Chapter 11
Sandor stood inspecting newly forged dragonglass daggers by the black-haired blacksmith when the horn sounded. He froze, holding one of the daggers precariously before turning on his heel and running out into the courtyard without a word. With the horn sounding, chaos erupted and the world's end came into view. Sandor ran to the wall, up the stairs and stared out over the ramparts. A fog of thick white was slowly approaching. It reminded Sandor of the ominous clouds that precede a terrible thunderstorm. Except these clouds were white…white like ice and snow…white like a body drained of its life blood. He began to bark out orders to the men-at-arms and bannermen around him as he made his way back to the courtyard. Tendrils of fear tried to latch onto him but he kicked them away. He had to focus and keep the men from seeing his fear. They had planned for this, now it was time to live or die.
He sprinted to Ser Hallwyn's room in the barracks. The two decided during the past week to keep Sandor's armor there so when the time came, he would not have to rush to the Keep and find someone to help him put it on. Ser Hallwyn was absent but his squire remained, stuttering that Ser Hallwyn told him to wait and help Sandor. The boy radiated fear but he quickly helped Sandor put his armor on, his fingers trembling slightly. With a strange rush of gratitude, Sandor clapped the boy on the shoulder before stepping back out into the courtyard, ready to fight and probably die.
The battleplan was to keep the fight outside the gates of Winterfell, to try and protect those hidden inside. Archers and bannermen lined the ramparts, eyes glued to the slowly approaching enemy amongst the white fog. The cry of the two nearby dragons amplified the sounds of chaos as they took to the skies. He caught a glimpse of Jon Snow yelling commands but did not falter in his steps, he had to get to his battle position. Someone had to take charge of the bumbling idiots outside of the gates. He wished he could see Sansa one last time but they had reiterated their devotion to one another last night and that was good enough for him. He could die knowing the most beautiful woman in the world loved him. That fact would never stop surprising him.
"Berdain!" Sandor called over to a man standing next to the gate. "Make sure the fires are ready! Adalwyn! Check the oil along the walls! We're going to burn the fuckers to ash!" He made his way towards the gate where the men under his command waited for him outside. He had been given command of a large portion of the men-at-arms whom had been chosen to fight outside the gates. He had trained them mercilessly in the past week, preparing them for the fight of their lives. He hoped it was enough.
"Sandor!" A desperate voice called from behind him, causing him to change direction so fast the sword on his hip crashed against his side painfully. Sansa ran up to him and unashamedly wrapped her arms around him, tears spilling down her lovely face.
"Sansa, get back to the Keep!" He scolded her but his traitorous arms wrapped themselves around her just as tightly. Glancing up he could see Brienne standing awkwardly to the side, like a large blonde boulder caught amongst a sea of soldiers running around to their posts. "You go with Brienne now. You stay alive." Why wasn't she inside already?
"Don't you dare die, Sandor Clegane!" Sansa grabbed his face and stared with a ferocious determination, as if her words added an extra layer of armor. Tears spilled from her vibrant eyes.
"I'll try." He needed to get to his men but he wanted to gaze at her one last time, his little bird. Gods, she is beautiful and strong. He was not a praying man, the seven from the South had never heeded his prayers before nor seemed to take an interest in their devoted. He found himself silently praying, the first time in many years, but this time a cry to the old gods of the North. Please keep her safe. Let her live and be happy.
"No, you can't die. We need you."
He pressed his forehead to hers, taking a deep breath. "I know, little bird." Listening to her was tearing him up, he needed to get to his men quickly otherwise his aching desire to stay with her would prove too strong.
"No, you don't!" Roughly she grabbed his hands from around her waist and pressed them to her stomach, eyes never leaving his. "We need you."
His mind went blank, not understanding what she was saying. She had been ill often the past mornings but she promised it had been due to stress and lack of sleep. Slowly, a dawning realization materialized in his mind with what she was implying. It couldn't be. "Sansa…are you…?"
A smile on her face, she choked out a laugh. "Yes! I'm carrying your child, Sandor."
In that moment the whole world went quiet and nothing mattered beyond the beauty in front of him and the life his hands were pressed against. He had given up long ago on family and ever having one himself. The only love he would receive was bought with coin and no whore would willingly carry his child, they could barely look at his ugly face. He felt weightless, his mind reeling at the news. I am a father? I will be a father? His mind could not accept it, refused to accept it. He had been in many battles and fights, never stumbling or feigned with fright, he accepted and thrived in the bloodlust and fury in battle that would overcome it, he would welcome it. Now, he felt like his legs could collapse underneath him. A father? His heart lurched within his chest, a painful joy in anticipation. Why at the end of the world did he finally realize how much the idea of a family meant to him. How he had longed for it his whole life, yeaned to love and be loved.
It took Sansa grabbing his face again to bring him back to reality. "Don't you leave us, Sandor. Our child needs a father."
He had not noticed the tear on his cheek until she wiped it away with her thumb. His hands moved up from her stomach to cup her face. "I love you, little bird." He kissed her with all the emotion and passion in his being. He did not give a fuck about who was watching him kiss their Lady. She was his and he was hers and their love had created life. The kiss was his promise to return. He would not abandon her again. He would not abandon their child.
"I love you, Sandor." Sansa stared lovingly at him before releasing him and stepping back. "Now kill those dead bastards and return to me."
"Yes, my lady." Sandor looked up and made eye contact with Brienne, whom was clearly uncomfortable with the displays of affection before her. "You fucking keep her safe."
Brienne nodded, eyeing him disdainfully. "I will."
Sandor swooped in for one more heart-wrenching kiss before turning and racing through the gate before he refused to leave her side. He ran to his men, drawing his sword out of its scabbard. Terror filled the eyes of many, most knowing this would be their final day. The approaching battle was an impossible one. How do the living fight the dead and survive? How long would the night last being the morning came to burn away the shadows that filled men with fear? Yet now, a new determination filled Sandor. This would not be his last day. There was too much in life needing him now. Never before had life gripped him so strongly, forcing him to bend to its will to live, to see another day and not carelessly throw his life away. He walked through his men with a single-minded purpose. He raised his sword, a war cry to rally those about to die around him. "Let's send the dead fuckers to hell!"
The battle started in the late afternoon, while the sun slowly made its wat down from its zenith. The dead came at them, hungry for blood. There was something about being in the midst of a fight, for Sandor, that the world seemed to slow down. Bloodlust filled his veins and his sword sang with every kill. It was a dance but with dire consequences for every misstep. If he had looked around, he would have witnessed many dying around him. The death toll was steadily rising but he continued to fight. His body was beyond the point of exhaustion and threatening to collapse yet he still swung his mighty sword. Each step, each swing of his sword, he thought of Sansa and their child. He was no longer fighting to live, he fought so his child could have a home. Something he had been denied. Fires were burning purposely around Winterfell as a defense. At the Battle of Blackwater Bay, Sandor had run because of the fires. Not now, no matter what he would stand his ground, even with the fires as his sole fighting companions. The dead would have to tear him limb from limb and burn him before he stopped fighting. He would not abandon those he loved.
In the midst of combat, he found himself fighting beside Arya to his surprise. The brat should be back behind the walls of Winterfell, not stabbing and slashing at those thirsty to drain her lifeblood. He figured she had snuck out when Jon was not paying attention and bullied her way onto the field of battle. She was fighting with two swords, a long, slender blade and her Needle. If he had a moment to appreciate her fighting style, he would have been impressed with her agility and graceful fighting style. Nothing seemed to be able to get close enough to touch her before meeting its end by one of her bloody swords. He noticed the blacksmith on her other side with his imposing warhammer, crushing and bashing those coming between him and Arya. The ebb and flow of the fighting brought them close to Sandor and he momentarily wondered where the rest of his fighting men were, there should have been more of them.
"Arya!" He called over to the fighting she-wolf. "Get back to the gate!"
She ignored him, slashing at an foe before turning her steely gray eyes to him. "I'm not leaving you."
He cleaved a dead man in two before taking three long strides to stand by her side. "We cannot leave the gate undefended. Take Gendry and go! Make sure the gate does not fall!" He not could have his attention split between fighting and keeping an eye on her. He was not sure how many men were left alive. If Arya protected the gate, the chance of it being preserved rose enough that those inside may yet survive. He needed her off the open field of battle.
"You are the worst shit in the seven kingdoms!"
He barked out a laugh, momentarily brought back to a different time and circumstance when she had called him that. "Glad we can agree on something."
Without another word to him, she turned and started towards the gate somewhere behind them. Sandor kept his eyes forward, trying his best to guard her back as much as he could. He sent another fervent prayer to the old gods as he decapitated one of the fighting dead.
He was not sure when the day turned into night but only the fires now lit the field for the adversaries to see one another. At one point he found himself charging and single-handedly fighting a white walker. It was the most intense fight of his life yet he had never felt so alive. He was beyond pain, beyond fear. Only bloodlust and the will for life to continue filled him. He vanquished the white walker by slicing its throat and spilling its black blood onto the thirsty ground. He did not have long to celebrate for one of the dead came at him from behind. The screams of the dragons were muffled by the roar of the fires and the cries of the dying. Time was no longer a measurement for Sandor. He lived in the moment, one breath to the next.
Suddenly the dead around him fell to the ground, unmoving. Their pale, blue eyes staring but not seeing anything. Sandor hacked at the one he had just been fighting but there was no retaliation from his opponent. For the first time, he stopped and really looked around him at the carnage and destruction. There were few others like himself standing, surveying hesitantly to see if the dead would rise again. The number of bodies lying on the field was immeasurable. The fires still raged, illuminating the field of death and horror Sandor stood upon.
A pregnant silence hovered over the field until a single cry rang out. It quickly gained momentum as it flew over the field. A cheer, a shout of victory was tasted on the lips of those still standing. The Night King was dead. They had won. They had beaten back the darkness.
Author's Note: I really struggled writing this chapter because there will be so much in the TV show and books about this event. My point in writing this story was to focus on the SanSan relationship. So my apologies if this "version" of the battle is minimal. I did like playing with the changing dynamic of Sandor finding a reason to live. Let me know what you guys think!