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.
* Onborrowedwings, thank you for beta-ing the fic, my friend! I hope you know how much I appreciate it :D :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.
45. Conversations
Sandor was sitting alone at the edge of the clearing upon a log, honing his longsword, sparing a glance at the people gathered outside the deserted crofter's cabin from time to time. He needed to keep his blade sharp, aware that he may need to use it at any moment now.
As he grabbed the whetstone from the ground, Sandor caught sight of Ser Marlon. The fucking knight had been watching him from some time now. Snorting in amusement, not one bit surprised, Sandor held the man's gaze until the knight looked away. Sandor muttered, "Bloody gnat," under his breath before returning his attention to the steel in his hand, brooding.
The meeting from earlier this morning was all that Sandor could think about, but he knew, as did the little bird and even the wildling woman, that they had no other choice now but to trust themselves into the Manderly sisters' care, even if they were not yet ready to believe every word that they had told them. This is what we were expecting would happen after all, Sandor had to remind himself. No use wishing things would have turned out differently.
Most of the tidings he had learned this morning had been news he and the Onion and Hagen had already assumed to have occurred, back on The King of the Seas as they journeyed across the Narrow Sea. Now all that was left for him and his little bird and her brother to do was go to White Harbour and wait for the next raven from Lord Lamprey to see how matters stood.
Sandor had never seen Wyman Manderly, but he had heard enough about the man through the years to have made a pretty accurate opinion of him; an opinion that would not change only because the lord's granddaughters had praised him until he sounded like Baelor the Blessed. Seaworth had assured him that Manderly was not as weak or foolish as he had let the world believe, and they had really no other choice otherwise, Sandor would not have dared to bring Sansa back to her land just yet. Manderly may be a fat man, but is seems he had not been an idle one.
The sound of crackling leaves nearby made Sandor raise his head, his musings on the war and what most likely awaited them all in White Harbour for the moment forgotten as he saw that it was Sansa who had made the noise that interrupted the stillness in this side of the clearing as she made his way towards him. Sandor could not help but grin up at her in return, for the smile that was now on his little bird's face was one she reserved only for him.
"Little bird," he rasped when she was standing before him, playing with a piece of cloth in her hands.
"I see you are taking care of Protector," the bird chirped, as his eyes roamed all over her body, taking in her curves and the outline of her long legs behind her skirts.
Sandor stared at Sansa at a loss, considering reaching out to caress one of his wife's legs so temptingly close to him, before he asked, "Who's Protector?"
"Your sword," Sansa reminded him, taking a seat beside him on the log. "Don't you remember that I named it Protector back in Essos after telling you about how all great longswords had names?"
"Ah yes," Sandor growled, shaking his head in resignation, glancing down at his sword as his little wife moved closer to him, until their thighs and legs were touching. Sandor sheathed his sword in its scabbard, placing the latter on the ground in order to keep Sansa from accidentally cutting herself with the sharp blade. "And it's well named. We will need its protection from now on."
Blushing at that for whatever bloody reason, the little bird stared for a moment at her hands before commenting softly, "Do you remember what I told you on the first morning in the caravan after we fled Great Norvos?"
Sandor could not help but snort at that, and answered truthfully, "I sure as hell don't, bird. I wonder how you sodding can."
Sansa did not seem to mind that he could not remember, for she chuckled and met his gaze with her beautiful blue eyes, dimples appearing in her cheeks, before saying, "I came up with the name for your sword on that morning too, since you had just fought Arman in the duel."
"The High Sheep," Sandor snarled, frowning. "What about him?"
"In our first morning in the Hills of Norvos I told you to keep the handkerchief I had given you to wear as my favor during the ordeal by combat before promising to make you one with a hound and a bird embroidered upon it."
Vaguely remembering what Sansa was talking about, Sandor narrowed his eyes in suspicion, glaring at the piece of cloth in her hands.
"I have something that belongs to you," the little bird said, offering him the handkerchief, confirming his suspicions. "I- I know you said you liked the previous one better because it was simple, but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to make you a gift, and I finally finished the one with the bird and the hound yesterday while you were training with Rickon."
Sandor took the handkerchief and stared at the black dog and the little bird figures, before rasping a rough, curt, "Thanks."
He wanted to show his wife his thanks in another way, but was mindful of the several pairs of eyes fixed upon Sansa and him ever since she had come to join him.
"What is it?" Sansa asked him, placing her hand on his knee as he went on staring at the handkerchief. "Don't you like it?"
Sandor jerked his head in the direction where the Manderly party was standing outside the cabin, as they talked to Edar and the Onion, the former borrowing some of the attention from them from time to time as he went on cleaning his nails with the same dagger he used to cut his meat and pick at his teeth with.
"They're watching us," he explained, still unsure as to how Sansa expected him to behave with her now, whenever they were not alone.
It had been easy back in the east, but now, with the little bird returning to be Lady Stark and the one the north was depending on after young Rickon, Sandor was mindful that he couldn't just damn the world to hell and kiss Sansa in thanks before the Manderly party, fearing her reaction at his actions. Sandor was ready to let the whole world know that he was Sansa's husband, but he did not wished to do something that would displease the little bird in the process.
Yet once again, Sansa proved to him that it was fucking wrong of him to doubt her even in the slightest, for after sparing a glance at the knight and the sisters as they went on looking at them- the women with wide curious eyes and the old bugger with judgment in his fucking stare- the little bird said, "Let them watch to their heart's content. I don't care. We are doing no wrong. You are my husband now, big man, by both the old gods and the new, and I can come and seek your company whenever I wish. There is nothing they can do about it, my former dearest sworn shield."
And without another word Sansa leaned upwards and kissed him on his scarred cheek. A deep rumbling grunt of pleasure escaped from Sandor's throat as he closed his eyes and grasped the hand Sansa still had on his leg, wishing with all his might he could feel Sansa's touch upon the burned flesh of his face.
"I love you, little bird" he heard himself telling Sansa, once he had tucked away the handkerchief between his leather jerkin and his chainmail.
"And I love you," Sansa answered, bringing her knuckles up to his neck so that she could caress the stubble of his jaw. She had told him before that she liked the scratchy feeling that touching him there gave her. "That is the truth, Sandor. And the truth that we both know is all that should ever matter between us."
Sandor nodded, leaning his face into Sansa's touch, growling, "So what do you make of everything that's happened since this morning?"
Sansa looked over at the Manderly party with a frown, before replying, "I think Wylla and Wynafryd are nice enough, but we should keep an eye on Ser Marlon. Hagen told me that he was the one who was more upset about us marrying after all."
"And he is just the first one," Sandor pointed out. "And we didn't get to see his initial reaction upon learning the news."
"Oh, I know it is not as easy as all that," the bird chirped. "We can't trust anyone so easily. And neither can Lady Wynafyd and Lady Wylla trust us yet. But we all know we do not have much choice in the matter to some extent. I am also frightened because the world will learn about us soon enough; about Rickon and I being alive, and about our marriage too. Why, even now the sailors from The King of the Seas could be spreading tales about Shaggydog as we speak at some inn, making the need of entering White Harbour under night's cover all the more pressing, but- there is something that is troubling me even more right now, Sandor."
"Which is?" Sandor wanted to know.
Something shifted in his bird's features as she straightened her shoulders and returned her gaze to him, taking a deep breath before answering, "It may mean nothing, but I can't forget the look on Rickon's face when he spoke of how the Freys had to pay for what they did at the Red Wedding."
Sandor knew what she meant at once. He had recognized the hate behind Rickon's words as he spoke of wanting all the Freys to get what they deserved quick enough, having lived with a similar hate himself for so long. The others had not seemed to notice it, and if they did, they probably had not thought it was important due to the boy's young age, but Sandor was glad the little bird had reminded him of it.
"I'm not surprised he said that," Sandor admitted. "I would have done the same thing at his age under the circumstances. Which means it isn't good for him."
"Oh," Sansa's almost gasped, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers as she understood. "Oh Sandor, I hadn't even considered that. I- I do wish for the Lannisters and the Freys and the Boltons to pay. I always have, but to me it was more important to just get back home safely to my family. Revenge was not the foremost thought in my mind."
"I reckon your brother wanted that too, little bird," Sandor replied. "But you are different. You have always been too good Sansa. Now that Rickon has been robbed of his family, he may with time start thinking that revenge is one of the few things left to him that really matters."
At least that's how it happened with me, Sandor thought, the memories of his childhood rushing through his mind; memories he had not dwelt upon for weeks now. The remains of the hatred and loathing he had felt for Gregor was stirring deep inside him as his bird suddenly reached out for his hand, rubbing his wrist with her thumb, saying in a voice barely louder than a whisper, "I can't let him grow up feeling like that. The north- he- should remember, but- but-"
"Would you mind if I talked to him about it?" Sandor heard himself ask his little wife awkwardly, realizing that she was having trouble with putting into words what she was concerned about. It was not something he fancied doing, but Sandor did care for Rickon's well being.
Blinking in surprise, Sansa smiled warmly at him, saying, "You do not know how much that would mean to me. Of course I wouldn't mind, big man. Quite the contrary. And after you're done you can tell me what you said to him so that when it is my turn to talk to him I can try and make him understand anything he hadn't already accepted."
Sandor nodded in agreement before Sansa added as an afterthought, "And we should also ask Osha to help us, I think. I feel she understand Rickon in a way we never will. I don't know what has happened to them ever since they last saw Bran, but you saw the way she succeeded in making Rickon talk again after I told him about Mother and Robb."
"I'll go take a piss," Sandor informed his little bird after some of his conclusions regarding Skagos and the part tit could still play in Rickon's future crossed his mind. "Tell the lad to wait for me here."
"Sandor," Sansa said suddenly, with hesitation. "Won't- would you not join me as while I talk to the Manderlys?"
Sandor met his wife's eyes, knowing what she meant.
"I will after I've talked to Rickon," he promised, nodding.
"Thank you," Sansa said, looking at him with eyes full of love, her mouth slightly open.
"It's nothing," he rasped, shrugging even as he leaned over so that he could brush his half scarred lips with Sansa's soft plump ones, gathering that if she had the balls to kiss him before the others, he could damn well do the same.
By the time he had returned from pissing Rickon was already waiting for him, seated on the same spot his sister had taken on the log, with Shaggydog noisily eating a rabbit some steps away. The sound of crunching bones and of the direwolf's growls as he struggled to break through the skin stopped when the black beast caught sight of Sandor. Shaggydog and Rickon raised their heads as if they were one to look at him, the former quickly dismissing him from his mind as Shaggy returned to his prey, and the latter exclaiming excitedly, "Sandor, guess what Sansa has just told me!"
Sandor opened his mouth to try and hazard a guess at what the little bird must have told her brother, but never had the chance to say anything, for Rickon only waited for his answer for a heartbeat, before saying, "Sansa said that we are finally leaving this place tomorrow morning."
"I knew that already," Sandor replied, walking over to sit on the log again. "Have you ever been to White Harbour, boy?"
"No," Rickon replied, shaking his head. "Before Osha and Shaggy and me went to Skagos I saw it though. Osha didn't want to go into the city. But we saw it from far away. I think Braavos was bigger. Have you seen it?"
"I haven't," Sandor admitted stiffly, wondering how in seven hells he should go about questioning Rickon about what was really on his mind. Who would have thought a year ago I would be doing this? Sandor wondered, amazed at how difficult thinking how to ask the right questions was proving out to be. "But I don't think it will be as big as Braavos either."
"Will we still have our lessons while we are there, won't we?" Rickon wondered.
"We will," Sandor rasped down at him, smirking. "We have to keep at it every day if we want you to become the best warrior in the north."
"Are you the best warrior from the south? I bet you are!"
Sandor snorted, gathering that if Rickon wanted to look up to him, then it would be better for the boy to do so because of the man Sandor was now. Not because of the reputation I had as the Hound.
"I am," he sighed, thinking of a much more practical matter now. With Gregor dead and Jaime Lannister short his right hand; there aren't any other men out there that could beat me in a fight. The only good thing of the world agreeing with Rickon was that there would be less buggers seeking to hurt Sansa, in fear of angering him.
"We will win back Winterfell easily with your help then," Rickon pointed out. "I can't fight yet because I am little, but you can fight for me, can't you? Shaggy will help you."
"I'll fight for you and your sister," Sandor told his future liege lord. "But Rickon, there is more to life than fighting."
"There isn't," Rickon told him after he took a moment to think upon his words, frowning. "I want to go home. We have to fight the bad men for mother and father and Robb and then we can get Winterfell back."
I need wine, Sandor thought, as he snarled at the six year old roughly, "It isn't my place to question princes, but is that how you want to spend the rest of your life, boy? Fighting for ghosts? Once you have your home back and are taught how to play the lord, what do you mean to do? Hunt down everyone who is a Frey or a lion or a Bolton?"
Sandor had no bloody problem with Rickon wanting to fight to get his home back, but if he had come to learn something of value in the months he had spent with Sansa, it had been that the reasons for why you were fighting really did matter.
Rickon was looking up at him with narrowed eyes, uncomprehending. Sandor sighed again, cursing inwardly before he explained, "When you are old enough for it, you are going to fight no matter if we win or lose this war, Rickon. But you have to do it for the right reasons. I know you can't fucking get what I am trying to tell you because you're too young, but you will be a man grown soon enough. When the time comes, you have to fight for something that is worth it."
"I will fight for my family," Rickon told him again, without hesitation, frowning as he tried to understand what Sandor was telling him.
"Aye, but you also want to fight so that those who have hurt your family can be destroyed," Sandor pointed out. "And that will only end up messing with your head, Rickon."
"How do you know that?" the boy spat, pouting.
Sandor snorted, since Rickon looked just like Sansa when he did that. Bloody hells!
"Because that's what happened to me," Sandor rasped down at young Rickon. "Before I met your sister all I lived for was the chance to get to kill the man who had hurt me and killed my family."
Rickon's ears pricked up at that, as he leaned closer to Sandor and asked sharply, "Did he hurt your face?"
"For fuck's sake," Sandor growled impatiently, scowling, not ready to tell the boy about how Gregor, his own brother, had shoved his face into the burning coals, knowing that would only mess up Rickon more than it would help him. "I'll tell you about how I got burned one day if you're so eager to learn about it. But I was talking about my family."
"I'm sorry," the little bird's brother replied, caressing Shaggy's muzzle as the wolf went to stand beside them.
Sandor shrugged. "I can tell you though that this man was just as bad as those who hurt your family, and ever since I was your age I dreamed of the moment when I would get a chance to stick my sword through his belly."
"Did you kill him?"
"No. A snake did while I was in the east with Sansa."
"A snake?" Rickon asked, surprised.
"A red viper from Dorne," Sandor further explained, his mouth twitching. "They killed each other. But that's not what matters. Do you know what I did when I learned that someone else had robbed me of my vengeance?"
Rickon shook his head, his mouth open in a small O, his eyes fixed on Sandor's face.
"Nothing," Sandor replied, amused at how quickly Rickon turned crestfallen, and amazed at how easily it was to talk about this without rancor in his voice. "Sansa had already shown me by then that getting revenge was not important when compared to other things. Your pretty sister changed everything and gave me hope. The world was rid of that monster, and even if it was not by my hand, I had won because I was still alive and had Sansa. And so long as she was with me, and I could go on keeping her safe, and the world could go bugger itself with a hot poker, and that's just what this man did."
"So I shouldn't be sad if the Freys and the other bad people don't die because I have Sansa?" Rickon wondered, scratching the top of his head.
"Yes," Sandor said, nodding. "Rickon, I don't want you to repeat the same mistakes I made, or the ones I saw others do. Be respected, not feared. Don't spend all of your time brooding about different ways to hunt down your enemies, no matter the shit that has happened to you in the past."
"But why could you get angry and I can't?" Rickon said in a demanding, lordly voice.
"I was angry because I had to be like that if I wanted to survive," Sandor confessed, sighing tiredly. "I was on my own already at your age, but you are not. You have Sansa and Osha and me and Edar and Shaggy, and the whole North will be looking out for you. We will all protect you."
"You promise?" Rickon asked in a low voice.
"Aye, I promise. And now you promise me to think about what I've said, even if you don't yet really understand it much."
"I will be a good lord like Father," Rickon promised him.
Sandor reached out to ruffle young Rickon's hair, hoping that some of his words made sense. If I can keep him from turning out like me or Joffrey, then I will rest easily.
"My lords!" a man's voice suddenly exclaimed, drawing Sandor, Rickon and Shaggydog's attention.
Edar was striding over to them, waving cheerfully, the Onion at his heels.
"What are you two doing hiding out here?" Hagen asked, once he and Davos were standing in front of Rickon and Sandor. "Our new friends are rather keen on getting to know you Rickon."
"I like them," Rickon confessed. "I wasn't so sure about the boy who can't talk, but Shaggy doesn't mind him, so I don't either. I will go talk to them."
"Remember to think on what I told you, boy," Sandor snarled at Rickon.
Sansa's brother nodded and went off to running towards the cabin's entrance, where the little bird and Osha were talking to the Manderly sisters with Ser Marlon standing guard behind the latter, and the mute boy running to tuck away a bronze cup in one of the saddlebags.
"I was also talking to you, Lord Clegane," Edar told him in a mocking tone. "You are not being a very good lord to your people right now, hiding over here rather than being beside Sansa, trying to win over the Manderlys. Sitting out here looking mean and ugly won't help you one bit, my friend."
"Fuck that," Sandor rasped, wincing at the reminder of his lordship. It had been a low enough price to pay for the reward of making the little bird his own, but that did not make him like it any better. The Cleganes were landed gentry. His grandfather, who had been neither a lord nor thankfully a knight, had kept a modest keep all his life- even after receiving Tytos Lannister's gratitude for that indecent with the lioness.
"Hagen is right," Davos was saying now, as he looked down at Sandor.
"I know that" he snarled, standing up. "But I'll have plenty of time to know them after today. It's a bloody wonder how you two have managed to ride all the way from White Harbour with that lot for company."
"We could have done worse," Seaworth said, stroking his chin. "The ladies won't mean you any harm so long as they can see with their own eyes that what I and Hagen have told them about you and Sansa are true."
"Then the number of northeners who will wish to cut my throat for marrying Sansa has just grown two persons shorter," Sandor mocked with a snort, remembering the issue he had been meaning to talk with Hagen about.
Looking at the Lorathi, Sandor growled roughly, "What in seven hells were you thinking when you decided to pretend you wanted to sell my horse, gnat?"
Sandor could not wait for the moment when he was reunited with his warhorse again. If anything had happened to Stranger because of this fucking madman's plan…
"Well, what else would you have had me and Davos do?" Edar ask in defense. "I was supposed to be a merchant, but the only valuable good I had with me at that moment- the only thing that would be worthy enough to attract Wylla and Wynafryd's attention, was your horse. Stranger as a destrier was of more use to them than any yards of silk or satin I could have boasted of and a better purchase than poor Nan would have been."
Sandor could see the wisdom behind those actions, but that did not matter one bloody bit to him in this moment.
"Aye, a better purchase," Sandor mocked. "My horse doesn't kick more than most and doesn't shit in the halls… I tell you, if anything's happened to my horse by the time we arrive at White Harbour, one of you is going to pay."
"Don't worry, Clegane," Seaworth assured him. "Stranger and Nan are being looked after by the Manderly household. Though I must admit I would have liked to know what your wife's sworn arrow would have done if Lady Wylla had really been inclined to buy Stranger even after being told who that black beast's master was."
"I think it's time me and Davos heard what you and Sansa and Rickon and Osha have been doing in these woods while we were away," Edar interrupted, ignoring Seaworth's words.
Sandor shrugged, rasping, "We told Rickon about the Red Wedding."
"Aye, we figured out as much," the Onion said. "After the meeting this morning it was clear the boy knew. Who told him?"
"Sansa," Sandor answered, buckling on his scabbard after he'd picked it from the log.
"We can imagine how he took it," Edar commented in a sudden serious tone. "Poor lad. So young to have suffered so much."
So was the little bird, Sandor thought, before rasping, "We also got married two days ago before this godswood that Rickon found."
"Ah yes, I told Davos you might have," Hagen told him. "We passed many of those heart trees on our way here. I must say, those trees look nothing like what Osha described. I think I like these woods. They would have been the perfect place for me to hide in back in the days when I was an outlaw."
"You should have been one of the members of the Kingswood Brotherhood," the Onion commented, chuckling.
Sandor's mind drifted away just as the talk turned to the Brotherhood. He was remembering his second wedding to the little bird. He had preferred that one to the one they'd had back in Braavos since it had been simple and short and they had been practically alone, but it made Sandor frown to remember how he had felt at first when he knelt before those white and red trees, feeling bloody uncomfortable when, for a moment, it seemed as if the faces carved into their trunks were somehow weighing him, seeing right through him with those red eyes of theirs.
"You have the paper signed by us and the septon from your wedding by the Seven," Seaworth was telling Sandor now, returning his attention to the present. "So I don't think you will be pestered into marrying again in the Sept of Snow. But you may have to marry again before a godswood. There is no one but a child and a wildling woman to back you up in that wedding."
"We know that," Sandor answered with a scowl. "And it's not a problem."
"No," Seaworth said, with the shadow of a smile appearing on his face. "I don't suppose it is."
Sandor cleared his throat before asking in a serious, harsh tone, "So you really trust them then?"
Edar and Seaworth both looked at him at that, and nodded at the same time.
Their party left the cabin in the woods the next morning, striking for White Harbour at as fast a pace as they could manage when they were ten people and had only six horses with them.
Sansa squirmed in the saddle and felt the links of Sandor's mail digging into her back. She was cold and sore and haggard by then, but in her heart there was so much strong northern hope that none of that mattered. They were at the very edge of the eastern shore where the White Knife plunged into the firth. Sansa could hear the roaring sea nearby. The air had a sharp, salty smell to it her.
There is something a little fishy about it, Sansa thought, taking a deep breath. It smells like I would think a mermaid smells. She smiled at that thought.
Straightening her shoulders, Sansa placed her hands around her big man's arms, which were encircling her, as Wylla Manderly stopped her horse beside the one Sansa and Sandor had been riding, saying, "We are here, my lady. Those are the walls of the Wolf's Den."
She nodded at her, smiling a little. Sansa liked Wylla and Wynafryd, and thought that they were brave. And I believe they truly have spoken from the heart since we first met them. If they had been lying, Sandor would have seen right through them all. And Shaggydog too I bet. We would not have come this far had they not thought White Harbour was a safe place.
Wylla's voice filled the twilight grove that was at the end of the wood's outskirts. Between the trees where their party was standing right now and the massive thick walls of whitewashed stone that loomed high before them there were no more than thirty paces.
"We should dismount," Ser Marlon Manderly suggested, getting off his horse and handing the reins over to Wex. "Boy, go forTherry so he can take the horses back to the stables and then have the saddles back to the New Castle. We must part with our mounts now."
The ironborn mute boy nodded, quickly looking to his right and then to his left before running fast towards the corner where the stone walls turned to the east. Night was falling fast. The evening sky had been turning to the faded grey of an old cloak that has been washed too many times when Wynafryd and Wylla had informed them all that they would be reaching White Harbour in less than an hour. By now the first shy stars were coming out, and the shafts of sunlight had long vanished when the last thin slice of the sun was swallowed beneath the eastern woods.
Sandor got off his horse as Osha did the same and lifted Rickon off the saddle. Sansa saw that Hagen Edar and Lord Seaworth had finally caught up with them as well as Sandor placed his hands around her waist, lifting her to the ground. Sansa gave her husband a smile and grabbed on to his shoulders for support, saying, "Thank you."
Her big man gave a curt nod in reply, muttering, "Stay close," and grabbed the horse's reins, loosening his longsword in its scabbard in the process. Sansa looked at her feet, praying silently to the old gods and the new that nothing went amiss once they entered White Harbour's prison.
Since it wouldn't yet do for anyone to see her or Rickon or Sandor or Lord Davos until they were safely hidden behind the New Castle's walls, the Manderlys had informed them that the only way to smuggle them into the city was through the secret way that connected the Wolf Den to the castle. It was the same underground passageway that Robett Glover had used when he took The Onion Knight to see Lord Wyman, and the same underground passageway that the Manderly sisters and Davos and Hagen had used to get out of the city days ago, when they had first left the city to go searching for Sansa, Sandor, Osha and Rickon.
And Shaggydog, Sansa reminded herself as the great dark wolf appeared before her, shaking his black coat. Her brother's wolf was another one of the reasons why they had to enter White Harbour shrouded by night's shadows. If anyone saw the direwolf then word would spread as fast as raven's wings to their enemies of their homecoming. They must not know that we are not defeated until we want them to, and not a moment before.
"It's a good thing we got here before it started to rain," Edar was telling Lord Davos and Lady Wynafryd. "I bet that the sky will start to weep in an hour or so."
"You are making enough bloody noise to be seen in Oldtown," Sandor snarled at Sansa's sworn arrow in the same moment that Ser Marlon said, "Hush, Edar."
The elderly knight and Sandor stared at each other at that, the former looking awkward and displeased, and the latter looking like he couldn't care less. Sansa sighed, hoping that this quiet enmity between the two would go away in the following days. So far Ser Marlon had been courteous to Sansa and Rickon, and even Osha to a point once the Manderlys saw how much Rickon liked the wildling woman, but when it came to Sandor, the knight would avoid addressing him unless it was absolutely necessary.
He resents Sandor, Sansa thought, as they all made their way to the side door that had been built in the middle of the southern wall of the Wolf's Den. She was aware that the members of the senior branches of the houses in the north would feel the same about the man she had married, but since Sandor and she had known this all along since they had realized that they could not set their love aside, Sansa and her big man had been able to cope with the Manderly knight's behaviour well enough.
Sandor had even surprised Sansa as he had choked back down his mocking remarks more than once in the past days as they made their way through the last stage of their journey through the wild. And at least Ser Marlon hasn't been troublesome so far. And when it came to Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla, Sansa was immensely graceful to them.
The sisters had at first averted their eyes away from Sandor's face, but as they all got to know each other a little better, the sisters had started to show the first signs of respect towards Sandor that Sansa had always known the northerners would feel once they saw that her big man was truly good and meant them no harm at all. Even this morning Wylla had called Sandor, "Lord Clegane," drawing an approving laugh and chuckle from Hagen Edar and the Onion Knight, and surprised looks from her and Sandor.
When they were all standing before the thick wooden postern door, Ser Marlon knocked loudly seven times. Sandor and Osha glanced over their shoulders from time to time. The wildling had her hand on Rickon's shoulder, wary, and Sandor cast a long shadow where he stood behind Sansa, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Sansa took a step back, seeking the comfort that being close to her big man gave her, and smiled at Rickon as her brother looked up at her while he rubbed his tired eyes and yawned. Sandor placed a heavy hand on her shoulder then, and when Sansa turned around to look at her husband, Sandor squeezed her hand reassuringly, wishing to tell her something, but mindful of the people all around them.
A few moments later that seemed to Sansa to last an eternity as her heart went on beating fast inside her chest and her tummy tied into knots, the door was finally opened. Hagen Edar ushered everyone inside, complaining of taking too long when a party of ten entered one by one through the doorway.
They stepped into a small cold chamber that had two passages leading into deeper parts of the ancient fortress. There was a fire in the room but it was a small sad thing; ashes and embers and a few broken branches burning slow and smoky.
"I need hot food in my belly soon or I'm afraid I will-" Hagen began to say, before smiling as the man who had let them inside the Wolf's Den locked the door and turned to face them. "Ah, Ser Bartimus! Glad to see you again. We are back as promised."
"Bartimus," Ser Marlon said, nodding at the man.
"Did you miss us, ser?" Wynafryd asked, smiling.
Sansa stared at the man everyone was addressing as Ser Bartimus. The man before her was a cadaverous one-legged knight, with a scarred face and a blind eye, who was propping himself up with two tall wooden sticks.
It wasn't until the man acknowledged Davos with a nod and said, "Lord Wyman will be pleased with you, my lord," while looking at Shaggydog and Sansa and Rickon and even Sandor in turn, that Sansa remembered this must be the Wolf's Den's chief gaoler who she had heard of before. "You were a dead man while you stayed here under my care, and now you return to us with those the world believes to be dead as well. My lord, my lady, it's an honour. I would kneel but as you can see, it's quite hard for me."
"It's all right," Sansa answered Ser Bartimus with a smile. "We thank you ser for keeping our secret."
"We should hurry," Wylla pointed out, as Ser Marlon and Lord Davos and Hagen Edar went to fetch torches from the sconces in the walls. "We are not even inside the city walls here, and we have yet to reach the castle, and the climb to the hill is long, whether we are underground or not."
"Instruct Wex to go back to the castle once he returns," Ser Marlon instructed Ser Bartimus. "He went to fetch Garth so they could take the horses to the stables."
"Aye, my lord."
"And send young Therry to help him with the saddles. They have to be up at the castle as soon as possible."
"Yes, Ser Marlon."
"There hasn't been any trouble?" Wynafryd asked the chief gaoler.
"None that I've heard of, my lady. Me and Garth were expecting you all since the day before yesterday, but nothing has reached us here in the Wolf's Den of consequence. Don't know though if you and Lady Wylla's absence has been noted by the town's folk."
The eldest Manderly granddaughter nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Ser Bartimus. Lord Wyman will hear of the good service you have provided us."
"And my brother will be reminded of your aid to our cause as well once the time to reward our allies comes," Sansa said, speaking for Rickon, who was drifting off into a light slumber as he stood beside Osha, leaning on her leg for support.
Ser Bartimus nodded before Ser Marlon led the way along the passageway to the right. Within the passage all lay quiet as the dead. Wynafryd and Wylla followed, with Sansa, Sandor, Rickon, Shaggydog, Osha, Hagen and Davos bringing up the rear. They walked in silence through darkened halls that echoed with their footsteps, the sound reminding Sansa of old Hrolf's castle in the Bay of Lorath.
"Who else is in this place?" Sansa muttered to Sandor as they started up a flight of worn steps. Her words echoed faintly through the darkness, and she saw that the light of the torches made the old burns that marked her big man's face shine a dull red.
"No prisoners," Sandor rasped beside her. "The Onion told me that there are two turnkeys and that one-legged knight we just met, as well as a pair of washerwomen and a cook and six guardsmen. We have to avoid the barracks once we reach the ground floor. It won't do for us to be seen just yet."
Sansa nodded in agreement, wishing she could reach out to hold her big man's hands. But she gathered herself with a shake of the head as they all made their way outside to the courtyard of the Wolf's Den. Sansa gasped when she stepped outside and felt the cold sea air on her face, staring with wide eyes at the castle's godswood that grew beside the courtyard.
There was a heart tree that had grown so huge and tangled that it choked out all the oaks and elms and birch, sending its thick, pale limbs crashing through the walls and windows that looked down on it. The heart tree's roots were as thick as a man's waist, its trunk so wide that the face carved into it looked fat and angry.
Beyond the weirdwood was a rusted iron gate. When everyone had passed through it they went down some more steps until they reached a barrel-vaulted cellar, where the weeping walls were crusted white with salt, and seawater sloshed beneath their feet with every step. We are in the steps beneath the steps, Sansa knew. The secret passage that runs beneath the fortress stair up to the New Castle
Their party passed through several cellars, and rows of small, damp, foul-smelling cells that made Sansa cover her mouth and nose, and Rickon ask loudly, "What is that?"
"Hush, little lordling," Osha instructed Sansa's brother as they reached a blank stone wall that turned when Ser Marlon pushed on it. Beyond was a long narrow tunnel and still more steps. These led up. Sansa tried to recall all the memories she could muster from her visit to White Harbor as they climbed, but it was no good. There weren't many.
Sansa's cheeks were flushed by the time they finally reached the last step. They had been going uphill for what she gathered was almost half an hour and Sandor had noticed her tiredness and offered her his arm for support. Even Osha had stopped so she could carry a tired Rickon in her arms before Edar rushed in to help her carry Sansa's brother.
By the time Davos and Shaggydog reached them, the others had already emerged through another wall, but this one was lath and plaster on the far side. The room beyond was snug and warm and comfortably furnished, with a Myrish carpet on the floor and beeswax candles burning on a table. On the wall hung a sheepskin with a map of the north painted across it in faded colors.
"We're in the New Castle at last, my lady," Wynafryd told Sansa with a tired smile.
"This is the room where I was told by Lord Wyman to go fetch your brother from Skagos if he was to aid King Stannis," Davos put in.
"It is," Wylla agreed proudly, looking at Rickon and the Onion Knight. "Uncle, will you not please call for the servants? Lady Sansa and her companions must surely be longing for the comforts of a hot meal, a fire, baths and a feather bed. Lord Rickon can barely keep his eyes open."
"That would be lovely. Thank you," Sansa said.
"We will put you all in the castle's east wing. I am sure you will all want to be close to one another," Wynafryd told them. "While the servants get your rooms ready we will have our food sent here at once."
Sansa was relieved to hear that, for as soon they ate something in this place, they would become guests under this roof by the ancient laws of hospitality, and they would get to see the dawn.
Sandor opened the door to the bedroom, sighing in relief that nothing seemed to have gone wrong as he took a bath. They had all supped already on a hot meal of stewed goat and onions, washing it down with brown beer.
The chamber was large, clean, well-ordered, airy and furnished. It had two four poster feather beds with furs to keep them warm by night, wood to feed the fire blazing in the hearth, as well as tallow candles, a water basin, rugs on the floor, a large wooden tub where he and the little bird had taken a warm bath, a chamber pot, and a round table with four cushioned chairs. Lord Lamprey certainly liked his comforts.
Rickon was already fast asleep on the bed by the window, Sandor saw. And Shaggydog was resting at the foot of his master's bed. The boy had refused to take a bath when Sansa tried to wake him up after they were done with their food, and she had decided it was best for her brother to wait for a bath until the morrow. Sandor and Sansa had decided that at least for the present it would be best if they all stuck together.
Osha had been given the adjacent room to their left, and the Onion the one to their right. Hagen Edar was staying in the bedroom in front of Sandor and Sansa's, but had told the little bird that he was not going to sleep much tonight, since he had to make a good impression as her sworn arrow and protector.
As he opened the door to the bedroom, Sandor's eyes were instantly caught by his little bird. Sansa was hugging herself as she stood before the tall picture window, a vision in white lambswool. The servants had already brought her new clothes and she was wearing a nightgown and a bed robe, her hair falling don her back in a cascade of auburn curls. She was humming some song, staring out the window into the night, going silent whenever lighting lit the sky.
He cleared his throat, and his little wife turned to look at him at once as he stepped into the room, a wide warm smile on her face as she caught sight of him. Sandor could not help himself. He strode across the room in five long steps and stood behind Sansa so he could wrap his arms around her and bury his headin the crook of her neck.
She smells so sweet, he thought, his face in her hair, as the bird chirped, "It's so funny."
"What is?" he growled, lifting his face so that he could leave a trail of kisses along Sansa's neck. She gripped his arms hard with her hands at that, stifling a moan.
"I was recalling that night in the Kingswood when we decided that White Harbour was our best option after escaping King's Landing," Sansa answered. "And when we ended up in Pentos of all places, we still wanted to come here as we did at the start, but there were no ships that would brave crossing the Narrow Sea."
"What's the hell is so funny about that, love?" he asked, kissing the line of Sansa's jaw gently. The top of her round breasts were visible from this position.
Sansa giggled, sparing a quick look at Rickon to make sure he was still sleeping, before exclaiming, "Sandor, stop! You're tickling me."
Sandor paid her no heed, so the little bird went on after lifting her arm so she could reach out and cup his cheek.
"I just find it funny that we did end up here in the end, but not like we would have expected. I would never have imagined that we would end up forming a pack, big man."
That caught Sandor's attention. He frowned down at the little bird as she turned around to regard him with an amused stare.
"What pack?" he asked, confused.
Sansa giggled again. "Well, us and Osha and Rickon and Hagen and Shaggydog, of course! No matter what awaits us, we are the ones that have to stick together. The Manderlys claim to be our allies, but they are not Starks. And even Davos is loyal to Stannis, not to us, no matter how much he's come to appreciate us. I will miss the days when it was only you and me in the Free Cities, my dearest, but now we are a pack, and I am so thankful to the gods for that. Rickon and I may not have Father and Mother and Robb with us, but if we can only get Bran and Arya and Jon back, then I will be happy, no matter what."
Sandor choked back his urge to snort at that. A pack. Well, a dog and a pair of wolves could certainly form a pack, but theirs had a wildling woman and a Lorathi mad sworn arrow to boot! I suppose she is right.
Shaking his head in resignation at the little bird's strange reasoning, Sandor grinned down at Sansa, grateful to her for letting her become a member of her pack, and for everything she had ever done for him.
"Sansa," he rasped, grabbing her wrists and pulling them around his neck before leaning down so he could claim her mouth and kiss her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her body once more, pressing her to him until they were both breathless.
"Sandor, we can't," Sansa whispered when they drew apart briefly.
"I know," he growled, biting her bottom lip. "I know, little bird."
"I want to though," she admitted, looking up at him with eyes full of desire.
"Fuck, don't say that, Sansa," he snarled, pressing her even closer to him, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his breeches. Those words were killing him.
It had been days since they had last fucked, but they would have to bloody wait- at least for tonight. That was the drawback of keeping an eye on the heir to the Starks, Sandor thought sullenly, kissing his bird's forehead and the tip of her nose before regretfully releasing her.
"Let's go try and get some rest," he told her, stepping away from her, heading for the door to the hallway outside after he had placed his longsword on the bed's head post.
Sansa nodded and went to sit on the edge of their bed, sighing and remarking that at least it was a good thing that they once again had a feather mattress and soft pillows and hot water for a bath. Sandor could hear Osha and Hagen and Seaworth talking in the hallway outside. Sandor ignored them and barred the door just as the bird shuddered, saying, "Gods, it's freezing tonight! I bet it's only a matter of days before winter falls upon White Harbour and we are all buried in a few feet of snow."
Sandor strode silently towards the little bird and spread his palms on her knees for support as he went to one knee in front of Sansa. His eyes were almost on the same level as hers now. Sandor let his hands slide down Sansa's long legs slowly, taking her right foot and placed it on his knee. Seven hells, her feet are so small compared to mine!
"What are you doing?" Sansa asked him curiously as he took off her slipper, watching him with a raised eyebrow.
He shrugged, rasping, "Your feet must be cold."
Sansa's mouth parted at that, and she stared at him with wide eyes as he began to rub her right foot carefully. They looked at each other as he finished with her right foot and started massaging her left one, rubbing his calloused fingers across her soft skin.
Time seemed to stop inside the chamber. The little bird held her breath the whole time Sandor massaged her feet, and when he was done, rather than stand up Sandor lowered his head, his hair falling across his good cheek, hiding one of his eyes, before he began to kiss Sansa's feet; from her toes, to the sole underneath, to her ankles.
After what seemed like a long time, Sandor finally looked up at Sansa, and rasped, "I love you, little bird."
"And I you," she whispered softly, smiling at last, bending down at once so that she could throw her arms around his neck.
Her sudden movements and unexpected weight made Sandor lose his balance and he fell backwards to the ground, with his little bird sprawled across his chest. They laughed at that, both forgetting for a moment that Rickon and Shaggydog were in the same room.
"Careful, bird," Sandor snarled, still laughing, as Sansa propped her upper body up, looking beautiful as she gazed down at him with a blush on her cheeks. Sandor brought his hands to Sansa's back, rubbing soothing circles there now.
"Thank you for that, big man," Sansa chirped, ever the bloody lady who was mindful of her sodding courtesies. "I am not cold anymore."
"No, I don't reckon you bloody are, bird," Sandor rasped, pressing Sansa down towards him with his hands so that he could reach her mouth.
"You know what?" Sansa asked him, once her lips were close enough to touch his, and her breathing was mingling with his.
"What?" he snarled hoarsely.
"I think we will be all right here in White Harbour, big man."
He opened his mouth to say that he damned well hoped she was right, but never got the words out of his mouth. Instead Sandor pressed his eyes shut and moaned into Sansa's mouth as she touched his tongue with the tip of hers. Whatever the morning might bring them, Sandor wished this moment would never end.
A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. Thanks you so much for reading! :D Hope you all have a wonderful week!