Author's Notes: Geez, thank you very much for your lovely, encouraging comments! I love these commficmemes as they do present challenges one would otherwise never tackle… This was certainly one of them, with all the angst and lost years. Happy if it strikes a chord with you!
Summary: "I don't think I have seen you here before," she started, then saw Sandor's face and stopped. Sandor glanced under his brow and saw an expression of utter shock on her face. Sansa started to open her mouth to say something, but before she could do so, the colour drained from her face, her eyes rolled back and she fell to the ground, fainting on the spot.
Sandor
Sandor made the journey that had first taken him years in only months after leaving the silent men. All the while he asked himself if he was making a mistake. The song may not have been a coincidence, if what the fat man told him was true, but it had been a long time since it had been written. If the little bird had needed him then, he was already years too late. Yet he had to know. Even if the reason why Sansa had needed him was gone, he had to see it with his own eyes.
He travelled by ship to Qarth, traversed the Red Waste by horse, joined a caravan to traverse the Dothraki Sea and rode from Qohor to Braavos. Day by day, week by week, month by month. The song played in his mind every night, its words etched in his memory. Surely the words were an exaggeration, a romantic love story written purely with the purpose of ensuring its popularity. A song about an angry hound and a scared little bird, ending with an ultimate betrayal, would not have attracted the following a fanciful tale of love and broken hearts had.
Luckily he still had some gold from his days as a sellsword and it bought him the passage he needed, a horse and the means of living during the long trip. Whenever he saw travellers from Westeros he talked to them, asking about the political situation and news of the great houses. He heard confirmations that the Seven Kingdoms had indeed enjoyed peace for years, ruled by not one but two Dragons. The Mad King Aerys' daughter Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons, ruled alongside her nephew, the long lost son of Rhaegar, King Aegon VI. They had not married as tradition dictated, but ruled jointly nonetheless.
Some of the big houses had fallen, some had survived. Most of the might of House Lannister was gone. The Kingslayer and Lord Tywin were dead, the former executed by the Dragons, the latter dying of a malady of some sort as a disappointed and crushed man after the death of his golden son. Cersei and her children were kept in perpetual imprisonment in the Red Keep, and Lord Imp ruled in Casterly Rock as the Warden of the West. Sandor laughed at that. The Imp had always been the cleverest of the lot and it was only fitting that he should survive where others perished.
Of House Stark he heard only that the Young Wolf was still ruling as the Warden of the North. To his questions about the ladies of the house his countrymen had no answers. Women were not as important as men, and their circumstances rarely made the news.
He took a ship from Braavos to White Harbour and from there it was only a matter of a fast ride to Winterfell. On the way he observed the prosperity of the countryside, so different from the time he had last seen it. He wondered if there was a place for him in Westeros after the purpose of his trip was fulfilled. A community of quiet men, preferably without the religion. He still didn't care much about the gods after he had learned to recognise that every man had all he needed for his salvation inside him. Maybe he would set up his new life on his own; build a house in a small village somewhere and live a tranquil existence. He didn't think he had it in him to go back to Asshai – it had done what it could to him by changing the course of his life.
Sandor had continued his enquiries in White Harbour and there, so close to the seat of their liege lord, information had been more abundant. Yes, the ladies of Winterfell were known there. To his questioning stare he was told that both sisters of the Young Wolf had joined him, the younger one returning from across the sea several years ago. The innkeeper who told him that recalled that one of the ladies was married, but couldn't remember which one. Sandor grew frustrated but his impatience didn't improve the innkeeper's memory. Nonetheless, he was done with waiting for information before getting on his way towards the north, keen to complete his long journey.
As he approached Winterfell, Sandor became increasingly unsure of what he should do. He couldn't just march in and ask to see the little bird. If she would even agree to see him, that is. So he stopped at Wintertown, which had grown into a permanent village full of life and activity, took a room at the inn and considered what to do next.
He knew the main purpose of his journey was to see that Sansa was safe and that the need prompting the song had receded. If so, maybe it would be best that she wouldn't see him – it had been too many years, and she probably thought him dead. Better that way. Yet he had travelled far to be there, so a day after his arrival he cautiously entered the large courtyard of Winterfell. He wore his stained travel cloak, hood pulled across his head, allowing him to see his surroundings without people seeing much of his face.
Years of peace had relaxed the security and he was allowed in with no questions asked. The keep was busy, people coming and going in all directions. He settled on a bench in a corner and observed the proceedings. He was happy to wait there, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sansa, or maybe talk to someone in the household to hear more about how things stood.
He had waited for a while before he saw a familiar figure entering the yard from the keep. He recognised her immediately; her hair was as vividly auburn as he remembered, and her bearing as graceful as it had always been. She was not a young girl anymore, but a woman in her full bloom. Her form was curvier, different to the slender shape of the girl he had known, and her hips swayed alluringly when she walked. Her face was rounder too, her eyes still brilliant blue and full of confidence, and her mouth looked like it had smiled a lot lately. Her beauty struck him in a way he hadn't been prepared for.
Seeing her, so full of life and energy and so achingly beautiful, Sandor felt his age more than ever before. He was still under forty, but he had lived a hard life and felt it. He had recovered well enough from his last battle, but the wounds of old had started to bother him lately, ghost pains of past hurts echoing through his body. He knew that the prime of his life was past him, and that made it even harder to see her, still in the full flower of her womanhood.
She was talking to a man, some sort of commander of the guards from the looks of it. Sandor saw her smiling to him and felt a strange sensation – he wanted to hit the man just for the audacity of being in her presence. The commander didn't seem disturbed though, behaving with utmost respect towards Sansa. They talked keenly, Sansa gesturing to him with a far-reaching motion across the yard. Her eyes followed the gesture and swept past Sandor. He shrank in place, turning his face away, hoping she hadn't noticed him.
Sansa's gaze moved away, but then returned. From the corner of his eye Sandor saw her furrowing her brow. Seven hells! He stood up slowly, trying to act casual, and turned to walk towards the gate. He hadn't gone more than a few steps when he heard her voice behind him.
"Good man, can you please stop? I would like to exchange a few words with you, if I may." Sandor stopped, dropping his shoulders. He was trapped. For a moment he considered breaking into a run and making it to the gate, ignoring her. He could see, however, that the attention of the guards had turned on him, and one of them had placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. No, if he wanted to get away, he would have to do some fighting, and he didn't want that.
Slowly he spun around and waited for Sansa to catch up with him, keeping his eyes downcast. She walked towards him unhurriedly, cocking her head with a mild look of curiosity on her face.
"I don't think I have seen you here before," she started, then saw Sandor's face and stopped. Sandor glanced under his brow and saw an expression of utter shock on her face. Sansa started to open her mouth to say something, but before she could do so, the colour drained from her face, her eyes rolled back and she fell to the ground, fainting on the spot.