Notes: Some of the dialogue in this chapter comes from the A Game of Thrones, chapter 29.

Chapter Two: Revelation

Ten Years Later

Sansa walked behind Sandor Clegane, trying to fight her disappointment with how the evening had turned out. She had had such high hopes for The Hand's Tourney. The romance and excitement had captured her imagination, and the sight of all the handsome knights had made her heart flutter with excitement. But the tourney had been tainted with the brutal death of Ser Hugh, and the subsequent feast which had begun so well, with her betrothed being attentive and courteous, ended with him foisting Sansa off on the Hound, not even bothering with a goodbye.

Joffrey was a prince, though, Sansa reminded herself. He was probably far more sophisticated than her, used to staying up late for lavish parties attended by the most prominent members of the court. He should not have to leave when he was enjoying himself just because Sansa needed an escort. It was selfish of her to have expected him to curtail his amusement for her sake, Sansa reprimanded herself firmly. Besides, it wasn't Joffrey's fault that Sansa was frightened of the Hound; he had no way of knowing.

Sansa dared a look at her scowling escort, but immediately had to look away. His scars frightened her so. His whole person did. She reminded herself, though, that a true lady would not notice his face, and made an attempt at polite conversation. "You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor."

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. "Spare me your empty little compliments, girl … and your ser's. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?"

"Yes," Sansa whispered, trembling. "He was …"

"Gallant?" the Hound finished.

He was mocking her, she realized. "No one could withstand him," she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie.

Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. "Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."

"That's unkind." Sansa could feel her heart fluttering in her chest. "You're frightening me. I want to go now."

"No one could withstand him," the Hound rasped. "That's truth enough. No one could ever withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of business. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think Ser Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true. Gregor's lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. Look at me. Look at me!" Sandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close. "There's a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. I've watched you turning away all the way down the kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look."

His fingers held her jaw as hard as an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. Drunken eyes, sullen with anger. She had to look.

The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face.

The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet when he moved. Down by his jaw, you could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.

He saw the horror in her eyes and he laughed at it. "Some fools will tell you it was a battle. They look at me, see my size and my strength, and imagine that I'm a warrior." He laughed again. "I was only ten during the Greyjoy rebellion. Too young to fight. I've never seen a battle in my life. Never fought outside the training yard. People look at me and they see a killer, can't imagine anything else. I'll tell you the real story, though. A pretty little tale of knightly valor." The hate and bitterness in his voice made her want to cry. "It was ten years ago. I was a stupid little boy then. Stupider even than you, because I grew up with Gregor and I still didn't know any better. My head was filled with tales of gallant knights and valiant deeds. Well, even back then Gregor was a mean one. He was probably a killer too, even then, though I only had my suspicions; no proof. I came across him one day, looming over a sobbing girl. A pretty little thing, six, maybe seven. She didn't even reach his middle. He was holding her by the wrist, and she was struggling to get away. I knew he was going to do something awful. So I intervened, shouted at him and distracted him long enough for the girl to run off. Well, he didn't like that. There was a fire there he had been building and he didn't even hesitate. Picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off- Little bird?"

He broke off from his monologue, finally seeming to realize that Sansa was holding his shoulder for support, her own legs having given out beneath her. The words of his story clamored in her head as black spots danced in front of her eyes. She thought he was saying something else, but whatever it was was drowned out by his voice in her head. "I came across him... looming over a sobbing girl... six, maybe seven... distracted him long enough for the girl to run off... shoved my face into the burning coals while I screamed..."

Her vision was tunneling. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was his scars.

His dear, perfect, heartrendingly beautiful scars.