Author's Note: Hi! So firstly, thank you so much for reading my story, and a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed/subscribed/favourited, it is so very appreciated. I figured that by Chapter 11 I should finally say something to you! I had this story floating around in my head for a while before I started writing it down, and it's kind of neat to be able to put it in words and share it with you. One thing that I am totally at a loss for is a cover image for this story, so if anybody has any ideas of something that would fit, please let me know! Thank you again for reading, and if you have the inclination, please review! I really love getting to hear others' thoughts on the story.


Mina returned to her floor in the tower of the hand with a bag filled with supplies and a new book that she'd pilfered from the maester's study. She didn't feel the slightest bit bad about stealing from him; Sandor was right all along, he was a cunt. When she reached her and her sister's floor, she stopped by both the younger girls' doors to make sure they were safe in bed for the night.

After finding both her sisters sound asleep, Mina opened the heavy, wooden door to her chambers, and then closed it behind her as silently as she could. The roaring fire in the hearth cast a warm, dancing glow about the room. She found Sandor sitting on her bed, a bottle of wine in one hand and another on the floor by his feet. "Oh good, I see you've already started. Keep drinking, you're going to need it."

As Mina brought her burgeoning bag of supplies closer, she noticed an embroidered white linen shirt draped across Sandor's lap—a project she had been working on in the free time she seemed to have so much of. The thumb of his free hand rubbed against the crudely stitched direwolf head.

"Hey! Give me that!" The sight of the shirt out in the open irked her, "You're going to get blood all over it."

Sandor laughed as Mina dropped her book on the floor and snatched the shirt from him. Mortified, Mina stuffed the shirt into an open chest on the end of her bed before slamming the lid down. Mina could tell from his lazy, mocking smile that he was already rather drunk. In fact she couldn't imagine him smiling like that without the help of liquor. The large man collapsed backwards onto the bed behind him with a sigh and closed his eyes.

"It's for my father's name day if you must know. I was trying to stitch a direwolf, like the one on our house sigil. "

Sandor raised an eyebrow at her. "Spending your days on needlework? What a proper lady you are becoming… Eddard must be so proud." Mina knew he was mocking her now. The man had absolutely no idea in how to accept help gracefully. "So what's your plan for me, girl?"

Mina dropped the bag onto the floor beside the bed, before snatching the bottle of wine beside Sandor's feet. "I think the wound is too deep to leave. It'll just keep bleeding and you'll get weaker and weaker… I'll probably have to stitch it shut."

Sandor lifted his head up slightly from the bed and opened an eye to leer at her. "And have you done this before?"

"Not exactly…" Mina emptied the contents of the wine bottle into the kettle she used for tea the night before, and set it to heat in the fire. She didn't need to turn around to know Sandor's eyes were boring into her skull. "I've read about it though, and I've seen Maester Luwin do it lots of times, if that makes you feel any better."

The look on his face assured her that it, in fact, did not make him feel better. "Besides, what choice do you have? You can't exactly leave it like that and hope to ride tomorrow!" She tried to keep a steady smile on her face. She was terribly nervous, but he didn't need to know that.

Sandor sighed and nodded back to the girl. He took another long swig of wine, before laying his head back down on the bed. "Have you brought milk of the poppy to dull the pain at least?"

"No." Mina shook her head as she moved towards the bed, leaning against the intricate wooden post as she waited for the wine to properly boil. She focussed her gaze towards her fingers, gripping the dark wood of the bedpost. "It's dangerous to take it when you've drunk as much as you already have tonight—and I'd rather not have a dead man in my chambers. I suppose you'll just have to get properly drunk to dull the pain some, and we'll hope for the best."

After lingering a little while around the foot of the bed, watching the burned man drink down further gulps of wine, Mina left to prepare further. She grabbed a stool from her vanity, and a needle and thread from her stash of things for needlework. Mina set the stool on the ground beside where Sandor lay on the bed, and sat down, placing her tools in her lap.

Mina rifled through the bag in search of the bottle of vinegar she'd taken from the maester's study, and a strip of cloth. When she had found both, Mina uncorked the bottle with her mouth and brought the cloth to the opening, dousing it thoroughly. She set the bottle on the bedside table, and started to clean the needle and thread as thoroughly as she could.

"Was it during the joust with Renly?" Sandor lifted his head a bit opened an eye and peered back at Mina quizzically. "The wound, I mean. You stopped to fix your armour a bit after that."

The large man laughed a little at that. "I didn't realize I had an admirer in the crowd to watch me so close?"

Mina could feel in her cheeks that she reddened a little; the blushing only embarrassed her further. She so hated to admit that she cared, even to herself.

Sandor gave her a half smile as he let his head collapse back onto the blankets once more. "Aye, that's when it happened. My armour was damaged in one of the earlier jousts; I couldn't find a smith to fix it proper between tilts."

Mina looked up from her cleaning, "But what about tomorrow? Did you find a man to repair it over night?"

Sandor nodded as he knocked back another gulp of wine.

Mina sighed, as she set the cleaned needle and thread on the table beside her bed. The drink had made the man more talkative than she'd seen him before. His vulnerability urged her to ask the question that had been on her mind all night. "Why is it so important you to fight tomorrow, Sandor? Even if you weren't hurt it would be dangerous, but like this…"

Sandor brought a hand to his face. He pushed back his matted, long, dark hair away from the burned half of his forehead that it usually covered as his fingers traced over the ridge of one of the burn scars. "I just have to, Mina."

Mina fiddled nervously with the skirt of the gown she wore. "Is it because of your brother?"

Sandor nodded his head feebly. "Yes."

"But why? He's your own blood? What could he have done to make you hate him so—"

"What could he have done?" Sandor sat up as he boomed; any semblance of weakness he had shown earlier had quickly disappeared. Mina brought a finger to her worried lips in an effort to silence him. A large bloodied man lying on her bed would be rather hard to explain should his yelling attract anyone.

"Look at me!" He spoke in a whisper, but to Mina it still seemed more like a yell. He grabbed her chin to pull her gaze upwards; his eyes were locked into hers. "Who do you think did this to me? Made me this way?"

"I—I'm…" Mina stammered. Her fear left the words stuck in her throat. She forced herself to swallow before forming her question, "What did he do to you?"

Sandor eased the firm grip he had on the girl's chin, and the intensity in his eyes waned to a look of sorrow. He slid his hand up her to face, tracing his thumb around her cheek. His cool, grey eyes were on her, but to Mina it seemed as though his mind was a long ways away.

"When I was six, Gregor had this toy—a little wooden knight. A woodcarver who lived in the village near our father's keep sent it to him; he would send us toys often, trying to win our fathers favour. Gregor was eleven. He didn't want the toy. He never played with it—never even touched it. So, one day I took it out, just to look at it. Just for a little while. Then, he found me. I was just in my room staring at it, too scared to even play with it. He walked in, picked me up and shoved the side of my face into a brazier. He just held it there while I screamed."

Mina put her hand over top of Sandor's. It was still holding her cheek in his rough hands. "I'm so sorry. I never…"

"My father lied to protect our family name. Said my bedding caught on fire. Said it was my own fault, that it was because of my own carelessness."

The pair stayed still for a short while. Mina couldn't bring herself to move her hand, nor look away. "It wasn't your fault, Sandor."

Sandor sighed and slowly dropped his hand from Mina's face and to his side. "You saw how he killed that man today. Gregor knew that boy hadn't fastened his helmet properly, yet he aimed his lance there anyway. He's a monster and tomorrow I can kill him. I have to, Mina. I just have to be well enough to hold my lance steady."

Mina thought on it a while. Her fingers went back to the fabric of her skirts, but she kept her gaze directed firmly towards the man on her bed, and crimson stain on his tunic.

"I'll do my best." Mina stood, taking a lamp from her bedside table. She walked to the door in the wall, the door that led to the vacant room next to hers. Once inside the spare room, she rifled through the trunks that had come south with her in her family. Pelts, rugs, bowls, and numerous other useless mementos of the north filled the boxes. She didn't know why her mother had insisted they bring these things with her, but the bowls would undoubtedly be useful for her purposes, tonight. As she stood to leave, a stack of worn blankets, embroidered with wolves near the bottom of the chest caught her eye. Mina tucked them under her arm, before closing the door behind her.

Mina brought the two large clay bowls to the room and set them beside the bed. She brought the kettle of wine from the fire and a jug of water left out for her by a maid. "Are you ready?" Mina asked.

Sandor nodded his head towards her.

"Alright then, shirt off and legs up on the bed. Let's see what we've got."

Sandor sat still for a while before moving. He paused in contemplation for a while, running his fingers over one of the seeping scars on his burnt cheek. Sandor pulled the hand away from his face, looking at the slick, red ooze it left behind. Eventually he began to fumble with his boots, before gingerly bringing his legs up from the floor and onto the bed.

"Lay this out behind you," Mina handed him one of the blankets she'd found in the chest from Winterfell. "It will make for easier clean up." Sandor took the blanket and laid it behind him. Tentatively, Sandor began removing his tunic. Just how weak the wine and the wound made him became clear as he tried to lift the shirt.

"Here, I can help." Mina stood and gingerly pulled the stained tunic upwards. As she began to lift the shirt, she revealed the haphazardly dressed wound, with a spot of blood blossoming through the dressing. Mina lifted the shirt further over Sandor's broad shoulders; gruesome and plentiful scars that crossed Sandor's muscled chest became visible. Her eyes were so fixated on the markings—her thoughts caught up in wondering how one man could have so many—that she almost failed to notice a blue swathe of fabric tied tight around his right upper arm.

Mina brought her fingers to the knotted ribbon. "My ribbon? I thought you…"

"I went back and got it the next day." Sandor cut the girl off gruffly, "Don't make too much of it..."

Mina smirked as Sandor laid himself slowly down to the bed with a grimace. He set his eyes towards the canopy above him, avoiding any semblance of eye contact with the girl. Mina passed him the bottle of wine, and he took another swig. She sat down on the stool beside Sandor and fixed her attentions on untying the layers of poorly dressed bandages that she imagined he had attempted to dress himself.

"I'd never had anyone give me a token before. It seemed unlucky to ride without it." Sandor stopped to wince as Mina pulled off the last layer of bandage.

"It's alright, Sandor. I understand." Mina's smile faded as she looked at bloodied skin that had been covered by the bandage. It had been hours since the sharpened tip of the lance pierced his skin, but the wound showed no sign of sealing over on its own. The layers of bandages that she had removed were soaked in increasing amounts of blood. "It's going to need to be stitched. Cleaned first, then stitched."

Sandor wobbled his head in understanding; Mina knew he would be out soon.

Mina used an iron poker to retrieve the kettle from the fire, and carried it back to the bed, using the fabric of her gown to spare her hands from burning. Carefully, she poured the boiled wine into one of the Winterfell bowls. Next, she poured out the jug of water into the other bowl. Mina pulled out a stack of cloths from her bag of supplies, soaking one into the bowl of water.

She brought the cool swathe of fabric to the man's warm skin. As delicately as she could muster, she cleaned away the stains of blood and bits of fabric stuck in it. She could feel Sandor's body tense as she pulled out a piece of fluff from the sickly gash. Mina dropped the bloodied rag to the floor and picked up a clean one. Mina chewed her lip as she picked up a second rag and cautiously dipped it in the boiled wine, hissing as the hot liquid made contact with her skin.

"This will sting a bit…" Mina wrung some of the excess liquid from the cloth. "Sandor?" The man made no move at the sound of his name. She poked his face, still nothing. He was unconscious, but breathing.

Mina began cleaning the wound thoroughly with the boiled wine. Every time she wiped away the droplets of blood, new pools would emerge. She knew there was no sense in stitching up the wound only to let it fester and poison the blood. When she was confident the wound was clean enough, she cleaned her hands and picked up the needle and thread.

Mina's fingers shook as tried to thread the needle. She was able to put on a brave face for Sandor, but now that she was alone, she found the situation to be terrifying. She'd watched Maester Luwin do this procedure plenty of times; she knew how to do it, but now that the moment was upon her, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to do it. She reached for the bottle of wine, still locked firmly in Sandor's hand, and took one deep swig, followed by another, until finally the bottle was empty.

Mina took a deep breath to steel herself, and forced the thread through the eye of the needle. She braced herself as she knotted the thread, and begun stitching the wound closed. Mina looked up to see Sandor's face twitch as the needle went through the edge of the wound, yet still the man did not awaken. He would certainly have a hangover to ride with tomorrow, but she supposed it was better than the alternative.

When she reached the final fold of skin, Mina pulled the stitching taut one final time, before knotting it. She picked up a fresh cloth and dipped it in the water. Mina cleaned the last remnants of the blood from the sides of the newly stitched wound before using the cloth to clean her hands as well.

"Sandor, it's done." Mina poked the sleeping man; she needed him up to properly bandage the wound and send him on his way. "Sandor!" She hissed in his ear and shook his head with her hands—still, nothing. He was breathing fine, but there would be no waking him tonight.

Mina yawned as she collected the evidence of her night time surgery. She opened the window and dumped the wine out onto the slatted roofs below; now she would have to pray for rain to wash the evidence away. Mina threw the water onto the already waning fire, before shoving the bowls and other supplies under her bed. She'd have to find a way to get them out of her room soon, but not tonight; she was too exhausted now.

Mina looked to her bed; it looked like she would be sharing it tonight. She dragged the large chest from the foot of her bed towards her chamber door. Her and her sisters had agreed to give their lady's maid the night off to celebrate the tournament, but she would be back early in the morning to help the girls dress for the day. Mina hoped the chest would impede her some, should she come earlier than expected.

With the chest firmly in place and nothing but the moon lighting her room, Mina contorted to reach behind her, loosening the lacing on her dress. She slid the gown up and over her head, leaving her in nothing but her shift. Mina pulled loose the ribbons holding her hair from its high, southern styled braids, before crawling into bed next to the giant, sleeping man.

With the help of the glowing moon, Mina looked over the man's face. It was odd to be able to watch him so closely, without his intense glare forcing her to look away. She had been surprised when she heard someone in court a few days back mention that he was only 26 years old, the burns made him look older she supposed.

Gently, Mina brushed Sandor's hair back so she could see his face clearly, all of it. She traced her fingers over the scars as she took in the extent of them and wondered how much pain they caused him. It saddened her to think of how the man had been treated in life because of them.

Slowly, Mina brought her hand back to her side, and allowed her eyes to close. It felt strange to share her bed with him, but comforting as well. Soon, she found that the rhythmic sound of his breathing lulled her into a deep sleep of her own.