This is the last of it folks. I started writing this over a year ago but the idea was stewing since the end of season 6. It's been a joy and a pain to write but most deeply satisfying. I really hope you enjoyed it even though there wasn't a happy ending. Can't wait for season 8!
FYI, I have no plans to write anything else but I have parts of a companion piece to this. It's this story but from other characters POV: Arya, Brienne, Tyrion, Jon, Podrick, etc. I may post that eventually or I may just leave well enough alone. We'll see how bored I am over Christmas break. =)
Hija de Sandor, you're faithful reading and reviews have been much appreciated! I'm so sorry that I didn't give you a happy ending but maybe this will help just a little. Hugs!
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Many Years Later:
Arya
Arya sat in the Godswood of Winterfell beneath the carven face of the great red weirwood where it seemed so many lifetimes ago her sister had sat, graceful and noble and beautiful, ever the Lady of Winterfell. But Arya was the Lady of Winterfell now and Storm's End. She had been for nigh on twenty-five years.
Her eldest son, Eddard Baratheon, was being groomed to rule the South so Gendry could join her in Winterfell. Only recently had she told him that she was tired of the South and wanted to go home. These past twenty-five years she had given him four sons and two daughters. He was loathe to deny her anything.
She touched the carven face of the tree. She loved Gendry dearly but Winterfell was and always would be her home.
She recalled a moment long ago, her and Sansa standing on the ramparts of Winterfell before Jon arrived with the Dragon Queen and her armies, the calm before the storm, she thought.
"In winter we must protect ourselves." She said aloud. "Look after one another. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."
A harsh, rasping voice broke the silence. A voice she hadn't heard since the Great War. "Little wolf," was all he said.
He emerged from the trees, still one of the largest men she'd ever seen. His hair was flecked with gray, wrinkles around his forehead and mouth, still heavily muscled even in his older years. But his scars were the same as she remembered.
"Sandor Clegane," she said steadily. "It's been too long."
He looked around, "I'd say it's been long enough."
They were silent for a moment, both lost in memories of a dear loved one, long dead and gone.
Arya cleared her throat, "How long will you stay?"
To her great surprise, he kneeled before her. "Lady Baratheon, I've come to serve House Stark. If you'll have me."
In her surprise she was silent for several moments.
"Get up you great brute!" She exclaimed finally. "And never call me 'Lady Baratheon' again. Next time I'll have your head," she said with much amusement.
She sighed more seriously as he got to his feet, surprisingly graceful for a man of his age and stature. "Sandor, you were to be my good brother. You don't have to ask to serve House Stark. You don't have to serve at all. You will always have a place here."
They both turned towards the sound of approaching hoofbeats.
It was her middle son, a lad of thirteen, and her youngest daughter, only four. She thought it fitting that her daughter should be here to meet the Hound. Perhaps like calls to like, she thought.
"Mother," her son Robert said. "Sansa wanted to visit the Godswood. We didn't know you were here."
She reached up and pulled Sansa off the horse.
"I should have known to bring you with me." She said to her daughter. "Just like your namesake."
Robert was sizing Sandor up, ready to protect his mother, though she needed no protecting. "Mother, are you alright? Shall I summon Ser Lothor?"
The threat of Ser Lothor Brune might have made Sandor laugh, but he was staring at her youngest daughter who stared right back, unafraid.
Arya spoke to her son firmly, "No Robert. This is a friend. Now go on to your lessons. I'll take Sansa back with me when we're done here."
He nodded to his mother, cast one look back at Sandor, and trotted off on his horse.
There was silence for a moment.
Her daughter was a near perfect reproduction of her namesake, with thick auburn hair, vivid blue eyes, and high cheekbones visible even through her round baby face. She had the look of a Tully through and through.
Arya spoke, "She's the only one of my children with the Tully look. The others all look of the North or Baratheon. But she loves the cold and Winterfell. The others love the South."
Sandor cleared his throat and approached the child slowly, "Sansa," he croaked, quietly.
To his astonishment, the little girl held her arms out to him to be carried. He looked at Arya questioningly.
She nodded, "It's alright. You can take her."
Sandor took her into his arms carefully, as though handling a dainty package. The child looked into his face intently. He attempted to turn the burned side of his face away but she put her small hand on his chin and firmly guided his face so she could see him, burns and all.
Finally she smiled, "You're Sandor Clegane. You loved my aunt Sansa. She was very beautiful. I look just like her. And you killed the Lannister bitch." She spoke as though to an old friend.
Sandor let out a loud bark of laughter at that and Arya scolded her daughter.
"Sansa! You know better than to use that language."
"But Mother," her daughter's delicate brow furrowed in confusion, "that's what you call her."
Arya waved her daughter's comment away, "yes, but let's not tell your father."
The child wiggled to be let down and grabbed Sandor's hand to lead him to the great weirwood. Sansa raised her arms to Sandor indicating she wanted to sit in the exact spot her aunt sat so many times. Arya saw Sandor hesitate.
"Please ser?" the girl asked.
At this the Hound responded. He lifted the child to her preferred destination and said, "Not a ser, Little Bird."
She giggled at this. "Little Bird? I like that." She looked to her mother. "Mother, can I stay here with Sandor? Please. I want him to tell me all about my aunt Sansa."
Arya gave Sandor a questioning look. He nodded once.
She replied to her daughter, "Yes, that's alright with me little one. But mind your manners and don't go running off. Wouldn't want any White Walkers to steal you from me."
The child's eyes widened. "Sandor will protect me. Won't you Sandor?" She turned to him, her face full of a child's trust.
His mouth twitched into a smile, "As my lady commands."
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So even though this is the end, I'd still love to hear what you thought of this story, the characters, the plot, the ending. Please read and review!
***Just in case I need to say it (I didn't think I did but I'm not so sure now), Arya's daughter Sansa is NOT, I repeat NOT, romantically connected to Sandor. He would be at the VERY LEAST 50 years older than her. She's meant to be more like the child they never had, NOT a romantic replacement. Just in case I needed to say that...***