiss?"

"It is your husband, dearest. Word just reached the castle that Ramsay has suddenly taken ill."

"You don't say?" Sansa turned away to conceal a small smile. "It is not the time of year for the ague; what has happened to him?"

"There is no time to explain. Come, he is asking for you. Clegane is waiting with the horses. He will fill you in on the rest of the details as you travel."

I am certain he will. Sansa nodded gravely, skillfully schooling her expression to evoke the appropriate serious response. "Of course, Mother. I will make ready at once."

"I will have the maids draw a bath," Lady Catelyn fussed about the room, removing select gowns and cloaks from the closet and carefully laying them on the bed. "You must pack in haste, child. Take only the necessities." Lady Catelyn paused and sat Sansa on the edge of the bed, placing her hand on her shoulder. "Ramsay's condition is most serious indeed. Prepare yourself."

Guilt welled within her but she kept still, hardening her heart as she recalled how easily her brother disposed of her to a brutal man all of the sake of benefitting his war effort. "Mother, tell me truly; do you believe he will not survive?" Sansa asked softly, still unable to bring herself to mention the loathsome Ramsay by name.

"No, dear, I am afraid he will not. Clegane said his fate was certain. As much as I do not care for the man, I cannot deny that your sworn shield knows of what he speaks. I am afraid you will be a widow before you have a bedding ceremony, my poor lemoncake, though I cannot pretend that I am not relieved you will likely never see the bastard of Bolton alive."

"Truth be told," Sansa quietly admitted, "I am relieved myself."

Catelyn smiled sadly and placed her hand on her cheek. "Believe me, I understand, child. The Maiden has been merciful to you. But you must play your part, Sansa,for the sake of propriety."

"Certainly, Mother, I will do what is expected. No one will be the wiser of my true feelings, I swear it." Sansa patted her mother's hands, turning away to hide the emotions welling within her. "If you will excuse me, I will make haste."

"Of course, dearest. I will leave you alone with your thoughts. Remember my words, Sansa; you must not be too particular in your preparations. You must hurry."

After choking down the roll and tea Milly brought to break her fast, Sansa bathed and brushed out her hair. Lady Catelyn returned, dismissed the maid, and helped her into her warmest gown and furred overshoes before tying her cloak about her neck.

Smoothing down her hair, Sansa's mother gloomily attempted a smile. "With the blessing of the old gods, Ramsay will have already passed by the time you arrive. Listen to me carefully: you need not wait for your goodfather to return, should you find Ramsay thus. I know it is not proper for you to leave without seeing him but you must come back to us at once, no matter what anyone tells you."

Puzzled, Sansa took her mother by the hand. "Are you certain that is wise? Robb-"

"Leave your brother to me. I will not have my girl stay at the Dreadfort a moment longer than necessary." Lady Catelyn kissed each of Sansa's cheeks. "You are a woman grown; there is something you must know about Lord Bolton before you reach the Dreadfort, Sansa. Please, daughter, sit down."

The somber look in her mother's eyes unnerved her. Obediently Sansa sat down beside her mother. "Mother, tell me; what is it?"

Sansa watched Lady Catelyn swallow back her tears. "Are you familiar with the ancient northern practice of prima nocte?"

"Y-yes," Sansa whispered, raising her hand to her throat. "It is the tradition of a lord taking a bride on the first night of her union, thus denying her husband her maiden's gift."

"You have heard it said Lord Bolton still adheres to this tradition?"

"Yes, come to think of it, I have. Oh, gods be good," Sansa sank back down onto her bed, unable to bear the suggestion her mother's words brought to mind. How could any man who served her father do such a thing? What was more upsetting, however, was that Robb married her into a family that practiced it, knowing full well both her goodfather and husband would share her? It was not to be born.

"Sansa, I cannot pretend that Lord Bolton, should he reach the Dreadfort before you depart, will not invoke his right in his son's stead." Catelyn sighed shakily and gripped Sansa's hand firmly. "In fact, I am certain he would do just that. It is the surest way to secure Robb's favor, no matter the fate the gods have chosen for Ramsay, and I am sure he would take the opportunity to breed another heir."

"Mother, the Boltons are thoroughly despicable. How can Robb ally himself with them?"

"He has lost the support of the Freys and the Tyrells, Sansa. His position is most precarious indeed." Her mother stared into her hands sadly. "It is not what your Father would have wanted but that is the situation we must bear."

"What is it you wish me to do?"

"I have instructed Clegane to take you away from the Dreadfort at once, no matter what orders your brother may have given him, is that understood? His vow to protect you far supersedes that of any he made to Robb in the eyes of the gods, since Clegane made them long ago and prior to your brother's recent lapse in judgment."

"If he learns of it, Robb will execute Sandor for treason, Mother-"

"I will take full responsibility for the Hound's actions with your brother, should it come to that." Catelyn held Sansa's chin firmly. "You do exactly as Clegane tells you, Sansa. He will keep you safe. Promise me."

Yes, he will, Sansa added silently. Sadly, she kissed her mother's cheek, clinging to her one last time before following her to the courtyard. "I will do whatever he asks, Mother, I swear it."

"There's my brave girl," Lady Catelyn held her tightly against her breast. "Come now, the time has come for you to leave us."

In the courtyard, Sandor stood woodenly beside Stranger, wearing his usual disinterested expression. Refusing to meet her gaze, he absently checked the warhorse's hooves while mother and daughter said their final goodbyes.

Jeyne stood a respectful distance away, smiling sadly, as she always did now. Arya, Bran and Rickon all tearfully kissed and petted her. "Sissy, you will send us a raven, won't you?"

"Yes, Arya, of course I will," Sansa choked out.

Bran stared at her with a solemn expression. "The old gods will guide your path, Sansa. I will pray at the Heart tree for your safety and for Clegane's as well. I will visit you in your dreams."

"Thank you, brother," she kissed each of his cheeks, not certain she understood his meaning.

"Shaggydog and me will miss you," Rickon tearfully buried his face in her skirts. "Here, I brought you a rock. Carry it with you and think of me."

"My sweet baby," Sansa sobbed in earnest, burying her face in his downy curls. "I will miss every day."

She clung to them all until the Blackfish signaled it was time to leave. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Sansa quietly answered, the heavy realization that she may never see her family again suddenly overwhelming her. The shame of deceiving them blended with the overwhelming relief that she soon would be far away, safe from Robb's marriage schemes, Lord Bolton and the war.

Wringing her hands, Sansa turned to look at them one last time. Great Uncle Brynden pulled her close and whispered into her ear. "Go on, child. Do as you're bid and all will be well. I'll keep watch over your Mother and siblings. Go on, then."

A great well of emotion threatened to break forth as Sansa watched her mother turn tearfully away into her uncle's waiting arms. Mother knows; she knows Great Uncle Brynden is sending me away and she is allowing it for my sake, the sudden realization came to her.

"I love you very much, all of you," Sansa brokenly called out as Sandor carefully lifted her into the saddle and then climbed upon the heavy courser's back, positioning himself behind her at a respectful distance.

"Ready, little bird?" He rasped into her ear, the burned side of his face twitching slightly as he spoke.

"I am ready," Sansa answered softly.

"Alright then," he nodded at the Blackfish and spurred Stranger out of Winterfell's gates. The mournful howls of her sibling's direwolves echoed in the distance, the sound cutting a corresponding fissure though Sansa's heart. Sandor pulled her flush against him, rubbing soothing circles over her belly as she finally allowed her tears to fall unabated.

After several hours of hard travel, Sandor turned Stranger and backtracked westward, leading them deep into the Wolfswood.

"Where are we going?" Sansa asked, snuggling down beneath the furs.

"The Wall, lass," Sandor answered low, wrapping his huge hand around her midsection and pulling her tight against his chest. "We make for the Wall."

Did she hear him correctly? They were to spend the rest of the war at the Wall?

Startled, she sat bolt upright in the saddle and stared at him. "The Wall-truly? But how will we manage? Jon is sure to find us. I-"

"Don't get your feathers ruffled," he growled into her ear. "Your lady mother finally gave up her foolish prejudices and sent a raven to your bastard brother Jon. She told him all about Robb's marrying you off to Ramsay and her fears about Lord Bolton. She asked him to make a place for us there, to keep you safe for the duration of the war."

All this time Mother wanted Sandor to take me away? Sansa sat in stunned silence. "When?"

"As soon as the Blackfish told her Ramsay wanted you at the Dreadfort. We're to stay in a Wilding village on the Frozen Shore, away from the lowlife scum the Night's Watch has been recruiting as of late. Your brother found us a tiny cabin. It'll be rough going, but we'll be alright."

Overwhelmed, Sansa gave vent to her emotions and sobbed freely, burying her face in her husband's cloak. Behind her, she felt her husband draw a deep breath.

"Come now," he grumbled, pulling her closer still. "You need not fear anything with me," Sandor wiped her face with a handkerchief. "I'll keep you safe, wife."

"No, it is not that," she reassured him. "I trust you. I am most grateful that we are husband and wife and will have a place of our own." After a moment of silence, she quietly added, "Dearest Mother went against Robb, against her king, to protect me. I cannot believe it."

"Aye that she did," Sandor shrugged. "Wanting your brother to find justice for your Father doesn't mean she lost all motherly feeling for you." He kissed the top of her head. "It won't be forever, wife; we'll return to Winterfell and you'll be reunited with your kin one day."

Despite her emotional state, hearing Sandor call her wife sent a thrill through her body. "You are my family now, Sandor, and I am ready to start a new life with you," she caressed his face. "And our home will be wherever we make it, together. Do you believe my words?"

"I do, lass, I do," Sandor answered quietly before kissing her in return. They savored each other for several moments, until he cleared his throat and gently pulled away from her. Straightening up in the saddle, Sandor grinned. "No more of that, now, or we won't get very far."

He put the spurs to Stranger and the newly married couple hastened toward their future, where the curious little bird and the Hound were free-free of the war, free of the game of thrones, free to love each at long last.