The Path of Faith: Part 1
Chapter 1: Sandor
The snow was coming down harder than of late when the Elder Brother's mule appeared over the hill, followed by a thick bundle of clothing clinging to a second mule. It appeared to be a woman, but they were so slumped over their horse, it was hard to know for certain. One of the brothers had spotted them crossing the mudflats, and the Elder Brother had gone to receive the stranger onto the island commune.
The ground had quickly hardened with the early signs of Winter upon them, but there were still corpses to bury in it. The work was twice as laborious, but Sandor didn't mind. There were half as many corpses making it to their shores anyway, now that less people were able to travel. He doubted less people were dying, however.
Sandor was hard at work as the pair traveled a footpath through the snow to seek shelter. He moved around the grave so that he could watch their progression while he worked. The Quiet Isle occasionally had a visitor or two, and while Sandor didn't give two shits about any of them, it was still something that broke up the monotony. People came to the refuge seeking many different things, but all for the same reason: because they're weak.
The bottom half of the fabrics worn by the newcomer were caked with mud and snow. They had been extremely lucky to have crossed the mudflats at all, without an escort. The Brothers said that only the faithful may cross safely on their own, but Sandor just called it luck. The mudflats were treacherous; covered in quicksands, and the tide could overwhelm you in an instant if you didn't know when to expect it. When the tides were up, the water was so deep and the expanse so great, the only passage was by ferry.
The snows were just below his knees now, but in the coming months, Sandor suspected they would pile so high that even a man twice his height would drown in them. He was surprised more people weren't coming to leech of this place.
Just like you are, dog.
"Gravedigger!" Sandor snapped his head up at the shout from the Elder Brother through the swirling snow. He was waving an arm to get his attention. Tossing the shovel into the half-dug grave, Sandor strode over to where they were stopped. He was off his mule, but his companion was still mounted.
"Gravedigger, thank you for your haste," the Elder Brother greeted as he approached. He gestured to the figure. "Would you mind helping our guest off her mount and to the cottages? She barely made it into the saddle on her own, I think she needs to be carried."
Sandor only nodded in reply. The men who dwelled on the Quiet Isle all took vows of silence, as penitence for their sins and crimes. The Elder Brother was the only one who spoke outside of confession, but he spoke enough for them all. The vow lasted ten years, and the Elder Brother had already done his time when he came to this sanctuary long ago.
Sandor had refused to take such a vow, as he refused all vows, but had agreed to follow whatever rules were laid out for him so long as he was a guest there. For this reason he still donned novice robes, despite his nearly two years of penitence. He still attended confessions and bowed his head in a show of prayer in the sept, still tended the crops and dug graves for the sorry shits who washed up. It was far from the worst orders he had obeyed for the sake of a comfortable existence, and the least he could do for the man who saved his life. Sandor was free to leave as he wished, but as long as he was to stay here he would abide the lifestyle. He had no intentions of leaving, besides. Elder Brother still hoped to convert him, Sandor suspected, and he had never seen the benefit of telling him such hopes were in vain.
All hopes are in vain.
Confession was the only time Sandor spoke, and in those private moments with Elder Brother, he had confessed all. It hadn't been easy at first, and every now and then he would still have an angry outburst. With time, however, the silence and the confessions had done much for Sandor's rage.
Elder Brother wanted him to feel remorse for all the lives he'd snuffed out, and over time, he genuinely did. However, at times, Sandor felt more remorse for all the lives he spared. Starting with the Imp.
Sandor couldn't see the girl's face, obscured by the hood she wore, but brown locks of hair spilled out of it. Sandor had thought her unconscious at first, but then she turned her head to gaze up at him. Her face was still obscured under all the fur and hair, but he could see her eyes were blue.
Sandor scooped the girl up into his arms effortlessly; she felt lighter than he would have expected, even from such a small person. She was shivering all over, though Sandor could barely feel it through the thick bundle she was shrouded in.
"You're going to be all right, child," the Elder Brother assured her as he motioned for Sandor to follow him, while another Brother came to take their mules back to the stables.
"We must hurry," the man was saying as he led the way. "Winter is fast approaching, and she's half-starved, maybe wounded. She will be having a lengthy stay, I suspect. Poor thing."
Sandor nodded in reply again, and they started up the hillside towards the women's cottages. Women did not take up permanent residence at the Quiet Isle, but the brothers kept space available to them all the same, for when they did seek out the healing powers of the Elder Brother. Women and men were not allowed to sleep under the same roof here without being wed, and thus their quarters were kept a good distance from the cloisters where the brothers slept.
"Gravedigger will fetch you food and clothing once we reach your room," he addressed the girl again, "But tell me, are you injured, or in need of immediate assistance?" The snow was whipping at their faces angrily, growing more intense as they trudged on.
Sandor felt the bundle shift in his arms as she shook her head in response. He looked downwards as the girl lowered her hood, clumps of snow falling from it as she did so. Her hands were bone white and near bone thin. The hood revealed a crown of mud brown hair, but with how the light of the setting sun bounced off it, it almost appeared red at the roots.
You see only what you will yourself to see, dog.
He turned his gaze forward again as her head inclined to look up at him, and they reached the top of the hill.
"The Gods are good, then," The Elder Brother praised. "Do you have a name, child?"
"Alayne," she whispered. "Alayne Stone." The girl's voice was dry and weak from unuse and the cold when she spoke, and thick with exhaustion. Her head slumped against Sandor's chest while he carried her the rest of the way to her room, his limp seeming to lull her.
Ducking through the threshold, Sandor gently laid the girl on the pallet bed. With some effort she sat up, and lifted her face to smile weakly at the two holy men before her. "Thank you," she croaked in a tiny voice.
"We are here to serve," the Elder Brother said, smiling gently at her. "Gravedigger, I thank you again for your help. If you could fetch some accommodations for our guest, I believe she will be glad of some dry clothing, and is in desperate need of a hot meal."
"Gravedigger?"
Sandor blinked and hurried out of the room hastily, having forgotten himself. He had never been so thankful for the cloth that covered his mouth, for it had been hanging wide open from the moment he had gotten a good look at Alayne's face.
He had never met an Alayne in his life, but he knew her.
Sansa.
Author's Note: I would be delighted to have someone beta this story for me, so please reach out if you'd be willing to do so! I will also be keeping a tumblr blog for this story, under the name "sandy-salsa".
I'm putting Sansa's age at 15-almost-16 in this fic, although I'm not sure if that matches up with my timeline (which I am keeping as loose as possible on purpose). Please let me know if there are any glaring errors in my canon or characterizations, but I ask all critics to be constructive with their feedback. :) This is the first fic I've written since I was 15, so I apologize if it's not as polished as it could be in better hands.
Thanks for reading!
