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The sound of wood striking against wood echoed in the bailey of Clegane Keep. Ten-year-olds Rickard Clegane and Jonos Redfort faced off against each other with their practice swords. They had been training together for a little more than a couple of months, but they took to their training with fierceness as both boys had become competitive against each other in almost all things. They had to be better than the other in running, jumping, fishing, fighting, juggling, cartwheels, singing, and standing on their heads while reciting every major house they had learned of in reverse alphabetical order. They had both grown and were becoming strong young boys.

Roslyn and Ashlyn, now seven, watched unenthusiastically from the sidelines with their governess, Septa Leona. They were much more interested in the new puppies in the kennels nearby. The youngest and newest Clegane, Duncan watched a little more interested than his sisters, but everything was interesting to the four-year-old being watched over closely by his Mother, chubbier than his siblings had all been at the same age. Sansa cooed over him and pressed kisses to his dark curls as he paid her no mind.

Rickon, Tybolt, and Lewyn watched Rickard and Jonos, speaking to each other in whispers about the match and calling out encouragements to the two boys.

Rickon, now seventeen, had become tall, just a hair over six foot, and had become both burly and handsome. He had grown his hair out and kept it tied back in the style of the Northmen. His skill as a fighter had only increased during the constant years of focused training, and at least once a month Rickon would drag Sandor and all of the other wards out to go fishing with him.

Tybolt Falwell had grown some, but at almost fourteen it was already obvious that he would not be nearly as tall as Rickon was or as Robert Arryn had become. With careful supervision he had eventually come out of his shell, but was still an introverted boy with cautious eyes and a mild voice. He was fine with a sword but excelled with the longer reach of a spear which he practiced against Lewyn.

And Lewyn Sand, a few months younger than Tybolt, had just had a growth spurt and was ending up tall and lithe like his grandfather. Lewyn was skilled with sword, spear, and bow, and in Sandors' opinion was well on his way to being one of the most skilled fighters in all of the Seven Kingdoms, with a keen interest in different forms of weaponry and his mastery of them.

Sandor watched with pride, not just proud of his own son but Jonos as well. He was proud of all of his boys. He was startled, however, when Maester Willym came up beside him and tapped him on the arm, handing off a letter to him that had just arrived. He opened it and read it over quickly, finding that it was from Robert, now Lord Arryn. Sansa came around from her spot to stand next to him and tried to glimpse the letter, but he held it away from her.

"Why are you smiling so widely?" She asked, a grin on her face.

He bent down and gave her a kiss, "It's a letter from Lord Arryn."

"What does he say?"

Sandor finally handed her the letter, "Read for yourself."

The news that it brought was significant, and did so boost his ego. It could have been so easy to just tell Sansa, but he enjoyed watching her as she read through the letter and finally got to the news herself.

"A son!" She exclaimed and laughed, smiling widely, "And Roberts' named him for you! Little Sandor Arryn."

"The heir of the Eyrie has been named for me," He grinned, "A high honor."

Sansa laughed, "Just as their words. He also says there's to be a tournament in honor of the birth. I wonder if King Robert will come."

"Of course the King will come to the tournament," He replied, "He loves tourneys and wouldn't refuse one, especially when he doesn't have to pay for it himself."

"I suppose we'll be going as well?"

"I'm not missing the chance to go and see the babe named for me. What kind of man would refuse?"

"The Gods would surely forbid it," Sansa replied, "For I know you would dote on him worse than your own children."

He laughed. Duncan giggled with him, but didn't know what they were laughing about.

They traveled along the Gold Road, arriving at King's Landing and staying only a day before pressing on to Rosby where they met up with Rohanne and their Mother who had been visiting her. Lord Aron and Rohanne had had a son - Tytos Santagar - named for Lord Blackwood. The boy was just over a year old now, and Sandor was happy to see his sister with the family that she had wanted. Their Mother had come out to Rosby to help her during her last months of pregnancy and had stayed on to help with the new baby, and he was glad to finally see her again as well, as they traveled together by Rosby Road to Maidenpool where they took a boat up the river to Darry and then on to the Crossroads.

Rickon separated from them and hired a boat to continue North along the Green Fork. He had become engaged - in Sandor's opinion it was an unfortunate match because it was with a Frey - and after a few years of being promised Rickon was finally to travel to the Twins to be married to the girl who was just a year younger than he was.

The rest of them continued on without Rickon, from the Crossroads they joined a larger group traveling the High Road, past the Bloody Gate, and finally arriving at the Gates of the Moon where King Roberts' Host had already arrived from King's Landing and the Arryn Household had already come down from the Eyrie.

The first person to sneak up on Sandor, however, was Lord Beric, grinning from ear to ear, "You've gotten fat."

He grumbled. It was only a little bit of weight, just enough to cushion his midsection, "You're still skinny as a switch," Sandor muttered in return.

Lord Beric laughed, "Aye. I've got a son now."

"Don't even try."

"His name's Harmen."

"No."

He laughed, "Don't get so riled. He's still just a babe. I'll send him to you in five or six years."

Sandor grumbled some more. They watched as a sea of banners continued to march their way up to the Gates of the Moon. He was glad that he didn't have to make the climb all the way up to the Eyrie.

"Are you going to joust this time?"

"No, I don't think I will."

Lord Beric turned to him, surprise plain on his face, "You're not?"

Sandor shook his head, "I've thought about it, at least. I'm getting old, and I don't think I'd survive another bash to the head like I had last time."

"Does it still bother you?"

He sighed, "Sometimes still get the headaches."

Lord Beric hummed in thought, "Five years... and it still ails you..."

"I suppose it must be what it is, unless this is something a man gets when he's older and nobody's bothered to warn me."

"I've never heard of that being common among older men, if it's of any use to you."

"It could have been worse. And the headaches aren't as bad as they had been the first year after it happened."

"Aye. I've heard of men becoming touched in the head after taking a knock to their noggins."

Sandor shrugged and changed topics, "There's not much gold in the purse. The winner of the tourney mostly gets the glory of it, and I at least have the honor of having the heir of the Eyrie named for me."

"That's almost like winning," Lord Beric laughed, "I suppose if it were a big fat purse you would be tempted."

"I took two wards and part of your winnings from your bet, didn't I?"

"Aye. And fine young lads they're becoming. The Falwell boy looks a lot better than he had before."

"Aye. Away from that sod that calls himself a Father. But Tybolt's grown well so far and trains as well as he can."

"Which of your lads are going to participate in the small tournament?"

"All except for Jonos and Rickard, they're too young. They can participate in the next one that comes up."

"Speaking of your wards, where is Ser Rickon?"

"He's gone up to the Twins. He's marrying some Frey girl."

Sansa had snuck up beside him and elbowed him in the ribs, "Della. And she's a nice girl."

"Must not be like the Freys then," Lord Beric commented.

Sandor shrugged, "I haven't met her. He's going to be bringing her here after they get married."

"Rickon plans on entering Roberts' service, and becoming part of the Arryn household at the Eyrie," Sansa supplied.

Robert and his wife, Bethany Blackwood, now Lady Arryn, sought him and his family out the first chance they could after visiting with the King and the other Blackwoods. Lady Arryn gingerly handed over the babe, though in the time it had taken for everyone to travel he was already almost a year old.

"He is a handsome babe," Sansa smiled. The boy was half asleep, having been in a bad mood until he could not longer stay awake.

To Sandor there was none that were so handsome a babe as Sandor Arryn, except for his own children, and he grinned at the sleeping child. He had never thought that he would have ever been the type of man to have had children named after him.

Sansa cooed over the boy, with his brown hair and blue eyes, and all the children clamored to see their second-cousin.

Little Sandor was upset the whole time, angry at every little thing and everyone he met except for the short time Sandor and Sansa had seen him when he had been tired and half asleep. There were many jokes that he was just as angry and disagreeable as his namesake, all while Robert and Bethany assured their guests that the boy was not usually like that, he was just overwhelmed by all of commotion going on around him.

The day before the tournament was to start proper they were reunited with Rickon and introduced to his new wife, Della. She was a little thing - a little shorter than average and slender, but she looked smaller when she stood next to Rickon's bulk.

When introductions had been exchanged Rickon had used some simple hand signs - explaining later that because she was deaf her family, both immediate and extended, had not put any time or effort into trying to communicate with her. When they had first met in King's Landing four years ago they had together come up with a few simple gestures and had further kept in touch through letters. Sandor couldn't have imagined what it would have been like if any of his four had been born deaf, and certainly couldn't imagine not even attempting to connect with any of them if they had been. It only lowered his already low opinion of the Freys in general and was glad to see that Della was comfortable with them enough to sit next to Sansa when Rickon rode in the joust when the tourney started the next day.

Rickon won his first run against a knight of House Mertyn and was unseated in his second run against Prince Edric. Robert fared only a little better, winning three of his runs but was unseated by Ser Loras. The jousts continued for three days before Ser Loras won, more than happy to receive praise and attention rather than a large sum.

There was of course other competitions, Archery, a Melee, and contests of Strength, though Sandor did not have a chance to see any of them as he was approached by the Spider with a smile on his face.

"I believe you owe me a favor."

Chapter Text

Sandor knew that he was not going to like whatever it was that the Spider had planned when he had made the deal with him four years ago. He had, however, hoped that it would have been a fairly easy ask from Lord Varys, as bringing Rohanne and Ser Aron together - now Lord and Lady Santagar of Rosby - seemed almost too simple and straightforward. But no, Lord Varys would have never wasted a favor in his hand no matter how small, it was just that Sandor hadn't expected what it was that the Spider would have asked him.

"I'm sure you know, many years ago, there was a little event that people call 'Robert's Rebellion'," Lord Varys said.

They were sitting together at a table of a pop-up tavern, it's main area made up of two double mast pavilions brought together, with several smaller pavilions and tents attached, making the whole of it almost as big as a real wood and stone tavern. It stood partially full while the melee took the attention away from business, so Lord Varys had led Sandor to one of the smaller tents attached to the pop-up tavern where there was a single table and they were secluded enough that it was unlikely they would be overheard, not that their conversation was to be kept a secret at all costs.

"Yes, of course I've heard it," Sandor sighed, taking a large drink from his tankard. He was thankful at least that Lord Varys was paying.

"Well, as you probably also know, two little Targaryens were able to escape to Essos."

Sandor became more nervous than irritated, "Sure, I know that. I haven't heard anything about them since the Rebellion, though."

Lord Varys smiled, "Well, King Robert had wanted to send assassins. The boy, Viserys, was only seven when the Rebellion ended and the girl, Daenerys, was born some time after, but Lord Arryn was able to talk him away from the action."

"And?"

"And-" Varys continued, "Many years later the news came from Essos that the girl had been married to a Dothraki Khal."

"A Dothraki what?"

"Khal. The leader of a Dothraki clan, much like you are Lord of House Clegane, well... except that he leads forty thousand men in his Khalasar. I believe you only have a few knights and a few boys?"

"I'm not quite hearing your point, Spider," Sandor growled out.

"Well, after Daenerys Targaryen was married to a Dothraki, King Robert again wanted to send assassins to kill her to prevent anymore Targaryen children who may come back to claim the throne. Lord Arryn was again able to talk him down from ordering her death. Not long after, however, there was news of Viserys' death."

"Still not hearing what you want me to do," Sandor grumbled.

"In due time," Varys smiled, "After the death of Viserys, however, Lord Arryn had an idea. It took many months for him to convince Robert to go along with his plan, but eventually Lord Arryn won out and thus, officially reached out to the last Targaryen and negotiated a truce between her and King Robert."

"And?"

"And so every few years since the truce began, King Robert has sent gifts to the Targaryen woman in exchange for her promise to never attempt to claim the Iron Throne, even verbally. The truce has been fruitful thus far, and Lord Stark was able to convince the King to continue the truce - though it didn't take so much convincing as Lord Arryn had already laid out the groundwork."

"So... what's that have to do with me?"

"Well, dear friend," Varys smiled again, "Since you owe me a favor, I had suggested to the King that you be the courier to take Daenerys' gift to Essos this time, and King Robert's agreed."

Sandor sighed. He hated it already.

The tourney continued on for several more days, and at the end of it all the guests of the Vale slowly began to pack up and start the return to their homes or to their nearest relations for visits. For Sandor though, his time was filled with instructions on where to go, what to do, what to say, who he would meet, and who would join him eventually.

He was to take his family to Gulltown and depart from there and travel to Pentos where the Pentoshi had given the Dothraki Khal ownership of a manse in exchange for peace. Varys had business in Dragonstone with Lord Stannis, but then would meet up with Sandor in Pentos afterwards.

Soon, news had reached Oberyn of their trip to Essos, and according to him he was traveling somewhere across the Narrow Sea for one reason or another and offered to stop through Pentos to take them back to Westeros and host them as his guests in Sunspear for a little while. Sandor wouldn't have cared much, except for the offer of as many lemoncakes that Sansa could possibly eat while they were there and he wouldn't have to put up with sad puppy-dog eyes from either her or the children because there wasn't more to go around.

They said their good-byes to his Mother and Rohanne as they and Lord Santagar departed to return to Rosby. He had extended the invitation for them, but Little Tytos was Rohanne's first baby and she worried about all sorts of things that might happen to him.

They traveled through the mountains with the Redforts for a little while, Jonos happy to see his Father and Grandfather, but they traveled primarily with the Graftons of Gulltown. They had hardly even left the Gates of the Moon when the first person to sing Off to Gulltown began and every few days Sandor heard a different rendition of the song until the damned tune got stuck in his head and kept him up at night. He thought about throwing every single one of those singers off every cliffside they passed by.

When they finally made it to Gulltown there was a ship waiting for them; the Seaswift. The cabins were cramped and Sandor hit his head more than once every day on the beams of the ship. The children were the most excited, though everyone worried for them and they were watched over more carefully than ever before. Thankfully the waves of the Narrow Sea were relatively calm and their journey across the water was brief.

When Pentos came into view of the ship they were ushered up to the deck of the ship to see it before they made port. It was a handsome city with high walls and square towers of brick with red tiled roofs, large buildings, homes, and manses seated on a sloping hill that was topped with a grand palace. They were welcomed at the docks in grand fashion, led directly to a fine large manse left aside by the Pentoshi for King Roberts' diplomats. They were all weary from their travels and Sandor welcomed some rest in a room that did not rock back and forth and where he did not consistently bump his head wherever he went.

"I had not thought we would have the opportunity to see Essos," Sansa said, seated by the window with Duncan asleep in her lap.

"Neither had I," Sandor grunted from the bed.

"I hope the younger children will remember it," Sansa replied, "It may be their only chance to see it."

Sandor grinned, "Unless they run off to Braavos like that sister of yours."

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Arya frowned, squinting down at the children, "I was hoping they'd all be big and ugly, like you."

"Arya!" Sansa hissed at her sister.

Arya's frown morphed into a sneer, "Look at them. They're absolutely adorable."

Sandor laughed at her, after a few moments Arya joined him. Sansa huffed at her sister and went to sit down nearby with Duncan following at her heels.

"What have you been doing since you came to Essos? We hadn't thought to see you here in Pentos," Sandor asked.

"Mother has been very upset," Sansa added from across the room.

Arya ignored her sister, and Sandor was at least a little offended on behalf of his wife, "Being a sword to the Sealord of Braavos has its perks," Arya smiled, "One being that I can come and go when I please. When I am done here I will go back to Braavos and be folded back into the company seamlessly, as though I had never left."

"I don't even think Hedge Knights can come and go as they please as much as a Sword to the Sealord of Braavos," Sandor mused, scooping up the twins as they begged him to pick them up.

"Probably not," She replied, turning, "You should take advantage of the markets here."

Without any more prompting she was gone, out the door without so much as a good-bye.

Sansa frowned and grumbled, "It seems being the sword to the Sealord of Braavos has made her rude."

The girls at least wanted to see the markets, which was good for them because it seemed they could not walk through a street without at least one stall of goods with an over-enthusiastic merchant if they tried. He let his two eight-year-old daughters lead him around as they stared and gawked at everything that Pentos had to offer. Finely dyed silks and exotic sweets and all sorts of little knick-knacks.

They came across a beast merchant, who let the girls play with a ferret that he usually had perched upon his shoulder while he did business. They were absolutely in love with the little thing, but he reminded them that they had kennels full of puppies at home.

After that he bought them each a milk candy and let them perch on his shoulders and look through the market while he walked through. Roslyn got his attention and began pointing across the way from them, he was sure that it was more sweets or another cute creature, but no, she was pointing across from them to where Arya was sitting in the window of a building and watching them.

Sandor sighed and made his way over to her, wondering if he was going to continue to run into her wherever he went. She slipped from the window and met with him, he let the girls down and gave them a coin to buy some more sweets from a nearby vendor, only because they were still a little wary of their Aunt whom they had never met before.

"You should talk to Sansa," He said to her.

She frowned and shrugged, "Why? Sansa's boring."

Sandor was definitely offended now, "You missed a lot at the wedding. Sansa was almost kidnapped, you know. Our wine got drugged."

"Oh, I know that part, at least."

He squinted down at her, "You do?"

"Why do you think I was down on the beach? I happened to overhear the plan to take her, and you both were already gone from the party. So I went down to the beach where I knew that if you didn't kill 'em all then they'd take her right to me," She laughed, "Imagine my surprise when I saw Great-Uncle Brynden and Ser Barristan appear from the hidden tunnel. Took the opportunity to finally go to Braavos."

"What happened to Kettleblack?"

"Fell overboard," She replied flatly.

There was only one time that Sandor saw Arya after that, and it was well past dark when she appeared at their manse door, already drunk and asking for more wine. He poured her a cup of mulled wine, and let her sit in the darkness for a few moments before he sat near her.

"Seems like something's bothering you," He said.

"Just know everything, do you?" She bit back.

"I know enough."

Arya sighed and leaned back in her chair, "It's stupid."

Sandor took a guess, "Missing home isn't stupid."

She looked up in surprise, then seemed to think on his words, "I don't know how to go back."

"Well," Sandor smirked, "First you find a ship-"

Arya snorted a laugh, "That easy huh?"

"I've been told it is."

"It's more... complicated... than that."

"How?"

She frowned and stayed silent for a little while, it seemed to drag on, "I've got a son, back in Braavos. He's about the same age as your girls are."

"What's his name?"

"Cregan," She replied, "Cregan Snow. Or... at least I named him Snow. They don't give bastards names here in Essos like we do."

"And you're afraid to take him to Westeros with you?"

She nodded.

He frowned, "I think you should anyways."

"Why's that? Mother would never approve of him." She asked, downing the rest of her cup of wine and reaching for the bottle.

"Because your Father isn't going to live forever," He said simply. Lady Stark might not approve of little Cregan Snow, but Lord Stark had his own bastard Snow and would have no room to talk about what was proper or not.

Arya hesitated. She left the bottle where it was and slumped back into her chair, "He and Mother would disapprove of all this."

"Probably. But at least think about it."

"Fine."

Chapter Text

The Khalasar arrived into Pentos and immediately took possession of the large manse that was put aside by the Magisters of Pentos for Khal Drogo. It was a palace compared to the humble manse that Sandor and his men and family occupied. When it was time to meet with the Khal and Khaleesi, Sandor and his men, and the boys, were escorted by a few of Illyrio Mopatis' household guards.

From the gates of the Khalasar's manse a pair of Dothraki men led them through the rest of the way to see the Khal and his family, watching them closely as they walked.

Daenerys looked much like the descriptions of Targaryens he'd been given, since he had still been a child when the last of them had been killed or run out of Westeros. She had silver-blonde hair and cutting violet eyes, tanned and all lean muscles and she would have looked as much as any royal would have had she not been wearing the same leathers that Dothraki wore. She and Drogos' children favored their Father mostly, dark haired and dark eyes, while only two of the seven had their Mothers' eyes, and another two with her silver-blonde hair. Only one of them had both.

Set apart from them a little was a man who was not Dothraki. His looks did not call to him as being obvious of Pentoshi lineage, nor of any of the free cities. He could have been mistaken for just another dark-haired Westeros Knight.

Sandor gestured for the boys to line up and they bowed to the Khal together, deferring to him and Sandor thought - not for the first time - about how the fuck he had ended up in this sort of situation. Ser Kirth and some of the other men began to lead Roberts' gifts to the Khal and Khaleesi in - the best bred horses from King Roberts' own stock. Fifteen horses altogether, and Sandor knew each of them were worth thousands of Gold Dragons apiece.

"We are grateful that you have allowed us into your home," He said, struggling a little with the words that Lord Varys had given to him to remember. He had hoped that Varys would have arrived before the Khalasar so that all he would have to do is stand around as a representative, but Varys was still somewhere in the Narrow Sea. "The King of Westeros sends his best horses for you and your family and your people."

The Khaleesi of the Dothraki translated to her husband. He spoke with her lowly for a few short minutes, their conversation was supplemented once by the man who stood near them.

Then the man who was not Dothraki spoke to them in an obviously Westerosi accent - a Northern accent if Sandor had ever heard one, and he'd married a Northerner, "Khal Drogo... appreciates the gifts. I'm afraid the Dothraki don't have a word of thanks in their own language and this is the closest there is without taking the Khal out of context. The Khal compliments you on your sons... though..." The man gave a sidelong glance to the Khal and Khaleesi, "He finds it strange that they all look different from each other."

"I... er... appreciate the compliment, but only one of the boys here is mine, the youngest. The others I have been fostering and training," He replied. After he had already answered he wondered if the man had at first assumed that Sandor had brought a gaggle of bastards with him.

The Khaleesi translated to the Khal, and it took some long minutes of both she, and their apparent speaker, to seemingly explain to him what fostering meant.

The Westerosi man turned back to him, "The Khal wishes to see what kind of training you give the boys."

Sandor looked between him and the Khal and Khaleesi to find that they were all serious about the endeavor. He had heard about how deadly the Dothraki are, how fights between each other were often to the death.

"As long as it's only a spar," Sandor finally settled on saying, "They are still young."

The man spoke to the Khal and it was understood. He turned to the boys, "Rickard, Jonos, off to the side with you. Tybolt, Lewyn, don't be foolish. You yield when you've had enough. I'll not have you too sore to work and practice tomorrow."

"Yes Lord Clegane." The two boys said as one, but their eyes glittered and he knew that they would have bruises and welts before they even made it home.

He went to go join the younger boys who were standing with Ser Kirth as Tybolt and Lewyn began to prepare for their battle. They liked to be similarly equipped, so it was easy for them to be on the same level. Lewyn carried two swords instead of one, so he took one from his belt and threw it away from him to even himself up against Tybolt.

They started with poles, they had not gone up to spears just yet and they always liked to start their sparring with poles and they always started with a clash before jumping back and circling each other. It had become their own little custom, and they continued their traditional opening even now. The two of them prodded each other, testing just what they could get away with.

And then as fast as a snap, Tybolt lunged, hitting Lewyn in the shoulder with his pole and knocking him off balance. He swung the pole around, barely missing Lewyn as instead of trying to catch himself he rolled into it, ending on his knees and swinging his own pole around to try to knock Tybolt off of his feet but was just barely blocked.

Lewyn slid up to his feet gracefully, darting forward with his pole. He and Tybolt swung at each other; a series of hard cracks as each of them took turns striking and blocking, each of them giving their all as Sandor had predicted they would even when he had warned them against it.

Tybolt was finally struck by Lewyn, right in the ribs, and stumbled backwards. He had learned from Lewyn how to roll away after being attacking and did so, giving himself some room as he rolled backwards and landed on his feet. He waited a moment, then lunged forward at Lewyn. It was blocked with a cracking sound much louder than before. Lewyns' pole had broken, not quite in half but enough that it would be detrimental in battle. He threw the pole away, as Tybolt did, and the two of them went for their swords at their hips.

Now when they clashed it was metal to metal, and they were even more defensive now, but neither wanted to give up in their aggressive fighting. Many long minutes passed as they battled, sweat, and sometimes bled from small scrapes (usually from hitting the stone floor rather than a cut from their blades).

It ended when they clashed and Lewyn used all of his strength to body check Tybolt, sending him to the floor, his sword clattering just out of reach. They were both panting hard when Tybolt yielded. Lewyn came and helped him up off of the floor. The two of them stood together and bowed deeply for the Khal and Khaleesi, who were impressed by their show of skills and talked quietly with each other for a short time. He, Rickard, and Jonos came to stand next to the two boys and waited for what must have been more compliments to come.

Instead the Khal spoke and the Westerosi man translated, "The Khal compliments both the boys, and is very interested in the culture of fostering. He wishes for you to foster one of his own sons."

Sandor was taken aback. What was he to say? He looked between the Khal, the Khaleesi, and the translator. They were as serious as ever, it was no jape.

"I am very flattered, but I would have to write to the King, to see if he would allow it."

The Khaleesi translated back to her husband and they spoke. She turned to him and spoke to him herself, "Tell King Baratheon that we would be very pleased if he were to allow this. It will only be one of my sons and surely he would have no qualms with accepting, unless he is afraid of a young boy?"

He frowned, "I will write to him immediately, and I'm sure that he would accept. Only that I would not go and accept before that."

The Khaleesi spoke once more with her Khal and then they were dismissed and escorted out of the manse.

The ship that bore Varys from Dragonstone finally arrived at port, nearly the same time as Oberyn Martell arrived on the ship from Braavos.

"I hope that Lady Clegane and your children have been enjoying Pentos?" Varys smiled.

"It is my wish that I might have a chance to take her away before she becomes too attached to hair dyes and Pentoshi silk. She has been thinking about dyeing her hair purple."

Varys and Oberyn laughed.

"How have things been since you've arrived? Everything go well with the Dothraki, I hope?"

Sandor grunted, "Things got a little complicated after we arrived. I took the boys with me to see them, they had a Westerosi man here acting as a translator."

"Jorah Mormont, I know." Varys lifted an eyebrow, "What of him?"

"He explained to the Khal what fostering was, and asked for the boys to spar. He wants me to take one of his sons to ward."

"The Khal must have been very impressed," Oberyn hummed, "What did you tell him?"

"Surely you didn't refuse outright," Varys added.

"Of course not, I'm no fool. I told them I would have to send a letter to the King, since it concerns his treaty with them. I hired for a raven that could cross the sea, have you seen them? Huge beasts, so much larger than normal ravens."

"Yes, I've seen them," Varys replied mildly, "At least you did not refuse to his face, and no matter what King Robert decides they won't blame you."

The huge raven returned from King's Landing, it's wingspan easily reaching fifteen feet, and the letter from King Robert made its' way through the city and to his manse. Robert, despite not wanting any of the Dothraki or the last of the Targaryens in Westeros, agreed to the arrangement with no fuss. The Khal approved silently and the Khaleesi smiled when they had heard the news from him.

The Khalasar left Pentos before Sandor and his family were to leave, and so their new foster was brought to their manse. The boy that the Khal and Khaleesi presented him was copper-skinned and dark haired like his Father, but with his Mothers' violet eyes. He was introduced to them as Jaehro, the youngest son of Drogo and Daenerys at the age of nine, a year younger than Rickard and Jonos. The boy looked at Sandor with a strange expression, like he was wondering what sort of man his Father and Mother were leaving him with.

With them they were taking Jaehro's yearling, as well as other horses and fine leathers the Khal presented them as gifts for fostering his son. There was also a small chest full of gold and coin, which would have been the most unbelievable part, if he had not been presented with a hand-and-a-half longsword.

At the very first moment he had thought nothing of it, but the shine peeking from under the scabbard disillusioned him immediately. He unsheathed the sword about an inch out of its' scabbard to see what he had feared.

"It's Valyrian steel," He said in awe.

"Yes, we know," Mormont said, "Most of the gifts are from the Khal, but this gift is from the Khaleesi. She gives it to you in hopes that you will protect her son from harm in Westeros."

He shook his head, "I cannot accept a Valyrian steel sword," Though there was something else gnawing at him, as he laid it back on the table and looked it over again. There was something almost familiar to him about the sword. He knew some of the names and descriptions of Valyrian swords, but it had been years since he had learned them.

"The sword was a gift from the Golden Company to the Khaleesi. The Dothraki do not fight with longswords such as this, and even if the Khaleesi was trained in sword fighting it would be too large of a sword for her to wield herself."

He recognized the sword then, at that moment, taking a step backwards with wide eyes, "You cannot give me this sword."

Mormont looked to the Khal and Khaleesi, who were bewildered, then turned back to him, "The Khaleesi is giving you this sword. She wants you to have it."

"You cannot give it to me." Sandor replied, "Do not give it to me. Do you know what it is? That's Blackfyre . That's Aegon the Conquerers' sword. Two hundred years it has been a Targaryen sword. This sword named a house now extinct . You cannot give me Blackfyre . It is too important of a sword."

Mormont and the Khaleesi spoke in the Dothraki language to the Khal, exchanging words louder and louder until they began to argue. The Khal pointed at the sword several times, and at Sandor several times. Oberyn stepped in, Sandor had never been so thankful that he was there. Oberyn spoke in their language and the argument calmed. The Khal was still looking angry.

Oberyn turned back to him, "The Khal insists you take the sword."

"I can't."

Oberyn held his hands up, one towards Mormont and the other to him, motioning for them to not speak, "I told them I would convince you to take it."

"I-"

He was shushed harshly. Then Oberyn spoke calmly and deliberately, "The last known wielder of this sword was Ser Aegor Rivers, who founded the Golden Company."

"I know. He was a Targaryen."

"He was also a Bracken. His Mother was Lady Barba Bracken. Your own Mother is Lady Saera Bracken. Ser Aegor left no children that we know of. You might have been his heir, you share his Bracken blood."

Sandor shook his head, "I have Bracken cousins."

Oberyn frowned at him, "The Golden Company gave it to the last of the Targaryens, and the last of the Targaryens is giving it to you, a Bracken in blood but not in name just as Ser Aegor was. Your cousins aren't here, are they? This sword was meant for you."

Sandor swallowed and his stomach began to settle. He looked back to the sword, the sword of Targaryen and Blackfyre and a Bracken. He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when the Khal was placated by his wife and Mormont. They didn't stay much longer than they had to after that, and he and Oberyn were left surrounded by the Dothraki riches.

He loosened his sword belt, laid his old sword aside, and took up Blackfyre. It hung heavy on his hip and he was unsure if the sword was actually heavy or if the weight of it was in his mind. It certainly weighed down his soul.

"You'll have to go to Braavos," Oberyn said, as he turned to leave to tell Varys about the legendary lost Targaryen sword, now found, "All that money needs to be changed from Essosi coin for Westeros coin."

Sandor grumbled, "Right."

Chapter Text

The Cleganes left Pentos on different ships. Oberyn was taking Sansa and the children and boys to Sunspear, making good on his offer of hospitality, as Sandor and Varys took a faster ship to Braavos to get the coins and gold from the Dothraki traded for something he could actually use when he returned to Westeros.

As they docked Varys left ahead of him, Arya who had tagged along slipped away, and Sandor heaved the chest up and followed him from a distance. It was easy to navigate the streets to the Iron Bank and when he had finally made it up the steps of the Iron Bank and in through the doors he was sure that he should have just hired a couple of men from the docks to carry the chest for him. His arms ached and he was out of breath when he sidled up to Varys and one of the Iron Banks' representatives.

"My friend, Lord Clegane," Varys introduced him to the man. Then introduced the man to him, "Tycho Nestoris."

He gave a quick bow of his head before he set the chest onto the table between Varys and the Braavosi man.

Tycho Nestoris eyed the chest with some curiosity, but turned to Sandor and spoke to him directly, "Your friend had not yet come to what it was that you wanted, but the Iron Bank is always happy to be of service. Did you want a loan?"

"No, no loans. I wanted to exchange some Essosi coin and some gold for Westeros coin," He unlocked the chest and Varys helped to open the lid without spilling any of the contents. The Braavosi mans' eyes widened a small amount, it was clear that he was trying to keep his surprise from his face.

"Normally you Westerosi Lords want to borrow money, but I see that you are very rich and have no need of it." Nestoris smiled cordially, "There will, of course, be some small amount of payment for the exchange."

He grinned, knowing that was coming but it didn't matter with how much there was in front of them, "Of course."

Tycho Nestoris left the table and returned with three of the Iron Banks' apprentices and a scale. The apprentices began to count out the coin, carefully marking down how much of each coin they came across, and Tycho began to weigh out what was not coin. Varys watched over the proceedings with a critical eye, and he was glad that the Master of Whispers was there to make sure that the Braavosi took down accurate numbers.

It took several hours for Nestoris and the apprentices to get through the whole of the chest and when they came back with a number Sandor was more than elated. Ten thousand Gold Dragons, or at least the equivalent of. There was a large mix of Dragons, Moons, and Stags that was paid out to him. And that was after the Iron Bank had taken their cut. Varys was happy with the amount as well, as according to him they hadn't tried to take too much for themselves. Sandor wondered just how much of that was thanks to Varys' presence.

He did not make the same mistake when they left the Iron Bank and hired himself a couple of men to take the chest for him. When they came to the Inn they were staying at he put the chest at the head of his bed and immediately fell asleep.

Sandor and Varys were to leave the next day directly, and he was almost surprised when they arrived at the docks of Braavos to Arya waiting for them with a little dark haired boy. He didn't say anything, and neither did she.

Sansa had stopped counting the days that they had spent traveling on the Narrow Sea to Sunspear, as she was just continually sickened throughout the journey. Oberyn was very understanding through the whole of the trip and helped to distract her children so that she would be able to find what little rest she could. It didn't make any sense though, because she hadn't been that sea-sick while they had been traveling to Pentos.

Not counting the days helped though, because before she knew it they had arrived at Sunspear. They were greeted by the two princes of Dorne, Quentyn and Trystane Martell, and Quentyns' wife, Gwyneth of House Yronwood. Behind them and their children was Oberyns' paramour Ellaria and some of their daughters.

Oberyn went directly to Ellaria and Lewyn went to his Mother Tyene. She still felt sea-sick when she was greeted, and begged pardon from the welcoming feast that was being thrown for them.

Oberyn took pity on her, "Ellaria and I could watch the children. I know the trip was very hard on you."

"Thank you," She replied quickly, feeling queasy and not wanting to puke all over most of the royal family of Dorne.

"I'll send a Maester for you," Quentyn said quickly, "He'll give you something to settle your stomach."

"Thank you," She repeated, but she was feeling a little green and needed to go. Oberyn gestured for his lover to watch over the children and he went to escort her to the chambers that had been made available for her and Sandor. Tybolt came with them, after quietly agreeing with Lewyn that it was the best course of action that one of them be by her side, as they were the older of the wards. He helped her by offering his arm and walked with her the entire way.

As soon as she was shown into the room, Tybolt grabbed a chamber pot and she was immediately sick in it, emptying what little contents her stomach held from that morning. Oberyn, despite needing to go and attend the meal, stayed with her for a little while. The Maester arrived and Oberyn waved him in.

Poking and prodding, the Maester went about assessing her health. He gave her a tonic to help settle her stomach and she was able to lay down and finally relax a little while the Maester continued to look over her. After a long while the Maester whispered to her, "It's not likely to be sea sickness."

"What would it be then?" Oberyn asked.

"Lady Clegane is pregnant."

She sighed and smiled, "What a little trouble-maker."

Oberyn laughed, "Shall I have some food sent up for you, now that you've had something to settle your stomach?"

Sansa nodded weakly, "That would be lovely, thank you."

He left at once, as well as the Maester. Tybolt pulled up a chair next to the bed, she turned to him, "You don't have to stay. Go and enjoy the meal."

Tybolt flushed, "Lord Clegane wouldn't be happy if you were all alone while you were feeling sick. And I'd rather be here in case you have need of me."

She hummed, about to reply and tell him that he was being silly, but fell asleep instead. She awoke a short time later when Tybolt gently woke her up to eat the supper that had been brought up to her. It was a light meal, or at least lighter than she suspected the supper had actually been. There was a bowl of thick lamb broth, flatbreads, steamed chickpeas, some dainty lemoncakes, a glass of lemonsweet, and a glass of sweetened goat milk. As she ate, Rickard, Roslyn, Ahslyn, and Duncan came to bid her goodnight and she gave each of them a kiss before they left with Ellaria to their guest chambers. Lewyn, Jonos, and Jaehro came to bid her goodnight as well, and Lewyn changed spots with Tybolt, the two boys eager to be on hand if she needed anything She was thankful to them, but it was also a bit ridiculous, especially since Lewyn should have been with his Mother while he had the time here with her.

Oberyn came to check on her one last time before retiring himself, and he came with Ellaria after she had put the children to bed for her. He smiled, "Feeling better?"

"Much better, thank you," She sighed, still feeling rather weak from all the stress of travel.

"May you be well enough to be able to see more of Sunspear tomorrow. Or even just be well enough to walk before your husband gets here."

She laughed, "I'm sure I'll be well enough before then. He and Lord Varys were going to Braavos."

Oberyn smirked, "With the fastest ship in King Roberts' fleet, and us on one of the slowest. It will be no time at all before they make port here."

"Oh, I would like to see him again so soon. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out that I am pregnant again. Could you... keep this a secret until I see him?"

Oberyn pressed a finger to his smile, "My lips are sealed, Lady Clegane. I shall leave the good news for you to break."

She thanked him again and he and Ellaria left her to finish her meal. She was able to eat a good portion of it and immediately fell back into sleep.

Sandor and Varys were met at the docks of Sunspear by Oberyn and his two nephews the Princes of Dorne. Arya had already disappeared with her son, Sandor wasn't sure if he would see her before leaving Sunspear or if she would be out of the city before he even made it up to the Old Palace. Oberyn smirked at the two of them and said, "Your Lady Wife is waiting for you. She wished to speak with you directly." They walked together to the main thoroughfare and through the first gate of The Threefold Gate up into the city, "How did it go with the Iron Bank?"

"It went very well."

"Yes," Varys added, "I do believe depending on how much he has back at his Keep, he may be one of the richest lords in Westeros now."

"The exchange must have been very good. May I ask how much you were able to wring out of them?"

They passed through the second gate. Sandor cast a sidelong glance backward to the two men he had hired to carry the chest up for him. They weren't paying any attention, "Ten thousand."

Oberyn hesitated a step, "All that to foster one boy?"

"I don't think the Dothraki know the value of anything besides horses."

"Well, if Varys is right and you're now one of the richest Lords, what are you going to do with it all, I wonder?"

"Some of it will go into dowries for my daughters."

"Even a sliver of that amount would have every eligible Lord and Knight riding hard for your doorstep."

"It would at least allow them to marry whoever they choose. I don't know how everyone else does it. How are you supposed to figure out who'd be the best husband for your daughters? They're still just girls and I've already gotten letters offering marriage to whichever sniveling son of a lord from all over Westeros."

Oberyn laughed, "My daughters are very capable of fending off unwanted suitors. I don't have to deal with such thoughts."

"Nor do I," Varys laughed too.

"Not a word of their dowries to everyone. I don't wish to suffer having to entertain a hundred men in my little Keep."

"Lips sealed," Oberyn replied.

Varys smiled, "Perhaps you may spend the money building up your 'little keep' ?"

Sandor hummed and thought about it, "There's an idea."

They passed the third gate and walked up into the courtyard of the Old Palace. Sansa, their children, and their fosters were all there waiting for him. His little wife came up to him and gave him a kiss, fierce as any, and smiled at him.

"What?" He asked, not being able to help smiling back.

"I'm pregnant again."

He grinned, "Another pup?"

She nodded enthusiastically, "I had thought that I was having the worst sea sickness! I couldn't eat a thing the entire journey over! And the very first night here the Maester confirmed that I was."

Sandor bent down and kissed Sansa again, their children and wards bursting into giggles behind them.