Winterfell stood strong against the chill of the Northern winds, its ancient walls offering a sense of security and home. Inside, however, restlessness had taken hold of you. At nine moons pregnant, you were close to your due date and found it hard to remain still. Your direwolf, ever the loyal companion, trotted beside you as you wandered the halls of Winterfell.

Sandor, now Lord of Winterfell, watched you with a mixture of concern and protectiveness. His tall, imposing figure followed you like a shadow, his grey eyes sharp and watchful. He refused to let you stray too far from him, especially now that you were so close to giving birth.

"You should be in bed," Sandor muttered, his voice gruff but filled with genuine worry. "The maester said you need to take it easy."

You sighed, placing a hand on your swollen belly. "I know, Sandor, but I can't just lie around all day. I'm going mad with all this waiting."

Sandor's expression softened slightly as he stepped closer to you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. "I understand," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "But you need to think of the babe. And yourself."

Your direwolf nuzzled your hand, sensing your restlessness. You smiled down at her, running your fingers through her thick fur. "She's right here to keep me company," you said, trying to ease Sandor's worries.

Sandor's eyes flicked to the direwolf, then back to you. "Aye, but that doesn't mean you can ignore the maester's orders." He sighed, his tone softening further. "I just want you to be safe. Both of you."