Hi there! I started this series last year, but I posted it on Ao3 all out of order. Now that I went back and finished the first two parts, I can post it here in chronological order, as it was meant to be read. I don't own any of these characters, of course, and I'm posting this story for fun and 0 profit! I will be mixing show and book verse, though for the most part it will be show events with book characters.
AEMON THE DRAGONWOLF
Part 1 - A Rose and a Mockingbird
Petyr Baelish has pledged the Knights of the Vale to the North, and wormed his way into Jon's council. Unfortunately for him, the Brotherhood Without Banners is coming to Winterfell, and among them is a man who can expose Littlefinger's worst deeds...
Sandor I
Winterfell was not what he'd expected. He'd expected the road to be difficult and freezing cold, his traveling companions unbearable, and the food sorely lacking. All had been true enough. But the ancient home of the Starks, which had been sacked, burned, and taken by enemies, looked strong and even inviting to Sandor's tired eyes.
Well, that was assuming they could get in, of course.
"Halt!" ordered a guard from above the gate. "Who goes there?"
"I am Lord Beric Dondarrion," replied the Lightning Lord. "This is the Brotherhood Without Banners. We seek an audience with the Starks."
"I will vouch for these men, if need be," spoke up Harwin the Northman. "I am Harwin, who rode south with Lord Stark and King Robert. Hullen was my father."
Suspicious gray eyes peered down at the ragtag group, but soon enough, the gates opened. No one seemed to recognize the Hound, not with his new scars and without his dog's head helm. He and his companions were divested of weapons, and sent to the main hall to await the new King in the North and his sister, the princess Sansa.
Sandor fought back a snort. The little bird had been so eager to marry Joffrey and become his princess, and in the end she'd become one on her own, by virtue of her father's blood. He wondered what she'd done in between, and if she'd kept any of her innocence. If the rumors around the Riverlands had any truth to them, the pretty songbird had become a murderous vampire-bat, and it was about time!
When the pair entered, the Hound thought he was seeing things. The Bastard of Winterfell and his sister looked like Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully come again. It was no wonder that Littlefinger trailed after Sansa Stark like a stallion after a mare in heat! And the boy, with his wolf cloak and his growing beard, looked more like Ned Stark than any of his trueborn sons ever had.
Princess Sansa's eyes roved over the group, widening at the sight of Dondarrion, and even further at the sight of Sandor himself.
"Ser Sandor!" she cried. "I did not think to see you again."
"Nor I you, little bird," he answered honestly.
"Sansa has told me that you offered to smuggle her from King's Landing," her brother spoke up, regarding Sandor with shrewd gray eyes. "Although she did not take the offer, I thank you all the same."
The Hound shrugged. It had been an impulsive and stupid offer; he'd have been caught at once with such a distinctive beauty on his horse, but she had refused him, making the point moot.
"May we have bread and salt, your grace?" asked the Lightning Lord.
Jon Snow waved at a nearby servant, and the girl approached with a small tray of bread. They each took a piece, savoring the taste after so much dried meat, stale black bread, and broths that were mostly water.
"Lord Beric, I see the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated," the King in the North told their leader, raising an eyebrow.
Dondarrion flashed a quick, sardonic grin. "As much as the rumors of yours, your grace, and more besides. Thoros here is a servant of the Lord of Light, and has called me back from the void more times than I care to remember."
None missed how the king's face darkened at the mention of the Red God. The Red Woman in their midst, disguised as a black-haired squire with a bulbous nose, lowered her head.
"Then I am sorry for you," Jon Snow said at last, and obviously meant it. "What brings you to Winterfell?"
"Thoros has seen the danger beyond the Wall in his fires," the Lightning Lord explained. "Your father sent us to protect the realm from harm, and so we have done. But there is no danger greater than this, your grace."
"I agree," the king replied. "You must know, however, that fire—even the magical fire of your god—can only do so much. It will destroy wights, the servants of the Others. But the Others themselves can smother all fires; it takes dragonglass or Valyrian steel to defeat them."
"We know," said Thoros of Myr. "We have a few obsidian daggers and arrowheads among us," he added, showing the king the black dagger he kept at his belt. "On our journey north, we passed through the barrowlands. I had a dream the night we camped there, and we entered one of the barrows to find these."
The scattered Northmen around the room gasped.
"You entered a barrow?" Sansa asked, her blue eyes wide.
"Aye, Princess," Harwin spoke up. "I wouldn't have done for love or money, but Thoros said it was necessary. We encountered no surprises, in any case; we just took the weapons and ran for it."
That was an understatement. Harwin had bored them all stupid with northern superstitions, complaining loudly that he wanted no vengeful barrow kings coming after him, especially since he was a Stark man, and the Starks and the barrow kings had long been enemies. Sandor had been tempted to knock him unconscious and leave him in there, but the Red Witch had stopped him.
"Well then, I suppose you're as prepared as any of us. Are you headed for Castle Black?"
"If the Lord Commander will have us," replied Dondarrion.
"Any man who wishes to defend the Wall is a friend to us, and I know Lord Commander Tollett will agree," the King in the North declared. "I will have rooms prepared for you, and your mounts stabled and fed for the nonce. Be welcome to Winterfell, sers."
The Brotherhood bowed. It was easy to see which of them had been knights and which had been lowly peasant soldiers, Sandor thought. They sat at the nearest table, and Winterfell servants brought them food and drink. After such a journey, the simple meal in front of them looked a feast.
Sandor reached for the nearest plate of chicken, groaning in pleasure when the warm meat and spices hit his tongue. If there was one thing he remembered fondly about his first trip to Winterfell, it was the food.
He was so busy eating at first that he didn't notice the men and women filing into the hall. Most of them were grizzled Northmen, then one or two women, and a tiny little girl wearing a bear sigil. Finally, apart from the others, came a smirking face Sandor Clegane knew all too well.
"Littlefinger?" he asked, unable to comprehend how the brothel-keeper came to be here.
"Clegane, I did not expect to see you here," the sly Lord of Harrenhal replied. "I thought you'd be halfway to the Summer Isles by now."
The Hound snorted into his ale. "You know nothing, Baelish. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be whispering poison into the Arryn boy's ear?"
"Robert Arryn is perfectly safe in the Vale," Littlefinger replied smoothly, ignoring how the rest of the Brotherhood listened to their conversation. "I am a part of the King in the North's council, however, since the Vale and the North are once again allies."
"You are no one's ally but your own, whoremonger," Sandor told him viciously, a sinking feeling taking hold of his breast.
Littlefinger shrugged off the accusation with forced good humor. "Come now, Clegane, surely we can be friends? We are all in the North now, far from the Lannisters."
Sandor ignored him, glaring in silence until the mockingbird tired of waiting and walked off with a halfhearted chuckle. He tried to return to his food, but his appetite had disappeared.
Why should he care if the little bird and her idiot brother trusted the biggest liar in the Seven Kingdoms? Sandor could not explain it even to himself. And yet...he doubted they knew how depraved Littlefinger truly was. Would Sansa Stark truly have made Littlefinger part of the council if she'd known that he'd forced her best friend into a life of whoring?
Sandor had to warn her. If Jon Snow was like their father in more than looks, Littlefinger would have a knife to his throat before long, and Sansa Stark would be left alone again. That he could not allow, and he had to act fast. Littlefinger might poison all the chickens in Winterfell to kill Sandor, and the Hound could not bear such a tragic waste of his favorite food.
Finding the little bird in her own home was much more difficult than it had been in the Red Keep. Without the cloak of the Kingsguard, or the protection of the Lannisters, he lacked the freedom to move about the castle as he liked, and Sansa was safely ensconced in the family wing. While the rest of the Brotherhood rested or explored the castle grounds, the Hound looked for red hair.
Finally, when it was nearly suppertime, he saw her leaving the kitchens, dressed in a simple green gown made beautiful by her embroidery.
"Little bird," he said quickly, catching her attention. It pleased Sandor that she no longer flinched at the sight of him, though he wondered why. "What are you doing with Petyr Baelish?"
She sighed. "I don't trust him, but we would have lost the battle without him and the Knights of the Vale. I can't leave him out of the council now, no matter how much I might wish to. And in case you hadn't noticed, I've been careful to avoid him when we're not in meetings."
"Lady Stark, do you have any idea what that man did?"
The Princess in the North scowled. He'd never seen such anger on her face before, not even when Joffrey had made her look at her father's head on a spike.
"He sold me to Ramsay Bolton, a man who tortured women for sport," she said, venom oozing from her voice. "The man who knows everything claimed he didn't know Ramsay was a monster before he sent me to the family that murdered mine."
Sandor looked her over, and realized that his moniker no longer fit. She was no more a bird than he was a dragon. Eddard Stark's oldest daughter had finally found the wolf in her blood.
"He's done worse than that, Princess. Do you remember the little girl that was with you in the Tower of the Hand, when the Lannisters killed all of the Stark men?"
Sansa frowned a bit, then remembered. "Jeyne? Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter? What happened to her?"
"Cersei Lannister said that she'd been upsetting you and must be removed from your presence. So she gave the girl to Littlefinger, and Littlefinger carried the girl away to one of his brothels, kicking and screaming. I heard tell he had her beaten black and blue, until she stopped asking for her father or for any Stark. She's still in King's Landing, a plaything of men just like that Ramsay Bolton."
The Sansa Stark of old would have wept, or screamed, or called him a mean old liar, mayhaps. The new Sansa Stark, beaten and widowed and reborn as a Princess of Winter, only closed her eyes. When they opened once more, the blue orbs shone with fury.
"Anything else?" she asked quietly.
"Your father had discovered that Joffrey and his siblings were not the king's children," Sandor explained. "He asked Littlefinger to get the City Watch on his side, so he could arrest the Lannisters. Baelish promised him this, and betrayed him. I was in the throne room myself, when Littlefinger held a dagger to your father's throat. I did warn you not to trust me," he said.
Sansa was biting her lower lip. Angry tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but they did not.
"What else, ser?"
Sandor knew the last would be the most damning.
"Cersei Lannister and the rest of the small council meant for your father to take the black. It was Littlefinger that convinced Joffrey your father had to die; he wanted your mother for himself, and Eddard Stark was in the way. I watched him poison the boy king against your father, and smile when Ilyn Payne took his head."
A tear fell from her left eye. Sansa seemed too angry to speak. Her face, now stripped of the artifice of King's Landing, spoke loudly enough in any case. Before Sandor could do or say anything, a massive white beast appeared at the girl's side, barreling past the man to lick at the princess' delicate hand.
"Ghost," she murmured, patting the gigantic wolf's head. "I'm well, thank you."
"I'd forgotten your family had those wolves," Sandor said, watching the direwolf carefully. "This one is your brother's, then?"
"Yes, this is Jon's wolf," she replied. "He's been guarding us both since we took back our home."
Ghost inspected Sandor then, sniffing at him and studying him with red eyes that were far too intelligent for a wolf.
"I bet he's torn out a throat or two," Sandor offered, staying very still. "You ought to feed Littlefinger to him."
"I'd never feed Ghost something so horrible," she replied. "But Petyr Baelish will die. Will you help me, Sandor Clegane?"
Seven hells. This girl had always been his weak spot. He had no idea what she would ask of him, but he nodded almost at once.
"Excellent. Ghost," she ordered the wolf, "bring Jon to his solar. We have work to do."