Sandor IV
Sandor Clegane was showing Robert Arryn how to clean a sword when the boy looked up at him. A fortnight ago, Robert hadn't been able to even glance at Sandor's face. Now the boy looked at him as if he had done it all his life. "Yes?" He was irritated that Robert had interrupted his concentration.
"Do you love her?" The question was so unexpected that Sandor snarled at the boy. To his pleasure, Robert flinched and remained silent for the next couple of minutes. He didn't notice how cold sweat dripped down Sandor's face. "Do you love Sansa?" The question came out as a squeak, and the boy avoided his eyes when Sandor tried to see his purpose. The boy, it appeared, was only curious.
"Why do you ask that?" Sandor rasped. His heart beat faster as he prepared himself to tell a lie. "I've never loved anyone."
"Yes, you have!" Robert spoke with unusual certainty in his voice that Sandor put down his oilcloth and sword. "I see the same sadness in your eyes as I have!"
"What the fuck does a sickly boy know about sorrow?" Sandor's anger got the better of him, and he leaned close towards Robert. He could see the tiny freckles doting boy's face, and saw the bruises and blisters on his hands. "You won't feel true sorrow until winter releases its wrath, until hunger gnaws your body until you beg for the mercy of death." The boy almost looked terrified now, and Sandor felt as if wine were running through his veins. "Sorrow eats you up, boy, like a horrible disease that consumes you until you're a shell of your former self, mad with grief…until you see ghosts and beg them to take them with you." He spat at his sword and rubbed the oilcloth furiously. "Then you either live or you die."
Robert was silent for a couple of moments. He watched as Sandor continued to clean his sword that didn't need cleaning. Sandor was trying to suppress his memories of his sister's death and the agony after. He heard her screaming his name, for the brother who she had raised herself, and heard his brother's laughter. He felt his father's strong body as he held him down, forcing him to witness Anor's rape and eventual decapitation. Sandor remembered holding his sister's head in his arms, sobbing, as his father and brother beat him, never letting her go… He never let go… Sandor could not suppress his memories any longer. Anor's laugh was in his ears, so much like the little bird's. She was sitting by the river stream while Sandor and Robert practiced with their swords. She was far away, so she wouldn't hear his heart screaming. He almost didn't hear Robert ask, "Have you experienced that kind of sorrow?"
"Yes," Sandor answered dully. He remembered too well of how, at age twelve, he had already developed a fondness for wine. It was to drown the pain away. By the time the little bird had come to King's Landing, Sandor had fallen into a drunken sleep every chance he could get. The pain of his sister's death simply would not go away. Killing people, seeing their blood seep on his armor and hearing the desperate screams allowed his a quiet peace for a time. It reassured him that his sister was not the only one to die in pain and in fear before Gregor had beheaded her. "It gives me joy to kill people," he remembered telling Sansa that once after he had saved her from the riot. "Killing's the sweetest thing there is." However, that was before the little bird had arrived. Somehow he had wanted to protect her and shield her and tell her the truth. Anor had died, but the little bird would live. Sandor had promised himself that.
"And I…" Robert hesitated. "I haven't experienced that kind of sorrow?"
Sandor shook his head. "No, Robert." He heard himself say. "Nor has Sansa." Sandor's heart beat faster from saying her name and despite himself his throat tightened. Although she had lost her father, mother, brothers, and home, the little bird had not experienced the bone-crushing and cold sorrow that Sandor had experienced seventeen years past. The pain had resulted into a dull ache, but at the most unexpected times, the pain was as raw as ever. Sandor had hoped that the little bird would never experience anything like that.
"Master." Sandor turned to find Robert speaking to him. He's never called me that before, and I've never seen him so calm. "Do you love Sansa?"
Sandor forced himself to be honest with the boy and forgo his sensitive pride. "Yes."
Sandor found the little bird sitting on her knees, watching the ice and snow melt into the river stream. He sat down beside her, not saying anything. He wanted her to speak first. Sandor watched as her lovely white throat moved with every breath she took. He saw a single tear flow from an eye, and wanted to wipe it away. "You may not remember," she began, halting slightly. Her voice shook and she wouldn't look at him, from fear of angering him or shaming herself, he couldn't tell. "This was the only stop we made before we arrived in King's Landing. The king and my father were alive. Arya wasn't missing, and the Seven Kingdoms were at peace." Her chin trembled. "Joffrey was my prince," she whispered, "and I was foolish enough to believe that he would love me. I can't get over how stupid I was. Arya knew what I refused to see, and now she's gone." Sandor watched as the little bird started to tremble throughout her entire body. He wanted to tell her that her younger sister wasn't dead and that she wasn't stupid back then; she was only a girl, but then he stopped himself. The Hound had more truth in him than Sandor Clegane.
"He was kind to me then. He told me I was beautiful. I still remember how happy it made me when I heard his words." Sansa closed her eyes and licked her dry lips, chapped from the freezing cold. "He threatened that boy to fight with Arya. A boy who never should have been there. Arya and her direwolf attacked him, but that hadn't saved his life or Lady's." Now her slim form racked with sobs. "If I had said something, then that boy and Lady would be alive. But I wanted to impress my prince," the little bird whispered dully. "I wanted to please him. And I…" Sansa's words were drowned when Sandor wrapped his hands around her trembling form. He hushed her, and gently stroked her auburn hair, which had now returned to its natural color. His hands were gentle as he embraced her. The little bird slowly stopped shaking. Her tears ceased, and Sandor found himself looking at her beautiful blue eyes.
"Everyone makes mistakes," he said. She didn't move, locked onto his gaze. He too could be lost in her eyes. "Even I, little bird. When I was twelve years old, I witnessed my sister's death with my very own eyes. I could have stopped it; I could have saved her life; but I didn't." He was uncomfortably aware of how the little bird's breasts rubbed against him. "Her name was Anor," he continued. "Anor Clegane was my older sister, and she raised me as a son from my mother's death in childbed. Did you know I was known as the Hound because of my fierce loyalty to her?"Sandor asked her. He brushed away little auburn curls that covered her forehead. She shook her head. "I was only twelve years old. Anor was sixteen. We both had hoped that our father and brother had died in Robert's Rebellion, but they…hadn't. Gregor was angry at both of us for leaving Clegane's Keep without his leave, and with our father's consent, he inflamed my punishment on my sister.
"I was a warrior, they had heard, who had slaughtered over thirty men in the Sack of King's Landing, and said that a warrior should be able to witness atrocities without shedding a tear." The cold air was affecting him; it was hard to breathe, and Sandor tightened his grip on the little bird. "I remember watching as my brother tore of my sister's clothes and beat her until he put his fucking cock inside her. I remember screaming, shouting Anor's name until my voice was hoarse. My father held me down, enjoying every moment of his eldest son defiling his daughter. Anor's blood was on my clothes, and on my face. My strength had turned into nothingness when my brother cut…he cut Anor's head from her body. Then he tore her heart out for me to see. That is when I cried. I cried. I couldn't stop the bleeding in my heart, and after my brother killed my father and beat me until I was unconscious, my last thought was that I wished I was dead." Sandor felt the little bird look at him with red eyes. She's sobbing for me, he realized suddenly. "We both have past actions that we'd rather forget, Sansa. I couldn't save my sister, and you couldn't save your father." He took her hands in his own and gave them a gentle squeeze. "But we have a choice. Only this moment matters, Sansa. Right here and right now. We can contemplate our past actions and decide to make the right choices even though we're afraid."
"That's why you searched for me and found me and protected me." The little bird's eyes were flowing with tears that collected on Sandor's hands.
"Aye," he agreed. "That is why you want to go to King's Landing even when it might be your death. That is why your sister chose to spare me as I was dying beside the Trident." He watched as the little bird's eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed in confusion. "Arya Stark, your younger sister, is alive. I don't know where she's gone, but she's far away from Westeros, I can assure you." He lightly traced Sansa's face with his fingers. "She could have killed me that day, but she said I was didn't deserve the gift of mercy.
"Back in King's Landing, you sang me a song. Could you sing it for me again?" He leaned in close to her face, and could count the eyelashes on her eyes. Sansa nodded, never wavering her gaze from him.
"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
save our sons from war, we pray,
stay the swords and stay the arrows,
let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, strength of woman,
help our daughters through this fray,
soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
teach us all a kinder way."
"Beautiful," Sandor whispered, placing his hand on her cheek.
"And then you took the song and kissed me," the little bird said, breathless.
"What?" Sandor was so startled by her statement that he dropped his hand from her face.
"You kissed me," the little bird whispered feverishly. She took his larger hand in her own and placed it on her cheek, leaning even closer to him. "You kissed me after I sang you that song."
"I…didn't." Sandor's voice was no more than a rasp again, and he found it difficult to control his tongue. "You…must have imagined it...wanting it so badly?" Their faces were so close their noses touched. He could see Sansa's breath in the cold air.
Sansa smiled. It was the most beautiful smile that Sandor had ever seen. "Will you kiss me now?"
"Yes," Sandor breathed.
Her lips found his and he was amazed of how soft and warm they were against his own. He felt her own lips pluck against his own and felt her hands running through his hair. She kissed him again, full on the mouth, and felt himself kiss her back. The desire and passion she had was shown through the kiss, of how she gently bit the corner of his lip as he kissed her again. Sandor let out a low moan. So did she. "I love you," he whispered feverishly in her ear. "I love you."
