The task of digging graves became an easier burden to bear as the weeks rolled along. It became more a solemn duty rather than a shaming penance. He'd been at it all morning when the Elder Brother came running down the hill to him. The Brother was practically tripping over his own feet. He lifted a questioning eyebrow to the huffing man.
"Put this on! Now!" the man shouted at him, throwing one of the scarves the novices wore at him.
"What for?" he demanded. This was strange behavior from the Elder Brother; running, shouting and ordering. It wasn't the man's usual calm, reflective pace and somewhere in the back of his mind a small buzz of panic started.
"Brienne of Tarth is on her way! Your giant!" the Elder Brother explained hurriedly. "Brother Merkel rode ahead to give warning but they'll be here any minute. She's got a squire with her. I don't know her intentions yet. In the name of the Seven, will you put that on! I don't want another fight between you two on my hands!"
Brienne of fucking Tarth! Wasn't that his rotten luck? He quickly tied the scarf around the lower half of his face and pulled the hood of his robes up over his hair. Hopefully, they could avoid each other. If not, the disguise would hide his most prominent features.
"I'll try to keep her away. Just work as you normally would. Don't bring attention to yourself. You're a novice now. A silent novice. Understood?" the Brother instructed him. He nodded his head. The man was right. If he went around now trying to gather up Dog and Idla into his hut it may look odd. Better to hide out in the open.
"Dog!" the Elder Brother called. Dog lifted his ears and gladly trotted after the robed man. If there was one person who could hold the canine's interest as well as Sandor, it was the Elder Brother.
He continued on at his task, fighting the urge to run back to his hut and grab his sword. The big bitch had taken what he had claimed before. Bad leg or not, he wasn't going to let her do it a second. He did as he had been told though, facing away from the road, and shoveling in earth over a newly lain corpse. The Elder Brother had yet to give him poor advice. He would trust the man once more in this matter.
There was the sound of boots and armor far off down the path. They'd taken the main road in. They would pass by him and there would be no stopping it. The Elder Brother's voice rang out over the others. The man was trying hard to distract his guests, speaking about the main house and the crop fields; all objects in the opposite direction of himself. They were close now; nearly upon him. He could hear the large woman's southern accent and her squire's enthusiastic quips. Suddenly, almost of its own accord, his arm jerked and a shovelful of dirt went over his shoulder to land on the tall woman's boots. He bit at his cheek to keep from laughing. He hadn't been able to help himself. She deserved more than mud on her shoes but that small act would have to satisfy him. He was scolded, and he hung his head in mock shame. They had moved on and all seemed well.
Then Dog broke from the group with a yip. Bounding up next to him, the beast leapt at his face and barked excitedly. Of course it would be the damned animal that would give him away! He scratched at Dog's head, trying to settle him. Brienne seemed to look at the two of them queerly, but then shook her head and moved on. He let out a long held breath.
….
He was fucking exhausted. Between dodging Brienne, tending to the horses, and digging three graves, he was well and truly done for. The third grave had to be dug an extra few feet deep as one of the corpses had shown signs of illness. It was best to bury it as far down into the ground as possible. He had managed a meal in the sick house. Idla had smuggled him a plate out of the kitchens so there would be less risk of him running into the large woman again. Once he had finished with the horses for the night he had lumbered back to their hut. He was too tired to even bathe, instead, stripping his clothes off and wiping at himself with a wet rag. It would have to do. His body was sore and he wanted to shut his eyes forever. Leaving his clothes piled on the floor, he collapsed, naked and belly down, onto the bed.
He'd only just begun to doze off when he heard the door creak shut, followed by Idla's light steps. Her weight tipped the pallet while she kneeled down next to him.
"Long day?" her voice came softly into his ear.
"Aye," he grumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes. She knew what Brienne had done to him. She knew his struggle to keep this place of peace for himself. That, in addition to his physical toil, was no secret to her. He felt her weight leave the bed. There was the hushed rustle of fabric and clink of a bottle. He waited. If she offered he wouldn't refuse her attentions. She seemed to always know what he needed but was too craven to ask for. It was a hard habit to break; not asking for what he wanted.
Her hands grazed across his back, slick and warm with oil. He moaned immediately. Long, unhurried strokes made their way from his neck to his arse. She was fucking good at it; rubbing him down. Once again he was left in awe over such a simple act. He felt a fool whenever he recalled there had been a time when he had thought a wet, willing cunt was the greatest thing a woman could offer him.
The slow touches turned into more focused kneading. She left not an inch of his back unattended to. It took time. Minutes? Hours? He didn't know. He drifted in and out of a light sleep as she worked on his arms and legs. His body thrummed with ache from his responsibilities and the warm tingling of desire. She bent over him to scratch at his scalp and he could feel her nipples against his back. She'd stripped herself naked as well. He'd gone hard from just her fingers in his hair. His hips shifted up off the bed to accommodate his growing heat. If he wasn't so damned tired he'd have taken her.
Perhaps he could ask her to ride him? But that would require he actually use a few words, opening himself up to rejection. He knew in his heart she wouldn't say no without good reason but it was still a frightening thought to leave himself vulnerable to anyone. Ah, but then her hands were at his sides, pressing him in that way he knew meant she wanted him to roll over. She knew him so well.
He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him. She pushed again at him, this time at his inner thighs, making him part them so she could settle herself on her knees between his legs. Confusion held him for a few moments. How was she going to ride him like that? And then he hissed in pleasure as he saw her lower her head straight down to his cock. She'd never done that before! Her lips felt plump against the skin of his belly while she trailed kisses around his manhood. He almost wept. She wasn't going to ask a thing of him other than to lie there. It had been so long since a woman had done this to him. At least when he had been sober enough to recall the act. But she wasn't doing it to him; she was doing it for him. It was a difference that made his heart thud against his ribs as he struggled to push his weaker emotions aside. She'd never take him like this again if he started bawling!
His eyes shut tightly when he felt her lips on him. She was shy at first, licking in tiny, circles over him with just the tip of her tongue. Her panting breaths were warm on his skin. Using her hands to massage at his thighs, she took the head of him into her mouth, sucking a bit and humming thoughtfully. He bucked. He couldn't help it. She giggled and tried to take more of him in. She managed half and when he felt her tongue swirl around him he nearly lost his seed. It had been so very long.
He was a fucking writhing wreck within minutes. She'd placed her hands at the base of him, twisting and squeezing the way he liked. Her lips continued to work at him. His hands had found their way into her hair. He gripped at it; desperately wanting to hold a part of her while she brought him bliss. It was intense but he needed something more. It was so close to perfection. He trembled and called out her name urgently. There was a wet noise as he slipped from her mouth. She looked at him curiously, head cocked and eyes wide; like a little owl settled between his legs. He had to speak. He doubted she had much experience, if any, in this act and she would want to please him wouldn't she?
"Can you . . . " he started, not sure how to phrase what he wanted. He didn't wish to speak to her as he would a whore. "Like you do on my lip. Hard."
She grinned wickedly and nodded her head. He found himself quickly returned to the hot cradle of her mouth. And she did as he asked, sucking his hardness with enthusiastic force. Pressure built as her tongue continued to roll over him. He was near his end and he thrust to meet her lips, urging her to take more of him. She sucked him harder causing him to cry out. Pulling at her hair, he moved it out of the way so that he could watch her fulfill his lustful need. The sight of her fingers and mouth around him was all it took to shove him over the edge. He could hear his own voice, far away, keening with satisfying release. Some where distant in his mind he thought, perhaps he should have warned her. But she didn't seem to mind. She'd given a startled yelp when he'd begun to spill, but kept her mouth on him. Her hard pulls became gentle suckles and then soft licks, until she shoved herself up off of him. He felt cared for in a way only she could provide. Using the back of her hand to wipe at the last trace of his seed near her mouth she gave him a smug smile. If it had been possible he would have spent himself all over again at the image.
"Come here," he rumbled, opening his arms to her. She happily complied, molding her body to his. With her head tucked under his chin, he breathed in deeply. He owed her so much.
"Thank you," he sighed. "Not just that. Everything." He hoped it was enough to make her understand.
…..
The sick house seemed his safest option the following day. The Elder Brother had made a brief stop at their hut in the morning explaining to them Brienne's presence. To the North, Winterfell had been claimed by the Lady Sansa Stark. Something to do with an arranged marriage that had ended in death and blood. The Lady had risen above it all thanks to many that still remained loyal to House Tully and Stark. Brienne was on a mission to find anyone who would help rebuild the once mighty house. She planned on staying for several more days. The Brother suggested to him that he remain out of sight for the time being. Merkel and Pentnook could handle the horses. If any more dead bodies washed up they would deal with it when it occurred.
His heart took up an accelerated pace in his chest when he heard Sansa's name. The Little Bird was free? Free and safe? He wanted to ask a hundred more questions of the man but the Brother sprinted from the shack just as quickly as he had arrived. He was left with a still pounding heart and a giddy, queasy feeling in his stomach. Eventually, he had ended up with Idla in the sick house, pacing nervously.
"Here," Idla told him, passing him a huge mortal and pestle filled with seeds. She could see his need to busy himself. "Crush those into a fine powder."
He'd barely begun at his chore when there was a knock at the door. The Elder Brother stepped in, eyes wide with warning. Behind him Brienne entered the room. Thankfully, he had thought to keep the scarf on that the Elder Brother had given him yesterday. He kept his eyes and head down, concentrating on the bowl in front of him. If he stayed silent and calm he might have find a chance to creep out of the room as they talked.
"Err, um," the Elder Brother stammered, "The Lady wishes to speak to our healer about a possible placement at Winterfell. Perhaps, they should speak privately?" The last bit was addressed to him in a meaningful tone. He rolled his eyes. The man had no talent for subtlety that was for sure. But he nodded his head anyway, dropping the pestle and making his way to the door.
"You there!" Brienne called to him, stalking over the few feet to him. She stared right into his eyes. This was going to end badly. He knew it. She was just shy of being level with his eyes. There weren't many men in Westeros who could claim that. Her eyes narrowed at him.
"Do I know you?" she asked. Her voice was full of knowledge. She knew damn well who he was and was testing him. He shook his head and tried to exit once again. He wasn't going to be the one to start something this time around. He felt the scarf catch in her hand, before he could react, and then there was no use hiding anymore.
She gasped, shouting, "I knew it!" He backed himself up to the wooden work surface, hands scrambling behind him onto the table, trying to find anything he could use to defend himself. His left hand found Idla's knife and he clutched it tightly. Bienne's hand went for her sword and the Elder Brother had started screaming at the both of them about how they were in a place of the Gods. But it was Idla that stepped between the two of them.
"Enough! Both of you!" she shrieked. Her hands went up to block each one of them. It was insane, he thought, his wife planting herself between two towering warriors. But she wasn't backing down, glaring at each on of them in turn. She turned her focus to Brienne, "Please, don't. You wanted to speak to me. Let's speak. He won't do anything if you don't. Please, he's my husband."
Brienne's eyebrows almost left her face, they had risen up so high. She snorted and took her hand from her sword. "The dog found mate? Fancy that! I thought I'd killed you."
"Didn't do a very good job," he growled. He let his grip on the knife loosen but didn't let it go entirely.
"Please," Idla bid the woman once again. She pointed at the door, silently asking Brienne to join her there. The larger woman nodded her head, following Idla out of the sick house.
Idla felt herself begin to calm when the other woman had let her hand go from her sword. She had no idea what she had been thinking, coming between the two of them. It had been pure instinct to somehow try and protect Sandor. She was probably going to get a lecture later on about how stupid it had been of her but that really didn't matter at the moment. He was safe for the time being and she had Brienne's attention all to herself now. She would make the woman understand. Once they were settled outside the sick house, she was the first to speak.
"We found him after the two of you had at each other. It was a long and painful process to heal him. He's not the same man he was when he fist arrived," she started, "There's not much malice left in him. What happened in there was him trying to defend himself. And me. That wasn't anger at you."
"I hardly know the man," Brienne told her. "Only stories and rumors. And our run in near the Bloody Gate, of course. A terrible misunderstanding of loyalties, I suppose. He's not easy to reason with."
Idla gave the woman a fond, knowing smile. "No, he most certainly is not," she agreed, remembering his first few months under her care. "What is it that you want from me though?"
"My Lady Stark has requested I search the lands for those who would serve under her. We are in need of either a Maester or a talented healer. The Elder Brother has many positive things to say about your work. I wish to offer you the position of Healer at Winterfell. Details would need to be discussed, but you would be provided for and allowed a small salary."
"And what of my husband?" Idla asked.
"The Lady instructed me that any spouses or children were welcome. Although I hadn't known it was him . . ." Brienne trailed off. "Perhaps a raven first?"
"There is still a bounty on him?"
"Yes, but not much interest. Everyone assumes he's dead. And the one who set the bounty no longer lives. Hard to collect money from a dead man."
Idla chewed at her lip. The idea of adventure had her interest. She'd never been as far North as Winterfell. "I need to discuss it with him. Send your raven but don't use his name. If we decide to go, the Lady can make up her mind when we arrive. I swear to you he's changed, for the better. He could be of use to your Lady."
Brienne gave her an odd look before answering, "Yes, I'm sure he could."
"I'll discuss it with him this evening and give you an answer at the first meal tomorrow morning. There's no sense in us not dining there anymore. Is that agreeable?"
The large woman nodded her head and Idla continued, "You should speak with him. Make amends. He'll grumble about it but it will mean something to him."
"I already told him once that I have no wish to kill him," Brienne stated. The taller woman reached for the door handle but Idla stayed her hand.
"Give me your sword," she pleaded. "Trust me. If you walk in there without it, he'll back off as well. If you don't act a threat, if you reach out to him, he'll start to trust you."
She nearly cried when the woman complied, unbuckling her sword and leaving it in her hands. "One last thing," she told the woman, "Don't call him dog. Please. He doesn't deserve that title. His name is Sandor or Clegane, if you wish. Never call him dog."
"If he stabs me, I'll have all of Winterfell down here at your door," Brienne warned.
Idla laughed and sent the woman over the threshold. She clicked it shut behind the blonde woman and waited. There were raised voices at first. Shouts that sounded like, "insufferable ox", "bad swordplay", "stubborn wentch" and "horseface". It wasn't all Sandor and it made her gain a bit of respect for the other woman. Brienne seemed able to hold her own when dealing with him. The voices grew softer after a few minutes. She sat and picked at the handle of the sword while she continued her vigil. Soon, the door opened and Brienne, Sandor and the Elder Brother all poured forth from the sick house. Sandor offered his hand to her.
"We're getting food," he announced, "You coming?"