Sandor breathed in the chill of the frosty air. It entered his lungs enveloping them in an imaginary layer of ice as he stood leaning on his long sword as he watched the guards complete the morning drills. It had been years since he had made the decision to stay at Winterfell but he had never seemed to accustom himself with the harsh weather, which always seemed to get colder with every coming year. 'Winter is Coming' he mused the Starks words, thinking that the oddities of mother nature that surrounded them and her ever going decisions to inflict a colder and colder winter had something to do with them.
He watched the guards drill, feet shuffling in the snow as their hot breaths hit the air. At times he would bark complaints to them.
"Footwork Fisher! He's going to sweep you off your feet if you move as if you're dancing!" he shouted. The young boy- only a boy, he couldn't be more than 16- panicked at the mandate and his footwork seemed to have lost itself completely as he tripped over himself and landed face first in the snow.
Other spectators laughed but Sandor only shook his head as he moved forward to hit the boy on his rear with the flat of his blade sending him back into the unforgiving ice.
"That's one too many times Fisher. If I wanted a dancer I'd ask my wife to take some lessons!" he shouted as the boy stumbled to his feat, his face evidently flustered as he removed his helm. The laughter continued in the background.
"Yes ser" the boy choked out.
"Don't call me ser! Have a moment to regain yourself and then you'll spar with Craven" he said adding a touch of sympathy to his voice.
"Yes ser- I mean. Sorry se-... Sorry" the boy fumbled as he started to move away, feet sinking in the snow. Sandor gave another hit with his sword pushing him forward.
"Tybalt! Lockwood! You're next" he commanded putting his sword in its sheath as he watched Fisher's friends punch him in the arm and rub their knuckles into his head. They clamoured as they made their way to the seats to watch the next bout.
"Yeah Dancer boy"
"Light on your toes are you?"
"Maybe you should give us a show"
Sandor shook his head again but smiled faintly. The boy had been a right mess when he came but he had been improving quicker than he had expected. Maybe I shouldn't be so harsh on him he thought as the next pair started their duel. As he stood back to watch he noticed a small auburn head bobbing its way from the stables towards him.
The little girl trudged in the snow a thick small dress and a heavy coat which dragged on behind her. In her hands she carried a small bunch of winter flowers in her hands. Sandor watched as the she made her way to him, a soft but lady like smile on her face. He turned towards her and the men continued.
"What are you doing little bird? Back to your mother before you freeze to death and the Others take you" he commanded his tone severely less harsh than the one he used on his men.
The girl took no heed on his words but smiled back at him holding up the flowers. Sandor thought he'd drown in those pretty blue eyes of hers.
"Papa" she said, panting slightly from her journey '"I brought you some flowers"
He did not bend down to take them.
"I have no need for flowers little bird. Take them to your mother" he rasped.
The girl motioned him to come forward and he bent down assume she wanted to whisper something in his ear. To his surprised when ever she did she moved to the burnt side of his face. He had asked her once why she did so and she had commented that since there was no hair there to block his ears he'd be able to hear her better.
But instead of whispering something she merely took a flower from the bunch and attempted to put in his hair. Not succeeding with the ravaged side of his face she put it behind his wholesome ear. Sandor too amused with her actions waited for her to do so. When she was finished she laughed childishly.
"Thank you little bird" he told her, planning to take it out as soon as she had left. But as he resumed to attend the duel she simply sat at his feet and watched with him. He caught the eyes of his men who looked and him, some tried to restrain their laughter and failed.
What a sight, the Hound with a flower in his hair. As the laughs increased and the Hound noticed that even the cook had been called out to catch a look at the new beautified Hound he started to wish his daughter would disappear back into her rooms a little quicker.
But she just sat there wide eyed as the men practised their drills and refused to budge even when the cook said there were lemon cakes for her if she wished.
Sandor brought it up with his wife that night. Having children he found met that he could not hold her in his arms as often. Unlike his own lonesome childhood, Stark children had a habit of climbing into bed with their parents. Though Sandor couldn't imagine doing the same in his younger years but he was quite fond of having his children close.
"The little bird came to visit me at practice this morning" he said into Sansa's hair as he massaged her swollen belly. They had the little bird who was five and the spitting image of her mother, little Robb born to them two years after her and once again they were waiting for another child. Sansa laughed at his words.
"I heard word of that" she said smiling. He could not frown at her, he loved it when she smiled.
"Shouldn't there be a Septa making her do needle work and embroidery? Or the rest of that nonsense" he complained.
"She's five Sandor, her fingers can barely hold a needle nevertheless sew. Besides it's your fault she always comes to you" Sansa chided but there was laughter in her words.
"My fault? What have I done other than being the distasteful and ugly father" he retorted.
"You give her everything she wants. I have the sense to say no to her. She knows it so she always goes to you" Sansa explained.
"I don't give her everything she wants"
"You do too. Caty and I are probably the most spoiled girls in the North"
"Now I definitely don't spoil you"
"Oh really?" Sansa questioned.
"The Seven know this is nonsense" he brushed the topic off sensing that he would lose the argument.
Sansa turned to give him a light kiss on his scars.
"Nonsense it might be but false it is not" she smugly remarked.
"Well she can't keep coming to the drills. I used to have a reputation, a fierce face and a sword to keep them in place. I fear I've lost two"
"I'll bet you she'll come back tomorrow" his wife said again planting another kiss on his lips. He let the topic slide as he wrapped his arms around her perfect waist.
The little bird did come again the next day as his wife and presumed. No flowers in her hands but a small pout on her face.
Sandor sighed as he put his hands on his hips and looked down at her not knowing whether to be thankful or fearful to the subsequent events.
"What is it this time little bird?" he asked.
"Robb broke my doll"
"Did he now?" he asked uninterested at the loss of her little toy.
"Yes, he pulled its head off and chewed on its leg"
Sandor ignored her hoping she would go away if he payed no attention. Feeling slightly ashamed for treating his daughter this way he kept an eye on her.
"Papa?" she chimed.
"Yes little bird?"
"Take me to town to get another one"
Sandor could already hear the new gossip that would spread in the castle by nightfall.
"No little bird. I'm busy. Now go get to your mother. Off with you" he said waving her away.
Catelyn Clegane neither wept nor cried. She simply moved off to join the other spectators and sat down with a sad quiet face.
Once again she did not move, drill after drill, as the men trained. Sandor often looked back at the sad yet haunting face which broke his once thought non-existent heart. He thought he'd rather her scream and throw a tantrum rather than this.
It took three more bouts before Sandor called a halt to training. He moved quickly forward to the little bird quickly and swept her in his arms.
"Just quickly little bird, we need to be back by dinner. And only one" he told her trying to keep a tone of superiority in his voice.
The little bird giggled and kissed his cheek.
"I love you Papa" she whispered- in the burnt ear.
Though the day was cold and miserable he suddenly felt like he was in the heat of the summer of the Southern lands.
Later that night Sandor slept on the edge of the bed with his back turned to his wife. He heard her laugh softly as she entered the bed and disrespected the division which he called his side of the bed, putting her arms around him.
"So how many dolls exactly did you buy her?"
"Go to sleep wife" he grunted.
"I counted seventeen"
A/N: Created after I thought that if SanSan ever happened he'd be the most whipped husband. Until I realised he would've been the most whipped father. Now let's all commune together as we pray the G.R.R Martin will make SanSan happen for real.