"Sad it's over?"
Sandor blinked up at the fatigued face of his friend. Brandon's face, although smiling, seemed aged and worn-out greatly, all from the past two days, as though the week in Harennhal had lasted not days but years. So deep were the lines around his eyes, and the disheveled state of his hair strongly suggested lack of sleep, or a restless one.
"I am," Sandor said, although he wasn't sure that was the truth. The tourney had been a rarity for one like himself, and surely not likely to come again-or ever, given its luxuriousness-and yet the entirety of the festival had been so terribly plagued with uproar and chaos, he wasn't so sure anymore that this was the life he aspired to.
"It will be strange going home," said Brandon, whose tone suggested strangeness was the least of his concerns. Sandor could only imagine what was going on in his head; he suspected the heir to Winterfell was none too excited to be getting back within earshot of his doubtlessly infuriated father.
So very much had happened in the past seven days. Sandor could scarcely wrap his head around it all.
A few short days past, he had watched Prince Rhaegar run headlong into the forest after Lyanna, whom he thought to be some poor-mannered green boy waving a shield and spear about like a fool. Heartsick, Sandor had had no choice but to circle back slowly to their camp, knowing if he was found by the prince, they might realize who the Knight of the Laughing Tree was. But if he remained hidden, if his tale he'd planned held up to the critical eye of the Stark brothers, then at least Lyanna had hope. She only needed to run far enough, and the prince (although slim and agile) was no match for a wolf when it came to speed and endurance.
And so Sandor prayed, thinking once again of every sort of god he'd heard of, begging for Lyanna's fortune to hold out just a little was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't notice who it was in front of him before he'd nearly crashed headlong into Ned's chest.
"Sandor?" Ned seized him by the shoulders. "What are you doing? Where is Lyanna?"
Sandor swallowed, and tried not to look guilty. Which was, of course, incredibly difficult to do, especially when Brandon and Benjen came up behind him, each frowning perplexedly at him.
"In her rooms. She...I think she was upset about...about those squires. She went inside and said I could do as I pleased."
"And you didn't wish to watch the jousting?" asked Ned, with a suspicious brow quirked.
"I did." Sandor sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "I could only get as far as the commonfolks' seating. No one believed I was with a House."
This was completely untrue, but it was something Sandor could easily imagine happening. It would take a great deal to convince anyone who didn't know the Starks well that Sandor was well-acquainted with the sons of Rickard Stark. Especially given how he looked now, covered in dried mud from laying crouched under the stand, and then later when he had rolled into the underbrush to hide.
"Why were you running?" Sandor fought a huff now, only barely stopping himself from glaring at Ned. Had it been one of the other Stark boys alone with Sandor, he'd have never been questioned. But Ned had spent the least amount of time with Sandor; it made sense his trust came with more convincing.
Sensible or not, it was incredibly inconvenient.
"I heard about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. The Prince was running after him."
Ned's face smoothed into grave understanding. "Yes. The King is furious, as are many. Some claim he is a pretender, no knight at all. Many will speak of this story for years to come."
"The coward does not deserve such thought," said Brandon, rolling his eyes. "Any man who is unwilling to present his name to his king is a coward and a traitor. No matter that the knights he defeated were those same three whose squires treated Howland like scum."
Brandon chuckled suddenly, causing Ned to spin and raise his brows in disbelief at his brother's bizarre moment of humor. "I was just thinking if I didn't know better, I would say this is something our sister would do."
"Don't be absurd," Ned muttered, walking away. "And don't say such foolish things where others who do not know better might hear us; where would she have learned how to joust, after all?"
"It was only a thought," said Brandon, still smiling as he turned after his silent brother. But Sandor's gaze was fixated upon young Benjen's reaction, the way his eyes had widened at Brandon's jape, the way his face had paled with realization and his mouth twisted sourly.
He didn't say anything to Sandor, but there was no doubt in either lad's mind as to what had happened that day.
Sandor shuffled on the spot awkwardly for a moment, privately praying Ned was wrong and that the story died quickly, like a candle flame extinguished in the wind. He prayed no one else tried to piece together the details of this day, that none realized the knights who were defeated were those of the same houses of the squires who had attacked Howland Reed. He prayed feverishly that none remembered that Lyanna was strangely absent the day a mysterious champion unhorsed three knights in the name of justice.
Yes. Sandor would be most happy if the whole of Westeros forgot all about the Knight of the Laughing Tree the next day.
Lyanna had finally made an appearance later that evening, her hair done neatly and her face and hands clean of any incriminating evidence. She was peculiarly tired to the rest of her family and friends, and she walked slowly and carefully as though she was fighting the urge to limp, but she put off any questions by feigning recovering from an illness, claiming that she was "feeling flushed only this morning, and now merely wearied-but thank you kindly for your concern."
Sandor was the only one who hadn't been fooled, and as soon as he had the chance, he cornered her shamelessly.
"What happened? How did you escape?" Sandor pressed his friend for details, but Lyanna had been unusually coy and vague.
"Nothing of import. Honestly, Sandor, don't be so panicked! We have both made it unscathed!" She tried smiling at him, but the lie on her face was plain to read. Sandor had frowned at her, torn between allowing the day to pass into memories or push her for more answers. For the time being, he let her go, too upset to bother feigning happiness for her. Instead they had watched the rest of the tourney play out, with a blessedly few number of unusual occurrences.
Until there came the final day of the joust.
Sandor could still see the moment Rhaegar won whenever he closed his eyes. His victory had happened yesterday, but it felt as though Sandor had never left the stands, as though he were watching right this second as Rhaegar unhorsed his final competitor and took the title of victor. Thunderous applause broke out over the crowds then, even Sandor had grinned a bit and clapped in enthusiastic joy. The moment was euphoric, and contagious moreover. Even though a northern man did not take the victory, it felt for those few short moments like the happy ending they all deserved.
And it was then Rhaegar was handed the crown of blue roses, the peculiarly northern bouquet, and it was then he had climbed astride his steed once more, to the tune of hundreds of men and women cheering in his name and in his princess' name, the sweet Elia of House Martell, who sat not too far from where Sandor was seated with Lyanna and Brandon.
The people cheered, and Rhaegar rode to his lady with his long white hair flowing behind him. He sat his horse so elegantly, with a proud lean to his shoulders and the barest of smiles gracing his face. When at last Rhaegar reached his wife's seat, Sandor thought he meant to do a turn about the whole ring once more for the sake of the crowd. A rather foppish thing to do, he thought sourly, only Rhaegar did not take a tour of the ring, and though he passed his wife's seat, he did stop shortly after...
Directly in front of Lyanna herself.
Sandor felt as though the air had been pushed from his lungs. Rhaegar acted as though he hadn't noticed the way the people fell silent, shocked and awed by the sight. A young prince with his beautiful bride not twenty feet away, forsaken for the fifteen-year-old northern wolf with eyes as wide as the moon. For Lyanna herself was undoubtedly shocked, although she managed to accept the crown with a quiet thank you, letting the roses sit in her lap with a numb look of bewilderment on her face.
Eyes wide, slack-jawed with disbelief, Sandor had all but felt the fury build in Brandon's shoulders, though he was seated on the other side of Lyanna. And though his fury was impressive back in the tent, Robert Baratheon had been near inconsolable in his rage at the perceived slight.
"He dares insult me like this!" Robert thundered, stomping from one end of the tent to the next. "Acting as though the lady would be flattered by his attentions while his wife sits beside us, twiddling her thumbs?! The bloody fool!"
"Mayhap he just meant to pay Lyanna a compliment, Lord Baratheon," Benjen suggested quietly, although the general consensus from the brothers of Lyanna was that the act was quite definitely an insult-
-paid to Lyanna, not Robert.
"Should we say something?" Ned had asked Brandon quietly. "Speak out against it?"
"No," he muttered, frowning over at Lyanna, who had not said much of anything that night. The flower crown hung limply in her hands as she stared down on it, transfixed. "No. It will only make her look guiltier."
And Brandon was right. Many lords and ladies who had been happy to speak with House Stark during the tourney would now ignore them or look the other way. The transformation of the attitude towards Lyanna was almost shocking; how could so many hold something against for which she'd had no say?
It was the night ending the tourney, only last night, that Sandor had finally spoken with Lyanna and gotten to the truth. She had tried to deflect his conversation once more, but he'd persisted until at long last, she spoke true.
"Prince Rhaegar found me the other day in the forest, when he chased after the Knight of the Laughing Tree."
Her confession stunned him, but not nearly as much as her next words did. "When he caught up to me, he was so kind, after he realized who I was and what I had done. He called it courageous, and he swore to me that none would ever know the truth of what had happened. Of what I'd done."
"And then?" Sandor asked, and Lyanna blushed some here."And...and he told me things. Like...how wild I was. And..." she swallowed nervously. "And he told me I was beautiful." Sandor tried to absorb what she was telling him, but it was hard to fathom. Of course, Lyanna truly was quite beautiful, and men were prone to paying her compliments periodically. This was no novelty for her, nor for him to hear. What shocked him however, was the fact that he could say something to her, the pair of them alone, unchaperoned and Lyanna unwed, whilst his wife had only just given him a son.
The lack of respect for Elia, putting it mildly, was astounding.
Lyanna's reaction even more so.
"You almost seemed pleased," Sandor accused, narrowing his gaze on her. "He-he takes you aside, unchaperoned, tells you how beautiful you are. A married man!" Sandor scowled. "And now this? He is too bold, Lyanna!"
Lyanna had reacted with anger at her friend's scolding, although in hindsight Sandor could imagine how it slighted to be chided by a ten-year-old boy. That didn't make the truth of the matter any different though; Rhaegar had displayed nothing but arrogance and self-serving vanity in his gesture that day. His pride made Sandor feel nauseous.
"I just wish to go home," he muttered to himself. This trip had not been the great adventure he had wanted, and between Lyanna and Brandon, he had learned far more about his close friends than he had intended. Sandor still thought back on the first night they came to Harrenhal, the night of the opening feast and the dancing, and the way Brandon had vanished so early in the night. Bored with the music, Sandor had left shortly after with the hopes of finding his comrade, but no such luck. He had wandered outside where there was a long garden and several rows of pillars and colonnades to walk about, to run through, to hide behind. Couples were found everywhere, hiding in the darkest shadows, stealing kisses and secrets like they could scarcely contain themselves.
Sandor had wrinkled his nose and made to leave, when he heard the most peculiar of noises coming from a secluded little archway at the end of outside doors. There was a strange sound, almost like a cry, with a breathless sigh hitched at the end like a horse and wagon.
"Oh, Brandon."
Sandor's brow furrowed deeply. The voice was most definitely female, though he couldn't say whose, and he knew enough of the workings between a man and woman to have a gist of what was happening under the archway. But Catelyn Tully was days away, in Riverrun.
Who could Brandon be with otherwise?
"Sandor."
He jerked, and spun about to come face to face with none other than Eddard Stark. The young man had a frown as deep as the heaviest snowfalls in winter on his face. He motioned patiently to the boy, a quiet beckoning of his hand. "Come, Sandor. Let's to bed."
"But..." He glanced back to the pillars which lead out to the open air and night sky. "But what about-"
"Never mind him." Ned laid a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder, steering him in the direction of their adjoining rooms. "Let us get to bed."
"But what was he doing with that woman?"
"Sandor."
"He is to wed Catelyn Tully! Why was he with some other girl?"
There was an increasing note of irritation in Ned's voice, but Sandor couldn't help himself. "Sandor, this is not to be spoken of."
"But he made a vow! How could he make a vow to Catelyn, only to then...then...with someone else?"
"I do not know, Sandor!" Ned was well and truly angry, hissing crackling words at him, but Sandor got the feeling it was from Ned's own lack of answers rather than true anger with Sandor himself. "I don't know how he could do this to her! Catelyn Tully is a beautiful woman, and my foolish brother doesn't deserve the ground she walks on, yet here we are! They are to be wed, and lovely Ashara Dayne will be ruined-"
"Ashara Dayne!?" Sandor stared at him, gape-jawed. "That was who he was with? Ser Arthur's sister?" He paled dramatically. "If Ser Arthur finds out, he'll kill Brandon!"
"Hush!" Ned dragged him inside, where a few servants were walking about, carrying empty plates and casks of wine. The anger slowly seeped out of the older boy, as though blood leaking from a wound. His shoulders sagged, and his hand pressed Sandor in the direction of their tents. "To bed, Sandor." He ruffled Sandor's long hair for good measure, and where there had been frustration in his voice, there was now tired fondness and exasperation. "You ask many questions, Sandor."
But he wouldn't ask so many if he only received some answers once in a while.
Sandor hadn't spoken of the instance to Brandon once, and he had the feeling Ned had not done so either. Between his lingering frustration over Brandon's dishonorable acts and Lyanna's unfathomably bold and daring actions, Sandor had spoken very little to either of them, and kept to himself instead. Conversation mattered little to the people he travelled with; the northerners were simply glad to be out of the south again, and made no qualms in breathing a collective sigh of relief once they passed the neck and made for their homes once more. The Houses of the North eventually separated into their own groups, while Sandor and the Starks made for Winterfell. Lord Baratheon, to the relief of many, had decided to return home to the Stormlands for a time, although his parting words to Ned and Lyanna strongly hinted at another visit soon. Ned had embraced the man like a brother, and even Lyanna had smiled for him as he kissed her hand.
Surprised as Sandor was by Lyanna's gesture of kindness to Lord Baratheon, he hadn't had much time to dwell on it. Soon enough, they were all in Winterfell once more, and Lord Stark was ready to greet them at the gates when they arrived. His face, already naturally solemn and somewhat dour, held a fierce quality of quiet displeasure and, behind that, rage. It wasn't for the average eye to see, but Sandor knew what to look for. The way Lord Stark's hands did spasm in their hold on Brandon's shoulders, they way his eyes had twitched minutely at Lyanna's demure curtsey and greeting of "Father."
Sandor overheard his liege address Brandon, Eddard and Lyanna in the most severe of tones. "You three will accompany me to my solar at once."
"Father, we just travelled for miles-"
But Rickard was not a man to be argued with that day.
"At once, Brandon!" And with that, he had spun around and stormed off with all the wild elegance of a man born to one of the most powerful bloodlines in all of Westeros.
Sandor never did find out what words were exchanged that day, nor did they ever discuss the events of Harrenhal again, but whatever it was had been enough to convince Lyanna to seek Sandor out that evening and apologize for what she now understood to be reckless behaviour. "Even if it was quite satisfying," she added with an self-indulgent smile.
Sandor had chuckled quietly then, and all was forgiven. After all, she was so far in the north, and Rhaegar was so far south. He had nothing to worry about.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on them, truly he hadn't. Sandor had only meant to ask if Lyanna was accompanying him and Brandon out on a ride tomorrow morning when he heard voices coming through the door to Ned's room. Open ever so slightly, Sandor had approached the door with every intention of knocking-he heard Lyanna, heard them talking with one another, it made sense at the time-but when he actually got close enough to distinguish words, Sandor stayed back.
"-please, brother. You know you're the only one who might convince Father..."
"I can't, Lya. And I won't. Robert Baratheon is a good man."
"What of his bastard girl? What of the countless whores he has had? You think I haven't any ears, brother?"
Ned sighed. "He's a strong warrior and a loyal soldier."
The conversation paused, and Sandor prepared to dash off in case they were about to leave and discover him listening to their words. But then Lyanna spoke, a cold voice filled with disdain and heart-breaking disappointment. "None of those things make a good husband. I thought...I thought you would be on my side."
Sandor crept away then, unwilling to know how the conversation proceeded. It was no secret that Ned had little control over his father's wishes, and it was equally plain that Rickard Stark had no intention of passing up the chance to tie the north to the south. Lyanna did not like it, but she did not have to; in the end, their people would be stronger for her marriage, and that was all Rickard would see.
Sandor felt very sorry for her.
It was impossible to not feel sad for her; she was downright despondent at the morning meal the next day, and every passing day she grew worse. Her attitude was described as listless at best, a sad presence sweeping through the castle halls, staring around her with an aching yearning, the sort of way one looked at something they would never see again. She is memorizing her home, he realised sadly, and vowed to spend the next day with her to cheer her.
Lyanna was happiest when they were alone. Brandon was deep in the throes of becoming the Lord of Winterfell, constantly surrounded by his father's politics, and Ned left for the Eyrie once again not six months past returning home. Even Benjen was distracted, trying now to find his own path. When it was only Sandor and Lyanna, when they raced their mounts down the trails and hillsides of the forest, that was the only time he saw her laugh. Her black hair streamed out behind her, her chin tipped back in her joy, and sometimes she even dared to drop the reigns, boldly throwing her arms out to either side of her and shouting wildly at the top of her lungs. Sandor yelled with her, laughing and and shaking his head and terrified she would fall, the two of them brave and stupid and so very young.
She was sixteen now. Sixteen years of age, and ready to be wed. Her father was going to set a date at any moment now, and everyone knew it. Robert wrote her frequently, but Lyanna never shared the content of the letters, nor what she sent in reply. But she never gave any indication that such letters were troublesome to her, nor that her replies were anything short of warm and kind. Sandor wasn't sure if she felt pity for the lord and did not wish to be unkind, of if she knew her father read her letters prior to sending them, as Sandor himself suspected.
Men and women all over the north remarked on her beauty. They constantly compared her to other women, to the beauty of famed southron ladies. Cersei Lannister. Ashara Dayne. (They did not mention Elia Targaryen, as no one in the keep mentioned Elia or the Targaryens after the Tourney, lest they could help it). "And none hold a candle to you, milady," they would say, and curtsey deeply at her feet. Lyanna's face would take on a pinched quality at these times, one of smothered exasperation, and though she smiled and thanked them, she would oftentimes try to catch Sandor's eye afterwards so that she might roll her eyes at him, the pair of them sharing this little secret.
"Beauty is such a hassle," she had remarked spontaneously one day, when they were an hour's ride from Winterfell. Now she was engaged to be wed, her father had allowed her more freedoms than he'd done before. Why Rickard had decided this, Sandor didn't understand, but he wouldn't question the man about it.
"Poor you," said Sandor, feeling a bit sour with her. He didn't care much for beauty, but it would be nice to be stared at for something other than his scars.
Lyanna only sighed. "Forgive me. I know it sounds foolish, but it's true. Would that I were plain, just enough so that no man wanted me..."
"Men will always want you," he muttered, sprawled out on his back, unable to see her face. "You're the daughter of Lord Rickard Stark, Warden of the North. You could have the face of a horse's arse and still be sought after."
She didn't say anything, and when Sandor turned his head to glimpse her reaction, he saw she had turned away from him, her shoulders hitched high under her ears, trembling softly. "Lyanna?"
But his nervous voice had broken her from her trance. "We should return now," said Lyanna, striding briskly to their steeds, and hauling herself onto the saddle without another word. "They will be looking for me."
Lyanna and Sandor didn't go riding for a long while after that. Lyanna continued to receive letters, a number of letters, short missives from ravens who went straight for Lyanna's hands. She never opened them in front of others, and kept herself barred in her room a long time after reading them, although the words themselves could hardly be numerous.
One morning meal, the morning after she received one such missive, Sandor found her to be unusually quiet amongst her family. He took a seat on Benjen's right, as was proper, but he continuously strained his neck to try and catch a glimpse of her. Subdued, head bowed, Lyanna broke her fast without speaking much of a word to anyone. None paid attention to her silence, used to her perceived moodiness, but Sandor noticed. Sandor saw. And when she left after eating not even half of what was on her plate, he hurried to finish his own meal and find her, but to no avail.
Lyanna had seemingly disappeared that day. Benjen hadn't seen her, and her handmaids were unaware of what their lady was up to this day. Sandor had tried to hide his panic-he didn't want his own fears to get her into trouble-but in his heart, fear and doubt gripped him for hours all day. He trained in the yard with the other boys, many of whom he was growing to like, but he couldn't focus on his sparring for long. Rodrik dismissed them late in the evening, and Sandor resumed his searching after finding her missing from the supper meal.
"She's fine," Brandon assured him when he asked after her. "Likely just sulking in her room." Her father had finally set a wedding date for two months from then. She would be leaving Winterfell for an indeterminable period of time within the next six weeks, and he didn't doubt grief ate at her like an open wound. But his worry didn't abate, and Sandor knew he would get no sleep this night.
So he took to the stables whereupon he found his horse-the one Lord Stark had loaned him to train on-and groomed its mane, scraped its hooves for dirt and stones, and even offered up an apple he'd been saving for himself. The hour was late by the time he finished and decided it was time he best get to sleep, but no sooner had he entered the castle than he heard soft scuttling footsteps behind him, dancing after him.
He spun around, heart ramming furious in his chest from fear of the unknown, until he saw a grey-eyed girl twirling after him, her arms high over her head in an arching circle, her smile wider than he'd seen it in years. Lady with the sad eyes, people called her, but there was no indication of such a girl now. She was happy.
She was radiant.
"Where have you been?" Sandor snapped, relief quickly melting into anger at seeing Lyanna safe. As she approached, he saw under her warm cloak she was still dressed in her nightgown, something which shocked him. "What are you wearing?!"
"That's hardly important now. I'm to bed." Lyanna walked up to him with a bounce to her step, and set a hand on either of his shoulders. They were at the same height now-he was only slightly taller-and her eyes crinkled with her smile. "Sandor, my dear friend... You've been a brother to me for years. You know how much I love you, don't you?"
Sandor blinked, startled at the abrupt change of conversation. "Y-yes? I thank you, milady."
"None of that," she scolded, but her words were still teasing. Her steel eyes softened then, taking on the unusual hue of a stormy day. "I do love you though. I am so happy you came to us..." Her smile became tremulous. "I'll miss you dearly."
"You still have months before you have to leave," Sandor pointed out, trying to affect a factual tone, but cold terror gripped his heart at her words. "There's no need to talk so dramatically. You should get to bed...before your maids really realize where you've gone. You've not been drinking, have you?"
"No!" she laughed. "No, I've not. But you're right, of course. We should both get some sleep." Her face changed then, took on a queer expression of somberness and pain. "Do you know what I learned today, little brother?" She hooked her arm through his elbow, giving him little choice in the matter but to being walking her in the direction of their respective quarters.
"What did you learn?"
"Sometimes...we cannot see the plan the gods have for us. Sometimes, mayhap they do not want us to see the plan they have in mind for us. But there is always a plan." She squeezed his arm gently, and smiled in the pale light of the moon streaming through the window of the keep. Her chamber forked to the left down the hall they had entered, and his to the right. "Sometimes we must suffer before we see their plan," she added solemnly, and touched his scarred cheek with a look of utter agony and sympathy. He stared at her unseeingly for a moment, and shook his head from his reverie.
"You mean my scars were for a purpose?" he asked sourly, and pulled her hand from his cheek. Cold air replaced the warmth of her palm, but she wasn't angry with him.
"You're here, aren't you? Did your grandfather not save you out of fear from your brother?" she frowned at him. "Nothing pains me greater than the thought of you suffering so terribly, so young, but... I am selfish, Sandor, for it meant that I met you. And I cannot bring myself to regret that."
He replied grudgingly. "Nor I." He still wished it hadn't been at the expense of his face.
But Lyanna smiled at his understanding. "You see?" she took a step back from him, slowly sliding into the darkness of the unlit hall. "Everything works out in the end."
She vanished into the night, and slowly he turned and descended into his own quiet darkness.
Thank you for all of your support, to those who have been reading along! I realize now that there's a few things I probably should have clarified at the start of the story, which is my own fault of course. The first, that I'm not reading the books as I write, and so some facts might be skewed. Be warned! The second is that this is (hopefully!) going to be a long story, for which many characters have yet to play their part, or even be introduced. In short: Sansa Stark will play a role-a fairly large role-but she isn't born yet so you'll have to forgive me for now that she isn't around yet.
Patience is a virtue.
I love to hear thoughts about what I'm writing; it makes my day. Shout out to those who reviewed since my last post:
Starrose17: I'm so happy to hear you're enjoying it! Yes, Rhaegar will play a role-although he isn't a main character. I hope you still enjoy it! Thank you for reading!
Birdy: Here you go! :)
Guest (1): It's a lot of fun writing a background story, because there's so much wiggle room in a structured environment. There are events I have to get to, but I can do it as I please, which is always fun! Thank you for reading!
Neumega: I'm all about keeping Sandor warm and happy and surrounded by friends. I don't want to spoil anything though, so I'll have to leave it there, haha! Thank you for reading!
Kacoo: Thank you for the reviews! I hope my portrayal of Robert hasn't put you off too much...
Mikle Silver: Ah yes, I forgot to warn you before posting that it wasn't going to follow the events to a T. I hope you still enjoyed it! And yes, there are stories that are not romance and still popular. Perhaps I should've prefaced that by saying I normally only read romantic fanfiction, haha! Oh well, the story is seeing a slight influx of reviews and responses, so you never know! Maybe I'm doing something right, lol. Thanks for reviewing!
StaleBiscuit: Thank you so much! I'm excited to bring my version of Sandor to the proverbial big screen ;)Littlemsstrawberry: I don't want to spoil anything, though I wish I could tell you everything now, haha! Thank you for reading. You'll find out soon enough!
Guest (2): Glad to hear it! As for Rhaegar's role (I don't think this is really a spoiler) but it won't really explicitly be addressed as a positive/negative role. I suppose you'll see in the next few chapters, but really (much like it is in the books) you'll have to decide for yourself if you agree with Rhaegar and, more importantly, Lyanna... Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Disappointed: I'll be sure to dedicate Sansa's first appearance to you. Hugs! 3
Thanks to all who read this far! I'm always worried things are dragging, but the fun part (or "fun" IMHO) is going to happen REAL fast. Hang in there, folks!
Cheers,
Miss Mallora