His voice was thick in his throat. He had called out her name a thousand times, but knew she was already gone. Her hair set ablaze against the rising morning sun. Atop Stranger, she rode into the distance until she and the sun melted into one. When the light became too much to bear, he looked to his side and felt the yellow autumn grass against his face. And above him, a bird sang.

"Little bird," he rasped, his voice dry in his throat. Sandor Clegane felt a waterskin against his lips and feverishly drank from it.

"Not too fast there," a voice said, and removed the waterskin from his lips.

Sandor found himself in a small, dim room with spartan furnishings, and in front of him sat an older man donned in brown robes.

"Is this the Seven Hells?" He coughed.

"No, Ser, this is the Saltpan's septry."

"Seven hells."

He heard the man laugh.

"Sansa," Sandor said, trying to get up, but he was halted by the excruciating pain in his shoulder and leg.

"Not to worry now, ser. She's here, finishing up her bath most likely."

Sandor sighed in relief.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Elder Brother of this Septry. You may call me Elder Brother."

"How long have I been sleeping for?"

"About a fortnight."

"Seven hells," he groaned. His head felt submerged under water. Must have given me milk of the poppy, Sandor thought.

"You're lucky to be alive," the Elder Brother said sternly. "May it be the Seven's will, or your own, when I saw your body brought through the septry's gates, I thought that Stranger had already taken you.

"Your lady wife refused to leave your side the first few days you were here, I'll have you know. She refused to have you touched by anyone other than her and myself. She has re-dressed your bandages everyday, washed the sweat from your brow and chest, fed you porridge and water, and sang to you during the worst of your fits. A strong one, she is."

"Aye, that she is," Sandor replied, shocked by the man's anecdote.

"When she came riding onto the septry's grounds on that giant black beast of yours, I didn't know what to make of her-" he started, but stopped himself short when Sansa entered the room.

She wore a simple dress, of brown rough spun wool, with a gray shawl pulled around her. Her hair was neatly braided, and wet from her bath.

"Sandor," She whispered, and ran to his bedside, throwing her arms around his torso.

The Elder Brother smiled and got up to leave the room, allowing the couple privacy.

"Sandor," she wept into his chest, repeating his name over and over, like a prayer.

"It's alright little bird, it's alright now," pulling her closer to him, causing their foreheads to touch.

Sandor was at first taken aback by Sansa, and the overwhelming intimacy they shared, but quickly savored the moment. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, taking in her sent and enjoying the softness of her skin. In return, she ran her fingers through his hair, soothingly, enabling him to take his mind of the pain for a few moments that seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

"I was certain you left me to die little bird," he said, bringing them both back into the present. Sansa got up off the floor, and sat on the stool by his bedside.

"I told you I could never do that, Sandor," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. She looks tired, he noted. The bags under her eyes were much deeper than they were before, and her features more sharp.

"How did you do it?" he asked.

"I rode Stranger into town and immediately saw the septry, and I thought it was the safest place to go. In the yard, I saw a young brother, pulling a horse with a cart, and I told him that my husband was mortally wounded and asked if anyone could help save him.

"The young brother ran inside, and came out with a satchel and climbed atop the horse with the cart and followed me to where you were. We crudely bandaged you under the tree, and then hauled you atop the cart and brought you back to the septry, where we've been for a fortnight since."

There was a small knock on the door, and a brother entered with a tray of steaming stew for Sandor. Sansa helped Sandor sit up and put the tray on his lap.

"You're not going to feed me like this, are you?" he groaned.

"I know for a fact you cannot lift your arm, and that you're most likely starving, so don't start," she chided him, and lifted the spoon to his lips. Reluctantly he took a bite, and Sansa smiled. He never thought a simple meat stew could taste so good; bite by bite, he finished the bowl enthusiastically.

"How are you feeling now?"

"Awful, but better." The stew rested easy in his stomach.

"I haven't inspected your wounds today. May I?"

"The Elder Brother told me you've been tending to my wounds everyday."

"He showed me the proper way to do so, and I couldn't be more thankful."

"How does a man of the faith know of dressing wounds?"

"He said in his youth he had sought to become a maester, but chose the Faith instead," Sansa explained, lifting up the sheet to tend to his leg wound. Sandor realized he was in nothing but his smallclothes, but Sansa didn't seem to notice-or care, for that matter.

When the bandage was removed, Sandor could see that a chunk of flesh and muscle was removed from his leg, which was healing well. Looking up from his wound, Sansa caught his eye and saw that he was relieved. She applied ointment to his leg, which burned awfully, and rewrapped his leg, and then did the same to his shoulder.

"Would you like milk of the poppy?" she asked.

"I've had enough of that stuff," he groaned. "The Elder Brother also said you'd sing to me."

"Would you like a song then?"

"Aye, any will do."

Softly, she sang the Mother's Hymn, her voice was sweet and gentle in Sandor's ears. When she finished, she gave his hand a squeeze. Before he closed his eyes, he saw the light catch Sansa's auburn hair as she left the room.
And then, sleep took him.

Notes:

Some of you commented on the last chapter: "There's a maester hiding behind that rock, isn't there?" And I commend you for your skills of deduction, of course Sandor couldn't have died! I wanted to give a /twist/ to Sandor's "death" as we know it. I hope you enjoy these next chapters ;)

Writing about the septry proved quite difficult! I must thank .org for all the information that's up there. I know that there's a septry on the Quiet Isle (cough cough) but I thought it would make sense if there was a "sister" or "partner" septry on the mainland of Westeros, in the Saltpans, which is very close to the Quiet Eisle.

From .org: Monastic orders of septons can live in "septries" (plural of "septry"), self-sustaining enclaves of sworn brothers who are called "brown brothers". The septry where Sansa and Sandor are at currently houses "contemplative brothers who live and work in a monastic community known as a septry. The members of the septry often take a vow of silence. The septry is headed by the Elder Brother, who is often the only one who may speak at all times. The Elder Brother is assisted in running the septry by proctors. The brothers engage in contemplation, prayer and silence. The brother wear brown-and-dun robes with wide bell sleeves and pointed cowls. One such septry is on the Quiet Isle."