Sansa Stark's mind shattered into a thousand and one pieces, separating and reforging back together. It felt as if someone had reached inside of her head and was pulling apart her mind. The pain was no longer a dull ache, but a splitting, splintering pain that seemed to travel up and down her body.
Pressure built behind her eyes until it seemed they would burst. Liquid trickles from the sockets and lids down onto her cheeks. She reaches up with a shaking hand to feel the sticky and wet substance. It was not her tears.
Darkness filled her vision and her knees buckled underneath the weight of it all. The only thing that kept her from falling unconscious was the Hound's hands pressed into her shoulders. His touch grounded her to the present.
Through her blurred vision, he appeared furious or frantic, with his lip twitching rapidly, eyes blown, and nostrils flared. He was shouting at her, but she could not make out his words. His voice sounded muffled and far away, but his previous words kept echoing in her mind.
You are Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Wardness of the North, The Red Wolf, and Queen of the fucking North.
Queen of the North. Queen of the North. Queen of the North.
Visions, both quick and slow, fill her mind with memories of a life she had lived, but never experienced. Dreams and nightmares stretched out before her. The nightmares she had as a little girl, where only her family could soothe her to sleep came to the forefront of her mind. The dreams she has now, which she could never remember upon waking, burst through her mind as memories of her life in the past. Streams of these memories intertwine with her current reality, intermingling with her past and present self.
Her mind is being split apart, stretched, and rewoven. The pain of it becomes too much to bear and she feels herself slipping away. The darkness beckons her, and she fears succumbing to it, unsure if she will ever emerge from it.
Amidst the flood of memories, the pain, and darkness is an image of an imposing carved face of the Weirwood tree in the Godswood. Red sap pours out of the tree's eyes and the face gazes down at her, uttering a single word.
Come.
Come.
Come.
She does not comprehend what is happening, but knows she needs to listen to the voice.
She grabs the Hound similar to how he grabs her and his muffled voice becomes silent.
"The Godswood… Take me to the Godswood." Her voice is a small and frail thing.
His voice starts up again sounding like a dull roar. Through her pain and encroaching darkness, she can make out some of his words.
"Crazy little bird…need a maester, not buggering prayers… bloody Starks."
"The weirwood tree! The tree!" She repeats with more urgency.
A raven caws and circles overhead before landing on her shoulder. For a moment the pain eases.
Sansa feels him stiffen and senses his gaze on the raven.
"No, Seven bloody hells, no!" She feels him swat the raven away.
It takes flight, flying towards the Godswood and her pain doubles.
She cannot speak but tightens her grip around the Hound's shoulders. With all her strength, she tries to shake him, willing him to move.
"Please…the tree…please." She begs.
He mutters what she thinks are multiple curses and does not quit his barking at her, but she feels him taking her through the entrance he came from, down the stone steps of the parapet.
A small part of her wonders how he had known to access this part of the Keep. The other part of her knows that of course, he does since he aided in fortifying it during the battle of Winterfell.
Her body shivers at the thought and fear fills her heart. Memories barrage and fill her to the brim, leaving her to tremble in the wake of what she witnesses.
The Hound wraps an arm around her shoulders and the other pulls up the hood of her cloak. He secures her to his side making sure she will not fall. She walks alongside him with stumbling footsteps, until he nearly drags her off the ground.
The memories continue to ravage her mind and she feels herself moving back between her past and the Hound's touch as he takes her towards the Godswood.
As they make their way into the thicket of trees, she feels a brush of fur against her side and knows it is Lady. She feels the Hound's grip slacken, as Lady supports each step she takes.
The path to the Weirwood tree feels never-ending as the excruciating pain intensifies with each step until Sansa can no longer see what is in front of her, solely her memories.
The Hound stops and loosens his grip on her. Sansa stumbles away from him, collapsing onto her hands and knees. She crawls forward until her outstretched hand feels the cool, rough bark against her skin.
The Hound's words become clear again as she grasps onto the tree like a lifeline.
"You crazy buggering bird! You shouldn't have let go of me if you were going to fall!"
She cannot respond as her mind races through memories between one life and the other.
"I took you to the damn Godswood, now tell me what the bloody hells is going on before I drag you out of here and to a maester, because your eyes are white and you're crying fucking blood!"
Sansa's vision slowly comes back into focus and she reaches up a hand to wipe the falling liquid from her eyes. Her fingertips come away stained red.
She looks up at the weirwood and sees the sap bleeding from its carved eyes, mirroring her own.
Her hands press against the bark and a rush of wind envelops her, sending strands of her hair and cloak billowing behind her.
The Old Gods whisper to her on the wind. Ancient voices fill her with their song until the murmurs turn to screams. Their voices engulf her in their cries, drowning out all other sounds.
The screams fade into whispers once more, when the caw of a raven sounds above her. It continues its cries until it no longer sounds like a crow, but a man.
The cries sound like three voices merged as one. One voice is old and slow, another the cry of a raven, and the final voice sounds of her brother, Bran, but it is not her Bran.
"Dog," the voice calls out.
She hears the Hound's ferocious bellow and Lady's menacing snarl beside her, as the three-eyed raven dives down with its claws outstretched, piercing the flesh of his forehead with its sharp talons until blood is drawn.
The bird takes off before The Hound can harm or kill it. It moves high into the branches where he cannot reach.
"You know what to do." She hears the voice say, but does not know what to do.
The Hound is cursing and snarling until he is out of breath. He continues as Sansa is fading away again and the mind-splitting ache returns. She cannot help the pained whimper that escapes her.
She hears a muted thud and a presence beside her that is not Lady. The Hound is sitting beside her and he is silent. She feels the weight of his gaze on her.
He reaches up to touch the blood trickling down his forehead, not even wincing as he dips his fingers into the wound. He grabs ahold of her blood-stained hand with his own, pressing their fingers together, her blood mixing with his own.
He does nothing beyond that. Only remaining still and silent, with their hands intertwined together.
The tree. The tree. The tree.
Sansa knows then, as the Old Gods whisper to her once more, what to do next.
She glances at The Hound seeking his approval before pressing their conjoined hands against the bark of the weirwood tree.
The pain fades into a slow, throbbing ache until it is brushed away by a soothing coolness. The memories slow and dissipate, but remain in her mind.
Something dark and cloying fills her to the brim until she is overflowing with it. Rage and hate that she has never felt and does not belong to her, seep deep inside of her. It consumes her from within until she is choking on it.
Beside her, she hears Lady let out an anguished moan, but realizes it is coming from the Hound. She knows the emotion does not belong to him. She suspects, that just as she feels his wrath, he must feel her grief and despair.
Relief washes over her as the emotions shift back into her own. The grief overwhelms her, but it is not as alarming as his rage. Her dark emotions fade and are taken over by something soothing and gentle. The feeling belongs to her, but it does not at the same time.
She is both a daughter of Winterfell and the Queen of the North. Both a girl and a woman grown. One who has not gone south and another who did. One who has her family beside her and one who lost them all. Split apart from one another, there is only pain and grief, but together there is something bittersweet and complete.
Their feelings and thoughts merge as one. Two lives brought together in one body and mind. No longer are they battling for control over the mind, but in harmony with one another. The memories fade in and out till she is in the present moment.
Sansa Stark is back and she remembers all.
The darkness fades from her eyes and mind until her vision clears and she stares at her hand dwarfed by Sandor Clegane's own.
They stare at one another, breaths intermingling. He hesitantly brings up a shaking hand to her face and wipes the blood from her face. His hands are rough but warm.
Something passes over his face and he quickly withdraws his hand and looks away from her.
The three-eyed raven cries out again. Together they turn their attention towards the bird and the weirwood tree it sits in.
Hello, sister
Tears fill her eyes at the sound of the voice.
"Oh," She breathes out pressing a hand against the trunk, "It is you."
It is her Bran and not her Bran that speaks.
I told you I would not leave you.
"Bran! How are you speaking to me? I watched the tree pierce your side. I saw you die."
A small death, yes, it was my sacrifice to make. A price must be paid for the magic wrought.
Her brows furrow and she says, "You have much to tell me and I, you. This is not what I expected when you said I would go back."
I imagine not.
Sansa hears scraping against metal and turns towards the sound to see Sandor Clegane pull out his sword. He rises and moves in front of her. His eyes shifting back and forth between her and the trees beyond them.
"And him?" she asks continuing to watch him.
Her brother's voice takes on a curious lilt as he responds.
Not at all what I was expecting.
She turns back to the tree.
We will speak again soon. As you say, there is much I need to share, but footsteps are approaching.
Sansa does not have much time to dwell on his final words as Sandor Clegane pulls her up from her crouch, placing her behind him with his sword held aloft in front of him.
She can hear it then, rustling sounds in the brush. She reaches out her hand to wrap around Clegane's arm and stands alert.
A loud cry is heard and a figure is hurtling towards them with great speed.
Clegane lifts his sword before letting out a curse and dropping it to his side.
The figure transforms into her sister and she is running towards Clegane, but Sansa steps out in front of him. Her sister slows to a stop and freezes at the look on her face.
"Sansa? Why are you crying?"
Grief pierces through her and she cannot stop her tears as she beholds her sister. Sansa Stark had seen her sister just an hour ago, but the Queen had not seen her for four years.
Sansa remembers crying at the sight of her siblings the night she transformed in the Godswood. When parts of herself were locked away, but came out through her tears. She remembers growing up with her sister and never going south, but she also remembers the Queen's past and cannot help the sadness pervade her joy.
She wraps her arms tightly about her sister and squeezes her into her chest. Her sister returns her embrace before moving her arms down by her side.
She nuzzles her face further into her sister's hair. Arya smells like mud, horses, and home.
"Seven hells Sansa, I cannot breathe and why are you sniffing my hair? I told you not to check! I washed before the feast!"
Sansa pulls away slightly but does not release her, listening to the sound of Arya's breathing and the pumping of her pulse.
Her sister begins to wriggle away and Sansa finally lets her go.
"Geez, Sansa, I knew you should have joined me in Ghiscari wrestling! Who knew your strength lay in squeezing people to death."
Sansa laughs and wipes away her tears. She is almost the same Arya she knew and it brings her comfort that her sister remains unchanged. Faceless assassin or not.
Her sister stares at Clegane, taking note of his bleeding head and both of their blood-stained fingers. Arya gives her a look that communicates they will have words with one another, before staring back at her and saying, "I found the poems that went missing."
Her sister flashes rolled-up parchments from within her pocket before quickly concealing them.
"He knows, Arya. He is the one who found them."
Arya balks and spits out, "Did you tell the Queen or Joffrey, if you did I will–"
"He did not and he won't!" Sansa quickly interrupts before Arya can finish her statement.
"Then why was Joffrey hanging around our quarters?" Arya asks.
Clegane's brows lift before furrowing and he mutters several curses, "He followed your sister outside during the feast, intending to meet with her in the Godswoods," he grips the pommel of his sword, "I had words with him after and this morning, but he would not listen."
He meets Sansa's eyes briefly before turning away, "It's why I met with your father this morning, to inform him that you shouldn't be wandering around the keep at night, where any buggering man can happen upon you."
Sansa thinks back to their interaction this morning, which feels like a lifetime ago even though it had happened this dawn. He was angry and stormed out of her father's solar and she wondered what words they had said to one another.
"Ned Stark remains ever the fucking same, with all honor and no sense." He rasps out.
"Do not speak of my father that way!" Arya bites out.
"You better face the truth because it will face you someday, whether you will it or not, she-wolf."
Sansa frowns at him, "What did you speak of?"
He turns away from her and mutters, "Ask the noble Lord Stark yourself. He's too prideful and honorable to know any sense even if it's from a Lannister dog."
Sansa sees Arya about to open her mouth once more, but steps in to change the subject back to the topic at hand, "How did you find the notes?"
He laughs and rasps, "The she-wolf should check her shadows more often. I heard everything she and your bastard brother said and took it from her."
"That's impossible! I looked everywhere and did not see you!"
"Aye, she-wolf, but you did not check a second time and that's where you failed."
She watches Arya's face bloom red and Clegane lets out a smirk.
"It does not matter!" Sansa interjects, "We know now who had it and that it will not fall into the wrong hands."
Arya concedes but does not stop glaring at the Hound. His smirk widens.
Sansa withholds an eye roll because some things do not change.
She grasps Arya's hands to break her gaze and brings her attention back to herself.
"Arya, I need you to do something for me."
"What is it?"
"I need you to fetch the crown from my chest and bring it here. Make sure no one sees you. Gather our pack and bring them here. I have something to tell you all. It concerns the visions."
Arya's eyes widen and she nods before asking, "What is it?"
"I will tell you soon, with everyone here, but first grab my crown. Go quickly and remember to make sure you are not seen."
She watches her sister begin to dart off before hesitating, staring between her and Clegane.
Sansa smiles, "Do not worry. He will never harm me."
The finality in her tone seems to assure her sister because she is darting off into the tree line away from her sight.
Her mind spins and weaves together. There are so many things to think of and do. She can hardly wrap her mind around where to begin.
One thought echoes in her mind against all the others. She will change her family's fate and make sure they are untouched by horror and death. She will do everything within her power to make it so.
A wet nose presses into her shoulder and she glances up at her wolf. Lady's head comfortably rests on the fold of her neck. Sansa imagines if she were to stand on two legs she would be as tall as Hodor. Lady has grown larger than she ever had a chance to in the past.
Sansa's heart crumbles inside her chest at the thought and she falls into Lady, wrapping her arms around the scruff of her neck.
Lady lets out a low whine that turns into a howl. Tears wet her fur and she nuzzles her master's face.
"I will not let them take you from me. I will be a better protector this time." She whispers into Lady's fur.
Lady lets out another whine and Sansa knows that her wolf understands her.
She hears a throat clear and looks up to find his grey eyes staring down at her. Sansa wonders if it is the Hound who stands before her or Sandor Clegane.
There is much she wants to say to him. Many things are left unspoken and unsaid between them, but she does not know who stands before her.
He is the reason she remembers, his words and his blood working together to bring out her memories. He seemed to remember the past, just as she does.
"Are you back, Little bird?"
"Yes, I am back." She smiles and watches his lip smirk before falling away.
He breathes out through his nose and emotions she cannot identify pass through his eyes. The anger is there, as it always has been, but so is something else.
"You remember too, do you not, Clegane?" She asks, uncertain whether to call him Sandor, when she cannot even say his surname in her mind. She settles on Clegane as it feels safer.
"Aye."
"Do you know of anyone else who does?"
"No, thought it was just me, till we rode through Winterfell's gates and I saw you."
Her cheeks feel warm and she wonders at her reaction. Her mind turns to why he is in Winterfell and that he is Joffrey's sworn shield once more. The warmth fades away and a cold chill takes its place.
"How long have you known? How did you return?"
His expressionless face transforms into a snarl and he steps towards her rasping, "There's not enough sour red in all of Westeros to get me drunk enough to share that story."
She had thought perhaps reading her notes had somehow triggered his memories, but at his statement, she knew it could not be true.
"You serve the Lannisters once more."
"Aye."
She wants to tell him that he sounds more like a little bird than she does, but thinks better of it.
"...By your own choice?"
"There is no choice." He snarls, leaning down into her face.
His eyes are as angry as she remembers and just as frightening, but the Seven knows she has faced worse than Sandor Clegane and his rage.
"There is always a choice."
He barks out a bitter laugh, "We are in the Seven Hells, girl. Get that through your empty head first and next understand that you can't change shit."
Sansa takes his hand in her own and he sharply looks down at her. His hand begins spasming before she places her other hand over top of his, stilling the movements.
"You brought me back. I am still unsure how," She glances at the weirwood tree and has some idea.
"Aye," he replies, flicking his eyes to hers before staring at the red that stains their fingers, "the raven…"
He does not finish his statement, but continues to look down at their hands. Sansa wonders if there is more Sandor than Hound inside of him.
She runs her thumb across his hand and he flinches at her touch, "We have an opportunity to change our lives and the people around us. I still don't know why I am here, or why it is me, but I will not lose this chance."
He pulls her into him, releasing her hands to grab her shoulders. He leans down till all she sees is the burned side of his face. It is terrible to behold, just as she remembers, but it is him.
"I already told you. You can't change shit, little bird," He points to his face, "I still couldn't change this. I sure as hell couldn't change anything else. I took my chance and lost. You won't escape your fate any more than I could escape mine."
He turns and draws her closer till their noses are nearly touching. He is all around her and she feels the warmth of his arms. Lady tenses at her side.
"Fate, the gods, whoever the fuck it is made it clear that I could only ever be the Hound again. So I became their fucking Hound. You and I are trapped here for a second time, so you need to wake up to it."
"No." She replies and it seems to send him into a rage as his face twists into a terrible grimace, his jaw bone twitching in place and his eyes burning into her, "I have a second chance. You took yours, now I am taking mine."
She steps out from his grip and places herself so Lady is between them.
"Then it will be your end," He snarls.
"No," Sansa leans into Lady, hiding the hand that curls into a clenched fist, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms, "My end was all of your deaths, till I was the only one left. I will not let that happen again."
His voice is a hoarse rasp as he speaks, "Save yourself some pain and forget all of it. Live as if you don't remember."
She shakes her head in denial, "I cannot. I will not."
He lets the silence fill between them, saying nothing in reply. His gaze lingers, and the fury in his eyes fades into a blank and expressionless mask. He turns away from her, slowly walking into the thicket of trees until she can no longer see his form.
She is surprised to find tears welling in her eyes, but does not let them fall. She has more important things to worry about than Sandor Clegane.
He is wrong. He has to be. He must be.
She hears footsteps ahead and spots Arya's head bobbing up and down with Bran and Jon on either side of her. Further back she sees Robb laughing and Theon smirking, while Rickon rides alongside them on Shaggy.
She has no time to dwell on what she can or cannot change, because she has her family to save. This time, things will be different. No one will stand in her or her family's way. She will make sure of that.