~Chapter 1~
October 23, 1341~
He kept hearing noises, thinking the wolf-bitch had come back.
Hoping she'd come back, with her little toothpick of a sword with the silly name.
"Come on! Do it for your butcher's boy!" He yelled, his words echoing in the narrow gorge where he lay. "Spineless little bitch! You don't have the guts for it!"
Every few minutes, he yelled, hoping that she would hear. Eventually, his voice failed him, as the shadows began to lengthen and it became colder.
Shivering with fever, Sandor Clegane listened intently. Hoping for a footfall, a snapping twig, anything that might mean mercy, in one form or another. Mercy from anyone, even a brigand or peasant was preferable to this.
"P-please…" He croaked hoarsely, a wave of nausea passing through him. "M-m-mercy…"
Nothing.
Water, he thought feverishly, his teeth chattering. I need water. Or wine.
As night fell, he slipped into unconsciousness, tormented by nightmares of wolves rending his flesh.
ooOoo
"Wait."
The young blonde girl looked up from the arena at the speaker, a tall woman with auburn hair and a shining crown on her head.
"My lady?" She said, confusion flitting across her face, watching as the woman who had interrupted her tasks floated gently to the arena to gracefully land next to the crumpled knight on the board. Stroking her chin idly, the tall woman looked at the knight who lay on the board, broken and still. Then, she pointed with a slender finger at another square on the board, several distant.
"Move him here." The woman with the crown commanded, in a voice that brooked no argument. The younger woman hastened to obey, picking up the knight and moving it to the designated square.
"Now, as for this one," The tall woman said, half to herself, "Move it next to the knight, along with her family."
"But…your highness, it…it is forbidden. I have to remove him from the board, his turn is over-"
"Do it, and do it now."
"Yes, your highness." The young woman said nervously, moving quickly. "But I don't understand why-"
"It is not for you to understand, only to obey." The older woman smirked. "Let's see how this plays out."
ooOoo
October 10, 2003~
Balmoran Community Hospital
Patient: John Doe #34
"John Doe" #34 was found unconscious in Mirabel Lannister Public Park on September 29, 2003, just off a jogging path. He appeared at first to be the victim of a simple fall; however, further examination revealed that the patient had several deep cuts to the body, including a very severe wound to the right leg that appeared to be a stab/cut with a with a large blade, possibly double edged (?!). Rather unusual. Patient presented with a very high fever of 39-40º C, with early signs of septicemia in the leg, swollen lymph nodes in the leg and inguinal region, and was severely dehydrated. Dr. Stark made an executive decision on behalf of the patient to operate immediately, draining several abscesses and lymph glands, and removing necrotic tissue from the patient's right outer thigh. Patient John Doe #34 has stabilized, with fever decreasing to approximately 37º C, though he has not regained consciousness at this time. Local authorities have taken prints and photographs of the patient in hopes of identifying him or locating his next of kin, but so far there has been no success. Patient will be monitored 24/7 until he awakens…
After finishing her latest additions to the chart and initialing them, the woman closed the folder and tucked her pen back into the breast pocket of her medical coat. With a yawn, she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her weary eyes. Turning her head, she looked at the huge man lying in the hospital bed, watching his broad chest rise and fall evenly with his breathing. The only sounds in the room were the regular beeping of the EKG and the steady patter of rain against the windows. With a sigh, she got up, walking out of the room to head down the hall to the nurse's station to drop off the chart. Giving the folder to the duty nurse, she turned to walk off, yawning widely.
Getting colder outside…this will be snow by morning. Time to catch a nap in the lounge, she thought.
"Dr. Stark?"
It was the young intern, fresh out of college and rather full of himself; she couldn't remember his name right off.
"Yes?" She said irritably, trying to think of his name. Garcia? No, that's not it, she frowned inwardly.
"Hey, Sansa, it's kind of late, isn't it?" He smiled, leaning against the doorway. "Wanna go get something to eat?"
"Don't call me that." She said, her blue eyes turning frosty as she gritted her teeth. She'd despised that name since she was a child, her mother naming her for some long-forgotten ancestor, just as her mother herself was named Catelyn after some other relative of long ago. Her name tag read Dr. S. E. Stark-she'd insisted on it, but it never failed, someone always found out her first name and she had to endure the sound of it.
Turning on her heel angrily, she stalked away, only to spot Sgt. Jamie Lannister coming down the hallway, with his partner, Brienne Tarth. Sansa let out a weary sigh, closing her eyes in frustration. It just didn't seem to be her day.
"Good morning, Dr. Stark." Sgt. Lannister grinned. "Any progress with our mystery man?"
"No, Sergeant." She replied crisply. "He hasn't woken up yet. As I promised, I will call you when he does. It's not necessary to check on him every day."
The tall blonde pushed the door open, looking in at John Doe #34.
"He sure looks familiar, Jamie." She said, arching an eyebrow at her partner. "I could swear that I've run into him before in some dark alley."
"Aye, he's a big fellow." He nodded, glancing at Sansa. "Kind of puts me to mind of Greg Clegane."
Sansa shivered involuntarily at the mention of the name.
"I thought Clegane got sent to Kennport Reformatory." She said, reaching over and closing the door to her patient's room. She didn't like people gawking at him like he was some sort of sideshow freak.
"Nah, he misbehaved too much there." Jamie grinned. "He got sent to Pearson, to the max security wing. They have him locked up so far down they have to pipe air to him. I'd love to have control of the valve."
"If that's all you need, Sergeant," Sansa sighed, putting her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, "I really need to be going. John Doe #34 is not my only patient. When he wakes up, I'll let you know."
A soft chime rang, followed by a slight crackle of static.
"Dr. Stark, call on line three. Dr. Stark, line three."
"See?" She said, walking toward the nurse's station. "I don't have time to loaf, unlike some people I know."
Brienne watched her walk away, and then turned to her partner.
"What's got her panties in a wad?" She asked him, frowning. "We're just doing our job. No need for her to be such a bitch about it."
"Ah, don't worry about it." Jamie said, walking toward the elevator. "Dr. Stark's had a rough time of things lately."
ooOoo
She picked up the cordless phone, pressing the button to select line three, and put it to her ear.
"Dr. Stark speaking, can I help you?" She half-sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily.
"Hello, Sansa." Said the person on the other end of the line, the voice sending an icy chill down her spine.
Sansa glanced around furtively to see where Sgt. Lannister and his partner were. They were just stepping onto the elevator, and everything seemed normal, Brienne laughing at something Jamie had said. She waited nervously until the elevator doors closed, then glanced around her to make sure she was alone at the nurse's station.
"Arya!" She hissed into the phone, cupping her hand over it to keep others from hearing her. "Where are you?"
"You know better than to ask me that, Sansa." Her younger sister chuckled. "Don't worry so much. I'm using a burner phone. Completely untraceable."
"Jamie Lannister just left, with his partner." Sansa whispered. "As in Sergeant Lannister of KLPD. I…I can't believe you called me at work-"
"Well, just happened to be passing through, thought I might drop by."
"Arya!" Sansa hissed, then clapped her hand over her mouth, looking around herself again as she briskly walked to the fire stairs. Only when the door to the corridor had securely closed behind her did she speak again.
"Listen to me." She said in a hushed voice. "Turn yourself in. Call mother, we'll hire a good attorney for you. We can get you out of this mess-"
"Sansa. I'm not giving up until I get that bastard Joffrey, and everyone else on my list."
"Arya, please!"
"You were there, Sansa. You saw them murder dad, and you were too much in love with Joffrey to stop it-"
"Stop it, Arya. I was just as helpless to stop them as you were-"
"You were old enough to do something about it." Arya said harshly. "I was barely 10 years old."
"Arya, please-"
There was a click, and the connection went dead. Sansa pushed the redial button, and groaned in frustration when all she got was a recording advising the line was not in service. Returning to the nurse's station, she replaced the cordless phone on its cradle, nodding to the nurse on duty. Walking briskly back to the stairs, she pushed open the door, taking her cell phone out and flipping it open as she briskly climbed the stairs to the roof, where she would have more privacy.
"Hello, Sansa."
"Bran!" She blurted out, glancing around herself. "Arya just called me!"
"I'm not surprised." He said calmly. "What is little sister up to these days? I haven't seen any of her work in the news lately."
"Brandon, she's a—you know what she does! Doesn't that bother you?"
"Well, not really. She isn't after me." Her little brother chuckled, leaning back in his wheelchair at his office desk. "Oh, and by the way, I believe that she should be referred to as an 'alleged assassin.' How is she doing?"
"Fine, I guess." Sansa huffed irritably. "It's the nature of what she's doing, as well as the law looking for her-"
"As I last recall, my dear sister, our little lost lamb is wanted for questioning, nothing more."
"Bran, Sergeant Lannister just left-"
"Did they ask about Arya?"
"No, but-"
"Sansa, calm down, please. From what I've heard through my contacts, our sister is a rather low priority for law enforcement right now."
The sun was beginning to set, and Sansa shivered in her thin doctor's coat and scrubs as she paced the roof, trying to keep warm.
"Anyway, I have some paperwork to finish on my last appointment." Brandon said, eyeing the stack of papers on his desk. "Don't worry about it so much."
"That's easy for you to say." She sighed. "You don't have Jamie Lannister coming by the hospital every day to talk to you."
"Maybe he wants to ask you out."
"Please." Sansa snapped, rolling her eyes in irritation. "Not if he were the last man on earth. No, he's more interested in one of my patients."
"I'm going to guess that it was the man found in the park."
"Yes."
"Still not awake yet, is he?" Brandon asked, toying with an ink pen with his free hand. "As I recall from the news, he was pretty badly beaten up."
"Yes, he was. He nearly died on me." She said, biting her lip. "Brandon, I need to get something from you."
"Sansa, I don't think it's wise-"
"Please, Brandon." She said, her voice cracking a bit. "I had the dream again last night. I smashed a lamp before I woke myself up. I'm terrified that I won't wake up in time."
"I…" Brandon sighed deeply. "…come by my office, on the way home. I'll get you something."
ooOoo
She let herself in with her own key, shaking the rain from her umbrella in the foyer. A low pitched hum announced Brandon's arrival in the hallway from his home office. He'd loosened his tie, but otherwise was impeccably dressed in a long sleeve shirt and slacks. Watching her hang up her coat, he waited patiently until she turned to him.
"You know, I shouldn't be doing this." He said softly, his brown eyes dark with concern.
"I don't misuse it, I swear I don't." Sansa said, her voice unsteady. "I just take it when I can't sleep."
"Or when you're afraid to."
"Yes, that too." She nodded.
He held out a prescription slip, already filled out and signed, Dr. Brandon K. Stark.
"Thank you." She said, taking the slip and putting it in the breast pocket of her scrubs.
"You need to do something for me in return." He said firmly, turning his wheelchair and rolling toward his office. Sansa trailed behind him reluctantly.
"What is it?" She asked, half wanting to just grab her coat and leave, wary of him.
"Sit down, Sansa." He said mildly.
She perched on the edge of the leather couch, quite reluctantly. Her blue eyes caught his, and then wavered, looking away quickly.
"You've been having this dream, in one form or another, for the past three years, correct?"
Sansa nodded, biting her lip.
"So, it really shouldn't have this effect on you." Bran said, pursing his lips in concentration. "In fact, I think this is the first time you've asked me for a…refill in about a year, isn't it?"
"I've been sleeping better." She said, swallowing nervously. "Well, I have been, at least. Lately it…it's difficult."
"So, what has changed?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Don't play dumb with me, sister." He smiled, a boyish grin that reminded her of happier times, long before his accident. "Something has been a trigger, or you wouldn't be back to beg for sleeping pills."
"Nothing-nothing's changed, Bran." Sansa blurted, blushing faintly. "In fact, things are going very well for me, since I broke up with…Joffrey. He's stopped calling me, even."
"Mmm-hm." He murmured, steepling his hands before him. "Never mind all that. So, tell me about this John Doe. You seem to spend a lot of time on his case, from what I've observed."
She leaned back on the couch, hoping that the shadows there would hide her blush, stalling for time to think.
"I…I don't spend any more time with him than any other patient." She said, just a bit too quickly.
"Sansa, I don't know if you realize this," her brother said, turning on a desk lamp that chased away her shadowy refuge, "but you've mentioned him in just about every conversation we have had, ever since he was brought in."
"So?" She said, unable to escape the feeling that she was being backed into a corner.
"I can tell from the way you talk about him that you are concerned about him."
"That doesn't mean anything, Brandon." She huffed defiantly, crossing her arms, and then uncrossing them when she realized what she'd done.
Dammit, I shouldn't have done that. She fumed inside, struggling to calm herself. Him and his ability to read body language, I need to be more careful.
He was leaning forward in his wheelchair, smiling slightly, his brown eyes twinkling.
I know how he does this. Sansa thought, pursing her lips. He's watching for me to make another slip. I've got to keep my cool.
"You care about him, don't you?" Brandon said mildly, as if he were commenting on the weather.
"I care about all of my patients." Sansa said with a sigh. "A good doctor has compassion, that's an important quality."
"Indeed it is." Bran nodded thoughtfully. "Do you ever dream about him?"
In an instant, Sansa came undone, blushing furiously, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
"I…I…I don't," She sputtered, trembling with indignation. "I…I don't dream about him!"
"I think you do."
She shook her head, fighting the impulse to flee, struggling once again to calm herself.
"You've told me a lot about what you dream, Sansa." Bran said gently. "Remember?"
"I…" She began, he tongue seeming to stick to the roof of her dry mouth.
"You told me that you dreamed you were a princess, long ago. You said in your dream, you were to marry a handsome prince…but he turned out to be a monster."
"I made that up." She protested weakly.
"I don't think so." He said, watching her closely.
"This is cruel, Bran! Stop it!"
"Sansa, I love you." He said in a soothing voice. "I'm trying to help you. You came to me, remember? When you couldn't sleep, after I mentioned at Christmas dinner that I was doing a paper on past life regression therapy?"
"I was trying to help you!"
"You did, and as I promised, I used a pseudonym in the thesis."
She glanced at her watch, then toward the doorway.
"I understand if you need to go, Sansa." Bran said, folding his hands in his lap. "But I think you'll feel better if you'd talk about this. You might not need the sleeping pills."
"I…I have to go, Bran." She said quickly, rising from the couch and moving toward the hallway.
"I understand, Sansa." He said. "See you at Mom's this weekend?"
"Mom's?"
"Yes, Mom's. She's having dinner for the family. Everyone will be there."
"But not Arya." Sansa said, a bit too quickly.
"No." Bran said sadly. "Not Arya."
ooOoo
With an effort, he opened his eyes.
Everything was white, it seemed. White walls, white ceiling-it hurt too much to lift his head so he could see any of the floor. He didn't have any idea what color the floor was.
Sweet Mother, I'm thirsty. He thought. Where the fuck am I?
With a herculean effort, he tried to roll over to his right side, closer to the bedside table where there appeared to be a pitcher. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he stretched out his hand, reaching out for it.
The nurse on duty at the desk spilled her coffee all over her scrub pants, jumping up and swearing profanely. Brushing herself off, she ran down the hall, looking for the source of the scream. Pausing midway down the hallway, she could hear labored breathing inside John Doe #34's room. Cautiously, she carefully pushed the door open.
"Sir? Are you alright?" She said nervously, keeping her hand on the cell phone in her pocket.
He wasn't in the bed, and the IV unit was lying on the floor, beeping a plaintive alarm.
"Sir?" The nurse said, flipping open her phone and scrolling through her contacts rapidly.
As she rounded the bed, she saw him, lying tangled in the sheets, half sitting up against the bed. He was pale and sweating, panting like a wounded animal.
"I'm no ser." He growled, glaring over at her.
"I'm sorry." She said cautiously, holding one hand up. "Let me go get some help, get you back in your bed. You're in a hospital, you were badly hurt."
"A healer, eh? Herbs and folk remedies, your stock in trade?" He rasped painfully. "Where's the she-wolf, eh? Or that blonde cunt what thought herself a knight, or her pathetic excuse for a squire?"
"Let me go get some help, alright? We'll get you back in your bed, and-"
"Bring me some wine, too, wench."
"How about water?" The nurse asked nervously, backing toward the door.
"Water will do, I suppose, until you can get some wine. Some good Dornish sour, if you can find it."
The nurse slipped out into the hall, punching the 'Send' button on her cell phone.
"Some good Dornish…sour…would be good…now." Sandor rasped, his eyes sliding closed as he lost consciousness, sliding to the floor beside the bed.
ooOoo
The cell phone trilled shrilly.
With a groan, she slid one hand out to the nightstand and picked up the phone, flipping it open and bringing it to her ear.
"…'lo?" She mumbled into it groggily.
Within seconds, she went from half-awake to fully so, throwing the covers back and getting out of her bed.
"Linda! Linda! Calm down!" Sansa said sharply. "Take a few breaths and tell me what happened."
"He's awake, Doctor." The nurse said, her voice unsteady. "At least, he was for a little bit. We had to get a couple of orderlies-"
"Orderlies? Was he combative?"
"No, Doctor. He fell out of bed, and, um…we couldn't lift him to put him back in bed. You might want to come in, I'm afraid he may have torn some of his stitches loose."
"Okay, give me about thirty minutes." Sansa sighed, grabbing a clean set of scrubs from the pile of neatly folded laundry on her dresser. "I'm getting dressed now."
Grabbing her keys, she went to the garage, pushing the garage door opener. Her Audi chirped as she unlocked it, walking to the white sedan and getting in. She backed out, the tires crunching on the new snow that had fallen over night, pushing the button to close the garage door as she carefully backed out of her driveway into the street.
It took her 36 minutes to get to the hospital, having had to stop and get a coffee. Usually she was wide awake when she got up, but she'd taken half a sleeping pill when she'd gone to bed the night before, and she figured it would be wise to get some caffeine to help herself wake up. Parking her car, she walked rapidly toward the hospital, pausing only briefly to take a sip of coffee, the Audi chirping as she locked it.
Linda, the nurse, was waiting on her when she stepped off the elevator.
"What do we have, Linda?" Sansa asked, taking the chart that the nurse handed to her, scanning it as they walked down the hall.
"He woke up about an hour ago, I guess." The nurse said as they approached the room. "Fell out of bed. I heard him scream; sounded really painful. He wanted wine, not water. Do you suppose he's homeless?"
"Wine?" Sansa frowned.
"Yes. Wine." Linda said. "He said something about Dornish red, too. Didn't make any sense."
Sansa had stopped dead in the hallway, her breath caught in her throat as her blue eyes widened.
Dornish sour…that's the best, girl…you'll learn one day, that not all of the good things in life are sweet as lemon cakes…
"Doctor Stark?"
She blinked, coming out of her trance. The nurse was looking at her curiously, concerned.
"Yes…I'm fine." She said quickly. "Just not…quite wide awake yet. I guess I need more coffee."
The nurse smiled, and then pushed the door open.
"Once we got him back into bed, I gave him some Demerol to ease the pain a bit."
"How much?" Sansa said, setting the chart on the table at the foot of the bed.
"Just 1 cc, Doctor. I wanted to wait until you got here, so I halved the dosage you specified as PRN."
Sansa went over to the sink to scrub up, the nurse following her with a set of sterile gloves. When she finished, the nurse assisted her in donning them, then handed her a set of bandage scissors. She walked over to the bed, followed by the nurse, who drew the sheets back from John Doe's injured leg, and leaned over him to begin removing the bandages. Sansa had barely started to cut when his eyes fluttered open drowsily, focusing on her.
"Little bird…" He breathed softly, his eyes bright with fever.
The bandage scissors clattered to the floor.
ooOoo
"Do you feel any better?"
She shook her head vigorously as she sat on the couch, a steaming cup of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of her. Her hands were shaking so badly that she didn't trust them to allow her to drink any just yet.
After checking his sutures, she'd left dressing the wound to the nurse, leaving the hospital after mumbling something about an emergency. Sansa had driven so fast that she'd nearly side-swiped a dumpster near the hospital, tires sliding on the slick pavement as she gunned the Audi.
"So, he called you by a nickname of some kind?" Bran prodded gently, his brown eyes dark with concern.
She'd shown up on his doorstep not long after he'd finished breakfast, clad only in her scrubs and sneakers in the winter cold, shivering violently. When Hodor had let her in and brought her to his dining room, it took but a single glance for him to figure out that it wasn't just the temperature outside that was affecting her so.
"Yes." Sansa whispered, pulling the heavy wool blanket tighter around herself. "He…he called me 'little bird'."
"Why did that upset you so much?"
She shook her head, unwilling to look at him.
"Sansa, why did that upset you?" Bran sighed. "You have to talk to me, or I can't help you."
"That…that was the name he called me in my dream." She said softly, tears sparkling in her blue eyes as she looked over at him. "I…I feel like I'm going crazy, Brandon. I didn't even tell you that name. How could he know it? It's not possible!"
"I don't know, Sansa. But this doesn't mean you're going crazy."
"It feels like it."
"After he called you that, what did you do?" Bran said, deciding to change the subject for now.
"I…I got a clean pair of scissors and cut the bandages off…" Sansa said softly, pausing to pick up the cup and cautiously take a sip of hot cocoa. "This is really good, Bran."
"Hodor's worried about you, Sansa." Bran smiled. "He thought it would help."
She smiled, and then took another sip.
"What next?" He prodded gently.
"I…well, I examined the sutures in his leg. He…seemed very interested in that."
"Really?"
"He complimented me on my 'fine needlework', as if I was a seamstress." Sansa scoffed. "He asked me if I still liked to do embroidery. Maybe he's the lunatic."
"Do you think he's mentally unstable?"
"I don't know." She shrugged, taking another sip of the cocoa. "No indications of that so far. But he's got a foul mouth, that's for sure."
"You sound like you're feeling a little better."
"Yes." She nodded. "What time is your first appointment today? I don't want to keep you."
Glancing at his watch, he shrugged.
"I have one at 10 o'clock, then nothing till four."
"Wish I could set my own hours." She sighed, a twinge of envy in her voice. "I'm doing rounds every day at five a.m., and today was rough. Linda called me about John Doe at three this morning."
"Why don't you take a nap here, and then go do your afternoon rounds?" Bran suggested. "I'm sure you would feel a lot better."
"Sure is tempting, little brother."
"You could use the guest bedroom. I'll ask Hodor to get it ready for you."
"Thanks."
"Wake you up when, about three?"
"That would be lovely, Bran." She said, covering her mouth with one hand as she yawned.
ooOoo
"Give it up, Jamie." Sgt. Tarth grumbled, her arms crossed. "Nobody's home."
They were standing at the door of a run-down two-story house in one of the less desirable neighborhoods of Kings Landing. Jamie held up his hand.
"I think someone's coming to the door now." He said, peering in the dirty window. "Yep, here they come."
Brienne frowned, unbuttoning her coat and hooking her thumbs in her belt, her right hand not far from her concealed duty weapon. She'd been a patrol officer in this neighborhood for four years, with plenty of bad memories of it.
The woman who opened the door had a child on her hip. She was tall and slender, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and looked exhausted.
"Yes?" She said, eyeing the two investigators.
"Ma'am, I'm Sergeant Jamie Lannister," Jamie said, holding up his badge wallet to show her his I.D., and then with a nod toward Brienne, "This is my partner, Sergeant Tarth. Do you mind if we come in, ask you a few questions?"
"I…I guess that would be okay." The woman sighed, shifting the child on her hip slightly. "I'm Elizabeth Woods. What's all this about, anyway?"
"There was a man found in the park a month ago, badly hurt." Jamie explained. "We're trying to locate his family, so we can get him back to them."
"Come in." She said, moving back from the door.
"Thank you." Jamie said, opening the door up and walking in, followed by Brienne.
"Please, have a seat." The woman said, placing the child on a blanket on the floor. The house was in poor shape, but the inside was fairly clean.
"I remember seeing that on the news, the guy they found in the park." The woman said, shaking a rattle so the child would be amused. "He was pretty bad off, I recall. They said that he was a member of some reenactment group?"
"Yes, ma'am." Jaime nodded, taking out his notepad and pen. "We think he may have been mugged. He nearly died. Hasn't regained consciousness, so we can't talk to him. But I'm sure his family is wondering where he is."
"Well, I don't really know how I can help you, officer." She shrugged.
"Do you mind looking at a picture of him?" Jamie asked, taking a photo out of his pocket. "Maybe you've seen him around the neighborhood."
"No, I don't mind." She said, taking the picture and studying it. Frowning, she handed the picture back to Jamie.
"I've never seen this man before." She said quietly, not meeting his eyes.
"I think you have." Jamie said softly, holding the picture up in front of her. "Because I know who you were before you got married to Jason Woods. You were a Clegane, right?"
Elizabeth was sitting completely still, trembling in her chair, her face ashen. She slowly shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Officer…please." She whispered. "I…I don't know this man. He…my brother's in prison. I…"
"We know where your brother is." Jamie said, putting the picture back in his pocket. "But you had two brothers, because I checked. So, is this your younger brother?"
"No." She said firmly, shaking her head. "It couldn't be. There's no way it could be him."
"Why not?" Brienne asked, curious now.
"Because it's not possible." Elizabeth said, looking over at her. "San died when he was seven years old."
ooOoo
"I don't know if this is a good idea."
"I take full responsibility, Sansa." Bran said, watching the traffic pass by them as she drove.
"What if he's not awake?" She asked, giving him a nervous glance.
"Then I come back another day. Mrs. Jenson was happy to reschedule her appointment, and if I don't get to talk to him, I can always go back home and do paperwork."
Sansa parked in her reserved parking spot, clicking the shifter into park and shutting off the engine. Tucking her keys into the jacket she'd borrowed from Bran, she glanced over at the entrance to the hospital as she opened her car door, and then gave a sigh of disgust.
Jamie Lannister was standing in front of the doors, with his partner.
"Damn it to hell." She muttered, popping the trunk lid, sliding out of the car and walking around to the passenger side as Hodor got out and retrieved Bran's light wheelchair from the trunk. Sansa opened the door for the big man so he could lift her brother out and place him carefully in the wheelchair.
"What's wrong, Sansa?" Bran asked, and then glanced over where she was looking. "Oh. I wonder why they're here."
"I don't know, Bran." She sighed, falling into step behind Hodor as he pushed the wheelchair through the slushy snow that remained in the parking lot. "I suppose we're going to find out."
"Good afternoon, Drs. Stark." Jamie said, nodding to them. "Hodor."
"Sergeant Lannister, we have business to attend to-" Sansa said, her voice frosty.
"I'm sure you do, Dr. Stark." Jamie smiled. "So do we. Sergeant Tarth and I heard your John Doe had woke up, and no call from you about it."
"Sergeant Lannister, I've had a long, difficult day," Sansa fumed, "and I really don't have the patience for your silly games. I've brought brother, Dr. Stark, in for a consult regarding John Doe #34-"
"I spoke to his sister today, Dr. Stark." Jamie said pleasantly, holding up a folded paper. "She expressed some doubt about it, but agreed that he just might be her brother. We have a court order to obtain a DNA swab from his mouth. Surely you would agree that San Clegane is a much easier name to say than 'John Doe #34', wouldn't you?"
"Sergeant Lannister," Sansa hissed, anger rising in her, "The well-being of my patient takes precedence over your shenanigans! We'll let you have your DNA swab, but you'd better not cause any trouble."
ooOoo
"Stop it!" Sansa shouted, putting herself between her patient and the two detectives. "Just stop it!"
Eyeing the muzzles of their department issue Glocks, she felt behind her with one trembling hand until she could grab a handful of her John Doe's hospital gown. Forcing him behind her, she shielded him, despite her unsteady legs. The IV monitor beeped its alarm from the floor next to the bed, where it had fallen when Sandor had attacked Brienne.
God, it's a good thing he's so weak, she found herself thinking. I don't think I could hold him back by myself.
"I think that everyone needs to calm down here." Bran said dryly from the corner of the room, Hodor eyeing everyone uncertainly as he stood protectively in front of the wheelchair bound psychiatrist.
"That…monster of yours needs to calm the fuck down!" Brienne snarled, wiping blood from her nose as she aimed her pistol one handed. "All I did was walk in here, and he jumped me!"
"Where the fuck is her sister, you cunt?" Sandor growled, pushing against Sansa's hands as she tried to keep him back. Swaying on his feet, he sank down to his knees on the floor with a strangled groan, though he still glared daggers at the detective.
At this point, Jamie Lannister had lowered his pistol, though he hadn't holstered it. Frowning thoughtfully, he reached out to put a hand on his partner's arm, gently squeezing it.
"Brienne, he's not armed, and he doesn't look that well." Jamie said, eyeing the small pool of blood that had already formed next to the big man's leg. "Step out in the hall, get a breather. Chill out a bit."
"Chill out? Are you fucking kidding me? I-"
"Brienne, let me talk to him, hear what he has to say. Trust me, it'll be fine."
With a muttered oath, Brienne holstered her gun and stalked out of the room. Jaime turned back to Sandor, who was eyeing him suspiciously as the detective holstered his duty weapon.
"What the fuck do you want, Lannister? Are you in with her, too? All the times I covered for you in the Kingsguard-"
"How did you know that my name is Lannister, eh?" Jamie said softly, holstering his weapon. "And what's all this business about a King's guard? I've been a cop here in King's Landing for the past 20 years."
Sansa turned to the nurse, beckoning to her.
"Go get a few orderlies, so we can get him back in his bed." She said quietly, keeping a firm hold on Sandor's shoulder. "Bring scissors and bandages; I need to check his stitches."
"I'm not getting back in that bed." Sandor growled, glaring up at Sansa. He wasn't that frightening, seeing as he was shivering with fever, and still far too weak to free himself from her grip. If anything, he was partly leaning against her for support, her legs straining to keep him upright.
Good God, he's heavy. She thought, wishing the nurse would hurry up. Solid. He's built like a tank.
"Yes, you are." Sansa snapped back, glaring fiercely down at him. "Do you want me to knock you out, or will you behave yourself?"
"Do try to avoid knocking him out, Dr. Stark." Brandon said, rolling his wheelchair closer. "We still need to talk to him, and I think I would like to have Sergeant Lannister present. I'm intrigued that the patient seems to remember both him and Sergeant Tarth."
"Well, if it isn't the poor crippled Stark boy." Sandor sneered nastily.
Instantly a hard slap rocked him, causing him to fall onto his injured side with a strangled scream of agony. Just as quickly, Sansa fell to her knees beside him, shaking with fright.
"Oh, God!" She cried, a horrified expression on her face. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry-"
"'s alright." Sandor panted, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "He is your brother, girl. I…reckon I deserved that one."
Jamie Lannister was watching Bran, who was leaning forward in his wheelchair, watching the interaction with great interest.
"Hodor, go out in the hallway, get a few chairs for us." Bran said. "Sir, do you remember your name?"
"I'm not a fucking ser." Sandor growled, eyeing Sansa warily.
Girl can hit pretty fucking hard, he thought with grudging respect. Must have learned that since I saw her last.
"I apologize," Brandon said pleasantly, "but 'sir' is considered the proper way to address a man these days, when you don't know his name. But never mind that. What would you prefer to be called?"
"Most just call me The Hound." Sandor said, as he glared up at Jamie Lannister. "I suppose my proper name is Sandor Clegane, traitor to the king and the Kingsguard. To which I say, fuck the king. May he rot in hell, the mincing little bastard."
Jamie Lannister and Sansa glanced at Bran, then back at Sandor, confusion on their faces.
"King?" Sansa said, puzzled. "We haven't lived under a king since 1776 here. What are you talking about?"
"Seriously," Jamie said, eyeing Sandor warily. "I don't know anything about this Kings guard that you keep talking about. I did a hitch in the Army, went to college and started as a beat cop back in 1983. I know your brother, though, and your sister."
"My sister?" Sandor gasped, eyes widening. "How the fuck could you know of her, Kingslayer? She's long dead, probably by Gregor's hand, may he rot in hell!"
"Kingslayer?" Jamie scowled, causing Sansa to move between him and her patient again. "I don't know what you're talking about, Clegane. I spoke with your sister just this morning, though, and she's quite alive."
Sandor stared at Jamie, mouth open in shock. He closed his mouth, opened it again, and then closed it. Sansa could feel him trembling underneath the hand she had on his shoulder to restrain him.
"Elspeth…she's alive?" Sandor whispered, tears trickling down his cheeks. "How?"
The nurse returned with two orderlies and a tray. Sansa squeezed Sandor's shoulder gently.
"Sandor." She had to repeat herself twice before he looked at her, his head moving slowly. "Will you get back in your bed now, if these two men help you? Will you allow me to check your stitches?"
Sandor nodded mutely, allowing the two men to come to either side of him and help him up.
Elspeth…alive? He thought numbly as the two orderlies helped him back into the bed. How could it be, after what Gregor did to her?
Once he was safely back in bed, Sansa picked up a set of bandage scissors and began to cut away the bandages around his right thigh, frowning as she did so. Sandor's silence worried her.
Hodor carefully placed two chairs near the bed next to where Bran's wheelchair was, and then stood next to him, eying Sandor warily. With a nod of thanks to him, Jamie sat down next to Bran, leaning over to him.
"Okay, Doc." Jamie whispered softly, Bran leaning over to hear him better. "What the hell is going on here?"
"No idea, Jamie," Bran said cheerfully, watching his sister care for her patient. "But it's certainly very interesting."
ooOoo
Silently, Sansa drove along the street.
"What's on your mind?" Bran asked softly.
She glanced at him nervously, her blue eyes flicking first to his face, then back to the road.
"Come on, sis." He sighed. "You didn't say hardly a thing after he started talking. I was glad that Jaime kept his mouth shut, but you could have helped me out a bit."
"It's crazy, Bran." She said, her lip trembling as she smoothly piloted the Audi through the traffic. "He…if he believes what he's talking about…he's crazy. It's just not possible.
"It's like Sergeant Lannister said before we left, he was probably in with that medieval re-enactor group that meets down at the park, got in some kind of scuffle afterwards, maybe got mugged. That explains the armor, the weapons he had on him when the police found him. You know those guys drink a lot down there-"
"Sansa, those guys wear stuff that they made themselves, it's pretty flimsy. The armor he was wearing isn't cheap; it's the real thing. Heavy leather, chain mail, plates of steel…the re-enactors would love to have the money to afford that kind of thing.
"And what about the weapons?" Bran said, looking hard at his sister. "Not exactly cheap, either. As Jaime said, the dagger he had was extremely sharp, and the sword was, as well."
"He's a re-enactor, Bran." She snapped, slowing down to turn down the street that his house was on. "And, he's crazy."
"You're just upset that he knows so much about your dream."
"Would you stop talking about that!" Sansa shouted, stopping the car. "Dammit, Bran, he knows nothing about it! He couldn't! And this whole idea that he's from another time, that's crazy! There's no way he could have ever met Arya! He's delusional!"
For a moment, they sat there, Bran watching her. Sansa held his gaze for a moment, but then had to break eye contact, her blue eyes slipping away to stare out the windshield. She was trembling, breathing rapidly as she tried to catch her breath, her fingers fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel.
"I'm sorry, Bran." She said softly, not daring to look over at him, afraid of what he might see.
"It's alright, Sansa." He replied. "But I want you to consider this: what if he isn't crazy?"
As she started the car rolling again, she shook her head.
"I can't do that." She said firmly, shaking her head. "Because it means that I might be crazy."
ooOoo
"Where's Sansa?"
"She has other patients to take care of, Sandor." Bran said, glad that Hodor was standing next to him. "I thought we could have a conversation."
"Fuck your conversation." Sandor growled.
"We learned a lot yesterday."
"You think I'm mad."
"No, actually I believe you." Bran said. "Regardless of what Sergeant Lannister thought, I think you're telling the truth."
"Lannister doesn't know shit. He's too busy cozying up to that blonde bitch."
Bran sighed, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Alright." The younger man said, tapping his pen on his chin idly. "Let's go over what we learned about you yesterday."
"Is this really necessary?" Sandor sighed. "I told you everything."
"Yes. The last thing you recall, you were in a fight with Sergeant Tarth?"
"Who?"
"Sergeant Lannister's blonde partner, the one you punched in the face yesterday."
"Yeah. That's about the last thing I recall. After she stuck me, I got a few more good hits in, and then I stumbled, fell off the ledge."
"Are you sure?" Bran asked gently, holding up the picture of Arya that had caused such a fuss the day before.
"I…no." Sandor said, swallowing uneasily. "Could…could I have some water?"
"Certainly. Hodor, could you get him some water, please?"
Hodor shuffled over to the table where there was a pitcher and a glass, pouring it most of the way full. He then walked over to the bed, where he held it up to Sandor's lips, warily watching him as he drank.
"What do you know of my sister Arya, Sandor?"
"I kidnapped her from the Brothers, that ragtag bunch of deserters and criminals. Kept her safe, took her to The Twins…but your mother, the young 'King of the North', both dead-"
"My mother is alive, Sandor." Bran said softly. "As is my brother Rob. What happened next?"
"I…took her toward the Saltpans." Sandor said, hesitantly, "It was there that I fought that blonde bitch. Arya abandoned me, after I protected her…took her little toothpick of a sword and left me there to die. Took my silver, too."
"So you have no idea where she might be?"
"None at all." The big man said, grimacing as he shifted position slightly in the bed.
"Your leg, does it still hurt much?"
"Like the seven hells." Sandor nodded. "I'd give anything for some good Dornish sour."
"Where is Dornish?" Bran asked, curious.
"Dornish is something what comes from Dorne." Sandor chuckled. "Not a place. Dorne is somewhere over the big water. I've never been there myself, though I saw the Dornish prince, Oberyn Martell."
"Was that before, or after you left the king's service to find Arya?"
"Deserted, you mean."
"Well, you tend to be a bit harsh on yourself."
"It was before." Sandor said, glancing out the window, then back at him. "I left during the 'Battle of Blackwater', as the pox-ridden 'historians' like to call it, after I tried to convince your sister to-"
Abruptly he stopped, looking away from Bran.
"You tried to talk her into leaving with you." Bran prompted gently, making a few notes as he spoke. "You were trying to get her away from a situation that you believed was dangerous to her."
"That…that's right." Sandor said softly. "I…didn't know what happened to her."
"Do you regret that she chose not to come with you?"
"Of course. She…she's very different from the way she was."
"I'm sure. The Sansa you knew, would she have slapped you the way she did yesterday?"
Sandor shook his head.
"I…I don't understand any of this." He said, his voice unsteady. "These lights that burn with no candle or oil, this 'hospital' thing, these 'police' that want to talk to me all the time-"
"I understand." Bran said, putting away his pen and leaning forward in his wheelchair. "This world is very different from yours, isn't it?"
"That's for dammed sure. I feel as if I'm losing my mind."