Chapter 23:

The bodies of Bolton's men were brought before the girls, still steaming and reeking of boiling flesh.

"Look away, my lady," Brienne said, looking as if she were about to vomit. All Sansa could think of was the last thing Daenerys had said to her, and now here was a reminder of what the Targaryens did to their enemies. She looked over at Sandor, and stared a while at the burns on his face. The expression in his eyes as he stared at the charred corpses was nothing she had ever seen before. She had seen something like it the night of the Blackwater when she had asked him where he was going and he replied,

"Some place that isn't burning."

But now there was horror mixed with disbelief. Only a man who has burned knows what hell looks like. She knew he was thinking what if they were still alive. What if they were still breathing amongst the red and the stinging, fleshy ruins of skin…?

She put her arm through his and together they walked away.

Daenerys was outside the walls of Winterfell when Sansa approached her with Sandor keeping a close pace by her side. The Targaryen was with the Dragons. There was still a doubt in Sansa's mind that they were real. One had scales of cream and gold, the second green and bronze, both half the height of the walls. The last one had a head the size of the carriage Cersei had stepped from when she had arrived at Winterfell, what seemed like a hundred years ago. It boasted monstrous teeth that were crusted over with dried blood and scales the colour of the night sky with scarlet flakes. It's skin looks like the sky is raining blood. The second she thought that, Drogon reared his head and looked to them both. Sansa froze in fear and Sandor lay an arm protectively across her, stepping in front of her. The beast gave an untrusting snarl and then turned his attention back to his mother. Sansa did not, and could not think that if, somehow, Daenerys was their mother, she had actually given birth to them the way Lady Catelyn had birthed her and Arya and her brothers. The black and red dragon returned to his previous position; he coiled his serpent-like neck around Daenerys, who was sat cross legged on the morning grass. Every song she had heard of Aegon the Conquerer came to Sansa then.

It is one thing to kill a Dragon; to tame it is an entirely different matter.

The violet eyes, queerly gentle considering she was stroking the Dragon's head and murmuring sweet nothings to it, looked up at Sansa and Sandor. The eyes of the other two, Rheagal and Viserion, were also fixed on them. Daenerys looked as if she were a part of their scales, and the monsters were the fury behind her beautiful face.

"For what I said to you," She spoke, "I apologise."

"Accepted," Sansa replied, with an apprehensive look at the green and bronze, and continued, "I wish to tell you the North will do whatever the daughters of Eddard Stark ask of it. We will serve as your Wardens as we have always done."

Perhaps it was just a coincidence; perhaps the Seven favoured the Targaryens much more than the Starks, but the sun began to break through the morning clouds just as Daenerys smiled.

"You will," She said warmly as the sun illuminated her silver- golden hair, "But your sister Arya will not be. She has offered me her services in the Queensguard, as has the Maid of Tarth, Brienne. Whilst both are very accomplished at swordplay and unfaltering in loyalty, Arya is too young to swear. She needs to live a free life first, and it is not my place to deny her that."

Sansa made an urgent look at Sandor. I found Arya again, surely she can't mean to leave me.

Sandor's expression told her this was not his territory. She must deal with this herself.

"But…" She began, "does that mean she'll be staying at Winterfell with me? I always thought she wanted to stay in the North…"

"Arya will always be a daughter of Winterfell, but it is not in her character to give the North an heir. Instead I have asked her to go beyond the Narrow Sea to Braavos, to act as an ambassador in my stead at the Iron Bank to prove her worth."

Has she seen Arya? Surely she must know that's not my sister. Instead she voiced another opinion.

"She is more than worthy to serve any Queen," Sansa spoke with no tinge of uncertainty or fear as Drogon looked up at her.

"And she's harder to kill than any fucker I know," Sandor muttered. Daenerys shifted her attention to him, as did her Dragons.

"You are the one they call the Hound?" She said sardonically, one eyebrow raised.

"I am, your Grace," Sandor replied. Sansa did not need to look at him to know how uncomfortable a creature that could breathe fire made him feel.

"Sandor Clegane… you are the brother of Gregor Clegane?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"Well, that complicates things. Whilst Sansa is a Stark and more than capable of holding the North for me, I am not fond of the man protecting her being the brother of the brute who murdered my brother's children."

"Sandor had nothing to do with that," Sansa's voice cut across the conversation immediately. What if she should order him to leave? "He has always hated his brother, after what Ser Gregor did to him…" She stopped herself from going any further. That was entirely Sandor's choice what he chose to divulge to the Dragon Queen. She cocked her head sideways, taking a long stare at the burns on his face. The Dragons did the same, as if they had a certain aversion to any flame they had not created themselves.

"Your brother did that to you?" She asked, her voice suddenly empathetic.

"Aye, your Grace." Sandor's voice had the same stony edge it had when he had told Sansa how he had been burned.

"You are not the only one to have been mistreated by your brother. Prove yourself worthy to serve Lady Sansa and you shall prove yourself to me."

"I want no one else protecting me," Sansa blurted once more, "Sandor has already sworn me his sword."

Something changed in Daenerys' eyes. Sansa could not tell if it was acceptance or doubt, Either way it worried her that the Queen did not trust Sandor because of his brother.

"Very well. If you trust him, that is your choice. I do not believe a man who has been burned by his kin is capable of doing the same to anyone else."