Even though his leg was giving him a bit of trouble this morning, Sandor felt as though his strength was finally returning to his body. The day had been much like every other day he had spent on the Quiet Isle. His shovel had worked at the earth, digging holes in the ground that would eventually become the resting place for one of the Brothers of the Isle. The sun was lowering in the sky and he felt the warmth against his back. A chilly breeze rustled over the hill as he pulled the hood of his robe up around his face.

He hadn't noticed them off in the distance and they seemed to appear out of nowhere. His focus was solely on his shovel and the earth and the methodical movements that would lull him into a daze. His attention on the task at hand was abruptly broken when the docile beast padded up to him jovially, panting and with his tail wagging. He couldn't help, but chuckle to himself. It appears I'm not the only hound who has sought refuge on the Quiet Isle…

Sandor let the shovel fall from his hands and bent down to scratch the dog behind the ear, which the animal accepted eagerly. When the dog retreated, Sandor went back to work and tossed a shovel-full of dirt behind his left shoulder.

"Be more watchful there! Septon Meribald might have gotten a mouthful of dirt!" Sandor lifted his gaze slightly and noticed that Brother Narbert was accompanied by a group of four weary looking travelers. Sandor lowered his eyes and waited for them to pass before turning around to take a better look at them. The Quiet Isle sparingly received visitors unless they wished to brave the mudflats. Many did not bother to take that risk.

He gathered that Septon Meribald must be the tall, slightly hunched figure with a mass of grey hair on his head. The man was swathed in a faded robe and, to his surprise, was barefoot. Amongst the others, there were two men wearing mail and armor, probably knights, and a boy who was a squire, most like. One of the men was massive, almost as tall as Sandor, with straw-colored hair. The man must've felt his stare because he turned his head over his shoulder while walking away and looked squarely at Sandor.

Bloody hell, that's a woman! What sort of woman dresses in a warrior's garb? Before finishing his thought, Sandor remembered. The Maid of Tarth. She was part of Renly's bloody rainbow guard. Sandor snorted at the thought of being part of something called the Rainbow Guard. Sounds like something the Little Bird would dream up.

Sandor had heard the stories. Brienne of Tarth was supposedly taller than most men, uglier than almost every woman, and fancied herself a warrior. She was one of two people present when Renly Baratheon was murdered. The other was the Lady Catelyn Stark.

He remembered how Joffrey mocked and chided Sansa when he had heard the news emerging from Renly's encampment outside of Storm's End. 'I see that traitor's blood runs thick through your veins. Your father was a traitor and so is your mother. If my own mother wasn't so insistent on keeping you around, I'd have half a mind to toss you aside for someone more worthy. My future sons deserve better than to have a treacherous slut as a mother.' The Little Bird had silently wept and Sandor was in a violent rage at seeing the tears stream down her perfect face. What I would've given to snap the little bastard's neck in that moment.

Brienne's eyes grew as wide as saucers at the sight of him and the young boy at her side turned his head towards Sandor to see what had captured the Maid of Tarth's attention. With timid eyes, the young boy apprehensively eyed Sandor and looked back at Brienne who in turn looked away from Sandor while whispering something to the boy. She grabbed the boy stiffly by the arm at which he immediately whipped his head back around in front of him.

Sandor recognized the boy immediately. He had deduced the woman was Brienne, but the young boy's face was one he knew without a doubt. Podrick Payne…The Imp's squire. What in seven hells are the Maid of Tarth and Podrick Payne doing on the Quiet Isle?

Confused and curious by the pairing, Sandor turned to pick his shovel back up. He stood looking at the ground. The fucking bastard King is dead. Sansa was married off to the dwarf whose squire shows up here, of all places. Then there's the wench who, with Catelyn Stark, was present when Renly died.

Things were not adding up in Sandor's mind and he felt an unrest growing within the pit of his stomach. Sandor pushed the shovel into the ground and tossed the loosened earth behind him. He did this twice more before his mind returned to the Isle's visitors. Why the hell was the wench looking at me like that? And what did she say to the Payne boy?

He shook his head and looked to the western horizon where the sun was retreating. Dark clouds were forming from the southeast and the wind was picking up, announcing the threat of an autumn storm. Sandor retreated back towards the cluster of buildings that made up the center of the Isle.

When he entered his chamber, he removed his robe and peeled off the sweat soaked tunic that clung to his body and tossed it over the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Pouring the contents of the water pitcher into his newly replaced washbowl, the Elder Brother's words rang in his hollow mind. They had struck a chord within him, causing a stirring that set his soul at unrest. It troubled him deeply and left him with an empty feeling inside.

One might say that the Hound had always been empty. To some extent, this was certainly true. The emptiness was a bottomless pit which greedily consumed all the hatred and violence he had tried to fill it with. Wine and whores had been the balm to his pain, but somehow they perpetuated the consuming emptiness. The wine succeeded only in gifting him once and awhile with dreamless sleep and the whores could barely hide their disgust when he would stumble into a brothel looking for an empty release. It was a reminder that not only would he never truly know a woman's love, he couldn't even pay for a whore to feign attraction to him.

That was the Hound's emptiness. Sandor Clegane's emptiness was dreadfully different and, in his opinion, far worse. The Hound's emptiness had been a burning fury. Sandor's emptiness was a terrible stillness, a longing for something that was never truly his. This emptiness ached from somewhere deep within, a slow and suffocating pain that shook him to his core. The Elder Brother had pleaded with him to leave the Hound's torment behind. This isn't the Hound's torment. This is something else. 'The Gods brought you forth again. Honor their gift by letting go of the past that tortures you.'

The Gods are cruel, if this is their gift. More like a bloody jape to me. I would've rather died that day on the Trident to become carrion for the crows.

Sandor's thoughts were jarred as he heard the Brothers shuffling along in the hallway outside his door. They were heading to sup in the central hall. Doubtless, the Elder Brother would share a meal with the Isle's guests in his private quarters. Despite the laborious task he had been set to that day, Sandor found that he was not hungry. Seven bloody hells, I need wine. A flagon of Dornish red would do just fine to wash away these fucking thoughts…

But there wasn't any wine to drink, no more than there were whores to fuck or a battle to fight with men to kill. I need to get out of this room before I go mad within my own thoughts.

Sandor grabbed the sliver of soap that sat next to the wash bowl and dipped his hands into the water which was immediately filled with brown clouds of dirt. When he had washed his face, he pulled on a clean tunic and threw a cloak over his shoulders. He fell back to sit on the edge of the straw mattress of his bed. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes and breathing deeply.

The memories came back in flashes against the darkness that filled his vision. Slowly at first. He saw her there, serene and smiling, gorgeous in a blue dress that matched her sparkling eyes. Suddenly, the smile melted off of her face and distorted into a look of helplessness and terror. 'So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.' The sound of Joffrey's voice was a whisper in his memories compared to the desperate pleas of Sansa, begging for someone to stop him and spare the life of her father.

I stood by. I did nothing.

He rubbed his eyes hard to drive away the guilt that was bubbling up within him, but it only succeeded in bringing on more memories. His mind flashed with Sansa in the throne room, Ser Meryn delivering a swift, hard punch with a mailed fist to her stomach. Her cries a deafening echo in his head as he remembered the way her body fell to the floor. The ripping of her gown, the grief-stricken sobs, the pain and desperation flooding her face. Sandor was helpless as the visions burned in his mind, seemingly seared to back of his eye lids, forever waiting for him whenever he closed his eyes.

I stood by. I did nothing.

The memories flashed through his mind rapidly, one right after the other, faster and each one more heart-wrenching than the last until they all melted into one vision; Sansa red-eyed from unrelenting anguish, sobbing, pleading, grief-stricken, heart-broken, reaching out for help. Then her voice called out to him, crystalline in his mind.

You stood by and watched. You did nothing.

His mind a blaze of memories, Sandor's heart pounded against his chest and he felt as though he was going to retch. He flew from his bed and bolted to the door of his chamber and out into the hallway.

He crashed through the outer doors and into the twilight stillness outside. The wind whipped up the back of his cloak, which snapped in return. He walked briskly against the wind. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He needed to get away, he needed to think, he needed something to dull the unbidden grief that ached in his chest. Bloody hell, what is happening to me?

His legs carried him down a soft sloping hill towards the bay. His pace picked up against the unrelenting wind, his breathing came in deep heaving breaths. Somehow, without his consent, his legs began moving faster until he was running. Running towards what he didn't know. He reached the bottom of the slope and had come to stand in front of a cluster of trees with thickets of weeds and vines growing from underneath their canopy. With hands on the rough bark of a large trunk, he leaned his weight against the tree, panting and with his head racing.

He stood silently listening to the breath rasping from his chest. His head was pounding in time with the rhythm of his heart. For what seemed like an eternity, Sandor stood there and felt his breath becoming a slowing decrescendo within his chest. A sudden stillness washed over him. He relished the calm, fleeting as it was, before he felt it rising again. Not the rage of the Hound, but the torturous frustration and desperation of Sandor Clegane. As he became aware of that dull aching, it took form, surging up from the depths of his stomach and furiously escaped him as violent scream.

His rough and calloused hands formed into steel fists and flew through the air to come crashing into the trunk of the tree. Again and again his fists delivered a frenzy of violent blows to the tree trunk as his screams filled the twilight stillness in an effort to liberate the gnawing ache that had invaded his being. When he stopped, his hands were bloody and he was shaking. His chest was heaving as he gasped for air, choking as it filled his burning lungs. He slumped to the ground with his back to the tree and his bloody hands, still shaking, came to cradle his face. He sat for a long moment and then abruptly pushed himself to his feet.

He began retreating back towards the hill and noticed a small cluster of cottages that he hadn't seen before now. His legs began to carry him up the hill and started angling him slowly towards the cottages. The night was decidedly chilly as the winds that blew over the Bay of Crabs swept up the hill to embrace his form. He came within a few meters of one of the cottages, which were small, but appeared well kept. He remembered hearing the Elder Brother speak of the women's cottages which were rarely used and set aside for when a woman happened to come to the Isle.

Sandor's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crunching leaves and breaking twigs and the fluttering of a small orange flame in the wind. Instinctively, Sandor darted behind the small cottage that was in front of him. He steadied his breath to listen. He heard soft talking and realized that the Elder Brother was escorting someone. Probably the wench. Although she passes herself off as a man, until she grows a cock the Elder Brother is not likely to let her take her rest amongst the other Brothers.

As the pair grew closer to where Sandor was concealing his form, he could begin to hear their conversation.

"I wonder my lady," the Elder Brother began, "what do you hope to find there?"

"A girl. A Highborn maid of three-and-ten, with a fair face and auburn hair," Brienne replied.

Instantly bewildered, Sandor's heart caught in his throat. Sansa. She's looking for Sansa.

The Elder Brother seemingly heard Sandor's thoughts. "Sansa Stark. You believe this poor child is with the Hound?"

Sweat was beading on Sandor's brow and his heart began to beat steadily against his chest. The thumping of his racing heart was so loud in his own ears that he had to strain to hear Brienne's response.

"The Dornishman said that she was on her way to Riverrun. Timeon. He was a sellsword, one of the Brave Companions, a killer and a raper and a liar, but I do not think he lied about this. He said that the Hound stole her and carried her away."

Would that I could. The gravity of Brienne's words settled within him, and temporarily quieted the ache that had consumed him moments earlier. Brienne looked like a man, but her voice betrayed her. She spoke with the softness and gentleness of a maid. His thoughts turned back to Sansa.

Seven bloody hells! She's looking for Sansa, which can only mean the Little Bird is lost somewhere. Who the hell carried her off? Or did she willingly escape with some bloody knight? A pang of jealousy reverberated through him.

The Elder Brother and Brienne retreated within one of the small cottages. She thinks I stole the Little Bird. The fucking Dornishman was only half right. I took off with the other sister, the bloody she-wolf, who left me to die a slow death for killing some buggering butcher's boy.

Sandor's thoughts wandered back to earlier in the day when Brienne had noticed him studying her and her travel companions. She had looked like she saw a specter, her face turned the color of curdled milk and her eyes had grown so wide Sandor half expected them to roll right out of her head. Podrick had mimicked her reaction before she whispered something to him. She saw me. The bloody wench knows who I am.

Once he was sure the Elder Brother and Brienne were shut within the small cottage, Sandor carefully withdrew from his crouching position and stood on his feet. A sharp bolt of pain went through his injured leg as he stood. He winced silently and then slowly peered from behind the cottage. At least these piles of dirt they call cottages do not have windows.

Willing himself to be as silent as possible, Sandor put one foot in front of the other, while eying the ground in front of him as to not step on a branch which might rouse the Elder Brother's attention. Hushed voices permeated a small cottage about ten paces in front of him. Sandor cautiously closed the distance until his body came flush against the cottage wall. He could not make out the words that were being spoken so he inched his way towards the small door of the cottage.

As Sandor edged towards the door, he heard the Elder Brother relaying to Brienne how he came to the Quiet Isle. Sandor had heard bits and pieces of the story from the Elder Brother, but never in as much detail as he was telling Brienne. After the Elder Brother had finished, an awkward silence hung in the air. Sandor shifted silently, yearning to hear.

Finally, a soft response from Brienne met his ears. "I see."

"Do you? If so give up this quest of yours. The Hound is dead, and in any case he never had your Sansa Stark." The sound of her name filled his ears. Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark. Sansa fucking Stark. Her name was his silent mantra. He relished the sound of it. He hadn't spoken her name out loud since coming to the Quiet Isle.

When Sandor's attention came back to the conversation, he could hear a soft weeping coming from the Maid of Tarth. Sandor shook his head. Women and their bloody crying…

He heard Brienne sigh deeply before she continued in a lower voice, one much more composed. "I have to find her. There are others looking, all wanting to capture her and sell her to the queen. I have to find her first. I promised Jamie. Oathkeeper, he named his sword. I have to try to save her… or die in the attempt."

Sandor felt as though he was going to fall, he was sure his legs would give out from underneath him. Little bird is lost. I could have taken her with me and protected her. Instead she's gone, being hunted for some golden prize.

His blood boiled and he felt the heat move up his body and settle in his face. Sandor hadn't felt this kind of rage since coming to the Quiet Isle. The angry warmth felt familiar. He heard the Elder Brother push himself from the table so he quickly spun away from the door and retreated as quietly as possible towards the opposite side of the cottage. The Elder Brother emerged from the small cottage and walked with a deliberate pace against the rising wind towards the main cluster of buildings.

She promised Jamie fucking Lannister that she would find Sansa. What in seven hells did the stupid wench think Jamie would want with the Little Bird? The bloody prick was the queen's own flesh and blood, for the Gods' sake.

As Sandor's head swam with the information he had just overheard, he stepped backwards away from the cottage and a large branch snapped underneath his weight. Within an instant, the door of the cottage flung open. Brienne emerged with sword in hand. Sandor became sorely aware that he was unarmed. She may be a woman, but she was armed while he was not.

Sandor willed his body to be as still as possible, but it was useless. He wasn't exactly an inconspicuous man and she had left him no time to retreat behind another cottage. Brienne's eyes swept through the darkness.

"Show yourself! I mean you no harm, but I bid you to show yourself to me!" She swung her extended sword from left to right, cutting through the darkness as if it contained an invisible enemy.

He knew she would eventually see him so he edged slowly out of the darkness towards the faint light that was spilling from the open cottage door.

"Oathkeeper. How did the bloody kingslayer come up with that gem?," Sandor realized it was not the best of ideas to mock someone with a sword, valyrian steel at that.

With a gasp, Brienne twirled around and faced Sandor with her sword extended. Sandor raised his hands up to show he was not armed. "Easy now. There's no honor in killing an unarmed man."

"What do you know of honor, Hound?" the wench bellowed back at him, seething as she said it.

Sandor chuckled, "More than your beloved kingslayer, that's for bloody sure. Don't fucking talk to me of honor, wench."

"Brienne! My name is Brienne. And you will mind your tongue, Hound. You were eavesdropping on my conversation with the Elder Brother."

"Aye, I was. When a man hears his name on the tongue of another, he's apt to stop and listen." Sandor slowly paced towards her, hands still up, as she lowered her sword slightly. The tension in the air faintly lifted.

"What would you want of me? I am here on purposes that do not concern you."

"Sansa. What do you know of Sansa?"

"She's a highborn maid, of three-and-ten, fair of face with aub-"

Sandor snorted his annoyance, "You think these are things I don't already know, wench?!" His voice boomed out of his chest as he slowly started towards her again, undaunted by the fear that flooded her eyes. He softened his voice a little before continuing in a low rasp.

"Indeed she's a highborn, more times than I care to count I heard her peeping her pretty little courtesies some septa taught her. Fair of face, I've seen my share of women with fair faces. I've fucked a few, for that matter. I looked on as that prick of a king plucked off her father's head. I looked on as those noble fucking knights beat Sansa bloody. Petrified and grief-stricken as she was, she was always beautiful. 'Fair of face' doesn't nearly do her justice."

Brienne's mouth was gaped open and she was silently shaking her head. She spoke with disbelief.

"They beat her. And you watched. You stood by and watched as a helpless girl was being beaten. You are no better than they are."

Sandor flew at her in a blind rage. He didn't care she had a sword and he had nothing. She stumbled backwards and fell hard into the wall of the cottage. His hands still bloody, came up to her throat and squeezed hard. Brienne's eyes were deep blue sapphires and were filling with tears. Sandor stared into them for a moment before his hands started to tremble. She's afraid. The wench is afraid. She thinks I'm going to kill her.

A strange sense of guilt began to rise in him. As he released his grasp on Brienne's throat, she fell to the ground gasping for air and desperately struggling to find the hilt of the sword she had dropped at his feet.

He retreated away from her. "Aye, I am no better. I could've stopped them. I tried, but not hard enough. I wanted to take her. The night of the Battle of the Blackwater. I went to her and wanted to take her away from King's Landing, away from Joffrey and Cersei, away from all the bloody bastards who had hurt her." His voice trailed off while another wave of guilt washed over him. It hit him like a sack of bricks.

Brienne slowly regained her feet and sheathed her sword. Silence filled the air as she caught her breath.

"Sansa Stark disappeared the night of Joffrey's wedding. Ser Dontos Hollard disappeared that night as well. It is thought that they escaped together." A solemn, pained look flashed across Brienne's face. "Jamie Lannister swore an oath to Catelyn Stark when she released him."

Sandor snorted his contempt at that before allowing her to continue.

"I pledged my sword to the Lady Stark. I swore an oath as well. I was to return Jamie Lannister in return for the Lady Stark's daughters. I did not know that Arya had been missing since her father's execution. I had feared her dead until the Elder Brother told me that you had come upon her and taken her. Sansa disappeared from King's Landing before I returned Jamie there. He swore an oath to Catelyn Stark he meant to keep. He gave me his sword and all the resources I would need and told me to find Lady Sansa. I have been looking for her ever since. I came upon Podrick Payne who had been looking for Sansa too."

"Why the hell would the Payne boy be looking for Sansa?"

"Podrick was looking for Sansa in hopes that she knew the whereabouts of Tyrion Lannister."

Another long silence filled the air before Brienne began again in a tone barely above a whisper.

"I cannot fail her. I cannot fail Lady Stark or her daughters."

When she gave pause again, Sandor realized tears were spilling from her eyes. He always felt uncomfortable when women cried. Bloody hell.

"She's not with that bloody fool, Ser Dontos, I can tell you that right now. The bastard would have turned Sansa over to the queen quick as he could." As Sandor pondered the situation, he realized the severity. Fucking hells, she could be with anyone. She could be alone, for all I know, no one to keep her safe.

A frenzy swept through him. He hadn't noticed that he was pacing frantically in front of where Brienne stood. The wench shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other before looking at him apprehensively.

"You abandoned the fighting the night Stannis tried to sack King's Landing, but you went back for her. You could've left to ensure your own safety. You went back for her instead. If you had been caught, they would have had your head. Still you went back for her."

Sandor stopped midstride and turned his head to meet Brienne's tearful gaze.

"Aye. I went back for her. I told her I would protect her. I told her I would keep her safe. I told her that no one would ever hurt her again and if they tried, I would kill them. And I bloody well meant it."

Brienne nodded slowly and closed her eyes. She sighed, opened her eyes, and softly spoke.

"You cared for her."

"Aye, I cared for her." I still do. I told her no one would ever hurt her again. And now she's lost. Brienne of fucking Tarth and Jamie Lannister may have given their word to Catelyn Stark. But I gave my word to Sansa Stark. And I bloody well mean to keep it…

Without another word, Sandor left Brienne, standing outside the small cottage, tears in her eyes and a dumbfounded look on her face. The frenzy within settled into a solid resolve which propelled his legs towards the stable where he knew Stranger would be waiting. My horse, my sword, my armor, food. I will figure the rest out as I go.

With the aching within beginning to subside ever so slightly, Sandor felt more alive than he had since coming to the Quiet Isle. Something had awoken within him, a spark that illuminated the silent darkness that had burdened him for so long.

I'm coming, Little Bird. I'm coming.

A/N: **Septon Narbert's one and only line is a quote from "A Feast for Crows."**

As always, please review for it is most helpful and encouraging.