The Long Night had come and gone and left many dead and injured in it's wake. The walls of Winterfell still stood, barley, but they were there. King's Landing had been damaged, but not beyond repair. The surviving people, smallfolk and noblemen alike, were working to restore what they could of the cities in hope to prosper as they had under King Robert's rule.
The Stark bastard, or Targaryen King as it had been revealed, ruled the Seven Kingdoms by his dragon bride's side while his eldest sister held Winterfell and the Golden Hand Lannister sat comfortably at Casterly Rock - his dwarf brother had stayed true to his Queen and still urged her to keep him on as her Hand.
And then there was Sandor Clegane, the last of his name since he had slain his brother, standing behind the Royals with his sword by his side. He had stayed on as watchdog, for now, until they had a handle on things, then it was time for him to live out the rest of his days elsewhere. He'd had enough of King's Landing's heat and political games.
The doors to the throne room swung open and a woman he'd come to know strode through them. Her dark hair had been pulled back off her face but now escaped its bonds and pieces of it framed her tired face. Dark circles were forming beneath her clover colored eyes and, he had to squint to be sure, it looked like dried blood was smeared across her cheek.
"My Queen," she said, her voice quiet. "We've exhausted our supply of Milk of the Poppy. I'm doing all I can to ease these people's pain but there's only so much that I can control without it."
The Queen nodded. "I understand. I'll have more sent from our allies, my friend, do not fret."
"Thank you, your grace." She exhaled. "Is there anything more you wish of me?"
The Queen stood and walked toward the weary woman, her hands extended. They grasped each other, a smile on both their faces. "No Alira, you have done well. When did you last sleep?"
Sandor watched Alira blink, her eyelids straining to stay apart. "I slept as I could between patients, but as far as staying in my own bed? Three days, I think. Maybe more."
Queen Daenerys sighed and smoothed her hand over her friend's before she spoke again. "Clegane, please escort Lady Oakheart back to her chambers for the night."
Sandor moved forward with a grunt, his long legs taking him to stand beside them in just a few steps. He chanced a look down at the woman, noting how she glanced to him with a small smile. He wondered how she always seemed so happy, so content, when he knew the things that she'd seen. What they'd all seen. "Stand guard, just for a while."
Sandor gave a firm nod. "Come, my lady."
"My thanks again, your Grace," the woman said, bowing her head lightly and letting go of the Queen's hand. She offered Sandor another of her smiles. "Whenever you're ready, Clegane."
The walk to her room was slow, much slower than he cared for. She was swaying with every step, sometimes grazing her shoulder against his arm. "I do apologize, Sandor. I don't mean to keep doing that."
He said nothing, a low grunt coming from his throat. "You need to be more careful of your own health if you insist on watching after others."
"I only mean to do as much as I can, just as they have done." They stopped outside her door and she leaned over to open it. "Thank you, Clegane, for seeing me back."
"Get some sleep," he said gruffly. "The Queen wants you at your best come morning. Can't be your best when you're half dead."
She nodded. "Understood."
It was quiet for an hour, maybe two, before the sounds of rustling inside the room made Sandor's ears prick. He listened closely, leaning his body toward the door. He was surprised to hear her grumbling lowly - he listened but couldn't make sense of any of the words that spilled from her. Her voice kept going, more frantic as the seconds passed, until she began sobbing.
Sandor blinked, his hand raising on its own accord to knock on the door. "My lady?"
He waited for a moment, but no answer came, so he knocked again. And again.
He knocked until his knuckles tingled and still received no answer so he took it upon himself to enter her room - if she died under his watch the Queen would have his head, no matter how big a role he'd had in the Night King's fall.
She was twisted in her bedclothes, her hands balled into fists on either side of her. Her hair was free from it's tie and lay over one of her shoulders like an ebony wave. Tears wet her cheeks, still leaking from beneath her closed eyes. And her rosepetal lips were twisted into a frown. It stunned him - it might have been the first time he'd ever seen her without a smile.
He reach out and gently put his hand on her shoulder. The warmth of it on his big hand stilled him momentarily. "My lady?"
She gasped and grabbed his wrist, clutching it tightly. Her eyes were wild, looking around for the source of her awakening. "S-Sandor?"
"Aye, it's just me," he told her quietly, watching as she relinquished her hold on his wrist. "Is everything alright? I could hear you through the door."
She sat up slightly, the hem of her chemise falling just a bit further down her chest. "I'm alright, just a childish night terror is all."
Sandor grunted. "Are you certain that's all? Just a single occurrence?"
"No," she whispered, her lip quivering. "It's an every night occurrence. I can't seem to rid myself of them no matter how I try."
Sandor watched her wipe her tears, both old and new. "There's nothing here to worry about now, girl. Not while I'm standing guard."
She tried to give him a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes and it made something in his chest twist.
"I'll not let anything happen to you, my lady," he said as gently as his gravely tone would allow. "Not now. Not ever."
She gave him a wide eyed look. "Sandor?"
"You are my priority," he assured. "Have been for quite a time now."
The heat in her cheeks spread down her neck and chest and Sandor felt a twinge of pride from knowing that it was of his causing.
"Stay."
He looked at her as if she'd grown another limb. "What did you say?"
"Stay," she said again. "Please? It might help to have you here with me."
He held her gaze for a moment before he let out a long breath. "Aye, I'll stay."
His eyes found a chair in the corner of the room and just as he was about to move toward it he felt a gentle hand on his wrist. He stopped in his tracks, the warmth filling him like a fire.
"Sandor." She scooted herself to the edge of the bed and pulled the fur down. Surely she didn't mean - "If you don't mind?"
"Do you know what will be said about you if someone finds out?" He asked, pinning her with his stare. "The Queen's friend found in bed with her guard dog?"
She shook her head. "I don't care, Sandor. I truly don't. You're more than a guard dog to me."
Sandor stared at her and tried to ignore the fluttering he felt in his stomach from her words. "There will be no coming back from it."
"I wouldn't want to," she said quietly. "Sandor, I adore you."
"You're out of your fucking mind," he rasped. "You could have your choice of -"
"I choose you," she cut him off gently.
He stood silent, his throat constricting with her admission. How could he deny her?
"Will you stay?"
Sandor stared from her eyes, so sincere it cut him to his core, to her tiny hand clutching his wrist desperately. "Aye, Alira. I will stay.
Jon sat in the throne room with his wife by his side, watching her as she walked back toward him with a brilliant smile.
"Why are you smilin' like that?" He asked her quietly.
The queen arched a dark brow and sank onto her throne with a small, airy laugh. "You really are clueless, aren't you?"