A/N: Sorry for cutting it so close this time. I spent this morning trying to get ahead on some work instead of posting, but here it is now, so enjoy. As always, many thanks to my beta reader (and sister) GrowlingPeanut. Reviews are appreciated.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin. Specifically, some of the dialogue at the end belongs to the former.

Rating: M for strong language, sexual references, and mentions of abuse and miscarriage.

The Greybeards were a strange sort, there was no doubt about it.

The one who led them was stern, but amiable enough, at least to their precious Dragonborn. Come to think of it, Sandor didn't believe he had yet heard them use her true name. If she was truly looking to be wanted for more than the power she had, High Hrothgar was not the place for her to be.

They had been at the temple for nearly a week, and while Daenerys spent her days shouting in the dragon tongue, he wandered the halls, watching when he was able, though the display of her power still made him feel ill at ease.

It was on the morning of the eighth day since their arrival that Dany came to him, a tray of warm apples and freshly baked bread in her hands.

"The esteemed Dragonborn returns to the land of the mortals, eh?" he asked snidely, grabbing an apple and biting into it as he tugged on his boots.

"Please call me Dany," she replied, almost pouting. "I've nearly forgotten my own name."

Sandor snorted at that and stood from his bed, towering over his companion as she looked up at him. "So what is it you want from me?"

"I want your help," she replied honestly, absently tearing off a small chunk of bread and popping it into her mouth.

"And they're allowing that?" He jerked his chin toward the door, beyond which the Greybeards were surely lurking lest he seek to harm their precious Dragonborn.

"They don't control me," she retorted petulantly.

He was glad to see that she had regained her spirits somewhat. Though he imagined her nights were still as haunted as his, he had at least seen her smile, and she was a bit feistier than he had imagined she would be.

"But yes."

"Alright then," he replied with disinterest, finishing his apple and tossing the core into the corner. "Help with what?"

"Defending myself."

Halting in his absentminded pacing, he turned back toward her, unamused. "Just yesterday I watched you throw a grown man from one side of a room to another with your gods damned voice, girl. And you want me to help you defend yourself?" He scoffed. "Did they put you up to this?"

Quietly, Daenerys shook her head. "They have no sense of humor to put me up to any sort of practical joke, but this is not that regardless. I mean it, Sandor. I want your help. I will need to learn to protect myself if I'm to face my fate. I need to learn to kill."

Sandor regarded her for a long moment in silence before finally replying. "Very well then. Meet me in the courtyard. If there's one thing I know of, it's killing."

Arngeir was seated in the opposite hall from where his and Dany's chambers were when Sandor found him. Though he looked deep in meditation, his eyes were open and trained on the burly Nord when he came to stop at his side.

"I need weapons," Sandor said bluntly, not allowing the priest a chance to ask him his business.

"We do not believe in violence," Arngeir replied evenly, closing his eyes once more. "Not even the Voice should be wielded as such, despite its power."

"Then the next time you see your Dragonborn she'll be lying dead at the bottom of a grave," he snapped. "In case you've forgotten in the midst of all the shouting that's been going on, she's a gods damned child. And you're going to send her to her death if you don't give me some fucking weapons."

Arngeir was silent for a long moment before replying. "We receive shipments from Ivarstead on occasion. If there are any weapons, they will be with those supplies, at the entrance of the temple."

Without thanking the old man for the information, Sandor stalked away, ignoring the gazes of the other monks as he walked to the door and threw it open. It was snowing on the steps that led to the temple, and unbidden, the image of Sansa whirling about in the snow rose in his mind.

"Winter is coming. As it always does."

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he trudged down to where the supply sacks lie, most of them already empty. After a bit of searching, he managed to find a steel waraxe and a crudely carved hunting bow with a quiver of iron arrows. Though they weren't ideal, they would serve their purpose.

Dany was waiting for him in the rear courtyard when he made his way out, and he unceremoniously dumped the weapons at her feet before backing away.

"Show me what you know."

For a long moment, she just stared at the weapons, and then looked up at him.

"Nothing."

"Nobody knows nothing about anything," Sandor replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "You at least have some idea of how to swing an axe and shoot a bow. So show me."

Again, she hesitated, before lifting a finger. "Give me just a moment."

Sandor waited while she re-entered the temple, and a minute later, she returned with an intricately carved bow of ebony with silver filigree. It was certainly the nicest bow that he had ever seen, and he had seen many in the course of the war.

Incredulous, Sandor raised his eyebrow. "Where in Oblivion did you get that?"

"My husband's partner gave it to me when we parted at Falkreath. It was a wedding gift," she replied quietly. "I've kept it beneath my cloak ever since."

After a moment, he nodded in acceptance. "Very well." Reaching down to retrieve the hunting bow and setting it aside, he continued. "Good choice. You won't want to be close to whoever you're fighting without a good set of armor at the very least, which you certainly do not have."

He saw Dany glance down at the dress she was wearing before blushing slightly. In her defense, she had worn a pair of riding trousers for most of their journey thus far, but in the interest of washing their clothing had spent the past week in gowns that would not lend well to combat.

"Besides," he added. "Now that there are dragons in Skyrim again, it would do you good to be able to fight from the ground without forcing the beasts to land."

Nodding in acceptance of his praise, Dany hesitantly raised the bow and then drew it back, barely. For a moment she simply stood there, until Sandor spoke again.

"It would help if you had some arrows..."

Ignoring his obvious amusement, she set the bow down and slung the quiver of arrows over her shoulder before raising it again, clumsily nocking it, and then drawing back once more.

"That's it then?" Sandor goaded, hands on his hips. "Go ahead and shoot."

Giving him a sideways glare, she released the arrow toward a nearby snowbank and then cried out in pain. When she turned back around, her cheek was bleeding steadily, and her eyes welled with tears.

Unsympathetic, Sandor shrugged slightly. "You didn't nock your arrow correctly and the fletching cut you. That's a common mistake."

"Why didn't you correct me then?" Dany retorted, wiping the blood with her sleeve and wincing slightly.

"Because I won't always be with you to correct every arrow that you nock. If you truly want to learn to fight, you need to know how to do it on your own. Gods know I'm not like to escape death more than once, and even if I manage to, you'll be without me someday. That's the day we need to prepare for."

Sighing, Dany nodded in acceptance.

"Try it again."

By the end of a few hours, she was exhausted, frustrated and sore, but had without any assistance managed to correctly nock her arrow and release it. Though her aim was terrible, it was an improvement, and Sandor allowed her to rest for the day and return to her training with the Greybeards.

As she tore through their ethereal targets again and again, he watched absently from the wall. He had never intended to travel with a young highborn lady, let alone two, and though he would not abandon Daenerys without cause, every second he spent in her company only served as a reminder of how far he was from Sansa.

Sighing, he left his companion to her studies and returned to his chambers, shutting the door behind him before lying down on his bed and closing his eyes. When he thought hard enough he could still hear her voice, high and clear as she sang.

"What a wondrous love it is
To bind two souls in faith,
Chained completely together
With never a false word,
Weal and woe, wish and real,
Woven each together
From first kiss to last breath,
First and last whispered in love."

It was the song that she had sung the day before she had kissed him the first time. He had mocked her for it, as he always had when she'd sang, but secretly, he had loved the way that her lute had fit perfectly in her tiny hands. And how her breasts had fit perfectly in his massive ones.

Now it was another man that was holding her, touching her, beating her...

His hands clenched into fists and he opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling above him.

Hound though he may have been, he never once hurt her, and Ulfric Stormcloak was the worst kind of monster for doing so under their violent farce of a marriage.

Just knowing that there were guards who could serve as witnesses to the wedding night tied his stomach in knots and it was all he could do to not get sick when he thought about what she must have endured.

He could only imagine how Khal Drogo must feel, somewhere far to the west. Though he knew little of the man, he knew from what Daenerys had told him that they were very much in love, and though she had little time to ponder their separation, Sandor had no doubt that her husband thought of it often.

Sighing again, he allowed his mind, and hands, to wander, succumbing to the memories of his nights with Sansa. When he wasn't dreaming of his escape, he dreamt of her, and of the way she had felt pressed close against him. Though the thoughts of her soft body were enough to satisfy the ache in his loins, his thoughts were still restless and so he rose once more and paced from one end of the room to the other.

Remaining idle in the temple was beginning to grate on his already frayed nerves, and he itched to return to the road. There, at least, he had things to distract him from his own thoughts.

Here, he felt less than useless, and it was beginning to take its toll.

"Hit me."

"What? No." Dany stared at him distrustfully. "Why?"

"Because I probably deserve it," Sandor replied drily. When she frowned at him, he scowled back. "Because if you truly believe that you won't need to deliver a solid punch to someone's jaw at some point in your life then you're a fucking half-wit."

Though her frown deepened, he could see that she knew he was right, and so finally, she nodded. "Fine."

"Good. Do it then."

After a moment, she balled her hand into a fist and punched him. Though he hardly flinched, she winced and grabbed her hand, glaring up at him.

"Try again," he said.

Furrowing her brow, she drew back again and repeated the action, harder than before, but still not enough to faze him.

"Maybe if you weren't built like a mountain," Dany huffed irritably.

Sandor's expression darkened at the thought of his brother and he shook his head. "That's no excuse. I've been punched by a few women your size in my time and they've done their damage. Do it again."

This time, when she pushed aside the ache and formed a fist, he spoke again. "The gods must have been playing a fucking joke when they made you Dragonborn," he taunted. "You're nothing but a spoiled highborn brat and that's all you'll ever be."

His head jerked almost imperceptibly as her hand met his jaw and he nodded curtly. "Again."

When she paused, he continued. "Khal Drogo must be a lucky bastard. It isn't every man that has the coin to pay 10,000 septims for a pretty face and a maiden cunt."

That one had his jaw aching slightly and he grinned through clenched teeth.

"Again."

He hesitated for only a brief moment before speaking again as Dany's jaw clenched and she looked at him through narrowed eyes.

"It's likely a good thing that your babe died since you allowed yourself to be captured by the Legion and nearly killed. Just imagine what kind of a mother you would have been."

When she hit him, it was with a surprising amount of power given her small frame and as her eyes welled with tears, he absently wiped the blood from his lip.

"Good," he said finally, a hint of guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach. "Remember how that felt. Your anger will make you reckless, but it will also make you strong."

She was still crying as she nodded and he waited for a moment before speaking again.

"Go get some rest, girl. You've done well. We'll move back to the bow on the morrow."

By the end of the second week, Daenerys had greatly improved in both archery and basic hand-to-hand combat, and even Sandor was beginning to believe that she may stand a chance in battle.

It was as she made her first bullseye on a crudely constructed target and let out a cheer that Arngeir approached. When she whirled around grinning triumphantly to see the old monk standing beside her sellsword, her smile faltered, and she quickly grew solemn.

"Master Arngeir."

He nodded in acknowledgement and waited a moment before speaking.

"I have spoken with your companion and we believe that you are ready to leave High Hrothgar behind, at least for now."

Sandor could see Dany's eyes widen and she nodded eagerly. "What's next then, Master?"

Again, Arngeir was silent for a moment before replying. "You are now ready for your last trial, Dragonborn. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."