* English is not my first language, so read on your own risk ;)
She knelt at the foot of the grave she'd been told. It was at the top of a little hill, among other unnamed graves, all equals and all of them dark and gloomy.
They had arrived to the Isle a few hours ago. After overcoming a lot of difficulties, they had met a few disconcerted monks who didn't know how to deal with two women on horseback; one of them huge and armed. One of them recognized Brienne from her previous visit and he told the Elder Brother, who had tried to accommodate them the best he could. He had stared at her constantly, with these eyes of his so curious and quiets at the same time; eyes to which you'd like to tell all your secrets and sorrows. When he had asked her why a lady like her would want to visit his grave, she didn't answer. There were things that must be done, even if you didn't know the real reason.
The slowness of the monk's ritual lunch exasperated her. The beef and carrot stew was tasteless and depressing, and although it warmed her, it didn't fill the hollow on her stomach nor the fear she felt since Brienne helped her to escape the Valley. She was the one who told her about the Hound and her sister Arya. It seemed impossible to find her yet, though the feeling of knowing she was alive comforted her in some way. But at least she knew for sure where to find him, even if it was too late. Brienne didn't understand at first and she tried to dissuade her, but the Quiet Isle was a place as good any other to go to, and in the end she gave up. She didn't understand herself either, but something strong pushed her to travel there, even if it was wrong. She was more scared than ever but she also had the intuition that she was the only person who thought of him after he vanished, and the certitude that no one else apart from her will pay respects to the grave of the man who once saved her life.
So there she was wrapped up in her cloak and knelt in front of a pile of common soil; not knowing what to pray or what to say, only keeping silence, looking at the stones and feeling the rising cold wind blowing over the hill.
Now that it was done she felt herself empty, without a purpose or any idea of what to do next. She didn't know any place to go, anyone who could be considered a friend or a protection, unless the tall manly woman who waited for her downhill and who seemed had run through half Westeros to find her.
When she rose her legs were numbness. The wind had tangled up her long hair and it blew strongly. She wrapped up tight her cloak and look for the last time to the grave.
"Little bird"
The rough voice, low and hard as a knife scratching a stone, ran through her spine with a shivering of fear and certainty.
"What are you doing here"
For the first time in months, Sansa allowed herself a shadow of a smile flying over her lips before turning back. A massive figure entirely covered in a brown rough habit stood a few steps from her, though she hadn't heard him approach. He stared at her from the darkness of the hood and although she couldn't see his face, she would have recognized that voice and these heavy rough hands anywhere.
"I was told the Hound was dead, and I've come to see his grave"
"Why"
"Because I haven't forgotten he saved my life. And because I'm probably the only one who regrets his death."
The monk moved closer, limping a bit until he reached her.
"You've grown up, girl"
She nodded. "Too much"
She raised her hand to take off the hood and as she did it her fingers touched softly the hard skin of the scars and stopped for a moment in that movement. She didn't care anymore to look straight at him, nor to his grey eyes, that now stared at hers calmer than the last time they met. It was only a face like any other, only this didn't hide any secret, conspiracies or marriages, nor false alliances or promises to set aside the person she really was. He grasped her wrist when her hand was laying aside; with the same strength another times he had prevented her to fall; fiercely, almost hurting her, with the rudeness and ingenuous of a person who wants something with desperation and doesn't know how to ask for it. The man pressed her to him, and surrounded her with his arms in a warm hug that was impossible to escape. Into the embrace she put her hands and cheek over his chest. There she could clearly hear his heart; like the beating of a drum calling from afar, slow but firm and sure. Almost without realizing she closed her eyes and let her go very very quietly, feeling safe and sound for the very first time in months, maybe in years.
"Thank you", whispered the dreamy girl she once was and also the strong woman in whom she was forced to become to the man who was now resting his chin on her temple and holding her tightly.
"Little bird", the Hound muttered.