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.
* I have to thank my wonderful beta Onborrowedwings for helping me out with the story! :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.
46. The New Castle
Sandor was showing Rickon the best way a six year old could deliver a sidestroke when the Onion entered the practice yard of the New Castle. Every morning since arriving at White Harbour, Sandor had taken Rickon to practice a couple of strokes, and the boy was improving daily, eagerly learning whatever Sandor taught him now that they had changed brooms for swords with blunted edges. Sandor was proud at the uncomplaining attitude young Rickon had displayed lately, not caring about the bruises or the sore muscles he went to sleep with every night.
"I even like it," Rickon had told him, making it clear he found the hard work rewarding.
But they weren't only practicing with blunted swords now. Hagen Edar was also helping the lad improve his skills with bow and arrow and daggers whenever he was not on duty guarding the little bird, and the drilling of Stranger and Shaggydog was also taking place during the afternoons, since the animals needed to be as ready as their masters by the time they left this city.
Sandor had been fucking glad to have his warhorse by his side again, going to see him in the stables at dawn before Sansa had even woken up. Later that morning when the bird had visited Nan, she had thrown her arms around her mare's neck and kissed her muzzle.
"Your feet should be wider apart, boy," Sandor urged Rickon now, rubbing the back of his neck lightly with his gauntlet. "You don't want to lose your balance. That's good. Now pivot and deliver a stroke, get all your weight behind it."
Wild little Rickon nodded, biting his tongue in concentration as he did as Sandor had bid, gripping his blunted sword with both hands. The boy was wearing mail, plate, helm, boiled leather and a padded doublet that they had found in the armoury, all made to fit his size, and which they had been told had belonged to Ser Marlon's son when he had been a boy.
Rickon was about to move forward when his attention was suddenly caught elsewhere. The young boy raised his hand to wave at someone behind Sandor, making him turn around to see that Seaworth was striding over to them.
Two dozen men were taking their drilling with sword and shield in the yard this morning. One of the youngest squires was being driven backwards by Ser Jeor, with the eyes on his shield. Fat Ser Rickard of House Manderly, who was chuffing and puffing every time he raised his longsword, was trying to hold his own against his brother Rorn, who was savagely punishing him. On the edge of the yard, Ser Arron was holding off three foes. He was the best fighter of the northerners present. Even as Sandor watched, Arron caught one of them alongside the head, knocking him senseless. That knight, who was tall enough to look Sandor in the eye, often trained against three men, or even four, which Sandor thought wise. In battle it is seldom one against one.
It amused Sandor to no end the way all of these buggers behaved whenever he and Rickon came to train. Most of the knights chose to ignore him, but would always greet their little liege lord with a smile and inquire about his health or his day. Yet whenever the boy wasn't looking they would stare at Sandor as if they had a stick shoved right through their arse holes, and Sandor had to choke down his laughter at the way the idiots reacted to Rickon's growing esteem for his sister's husband.
"Hello Lord Davos, have you come to see me beat Sandor?" Rickon asked the Onion, once he was standing in front of him. Sandor saw the glances Seaworth had drawn as he passed the men assembled here for training. They all thought him a dead man and I wager more than half of them wish that he had remained so. Sandor had an accurate idea of what they were probably wishing for himself.
The Onion Knight smiled down at Sansa's brother, saying, "I am sorry, but not today, my lord. Your sister asked me to come fetch you so we can go to our lesson."
Rickon groaned, looking up at Sandor with a crestfallen face. Sandor just snorted. His little bird had offered to keep on helping Seaworth learn his letters as she busied herself with teaching Rickon whatever she could remember from her lessons with the maester as a girl. Sansa had told Sandor that she was terrible at sums and figures, but was quite good in everything else, and so far she was proving to be, according to the Onion, as skilled in teaching as any of those grey pigeons and rats with leashes around their necks from Oldtown.
"Go on, my lord" Sandor snarled at the boy. "Don't keep your sister waiting."
"But you were about to show me the countercut," the boy objected.
"I'll do that tomorrow," he promised, staring as Davos as he briefly chuckled at Rickon's face.
"Say, Onion," Sandor wondered suddenly, weighing the smuggler. "How good are you with a sword?"
Before Seaworth could answer him, one of the youngest squire's shields flew away from his hand, grazing Sandor's shoulder as it flew past him. Sandor stared at the shield as it clattered to the floor and then he stared at the boy, who came hurrying over at once, muttering in a frightened squeak, "Forgive me, ser," as he tried to not look at his burned face.
Shrugging, already turning his attention back to Seaworth and young Rickon, Sandor rasped, "Fuck your sers. Others are the knights here, not me, boy."
He was about to ask Davos again how well he could fight, when Sandor heard a sudden commotion behind him. Turning around he saw a man with dark hair push his way forward, an ugly angry scowl on his face as he said, "Be care how you bark, dog. That was my son you just insulted."
Bloody hells, Sandor thought, with a raised eyebrow as he met the bugger's eyes. His first instinct was to ask the idiot when and how he had actually insulted his son, who looked old enough to defend himself, but Sandor gathered quick enough that if this man was really looking for trouble, it was not because of his precious poxy son but because of who Sandor had once been.
Just keep your fucking mouth shut and remember to play the part of the lordly lord whenever you feel the urge to break someone's neck, Sandor reminded himself now, imagining Sansa's face in his mind as a way of distraction.
Looking unimpressed as his gaze swept over the man and his son, Sandor replied at last in a bored voice, "Bugger that. And your son and you as well, ser."
Once again, Sandor turned around, meaning to resume his talk with Seaworth and the little bird's brother again, but then the bloody fat whale that was Ser Rickard Manderly said in a demanding wail, "I do not like your tone, Clegane. You make the word "ser" sound like a sneer."
For fuck's sake, Sandor thought impatiently, as his mouth started to twitch. He had forgotten how much he loathed knights. Of all the places in the sodding north, we had to come to the one where they worship the Seven and have knights. And a sorrier lot of knights he did not believe he had ever seen. Some were fat lords with old names, and other rich men who would prefer to clad themselves in velvet rather than armour, and the knights were puffed up like bladders with their honours even if they had only been knighted a month ago.
He saw the warning in the Onion's eyes as he became still where he stood. Rickon was aware that something was happening, for he went quiet, staring at Sandor and the knight behind him with big wary eyes.
"Don't mind him, Rickard," Manderly's brother called out loud to the fat oaf. "Don't expect this dog to know his place. He served the Lannisters and was the kingslayer's bastard's guard dog for years until he tucked his tail behind his legs and ran away."
Unclenching his fists, Sandor turned towards Rorn Manderly at last, regarding him with a grin that he knew twisted his face into a sight not many could behold. He was not going to fall for this. As Sansa's husband, Sandor had to mind his place and be careful to not insult these whoresons, but he would defend himself if they went on with this, or else these puffed up sheep would think he feared them. Which would be fucking ridiculous, since I could butcher them all with a hand tied behind my back.
"And ran away with Lord Eddard's daughter, nonetheless," an old man whose name Sandor did not know reminded them all. "And now here he is a thousand miles from home, married to our lady. That's a kinder fate than you deserve, Clegane."
Don't you think I fucking know that? Sandor almost spat at the stranger, before Seaworth interrupted him by saying, "My lords, this is not-"
"We are not interested in your opinion, Onion Knight," the tall knight Arron suddenly exclaimed, making his way over to Sandor, Rickon and Davos.
Sandor was aware that the men in the yard believed him to be an upstart who had seduced the little bird for his own ambitious plans. They were jealous because he was the man who stood beside Sansa and Rickon, looking after them. The one whom the former shares a bed with, and the one whom the latter seeks out for company.
Snarling roughly at last, Sandor said, "If you mean to make a point with all this bleating, then bloody well get on with it and say it out right. Else wise spare me this. I have to take Lord Rickon to his sister. My wife awaits him."
Sandor could only hope that by mentioning Sansa the fuckers would relent and give up as well. But he was a fool to harvest such hopes.
"Aye, your wife she is," Arron the tall agreed. "But the north remembers, Sandor Clegane, and it doesn't have any fond memories of you- nor of your masters. The ones whom we've been fighting against for so long."
Joffrey is the king of worms now, Sandor thought, deciding that he had had enough. Interrupting the tall knight, he mocked, "You have a mouth on you, I see, but I still shit better men than you. No wonder you were left behind here with the women and children."
"Say that again, dog, and you'll swallow that tongue," Rorn bleated, drawing out his sword.
"Fuck you, Hound!" Ser Arron spat at him, offended.
Looking at the bare steel in Manderly's hand, Sandor continued laughing, before he said, "Aye, I served the Lannisters once. Me and thousands more. Is each of us guilty for the crimes of the others? Anyone who says it is is a bloody liar."
"The Mountain that Rides-" Rorn began, but Sandor did not let him finish.
"You take me for my brother?" Sandor spat at the mention of Gregor's name, his whole face twisting in anger. "I didn't know that being born a Clegane was a crime."
The idiots were glaring at him as if he was Tywin Lannister or Walder Frey or even worse, his brother, for fuck's sakes!
"It was not Clegane's sword that killed your families," The Onion suddenly said in a clear angry voice, moving to stand beside Sandor, staring at Ser Arron and Ser Rorn with revulsion.
"Is that why they don't like me, Seaworth?" Sandor snarled. It was proving to be fucking hard to keep his anger in check by now, when all he felt for these buggers was contempt."And here I was believing it was because of how my face looks. I'm the same as all of you. The only difference is, I don't lie about what I am. So think what you will, but don't call me a murderer while you stand there telling each other that your shit don't stink. You hear me? I was not there when my brother sacked the riverlands, or when the Young Wolf was murdered, or when you lot allowed the Boltons to take over the North. I was taking care of your precious Ned's daughter and later on his son, so dump your dead at some other door."
"By the old gods and the new," Rorn said, looking at Sandor with wide eyes. "Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn would surely be turning in their graves if they could see Lady Sansa now, married to-"
"I wouldn't finish that thought if I were you," Sandor threatend Rorn, staring at the man with seething loathing as he reached out for the pommel of his sword, forgetting for a moment to keep his anger in check at the first words the buggering idiot had dared to say about Sansa as he spat at the man's feet.
"I wonder what you are worth with a sword in your hands, Hound," Arron told Sandor, brushing the hilt of his longsword lightly with his hand.
For a moment Sandor closed his eyes and allowed himself to imagine how things would turn out if he gave in to Ser Arron's taunt and agreed to fight him. The prospect appealed to him greatly, for Sandor missed the sensations of fighting more than he would have thought, but he knew that it would not do for him to do this.
He had to remember that he was no longer the Hound, which was exactly what the fuckers wanted to prove him wrong about. But Sandor had not forgotten that Rickon was here, and who knew what he would make of seeing Sandor agree to this. You know better than to let them taunt you into doing something stupid; something bloody stupid that could harm Sansa's reputation.
Looking at everyone's face in the pale daylight of the morning, committing them all to memory, Sandor instead rasped, "Perhaps you'll get to find out the answer to that one day soon, ser, if you're deemed good enough to go to war this time and get to walk within a mile of the fucking battlefield."
He spat then and sheathed his longsword without another word, before striding over to Rickon and Davos across the training yard, ripping off his gauntlets.
"Hagen," Sansa said cheerfully, as her sworn arrow made an exaggerated bow while he stood before her bedroom's door, ready to escort her to the breakfast.
"My lady," Edar replied, offering her his arm. He was clad all in white, with his bow and quiver strapped to his back, two direwolf pins attaching his cloak to his shoulders, and a black ribbon on his arm in respect for his liege lady's losses. "You grow more beautiful with every day."
Sansa could not help but laugh at the compliment as she closed the door behind her. "That is kind of you to say, my gallant sworn shield, though I doubt that black favours me."
She was wearing an old gown of black velvet lined with ermine that had belonged to Lord Wyman's late wife. The three new gowns she had sent to be made were not ready yet. Sansa's pack had also been wearing mourning clothes ever since arriving at White Harbour in honour of her lady mother and Robb's memory, but Sansa had allowed Hagen to keep on wearing his white garments in honour of his wife's memory.
"Quite the contrary," Edar assured her, offering her his arm.
Sansa took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task before her, saying a silent prayer as she took the Lorathi's arm. She exchanged a knowing look with him as he asked her, "Ready?"
Sansa knew what he meant. She nodded at once, answering, "Yes, I am."
She was nervous for what her breakfast with Wynafryd and Wylla would achieve, wondering how the sisters would react to what Sansa intended to tell them. But this is little enough that I can do for Sandor. Sansa's big man had done so much more for her before, and never even looked for a sign of acknowledgment from her. I only hope this works.
Hagen and Sansa descended the steps at the end of the hallway in silence, with the former outlaw whistling a tune from his homeland as if he did not have a care in the world. But by the time they had reached the ground floor of the New Castle, Sansa's sworn arrow said, "He won't like it if he finds out, Sansa."
"That is why I told him that we were just having breakfast," Sansa reminded Hagen. As far as Sandor knew, this breakfast was no more than a simple kindness, an act of courtesy from her part so she could get to know their hosts better. "And that is what you will say as well if he were to asks you something about it."
Sandor told her two days ago about his encounter with some knights in the training yard, and he'd been so angry and brooding as he said it that Sansa's heart had gone out to him in concern and love as she watched him stare at the fire for almost half an hour, but her big man had told her not to worry about it. That it was most likely going to happen again and he did not understand how she could have been surprised by it, promising to try and not lose his temper again if it reoccurred.
Sansa did not doubt that Sandor was as aware as she was that it could not bode well for them for this enmity with the northern lords to continue. She had also decided that it would be best to take matters into her own hands, fearing for not only her husband's sake, but that of the knights who had now pledged themselves to Rickon since she knew that no one could defeat Sandor with a sword, and if blood was spelt then that would also hurt Rickon's reputation. I wish the world to see Sandor for the man he truly was, not the man the Hound had been. I want the world to give him a chance, and since they are not prepared to give it to him out of their own free will, I have to do something.
When the people of White Harbour had learned about Rickon and Sansa's true identities, both the nobles and the townsfolk had fallen on their knees before her and her little brother, swearing their allegiance to Rickon and praying to the old gods and the new for their victory and for revenge. Some of them had even shed tears of joy as they beheld the siblings holding hands before them; but Sandor had received nothing but murderous pointed looks as people pointed at him and started whispering angrily behind their hands to the people beside them. Sandor had done nothing but stare back at all of them with a scowl on his burned face as he stood to her right, towering over them all and looking quite menacing, not giving away even a single hint of what exactly he was thinking.
And then, the day before yesterday, Sansa had been walking by a well when she heard some washerwomen talking about a commotion in the training yard earlier that morning. Recalling that Sandor and Rickon had been there around that time, Sansa had quickly found out that what the women had gossiped about was unfortunately true.
With her tummy twisting and pinching painfully and her nails digging into her hand, Sansa listened to Sandor as he confirmed to her what had happened, pressing her lips together and holding her tongue until her big man was done talking. Though she had pretended to be less upset by the morning's events than she really was, Sansa had ended up coming up with this plan, after asking her Lorathi friend his opinion of it.
"They were furious to learn of your wedding to him," The Onion Knight had confided to Sansa and Sandor back in that deserted crofter's cottage in the woods. "And that was only three of the Manderlys. When the rest of the world finds out, don't expect them to react any differently."
Sandor had stared at Lord Seaworth when he had said that with a hard look, his mouth twitching, but Sansa had gone over to him quickly, kissing his hand in silence reassurance. There had been no more need for words from them then. Sandor and she had been ready to face the few remaining nobles first in the Merman's Court, and then the people of the city as they walked the walls of the New Castle, but now, after the encounter in the yard, Sansa was not willing to let matters stand like this for who knew how long without doing anything about it. That encounter could have easily turned into a fight where blood was spilled.
If there had been anything Sansa had learned in the court of King Joffrey Baratheon, the First of His Name, it was to never trust easily. But This is not King's Landing or Great Norvos, Sansa had reminded herself more than once in the past few days. These are your people. Your father and Robb's people, and now they are Rickon's. You have to believe that they can be better than this; that they will be able to see how having Sandor on their side is good for us all.
She and Edar walked past the faded banners, broken shields, and rusted swords of a hundred ancient victories, and a score of wooden figures, cracked and worm-riddled, that could only have adorned the prows of ships a lifetime ago.
Hagen glanced at her now and sighed, "Sandor would tell you that he does not want you to do this for him. There is great hate and anger between him and the northerners, but with time it will change."
Sansa almost rolled her eyes at Hagen for that. Men can be so silly at times, she thought, wondering if things would have been easier for them had they arrived to a north that was still being lead by Robb…
"Yes, I know that with time they will most likely come to appreciate his war strategies and knowledge," she finally agreed with Hagen. "But if all goes well and my plan works, then I don't see why the men shouldn't come to appreciate and accept my husband earlier than that. You may not think so Hagen, but if the Manderly sisters publicly approve of Sandor, then I am sure White Harbour will follow their lead soon enough, whether they like it or not at the start."
"Aye, I know this city loves Wylla and Wynafryd. They are rich and beautiful and kind and good hearted. But you forget that I was once married, my lady. I know that women can have great influence and power over men, but what I am telling you is that your husband won't like this thing that you are about to do. Not one bit."
Sansa frowned at that, refusing to allow Hagen's words to make her have second thoughts on this. He is making me feel as if I am sneaking behind Sandor's back to something to betray him, Sansa thought with a frown. But I am doing this for his sake. He would not understand any more than Hagen does. Sandor and she had to look out for each other.
"I don't know what else I could do," Sansa admitted in a whisper, looking at her feet. "I love him and it hurts me when people treat him like they did the other day. Wylla and Wynfaryd are the only way I can see that would allow me to have a hand in stopping that."
"We are all fools in love," Hagen sighed in a far away tone, making Sansa look up curiously. He had a thoughtful expression on his face as he continued saying, "And I suppose that perhaps what you want to do is not so foolish after all, my lady. I do believe that if you play your cards right and do justice in describing what you and your burned man have lived though, then Wylla and Wynafryd will be jealous of you for having found true love, regardless of who Sandor was or is or even how he looks. Davos and I have already tried convincing them and Ser Marlon of it, but maybe your word is what is truly needed."
Sansa smiled warmly, squeezing her dear devoted sworn arrow's arm in gratitude, remarking, "I am sure they would also be jealous of me for having such a fierce protector like you as well, my friend."
Hagen burst out laughing at that, and was saying to her, "You are too kind," before a pair of voices called in a strong ringing voice, "Lady Stark."
Two household guards were standing beside the tall carved doors that led to the Waterway Stairs, with silver tridents in place of common spears in their hands. They bowed their heads in respect at her as they flanked the doors' sides along with a pair of marble mermen. Sansa glanced briefly at the men clad in glittering gilded armour, halfhelms and woolen blue-green cloaks edged in silver as she passed them, acknowledging them with a smile.
The guards threw open the doors at once, and Sansa was hit with the strong salty smell of the sea as she stepped outside the tall carved doors, her hair blowing in the cold breeze at once. The day was clear today, so she did not have to squint her eyes shut as she looked up at the northern sky and sun, before exclaiming as she gazed at the beautiful sight before her, "Gods, this is so beautiful, isn't it?"
Everyone said that the Waterway Stairs are a little taste of what the Water Gardens down in Dorne are like.
"I guess," Hagen chuckled. "It actually reminds me of the place where we first met. I recall there was a waterfall there."
"It's a wonder you can remember that after having learned of Arman Nervere's death and having almost lost your life thanks to Stranger," Sansa pointed out. "You were unconscious for a while and your future was uncertain for a time."
"Indeed it was," Edar said, with a big sigh.
Sansa returned her attention to the Waterway Stairs before her. This place had quickly become Sansa's favourite place in White Harbour. Waking up the first morning after they had arrived here to the sight of the Waterway Stairs below her bedroom window had taken Sansa's breath away even as she was completely surprised to realize that she did not have many memories from her previous visit to the city in this place.
The New Castle was the furthest place from the sea in this port city, so the Manderlys had built the Waterway Stairs many hundreds of years ago to make up for the lack of beach and sea and waves in their home. The Waterway Stairs were mostly compromised of a long wide marble stairway that led to a wide pool at the base of the hill where the castle had been built, with fountains and white colonnades flanking its side.
The wide pool was in the middle of a long cobblestone courtyard at the end of the stairway, and the courtyard was decorated with a terrace shaded by trees, as well as fluted pillars and a gallery leading to a triple archway. In a way, the Waterway Stairs were almost like the place she had always dreamed of, like the beautiful magical court she had once hoped to find at King's Landing.
Hagen Edar led Sansa down the Waterway Stair, making her laugh against her wishes as he spoke of the way little Rickon had thrown a bowl of porridge at Ser Marlon's grandson this morning as he broke his fast. Sansa knew though that her sworn arrow was really just trying to keep her from thinking about all the things she could do or say to ruin the task she had set for herself.
Wynafryd and her younger sister Wylla were seated beside the pool at the end of the stairs, and a round table had been placed beneath the shade of the trees, with food and flowers and drinks awaiting them. There were also three guards nearby, Sansa saw, ready to protect their beloved mistresses if any need or danger arose.
The moment Sansa and Edar's feet touched the ground, Wylla Manderly walked over to meet them at once, smiling as she exclaimed in a high thin voice, "Lady Sansa! I'm so pleased you asked us to break your fast with you. We have looked forward to this moment where just the three of us will be together so much! My sister and I can only hope we do not bore you to death."
Wylla, a maid of five and ten, was slender and beautiful. Today she had left her long dyed garish green hair loose, and her pale blue eyes were shining bright with joy. Sansa liked both sisters very much.
"That is not possible," Sansa replied softly, remembering Frema, her dearest friend as she smiled when Wylla took her hands and gave them a squeeze. "I thank you for agreeing to it. But please, won't you call me Sansa?"
"S-Sansa, my lady?" Wylla asked, surprised but pleased.
"Yes, Sansa. We have known each other for weeks now and we still do notcall each other by our given names. It is a little silly!"
"All right," Wylla agreed eagerly, nodding. "Sansa."
"And might I call you Wylla? And your sister, Wynafryd, too?"
"Oh yes, Wyn will not mind it either," Wylla assured her.
Her sister Wynafryd came to stand beside her sister, smiling up at Sansa and bowing, as she said, "You do us a great honour, my lady. I- I mean, Sansa. But you can call me Wyn as well."
Wynafryd Manderly was taller than her sister but shorter than Sansa. There was a dignity to the way she conducted herself, even when she was just sitting down in a room, supping. Wynafryd had styled her hair with a long braid that was bound with jeweled rings this morning.
Both sisters were richly garbed, wearing dark-blue gowns, embroidered with silver thread at the hem and the sleeves and the collars.
"My ladies," Hagen suddenly said with a smile, bowing to the sisters.
The sisters greeted Sansa's sworn arrow before he went over to stand beside a tree, giving them privacy, but still close enough in case Sansa needed to protection.
As Sansa and the Manderly siblings took their seats, Sansa could not help but remark, "This place is wonderful."
Wylla sighed, as her sister replied, "Yes, and you should see it at night whenever Grandfather hosts singers, or when mummers present the night of the harvest moon. At least we always kept singers at court, and pipers and fiddlers and harpers too. It serves as a distraction, you see. Or else I am afraid many of the ladies at the Merman's Court would go mad."
"Like mother almost did," Wylla muttered, making her Sansa and Wynafryd look at her in surprise. Sansa's mouth opened and closed, unsure as to what to say to that.
"Wylla, mind your words or what will she think of us?" Wynafryd said quickly, a hint of embarrassment in her voice. "Please excuse her, Sansa."
"It's all right," Sansa said, with a sympathetic smile.
"We never had big masks or balls or festivals here even before the war," Lady Wynafryd continued. "But we do miss working on our costumes for the harvest moon. We worked on them for months."
"We were our own dress-makers on those occasions," Wylla told Sansa, signaling for a servant to draw his attention. "And it proved to be good training for these days when we must sew and make clothes for the poor or for the troops."
"We all saw better days before this war started," Wynafryd commented, with a sigh.
"Let us pray to the gods that we see them again," Sansa agreed, before she took a sip of her rosedew tea.
The courtyard echoed to the clatter of spoons and plates as she suddenly offered, "I could help you with the sewing. I am very good at embroidery and made my own wedding cloaks as we sailed from Lorath to Braavos."
"Oh that is so kind of you, my lady- I mean, Sansa," Wynafryd told her, smiling. "I am sure the people of White Harbour would be grateful to you for that."
"My lady?" a handsome servant asked Wylla, an empty tray in his hands.
"Are the cakes ready?"
"I'll go and see to the kitchens," the servant said with a bow, turning on his heels and heading for the Waterway Stairs.
"We were told by Edar," Lady Wylla said to her, sparing a quick glance at Hagen as she suddenly leaned closer to Sansa. "That you like lemon cakes?"
A big grin appeared on Sansa's face at those words, her dimples appearing on both of her cheeks.
"Lemon cakes are my favourite," she confessed, smoothing down her skirts.
Sansa's eyes fell on the other food on the table. There was a broth of leeks and mushrooms, fresh baked white bread, olives and cheese, and several different drinks. After the week she had spent in the wild after arriving at Westeros, she had grown to miss any food that was not roasted hare or bird or squirrel.
I must enjoy these while I can, she thought, straightening her shoulders. The march to Winterfell was going to be hard and long now that snow and winter was descending on the North, and there was not going to be much diversity in what Sansa and the others received to eat once again.
"Maybe, if you like," Sansa began to say, making up her mind. "I could come with you the next time you go visit the townfolk. We could bring them food and I could see who needs to have their wools or clothing mended. Lift up their spirits in a way."
The sisters agreed with her idea at once, claiming that would make the people of White Harbour very happy. Sansa smiled at that, glad to hear she had thought of a way to benefit the north, even if it was a little act of kindness in comparison to what others had already done in the war.
"How is Lord Rickon?" Wylla asked Sansa, as she cut a slice of cheese.
"Very well," she answered. "Hagen was just telling me the commotion he created earlier this morning."
The sisters laughed, before the eldest mustered her courage and ventured in, "And the others? Your husband and Osha?"
"They are well too," Sansa replied, thinking that the time to steer the conversation towards her big man was approaching. "Have you received any ravens from Winterfell? Or from somewhere else? From Lord O- from your grandfather?"
Sansa almost bite her tongue at that. I almost called Lord Manderly Lord Oaf out loud in front of to the granddaughters that love him! She hoped she could remember to tell her big man to stop calling Lord Wyman Lord Oaf before her when they were in private so much. Luckily neither Wynafryd nor Wylla seemed to notice her blunder.
"I am afraid we have not," Wyn said, as her sibling shook her head. "The news has not yet spread as quickly as it would in others times about you and your brother. We have not even heard from our parents, so words of you have not yet reached their ears, and they are closer to us than Winterfell is."
Sansa nodded, not one bit surprised. The big man and I are used to waiting for tidings of the realm. We would never have made it in the east otherwise.
"Which is really a good thing if we mean to surprise our enemies," Wylla remarked. "Some may not expect that we mean to aid Stannis."
"Your kindness to us has been unfailing," Sansa admitted. "I am sorry for any troubles we may have put you to, and-"
"Oh no, my lady- I mean Sansa," the youngest sister interrupted, as the servant brought two trays with two dozen lemon cakes. "Please don't apologize. Do not even mention it. We are glad to be the ones to keep you safe."
"Whatever happens," Sansa said, thankful for those words. "I hope you know that Rickon and I will never forget what House Manderly has done for our family. I- I want us to be friends. Good friends. Would you like that?"
She looked with hopeful eyes at the two sisters, holding her breath as she waited to hear their answer, careful to mind the way their eyes and features moved and changed as they thought and considered her words.
Thank you gods, Sansa told the old gods and the new when she decided that she could not detect any signs of betrayal or lies in the Manderly sisters' faces. But Sansa did see a hint of hesitation in their eyes, though she learned what that was all about a moment later, after Wynafryd and Wylla had exchanged a look and the former began in a wary tone, "We would like that very much, Sansa. We really would, but-"
"But what?" Sansa said, trying to keep her own face from showing any emotions, vaguely registering that none of them were paying any attention to the food or the drinks anymore. "Please, speak freely."
If you two speak freely now, I may do the same when I start pleading to you both for Sandor's sake.
"Forgive us Sansa," Wylla said quickly, apparently unable to hold herself back any longer. "But we must ask you this. We do not know what to make about it. We have been hoping we could talk to you, and it appears that that time has come to do so. Wynafryd and I have been wondering about- about your husband."
And there it is, Sansa thought, not at all surprised, gathering all the steely control that she possessed.
"We were very sorry for what happened the other day in the training yard," her sister said for way of apology for Wylla's forwardness, glancing about nervously as she grabbed a lemon cake.
"Yes, I wanted to talk to you about that," Sansa said, never blinking.
"We just need to understand what happened between you and Sandor Clegane," Wylla continued.
"You and the north both," Sansa answered, registering the fact that Hagen had turned sideways where he stood so he could hear the conversation better. Sansa was glad that there were no servants coming or going right now. "I do thank you for your thoughtfulness and concern though."
"But how can you really claim to love him?" Wylla wondered, drawing a little intake of breath from her sister. "How did that came to happen?"
She tried to keep a good posture and a cool demeanour as she smiled confidently at the sisters in front of her, before she took another deep breath, thinking that perhaps no one ever got to chose whom they would end up loving in this life. Maybe it's all already written in our futures before we are even born.
"How could I not love him?" Sansa replied. "He is the truest and bravest man I have ever known. We have been through so much together. As to your second question, well it really was not so hard. I just learned to live with the little things that I now find comfort in whenever I am with him." Which I adore.
"We have seen the way he is around you," Wylla clarified. "He is less- less rough and frightening. But he is the Hound, my lady. All of Westeros from the Wall to Dorne has heard various troubling tales about him."
"And are tales of my husband's past the only stories you have heard regarding my time and acquaintances in King's Landing?" she inquired, familiar with this hard truth. With the fact that it was widely believed by everyone in the Seven Kingdoms that Sandor had been just as evil as his dead brother, The Mountain that Rides.
"Well no," Wynafryd finally admitted. "There has also been some rumours about how the Lannisters mistreated you. Is there any truth to them?"
"Of course there is truth to them," Wylla snapped at her sister before Sansa could even open her mouth. "She was in the Lannisters' clutches, Wyn. It's a mercy she escaped them."
"Sandor did that," Sansa pointed out. "He saved me from the Lannisters on the night the Blackwater burned when Stannis attacked the capital."
"We heard about that night. The word is that the Hound- pardons, I mean, Lord Clegane turned craven and got so drunk Tyrion Lannister had to take his men during the height of the battle."
Sansa nodded, reminding herself to remain calm and composed. They could not understand that it was only the fire Sandor had feared. But Sansa understood. She knew the secret of his burned face. It was only the fire he feared. That night, the wildfire had set the river itself ablaze, and filled the very air with green flame. Even in the castle, Sansa had been afraid. And then outside, the memories of riding through a city on fire on Stranger with her arms wrapped tight around Sandor's chest as they left the Red Keep behind would always remain vivid recollections in her mind. From the way the ships had burned out in the bay, to the green shadows flashing across the belly of the clouds.
"He came on the night of the battle to my chambers to offer take me away from the city," Sansa confessed to the sisters. And then she said with full certainty, "Accepting his offer was the wisest decision I've ever made."
"Was the bastard king as evil as they said?" Wylla asked her after a moment when silence had reigned. "Or were his mother and the Imp the ones behind Lord Eddard's death and all else?"
Sansa gulped, realizing that if she opened up about King's landing, there was a chance that maybe Wyn and Wylla would be able to understand her position a little better. For a moment Sansa wished that she could have her husband beside her so she could reach out for his hand under the table. Gods, give me strength. And let me convince them and make them understand the way I did with Lord Davos back in Braavos.
After a few heartbeats Sansa managed to reply, "I do not know what exactly happened during the days before and after my father's beheading. I went to plead for his life to the king, and was promised by my betrothed that he would treat my father with mercy. But then he cut his head off and said that was mercy. And the first time I saw Joffrey after my lord father was murdered, the king took me to the walls and made me look at his head. Sandor was there…. He was always there."
Sansa had the Manderlys' sibling's rapt attention with her words by then. And so Sansa told them everything that she deemed necessary to win over Wylla and Wynafryd to her and her big man's side.
At times Sansa could not help herself and she spoke in a quiet tremulous voice since it was hard to get the words out of her mouth as memories of her time as a hostage came back to her, when she had to pretend so hard she was pleased at becoming queen one day.
"Oh gods," Wynafryd had said, horrified as she spoke of being beaten by every member of the Kingsguard. Every member but Sandor. "Joffrey was a monster! You were so brave, Sansa. And then in the trial, with that awful magister!"
Wylla had stared at her with her mouth hanging open in a wide O, and after Sansa told them about the last time she had ever seen Joffrey, the youngest of the Manderly sisters spat, "I have never been so glad to hear of someone's death. He and Ramsay Snow are bastards who I hope burn in hell forever, and soon."
By the time Sansa was done with her and Sandor's story after they had fled King's Landing, right up until her wedding before the heart tree, Sansa was glad of the fact that she did not cry a single tear. Joff can't make me weep anymore. Nor Arman Nervere. It wasn't the ghosts from her past that Sansa should worry about, but the foes in her, Sandor and Rickon's futures.
Wylla Manderly was actually smiling as she asked Sansa in a voice that was overwhelmed, and threatened to break at any moment, "You two really are in love, aren't you?"
Sansa beamed at Wylla for that. She returned her smile, and answered, "Yes, yes we are and have been for quite some time. I cannot imagine a day I won't love him."
"We are very sorry, Sansa," Wynafryd said in a shy tone. "We did your husband a great injustice. We now see why you married him. We did think that you had made a terrible mistake when Edar and Lord Seaworth told us that you had married Lord Clegane, and if you two were not married yet, things may have been more complicated, but since you are, and now you have won us to your side, and what's done is done. No need to cry and brood over spilled milk."
"It hurts me when something like what happened in the training yard occurs," Sansa confessed. "I know that maybe my husband is also to blame for allowing the others' taunts to provoke him, but I have already spoken to him. Yet the men responsible- this Ser Arron and Ser Rorn, and Rickard Manderly and his brother- I do not yet know them well, unlike you both. That is why I wanted to see if we could count on your with your support now that you know the truth."
"Yes of course!" the sisters said at once. "We will do whatever we can."
"So you will really help us then?" Sansa asked, reaching out for the Manderly siblings hands with her own, deeply thankful to them for not asking anything in return. "To convince the northerners to accept him?"
"We will," Wylla promised her. "Of course we will."
"I think," Wynafryd said, thoughtfully. "I think that it would be wise for you two to marry again by the old gods. You have the proof that your marriage by the Faith did happen in Braavos, but your second wedding lacks the required witnesses. Not many will like it, but if enough people saw your wedding, it would at least make your marriage a little less frowned upon."
A sob almost escaped Sansa at those words, for that was something she and Sandor had always known and had agreed on doing At long last Sansa could feel tears blurring her vision. She held them back, but would not have minded if they had fallen down her cheeks, since they were tears of joy. Instead she looked over at Hagen Edar, who winked and smirked in approval at her, shaking his head in disbelief, chuckling.
Sansa thanked Wynafryd and Wylla after spending some more time in the courtyard with them, before she left them, walking up the Waterway Stairs in search of Sandor, eager to see her dearest big man. She was not going to tell him what she had just done for him and their marriage, but he had to know that they would have to marry again, and that now they had two more allies. She smiled as she imagined the way her big man would frown in suspicion when she first told him the news, almost as if he did not trust his ears.
She crossed the New Castle until she reached the castle's walls, and the training yard where Sandor had fought two days ago. He was not training this morning though, Sansa was relieved to see, pausing long enough to make certain of that, before hastily going on her way. Some minutes later, Sansa found her husband in the forge, supervising the bellows from the blacksmith as he worked on the dents of his armour.
The corridor where she stood looking at him was crowded. Nonetheless, Sandor glanced in her direction after a few heartbeats, grinning at her at once, before his burned features twisted into a smirk as she blushed under his warm hard gaze, returning his smile with her full heart. Wordlessly, Sandor had lifted his arm towards her as an invitation for her to take his hand and join him, which she did, waiting beside his warm powerful body in the forge until his mail and armour were ready...
Sandor and Sansa were married once more by the old gods in the godwood of the Wolf's Den almost a week later, with many witnesses in attendance this time. Sansa and her big man knew that many were not happy with the wedding in the first place, but they attended nonetheless, and a few were even courteous enough in the stilled conversations they engaged Sandor in, proving that the Manderly sisters had indeed started using their influence with the people of White Harbour in Sandor and Sansa's defence.
Some squires even hooted as we kissed, Sansa remembered the day after, throwing her arms around Sandor as her big husband closed the door of their bedroom behind him on the night of their third wedding, hoping with all her heart that this was an auspicious start to this new beginning in the north for them.
A/N: Reviews are love! 3 Hope you liked this chapter! :D