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Brienne’s POV
Brienne was surprised, to say the least, when she spotted the Hound amongst the envoy of the Dragon Queen. What in the name of the Seven was he doing here? How was he even alive?
After a short greeting, the Lannister soldiers parted in the middle of the way to let the newcomers pass. Brienne watched and waited, still distracted by the sight of the massive man she thought she’d killed years ago. Without a word, she fell in line next to Jon Snow. They began their slow walk back to the Dragonpit, but Brienne was very conscious of the man behind her.
The Hound was walking at the end of their little trek, apart from a few Lannister soldiers that had fallen behind to guard the rear end. He was leading the horse that pulled a small wagon with a box on top. Brienne didn’t know what it was about him, perhaps the fact that he wasn’t in armour but was wearing a black leather jerkin instead, or maybe it was the calm look on his face. Whatever it was, something was making him seem… approachable.
And so, she didn’t think too hard about it. She slowed her pace and let the others pass until she could step beside the Hound. He didn’t seem to mind, for she couldn’t detect any kind of reaction.
“Thought you were dead,” Brienne finally started the conversation.
“Not yet.” He waited a beat. “You came pretty close.”
He didn’t sound angry to her, which was a mild surprise. Brienne had thought him to be the kind of man likely to hold a grudge, not freely admitting his defeat. Still, she felt the need to justify her actions. “I was only trying to protect her.”
“You and me both.”
He sounded resigned. As if he believed he’d failed, when in truth… he hadn’t, had he?
“She’s alive,” Brienne threw a quick glance over. She wanted to see his reaction. “Arya.”
She saw him almost falter in his steps. It was barely noticeable, but she saw. And for the first time, the Hound turned his head to look at her. He swallowed.
“Where?”
Brienne looked ahead again. “Winterfell.”
“Who’s protecting her if you’re here?”
She detected a hint of concern in his gruff voice and had to suppress a scoff. Trying not to smirk, she voiced the truth.
“The only one that needs protecting is the one that gets in her way.”
She couldn’t help it. A smile relaxed Brienne’s features, thinking about the time she’d learned first-hand of Arya’s considerable fighting skills. She’d sparred with the petite warrior a few times now, and every time she’d been more impressed. And more and more curious as to where the girl had learned her craft. Perhaps…
“It won’t be me.”
Brienne looked at the Hound, astonished by his gentle and friendly tone. She found a smile playing around his bearded lips, an almost proud one, and it transformed his face completely. Gone was the brutal killer she’d taken him for. Instead, she found a friendly man that seemed to have trouble supressing a pleased grin. Pleased that he’d not failed the girl perhaps?
Brienne smiled back at him. She felt lighter suddenly. The Hound, no… he was the Hound no longer. Sandor Clegane walked beside her, and he’d just reassured her that the Stark girls had nothing to fear from him.
A companionable silence engulfed them. Until Clegane suddenly chuckled softly.
“She still doing her water dancing then?”
“Water dancing?” Brienne frowned.
“Aye, she was always practising. Said she’d learned from a Braavosi Master.” He shook his head, the fond smile still playing around his lips. “Fucking hilarious.”
Brienne sobered up. “I don’t know who she learned from. She wouldn’t say. But, whoever it was, hilarious is the last thing I’d call her skills.”
“She was back then. Don’t know about now. Maybe she learned a few things more.”
“She must have. She’s…” Brienne didn’t know what to call it. She shook her head. Clegane eyed her from the side, still friendly, and in that moment, Brienne knew somehow that she could trust him with something that had been bothering her ever since she’d learned the truth.
She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “You heard what happened at the Twins? To Walder Frey and his kin?”
“Sure,” Clegane shrugged. “Haven’t been dead under a rock. The fucker got what he deserved. What of it?”
Brienne simply looked at him, one eyebrow raised. She willed him to understand.
“Fuck off!” He scoffed. “The girl? Heard it was some serving wench.”
“So they say,” Brienne snapped her mouth shut. She suddenly felt bad for having relayed as much. Second thoughts crept up to her. What had she been thinking, confiding something of this magnitude? To him? He was a complete stranger! He wasn’t a friend. She vowed to say no more. Hopefully he wouldn’t believe it anyhow.
She looked at him and he was just staring back at her. His face gave nothing away.
“Forget it,” she waved off and tried to think of something else to say, so as to distract him quickly.
“Doesn’t matter,” Clegane grumbled. “Dead is dead.” He threw a look over his shoulder to the box on the wagon. “Or not,” he shrugged. He seemed to be talking to himself, for Brienne had no idea what he meant.
Clegane was the one to change the subject eventually. “Why are you here anyway?”
“Lady Sansa sent me as her…”
“What?”
This time Clegane did falter in his steps. He nearly let go of the horse in his obvious shock. But why? What had she said that had shocked him so?
Sandor’s POV
He stared at the big woman and nearly let go of the horse. Thoughts were swirling around in his head. ‘Lady Sansa’ she’d said. Lady Sansa…
Wait, had he known that? When was the last time he’d heard anything about the little bird? She’d fled King’s Landing after Jeoffrey’s death, that much he’d heard. But after that? He didn’t know for sure, couldn’t remember much…
Truth be told, Sandor hadn’t given the elder Stark girl much thought these last few years. Perhaps he’d assumed her dead, perhaps not. He wasn’t sure what he’d heard and what he’d made up in his own mind… He’d dreamed about her a few times, that he knew. About her red hair, her scared little face, the way she’d looked at him with her big blue eyes in King’s Landing, on the night he’d left the shithole behind. He’d wanted to take her away then, but she’d been too scared… the little bird had opted to stay in her cage. What good had it done her? Nothing. Just as it had him, to dwell on that.
So, he hadn’t. And eventually, dreams of that night and of her had vanished. Then there’d been the other one, the little wolf girl, that had occupied his time. Thoughts of Sansa had faded.
But now…
Sandor shot a glance at the tall woman walking by his side. “She back home then? At Winterfell?”
“Sansa is the Lady of Winterfell.” Brienne sounded proud.
“Good for her,” he couldn’t stop the smile from forming. “Little bird flew home and built a nest.”
He felt, more than saw, the curious glance thrown his way. Fuck, what had he said? Little bird… next he’d fall into a song, huh? ‘Fuck off, Clegane. Get a grip! The girl means nothing. And you sure as fuck mean nothing to her!’
“Didn’t know you knew her as well.” Brienne couldn’t hide her curiosity.
He hid his embarrassment behind a gruff response. “Aye, I knew her back in King’s Landing. What off it?”
“How well did you know her?”
He chuckled. “Not as well as I wanted, that’s for sure.” He saw her glaring at him out of the corner of his good eye. “I didn’t fuck her, if that’s what you’re asking.” His eyes grew dark. “Raping scared little girls… that’s my brother’s doing. I’m not him.”
“No, you’re not.” Brienne said it like she’d just come to realize it herself. Like she meant it. They shared a look and walked in silence.
Sandor tried not to, but his thoughts kept straying back to King’s Landing, back to when he’d been Jeoffrey’s dog. He’d tried to protect her as best he could, which hadn’t been much. He’d given her a cloth once, to stop her bleeding lip. He’d given her his cloak to cover herself, after Jeoffrey had had her dress ripped in the Throne room. But it had been the Imp that had stopped Jeoffrey’s torture, not him. Never him. He’d done little. Too little.
A sigh escaped his lips. “She was a scared little bird in a lion’s den. Caged, tortured, humiliated. I was Jeoffrey’s dog then, and I couldn’t do much. I tried… I saved her from being raped. But she was as scared of me as she was of everyone else. Wouldn’t go with me when I left.”
Brienne stared at him, clearly surprised. “You’d have taken her with you?”
“Aye,” he shrugged. “But not against her will. And she wouldn’t come. Not that I blame her. It frightened her, a drunk and ugly brute she couldn’t trust, trying to steal her away in the middle of battle.”
He turned to show her the burnt side of his face. She looked, he noticed, and didn’t flinch much. He supposed she couldn’t put much stock in appearances, not with the way she looked.
The tall woman looked ahead again. “She got away eventually, that’s what counts.”
“What happened to her?” He knew he had no right to ask. He wanted to know anyway.
“Much. Too much of what shouldn’t have.”
Images filled his head then. Torn dresses, crimson blood staining her porcelain skin… he closed his eyes. “But she’s safe now.”
It didn’t come out as a question, and yet Brienne answered. “She’s safe. She’s home, and with her family. Arya, and their brother Bran came home, too.”
“The crippled boy?” He’d heard the boy had been lost beyond the Wall.
“He’s changed,” Brienne said. “They all are. Arya is a killer, Jon is a King, Bran is… different. And Sansa…”
Sandor waited for her to finish.
“Sansa is no little bird anymore. She is a grown wolf. You’ll see for yourself.”
“Will I now?” He raised his one good eyebrow. What made her think that?
“Yes, you will.” Brienne sent him a knowing smile. “After this,” she nodded towards the entrance of the Dragonpit that they’d almost reached by now. “You will join us up north in the fight against the dead.”
He contemplated her words for a while. “Or maybe I’ll jump on the first fucking ship to Essos I can find. Leave this shit world behind and not look back once, like the craven dog I am. The dead can’t swim.”
Brienne eyed him closely, ugly burns and all. “You won’t.”
No, he wouldn’t. Still, how could she be so sure? “Think you know me, cunt?”
Brienne drew herself up to her full height. She managed to meet his eyes square on. “I’m starting to, Hound. You are no craven dog. You are Sandor Clegane. You care for this shit world, and for at least two people in it. You will fight. For them.”
She had him there, he knew. He would fight for this shit world. He would fight; for the wolf pup and the little bird.