Note: In recent years I've basically left Fanfiction for AO3 and have stopped posting on this website. A recent review on one of my stories, though, made me realize that there are still people using this platform who aren't on AO3. So I've decided to post the first chapter of my story on FF. If it gets enough interest, I'll take the time to post the rest of the story here. Otherwise, you can read the continuation on AO3. Same username.

I hope you enjoy!

Investigation and Discovery

Chapter One:

Detective Ned Stark walked into the police station fuming.

"Nothing?" asked Jory Cassel sympathetically upon spying the look on his partner's face.

"Confounded at every turn," Ned sighed, sinking into a chair next to him. "I don't understand it. Gregor Clegane is an unconnected twenty-something with little intelligence. He shouldn't have the power or the brains to cause evidence to go missing like this or to cover his tracks so effectively. How is he doing it?"

Jory shook his head sadly and shrugged. "I've been trying to think of other avenues of attack while you were out. I think I came up with something."

"New evidence?" Ned asked hopefully.

Jory shook his head. "No tips either; but look at this-" he opened a tab on his computer to reveal the mugshot of a scowling man with horrific burn scars marring half his face.

"Who is that?" Ned asked, eyeing the unfriendly face with a measure of distaste.

"Sandor Clegane. He's Gregor's younger brother. Senior at Aegon's hill high, plays football for the Landing Lions."

"Good gods, he's still in high school?" Ned would have placed him at mid-twenties. Granted, the scars had thrown him off a bit. "What do the Cleganes feed their sons to make them grow like that?"

Jory shrugged.

"So, you think he might know something?" Ned asked.

"He might. Men like Gregor Clegane like to brag. Sometimes, they keep trophies, which he might be hiding in his house. There are a few ways Sandor here could be useful to us."

"None of Gregor's other friends would talk to us. What makes you think he'll be any different?"

"That brings me to this-" Jory replied, indicating the mugshot. "Taken a few months ago when he was arrested for assault. Now, Sandor is a promising football player at his last year of high school. Based on talent alone, he has a good chance at getting a football scholarship. Having a criminal record, though, will undoubtedly damage his chances. We can offer to clear his criminal record in exchange for helping us convict his brother."

"It's a long shot," Ned sighed, "but I honestly don't have any better ideas. We've been hitting brick walls at every turn. Let's go talk to him."

It was decided that Ned would be the one to approach Sandor with their offer.

"If he's outnumbered by us he's more likely to feel threatened," Jory had said. "And we want him in a cooperative mood. You had better go. You're good at making people talk to you, it's that fatherly air about you."

"You'd have a fatherly air about you too, if you were raising six children," Ned replied. Really, he thought of himself as raising seven, counting Theon as well, but Theon actually had a father, undeserving though he was of the title. Six was the official number.

So it was that Ned was driving to Aegon's Hill High at the hour in which the football team would be finishing practice, while Jory remained in the station to try to cobble together what weak evidence they had into something substantial.

Sandor Clegane was hard to miss, what with his hulking frame and gruesome scars. He walked off the field alone, apart from the other players who were exiting in groups, talking and laughing. No one paid any attention when Ned approached Sandor and asked to speak to him.

"It's nice to meet you, Sandor," Ned said, holding out his hand. "I'm Detective Ned Stark."

Sandor's face was a picture of wariness as he grasped Ned's hand and shook it. He didn't say anything back, waiting for Ned to begin the conversation.

Ned began by pulling a picture out of his pocket of a beautiful, delicate-looking woman with dark eyes and hair. "Do you know this woman?"

Sandor frowned. "Never seen her in my life."

"This is Elia Martell. Last week, she was brutally raped and killed. Her head was smashed in."

Sandor said nothing, but the scars around his mouth twitched. His eyes were angry.

"Forensics suggest that it wasn't done by a blunt instrument, but rather by someone's bare hands," Ned continued. "There are very few people with enough strength to do something like that, and your brother, Gregor, is one of them. He also happened to be seen in the same place that Elia was last seen alive within an hour of the crime occurring. Do you know anything about that?"

To Ned's surprise, some of the hostility went out of Sandor's stance.

"Gregor did it," he told Ned firmly.

Ned had to control himself to keep from gaping at Sandor incredulously. They had had absolutely no luck with any of Gregor's other lackeys. They had all been stubborn, insolent, and uncooperative. It was clear that all were far more scared of Gregor than they were of an aging detective desperate for evidence. And now, the man's own brother had given him away just like that, no bargaining or threats necessary. It seemed too good to be true.

Turns out, it was.

"Did he tell you he did it?" Ned asked, keeping his excitement under tight control. "Did you see anything?"

"No, but I know my brother. This has Gregor written all over it."

Ned deflated. "No evidence, then. Nothing admissible by court."

"Look," said Sandor with some annoyance. "I generally wouldn't try to tell you how to do your job, but if the girl was raped, don't you have any DNA evidence? It seems like a better way of convicting Gregor than talking to his brother on the off chance that he knows something."

Ned cringed. "There was DNA Evidence. Unfortunately, though, it was accidentally destroyed due to a misfiling."

He had been furious when he found out, ranting and raving to anyone who would listen. He had filed an official complaint with the firm belief that anyone that careless shouldn't be working in such an important field where lives hung in the balance. When he had tried to follow up on the complaint, though, he had found that it, too, had somehow been misfiled and lost in the system. He had filed another complaint, but held no high hopes.

"We've been hitting roadblocks on every single lead that we've had in this case," Ned admitted to Sandor. "Evidence misfiled or gone missing, potential witnesses suddenly claiming they didn't see anything. One suddenly took an indefinite vacation to Essos and can't be reached anywhere."

Ned half-expected a sneer of derision at this admission of the incompetence of the King's Landing Police Department, but Sandor looked more angry than scornful. "Let me guess," he growled. "This Elia girl did something to annoy Tywin Lannister."

Ned was about to reply that Elia had nothing to do with Tywin Lannister and he doubted she had ever met him in her life when a thought occurred to him. "Her mother, Arella Martell, is an up-and-coming politician from Dorne. She's running on the basis of ending corruption in the Westerosi government. She's had a few altercations with Tywin Lannister in the parliament."

Sandor did not look surprised at this information.

"How did you know?" Ned asked, feeling a sickening premonition build in his stomach.

"It's obvious you have some dirty cops who are sabotaging the investigation, but Gregor doesn't have the kind of power or know the kind of people to pull something like this off. If he's being protected, it's because this was a job for Lannister."

"You know this for sure?" Ned asked, wary of the magnitude of the information Sandor had just revealed.

Sandor shrugged. "As sure as I can be. Gregor's on Lannister's payroll. Officially, he's a bodyguard, but I bet if you were to look into his salary you'd find that it's much too high for a simple bodyguard job. It's a badly kept secret in Gregor's crew that he does Lannister's dirty work."

"I'm not saying I don't believe you," Ned sighed, "but so far all we have is speculation and hearsay. Nothing substantial that would have any standing in a court of law."

"Look, I'd like to help you, but there's only so buggering much I can do. It's not like Gregor and I confide in each other."

"Yes, I figured you weren't particularly close when I saw how willing you were to pronounce him guilty," Ned said wryly.

Sandor snorted. "Close? Who do you think gave me these scars?" he gestured at his face.

"Your brother did that?" Ned asked, pieces of the puzzle suddenly falling into place for him. How willing the boy was to implicate his own brother, his firm conviction that Gregor had been the one to commit the crime.

Sandor scowled, scars twitching. "I don't usually like to talk about it. But if you think it'll help in a courtroom- talking about how he has a history of violent behavior, I'd be willing to do that."

Ned frowned. "What we have now wouldn't be enough to lead to an arrest, never mind a trial. It's all circumstantial evidence. You're sure you don't know anything else?"

Sandor considered for a moment. "Gregor hasn't said anything to me, but he might have bragged to his friends about it. Have you tried questioning them?"
"Yes," Ned said. "No dice. Still, tell me who they are, there might be one we missed."

"Polliver," Sandor replied. "Dunsen, Chiswyck, Eggon, Raff, Tobbot. There's one guy they call 'Tickler', I don't know his actual name."

"Aye, I'm familiar. His name's Morris. None of them would talk to us. They all said they didn't know anything.

"If you ask me, all you need is to get one of those cunts for something, and they'll start falling over themselves selling out the others in order to get a deal. I'd start with Tobbot, personally. I don't know anything for sure, mind you, but the way he talks- I wouldn't be surprised if you found child pornography on his computer."

"That's something to look into," Ned agreed, writing it down. "I was hoping, though, that you'd be able to help us with something a little more substantial. sometimes people like your brother like to keep trophies, reminders of their victims. Your brother's address is still listed as your father's home, so unless he has a place we don't know about, if he kept something, it would be in your home. Have you seen anything that you think might fit the bill?"

"I don't go into Gregor's room," Sandor said harshly. "Last time I did, I got this-" he gestured at his face.

Ned was about to backtrack and say something apologetic when Sandor continued.

"Next time I'm alone in the house I'll go look, see if I can find anything." He tried to sound casual while saying it, but there was a tension in his posture that hadn't been there before, and the scars around his mouth twitched again. Ned didn't blame him at all for being scared, if what he'd said about the last time he entered Gregor's room was true. He didn't say that though, allowing Sandor to keep his pride.

Instead, he pulled out his business card and handed it to Sandor. "Don't go looking for something yourself. Gregor is extremely dangerous. Instead, call me the next time you're alone, and we'll look. We don't need a search warrant if you let us in. We'll be armed, it's a smaller risk."

Sandor nodded and took the card from Ned, hiding it in his pocket.

"It was a pleasure speaking to you, Sandor," Ned said sincerely, holding out his hand. Sandor shook it firmly and nodded back at him.

He had begun to walk away when something occurred to Ned and he shouted out to Sandor: "Wait!"

Sandor turned around to look at him.

"You missed the school bus because of me. Do you need a ride home?"

Sandor shook his head. "There's a bus stop, ten minutes' walk from here. It's not a problem."

Ned insisted, though, and Sandor didn't take much urging to accept.

"Where are we going?" Ned asked as they got into the car.

"I wasn't actually going home," Sandor replied. "Do you know where the Quiet Isle Sept is?"

Ned nodded, and started the engine. "You follow the Seven?"

Sandor snorted. "I don't follow anything. It's all horseshit if you ask me. Elder Brother pays me, though, to do some work in the sept for him. Repairs and such."
"I've met the Elder Brother once or twice," Ned said. "He's a good man."

"Aye," Sandor agreed, relaxing slightly in his chair. "Started out needing to help there for community service, but it was bearable enough that I didn't mind staying on to work once it was over."

Ned darted a glance at the young man. He was sitting to Ned's right, so that the burned side of his face was facing Ned. A morbid sense of curiosity caused Ned to ask the question before he could help himself: "When was the last time you went into Gregor's room?"

Sandor grunted. "Twelve years ago."

Ned almost slammed on the breaks. "You were six?!"

Being a detective meant being exposed on a regular basis to horrible acts of cruelty and the worst of human nature, and becoming somewhat numb to them, but there were some things that no amount of exposure or cynicism could inure you to, and the torture of a six-year-old boy was one of them.

Sandor grunted in affirmation.

"Gregor would have been twelve by then," Ned said after a quick calculation. "How did he get away with it? How did he avoid juvie?"

"My dad told everyone I'd left a night light on under my blankets; said my bed sheets caught fire."

Ned was forming a picture in his head of the kind of parent who would cover something like that up and was finding it extremely distasteful. "You didn't contradict him?" he asked Sandor softly.

"Wasn't exactly in a state to," Sandor replied irritably. "I was either delirious with the pain or out of it from the painkillers for weeks. And after that there was the addiction to deal with... the withdrawal. By the time I was even a little coherent again the matter was closed. I was six years old, I had no idea who I could talk to, or what adult would even want to listen. My father obviously didn't."

Ned resisted the urge to curse. For a little boy to go through all that alone, having no one to turn to or trust, it was a miracle he had turned out as well-adjusted as he was and not another Gregor. It was far easier to imagine a kid like that growing up to be a school shooter than working in a place as wholesome as the Quiet Isle Sept. Granted, he had originally arrived at the place to do community service after committing an assault, but even so. Ned had to marvel at his inner strength.

Thoughts of the assault that had gotten Sandor arrested brought to mind a detail Ned had read in Sandor's file. "I just thought of something," he said. "I saw the file on the assault you committed last year- did it have anything to do with the fact that the boy you assaulted was the grandson of Tywin Lannister?"

Sandor shook his head with a snort. "Just a coincidence. Saw the little cunt hitting his girlfriend. Punched him in the face."

"The little cunt being Joffrey Baratheon?" Ned asked, trying to sound casual. His daughter had dated the same boy a few months ago.

"Aye."

"Do you happen to remember what the girlfriend looked like?"

Sandor darted a nervous glance at Ned and gulped. "Tall," he finally said. "Red hair."

Ned took in and released a deep breath. "Tell you what," he finally said. "I'll see to it that the charges are cleared from your criminal record. It might help with scholarships, and with finding a job later."

He had been, after all, planning on offering such a thing to Sandor in exchange for information about Gregor, but Sandor had volunteered it all without prompting. If Ned gave him nothing in return, it would be like punishing him for being helpful and forthcoming; it would hardly be fair. And given the circumstances, it seemed to Ned that Sandor was perfectly justified in what he had done.

Given that Sandor had had the misfortune to punch a boy who was the grandson of an influential politician like Tywin Lannister and the son of the Mayor of King's Landing and ex-Commissioner Robert Baratheon, Ned wasn't surprised that Sandor had gotten the short end of the stick, but he could do some covert justice of his own.

"Thank you," Sandor replied gruffly.

"I should be thanking you," Ned replied. "You've been very helpful." A thought occurred to him. "How would you like to come over for dinner tonight?"

"Dinner?" Sandor was staring at him as if he'd asked whether Sandor would like to become a ballerina.

"I have six children," Ned explained. "We're used to big meals. There's always more than enough food and often a handful of guests. You'd be welcome."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Sandor said uncomfortably.

"You wouldn't be!" Ned insisted. "We Starks are a rowdy bunch, we like a crowd. Besides," he eyed Sandor for a reaction, "My daughter, Sansa, goes to the same high school as you. Her friend Jeyne is home sick. She'll be glad to have someone her age around for company."

Sandor gulped. "I suppose, if it wouldn't be too much of a bother."

"Not at all! I'll pick you up around seven?"

"There's really no need-"

"Nonsense! Unlike you, I have a car, so it's no trouble at all."

"Alright, then," Sandor shrugged doubtfully. Ned wasn't phased by his apathy. Most of his children were teenagers, he was very well used to indifferent shrugs of all kinds.

"See you soon," he said cheerfully, and he waved at Sandor as he got out of the car before driving off.