After what felt like an eternity to Sansa, she spotted Jon descending the steps of the great castle with a group of men following close behind. An older man in a magnificent red garment adorned with gold lions was flanked by two soldiers and another man, possibly the maester. He must be the lord of the great castle-the Lannister of the lions. Inquisitively she stared at the humans before remembering her promise that she would flee.
Upon seeing the lanterns, Sansa stroked Sandor's hair for the last time and gently kissed his mouth once again. "San-dor, I must go now. My brother has brought your people to you. They will help you."
"You-I saw you change-you were the seal pup that swam near us? You took the fish I offered? Truly?" His gray eyes searched her face.
Though her heart ached, Sansa knew it would be difficult for the young human to understand her transformation, and as far as her father was concerned, it was for the best. It was dangerous for Sandor to have seen her thus, and one day, his memory of her would blend into the childhood faerie tales his mother and sister told him.
The very notion that the beautiful boy Sandor would forget her sent a deep mournful pain straight to Sansa's heart. She could not bear to leave him without the slightest assurance that Sandor may remember her one day, the warm afternoons they frolicked in the water, the fish he gave her, and the many months she cried along with him as he mended nets along the shore.
"I must return to the sea."
"Sansa, will I see you again?" Sandor's face etched with worry, and so Sansa forced a smile through bitter tears.
His cutting tool! Sansa had watched him use it many times to cut netting. Slowly she drew his dagger from his belt, sliced off a long lock of her hair, braided it and then tied it to his wrist. "I do not know, San-dor. I hope so. I will look for you every day. This will help you remember me."
"Don't go-" Sandor feebly reached out to her. "I'm afraid."
Sobbing softly, Sansa rested her face on his chest, inhaling his warm scent. "I do not want to, friend, but I must. The humans will kill me if I stay. But you must not be afraid. Know that I will always care for you. I will always be your friend, and when you fish, I will never be far from you. If you call to me seven times, I will come to you. If you are afraid, look at your arm and think of me."
With that Sansa then kissed Sandor for the last time on the forehead, cheek and lips before tearfully swimming out to sea.
In the haze of milk of the poppy, Sandor dreamed of a beautiful maiden with fiery red hair. Her upper body was that of a young girl but her lower half was a seal. The deepest blue eyes he had ever seen stared into his own as she held him in her arms, whispering words of comfort as she swam with him.
Had the girl really been the seal pup he had played with since he was little? He watched her transform before his very eyes but in the pain and shock of the accident, could he truly trust his eyes?
She said her name was Sansa and called him her friend. She prayed to her gods and sang for him. His tears had become hers as she desperately swam with him to safety, away from the burning boat.
Quietly she then spoke her name to him. Sansa. Her lips were the softest thing he had ever touched, and the sweetest, too. She smiled at him and tied a lock of hair to his wrist. When Sandor reached out for her, though, she disappeared beneath the water.
Sandor awakened with a start, the sudden jerking motion bringing intense pain to the burned side of his face. Was it a dream? He could not tell. It certainly felt real, as real as Gregor holding his face in the brazier. At the thought of his brother, his stomach lurched sharply. Disturbed, Sandor tried to move his head, hoping to shake the memory from his mind. He struggled to speak but only a soft rasp escaped his lips.
Cool bandages were being placed on his face and neck. "Ser-"
"Your throat was burned lad; you must not try to speak any more." An elderly man with a kind face leaned over him and nudged a spoonful of an amber substance to his lips. "Take this, boy, the honey will heal your throat. The lord of the castle will be here shortly."
I am inside Casterly Rock? Sandor wriggled until he turned the unburned side of his face toward the rest of the room and with great effort he slowly took in his surroundings. Had they taken Sansa's gift? With trepidation he fingered his wrist and found the lock of hair still there. The maester's eyes fell to his hands and the man smiled. "A gift from a sweetheart?"
"Might be, could be." Sandor replied, tugging his sleeve over it.
The maester laughed. "You're a bit young for such things."
Sandor did not answer; instead he glanced around the large bedroom filled with gilded mahogany furniture. Great mirrors covered in sheets of heavy linen stood next to the bed. He had never seen so fine a place in all his life.
"Why are they covered? I want to see my face."
"Plenty of time for that later, lad."
The clicking of the door handle caught Sandor by surprise. "My lord," the maester bowed. A magnificently dressed man, strong and powerfully built despite his years, came into Sandor's line of sight. "M'lord, my lord," he forced a whisper from his throat. "My lady."
The corner of the man's mouth curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You must be Sandor Clegane."
A frowning girl about Sandor's age with golden blonde hair stood beside the lord, watching him warily. Her brother sat down on the foot of his bed and smiled wryly at him. "You like your room?"
Sandor finally nodded, then hissed from the pain. The boy frowned. "Father, he must not move."
The maester quickly held a drought vial to his mouth and urged Sandor to drink; the bitter substance burned his throat but he meekly submitted.
"A lion does not concern himself with the sheep, my son. That is a maester's duty." The man's eyes narrowed coldly. "I am Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. You are in my home, young man."
Sandor tried to tip his head respectfully. "M'lord, thank you for caring for me."
"You parents minded your manners; good." Lord Tywin looked him over approvingly. "This is my son Jaime and my daughter Cersei." The girl hastily turned away. After a moment of silence, he added, "I daresay you'll never be one to grab the attention of the maidens, but you are large and muscular for your age, boy."
"Yes ser, so I've been told." Sandor replied through clenched teeth. What did he mean by that? He puzzled over in his mind, still addled by pain and medication.
Lord Tywin stiffened slightly. "I am sorry to say you are the last surviving member of your house. My men found your father and brother at the water's edge. Both are buried in the lichyard by your home. You can visit as soon as you are able."
Blackness settled over the young boy then. When Sansa sadly took him into her arms, a part of him understood that his family did not survive, but hearing the lord's confirmation seared his heart with blistering grief far more painful than his wounds.
Hot tears leaked from the corner of his eyes, though Sandor willed himself not to break down in front of the lord and his children. "Thank you," he finally rasped. "I will do so gladly."
"You will no longer make your living as a fisherman, such as it was. When you are able you will be trained as a squire."
Sandor did not want to be a squire. That was Gregor's dream, not his. He wanted to be a fisherman like his father and one day see Sansa again. "Forgive me, m'lord-"
"Tell me, are you grateful for the care you are receiving?"
"Yes, m'lord."
"And do you think I deserve repayment for said care?"
"Yes, m'lord, certainly."
"Then it is settled. When you are healed you will serve House Lannister as a squire as repayment. When you come of age I will then decide whether or not you will continue in my service as a fisherman or a sworn shield."
"Not a knight?"
"Careful lad. You are the second son from a minor house," Lord Tywin tisked. "Do not presume too much."
Sandor slunk back into the pillows. Lord Tywin gestured toward his children. The boy Jaime patted his foot as he rose to leave, and the girl laughed haughtily as she followed her father out of the room.
Slowly Sandor healed from his burns, the process taking far longer than the maester expected due to the extent of his injury. His appetite was good, however, and the boy grew steadily larger as the summer progressed. Memories of Sansa continued to stay with him, the young maid guarding him in his dreams as she had done at sea.
Many times the maester and Lord Tywin questioned him about the accident, demanding more information as to how he managed to survive. Sandor steadily refused to tell them anything beyond what happened aboard ship, careful never to reveal anything about her; the young man remembering the way Sansa cried that she would be killed if found.
Sandor knew that the men suspected he was hiding something, but he didn't care. He never asked to be there. Though he was grateful to Lord Tywin, he missed his sister, mother and father, and longed to see them again. Sandor wanted his home by the sea, to smell the fresh salt air and feel the waves lap over his body, not to be a squire.
Why had the gods spared him? He repeatedly asked the maester to no avail. The septon visited him once, said a prayer over him, and made the sign of the seven pointed star.
The man was elaborately dressed, and sat awkwardly on the foot of his bed as he told Sandor that death was part of the gods plans and unknowable to humans. The holy man's explanation did nothing to assuage the bereaved boy's grief, the empty words burning bitterly in his mind instead.
When Sandor regained his strength a full twelve moons later, Lord Tywin immediately assigned him to Ser Amory Lorch. From then on, Sandor spent his days training, fighting, learning to maintain all forms of weapons and armor, and generally taking care of any task with which the knight did not wish to trouble himself.
He enjoyed learning to protect himself and the physical exertion, but Sandor soon learned to hate the knights and squires of Casterly Rock. "Your little accident cost me dearly, boy!" The knight huffed each morning when Sandor arrived. "You'll never be the knight your brother would have been. He was damned near seven feet tall, muscled like a bull with a talent for killing. A poor substitute you are, Hound."
"Yes, Ser," was all Sandor would say, carefully holding the drunken knight's words hard in his heart. Most days the knight also derided his scarred appearance. The squires joined in, giving Sandor little respite from the torment during his daily activities. He mostly remained silent throughout Ser Amory's daily abuses, burying the rage and shame deep within his heart.
As time went on, Sandor learned to harness his wrath, storing up the harsh words and abusive treatment and allowing it to drive him during training. The young man brutally pummeled his opponents to the point that they soon learned to fear him and keep their comments far away from his earshot. Only Jaime Lannister refrained from taunting him, and so Sandor often spared him from the worst of his furious blows.
Each night, Sandor would climb the rooftop of the squire's quarters, gaze at the stars and dream of Sansa. His remembrance of her was the only soft, beautiful spot in his life, and Sandor treasured it. It was Sansa's memory that soothed and consoled him through the difficult recovery from his burns, the pain and misery wearing the memory of that horrific day on his face, the mocking comments and quiet whispers of the people, the eyes turning away in horror whenever he walked past. It was Sansa and Sansa alone that fueled his desire to prove everyone wrong and succeed, to one day throw the offer of knighthood in Ser Amory's face and return to his place on the water.
His dreams of her changed as he grew into adulthood, the once small waifish girl transforming into a ravishing beauty with crimson hair, skin the color of cream, and deep blue eyes that stared at him affectionately. Though it shamed him, the memory of her made his blood boil and his cock harden. He had heard the term selkie passed around the men referring to mythical creatures such as she-was it possible Sansa one day would choose to shed her skin and come to him?
Did she still look for him at sea? Did Sansa return to the rocks where he fed her fish and swam with her and Sarah? A multitude of questions plagued his mind at the memory of her; tough the entire experience had been wholly unbelievable, Sandor slowly convinced himself that the gods sent her to save him. Acrid disappointment that he had not been able to return to the beach since that day gnawed at him, his time and energies belonging to Ser Amory and Lord Tywin, and Sandor hoped one day she would understand.
Sandor still wore her favor, as he thought of it, though his wrist had long outgrown the small circlet she made for his ten year old arm. Fashioning a lariat from leftover leather, Sandor wore the bracelet inside his tunic, next to his heart. He would return to her one day, he promised himself, and tell her that he longed to see her, and how much she meant to him. As time passed, he became convinced that they would indeed be reunited, and the hope gave him strength to endure the taunts and trials of life at Casterly Rock.
Because of his extraordinary size and athletic ability, Lord Tywin soon saw fit to bring Sandor along on sorties, and the young man distinguished himself in battle. On his twentieth nameday, Jaime Lannister came to him and announced that he wanted Sandor to serve as his nephew's sworn shield.
Sandor had to stifle his laugh at the word "nephew", for on more than one occasion he caught Cersei and her brother engaging in very unnatural activities. "He will be arriving from King's Landing day after tomorrow. I would only entrust his care to you, Clegane."
"Bugger that. I do not wish to serve as a sworn shield to your nephew or anyone," Sandor muttered as he brushed his warhorse Stranger, having won the fine animal in a poker game the night before. "I want to return to fishing, Lannister. You know that. So does your sire."
"I do, Sandor, I do indeed. However, if you serve him well, I swear you will be repaid handsomely. A Lannister always pays his debts, you know, and you could then purchase a boat or whatever you wish. What do you say?"
Sandor remained silent as he thought it over. Cleganes paid their debts as well, and one day he would make Ser Amory suffer for his cruely. It would be a fairly easy way to earn coin-how hard could it be, looking after some prissy highborn boy? Sighing heavily, Sandor nodded as an idea took firm hold of his mind. "Aye, I'll look after the lad. I'll swear my pledge when he arrives."
