Chapter Text
Sansa Stark stood in the yard, her heart pounding. How will he be like?, she wondered, nervously scanning the small party that was approaching on horse. The gates had been opened to welcome the guests, and she could see them coming. What'shis business here? What is Stannis' plan?
She had thought about it all over and over again, of course, in the past four weeks. She had not found an answer, and for the upteenth time she thought of Sandor Clegane.
I wish he was here.
Words had come of him too. A week before he had written to her for the first time, telling her that his presence in Deepwood Motte was no longer necessary. Most of the Ironborn had been defeated or killed, some even taken for ransom by the men Stannis had sent to the small castle.
There are not many left, and my men can take care of them, he wrote, and Sansa had smiled in reading him address them as his men. The Boles and the Forresters will stay in my place. I will set off for Winterfell tomorrow, if the bloody snow allows it. Sansa had smiled again - he cursed even down on paper.
And then, he had added, I will come back before that Horpe cunt arrives.
Sansa had been relieved and happy that he would be concerned for her well-being, but days had passed and no Sandor had appeared, and no raven either to tell her news of him. The snow must have delayed him, she knew, but she was sorry that he wasn't there with her. Strange as it was, it wasn't the same thing without his presence behind her, watching her, giving her a gruff advice or a sharp, coarse jape.
And now Horpe is here, and there's no one I can rely on, she thought.
Before she knew, they were there. Before all rode a tall man on a black stallion, and for the briefest of moments, she thought it was Sandor who had returned. But no, the man was not quite so tall, the horse not quite as ill-tempered, and the man was a knight, who bore the sigil of House Horpe.
She went to greet him. The man dismounted from his horse, and Podrick ran to take the rains from his hand.
"See" Sansa said, with a brave smile, "we were expecting you. I trust the journey wasn't too hard".
The knight stood tall in front of her, watching her, before he removed his helm - and Sansa almost let a gasp out.
A pale face, with long black hair and a stern look was in front of her... Half of his face a pitiful ruin of scars. Pox marks, twisting his flesh painfully, but they were not quite as hard to look upon. She was uses to scars.
And his look. This one is thirsty for blood, she could tell. How could she not see it? She had seen the same look in another's scarred face, years before, and she had feared that look more than the deformity that accompanied them. Lookat me! A voice from her past barked, and so she watched, and she was not afraid.
"Lady Stark" Richard Horpe said, and he bowed. "We meet at last"
"Please, be seated" she said politely to the man.
He smiled, and it seemed almost unnatural. He was not a man that smiled often, she could tell. He sat down on one of the chairs, and Sansa did the same. "We were expecting you, ser" she began. "How was the King when you left him?".
"The King is well" Horpe said. "His burdens are many, but he bears them well, as fit for a king".
"I am pleased to hear it. And Ser Davos?" she inquired.
"He is in good health as well" he said. "The king has sent him to East watch to command his legions there".
"I am sure he will prove equal to the task" Sansa said. "He is a good man, and he serves the King well".
His lips curved again, but she thought it was with irony. "Yes, he is a loyal servant" he agreed. "We all serve him at the best of our capacities".
"I cannot doubt it" Sansa said politely. "I have heard tales of your bravery in battle, ser. I know the King values your courage".
"He does" he nodded.
What would Sandor Clegane tell him, were he here?, she wondered, for she did not know what to address him. He would probably be blunt and ask him what he wants, but he is a warrior, and I am only a lady.
But she wanted to be brave, just like her sworn shield. "The Starks honour their king as well" she said then. "And we are honoured to have you here as a guest. Might I inquire - what is the purpose of your visit here, Ser Richard?".
She knew he had done the right thing when his smile appeared again, this time more sincere. "It is the King's wish that I should stay here. The war is not done, Lady Stark, and the king does not want to leave his allies at the mercy of the enemy. Were things to turn for the worse, he feels that my presence here would be of help".
"And I thank him for his solicitude - and for yours" Sansa smiled. "Your assistance is not unwelcome in such a time. We are all in need of assistance".
Richard Horpe looked at her intently. "I had heard of you as well" he said. "Tales of your beauty had reached all of the Seven Kingdoms, friends and foes".
Sansa blushed. "You are most courteous, ser" she answered.
"I am not a courteous man, my lady, as you might have noticed. I only speak the truth".
A Hound will die for you, but he will never lie to you. Sansa was struck by how much this man resembled her friend. He is just like the Hound, she thought. But how much so?
"No, I can see you are not that kind of man" she remarked. I will say the truth. For a man like him, it will work better than empty chirpings.
"And what kind of a man would you say I am?".
"A fighter" she answered, without hesitation.
"Just so" ser Horpe laughed. "I am a warrior. I am good at it, too". He was not boasting. She could tell. Only a swordsman would be so confident, and straightforward.
"I don't doubt it. I can see you, ser Horpe. You like to fight, and to kill".
He seemed pleased. "I do. I like to test myself, to prove I can survive".
"And you can" Sansa stated.
"And I can" he confirmed. He observed her intently. "You have steel in you as well".
Sansa smiled sweetly. "I can survive as well, ser Horpe. I have learned how".
"I see you have" he acknowledged. "Winter is coming, aren't those your words?".
"Winter has come already. And Starks know how to welcome winter".
Horpe laughed.
It has not been as hard as I thought it would be, she meditated. I know how to deal with men like him. And Horpe had been quite pleasant in his own way. He really does look like Sandor Clegane, she thought. His grim look, the one a seasoned warrior could have. His appearance as well.
As she slipped under her covers, she remembered that Sandor had asked her about the knight before his departure. He had seemed strange, and she had not known why, but now she could. Perhaps he saw a resemblance too. Well, who wouldn't?
Of course, the two men were not the same. Being on the Quiet Isle had gentled Sandor's rage, a bit at least. Sandor Clegane had been a bitter man, had been the Hound, but he was kinder now. And he cares about me, and he protects me. Heismyfriend.
And Richard Horpe was a knight, unlike him. He bore no hatred for an evil brother, he didn't despise the court, or the courtesies, in spite of his honesty. He was not angry, most of all. Only a warrior who killed well for his king.
She wondered what his goals were. She believed him when he said that he served the King, she believed him to be loyal. But that was the point - what could his goals be? What could a servant wish, aside from his master's ambitions? She had no clue.
Well, what are Sandor's goals? she thought, and frowned when she realised she didn't know. He served the Starks, and did it well, but it could not be all, could it?
I am your dog. He had told her so, had given her his life to use as she pleased. But if his life had no value for him, what had?
He protects me. He wants me and Rickon safe. Of that she was sure. The naive girl she had once been would have fancied him... Would have considered him being in love with her. She would have gone back to the day of the Blackwater, and remembered that he had kissed her. Alayne had. But of course, she was grown now, and she knew better. He had kissed her because he was drunk, and afraid, nothing more. Since he had come for her, he had been nothing more than a protector, a good protector.
AndhehasKerra. Though he didn't like to be asked about her. Sansa would not have known that they had - been together, if Kerra had not told her. Maybe it was because he was in love with the spearwife. She is beautiful, after all, she thought. And she is hard. She has steel, true steel in her.
Sansa laid on her back, looking at the ceiling, dissatisfied. I had promised myself I would know him better. Sandor Clegane was still a mystery to her.
I do not know him. I do not understand him. How comes such an honest man is so unreadable to me?
It did no good to dwell on it, however. And it only made her nervous, for he was not there. I hope he is well, she mused to himself, biting her lip. I hope he will come soon.
She had kept his letter, and she had read it again and again the day before. I will come back, he had assured her. It had been kind of him to write to her. He had promised he would come. Somehow, she could not believe he wouldn't.
He will come, she assured herself, as she drifted into sleep. I pray he does.
She looked at his helm, a snarling dog of steel snarling at her, but something was wrong. Its eyes were lit with green flames as well, and she reached for it, to free him, to save him from burning. The helm feel, and Richard Horpe smiled a dead smile, and put a knife at her throat. Can you survive this? He asked her, but she could not speak, she was too afraid. She sank into her mattress, trying to escape him, but the bed had turned to snow, and the snow was swallowing her.
Winter is coming, Horpe laughed, and he was laughing at her, and Sansa was screaming. The snow was cold, and among it she saw a hand, big and calloused, and she reached for it, but it was frozen, lifeless.
She awoke covered in sweat, muffling a scream in her pillow. The room was dark and quiet, and she was alone. There were no flames, aside from those dying inside her hearth.
It was stupid, and childlish, but she felt alone, despite the fact that she was home, with Rickon, with her friends. She felt empty, for the dawn would come, and she would have to face Richard Horpe, and she had no place to hide.
So she cried herself back to sleep.
It was pleasant, and when he realised it, he was surprised. Sansa Stark herself had surprised him.
She was indeed beautiful, for a start. Not pretty - there were plenty of pretty girls around, lowborn or highborn. No, she was truly beautiful, and she was uncommonly refined and elegant. She smiled sweetly, smelled sweetly, talked sweetly.
And still, she is not a foolish child. He had noticed it straight away, when she had looked at him, unimpressed by his scars. She was smart, he would wager from the little they had said to each other. Not that Horpe had need of a smart woman - but it was refreshing.
He had come expecting to find Sansa Stark a good prize, a childlish little lady to woo and win with a few sweet words and the King's interference. This lady was a wolf though, dangerous even. Strangely, he wasn't displeased at the discovery.
She will be a good wife, he said to himself. Horpe had never cared for marriage and women, except for a few visits to a brothel. He liked to fight, liked to kill, liked gold too, though not so much.
If I can win her, I will have plenty of it, he thought. He would rise far above his station, just like that bastard Littlefinger. And if I get a pretty loving wife, well, I won't complain.
Truth be told, Stannis did not expect him to succeed. The girl had to marry, that much was certain.
For her to marry a great lord from the Stormlands would be madness, and would alienate her the north. Stannis didn't like the idea of Sansa Stark with a Northerner, however. She might start to consider herself like a Queen, and Stannis won't have any of that.
But a knight, loyal to the king's cause, known to care nothing for politics... Well, it would not be a bad thing, would it?
They stopped by the Heart Tree, crying red sop. Horpe regarded it with mild curiosity. He had never cared for the Gods, be it Rh'llor or the Seven.
"It is the first time I come to a Godswood" he said.
Sansa Stark looked at him, and smiled. "It is certainly an uncommon thing south of the Neck" she said. "But it is a quiet place, and my ancestors worshipped the Old Gods".
"And you don't?".
The girl smiled again, wearily. "I respect their faith" she told him.
"Have you settled for the Red God, then?".
"I don't know much of that Faith" lady Stark said. "I cannot believe in a God I don't know".
She is bold to say it to a kingsman, Horpe considered. But she chooses her words well.
"I thought women were generally inclined to be pious" he said, with a smirk.
"I had a septa when I was young. My mother believed in the Seven". She caressed the white cork, fondly. "Joffrey put her head on a spike" she said, calmly, as if she didn't care.
"The Lannister brat was as mad as her mother, I hear".
"He was. And now he is dead".
"His brother sits on the Throne, though. Born of incest, same as him".
"Tommen is nothing like his brother" she said, and her blue eyes rested on him. She seemed to challenge him to call her treacherous. "He was a sweet boy, and I hope the king will show him mercy".
"You speak as if we were certain to win".
"Nothing is sure" Sansa said. "But the Lannisters are not loved. They cannot hope to last forever, now that Tywin is dead".
She does have a brain, this one. "Stannis is not loved, either".
She smiled. "But he is just. To be loved is good, but to be respected is much better. His justice is well known".
He is just, Horpe agreed. He was, before the Red Woman came. Horpe was loyal to his king, but he wasn't blind. "This place is indeed peaceful" he said. He was not a man that liked to spend his time in idle chatting, but the girl was fascinating. He didn't mind much.
"It is" Sansa Stark said, and smiled at him. It wasn't a fake smile.
Richard Horpe didn't find it hard to smile back.
Had it been summer, with only a thin layer of frost on the roads and almost none in the woods, covering the distance between Deepwood Motte and Winterfell would have taken two days of restless ride, three with a very bad horse. Winter, however, was another matter. It meant piles of frozen snow as high as a man’s, maybe a little less on the kingsroad. When Stannis had lead an army, marching against Winterfell, it had been an endless journey of weeks and weeks.
Sandor had chosen the other option, chosen narrow paths than only a man alone or with only a few companions could tread. Where the forest was deepest, there was not half the snow that covered the North anywhere else – those same paths he had followed with the hunting party, in and out of the wood, stopping every day in one of the small villages nearby.
The fact was, he was late. He had left three weeks before, travelled for days, and would have departed more than a week earlier. Instead, the weather had not allowed him to stir from his own castle, and the ravens he had sent to the little bird, explaining the delay, had never returned. Dead, most like.
Sandor didn’t want the girl to wait for him in anxiety. He wanted her to feel safe, and safe because of him. He had been gone from her side too long last time, and he had sworn to himself that it would never happen again.
The Others take this blasted storm. I should not have left. Not when Thorpe was supposed to come.
Yet he had things to do, and duties he could not avoid or ignore. He had told himself he would not miss her, not for a few days, but of course he had been wrong. It seemed that every time he detached himself from her, the emptiness inside him increased, and Sandor could not explain it to himself.
The Gods knew he was not a romantic man, or a sensitive one. How had the girl managed it? what sort of spell, of treachery, could rob him of all his weapons, break the hard shell that had formed around his heart?
She kissed me, damn her.
That was what had made it harder still. A quick, sweet kiss that had landed on his good cheek, the feeling of it still nestled on his skin, where she had touched him with her soft lips. How could a man hope to heal from love, if she reopened his wound with a look, a sparkle in her blue eyes, a pretty blush on her fair cheeks, a bashful giggle at one of his rough japes, or a kiss?
Sandor, she called him now. No more sers, or my lords, not when they were alone. Sandor, only Sandor.
And so he had decided to tell her.
He would go back to her, and she would welcome him with a smile, the prettiest of smiles. He knew she cared for him, though not the way he cared for her. He would wait to be alone with her, and then be would speak.
He knew she would not return his love. Why would she? But he could not imagine her to resent him for what he felt, for she didn't have that sort of pride. She will be kind and proper. He would tell her that he loved her, because he was not a man that could lie, not for long, not to her. He could not have her pretty and unaware around him, smiling and chirping, kissing him as if he was not a man with warm blood and raging needs.
He would tell Sansa Stark that he was just as foolish as she was. He would tell her that he wanted her, that he needed her, that he was, in short, lost.
Sometimes he believed she knew already. How could she not have noticed the fire he had inside him? Could she not see that he had eyes for her only? She must know that he could be kind to her,and to her only. Yet, most of the times, she seemed to suspect nothing, as if his behaviour to her was the most natural thing in the world.
If she doesn't know,she will soon enough. But first, he would go back to her. He had promised her.