Starks do not last long in this world.
The last words of Petyr Baelish were ingrained in Sandor's mind, tormenting him over and over again as if they were the only words he knew.
Sandor laid beside the little bird on the bed, running his fingers through the thickness of her hair, as she slept from the milk of the poppy.
The maester came too late. She felt it all, every bloody second of it. Milk of the poppy will not replace the blood. It will not replace our child.
The moment he entered the bedchamber had felt more surreal than his dream had, and for a moment he did not believe what he saw. He watched Sansa give birth to their child, screaming, weeping. Beric had been there to deliver the child, born months too early. He was a stillborn. He was a boy.
A boy, no larger than the size of my hand.
Sandor could not do or say much of anything. He managed to crawl onto the bed upon entering the bedchamber, his right leg broken, his ribs shattered, and placed his face beside hers. Sandor kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear.
"I'm here, little bird," he breathed. "I'm here."
The maester came minutes after her delivery. His face was pale as milk as he rushed towards Sansa, weeping at the mere sight of her. Weeping, as he did in my dream, he thought. It was all too similar to that gods forsaken dream. Beric had placed their son on her bare breast, a child smaller than Sandor could believe. She sobbed, unable to speak or move, and slowly drifted into unconsciousness.
The maester's weeping said it all: Sansa had lost too much blood, and though her lungs continued to fill with air, it would not be for much longer. Lying beside his dying wife and his dead son, Sandor muttered a real prayer for the first time in his life, praying to the old gods to allow him to die as well.
Starks do not last long in this world.
Upon placing several drops of the milk of the poppy into Sansa's mouth, the maester departed alongside Beric, leaving Sandor alone with the only two souls he had ever loved.
The only two I will ever love. And the only two who could have ever loved me.
He watched her chest, their late son resting on top, rising and falling slowly. The time between her exhales and inhales seemed to elongate with each breath, driving Sandor mad with apprehension.
Starks do not last long in this world.
The door opened slowly and between Sandor's misery and the debilitating pain in his body, he did not bother to look at who entered.
"Sandor," a faint voice said. The door closed and footsteps creeped up closer. As they approached beside Sansa, he observed it was Arya who had come. She looked down at her sister, at the small bundle on her chest, and finally at Sandor, her own grief consuming her.
"Sansa," Arya whispered, taking her sister's pale hand into her own. "I am so sorry," she began to weep. "I should have been there for you. I should have never left you." The girl's tears dripped onto the bed, soaking in the furs covering Sansa.
"Don't, girl," Sandor managed to speak. "Don't blame yourself," he winced as he shifted to sit along the headboard.
Arya took in a deep breath and placed two fingers on the infant's tiny head, caressing his translucent skin. "Sandor, Cersei will die for this," she whispered. "She has been on my list since the beginning, but for this…" she paused. "I will kill her slowly." Arya leaned down, kissing her sister on the forehead. Before departing the bedchamber, Arya walked beside Sandor and placed her hand gently on his shoulder for a moment, saying nothing.
When she left, Sandor shut his eyes, grabbing one of Sansa's hands into his own and listening carefully to her shallow breaths. A few moments passed before the door to the bedchamber opened again. This time Sandor opened his eyes, watching the visitant approach.
"Gods," Jon gasped as he rushed to Sansa's side. "Oh, Sansa." He cupped her cheek with his hand, studying the child on her breast for movement despite knowing none would come. "What did the maester say?" his voice quivered.
"Lost too much blood," Sandor muttered under his breath. "He gave her the milk of the poppy, to ease her…" he could not say it.
To ease her suffering. To ease her suffering as she dies.
Before Jon could speak, the door opened a third time.
"Hello, Sandor."
At the boy's entrance, Sandor gave him a look of bewilderment. "How did you survive? I didn't see you make it into the crypts."
"I was not here for most of the battle. When I returned, I was in the godswood," he stared blankly at Sansa.
"What bloody happened?" Sandor felt his rage spark thinking of how Bran did not know that the Others had been so close.
"The Others had a King. The Night's King. I am not the only one who has abilities beyond the comprehension of men," he explained. "Magic…" he trailed off. "Magic is curious."
"It is not Bran's fault," Jon defended. "We lost many good men, so did Daenerys. But the Night's King and his army are all dead."
"Jon killed the Night's King. Jon is the prince that was promised," Bran interrupted. "He pulled his valyrian steel longsword from the fire and struck the Night's King, delivering the world from darkness. The Night's King shattered, as did the rest. Gregor and his men arrived once they knew our defenses were preoccupied with the Others. All died, aside from your brother and the one who meant to rape Sansa. When you fought Gregor, her body went into shock, causing the child to be born prematurely." The boy spoke softly, his eyes fixated on the child on his sister's breast.
"My abilities as the Three-Eyed Raven were obstructed the closer the Night's King came to me. Now that he is no longer, I can see clearer...better," his eyes shifted to Sandor. "This is not the child I saw Sansa bore. There will be another," Bran said tediously.
"Another? Sansa will not live through the bloody night!" Sandor exclaimed in despair.
"No," Bran admitted. "First, she must die."
After Jon and Bran's visit, Sandor had forbidden any others from entering the bedchambers aside from the maester. The old man came by once more, though his efforts were futile. Sandor cursed him away when he came to inspect his own injuries. Let me die, old man, he thought. Before departing, the maester informed Sandor that Arya wanted a proper burial for her sister's son. Parting with the small boy felt like another blow to the chest but Sandor did not fight the maester's request. Instead, as the old man departed with the swaddled child, he placed his head on Sansa's breast where his son had laid.
With his ear pressed against her skin, Sandor could hear the gentle thumping of her heart and the soothing sound of her lungs filling with air. The noises helped Sandor find sleep for the first time in two days. Hours went by before he awoke, the bedchamber darker, stiller, and quieter than before. It was then he realized that the sounds against his ear ceased.
"Sansa?"
He sat up abruptly, numb to the pain in his chest, and cradled her into his lap. Her head fell into the crease of his elbow, her arms to her sides, and her mouth gaped open.
No, it's a dream. It's the same dream as before. She's not, she can't be…
"Sansa?" His hand traveled down her pale face, cold as a winter snow. "Little bird," he said louder. "Wake up, girl," his voice cracked as tears began to form. "Sansa! Sansa!"
Sandor's hands shook violently, his heart dropping, and he found himself unable to breathe. The woman in his arms was still, lifeless, and colorless aside from her auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulder. As he held her in his arms, he wept, rocking her slowly as a mother would to an infant.
Like you would have done to our son, he thought. Our small, dead son.
"Gods!" he shouted, dropping his face into her neck. The tears that fell down his cheeks burned, the aching in his chest was no longer from his fractured ribs but from a sensation like his heart was being torn out. He bawled, howled, and cursed, coming to the agonizing realization that his wife, his little bird, Sansa Stark, was gone.
Starks do not last long in this world.
Sandor stood from the bed, placing her down onto the furs and watched as her chest remained unmoving. In one motion, he turned and kicked at the table beside the bed, forcing several splinters to erupt. He then grabbed the chair and threw it against the floor with all his might, fracturing the same way his ribs had when Gregor kicked him. He swung his fist at the stone wall, breaking the skin on his knuckles open. He then meant to swing at the door but was interrupted when he saw the latch turn.
The lightning lord did not speak but entered the bedchamber slowly, studying Sansa as she lay on the bed. Without giving Sandor a glance, he made his way towards her.
"Get the fuck away from her!" Sandor cried, lifting Sansa into his arms before Beric could place a hand on her.
"Put her down, Clegane." Beric sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Sandor to place her onto the furs.
"Why?" he gripped her tighter into his arms.
"Have you forgotten, friend? You killed me once, but I lived. Thoros brought me back, as he did many times," he explained. Sandor recognized the grief in his voice as he thought of his late friend.
"Thoros was a bloody red priest, what are you other than a broken man who won't stay dead?" Sandor saw that Beric was unaffected by the harshness of his words and did nothing but pat the furs.
"Put her down, brother," he repeated calmly.
Sandor looked at him with reluctance before placing her back onto the bed. Beric leaned towards her, cupping her face with both hands.
"The Lord of Light judged you innocent during your trial in that cave all those years ago," he said as his eyes poured into Sansa's still face. "He willed it for you to kill me, as he willed it for Thoros to bring me back. He willed it for us to see you in the flames, to see her," his thumb brushed against her icy, porcelain cheek. "And now, he wills it for her to live," Beric lifted his head towards Sandor. "Farewell, Clegane."
Sandor stared at the lord unbelieving, watching as he leaned his face towards Sansa and placed his lips onto her mouth. Enraged at the sight, Sandor pushed Beric off of Sansa's corpse. The lightning lord fell onto the ground with a thump, unmoving and silent. Sandor crawled back onto the bed, leaning over Sansa's body, and waited for Beric to move or speak. Instead, he heard the sound of a sharp inhale come from beneath him.
Sandor's eyes glanced down and there he saw the blue eyes watching him.
Blue eyes. Sansa's eyes.