Between the time when the oceans swallowed the Broken Arm and the Doom of Valyria, there was an age undreamed of. And unto this, Sandor, destined to wear the jeweled crown of Westeros upon a troubled brow. It is I, his chronicler, who alone can tell thee of his saga. Let me tell you of the days of high adventure!
"Fire and wind come from the sky, from the Seven. The Seven are your gods, the Seven and they live in the heavens." Tall and bearded, the man spoke this to his son a boy of barely ten years.
"The Smith, strongest of the Seven, revealed the secrets of steel to us men. Just men. The secret of steel has always carried with it a mystery. You must learn its riddle, little Sandor. You must learn its discipline. For no one - no one in this world can you trust. Not men, not women, not beasts." He points to the greatsword he grasps. "This you can trust."
The man hands to his son the sword. A two-handed greatsword, too large for the small child, but he would grow.
In the village, it was quiet. Men and women went about their business. One woman sat milking her goat as three men carried the carcass of a great deer through the village. Others ground grain for bread. Even their footsteps were hushed by the deep snow that had fallen the night before.
This peace would not last for long, for as they spoke, riders descended upon the village of Sandor and his tribe. They thundered through the great woods that surrounded the village. With them they carried a great standard, a golden lion upon a field of crimson. Sandor was watching the men approach his home. His thoughts turning toward his mother, father, and sister. He must go to them.
Sandor arrived as men on horses crashed through the village, burning and slaughtering as they went. He witnessed the riders kill men he had known since he was born. Sandor saw his mother take an arrow through the chest, protecting Sandor's sister, Astoria. Then his father, bravely holding off and killing half a dozen riders, took an axe between his shoulder blades. He was still alive when he hit the ground.
Astoria saw Sandor hiding in the trees. Leaving her mother where she lay, Astoria sprinted across the frozen ground with a sword in her hand to her brother. She scooped him up in her arms and raced away from the carnage surrounding them. Huts collapsed around them as they burned.
As they fled, Sandor could still see his father. He was not dead yet. For it was not the axe that would kill him, it was the three dogs. Bred for war, three black dogs descended on Sandor's father, ripping him to bloody shreds.
When tears began to fall, he could not tell if it was the smoke making his eyes water or seeing his father die. Sandor gripped Astoria tighter as she ran. He could hear sounds of pursuit behind them. A great, thundering horse carrying a great, giant man.
Suddenly Astoria pitched forward, falling toward the ground. Sandor tasted snow and dirt in his mouth when he hit the ground. Astoria jumped to her feet, pulling Sandor along with her. She placed her brother behind her, standing firm against the man who had attacked them.
The man was a mammoth, near eight feet tall and muscled like an ox. He wore heavy steel armor and carried a six-foot long greatsword in one hand. The other held an enormous oaken shield. As the giant lumbered toward them, Sandor swore he could feel the ground shake beneath him. He stopped for a moment, reaching up to remove the greathelm, revealing his face.
Astoria gasped in recognition. "Gregor?" She asked, unbelieving.
"Sister." When he spoke, it was like stone moving. "Still protecting the little pup, I see." He advanced, sword still in his hand. "I would like to kill you slowly, but m'lord wants to leave soon and I must go with. I suppose I'll save it for the little pup."
Astoria raised her sword. "I will not let you hurt him." She declared fiercely.
In response, Gregor simply lifted his sword and with a single stroke, struck off Astoria's head. She crumpled to the ground beside Sandor, his face silent with terror. Gregor grabbed little Sandor by the scruff of his neck, like a cat, and carried him to one of the blazing huts. He held him near the flames, just close enough to scorch the hair off his face.
Gregor growled his last words to Sandor in his ear. "I wanted to see you when you died, but the knowledge how much pain you will be in, will have to be enough for me." With one hand, Gregor plunged Sandor's face into the blazing fire and held him there until he could smell his brother's flesh burning. Like meat over a fire. Sandor screamed and kicked and screamed. Nothing fazed the giant of a man. When he was satisfied, he released the boy, and mounted his horse. Spurring the horse on he went to rejoin his liege lord.
Sandor lay there in agonizing pain, half of his body burning from the fire, the other half buried in snow. He lay there, silently praying for death.