Chapter Text
“Let us come with you.”
“I don’t know, little dove. The lad will get tired.”
“It’s just a few hours walk, and he will enjoy the market. As will I. I haven’t been out of this village in forever. Let us accompany you.”
“But if someone recognizes me…”
“It’s been more than four years, Sandor. I don’t think they are looking for you anymore, the new king has nothing to do with you. Maybe it’s time to feel safe again.”
Yes, the new king, Robb Stark, the young wolf, who has taken the throne from Joffrey a year ago. He sent the little bastard and his bitch mother on the gallows, and Sandor couldn’t say he shed tears for them. Even though Joffrey was dead he knew he couldn’t return. They would see him as the old king's minion, or as a soldier who left the Kingsguard, and both crimes were punishable by death. But Velika was right, they probably forgot about him, or assumed he was dead. Hopefully.
“Okay, but you will have to calm Nimrod down if he gets grumpy.”
They were going to Cerwyn, a small town next to the village they lived in, to sell the meat and fur Sandor acquired while hunting. If the market was good they could get enough coin to buy supplies for winter, new shoes for Nimrod, and even some luxuries, like sweets.
Sandor made Nimrod sit on Stranger, and the boy laughed with joy, sawing the air with a branch, pretending it was a sword.
“He will be a great warrior one day, like his father.”
“More like a great hunter, as our outlook is nowadays.”
Velika reached for his hand and squeezed it. She knew how hard it was for her husband to give his profession up, to become a simple hunter.
“No shame in that. Either way, I will be proud of him.”
Sandor didn’t release her hand, as they walked the dusty road, their little family side-by-side. Maybe he was too deep in thought about how perfectly those little hands fit in his big ones, or too busy admiring his wife’s face, but he didn’t notice the soldiers in time. There were four of them, wearing the colors of House Stark.
“Hey, peasant, is Cerwyn this way?”
“Just go ahead, you will be there within an hour,” Velika answered them for her husband.
“What a pretty little lady you are for such an ugly peasant.”
One of the soldiers pranced his horse next to Velika. Her grip tightened on Sandor’s hand, as a warning, but it was useless.
“Leave her alone” Growled her husband, finally looking up.
The soldier recoiled from his sight, but there was something else in his face, not just disgust and dread. He reached for his sword.
“It’s the Hound! I would recognize that ugly mug anywhere, I saw him at the battle of Blackwater!”
Sandor was a minute too late in reaching for his sword because instead of him the soldier had his sword against Velika’s neck.
“Drop your weapon or I’ll kill her.”
The other soldiers surrounded them, all with swords in hand.
“Let her go, she has nothing to do with me.”
“I’ll once you drop that fucking sword.”
Sandor looked around, desperately seeking a way out, but there was none, so he dropped his sword and held his hand up. The soldier let Velika go, pushing her towards her husband. Sandor caught her, hugging her close. Nimrod started crying.
“The king will pay a hefty sum for the Hound.”
“What about the woman and the kid? Who are they?”
“Nobodies.” That hurt, even if she knew Sandor was just trying to protect them. “ I’m just escorting them to Cerwyn. Let them go, they have nothing to do with this.”
“I don’t think so. You are all coming to Winterfell, and the king can be the judge of what happens with her.”
It was a long ride, and they barely stopped. They had Sandor’s hand and feet tied up (it was obvious how much they were still afraid of him) and had Velika sit on Stranger with Nimrod. Sandor was looking for a chance to escape the whole way to Winterfell, but he couldn’t find any.
Upon arriving at Winterfell they were shoved into a dirty little cell and left alone. Their little boy started to cry once again, clearly hungry and frustrated, not understanding what was happening. Velika sat down on the floor, her back to the wall, and freed her breast to feed her son.
“What will happen now, Sandor?”
Her husband was pacing the room frantically. He stopped in front of her and crouched down to be at eye level.
“Listen to me, little dove. You need to lie to them. Tell them I was just escorting you, that you know nothing about me, tell them whatever they need to hear to let you go.”
Velika was vehemently shaking her head.
“No, I can’t leave you here, I can’t…”
“You have to, girl. For Nimrod. Go back to the village, ask the Elder Brother for help. Find someplace safe.”
“What about you? What will happen to you?”
Sandor stood up and continued the pacing, He didn’t look at her as he answered.
“Probably execution. If not for being Joffrey’s pawn, then for fleeing the Kingsguard.”
Velika let out a chocked sob.
“Don’t worry, my little dove. They say the young wolf isn’t a cruel man. I’ll have a quick death.”
“I can’t lose you, I love you.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much we can do against it. You will manage without me.”
“I can’t I won’t. Not now when...”
She suddenly fell silent.
“When what?”
“I’m pregnant, Sandor.”
Sandor turned to her, his face filled with surprise.
“I wanted to wait with telling you to surprise you on your name day.”
“Well, it’s a surprise alright, dear.”
He put his hand on her stomach, gently stroking it.
“This is just one more reason for you to lie, to protect the three of you.”
He wanted to continue convincing her, but the cell door opened with a creek.
“Come! All of you.”
“Where are you taking us?”
The soldier didn’t answer, just led them throughout multiple hallways and halls, until they stopped in front of a giant door. The soldier knocked then grabbed them by the arm and led them inside.
“On your knees.” He pushed them to the floor.
Velika only dared to look up then. A young man was sitting on a throne, by his side a red-headed lady. The king and his sister – she realized.
“Sandor Clegane. I have heard a lot about you. The Hound, the usurper's pawn. Once a Kingsguard, but then disappeared years ago.” He turned his attention to Velika and the sobbing Nimrod. “But who are you?”
Sandor opened his mouth to speak, but Velika spoke first.
“I’m his wife, your Grace.”
She couldn’t lie, she couldn’t leave him here. She took an oath when they married, and she intended to keep it.
“Interesting. Stand up, all of you. Sandor Clegane, you are hereby accused of carrying out the usurper's bloody orders and leaving the Kingsguard. Do you deny it?”
“No, I did what I did.”
“You deserve to be punished accordingly.”
Velika’s breath hitched and she was ready to beg, but the king silenced her with a gesture of his hand.
“But my sister vouched for you.” He gestures at Lady Sansa. “She claims that during her captivity you were kind to her, protected her. For that, I will be lenient. Did you know that your brother died?”
Sandor’s head snapped up at the sudden change of topic. Gregor was dead? Even his revenge was robbed from him?
“No, your Grace.”
“So now Clegane keep stands empty, and I’m in need of loyal bannerman. So for the service you did for my sister, if you bend the knee and swear an oath to me, I’ll make you the Lord of Clegane Keep and forgive your sins.”
Sandor hesitated. He wasn’t expecting this, but he also didn’t want to be a pawn in another king’s game. He looked at Velika and their teary-eyed son in her arms. They deserved better than a peasant’s life. He would do it for them, so whatever it takes, they would be safe. He sank on one knee.