Seven fucking hells. Sandor Clegane thought for what must have been the thousandth time. His silent curse followed by an irritable growl and lip curl. Reaching for the wine skin at his belt, another growl came out upon inspecting it. Empty...Of all the bloody times...
Such was his mood these past few weeks. Ever since rumors began to fly of his brother Gregor. Of how some thief or rogue or sellsword or the Warrior made flesh threw the despised Mountain through a tavern and damn near killed him. Sandor, naturally, laughed at these rumors as did others at court... Until the raven arrived, from Tywin Lannister himself.
Gregor was alive but bed ridden. Permanently, if their Maester got it right. The Mountain would never ride again or do much of anything. That alone would've been enough to leave Sandor gawking at the letter like some runt seeing his first pair of teats. Lord Tywin commanding his return to the Westerlands, to take his family's keep as the new head of House Clegane almost made him shit himself.
The little bastard Joffrey and his mother were almost as pissed as Sandor, though, they showed it much more to the king. As if things couldn't get more backwards, he was glad for their... support. King's Landing was a pisshole viper's nest of arse lickers old and young but it wasn't Clegane Keep. Not even close.
Didn't do any good. Robert told them both to do as Tywin commanded and think twice before trying to squeal at him again. Sandor got good and shit faced that night and the next. Cursing everyone from the all Gods down to the bastard who almost took his revenge away.
On the third day, Sandor took his belongings, saddled his horse and left the Red Keep behind alone for good. So ended his time as sworn shield to Crown Prince Joffrey. Good riddance. Others take him and his mother.
On and on his foul mood persisted, growing fouler with each passing league. More than once he thought about telling all of Westeros to piss off, get on the first boat and sail for Essos. But no matter how appealing the idea was, especially when he got damned drunk, two things kept him moving forward. Back home.
Fear for one. Sandor knew Tywin Lannister before he was a man grown, when he entered his families service to escape his brothers takeover of Clegane's Keep. The Old Lion wasn't someone you wanted to make an enemy of.
Curiosity was the other reason. A hundred times he read the letter over, trying to imagine what Gregor was like now. Were his legs twisted? His back snapped? Arms bent in ways no limb should? Those thoughts put a smile on his face then and now.
They helped keep other thoughts at bay as well. Memories of him playing with his sister through these forests. Before Gregor did what he's best at: bring ruin down on any poor sod unlucky enough to be near him. In the distance, Sandor spotted Clegane's Keep. One of the most feared places in all of Westeros.
Another growl escaped his lips and he spurned his horse to move faster. Better to get this over with.
Around midday, he'd gotten close enough to get a good look at the keep for the first time in over a decade. Gray, ugly and looking ready to fall over if the battered tower edges and holes in the walls were anything to go by.
My seat. Sandor scoffed. What an honor...
With another spur, the horse neighed and went forward towards the village underneath the towerhouse. Small place, barely large enough for a hundred people. Though, with Gregor lording over the place for so long it was probably a miracle anyone was left alive.
They watched him ride through, young, old, men, women staring at him. Probably wondering what terror he'd unleash on them. Sandor ignored it, he'd gotten used to a long time ago. What he did pay heed to was the towerhouse looming over them all. Watching it stirred more memories he tried to ignore with a growl.
This must be what it feels like to see the executioner's blade hanging over you...
Ridding up the hill just behind the village, Sandor spotted the first guards. These men he did watch, Gregor's pet rats might be among them. The thought of greeting them made him smile for the first time in a while.
Finally, he'd reached the entrance to the towerhouse where more guards, servants and a man dressed in Maester's robes awaited him. The only one Sandor didn't scrutinize, not with ill intent anyway. Maester Bryen, fresh from the Citadel when Tytos Lannister, Tywin's father and former head of House Lannister, helped found House Clegane.
If there was anything he and Gregor ever agreed on, even in unspoken terms, it was never to hurt this man. He was the reason Sandor's face wasn't even more of a ruin and without him, Gregor's damned headaches would've been even less bearable without milk of the poppy.
Settling his horse a short walk away, Sandor dismounted, his eyes on Bryen while some stable boy ran up to take his horse. The Maester approached, his smile growing only fonder. Then, he bowed, along with the other gathered soldiers and servants.
"Welcome home, my lord," Bryen said, momentarily earning Sandor's ire until he rose again and evaporated it with a look of genuine gladness. "It has been quite a while, hasn't it?"
"Aye..." Sandor all but grunted out, noticing the gray hairs at the edges of his hair and beard. "Aye it has."
"I trust your journey was uneventful?"
"It was, can't say I was looking forward to it," Sandor eyed his... new seat with distaste. "Where is he?"
Bryen's smile faltered, his chain rattling as he nodded in-understanding. "Follow me."
More memories threatened to send Sandor into a feverish rage as he followed Bryen through the place. Simpler times of a boy and his sister playing at knights or hiding or running away from a Maester's lesson. He beat them all down. Gregor was his only concern, not the life of some stupid boy long dead.
With a grip on his sword that could crush a man's throat, Sandor felt himself growing angrier, more curious, even a little... afraid. He'd need a damn good drink once this was over.
"We've moved him to one of the guest bed chambers," Bryen explained why they weren't heading for the main one. "Though, I suspect you won't be using your brothers regardless."
"I'd sooner eat wildfire than sleep in his bed."
They halted in-front of a plain, wooden door which creaked like Pycelle's bones when Bryen opened it. The smell inside was foul enough to make Sandor wretch. Piss, shit and every other smell strong enough to kill a man. It was the stench of King's Landing trapped in a single room. All of it was coming from the drooling, giant of a man lying in a bed barely large enough for him.
Seven fucking hells... Sandor thought when he saw Gregor. The side of his head swollen, his eyes dull, staring at nothing and his mouth hanging open. Stepping closer, the sword grip loosened and loosened until Sandor's hand left it completely.
Hovering over him, he waved a hand in-front of Gregor's eyes to find...something there. But he just kept staring at nothing. Seeing the brother he'd wanted dead so long looking like a giant Robert Arryn left Sandor standing there, almost matching Gregor's own blank stare.
"He's been like this since they brought him to me," Bryen explained, covering his mouth and hand with cloth. "Even if the tree hadn't fallen on his head, the damage done to his legs alone would've left him bedridden."
"There's nothing to be done for him?" Sandor leaned closer, watching Gregor's face with scrutiny.
"Very little. All we can do is give him soft foods then try to clean him. But," He sighed. "With his size... It presents a great challenge to us."
Sandor grunted his acknowledgement, his eyes still searching for anything in this... Sack of breathing meat that was once feared by all but firstly by Sandor.
Nothing. He realized or perhaps accepted at last. He's nothing at all...
He didn't know how long they spent like that, one brother watching the other. The first time they'd been in the same room as one another in years without trying to kill each other. What stunned Sandor possibly more so than this was a complete desire for him to even try killing Gregor.
Instead, Sandor moved away, a smile stretching across his face. "Maester, I want you to take very good care of my brother. For as long as possible. I don't care what it takes, you get it done. Understood?"
"Y-Yes my lord." He answered and for once, being called one of those didn't bother him neither. Gregor being trapped for years or mayhaps even decades in his own body was simply too good to be true.
I changed my mind, if I ever met the bastard who turned you into this, I'll hold a fucking tourney in his honor.
A/N: I was going to do a Doran & Oberyn react to Tywin's shit being ganked by Yamcha but I found this more interesting to write.