The day had been grey and the sky had been covered in dull clouds so that no sun had shone over the vast snow-covered lands that could be seen stretching endlessly from the walls of Winterfell. Sansa shivered as the wind blew briskly, cutting through the warmth of her fur cloak as though she were wearing summer silks but she stayed where she was with her gloved hands resting on the edge of the thick stone between the ice-covered merlons, even as the sky darkened with a dusk that came earlier every day as winter advanced.

"My lady!"

Sansa meant to turn when she heard the voice but still she remained transfixed by the seemingly infinite reach of the land and its cold silence.

The hard footsteps crunching on snow approached her closely now.

"Little bird," the raspy voice called her when no one else could hear.

Sansa turned now. "Forgive me, Sandor," she whispered.

He looked at her sternly but with concern. "What in buggering hells are you doing up here, girl? The maester said you were to stay abed for a fortnight."

Sansa huffed a short laugh. "Osha and Squirrel both say that I am perfectly strong and should nor waste any more time abed if I don't want to." She smiled gently and held her arm out to him though. "But I confess that I may have overreached myself in climbing the walls."

"And descending to the crypts. Are you mad, girl? I'll be damned if I know which is coldest, but you've dragged your arse to the two coldest places in Winterfell mere days after…after having a pup. At least confine yourself to the solar and the hall if you needs be about-"

"I needed to be here, Sandor; and in the crypts. Please forgive me for giving you cause to worry, my love," she gave his arm a squeeze as she leaned on him now.

Sandor's brow furrowed but he relented somewhat in his tone when he spoke to her again. "I know you miss your father and mother right now, little bird; but there's nothing you can say to them that they won't hear in the castle. It's too bloody cold down there and no mason has been down to see if it's still solid after the fire. What if a part of the wall collapsed? Who would care for our girl if you were hurt or…" he broke off gruffly now. "Don't go being careless now," he ordered her with a brusque nod.

He used to call me stupid, not careless, Sansa thought with a suppressed smile.

"Why do you laugh at me?" he rasped.

"I'm not laughing at you, my love; I love how you counsel me and protect me and keep me safe."

"You're my wife," he replied shortly.

Sansa smiled again. "I thought I was your little bird?" she prompted.

Sandor's mouth twitched. "Chirping again, are you? Do you expect to make a true knight or lord of me?"

Sansa looked up into the grey eyes, a darker and clearer grey than the sky. "I don't expect you to be anyone but who you are now, Sandor, because I love you the way you are."

She could see his face soften at her words, but there was still a semblance of uncertainty that made her heart ache for him.

"You could have stayed on the Quiet Isle," she told him, "or sold your sword to any lord or company in Essos; but you came North with me, to protect me…and you loved me, Sandor. You even loved me enough to not want to marry me, because you thought it was best for me." Her eyes sparkled as she smiled teasingly at him. "Thank the gods you were wrong about that. There is no one, no man better for me than you, Sandor Clegane."

"Well…then the buggering cold has numbed your mind, little bird," he told her, but softly, and he cupped her face with his hand and caressed her cheek and lower lip with his thumb.

Sansa raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him gently. Then she turned her head back towards the wall to look again over the North.

"I was up here with Daenerys Targaryen. This is where I told her of my escape from…from the Eyrie. This is where swore my fealty to her. I told her that I liked to look out over my father's lands to remind myself of my duty and that so long as I had this," Sansa nodded over the walls, "that I could not fail to do what was right."

"This is your life, little bird: the North and its people," he told her firmly.

"No, Sandor," she turned back to him now. "This is my duty. You are my life, my love, you and Catya and Rickon, of course. I only have to see you and to feel you hold me, to watch you ride off to battle and to watch you sleeping next to me. I only have to see Rickon growing and learning his lessons with you and the maester and playing with his direwolf. And Catya…Oh, Sandor: our beautiful little girl," she gushed, "I have only to look into that precious little face and know what my life is: it's our family, Sandor, yours and mine. And if things should go badly…if Daenerys should not prevail and we were to have to flee, or lose Winterfell, or if the Others should come, gods help us, I will still know that I have done everything right since the moment we found each other again because we became a family. That is truly what I wanted again; not just the North or Winterfell. I know now that would mean little to me without you and our babe, Sandor."

"Good thing I didn't make you hold out for marrying a lord, then," he jested dryly.

In the now bluish light of the dusk, Sansa cupped his cheek with her gloved hand and smiled. "But I did marry a lord…my lord," she teased him.

Sandor scoffed. "Some lord I make," he rasped jeeringly. "No land, no army, no gold; nothing but an ugly face and rude manners-"

"Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold-" Sansa recited from memory his words from atop another wall, those of the Red Keep before the Battle of the Blackwater.

Sandor huffed ruefully. "Well, bugger me, girl; you chastise me with my own words…and remind me that I held my blade to your throat-"

"For the first time," Sansa could not help reminding him also of the night of the battle when he came to her chamber. She relented when he dropped his eyes. "Forgive me, my love."

"It should be me asking forgiveness, little bird," he countered almost sheepishly.

Sansa shook her head. "You meant to teach me how empty titles and honours and fair faces and manners could be, and to learn to protect myself, Sandor." She squeezed his arm again. "I am hoping you will teach our daughter as well….though mayhaps without the threats or the cursing," she added gently. "Do not belittle yourself, Sandor: you have earned your honours and your title…and my love most of all. I hope- My love, I hope you do not think that an empty honour, or simple chirping on my part-"

"No," Sandor stated flatly. "I know what it is worth: everything. You are my life as well, little bird," he looked down on her intently as she continued to stare expectantly. "…and our daughter, and your brother," he added, "and Winterfell is my duty now too. You can count on me to lead the garrison and to defend it as long as we are here,' he nodded for emphasis.

"I know, Sandor."

"You think I could have been a holy man? Or a sellsword? I haven't the devotion to either: neither faith nor fighting were enough for me to live for anymore. But you, little bird," he murmured raspingly as he reached to tuck a strand of hair that had been blowing around behind her ear, "you are the only thing in this world I can believe in, the only one I truly can fight for; without you I would be an empty shell…or a dead man."

Sansa hugged herself to him fiercely. "Do not say that, Sandor, please. You are worthy all on your own; though I am happier that you are with us."

Sandor lifted her chin with his gloved hand and gave a twisted half-smile. "We keep going around this again, little bird," he told her. "Well, no matter: I will not tire or hearing that you are happy with me though I may never buggering understand why. Come, let me help you down from this wind and cold and into the hall for supper. Your little lord brother wants us at table with him and the Blackfish. Doubtless the old man plans to leave to join your dragon queen in the Riverlands now we're rid of Boltons and Freys in the North."

"I suspected as much," Sansa replied. "I will miss him terribly, Sandor, as much as I miss Arya." She ignored his twitched sneer at the memory of her younger sister's refusal to accept her husband. "I hate to see family leave now; I want nothing but for us all to stay here in Winterfell; but it was never my great-uncle's home like Riverrun."

"Might be," Sandor sniffed, "but I'll be buggered if the old trout doesn't care for you and your brother more than his Tully nephew; hasn't the wits of a goat to hear him tell."

Sansa smiled unwittingly. "He has been very devoted to us and to the cause of the North: he loved our mother and has done everything to protect and counsel us, as you have, Sandor; and he accepts you which of course makes me love him all the more."

Sansa was already tired by the time they reached the hall and so the warmth of the hearth fires and camaraderie of the people sharing the benches at trestle tables made her fell sleepy. Sandor had no sooner helped her to a place beside Rickon when the old woman who had been watching Catya brought her to Sansa to nurse. So she rose again to sit in a dark corner with her back to the hall while the woman wrapped a shawl about her shoulders and stood waiting to take the child away again. She smiled down at her daughter as she always did, marveling at the tiny person she and Sandor had created as her heart filled with a fierce love.

With you in my arms I know I am a wolf. I would tear the throat out of anyone who would harm you.

She remembered how Nymeria had attacked Joffrey, and then she wondered as she had so many times before how Arya was faring with Daenerys and her army.

Ser Barristan the Bold promised me himself that he would keep you safe, sister, she reminded herself, he is a man of honour but you are not his family or his queen.

Sansa reluctantly handed her daughter back to her nurse and returned to join Sandor at table with Rickon and the Blackfish. Her brows drew together to see them sitting together all looking somber and stubborn.

"You will do this for your family, if not for yourself," her great-uncle was telling Sandor.

Sandor raised his horn of ale and drank. Rickon looked up to Sansa with pleading eyes, though his small jaw was set in near-anger.

'Sansa, sister: tell Sandor to accept," he insisted.

"A lady does not tell her lord what to do, Rickon, unless he should ask her counsel," she told him looking at Sandor warily. "Will you tell me what it is my lord brother would have you accept, my lord?"

When Sandor did not look at her or reply, the Blackfish spoke up instead.

"The Dreadfort, and all its lands…and responsibilities," he told her though he was looking at Sandor. "My lord, I would never have advised Rickon to offer this to you had I thought you were not capable. Many soldiers will be rewarded with titles and lands by Rickon or by other lords but most believe that none are so deserving as you. You led the attack on the Dreadfort-"

"The queen's dragons and her army won the Dreadfort and now it lies destroyed. Mayhaps it is fitting that I should lord over a burned ruin," he gestured to his face, "but I swore never to take my lady from Winterfell."

"Of course you'll stay here since the Dreadfort is uninhabitable; but consider, my lord, that we will needs patrol and defend those lands anyway. Now the fighting has ended, at least for a time," the old soldier shrugged, knowing that their trials were not over, "and smallfolk will be returning to their crofts and villages and need an overlord."

"Your bannermen may not like it. What about Manderly?" Sandor argued. "He is a Northman. Or the wildings massed at the Wall with the Night's Watch: won't they need lands?"

"Lord Manderly has regained Hornwood and will see to its succession, with our approval of course; and the wildlings will have the Gift. Those that chose to come further south as our wildlings have will be subject to their overlords. Rickon is Lord Stark and Sansa is his acting warden. It will fall to them anyway, Clegane, and you are commander of the garrison and will needs plan the patrols and defenses so why not do it as lord?"

"Why don't you do it as lord?" Sandor countered. "You are more family to them and you fought the Boltons as well?"

"Because I do not have a wife and family," the Blackfish replied firmly and solemnly. "You have, Clegane. You have a daughter to dower and someday, I have no doubt, a son to inherit as your heir. Do it for them."

Rickon looked to Sandor and the Blackfish and then back again.

"Please, brother, please stay in the North with us. I'm sorry the castle is a ruin but you can rebuilt the keep someday…after winter mayhaps; and in the meantime you can stay here in Winterfell," he prompted hopefully, "with me and Shaggy…and we can keep training and- and Sansa can have more babies. Please, brother, please stay."

Sansa saw how Rickon's brow furrowed in pain and anger and how alertly Shaggydog sat by his side, sensing his master's distress. Not wishing to challenge Sandor as her lord and husband, she reached to gently take his hand under the table. When she did he turned his head to her slightly and gave her the faintest nod. She saw that he also understood: that Rickon feared that they might leave him and thought giving them vast lands, especially with a ruined keep, would make them stay.

"Aye, little lord brother, we will stay with you in Winterfell." He squeezed Sansa's hand under the table. "I know that your sister would stay in Winterfell as well, Is that not so, my lady?"

Sansa nodded solemnly. "It is, my lord. I thank you." She turned to her brother now. "We will never leave you, Rickon even if we should have to leave Winterfell someday, we will leave together and stay together: I promise you that, as I have promised before."

She saw him let out his breath but he looked to Sandor again for reassurance.

"I promise as well, brother. Whatever happens, we will stay with you and you with us." He looked over to Sansa. "We are all family now."

Sansa smiled tenderly at him in gratitude for his understanding. Though she did not doubt his loyalty to herself or Rickon, she knew his deep distrust of titles and privileges, the very same he would now needs accept for himself. She also saw how difficult it was for him to accept by the way he kept filling and raising his horn of ale. He did not become drunk, but he was quieter and more subdued than usual in the company of her family and surrounded by his soldiers. After a time, he rose abruptly and excused himself.

"I needs see to Stranger," he rasped off-handedly. "Don't wait for me to return."

Sansa's heart clenched instinctively at his last words. Did he intend leaving, she wondered; had she finally asked too much of him? She was on the verge of following to reassure him when she stopped herself.

No. He promised; and so did I. If he needs leave, I will not stop him. I don't want him to stay if he is unhappy; only…

She loved him; more than ever now they had a child; but she had to trust him and hope that he would not run from responsibilities he may not want. After all, she reminded herself, he had stayed when she told him she was with child. She made herself turn back to her brother and great-uncle and smiled as Rickon asked about the Blackfish's plans to ride off and join the dragon queen.

"I wish Shaggy and I could go too. Shaggy wants to kill all those Freys that hurt mother and Robb," he said with an anger that still made Sansa sad whenever she saw it in his face. Little wonder he feared anyone leaving him.

The Blackfish looked angry as well: his heavy grey brows drew together and his mouth took on a grim aspect.

"As do I, my lord," he looked to Sansa now. "As do I."

Sensing he expected something from her, Sansa nodded gravely. She wished for the Freys to be punished as well, to suffer as her family had. But she also did not want to become bitter and angry as Sandor had been when she first knew him. She knew it could take all the joy from her life; and she needed what happiness they could make for themselves.

"I-I dearly wish that you will return to us one day, great-uncle; we will all miss you terribly. You have come to mean so very much to us."

The Blackfish smiled quietly. "You're Cat's children, Sansa, and all I have left of her. You mean everything to me as well. I am coming back, my sweet niece; never fear…and so is Sandor," he added in his low, smoky voice so that only she could hear.

Sansa nodded tearfully; oddly grateful that someone else should understand her fears and sympathize. She understood now why her mother and her mother's brother and sister had been closer to the Blackfish than their own father, Hoster Tully.

Despite her great-uncle's encouragement, Sansa grew more apprehensive once she settled in her chamber. The nurse brought Catya to her to nurse again and to settle into her cradle for the night. Once she tucked the furs around her daughter in the cradle next to her side of the bed, Sansa reached her hand down to rock the cradle gently as she sang. The hearth fire began to die out from flames to embers and still Sandor had not returned. Finally, she slept.

Sansa did not know if it was minutes or hours later, but she smiled to herself and breathed easier when she heard Sandor enter their chamber. She looked down on their daughter next to her as she listened to the rustle of his clothing and the dull thumps of his boots on the floor until finally she felt him lift the edges of the furs and then the bed dip as he slid in behind her. Even in the cold, he slept naked; Sansa wore her woolen bedgown but still she felt the warmth of his body next to hers.

"Stranger?" she murmured sleepily to him.

If he was surprised that she was awake, he did not let on.

"Needed exercise: I took him out into the Winter town with the patrol before turning back. There were a few more commons looking for someplace to live. I brought them back to the castle. Younger ones this time; they'll be happy to work for their keep."

"Thank you, Sandor," she whispered.

"Got to play the lord now, don't I?" He replied flatly but Sansa worried he was resentful.

"I-I'm sorry; have I asked too much of you, Sandor? Commander, husband, father, and now a lord?"

Sandor sniffed dismissively: "Can't let it all fall to you, can I? Not with our pup to look after now," he rasped.

He shows his love with deeds, not words. Words are wind. For myself, for our child, for my family and for the North, he will be the lord he never wanted to be. Sansa's heart filled.

"Warden, lady, wife, and now a mother-" Sandor counted off her duties as well.

"…and your little bird?" she prompted gently.

"Aye," he replied after a puzzled pause. "You're still my little bird," he rasped and bent his head to kiss her shoulder where the bedgown had slipped down. "You're always my little bird."

"Good," she breathed sleepily and with relief, "because that is why I can be all the others. So long as I have this, Sandor, and you, there is nothing I cannot do, and nothing I needs fear."

Sandor slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. He held her tighter and she felt him press his face into her hair. He sighed deeply.

"Sleep now, girl."

FINIS