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By the look of it, no one would guess it was Spring. Snow still covered the ground as far as the eyes could see, blinding him in passing. When by some miracle some grass appeared, it was to be covered by snow again.
As a Southern kid, Sandor had felt the snow brought something eerie and magical to the air. Having lived a Winter serving house Stark had disillusioned him of it. He couldn’t wait for all this white shit to disappear. When he didn’t feel cold to the bones, he was wet from the melted snow and his sweat.
At the moment, he was walking to the Godswood haven been summoned by the Lady of Winterfell. Very few southerners have ventured what he considers to be sacred lands. He may not believe in the old gods, but the Weirwood tree, with his weeping red eyes, seemed to be looking into his soul.
Winter was usually silent, but Sandor could hear himself walking on the snow. He would often take advantage of these lonely and quiet moments to ponder. At the moment, he wondered the reason Sansa had called him. What did the little bird want from him?
Sandor would soon find out, Sansa’s silhouette started to appear. She seemed to be kneeling. That damn girl. Kneeling on the snow? What was she thinking? She could get sick from all the snow still on the ground. The white bird might have brought the news that it was officially Spring but try telling that to the northern gods.
She had to have heard him get closer because she got up and turned smiling at him. She seemed like a vision. Gone was the scared little bird. In front of him stood a strong woman, a competent leader and above all else she hadn’t lost the compassion and the empathy from the young girl that touched his shoulder while stating that Gregor was ‘no true knight’.
Sandor smiled thinking about that night so long ago, but he forgot he wasn’t alone. Sansa seemed stunned. Seeing him smile was a rare event; it might even be scary for some.
She sat on a tree trunk, stretching her arms to him. «Sandor, please sit with me.»
He did not expect that. He felt uncomfortable at the moment he sat by Sansa’s side. Each time he felt this way in her presence, he had the urge to open his mouth; it wouldn’t be different today.
«How can you still pray to your gods, you still haven’t figured out they don’t exist?»
She surprised him again by laughing uncontrollably.
«But they do exist. Our old gods are different than your new gods because they are everywhere and very much alive. Otherwise, how could Bran do whatever he does and that no one seems to be able to explain otherwise.»
She got him there. He was speechless. Did the gods exist? Where they watching over him, mocking him since he was a little child?
«You know what the saddest thing is about the old gods existing?» Damn, he forgot he wasn’t alone… again! «I can’t bath in the hot springs anymore. Who knows who is watching? Bran cannot be the only one able to warg the weirwood tree.»
The idea that a perverted wizard could be lurking on a bathing Sansa filled him with rage!
«I did call you here with something in mind.» She looked at her hands on her knees before bringing her eyes to his again. «Do you remember the night of the battle of the Blackwater Bay?»
Oh, he remembered it alright. If he was filled with rage before he is overflown with fury and guilt now. He wished he could change everything from that night. Nothing good had come from the night of the battle of the Blackwater Bay. He was so drunk he wasn’t even sure his memories were real or not. He was sure he had said awful things to Sansa, he had grabbed her arm by force at a moment and brought a knife to her throat. Seven hells. The little bird is more insane than he though. She should have had him executed on the spot.
«On that night, you asked me if I would flee King’s Landing with you.» Sandor looked as a tear fell on Sansa’s cheek. «I refused. And it might have been the dumbest decision of my life, but we will never know what would have happened.»
Sandor couldn’t help but agree with that. He had thought about what would have happened if he had taken her by force. How far would have they got before being captured by Lannister men, would they even be alive today?
«I refused to follow you, and you respected my decision. Back then, I didn’t know how rare that would be. I feel safe in your presence. I know no one will harm me… not even you.»
Speechless again. Damn girl. And she was right as long as he kept himself sober.
Sansa stood up and grabbed the green cloak she was sitting on.
«Do you recognize it?»
He nodded; no, he did not.
«This is the King’s Guard white cloak you left on my bedroom floor on that night. I dyed it green before escaping King’s Landing with ser Dontos.»
Again Sandor felt furious. Dontos was a drunkard no better than him. All these years he had accepted Sansa’s refusal was because he had scared her by how drunk he was. What could have made her follow the king’s new fool?
She was silent again, hugging almost tenderly his old cloak. «The smell reminded me of you. It brought me comfort and is my good luck charm. I brought it today, hoping it would bring me good luck today as I have something to ask of you. I know no one else I would like as my Sworn Shield than you.»
«You forgot something, little bird. I won’t swear no vows.»
«Weren’t you a monk? Didn’t you swear an oath of silence back at the Quiet Isle?»
Sansa was smiling again, and it made Sandor laugh. He liked it when she answered back, showing her inner wolf.
«I Didn’t swear any oaths; I just decided to shut the fuck up.»
Sansa smirked.
«That’s the perfect loophole. You’ll have to keep your mouth shut.»
Damn her again. When did he agree to all this? Who was he kidding, of course he would accept. Sandor got on his good knee and bowed his head.
«I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the new.»
After a moment of silence, Sandor stood up to give her his arm. She used his arm to leaned and grabbed the cloak she was sitting on.
She looked behind towards the weirwood tree, her eyes full of longing to the hot spring.
«It’s a shame, really.»
Sandor waited until Sansa had walked a few paces to mutter, «A real shame.»