RL has been crazy hectic, so I apologize for how late this update is in coming-I truly appreciate the time each of you take to read and comment on my story :D I hope you like it.
Stepping off the ferry, Jaime grimly looks over the burned out remains of Maidenpool. "Whoever came through here brought the Seven hells with them," he remarks to the ferryman.
"Aye, truer words never spoken, lad; tis the Hound who brought hell with him from the Blackwater battle," the greasy old man spits, holding out his hand for coin. "He and his men brought rape and death and misery, too. I hope he burns for it a second time."
Rape? That catches Jaime's attention. What the man is describing sounds more like Gregor's work than Sandor's. Sandor had been hard and brutal, yes, but it was his big brother who was the real monster in House Clegane.
"Where can I buy a horse?"
"The livery is next to the brothel, lad. One of the few buildings left standing. You can't miss it. Where you headed now?"
"The Quiet Isle," Jaime grins at the sight of the old man's toothless mouth gaping open.
"A fool's journey, that."
"I have no doubt of it," Jaime laughs, waving his stump at the man as he hurries toward town.
She is clearly highborn in both her manner and appearance, but is this young woman truly Sansa Stark? It would not be beneath the Hound to try to ransom off another girl who resembles Lady Sansa, Brienne muses, peering at the lovely young woman tending her wound.
"Forgive me, my lady; am I to understand that you are, indeed, Lady Catelyn Stark's eldest daughter?"
"Yes, my lady," Sansa smiles at her. "I am Sansa Clegane, formerly Stark of House Stark of Winterfell. My father was Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, and my brother was King Robb Stark."
At this Lady Brienne labors to bow low before Sansa, laying Oathkeeper at her feet. "My lady, I am Brienne of Tarth. I am sworn to find Lady Stark's daughters in the service of Ser Jaime Lannister. He has shared certain details to which only a true born Stark would know the answers. I hope you will not object to answering a few questions. "
"What the fuck is this?" Sandor pulls Sansa to her feet. "How would a bloody Lannister know anything of the kind? You don't need to prove shit to this wench-"
"My husband raises a valid question. How would Ser Jaime know such information?"
"Your mother related her desire to have you and your sister returned to her and when she freed him she shared this information in hopes he would help her secure her family."
"I see," Sansa sighs.
"Bugger that," Sandor snarls, raising his shortsword.
"Sandor, please, I understand her concern. Let us hear her out, my love," Sansa says softly, placing her hand on his sword arm.
Sneering at the woman, Sandor points his weapon at her. "Bloody knights; I spit on your vows."
After observing the fierce man for a moment, Sansa turns toward the female knight. "Lady Brienne, arise, please."
Brienne dutifully bows once more before raising to her full height. "Thank you, Lady Sansa. Ser Jaime told me you are a most gracious and kind young woman."
"He is very generous, considering I hardly know him; in fact I have only spoken to Ser Jaime once or twice that I recall during his stay in my family seat before I departed to King's Landing."
"He said as much, my lady."
"I understand your predicament, I assure you, Lady Brienne. You are free to ask any manner of question; I would only ask that you, in turn, give me leave to ask a few questions of my own."
"Of course, Lady Stark, and thank you," Brienne pauses and frowns at Sandor, who sneers menacingly at her. "Ser Jaime told me that when he arrived at Winterfell you had a pet."
Blinking back hot tears, Sansa answers, "Yes; a direwolf named Lady."
Brienne sympathetically nods. "And your sister, Arya-Ser Jaime mentioned she was gifted with a certain object from one of your family members in Winterfell just prior to your journey to King's Landing."
Sansa can have her sewing needles. I have a Needle of my own, Arya's childish voice echoes in her mind. "I believe he is referring to a thin sword my brother Jon Snow gave her. She named it Needle." All the best swords have names, you know.
Relieved, the woman smiles broadly. "A young woman after my own heart."
Sansa sadly returns her smile. "Arya would have been most taken with you, Lady Brienne. She much would have preferred knighthood to the life of a highborn lady but we all thought it impossible."
"It is not an easy life, I assure you, Lady Sansa, but it suits me just the same," Brienne answers softly. " I shall only require one more: what did Joffrey gift to you?"
"He gave me a necklace with a Lannister pendant. I still have it if you wish to see it."
"No, my lady, that is not necessary. You word is enough." Glaring toward Sandor, she asks, "You willing wed the Hound? Tell me truly: he did not attempt to coerce you in any manner?"
Sansa casts a confused glance at her husband, who smirks and jerks his head at Brienne. "Say what you mean, wench." When Brienne remains silent, he snaps, "Sansa, what the honorable wench really wants to know if I raped you or forced you to marry me as a condition of returning you to your kin."
"Is that so?" Sansa gently questions Brienne, her eyes hardening at his words.
Averting her eyes, she quietly replies, "Yes, Lady Sansa. Pray forgive me; he is not the sort of man to whom most highborn woman willingly join themselves. However, I would not have posed the question in such crude terms as the Hound."
"Rest assured I most certainly was not forced into marriage," she moves closer to her husband and rests her hand on his arm. "I wed Sandor Clegane very willingly. I love him very much and will never consent to being parted from him."
"I can see you have formed an attachment. Forgive me, but this is wholly unbelievable, based on what I have been told about the Hound."
"Lady Brienne, please, let us move you into the sept. Your wound may need stitches," Elder brother says, kneeling beside Sansa. "Sandor, help me with her."
Snarling, he shakes his head and points at her again. "Bugger that, holy man. Help her so she can take off my head when I lean down?"
Sansa squeezes his arm. "Dearest, please?"
"No way-you can just fucking well get that idea out of your head, Little bird," he mutters, "She comes here calling me a rapist and a kidnapper and tells me she means to take you to Jaime fucking Lannister? Bugger that, and bugger her, too. Let the good brothers help her."
Sansa sighs. "I know it is all very hard to bear. Still-"
"Sandor, Sansa, I propose that you allow me to tend to Lady Brienne while the two of you sort out matters and perhaps take your ease for a spell. Later, we all should sit down and have a talk," Elder brother interjects, glancing between Sandor and Brienne.
"Aye that we should," Sandor grunts, pulling Sansa closer to him.
"Say, before supper?"
Sandor nods before casting another scowl at Brienne and grabbing Sansa by the arm. "Come on, Little bird."
During the ride back to the Hermit's Hole, Sandor silently fumes over the knight's message. How dare she ride in here at Jaime Lannister's bidding-the very knight all the highborn ladies swooned over in court, buggering bastard! That wench has another thing coming if she thinks I'm going to stand by and let her take the Little bird to the kingslayer, gods be damned-I'll kill them both before that fucking happens.
Outwardly the captain of the Kingsguard was everything the Little bird used to dream about in her fairy tales-a golden, handsome, charming knight, and before he lost his hand, deadly as well. Sansa has grown into a beautiful woman since he last saw her, and if the kingslayer has grown tired of fucking his sister, he's bound to notice. What if he charms her into agreeing to go with him?
Though the men served alongside each other from their fifteenth namedays onward, Sandor could not bear the notion that Jaime Lannister had taken it upon himself to come to the aid of his little bird. The very idea sends bitter bile into his throat and recalls an incident from Sandor's past he would sooner forget.
The two first fought alongside each other in the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood during which both young men began building their respective reputations. The golden lion fast became a favorite among the soldiers and officers, first by saving Lord Crakehall from Big Belly Ben and later engaging the psychotic Smiling Knight in heated combat.
Sandor, on the other hand, was styled ruthless and fearsome, a young man to be avoided and derided, and it was then he first was called the Hound. Egged on by Gregor, all the knights mocked and scorned him, and by the time Jaime was knighted on the battlefield by Ser Arthur Dayne, his hatred for the appointment itself and those who took the vows was cemented within him. From then on Sandor avoided Jaime at all costs and took out his anger on any opponent who crossed his path.
Upon their return to Casterly Rock a year later, Lord Tywin held a massive feast in Jaime's honor, and the amiable young knight made a special invitation to his former comrade in arms. Ser Amory Lorch insisted he attend, that there was no way Sandor could refuse without causing insult, and so he grudgingly put on his best tunic and breeches and made an appearance.
Determined to be miserable and drink as much as he was physically able for the duration, he spent the night sulking in the corner with his wine and watched as Jaime laughed and talked easily with soldiers and lords alike.
It did not escape his notice that Jaime's beautiful twin Cersei stood in the shadows and glowered at her brother while all the serving women and highborn ladies vied for the young lion's attention. Disgusted, Sandor was near ready to gather as many wineskins as he could carry and leave, until one pretty girl with dark chestnut hair looked him straight in the face, smiled and sidled up beside him.
"Leaving so soon?" She laughed, pointing to his haul of Dornish sour. "I was hoping we could get to know each other better. I'm Willow, by the way."
Looking back, he should have known then something was amiss; but a part of Sandor longed to believe that the striking young maid's interest in him was sincere, and so he stayed. Something in her manner appealed to him, and so he listened as Willow talked his ear off about mundane things. She laughed easily at his attempts at humor, touching his arm with a twinkle in her eye, and before he knew it, the feast was over.
"Will you take me riding tomorrow, Sandor? We do not have a carriage in town and the weather is quite fine." She batted her eyes at him and played with the neck of his tunic.
Willow was the first woman who ever took an interest in him without being paid, and though a part of him whispered that it was false, Sandor could not help himself. "Sure, I'll get one for us," he heard himself say, the words tumbling out all at once in his excitement.
"I look forward to it," she smiled, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
After their ride the following day, they walked through the tall wildflowers beside the river. There she kissed him, his first real kiss, and he marveled that she neither cringed nor shied away from his burned appearance. Later, she laid him down in the grass and insisted he take her under the open sky; it was the closest thing to happiness Sandor experienced since his sister and mother died.
When he returned, the men all smiled knowingly and teased him mercilessly. Ser Barristan approached him and quietly asked, "Did you have a pleasant afternoon, Clegane?"
"Aye, I suppose, my lord," he said, struggling to maintain his usual scowl.
"Good. Let's take a walk, shall we?"
Once out of the earshot of the others, the knight cautiously related that Willow was no ordinary girl; in fact she was a high paid whore whom Lord Tywin hired as a reward for his service. Ser Barristan claimed Jaime knew nothing about it, and continued insisting on it for many years after, though Sandor never believed him.
Humiliated and enraged, he angrily turned away from Ser Barristan, openly vowing he would never trust the word of any knight ever again before seeking out Jaime and blackening his eye in front of the men.
Looking back, Sandor is certain Lord Tywin would have had him killed on the spot if not for the pleading of the young knight, who inexplicably seemed to understand his anger. Many years later in a tavern after yet another battle, when his tongue was loosened by copious amounts of wine, Sandor asked Jaime why he did it.
The only response he got from the newly appointed captain of the Kingsguard was the curt phrase: "The whole bloody mess reminded me of my brother." Jaime's words caused Sandor a great deal of wonder over the years. Now, though, a blind fury settles over him at the memory, chasing all reasonable thought from his mind.
"When did you ever speak to Jaime Lannister? I can't bloody recall ever seeing you say two words to him," Sandor venomously spits out, jostling Sansa in his arms.
Startled, Sansa sits up and turns her face up to him. "Forgive me, husband, I fell asleep. Would you please repeat yourself?"
Gripping her chin, he lowers his face close to hers. "You bloody well heard me; tell me when you spoke to Jaime fucking Lannister."
Recoiling from the fury raging in his eyes, Sansa dares not look away. "I do not know; perhaps it was at the feast for King Robert in Winterfell. I cannot recall another occasion that I would have spoken to him."
Snorting, he stares intently into her eyes, his steely gaze burning into her. "That the only time? You're certain?"
"Yes, I believe so. I do not recall speaking to him on the Kingsroad or at the Hand's tourney. Why do you ask?"
"Fuck, Sansa, I bloody well deserve to know when and how my wife managed to charm the thrice damned kingslayer into coming to her rescue!"
"Sandor, you are most upset. Please, let us get down and stretch for a bit," Sansa calmly entreats the man. "We will speak of it then."
"Bugger that. Anything you've got to say, you can say here and now!"
"Of course we can; but I wish to face you, so please, let us stop for a bit," she rests her hand on his face.
"Aye, alright," he moves her hand away and grumbles, pulling rein on Stranger. After tying the animal to a nearby tree, Sandor roughly lifts Sansa out of the saddle before settling down on a fallen log.
Smoothing down her skirts, Sansa moves toward him slowly and tentatively rests her hands on his shoulders. Jerking away, he sneers at her before casting his eyes downward.
"Look at me, please, my love," she softly pleads with him. After a moment, he raises his eyes to hers and shifts uneasily beneath her touch.
"If the man did not resemble Cersei half so much, I doubt I would even recognize Jaime Lannister if he rode up at this very moment. I know you feel the truth of my words, just as you know I never knowingly charmed him." Settling down on his knee, Sansa timidly snakes her arms around his neck. "Please, tell me what this is really about, dearest."
"Bloody hells, Sansa, just let it go." He mutters after a moment, running his hands through his hair with a sigh.
Tipping his chin up to her, Sansa kisses him softly. "I will if you will, my love."
Sneering, he sets her on her feet and stalks over to Stranger. The rest of the trip back to the Hermit's Hole is spent in silence, with Sandor brooding and Sansa entreating the gods and her father for help.
Opening the door to the cave, Sandor turns to his wife. "You look tired-you want to nap for a bit?"
"Yes, I do," she says hesitantly, stepping out of her gown and laying down among the furs. "I did not sleep well last night.
"Neither did I." He raises his eyebrow at her. "But?"
She pats the bedding beside her. "But even though you are angry, I wish to fall asleep in your arms."
"Buggering hells," he mutters, stripping off his garments and settling down next to her. "Come here, lass."
Over supper, Lady Brienne relates all that happened with Renly Baratheon, Lady Catelyn, and Jaime in the Stormlands.
Sansa listens in rapt attention, while Sandor snorts in disbelief. "You failed to protect your liege lord and you're blaming his death on some shadow beast a red witch conjured? Is that your idea of honor?"
"Sandor-"
"It's alright, Lady Sansa. Ser Jaime told me you are a man who keeps no gods, Clegane, so I understand your difficulty in believing it. Had I not seen it with my own eyes I would not have believed it myself; nevertheless I speak the truth of the true nature of King Renly's death."
Sandor shakes his head. "Bloody nonsense."
"Sandor, please, there is more you need to hear from her," Elder brother says quietly. "Believe me, you both will want to hear this."
Reaching over, Sansa anxiously clutches his hand.
Sighing, he nods. "Aye, go on then."
"My lady, one of your father's former bannermen, Lord Beric Dondarrion and his companion Thoros of Myr also worship the same red god as Lord Stannis' red woman."
"Beric Dondarrion? The hells you say; my brother killed him."
"Sandor, please," Elder brother patiently pats his arm. "Give Lady Brienne a chance."
"Aye, alright. But what of Thoros? What the fuck is he doing here?"
"I am getting to that, Clegane," Brienne mutters low, the woman's patience sorely tried by the crude man before her. "They both lead a band of outlaws who call themselves the Brotherhood without Banners. They found your mother, after the incident at the Twins, in the river. It is reported that a massive wolf sat beside her, and the animal was whining and guarding her body."
"Arya-she saw Mother through Nymeria!" Sansa sobs out, clinging to Sandor.
"Easy wife," he whispers quietly. Burying his face in her crown, he recalls in his dream he saw Lady Catelyn in the river, and Arya was not far away from her when she spoke to him.
Brienne glances between them, and Elder brother nods at her to continue. "The men-they petitioned the red god to restore Lady Catelyn's life in exchange for Lord Beric, and it is so, my lady-your Mother returned, but not as before. It is the same magic Thoros used to return Lord Beric after the Mountain killed him."
"Tread lightly, wench," Sandor growls as Sansa cries harder against his chest, the distraught woman pulling him closer still.
"It is most disturbing but it is true, Sandor; during his travels Septon Meribald has heard more than one man verify they have seen the former Lady Stark in the company of this band."
"I will hear no more of this! My lady mother would never join a band of outlaws!" Sansa indignantly cries out, suddenly pulling away from Sandor.
"You speak truly; your mother is not the woman I met in the Stormlands, my lady, neither in looks or disposition. She bears the marks of her death still, and even goes by another name now. Lady Stoneheart, she calls herself, though only Thoros and a few others can understand her. She is neither dead nor alive, but somewhere in between, and bent on avenging her family. I am very sorry."
"No! How could this happen?" Sansa cries out, slamming her fist on the table.
Sandor encircles her in his arms. "Why come here and tell us all this?"
"Ser Jaime respected Lady Catelyn, for she even went against your brother's wishes to secure you and your sister's return and released him at great risk to herself; the northern lords thought her a traitor. In so doing, Lady Catelyn saved his life, and he means to honor your mother's actions on his behalf. Ser Jaime is determined to keep you safe from the queen regent and find your sister as well."
Kneeling, she draws Oathkeeper from its scabbard and offers it to Sansa, who shakily looks toward Sandor.
"What's this now?"
"As a sign of good faith, he has given me the longsword Oathkeeper which has been forged from Lord Eddard's greatsword Ice. It is fitting that your father's blade be used to protect his daughters, and I have vowed to do just that, my lady."
"Ice," Sansa whispers, reverently running her fingers across the glittering ripples through the red and black blade. Stepping back, she turns to Sandor. "Take my father's sword from Lady Brienne."
Snarling, Sandor snatches it from the knight's hands. "So the kingslayer found honor, did he? Next you'll tell me he stopped fucking his sister. So he returned my wife's rightful property to her-that sure as hells doesn't mean shit to me."
"Ser Jaime feared you would respond in such a manner. He is travelling here as we speak to voice his intentions in person. He also has heard of this rapist band as well, and has identified them as sellswords sent by Lord Baelish to retrieve Sansa for himself."
Roaring in a fury, Sandor brings the longsword crashing down onto the table, shattering the weirwood. Lady Brienne jumps back and pushes Podrick behind her while resting her hand on the hilt of her short sword. Though she is a battle hardened knight, the unadulterated rage pouring off the Hound nevertheless startles her. Warily she circles around him. "Clegane, calm yourself!"
"Littlefucker is behind this? I should have slit his throat in King's Landing!" Sandor seethes, looking more demon than human to his onlookers.
Trembling, Sansa quietly sobs into Elder brother's shoulder. "Sandor, please, your wife-"
Rushing to her side, Sandor gathers Sansa in his arms, the anger instantly draining from his countenance as he tenderly strokes her back. "Shh it's alright, Little bird. No one will hurt you again, or I'll kill them. I swear it on my life. You're safe with me. Say you believe me, lass."
"I do, I believe you," the young woman stutters out.
Her husband takes out a handkerchief and gently dries her cheeks. "That's better," Sandor rasps softly, caressing her face.
Stunned by his transformation, Lady Brienne draws a deep sigh of relief and settles back into her chair. "Ser Jaime will be here in a few days. In the meantime, I believe it would be best to keep Lady Sansa hidden and prepare the septry from a possible attack."
Gritting his teeth, Sandor nods his assent. "Aye, we'll do just that."
Elder brother makes the sign of the Seven over Sandor, Sansa and Lady Brienne. "Do what you must, and may the Seven bless and keep us all."
