At dinner that night, Straya's orphans gathered around him. The night before at his welcome feast they had sat at the table but kept their distance. They had all been in the courtyard when Sandor gave his welcome speech and it had unnerved them. Now, however, they seemed to grow bolder and wanted to know more about the man sitting before them.
It started when a little tiny girl no older than five sat down on the bench beside him. Sandor looked down at the girl but said nothing, children made him nervous and in truth he had no idea what to do with them. He had been around Cersei's children all their lives, but he had never been expected to actually interact with them. His position within the Lannister family was that of guard dog, not lap dog. The closest he ever really got to actually spending any amount of time with a child was the she-wolf and gods, was that a disaster. A strange friendship did eventually forge between the two, and they both acknowledged it when the met at Winterfell once more, but the truth of the matter was Sandor had not exactly been father material to the girl. In his defense, he had pretty much been going through a complete mental breakdown of his own, but he had been less than understanding and supportive of the child's needs, especially after pretty much her entire family had been slaughtered around her.
"Are you going to eat that berry tart?" The little girl looked up at him with big brown eyes that almost seemed pleading.
"No," he answered her, "I was planning on giving it to you." His mouth twitched slightly.
Her face lit up then and she grabbed the fork that was on the table as he slid the plate in front of her. "What is your name, girl?" He rasped, trying to keep his face from looking as gruesome as possible.
"Rebecca, but everyone calls me Becca." Her cheeks puffed out as she stuffed large bites of berry tart into her mouth and Sandor couldn't help but think how she resembled a chipmunk in that moment.
"Sara is my real sister," the girl continued, "Mother gave us to Straya when father died. She told us that the good woman who lived in the castle took in children who needed homes."
"What happened to your mother?" Sandor was uncertain if that was a question he should have asked, but it was already out of his mouth now.
"She was very sick. Straya even brought her here to the castle for Maester Merek to help her, but there was nothing he could do. I cried a lot at first, but Straya would sing to me every night the same song my mama sang to me and tell me that mama was the brightest star in the sky now and I could talk to her anytime I wanted to. I still talk to her sometimes at night when I am alone, she never answers back, but Straya told me she can hear every word." She was done with the tart now and leaned her head onto his giant arm, eyes glancing upward to meet his shocked stare. "What about you, why did Straya take you in?"
Sandor barked a laugh out suddenly, but then realized the girl looked hurt.
"She took me in because I had no home of my own, so she was nice enough to share hers with me." He wanted to smile down at the girl but remembered how much more frightening his face was when he did, so instead he tried to give her a reassuring look.
"Does your boo boo still hurt?" Becca pointed to the burned side of his.
"Only on the darkest nights when I am all alone, girl." He lifted his wineskin then and took a long pull.
"Becca, it is time for bed." An older girl stood in front of the table. She had straight blond hair, but it was easy to see she shared the same eyes as the small girl leaning on his arm.
"I want the Hound to tuck me in." Becca pushed her bottom lip out as she said the words.
"She is not quite six my Lord and knows not what she asks," the girl apologized for her sister's behavior.
Sandor looked down at Becca, "I would girl, but I am afraid of the dark you see. I would get scared wandering around this castle all by myself after you were asleep. No, it's best if you let Straya do it, she is much braver than I and better at songs."
As if right on cue, Straya emerged from the corner of the room. "Come Becca, it is time bed my little one."
"Very well," Becca sighed, "But will you take me for a ride on your big black war horse someday?" She looked at him hopefully.
"Aye girl, I promise. Once I am accustom to life here at the Keep, I will take you for a ride on Stranger." He did smile at her as Straya scooped her up into her arms.
Sandor had thought that would be the end of the children for the night, but he soon found out he was wrong. It was only moment's later when he saw Gregor's face bounding happily towards him. A pit grew in his stomach and he tried to keep the expression on his face from turning sour; it was Malachi, Gregor's bastard.
Straya had told Sandor that Malachi's mother had shown up at the Tower gates one afternoon with the boy and asked for an audience with her. The woman refused to enter the gates, so Straya had to go outside. Garran thought it some kind of trap at first, but Straya insisted that they could keep her safe if it was and that she was not going to turn away a young woman. The woman told Straya about how Gregor had taken her by force on several occasions, he would come to their town and always seek her out over the rest of the women. When the girl discovered she was pregnant with Gregor's child, she became scared. Then she became even more frightened as the child grew and his face became that of Gregor Clegane himself. The villagers made it clearer everyday that they did not want a constant memory of the Mountain living in their town. She tried to move then to a neighboring village, but the same thing happened there as well.
She sent the boy to play in the field then and started to speak to Straya in a hushed tone. She whispered that in truth she could no longer look on her own son either, she loved him, but the trauma of the past events were too much for her. The boy looked exactly like a small Gregor, and his appearance frightened her. She asked Straya to take the boy as she had heard that Straya took orphans and unwanted children. Straya admitted to Sandor that it had been one the hardest decisions she had to ever make as Lady of the Keep. In truth she did not want the boy either, why would she want a walking replica of Gregor around her everyday of the rest of her life? If that woman thought she had it bad, apparently, she had never thought about exactly what it was like to actually live with Gregor as his wife. But in the end, Straya's motherly nature took over and she agreed to take him in.
At first Straya said it had been hard. The boy took an immediate liking to her and always wanted to be with her. He would pick grapes right beside her in the fields, sharing her basket and always looking at her for approval. He always tried to carry anything she went to pick up, and no matter what task she tried to perform he was always underfoot cheerily wanting to assist. The day he called her mother for the time made her heart stop cold. Still, he was such a pleasant child, carefree and happy, in truth he was a joy to be around and always laughing. No amount of work ever seemed to tire him, he had boundless energy and his enormous size for a boy his age was very helpful in the chores the children performed. It wasn't long until she saw him always trying to help his orphaned sisters out as well. Often, he would tell the girls to sit and rest and do their work all himself. Straya often had to tell him that was not necessary and hard work was an important lesson that everyone had to learn; although he would still work harder so they had to do less. In the end the boy won her over and she had told Sandor that she did not even see the boy's face as Gregor's anymore, and in time he would not either. Sandor doubted that, he had killed his own brother, hated him; he doubted that he would ever see anything more than his monstrous brother when he looked at Malachi.
"You are my kin for true are you not?" The boy had an excited look upon his face and a large happy smile; it unnerved Sandor to see Gregor's face in such a pleasant manner. He wanted the boy to go but knew Straya would be angry if he barked at him, she loved her orphans as her own children.
"I am your father's brother," he snapped irritability and took another swig of wine hoping the child would get the hint.
He is just a boy dog, Straya told you he has no idea what a monster his father was nor, does he understand what his face means to people. It is not his fault. It is not his fault.
"I never met my father, I know he was a bad man and that I look like him." The boys glance fell to the floor and his cheery voice turned to sadness.
"Who told you that boy?" according to Straya he was not supposed to be aware.
"I hear the whispers in the Keep. Some still hate me, when I come near they will swing a broom at me or tell me to get. Most are kind to me, though. I heard my real mother the day she left me here; she thought I could not hear, but I heard her tell Straya that if she did not take me my life would have to be forfeited."
Fuck, Straya did not tell me that part. What kind of mother intends to kill her child just because of how he looks. I would have been dead long ago, if that were the case.
The boy continued, "Straya has never minded my face though, she has told me since I came here that I would grow to be a handsome man in my own right. She tells me all the time that I will grow to protect those that are weaker than me, just like the Hound." His face was beaming at Sandor now, pride evident in every feature of it.
Say something dog, say something not terrible.
Sandor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "A man makes his own choices in this world boy, the face the gods gave him matters not, it's what he does with it that counts. Your father chose to use his face to destroy, in truth I am not much better; but you boy, you have a chance to be the one Clegane that his face is remembered for good. Your great grandfather was the last good Clegane, you have a chance to carry on his memory." Sandor bid him a goodnight and stood up then, he could take no more of the boy tonight. Turning, he headed towards the tower where his room awaited him.
"Sandor," he was just ready to enter his room when he heard Straya's tiny voice behind him. "I have something for you. Will you come with me?"
He turned to see the little woman and nodded, following her into her room. She kneeled down in front of a chest in the corner and began to dig through it.
"Gregor burned most of your family's portraits. As I am certain you noticed, only your grandfather's remains. One night he was in a fit of rage, screaming about him being the only true Clegane, and he started pulling the paintings off the walls. I watched him smash them all into bits and then start throwing the pieces into the fireplace. Your mother's was the last portrait to be discarded of. He had stormed out of the room then and I heard the Tower doors slam."
Straya pulled a piece of folded and singed canvas out of the chest, "I don't know why I did it, I guess maybe it was a woman thing. I saw her face on the canvas as the edges of it slowly started to catch fire and burn and it almost seemed like her eyes were pleading with me to save her; to take her out of the fire. I did then. She was mostly burned, but her face still remains and part of her hair. I am sorry I could not save more." She handed the folded canvas to him.
Sandor stared at her, eyes wide, not moving. He did not reach out to take it, just stood there, staring down, frozen in fear.
"Perhaps you would prefer I just put it away for a while, until you are ready to have it." She turned to place it back in the chest.
"NO!" He yelled louder then he had meant to. He knelt beside her and slowly took the canvas from her hands. His fingers brushed against hers and somehow it seemed to transfer a sense of peace to him then, he was not alone.
Slowly he unfolded the material and looked down upon the face he had so long ago forgotten.
She is so beautiful, so lovely. I miss her so much. She would be so ashamed of the man I became, she would be so broken at what has become of her children.
A thousand daggers stabbed his heart all at the same time, pain and grief swept through him beyond anything he had ever felt in his life. He wrapped his large arm around Straya and pulled her tight into an embrace.
"Sometimes I feel as though she is watching over me here." Straya whispered into his ear. "I know how ridiculous it sounds, but there have been times when I swore I saw her face in the darkness. It has only happened on the worst nights when I thought all was lost or I was going to die. She would come to me and stand over me, yet I was not afraid, it was like the comfort of my own mother was around me. I know how crazy that sounds, you don't have to believe me. I am crazy. But I wanted you to know."
Sandor pulled his head back from her neck and looked at her through his tears, "If you are crazy woman, then so am I, because I believe you. I have ridden a dragon, killed the undead and seen the Night King, I do not find it so hard to believe that my mother would provide you comfort. She was the kindest woman I ever knew. She sang me to sleep every night when I was a small boy and told me constantly how much she loved me. Until now, I had all forgotten her face. Thank you, Straya."
He pulled her in close again and they held each other awhile longer before he departed for his room.
Later that night, close to the hour of the wolf, Sandor crept across the hall once again and eased down into Straya's chair. He had downed two skins of wine, but again nothing had seemed to help. He stretched his massive legs out onto the ottoman in front of him and turned his head slightly to get a better glimpse of Straya asleep on the bed. She was again lying on her stomach, shift around her waist and hair falling about her in all it's glory. He sighed and let the peace of watching her sleep wash over him. He focused on her face, how lovely it looked in the moonlight once again, and listened to the soft sounds of her breaths. The wind blew in a warm air from the open window and he could here an owl calling far off in the distance.
As his soul calmed watching her sleep, his mind drifted to the boy and the conversation he had with him. He would tell Straya in the morning that the boy knew his plight, understood he was not liked by some; he would also tell her that he planned to start training the boy in the yard that week. At first, he thought it a bad idea, he did not want to teach the son of Gregor to fight, but after lying awake in his bed for so many hours he realized that Malachi was the only Clegane left. Straya could bear no children and Sansa chose to have another man's son, so Malachi was the only true blood tied to the Keep. She told him the boy's nature was kind and speaking with the boy had left him with the same impression. He settled it with himself then, he would do his best to rear the boy to be the man his grandfather had been. In truth he knew nothing about being a good man himself, but he could draw off of the things he saw in Jon and try to teach him those qualities; and he had Straya. Despite all the abuse and hell she lived through, she still remained kind and good, something he had not managed to hold onto during his life. He would teach the boy what not to be; Straya could teach the boy what he should be.
His thoughts began to drift then, filling with haziness.