Summery: Sandor and his rag-tag pack struggle to rebuild their lives on the Quiet Isles when word reaches them from Kingslanding pertaining to a certain Mountain that Rides..
Author's note: A shout out to Maracuyakongeen for your awesome advice and tips! =D
Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM.
The hour was early and the skies were grey when Sandor along with his courser Stranger took to patrolling the river beds just beyond the Quiet Isles monastery as was his habit. With so much conflict throughout the land it was not uncommon to discover the bloated forms of dead warriors washed up along the shoreline. He preferred to have the bodies out of sight lest Sansa be witness to them upon waking. Drawing his cloak tighter to his body Sandor continued to move onward silently cursing his limp and the ice that seemed to sink deep into his bones; the unspoken warning of winter's impending arrival.
Unlike everyone else, Sansa was almost eager for winter's arrival, though he would be damned if anyone knew why. The Little Bird had very few memories of winter, though what she did recall involved long nights in front of a fireplace sharing tall tales while drinking hot spice tea or some such nonsense. Despite having been born during the harsh season the young woman was unfamiliar with the bitter reality of what came with the cold. As much as he wanted to warn her of what was to come he refrained; for memories of the past was all she had left of her childhood home and he would not rob her of it.
It had been several months since Sandor first awoke bandaged and bedridden in the Quiet Isles Monastery. He had no recollection of his rescue or his journey to the monastery. Only that when he awoke his Little Bird half draped across his chest, half seated on her chair by his bed; her fingers intertwined with his own. To his surprise, Sandor learned he had been consumed by a fever for nearly a fortnight. Throughout it all Sansa had remained ever vigilant by his side, tending to his wounds, and helping the Elder Brother in any way she could to ensure his fever broke. So Arya admitted in disgust, unable to fathom her sister's loving devotion to him. The Little Bird ever humble would shyly smile, and speak of the Elder Brother's healing skills whenever Arya teased her for it. The scarred warrior knew better, for though he could recall much of his illness he never forgot the sound of her beautiful voice, singing to him in dreams, and the warmth of her fingers resting in his hand.
It was not the first time the Monastery received visitors of the fairer sex, it was the first time that any remained beyond passing. Ever mindful of the girls' privacy and the need to maintain order within the monastery the Elder Brother was quick to establish separate living quarters for the two sisters. With great care and speed the monks repaired an old shed once used to store gardening tools into a living space for the princesses to safely reside. Together Arya and Sansa made it into a place they could call home. Hot Pie and Gendry, like Sandor resided within the monastery as was common place for male travelers. Only Sandor was kept in a separate wing due to his temperament and his imposing presence.
The Elder Brother also was quick to request the church send a Silent Sister to act as the young ladies chaperone. Yet to his immense shock the church chose to send an apprentice to the reclusive Silent Sisters, a young woman who appeared no older than the Wolf-Girl. By the time the head monk learned his raven had never been received and that the young maiden had in reality fled from the Silent Sisters, it was too late.
Hot Pie and Gendry quickly proved their worth within the monastery. Hot Pie despite his young age soon left his mark in the monastery kitchens, taking what little they had and creating meals worthy of royalty. Gendry created and crafted elegant metal works that would one day decorate the grand cathedrals of Kingslanding. The monastery had little monetary means of paying for their skills, but what they could give, they freely gave enabling the two young men a means of earning their keep while setting aside savings for a future they hoped to embrace once winter had come and gone.
Sansa also readily took to the quiet life of the monastery. Her love of flowers led her to discover her love of gardening. It did not take long for her to master the art of growing rare if not beautiful blossoms. It did not take long for her to transform the gardens of the small Monastery into a forest full of colourful scented blooms and fresh food. When she was not found working the gardens Sansa would help the Elder Brother and the other healers tend to the wounded who found themselves in the monastery's care. Often she would sing to them, or tell sweet tales, anything to help the dying make their final sleep in peace. In spite of his best attempts, there were times when Sandor felt the familiar twinge of jealousy at the attention she would give these strangers. Sansa sensing his trepidation was quick to alleviate his fears in whatever way she could. Nor did not take long for everyone in the monastery to learn of her beloved acts of heroism and her hopes to one day marry the man the world once knew as the Hound. Yet all of his doubts, even he could not even he could not deny that his Little Bird had found a place of peace within the monastery's walls. It was here that she truly flourished, giving hope to the lost and peace to the despairing.
Meanwhile, Arya and Sandor struggled to find their place within the monastery. As his wounds began to heal the scarred warrior sought a means of earning his keep. Despite the monastery's peaceful nature, it did not take long for the war to arrive on its shorelines. Upon catching sight of dead corpses awash on shore Sandor took to digging graves earning him the title of Igravedigger/I amongst the locals of the region. He did it not for the gods, and certainly not for the men who died. He did it to honour Sansa who firmly believed that even the most vile of men (or women) deserved a proper end. It did not take long for Arya to join him during the early hours of morning. Often she would be seen practicing with her sword Needle while Sandor dug graves in silence. Upon occasion he would give advice on how to improve upon her skills. Other times it was Arya who came to his aid, helping him dig when his healing body would no longer permit him to finish what he had started.
Having completed his patrol, Sandor made his slow return to the monastery's graveyard. Upon depositing the corpses from Stranger's back he returned the black courser to the stables. Soon after, he returned to the graveyard where he began to shovel a deep grave. So lost was he in his thoughts that Sandor did not notice Sansa's approach until she had placed a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he immediately tightened his grip around the spade's handle; instinctively prepared for an attack what would not come. The young woman sensing his mental state swiftly took a step back enabling him to give her full attention. When Sansa gave a smile that did not quite reach her troubled eyes, Sandor knew something was wrong. 'Spit it out girl. What is it?' he barked. It was not his intention to be so harsh, but the scarred warrior was not about to pretend everything was fine either. Having since grown accustomed to his direct nature Sansa merely took his hands in silence. Her unspoken assurances did little to ease the concern felt to the sight of her troubled expression.
'What happened? Did one of those buggering monks hurt you?' Sandor began, his imagination already running wild to the worst possible scenarios. The monks may have been nothing short of proper and respectful towards them, but Sandor knew the nature of man. He also knew what a lifetime of solitude from women, especially one as beautiful as Sansa could do to a man. The idea of anyone hurting even a hair on his Little Bird's head immediately filled him with blinding rage.
'Gods no! Sandor how could you even think such a thing?' Sansa balked. 'The Elder Brother and his fellow brethren have been nothing but proper towards Arya and I,' she gently chastised him. He could not fathom how after everything she could still remain incredibly naïve. She was every bit her Father's daughter. 'Besides what fool would dare invoke your rage, my love,' she added rising to the balls of her feet to gently kiss his marred lips. Her assurance was both readily accepted, and thoroughly enjoyed.
'Then what is this about?' he said, feeling his rage fade into genuine concern. Sansa hesitated as she drew in a deep breath. The only time he had ever seen her look so troubled was when he was dying of the fever by the river's edge. It did little to ease his growing fear for her.
'The Elder Brother received word this morning from the citadel in Kingslanding,' she began in quiet tones. 'It's about your brother, Gregor.' Sandor frowned as the spade's handle creaked in protest to his vice like grip. Anything news that involved the Mountain was certain to be bad news. Sansa carefully relinquished the spade he held and set it on the frost covered soil before taking his free hand with her own.
'He died after a trial in combat. It's said he was killed by Prince Oberyn of House Martell who is also now dead. They believe the Prince had used a poisoned spear to deliver his killing blow…'
To her words, the young man felt his world had just been removed from under his feet as emotions, memories, and dreams once forgotten warred within him. First there was rage, fury to the fact he was not the one who delivered the killing blow. He had been already denied so much and now the gods saw it fit to rob him of his final revenge. Then he felt a rush of relief. For no longer could the Mountain ever pose a threat to his beloved Little Bird or anyone else for that matter. Underlying beneath it all was a deep sense of sorrow. A sadness for all that had once been and was now lost; all that could have been in another time, another place. In stunned silence Sandor stood frozen in place, his large hands tightly gripping Sansa's petite fingers, as though fearing should he let go he would be truly lost.
Falling silent, Sansa disentangled her fingers from his hands so as to draw him into a tight embrace. Holding the scarred warrior close, she gently whispered, 'you are not alone, my love. You will never be alone again. We are your family and never again can he hurt you or anyone else,' Try as he might to draw strength from the truth of her words, a greater part of him feared the future that had now become his reality.
Sandor's life was always overshadowed by the sins of his elder brother. He knew all too well what it meant to be judged not for his own actions, be it good or bad, rather for Gregor's sins. He needed only look in the mirror to see his brother's handiwork, and to be reminded of whom ultimately would have the final word in his destiny. Yet for all his dashed dreams Sandor had since grown to accept the hardships and the unforgiving ugliness that was his life. It was the most he could ever hope for and so he did what he could to survive it as best as he knew how.
Nothing could have prepared him for his Little Bird, or the Wolf-Girl, and her rag-tag pack. Hatred, rage, and disillusionment were all he had come to expect of his life. In time he even learned to embrace it, for was simple and easy to understand. He knew where he stood, and who his enemies were. Acceptance, love, hope and the promise of a future were far more complicated, and far more uncertain. It was also something he secretly desired more than anything else in the world; a dream he never in his wildest dreams imagined would become his reality. If this was his happy ending, why did he only feel fear?
'What will become of me? What will become of us?' he asked feeling every bit the little boy who watched on as his dreams were consumed by his brother's fire.
Taking his cheeks into her hands Sansa stared up at him, her blue eyes filled with such love he had never imagined would be directed at him. 'You will become the man you were always meant to be. You will bring honour to your Grandfather's legacy, and you will continue to make me so proud to stand by your side. Whatever lies ahead we will face it together; you and I, always.' Deeply moved by the sincerity of her words, and the love he saw in her eyes Sandor wrapped his arms around her petite waist and tightly held her. Burying his face in the crook of her neck the young man breathed a shaky sigh, feeling as though he had spent his entire life holding his breath waiting for an end. Now the end had finally come, and for the first time he was truly free.
No longer was Sandor forced to live in the shadow of his brother's dark legacy, or in fear that Gregor would one day unleash his vengeance upon those he loved most. He was now free to do live the life he had always wanted, but did not dare hope to experience. The time had finally come to do what he sought to do all along; to give the Little Bird the happy ever after ending she rightfully deserved.
