"The dragon bitch will have you killed," Arya stormed into the Lord's bedchambers as Sandor was bathing.
"What the seven fucking hells do you think you are doing?" he roared. "Get out of here!"
"I heard her," she ignored him. "I did not like Sansa going into the godswood alone with her, so I followed them. Apparently, if you and Sansa do not bend the knee she will have you killed, legitimize Jon as a Stark, and make him the Lord of Winterfell," she informed him, making her way towards the window.
"You think I am afraid of that little twat?" he scoffed.
"She has dragons who breathe fire. I think you should be afraid." The girl turned over her shoulder and sneered at him.
Sandor could not help but shudder at the thought of dragonfire. He threw his head back against the tub and closed his eyes. "I'll bend the knee. I don't give two shits who sits on that bloody throne."
"My sister won't," she challenged. "And she shouldn't. The North was independent for thousands of years. Sansa will not like it if you bend the knee so easily."
"I don't expect her to. I don't expect her to want her loving husband burned to the ground either," Sandor added defensively.
"The rest of us wouldn't mind," she muttered.
"You are a funny girl, aren't you? All these years and you still hate me for killing that butcher's boy. You left me for dead, girl. If anything, I should hate you."
"You do hate me," Arya said. Sandor only grunted in response. "What happened with Jon?"
"When?"
"I saw the two of you after you yelled at my sister yesterday in front of the whole castle," she quipped.
"How is it that you manage to be in every fucking place at once?" he groaned. "Your bastard brother formally introduced me to his wolf, said a few words, said a few threats. He didn't need to. Seeing your sister's reaction after I lashed out at her was worse than that wolf snarling in my face," Sandor sighed.
"My direwolf would have torn you to pieces by now." He could hear the humor in her tone.
"Hush up, girl. I have enough on my mind without you going on about this shite," he sighed.
"Gendry," Arya whispered out the window.
"What the fuck is a Gendry?"
"An old friend," she answered quietly before heading towards the door.
"A boy, is it?" Sandor lifted his head and gave Arya a suspicious look. "Let me meet this Gendry who you are so eager to reunite with," he ordered.
"Who are you, my father?" Arya grimaced at him before departing the chambers, slamming the door forcefully behind her.
Sandor threw his head back against the tub and said, "Might as bloody well be."
"Why did no one notify me about these new arrivals?" Sandor rasped at the men standing guard beside the gates.
"We notified Lady Stark, my Lord," one quivered. "She said she would handle it."
Oh, little bird. What are you getting into now?
"Where did she go?" Sandor asked gruffly.
"The solar...Jon Snow's solar, my lord," the guard answered.
My wife did not want to speak with these newcomers in our solar. And for what reason could that be?
Sandor strode quickly throughout the castle towards Jon's solar. On the way, he spotted Jon and Daenerys speaking with Jaime Lannister in the ramparts, a bad conversation by the look of it. Sandor dreaded to think of who else came with the Kingslayer. When he pushed open the door to the solar, he discovered Sansa laughing with the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.
"If it isn't the man himself!" Tyrion greeted him with a wide grin. "I never thought I would see the day, Clegane, or Stark, rather. A husband and soon to be a father. Winter certainly has come," he chuckled, taking a sip of his wine.
Sandor rushed towards the dwarf. "What business do you have with my wife?" he snarled. Tyrion studied Sandor's face and then Sansa's, squinting his eyes as if deep in thought.
"Technically speaking, Sansa was still my wife when you married her," he japed.
Sandor reached for the dagger at his hip before Sansa grabbed his arm. "Sandor, enough."
"Yes, Sandor," Tyrion mocked. "I heard the dog in you has died. Let's not bring that one back from the dead. We have enough of them marching our way as it is."
Gods, how did this one survive the Battle of the Blackwater?
"Tyrion is Daenerys' hand," Sansa informed him. "He has arrived with others who have come to fight alongside us in the wars to come."
Sandor pulled up a chair to sit beside her and glared at Tyrion. "Aye, I saw that one-handed brother of yours. Why didn't you arrive with your queen's forces?" Sandor interrogated.
"An effort was made on my behalf to convince Cersei to join her forces with ours and secure a victory against the Others. However, she remains relentlessly unconvinced. Myself and the others made our way here afterwards once Cersei was kind enough to not take my head off right there. I suppose I should thank her for that should we live," Tyrion eyed Sansa and gave her an apologetic look. "My lady, forgive me. I should not mock defeat. We will win, and you and your child will live long, happy lives. War has managed to darken my humor more than I believed to be possible," he smiled.
"All right, Imp. Go on and explain what you needed to speak with my wife about that couldn't have been said to me."
"I asked for him to speak with me, Sandor. Daenerys...she wants us to bend the knee. I thought by speaking with Tyrion, her hand, he could manage to convince her to allow the north to become an independent kingdom after the wars," Sansa whispered.
"Sansa," he sighed, remembering what Arya had told him about Daenerys' threat. "Is becoming an independent kingdom worth fighting another war for?"
"No, but Tyrion is clever," she added. Sandor scoffed at the statement, but she paid no attention to it. "He might be able to persuade her. If not, I will have no choice but to bend the knee, no matter how much my men despise me for it." She did not mention the threat, but she didn't need to.
I told the wolf bitch right. Sansa might want the North to be independent, but not over my life . And gods, how I love her for that.
"I will try, my lady," Tyrion nodded. "May I have a moment alone with your husband?" he asked kindly.
Sansa turned to Sandor and gave him a cautionary look. She thinks I'll hurt the dwarf. He leaned in beside her ear and spoke the gentlest whisper he could manage. "Keep looking at me like that, pretty little bird, and I will toss this dwarf out the window and fuck you right here on your brother's desk." Sandor noticed Tyrion shift uncomfortably in his seat.
His wife gave him an alluring smile before leaning in to kiss him. "Be nice," she whispered. "Thank you for meeting with me, Tyrion," she said as she stood from her chair and made her way out of the solar.
"The chaotic Hound and the beautiful Sansa Stark," Tyrion said once the two were alone. "It is almost as poetic as the Bear and the Maiden Fair."
Sandor walked towards the bastard's solar door and latched it, standing beside the door with his arms crossed.
"Well this does not appear to be a promising conversation," Tyrion took a sip of his wine.
"Go on Imp, what did you need to speak with me about?" Sandor asked gruffly.
"First, what precisely happened with Lord Baelish?" Tyrion implored.
Sandor scoffed and spat on the floor. "Don't speak that bastard's name around me. He got what he deserved, and I am the one who gave it to him. He should have gotten it a long time ago."
"We heard...reports. I deeply sympathize with Lady Sansa and what it is said he did to her. My sister," Tyrion cleared his throat. "She has made new friends, it appears."
"And who might these friends be?" he asked impatiently.
"Lord Hardyng has no love for the north it would seem," Tyrion eyed Sandor.
Seven fucking hells, I should have let Nestor Royce kill that blonde cunt.
"When I spoke with Cersei regarding a temporary truce, she received a raven from the young lord. He gave quite the detailed account on what has been happening here in Winterfell. To say that he is offended would be a gross understatement," he took a sip of his wine. "Apparently he wants a dog put down for shitting in his bedchamber. And by that, I mean you fucking his betrothed. He is so wounded by your act, that he has promised his Knights of the Vale to defend King's Landing in return for your head. He is almost as foolishly proud as Joffrey," Tyrion sighed.
"That little shit would put his men in the middle of a war because I took Sansa's maidenhead? I saved that boy's life!" Sandor boomed.
"For many, the principle of it is far more important than the act itself. He would have married Sansa Stark, a maiden, and would have had rule in the North in addition to rule in the Eyrie. You took that from him. Songs have already begun to be sung about a naive little boy losing his wolf pup to a savage dog. The longer he is ridiculed for it, the more adamant he becomes on getting justice, or revenge, rather. However, because he is too craven to return to Winterfell himself, Cersei has agreed to take the brunt of the force to put down the bad dog in exchange for Lord Hardyng's support in the next war, that is, if the dead don't do the deed first."
"And how does your bitch of a sister plan to do that?" Sandor fumed.
"A group of volunteers, all so eager to kill the Hound, have been permitted to depart from King's Landing in pursuit of your head."
"A group of bloody volunteers against me and my army? What threat to me is that?"
The dwarf downed the remaining contents in his cup. "A group of volunteers," Tyrion mumbled, "and your brother."