Warning: Foul Language and brief image of gore.
Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM and Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont. Am just playing with the characters/theme. I promise to return them safe and sound when I'm done. ;)
Beta Readers: A huge thank you goes to onborrowedwings for your advice and your help, ensuring this tale more than a piece of tripe. I owe you so much!
It was the day after her father's departure that Sansa once again dreamed of the scarred hound, the black haired girl and the autumn yellow grass. Now it was she who stood in the clearing as the little girl approached; the large black dog by her side.
'Your sacrifice has been noted, daughter of the wolf,' the little girl said. 'Your compassion will not be without its reward.' At those words the child slipped away into the tall grasses, leaving Sansa alone with the great beast. Unafraid, the young woman approached the scarred hound and wrapped her arms around his massive throat. The war beast gently nuzzled its scarred face against her neck, its breath warm against her cheek.
The young maiden awoke to find that she was not in her room back home, rather in an elegant bedchamber that had been prepared for her the day before. It took but a moment to recall where she was, and all what had transpired the day before.
Sansa recalled the sorrow she had seen in her father's eyes, the weight of his silence. She knew it broke his heart to watch helpless as his eldest daughter sacrificed her freedom and her future for him. No amount of assurances or words of hope could lighten his spirit. Sansa peered out the window of her bedchamber, as her fingers wrapped around a small obsidian arrowhead that hung from the silver chain on her throat. It had been her father's final gift to her.
Wear it always, for the winter is upon us and one never knows what the night will bring,'he whispered as he pulled her into a tight embrace. With those words Sansa's father had kissed her brow and taken his leave; he never looked back.
With her dire-wolf Lady by her side, Sansa had watched as her father and his steed disappeared into the blustering winter snow. It was some time before the young woman returned to Clegane Keep, where she confined herself to her bedchambers; there she remained till the following morning.
The young maiden awoke with a heavy heart for she missed her family deeply and feared for her father's safety. Though she knew it to be foolishness, a part of Sansa desired nothing more than to remain hidden away in her bedchambers till the coming of spring; her dire-wolf, Lady, felt otherwise.
Having been awake long before Sansa the dire-wolf peered out the window to the gardens far below; her tail wagging eagerly as she stood on her hind legs; her front paws resting on the sill. Looking back to the young maiden, Lady gave a short whine and a bark. Curious as to the reason for Lady's unusual behaviour, Sansa studied the gardens intently; she wondered what had caught her wolf's attention. Far below, the old maester tended to the ice roses; there was not another soul to be seen.
Unsatisfied by Sansa's lack of response, Lady began to bark loudly as she rushed to the door of the maiden's bedchambers. Instinctively, Sansa went to collect her cloak and boots for she believed the dire-wolf needed to make water. There she caught sight of the lock on the heavy wooden door, it was open. A chill ran down her spine for the maiden knew it was locked the night before. Suddenly, the sound of a child's laughter was heard just beyond the shut door.
'Hello?' Sansa called out. Beside her, Lady continued to bark and whine as she pawed at the wooden door. With caution the young maiden peered out into the dimly lit hallways. At first Sansa saw not a soul, but as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she caught sight of a small fleeting form; it was the child from her dreams. Her dire-wolf cared not for the mysterious child and raced off without hesitation, leaving the young woman alone in her nightshift.
'Lady, wait!' she frantically called out as she quickly grabbed her cloak and her boots. Stepping out into the hallway Sansa continued to call out for her dire-wolf. Lady was nowhere to be found but the girl's laughter could still be heard, along with the pattering of a child's footsteps. Picking up her skirts the young woman ran down the halls, feeling both childish and foolish for it. Sansa could almost imagine Arya teasing her for behaving in such an unladylike fashion.
The passageways of Clegane keep was large and winding, leaving Sansa fearful of getting lost. The little girl continued to remain two steps ahead, her small form just out of reach. Hopeful that Lady was tracking the child, Sansa followed the child until she found herself in the midst of the ice-rose garden. There seated in front of a stone monument sat her dire-wolf watching Sansa intently with her head tilted in curiosity. The little black-haired girl was nowhere to be found. Nor were there any prints in the fresh snow to reveal her whereabouts.
'My lady, what brings you here at this early hour?' Sansa whirled around upon hearing the old maester's voice.
'My pardon's Maester , have you seen a little girl? She wore a blue dress, and had black hair. I believe she may have been six or seven years of age?' Sansa stammered. 'I meant not to frighten her, but Lady got excited and tried to chase her,' she explained.
'I once believed I was the only one who could see her; it would now seem that I was wrong,' the old man replied with a sad smile.
'Who was she?' Sansa politely asked. The old maester's continued to tend the roses in silence. 'Please good Maester at least tell me where she went? The winter cold is no place for a young child,' she pressed on.
'Neither is it for a lady, clad in only her nightshift and a cloak,' the old man gently chastised, causing Sansa's cheeks to burn red. Instinctively, Sansa tightened her cloak around her form, only then did she feel the cold air and the bustling winter winds.
'My pardons, I'll be going now,' Sansa murmured, feeling entirely inappropriate and foolish for having raced through the keep like some wildling, dressed only in her cloak and nightshift. Turning away, the maiden called Lady to her side.
'Do not worry about the child my lady. She is resting now, in these very gardens,' the maester spoke out; his back turned away from her. 'Her brother, his lordship, had these gardens built to honour her memory.' Sansa felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle at the revelation. The little girl she had seen was no living child, but a restless spirit, the very spirit who had haunted her dreams.
'I was unaware,' she softly replied, feeling utterly grateful for Lady's presence by her side. Her eyes continued to scan the gardens; she half expected the child spirit to emerge from the bushes of ice-roses.
Instead, Sansa saw something far more terrifying.
Stepping back in horror the young lady gave a sharp gasp as her eyes fixated on the object of her terror. Far above on the stone wall overlooking the bushes of ice roses was a man's head; half-eaten, half-rotted, and firmly mounted on a rusted old pike.
'Oh no—no!' she began the words thick in her throat. Sansa could not look away as panic held her frozen in place. The elder maester moved to guide her away but it was the heavy weight of the Hound's gloved hand on her shoulder that brought Sansa back with a start.
'Are you so easily frightened girl, that a mere touch makes you shake?' Sandor rasped. The young maiden tightened her cloak around herself; entirely aware of her lack of proper dress.
'Forgive me, I meant no offense,' Sansa softly said struggling to hold the scarred man's gaze. It was not the man's face that had robbed her of all courage, rather the image of the half rotted and eaten head. You, Sansa, are a child of winter and you are your father's daughter. No matter what form the winter may take, I know you will have the courage to face it bravely, her mother's voice whispered in her thoughts. Sansa found strength in her mother's memory and spoke. 'My lor-'the young woman recalled the man's warning and tried again. 'Who—who was that man? What was his crime that he should deserve such a fate?' she quietly asked. To Sansa's immense relief, her voice did not shake.
Sandor snorted in reply. 'That was no man, but a beast I put down. My heroic brother Ser Gregor Clegane; the Mountain that Rides. The nobleknight who died protecting some nameless girl's virtue from the likes of me,' Sandor sneered in disgust. 'And if you believe that Lannister tale of shit, then you're an even bigger fool than I took you for.'
Sansa stared at Sandor in disbelief and horror. What sort of man killed his own brother and so proudly boasted of his accomplishment! What sort of beast so boldly defiled the dead in a garden meant to honour the sleeping?
Sandor took one look at her and began to laugh. His laughter reminded her of dog's snarling. 'Frighten you do I, girl? Thought you northerners were made of thicker skin than that!' he mocked with a twisted smirk. 'One day I'll tell you the real story of my noblebrother's demise; not the glorified jape Lord Lannister spewed when he found my brother's head rolling about in the mud, and his body twitching at my feet .'
'What sort of life have you endured, that you would take pleasure in such hateful things?' The words came unbidden, spilling from her lips before the young maiden had the chance to take them back. All of her courage slipped away with the winter winds leaving Sansa alone, shivering, and small before the towering Hound. To her immense relief, Sandor neither mocked, nor raged against her.
Approaching the dire-wolf the scar-faced man gently scratched Lady behind her ears. The large wolf leaned into his touch, her tail wagging in contentment. Sansa knew Lady to be an excellent judge of character; her acceptance of Sandor spoke volumes.
When their eyes met, Sansa saw a weight and sorrow in his gaze that came only to those who had endured horrors that no man should ever know. The Hound was the first to look away.
'The little bird is shivering,' he rasped as he faced the old maester. 'Take her inside and have the servants prepare her a hot bath. Can't have the Lady of the Keep catching the chill now can we?' he growled. With a gentle smile, the elderly maester briefly touched the back of Sansa's upper arm so as to guide her inside. The maiden departed without another word, leaving Sandor alone with his thoughts.
By nightfall, Gregor's head no longer overlooked the garden of ice roses; it was never seen again.