Sandor II
Sandor Clegane stood with a sword in his hand. It had been months since he had last held a weapon and years since he had felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It felt good. Sandor glanced back at the little bird and her companion. Her auburn hair had become a dark mousy brown, and she was taller than he had last seen her, almost two years ago. He had left her with her song revolving in his ears that night during the Battle of Blackwater. Apparently her companion was a boy, despite his long hair that came to his weak shoulders. The little bird had called him Robert as they had run a distance away from the two fighters. He could feel the boy's brown eyes staring at him, unblinking, and could feel the little bird's gaze on him as well. Sandor shifted his eyes to his opponent. Two battle axes were in each of his hands, and an untangled beard hid most of his face. He was tall, but not as tall as Sandor. The former sworn shield could see that the hill tribe man was hungry for battle, angry and impatient. He suddenly remembered the rumor about the Imp who had brought a group of vicious barbarian mercenaries to fight in the war. He must have been one of them, Sandor thought. His mouth twitched at the thought of the sly dwarf who had caused him to flee the Battle of Blackwater in the first place. Sandor remembered how he had cursed him that dreadful night. Sansa had told him she thought him dead. "Dead? No. Bugger that. I don't want him dead. I want him burned. If the gods are good, they'll burn him, but I won't be here to see. I'm going." Now the Imp was a hunted and wanted man, more than Sandor himself. They said that he was seen it the Free Cities and was now a mercenary. One refugee openly wondered if he would still be raised to lordship with the Imp's mercenary head. Bugger that, Sandor thought. Beheading is an easy death. I want him burned.
Although bodies had come more infrequently now, there was still debris and abandonment washing upon the shores. He had found his sword that way, sharp and light, compared to the heavyweight swords he was used to with a scabbard. Sandor had kept it close to his side. He had heard the whispers about the Imp along the river flowing across the Quiet Isle. Fishermen and refugees fleeing from the South and the North had gathered along the shoreline. They hadn't noticed a tall stranger with a cowl over his head riding by. He had heard their whispers about how the queen had been arrested for some fraud or another. Sandor been about to cross the High Road when he heard a hushed whisper that the Protector of the Vale was dead. The fishermen and the Northernmen had cheered while Sandor leaned in to listen as his heart was in his mouth. The female knight had said that Sansa Stark could have been hiding in the Vale, where her aunt was. Littlefinger had recently taken the Vale as his own, much to her disgust. She had dismissed the reasoning that the sole heir to Winterfell would be captive under that sly bastard. Sandor had a different opinion. It was well known that Littlefinger had loved Sansa's mother, Catelyn Stark. She would trust him for the love they shared for that woman. She is still a foolish little bird. A summer child. He continued to listen to find that the current heir to the Valehad vanished, along with Littlefinger's bastard daughter. "I hear she got Tully blue eyes," sighed one of them, "and is pretty as a maid." Fuck that, Littlefinger's bastard daughter, Sandor thought as Stranger as he crossed the High Road. He had left Stranger behind a couple of miles farther and tied his reins to a tree when he had heard the screams. The little bird's screams echoed in his ears every waking minute since he first heard her scream as her father had been beheaded before her eyes. It seemed as if Sansa was calling for him, and had drawn his sword as he ran. Sandor had arrived just as the hill tribe man had one of his battle axes on her throat. He had seen the recognition in her eyes, and she seemed almost happy to see him, just like that time when the mob had torn her away from him.
Now he was protecting her again. Shagga son of Dolf stood in front of him, baring his teeth. They were crooked. Sandor made his face expressionless. The hill tribe man hefted his battle axes above him and charged. Sandor was able to dodge the furious attack with ease. He took a step back and avoided another swing from the massive weapon, causing the hill tribe man to roar with rage. "Shagga son of Dolf will feed of your manhood before feeding to the goats!" Sandor clenched his sword in his hand, testing his strength. The sword was light, but would he be able to kill his enemy? Sandor could see that Shagga wanted to kill him before making him a eunuch. The said tribe man roared and threw his massive battle axe at Sandor's head. He heard the little bird scream, and narrowly avoided the battle axe by crouching down to his feet. A sharp thunk embedded in the tree behind him as the axe made contact. At the corner at Sandor's eyes he saw Shagga running towards him at full speed. Sandor quickly managed to stand and parried the battle axe with his sword. Although Sandor was known for his fierceness in battle, it was uncommonly known that he was light on his feet and quick. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he and Shagga continued to parry their weapons. Blood ran to his head, and Sansa Stark and her child companion disappeared. There was only the fight.
Shagga and Sandor were evenly matched. A thin sheen of sweat coated their foreheads, and Shagga was breathing hard. Somehow Sandor felt the little bird's eyes on him. He supposed she had never seen such a fierce one-on-one fight like this before. He remembered when he saw her at the melee, her hair auburn like the sun. She had a red rose in her hand, and was beaming at Loras Tyrell. Why had he saved the haughty boy? Sandor didn't know. It was more like an instinct. He remembered a long time ago when his sister had saved him from his brother during the rare times they had practiced together. Gregor was about to beat him into a blood pulp, but then his sister had stepped in, even though she was smaller than her younger brother. He had been eleven years old at that time. Perhaps Sandor had stepped in for similar reasons. His brother had become more feared and terrifying as years went by, and Sandor knew he would kill the boy with a simple chop to his neck. Or maybe, Sandor thought as he sidestepped another blow by his opponent, he wanted to appear human to the girl who reminded him so much of his own lost sister. Ever since she had seen him, she had remained terrified of him, more terrified of him than anyone…because of his face. "Do I really frighten you so much, girl?" Sandor remembered now of how she had stood with the crowd, this time beaming at him. That was the only good moment in that fucking melee.
"Shagga son of Dolf will chop of your manhood and feed it to the goats before he rips your fucking head off!"
Seven fucking hells… "You're annoying," Sandor rasped. With a swift motion as fast as the speed of light, his sword connected with Shagga's thick neck, and summoning all the strength he had in his right arm, Sandor severed his head of his shoulders. Blood showered his face and habit as the decapitated head flew into the hair. Vaguely, Sandor heard a straggled cry and wailing. The head collapsed down next to his feet, and he kicked the disgusting face away, where it rolled near the tree where the little bird and long-haired boy were hiding. Sandor fingered the blood off from his sword. It was dark red, almost black. Breathing hard, he glanced around him. Parts of the snow were crimson red, and Shagga's body lied listless in the bed of snow. A single axe was held in his still hand. Sandor sheathed his sword into his scabbard. He looked behind him to see the little bird walking towards him.
"You…saved us." She said the words simply enough, but her words were strained and breathless. She removed her cowl and dark brown hair blew in the wind. "Thank you," she whispered, and gathered enough courage to look at him. Sandor was surprised. After the incident with the mob, the little bird hadn't been able to look at him. Fear was present in her eyes. There was no fear now. Sandor grunted, determined to show her how much this maenad to him, and crouched down to her dress beneath her coat. He unsheathed sword again and gently cut away the longest helms.
"What are you –?" Sansa replied, confused. She tried to break away from him, but Sandor's heavier from prevented her from escaping.
"Stay still, girl." The little bird fell silent until the last of the helms had been cut. "You will be able to move around easier now." Sandor stood and walked carefully to the tree where the boy was hiding. He heard the little bird's light steps behind him. Once he saw her, they boy ran into her arms and cried nosily. Sandor cursed under his breath. The crying would encourage other savages to come here where they were. Sansa was calming the child down, stroking his hair. "My sweetrobin was very brave, much braver than I was."
"You were not brave boy," Sandor snapped. He saw both of them flinch at the harshness of his words. "You were sniveling and did nothing to keep her safe," he gestured toward Sansa. "You feed his false courtesies and lies," he spat at her. "Have I told you how much I hate liars?" Ignoring the little bird's feeble responses, Sandor entangled the boy from her and cut the boy's hair. This time, the boy was silent and didn't protest. "What is your name?" he rasped.
"My name is Robert Arryn." The boy's hair was now falling to the ground in uneven clumps like dirty snow. Sandor cut his hair until it was ear length. "You will be known as Robert from this day forward and not," he said with a glance at Sansa, "sweetrobin."
Sansa Stark and Robert Arryn rode with Sandor Clegane silently on Stranger. He held onto Stranger's reins as Sansa and Robert held onto him and onto each other. Both of the children were quiet, which was part of his doing. The little bird remained silent as they crossed the river, but spoke once they had crossed it. Robert had fallen asleep in her arms and she was holding onto him so he couldn't fall off. "My father once said to my older brother that the only time to be brave in when you're afraid." A muffled sob came from her throat. "I'm sorry…but I try to make Robert brave by telling him he is. You tell the truth, as always." Sandor hadn't replied as she had said this, but considered her words. As her sleeping form rested against him late into the night, Sandor remembered the countless times when his sister had comforted him after their brother's wrath and their father's abuses. He recalled her singing into his ear as he fell asleep, making the nightmares go away. She hadn't told him that he wasn't brave.
We were all cowards once, Sandor reflected.
The next chapter will feature Brienne of Tarth as she travels the riverlands with Jaime Lannister. (Kingslayer.) More characters are to come as the series is expanded, and prepare for heavy SanSan romance in the future chapters, my adoring fans.