Work Text:
Sandor Clegane sat in the solar of his family’s modest keep in the North. Twighlight had fallen peacefully as many evenings before. It had become his favorite time of day, these moments when he relaxed on the low comfortable bench near the fire and the world was far away. The ones he loved were close, and he was truly happy. His beautiful beloved wife, Sansa, lounged next to him nursing their youngest daughter whom they had named after his own dear mother. He could hardly believe that he had known a life before he had married his precious Little Bird. She had refused the offer of becoming Queen in the North to be his wife. He remembered her response that day, more than a decade before, when the northern lords’ requested such service of her. “The only thing of which I wish to be Queen is Sandor Clegane’s heart,” Sansa had said unable to take her eyes from him. He asked for her hand only moments afterward. Their ordeals in Kings Landing felt a thousand years ago, and had been replaced with happy loving memories.
Jon Snow had reluctantly assumed the reign of the Seven Kingdoms, but was proving to be a excellent ruler. He had appointed Sansa’s brother Bran, Warden of the North. The boy, now a man, had thus become Lord of Winterfell. Bran had rewarded Sandor for his service during the battle of the dead with a title, lands, and a tower house not far from the Stark’s ancestral estate. It was a warm and welcoming place that Sansa had deemed perfect the moment she saw it. Bran had seen the depth of his sister feelings for Sandor, and the fact that her love was returned equally by the scarred warrior, and was eager to help them on the path to the life together for which he knew they were destined. Sansa and Sandor had been married in the godswood at Winterfell, and their first child had arrived almost a year following.
This night Sandor sat teaching his eldest son to oil and clean the boy’s new sword. The lad, who had been named Ned after Sansa’s father, had recently turned ten years old and had received his first weapon as his special gift. The child was proving to be a strong and skillful warrior. Sansa proudly declared he was just like his father.
The couple smiled at each other as their children played happily, secure and content. Sansa had insisted that their first born child, their eldest daughter, be named after Sandor’s own beloved lost sister. Elinore was now in her twelfth year. This night she was seated demurely in a large chair across the room reading a book that had been one of her mother’s favorites at that age. It was a story about knights and fair maidens. Sansa had been happy to oblige her daughter’s avid desire to read. However, remembering how those stories had skewed her view of the world as a young girl, she was sure to remind her beautiful child that they were only stories, and that in the real world true knights often came in many different appearances. She gave a loving glance to her own scarred but handsome husband when she had given her daughter the caution. Elinore understood, and smiled in agreement.
Sandor and Sansa’s youngest daughter, Catelyn, proudly carried the name of her maternal grandmother, but was the only one of their children who favored her father except for her Tully blue eyes. Almost as soon as the child could walk, it became clear that she also shared the adventurous and fearless spirit of both her father, and her mother’s sister. Cat become angry when she saw her brother’s new sword because she had desired one for herself.
“We will ask your Aunt Arya to bring you back a special blade from her next adventure with Uncle Gendry,” Sansa had comforted her dear daughter. She had already made her husband agree to train each of the children, including their girls, in the art of steel. She had known firsthand how dangerous being a young woman in a man’s world could be, and she was determined that all her children would be able to defend themselves. Sandor had eagerly agreed, and had praised his wife for her clear thinking.
The couple’s youngest son was named Robb after his mother’s dear lost brother. The child, now six years of age, had just begun his formal schooling with their maester and was enthralled by the stories of the old lords of Westeros, and of the gallant knights who served them. He admired his older brother, and wanted to become a knight himself. This evening he sat by the fire happily playing with a small wooden knight that had been his brother’s toy.
Sandor, who had been showing young Ned how to properly wear his scabbard, noticed the smaller boy from the corner of his eye. Some horrible recognition deep inside him stirred and he froze, his blood running cold in his veins. He saw again an image of himself as a child no older than little Robb, playing with his own brother’s long forgotten toy moments before the monster Gregor had taken half his face.
Sandor’s eldest son saw the stricken look on his father’s face. The boy followed his stare to the image of his little brother amusing himself with his once favored plaything.
“Stop!” Ned yelled, backing away from his father and turning toward Robb. “You can’t play with that!” He bellowed. The younger boy innocently looked up at his brother in bewilderment.
Ned pivoted on his heals like a well practiced soldier as Sandor reached to grasp the boy’s arm. His son was quicker, and Sandor missed his attempt. Ned ran toward his younger brother, and his father gasped in horror. Could this really be happening again, and with his own children? Was there something deep in his own blood that would pit brother against brother, always? He had to stop it.
Sandor lunged forward ready to end the terrible scene he felt certain was occurring before his very eyes. He could not bare for his precious youngest son to endure the pain he had known. He would die before he would allow his eldest boy to become the monster his own brother had become. Before he could move, his path was stopped by Sansa’s gentle hand reaching to take hold of his arm. He stared at her in disbelief, his eyes imploring her to do something. Her face was filled with love and understanding as she comforted her husband. She knew from where his fear came. However, she also knew her children.
Ned had nearly reach little Robb when their parents attentions returned to the boys. However, Ned did not finish his path to his younger brother. He suddenly veered off in the direction of a stack of storage chests used mostly for the children’s toys. He ran quickly behind the pile and moved several crates before finding his desired object, a large dusty wooden box.
Ned lifted it and hastily returned on his path to his brother. Stopping in front of the smaller boy, he stared down at him. Sandor could not understand what his son was trying to do as he watched, still unable to relax.
Ned squatted beside his little brother, the box still in his arms. “You can’t play with that...” He warned, “without all of these.” Beaming, Ned squatted and dumped the contents of the box onto the floor. Dozens of small wooden knights, horses, swords, and other objects needed for a play battle thudded onto the floor. Robb gasped happily, and smiled up at his brother who returned the younger boy’s enthusiasm.
Sansa smiled at Sandor and squeezed his arm reassuringly. Sandor visibly relaxed with a large sigh. She watched his unscathed cheek redden as he blushed. How could he have imagined for even a moment that his own dear boy could have tortured someone the way Gregor had done to him. He admonished himself for his lack of faith in his child.
Ned jumped up and ran to his parents with a broad smile, stopping first in front of Sansa. “Mother, would it be alright for me to give my set of knights to Robb? I’ve outgrown them now, and I’m ready for other things.” He smiled and nodded at his new sword still clutched in his father’s fist.
Sansa smiled warmly at her boy. “Of course, my dear. What a generous gift.” She agreed.
“Oh. Thank you, Mother.” Ned smiled. He was pleased that he could make his little brother so happy. He kissed Sansa’s cheek gleefully. She held him proudly for a moment, grinning at his exuberance.
Ned then turned to his Sandor . “Father, could we practice with my sword tomorrow?” He begged. “I would very much like to show my dear brother how to play with the knights and horses.” The child’s proud broad smile lighted Sandor’s world. He tousled his son’s hair, and then held him close. “Yes, my son.” He agreed proudly. “That would be a fine idea.” The boy hugged his father in thanks, and Sandor bent to kiss his son’s head. He held his boy close for a moment longer, his heart ready to burst with love. He watched in relief as young Ned bounded happily back to his brother’s side to instruct him in the finer points of play warfare.
Still holding their infant close, Sansa took a step and nestled into the crook of Sandor’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, relief evident on his face, and stroked the cheek of the sweet babe his wife held. “Do we not have the most wonderful children, Little Bird?” He smiled at her.
She grinned widely up at him. “We most certainly do, My Love!” She agreed proudly.
Sandor stared into Sansa’s eye. He could not imagine any better place to be in all of the Seven Kingdoms. The immensity of his blessings and the depth of his happiness would never be taken for granted. He bent and softly brought his lips to Sansa’s who eagerly returned the loving gesture. After a moment they were brought to laughter by the sound of their little daughter Cat declaring, “Ewwww! They’re kissing again!”