A/N: Disclaimers
- I don't gain anything by this. The characters & story are the brilliant work of GRRM. And the title of the fic is taken from Loreena McKennitt's, Dante's Prayer which is a huge inspiration for this story ;) and there will be times when her lyrics are used here.
*For all your wonderful selfless help in these chapters, I am grateful, my betas: onborrowedwings & nysandra! :D
- The story though mainly book canon, can still apply for the HBO show (I don't anything from the tv show either).
- The story will contain dialogue from both the books and the show.
36. Tears
Sandor didn't remember in which moment he had sat down next to Sansa, but when Seaworth was done talking, he became dimly aware of it, as the loud humming in his head stopped hissing when the Onion Knight finally shut the fuck up. Seven buggering hells. Sandor's mouth twitched, but only the burned side. It was all just too bloody much. So many things had happened in the months they'd been away, and he had been an idiot and a fool for forgetting that there was more to life than what he had come to know with the little bird. Gregor, his fucking brother, was dead. Oberyn of Dorne, brother to the woman Gregor had raped and killed–and good-brother of the man who had knighted him–had fought him at the Imp's trial by combat. Gregor had managed to kill the Red Viper, but not before the latter had put poison on the tip of his spear, and wounded him over and over again.
Gregor is dead. Those three words were so hard to believe. Sandor's sole desire in life for about twenty buggering years had been to kill his rabid brother himself, and now… now Gregor had died before he had the chance to dip him in wildfire and cook him. To tickle him till the moon turned black. To break his thick damned neck in an attempt to avenge their sister Arwyn, whom Gregor had killed so soon after melting half of his own face off.
Sandor's first instinct was to drown himself in a sea of wine. In a matter of moments, he had learned that the dream he'd had for so long of slaying Gregor–of seeing his filthy dark blood upon his blade–had been snatched from him forever. Sandor clenched and unclenched his balled fists in blind fury, but it only lasted for a moment, making him aware of just how much he had changed. Killing Gregor hasn't been all I have been living for, for some time now. The bitterness that had tormented his soul day after day, month after month, year after year, was gone.
Hate no longer drove him the way it had once. Now Sandor was loved and loved himself, and he could take joy in realizing he had won a victory against Gregor; now that his brother was burning in seven hells, he would never get a chance to harm Sansa. Sansa. The little bird who kept his own fire burning, and whom he would serve proudly forever until the day he died. Sansa, who was the bread that nourished him, and who needed him right now more than she ever had before.
Sandor raised his eyes to stare at the little bird beside him. Sansa's face had remained so still as bloody Seaworth went on revealing more and more of the tidings from the Seven Kingdoms, and more than once the Onion looked as if he feared Sansa had not understood him. But Sandor knew otherwise. Winter had come for the Starks indeed, and that was why the little bird was stunned to silence.
Her family was either dead or scattered, with both her parents gone, and the Young Wolf betrayed and murdered. There was no head of House Stark. Eddard Stark's children were lost, with Sansa and Rickon together at last here in Braavos, and the bird's young sister married off to Ramsay Snow in Winterfell, a prisoner in her own home, while Bran, the boy who had fallen and lost the use of his legs, was somewhere in the north, with two crannogmen and a halfwit giant stableboy, if the word of a sodding mute ironborn boy could be believed. It'll be a fucking miracle if the child is still alive, despite having his direwolf with him.
Sandor stared at the little bird; she gazed at the surface of the table before her, eyes wide open, mouth slightly parted, not even appearing to be breathing. Feeling his heart clench painfully in his chest at the sight, Sandor raised a hand to place it heavily on the bird's shoulder. Sansa seemed to come back to life under his touch. She turned her face around in his direction a little, and suddenly threw back her chair as she stood up.
The quick movement startled Davos and Hagen from the deep spell they had all seemed to have been put under. The Onion Knight stared up at Sansa quietly, sadness and pity in his eyes, while Edar ran a shaky hand through his hair, avoiding looking at Sansa as she was now. The room was as silent as a fucking graveyard, he reasoned.
The happy Sansa he had accompanied into the room was gone, replaced by a young woman who didn't seem to know what to do with herself, looking as if she didn't even know where she was. She can't believe what she has just been told. She doesn't want to believe it. Sandor couldn't blame her. Davos Seaworth had just told her the worst tidings she could ever have hoped to hear when the time to return to Westeros arrived.
Sansa steadied herself, placing her hand on the back of her chair, gulping, still staring at the table as if she had never seen anything like it. And then, in the matter of a heartbeat, she had swirled around and walked across the small living room of the shack, never sparing a look back at any of them, not even Sandor. She strode in a few steps to the hallway, before entering the room opposite the one where Osha and little Rickon were talking.
Shaggydog began to scratch the door to the garden outside, making Seaworth stand up quickly to go take a look at the direwolf. Hagen Edar remained sitting, gulping as he tried to avoid looking in Sandor's direction. Sandor himself had stood up as well, and after a moment's hesitation he made up his mind and followed the little bird into the room, sighing heavily.
The door was partly ajar, and Sandor pushed it open as quietly as he could, before stepping inside. He closed the door behind him, wincing due to the sight before him rather than because the creaking sound the old wood made, a noise that sounded as loud as a war horn, breaking the stillness that had settled in this house, but the little bird didn't seem to notice anything at all.
Sansa had sunk to the ground, staring at the wall before her, hugging her knees as she rocked slightly back and forth, her lips trembling, looking on the verge of tears, looking as vulnerable and young as she had back at the Red Keep, like a deer surrounded by lions. If I could only have Walder Frey and Tywin Lannister here right now, Sandor wished, cursing fate. At least the Imp finally proved his bloody worth by killing Joffrey and Tywin. The golden shits who were behind the tragedies Sansa had to endure were dead. She was shivering, Sandor noticed, as he took one good look at her before walking over to the little bird, and unceremoniously sat beside her on the floor.
As she realized what he was doing, a small sob full of pain escaped Sansa's mouth, and for a moment she turned her upper body away, hiding her face from him. A thousand words he could try and say to her ran through Sandor's mind, but in the end he kept his mouth shut, knowing somehow deep inside that the little bird didn't need to hear them right now. Instead, Sandor silently put one arm around Sansa's shoulder, drawing her close to him, as he placed his other hand on his love's head, gently tucking it around so that she could rest it on his chest.
The little bird let out a small howl of despair in answer before burying her face in the fabric of his tunic, making Sandor feel deeply grateful that she wasn't avoiding his touch. He began to smooth her hair back, away from her forehead in a caress, whispering soothing noises only Sansa could hear. His bird brought both her hands to encircle his arm, digging her fingers into the skin beneath his sleeves as she clung to him tightly, her head still pressed against his chest, her head tucked under his chin as her body started to shake beside him.
Sandor could understand part of her pain well enough, even if he hadn't had the happy childhood his bird had, for he had lost his grandfather, mother and sister when young; being left alone in the world to fence for himself before he was even seven years old. Yet Sansa isn't alone. She will always have me. Sandor hoped the little bird remembered that in this dark hour. Long moments afterwards, in which time seemed to stand still for Sansa and Sandor in their awkward embrace, the little bird finally said in a hoarse low voice, "I want to be alone."
Sansa raised her head from his body then, and when she looked him straight in the face, Sandor could only gaze down at her in surprise, thinking it strange that she wasn't crying. No, it's even worse than that. She was regarding him with empty eyes, not seeing him at all. She looks as if she had just seen a ghost, as if she had forgotten who she was.
Sandor gave a curt nod in understatement, and rasped, "You can't be alone here. Come, we'll go back to the inn."
Sansa nodded in return and hugged herself as he stood up. When Sandor looked back at her, offering her his hand, he saw that she had already stood up as well, and was looking straight ahead of her, still stunned, still trembling slightly. Without another word, the little bird stepped outside after he had opened the door for her, and he moved to follow her. Sandor stood at her shoulder as she stopped and gazed at the closed door of the wilding woman's bedroom, before saying in a soft whisper, "Rickon."
Sandor knew that Sansa wouldn't want her brother to see her like this, because he had no idea about many of the things that had happened to his family. She's going to hide her grief from him, he knew. The bird abruptly turned away, walking quickly down the hallway to the living room beyond, where Hagen Edar and the Onion were still silently waiting for them.
But if they were waiting for a fucking sign from Sansa, then she deeply disappointed them; for without a word, without sparing a glance at either of them, she crossed the living room and opened the front door, stepping outside, already heading back to The Inn of the Green Eel, never looking back to see if someone was following her.
Sandor's eyes swept over the men in the small living room momentarily, noticing that Edar was still sitting by the table. But sodding Seaworth, after recovering from staring at Sansa's retreating back in surprise, quickly moved in Sandor's way as the latter moved to walk out of the shack as well.
The Onion cleared his throat. "Clegane, I'm sorry for–for everything. But must I remind you that you better not…"
"Fuck your warnings," Sandor growled, seething. "We'll be back later."
He shouldered the man out of his way and quickly strode over towards Sansa, who was already at the end of the street, following her as they made their way back to the inn, certain already about some matters, and yet so unsure about so many others now.
They walked briskly back to the inn. Sandor kept his attention focused on the bird's back and their surroundings, noticing how the city of Braavos was quickly becoming alive by now. The streets were swarming with sellers and cod wives, oystermen, clam diggers, stewards, cooks, smallwives, and sailors off galleys, all haggling loudly, the air filled with words like, "Clams, oysters with hot sauce, mussels, crabs, prawns, all for sale!"
When they were passing beneath a green copper dome beside a building with tall square towers, near the immense grey arches of the sweetwater river, Sandor had to almost shoulder a group of men dressed in coats of brown and grey out of his way when Sansa's tall frame disappeared from his sight. When he finally reached her, he put his hand on her shoulder and muttered, "You're going the wrong way."
Sansa didn't seem to care she was lost. She didn't nod or look at him, but Sandor knew she was desperate to get back to their rooms at the inn, and quickly dropped his hand to the pommel of his longsword before striding over in the right direction, Sansa following him. The moment they reached The Inn of the Green Eel, Sansa made for the wooden stairs, and climbed up to the floor on which the rooms they had paid for were.
Sandor followed her at a slow pace, knowing what she was intending to do. When he finally reached the landing of the fourth floor, he caught sight of the little bird as she opened the door to their bedroom and briskly walked inside, shutting it behind her, the sound of the lock driving a piercing sharp feeling through Sandor's guts. He sighed and walked over to the closed door, resting his forehead against the wood for a moment, his hand placed on the doorknob. He didn't try to open it.
He was going to respect Sansa's wish of grieving alone, knowing her so well that Sandor was certain this was the right course. Knowing her so well that the moment he heard Sansa finally allowing herself to cry desperately, starting with an intake of breath that was released with a scream, he cursed under his breath, hating himself for not being able to fucking stop the world from messing up again with his little bird's life. He tightened his grip on the doorknob, his eyes closed, listening to a terrified and devastated Sansa behind the door, feeling completely powerless.
After some moments, Sandor stepped away, and walked into the next room, which had been rented by Edar. He entered it feeling like shit, and as he strode over to the window, to gaze down at Braavos, to make sure no one he deemed suspicious had followed them here, and started to reflect about things.
Some time later, Sandor whirled around startled, hearing a man coughing behind him, afraid that he had been so careful in staring outside he hadn't noticed who was already inside. But he breathed in relief when he saw it was only Hagen Edar. So he followed us back here. Seven hells. The madman was looking uncertainly at him, and yet he nonetheless closed the door behind him. The outlaw stared at his feet, as Sandor snorted and returned his attention to the street outside.
"I suppose I must call you Sandor now," Edar finally said.
Sandor didn't answer him, having more pressing matters and concerns to dedicate his attention to. He could hear the sodding archer moving behind him, taking off his bow and quiver and placing them on the floor beside the empty fireplace with care.
"Are you and Sansa still planning on going back to Westeros?" Hagen suddenly asked him, making Sandor sigh deeply, for he knew the answer to that. He knew somehow that despite all the shit that had happened in the Seven Kingdoms in the last months, his and Sansa's plans remained very much the same.
So he shrugged and rasped, "Yes."
Another long moment passed, in which Sandor began to brood on just what that would bloody mean for him and his little bird, before the buggering Lorathi said, "I want to go there with you both, too."
Fucking idiot. Sandor shook his head, feeling anger coiling in his belly, as he realized that he wasn't one bit surprised by this, for this was just like Edar. But this time Sandor wasn't going to relent.
"No," he growled firmly, turning away from the window to stare with a scowl at Hagen, hoping that the sight of his face would scare the madman, help him change his mind.
Edar took a step forward. "Sandor, please. I–I didn't know how to ask you before. I want to start a new life in Westeros, and have wanted to for some weeks now. You and Sansa gave my life meaning again, you know, and–"
Bloody hells! This was fucking unbelievable. Sandor was worried about Sansa crying in the other room, trying to think about what was he going to do now, how the news the Onion Knight had related would affect them, and Hagen sodding Edar decided to start opening up to him about starting a new life in the Seven Kingdoms, now that he and Sansa didn't have a life awaiting them there anymore. There wasn't going to be any confrontation with her family about their love and desire to be together. That would have been a pretty trick of Robb Stark, trying to make Sansa abandon her wish to marry him when the Young Wolf himself had risked his kingdom for a woman, and lost it all. But Sansa's family wasn't waiting for her across the Narrow Sea. Fuck, I would never have imagined what a good decision it would turn out to be not taking Sansa back to Riverrun to her family.
Sansa and he were penniless, with only fat Lord Manderly, Robett Glover and maybe Stannis Baratheon willing to help and protect the little bird. They had no army, and could not even become open allies with the Manderlys and Glovers for as long as they were pretending to have been beaten down into submission by the Lannisters and the Iron Throne.
And as he tried to make sense of all of this shit, the fucking Lorathi madman was bothering him about wanting to go join them in the middle of a war, clearly oblivious to the consequences of what he wanted.
"Bugger off," he spat, angry.
But bloody Edar wasn't listening. He shook his head stubbornly. "You… Well, your horse saved my life the night my band tried to raid your caravan in the Hills of Norvos, and now you're telling me to bugger off? Now, after making me see there was still something more to my life besides revenge, when you told me you saw my foe die? After I lost my wife there was nothing for me to do, and thus I became an outlaw, but befriending you and Sansa gave me a new purpose. Unintentionally maybe, but you did that nonetheless. I–I am really sorry to learn that you two have not lived easy lives, and that going back to your homeland is dangerous, but I am sure I can help you both somehow. I would rather die aiding Sansa get back her home than having wasted away my life as a robber. I didn't see it at first, but fate wanted me to meet you both. Why else would you have known that Arman Nervere was dead, if not to help me put matters straight in my life?"
Sandor was staring at Hagen, feeling his anger rising inside him quickly as he went on and on about his own stinking shit. Sure, Sandor was damned if he couldn't understand the position Edar had once been in, having been there himself, before Sansa gave his life a meaning, but he couldn't fucking deal with the madman now of all moments. He wanted to rip the blindfold off the archer's eyes, in an attempt to test him and see if he would still be willing to join them back in Westeros if he knew the whole damned truth.
"Oh, I don't know, Hagen," Sandor threw the words at the man before him with ill-concealed impatience and fury. "Maybe because I fucking killed that bloody bastard myself!"
Edar blinked at him, opening his mouth wide, uncertain. Then he asked "What?" with utter disbelief.
"I was the one that killed Arman Nervere in an ordeal by combat, you bloody fool!" Sandor roared, and told Hagen everything about their association with the High Sheep. How he had met Sansa by saving her at some square, and had started to force his presence on their lives, inviting her to his manse in the High City, and to his fucking ball. Sandor told the outlaw about how he had never liked Nervere, but couldn't do much about it at the start.
He spoke of the moment when he had overheard Arman asking Sansa to marry him, and forcing a kiss on her after she'd refused him. Sandor then told Edar about being so blind with jealousy at that, that he had threatened the Norvoshi in front of the magisters of Great Norvos, and of being thrown into prison for that. He talked about what Sansa had confided to him, regarding the way the bloody sheep had sought to force Sansa into submitting to marry him, and the way his trial had turned out.
"But I took Magister Umeren's hint and demanded my right for an ordeal by combat, slaying Nervere myself, and we fled from that city and joined the caravan where you found us."
When he stopped talking, Sandor wasn't sure what to expect of Edar's reaction at his revelations, yet never in a fucking century would he have thought Hagen, looking angry and scared, would yell back at him, "And did you kill Quallo before or after that?"
Sandor stared at the Lorathi before him, surprised. He frowned, realizing he wasn't as angry as he had been moments before now that he had let out some of his rage at someone. "No, I didn't kill that buggering fire-loving priest. He did that himself. Umeren had him executed right there in the Plaza of the Just, after Nervere's red pet tried to murder me once I had won the fight."
At those words Edar finally seemed to lose it. The outlaw began to laugh hysterically, making Sandor rasp a warning for him to shut up before they brought unwanted attention to themselves for being noisy guests at the inn. But Hagen didn't seem to be listening to his words. As Sandor's hand loosened his sword in its scabbard, ready to draw it out at any moment, he kept his eyes fixed on the madman before him. Edar fell to the floor, still laughing, his hands trying to tear his hair off his head. Thrice-damned Lorathi. He's gone rabid! Even Sandor had reacted to the news of Gregor's death better than Hagen.
But at least Hagen Edar didn't attack Sandor. He seemed to have forgotten he was there just as his little bird had; and then his laughter finally died away to be replaced by tears, Sandor cursed under his breath, shaking his head for a long moment. He strode towards the door, thinking that he should do better by waiting outside in the hallway, when Edar said in a low voice, "Quallo was the one who started it all, you know. He was the real problem, the one that caused the fight between me and the High Worm."
Those words caught Sandor's attention against his will, making him stop just as he reached the door. He turned around and gazed down at Hagen as he sat with his back bent on the floor of the room, looking at his hands, remembering, and Sandor found himself listening in turn to the Lorathi.
"I lived in Norvos for years, and was never fond of Nervere. Yet he was competent enough, so I rarely spared him much thought at the start. But the day the High Worm's red friend from Volantis came to the city, and got it into his pretty head to convince everyone the Lord of Light was the only true god, it all changed. Quallo and Nervere had a grand plan to make their wishes work out without opposition, which included the construction of temples with the city's own coin, among other things.
The merchants' guild, along with many Norvoshi families of old noble blood, were opposed to it, because the people of Great Norvos are quite conservative and defend their beliefs, laws and customs fiercely, no matter how old they are. Nervere was getting rid of the most powerful, richer and noisier opponents one by one, through annulling whatever power they held by buying their loyalty, ruining their wealth, threatening their families with revealing their secrets. I even learned during my years in exile that he had sent Quallo to intimidate a friend of mine once.
He did all of this quietly though, and took his time to do so with proper care. Only the victims knew the truth, and the rest of the people of Norvos only saw Arman's innocent good character; for however dirty his tricks were, he never resorted to direct murder, and was therefore safe from being exposed as a dangerous man. When he became the High Magister, he gained yet another way to submit us all to his will, and it was legal murder. Which is precisely what he used on you, by the way. And for that, only for that, I find myself unable to get angry at you for robbing me of my revenge, Sandor, and for keeping all of this to yourself after you learned we had the same foe in common."
Sandor stared down at Hagen with narrowed eyes, listening with care to every word that came out of his mouth. Why I am not surprised there was more to that sodding High Sheep than what he was letting on? It was a mercy he and Sansa had fucked up Nervere's plans, or the little bird would now be married to that sick fuck.
Hagen's last words made Sandor shift uncomfortably where he stood. He wasn't angry at Edar anymore, but he had to know everything before he could make up his mind about what to do with the Lorathi.
"Did the High Sheep try the same with you before casting you into exile?" he snarled.
Edar shook his head. "Not exactly. It wasn't direct in my case like it was with you. It was aimed at my wife's father. You see, Kureyen had a lot of debts. The old man had invested in a risky business, and lost, becoming indebted. He couldn't repay them. I would have helped him, but the old bastard was too proud to talk to anyone about his problems. To avoid shaming his family by declaring bankruptcy, he chose to take his own life instead. I don't know about Westeros, but in Norvos it isn't dishonorable to commit suicide. Kureyen stabbed himself with a dagger, as is customary with families of old noble blood."
"And where is the magister involved in his end?"
Hagen closed his eyes and rubbed them with his fists tiredly, sighing. "I found out Nervere was behind Kureyen's fall from grace. My wife was always a delicate woman, and only got worse after what happened to her old man. I promised her that I would avenge her father, but fucked it all up and failed. You know the rest. Sinan died while I was in exile."
Sandor chewed on that for a moment, before asking, "How did you fuck it all up?"
Edar sniffed. "By challenging Arman to a public duel. Nervere only laughed and refused me, but Quallo started taunting me about my own father and family affairs. The red idiot provoked me into getting into a dagger fight there and then, in front of everyone, with him. I almost killed him in the end, of course, despite him being good with daggers, before the High Worm ordered his guards to arrest me, accusing me of trying to murder a holy man, a fucking priest, just because he couldn't fight with me for personal reasons. That's what got me into exile. Had I attacked Nervere himself, then my sentence would've been the same as yours: beheading."
Bloody hells. Sandor grunted, realizing then that he had come to trust the Lorathi more by now. At least more than I would some madman belonging to Stannis or the Northern lords. For he had nothing to live for, unlike many Westerosi back home, seeking pardons or favors from the remaining kings and houses.
His archery skills could be vital for us and the northmen, he gathered, thinking of what use Edar could be to Sansa in the war. And he had been a successful merchant for many years. He could be of service to Sansa with provisions, baggage train, keeping counts when arming and feeding the soldiers and smallfolk, and other such things. Sandor was a battlefield commander, not a chief of provisions.
Fuck. Sandor cleared his throat and said at last, "Edar, you can come with us back to Westeros on one condition only."
Hagen turned his head quickly at those words. He looked up at Sandor with eyes open in surprise and nodded. "Go on. I'm listening."
Thinking about the right way to say this, Sandor rasped, "You can come only if you bend the knee to Sansa, and swear fealty to her as your liege lady. To her alone, mind you. Not to her family. Not to me. To Sansa alone."
Hagen Edar gaped up at him in utter disbelief. But he sure looked buggeringly pleased with himself. He nodded, smiling and drying the tears from his eyes. "I'll do it! I'll be Jeyne's… I'm sorry, Sansa's sworn shield, and will live every day to defend her, hoping it can show just a little of my immense gratitude for you both. I'll become Sansa's sworn shield, and the world be damned!"
Sandor grunted in amusement as he offered his hand to Hagen to help him back on his feet, his eyes falling on Edar's bow and quiver lying on the floor by the hearth.
"More like her sworn arrow, as you cannot even lift a fucking sword," he told the Lorathi, stepping back to consider the man before him. I must be as crazy as him if I'm willing to believe this could actually work.
Hagen Edar threw back his head and laughed at that, agreeing, "Aye, more like her sworn arrow indeed. But do you think she will want me to become that to her?"
He nodded and warned, "Yes, she'll like that. And now you better fucking well take care of her while I go back to that shack to speak with Seaworth, or else I will make you wish you had never been born."
Sandor paused only long enough on his way out of Edar's room to listen outside the door of the room where the little bird was still crying. His mouth began to twitch as he pictured in his mind what Sansa was doing inside, before he walked away, down the stairs, out of the inn and into the streets and canals of the Secret City, his cloak's hood pulled upwards in a feeble attempt to hide his scars and burns. It took him little time to reach the house the Onion Knight had deemed safe enough to hide a bloody direwolf in.
When he knocked on the front door, turning his neck around to see if someone had followed him, Davos quickly opened the door after Sandor caught sight of young Rickon peering at him from the window of the living room.
Sandor stepped inside and regarded the scene before him with a scowl. Davos had a rag around his hand, and Shaggydog was scratching at the door to the garden madly, threatening to tear it down at any moment, while Osha held Rickon's arm. The wilding woman, who was more than a head taller than the little bird, looked like she had seen all of this before. It was the bloody knight who looked none too pleased with the way Sansa's brother was behaving.
Sandor chuckled sourly, raising his eyebrow at the Onion. "Did the boy bit you, Seaworth?" At least it was the boy and not the wolf who did the biting.
Davos nodded, looking even more tired than he had this morning. "Yes. He's been uncontrollable for an hour now, since he learned that his sister had left the house. Punching, kicking, refusing to calm down, and agitating his wolf."
"Sansa said there was going to be no farewell! She promised!" the boy screamed, attempting to release himself from the wild woman's grip.
Osha pointed at Sandor, and said, "See, little lordling? Here's Clegane, your sister's friend. Now think for a moment. You wouldn't leave without Shaggy, your best friend, would you? No? Then you know that your sister wouldn't leave without him."
Sandor understood the hint quickly. He's going to go as mad as Hagen did a while ago if he thinks he's been abandoned again.
"She is right, Rickon. Sansa is busy across town," he told the boy.
Rickon turned his angry face up at him, his lip trembling. "She left me. When will she be back? Sansa has to come."
He nodded. "She will. You'll see her tomorrow. She was just so happy to see you again that she went to prepare for the journey back home, so you can leave this city as soon as possible."
"You hear him, boy?" Osha asked Sansa's brother, finally letting him go.
The boy took a moment before nodding. "Shaggy misses her. But I'll go tell him that she is coming back tomorrow."
And without another word, the Stark boy ran towards the garden, unlocked the door, and laughed as his immense direwolf quickly started licking his face. When they had both disappeared far into the garden, Osha and Davos turned their heads to glance at Sandor, studying him carefully.
"How is the Lady Sansa?" Davos finally dared ask him, rubbing the back of his neck with his left hand, as he indicated for Sandor to take a seat at the table in the middle of the dining room. "We were really worried about the way she reacted to the news."
"Do you have some wine?" Sandor looked around the room as he sat down.
Davos blinked at him, uncomprehending, before asking Osha to please pour him a cup of wine.
"It tastes like horse piss, but it's better than nothing," the wilding warned him, once she had served him some thin cheap wine in a wooden cup.
Snorting, Sandor drank the wine in one gulp. It did taste like horse piss, but he was grateful for the wine.
"I asked you about the Lady Sansa," the Onion Knight said.
Sandor looked at the empty cup in his hands, remembering the way Sansa had straightened her shoulders this morning in preparation for hearing what Seaworth had to tell her. He recalled the way his little bird had endured the Lannisters and so many things after that, with or without him by her side, whether it was surviving in the Kingswood with practically nothing, or standing up to speak for him in front of a whole fucking city during his trial back in Great Norvos. The little bird is truly a she-wolf of the North. Sandor just hoped that he had been right in leaving her with Hagen in this moment. A madman is better than no one.
"Don't worry about her," he told the smuggler, as Davos sat down in front of him, while Osha preferred to remain standing. "She is quite strong. She just needs some time alone, and then she'll feel better. She will dry her tears, lift her pretty chin up, open the door, and be ready to go back to Westeros right away."
Seaworth narrowed his eyes at him, and asked in a voice dripping with suspicion, "And how do you know that, Clegane?"
Sandor shrugged, and replied, "Because I know her very well."
At his words, the fucking Onion stood up indignantly. Sandor regarded this behavior with faint amusement.
"You know her very well? Clegane, what does that mean? Tell the truth now, have you dishonored the Lady Sansa?" he asked, bluntly.
Sandor leaned against the back of his chair and chuckled sourly. "That's a question I would have expected from Lord Rigid Baratheon. Or from one of his minions. I remember him from before Robert died and your so called king ran to hide in Dragonstone. He always looked and walked as if he had a stick up his arse."
That seemed to infuriate Davos. He gripped the edge of the table, and spat back, "Stannis is a better man than you or me, Clegane, and the rightful king of Westeros. He will have only the truth from my mouth, and I will have that from you now. You haven't answered my question. Have you dishonored Lady Sansa?"
Sandor straightened in his seat and snarled, "You want the fucking truth, smuggler? Here it is. The little bird and I have been in love for months, but neither you nor your master have anything to worry about, because Sansa is still a maid. So, no, you bloody idiot, I have not dishonored the woman I sodding love!"
The silence that followed his declaration seemed to last a long time. Davos Seaworth, looking shocked. He stared at Sandor with utter disbelief before he turned to look at Osha, at a loss.
The wilding was eyeing the Onion Knight with a sour smile. "Might be it's the truth he's telling us, m'lord."
The damnable bugger snorted to show Sandor and Osha what he thought of that. He raised the hand Stannis had shortened. "My fingers will grow back before that happens, Osha. Clegane, you and Lady Sansa in love? You actually expect the world to believe this? Stannis will have your head."
Sandor could feel himself growing furious again. He stood up and roared, "I don't give one bloody fuck what the world believes about me. I never have. I'm only telling you because you asked. It's no hair off my arse if you choose not to take my words for the truth."
It bloody was, but Sandor didn't care at the moment. He was having a hard time coping with the rage Seaworth had awoken in him. A rage Sandor hadn't felt in a long time until this morning when he learned Gregor was dead, despite him having lived with it for most of his life. Bloody hells, how will it be like when we are brought before Stannis? Answering to Robb Stark, who was Sansa's brother and cared for her, was one thing, but the second Baratheon brother was going to be a sodding ordeal to deal with.
"Knowing you and your brother's ways," Davos dared tell him now, "I can hardly believe you. True, there may have never been stories spread about you like the ones that have been told of your brother with his raping and killings. But it wouldn't be beneath you to achieve you goal by some other means. You probably took advantage of the poor little girl, who didn't know what was best for her. Who was all alone with you for months, with nobody else but yourself to look for solace, a grown man, and…"
Sandor almost slammed the table out of his way with his hands at those accusations, and the daring of the man to compare him with Gregor, and to think he would actually rape the little bird. He unsheathed his longsword in one quick movement of his hand before the Onion Knight could do the same. "First of all, don't you ever dare say that I am like my brother. Or even consider that I am like the rabid dog he was, and would actually harm Sansa like that. She is anything but a little girl, Seaworth. Sansa has grown and knows what she wants. She chose me, only the Stranger knows why, because I cannot explain it myself, but she did, and I will not let either Stannis or the entire bloody North combined take that fucking choice away from her. And nor will I allow them to question Sansa's honor, to have her reputation soiled. Or to have the world see her as a stain upon her House!"
As he went on, Sandor noticed that the smuggler's angry scowl was changing into suspicion and then into awe, but he didn't care. Fucking hells, this was the exact bloody reason for having restrained himself from taking Sansa for months until the point where Sandor could practically feel as if his right wrist was going to fall off at any moment. And yet the Onion dared accused him of having cared so little for Sansa that he wouldn't mind people calling her a whore!
So Sandor went on, pointing out, "You do realize what awaits her back in the Seven Kingdoms, don't you? Now that her family is either dead or scattered, Sansa is going to be used as a pawn even more than she was by the Lannisters, and there is no way in seven hells I'm going to stand back and watch again in silence how that happens. But I don't see why you give a fuck, for whatever bastard who wants to gain the North through her wouldn't care if she was still a maiden or not. You know Stannis Baratheon better than me, for fuck's sake! You may call the bugger honorable, but don't stand there and talk as if his shit didn't stink, for he'll be the first one to plan out how he could use the little bird for his own ends. He'll do that over my dead body."
Shaggydog barked outside in the garden then, and Rickon joined his direwolf, barking with him as if he was a true wild pup as well. Osha was looking at him and Davos with an unreadable expression, but Sandor only had eyes for the man before him, wondering if he had just earned yet another foe.
Silence settled once again over the three of them, until the wilding woman went to the doorframe of the garden to tell Rickon to keep quiet and control Shaggydog. When she came back and exchanged a meaningful look with Seaworth, the Onion Knight finally let out a long sigh and sat back down on his seat, his arguments and fears defeated.
Sandor remained standing, staring down at the bloody smuggler with dislike, his sword still on his hand. Once he decided he could sheathe it in his scabbard again, Seaworth finally said, "All right, Clegane. All right. I can see that you do love Lady Sansa as you claim, and have her best interests at heart."
"Glad to see you aren't fucking blind as well as maimed," Sandor responded, taking his seat at the table as well, warily.
Davos Seaworth actually laughed at that. When his laughter died away, he looked Sandor straight in the face and said, "I will have to talk to the Lady Sansa about all of this when she is feeling better."
Sandor nodded, already knowing this. "I expect she'll be feeling better tomorrow. The news she learned today were bad, but she has a tough skin."
"All Starks do, from what I've seen," Osha pointed out, joining Davos and Sandor at the table, taking the chair at the head. "With Bran and Rickon."
"I would've thought she would be more like her mother and the Tullys," Seaworth observed. "She really does look a lot like Lady Catelyn."
"Aye, she does," Sandor agreed. "The boy mistook her for Lady Stark when his wolf led him and Osha to Ragman's Harbor this morning."
The wilding shook her head. "I never knew the little lord's mother, nor their father or their youngest sister, but I gather that despite Robb, Bran, Rickon and Sansa looking like their mother, they are more Stark on the inside than they are Tully on the outside. Them finding those direwolves is proof enough of that."
"Sansa's direwolf was killed," Sandor reminded the woman.
Osha turned her head to regard him and his words, before nodding and saying, "Aye, she was. Remind me what's that name Lord Davos called you when you two saw each other this morning? Dog?"
"Hound," Sandor answered, carelessly. "My House's sigil is a yellow field with three black dogs on it."
"Hound, a dog and a wolf aren't so different from each other when it comes to it. M'lady of Stark may not have her wolf with her, but she has had you from what I've heard. And she sure looked mighty happy about it this morning."
Sandor stared at Osha, and his burned features broke into a grin and he rasped a laugh despite all the shit that had happened today. He was thankful for the wilding woman's words, not minding one whit that she had called him Hound.
"But that was this morning," Stannis' smuggler reminded them both. "Now everything has changed for Lady Stark, and for all of our fates one way or another."
"Aye," Osha agreed. "I told Robb Stark before he left for the South that he was marching the wrong way. He didn't listen to me. What do you intend to do now, Clegane? For blood, death, fire and ice await us all across the Narrow Sea. That and nothing sweet. Rickon's scrawny skin is the only one he got, and I intend he keeps it till the day he's wrinkled all up like a prune in its hundredth year."
Sandor grunted, glad that young Rickon had such a staunch protector looking after him. He looked at the wilding and then at the Onion Knight. "I've thought of this for a while, and I have a plan."
He proceeded to explain it to an attentive Davos and Osha for about an hour. When he was done, it was settled that he and Seaworth should go straight away to the harbor to try and see if they could finally book passage for them all to the Seven Kingdoms. Before he had taken two strides towards the door, young Rickon came running inside from the garden, with his giant wolf dashing at his heels.
Sandor felt he ought to get to know the boy more, and talked to him about anything that came into his mind, trying to ignore how awkward he felt doing this. At least he looks at my face without fear. Sansa's brother was as wild as a winter storm, and when Sandor asked him how old he was, Rickon showed him six fingers.
Fuck, the same age I was when Gregor burned my face and killed my little sister. Sandor couldn't help it then. He ruffled young Rickon's long hair, so much like his own little bird's, and laughed when the boy told him once more he and Shaggy had decided they liked him.
"You promise Sansa will come back tomorrow, don't you, Sandor?"
"Aye, I promise, Rickon. She will be here. I know she misses you very much already."
"I miss her too," the young Stark answered.
The Onion and him went to Ragman's Harbor afterwards, with Sandor's hood pulled up, as he walked silently beside Davos, letting the former smuggler talk to the captains and make the inquiries, always listening to everything that was said, and always looking at his surroundings.
It is better this way, Sandor reminded himself, yet again as he urged the man to ask several captains matters of importance about their ships. It was easier to hide the Onion Knight's maimed hand than Sandor's burned face, and now that they were asking captains and sailors from Westeros for information, it wouldn't do for many to recognize either of them.
In the end they found a galley called The King of the Seas, with a captain called Beren the Stout, who was from Oldtown, and was sailing to White Harbor the day after tomorrow, an hour after dawn. Beren didn't seem to have a fucking idea that he was agreeing to take the famous Onion Knight, the Hound, Sansa and Rickon Stark, and their companions, along with their horses and a direwolf on board.
When they were done, it was still many hours till dusk. Sandor shook Davos Seaworth's hand, promising to return to the shack tomorrow, and he strode away back to The Inn of the Green Eel, to his little bird.
A/N: Thank you so much for all the encouragement I received regarding the twist to the plot last week. I shall keep my fingers crossed that you keep on liking this, and I thank you once again for reading. Reviews are love