A/N: I couldn't decide which one I wanted as the official epilogue, so you get both.

Epilogue: With Friends Like These

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pant legs, trying to be as discrete as possible. Apparently, he was doing a shitty job. Drogo shot him a dirty look.

"What's up with the pussy act, eh, Sandy?"

"Were you ever this nervous?" Sandor was ashamed at his own weakness. At least his little bird wasn't around to see him. Drogo patted his back, reassuringly.

"Yeah. I think everyone is."

Sandor jumped as the first peals of the wedding march were played. His breath caught in his throat as the doors cracked open, the bridesmaids spilling forth from the opening. He didn't care about them though, didn't care what they looked like, flouncing around in their blue and silver dresses. Only cared about her, but the bridesmaids kept coming. Arya, looking pretty much pissed off as she stomped down the aisle, Jeyne, smiling at everyone she passed, and Dany. Finally, Dany.

The doors opened and there she was. Sansa. Holding his breath, Sandor watched her, more beautiful than all the previous girls, watched her walk down the aisle to him. Flowers in hand, veil trailing behind her, she looked as stunning as the falling snow outside. Always a winter type of girl, she'd insisted on a January wedding. The color of the dress fits, he mused. Sandor knew Sansa had been planning this wedding since before she even knew who the groom was. He'd seen the drawings. The dress was something right out of them.

Huge, and poofy, Sandor wondered how there was even room for Ned Stark next to his daughter. The aisle didn't seem wide enough, but he knew Sansa didn't care. She was beaming, absolutely glowing.

He wiped his sweaty palms again, before she reached him and saw how nervous he was. What if she changed her mind last minute? He felt a hand grasp his shoulder.

"Stop being so nervous. You're fine." Robb's words didn't help at all, but it was too late to wipe his hands again. Sansa stood before him, just three feet away, the priest between them. The holy man opened his mouth, and began the ceremony.

The man droned on and on. Sandor was starting to feel extremely irritated. He hoped the man saw the looks he was receiving from the groom, but the priest still mumbled on in a monotone voice. Sandor almost groaned in frustration, but one look from Sansa stopped his fidgeting.

"Knock it off," she hissed. He stood still immediately. Sansa smiled, pleased with herself, and turned her attention back to the priest. Drogo laughed softly as Robb imitated the sound of a whip, earning angry glares from the bride's maids. When Sandor finally felt like he couldn't take the wait anymore, the priest uttered the vows. With a roll of his eyes, Sandor said "I do."

Sansa was a little more graceful and less huffy. Any trace of the anger that Sandor had witnessed earlier was gone, replaced with tears that reflected his burned visage back at him. "I do."

"Well, then, you may kiss the bride." Without another word, Sandor kissed Mrs. Clegane, amazed at the fact that such a person even existed. Who would have thought that Sandor Clegane, poor, broke, deformed bodyguard, would ever have even the slightest chance with former Sansa Stark? Not this old dog, he thought to himself, their lips proclaiming them man and wife.

The cheers of the people present were deafening. He didn't want this moment to end, but as all things are, it did. Hand in hand, the newlyweds ran down the aisle, so Sansa could quickly change into a more party appropriate dress.

"Hurry," he whispered, against her lips. He didn't have to change. As a matter of fact, he was going to head to the bar. He needed a drink, badly.

"I will," she giggled. Turning back to him, she waved. "I love you."

Hands still sweaty, Sandor watched her retreating from in disbelief.

"I love you, too." Hesitating, he made his way downstairs, where Drogo, Jon, and Robb were waiting with his whiskey. Together, the three took shots. With friends like these, for the first time since, ever, Sandor was the happiest man alive.

Epilogue: Some Nights

Sandor stoked the fire, the loud pops of the burning coals sounding like gunshots in the quiet of the night. He heard the sound of a tent unzipping and looked up to see Sansa waddle towards him, wrapped up in so many blankets she resembled some kind of grub.

"Hey, baby," he greeted her. She nodded and, without a word, sat down on the log. Sandor stared, curiosity eating away at him. Usually, Sansa chattered away about the upcoming nuptials, nonstop, boring even the groom himself to tears. Yet, here she sat, quiet. With an unreadable look on her face. He debated if the risk of asking her was worth it, as it could bring on an onslaught of the tears she had been prone to as of late. Deciding to bite the bullet, he slowly let the words leave his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Sniffle. He groaned. There they go. The tears.

"It's just that I'm so tired and I just want this wedding to happen. I mean, I know it's in like two months, but I'm so stressed. I can't even sleep. All I see in my dreams are things like flowers and dresses and my mother asking 'this or that, Sansa? This or that?' I'm tired of it. Why didn't we just shot gun it." By the end of her tirade, tears were flowing down her face.

Sandor grimaced. He hated seeing her cry. He just wasn't built to comfort people. Pulling her against himself, he awkwardly patted her. "There, there."

All it earned him was a wail loud enough to frighten local wildlife. "Is that all you can say? Of course, because you haven't been up half the night, planning the ceremony. You don't know what I do for us, Sandor. You don't even appreciate me!" She pushed him away. He sat there, shocked. "And now, not only am I worried about flowers being delivered on time, what if my dress doesn't fit? I might get too big by then."

"Your dress will fit. Sansa, if anything, your dress might be too loose. Have you even eaten in the last few days?" Her glare glowed like the embers.

"Typical man. You don't understand women at all."

Flabbergasted, he threw up his arms. "Then what is your issue?"

She inched her way over to him. "Sandor. I might get too big."

"Go to the gym if you're worried!"

"I might get too big for my dress, Sandor. I can't get rid of this with exercise."

"Why?" She was being mysterious, and Sandor hated mystery. He was never very good at figuring things out.

"Because. At least I know that I won't be having my period on our wedding day." And now, the topic had strayed to woman zone. Sitting awkwardly, Sandor pretended to be calm and alert, because deep inside he was panicking. Since they were going to get married, he may as well get used to those woman things.

"Woohoo?"

Sansa gripped his face between her fingers. "You're really dense, aren't you?" She giggled and sat next to him. Her mood swings were giving him whiplash. "I missed this place. I lost my virginity here."

"I remember," he said, softly. He would until the day he died. He could still smell the alcohol on her breath, the taste of it on her tongue, the sound of the wind rustling the tent.

"It's fitting that I should miss my period here too." And back to the girl talk. Then, what she said hit him suddenly.

"What?" His neck almost snapped as he turned to face her.

"Sandor. I think I'm pregnant."

Fan-fucking-tastic. As the words sank in, his grin widened to the point where he probably looked like a psycho. Sansa was smiling up at him.

"What are you thinking?"

"Fuck, Sansa. I love this place. I love all our friends. I love you." He tugged her hand and pulled her into their tent. He planned on repeating the events of last time, making sure this time, they weren't too loud. After all, Ros might not forgive them the second time. Her skin against his, Sandor Clegane made love to her, the same way that they had almost two years ago.

Her breath crystallizing in the morning air, Sansa looked beautiful, even asleep as she was now. He placed his hand on her bare stomach, then drifted off to sleep. The same dreams that plagued Sansa harassed him as well. That night, however, things were different. Dreams of tulle and flowers and the same wedding march playing over and over again were interrupted that night with the piercing wail of a newborn.

And that's it. I have never actually made it through an entire story before, so this is a first. I want to thank all of you who read this story, all of you that sat through some of the most ridiculous things I have ever put to page. Thank you. Thank you for the reviews, the favorites, the follows. They keep me writing, keep me pushing through writer's block. I think I'll leave you with my favorite Sandor quote ASoS.

Until next time,

Raynie

"Maybe the sword's prettier with ribbons hanging off it, but it will kill you just as dead."