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Re-published 17.2 2013
Sansa

Sansa couldn’t quite believe her eyes or the scenario in front of her – the Hound kneeling? Asking for absolution?

She didn’t know how she was able to finish the meal. She kept on looking sideways at the table with the lonely figure of the Hound – no, Sandor Clegane. A few times she saw his eyes darting to her direction, but when their eyes met they both immediately diverted theirs away.

At the end of the meal Sansa gave her excuses and withdrew to her chambers at the shadow of the Tower of the Sun. She spent the evening walking restlessly back and forth in her solar, eventually going to bed but being unable to sleep.

The Hound is here. He is alive.

She had thought about him often during her years in Dorne. She had shared some of her history with her companions, but only to one person she had told all about him.

Narella Sand was her best friend – they were of similar age, both initially feeling out of place in that court of bold, beautiful people, all so confident about their place in it. Narella had arrived there only shortly before Sansa had, brought over by her knightly father after her mother’s death. Over the years they had both grown in confidence and in friendship and shared everything, including their secrets and their hearts desires.

Sansa had confided to her the story of the Hound and how he had been the only one in King’s Landing to stand up for her and advise her. She had also told her about the night of the battle of Blackwater and how he had asked her for a song. At first Narella had not understood why he had asked for a song, of all things. Sansa had described her their earlier meeting at the Serpentine stairs and how he had said that one day he’ll have a song from her, whether she willed it or not. At that Narella had looked at her incredulously before bursting into a raucous laughter.

“A song – you though he meant a song?!” Narella had hardly been able to talk, so full of mirth she had been.

“Of course – what else?” Sansa had started to get annoyed at her friend.

“A song, yes, a song that lovers share…”Narella had jeered at her. Although she was not much older than Sansa, she was a bastard and her maidenhead was not a matter of state, so she had done her share of exploring the joys of womanhood.

“Oh!” exclaimed Sansa, blushing deeply. And I told him I will sing it for him gladly!

She had also confided to Narella her mixed feelings about him; how from her initial fright she had gradually started to see him as her protector, to the extent it was possible under Joffrey’s sadistic rule. She remembered his strength, his powerful presence and his brutal honestly. The night when he had come to her she had been at first so very afraid, scared of his bloodied face and his wild eyes full of reflections of green fire and terror. But when he had pressed her against the bed and she had thought him about to kiss her…she had been frightened but also strangely stirred.

She had dreamt of that kiss for a long time afterwards, but after discussions with Narella she had started to doubt if it actually had happened at all. Surely she would remember the feeling of his scarred lips on her own? All she could truly remember was the anticipation of a kiss, as she had closed her eyes when he had leaned over her. That didn’t prevent her imagining it many times over as she was lying in her bed. The stories Narella shared with her about her adventures with men filled her mind with new insights she had not thought about before. Had he only wanted to protect me as his king’s betrothed? Or as a child in need of protection? Or as a woman he coveted? He told me once I looked almost a woman…

At times she had wondered if she had known the man at all. When she had first heard of the Butcher of Saltpans, she doubted if it really could be the Hound she remembered. She liked to think not – but then again, he had been so full of anger, his grey eyes so full of rage…If he had finally snapped, who knew what could have followed? But he had come to Dorne, apparently with a proof that it wasn’t him, dressed in a brother’s garb. Who is this man, really?

Sandor

Sandor finished his meal and was escorted to a modest but comfortable room across the castle yard for the night. Before he had even settled down there was a knock on the door. Prince Doran wanted to see him, the guards told, and escorted him to spacious and comfortable rooms at the Tower of the Sun. The prince was sitting by the window but turned his chair laboriously to face him. His lap was covered with a richly decorated coverlet, but it could not hide the grotesque twist of his legs.

“Sandor Clegane, you tell me you came here in peace. The Elder Brother’s letter seems to confirm that. I know him and his reputation and if he vouches for you, I feel I have no choice but to accept it.”

He looked at Sandor with piercing eyes. His body may be broken but his mind is sharp as ever.

“Aye, I have spent these last few years on the Quiet Isle with him. He seems to think there is still something worth saving in me,” Sandor replied hoarsely.

“He wrote that you came here to see with your own eyes if the skull the Lannisters sent us is that of your brother Gregor Clegane. How would you know that any better than any of us who have seen him in his life?”

Sandor explained to the prince the same story he had told the Elder Brother. The prince nodded and seemed to consider that for a while before gesturing to one of the guards. The man scurried away but returned almost immediately with an ebony chest fitted with silver clasps and hinges. He placed it reverently on the floor in front of them and opened it slowly to reveal a huge skull resting on a bed of black felt.

Sandor could not tear his eyes away from it. It appeared to be grinning – almost as if Gregor still taunted him from beyond the death. He leaned closer to examine its right side, and saw to his relief that it indeed bore a deep indentation in the temple. It was fully healed and not like the crashed bone he had seen that day so many years ago. Without the doubt it was still the same injury, only superficially healed. Is this what made you a monster, Gregor?

He lifted his head and nodded solemnly to Prince Doran. “It is him; this is the skull of Gregor Clegane. Both the man and The Mountain Who Rides are truly dead.”

Prince Doran closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh. Then he gestured the guard to close the chest.

“I owe you my gratitude. I never held it above the Lannisters to try to cheat me by sending somebody else’s skull, but now I know that my sister and her children have truly been revenged.”

“Likewise I will be in debt to you, my prince. Without this opportunity I would have never had a chance to know for sure that my own justice has been achieved.”  Sandor was still staring at the chest but glanced briefly to the prince as he spoke.

“And what do you want to do now; turn back and return to the Quiet Isle?” Prince Doran looked at him quizzically.

“It depends on you, my prince, what I do next. I came here with an intention to offer my services to House Martell in recompense for the bad deeds my kin - Gregor - has done to your family. I am not really suited to stay among the brother of the Seven for the rest of my days and I doubt the Lions would want me back.” He half-smiled sardonically at that before continuing.

“I suspect all the families I have hurt by my own actions are too scattered and unknown to me to approach. I mainly fought against ordinary soldiers and small bannermen, and was never important enough to be sent to harm big noble houses.”

Sandor hadn’t really planned what to say, so unexpected the turn of events that night had been, but he knew he had to do this.

“But tonight in your hall I thought I saw someone against whose family and her own person I myself have done grievous harm. Was it Lady Sansa Stark sitting in your table?”

Sandor was nervous – what if it was not the little bird after all, only someone with an uncanny resemblance? Someone who had just been horrified to see his scarred face.

“You saw right, it was indeed Lady Sansa. She has been my ward for the last few years, coming here together with the skull you just saw. It is not widely known as Cersei Lannister wanted people to believe that she had suffered her just punishment for murdering her son. But I had better use for her than to let her die in the dungeons of the Red Keep. She is, after all, the last remaining heir of house Stark.”

“Did she? Murder King Joffrey?” Sandor had not been able to control himself before the words spurted out. Prince Doran shrugged his shoulders.

“I have not asked her, and she has not told me. Even if she did, I wouldn’t hold it against her. According to the information I have, it was not exactly a loving betrothal – not like my Trystane and Myrcella Lannister.”

Sandor wasn’t sure if the answer was what he had expected. At least somebody seemed to think it a possibility that the little bird could have been a murderess.

“What is that better use, if I may be so bold as to ask? Has she been married to some noble Dornish lord?” Sandor hadn’t realised how urgently he needed to hear the answer to that question before he had just asked it. That evening she had been sitting on the dais with other young women – surely if she was married she would have sat with her lord husband?

“No, not yet. She is still young and the times are unsettled, so there is no urgency with the matter. When the time comes, you can be sure that I will see her settled well.”

Sandor took a deep breath. He hadn’t had time to think things over and wasn’t sure if what he was going to suggest was a good idea. Whether he would live to regret it after the little bird would be married to some lord and he would have to follow her and see her with another.

“I would like to offer my services to Lady Sansa, if she accepts me. I would do whatever it is that she may require of me.” Sandor bowed again. He felt uncomfortable with all the bowing and scraping to which he was not used to, but if this was what he had to do to be taken seriously, then he bloody well would do it.

Prince Doran responded to him with a slight frown. “It will be up to Lady Sansa. If she accepts you, I have no objections. But if she doesn’t, and you still want to remain here, I am sure we can find you some position in my household. However, if she doesn’t want you here, I need to ask you to leave. Do you understand?”

“I do, and I accept any decision Lady Stark will make.” Sandor nodded curtly before the prince dismissed him with a wave of a hand and he left the room.

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