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Sandor stirs from a sound sleep, and something does not feel right. He reaches for the warmth of his little bird. He is met with cold empty linens. NOW, he is awake and searching around the gloom of their room for her. NOTHING!!! He springs out of bed, mindful to put his weight on his good leg, until the bad one warms up. Now the real search begins. She is not in their solar burning the hour of the wolf candle. He had dropped his clothes on the floor before climbing into bed and taking his little bird, twice, before he fell into a deep sleep. Now he retraces his steps looking for his clothes, but they are no longer there. She must have picked them up. She has been very picky about neatness, lately. He searches the chairs and finds his clothes folded and stacked on the second chair he searches. When did she take time to do that?
He puts on his breeches, tunic and boots to head out of their bedroom. Running through the options of where he would most likely find her, he decides to start with the kitchen. His guess pays off. He strikes gold, well, actually red. Her red hair is flowing free and wild. He knows he is to blame for that. A lopsided smile forms as he thinks back on their night. He approaches the little bird. He examines the table she is seated at, her back to him. There are lemon cakes and ham and bread and cheese and pickled cucumbers spread out in front of the little bird. Since when did she start sneaking into the kitchen at night to eat?
"My lady, did I not see you eat a full meal tonight in the great hall and two lemon cakes?"
"Sandor! It was three, and half of yours. I love lemon cake. You should be sleeping."
"I woke to an empty bed. Eating so much at this hour will give you nightmares."
"That's fine my lord, you are always their to chase them away."
Sandor reaches over her to grab a piece of ham and kisses her temple as he rights himself, then devours the ham. "Let's get you back to bed little bird." He puts his hands on the back of her chair to pull it out for her. She rises and turns to face him and hugs him around his waist. She buries her face in his chest and lets out a long worrying sigh. "Is something wrong little bird?"
"No! Well, not wrong just a change...well changing." Sandor sits down in Sansa's vacated seat and pulls her into his lap. She shifts around to face the table and grabs for a lemon cake.
He stills her hand, "Little Bird, can you stop pecking at the food and tell me what troubles you?" He nuzzles her neck, "Let me take up this burden for you."
"Well, I would love that, but this one is truly women's labor, at least for the next seven moons."
"What are you chirping about little bird? It is late and I am too wary for puns and riddles."
"I saw the maester earlier today, well yesterday now. In seven moons we will have a new lord or lady."
"What say you?!"
"I am expecting your pup in seven moons."
---Silence---unfocused staring---mouth opens and closes wordlessly---head shaking---eyes now darting back and forth
"Breath my love. I will get you some water, and cool rag for your brow."
"Wine."
Sansa leaves Sandors lap to get him a skin of red wine and a wet towel to wipe the cold sweat forming on his graying face. When she returns she asks, "Should I get the maester for you? You do not look well."
"No! Wine. Are you sure? We have never talked about having children."
"While we were not talking about it, we lay as husband and wife almost every night for six moons. Sometimes two and three times in one night. It was inevitable, Sandor. Do I have to have the maester explain to you on the morrow what comes of this?" She giggles, but sobers up when he focuses he keen eyes on her.
"You should have told me told me earlier, before we...before I..." he sighs and wipes his face down with the cool rag. "Gods little bird, I could have hurt your."
"My Lord even as The Hound, you could never hurt me. The maester says that if I progress normally, nothing has to change in that regard, until near the end, and for two moons after I give birth."
"IF, you progress normally! What is that supposed to mean?"
"I mean as I progress normally. Breath my love."
"Gods, give me strength! I should get you back to bed, you need your rest."
"Strength you have in an overabundance. I am awake now that I have told you. I do not think that I can sleep. Just think about it Sandor, we are going to be parents."
"I need more wine if I am to ever sleep again."
"I know how to get you to fall asleep; once I get you back out of those clothes my lord," she smiles up at him with a mischievous grin.
"Not a lord little bird."
"You are my lord husband and the father of my child," she strokes his arm, reassuringly.
Sandor bemoans that this is the beginning of many sleepless nights of late night pantry raids for the little bird, and panic attacks for him.
_________________________________________Seven Anxious Moons Later_______________________________________________________
He has been kept out of their chamber for a day and a half while his big little bird labored away. He spends that time either walking the halls outside their room, or having one-sided conversations with Stranger. As Sandor heads back to pace the halls, he hears a blood freezing scream that made him run at his former speed, despite his old wound. He reaches for the handle to wrench the door open. Then he heard another scream, that of a babe, and his hand jerks away from the door as if it was on fire. He freezes and could not tell for how long he just stood there, trying to breathe normally. Then the door opens and the septa is standing there, face-to-chest. She looks up and tells him, "Milord, you have a very healthy son and your Lady wife is well. She is asking for you."
Sandor slowly creeps into the room, like an intruder that does not belong there. The little bird has just given him a son. I have a son Sandor thinks. Breathe!! He looks upon his exhausted wife.
"My Lord please come and meet your son. He is beautiful. Oh, he fell asleep. I will have to introduce you to Little Lord Clegane when he wakes."
"Little bird let me get the nurse to take the babe. You must rest while he rests." The master takes his leave.
"NO! She will just take him away to the nursery and only bring him back for feedings. I want him here, with us."
"Calm yourself. You must get some sleep, you labored for more than a day."
"The maester said the first babe usually takes the longest. I don't remember the pain now that he is here. The next ones will not be so hard."
"The next ones. Gods help me. Stranger take me. Get some sleep little bird. I will make my bed in the solar. We will talk later."
"But..."
"If you will not rest little bird, I will get the nurse, and he will have to go to the nursery."
"I will set him down next to me and close my eyes. Sit with me until I fall asleep. See, I am resting. You must sleep here with me and keep me honest. I will rest better with you here. They have put clean sheets on the bed." She grabs his hand with a death grip, as if it were a last lifeline. When did she get so strong, he wonders. "We need a name for him Sandor, but I am too tired to think on it."
"Sleep, Love. There is time for that on the morrow." Sandor pulls a chair closer to her side of the bed. Stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. She seems so frail, but she has the strength of a wolf. She falls asleep still holding his hand. To accommodate the babe, the room is almost too warm, which is another reason why he will have the babe moved to the nursery. Let the little bird rest in comfort. He goes to the wash bin and pours some water on a clean soft cloth and wrings it out. He brings it back to gently wipe her flushed face. It reminds him of cleaning her bloody lip on the battlements, after Meryn Trant slapped her. He tends her as much as he can without disturbing her, he smooths her hair back.
He rises to return the cloth, but hears some fusing from the bed. A tiny fist thrust into the air. Sandor wonders as tightly as his son was swaddled, how did he get an arm free. There is no doubt who his father is. He is ready to fight his first hour out of the womb. Wake up our little bird and I will banish you to your nursery, flashes through his mind. He reaches over his - their little bird to try and soothe his son before Sansa wakes to tend to him. He lifts the babe to his chest and the babe stops fussing and yawns before looking him in the eye. He gasps, the babe has his mother's beautiful Tully blue eyes.
There is a light knock at the door. The maid has brought the smaller crib in to set by Sansa's side of the bed. Sandor nods a sort of thank you to the maid. She takes in the sight of father holding his son, and takes her leave, smiling. He moves the crib to his side of the bed and sets the nameless bundle down to take his breeches and tunic off. His arm is still waving around, taking advantage of his new found freedom and the open space. He retrieves the babe and pulls the furs back and climbs under them, cradling his son. He studies the little bundle, the Tully blue eyes, the dark fuzz on his head with a hint of auburn. He decides that they should name him Robb for her lost brother, the King of the North. Sandor swears he will keep the harm from following his Robb, that his namesake before him suffered. Lord Robb Stark Clegane to be exact. They already agreed their sons would have the middle name of Stark. Their daughters the middle name of Tully.
Robb has gotten me to swear an oath quicker than the little bird did. How did Sansa turn The Hound into The Nursemaid? She must have some magical powers over him. He would go to the ends of the earth for the little bird. He would go to the seven hells and back for his son, and he just met him.
The little bird begins stirring after a couple of hours. She mumbles, "Husband, you are awake. I had a dream with had a son. He was so beautiful."
"Not a dream little bird." She stirs a bit more fighting off fatigue and sleep. Places her hands on her belly and it does feel different, soft. She struggles to sit up and Sandor helps by supporting her back as she struggles to sit up. She looks at him confused; then down at the bundle in his arms.
"By the old gods and new, we have a son."
"We do. Let me introduce you to Robb. I think he is hungry. He held my finger while he slept, but now he is sucking on his hand." She smiles up at him and tears form in her eyes. He hands over his precious bundle.
"Have you been holding -Robb- all night, love?"
"Just a couple of hours. He was born just three hours ago. I wanted you to get some sleep."
"Did I sleep through him crying."
"My son is not a crier, he's a fighter."
"A fighter indeed. He kicked and punched me from the inside out for the last three moons. He is no Florian." She opens the top of her sleeping gown and takes the babe to her breast. His tiny free hand resting on the top of her breast. "I do remember now that I nursed him before you came. It all feels like a dream."
He kisses his wife on the temple and cheek. He kisses that grasping tiny hand that has taken possession of something that had only ever belonged to Sandor, "I should get some sleep, before I have to work with the garrison in the morning."
"Before you sleep we need his small crib brought in from the nursery."
"It's here, on my side of the bed."
"Well, unless you want me reaching over you every two hours, you should bring it over to my side."
He thinks about it for a few moments. "Or you could just wake me up and I hand him to you."
"Why would I wake you to feed and change him?" Lifting Robb's little hand to her lips. "That seems mean for both of us to be up half the night."
"We are a pack. Isn't that was Arya always says? We share the work, but not the dirty swaddling clothes. You and the nurse can have that all to yourselves." She gives him a death stare. "I will give you the crib tonight, but I will pick up a second one from the storage rooms tomorrow." Sandor got up and moved the crib to Sansa side's of their bed. "Happy?"
"Endlessly." Sandor climbs back in bed. Sansa asks, as she switches the babe to her left breast, "Can I have another goodnight kiss?"
Sandor tries to give his wife a quick peck on her lips, but she grabs his hair. Holding him in a much more impassioned kiss than he was attempting. "Little bird, you will be the death of me."
"I am the life of you. Your son is the proof."
Sandor lays down facing her. He rests his hand on her belly, as he has every night. Sansa strokes his hair. Then he hears the loudest belch he as ever heard, not coming from him or his men and he smiles. "My son", he murmurs. He drifts into a dreamless, peaceful sleep. He has no need to dream. His life is better than any dream he can ever imagine.