Happy Ending.
Sandor sat outside his house on the green bank by the water front. The evening air was cool and crisp. He breathed it in, marvelling, as he did so often, at the tranquillity of his present life. Looking back, his life had not always held this peace. The scars covering his body told as much; each whispering of a moment of pain, of anguish, of victory. Once renowned as the most fearsome warrior in all of Westeros, it was hard not to miss those days, yet with them came the painful and unrelenting need for revenge against his brother, Gregor. For years, his only thought had been to kill Gregor, after Sandor laid victim to his sadistic pleasure as his face was pressed into a blazing fire and kept there while Sandor screamed and screamed. He was only a young boy when it had happened, yet his wish to end his brother's life and his fear of fire stayed with him for the rest of his life.
Sandor lifted his gaze to the surrounding body of water which acted almost as a moat around his house. He often told himself it was there for protection from outlaws and the like, although his wife had seen right through that, not that she had told him so. She had seen that fear of fire in eyes before and knew of its effect on him. Now, however, Sandor was free from the grudge against Gregor, following an incident around ten years ago. A great battle was commencing in King's Landing as Stannis Baratheon attempted to take the throne from the current king, Joffrey Baratheon. Sandor had fought fervently, yet the leader of the kingdom's defence, and hand of the king, Tyrion Lannister, had ordered wild fire to be used on the enemies' ships. One look at the flames and it brought a wash of panic and fear go through Sandor's body. Rooted to the spot and looking into the flames, he remembered his brother's cruel grin looking down at him and the blinding pain that followed. It took the thought of a person, a young girl, to urge him to move his feet. He ran through the battle, focusing on her face, on seeing her face one last time.
He still remembered the look of fear she wore at seeing his scarred face in the candlelight of her room. She had stumbled backwards, demanding why he was there. Her hair was a bright auburn in the light, her eyes wide and sea blue. He had offered her a chance to escape from that place. That place of terror and loneliness in which she led her days. Small and timid, she was kept in the castle as a hostage and pet for the king who often took to beating her. It made Sandor's blood boil whenever he did so. Admittedly he was no stranger to violence or bloodshed, yet to see that sweet little girl cry out in pain as she was kicked, slapped and whipped was more than he could bear. At his proposal she appeared hesitant and afraid, she knew it would mean her life if they ever caught her. Yet, it was said that her family were closely linked to wolves, and it was on that night that he saw his first glimpse of her ferocity, her will to survive. It began with her putting her shaking hand into his, large, mailed and blood stained.
They journeyed from King's Landing on Sandor's horse, taking to the forest and avoiding the King's Road where both of them were likely to be recognised. It was there that he had come face to face with his brother once more. The group of his men had surrounded the two of them, leering at the girl who pressed into Sandor's back and hugged him tight. Sandor had called a fight between him and Gregor. It was his chance to finally end the pain and anguish fuelling his desire to kill his brother. And yet, as he stood facing him, he was overwhelmed with the memory of that day, the smell of burning flesh, the sound of his own screams and the feel of his brother's strength, pressing his face down into the flames. His sword shook and his heart beat quickened.
'Christ', he thought, 'not again'. His thoughts had floated back to the battle at Blackwater Bay and the look of the flames which seemed to be crawling towards him. He was frozen. Gregor towered over him, Sandor was around six feet, yet Gregor still stood over him, that same grin from before etched onto his face. At once Sandor was the small brother again, outshadowed by his brother; smaller, slower, weaker. He felt defeated already. Gregor looked down at him.
'I think once I'm done with you, perhaps I'll burn that pretty girl of yours like I did your face', Gregor said, his voice low and thick, 'or perhaps I'll fuck her bloody, first'. His men laughed at that, eyeing the girl. Sandor looked at her, her blue eyes wide with terror. And for the first time he realised, she needed him. He had lived his life caring only for his revenge and never giving a thought to anyone else. Killing when he needed and drinking when he wanted. Now for the first time, he needed to protect someone. But it was more than that. This wasn't like defending the king, he wanted to protect her. He was overwhelmed with the desire to keep her safe. He remembered her small hand in his and that look of determination on her face. Keeping that look in his mind, he hurled himself into the battle, roaring at the top of his lungs. The two swords clashed together as the two brothers threw themselves at each other. The battle went on for what seemed like years. Sandor lashed out to the side of Gregor's face who dodged it, as expected, yet tripped over his foot and fell to the ground. It was with such an angle that his neck had snapped as he hit the ground. And just like that, it was over.
Presently, Sandor looked out over the water at a large rock that lay by the edge of the forest and remembered all that had happened there. After the battle he and the girl rode through the forest. For the first time he felt light and free. Perhaps it was the death of his brother, however another thought had struck him as the girl had, in a relieved rush, hugged him tight after the fight had ended. Perhaps it was the realisation that he was needed that had freed him of his pain. Perhaps it had grounded him in some way.
Suddenly the girl cried out, 'Oh!' she cried, 'You're hurt!' Sandor looked down to his stomach where her hand had been, now withdrawn and covered in blood. He grunted and urged his horse on.
'No, no!' She exclaimed, 'we have to stop!' She hopped off the horse and attempted to drag him off too. He looked at her and wondered whether he should just put her over his shoulder, but he sighed and brought the horse to a stop. She made him sit back against the large rock as she saw to his wound. Suddenly feeling embarrassed he attempted to protest, 'It's just a scratch!'
'You don't have to be so... knightly! Just let me do this,' She said.
Sandor felt a sudden flush creep up his neck and onto his face, 'I'm no knight, don't lump me together with that bloody lot', he growled.
She looked up at him and pouted, silent.
They stayed silent for some time until she paused. She appeared to be trying to say something.
'I can't...' she began, flustered, 'I can't get to the rest of the wound, I need to- to,' she gestured with the bandage. 'I can't get to your...' she trailed off.
He threw his head back and roared with laughter, 'Are you saying you need me to take my armour off?' He asked, still laughing.
She said nothing yet blushed furiously. He remembered feeling very aware of the pink on her cheeks and the way her eyes averted his gaze. He chuckled and began unbuckling his upper armour. 'What is it, you never seen a man topless before?' he asked, still amused.
'I have!' She protested, though Sandor suspected she was lying. Once his wound was bound they sat together, an awkward silence prevailed. She remained sat in front of him and looked up at him with her big eyes. 'I wanted to thank you for earlier. You saved my life', she said with a faint smile, 'twice. Thank you, S-Sandor.'
He felt himself smiling, there was something very touching about her saying his name. She turned her head and looked out across the water. Looking at her in this light, Sandor was able to see the lines on her face he had not noticed before; she appeared weary. The years of cruelty and death had taken its toll on the girl. Her ivy coloured dress had ripped at the back, from where Gregor's men had held her, revealing patches of blue and purple and criss-crossing scars. That urge of wishing to protect her surged through him once more and he reached out and lightly touched the bruises. She looked at him suddenly, although it wasn't a frightened look or an angry one, but a knowing one, as though they understood each other. It was as if for the first time, they saw each other as equals. Both haunted by memories of pain, both had been chained down, her in her cage surrounded by lions, him by his duty to his cruel king. He moved his hand to her cheek, which she held there. There was something else in her eyes now he had never seen someone look at him with. He had seen, reflected back at him, anger, contempt, sadness, pain and hatred, but never had he seen affection.
'I will keep you safe', he said gruffly, yet softly.
She smiled, 'I know you will'.
And it was just like that, that the two of them made a vow to bring each other happiness, forever and always. Across the water they had found a house, abandoned, it was said to be haunted; yet both of them agreed they had faced worse than ghosts and wouldn't mind it. The two were married and their happiness and love was built slowly and surely, and would continue to grow until the end of their days. Sandor had never pictured himself to be living such a life, yet, 'what the hell', he thought, smiling contently, he was happy.
His trail of thought was suddenly broken by the sound of screaming laughter. Sandor looked back at the house to see his two children running towards him. They jumped on his huge back and hugged him round the neck. He roared with laughter and swung them round into his lap.
The girl, Arya, grinned up at him, her mouth still missing many teeth, 'Papa, papa, play with us! Mama's boring!' She pulled down on his cheek, a little too sharply. Her younger brother, Eddard, nodded excitedly in agreement. Sandor chuckled. In his enormous arms the two children seemed even smaller than they really were. To him, it appeared that Arya had inherited more of his attributes than her mother's; prone to exploring, rolling in the mud and finding insects which were best left alone. His wife had often told him stories of her sister, whom Arya was named after, and often noted on how well the name suited her although she never said why. Family was a sensitive subject for her. Eddard, on the other hand, took after his mother; shy and sweet he often took to following his big sister around.
'And where is your mother?' Sandor asked, standing up.
Arya grabbed his arm as he did so and shrieked with laughter as she was hoisted six feet into the air, 'She's asleep on the floor!'
Sandor yanked both children onto his back, which clicked as he did so. It appeared that the years had affected not only his mind but his body as well. Years of blood stained duty and service had taken the life out of him, so now he contented himself with telling his children of his ferocious victories and battles, yet there was one story that Arya and Eddard would plead him to tell and pull his hair until he finally gave in.
He carried the two of them into the house, bumping his head on the doorway, 'bloody thing' he muttered under his breath, and reminded himself to do something about it on the morrow.
'Papa, tell us about the time you stood up to the king!' Arya insisted, using two locks of his hair to steer him through their house. Eddard giggled and, not wanting to be left out, pulled on Sandor's ear. 'Papa, tell us about your scar!' Arya asked, as they went up the stairs and through to the children's room.
Sandor sighed and gave the same response he always did, 'I told you, it was a mountain!'
He heard Arya huff impatiently, 'Mountains don't hurt people! They can't make your skin go all poofy like yours is!'
'Poofy?' Sandor demanded, 'did you just say my skin was poofy?' He swung Arya round and threw her up into the air. She squealed with joy, repeating the word 'poofy' over and over. Eddard clambered off his back and hopped onto his bed.
'Papa, tell us the story about the wolf and the dog, please', Eddard asked, smiling up at his father.
Sandor looked affectionately at his son, then turned to Arya, 'Arya, why can't you be more like your brother?' he teased.
Arya pulled a face, 'No way! When I grow up I'm going to be like you, Papa, I'm going to fight people and have my own sword!'
'Me too, me too!' Eddard insisted.
Sandor sighed and put Arya into her bed. He sat at the end of it and looked at his children. He knew he probably wasn't the best of father figures, but he loved his children and their mother was the best, he knew that for certain.
'So, 'The Dog and the Wolf' then?' He asked with a smile. Arya and Eddard nodded furiously and leaned forward in their beds.
'Well, let's see,' he began. 'There was once a beautiful young she-wolf. She was admired from all across the land and it was not just her looks that made her beautiful. She was also kind and gentle and always saw the best in others. But one day, the king-' Sandor was interrupted by Arya and Eddard hissing at the mention of King Joffrey.
He laughed, 'he heard of the wolf's beauty and ordered for her to be locked away in his castle for no one else to admire, for he believed her to belong to him. Up in her cage all alone, the wolf was very sad and lonely, for she missed her family and friends and bit by bit, her pride and her confidence in other people began to wither away. However, there was a dog that guarded her. He was a big dog who was often said to be very ugly and scary, which was not an outrageous comment as the dog was well known for being the most fearsome dog in all the land. However, he was also a very loyal dog and he began to feel sorry for the little wolf. As the dog saw more and more of the wolf, he soon realised that the wolf was not a wolf, but in fact a little bird. She sung for those around her, beautifully, yet the dog heard the sadness in her voice too. The little bird was often hurt by the king and his lions and it was too much for the dog. One day he rescued her from the castle. They journeyed very far, and as they did they began to see just how similar they were. They began to fall in love, and as they did, they became neither wolf, nor dog, nor bird, but a man and a woman.'
The children fell back onto their pillows, satisfied. They closed their eyes, smiling, until Arya suddenly jumped up yelling, 'Again, again!'
Sandor laughed and pushed her lightly so she fell back into bed. Arya shrieked with laughter and clambered under the covers.
'Night, children', Sandor said, ruffling their hair.
'Night, Papa!' They laughed back, attempting to push his hands off their heads.
Sandor smiled and blew out the candle on their bedside table. He went down the stairs and into one of the small rooms of the house. There he saw a fire blazing in the fireplace. His eyes remained fixed on the flames. He still often found himself feeling flickers of fear leaping inside him at the sight of the blaze, even after all these years. But he was distracted from it by a figure lying in front of it who turned over in her sleep towards him. His face softened at once at the sight of her. Curled up like a child in his old Kingsguard cloak, her feet bare, she lay on the floor. Her long, auburn hair was laid out all around her and she wore a faint smile on her face. It was not always that his wife had good dreams. He often woke in the night to the sound of her painful yet soft cries, often for her father or her mother who were both long dead. She would wake suddenly, shaking, and crawl into his arms, where he would hold her until she fell back to sleep.
But not now. Now, her smile was proof enough that her dreams were sweet. He went over to her and picked her up. After all this time he was still surprised at how light and small she still was in his arms. It occurred to him that all her life, she had been searching and yearning for strong arms to keep her safe, who would have ever thought she would find them with him? One arm under her knees and one holding her shoulder he carried her up the stairs. She opened one sleepy eye and her smile broadened.
'Sandor', she murmured happily.
'Sansa' he whispered, laying a kiss on her forehead.
She closed her eyes and yawned softly. He carried her into the bedroom and laid her gently onto the bed. Her nightgown had slipped off her shoulder, which he nuzzled and kissed softly. She giggled and pulled him closer.
'Did the children ask for 'The Dog and The Wolf' again? She asked sleepily, stroking his hair.
'Yes,' he chuckled, 'I wonder if they've worked it out.'
Sansa laughed, 'I doubt that, they're still young.'
He leaned towards her face and kissed her as she held his scarred cheek.
'My little bird', he whispered.