"Thought you were dead."
"I had a feeling you might have."
"How did you survive?"
I grinned in spite of myself. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Sandor gave me a look.
"Before they could…hurt me…the men who took me into the woods that night decided I was far more trouble than I was worth," I said delicately. "And so they left me tied up for the wolves to feast on. Fortunately for me, I've spent the better part of my life with wolves. Wolves seem to like me…"
"You were saved by wolves?" Sandor asked in a playfully mocking tone.
"This is why I was afraid to tell you," I snickered at myself. "Believe it or not, I was rescued by the very same direwolf that savaged Joffrey on the Kingsroad."
The playfulness in Sandor seemed to turn into contemplation, as if my story struck a chord with him in some way. He almost looked like he actually did believe me.
"So…after all this time, you thought I was dead and I thought the same of you," I added, stroking his bare chest. "I'm glad we were both wrong."
Sandor traced the faded scars on my back absentmindedly with his right hand. He sighed and glanced to his right. From where I rested my head on his shoulder, I could see a slight discoloration on his neck, visible by the glow of the fire from outside of the tent.
"I don't believe this was from me, was it?" I asked, reaching up my hand and lightly circling the mark with my index finger.
Sandor whipped his head back and stared down at me. "Some brainless, sharp-toothed hog in a village. Bit me when I wasn't paying attention." He sighed again and grabbed a lock of my hair with his left hand. He tugged on it as gently as he could, the corner of his lips twitching. "Yer little wolf girl sewed me up."
"Did she?" I cocked an eyebrow and grinned. "Septa Mordane must be smiling from the seventh heaven…"
I took Sandor's cheek in my hand and pulled his face closer to my own. Even after all we had done this night in order to make up for lost time, kissing Sandor still felt like the first time since before our separation. There was an urgency against my lips, as if he was afraid I would be taken away from him at any moment. When we broke away, I was sure he pushed his forehead into mine to make sure I was still there.
"I know you're not much of a talker," I said once I caught my breath after the kiss, "but someday, I would love to hear more about your time with Arya."
Sandor kneaded his knuckles into the skin on my back. He stared up at the canvas, as if trying to see through the top of the tent.
"She wanted to kill me for so long…"
I gulped, remembering the vow Arya had made to me in King's Landing before I even knew I loved Sandor.
"…But she left me to die under the cliff that big bitch threw me off," he shook his head slightly.
"I remember the day the scouts returned," I chewed the inside of my bottom lip. "They told us a septon had been carting you around the Riverlands. They said you were covered in blood and bugs, and your armor was peeling off your body. Gods, I nearly threw myself off a cliff when I heard. I think I would've, if not for my little girl… Or Thoros."
Sandor's body went rigid against mine when I said that, but I carried on.
"Thoros stayed by my side, day and night," I explained. "He and Beric tried to comfort me. They reminded me that the Lord of Light kept you alive during your trial by combat—"
"I kept my-bloody-self alive," Sandor grumbled.
"I know," I smiled to myself and placed a kiss on his collarbone. "They tried to tell me there was a chance you were still alive. Divine intervention and all that horseshit Beric loves to talk about. As much as I wanted to believe them, I must admit I wasn't convinced you could've survived such a thing. Especially after hearing about that bone sticking out of your leg… But thankfully, I was wrong."
Sandor glanced away again. He was silent for a long time. I waited patiently for him to speak. It was clear to see that he was bothered by something, but I wouldn't press the issue. He could tell me when he was ready to.
Sandor cleared his throat. "The little one…?" he trailed off.
"Artemys," I filled in. "Forgive me for naming her without consulting you. I hope you didn't have anything else in mind for your first child."
There was a hitch in Sandor's breathing and his brow furrowed as he met my gaze again. "She's mine?"
"Of course. Who else's would she be?" I smiled up at him from his shoulder.
"Heard what she calls Thoros."
"Right," I heaved a sigh and raised my head to look into his eyes better. "Well, until quite recently, he was the closest thing she had to a father," I told him. "It started in jest, us calling Thoros her daddy. But children listen more than most think they do. Things catch on…"
Sandor's mouth was pressed into a straight line. It was hard to tell in the dim light what exactly he was feeling in that moment, but I hoped to the gods that he wasn't upset with me.
"I was going to tell her about you," I assured him. "As soon as she was old enough to understand. I was going to tell her that her father was a hero—"
"I'm not a hero."
I leaned in and kissed him softly. "You are to me."
Sandor was silent again and I could tell there was something else on his mind, something else that was bothering him. One of his hands were digging into my hip—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to know that he wasn't trying his best to be careful with me.
"Was there ever…" he began awkwardly. "Did yeh ever find someone else?"
"Find someone else?" I echoed. "What, like another man?"
Sandor's throat bobbed and I knew exactly what he meant.
"Well, I vaguely remember being kissed in a dream once…" I smirked.
Sandor breathed sharply through his nose. It felt nice to get under his skin again. It reminded me of stolen moments inside the Red Keep; standing between his knees, sneaking glances at his muscular chest in the candlelight.
"No," I shook my head, answering him more seriously. "There's never been anyone else. Not even Thoros of Myr."
The man I was lying against relaxed a bit under me, finally taking a breath he had been holding in. His hand loosened on my hip and I felt his fingers massaging into my skin in an absentminded apology.
"He's naught but a friend," I continued. "Thoros has always looked out for me—ever since we met in King's Landing. In fact, if it weren't for him, I may not have realized how I truly felt for you," I smirked again. "Or have you forgotten the candle that led me to your door?"
Sandor snickered a little. "Yeh'd been a pain in my arse long before that bald cunt ever put a damn candle in yer hand."
"You're far from the only person who considers me a pain in their arse," I grinned.
"Don't I know it?" he sighed.
"Doesn't mean I'm in love with the others," I pointed out. "Only you."
Sandor almost looked like he was about to smile. He cradled the back of my head in one of his hands and pulled me closer for another passionate kiss.
"I'm terrified to know," I whispered after we pulled away from each other, "but I won't sleep if I don't ask. Was there someone else for you?"
He didn't say anything, staring at my quivering lips instead. With every silent second, pressure grew on my chest. My mouth felt dry, but I still tried to swallow the lump in my throat.
"It's alright," I breathed as my eyes started to well. "You've spent so long thinking I was dead. You're a man. You have needs …"
"There was a woman in the commune," Sandor finally said.
He had previously given me a bare-bones explanation of his time with a septon named Ray—the same septon Gatins, Morgan, and Lem murdered before Sandor came back into my life—but he had never spoken of a woman. Not until now. My heart felt heavier and I found it hard to look in his eyes anymore. I peered down at his chest and tried to convince myself more that I was alright with it.
"She looked after me as well," he kept going. "She reminded me of you."
"Of course," I murmured to his chest hair and the pink scars underneath.
"Look at me."
I sucked in a large breath before obeying his rumbly command. I was afraid I would start crying before him. I was afraid he might think me weak and run back into the arms of the woman in the commune, even though I knew she was dead. Regardless, I looked at him and saw the imploring look in his brown eyes.
"She offered things to me," Sandor told me. "Said there was room in her tent."
"Please," I said in a voice I could hardly even hear myself. I wanted him to stop. I didn't want to hear anything more. I was angry with myself for asking him in the first place.
"I won't lie to you," he continued anyway. "Thought long and hard about it. You were dead and I was alone."
Sandor took a deep breath and covered my shaking hand on his chest with one of his own. I could feel his heart beating strong and steady under my palm.
"I didn't go in her tent," he told me.
"You didn't?" I gulped, the lump in my throat shrinking. "You truly didn't?"
He shook his head and pulled me closer into his body. "I couldn't."
I woke as soon as the sun shined through the canvas. I stretched out my sore body and sat up, Sandor's arm and the furs I'd stitched together sliding down onto my lap. The air was cold around me now that I wasn't pressed against his warmth anymore. He lay on his side with his eyes still closed, and his body rose and fell with every breath he took. I was glad he was still asleep, glad he could finally rest.
With a careful hand, I reached down and stroked his lank hair out of his face. His scar, while still jarring, seemed much different now. When I first saw it up close, the night of the feast at Winterfell, his wound was red and irritated. But after all this time, the redness seemed to have faded and the warped skin seemed much smoother now.
I lightly traced my fingertips along the scar and down to where his ear should have been. Most of it was missing and I wondered if the big woman who damn near killed him had anything to do with it.
"Girl."
I jumped and removed my hand from his face. I looked down and saw Sandor with his eyes still closed. His hand squeezed my thigh from where it sat over the furs on my lap. A warning sign, perhaps. Still as grumpy in the morning as ever, I thought to myself.
"Forgive me," I whispered as he tried to fall back asleep.
I reached down and took his hand in both of mine. I had noticed the night before that his palms felt rougher against me than normal but had chosen to ignore it until now. I gently turned his hand over and stared down at the pale white raised scars. Two perfectly straight lines—one across his palm, the other along the bottom row of knuckles on his fingers. It looked as if he'd grabbed onto the blade of an incredibly sharp sword.
"Girl," Sandor grunted again when I ran my fingers over the scars.
"Still a pain in your arse, I see," I grinned down at him when he opened one of his eyes to glare at me.
He pulled his hand out of mine and wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me back down. I turned over on my side to face him and felt him draw me in closer.
"Forgive me," I repeated myself, trying and failing to stop smiling. "I've missed you."
Sandor's glare softened and his eyebrow twitched. I cupped his cheek in my hand and saw his eyes close once again. I leaned forward and kissed the tip of his nose.
"As much as I would love to continue this," I said. "I should go."
Sandor groaned in annoyance and rolled over onto his back, folding his hands on his stomach. I would have thought he'd try to go back to sleep, but he kept his eyes open. I could feel him watching me as I freed myself from the furs and knelt beside the pile of discarded clothing at the corner of the tent.
"I need to check on Artemys," I added as I stepped into my petticoat. "I can only imagine what sorts of shenanigans Thoros must have let her get into last night."
"You really trust that red cunt to watch over your little girl?" Sandor grumbled.
"I'd trust that red cunt with my life," I replied playfully, tying my dark blue dress back together. I slipped my feet into my boots and knelt down once again to gather Sandor's clothes and toss them onto the furs where I had just been lying. "You'd do well to trust him yourself. It's your little girl he's been watching over as well."
Sandor's chest heaved and he looked down at his hands. "She doesn't know me. She doesn't know she's mine. She thinks she's his."
"And she will until you meet her," I said, walking towards the flaps of the tent. "It's not too late to become her father."
I stepped outside and smoothed out the wrinkles on my dress. The brothers mulling around all smirked at me, some even chuckled out loud. My face started to burn as I wandered off, not making eye contact with another person until I found Thoros tossing my giggling daughter in the air. I stopped in my tracks and watched them for a moment.
"Again!"
"As you command."
Thoros threw her up into the air and caught Artemys by the waist, this time spinning her around in a circle before cradling her to his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tightly. Thoros smiled and met my eyes as I came closer.
"Look who it is, darling," he said.
Artemys knotted her little fingers into the knitted surcoat that Thoros wore. She leaned back and beamed at me. "Mummy!" she squealed. She started to squirm and Thoros put her down on the ground. Artemys ran towards me and I crouched down with my arms out as wide as the smile on my face. But before I could scoop her up, she tripped on her skirts and tumbled onto the ground.
I straightened up quickly and darted forward as my daughter began to cry. She sat on her haunches and wailed loudly. I knelt down before her, Thoros coming to squat behind her as well.
"Hey, now," I murmured, cupping her cheeks with my hands. "Dry your tears, little one."
Artemys continued to cry as I gently lifted her skirts and found two scraped knees. There was no blood, but my daughter carried on as if her legs had been cut to the bone.
"There, there, love. I know it hurts," I cooed, leaning forward to kiss both of her knees. "All better now?"
Artemys looked at me with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her wails quieted as she nodded. I covered her legs back up with her skirts and heard the noises go silent. I glanced up and saw Thoros rising to his feet. Artemys herself was staring up, almost up to the sky. Her eyes were wide and her lips were in a tight line, just as she had been when Sandor had come to our camp with the hanging party.
"Clegane," Thoros said over our heads. "Glad to see you're awake."
I pulled Artemys into my arms and stood up. When I turned, I smiled at Sandor, who was standing not far behind me. He limped closer, his eyes not leaving Artemys's.
"Perhaps I'll give the happy family a moment alone," Thoros muttered in my ear. He whirled away before I could even thank him for watching Artemys the previous night.
"Are you cold, love?" I asked the little girl in my arms as she shivered against me.
Artemys finally averted her eyes from Sandor's and looked at me. She nodded silently and nestled into the curve of my neck. I smiled back at Sandor and watched his eyebrow twitch again.
"I'll find us a fire, then," I said as I turned away.
I could hear Sandor limping through the fallen leaves behind me as I ambled toward one of the firepits the brothers had set up when we first made camp here. The logs surrounding it were empty and the fire was dying, but I set Artemys down and grabbed a stick. Sandor approached and sat on a separate log from his own daughter, as if he was more afraid of the girl staring at him than the fire I was stoking.
When the flames were high enough to keep us warm, I turned and picked my daughter up, her wide eyes still on Sandor's. I set her on my hip until I sat down on Sandor's right side, when I put her on my lap. She held onto my hand with both of hers, gripping tightly. I wondered if she was afraid of him—his size, his scar, his grim facial expression. Whatever she was, she was brave enough to keep staring, even when he hung his head and fumbled with his fingers between his knees.
"Artemys, love," I started gently. "Do you know who this is?" I asked even though I knew she didn't.
My daughter shook her head.
"This is…" I gulped, knowing what I was about to say was going to change her little world forever. I wished Beric and I had never started calling Thoros her daddy, jest or not. "Artemys, love, this is your father."
She finally tore her eyes off of Sandor and looked at me. I smiled, feeling my eyes well up.
"We've been far away from each other for a very long time, but he's found his way back to us. And he would like to meet you very much," I continued.
Artemys turned her head back around, but she didn't look at Sandor. She laid her eyes on the distant Thoros, who was laughing merrily with a small group of brothers near the tents. A lump grew in my throat. I could feel Sandor giving me a sidelong glance, but I couldn't bear to return it. Artemys stared at Thoros for a moment, then finally turned back to me.
"Would you like to meet your father, Artemys?" I asked, terrified that she would say no.
But Artemys didn't answer. Not with words, anyway.
She gazed at Sandor next to us for an even longer time than she did Thoros. I watched Sandor heave a great sigh, finally meeting his daughter's eyes. My chest felt heavy as the two stared at each other for what felt like forever.
Then Artemys let go of my hand and leaned forward. She outstretched her arm and I felt myself stop breathing when she put her tiny hand on Sandor's scar. I grew more nervous than I thought I could as I waited for Sandor to react. He didn't push her hand away. He didn't jump back. He didn't swear at her. He just swallowed hard and kept his eyes on the little girl, allowing her to touch his face.
What happened next made the tears in my eyes stream down onto my cheeks.
Artemys took both of her hands and put them on Sandor's cheeks, tugging him closer by the thick beard he had grown in our time apart. Then she leaned further and just as I had done to her knees, she kissed the scar.
My lips quivered as I silently wept. Whether she had truly understood who Sandor was to her or not, Artemys had accepted him all the same. I looked at Sandor, and though he tried to hide it by turning his head away as soon as she let go of his beard, I saw his brown eyes glistening too.
