Figure 8: The Infinite Fate

by Supernova Dragon Cat

Fate brought them together in King's Landing only to pull them apart during the Battle of the Blackwater. With Sandor on the Quiet Isle and Sansa in the Eyrie, they both begin to feel the fates accelerating them towards one another once again. Sandor takes his fate in his own hands and decides to leave the Quiet Isle in search of his Little Bird.

7. Chapter 7

A/N: Greetings! Thank you for all the lovely reviews. They are truly inspiring and I am amazed at the kindness I have received.

I wrote like a maniac and before I knew it I had amassed close to 45 pages and found I was only half way done with what I had originally intended to cover with this chapter. While I enjoy long chapters, a 90 page chapter would have been a bit too much, I think. It seemed the sensible thing to do was just break the chapter up at what I felt was a good place.

So what we have here is actually the first half to two thirds of what I had intended for the original chapter seven. Its pace is a bit slower due to the loss of the second part, but it does lay a lot of the ground work for much of what is to come.

I hope you enjoy!

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She felt the morning sun bleeding through the window in her modest room, the rays warming the back of her eyelids and illuminating the darkness behind her eyes with radiant crimson and orange hues. With a deep sigh, Brienne slowly yielded to the light of the morning and opened her eyes whilst stretching her sore and tired limbs.

The bed in the chamber was small, barely large enough to contain Brienne's form and forcing her to sprawl diagonally across the straw mattress. Even still, her feet dangled from off the edge of the bed. Despite this, Brienne was thankful to be sleeping amongst the main cluster of buildings on the Quiet Isle.

She had slept deeply, falling into a black void of rest brought on by sheer exhaustion. When she awoke, her head was throbbing and she felt worse for the wear, as if sleeping had been for naught. In truth, Brienne found that sleep was fruitless these days and was something she partook in only when absolutely necessary. She would will herself awake until the heaviness settled stubbornly in her eyelids and her body would finally succumb to rest. For many months, Brienne's slumber was haunted by terrible visions of the shadowy demon that extinguished the life of Renly Baratheon. He had died in her arms as she looked on helplessly, watching the light slowly leave his eyes.

For this reason, Brienne avoided sleep where possible lest she be forced to relive Renly's terrifying and supernatural death. Since coming to the Quiet Isle, her slumber had been dreamless, but this did little to set her waking mind at ease.

The night Sandor Clegane had sought her out resonated within her thoughts, the series of events seeming serendipitous. She had come to the Quiet Isle in search of him, believing him to still be on the run with Arya Stark. To her utter disbelief and astonishment, she found him on the Isle, somberly and methodically digging at the earth in a roughspun robe, the hood pulled up tightly around his face as if to mask his identity.

'The Hound is dead.' 'Sandor Clegane is at rest.' Brienne was beginning to understand the Elder Brother's words. More importantly, she understood the intentions, the subtle unspoken meaning behind them.

The Hound was one of the most feared men in the Seven Kingdoms. His snarling dog helm was fearsome to behold, his hulking form a manifestation of some childhood nightmare. Ruthlessly, he would cut down any man, woman, or child that dared cross him. While he was not as unspeakably cruel as his brother, Gregor, Sandor Clegane was seemingly cut from the same fabric; his rage was pure and unbridled, his temper seething and uncontrolled. Truly, the Hound was a dangerous man.

Brienne had only heard of the Hound's infamy, but never came face-to-face with the man whose reputation preceded him. To her surprise, he had seemed to recognize her as well. I suppose my reputation precedes me also. Where all men in the Seven Kingdoms fear the Hound, they mock me as Brienne the Beauty.

From a young age, Brienne had understood her physical abilities as well as the fact that she was not like other girls. She understood she was not meant to fill the role of a typical highborn lady. She was not meant to dress in silks, sing songs of gallant knights and fair maidens, and spend her days delicately stitching summer flowers on pieces of fabric whilst gossiping with the other highborn women. Brienne was a fighter, a warrior, and was driven by a need to serve and protect those who had treated her with kindness. She did not fear battle, for she had grown accustomed to her abilities and entrusted her own protection to the sword at her side.

Brienne had found the Hound lurking outside of her cottage, his notoriously unpredictable rage thick upon him. The man she had sought out had materialized from the darkness to face her. While he was unarmed and unarmored, Brienne found that she was remarkably afraid, her fear threatening to siphon the breath from her lungs.

His size was truly intimidating, more so than she could have ever imagined. Brienne was massive for a woman, she knew, but the Hound stood at least a head taller than her if not more. His body was heavily muscled, thick and strong as a bull. She could scarcely imagine how imposing he must be when fully armored.

To her bewilderment, he had only inquired about Sansa Stark, almost frantically. What more, his hulking form was colored with a tremendous amount of guilt, his eyes fractured with yearning and remorse. Suddenly, Brienne had understood and was beside herself in disbelief. 'You cared for her.'

She had seen something of herself in the Hound; the torment he carried with him, the regret at not being able to adequately protect the one thing for which he cared, and the desperate need to forget the pain of it all. The Elder Brother had the right of it; he was no longer the Hound, to be sure; the Hound had never loved nor had he been loved.

Despite all the cruelty the world had shown him and he had shown the world, the man that stood before me was a man who had found something he could love and was beside himself at its loss.

Indeed, Brienne had understood what she saw gleaming in Sandor Clegane's steely eyes that night and found that her fear had melted away, leaving something quite ponderous in its void.

Pity. I pitied him. His desperation, his regret, his need, his yearning. I imagine he was a perfect reflection, a congruent image, of what I was when Renly was taken from me.

'Aye. I cared for her.' Those had been his last words, a whisper of a confession spoken to the Gods above as much as they were spoken to Brienne. Without another word, he had spun on his heel, retreating steadfast into the night, leaving Brienne completely confounded.

The next morning, Brienne had made her way to the main cluster of buildings at the center of the Quiet Isle. Seemingly, her face was a mask of perplexity, a transparent veil through which the Elder Brother peered through effortlessly. Solemnly, she relayed the events of the evening to him, sparing no detail.

With his placid expression a curious juxtaposition to her distress, the Elder Brother quietly listened, nodding his understanding reassuringly. After she had finished, many moments of silence passed between her and the Elder Brother. Patiently, she waited while her words seemingly tumbled about his head, his gaze averting dreamily to the ceiling while he rested his chin in his hand.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and resigned. 'Sandor Clegane has left the Quiet Isle in search of Sansa Stark. I gave him my blessing and sent him on his way.'

Brienne was agape in disbelief, yet she had had no words in that moment. Instinctively understanding her confusion, the Elder Brother went on to explain his decision, the tone of his voice quietly commanding and subtly definitive.

'I told you the Hound was dead, but Sandor Clegane was at rest. I spoke those words as truly then as I do now. I urged him to leave his past behind him, to leave the Hound buried and forget the memories of that man's life. If I had understood…If I had known.' A strange sadness had been cast about the Elder Brother's face, tingeing his words with sorrow.

'If you had known what?' While the Elder Brother did not explicitly answer her question, Brienne had read between the lines nonetheless

'The paths of our lives often take curious turns, they are rarely linear. Even still, if we are truly blessed, there are those in our lives who we are infinitely tied to, our paths dance figure eights about one another. We come together, our fates colliding. Perhaps we stay together, or perhaps the Gods above pull us apart, sending each of us pirouetting away in our own direction. Unfailingly, we are propelled back to one another, a Universal force that compels our soul to be drawn to the other. Endlessly, we travel this figure eight. It is our infinite fate.'

Brienne had been quick to notice that the Elder Brother seemed particularly adamant that she give up the search for Sandor Clegane. Something about his urging had seemed pleading, desperate even. With the Elder Brother's hands folded softly in his lap and the sorrow retreating from his tone, Brienne simultaneously understood the urging she had heard in the Elder Brother's voice and the yearning she had seen gleaming in Sandor Clegane's eyes. 'Sansa Stark.'

The Elder Brother had nodded, apparently relieved that she finally could see, could understand what he himself had seen in Sandor. 'My Lady, it is my belief that Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark's fates are meant to dance figure eights about one another. They have been torn apart, but something tells me they will always find a way back to one another. Nothing that I can do, nothing that you can do will stop that and Gods damn those who try.'

Even if Brienne had wanted to trail after Sandor Clegane, the journey from the Quiet Isle would have been impossible. A steady downpour of rain had flooded the mudflats and even when the water had receded, the mud would undoubtedly seek to eagerly swallow up the horses' hooves, rendering the pursuit futile. Septon Meribald had pleadingly given his admonition to continue their journey once the mudflats had at least partially dried out.

Her confrontation with Sandor Clegane and the subsequent conversation with the Elder Brother had left Brienne listless, unable to adequately evaluate what the next step of their journey should be. However, Brienne had been quite certain that the sooner they could take their leave from the Quiet Isle, the better. Unanimously, the others seemed to agree.

Brienne's reverie was roused by a gentle rapping at her door, followed by the hesitant stammering of Podrick Payne.

"S-ser? My Lady?"

Given the extension of their stay on the Quiet Isle, the Elder Brother had insisted that Brienne rest in one of the modest quarters within the main cluster of buildings. While she had been quite thankful, Brienne found that Podrick was persistently underfoot. She hadn't truly minded and had found it rather endearing. However, she had come to relish the quiet moments she found to herself.

The knocking at her door became more persistent and Podrick had seemingly found his voice, for it permeated through her door more assertively.

"Ser. My Lady. You must come quick. There are travelers heading across the mudflats and approaching the Isle."

In an instant, Brienne was on her feet, crossing the room in hurried strides to gather up Oathkeeper and haphazardly throw on what pieces of armor she could. The mudflats are nothing to trifle with, especially after an autumn storm. Anybody who dares to brave them is coming here with a purpose.

Brienne was none too eager to find out the nature of that purpose, amicable or not. With a heavy pull, she yanked the door open to find Podrick staring up at her, eyes wide and skin ashen. As she swept her heavy cloak over her shoulders, they began steadfast down the corridor.

"How many travelers did you spot?"

She feared the worst. Perhaps the outlaws who scavenged the Saltpans had made their way to the Quiet Isle. If that were the case, there could be a dozen men or more. Brienne knew not how many Brothers had come to settle on the Quiet Isle, but she doubted many could fend off the likes of those who had terrorized the Saltpans.

Podrick struggled to keep up with her; taking his steps double time to match Brienne's fixed pace.

"It's hard to tell Ser, My Lady. They are still quite a ways out. The best I could gather is two. They are astride one horse though."

Brienne sighed out a deep breath of relief and let the tension flee her body, but was instantaneously perplexed. Two riders, but one horse. Why would they be astride the same horse?

As they pushed through the outer door and into the biting chilliness of the morning, she spotted the Elder Brother with his hands cupped over his brow, shielding the sun from his eyes. Septon Meribald stood next to him, his arms crossed over his chest and his head shaking in excited disbelief at what he saw.

Brienne approached tentatively and fell in softly by the Elder Brother's side, her presence doing little to distract his fervid focus on the approaching travelers. Straining her eyes against the sun, Brienne could make out the darkened form on the horizon, the brooding silhouette of a massive horse with two riders astride just as Podrick had told her. With the oppressive rays of the sun all but blinding her vision, Brienne failed to make out much more. She shifted uncomfortably before turning to the Elder Brother.

"I suppose you were not expecting visitors. How long have they been approaching?"

The Elder Brother inclined his gaze to Brienne and gave a tense half smile before shrugging his shoulders.

"Seldom do we receive visitors to the Isle. In that sense, all visitors are rather unexpected. I know not how long these travelers have been advancing towards the Isle. Septon Meribald spotted them long before I did."

Brienne shifted her eyes towards Septon Meribald who was petting Dog behind the ears and watching the approaching travelers quite placidly. She assumed he hadn't heard her inquiry to the Elder Brother, but before she could reiterate the question he laughed merrily and patted Dog on the head, almost proudly. The animal happily responded by gently licking the Septon's fingers.

"Dog was the one who truly spotted them! I awoke not long before dawn and came out to watch the sunrise. The travelers were nothing more than a speck on the horizon at that point. Dog saw them nonetheless. I all but assumed every soul in the Seven Kingdoms was awoken by his incessant barking!"

By Brienne's estimation the sun had been up no more than three hours. The travelers had meandered to the midway point between the span of the horizon behind them and the shore of the Quiet Isle in front of them.

Mimicking the Elder Brother, Brienne cupped her brow with one hand, shielding the blinding glare of the sun. "At their pace, they should reach the Isle by noon."

For another hour, Brienne watched the horizon with the Elder Brother at her side. The sun had retreated behind a cluster of thick grey clouds, casting shadows about the travelers as they drew closer, offering small details of their identities. The horse was larger than a destier, but smaller than a stallion. A cloaked man held the reins whilst keeping his head down, the second rider was hidden behind his massive form.

Brienne turned to the Elder Brother as he studied the riders intently, eagerly trying to puzzle out their identity.

"Do you recognize the rider?"

With an exasperated sigh, the Elder Brother crossed his arms about his chest.

"What I recognize is that courser, a fickle creature he is. More a beast from one of the Seven hells than a horse! Stranger, his master called him, a blasphemous name, to be sure. The fiend nearly bit my hand off! My lady, there is only one man in the Seven Kingdoms that can tame a horse like that."

She had known before the Elder Brother said anything. The understanding that passed between them was mutual and implicit.

"Sandor Clegane." His name escaped her mouth in whisper.

The Elder Brother nodded his head softly before uncrossing his arms and clasping his hands in front of him.

"Aye, my Lady."

Shifting her head slightly, Brienne squinted her eyes at the horizon in an effort to glimpse the other traveler. Her efforts were futile and the glare of the reemerging sun was exacerbating the pounding in her head.

"And the second rider?"

The Elder Brother tilted his head towards her with a knowing smile spread about his face.

"Splendid question. Perhaps a highborn maiden, three-and-ten with auburn hair and a fair face."

Brienne understood the unspoken words that accompanied his smile. '…something tells me they will always find a way back to one another. Nothing that I can do, nothing that you can do will stop that and Gods damn those who try.'

Adjusting her vision towards the horizon once more, Brienne did not doubt that Sandor Clegane was one of the riders; not many men were as physically imposing as he. The only thing she could make out of the other rider was two tiny arms wrapped tightly around the Hound's broad chest, clutching tightly at his cloak. She shook her head in deliberate disbelief and stared intently at the Elder Brother.

"It's impossible. He could not have found her so quickly while others have spent months searching for her, only to come up empty handed."

Septon Meribald released his grasp on Dog who eagerly galloped off gaily towards the shore of the Isle, anxious to greet the travelers. Clasping Brienne lightly on the shoulder, the Septon came to stand next to her.

"Lady Brienne, the Gods work their wonders in mysterious ways. Meager as we are, it is not for us to question what is possible."

As Sandor reached the shore, Brienne saw that Stranger's legs were caked with mud and the beast was panting in exhaustion. As Dog approached Stranger barking, the horse retorted with annoyed grunts.

In swift, hurried paces, the Elder Brother approached Sandor as he swung from his horse and pulled the hood of his cloak down, eying Brienne and Septon Meribald dubiously.

Chuckling, the Elder Brother extended his arms to the Hound as if trying to dissipate the rising tension.

"Clegane, your return to the Isle is most welcome, but admittedly comes much sooner than I would have imagined. And I see you have something quite precious in tow with you."

Protectively, Sandor gazed up at the girl, his mouth curling in a half-smile.

"Aye. Elder Brother, I present to you the Lady Sansa Stark."

A delicate hand emerged from underneath the girl's cloak and extended towards the Elder Brother as she nodded her head. Her voice was soft and sweet as spring.

"My lord, it is truly a pleasure."

Delighted, the Elder Brother took her hand in his and kissed it lightly.

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Sansa."

Weary as the girl was, Sansa Stark was extraordinarily beautiful. As she pulled down her hood, a thick bundle of soft auburn curls fell to her waist, framing her slender form. Lady Catelyn had modestly attested to Sansa's beauty, but Brienne knew the Hound was right; 'fair of face' was scarcely adequate to describe the young woman Brienne was seeing for the first time. Sansa had the same Tully blue eyes and porcelain skin as her mother and was every bit as gentle as Catelyn had described her.

Brienne watched as Sandor easily wrapped his hands around Sansa's waist and pulled her carefully from the saddle, carrying her the rest of the way to shore before placing her softly on the ground. Tall as she was, Sansa looked like a doll in his arms.

As Sandor retreated back to collect Stranger, Sansa came to stand in front of Brienne, looking up at her wide eyed in wonderment before letting her eyes flee away in apparent embarrassment. Brienne smiled softly to herself. She thinks she has offended me.

Bending at the waist, Brienne bowed politely. "Lady Sansa, Brienne of Tarth. I am pleased to meet you."

As Sansa's mouth opened slightly in a gape of confusion, Sandor came up next to her and rested one hand heavily on her shoulder.

"The Maid of Tarth fancies herself a knight. Don't let that fool you, Little Bird. She's a highborn lady, just like you."

It seems he is every bit as insolent as before. Brienne forced a tense smile as she inclined her head to meet Sandor's eyes with an icy glare.

"Lord Clegane, I am glad to see you have made your journey safely. If I may inquire, what brings you back to the Isle so soon?"

With his mouth contorting to something between a smile and a snarl, Sandor snorted his contempt and laughed darkly.

"What is it with you highborns and your bloody courtesies?"

Before Brienne could bitterly mutter her response, Septon Meribald interjected with arms flailing, filling the space between Brienne and Sandor.

"Come now! No need for quarreling. Podrick, be a good lad and see to it that Clegane's horse is stabled."

A tiny gasp simultaneously caught Brienne and Sandor's attention as they turned their heads in unison towards Sansa who was eying Podrick Payne with wide eyes.

"Payne. Podrick Payne…you…you were…I know you." Her voice was soft and gentle, scarcely above a whisper as if she hadn't truly meant to breathe life into her private thoughts.

Blushing, Podrick nodded timidly, apparently flustered by the sudden attention that had been brought on him. Wordlessly, he averted his gaze and set about the task to which he had been bid.

Septon Meribald smiled gleefully, apparently unaware of Sansa's connection to Podrick Payne. "You know this boy, my Lady? Ah, what a wonderful surprise! Pray tell, how do you know one another?"

Sansa's eyes fluttered towards Sandor as she uncomfortably searched for her words. While she reckoned she would pay for it later, Brienne did not waste the opportunity to subtly jab at Sandor.

"Podrick was the squire to Lady Sansa's husband. That is before Tyrion vanished." Brienne could feel Sandor's glare piercing through her, his smoldering fury threatening to burn her alive. She dared not meet his stare.

Keenly aware of the mounting tension, the Elder Brother cleared his throat and stepped briskly towards Sansa, taking her hands in his.

"My lady, you must be famished. Come, let us share a meal together. We have much to discuss, to be sure."

As the Elder Brother looped his arm in Sansa's and led her away with Septon Meribald gleefully following, Brienne stood firmly in front of Sandor, locking her eyes fiercely on his and blocking his attempt to follow after Sansa.

As Sandor pushed passed her, she grabbed him by the forearm suddenly. "How did it come to be that you found her so quickly?"

Irate at her boldness, Sandor yanked his arm away from her grasp while abruptly turning on his heel to face her and growling out a response.

"What the fuck does that matter? She's safe now, that's all that I am concerned with."

Before she could respond, he started off once again towards the main cluster of buildings. Brienne knew if she was wise, she would let him sulk off. The weariness from travel had clearly shortened his already flaring temper. However, the thought of a gentle creature like Sansa Stark entrusted to a brooding beast like Sandor Clegane had left Brienne unsettled, to say the least. Boldly, she paced after him, bellowing her response.

"Safe. Is she truly? I see Sansa has quite a gash on her forehead. Perhaps you can at least tell me how that came to be."

As she had anticipated, Sandor stopped in midstride and balled his hands into tight fists, the anger permeating from his body in waves. With a few frenzied paces, Sandor flew towards Brienne. Instantly, she knew she had gone too far.

Squeezing her chin, he jerked her face up roughly to meet his, forcing her to look at the burned mass of flesh that made up the left side of his face.

"Look at me! Do you see this?"

She nodded her head weakly before wriggling free of his grasp. Sandor's eyes were burning with fury as he began again, his breath hitting the skin of her face in hot bursts as he spat his words.

"Tell me truly, wench. What do you see when you look upon the ruin of my face? A monster? When I was a child, my brother held my face over hot coals of a fire. There's a monster for you. The pain was unimaginable as my flesh melted away. For months after, I could still feel the burning. Death would have been cleaner, quicker."

Relenting, Sandor took a step away from her, but kept his angry gaze locked upon her. Brienne's hand came up to clutch her jaw as her fingers gently massaged away the pain. Hesitantly she muttered her response, mindful not to trigger the Hound's temper once again.

"What does this have to do with Sansa?"

Sandor let his eyes fall to the ground as his voice lowered to a soft rasp.

"Everything. I would gladly let my prick of a brother do the same to the other side of my face before I would ever lay a hand on Sansa."

In an instant, his eyes flew up again to meet hers, the rage once again settling there as he spew his words hatefully.

"If you ever suggest otherwise, wench, I'll cut your heart out while you sleep."

With that, Sandor retreated from Brienne, once again leaving her dumbfounded at the irony of his vile words which mingled in juxtaposition with the profound affection for Sansa that gleamed crystalline in his eyes.

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Sandor let out a huff of annoyance as Stranger struggled to pull his hooves from the thick stickiness of mud which begrudgingly released its hold with a popping sound. While the water had receded enough to ensure safe passage to the Quiet Isle, the mudflats had eagerly soaked up the rain from the recent storm, making the journey painstakingly slow and forcing Sandor to lead Stranger methodically towards the Isle, carefully calculating each step.

With her arms wrapped tightly around him and her head buried nervously in his back, Sansa had been quiet much of the journey, leaving Sandor adrift in his own thoughts. He had awoken the previous morning with the Little Bird entangled in his arms, strands of her hair fanning out behind her and tickling the skin of his arms.

True to his word, he had dreamed of her the night before, but his dreams had been strange and haunting. He had been holding Sansa safely in his arms as a consuming darkness encroached upon them. As if manipulated by some unknown force, the darkness shifted and came to surround them, the light slowly extinguished until nothing remained. Gradually, Sansa faded away into the soulless shadows as Sandor clutched to her tightly, desperately trying to hold onto her as she disappeared in his arms. Frantically, he had searched for her, stumbling through the murky vapor which blinded him.

As the light of the morning crept into the cave, he awoke panic-stricken, half expecting her to be gone, prophetically ripped from his arms as if his nightmares had come to life. Sansa shifted slightly, pressing herself against him, and he could feel his skin absorbing her warmth as it soothed away his fears. Unwilling to let the moment pass, Sandor had held her there, letting his arm settle easily into the curve of her waist and watched the gentle rising and falling of her chest as she took soft breaths, her lips curling slightly in a placid smile. He pondered what he had done to deserve this moment; the Little Bird tucked safely in his arms, her body pressed against his seeking his warmth and the comfort she seemed to find there.

Rather than spoil the moment with musings over his worthiness, Sandor resigned himself to stillness until he felt Sansa turn on her other side so that she was facing him. With a sleepy smile, she had sat up and clutched her lower back, massaging out the soreness with her slender fingers.

As they had broke their fast with a meager ration of stale bread and hard cheese, she meekly asked a few pointed questions as to where they were heading, seemingly anticipating another curt response from him. The subtle shyness of her inquiries and the way she softly let her eyes fall to the ground had quelled any apprehension Sandor had about revealing his plans to her.

He had explained as much as he could; the need to avoid the Saltpans, the Riverlands, and now the greater part of the Vale. To his surprise, she had intrinsically understood their predicament, nodding her head with a furrowed brow before taking his hands in hers. Her words had floored him, leaving him breathless and dumbfounded. With a soft, playful smile and the confidence of a woman, she had taken his hands in her own and stared intently into his eyes, speaking her words slowly and deliberately. 'I trust you, Sandor.'

As they approached ever nearer to the Quiet Isle, Sandor began to shift uncomfortably in the saddle at the remembrance of her words. Though subtle and sweet, those few simple words left him reeling and had put the weight of the world on his shoulders, or so it felt. She trusts you, Dog. The cunning Petry Baelish, the powerful Yohn Royce… They had both offered her protection and could have provided it. Yet she trusts you…

In King's Landing, he had wanted to protect her, to shield her from Joffrey's maniacal moods, to guard her from Ser Meryn's blows. However, he had desperately wanted to make her see that knights were not always so gallant and maidens were not always so virtuous, that life isn't a song and certainly isn't always fair. Rather than gently lift the veil from her eyes, he had torn it off, roughly meeting her quiet courtesies with vile words and harsh realities. Gentleness was not something Sandor was acquainted with and despite his intentions, he found that filling her with fear was the only way he knew how to get through to her.

'I trust you, Sandor.' He searched his mind, sorted through his memories, to find something, anything, which would warrant Sansa's trust. Painfully, but to no surprise, he came up with nothing. Even when he had offered to take her with him from King's Landing, to protect her and keep her safe, a sincere gesture which he had planned to make good on, he had done so drunkenly and with a knife to her throat. I have done nothing to earn her trust, yet she gives it to me, unquestioning and unconditionally.

With the sun gradually hovering behind them and restoring the acuteness of his vision, Sandor's internal brooding was interrupted as he spotted the forms of three individuals on the shore of the Isle. Intently and patiently, they were awaiting their approach. We are being watched. Sandor snorted an annoyed laugh. He could have guessed as much; it wasn't as if they could approach the Isle inconspicuously.

As they neared the shore of the Isle, Sandor began to recognize the forms, picking out the distinguishing features of each and presuming their identity. Amongst the individuals, Sandor spotted a massive armored form with a mop of sandy blonde hair. Bloody hell. The maid of Tarth.

Sandor was none too pleased to see that she had remained at the Isle. His blood began to boil at the thought that she might mean to collect Sansa and fulfill her precious oath by taking her back to King's Landing, to Jamie Lannister.

The anger succumbed to panic at the heaviness of the thought and the frenzied internal suggestion that he may have made a dreadful mistake by bringing Sansa to the Isle. His thoughts were jarred as the Septon Meribald's yapping dog pranced up to Stranger. The horse mimicked Sandor's irritation and snorted out a growling warning with a simultaneous flickering of his tail.

Walking a few paces from shore and standing in ankle deep water, the Elder Brother quite literally welcomed them with open arms, understanding Sandor's trepidation as easily as he understood so much that Sandor left unspoken. Sandor had forgotten the eerie way in which the man seemed to peer right through to the center of Sandor's being, as if his flesh and bones were made of glass, the transparency making even the darkest parts of his soul fully accessible.

Sandor had all but expected the Elder Brother's greeting. It was Brienne that concerned him. The wench eyed him and Sansa warily and Sandor could seemingly read her thoughts as her suspicious stare shifted mechanically back and forth from Sansa to him and back again.

As if blithely ignorant of the shortness of his temper and the foulness of his mood, Brienne had boldly confronted Sandor about the gash on Sansa's forehead, all but suggesting she had suffered the wound by his hands. His vision had filled red with rage and his blood had begun to run hot through his body. The wench knew his trigger all too well, profoundly aware of how to rile him. Agitated as he was, he understood her concern was warranted. I've lived my life by the sword, killed viciously, and have done little and less to redeem myself. The wench is not the first nor will she be the last to question my intent with the Little Bird.

He was not in the mood to entertain questions and offer up explanations. Exhausted from the journey, Sandor wanted nothing more than a flagon of wine to ease him off into a dreamless slumber. Much to his chagrin, the Elder Brother had insisted that they share a meal and had taken a compliant Sansa by the arm, whisking her away towards the main cluster of buildings.

As Sandor paced down the corridor towards the Elder Brother's solar, a man fell in abruptly at his side, matching Sandor's pace. He looked to be knight by the armor he wore and the arrogant way in which he carried himself, head held high and a hand resting heedlessly on the pommel of the sword at his side.

His body tensing instinctively, Sandor clenched his fists before turning his icy stare towards the man as they continued down the corridor. While the man was at least a head shorter than him, he looked to be of an age with Sandor. His plain face was framed with a mop of brown hair and adorned with a light scar near his left ear. This man has seen battle.

Undaunted by his sneering glare, the man inclined his head to meet Sandor with a derisive smile plastered to his face.

"Lest my eyes betray me, you are none other than Sandor Clegane. Of all places in the Seven Kingdoms, this was the last I expected to find the likes of you. Last I heard, you turned craven during the Battle of the Blackwater. Such a pity! King Joffrey was all but giving away knighthoods and land to those who fought bravely and even to some who did not fight so bravely. Had you stayed, you may have finally earned your Ser."

Sandor narrowed his eyes at the man, both stunned and irked at his gall. All too easily I could make this bastard bleed. He's provoking me for a reason.

"I don't need a fucking Ser in front of my name. Who the hell are you?" His voice emerged as a low growl, but did little to throttle the man's brazenness.

The man feigned astonishment and lifted his hands in the air waving, a mocking suggestion that he meant no harm. "If I have given offense, I do apologize. I rather fancy the Ser in front of my name." The man cleared his throat as he gave a sardonic bow. "Ser Hyle Hunt of the Reach, if it please you."

Sandor snorted his laughter before tightly wrapping his hand around the pommel of his own sword, conveying a clear message that he was in no mood for the man's jeering banter.

"Spare me. I remember you. You're here with the wench."

Stopping in front of the Elder Brother's solar door, Ser Hyle turned towards Sandor, the taunting smile about his face in stark contrast to the spitefulness that flickered in his eyes. "Careful now. The Maid of Tarth may fancy herself a knight, but let me assure you, she has all the sensitivity of any other maiden. We wouldn't want her getting all worked up over your bark, would we Hound?"

With that Ser Hyle pushed through the door and sauntered into the room, plucking an apple from a humble fruit bowl at the end of the table. Tossing the apple in the air, he paced towards Sansa who was seated to the right of the Elder Brother. "Lady Sansa, it is true pleasure to meet you."

Instantaneously, her eyes widened as she gave Sandor a frantic and bemused look before uncomfortably shifting in her seat and hesitantly turning towards Ser Hyle.

"How...how is it that you know who I am?"

Taking Sansa's hand in his own, the knight bowed steeply and left a lingering kiss on her delicate fingers.

"Your beauty is renowned in the Seven Realms, my Lady. I only need to look upon your loveliness to know you could be none other than the stunning Sansa Stark."

Sandor rolled his eyes and snorted his laughter. To Sandor's amusement, the Little Bird pulled her hand away in disgust, discomfort written across her face as she wiped the man's spittle from her hand. Even Sansa Stark, the Queen of Courtesies, is put off by this prick.

As he took his seat next to Sansa, Ser Hyle bit into the apple, chewing loudly while casually settling into his chair and turning towards Sansa. Saying nothing, the man obnoxiously leered at her, letting his eyes wander up and down her form.

With his mood darkening considerably, Sandor took his seat to the left of the Elder Brother, directly across from Sansa who was eying him desperately, as if silently pleading for him to intervene. Instinctively, Sandor felt his hands curl into clenched fists, his jaw set into an angry scowl. The bugger doesn't need to say anything. I know what he's thinking.

Sandor glared valyrian daggers across the table at Ser Hyle who seemingly felt the stare and cocked his head away from Sansa, locking his eyes on Sandor's in an instigative stare that matched the intensity of Sandor's. Ser Hyle's mouth curled in a devilish half smile before turning back towards Sansa, lewdly licking the juices of the apple off of his lips. Sandor's eyes widened in rage, his vision blurring into a veil of red. The fucker is testing me.

Overcome with a rush of fury, Sandor flew from his seat and unsheathed his sword in one swift movement, his breath coming out in seething bursts of anger. In tandem, Ser Hyle pushed from his seat, his chair flinging behind him at the force, and pulled his sword from his side. Sandor held the man's stare before hissing out a warning through clenched teeth.

"You had best believe me when I say this to you. I will cut your fucking eyes out with my sword and feed them to the Septon's dog before I let you look at her like that again."

Protectively, the Elder Brother reached for Sansa, pulling her chair closer to his and letting out an exasperated grunt, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. Before he could bellow in protest, Brienne and Podrick filed into the room slowly, their faces agape in confusion and trepidation.

Behind them was Septon Meribald who shook his head in disdain at the sight of unsheathed swords and the thick layer of tension that had come to fill the room.

"Good Gods! I had not realized I was attending a sortie!"

Rubbing his forehead in vexation, the Elder Brother spoke commandingly, his words biting and the irritation thick in his voice.

"Both of you put up your swords! Everyone take a seat. There is much to be discussed. If you two want to evaluate who's the bigger man, you can do so on your own time."

Slowly, the Little Bird let her eyes wander up to his, biting her lip to halt its gentle trembling. It was not the brusqueness of the Elder Brother's words that beckoned Sandor to sheath his sword, but rather the fear and confusion that had flooded her eyes.

As Sandor took his seat once again, the Elder Brother offered a stern warning whilst eying Sandor and Ser Hyle with uncertainty, the tension in his voice subsiding slightly. "Whatever your differences may be, put them aside. I will not stand for any boyish quarrelling and certainly no swords will be drawn."

With a deep sigh and the pallor of his face retreating to normal shade, the Elder Brother shifted slightly in his seat towards Sansa, the features of his face softening to a sympathetic gaze.

"Lady Sansa, if you would be so kind, I must ask you the question that is undoubtedly on all of our minds; how exactly did it come to be that you and Clegane found one another?"

Biting her bottom lip, Sansa swept her gaze from the Elder Brother to everyone seated about the table, timidly contemplating each individual before settling her eyes passively on Sandor. Gently, he nodded his head, silently offering her the reassurance he had sensed she needed to continue.

Softly, she began relaying the events much as she had relayed them to him, explaining her time at the Eyrie with Littlefinger, her subsequent escape with Yohn Royce followed by their confrontation with Lothor Brune. As Sansa continued on, her words became more deliberate, her voice thickening from a hesitant whisper to pointed divulging as she seemingly found her confidence.

She spared no detail of her journey save one. Peculiarly, it was the same detail she had failed to relay to him, a detail that he along with everyone else in the Seven Kingdoms was eager to know. It seems the Little Bird does not wish to discuss how she escaped King's Landing.

The night he came upon Sansa, there were a hundred or more questions Sandor had wanted to ask her; questions that necessity dictated he should have asked her. Yet they had somehow melted from his mind when he took her in his arms. In that moment, he found that he didn't need words and he didn't need questions answered. What he had needed was her, wrapped in his arms where she was meant to be. And so he had let the question of how she escaped from King's Landing slip away along with about a hundred other questions he had wanted to ask her.

Sandor's musing was roused as Sansa finished answering the Elder Brother's question, lifting her gaze to him and smiling softly.

"And that's how we quite literally came colliding together. As you probably know, Sandor was on his way to Braavos to find work as a sellsword. I was fleeing into the night, into an unknown future and that's how he found me, as extraordinary as it seems."

Abruptly, Sandor's attention was jarred as he felt the muscles in his body tense and instinctively averted his gaze away from Sansa lest she find the truth buried in his eyes. Instead, Sandor met the Elder Brother's berating stare. Despite the man's obvious displeasure, a silent understanding seemingly passing between them for the Elder Brother stayed reticent, his lips pressed together tightly. To Sandor's astonishment, Brienne echoed the Elder Brother's sentiment. Skeptically, she stared at Sandor and for a moment he thought she meant to reveal his lie. Instead, she let her eyes fall to her hands resting on the table as a steady silence filled the room.

He had lied to Sansa in order to avoid explaining the real reason why he had come upon her in the Vale. With a fervid desperation he had wanted to tell her, to let it all unravel before her. He had wanted to tell her that in a frenzy he had left the Quiet Isle in search of her, tell her that she haunted his dreams, tell her that despite the Elder Brother's admonition to leave his past behind, he refused to let her go, tell her that he had never imagined he would find her, but was content to spend the rest of his days trying.

Sandor had wanted to tell her everything there was to tell, but something had stopped him and so the lie had manifested on his lips, breathed to life by his fear or perhaps his pride; whether the former or the latter, he did not know. What he did know was that he had somehow felt compelled to lie to her and in this moment, with the others looking on, he may have to face that lie and face her.

To Sandor's relief, the thick blanket of silence was interrupted by the uncertain stammering of Podrick who was seated next to Brienne yet had managed to remain all but invisible; Sandor had hardly remembered the timid boy was in the room.

"M-my Lady. For quite some time I have been searching for your lord husband. That is how I came into the Lady Brienne's service. You left King's Landing before Lord Tyrion vanished, but do you happen to know his whereabouts now?"

Sandor pondered the boy as he tentatively spoke his words, obviously terrified of Sansa and the sound of his own voice coming tremulous and squeaking out of his lanky adolescent body. However, the boy had proved his merit during the Battle of the Blackwater, saving the Imp from a certain death by cutting down Ser Mandon Moore. Watching the boy blushing a deep shade of crimson and stumbling over his words, Sandor couldn't help but smile at the irony. The boy fought bravely in the same battle that I deserted as a craven.

Sansa smiled sympathetically at Podrick before shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Podrick. I am afraid I do not know what became of Tyrion." At that Podrick sighed in disappointment and resignation before settling back into his seat, seemingly willing himself to become invisible yet again.

A look of confusion flashed across Brienne's face as she cocked her head to the side to address Sansa.

"My Lady, it was thought that Tyrion helped arrange your escape from King's Landing. If this is not so, how then did you manage to leave the city? The confusion surrounding Joffrey's death must have aided you, but surely you did not act alone."

Intrigued, Sandor eyed Sansa, eagerly awaiting an answer to the question that had lingered in the back of his mind yet had gone unasked. The others mirrored his anticipation as their stares settled on the Little Bird whose breath was coming ragged, her eyes anxiously fleeting about the faces all looking on her in steady unison.

With a deep breath, Sansa began, refusing to meet anyone's eyes and instead stared at her hands folded nervously in her lap. Her voice had retreated back to weakness, no longer possessing the same confidence as before.

"No, Lady Brienne. I did not act alone. Ser Dontos Hollard arranged my escape at the behest of Petyr Baelish."

Her eyes flashed hesitantly up to Sandor's, weighing his reaction to her words. She would find no solace there, he knew, for his face had hardened to a stoic slate of inexpressiveness. Apprehensively, she began again with her voice quivering.

"Ser Dontos brought me to Littlefinger the night of Joffrey's wedding. He thought he was selling me to Littlefinger. Instead, he was killed by crossbowmen at Lothor Brune's command. It is from there that I came into Littlefinger's possession."

Sandor's mind wandered back to his conversation with Brienne the night he left the Isle. She had told him that Ser Dontos escaped King's Landing the same night Sansa had and that it was thought they escaped together. Sandor had been almost certain that even Sansa Stark wouldn't have been foolish enough to entrust her safety to the drunk. With Sansa's head hung in shame and refusing to meet his now furious glare, Sandor knew he had been gravely mistaken.

"Seven bloody hells, Sansa! You honestly thought that fucking drunken fool was going to help you escape from King's Landing?" Unwittingly, Sandor pounded his fists on the table as the rage boiled hot through his veins.

The thought of Sansa willingly agreeing to escape King's Landing with Dontos the Drunk infuriated him. As he allowed the anger to wash over him, Sandor quickly realized that his rage was not rooted in the fact that Sansa had entrusted herself to a fool.

Rather, the fury burning through him was brought forth by the thought that he had offered to take Sansa from King's Landing, an offer which she refused. Although loathe to admit it, her refusal had affected him deeply. Sandor had replayed that night a thousand times over. Admittedly, a string of mistakes on his part had likely prevented her from leaving with him. He had drunkenly stumbled into her bedchamber and subsequently held a knife to her throat and threatened her life for a song.

Suddenly, a startling realization flooded Sandor's mind, a realization that he had not considered until this moment, a realization that quelled his anger and left a wave of guilt in its place.

I threaten to cut out another man's eyes for looking at her, yet how often do I leer at her? I fly into a rage at the thought of her letting another man take her from King's Landing, but was I not a drunken fool when I stumbled into her bed chamber, wanting to take her with me?

She never feared Ser Dontos the way she feared me. Slobbering, drunken fool he may have been, I doubt he held a knife to her throat, threatened her life, and forced a song. All things considered, two drunken fools offered to take her from King's Landing. She picked the safer of the two.

Sandor let the anger retreat from his body through deep breaths as Sansa stared at him, tears welling up in her eyes, apparently wounded by the brusqueness of his words.

Another uncomfortable silence hung in the air before the Elder Brother rested his chin on steepled fingers, contemplating his words before breaking the lull with a deep sigh.

"It makes no matter now so there is scarcely a reason to dredge up the past. What matters now is that Sansa is safe." The man smiled softly at Sansa before shifting in his chair such that he faced Sandor.

"Clegane, you are welcome on the Isle for as long as you require. However, I am intrigued to know what your next course of action will be."

Irritated, Sandor felt his chest tighten as his mind raced to find an answer. It seems it is now my turn to answer uncomfortable questions. If he had known the answer to the Elder Brother's question, he would not have needed to make the journey to the Quiet Isle. Instead, he would have gone wherever he needed to go, wherever he thought he could keep the Little Bird safe. Out of frustration and exhaustion, Sandor gave up the guise and divulged his own truth.

"Seven Hells if I know! The Riverlands are overrun with outlaws and broken men taking up their own causes. As if I wasn't already wanted for deserting during battle, some buggering bastard donned my helm before plundering the Saltpans. Travel to the west is nearly impossible. And now every knight of the Vale is undoubtedly looking for Sansa, barring our path to the north and the east."

Sandor stared at Sansa, awaiting his turn to scrutinize her reaction to his words, searching out the regret and disapproval he imagined would be drawn across her face. Instead she lifted her eyes softly to meet his and gave him a sympathetic smile, the corners of her lips gently lifting as her eyes filled with something akin to compassionate understanding.

'I trust you, Sandor.' In this moment, her eyes matched the words she had spoken. Suddenly, Sandor felt the weight of the world come crashing down upon him as a suffocating flush of guilt consumed him.

"I'm sorry, Little Bird. I plucked you from the Vale and yet I have no idea where we are headed. Perhaps Ser Dontos the fucking Drunk was a better option after all. At least the bastard had the foresight to involve Littlefinger, the master of schemes and plans."

Sandor snorted laughter as he shook his head, desperately trying to drive away the weight of defeat he felt. To his bewilderment, again she smiled at him, sweetly offering him the reassurance he felt completely unworthy of.

As she opened her mouth gently to voice her response, Ser Hyle leaned forward in his seat and turned towards the Elder Brother, his face contorting into a mocking expression of confusion.

"Elder Brother, you say the Lady Sansa is now safe. Perhaps that may be true as long as she remains on the Quiet Isle. If I may be so bold, the Hound is a vicious killer, a Lannister dog turned craven. No one in the Seven Kingdoms would dispute that. What more, the man hardly has any idea how to protect the Lady and keep her safe from those who wish her harm."

The Elder Brother scowled disapprovingly at Ser Hyle, his displeasure folded heavy in his furrowed brow. Sandor felt the temperature in his blood rise once more as his temper flared. Had Sandor not held the Elder Brother is such high regard, he would have flown from his chair with sword drawn and finished the life of the pathetic prick. Instead, he sat seething in his chair, his fists clenched so tight that he felt his fingernails piercing the rough skin of his palms.

Ser Hyle shifted cavalierly in his seat such that he was facing Sansa who met his stare with a sideways glance that inferred her dismay at the turn in the conversation. As the knight leaned forward in his seat, the Little Bird leaned back in hers, putting as much space between them as possible. With a husky voice and lustful eyes, the man began, clearly undaunted by Sansa's repulsion.

"My Lady, I implore you to allow me to be your protector. Unlike the Hound, I am not a wanted man in the Seven Kingdoms. We could travel through the Riverlands and the Vale unscathed. In fact, I could bring you to Maidenpool. My liege lord remains there with his banners and I can assure you that you would be safe. Entrust your life into my hands, sweet Lady Sansa, and I promise no harm will come to you."

The words flowed like honey from the man's lips yet what gleamed in his eyes set Sandor's soul at a fervid unease. With his breaths coming ragged from his body at Ser Hyle's declarations, Sandor felt every muscle in his body become tense until he was shaking with a fury like he had never known before. Before he could hiss out a retort through clenched teeth, Brienne interjected, her sapphire eyes wide with her sort of annoyed anger.

"Ser Hyle, have you lost your senses? If you bring Sansa to Maidenpool, Randyll Tarly will collect her quick as a wink and turn her over to Cersei. Surely, you are not foolish enough to believe she would be safe there."

The Elder Brother rested his elbows on the table with a thud as he pressed his fingers to his temples as if driving away an impending headache.

"I agree with Lady Brienne. Maidenpool is out of the question. However, Clegane speaks truly; the Riverlands are far too dangerous for Lady Sansa to be traveling through. The outlaws are certainly nothing to trifle with. As I said, you may stay here as long as you require, but the mudflats offer limited protection against scavengers and outlaws. Once they dry up, I fear you may not be as safe here as you might think."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sandor caught sight of Sansa shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes setting in an uncharacteristically impassible stare which moved steadily around the table as each person seemingly felt compelled to offer their opinion.

As he cleared his throat with a grumbling cough, Septon Meribald lifted his index finger, as if declaring his turn to speak and preemptively silencing anyone who wished to talk over him.

"I do believe that nowhere in the Seven Kingdoms would be adequately safe for the Lady. The best option, in my humble opinion, would be one of the free cities. The reach of the Iron Throne can only extend so far and I have found it stops abruptly at the narrow sea."

Unbeknownst to Sansa, Sandor watched her carefully as she fidgeted in her seat, her mouth hardening into a closed lip scowl, the aggravation engulfing her face as she stared at Septon Meribald through narrowed eyes. The rising and falling of her chest quickened in time with her exasperated breaths as the color of her face darkened to a shade of red; not the gentle blushing that usually graced her face but rather the flush of anger that caused the blood to course hot through her body.

While Sandor was all too familiar with his own feelings of rage, he had never seen Sansa get angry, not truly. In the weeks after her father's execution, he had seen a bit of the wolf come out in her as she snapped at Joffrey in childish defiance; that was until Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, or some other brother of the Kingsguard was ordered to beat her. Even then, she had reacted precisely as Joffrey had wanted; frightened tears and submissive courtesies.

As she became increasingly riled into a true anger, Sandor knew not whether to be amused, proud, or cautious; her anger was not like his as he had quickly come to observe. Instead of lashing out in a blind rage, her anger was a slow boil within her; he could almost imagine it rising steadily up her body, threatening to spew forth at any instant.

As Ser Hyle once again began to speak, Sandor watched Sansa's tiny hands, small, delicate, and wholly feminine, curl up into fists as she bit her lower lip hard, as if desperately fighting back the urge to lash out against the knight's unabashed cockiness and presumptiveness.

"Sweetling, I can say with a certainty that almost all of us want nothing more than to keep you safe. Come with me to Maidenp-"

With her eyes a frenzy of irritation, Sansa pushed herself hard from the table and flew from her chair, her hands still clenched into tight fists.

"Enough! I've heard enough. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, each and every one of you." With an intensity that quieted the room in an instant, Sansa slowly swept her eyes around the table, eying each face with a marked fervor before beginning again, her voice low and deliberate.

"You speak as if I am invisible, as if I am a witless child with no concept of what I want and each of you thinking you know what is best for me. Make no mistakes, I am not a child, not anymore. I watched my father die in front of me and it was because of my own stupidity. My mother is gone. I will never see her again. And my brothers, all of them gone, except one and he's a thousand leagues away at the Wall. My sister is lost, dead possibly.

The Starks are all but gone. Blood of the first men, a line that extends thousands of years into the past and I am quite possibly the last of my name. And here you all are, quarrelling about my future without as much as asking what it is that I want. I refuse to spend the rest of my life in hiding, moving amongst the shadows from one temporary home to another.

I want to find my sister Arya and I want to go home, to Winterfell. I don't care how long it takes or how it happens, but I'm going home, with or without all of you. And if I should perish in the process, at least I know I won't die a coward, hiding from those who took everything I have ever loved. My fate is now my own."

Sandor saw the astonishment sweep across the table; Brienne with eyes widening to the size of saucers, Podrick with his mouth agape in sheer terror, Septon Meribald starring ponderously at a woman he had clearly underestimated, and the Elder Brother smiling softly whilst gently nodding his head, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Sandor found himself strangely aroused by her outburst. Gentle, sweet, soft spoken Sansa Stark had finally found her voice. When he looked upon her, he saw a woman grown, not just in body, but in mind as well. Until now, he had seen glimmers of her confidence, fleeting instances of her standing her ground with a refusal to second guess herself or her instincts. Before him was a woman grown who possessed all the passion and resilience he always knew was buried underneath all of her polished courtesies and polite smiles.

It seemed that the bewilderment had unanimously descended upon the room with the exception of Ser Hyle whose darkened smile and beguiling eyes had persisted throughout Sansa's seething diatribe.

Brienne shifted forward in her seat and lowered her eyes, a gesture of deference, before beginning hesitantly.

"My Lady, Winterfell was sacked by Ramsay Bolton. The Boltons' hold on Winterfell is backed by the Iron Throne. If it is your wish to go home, I offer my sword to your cause. However, you must know that by taking Winterfell, you are in effect continuing your brother's cause to liberate the north."

With a furrowed brow, Sansa let her gaze fall to the floor, seemingly contemplating the heaviness of Brienne's words. Suddenly, her eyes flew up to meet Sandor's and she spoke as if he was the only one in the room, as if the others had all but vanished and he was all she saw.

"I told you I wanted to go home. I told you that I wanted to find my sister. I told you that I wanted to watch as those who betrayed my family burned. Those were not idle wants, Sandor. I mean them now as much as I meant them then."

Sandor gave her a solemn nod. He had not doubted that she meant those words, but rather doubted that she truly understood what they implied, what she was really asking for. Still standing, Sansa turned to face Brienne, her eyes softening slightly.

"I do not want my brother's cause to be for naught. Winterfell is my home, it is Arya's home, and as we speak those who betrayed Robb are sitting in my father's chair, sleeping in my mother's bed, feasting in the Great Hall. If going home means continuing Robb's cause, then so be it. In the mean time, I want to find my sister. She was with Sandor near the Trident and quite possibly traveled to the Saltpans after leaving him."

Having spoke her peace, Sansa retreated slowly back to her chair and sat down with a deep sigh, letting the heaviness of the conversation seemingly settle in her bones, making her body fold with exhaustion.

Brienne let her eyes meet Sansa's with a reverent nod before glancing slightly over to where Podrick Payne was sitting, a dumbfounded look on his face.

"The Saltpans are not far from here. We can begin our search there for Arya. Perhaps someone saw her or knows something of her whereabouts. Podrick, you will accompany me on the search for Arya Stark."

Finding at least some solace in Brienne's words, Sansa settled in her seat with a contented sigh, the tension in her body slowly retreating. Apparently encouraged by Sansa's reaction, Brienne began again, her words heartfelt and deliberate.

"Your father was beloved by the northmen, this much I know to be true, we all know to be true. And I have no doubts that they were just as loyal to your brother Robb. Those men have been broken, either forced into hiding or forced to begrudgingly bend the knee to King Tommen.

But it is not just the northmen, your mother's brother, Edmure, and uncle, Brynden, raised their banners in your brother's cause. They are both still alive, my Lady. Perhaps if we can somehow reach them, they can lend their support to your cause."

Drumming his fingers on the table, Ser Hyle let out a sarcastic chuckle, devious delight spreading across his face in a devilish smile.

"Lady Brienne, what you are speaking of is war. The poor girl just wants to go home. True enough, a few Boltons may present a problem. However, let me remind you that Edmure is a captive of the Freys and Brynden has barricaded himself in Riverrun which is surrounded by Lannister retainers."

Sandor eyed Brienne carefully as her irritation was clearly displayed on her face, her eyes glistening with frustration and her jaw set tensely, contorting her lips in a hardened scowl.

Feigning contemplation, Ser Hyle rested his head in his chin and lifted his eyes to the ceiling, drawing out his words as her spoke.

"Although, you are in service to Jamie Lannister after all…."

His voice trailed off until he let out a sarcastic gasp and cocked his head to the side, meeting Brienne's furious glare with seedy eyes.

"Gods! That's right! How could I have possibly forgotten? You carry a letter given to you by the Kingslayer, a letter sealed by King Tommen himself stating that you are on a royal mission to find Sansa Stark. Since Ser Jamie is such a dear friend to you, perhaps you could tell him to withdraw his men from Riverrun long enough so that the Blackfish can swim upstream to his escape."

In a frenzy, Brienne turned her stare towards Sansa, her mouth opening and closing in a futile attempt to desperately find words, but coming up empty-handed. Before Brienne could mutter an explanation, Sansa shook her head, her face flooded with disappointment and pain at the perceived betrayal. Her voice came softly from her chest, breathless and disbelieving.

"You…you…the Lannister's sent you to find me?"

With an ardent fervor, Brienne shook her head frantically whilst leaning forward in her seat so abruptly that she all but flew from her chair.

"No, my Lady! You do not understand. It is not as you imagine!"

Conflicted, Sansa reluctantly let her stare retreat from Brienne until her eyes settled on Sandor, her face pleading and unsure. While he was none too pleased at Brienne's obvious affection for Jamie Lannister, Sandor could not deny that the woman was honorable and truly seemed to have the Little Bird's best interest at heart, which was more than could be said for most. Sandor held Sansa's stare and began softly, his voice a low, but gentle rasp.

"Sansa, Brienne swore an oath to your mother as did Jamie Lannister. Their oath was the same: to find you and your sister and bring you back to her safely. Your mother is gone, but that oath remains. I know a Lannister's word is shit, but if you trust me then trust when I tell you this: Brienne means you no harm."

Before Sansa could reply, Sandor shot a threatening glare at Brienne, his voice lowering to something akin to a growl. "Don't make me regret those words, wench."

The Elder Brother quietly settled back in his seat before turning his head softly towards Sansa and smiling affectionately, his words coming out reassuringly.

"My Lady, Clegane speaks truly. You have naught to worry about where Lady Brienne is concerned. You are fortunate to have her sword behind your cause. However, your safety does present a problem still. Surely, word of an auburn haired highborn maiden gathering banners to win back Winterfell will rouse the interest of many, most of all those in King's Landing. Perhaps what Septon Meribald suggested is best for the time being, until there is a clearer course of action."

Septon Meribald nodded his head eagerly, satisfied that his contribution and council had been heard. Merrily, he clasped his hands together as a gleeful grin swept across his face.

"My Lady, the Septon in Braavos is a dear friend of mine. Undoubtedly, he would take us in and provide refuse from your troubles in the Seven Kingdoms."

Overwhelmed, Sansa let her eyes fleet about the table, obviously uncomfortable by the slight pressure to make a decision. Her voice was soft and unsure, a whisper said more to herself than to anyone else. "Braavos?"

Instinctively understanding Sansa's misgivings about the prospect, Brienne lowered her head slightly to meet Sansa's eyes, empathetically softening her face in a consoling gesture.

"Lady Sansa, there are many who are searching for you and not because they want to see you safely home. Although it may seem a step backwards, I do believe it would be best until I can reach Brynden or Edmure."

Sansa breathed in deeply, closing her eyes momentarily before reopening them and letting out a deep sigh.

"Braavos it is then."

The Elder Brother shifted slightly before letting his stare settle on the ceiling as he often did when pondering his thoughts. After many moments, the man folded his hands on the table before declining his eyes towards Sansa.

"Dyre Den is a two day's journey from here. A small ship can take you across the bay to Gulltown where you can find passage to Braavos. Septon Meribald could make the journey with you-"

Before the Elder Brother could finish, Ser Hyle interjected loudly, his voice cutting through the tranquility that had settled blessedly in the room, easing prior tensions. In an obnoxious gesture, the man fell to his knees next to Sansa's chair and bowed his head.

"Sweet Lady Sansa, I would be honored to be your sworn shield. I will make the journey with you as well."

With a huff of annoyance and clearly at her wits end with the man, Sansa narrowed her eyes at Ser Hyle, her face glazed with an icy stare.

"Ser Hyle, that won't be necessary. There is only one man I want as my sworn shield and he sits across from me."

With that, she turned her gaze to Sandor, nodding her head gently with a soft smile. "I want Sandor with me."

The man abruptly stumbled to his feet, aggravated and pride wounded at her blunt rejection. Brienne softly snickered, vindicated amusement gleaming in her eyes.

"Ser Hyle, you will travel to the Saltpans to seek out Arya with Podrick and me. We will travel to the Riverlands to find what we can. My Lady, we will send for you in Braavos with any information we find in our journey."

Sansa sat quietly for many moments, her body still and her eyes steady on her hands folded lightly in her lap. Sandor watched her there, wishing he could read the thoughts that might be settling in her mind. As he studied her, he felt a growing sense of unease forming in the pit of his stomach. He traced the genesis of the feeling, seeking out its origin amongst the slow aching he felt churning amongst his soul. She knows not what she's asking for, what this means for her. He had wanted to keep her safe, keep her protected and yet their journey had instantaneously become more dangerous than Sandor could have imagined.

The room suddenly felt stifled and as the unease set heavily in his being, he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He wanted to pull her away, to leave the room, to the leave the Isle, to leave the whole bloody world behind and go someplace where it could be just the two of them.

Seemingly feeling his eyes on her, Sansa finally let her head incline ever so slightly, meeting his stare through her eyelashes. Sandor muttered the only words he could think of, the only words that rushed to forefront of his troubled mind.

"Little Bird, are you sure this is what you want?"

As she slowly lifted her head, Sansa eyed each person seated at the table as if seeking out reassurance on their faces. When her stare came back to meet his, she nodded her head tentatively. Her voice was scarcely above a whisper.

"Yes. I am sure."

The Elder Brother let out a fatigued sigh, letting his body slump back in his chair with his arms stretching far above his head, working out the soreness in his arms. With a decisive nod, the man swept his eyes about the table before letting his stare settle on Sandor.

"It is all but settled then. Clegane, I can scarcely imagine how exhausted you must be, but if you would be so kind, I wish to speak to you privily."

Wordlessly, the others filed out of the room, one by one, as Sandor and the Elder Brother remained seated. As Sansa lifted herself from her seat, she eyed Sandor with a soft gaze and gave him a gentle smile before slowly fluttering out of the room, closing the door delicately behind her.

The Elder Brother tentatively pushed a tray of black bread, honeycomb, and hard cheese towards Sandor. He found he was not hungry, but instead a growing unease had settled sourly in the pit of his stomach.

Silently the Elder Brother stared intently at Sandor, his elbow on the table and his head resting heavily in his hand. Sandor had surmised what the Elder Brother meant to speak to him about. The implicit words floated in the air, filling the room with a thick blanket of tension. For long moments, the man sat there, pondering Sandor before finally speaking.

With a gentle nod of his head, the Elder Brother motioned towards Sansa's empty seat.

"Lady Sansa. She is lovelier than I could have ever imagined. I see she has a bit of the wolf in her as well."

The man chuckled softly as Sandor remained silent with his face hardening to a stoic gaze as he contemplated Sansa's chair. As the Elder Brother continued, his voice retained its softness, but was colored with dismay, a growing disquietude that mingled about his words.

"You did not tell Lady Sansa the true reason you were in the Vale the night she came colliding into you. You told her you were on your way to take up work as a sell sword in Braavos."

The man shrugged his shoulders in consolation, a perceptive awareness of Sandor's own unease.

"Seems plausible enough, I suppose. But the question remains, why did you feel compelled to lie to her, Clegane?"

Silently, Sandor let the question tumble through his mind, a profound understanding pierced through the veil of silence, a painful recognition of the uneasiness that had come ravage him. He knew the answer; he had always known the answer and had spent his quiet moments willing it away from his mind. In King's Landing, he had drowned it in wine and whores in a futile attempt to wash it away, send it off to the sea to perish with the salty waves.

Sandor Clegane was one of the most feared men in the Seven Kingdoms; a brutal warrior, a ruthless killer, a hound from hell. Sandor relished the power he had to invoke terror in others. If he couldn't inspire love or happiness or joy in others, he would inspire what he could; hatred and fear. It was his own hatred and bitterness that protected him, wrapped him in an impenetrable armor that turned his heart to stone and blackened his soul, allowing him to commit unspeakable sins without the slightest of remorse.

In an ironic twist of fate, Sansa Stark, the gentlest of creatures, the truest antithesis to the monstrosity that was Sandor, had left him feeling powerless. Her warmth and sincerity had begun to thaw the icy shield surrounding his heart. Desperately, he tried to retain what power he could lest she bring him crumbling to his knees. Her fear, the terror that pooled in her eyes at the sight of him, had equipped him with the power to control her and in doing so allowed him to control the unbidden feelings that stirred within him when she was around.

But when she stood before him in the cave, she was no longer a child and he found that he no longer filled her with terror as he once did. All at once, he felt truly powerless and completely inadequate. In a desperate effort to retain what little fleeting control he could manage, Sandor had lied to her; selfishly refusing to tell let her relish in the fact that she had haunted his dreams and invaded his heart, leaving him defenseless and petrified of his own feelings.

Patiently awaiting his response, the Elder Brother left Sandor to his thoughts, his head cocked slightly to the side in a sympathetic gesture. When Sandor finally spoke, he could only muster an incomplete explanation, a couple of words which inadequately conveyed all the thoughts that had come to besiege his mind.

"I came upon her after I had convinced myself that the journey to find her would be damn near impossible. As if she fell from the sky, there she was in front of me and now I feel powerless to protect her, to keep her safe."

Sandor brought his hand to his chin in contemplation and sighed deeply, simultaneously disconcerted and relieved at his confession, small and incomplete as it was. The Elder Brother slowly nodded his head with a knowing smile, seemingly reading between the lines and gathering the unspoken words as they hung in the air.

"Atoning for our sins is difficult, painful even; the road towards redemption is seldom the straightest path nor is it free of obstacles. But I wonder, Clegane. Why would the Gods above bring her to you if they did not think you could protect her, keep her safe?"

Shaking his head, Sandor laughed bitterly and snorted. "What in Seven Hells do the Gods have to do with this?"

With a solemn look that conveyed the graveness of his words, the Elder Brother let his eyes rest heavily on Sandor. His voice lowered to a tone barely above a whisper, his words meanderingly slowly from his lips.

"So much more than you can ever hope to imagine, Clegane. So much more."

Exasperated and exhausted at the conversation, Sandor acridly spat his words, his voice growling from his chest as frustration began to rise within him. Leaning forward in his seat, Sandor stared hard at the Elder Brother, willing the man to hear his words, to understand his plight.

"I have nothing to offer Sansa beyond my sword and shield. Even that is something she can easily get from the Maid of Tarth or any other buggering knight she comes across. She's not the frightened, weak child I left behind in King's Landing. She's a woman grown and understands what she wants and how to get it. Knights and lords will gladly throw down their swords in her honor and offer to win back Winterfell in her name. You know as well as I, they will marry her off to one of their sons or even marry her themselves for that matter. And then what?"

With his eyes muddled with restiveness, the Elder Brother remained quiet, seemingly at a loss for words. Sandor found the thought humorous. I have rendered the man speechless, the man who somehow always manages the right words.

Growing increasingly agitated, Sandor rested his elbows heavily on the table with a thud as he rested his forehead in the palms of his hands, his voice becoming thick with vexation as his body began to tense.

"You have no answer to that I see. Well, I do. I will tell you exactly what will happen. I'll stand by as she is married off to some knight. I'll stand by as she welps her children, gives her husband his sons. I'll stand by and watch as her family grows. Like some old dog, I'll get tossed aside until I am needed. Bugger that! She doesn't need me."

The Elder Brother leaned forward in his seat, his eyes containing a fierceness which reverberated through his words.

"You are gravely and grievously mistaken if you truly believe that. Clegane, you left the Isle to find Sansa Stark; it is what you needed. Now here she is, yet it isn't enough. What is it that you want?"

The man settled back in his seat, the intensity retreating from his body, but nevertheless eying Sandor intently, patiently.

Sandor stared across the table at Sansa's empty seat, envisioning her seated there, her gentle eyes looking upon his face with all the trust and tenderness he felt sorely unworthy of. As a calmness washed over him, Sandor searched his soul for the answer to the man's question. What is it that you want? The answer was simple yet agonizing in what it implied.

"It's not what I want. It's what I want for her. She deserves more than what I can ever hope to give her. She deserves a good man, an honest man. One that can protect her, treat her gently, make her happy."

A familiar aching panged in his chest, spreading throughout his body as Sandor lifted his head from his hands and stared at the Elder Brother, his face contorting in a pained expression. "Sansa deserves a man that knows what it is to love."

The Elder Brother met Sandor's stare, but let his eyes fall away, seemingly not able to bear what in his saw in Sandor's eyes. Quietly and somberly, he spoke, his words tinged with bewilderment.

"And you don't think you could be all of those things to her?"

Sandor sighed deeply and shook his head, startled at the painful thought.

"If I thought I could, I would be with her now. The truth is I don't know. What I do know is this: more than anything, she deserves someone that does know with a certainty."

Abruptly, the Elder Brother lifted his eyes, narrowing them slightly with a peculiar light gleaming inexplicably as his voice came husky from his chest, almost exasperated.

"And that doesn't sound like love to you?"

The question blindsided Sandor, he hadn't truly considered it and certainly did not have an answer. Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, Sandor shifted in his seat towards the Elder Brother.

"I wouldn't know. You said it yourself once; I am a man who has loved little in this life and has scarcely known any love myself."

Nodding his head slowly, the Elder Brother let his gaze fall to the door in a far-off stare, the corners of his mouth lifting into an afflicted smile with his eyes filling with the pain Sandor had often glimpsed there. In apparent reverie, the man remained silent before speaking, letting his fixed stare remain steadily in the same place, as if speaking to some obscure specter.

"I told you how I came to the Quiet Isle. I told you of the life I left behind and the regrets I live with now, but what you don't know is why I continued to stay on the Isle, why I never went back for her, for my Carina. She was to me what Sansa is to you and I felt much of what you feel now. I wanted to be a better man for her, but was too scared, too proud. Still, I wanted the world for her and would have given it to her if I had had the chance.

She had found her happiness, so I thought. The man she married was highborn, owned lands and riches, and could offer her a life I couldn't hope to give her. I imagined him to be a better man than me; possessing all the qualities I felt I lacked, the qualities I felt she deserved. I imagined him giving her everything I thought that I couldn't. So I let her go.

I was never a man of faith, but the night I received news she had been married I looked to the heavens and prayed to the Seven above. 'Let him be good to her,' I prayed. 'Let him treat her gently, hold her tight when tears fill her eyes, speak sweetly when her heart needs it, and let him be everything she needs. And her…let her be happy, even if it isn't with me.'"

Although he refused to meet his stare, Sandor could see the subtle glinting of tears in the man's eyes as he succumbed to the memories which he had so clearly fought desperately to extricate from his mind.

"You already know how this story ends. She comes to me in my dreams. Oh so many nights I dream of her! And do you know what she says to me, Clegane? She says to me, 'Why did you give up on me, on us?' Those are the words I am left with, night after night."

Slowly, the Elder Brother turned his head towards Sandor, the grief heavy in his eyes and his voice thick with a sort of pleading.

"Letting go isn't always the right thing to do. You want the world for her and maybe you can't give it to her. But to want that for her is to love her, whether you believe it or not. And love is enough. It just is."

Sandor pondered the man's words, keenly aware of the paralleling sorrow he seemed to share with the Elder Brother. However, their similarities diverged at a particular point, a point which made all the difference to Sandor in that moment.

"Perhaps I know what it is to love. But I can scarcely believe that she could ever love me, not truly. And even if she did, am I worthy of that love? I have kept my word to leave the Hound at rest, but that beast is still locked away somewhere within me. And that is enough for me to believe that I am not worthy of her love. I will never be what she wants, what she needs. As much as I do not want to admit it, perhaps it is best I let the Little Bird fly."

With that, Sandor pushed himself from the table as the Elder Brother reached frantically for him, shaking his head and fumbling over his desperate words.

"Clegane. You know not what you are saying, what you would be doing."

Undaunted, Sandor paced to the door, the ache in his chest throbbing uncontrollably. As he began to push through the door, Sandor heard the Elder Brother hurriedly push from his chair, his voice bellowing angrily from the walls.

"By destroying your fate, you destroy hers too! You defy the Gods, spit in their faces. You know not what you are giving up!"

Sandor stopped in mid stride and turned slightly over his shoulder to meet the Elder Brother's furious stare. His voice came hissing from his lungs, an angry rasp as he felt his eyes darken.

"I am profoundly aware of what I would be giving up."

---

Home. Winterfell. Gods, it's actually happening.

As Sansa left the Elder Brother's solar, she felt as though she was floating, her feet lifting ever so softly from the ground and her legs carrying her effortlessly down the corridor.

Mindlessly, she wandered into the central hall, feeling somehow beckoned towards the empty room, and seated herself at a table. A column of sunlight filtered through a thickly paned window, the glass set in a soft swirling pattern. Closing her eyes, Sansa let her body succumb to warmth of the sun, her skin eagerly absorbing the caressing rays.

Seated on a long wooden bench, Sansa leaned back to rest her back on the table, stretching her sore and tired limbs as she let the thoughts flee from her mind. The conversation in the Elder Brother's solar seemed but a dream; a waking vision which was brought forth by the singing hope that had been buried in her heart.

Out of desperation and exhaustion she had flown into an aggravated rage, releasing all the anger and pain she had scrambled to mask in King's Landing and the Eyrie. As a silence fell upon the table, Sansa felt as though her heart would beat out of her chest; she had been almost certain that Sandor could hear the frantic thudding and would call her bluff. She hadn't anticipated the response; Brienne's willingness to lend her sword to the cause, the Septon's offer to take her to Braavos, Sandor's quiet understanding.

As the thoughts reemerged on the precipice of her mind, Sansa let the rays of the sun melt them away. If she pondered the details of the conversation too much, she felt she might go back on her words, abandon the long journey that lay ahead of her.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence and shattered her musings. With a gasp, Sansa's eyes flew open as she spun around in her seat to find Ser Hyle standing over her, a mischievous smile playing about his thin lips.

"Lady Sansa. May I have a moment with you?"

Breathless, Sansa placed a hand on her heavily heaving chest. The man had startled her, but beyond that he inexplicably left her with an unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Courteous as he may be, something in his eyes told her that he could not, should not be trusted.

Abruptly she rose to her feet, stepping backwards in an attempt to put a buffer of space between them.

"Ser Hyle. I did not hear you come in. You gave me quite a fright." Her words were curt and cutting.

Undeterred by the biting tone in her voice, Ser Hyle stepped towards her, his hips shifting in a sauntering fashion that emulated his inherent arrogance.

"I didn't mean to startle you, my Lady. However, something of our conversation with the Elder Brother troubles me and I felt I must speak with you about it. If I may be so blunt, Sandor Clegane is a dangerous man. The atrocities he has committed are unspeakable, surely you must know. You cannot, in good conscious, appoint a man like him as your sworn shield. I wish you would reconsider my offer to take you with me to Maidenpool. I can protect you just as well as him, but you would never have to second guess my honor."

Appalled, Sansa crossed her arms tightly over her chest, somehow feeling exposed to the deplorable man that was inching ever closer to her. She felt the instinctive urge to flee course through her, but the door was behind her; she knew not how many paces away. Instead she planted her feet firmly on the ground, lifting her posture so she stood as tall as she could.

"Ser Hyle, you presume too much. And I have never second guessed Sandor's honor. One does not need to be anointed a knight to possess honor."

The man gave a vitriolic laugh, his voice caustic as it emerged from his throat. Relenting, he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders before narrowing his eyes.

"Forgive me, my Lady. I have not meant to give offense. I sense you do not trust me." Steadily and with small, slow steps, Ser Hyle began pacing towards Sansa, with a half smile cracked about his lips.

She felt her skin begin to crawl and realized with startling revelation that the man before her reminded her too much of Petyr Baelish with his crooked smile and seedy courtesies. She breathed in deep and quietly tried to calm herself. He mustn't know he has the power to make me so uneasy…

As Sansa backed away from him and steadily towards the door that was somewhere behind her, she cleared her throat and inclined her chin up, holding her head up high, feigning her courage.

"I've been betrayed too many times, Ser Hyle. Trust is not something I feel should be given away wantonly." She released a quiet breath of relief, pleased with her composure and the quickness of her retort.

Her relief was temporary and all but fled her body as Ser Hyle threw his head back and his voice erupted with dark laughter which bellowed off the walls of the central hall.

"Betrayal." He let the words meander off of his tongue, seemingly relishing the sound before continuing.

"Betrayal. Such a peculiar choice of words, my Lady. I suppose you don't know, do you?"

As he leaned forward slightly, Sansa's brow folded in confusion as she silently shook her head, mystified as to what Ser Hyle was referring. Her bafflement only succeeded in making Ser Hyle laugh harder, clutching his side and gasping for air before he composed himself enough to continue.

"Your father, the mighty Ned Stark, was a noble man, true enough, but he was a fool, my Lady, all the pardons in the Seven Kingdoms for me saying so. Oh that fateful day, so many moons ago, when he stormed into the throne room demanding that Cersei and her bastard children be taken into custody! Surely, you were not present when this occurred, but nonetheless you know that all the attendants to the House Stark lost their lives that sad day."

Sansa only managed a solemn nod, unwilling to ruminate over the painful memories with the likes of Ser Hyle. The man gave an insincere nod before continuing.

"Of course you do and I see it pains you to remember. However, you are missing a vital detail of that day, a detail I feel you should know before you entrust your life into the hands of the Hound. When your father made his demands, he was under the assumption that with his men and the goldcloaks combined he had the Lannisters outnumbered five to one. That was a grievous miscalculation on his part and he paid for it dearly with the lives of the men who had remained loyal to your house.

The Hound was present in the throne room that day and took it upon himself to personally slay a number of guardsmen sworn to your house. Happily and willingly, he took part in the downfall of the mighty House Stark. In fact, if given the chance, many feel he would have slaughtered Eddard Stark himself."

Sansa felt warm tears filling her eyes and falling softly over her cheeks. Ser Hyle averted his gaze behind her right shoulder and narrowed his eyes before acridly shouting out his words.

"Isn't that right, Hound? In fact, I believe you were one of the first of the Lannister guards to instigate the massacre, even after Ned Stark insisted that blood not to be shed."

Sansa had felt Sandor's heavy presence fill the room and knew he was standing behind her, but try as she might, she was unable to turn around and face him. Long ago, Sansa had stopped being afraid of the Hound. However, in this moment she felt her fear grip her, but not the fear she had felt in King's Landing.

True enough, she had surmised that the Hound was undoubtedly involved in the purging of House Stark in King's Landing at the orders of Cersei and Joffrey. In fact, Jeyne Poole had tearfully told Sansa that Sandor broke down her door with a war hammer. 'Killing is the sweetest thing there is…I've lost count of how many I've killed…they're all meat and I'm the butcher…' He's a killer, a self-styled butcher. What could I have expected?

Even so, Sansa found that she unwilling to believe he had acted on his own accord. The fear she felt was not the same fear she had had of the Hound. In its place was a fear of facing him, searching his stormy eyes and finding any bitter truth to Ser Hyle's words.

Instead, she kept her back to him, taking deep breaths to assuage her trembling and fend off the tears that sought to besiege her eyes. Ser Hyle slowly paced towards her, keeping a steady glare locked onto Sandor. As he came to stand next to her, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Please consider my offer, my Lady."

With that, Ser Hyle pushed past her and retreated from the central hall, merrily whistling and his boots beating against the stone ground. As his foot falls softened to a silence, Sansa tentatively turned around and came to face Sandor, her eyes finally succumbing to the tears which were now streaming down her face.

Guilt had come to color Sandor's face and his eyes were steadily locked to the ground, refusing to meet her fixed stare.

"Tell me that what he said isn't true."

Her voice came weak from her body, quivering uncontrollably with each word. As he continued to avoid her stare, Sansa understood immediately that despite his scheming and manipulations, Ser Hyle had spoken truly.

With a pained sigh, Sandor reached out to touch her, to pull her into his arms.

"Little Bird. I can-"

Sansa shrunk away from him, retreating backwards a few paces until her back was flush against the wall, her skin was hot with anger and eagerly absorbing the coolness of the stone wall behind her. Her heart was beating frantically and angry tears were falling from her eyes despite her internal pleading for them to stop.

"Don't call me that! I'm not little and I'm not some chirping bird anymore, just mindlessly repeating my courtesies. What Ser Hyle said is true, isn't it?"

Suddenly, Sandor's head snapped up, his eyes white and wide with rage and his mouth twitching as it did whenever anger was upon him.

"Aye, it's true. I killed your father's men. I may have even enjoyed it. What of it? Did you forget what I am, girl? I am a dog, a killer. Do you get that now?"

He bellowed out a snarling laugh and Sansa felt a dull ache pang through her body. Roughly, he grabbed her by her arms, forcefully pulling her towards him with his grip tight as iron.

"No, you still don't get it. You think because I came upon you in the Vale that now I'm some gallant knight from your dreams, come to rescue you from the bitter truths of the world."

Sansa struggled feebly against his grip, her cries coming from her chest in desperate whimpers and her voice a soft whisper.

"Let go! You're hurting me."

Instantly, Sandor's grip weakened before his arms fell defeated to his side, his voice heavy with a strange sadness and a wounded expression flooding his eyes like Sansa had never seen before.

"I'm always hurting you. Everything I've done has hurt you. Everything I have yet to do will probably hurt you, it seems."

Solemnly and without another word, he backed away from her and retreated from the room. Sansa's knees buckled and her legs crumpled from beneath her. She let herself slump to the floor, her dress pooling about her aching legs. The tears had dried from her eyes and she was left in an unnatural silence.

She knew not how long she stayed there, but as the sun began retreating towards the western horizon, its light danced through the stained glass window on the far side of the central hall. Entranced, she studied the light as it came streaming through the window, painting the floor in hues of blue, gold, and crimson. The colors eerily reminded her of the stained glass in the throne room at King's Landing, its light nearly identical and leaving her with a dreadful feeling of unease. He was there when my father was arrested. He killed our guardsmen and he enjoyed it.

A soft shuffling of the Elder Brother roused Sansa from her daydream and she lifted her gaze to meet his. His hands were folded gently in front of him and something about the way he looked at her told Sansa that he understood the ache that had descended upon her. With a gentle, unspoken reassurance, he took her hands in his and pulled her softly to her feet.

"My Lady, a bath has been prepared for you. If you are hungry, I can have Brother Narbert bring you your supper."

Sansa nodded and let her eyes fall to the floor, aware of the man's ability to see straight through to the very core of her being. She pondered what he might see when he looked upon her. And then the thought came to her, a sudden realization that made her breath catch in her chest.

Reluctantly, Sansa let her eyes meet the Elder Brother's. "May I ask you something, my Lord?"

The man smiled sweetly and nodded his head intently and Sansa caught a glimmer in his eyes which told her that he somehow knew what she meant to ask.

"What do you see when you look upon Sandor Clegane?"

A soft chuckle rumbled through the Elder's Brother chest as he nodded his head, seemingly anticipating her question.

"I thought you might ask. The better question is what I do not see when I look upon Sandor Clegane. The answer to that, my Lady, is the Hound. No longer do I see a man driven by hatred and fury. No longer do I see a man who is tormented by the ghosts of his past. No, it is not his past which taunts him, but I fear that now it is his future that vexes him so."

Sansa let her eyes fall to the floor and shook her head. The Hound died on the Trident. Sandor Clegane is a different man. Yet something of the Hound has remained with him.

Wordlessly, the Elder Brother looped his arm with hers and patted her forearm with his hand before leading her from the central hall and down the corridor to the empty bath hall adjacent to her bed chamber. Before taking his leave, the Elder Brother once more took her hands in his.

"If there is anything else you might need, please do not hesitate to ask, my Lady."

Sansa kissed him gently on the cheek. "Thank you. You have been so very kind. If it would not be too much trouble I wish to speak to the Lady Brienne. Could you send for her after I have my bath?"

The Elder Brother nodded his head, his large hands gently squeezing hers once more before softly whispering. "Of course, my Lady."

Sansa's body eagerly absorbed the warmth of the bath water which all but eased out the aches of her joints and saddle sores, dissolving away the worries she had held tensely in her form. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander to everywhere and nowhere; the thoughts leaving her mind as quickly as they had entered, whisked away like leaves carried on an autumn wind.

As the water grew tepid, Sansa pushed herself from the liquid embrace and toweled off the droplets of water that clung to her skin. She eyed her dirty clothes with a sigh before stepping into a grey roughspun robe Brother Narbert had set out for her. Apologetically, he had explained that they did not keep women's clothing on the Isle before offering her the smallest robe he had found. Fortunately, he offered to wash the soiled traveling clothes she had been wearing since leaving the Eyrie.

The sleeves of the robe hung loosely from her arms and an excess of fabric gathered at her feet and dragged across the floor as she walked. Sansa giggled quietly to herself, certain that she must be quite a sight, but thankful that she was able to bathe. She imagined herself emerging a new woman from the water, washing away her troubles and leaving them behind in the murky water.

In her bedchamber, a single tapered candle was putting off a sphere of soft light, creating shifting shadows throughout the room. As her eyes studied the modest room, she spotted an ebony comb that had been placed on the table beside her bed. She smiled sweetly to herself before pacing across the room to retrieve it. Slowly she began pulling it through the curling tresses of her auburn hair, working delicately through each tangle.

The methodical movements lulled her into a daze which was interrupted by a gentle knock at her door followed by the hesitant voice of Brienne.

"Lady Sansa, the Elder Brother says you wish to speak with me."

Sansa caught the subtle inflection of her voice, as if questioningly announcing herself. She placed the comb back on the table before settling herself into the only chair in the room.

"Please come in."

As Brienne pushed into the room, she stooped slightly to avoid hitting the frame of the door. Sansa motioned towards the bed and nodded her head politely.

"Please sit."

Slowly and with as much delicacy as a woman like her could manage, Brienne lowered herself onto the straw mattress, the bed sinking underneath her weight. Truly, she was the largest woman Sansa had ever seen. Despite this, there was a gentleness to her that intimated to Sansa that while Brienne may dress like a knight outwardly, she possessed the softness of a maiden inwardly. Sansa watched as Brienne shifted uncomfortably, the bed frame groaning under her weight as she earnestly awaited Sansa's words.

"I wanted to thank you, for your service to my lady mother and for wanting to continue the search for Arya. I feel blessed to have your sword behind my cause."

Brienne nodded her head dutifully and rested her forearm on her leg, leaning forward slightly.

"Your mother was an honorable woman. I admired her courage, her strength. I am committed to your service, my Lady, as I was committed to hers."

The pureness of her honesty and the sweet sincerity of Brienne's words warmed Sansa, beckoning a gentle smile to spread about her lips. She respected Brienne and found that despite only knowing her for hardly a day, she had come to trust her. However, she refused to let go of one detail, one that hung heavily in her mind.

"Admittedly, your involvement with Jamie Lannister troubles me. I suppose…"

Sansa's voice caught in her throat as she scooted towards the edge of her seat and awkwardly searched for her next words. With a deep breath and a steady resolve, she began again.

"I suppose I do not understand why a man like Jamie Lannister, the famed oath breaker and kingslayer, would feel compelled to follow through on an oath he pledged to his enemy's mother. It does not make sense to me."

Sansa watched as Brienne gently lifted her body so that she was sitting upright, her form tensing stiffly as her eyes fluttered about the room, flustered by Sansa's prodding inquiries. With a sudden realization beaming through her mind, Sansa let out a breathy laugh, embarrassed at her own oversight of the situation. Nervously, she began to ramble, her words tumbled out of her mouth uncontrolled and unfiltered.

"Although, I suppose to you it makes no sense that I trust a man like Sandor Clegane for my protection. I cannot hope to explain why it is. He has changed somehow, but yet he hasn't. He is still harsh, rough tongued. His temper as wild as ever…"

Sansa's voice trailed off as she struggled to find the words, to articulate what she had glimpsed in him since the night they had been reunited in the midst of a violent storm.

"He is different. I can't quite explain how or why, but he is. And I…I just…I don't know."

She let her eyes fall to the floor and pulled her robe tighter to her body, somehow feeling as if she had just exposed a part of herself she had not meant to, a secret that even she had not been aware of until this moment.

Brienne gave Sansa a knowing and sympathetic smile, either amused or uncomfortable by her incessant and unbidden purging, but tenderly offering her response nonetheless.

"My Lady, I believe you have found the answer to your own inquiry. For better or for worse, the hearts of men can change. It seems you know that as well as I do. Sandor Clegane cares for you. Loathe as I am to admit it, I do not believe for a moment he would let any harm befall you."

As a steady silence hung thick in the air, Sansa felt the intensity of Brienne's stare pierce through her.

"You care for him too, Lady Sansa."

It was not a question, but a declaration, a subtle encouragement for Sansa to acknowledge what Brienne, the Elder Brother, and all the others apparently were so plainly seeing. Flustered, Sansa huffed and crossed her arms tighter about her chest.

"Yes. Of course I care for him. I do not wish any harm to befall him either. I feel that's quite natural. I feel the same for you and we have only just met."

Brienne smiled softly, her sapphire eyes alight at Sansa's words.

"You have the kind heart of your mother, Lady Sansa."

Settling in her seat and unfolding her arms, Sansa contemplated Brienne, a woman who was a walking and breathing contradiction of herself. With all the veracity of any warrior, Brienne could undoubtedly ride into battle and fight as gallantly and bravely as any knight. However here in her modest bedchamber, what Sansa saw before her was a maiden, gentle and soft hearted, still a bit unsure of herself and seeking the reassuring approval of others. With a boldness that startled her, Sansa let the question that had been dancing in the back of her mind come pirouetting out of her lips.

"You seem fond of Jamie Lannister. Did you love him?"

As Brienne stifled a tiny gasp, Sansa felt herself blushing what had to be a deep shade of red. Her cheeks burned hot as her hand flew up to meet her mouth in a delayed attempt to cut the words off as they bubbled from her lips. Good Gods! She must think me a wanton. Lowering her eyes in shame, Sansa uttered an embarrassed apology, suddenly remembering the courtesies that had abandoned her moments earlier.

"Forgive me, Lady Brienne. I had no right to ask such a question."

To Sansa's astonishment, Brienne chuckled softly, her laughter akin to a giggle that seemed an unnatural juxtaposition to the armor she wore and the sword dangling from her hip.

"No, my Lady. I do not love Jamie Lannister."

Another question burned on Sansa's lips, a question born from her innate curiosity at matters of the heart, a question her courtesies were sorely insufficient to stave off. Learning forward in her seat, Sansa cocked her head to the side and smiled in anticipation at Brienne.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Slowly, Brienne met Sansa's eyes with shy consideration as if searching out any ill-natured motives in the question. Her voice was soft and gentle, her tone reserved and hesitant.

"Yes, my Lady. I have been in love."

Sansa felt a beaming smile spreading about her face and excitement bubbling up within her. She shifted her weight in the chair, laughing merrily for the first time in as long as she could remember and pleasantly swept up in the conversation and thankful for Brienne's company. She had been yearning for a conversation with another woman. In the Eyrie, Sweetrobin's company had been exhausting and had compelled her to cater to his whims and needs.

"Lady Brienne, if I may be so bold, you wear the armor of a knight, but your heart is as sweet and gentle as mine. Now, go on. What was his name? What was he like?"

A sudden, pained expression flooded Brienne's face, her sparkling blue eyes moist with the onslaught of unbidden tears, her voice a soft whisper.

"Renly. His name was Renly."

Sansa was simultaneously stunned and embarrassed, her astonishment choking off any apologies she scrambled to offer. Renly died in her arms. The man she loved taken from her and here I am gushing about love like a dim-witted girl.

Sansa crawled from her chair and kneeled in front of Brienne, taking the Maid of Tarth's large hands into her own, offering what comfort she could.

"Renly Baratheon. I am so sorry. If I had known, I wouldn't have asked."

As a single tear glistened down Brienne's cheek, the woman lifted her eyes to meet Sansa's while squeezing her hands gently.

"He never knew. I never had the chance to tell him, to show him. I'm left to live with my regrets."

Brienne eyes swept over Sansa's face as a subtle serenity settled in her voice, in her gaze.

"The Elder Brother believes that your and Sandor's fates are interwoven with one another's. Regardless of what may come, you two will always find a way back to one another."

Suddenly, Sansa felt her heart beating fast within her chest as her lips coiled into an o-shape which mimicked the only utterance of a response Sansa could think of.

"Oh."

Breathing in deeply, Brienne slowly disentwined her hands from Sansa's and rose to her feet. As the woman paced to the door, Sansa turned over her shoulder, her brow folded in confusion.

"I…I don't understand what you mean."

Brienne stopped in mid-pace in front of the door, lifting her head yet not turning around but instead kept her back to Sansa.

"You talk of love, my Lady. I believe you understand better than any of us."

Brienne pulled open the door and swept from the room, leaving Sansa in silence on the floor, dumbfounded and desperately searching her heart for the meaning of Brienne's words.

---

Sandor pushed through the outer doors into the gauzy haze of dusk as the sun fell behind the horizon, leaving a veil of twilight in its absence. His legs felt weak, seemingly unable to carry his burdensome weight any further as they buckled underneath him. As he fell heavily to his knees, the soft, rain-saturated ground generously absorbed his fall and the dampness soaked through the knees of his breeches.

Sandor pulled his legs out from underneath him and settled to the ground, resting back on his elbows, watching quietly as the sun set with a gold and crimson splendor. A gentle breeze moved through the trees as Sandor inclined his gaze to the hill in front of him and the oak tree that stood at its top.

His mind wandered back to the day he sat under that tree, lost in his contemplative thoughts of her; where she was, who she was with, if she was safe. Like a phantasm of his past, Sandor envisioned himself there, under the oak tree and wondered if he had been wise in his decision to leave the Isle. If he hadn't left the Isle, he would have never found Sansa. Likely, she would be with Yohn Royce or some other lord of the Vale, discussing plans for how to take Winterfell.

'By destroying your fate, you destroy hers too…' Sandor snickered bitterly at the thought. It seemed to him that the outcome of Sansa's fate would be the same, regardless of whether or not he was a part of it. If he had never left the Isle, he would have never come to face the feelings that tormented and taunted him in this moment; he would have never had to struggle with the agonizing realization that he could never be what Sansa Stark wants, what she needs.

'What is it that you want?' The question was simple and in King's Landing the answer would have matched the simplicity of the question. I wanted her, like a tourney knight wants his prize. I wanted to possess her, to control her. I wanted her to be mine, and mine alone, completely dependent on me. I wanted to keep her and keep her helpless.

The real question was not that he wanted her, but rather why he wanted her. It was the apparition that had haunted Sandor since the day he had found himself enamored by Sansa Stark.

Unwittingly and inexplicably, she had captivated him. Her meek passiveness and shy demureness had played into his dark fantasies, but his desires were selfish and driven by lust; lust of her body and lust for control over her. She had conjured up something within him that had been locked away, feelings he had hardly known he had the capacity to feel. He wanted her to be as defenseless against him as he was against those resurrected feelings.

True enough, he loathed the way Joffrey had treated her and had been in a rage over the way Ser Meryn and Ser Boros seemingly took pleasure in beating her. While he had never raised a hand against Sansa, he had tormented her all the same, savoring the way he could evoke fear from her, the way he could make her tremble with just a look. Still, she would offer her sweet smiles and soft courtesies which both enraged and enthralled him. He was conflicted by the simultaneous need to protect her and to control her.

She had asked him once if it gave him joy to scare people. Truth be told, he had cared little and less what he elicited from other people, whether it was fear, hatred, or sorrow, except when it came to her. With almost an obsessive need, he had wanted her to see him; whether she looked upon him in fear or adoration, he cared not, as long as he could elicit something, anything from her.

As tears would fill her eyes at his brusque words and seething fury, he found himself completely enraptured as a flush of satisfaction would course through him. He had hated himself for it and, in shame and self-loathing, would avoid or ignore her when he could. But like a moth to the flame, he found he couldn't resist going back for more and so endlessly the cycle continued.

'What is it that you want?' The question no longer seemed so simple and he was at a loss for an answer. He wanted her still yet found the selfishness of his desires had been trumped by a greater need; a need to know that she would be safe, taken care of, and most of all, that she would be happy.

What I want…What I want is to be the man that she needs, the man that she deserves. I want to be the one that makes her laugh, brings her joy. What I want…is for her to be happy even if it's not with me.

I will see her safely to Braavos, stay with her until the Brienne can catch herself a Blackfish. Once it's safe for Sansa to go back, I'll see her off and stay behind in Braavos, become a sellsword just like I told her. She wouldn't have to know any better. Then she can go live her life just like she has always imagined; marry some beautiful and gallant knight right out of the songs, have her children, become the great Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell and forget about the Hound of her past.

The prospect left Sandor reeling as a suffocating ache gripped him, siphoning the breath from his lungs. When he left the Isle, he would have never guessed that he would find Sansa. Once he found Sansa, he would have never guessed he would have to let her go. If he had never left the Isle, Sandor knew he would have never come to this painful junction in his fate.

If he had never left the Isle, he could have lived his days out in solitude and monotony. Sansa would have just been a dream; their life together, the life that would never be, could play out in his slumber and he could have her. He would have to awake without her, but he could live his days with the promise of her in his nightly visions. If he saw himself through the days, maybe he would be rewarded with her by night; she could meet him in his dreams. That would have been enough. It would have been enough.

As regret at ever leaving the Isle filled his mind, Sandor found that he could not pity himself. Instead, he let his thoughts wander to the memories of waking with her wrapped tightly in his arms, her soft breaths coming sweetly from her lips and the scent of her filling his lungs; the way she smiled gently at him, her eyes looking upon him with trust and kindness, not fear and disgust. Sandor knew his life would have been simpler had he not left the Isle, but the simplicity never would have amounted to the sliver of happiness he had found with her wrapped in his arms. It was worth it. To have her in that moment, fleeting as it was, was worth it.

Unbidden and almost automatically, Sandor's eyes wandered up to night's sky above him. The breeze sighed through the trees and the stars speckled the inky twilight. For many moments, he stared at the celestial expanse above him, watching clouds shift about one another before pulling apart, traveling away from one another.

His faith in the Gods had been extinguished long ago, but yet he knew something had brought him and Sansa together, although he did not know what. Sitting up, he let his face fall into his hands as he massaged his temples, driving away the throbbing that had emerged in his head. Once more he lifted his eyes to heavens above and pleaded with whatever was housed there. Is this my punishment? My fate for all the hateful things I have done? You bring her back to me and yet she can never be mine.

His silent thoughts and unspoken prayers were tousled by the sound of soft padding approaching from behind him. In a roughspun robe about two times too big, Sansa came to stand next to him, placidly looking down upon him with timid eyes, her gaze passively seeking to stir him.

He knew she was looking at him as if awaiting his permission to sit next to him. Refusing to meet her gaze, Sandor growled out his words lest he pull her into his arms and lose himself once again in her embrace.

"What are you doing out here?"

From the periphery of his vision, Sandor could see her body tense up, flustered at his sharpness. As she took a step backwards, he thought she meant to retreat away from him, to leave him in the darkness with so many unspoken words hanging precariously in the gulf of silence between them. Seeming to regain her courage, she slowly lowered herself and sat next to him, leaning gently into him, seeking either warmth or comfort. Dreamily, she stared off into the horizon in a wistful daze.

"I couldn't sleep."

For many moments, he said nothing and allowed his body to tense, hard and unwavering as stone; he knew not what to say to her, what she needed to hear from him. He was afraid even if he had found the words to say, they would come out lashing. She turned to face him, pulling his right hand into hers. Wordlessly, he relented to her gently tugging on his hand and felt as she entwined her fingers into his.

As he stared off mindlessly and stoically at the thick curtain of darkness in front of him, Sansa slowly brought her other hand up to meet burned side of his face. He half expected her to pull her hand away in disgust, but instead she let her fingertips settle gently amongst the folds of his scars.

For as long as he could, Sandor avoided her stare because he knew what he would find there; he could feel the intensity of her gaze and understood the meaning of her touch. Unable to deny her what she seemingly needed in this moment, Sandor turned to face her and found what he knew he would find in her eyes; the same unwavering trust and gentleness she had come to regard him with. That look will unravel me.

In a stifled whisper she spoke, holding his stare, her eyes moist with tears and her lips trembling slightly. "I'm sorry…"

Sandor could scarcely believe his ears. I admitted I took pleasure in killing her father's guardsmen and yet she apologizes to me.

Desperately, he wanted to kiss her, to quell the quivering of her lips by pressing his mouth to hers. He wanted to kiss away the tears that were softly falling over her cheeks. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her there until eternity turned them to dust. Instead, he pulled her hand, still entwined in his, to meet his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her delicate fingers.

"You have nothing to be sorry about. It is I who should be sorry. And I am. I truly am."

Never one to apologize for even the most egregious of deeds, the words felt foreign on his lips yet he felt the meaning heavy within him nonetheless. Sandor let his eyes settle on her, eagerly drinking in her gaze and watching as the corners of her lips curled into a soft smile. Slowly, he stood to his feet and pulled her up with him.

"Come, girl. The night grows cold. I will take you back to your chamber."

Looping her arm in his, they retreated back into the warmth of building. As they walked the corridor back to her sleeping quarters, her pace slowed as she delicately placed one foot in front of the other in a deliberate manner. Continually, their pace slowed to an agonizing meandering. Turning his head to face her, Sandor saw her gaze steadily fixed to the floor, her brow furrowed in contemplation yet her breathing came in quick, anxious breaths and her body was trembling ever so slightly.

After prolonging the journey for what felt like an eternity, they came to stand in front of her chamber door. Pulling her arm free from his, Sansa turned gently towards him and lifted her head to gaze upon his face, her eyes searching his and a thick silence blanketing in the air.

Fleeting as the light was, Sandor could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the questions that ran heavy through her mind, the need for explanations, for reassurance, a balm for her worried thoughts. An unspoken understanding had wedged itself between them, a chasm which was seemingly driving them apart. He desperately wanted to reach out and close the void between them; to pull her closer to him, to make her understand how much he wanted her and needed her.

However, Sandor also knew he had caused the rift between them, that he was the one pushing her away. Almost instinctively, he had once again adorned himself with the invisible armor of brooding silence and innate hatred, wrapping his heart in its protection despite the internal struggle to fight against it.

Sandor feared that she knew; that when she looked in his eyes she understood the conflict, the regret, the ache, and ultimately she understood what he meant to do, what he must do for her sake. When she looked upon him, he felt as though she was seeing through him, exposing him for what he was or at least what he felt like in that moment. A coward, she must think me a coward. Craven against my own heart.

As a painful awareness began to flood her eyes, Sandor knew with a certainty that she was indeed seeing through him and, in doing so, seeing his intentions. Now the fear that gripped him was the thought that she would never know that everything he meant to do, he was doing for her; to protect her and to give her a chance at the happiness she deserved.

He felt ablaze under her incriminating stare, a look which burned more painfully than the scars on his face. Frenzied, Sandor turned to leave, but felt as she grabbed him by the arm, her fingers gripping him tightly and her words a pleading quiver out of her chest.

"Wait! Stay with me."

The words cut through him and rung hollow in the void he felt growing in his chest. He pondered the irony and wondered if she had spoken the words in an intentional jab at what she saw behind his eyes. Sandor shook his head before gently pulling his arm away from her.

"I can't do that, girl."

As he took a step away, she took a step towards him, a subtle panic setting in her eyes and her words coming breathy and pleading from her lips which were once again trembling.

"At least until I fall asleep. Please."

Once again, her words, simple and pleading, left him dumbfounded. As he turned towards her, she met his eyes, biting her lip to subdue its quivering and standing as tall as she could despite the trembling that had consumed her body. Sandor was in awe of what he saw and felt himself becoming more enamored by Sansa than he ever had been.

In King's Landing, Sansa Stark wore her own kind of armor; honeyed courtesies and child-like naïveté. Only after leaving King's Landing did Sandor come to understand how it had been out of necessity that she donned her invisible armor. Standing before him was still the woman she had become; her strength, determination, and gentle courage radiating from her. Yet in this moment she demonstrated a kind of strength Sandor never thought imaginable. While he was armoring his heart against the constant onslaught of emotions she evoked within him, she had seemingly shed her armor, yielding to her vulnerability and holding her heart before him.

In a daze brought on by bewilderment, Sandor nodded his head gently.

"Alright. Until you fall asleep."

Clearly relieved, Sansa let out deep sigh and nodded her head in return before pushing through the door of her chamber. The flame of the candle by her bedside had dwindled down to nothingness, spilling forth its wax and leaving the room cast in moonlight shadows.

As Sansa slipped beneath the covers, Sandor pulled the chair in the corner of the room next to her bed and settled in the seat. Succumbing to his exhaustion, Sandor rested his head gently on the back of the chair and closed his eyes, letting himself drift in and out of sleep. As he meandered back to consciousness, he could feel Sansa's eyes on him, burning through his skin and stirring him awake.

"Go to sleep, Sansa."

His words were edged with fatigue as they came out of his chest in a low rasp. With eyes still closed, he could hear the soft rustling of her bed covers and the movement of the straw in the mattress as her body shifted slightly.

"Little Bird."

While her voice was meek and unsure, Sandor heard her nonetheless as his eyes snapped open and he stared at the ceiling in confusion before tilting his head forward, staring at her with a furrowed brow.

"What?"

With wide eyes and a soft, curling smile to her lips, she stared back at him innocently yet her voice was reluctantly commanding as if he might refuse her of something she desperately needed.

"Little Bird. I want you to call me Little Bird."

Amused, he chuckled softly as she propped herself up on one elbow, meeting his stare with anticipation. Sandor settled back in his chair, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs.

"You're more a wolf these days than a Little Bird."

A dreamy smile swept over her face as she gazed up at him, her eyes glazed with something between subtle disappointment and playful defiance. Slowly, she let her eyes fall away from his and bit her lip as she had come to do whenever she grew nervous and unsure of herself.

"I suppose that's true, but can't I still be a Little Bird, if even just to you?"

Her words pierced his heart like hot steel, leaving him breathless and making his blood run cold. Perhaps it was the dreamy hopefulness of her voice or the adoration he thought he spied in her eyes that equipped her words with the ability to tear through him, making him feel as though his heart might stop beating. He knew she would never know, could never know how a question so simple and sweet could bring a man like him to his knees and make him feel as if his world was spinning out of control.

With a deep breath followed by an even deeper sigh, Sandor rose to his feet. Through eyes heavily hooded with sleep, she looked up at him, her face a mask of serenity. He leaned over slowly and kissed her gently on the forehead, letting his lips linger long enough to memorize the feel of her skin against his, before whispering softly.

"Aye, Little Bird. I suppose you can."

One foot in front of the other, he left her side, an infinitesimal glimpse of what he would eventually have to do. And as he closed the door softly behind him, he let his legs buckle underneath him, slumping to the ground with his back pressed against her door. In that quiet moment, Sandor understood, in a way he couldn't have possibly known before, just what he would be giving up.

---

A/N:

Oh Sandor :( So brooding and conflicted still. I hate to end the chapter like that, but you know, relationships are hard sometimes. You take the sweet with the sour. At least they've got some people pulling for them…

A couple other things:

1.) I just have to say, I like Ser Hyle not. My portrayal of him is a direct projection of me thinking he's a tricky little jerk who likes to throw wrenches into things just to see what happens! Apologies to those who took a shining to Ser Hyle.

2.) I received a somewhat disconcerting private message after I had posted chapter six. At best, it was passive aggressive whining about how my fanfic suffers from the lack of sex. In essence, this person rather bluntly suggested that if I wanted more followers/reviews/favorites I would need to cater to the wants of the SanSan community at large. In other words, Sansa and Sandor need to start going at each other ASAP or my readers will quickly lose interest.

While I am certainly open to suggestions and constructive criticism, this person was neither constructive nor was their private message criticism, but rather it was just bashing. I also found it rather insulting to suggest that all people who enjoy SanSan are just perverts who want nothing more than to see Sansa and Sandor get it on.

I understand that my fanfic is drop in the proverbial bucket; there are tons of SanSan fanfics. I also understand that different people are drawn to the Sansa-Sandor relationship for different reasons. Whatever you find appealing in their relationship, there is a fanfic for you! There are plenty of well-written fics which unabashedly indulge in the carnal dynamic between Sansa and Sandor.

This is not one of those fics. Undoubtedly and eventually, I will add the physical/sexual layer to the relationship between Sansa and Sandor in my fanfic. However, what initially peaked my interest in the pair were the complexities of their dynamic; they foil one another in a strangely beautiful way and yet there is a touch of tragedy to their relationship. I want to explore all of those layers in a way that GRRM did not or has yet to do.

Ladies and gentlemen, this will be a slow burner, but in my opinion, that makes it so much better when they finally do come together in a physical way. And if your panties are all in bunch because Sandor hasn't had his Little Bird yet, well I don't know what to tell you.

I do want to thank the readers who lovingly leave such wonderful reviews. It tells me that there are people that truly get it and are enjoying the time I am taking to develop this story. THANK YOU!