Thank you to everyone for you comments and reviews! I hope you like this chapter. There's quite a bit of Jaime in it; it seems my muse is developing his character more than I intended. I'd love to hear your thoughts :)
Once Jaime learned Sansa Stark was in jeopardy, the man has been driven to distraction. He was at a loss to explain the preoccupation he had to go to her, neither would it be denied, and the day after his father's burial Jaime set out across the Westerlands toward Maidenpool. From there he planned on ferrying to the Quiet Isle, and to Brienne.
I've lost a hand, a father, a son, a sister, and a lover, and soon enough I will lose a brother. And yet they keep telling me House Lannister won this war. For as long as he can remember, he slept and ate and breathed Cersei, and within her happiness laid his own. When they were apart, he longed for nothing more than to return to her. That all changed since the war, however; and now whenever Jaime stood before Cersei, all he could think of was the female knight he commissioned to find Sansa.
In their shared childhood room at Casterly Rock, where they had played hide and seek, the princess and the dragon and even shared their first kiss, Jaime listened in disbelief as Cersei cried, pleaded, and offered sex to persuade him to kill Tyrion. Strangely, he was simultaneously aroused by her touch and revolted by her suggestion. Above all else, he was disgusted with himself.
She ran her hands down the front of his breeches, cupping his manhood. "You'll go after Tyrion and kill him for me, won't you? When you leave me, you will avenge our son."
Dazed and empty, he moved away from her, knowing he could not allow himself to be persuaded into her bed. The entire trip to Casterly Rock, Jaime struggled to find an excuse to explain his departure and found it sadly funny that it was his sister who was providing the answer for him.
"Cersei, as much as I am enjoying this, in case you have not noticed, I am in no condition to kill anyone," he chuckled and raised his right arm, waving the stump in front of her face. "I would hate to see you efforts all for naught."
Scowling, she stopped her caresses and glared at him.
"Silently trying to gauge my usefulness to you, dear sister?"
Though he was not back to his former fighting shape by any means, once he regained his strength from the blood poisoning, Brienne had begun training him to fight with his left hand and Jaime was certain he now was competent enough to defend himself.
"I do not understand your meaning."
Turning away, Jaime gazed out at the courtyard to hide his thoughts from her. "Let me be blunt, then; I am not the Kingslayer anymore."
"You have another hand, don't you?" She jested without a hint of mirth in her voice. "I am not asking you to best the Hound in battle, brother."
"No?"
"No. Lord Baelish sent his men after that one. For all his perversions, the master of coin is rather obsessed with innocent little Sansa Stark, even in death." Cersei smirked, running her fingers along his left arm.
"And you are not? Come now, with her youth and beauty, didn't she worry you just a little bit?"
Cersei snapped her eyes up to his. "Don't be absurd. I want the Hound, and Littlefinger is nothing if not relentless. If he believes Sansa is alive and bedding the Hound, there will be no place in the seven kingdoms for Clegane to hide."
"Well, I don't give a fuck about the Hound or Littlefinger," Jaime angrily turned to her. "I am speaking of Sansa Stark. You held her here even after Joffrey threw her over for Margaery Tyrell. What use could you have had for her?"
"Joffrey enjoyed baiting her; she was merely a pawn I used for your return."
Now who is lying? Jaime bitterly thought, gripping her shoulders and staring into her eyes. "Beating her, you mean? How did you use her to ensure my return, exactly?"
Cersei wriggled out of his grasp and averted her gaze. "She was poor simple child who met a terrible end." She paused, glancing up at him. "I did not tell Littlefinger that Osmund Kettleblack found Sansa's dragonfly necklace inside one of the beasts-all that was left of her. I keep it here in my jewel case."
Jaime raised his eyebrow at the large silver and ruby encrusted armoire on the opposite wall. "So, Osmund Kettleblack is the man now? Sandor Clegane without the scars, the Kingsguard call him. Well I suppose fucking you is worth wading into alligator infested waters, at least for him." Jaime tisked. "Poor lad; I could have told him the truth of the matter and saved him the trouble."
"It does not matter what you say; that small trinket was worth allowing that beast to ride me. Don't look so surprised," she sneered at him, pouring herself a glass of wine. "My sole consolation in losing her is that Robb Stark learned of the manner of Sansa's death before Walder Frey killed him," she continued, nuzzling the stubble of his cheek.
Gently Jaime pulled away from her. "I understand you using Osmund, but why allow Littlefinger to believe she is alive and give him means to go after Sandor Clegane?"
"The Hound hurt our son, Jaime!" Cersei snarled low. "Does that not mean anything to you? You know very well Robert never cared for him, and Joffrey looked to Clegane as a father figure from infancy. That scarred bastard threw that affection in his face when he abandoned him the night of the Blackwater. Later he went so far as to kill Gregor, who was my best man. I will see him pay for his treachery."
She sounded so much like their father that Jaime shivered involuntarily at her words. Of course Sandor killed Gregor; he was undoubtedly keeping the woman he loves safe, Jaime thought to himself. He had done the same several times over the years and could not fault Clegane for doing likewise. "It was no secret Sandor wanted Gregor dead-I would hardly consider that an affront to you."
When she remained silent, Jaime turned toward her. "Ah, so that is the way of it? The Hound hurt Joffrey and killed your pet-mayhaps the Hound hurt you as well."
"What do you mean?" She asked weakly.
Jaime tapped his chin in thought. "Well, you were used to having the Hound at your beck and call those many years. He guarded you and your children, and helped you with them in every way Robert did not-in all the ways in which I was not allowed. And then along comes lovely little Sansa, sweet and innocent and young, and your loyal dog suddenly starts following a new master right before your eyes. I supposed we should be grateful Lady Sansa is not as manipulative as you, or Clegane would have likely killed the lot of us."
Sputtering in fury, Cersei clenched her fists before slapping him soundly.
Jaime laughed at her. "You know it will be a massacre should Baelish's men find Clegane-is that why you would rather I go after Tyrion?"
"Tyrion is a dwarf, brother, and should present no threat to you whatsoever. The Hound, however-" she shrugged, all of her anger expended by the blow. "You would need to be mad to face the Hound."
"I do not delude myself. Sandor would make short work of me now."
Cersei shifted uneasily and swallowed the last of the wine.
"I'll go on the morrow, sister, don't work yourself up any further."
"I forgot how much you enjoy vexing me."
"Well you may be in for a bit more vexation yet. First I must know more of how it happened that our brother killed Joffrey, and then I will handle Tyrion accordingly."
"I thought you would say as much," she pursed her lips. "I will send Osmond Kettleblack to keep you safe, and perhaps retrieve Tyrion's squire and Sansa'a former handmaiden from Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He may accompany you as far as the Kingsroad and with any luck, you both may come across Sandor Clegane. I am most eager to hear what both have to say."
Ser Osmund is no match for Sandor Clegane, for all his reputation. Cersei wants insurance that I will keep my promise to set out and find Tyrion. Swallowing his protest, Jaime clenched his jaw and nodded. "A wise idea; no doubt poor Pod fled with Tyrion, though. As a matter of fact, I expect to find them both at the Wall."
"The Wall?"
"Yes, you recall that our brother escorted Lord Stark's bastard there. It wouldn't surprise me to find them at Castle Black."
"Yes," her green eyes twinkled as she took his hand. "I had not thought of that. I am most pleased you mentioned this possibility."
Taken aback, Jaime stared at her suspiciously, hardly able to comprehend she believed his lie so easily.
Cersei noticed his frown. "I was lost without you, Jaime," she purred, allowing her fingers to roam over his chest. "I was afraid the Starks would send me your head. I am not whole without you." And then she kissed him, and despite his body's response to her, Jaime was startled to discover the completeness he once felt with her had all but vanished.
"I felt the same when I was captive to the Starks," he answered truthfully, carefully disentangling himself from her arms. " I am off on the morrow, sister, to seek justice with your latest conquest."
"I knew you would," Cersei ignored his remark and smiled triumphantly as she poured him a glass of wine.
Memories of that last night together plague Jaime all morning. After riding several hours, the massive walls of Casterly Rock fade into the distance, and by noon a tremendous sense of relief falls over the man. As glad as he is to put it behind him, however, Jaime regrets leaving Tommen. Silently he utters a prayer for the boy to remain safe. He is only a child and does not deserve to pay for the sins of his parents.
"I hope to run into Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark myself, you know," Osmund offers, drawing Jaime from his thoughts. "There is quite a bounty on those two."
"You will do no bounty hunting while on Lannister business-you are Kingsguard, remember? Your orders are to go to Ser Bronn of the Blackwater's seat at House Stokeworth and search for my brother's squire and Lady Sansa's handmaiden, is that understood?"
"Yes, my lord, but if I encounter Sandor Clegane on the road, what would you have me do?"
Pray hard, and run. "Send him to join his beloved brother and be glad the gods made seven hells. One would never be enough to hold both of the Cleganes," he answers darkly, turning his horse north on the Kingsroad.
Osmund chuckles nervously. "Trying to scare me, my lord? I am more afraid of these wolves around here, both the four and two-footed variety, than Sandor Clegane."
"Then you are an even bigger bloody fool than I originally thought," Jaime laughs wickedly at him, leaning forward in the saddle. "I've seen the man many a time in battle, and believe me, I'd take on a wolf any day over that dog."
Osmund nods solemnly. "I saw him the night of the Blackwater Battle, he was unstoppable." Shaking his head, he changes the subject. "It is said the four legged wolves are thick in these parts. The smallfolk believe they are demons in the skins of wolves, sent to chastise us southerners for our sins-for Robb Stark and Lady Catelyn, and for her daughters, too."
Jaime shrugs disinterestedly. "You best avoid the wolves and the dogs, if such nonsense worries you. I'll see you in six moons-the wall is a thousand leagues from here."
"Gods go with you, my lord," Osmund bows his head and then maneuvers his horse to the fork leading toward King's Landing.
Jaime rides for an hour north before doubling back through the thick shrubbery alongside the Kingsroad. When he reaches the crossing where he and the knight parted ways, he turns his horse toward Maidenpool and set him off at a gallop.
While Sandor spends his time waiting Elder brother and Captain Manderly by digging a series of graves, he ponders the events of the night before. Sansa has suffered throughout the night, and Sandor is deeply concerned about the effect the bond is having on her mental and physical state.
After Elder brother left, Sansa ran into Sandor's arms and burrowed against his chest. "I'm cold," she whispered against his bare skin, and so he moved them in front of the pot belly stove. She held onto him the entire time, and he covered them both in so many furs that soon he was drenched in sweat.
"Can we sleep here in front of the fireplace?"
Sandor frowned and pulled the covers over them. "Yes, Sansa, if you wish it. Are you feeling better?"
"No," the Little bird clung to him further, shivering.
"Are you feeling ill, wife?" He rested the back of his hand against her forehead and looked into her eyes.
"I am merely cold," she whispered, snuggling still closer to him.
Grunting, he nodded and stroked her skin. Sandor understood Sansa's misery was not physical, for the tangible shift in his wife's emotions nearly overwhelmed him as Elder brother related the rider's warning.
Though the incidents in King's Landing and Maidenpool enraged him and prompted him to kill any man who threatened her, it had been an entirely new experience to share Sansa's intense suffering as the holy man's words recalled her fear.
Sandor has been sharing her stronger emotions since the cave, and as the night wore on he began to worry in earnest. What if this bonding proved too much for her? Could such a thing drive her to madness? Sansa has always been strong, perhaps even stronger than me; surely Eddard would not bring about this attachment if she could not handle it.
The effect the bonding was having on him concerns him as well, for it was increasingly difficult for Sandor to distinguish her emotions from his own. Just how the fuck is all this feeling supposed to bring us closer or keep us safe? Damn me, Sansa believes this bloody bond will help us, but what if it doesn't? What if my ability to sense her fear hinders me in battle?
After much contemplation, he concludes that would not be the situation. Much to Sandor's astonishment, he discerns that he has grown stronger physically and mentally since the bonding. The drive to ease her misery has reached a new plane altogether within Sandor, defying the self-doubt that typically plagues his thoughts, and even his anger and cravings for wine have been suppressed by the phenomena.
The singular need to keep her safe engulfs the man, and judging by Sansa's behavior, she, too has been changed by the bonding. Sandor notices she started reacting to the shifts in his mood and also sought to comfort him when he was upset. Silently he asks Lord Eddard for help as he works, the man at once afraid for his wife and yet strangely comforted from the otherworldly connection between them.
Earlier that morning, Sansa begged him not to leave her with Elder McCann. "Please, Sandor, we are stronger together," she murmured against his neckbeard, inhaling his scent and she held onto him.
The Little bird's distress echoed within his heart while her words troubled him deeply. Holding her tightly against him, Sandor tried his best to reassure her. "It'll be alright, love," he rasped into her hair. "No one will hurt you, and I'll be careful, I swear it."
When she didn't respond, he tipped her chin up to him. "Tell me truly: is there more than you're letting on? You were most angry when Elder brother told you of his plan, I felt it," Sandor's eyes widened when she feebly tried to shift away from him. "Do you believe this fear is a warning from your Father?"
"I-I wish I knew," she began to cry into his shoulder. "There are so many sensations rushing through my mind. It is all very confusing."
Sansa sighed and took his hand. "I was not truly angry at either of you. I sensed your own fury and it seemed to affect my own emotions-I could hardly contain the anger that came over me."
"Aye, I was angry indeed; I could feel your fear as well and it fueled it further."
Snuggling against him, she rested her head lightly against his hauberk. "Is this rage what you feel all the time?"
"Aye, it is, though less so since my brother is dead."
"Then your struggle is most difficult, my love, and I will do whatever I can to ease it for you," she brokenly replied.
"No, lass, no matter this bond, it is not for you to bear," he whispered into her hair, running his fingers through the long reddish copper strands. "Tell me, what else is it you feel, wife? I won't mock you."
Sansa shrugged slightly. "There is this overwhelming dread crushing me, but I cannot discern the source of it. It grew worse after Elder brother left. I was so very cold, as though the chill came from inside my body."
"I feared you feverish," Sandor solemnly responded. "You were similar when you came down with the ague, though not out of your head, thank the gods."
"Forgive me, I know I made you most uncomfortable. We were both rather-"
Twisting one of her curls, his mouth pulled into a smile. "Naked and sweaty, which with you is never uncomfortable wife, but damned tempting, you best believe."
Blushing, she looked up at him and her eyes reflected such intense anxiety that it nearly took his breath away. "Last night, I had nightmares of your Hound's helm, its fangs dripping with fresh blood. In the dream I heard the howls of wolves and felt reassured. Then there was a fight; you battled five men while another knight fought alongside you."
"What else?" Sandor asked tersely, searching her eyes.
"Then-then I was running through the woods and I could smell the damp sand all around me. After a long while of searching, I finally found you-you had fallen to the ground with one man over you. I saw a golden lion come out of the wood and save you. It was so very real."
"What happened then?"
"It ended, and so I never found out."
"Sansa," he murmured as he caressed her lower lip with his thumb. "We cannot read something into every nightmare, wife. You overheard Elder brother and I talk of horrible things right before we went to bed-and such nightmares are to be expected."
"But what of Father?" She looked up at him with such faith it nearly broke his heart.
"I don't know," He put his hands on her shoulders. "If it was one of your Father's warnings, all I can do is prepare for whatever may come. You must stay here with Elder McCann. Promise me."
"Forgive me but I will not," Sansa announced, her voice suddenly strong. "Dearest, if Father wishes me to go to you, I must follow his will. We are stronger together, and I cannot ignore the truth of his words. You may need me."
Sandor regarded her closely, and grunted softly at her determined expression. Sansa was so assured that Sandor did not have the heart to contradict her.
Hearing her words sent a sharp chill creeping up his spine. Disconcerted, Sandor quickly kissed her and left the cave, glad to be out in the fresh air on Stranger's back.
As Sandor shovels dirt not far from Lady Brienne, Sansa's distress markedly worsens, sending waves of icy fear flowing through the man. This wench must be the one the Little bird fears. At once rage boils over within him and soon Sandor is unable to resist challenging the female knight.
"You've found more trouble that you bargained for, wench." He shouts, throwing off his robes.
Brienne barely manages to unsheathe Oathkeeper as Sandor's mailed fist slams into her jaw. "You'll not take my wife from me, damn you!"
"Sandor, stop this at once!" Elder brother demands. "You cannot accept the peace you have found here only to violate it by resorting to violence whenever it suits you. Neither you or your loved one is in danger, nor will I stand by and allow this outrage. I dare say I believed you learned better among us holy brothers."
"Aye, I have at that," Sandor agrees, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "But bugger her vows and your opinions about the danger! I can feel it, and she'll not take my wife without killing me first."
Elder brother knits his brows, confused by his words. From the barn Stranger trumpets and kicks at the sound of his master's distress.
"Sandor, think of Sansa," Elder brother pleads, stepping closer to the enraged man.
"I do not just think of her, I can feel her," he growls, sending Brienne sprawling to the ground once more. "Her fear is within me, and Sansa is afraid-of you."
"Go get Septon Meribald and Podrick at once," Elder brother whispers to Brother Narbert. "Tell them to go to the Hermit's Hole immediately and bring Lady Sansa or else there will be bloodshed."
"Yes, Elder brother," the man nods, mounting one of the horses grazing nearby.
The last blow leaves her head ringing. "Sandor Clegane-that is your destrier in the barn, then. I should have known. Joffrey's dog has been hiding here with the Stark girl just as Jaime thought," she hisses, spitting blood on the ground. Brienne waits for him to move into position before slashing her sword toward his head.
Sandor easily parries her blow with a grunt. "Bugger the Kingslayer! You dare come here on Lannister business?"
"No, not Lannister business, Clegane. Ser Jaime sent me to protect Sansa Stark from Cersei and Lord Baelish, who has hired bounty hunters to search for her. Jaime sent me ahead to find the two of you. He knew you would never leave her in King's Landing, not after how you reacted to the way his family treated her on the Kingsroad. Lord Varys confirmed Sansa did not die in the moat-Tyrion told him."
So the Imp told the Spider what Shae and Bronn discovered, fuck me sideways. Why would they want to help me and Sansa? What's in it for them? "Bloody hells," Sandor curses, spitting to the ground. "All of this on the word of a kingslayer and kinslayer. And why the fuck should I trust any lion?"
"If you would stop this nonsense, I would show you!" Brienne shouts, barely managing to block another blow. "I have a letter sealed by King Tommen, and Jaime entrusted me with this sword as a sign of his sincerity. It is for Sansa Stark-"
"She isn't a Stark anymore! Sansa is my wife; she and I are married in the sight of the old gods and the new, wedded and bedded. She's mine, and I don't need any help from you, the Spider or Jaime Lannister."
"Lady Sansa is your wife? I cannot believe that any highborn woman would willingly marry you, least of all Lady Catelyn's daughter," Brienne mutters even as she recalls Jaime saying that Clegane was no rapist. Taking in his scarred countenance for a moment, she fights to regain her bearing. "If you violated her, I will see you brought to justice. I intend keep my vow and return her to Ser Jaime. I will fight you if I must."
"Sansa is with her family, you stupid wench, or haven't you been listening? I am her husband-get the bloody mud out of your ears! You'll not take her from me but be forewarned: you are far too slow to take on the likes of me. I could have killed you a half dozen times by now."
"Then why haven't you?" Brienne shouts, finally managing an offensive attack against him. Sandor brutally battles her backward, managing to unsword her in the assault.
Sansa's fear resounds in his chest unabated. Staring down at the fallen knight, Sandor begins to wonder if the woman before him is indeed not the source of her misery.
Sandor moves back from Brienne and pauses to gather his thoughts. Elder brother starts to step in but stops short when Sandor kicks away her sword and circles her.
"I won't yield," Brienne says defiantly.
Sandor smirks in response. "If I meant to kill you, I sure as fuck wouldn't be standing here waiting for you to catch your breath. Walk away from us and out of respect for Elder brother I'll let you live to see another day." Moving into a defensive position, Sandor awaits her next effort. "I don't know why you're truly here but I'll not kill you until I find out."
Brienne knows Sandor has had more than enough opportunity to kill her and yet something is holding the man back. "I am telling you the truth, I swear it on the old gods and the new."
Taking advantage of his preoccupation, she quickly picks up her sword and sharply slices downward toward his breastplate. Sandor easily deflects her strike and circles behind her once again.
"Nice try. I don't want to have to kill you on so-called holy ground, but you best believe I will, wench. Yield or my next blow will finish you off. I won't bloody repeat myself to you again."
"I will not," Brienne grunts, shaking the hair from her eyes. "You said the Hound was dead," She glances at Elder brother while cautiously moving away from Sandor. "I believed you to be a man of the Seven, a man of your word."
Elder brother nods. "I am both, indeed, though I, too, once served as a knight. The Hound is very much dead, my lady, or he would have taken your head by now. Sandor Clegane was at rest here until trouble followed him and his wife."
"So it is true, then? They are man and wife?"
"Yes, I wedded them myself. The Lady Sansa has not been forced by Sandor to do anything; in fact she is very much in love with her husband. It will be very apparent should you see them together."
"I-I cannot believe it. Lady Sansa and the Hound? I must speak to Lady Sansa myself," she mutters in disbelief while bringing down her blade against Sandor's sword.
Shouting, he blocks the blow and holds her weapon locked against his hilt. "Bad move, wench," Sandor grunts, sliding the edge of his blade along her own before twisting it upward, using both hands to smash the hilt into her face. "The blade isn't the only part of the sword you should keep your eyes on during a fight."
Flooded with a strange, primal ferocity beyond anything she has ever before sensed from her husband, Sansa struggles to remain in prayer. As she holds her prayer wheel and entreats the old gods and the new in silence, Elder McCann sits nearby at a loss as to how to comfort her.
"Elder McCann! Lady Sansa! Open at once!" Septon Meribald pounds on the door. Podrick shouts, "Lady Sansa, it is me, Podrick Payne. Lady Brienne and I have not come to hurt you-please, let us in!"
"What is it?" Elder McCann opens the door and steps aside for the two men.
Stunned, Sansa blinks several times as she recognizes Tyrion's squire. "Podrick Payne? This is such a surprise. What are you doing here?"
"It's Sandor Clegane my lady-" The young squire begins uncertainly.
"What about Sandor? Tell me, please, is he hurt? He cannot be, I have not felt-" Sansa chokes out, clutching Podrick's jerkin.
Septon Meribald takes her by the arm and leads her into a nearby chair. "No, my lady. Please you must calm yourself; your husband is not hurt but we need your help with him at once. He is challenging Lady Brienne as we speak."
Lady Brienne? Sansa frowns, struggling to remember if she has heard the name before. "Who is Lady Brienne and why is Sandor challenging her?"
"My lady, Lady Brienne is the maid of Tarth. I have served as her squire since Lord Tyrion disappeared. She has come on a mission from Ser Jaime Lannister."
"Ser Jaime?"
"Yes, your mother freed him against your brother's wishes, before-"
"Yes, before the Freys," Sansa finishes, folding her arms. "How did Ser Jaime know we were here?"
"Forgive me, but I do not know. I wish I had answers for you, Lady Sansa, but I am only a squire."
Sansa closes her eyes and focuses on her emotions. She is stunned to discover there is no fear or anxiety accompanying the young man's sudden appearance, nor from the news that Jaime Lannister is searching for her. Bewildered, Sansa labors to clear her mind of Sandor's rage, which renders her unable to settle her own thoughts.
"Of course, Podrick, I understand." She finally manages, glancing at Septon Meribald.
"Are you quite alright, my lady?"
"Yes, Septon Meribald," she says, smoothing down her skirts. "I am only tired. Podrick, please, do continue."
"Lord Varys spoke to Ser Jaime as well as aided his plan to search for you. Ser Jaime did not send my lady on the queen's business. Lady Brienne said that he meant to keep a promise he made to your mother."
The memory of the day of her father's death rushes into her mind. "I ask you: why would I trust the word of a Lannister, of all people?" Sansa's blue eyes flash as she glowers at him. "You-you were there, that day, when your uncle-"
"Yes, my lady," Podrick hangs his head. "I am very sorry, more than I can say. I deeply regret Lord Stark's death, and though it is perhaps too much to ask, I hope you will not hold it against me."
Septon Meribald sympathetically pats the young man on the shoulder. "Perhaps in time the Seven will help the two of you mend this rift. But for now we must hurry, Lady Sansa, or I fear your husband will kill Lady Brienne."
An intense fury flows through her body. Sandor. Sansa concentrates on her husband, willing him to sense her feelings. "Father, help us," she whispers. "Please, help Sandor to know that my fear does not come from Lady Brienne. Please, do not let him kill her."
"My lady, please we must hurry," Septon Meribald motions to her.
"Yes, let us go. If Sandor believes Lady Brienne poses a threat to me, he most certainly will kill her."
Podrick swallows hard, and fearfully glances between the holy men.
Elder McCann nods. "Go ahead of us; I will bring her at once."
When they reach the rise overlooking the sept, Sansa sees Sandor standing with his sword drawn, a crumpled body lying in a heap at his feet.
"We are too late!" Sansa cries desperately.
Septon Meribald squints. "No, child, there is no blood on his sword! Let us make haste."
Elder McCann spurs the horse toward the lichyard. Once they reach the sept, Sansa jumps down and races toward her husband.
"Sandor, oh gods, did you-" Sansa gasps, staring down at the blond woman in shock. She is only a few inches shorter than Sandor.
"No, I only thrashed her a bit so she'd stay down," he grunted, waving her into his arms.
Slowly, the female knight stirs and gingerly sits up. Blood pours from her scalp, and Sansa hurriedly kneels down to tend her wound. "Easy, my lady," she says softly, dabbing the wound with her handkerchief. "You took a bad blow to the head."
Elder brother smiles as he meets the female knight's startled gaze. "Allow me to make the introductions: Lady Brienne of Tarth, meet Lady Sansa Clegane of House Stark."
