Disclaimer: I don't own "Game of Thrones." Everything belongs to whoever owns them, my wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: This is Sandor's perspective from "Safak," this story will not make sense unless you have read that fic first.

Warnings:missing scene before the 8x02 credits rolled, alpha/omega/beta dynamics, sexual content, possible dubious consent issues due to trope, one love bond, soulmates au, mating cycles/in heat, romance, drama, angst, use of restraints.

Perenne

Chapter One

"Where are you going?"

"I'm not spending my final hours with you two miserable old shits."

He hadn't felt right since the day they arrived.

It wasn't a sickness. At least he didn't think it was. But damn if he hadn't tried to drown it with wine like he did everything else. Grudgingly satisfied when it seemed to work - at first. But as the days passed, the feeling only dug itself deeper. Burrowing quick, like a dirty little rot-worm that was out for his guts.

He barely slept.

He barely even wanted to eat.

It was as if all his attention had fled elsewhere.

Tortured by the growing scent of the little bird.

The lady of the same god damned keep he was stuck in.

Bloody Starks.

Aye, she'd grown into her fine feathers well enough from what he could see. But she was more wolf than bird these days. Having a sharpness about her that spoke of experience and not kind ones. The kind that break women in and leave them bloody. But she was alive. She'd made it. Without him.

It made his bloody teeth ache.

Hell if he knew why.

He had no claim to her.

Nor she to him.

It made no damn sense, but here he was, bloody stewin' on it.

She had enough to deal with than be forced to chirp at a scarred dog – just for old times sake. Let alone the man who'd threatened her that night at King's Landing. Drunk, running and wanting to steal a song he felt he was owed. She wasn't meant for him. But in the moment, it'd felt like she could have been. The feeling was so strong it'd made him retch, miles away with an aching head and a hollow feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the wine.

She was better than him.

It was true, and he'd always thought as much.

But for the first time, it rankled him.

Imagining he'd been part of the eager lot who'd pledged themselves in the Great Hall.

Would her lip have curled in disgust when he came sniffing at her skirts?

Would there have been ice in her woman-eyes when she dismissed him?

Ignored him?

Sent him away?

Ordered him killed?

He strangled the air he needed to breathe. Seething on it as he shoved it aside and worked from sun up to sun down to avoid thinking about it. Training those that needed it until he was too exhausted to stand, let alone let his mind wander.

But the thoughts never left him for long.

Rushing back at the worst times.

Like when he turned a corner and swore he was breathing in the fading wash of her scent.

It reminded him of the dangerous, simmering feeling he'd felt in King's Landing. He'd come to collect the bird for breakfast with the Queen and walked right into a wall of delicious, flowering Omegan scent. The girl had presented, just as all women did, on the morn of her first moonblood. And he hadn't been prepared for anything that'd followed.

Fuck.

He'd felt the same fierce, conflicted possession as he did now. Because he'd wanted her, even then. He'd felt it as sure as the strength in his bones. Mine. For an ageless moment it had been completely clear and he'd reveled in it. Not seeing her panicking eyes or the iron taint of her blood on the sheets. Wash in a sense of rightness he'd only felt after he'd emptied a wine skin and forgotten to sup. So bloody sure she was his that he'd inhaled without thinking, cock painfully hard in his breeches. Forgetting his place as he stepped into the room and let his scent thicken – forcing calm. Instinctively wanting to soothe the shards of terrified hurt that bathed the room like dank perfume.

She'd even turned, mouth parted in a shocked little o he'd wanted to smudge his thumb across. Feeling a low growl build in his throat when she whimpered. Stuttering something that could have been a title or even a plead for him to leave, but he didn't hear it. Words were meaningless trifles that had no place here. This was a place for blood and teeth and the flaming hair of her cunt dripping wet down his face as he buried himself so deep they'd never-

Then her dark-haired maid had come running around the corner and saw him standing there. The shocked whites of her eyes reminding him the bird wasn't meant for him. That she wasn't his. And worse, this meant her marriage to that mewling cunt of a king was only that much closer.

He'd buried the feeling as best he could after that.

Though, something told him he'd done a shit job of it.

Deciding that this was all the Starks doing.

From the moment he'd arrived in Winterfell, years ago, he'd been well and truly fucked.

And now, somehow, he was back under her spell.

Fucking hells.

So, he kept his wine skin full and retreated to the battlements to be alone. Keeping out of the crush of bodies and craven voices as the hours till the dead reached them grew short. Somehow managing to feel worse by the second as his head pounded and his skin started to feel five sizes too small. Fighting the queer urge to seek her out or something equally foolish as his head lolled loose against the pitted stone.

O'course some people couldn't leave well enough alone.

The wolf bitch finding him had been bad enough, but Beric had been his bloody limit. Shooting down his sermons as every muscle throbbed as tight as the grip he had on his wine skin. Like he was trying to stop himself from letting his cock get the better of him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Maybe he should tell the wolf-bitch what was on his mind.

Maybe she'd do him a favor and kill him before he made a fool of himself.

Maybe-

He lost time after Arya left.

He didn't mean for it.

It'd just happened, somehow.

Because from one moment to the next, he found himself suddenly dripping with wine. It was splattered down his skin like blood as he looked down at himself muzzily. Confused until he realized he'd grasped the skin so hard it had burst at the seams. Drenching him in thinned Dornish sour.

He was too shocked not to gargle out a rough laugh.

Realizing in a heated rush that his headache was gone.

Even the ache in his muscles had been soothed.

Head blessedly empty of conflicting thoughts as he let go of a long, pent-up breath.

Breathing easy for the first time in-

"Clegane?"

His head bowed, slipping away as his eyes feathered closed. Aware that something in him was being pushed aside – replaced - before his eyes snapped open a moment later. New, feral and not himself. Feeling his darker parts answer a silent call as he ignored the man's blathering. Letting the burst skin slip from his fingers as he stretched, back cracking.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, scenting the air. Snarling with animal pleasure when he found her scent like a beacon, floors below. A northern mess of muted honey-sweetness and the scent that flares as a piece of tinder is lit. A char that almost wasn't of this world.

She was close.

His Omega.

His. His. His.

It was simple.

She was here.

He would go to her.

Claim her.

Have her.

Yes.

Yes.

A rival Alpha scent stank up the air in front of him. Making him growl as he levered himself upright. Palms grazing the battlement stones. Able to feel the pits and divots as he swayed there. Shaking his head in a vain bid to clear it.

Something wasn't right.

He felt-

"Clegane? Speak man, you look almost-"

He heaved himself to the side, catching the Alpha by the collar and fisting him up into the air. Feeling like he was soaring as showed him his teeth. Snapping them so close to the man's good eye that spittle flew.

There were no words.

He didn't have them.

Didn't need them.

Because the Alpha stilled in his grasp.

Limp.

Accepting.

Showing he was not a threat.

Good.

"Its alright my friend. You have nothing to fear from me. Now...where is she? Where is your mate? You need to go to her...am I right?"

He snorted and dropped him. Not caring if he landed on his feet as he lurched towards the door that led inside. Digging his shoulder into the wood until it gave more than opened. Staggering down the hall as the flare of torches lit the way. But he didn't flinch. He kept going. Pushing people out of his way. Growling warnings that sent others scattering. Hearing snippets of their whinging as the words 'rut', 'madness' and 'we need to stop him before he reaches the-' flavored the air like foreign spice.

"Give him room!"

He was so focused on getting to her that he walked into the ambush without seeing it. Having only a moment to look up and see a line of familiar faces. Mouths open. Saying words. Waving placating hands. He just snarled. Sending the Kingslayer into the wall with enough force he could taste the grate of armor against stone. Showing them his teeth as his fists came up, ready to fight, before the pommel of a sword slammed into his head from behind and-

"Is it too late for the herbs?"

He smelt her before he saw her.

Knowing she was listening just beyond the door.

Clever bird.

"Too late? Are you daft? He nearly took my head right off! It's only because there were so many men around that we were able to get him tied down as it is... Where the fuck are those chains?! Send for a smith- anything- these ropes won't hold him!"

He pulled at the ropes. Straining.

It was fucking torture knowing she was this close.

And he couldn't- he couldn't get to her.

He let go of a vicious sound when the others kept blathering. Biting at the gag until it pulled taut and started digging into the seam of his lips. Knowing it'd been the ginger cunt who'd had a hand in that. Finding himself trussed up and tossed onto a bed. Barely able to hear above the pounding of his heart and caring even less about their questions.

"My lady! Begging your pardon, but you shouldn't be here. It isn't safe. The hound is-"

He panted, blood on fire when he finally laid eyes on her. Openly scenting the air as she watched him with those blue eyes of hers. Seeing exactly what he needed - why she was here - same as him.

She felt it too.

Of course she did.

She was his.

His.

There were more words. Each one less interesting than the last. Not that he understood much of them anyway. Everything was muddled up. Clouded. Unimportant. Except-

"Leave," the little bird whispered softly. Making him fall still as the word rebounded in his skull like a mantra. Something colored in a thousand shades of everything he didn't deserve as her sweet scent turned darker, like burnt sugar, when the Tarth woman dared to question her. "I said…leave."

Pride almost outshone need when she forced them to heel. Sending them scattering from the room on only her command. Cock so hard he was leaking through his breeches. Animal-pleased as he had her with his eyes again and again. Promising her every sodding thing that was in his power to give and more as she stood there. Proud and shuddering as she looked nowhere but him.

His Omega was a force to behold.

But then, she'd always been.

Hadn't she?

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be one more chapter.

Reference:

- Perenne: sustainable, lasting more than a year. Reference to longevity.