A/N: Greetings! This is my first attempt at Fan Fiction so comments, suggestions, questions, and the like via reviews and private messages are all very much welcome.

This story picks up during "A Feast For Crows" with Sandor on the Quiet Isle and Sansa in the Eyrie. Needless to say, there are many spoilers from the books so be mindful of that if you haven't read the books or haven't gotten through AFFC. I tried to keep details as accurate to the books as possible, but you may notice things here or there that are slightly different.


He awoke from a fitful slumber, violently gasping for air, chest heaving, and sweat beading on his brow despite the persistent chill in the air. 'Winter is coming,' it whispered. Indeed it is… His eyes instinctively darted around the room to every shadowed object, studying them until recognition flashed across his mind.

He half expected to see his brother amongst those shadows, growing from the darkness into flesh and blood form, coming to finish what was started so many years ago. Sandor Clegane dared not count how many nights were marred by dreams of his brother, Gregor.

He had not seen his brother since the Tourney of the Hand when he had been named champion for sparring the life of the Knight of Flowers from Gregor's wrath. That was a lifetime ago, it seemed, his former life when red rage consumed him and he lived for the pleasure of spilling Gregor's lifeblood.

During that time, he would drink himself into a daze and would pass out into a dreamless sleep, a black oblivion from which he would awake with his head throbbing and fury still burning through his veins. On the occasion when his sleep was filled with dreams, he was always fulfilling his waking visions and making good on the silent promise he had made to himself. Sometimes his sword would plunge through steel and flesh and bone and he would cut Gregor open from neck to groin with his blood running black and sticky from his body. Other times they would be aboard a massive longship, sailing through an endless red sea and Sandor would toss his brother into that consuming crimson water as easily as a child might fling a doll.

Since coming to the Quiet Isle, the dreams which haunted Sandor Clegane were not of killing his brother. Rather, he dreamt of the day when Gregor had dragged him to the brazier and thrust his face upon the glowing embers, burning away his flesh and leaving half his face wrecked with scars.

His gaze fixed on the octagonal window in his modest quarters. Through the thick pane of glass he could tell that dawn was ascending upon the horizon, threatening to extinguish the stars from the sky so that the sun could once again ride up to its rightful place.

Any effort to drift back into sleep would be futile he knew. Instead, he threw his legs over the edge of his straw mattress that made up his humble bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes, trying to drive away his fatigue. At least his injured leg throbbed less today. For that he was thankful.

The Elder Brother would soon summon him. With this in mind, Sandor retreated from his bed, stepped into his boots, and pulled his brown robe over his broad shoulders and the tunic he slept in. He emptied a pitcher of cold water into a washbowl and cupped his hands into the water. He welcomed the coolness on his face.

He studied his face in the small mirror that hung above the wooden wash table. Typically, he avoided mirrors. He needed no reminder that his face was a ruin. It never truly bothered him that only a handful of people could look him in the face and even when they did, he still caught the glimmer of disgust in their eyes. He had found it somewhat humorous and it only stoked his bitterness, which in turn fueled his fearsome reputation. That reputation had served him well for many years.

The Hound. But that was before everything had changed. I died as the Hound…only to be resurrected as Sandor Clegane.

The Hound had reveled in the repulsion his scars inspired in others. Until her…

Her fear and repulsion somehow had stirred something deep inside of his being. Not the Hound's being, but Sandor Clegane's. Her averted eyes and forced courtesies enraged him, to be sure, but also made him feel somehow inadequate and very conscious of the gruesome sight that was his face.

Bugger that… Far be it for me to give a fuck what may have been going through that pretty little head of hers when she looked upon my face.

Sandor snatched the small towel that had been folded next to the washbowl with so much force the washbowl flew from the table and crashed onto the floor in what seemed to be a hundred pieces. He pushed the towel into his face and sighed deeply. Seven bloody hells…Get a hold of yourself!

With a furrowed brow he stared at the destroyed wash bowl on the floor. He shook his head, shuffled to the door of his room, and swung it open. Unbidden, he closed the door with a thunderous thud. Well, if the Brothers hadn't been awoken by the crash of the washbowl, they are surely awake now. He felt a thin smile spread from his lips and shook his head before beginning down the long corridor towards the central hall, hobbling slightly as he went.

As he passed by the long slender window adjacent to the central hall's massive oaken doors, he realized the sun was now ridding up on the horizon. He entered into the central hall and found it bathed in the violet hues of dawn.

Much like everything else on the Quiet Isle, the central hall was rather unassuming. Three long rows of tables, each sitting approximately twenty, made up the center of the room. At each, mismatched chairs dotted the length of the table, many warped with time and use. Sandor preferred the rustic simplicity. The ostentatious extravagance of the Red Keep and its inhabitants in King's Landing grated on his nerves.

Bloody fools… Spouting pleasantries through a smile, waiting patiently for your back to turn to commence your downfall…Treacherous bloody bastards!

His thoughts fleeted to her. Is she still at the mercy of the fucking Lannisters and their pathetic pawns? The last he had heard they had married her off to the Imp. When he had heard the news, his blood boiled and his fury seethed from the bottom of his soul. The Imp…What in the seven hells were they playing at with that move? Was it to shame her? Or was she being positioned in their game?

His thoughts were interrupted by the faint flicker that danced in the periphery of the hall. He hadn't heard the Elder Brother ascend into the room. The man was tall, not quite as tall as Sandor, but he somehow moved as silent as a mouse. I suppose when I've spent as much time here as him, I will move as silently as he does…

As the man approached, Sandor nodded his head in greeting and the Elder Brother did the same. The Elder Brother motioned towards a wooden chair at Sandor's side, bidding him to sit. Sandor complied, pulling the chair from the table, and slowly lowering to take his seat, a throng of pain moving through his leg. The Elder Brother pulled out a chair and sat directly across from Sandor.

"I was awoken this morning by quite the calamity coming from your room," the Elder Brother began, his face distorting into a puzzled expression as if tentatively choosing his next words. "The Hound is at rest, Brother, but it appears Sandor Clegane and the Hound are more intricately bound to one another than I had once thought. Two sides of the same coin, I fear." Sandor sat in silence, looking off into the corner of the room, but nonetheless absorbing the man's words.

"I was a knight once. I had little else, but my sword, shield, and horse. I fought for the high lords and eventually laid down my life for their cause. I came here much as you did. Bloody from battle, a tormented soul, I was. I remained in silence for ten years. No words spilled forth from my mouth, but my mind was far from silent. I replayed the events of my former life in my head. Every regret, every broken promise, every moment of happiness, every torment, every woman I had bedded, every woman I had loved, the men I had killed, the men I had fought beside. Forgotten memories appeared from the shadows of my mind. Day and night, the memories never stopped. I thought I was going mad. In truth, I probably was." A touch of sadness appeared behind the hardened eyes of the Elder Brother as he sighed deeply. His gaze caught Sandor squarely in the eyes.

Without breaking his stare, the Elder Brother lowered his voice, emphasizing each word "You must release the remains of your former life, even if they are only thoughts in your mind. The Hound is gone. You would do well to leave his torment behind. The Gods brought you forth again. Honor their gift by letting go of the past that tortures you."

With that, the Elder Brother pushed himself from the table and stood before silently retreating from the room.

After breaking his fast, Sandor took his leave from the central hall and pushed through the outer doors into the hazy fog of the morning. He felt the sun warm the back of his neck and relished the moment until he pulled the hood of the robe up around his face. Slowly, with shovel in hand, he began ascending up a soft slopping hill to the open field that lay at the top.

His breath had become labored upon reaching the top. His leg was screaming in protest, as it did every morning when he made his way up the hill. His leg had been slow to heal, but the familiar throbbing was subsiding little by little with each passing day. At the top of the hill a large oak tree stood forty paces ahead. Its trunk was a massive column of rough brown bark which extended into a canopy of crimson and orange leaves, the chilly autumn breeze rustled through its branches.

Sandor began his work by plunging the spade of his shovel into the cold, hard earth, which eventually relented under his force. He tossed the loosened dirt behind his shoulder. Methodically, he shoved his spade into the earth, and released it into the air behind him. Again and again and again, he repeated the motions, his thoughts empty. He did this for some time. For once his mind was still. When his back began to ache, he stopped, panting and wiping the sweat from his brow with his woolen sleeve.

He propped the shovel against the oak tree and slowly moved towards the wooden fence which lay a few feet behind the tree. His legs gave out from under him and he slumped to the ground, resting his back against the fence. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and let the warmth of the sun wash over his face.

A slight shuffling sound caught his attention along with a soft scuffling of claws on wood and finally the faintest peep. Sandor took down the hood of his cloak and inclined his head towards the noises. There he saw a small golden finch perched upon the wooden fence. It inched towards him with little hops until coming within a foot of where he was sitting with his back against the fence. Sandor stared at the finch as it peeped at him thrice more and then fluttered away towards a high branch of the expansive oak tree. For the first time in as long as he could remember, a broad, encompassing smile swept suddenly across his face. What is the Little Bird doing? Is she safe? I could leave this place and get her. I should've taken her with me when I had the chance.

'…release the remains of your former life, even if they are only thoughts in your mind.' The Elder Brother's words flashed into his mind and he knew they were true. The Hound symbolized hatred, rage, and torment. He was ready to put aside the hatred, quiet the rage, and silent the torment. He was ready to release himself of those chains. Given enough time, he may even be able to let go of the vengeance he felt towards Gregor.

With time, his former life would slip away; this he knew and welcomed it. However, there was one thing he was not willing to release. Not in seven bloody hells! Not the little bird. She was the only thing worthwhile in the Hound's life. Her memory is the only one I will fight to keep…

That night Sandor Clegane drifted into a peaceful sleep, brought on by the exhaustion of his day. He dreamt of her, singing sweetly and softly to him and not because he had forced her to give him a song, but because she had wanted to give him a song.