Tyrion Lannister tottered into the small council room. His father, sister, Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, and his nephew were waiting for him. Joffrey's eyes shone, and the corners of his mouth were lifted up into his usual, awful smile.
"Killed a few puppies today?" he asked Joffrey as he sat at the far end of the table.
"Go on, show him." Joffrey ordered Pycelle, "Show him." He repeated, more forcefully. Pycelle made a move to give Tyrion the scroll, but dropped it in a what was unmistakably an intentional way.
"Apologies my lord, old fingers," he said as he wiggled his fingers. Tyrion knew that the old maester would harbor resentments for the rest of his days, probably, for imprisoning him.
Tyrion picked up the letter from the ground, sighed, and looked at Joffrey's smirking face as he began in monotone: "Roslin caught a fine fat trout, her brothers gave her a pair of wolf pelts for her wedding, signed, Walder Frey." Joffrey nodded frantically, and smiled maniacally.
"Is that bad poetry, or is that supposed to mean something?"
"Robb Stark is dead!" He began to laugh, "And his bitch mother!"
Tyrion was not expecting that.
"Write back to Lord Frey, thank him for his service." Joffrey commanded the Grand Maester.
"Yes, yes, of course Your Grace," he replied.
"We also received word that Sandor Clegane and Lady Sansa were at the Twins at the time of the wedding," Varys informed Tyrion. Joffrey's head whipped around, the smile fading from his face.
"What?!" he spat.
"My little birds have informed me that Clegane intended to give Lady Sansa back to her mother and brother," Varys continued, the small council taken aback by the statement.
"Why would he ever do that?!" snapped Joffrey.
"Who knows what Clegane's intentions where. The Stark girl was much more useful here before you married her off to him." Lord Tywin added.
"I thought it was a just punishment!"
"Punishment!" Tyrion laughed. "Her marriage to your loyal dog is probably the best thing that has happened to the Stark girl yet." The rest of the small council hadn't seen the way The Hound treated the Stark girl. When Lord Tyrion saw them with each other, she seemed to bring out something other than brutality in the man. He found it very strange, but also not very surprising. He also saw the way he liked to scare her, that one night on the serpentine steps. It was a queer kind of affection, if it was even that.
"We'll probably never find the girl again," Varys added.
"We'll find him and the Stark bitch! We'll send men out to find them! I'll have both their heads! We'll send The Mountain!" Joffrey raged.
"Ser Gregor is needed here in King's Landing. We can afford to send a few soldiers after them, but no more. Who would have known that this would be such large miscalculation on your part, Your Grace," Lord Tywin said forcefully. Fuming, Joffrey walked out of the room.
"Clegane's disloyalty comes at quite the surprise. He had served Joffrey for years. I don't see why marriage to Sansa would change him," Cersei said, swirling a wineglass in hand.
"Sansa Stark was born of traitor's seed," Pycelle added. "She probably convinced him to bring her back to her family. A Tempress!"
"After being kicked around by Joffrey and our family for all these years? I find it most understandable," Tyrion stated. His father rolled his eyes.
"Even so, we'll find them. A ugly burned man, and a highborn girl with auburn hair. If not our men, the Freys and Boltons will find them," Cersei said, getting up to leave.
Tyrion had seen The Hound fight. Sansa Stark was priceless, someone worth protecting. They most certainly wouldn't be getting to her without killing The Hound first.
Lady Stark, you may survive us yet, Tyrion thought quietly to himself.
They rode ceaselessly into the night until the morning sun bore down their backs. When Sandor pulled Stranger to a halt, Sansa collapsed off the war horse.
"Seven hells, girl!" Sandor exclaimed. Shocked, he unhorsed and went to the girl.
"We have to go back…" she stammered.
"Have you gone mad girl? We're never going back there." Sandor replied as he attempted to lift the girl off the ground, holding her by the wrists.
"But, Robb…Mother-"
"They're dead girl. Open your eyes. They're all dead." He saw the confusion move across her countenance. Her eyes were dull and didn't seem to focus on anything.
"They had guest right.. Uncle Edmure married-"
"Do you think Lord Frey gave a fuck about guest right, girl?" He spat, giving her a shake.
"Why…why…" she repeated.
"Do I have to spell it out for you girl? They're dead, Sansa."
Sansa lifted her chin to see his face, the reality of what happened the night before finally sinking in. Her mother and brother were dead. Her brother's bannermen slaughtered by the thousands. They lost the war. She was never going home. Sandor watched as she came to each realization. Sansa slipped out of his grip and her nails dug into the earth, her fists clawing at the grass. She began to cry again.
"Why…why did they let me live? Why…" she repeated, over and over, until her voice went raw from sobbing.
Sandor did not try to comfort her. He had never attempted to comfort anyone before, and he knew that there were no words that could possibly make her feel better. It's going to be alright. A lie. It wasn't, nothing was alright. All the Starks were dead and gone, and Sansa remained as the North's only heir. They'll rip her apart. They'll use her and she'll be nothing but pieces by the end of it.
Sansa Stark was already in pieces. He knew the feeling well enough. Heartbreak, loss, guilt, anger. He knew that it was easy to die; he'd seen hundreds upon hundreds of men die in his twenty-seven years. Surviving was the hard part, Sandor knew. They'd survive. Whole, unwhole, broken, unbroken. And to do that, they'd have to leave Westeros.
Hobbling, Sandor unsaddled Stranger and made a campfire. Sitting down on a log, he cut open his breeches where the arrow had entered him to inspect the damage.
It was bad. The arrow had not pierced all the way through, but the wound was still deep and had yet to scab over. It's going to be alright, the lie flashed across his thoughts once more. He boiled wine in a pot and poured it over the wound in hopes that it would disinfect. Wrapping it with clean cloth he had received for his journey east, his thoughts went south. He wouldn't be able to fight. Riding would have to be in shorter increments. The wound would fester, he knew. They couldn't afford to stop though; Lannisters, Boltons, and Freys alike would be after their heads. Unless they came across a traveling maester, Sandor Clegane was out of luck.
His only choice was to keep going for Sansa's sake. He promised himself he'd keep her safe. Her family and bannermen were massacred before her eyes. And the only one she has left is you, dog.
Sandor rose, and hobbled and unfurled the single bedroll next to the fire. Only one this time, he grumbled to himself. Only if I had known, thoughts of guilt began to hit him the way waves crash upon the shore. I should have stolen her from her family and that god-forsaken castle.
Having worked with the Lannisters his whole life he understood that Lord Tywin would do anything in his power to win the war, but he never thought he'd stoop so low and kill his enemies at a wedding. It was abominable. From the beginning, Sandor knew that the Northerners were not going to win the war. The Lannisters would always win in the end.
"Sansa," he called out her, still curled up over the earth, shaking, sobbing. "You can cry, but at least do it by the fire where it's warm."
The weather had been getting crisper as each day passed; autumn would be in full swing soon. Best be out of here before winter comes, Sandor reminded himself.
He called her name again, but she did not move. It was possible that she didn't even hear him calling for her. With a sigh he rose from the log and went over to her. He knelt down and reached for her arm but was immediately smacked away.
"Don't touch me!" she cried, her lips curled up into a snarl, until she recognized who it was.
"Sandor…" His name cracked in her mouth. She was still in shock for sure, he'd seen plenty of green boys go to battle and afterward be numb. However, he'd never seen a green boy look as awful as Sansa did now. Her eyes were sunken in, with deep purple bags underneath, and were swollen red from crying. Her eyes once shone bright Tully blue but were now dull, and almost lifeless. The rest of her face was caked with dried mucus and saliva. Her lips were chapped and the front of her silk dress was covered in other men's blood. She had bruises on her arms and legs. She had probably been reliving the memory of being dragged out of the Twin's great hall by the Bolton men, which had caused her to hit him.
"Sandor…" She wailed, and clawed at his chest, burying herself into him.
"I'll keep you safe, little bird. I'll keep you safe." Sandor engulfed her in his arms, cradling her until she quieted. He scooped her up in his arms and placed her back down onto the bedroll, in hopes that she could catch at least an hour of sleep.
Beside her, Sandor watched the turning leaves rustling in the wind. He thought of how they couldn't be in a worse situation than the one they were in now. And the Starks had it right-winter was definitely coming, and it was coming for them all.
Notes:
-Weren't expecting the small council were you? I really loved that scene in the show, especially Tyrion's
"Killed a few puppies today?" line. Just offering an alternate perspective here. The first scene is a flash-forward of sorts, while the rest of the chapter happens directly after the red wedding. Sorry if that confused anyone.
-Sandor is a harsh guy- and he's not going to be sugar coated in my story.
-This chapter was mostly plot and filled with angst, bear with me for the next few chapters.