At his liege lord's command Jory Cassel bows low, lingering a moment longer than necessary, catching Ned's attention, "What says my captain of the guard? Speak up Jory," he asks, motioning for him to sit down. Brushing his hair away from his face, Jory shrugs his shoulders, "Beg pardon, my lord. I do not wish to question you. It is only..." Ned raises his eyebrows, "What? Out with it man."
"Beg pardon my lord but Sandor Clegane is a vile, dangerous man...he has done unspeakable things in the service of the Lannisters. He's known as the Hound-a man ill-tempered and foul mouthed, brutal with respect for no man. In my mind he is not fit to be in you or your family's company my lord. Even under the guise of offering assistance he has no right laying a hand on Lady Sansa, I should strike him for daring to touch your daughter."
Smiling, Ned places his hand reassuringly on Jory's shoulder. "I know Jory, I am already well acquainted with him and have been for many years now. I appreciate your concern." Leading him over to the window he points toward Sandor, who is carefully cleaning the blood from Sansa's face. Jory and Ned alike are surprised to see Sansa is not afraid of the fearsome man; instead she is shyly smiling at him, taking his arm as he leads her toward the castle.
Jory jerks his head back in surprise, "I would not think the Hound had it in him, based on the brutality I have witnessed in him in the practice yard. He beats the men as though his life depends on it." Ned nods his head slowly, "I know. Such a man may have honor in him, even if he chooses to bury it deep inside to survive, wouldn't you agree? Life in King's Landing is brutal and I would not judge Clegane's way of handling matters there. My gentle girl will need a loyal honorable friend when she is living in the castle awaiting her marriage."
Jory's face falls suddenly, his pallor paling,"So it is decided then, my lord? Lady Sansa will indeed marry the prince?" he asks weakly. He has served Lord Eddard with distriguished service, secretly in hopes that one day Lord Eddard would award him Sansa's hand in marriage. "Yes Jory, it has been decided, though I must say I have my misgivings about the match already. Please fetch Sandor Clegane for me now, there's a good lad." Ned sits down in his chair, ending the discussion.
Making his way through the warm granite corridors of Winterfell, Sandor can hardly believe he has such a beautiful lady as Sansa on his arm. Judging by the startled expressions and hushed whispers, neither can anyone else they pass in the castle. He glances down at the Little Bird. Squeezing his arm she smiles up at him brightly and once again Sandor finds himself completely undone by her beautiful Tully blue eyes looking him straight in the face.
It is perhaps the first time in his life he has enjoyed the attentions of a lovely young woman without any coin exchanging hands and the experience touches a place he thought long dead deep inside his heart. Quickly turns away from her, hoping his eyes will not betray the tender feelings her attentions have sent coursing through his heart.
All too soon they reach the door of her bedchamber. Sandor barks at the young sentry standing guard, "The Little Bird's bleeding. Send for the maester to see to that cut-go now!" In truth it is no emergency; Sansa is no longer bleeding but he knows the wound still needs cleaning to prevent infection. He has called for the maester primarily to prolong the few precious minutes he has alone with her. "Thank you Ser for taking care of me and for seeing back to my rooms," she chirps her courtesies to him, ever the proper lady.
"I am no lord and no ser girl-I spit on their vows," he rasps low but not unkindly. Then Sansa does something entirely unexpected: she bursts into peels of laughter, the dark hallways echoing her melodic sound in Sandor's ears. "Think that's funny, do you Girl?" he speaks gruffly, though the twinkle in his eyes betrays his amusement.
"Oh, I am so sorry, please forgive me. I just-it just struck me funny that someone whose behavior to me so perfectly reflects that of a true knight would reject them so completely. Forgive my rudeness; my septa is always trying to teach me to think before I speak...it is a bad habit I know," she says softly, casting her eyes down still struggling to control herself.
"No Little Bird, don't apologize for saying what you think-I would much prefer to hear you now than listen to the mindless courtesies your septa teaches you to chirp on command." Sansa eyes widen, "Truly-you aren't angry?" It is Sandor's turn to chuckle now at her scandalized expression. "Yes, truly," he says as he opens her door for her. Smiling she turns to him, "Then what shall I call you, if not ser?" she whispers, afraid someone will overhear their conversation.
"Call me the Hound or Dog like Joff does, my lady," Knitting her brows, Sansa replies, "Oh no, you are much too good to be called Dog or Hound...I cannot imagine calling you such names." Good is not a word Sandor is accustomed to hearing himself called, in fact no one has ever called him good that he can remember. Startled, Sandor stares deep into her eyes, wondering if she is mocking him.
Despite his fearsome appearance the girl does not exhibit the least bit of fear with him, and instead of teasing him she appears deep in thought. Puzzled, Sandor studies her carefully. No, she is not mocking him, she is still fretting over what to call him. "You may call me Sandor, it is my given name after all," he shrugs.
"Sandor," she says, smiling brightly as she tries out the sound of his name on her lips. "Indeed, I will call you Sandor but it must be our secret. My mother would punish me severely should she hear me address you so informally," she whispers low.
"As you wish Little Bird," he chuckles as she enters her bedchamber. "Well Sandor I must say the prince is ever so fortunate to have a loyal companion such as yourself. Next time we meet I hope you will tell me why you call me Little Bird, and I promise to try not to chirp around you." she laughs before closing the door.
As he turns away from her rooms Sandor is happier than he can ever remember feeling in his life. The burnt side of his mouth twitches into a smile before he is interrupted from his reverie by Lord Eddard's Captain of the Guards, Jory. Sandor only remembers him because he has spent nearly every morning the past month thrashing him thoroughly in the training yard.
"Sandor Clegane, Lord Eddard requests your presence at once. Follow me," Jory sharply informs him. Sighing, Sandor nods his assent and follows the young man to Lord Eddard's solar. "Ned must have heard about Joff pushing Sansa already," he thinks to himself. Jory knocks once, enters and speaks to Ned briefly before admitting Sandor into the spacious sunlit room.
King Robert does not require much in the way of formality from Sandor or his brother Gregor, and it is a strain on him to conform to the courtesies expected of him in the north. Bowing stiffly, Sandor mutters, "My lord," before raising to his full height. "Sandor Clegane...we have met before, you and I. We served together when you were just a lad, clearing out the forests near King's Landing of rebels several years after Robert's war."
"Yes my lord, I remember you as well. A long time ago, it seems now," Sandor answers, wishing Ned would get on with it. "How are you enjoying Winterfell?" Gritting his teeth, Sandor answers, "Fine, my lord. Is there something you wanted besides exchanging pleasantries? I am still on duty."
"You'll keep a civil tongue when addressing my liege lord, Hound!" Jory growls before Ned can reply. Waving Jory aside Ned observes Sandor a moment, choosing to ignore his lack of manners. "You have never been a man to mince words, Clegane. I have observed you in Robert's company several times over the years. You and your brother have very distinct differences when it comes to serving the king."
Swallowing hard, Sandor fights to control his temper. "Yes, my lord." Ned walks around the giant weirwood table to face him. "Though you have done many terrible things in Robert's service, I have always thought you have a measure of honor your brother Gregor does not possess."
Sandor can barely contain his fury at the mention of Gregor. "That's the biggest fucking understatement I ever heard, Lord Stark. Honor-knighthood-I spit on all of it. My brother is a fucking monster and yet still he was knighted and served the king with your so-called honor!" Sandor clenches his fists, "He bashed that babe's head in you know, before he raped and killed the princess-all in a days work for a knight. Honorable service to his king my ass," spitting out his words with venom.
Jory gapes at this information; he had always romanticized Lord Starks adventures in Robert's war. Ned had spared his men the seedier details of the sack of King's Landing. Turning away, Ned shakes his head in disgust at the memory; he had been horrified by Robert's behavior with Tywin Lannister that day. Robert had been callous, only focused on securing the kingship and proudly took the battered lifeless bodies of the young princess and her children as spoils of war. It was then Ned knew he could not serve his childhood friend in King's Landing.
"I know, Clegane. I found them both later, bloody horrible mess...one that haunts me to this day." he sighs quietly, plainly sharing Sandor's indignation. "Let us speak plainly. I watched how you treated my daughter Sansa earlier. I must admit you treated her with more respect and honor than a dozen of these so-called knights milling around here. I am not deaf, Clegane-I hear how the men speak of her when she walks through the courtyard."
Sandor nods, frowning, At least her father isn't blinded by their chivalrous bullshit. Fuck Robert's knights-Lord Eddard should kill them for speaking of his daughter in such a way. "You may not have the necessary courtesies or respect for authority Clegane but you are known for your honesty and keeping your word. I'm sure you are aware Robert has betrothed his son Joffrey to Sansa. We will be leaving in a sennight for King's Landing, and Lady Catelyn and I will not be able to stay there with her until the wedding. Robert has promised it won't be for several years yet."
So Robert made the match for Joff after all-poor Little Bird, Sandor snorts, unable to stifle his derision for Ned's misplaced trust in Robert's word. Ignoring Sandor's obvious disgust, Ned continues, "From what I have already seen, my daughter will be in dire need of someone who will protect her, watch over her and help her adjust to life in the palace at King's Landing."
Get to the point already..."I couldn't agree more, my lord," rasps Sandor, straightening up, his keen gray eyes meeting Ned's steady gaze. "Even here in my home you seem to be willing to look after her, Clegane. Do you not fear the prince?" Sandor coughs, "Me and the prince have an understanding my lord. I look after him because I am sworn to do so, not because I have any love for the boy. I can do my job just fine without it." Ned raises an eyebrow, "I expected as much, though your candor about the matter surprises me."
Shrugging, Sandor only grunts his reply. Ned approaches him, looking him straight in the eye. "I think we understand each other Sandor Clegane. I need a man to watch after my dear girl and protect her in King's Landing. You can see she is a delicate and kind child, innocent and trusting. I am asking you to do this-if not for my sake or the prince's-then for her own. What say you?"
Staring at the marble floor, Sandor mulls over Ned's request. It may mean his head but he knew from the moment he realized what Ned was getting at he would never be able to refuse helping the Little Bird. Watching over her will be pleasurable pain, of this he is certain. "Aye Lord Stark, I will watch over the lass," he growls low, desperately trying to maintain his usual disinterested expression.
Narrowing the distance between them, Ned looks Sandor deep in the eyes, "Swear to me, Clegane by the old gods and the new-you will protect my beloved Sansa-swear it." His eyes softening, Sandor returns Ned's solemn expression and nods curtly, "I keep no gods Lord Eddard, but I swear on my sister's grave to protect your daughter Sansa, by any means necessary-you have my word."
Relief spreads across Ned's face. "That greatly eases my mind Clegane-and I thank you." Reaching behind his great stone desk, Ned produces a new Valyrian steel greatsword and presents it to Sandor. "May this be a symbol of the promise between us Clegane and a token of my gratitude for your service to my family."
Taken aback, Sandor carefully holds the sword, measuring its balance. He has never held so fine a weapon, let alone owned one that even came close to the craftsmanship of the sword in his hands. At a loss for words, Sandor can only nod for a moment before rasping out, "Thank you, my Lord." Ned smiles, "No thank you, Sandor. May the gods look kindly on you for looking after my girl."
Turning quickly, Sandor strides out of the solar and down the hall before leaning against the granite wall, peering at the door of the Little Bird's room. "What the fuck did I just get myself into?" he growls to himself, lightly running his fingers across her door. Hearing movement inside, he steps away from the door before hurriedly making his way toward the courtyard.