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literenFirst part
Sandor
The ride back to the castle was long and miserable. There were no more soldiers hiding in the forest, but Sandor was cautious and slowed down his horse to avoid walking them into an ambush. Sansa had gone quiet apart from the occasional sniffle, and that suited Sandor just fine because he had taken a couple of hits earlier while fighting Joffrey's knights and wasn't feeling at all talkative.
Between those wounds and the cold wind on his freshly-scarred face, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to carry any kind of civil conversation with Sansa. If he tried to talk, he would have ended up snarling abuse at her, and then she would run away again. So they rode in silence until they passed the castle's drawbridge.
Sandor helped Sansa dismount, but his leg was injured and so when he tried to get off the horse himself his grasp wasn't firm enough. He slid off the saddle and fell on the ground with an undignified grunt.
Sansa gave him a concerned look and knelt down next to him to help him get back on his feet, but Sandor brushed off her hand. "It's nothing," he said, trying to sound gruff instead of in pain. "Go to sleep, you can take any room in the castle," he added.
She didn't seem to believe him when he said he was fine and started to protest. Sandor felt even more pitiful, since he wasn't even able to fool a girl who until a few hours ago was convinced that Prince Joffrey was the best person ever in the whole world, but he really didn't feel like arguing.
He turned his back to Sansa and pretended to be busy retrieving Lady's body from the back of the horse, and then leading the horse to the stables and grooming him. His wounded leg made the work go painfully slow, but finally Sansa gave up and walked away.
Sandor finished dumping some food in front of the horse and limped back into the courtyard. The body of Sansa's wolf was lying in a corner away from the snow, where Sandor had dragged it. There were small footsteps next to it. Sansa had stopped there on her way to the castle. Sandor had no idea what to do with the body, he only knew that he didn't want Joffrey to take the wolf's head and hang it on a wall next to his other hunting trophies. The wolf didn't deserve that, she had been trying to protect Sansa.
He was still thinking about the wolf as he climbed the steps leading to the castle and pushed the door open. It was a few hours before dawn and the corridors were dark, lit only by a few flickering torches here and there. Sandor jumped when he felt a hand on his arm.
"For the love of the Seven!" he exclaimed, stumbling back against the wall. "Do you want me to die of fright?"
"I'm sorry," Sansa said, looking hesitant and almost as spooked as Sandor. "But you don't look fine, you're hurt, and you should let me tend to your leg..."
She trailed off and stared at her feet. Sandor noticed that she had some linens in her hands and was wringing them nervously. She must have searched the castle for bandages while he was in the stables, and, failing to find any, she'd torn great stripes from some bedsheets. If she'd been stubborn enough to stumble around in the dark, Sandor thought, she wasn't going to give up until she got what she wanted.
"All right," Sandor said with a shrug, and let the girl lead him back to the great hall. Some embers from the fire were still burning in the fireplace, and Sansa poked them to rekindle the flames while Sandor sat down in front of the fire and propped his leg on the bench in front of him.
Once the fire was roaring again, Sansa placed a large basin full of water on the table next to the makeshift bandages, and dragged a stool across the room so she could sit next to Sandor. Then she stared at the basin and the linens and Sandor for a long while.
"You have no idea how to treat a wound, do you?" Sandor asked eventually, to which she went pink and shook her head.
"I haven't," she replied in a small voice. "But Maester Aemon says that it's important to clean wounds so they don't fester, and I've watched Mother bandage Arya's knees when she scraped them by wrestling with Nymeria in the yard..."
Sandor snorted. He would have complained this was nothing like a scraped knee, but that would have meant admitting that his injury was indeed serious. Instead he rolled up the leg of his trousers to expose the jagged cut just below his knee. Sansa stifled a gasp and struggled not to look away from it.
The wound was an angry red welt from a spear that had come very close to smashing Sandor's knee, and it was made even uglier by the caked blood and mud from the forest. There was no doubt that Sandor was going to add another scar to his growing collection, but more than that he was worried that the leg wouldn't heal properly. He should have had a Maester treat it, if there had been one at hand. Instead, he was alone in the castle with a girl who was too repulsed by his appearance to look at him, so Sandor grabbed the nearest piece of cloth and dropped it in the basin. "I'll do it myself," he said.
Sansa pursed her lips, then took the basin away from him, spilling some water in the process. "No, I'll do it," she said. Her voice was shaking but her hands were steady as she started dabbing the wet cloth at the edges of Sandor's wound.
Sandor cursed aloud when it touched his skin. "It's icy cold," he said through gritted teeth, along with a string of profanities that made Sansa jump back and drop the cloth to the floor.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I got the water from the kitchens, I didn't realize." She looked at the basin in her lap as if she was hoping to warm it by willpower alone, and Sandor sighed under his breath. When Sansa figured out that no magical servants would appear, she got up and managed to heat some of the water.
When she started cleaning Sandor's wound, he had to grab the edges of the table and remind himself that she was only trying to help; otherwise, he would have snarled at her. Her fingers were soft and she only touched his leg gingerly, but she was still poking around an open wound. Sandor felt as if there were stars dancing in front of his eyes.
Eventually Sansa gained some confidence and started chiding him for squirming too much. Sandor glared at her. "But it hurts!" he complained, forgetting for a while that he was pretending to be stoic and not affected by pain.
Sansa just pouted. "If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much," she said petulantly.
"If you hadn't run away, this wouldn't have happened," Sandor snapped back.
"If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run away," Sansa replied. Sandor tried to think of a good comeback, but nothing came to his mind. "Now hold still."
Sandor grunted as Sansa rinsed the cloth in the basin and dabbed at his wound again. The wound looked much better now that it was clean. Then Sansa, apparently satisfied with her work, took a clean strip of cloth and started bandaging Sandor's leg.
"By the way," she said as she finished knotting together the edges of the makeshift bandage. "Thank you for saving me from Joffrey."
"You're welcome," Sandor replied after a long pause. "And thank you for..." he added with a vague gesture towards his leg.
He didn't finish his sentence, but Sansa understood and nodded. Then she gathered the basin and her other things and hurried away. Sandor stared at the fire for a long while before pushing himself to his feet and limping to his room. He collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without even removing his boots.
Sansa
The next morning, Sansa woke up much later than she was used to. On most days she woke up when Septa Mordane or Mother came to call her. Sometimes it was Arya who woke her up, wandering about their room before the crack of dawn while she tried to get dressed in the dark to run out and play with Nymeria before their lessons. Sometimes Sansa woke up with the tip of Lady's nose pressed to her cheek.
The thought threatened to make her cry, and Sansa had been trying so very hard not to cry ever since Lady's death. So she forced herself to think about nothing at all while she got up and took off her dress. She had been so tired that she'd slept fully clothed, and now her dress was crumpled and ruined from her walk in the forest. Even so, she tried to smooth it as best as she could and then draped it carefully over a chair. Maybe she'd find some way to clean it later.
She padded to the large oak wardrobe in the corner, shivering a little as her naked feet touched the flagstones, and looked for something she could wear. Luckily for her, everyone had abandoned the castle in a hurry and left their things behind. Sansa found a dress belonging to a young noblewoman roughly her size, and a fur-lined cloak that was a little too long but kept her nicely warm. There was also soap and a brush and a mirror so when Sansa left the room she looked, if not very pretty, at least clean and decent.
Now that she was dressed, though, she had no idea of where to go. Returning home was not an option because Joffrey might still be lying in wait for her in the forest. Sansa shivered at the memory of Joffrey's face as he tried to stab her. She had always thought he was handsome, but his face contorted with rage had looked dreadful and scary. She chased away the memory and thought of Sandor instead. He had looked scary too, with his scars and his quick temper, but he hadn't threatened to kill Sansa and hadn't chased her away from the castle either.
Sansa's feet had brought her to the great hall. The long trestle tables were still piled high with last night's food, which was starting to smell real bad. It was a good thing that it was winter, or the whole place would have been swarming with flies. The plates should have been cleaned away, and maybe some of the food was still good to eat or could be given to the animals, but Sansa didn't relish the idea of carrying dirty dishes around.
Sansa broke her fast with a couple of apple tarts that still looked edible, and ate them walking. She still hadn't decided whether she would stay at the castle or go home, but she thought she'd better ask Sandor first, in case he told her to leave again. Besides, she wanted to make sure that the bandage she'd made him was keeping.
Sandor Clegane wasn't anywhere to be found. Sansa looked everywhere in the castle, knocked at every door, even called Sandor in a timid voice. She even ventured in the servants' quarters, where she'd never stepped before in her life. It was very dull and gray and Sansa felt very out of place, but Sandor wasn't there either.
Just as she was about to give up on her quest and, she finally spied him from a window. He was in the small garden that in this castle passed as a godswood. Even from a distance, it was impossible not to recognize the heart tree: it was the only one to still have leaves on, even in the middle of winter. The red leaves made a stark contrast with the white of the bark and the snow.
The prince's former sworn shield was shuffling around in the snow, favoring his left leg. Sansa frowned at the sight. She was about to run to him and tell him off for straining himself when she realized what was happening. Sandor Clegane had been digging a grave. What Sansa had at first taken for mounds of snow was in truth a hole in the ground, not too large but deep enough that other animals wouldn't try to dig up the remains buried there.
Sansa watched as Sandor carried Lady's body from the yard, pausing often to catch his breath, and laid the wolf in her grave with a delicacy that Sansa wouldn't have suspected in such a large man. When he started filling the grave, Sansa left the window and went out to meet him.
The morning was cold and crisp, with an icy wind that bit into her cheeks and promised more snow. Sansa had to wrap her cloak tighter around herself. She was unsure whether to call out to him, but he heard her approaching and turned around.
"Little bird," he said. He sounded surprised, almost embarrassed. "I didn't know what to do about the wolf," he confessed. "It didn't seem right to leave her and I know your house keeps to the old gods, so..."
His voice trailed off and he looked away. Maybe Sandor was thinking that he should have asked for permission. It was a strange situation for the two of them. They weren't prisoner and captive, but they weren't lady and knight either.
"Thank you," Sansa said. After a moment, Sandor nodded and turned to resume shoveling dirt and snow into Lady's grave. Sansa cleaned the snow away from a bench and sat down to watch. He worked in silence, with slow and methodical movements. If his leg pained him, he never said.
"My family had a lot of dogs because of their sigil," Sandor told her eventually. "I used to play with them when I was a boy."
Sansa would have gladly cried on his shoulder then, but she'd been taught that ladies didn't cry in public. "Really?" she said instead. "It seems strange to think of you as a child."
Sandor glanced at her over his shoulder. "Everyone was a child once," he replied. "I used to play come-into-my-castle and listen to my wet nurse's stories."
"Those stories turned out much different in reality," Sansa said. The stone under her was freezing cold, so she hugged her legs to keep warm. "In the tales, enchanted castles are filled with portents like singing furniture, or else everyone is asleep waiting for the princess to be awaken by her true love." Sansa had rather liked those tales.
Sandor grunted. "Instead, there's just me in this castle," he said. "Are you disappointed?"
"I'm not," Sansa said. It was a lie, but Sandor had been kind to her and it wasn't his fault that the stories weren't true.
They walked back from the godswood together. Sandor's limp had worsened, because of the cold or the fatigue or both, so Sansa took small steps that allowed the Hound to keep up with her. As they were crossing the yard, Sansa heard a loud cry.
She halted, startled, and Sandor almost bumped into her. "It's Joffrey," Sansa said, wringing her hands. "He came back for us."
"It doesn't sound like him at all," Sandor said, motioning for her to be quiet. More voices had joined the first one in asking to enter the castle. Sansa listened as she was bid and realized that the Hound was right. Joffrey would have been screaming for their heads, but whoever was outside the walls was pleading to be let inside.
Even so, Sansa feared another trap. "What should we do?"
"Stay here," Sandor told her. "I'll find out who those people are."
Sansa paced the yard as Sandor climbed the battlements and addressed the crowd from outside. She assumed that it was a crowd because she heard different people answering Sandor's questions, though she could only hear snatches of their conversation. She was too afraid to join Sandor and ask him what was happening.
Finally, Sandor exclaimed "I'm not a m'lord!" loud enough to startle the people outside into silence, and went back to Sansa. He took the steps one at a time, leaning heavily on the wall, and Sansa met him halfway up the stone stairs to lend him her shoulder.
"What's happening?" she asked. "Who are those people?"
"Smallfolk," Sandor replied. "Servants and stableboys and pages. They left the castle for fear of the enchantress and now they want to come back."
"Then you should open the gates and let them,"Sansa said immediately.
"They're Joffrey's men," Sandor spat.
"You were Joffrey's man until not long ago," Sansa reminded him. "Besides, this castle is too large for the two of us." Only after she'd spoken the words did she realize that it meant that she wanted to stay. She gave Sandor a hopeful look.
Sandor frowned. "I'm no lord," he said. "I don't know how to run a castle or what to tell them to do..."
Sansa beamed. "Don't worry, this is what I've been brought up for," she said. It was almost as good as being a princess, and besides the hall really needed cleaning. "Let them in!"
So Sandor and Sansa took over Joffrey's castle.
Joffrey
Elsewhere, Joffrey was up to no good. He had rather liked Sandor, much like one might like a favorite pet, and the sudden betrayal rankled.
(True, there was the fact that Sandor had saved Joffrey's life and then Joffrey had left him to die, and later he'd ordered his knights to kill Sandor, and he'd always called Sandor "dog" and mocked him, but all that didn't count. Joffrey mocked everyone. It didn't count. Right? Right?!)
Since he wasn't old enough to get drunk, there was only one thing Joffrey could do: he ran to his family crying for help. His first choice of go-to adult would have been his mother, but Cersei was away on a cruise. His second choice would have been his uncle Jaime, but Jaime was on a cruise too. The same cruise as Cersei. They weren't even bothering with subtlety any more. So Joffrey went to his grandfather Tywin instead.
"Grandfather," Joffrey said. "I want you to take back my castle and kill Sandor Clegane!"
His grandfather glared at him, and Joffrey started to suspect that this might not have been his brightest idea. Lord Tywin was technically Joffrey's bannerman, but he did have an army. All Joffrey had were a dozen knights who were still recovering from being attacked by a direwolf and another dog.
"Take back my castle, please?" Joffrey added.
Tywin pursed his lips. "I shall," he said, "but I'm not doing this for you. If word spreads that a woman and a sellsword have taken over your castle, you'll be a laughingstock. Your family will be a laughingstock. I won't allow that."
"Thanks, grandpa," Joffrey said, because he had selective hearing and decided to ignore the contempt in Tywin's voice. "I'll need a thousand knights and ten thousand other men and a catapult and a pony..."
"No," Tywin snapped. "Haven't you been paying attention? I don't want anyone to find out about your disgrace."
"Then how will we take the castle back?" Joffrey pouted.
"I have a plan," said Tywin.
Sandor
"I have a surprise for you," Sansa told Sandor one afternoon. "To celebrate the fact that your leg healed so well." The snow was finally melting in the sun and Sansa was admiring the first spring flowers. Sandor walked beside her. He still bore scars from that wound, but the limp had disappeared almost entirely.
"What kind of surprise?" Sandor asked, wary. He hated surprises but, for Sansa's sake, he forced himself not to scowl.
Sansa smiled. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise any more," she said. "Dress nicely for dinner."
That did make Sandor scowl.
Among the people who had returned to the castle, there had been over a dozen of Joffrey's personal servants. Those people had been in charge of picking the prince's clothes, dressing him, bathing him, combing his hair, powdering his nose and who knew what else. Since their master had fled, all those people had taken to following Sandor around and waiting on him as if he was some wimpy lordling who couldn't even lace his own boots.
Sandor had yelled at them and sent them away, until Sansa scolded him. "It's not fair to take away those poor people's livelihood," she had said. "They were just trying to do their job. It's not about you needing many servants, it's about the servants needing a job."
She pouted and pleaded until Sandor had been forced to give in and his servants had stayed. Mostly they amused themselves by moving Sandor into a huge suit of rooms and cleaning it until it was sparkling. They made Sandor new clothes, much finer than anything he was used to, and frowned when they saw he was still wearing his old leather jerkin. Once, they attempted to comb his hair. It never happened again.
This time, however, there was no escaping from his own servants. As soon as Sandor went back to his rooms, his valet cornered him. "Lady Sansa informed us, m'lord," he said. "I've already drawn you a bath."
Sandor would have liked to know what Sansa was up to, and also why she had decided to plague him with a valet. He eyed the large copper tub in front of the fireplace. "She told me to dress nicely," he said, pulling off his boots. "So I'll need... nice clothes, I suppose."
The valet bowed. "I've already laid out your black doublet that you never wore," he said, with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "Your cloak is being brushed right now. Maybe I'll clean your boots too," he added, picking one up and inspecting the mud caked on the soles.
"You do that," Sandor replied. There were half a dozen servants fluttering around but two younger men were standing to attention in a corner. "Is this a bath or a public event?" he asked, jerking his head towards them.
The younger boy hid behind a large square of linen. "We have your towels, m'lord," he squeaked.
Sandor snorted, told himself that Sansa would be cross if he murdered anyone, and got into the bathtub. Thankfully no one offered to scrub his back. He tried again to ask what Sansa was doing, but all he got from the boys were more m'lords and the fact that the lady had sworn them all to secrecy.
After he'd bathed and toweled himself dry, his valet insisted on dressing him. Not only the doublet but every item of clothing was brand new, black velvet decorated with golden thread. On the doublet's breast there was the Clegane sigil, three dogs on yellow. His high boots were sparkling clean, so much that Sandor suspected that they'd been swapped with a new pair.
"M'lord looks splendid," the valet said, fastening his cloak. "Would you like to look at yourself in a mirror?"
"No," Sandor replied. "I look the same as always, fancy clothes won't change what I am."
He ignored the other man's affronted look and buckled his old sword at his belt.
Sansa was waiting for him outside the hall and smiled when she saw him. "You look very handsome and gallant tonight," she said.
Sandor almost didn't hear her words. Sansa looked beautiful in a silver gown that brought out her pale skin, and with her auburn hair tied in an elaborate knot. She took his arm and guided him inside the hall.
The Hound had thought that the clothes were the surprise, but now he realized that Sansa had done much more than that. The hall was full of people talking and laughing, while two fools were juggling and a singer was reciting a ballad.
"I wanted to wait for you before starting," Sansa said with a frown, "but you were a long time coming down. I've never organized a banquet before and I'm not so sure I'm doing this right."
She led him to the high table, but Sandor refused to sit down in the lord's seat. "Little bird, this isn't my place," he said.
"It is," Sansa insisted. "You're ever a better lord than Joffrey was, everyone thinks so."
Sandor shook his head but, for Sansa's sake, he sat down and listened as she thanked everyone for helping restore the castle after the evil enchantress's attack. Then she asked him to say some words.
"They came for food, not for words," he said with a shrug. "Let them eat."
That got him a round of laughter and applause, and Sansa motioned for the first course to be brought out. Serving girls went around with trays of roast fowl and tankards of ale, and under the tables the dogs started fighting for scraps.
Sandor feared that the evening would have been very awkward, with his new clothes and a seat at the high table and the servants serving him the choice portions even as they tripped over themselves to avoid looking him in the face. However, Sansa distracted him by talking about the harvest and the oncoming spring and asking him about the men he'd be training to replace the guards that Joffrey had brought away with him.
As the servants started clearing away the plates and brought cakes and sweet wines, Sansa tugged at Sandor's arm. "Dance with me," she said.
"I don't know how to dance," Sandor replied grumpily.
Sansa dragged him to his feet regardless. At her gesture, the singer started plucking a slow melody from his woodharp. "It's easy," she told the Hound, taking one of his hands and guiding the other on her waist. "Just follow the music."
"I feel stupid," Sandor said, but he complied. Sansa danced as gracefully as she did everything else. Sandor's own steps felt clumsy and ungainly, but if she noticed his limp she didn't say.
"Don't look at your feet," Sansa told him. He was afraid that he'd step on her delicate dancing shoes, and her smile was equally distracting. The room spun around him in a blur of auburn and silver.
Finally the music slowed down and faded, but Sansa didn't let go of his arm. "Thank you," she said, beaming. "Tonight feels like a fairy tale."
Before Sandor could reply, a boy rushed into the hall. He was small and badly dressed but armed with a sword. "Sansa!" he exclaimed.
Sandor and the guards drew their swords, but Sansa ran forward to hug the boy. "Arya!" she cried. "I missed you so much."
The boy (or rather the girl) squirmed in Sansa's grasp. Sandor finally recognized her as Arya Stark. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
Arya pointed her sword at him. "What are you doing here?" she spat back. "If you hurt my sister, I'll skewer you like a pig!"
"Arya!" Sansa squealed, while Sandor roared with laughter.
"It's not funny," Arya insisted.
"Why not?" Sandor asked. "If I'm a lord, you might as well be a knight."
Finally, Sansa got her sister to sit down and promise not to skewer anyone just yet. Arya's tale was a long one, but this is the short version since it's easy to guess how it went. (Hint: remember the part about Joffrey being up to no good and Tywin having a plan. That's foreshadowing. Or maybe shoddy writing.)
One day, Joffrey showed up at Sansa's home with an army, claiming that Sandor Clegane consorted with an enchantress to steal his castle and his betrothed. Joffrey said that he only wanted the Starks' help to regain what was his, but in truth he took over their lands and imprisoned Sansa's parents. Robb and Jon had some unfinished business with a glass slipper (Theon Greyjoy was being a dick and claimed that it fit him) and couldn't come home to help. So Arya had escaped and planned to rescue Sansa on her own.
"This is terrible news," Sansa said. "But I don't need rescuing, I'm here of my own free will."
Arya cast Sandor a dubious glance. "What do you want to do?" she asked her sister.
Sansa sighed. "I have to marry Joffrey," she said. "Then he'll let mother and father free, and everything will be well again."
"What?" Arya exclaimed. "You can't marry that brainless idiot! He hates you."
Sansa turned away. "It's my fault that Joffrey did this to my family," she told Sandor, almost apologetically.
"Then you must go home," Sandor replied. They were the hardest words he'd ever said.
She hugged him briefly and hurried out of the room. Arya stayed a moment longer. "Why would you let her go?" she asked angrily, and then she ran after her sister.
Sandor couldn't answer in front of everyone. Because she's free to do as she will, he thought. Because she will always choose the prince over the sellsword. Because I have nothing to offer her. Because she's a fool, and I'm a bigger fool for letting her leave.
He stormed out of the hall and locked himself in his rooms.
Sansa (and Arya)
Sansa and Arya rode back as fast as they could. In the past few months, the forest had grown so much that the street leading from the castle to the town had disappeared. Maybe the castle was enchanted after all. The thought might have cheered Sansa, but she was too glum to pay attention to the scenery. However, once they were out of the trees and in the open, even she couldn't help noticing that the countryside was crawling with Joffrey's men. Arya made them keep their head down and stick to secondary roads so that the guards wouldn't trouble them.
Sansa didn't see the reason to be so cautious. She was going back to Joffrey, after all. "If I do this, everything will be right again," Sansa insisted, mostly to convince herself.
Arya glared at her sister and shook her head, but she kept her silence.
It was past dawn by the time they arrived home. The Starks lived in a nice mansion on the outskirts of town. Joffrey and his men had taken over it and left their mark everywhere. Sansa's heart hurt at the sight of the ruined flowerbeds, and of the cracked windows, and above all of the prince's banner flying over the door.
Sansa took a minute to fix her skirts (she had changed into a simple riding dress for the journey) and willed her heart to stop beating madly. "Everything will be right again," she told herself, and walked inside.
She found Joffrey in the dining hall, with his feet propped on the table. He seemed surprised to see her, but decided to play the charming host. "Lady Sansa," he said. "I hadn't expected your visit. What a pleasant surprise."
"My prince," Sansa said, bobbing a curtsy. The idea of Joffrey welcoming her into her own home made her skin crawl, but she decided to play along. "So he'll free my parents, and Bran, and baby Rickon," she thought. Arya hadn't followed her inside and Sansa didn't know where her sister was.
"I was most distressed when you left," Joffrey was saying.
Sansa kept her eyes down. "I'm here now, my prince."
That seemed to please Joffrey. "My plan worked, I knew it would," he said. That was a blatant lie, since his plan involved siege engines and a pony, and it was his grandfather Tywin who had put an end to that particular stupid idea. By the way, Tywin had grown tired of hanging around his grandson a couple of weeks earlier and he'd gone back home, leaving Joffrey with an army and a stern injunction to stay away from ponies.
"Now that I'm here, will you release my parents?" Sansa asked. Joffrey didn't even pretend that he hadn't been keeping them prisoner, and gestured for his guards to bring in the Starks.
Lord and Lady Stark had been despairing of seeing their eldest daughter again, because Joffrey had told them that she'd been kidnapped by an evil sorceress with the help of his own sworn shield turned bandit. Sansa hugged Bran and Rickon, and she tried to answer their questions as best as she could.
"They say that the enchantress has dragons," Bran said, "and that she turned the Hound into a giant."
Sansa hesitated, but even after all her character development she wasn't very smart. She totally forgot that Joffrey was still in the room and blurted out, "There was no enchantress."
Joffrey, who had been busy exploring one of his nostrils, sat up. "The enchantress ran away?" he said, smirking. "When?"
"T-there was no enchantress to begin with, my prince," Sansa said. "Only Sandor Clegane."
She was afraid that Joffrey would be angry to learn that his enemy had fled, but the prince only laughed. "I should have known," he said. "You're too stupid and cowardly to escape from an enchantress." The Starks glared at the boy, but they were surrounded by guards and couldn't do anything. Sansa meekly bowed her head. "How did you escape, anyway?" Joffrey asked.
"I didn't. My prince," she hastened to add, as Joffrey frowned. "H-he let me g-go. It's true, I swear." She faltered under the incredulous stare of both the prince and her family. "He's good and kind and patient. If only you'd go and talk to him, you'd know."
Sansa herself would have scarcely believed it if someone had told her, but she'd seen the Hound and talked with him and danced with him in the huge banquet hall. He had been kind to her, and she felt that she had to defend him to repay that kindness.
"He's just a rabid dog," Joffrey said, pulling a face.
"He's not!" Sansa exclaimed. "He's sitting in your seat, and he's a better lord than you were or you'll ever be."
Joffrey paled at those words, then turned red and drew his sword. Sansa backed away from him, hiding behind her parents, but the prince only waved the sword around in an irate gesture. "I'll bring you his head as a wedding present!" he yelled. Then he ordered his guards to keep watch on the Starks and went outside to rally his army.
Now, this part is supposed to be from Sansa's POV, but Sansa is going to spend the next few hours sobbing in a locked room and that's not very interesting at all. Since the fourth wall already came crashing down, let's switch to Arya's POV now.
Arya had just escaped from Joffrey's guards and wasn't just going to waltz back in just because her stupid sister wanted to. After escorting Sansa back home, she hid in the rosebushes and listened to Joffrey and Sansa's conversation from an open window.
She allowed herself a smug smile when Joffrey imprisoned Sansa, and resolved to tell her "told you so" at the next possible occasion. Then she waited in the bushes, silent as a polecat and quiet as a deer and whatever other similitude she fancied to use, while Joffrey addressed his soldiers.
Joffrey made a long-winded speech about how awesome he was, and how Sandor Clegane had taken away his castle with trickery and sorcery, and how he was going to take back the castle now, and how awesome he was.
"Let's take back my castle!" he screamed, thrusting his sword in the air. The soldiers cheered. "Some of you may die, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." The soldiers cheered again, because somehow only truly stupid men were willing to follow Joffrey in battle. "Let's storm the castle and raze it to the ground!" Then Joffrey remembered that it was his castle and amended it to, "Let's storm the castle without razing it to the ground."
Finally, the knights and pike men and foot soldiers formed a column and marched off towards the forest.
Arya crawled out of the rosebush and plucked a few thorns from her clothes. She chewed her lip and thought about what to do. Joffrey had taken most of his soldiers with him, and only two dozen men remained to guard the house. Even so, freeing her family on her own would be an impossible task. Arya didn't like Sandor Clegane at all, but he seemed as attached to her sister as she was to him.
She hurried back to where she'd left her mare and, for the third time that day, rode back to the castle. The knights and the army had left before her, but they were riding slow warhorses that were ill-suited to the muddy, slippery floor of the forest. Arya's mare knew the road well and was able to slip ahead of the column. (The horse was also getting tired of all this back and forth, but thankfully didn't speak.)
The sun was setting behind the trees when Arya finally crossed the drawbridge to the castle. She immediately ordered to raise the bridge and lower the portcullis, and went looking for Sandor.
"He's locked himself in his rooms and refuses to let anyone in," a valet told her.
"If he doesn't let me in, I'm going to kick down the door," Arya said.
He didn't let her in.
She kicked the door, but it was made of solid oak and she only hurt her foot.
"Let me in, you stupid!" Arya yelled, massaging her foot. "Joffrey and his men are marching on the castle!"
Nobody replied for the longest time. Arya was about to give up when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. "I don't care about Joffrey," Sandor said.
"He's coming to kill you," Arya warned him.
"I don't care," Sandor said again. Arya was about to mention heads and spikes, but Sandor said, "Joffrey can take back the castle and the smallfolk. I never wanted to be a lord."
"But he's got Sansa!" Arya exclaimed.
When Sandor didn't reply, Arya went to look for the castle guards. They were mostly green boys that Sandor was still training, but when Arya explained the situation they swore to defend the castle. Joffrey had always been a jerk and a tyrant. Now that his people had got rid of him, they weren't eager to have him back.
Under Arya's command, the men climbed the castle walls and waited for Joffrey armed with bows and arrows and rocks to throw down on the assailants. The prince had expected to find the castle empty save for Sandor. In his haste, he had forgotten to question Sansa and didn't know that the castle was well-defended. When the arrows and stones started raining down from the battlements, even the most stupid soldiers started to realize that Joffrey didn't really know what he was doing.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for everyone else, some of his lords weren't stupid and knew how to storm a castle. While Joffrey hid behind a tree and yelled at everyone, they ordered the soldiers to bring ladders and battering rams. Soon enough, the walls were breached and the battle moved to the courtyard and then to the castle.
(Okay, so maybe it wasn't "soon". Maybe it took several hours, maybe a day or two. Battles are long and tedious and our protagonists aren't here, so while all those unnamed characters hack and slash at each other and Arya stabs them with the pointy end, let's go back to Sandor.)
Sandor (and everyone else)
Sandor had liked Sansa, and for a time he'd thought she might like him too, even though he was ugly and scarred. But then Sansa had gone back to Joffrey. It didn't matter that she didn't like Joffrey much and had only gone to save her family. In the end she'd chosen a prince over Sandor. Sandor felt stupid for thinking, even for a moment, that he and Sansa might have lived happily ever after.
While the battle raged, Sandor remained in his rooms. He didn't care if men called him craven. It wasn't as if he had any honor to speak of, and he truly didn't care if Joffrey took back the castle.
However, when the enemy soldiers kicked down his door and attempted to seize him, Sandor drew his sword on instinct and killed them.
Sandor might have lost all will to live, but getting butchered by Joffrey's henchmen was a shitty way to die. So he ran outside to confront Joffrey. There was still fighting going on, but the castle was slowly falling to the prince's men. Arya and the few remaining defenders were outnumbered ten to one and wouldn't last much longer.
The prince was on the roof.
"I found you!" Joffrey screamed when he saw Sandor, even though it had been Sandor who went looking for him. Joffrey had been hiding from the fighting after Arya had almost chopped him to pieces earlier, and the roof seemed like the safest place. But Sandor was alone, so Joffrey figured he could take him. "Let's duel, dog," Joffrey said. "I've taken the girl and the castle, and now I'll take your head too."
As Joffrey screamed and rushed Sandor, a fire broke out in the courtyard below. Under normal circumstances Sandor would have made mincemeat of the prince, but his eyes were fixed on the flames. He barely remembered to raise his sword to parry. Emboldened by the fact that he had crossed swords with someone and he was still alive, Joffrey pressed Sandor back towards the edge of the roof.
Sandor stumbled backwards, the back of his legs pressing against the low stone parapet. The edge of his vision was tinted with scarlet and gold, like the flames ones that the enchantress had cast against him. Sansa was only a half-remembered dream. He almost didn't see Joffrey in front of him. The flames were his whole world.
It was then that reinforcements arrived. It might be useful to recall that Robb and Jon and Theon were in a faraway land for something that had to do with a glass slipper. One day, Walder Frey showed up with all his daughters, most of his granddaughters and even a couple of boys in drag, and he argued that the glass slipper was bound to fit at least one of his girls. Robb and Jon were afraid that he was right, so they told old Walder that he could have the glass slipper, and also keep Theon if he wanted, and ran for it.
They already had the best bromance ever, anyway, and didn't need any girl to make things complicated. Besides, Theon had been acting like an ass and everyone was sick of him.
The boys arrived home to find that everyone had gone off to the castle. It was easy for them to free Sansa and the other Starks, because they had an army. (Did I mention that Jon and Robb had an army? Because they had.) Their scouts gave them reports of the battle at the castle.
Sansa asked for news of the Hound, but nobody knew if he was alive or dead. "I must go see him," she said.
At first, Robb and Jon refused because they didn't want to put their sister in danger. Then they learned that Arya was at the castle too.
"We must go join the fight at once," Robb said.
"Yeah, I'm not letting her have all the fun," Jon said.
So Sansa and Robb and Jon and everyone even remotely important set off for the castle. (Except Theon, who was stuck with the Freys, but he'd been acting like an ass and nobody felt sorry for him.)
When they arrived, Joffrey's men were about to take over the castle, but it's amazing how quickly the tides of a battle can be turned by a couple thousand of soldiers. And two direwolves. And Robb and Jon themselves, who were being big damn heroes.
Joffrey didn't even notice that his army was running away. He had cornered Sandor and was about to kill him, and it was his first kill so he wanted to savor the moment because he was twisted like that.
Then Sansa arrived. "Sandor!" she called, bursting out of the door, a little breathless because there were a lot of stairs and she was a princess, not a marathon runner.
"You came back," Sandor said, hardly believing his eyes.
With a sudden surge of strength, he jumped to his feet and disarmed Joffrey. Joffrey whimpered as his sword flew away, and he shielded his face with his arms, but Sandor didn't care about him.
"I didn't marry Joffrey," Sansa said. "It was a stupid idea, I hate him."
"As if I wanted to marry you," Joffrey told her. Sandor snarled at him, his sword still pointed at Joffrey's heart, and the prince yelped and jumped back. "Please, don't kill me!" Joffrey hastened to say.
Sandor glared at him. The prince was nothing but trouble and Sandor would have liked to kill him, but Sansa was watching. So he sheathed his sword and said, "You're not worth the bother of cleaning the blade afterward."
Robb, Jon, Arya and everyone even remotely important joined them on the roof. Eddard Stark, the only one there who was actually a lord and also a stickler for procedure, began doing the Westeros equivalent of reading Joffrey his rights. Chiefly, they could be summarized as: he had a right to be thrown in jail for being a pain in the ass.
"I think we should kill him," Arya said. "Otherwise he'll turn on us at the first chance he gets."
She drew Needle and waved it under Joffrey's nose. Joffrey jumped back, as far from the sword as he could, but he had forgotten that he was on the edge of a rooftop, so he fell to his death.
They watched him fall and splatter on the pavement below.
"Whoops, sorry," Arya said, not sounding very sorry at all. "At least he won't come back to bother you in a badly-written sequel." Sansa gave her a reproachful look.
Then Sansa kissed Sandor.
There was a marked lack of sparkles, fireworks, sudden rushes of wind. However, if Sandor had any inclination to poetry, which he hadn't, thank you very much, he might have said that it was magical regardless. Sandor didn't turn into a prince, because this isn't that kind of fairy tale. He kept every single one of his scars. Thankfully, Sansa had gone through enough character development to appreciate that sometimes princes aren't all they're cracked up to be.
She smiled at Sandor, oblivious of the fact that she'd been snogging him in front of her whole family, and Sandor couldn't help but smile back.
Epilogue
In the end Sansa married Sandor, even though he was old and ugly and not a prince. They lived in the castle and ruled kindly, and their people never cared whether their lord and lady were highborn or lowborn. And their happily ever after was one of the happiest ever.
The ride back to the castle was long and miserable. There were no more soldiers hiding in the forest, but Sandor was cautious and slowed down his horse to avoid walking them into an ambush. Sansa had gone quiet apart from the occasional sniffle, and that suited Sandor just fine because he had taken a couple of hits earlier while fighting Joffrey's knights and wasn't feeling at all talkative.
Between those wounds and the cold wind on his freshly-scarred face, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to carry any kind of civil conversation with Sansa. If he tried to talk, he would have ended up snarling abuse at her, and then she would run away again. So they rode in silence until they passed the castle's drawbridge.
Sandor helped Sansa dismount, but his leg was injured and so when he tried to get off the horse himself his grasp wasn't firm enough. He slid off the saddle and fell on the ground with an undignified grunt.
Sansa gave him a concerned look and knelt down next to him to help him get back on his feet, but Sandor brushed off her hand. "It's nothing," he said, trying to sound gruff instead of in pain. "Go to sleep, you can take any room in the castle," he added.
She didn't seem to believe him when he said he was fine and started to protest. Sandor felt even more pitiful, since he wasn't even able to fool a girl who until a few hours ago was convinced that Prince Joffrey was the best person ever in the whole world, but he really didn't feel like arguing.
He turned his back to Sansa and pretended to be busy retrieving Lady's body from the back of the horse, and then leading the horse to the stables and grooming him. His wounded leg made the work go painfully slow, but finally Sansa gave up and walked away.
Sandor finished dumping some food in front of the horse and limped back into the courtyard. The body of Sansa's wolf was lying in a corner away from the snow, where Sandor had dragged it. There were small footsteps next to it. Sansa had stopped there on her way to the castle. Sandor had no idea what to do with the body, he only knew that he didn't want Joffrey to take the wolf's head and hang it on a wall next to his other hunting trophies. The wolf didn't deserve that, she had been trying to protect Sansa.
He was still thinking about the wolf as he climbed the steps leading to the castle and pushed the door open. It was a few hours before dawn and the corridors were dark, lit only by a few flickering torches here and there. Sandor jumped when he felt a hand on his arm.
"For the love of the Seven!" he exclaimed, stumbling back against the wall. "Do you want me to die of fright?"
"I'm sorry," Sansa said, looking hesitant and almost as spooked as Sandor. "But you don't look fine, you're hurt, and you should let me tend to your leg..."
She trailed off and stared at her feet. Sandor noticed that she had some linens in her hands and was wringing them nervously. She must have searched the castle for bandages while he was in the stables, and, failing to find any, she'd torn great stripes from some bedsheets. If she'd been stubborn enough to stumble around in the dark, Sandor thought, she wasn't going to give up until she got what she wanted.
"All right," Sandor said with a shrug, and let the girl lead him back to the great hall. Some embers from the fire were still burning in the fireplace, and Sansa poked them to rekindle the flames while Sandor sat down in front of the fire and propped his leg on the bench in front of him.
Once the fire was roaring again, Sansa placed a large basin full of water on the table next to the makeshift bandages, and dragged a stool across the room so she could sit next to Sandor. Then she stared at the basin and the linens and Sandor for a long while.
"You have no idea how to treat a wound, do you?" Sandor asked eventually, to which she went pink and shook her head.
"I haven't," she replied in a small voice. "But Maester Aemon says that it's important to clean wounds so they don't fester, and I've watched Mother bandage Arya's knees when she scraped them by wrestling with Nymeria in the yard..."
Sandor snorted. He would have complained this was nothing like a scraped knee, but that would have meant admitting that his injury was indeed serious. Instead he rolled up the leg of his trousers to expose the jagged cut just below his knee. Sansa stifled a gasp and struggled not to look away from it.
The wound was an angry red welt from a spear that had come very close to smashing Sandor's knee, and it was made even uglier by the caked blood and mud from the forest. There was no doubt that Sandor was going to add another scar to his growing collection, but more than that he was worried that the leg wouldn't heal properly. He should have had a Maester treat it, if there had been one at hand. Instead, he was alone in the castle with a girl who was too repulsed by his appearance to look at him, so Sandor grabbed the nearest piece of cloth and dropped it in the basin. "I'll do it myself," he said.
Sansa pursed her lips, then took the basin away from him, spilling some water in the process. "No, I'll do it," she said. Her voice was shaking but her hands were steady as she started dabbing the wet cloth at the edges of Sandor's wound.
Sandor cursed aloud when it touched his skin. "It's icy cold," he said through gritted teeth, along with a string of profanities that made Sansa jump back and drop the cloth to the floor.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I got the water from the kitchens, I didn't realize." She looked at the basin in her lap as if she was hoping to warm it by willpower alone, and Sandor sighed under his breath. When Sansa figured out that no magical servants would appear, she got up and managed to heat some of the water.
When she started cleaning Sandor's wound, he had to grab the edges of the table and remind himself that she was only trying to help; otherwise, he would have snarled at her. Her fingers were soft and she only touched his leg gingerly, but she was still poking around an open wound. Sandor felt as if there were stars dancing in front of his eyes.
Eventually Sansa gained some confidence and started chiding him for squirming too much. Sandor glared at her. "But it hurts!" he complained, forgetting for a while that he was pretending to be stoic and not affected by pain.
Sansa just pouted. "If you'd hold still, it wouldn't hurt as much," she said petulantly.
"If you hadn't run away, this wouldn't have happened," Sandor snapped back.
"If you hadn't frightened me, I wouldn't have run away," Sansa replied. Sandor tried to think of a good comeback, but nothing came to his mind. "Now hold still."
Sandor grunted as Sansa rinsed the cloth in the basin and dabbed at his wound again. The wound looked much better now that it was clean. Then Sansa, apparently satisfied with her work, took a clean strip of cloth and started bandaging Sandor's leg.
"By the way," she said as she finished knotting together the edges of the makeshift bandage. "Thank you for saving me from Joffrey."
"You're welcome," Sandor replied after a long pause. "And thank you for..." he added with a vague gesture towards his leg.
He didn't finish his sentence, but Sansa understood and nodded. Then she gathered the basin and her other things and hurried away. Sandor stared at the fire for a long while before pushing himself to his feet and limping to his room. He collapsed on the bed and fell asleep without even removing his boots.
The next morning, Sansa woke up much later than she was used to. On most days she woke up when Septa Mordane or Mother came to call her. Sometimes it was Arya who woke her up, wandering about their room before the crack of dawn while she tried to get dressed in the dark to run out and play with Nymeria before their lessons. Sometimes Sansa woke up with the tip of Lady's nose pressed to her cheek.
The thought threatened to make her cry, and Sansa had been trying so very hard not to cry ever since Lady's death. So she forced herself to think about nothing at all while she got up and took off her dress. She had been so tired that she'd slept fully clothed, and now her dress was crumpled and ruined from her walk in the forest. Even so, she tried to smooth it as best as she could and then draped it carefully over a chair. Maybe she'd find some way to clean it later.
She padded to the large oak wardrobe in the corner, shivering a little as her naked feet touched the flagstones, and looked for something she could wear. Luckily for her, everyone had abandoned the castle in a hurry and left their things behind. Sansa found a dress belonging to a young noblewoman roughly her size, and a fur-lined cloak that was a little too long but kept her nicely warm. There was also soap and a brush and a mirror so when Sansa left the room she looked, if not very pretty, at least clean and decent.
Now that she was dressed, though, she had no idea of where to go. Returning home was not an option because Joffrey might still be lying in wait for her in the forest. Sansa shivered at the memory of Joffrey's face as he tried to stab her. She had always thought he was handsome, but his face contorted with rage had looked dreadful and scary. She chased away the memory and thought of Sandor instead. He had looked scary too, with his scars and his quick temper, but he hadn't threatened to kill Sansa and hadn't chased her away from the castle either.
Sansa's feet had brought her to the great hall. The long trestle tables were still piled high with last night's food, which was starting to smell real bad. It was a good thing that it was winter, or the whole place would have been swarming with flies. The plates should have been cleaned away, and maybe some of the food was still good to eat or could be given to the animals, but Sansa didn't relish the idea of carrying dirty dishes around.
Sansa broke her fast with a couple of apple tarts that still looked edible, and ate them walking. She still hadn't decided whether she would stay at the castle or go home, but she thought she'd better ask Sandor first, in case he told her to leave again. Besides, she wanted to make sure that the bandage she'd made him was keeping.
Sandor Clegane wasn't anywhere to be found. Sansa looked everywhere in the castle, knocked at every door, even called Sandor in a timid voice. She even ventured in the servants' quarters, where she'd never stepped before in her life. It was very dull and gray and Sansa felt very out of place, but Sandor wasn't there either.
Just as she was about to give up on her quest and, she finally spied him from a window. He was in the small garden that in this castle passed as a godswood. Even from a distance, it was impossible not to recognize the heart tree: it was the only one to still have leaves on, even in the middle of winter. The red leaves made a stark contrast with the white of the bark and the snow.
The prince's former sworn shield was shuffling around in the snow, favoring his left leg. Sansa frowned at the sight. She was about to run to him and tell him off for straining himself when she realized what was happening. Sandor Clegane had been digging a grave. What Sansa had at first taken for mounds of snow was in truth a hole in the ground, not too large but deep enough that other animals wouldn't try to dig up the remains buried there.
Sansa watched as Sandor carried Lady's body from the yard, pausing often to catch his breath, and laid the wolf in her grave with a delicacy that Sansa wouldn't have suspected in such a large man. When he started filling the grave, Sansa left the window and went out to meet him.
The morning was cold and crisp, with an icy wind that bit into her cheeks and promised more snow. Sansa had to wrap her cloak tighter around herself. She was unsure whether to call out to him, but he heard her approaching and turned around.
"Little bird," he said. He sounded surprised, almost embarrassed. "I didn't know what to do about the wolf," he confessed. "It didn't seem right to leave her and I know your house keeps to the old gods, so..."
His voice trailed off and he looked away. Maybe Sandor was thinking that he should have asked for permission. It was a strange situation for the two of them. They weren't prisoner and captive, but they weren't lady and knight either.
"Thank you," Sansa said. After a moment, Sandor nodded and turned to resume shoveling dirt and snow into Lady's grave. Sansa cleaned the snow away from a bench and sat down to watch. He worked in silence, with slow and methodical movements. If his leg pained him, he never said.
"My family had a lot of dogs because of their sigil," Sandor told her eventually. "I used to play with them when I was a boy."
Sansa would have gladly cried on his shoulder then, but she'd been taught that ladies didn't cry in public. "Really?" she said instead. "It seems strange to think of you as a child."
Sandor glanced at her over his shoulder. "Everyone was a child once," he replied. "I used to play come-into-my-castle and listen to my wet nurse's stories."
"Those stories turned out much different in reality," Sansa said. The stone under her was freezing cold, so she hugged her legs to keep warm. "In the tales, enchanted castles are filled with portents like singing furniture, or else everyone is asleep waiting for the princess to be awaken by her true love." Sansa had rather liked those tales.
Sandor grunted. "Instead, there's just me in this castle," he said. "Are you disappointed?"
"I'm not," Sansa said. It was a lie, but Sandor had been kind to her and it wasn't his fault that the stories weren't true.
They walked back from the godswood together. Sandor's limp had worsened, because of the cold or the fatigue or both, so Sansa took small steps that allowed the Hound to keep up with her. As they were crossing the yard, Sansa heard a loud cry.
She halted, startled, and Sandor almost bumped into her. "It's Joffrey," Sansa said, wringing her hands. "He came back for us."
"It doesn't sound like him at all," Sandor said, motioning for her to be quiet. More voices had joined the first one in asking to enter the castle. Sansa listened as she was bid and realized that the Hound was right. Joffrey would have been screaming for their heads, but whoever was outside the walls was pleading to be let inside.
Even so, Sansa feared another trap. "What should we do?"
"Stay here," Sandor told her. "I'll find out who those people are."
Sansa paced the yard as Sandor climbed the battlements and addressed the crowd from outside. She assumed that it was a crowd because she heard different people answering Sandor's questions, though she could only hear snatches of their conversation. She was too afraid to join Sandor and ask him what was happening.
Finally, Sandor exclaimed "I'm not a m'lord!" loud enough to startle the people outside into silence, and went back to Sansa. He took the steps one at a time, leaning heavily on the wall, and Sansa met him halfway up the stone stairs to lend him her shoulder.
"What's happening?" she asked. "Who are those people?"
"Smallfolk," Sandor replied. "Servants and stableboys and pages. They left the castle for fear of the enchantress and now they want to come back."
"Then you should open the gates and let them,"Sansa said immediately.
"They're Joffrey's men," Sandor spat.
"You were Joffrey's man until not long ago," Sansa reminded him. "Besides, this castle is too large for the two of us." Only after she'd spoken the words did she realize that it meant that she wanted to stay. She gave Sandor a hopeful look.
Sandor frowned. "I'm no lord," he said. "I don't know how to run a castle or what to tell them to do..."
Sansa beamed. "Don't worry, this is what I've been brought up for," she said. It was almost as good as being a princess, and besides the hall really needed cleaning. "Let them in!"
So Sandor and Sansa took over Joffrey's castle.
Elsewhere, Joffrey was up to no good. He had rather liked Sandor, much like one might like a favorite pet, and the sudden betrayal rankled.
(True, there was the fact that Sandor had saved Joffrey's life and then Joffrey had left him to die, and later he'd ordered his knights to kill Sandor, and he'd always called Sandor "dog" and mocked him, but all that didn't count. Joffrey mocked everyone. It didn't count. Right? Right?!)
Since he wasn't old enough to get drunk, there was only one thing Joffrey could do: he ran to his family crying for help. His first choice of go-to adult would have been his mother, but Cersei was away on a cruise. His second choice would have been his uncle Jaime, but Jaime was on a cruise too. The same cruise as Cersei. They weren't even bothering with subtlety any more. So Joffrey went to his grandfather Tywin instead.
"Grandfather," Joffrey said. "I want you to take back my castle and kill Sandor Clegane!"
His grandfather glared at him, and Joffrey started to suspect that this might not have been his brightest idea. Lord Tywin was technically Joffrey's bannerman, but he did have an army. All Joffrey had were a dozen knights who were still recovering from being attacked by a direwolf and another dog.
"Take back my castle, please?" Joffrey added.
Tywin pursed his lips. "I shall," he said, "but I'm not doing this for you. If word spreads that a woman and a sellsword have taken over your castle, you'll be a laughingstock. Your family will be a laughingstock. I won't allow that."
"Thanks, grandpa," Joffrey said, because he had selective hearing and decided to ignore the contempt in Tywin's voice. "I'll need a thousand knights and ten thousand other men and a catapult and a pony..."
"No," Tywin snapped. "Haven't you been paying attention? I don't want anyone to find out about your disgrace."
"Then how will we take the castle back?" Joffrey pouted.
"I have a plan," said Tywin.
"I have a surprise for you," Sansa told Sandor one afternoon. "To celebrate the fact that your leg healed so well." The snow was finally melting in the sun and Sansa was admiring the first spring flowers. Sandor walked beside her. He still bore scars from that wound, but the limp had disappeared almost entirely.
"What kind of surprise?" Sandor asked, wary. He hated surprises but, for Sansa's sake, he forced himself not to scowl.
Sansa smiled. "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise any more," she said. "Dress nicely for dinner."
That did make Sandor scowl.
Among the people who had returned to the castle, there had been over a dozen of Joffrey's personal servants. Those people had been in charge of picking the prince's clothes, dressing him, bathing him, combing his hair, powdering his nose and who knew what else. Since their master had fled, all those people had taken to following Sandor around and waiting on him as if he was some wimpy lordling who couldn't even lace his own boots.
Sandor had yelled at them and sent them away, until Sansa scolded him. "It's not fair to take away those poor people's livelihood," she had said. "They were just trying to do their job. It's not about you needing many servants, it's about the servants needing a job."
She pouted and pleaded until Sandor had been forced to give in and his servants had stayed. Mostly they amused themselves by moving Sandor into a huge suit of rooms and cleaning it until it was sparkling. They made Sandor new clothes, much finer than anything he was used to, and frowned when they saw he was still wearing his old leather jerkin. Once, they attempted to comb his hair. It never happened again.
This time, however, there was no escaping from his own servants. As soon as Sandor went back to his rooms, his valet cornered him. "Lady Sansa informed us, m'lord," he said. "I've already drawn you a bath."
Sandor would have liked to know what Sansa was up to, and also why she had decided to plague him with a valet. He eyed the large copper tub in front of the fireplace. "She told me to dress nicely," he said, pulling off his boots. "So I'll need... nice clothes, I suppose."
The valet bowed. "I've already laid out your black doublet that you never wore," he said, with just a hint of reproach in his voice. "Your cloak is being brushed right now. Maybe I'll clean your boots too," he added, picking one up and inspecting the mud caked on the soles.
"You do that," Sandor replied. There were half a dozen servants fluttering around but two younger men were standing to attention in a corner. "Is this a bath or a public event?" he asked, jerking his head towards them.
The younger boy hid behind a large square of linen. "We have your towels, m'lord," he squeaked.
Sandor snorted, told himself that Sansa would be cross if he murdered anyone, and got into the bathtub. Thankfully no one offered to scrub his back. He tried again to ask what Sansa was doing, but all he got from the boys were more m'lords and the fact that the lady had sworn them all to secrecy.
After he'd bathed and toweled himself dry, his valet insisted on dressing him. Not only the doublet but every item of clothing was brand new, black velvet decorated with golden thread. On the doublet's breast there was the Clegane sigil, three dogs on yellow. His high boots were sparkling clean, so much that Sandor suspected that they'd been swapped with a new pair.
"M'lord looks splendid," the valet said, fastening his cloak. "Would you like to look at yourself in a mirror?"
"No," Sandor replied. "I look the same as always, fancy clothes won't change what I am."
He ignored the other man's affronted look and buckled his old sword at his belt.
Sansa was waiting for him outside the hall and smiled when she saw him. "You look very handsome and gallant tonight," she said.
Sandor almost didn't hear her words. Sansa looked beautiful in a silver gown that brought out her pale skin, and with her auburn hair tied in an elaborate knot. She took his arm and guided him inside the hall.
The Hound had thought that the clothes were the surprise, but now he realized that Sansa had done much more than that. The hall was full of people talking and laughing, while two fools were juggling and a singer was reciting a ballad.
"I wanted to wait for you before starting," Sansa said with a frown, "but you were a long time coming down. I've never organized a banquet before and I'm not so sure I'm doing this right."
She led him to the high table, but Sandor refused to sit down in the lord's seat. "Little bird, this isn't my place," he said.
"It is," Sansa insisted. "You're ever a better lord than Joffrey was, everyone thinks so."
Sandor shook his head but, for Sansa's sake, he sat down and listened as she thanked everyone for helping restore the castle after the evil enchantress's attack. Then she asked him to say some words.
"They came for food, not for words," he said with a shrug. "Let them eat."
That got him a round of laughter and applause, and Sansa motioned for the first course to be brought out. Serving girls went around with trays of roast fowl and tankards of ale, and under the tables the dogs started fighting for scraps.
Sandor feared that the evening would have been very awkward, with his new clothes and a seat at the high table and the servants serving him the choice portions even as they tripped over themselves to avoid looking him in the face. However, Sansa distracted him by talking about the harvest and the oncoming spring and asking him about the men he'd be training to replace the guards that Joffrey had brought away with him.
As the servants started clearing away the plates and brought cakes and sweet wines, Sansa tugged at Sandor's arm. "Dance with me," she said.
"I don't know how to dance," Sandor replied grumpily.
Sansa dragged him to his feet regardless. At her gesture, the singer started plucking a slow melody from his woodharp. "It's easy," she told the Hound, taking one of his hands and guiding the other on her waist. "Just follow the music."
"I feel stupid," Sandor said, but he complied. Sansa danced as gracefully as she did everything else. Sandor's own steps felt clumsy and ungainly, but if she noticed his limp she didn't say.
"Don't look at your feet," Sansa told him. He was afraid that he'd step on her delicate dancing shoes, and her smile was equally distracting. The room spun around him in a blur of auburn and silver.
Finally the music slowed down and faded, but Sansa didn't let go of his arm. "Thank you," she said, beaming. "Tonight feels like a fairy tale."
Before Sandor could reply, a boy rushed into the hall. He was small and badly dressed but armed with a sword. "Sansa!" he exclaimed.
Sandor and the guards drew their swords, but Sansa ran forward to hug the boy. "Arya!" she cried. "I missed you so much."
The boy (or rather the girl) squirmed in Sansa's grasp. Sandor finally recognized her as Arya Stark. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
Arya pointed her sword at him. "What are you doing here?" she spat back. "If you hurt my sister, I'll skewer you like a pig!"
"Arya!" Sansa squealed, while Sandor roared with laughter.
"It's not funny," Arya insisted.
"Why not?" Sandor asked. "If I'm a lord, you might as well be a knight."
Finally, Sansa got her sister to sit down and promise not to skewer anyone just yet. Arya's tale was a long one, but this is the short version since it's easy to guess how it went. (Hint: remember the part about Joffrey being up to no good and Tywin having a plan. That's foreshadowing. Or maybe shoddy writing.)
One day, Joffrey showed up at Sansa's home with an army, claiming that Sandor Clegane consorted with an enchantress to steal his castle and his betrothed. Joffrey said that he only wanted the Starks' help to regain what was his, but in truth he took over their lands and imprisoned Sansa's parents. Robb and Jon had some unfinished business with a glass slipper (Theon Greyjoy was being a dick and claimed that it fit him) and couldn't come home to help. So Arya had escaped and planned to rescue Sansa on her own.
"This is terrible news," Sansa said. "But I don't need rescuing, I'm here of my own free will."
Arya cast Sandor a dubious glance. "What do you want to do?" she asked her sister.
Sansa sighed. "I have to marry Joffrey," she said. "Then he'll let mother and father free, and everything will be well again."
"What?" Arya exclaimed. "You can't marry that brainless idiot! He hates you."
Sansa turned away. "It's my fault that Joffrey did this to my family," she told Sandor, almost apologetically.
"Then you must go home," Sandor replied. They were the hardest words he'd ever said.
She hugged him briefly and hurried out of the room. Arya stayed a moment longer. "Why would you let her go?" she asked angrily, and then she ran after her sister.
Sandor couldn't answer in front of everyone. Because she's free to do as she will, he thought. Because she will always choose the prince over the sellsword. Because I have nothing to offer her. Because she's a fool, and I'm a bigger fool for letting her leave.
He stormed out of the hall and locked himself in his rooms.
Sansa and Arya rode back as fast as they could. In the past few months, the forest had grown so much that the street leading from the castle to the town had disappeared. Maybe the castle was enchanted after all. The thought might have cheered Sansa, but she was too glum to pay attention to the scenery. However, once they were out of the trees and in the open, even she couldn't help noticing that the countryside was crawling with Joffrey's men. Arya made them keep their head down and stick to secondary roads so that the guards wouldn't trouble them.
Sansa didn't see the reason to be so cautious. She was going back to Joffrey, after all. "If I do this, everything will be right again," Sansa insisted, mostly to convince herself.
Arya glared at her sister and shook her head, but she kept her silence.
It was past dawn by the time they arrived home. The Starks lived in a nice mansion on the outskirts of town. Joffrey and his men had taken over it and left their mark everywhere. Sansa's heart hurt at the sight of the ruined flowerbeds, and of the cracked windows, and above all of the prince's banner flying over the door.
Sansa took a minute to fix her skirts (she had changed into a simple riding dress for the journey) and willed her heart to stop beating madly. "Everything will be right again," she told herself, and walked inside.
She found Joffrey in the dining hall, with his feet propped on the table. He seemed surprised to see her, but decided to play the charming host. "Lady Sansa," he said. "I hadn't expected your visit. What a pleasant surprise."
"My prince," Sansa said, bobbing a curtsy. The idea of Joffrey welcoming her into her own home made her skin crawl, but she decided to play along. "So he'll free my parents, and Bran, and baby Rickon," she thought. Arya hadn't followed her inside and Sansa didn't know where her sister was.
"I was most distressed when you left," Joffrey was saying.
Sansa kept her eyes down. "I'm here now, my prince."
That seemed to please Joffrey. "My plan worked, I knew it would," he said. That was a blatant lie, since his plan involved siege engines and a pony, and it was his grandfather Tywin who had put an end to that particular stupid idea. By the way, Tywin had grown tired of hanging around his grandson a couple of weeks earlier and he'd gone back home, leaving Joffrey with an army and a stern injunction to stay away from ponies.
"Now that I'm here, will you release my parents?" Sansa asked. Joffrey didn't even pretend that he hadn't been keeping them prisoner, and gestured for his guards to bring in the Starks.
Lord and Lady Stark had been despairing of seeing their eldest daughter again, because Joffrey had told them that she'd been kidnapped by an evil sorceress with the help of his own sworn shield turned bandit. Sansa hugged Bran and Rickon, and she tried to answer their questions as best as she could.
"They say that the enchantress has dragons," Bran said, "and that she turned the Hound into a giant."
Sansa hesitated, but even after all her character development she wasn't very smart. She totally forgot that Joffrey was still in the room and blurted out, "There was no enchantress."
Joffrey, who had been busy exploring one of his nostrils, sat up. "The enchantress ran away?" he said, smirking. "When?"
"T-there was no enchantress to begin with, my prince," Sansa said. "Only Sandor Clegane."
She was afraid that Joffrey would be angry to learn that his enemy had fled, but the prince only laughed. "I should have known," he said. "You're too stupid and cowardly to escape from an enchantress." The Starks glared at the boy, but they were surrounded by guards and couldn't do anything. Sansa meekly bowed her head. "How did you escape, anyway?" Joffrey asked.
"I didn't. My prince," she hastened to add, as Joffrey frowned. "H-he let me g-go. It's true, I swear." She faltered under the incredulous stare of both the prince and her family. "He's good and kind and patient. If only you'd go and talk to him, you'd know."
Sansa herself would have scarcely believed it if someone had told her, but she'd seen the Hound and talked with him and danced with him in the huge banquet hall. He had been kind to her, and she felt that she had to defend him to repay that kindness.
"He's just a rabid dog," Joffrey said, pulling a face.
"He's not!" Sansa exclaimed. "He's sitting in your seat, and he's a better lord than you were or you'll ever be."
Joffrey paled at those words, then turned red and drew his sword. Sansa backed away from him, hiding behind her parents, but the prince only waved the sword around in an irate gesture. "I'll bring you his head as a wedding present!" he yelled. Then he ordered his guards to keep watch on the Starks and went outside to rally his army.
Now, this part is supposed to be from Sansa's POV, but Sansa is going to spend the next few hours sobbing in a locked room and that's not very interesting at all. Since the fourth wall already came crashing down, let's switch to Arya's POV now.
Arya had just escaped from Joffrey's guards and wasn't just going to waltz back in just because her stupid sister wanted to. After escorting Sansa back home, she hid in the rosebushes and listened to Joffrey and Sansa's conversation from an open window.
She allowed herself a smug smile when Joffrey imprisoned Sansa, and resolved to tell her "told you so" at the next possible occasion. Then she waited in the bushes, silent as a polecat and quiet as a deer and whatever other similitude she fancied to use, while Joffrey addressed his soldiers.
Joffrey made a long-winded speech about how awesome he was, and how Sandor Clegane had taken away his castle with trickery and sorcery, and how he was going to take back the castle now, and how awesome he was.
"Let's take back my castle!" he screamed, thrusting his sword in the air. The soldiers cheered. "Some of you may die, but it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make." The soldiers cheered again, because somehow only truly stupid men were willing to follow Joffrey in battle. "Let's storm the castle and raze it to the ground!" Then Joffrey remembered that it was his castle and amended it to, "Let's storm the castle without razing it to the ground."
Finally, the knights and pike men and foot soldiers formed a column and marched off towards the forest.
Arya crawled out of the rosebush and plucked a few thorns from her clothes. She chewed her lip and thought about what to do. Joffrey had taken most of his soldiers with him, and only two dozen men remained to guard the house. Even so, freeing her family on her own would be an impossible task. Arya didn't like Sandor Clegane at all, but he seemed as attached to her sister as she was to him.
She hurried back to where she'd left her mare and, for the third time that day, rode back to the castle. The knights and the army had left before her, but they were riding slow warhorses that were ill-suited to the muddy, slippery floor of the forest. Arya's mare knew the road well and was able to slip ahead of the column. (The horse was also getting tired of all this back and forth, but thankfully didn't speak.)
The sun was setting behind the trees when Arya finally crossed the drawbridge to the castle. She immediately ordered to raise the bridge and lower the portcullis, and went looking for Sandor.
"He's locked himself in his rooms and refuses to let anyone in," a valet told her.
"If he doesn't let me in, I'm going to kick down the door," Arya said.
He didn't let her in.
She kicked the door, but it was made of solid oak and she only hurt her foot.
"Let me in, you stupid!" Arya yelled, massaging her foot. "Joffrey and his men are marching on the castle!"
Nobody replied for the longest time. Arya was about to give up when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. "I don't care about Joffrey," Sandor said.
"He's coming to kill you," Arya warned him.
"I don't care," Sandor said again. Arya was about to mention heads and spikes, but Sandor said, "Joffrey can take back the castle and the smallfolk. I never wanted to be a lord."
"But he's got Sansa!" Arya exclaimed.
When Sandor didn't reply, Arya went to look for the castle guards. They were mostly green boys that Sandor was still training, but when Arya explained the situation they swore to defend the castle. Joffrey had always been a jerk and a tyrant. Now that his people had got rid of him, they weren't eager to have him back.
Under Arya's command, the men climbed the castle walls and waited for Joffrey armed with bows and arrows and rocks to throw down on the assailants. The prince had expected to find the castle empty save for Sandor. In his haste, he had forgotten to question Sansa and didn't know that the castle was well-defended. When the arrows and stones started raining down from the battlements, even the most stupid soldiers started to realize that Joffrey didn't really know what he was doing.
Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for everyone else, some of his lords weren't stupid and knew how to storm a castle. While Joffrey hid behind a tree and yelled at everyone, they ordered the soldiers to bring ladders and battering rams. Soon enough, the walls were breached and the battle moved to the courtyard and then to the castle.
(Okay, so maybe it wasn't "soon". Maybe it took several hours, maybe a day or two. Battles are long and tedious and our protagonists aren't here, so while all those unnamed characters hack and slash at each other and Arya stabs them with the pointy end, let's go back to Sandor.)
Sandor had liked Sansa, and for a time he'd thought she might like him too, even though he was ugly and scarred. But then Sansa had gone back to Joffrey. It didn't matter that she didn't like Joffrey much and had only gone to save her family. In the end she'd chosen a prince over Sandor. Sandor felt stupid for thinking, even for a moment, that he and Sansa might have lived happily ever after.
While the battle raged, Sandor remained in his rooms. He didn't care if men called him craven. It wasn't as if he had any honor to speak of, and he truly didn't care if Joffrey took back the castle.
However, when the enemy soldiers kicked down his door and attempted to seize him, Sandor drew his sword on instinct and killed them.
Sandor might have lost all will to live, but getting butchered by Joffrey's henchmen was a shitty way to die. So he ran outside to confront Joffrey. There was still fighting going on, but the castle was slowly falling to the prince's men. Arya and the few remaining defenders were outnumbered ten to one and wouldn't last much longer.
The prince was on the roof.
"I found you!" Joffrey screamed when he saw Sandor, even though it had been Sandor who went looking for him. Joffrey had been hiding from the fighting after Arya had almost chopped him to pieces earlier, and the roof seemed like the safest place. But Sandor was alone, so Joffrey figured he could take him. "Let's duel, dog," Joffrey said. "I've taken the girl and the castle, and now I'll take your head too."
As Joffrey screamed and rushed Sandor, a fire broke out in the courtyard below. Under normal circumstances Sandor would have made mincemeat of the prince, but his eyes were fixed on the flames. He barely remembered to raise his sword to parry. Emboldened by the fact that he had crossed swords with someone and he was still alive, Joffrey pressed Sandor back towards the edge of the roof.
Sandor stumbled backwards, the back of his legs pressing against the low stone parapet. The edge of his vision was tinted with scarlet and gold, like the flames ones that the enchantress had cast against him. Sansa was only a half-remembered dream. He almost didn't see Joffrey in front of him. The flames were his whole world.
It was then that reinforcements arrived. It might be useful to recall that Robb and Jon and Theon were in a faraway land for something that had to do with a glass slipper. One day, Walder Frey showed up with all his daughters, most of his granddaughters and even a couple of boys in drag, and he argued that the glass slipper was bound to fit at least one of his girls. Robb and Jon were afraid that he was right, so they told old Walder that he could have the glass slipper, and also keep Theon if he wanted, and ran for it.
They already had the best bromance ever, anyway, and didn't need any girl to make things complicated. Besides, Theon had been acting like an ass and everyone was sick of him.
The boys arrived home to find that everyone had gone off to the castle. It was easy for them to free Sansa and the other Starks, because they had an army. (Did I mention that Jon and Robb had an army? Because they had.) Their scouts gave them reports of the battle at the castle.
Sansa asked for news of the Hound, but nobody knew if he was alive or dead. "I must go see him," she said.
At first, Robb and Jon refused because they didn't want to put their sister in danger. Then they learned that Arya was at the castle too.
"We must go join the fight at once," Robb said.
"Yeah, I'm not letting her have all the fun," Jon said.
So Sansa and Robb and Jon and everyone even remotely important set off for the castle. (Except Theon, who was stuck with the Freys, but he'd been acting like an ass and nobody felt sorry for him.)
When they arrived, Joffrey's men were about to take over the castle, but it's amazing how quickly the tides of a battle can be turned by a couple thousand of soldiers. And two direwolves. And Robb and Jon themselves, who were being big damn heroes.
Joffrey didn't even notice that his army was running away. He had cornered Sandor and was about to kill him, and it was his first kill so he wanted to savor the moment because he was twisted like that.
Then Sansa arrived. "Sandor!" she called, bursting out of the door, a little breathless because there were a lot of stairs and she was a princess, not a marathon runner.
"You came back," Sandor said, hardly believing his eyes.
With a sudden surge of strength, he jumped to his feet and disarmed Joffrey. Joffrey whimpered as his sword flew away, and he shielded his face with his arms, but Sandor didn't care about him.
"I didn't marry Joffrey," Sansa said. "It was a stupid idea, I hate him."
"As if I wanted to marry you," Joffrey told her. Sandor snarled at him, his sword still pointed at Joffrey's heart, and the prince yelped and jumped back. "Please, don't kill me!" Joffrey hastened to say.
Sandor glared at him. The prince was nothing but trouble and Sandor would have liked to kill him, but Sansa was watching. So he sheathed his sword and said, "You're not worth the bother of cleaning the blade afterward."
Robb, Jon, Arya and everyone even remotely important joined them on the roof. Eddard Stark, the only one there who was actually a lord and also a stickler for procedure, began doing the Westeros equivalent of reading Joffrey his rights. Chiefly, they could be summarized as: he had a right to be thrown in jail for being a pain in the ass.
"I think we should kill him," Arya said. "Otherwise he'll turn on us at the first chance he gets."
She drew Needle and waved it under Joffrey's nose. Joffrey jumped back, as far from the sword as he could, but he had forgotten that he was on the edge of a rooftop, so he fell to his death.
They watched him fall and splatter on the pavement below.
"Whoops, sorry," Arya said, not sounding very sorry at all. "At least he won't come back to bother you in a badly-written sequel." Sansa gave her a reproachful look.
Then Sansa kissed Sandor.
There was a marked lack of sparkles, fireworks, sudden rushes of wind. However, if Sandor had any inclination to poetry, which he hadn't, thank you very much, he might have said that it was magical regardless. Sandor didn't turn into a prince, because this isn't that kind of fairy tale. He kept every single one of his scars. Thankfully, Sansa had gone through enough character development to appreciate that sometimes princes aren't all they're cracked up to be.
She smiled at Sandor, oblivious of the fact that she'd been snogging him in front of her whole family, and Sandor couldn't help but smile back.
In the end Sansa married Sandor, even though he was old and ugly and not a prince. They lived in the castle and ruled kindly, and their people never cared whether their lord and lady were highborn or lowborn. And their happily ever after was one of the happiest ever.
