Sandor
"I was an idiot in the past, you must know that by now," he muttered to Sansa, and the words held true. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Maybe she didn't hear him.
She wore yellow again, just like that night in the bloody gardens, a tiny top, strapless, and a pair of fluttery summer trousers. A thin vest lay discarded over her chair. It was the warmest September day since Sandor arrived to Italy.
They were sitting on the same terrace of the bar at the Piazza San Marco where they had first met. Predictably, she was uploading many pictures on her Facebook account and fretting about how best to post them, her purple laptop tethered to his phone. Some of them included him. She seemed just as innocent as before, when she had not yet seen a man die other than on the screen.
"My mother just liked one of the photos with you!" she announced, sounding most accomplished.
Had she been any other woman, he'd probably never let her take any pictures of him. But she was Sansa, pretty and kind. And clever. In the short time of their acquaintance he started to suspect he would always do as she wished. Even if she would tell him to get the hell out of her life and leave her be. The Hound enjoyed watching birds in nature, not keeping them in cages or teaching them to talk.
Sandor Clegane put down the newspaper he had been reading with a satisfied smile. He still preferred a hard copy to a news flash on his phone. On another day this would remind him how he was ten years older than Sansa, all immersed in her gadgets and networking. This morning, instead of the usual steady course of affairs sinking from bad to worse, matters were just getting better and better everywhere he looked.
Sansa beamed at him, at her photos, at his smile.
Let's spend a weekend in Venice, she had said when they had released him from the damn hospital. Little doctor had some serious nerve to threaten him the way she did, he had to admit that. And Sandor ended up so stupidly happy to go along with Sansa's idea, like a boy of six who was given a new wooden toy.
The espresso he was served was still too short for his liking, yet it smelled so much more delicious now than a week ago. Sansa... Sansa was his woman. And Stannis' precious nephew wasn't around to be a pain in the ass any longer, babysitting his uncle's wife, Selyse, and their daughter.
"About what you just said, no, baby, you were never an idiot." She did hear him. The Hound looked away from the sunlight in her hair, waiting for more.
"Stubborn and scared, yes," Sansa diagnosed him and hit his core, as usual, all the time sipping her bloody capuccino like a bloody lady. "You probably haven't told me everything yet about what happened... with Miss Martell all those years ago. Like how you came into possession of that videotape. I don't suppose you stole it and kept it hidden all these years." She remained very serious then, not allowing herself to smile.
Sandor emptied his coffee cup in one go and stared at her. His wife was reticent and tense, awaiting his reaction on the topic of Elia. He couldn't blame her. Why do you smile so much at me anyway? The way he reacted in all the mess his life had become after murdering Gregor was never particularly sane or normal.
Although it was a good thing to kill Gregor. There had never been a doubt in his mind: he had enjoyed it. At the age of twelve. What does that make you? Might be I should see the shrink Varys found for Elia, before I scare Sansa off by being who I am.
He wished to kiss that hidden smile off her face, drag her to some dark corner of the pretty, bloody city floating on water, far away from all the busy streets, sights and shops, and then stop all conversation. To see if she would deliver on her promise and bite him. Wondering what part of him she would choose was not the wisest idea unless he fancied a swim to cool down. The smell of the sea did not appeal to the Hound's senses so he had best stay dry.
And occasionally kiss Sansa in broad daylight. That was what couples did in Venice, wasn't it?
Also because, most unfortunately, his bad leg still hurt like hell, he walked with a crutch, and there were no shady corners in Venice this morning. The sun was so hot and so bright that nothing could escape its gaze.
A first day of a new life, he mused.
It seemed too good to be true that she wanted to be with him, but he was not one to question his good fortune for as long as it lasted, be it a day or a lifetime. He hoped for the latter.
Then, just like that, it became easy to talk to her about things he had never disclosed to anyone in his life, and that without getting angry or drunk first. He felt just so... Normal. Maybe he didn't need a shrink.
"So after I killed my brother to save Elia, Prince Oberyn's sister, I went home," he said, gazing at Sansa. Sunshine rained glitters on her hair just like that first day when he admired it and hated himself for wishing to be as handsome as Joffrey. "I went back to the house I shared with Gregor, the house where we all grew up. I didn't know where else to go. I remember looking at the album of my family pictures, wondering where it all went wrong."
We were a normal family, once.
Maybe I can have a normal family again. He looked at Sansa with no expectation, only hope.
"The police came for me pretty soon," he went on calmly, as if he were reading a newspaper article about someone else. "There were my fingerprints all over the murder weapon. And the forensics soon found both Gregor's hair and mine on the victim. On the next day, Tywin Lannister sent a lawyer to represent me. When we were left alone, the lawyer played me a tape of which you found a digital version in my phone. He told me that the security camera did not record everything and that what it did record could be seen as a proof against me being the rapist because Gregor and me looked so much alike. He told me they would not give the videotape to the judge, saying it was totally ruined, if I accepted the job Gregor had with Tywin Lannister when I turned 16 years old."
Somehow, as he spoke to her, the old, humiliating memory did not hurt.
"You see, Sansa," he rasped on, "Tywin was of the opinion that I was the ideal candidate to continue where Gregor stopped. The men who did for Gregor was just what Tywin needed. The lawyer told me they would get me out with minimal sentence and no real prison time."
"The problem was, he didn't even ask me what I did that day and if I hurt Elia or not." Sandor's gaze drifted towards the waterfront. "It was as if he expected that I raped her too, you know, with the pretty face I had, and neither him nor Tywin minded it very much."
"The thing is," Sandor looked Sansa in the eye, "before Elia, I dreamed about a proper position with the Lannisters. Their business in our city was as respectable as any and they paid well. But not as a juvenile offender who could never get any other job. I didn't want to depend on buggering Tywin Lannister, the man who employed my brother for his many talents. What would happen when Tywin changed his mind and kicked me out if I wasn't just like Gregor?" Sandor shivered involuntarily. "The lawyer left me a tape and went home for the evening, to his wife and children, I suppose."
Sansa's eyes were pale and showed comprehension, rather than pity. Good, he thought, I don't want your pity. He hoped she wasn't going to cry.
"So as soon as Tywin's employee was gone," he continued, "I told the police I didn't want this fancy lawyer. I wanted one appointed by the court. I went to the court and stayed silent."
Sansa took another sip of her coffee, all intent on him. He gathered his breath to finish the story. It was time to bury all that behind him if he was to have a future. "I was convicted for assault and murder, but not for rape. There was no conclusive evidence as to who started that, and, well, no-one quite finished it because I shot Gregor dead while he was at it."
"I never saw Tywin's lawyer again." Sandor gulped for air. Admitting one's own stupidity was much more difficult than it looked. "I thought that the Lannisters chose not to hand in the evidence because I didn't mention Tywin's offer in court. I never understood they did it because this tape was a forgery, an empty threat-"
"Not entirely empty," Sansa interrupted. "Back then the technology was less advanced. It could have been used against you."
"And now?" Sandor asked.
Sansa shrugged. "You can easily press charges against Mr Lannister if that is your wish."
"No," Sandor said, "I told Oberyn it was Tywin who set Gregor on Elia." With a malicious grin, he pushed the newspaper in Sansa's hands, open on the page he had been reading.
The Dornish figured out all their bird shit as he would have done in Oberyn's place, patching all those emails about the exposition as it should have been placed and paying some expert for decryption. They now knew more about the top secret non-existing anti-missile shield project in Europe than anyone else alive, including General Selmy. It was an excellent bargaining chip.
Sansa read in silence. The news section informed anyone who cared to know how Dornistan was going to conclude a groundbreaking treaty on cooperation in military matters with the west, ensuring all necessary conditions for the development of a revolutionary although yet undisclosed project of joint defence in the future.
"Oh," Sansa lifted her baby blue eyes to look at him again. "This will attract investors to their country, on top of their income from oil..."
"I should expect them to use part of all that money for an aggressive takeover of Lannister industries very soon," Sandor commented. "Nothing will bother Tywin Lannister more than a loss of influence." He was feeling like Varys must have felt most of his life, devious and clever, for a brief moment.
Sandor Clegane could understand plotting, but he didn't particularly enjoy it.
"Besides I... I have better things to do now than to pay lawyers," he said, very serious.
Sansa studied him with fascination, as if he were a bloody painting. She talked about her love of art all the way from Vicenza while he dozed happily from the pretty sound of her voice.
Now she made another photograph of him, leaned over the table and kissed him. "Do what, baby?"
Keep you tied in my bed. It was in contradiction with his other thoughts about allowing her freedom, and yet it wasn't. Maybe he did need a shrink.
"Huh," he said like a tame dog, "do things with you, I guess."
"May I ask just one more thing?" she said, crossing her legs primly and folding her hands in her lap. "Why keep the tape? Why not destroy it, for instance?"
"Dunnow," he said. "Today I would say that that no matter how much I always expected the worst, I must have secretly hoped for the best."
"It's what most men do," Sansa agreed surreptitiously, and imperceptibly lowered her eyes to her knees.
What now? he thought. You know everything.
"I received an email earlier this morning," she said very carefully. "It's from Mr Varys."
"What does he want from you?" Sandor's anger flared briefly. "Never tell anyone that Faceless Men password, did you hear me? Don't even tell me what it is or how you know it. Some people would kill for that knowledge."
"I would have never given them your name," Sansa said fervently. "So you best be glad I found out another way to log in and speak to them."
"I am," he grinned, "more than glad."
"Varys is offering me a short-term contract," Sansa said, closing the newspaper. The Hound saw genuine interest sparkling in her eyes. "It would be a project in your offices in London. It seems that one of your colleagues, Ms Brienne Tarth, announced she would go on maternity leave soon."
"Good for her and Jaime," Sandor said without thinking, and then, "No," simply.
Sansa's face shrunk.
"I mean, if you really want it, okay," he retraced his steps.
"Mr Varys ensures me I wouldn't be doing anything... dangerous... for a start. It appears that with Ms Tarth gone someone has to see if Mr Baelish's software can be put to good use," she paused.
"Nothing dangerous for a start is an understatement even for Varys!" he said bitterly, unable to contain his temper. "What we do is always dangerous!"
"And you were not going to quit, were you?" she peeped so gently that it hurt.
Part of her reason for wanting the job was actually him. Why didn't it surprise him?
It was also an excellent question. He didn't give it much thought since Varys gave him a choice. He also didn't know anything else he could do, anything he was moderately good at.
"I don't know," he said in all honesty. "Would you like me to stop?"
Sansa's face brightened again. "I would support any decision you make," she said, "but it makes me happy that you asked for my opinion."
"So, love, if we officially work together, you'll need a name, a code name," he said, jokingly.
"What's yours?" Sansa asked, slamming her laptop shut. "You've never told me."
The piazza, the huge church with its mighty domes, the table and the chairs, the tourists and the boats, they all somehow left the Hound's sharpened field of vision. There were only the two of them under the sun, a thing much stranger than anything late Prince Doran might have seen.
"I'm the Hound," he said casually, introducing himself all over again. He wondered how he was going to convince a talkative creature like Sansa that she should keep his alias a secret from everyone.
"Oh," Sansa said. "Jon told me so much about the Hound. It's this agent who can see, hear and smell things other men can't. And no-one knows exactly who he is. I suppose Mr Varys knows."
Sandor Clegane was immensely grateful to this Jon, whoever he was, for sparing him the need of explaining himself.
"Yes," the Hound agreed. "And Aemon. And you as of now. Third time is the charm."
"I know what my name will be," Sansa said, trying to look important in her yellow attire. She should always wear that colour, Sandor thought, distracted. Her bare shoulders were polished white, as if chiselled from marble like half of the bloody city. And so much warmer to touch than cold stone.
"What?" he asked more impatiently than he intended.
She tilted her head and chose the name he had given her, unasked for. The most beautiful name of all.
"Little Bird."
xx
So, that's the end as it was planned. There may be an unrelated epilogue after Easter in which either Sandor meets the Starks, or Sansa meets his sister. Or not. Hope this story was overall okay. Thank you to all who bothered to read it or favoured it in any way.