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Lady Sansa of Winterfell watched the jousting tournament with disinterest.
She understood why Jon thought it was important. A celebration of peace, and a chance for all the knights and guards to show off the strength of their banners. A time to be joyful and feast and see visitors from all the realms. So she sat, and smiled, pretended to be a proper lady, a good host. But she just wanted to go back to her rooms and be alone with her thoughts.
She seemed to spend much of her time lately daydreaming about things that once were, things that could have been. When the war ended, her family encouraged her to seek out an "appropriate" husband. She declined and pushed for changes to their traditions. She would rather rule alone, even if it meant no heirs. Arya could shoulder that burden, or King Jon himself, bastard or not.
The crowd's sudden excitement and cheers drew Sansa from her thoughts, and she stepped closer to the ledge of the viewing balcony, more to wave to the crowd, put in one less appearance before retiring for the day, rather than to see what was happening. What did she care about jousts and swordfights now? The day's events should be almost over by now, so she waved to the crowd, nodded to her guard and turned to go inside.
But out of the corner of her eye, she saw it, glittering in the sun. One of the competitors, the victor, evidently, was wearing a helmet in the shape of a dog's head. It looked just like HIS helmet. The mark of the Hound. How dare they?
She called to her guards and ordered the man to be brought inside. She was fuming. Her guards followed her in, as did her brother Jon.
"What is Sansa, are you going to give a favor to the victor? That seems unlike you." Jon teased.
"No…. I am going to kill the victor" she seethed.
"What? Why? He fought well, won fair and square… he isn’t even a guardsman, he had no banner."
Sansa turned, scoffing at her brother and the guards that waited along the walls.
The doors opened, and in he came, helmet on, sword at his hip.
He was only 10 feet, maybe 15 away. She kept her back to him, trying to school her voice. Her own blade hidden inside the folds of her skirt. She would teach that man to be so disrespectful in her presence, in her land!
The guards who had escorted him in seemed uncertain of what to do. This was highly irregular. Was Lady Sansa going to offer the man a favor? A prize? She seemed angry. Had she seen the man cheat? It seemed like a fair battle to all who watched. The man was a beast, tall, fast, brutal. Perhaps the wins spilled more blood than strictly necessary, but that is the way of such men.
Sansa took a deep breath. She gestured for silence.
She spoke to the room at large, still not facing the man.
"This is to be a time of celebration… and you come into my lands, into my home, wearing such a helmet as this? How dare you Ser! Have you no decency? No respect? No honor?"
The man had not said a word. He knew to speak out in front of the Lady of the North meant certain death.
Sansa was becoming angrier as she spoke, and stalked towards the man now. "Did you take that helmet off his corpse? Like a common thief? I will kill you for disrespecting his name and memory." She was screaming now. "Take off your helmet and die with your face shown, like a man!"
When she had begun yelling at him, right in his face, mere feet away, the man had begun to shake, to tremble within his armor. He bowed before her, removing his helmet and placing it on the ground and then rising once more to face her, finally.
The guards looked on, confused, and horrified once they saw the face of the man, a horribly ugly mess of scars. Half his face….. mangled, deformed. There were gasps in the room.
Sansa was shaking like a leaf, staring into his face. "Sandor?" she whispered. And then she was launching herself at him, clinging to his shoulders, jumping into his arms, and he caught her, holding her up against him in the air.
"You're alive!? You're alive! Thank the gods!" she sobs, nuzzling into his neck, holding his head, her hand on his ruined cheek. There were tears running from his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, as if in a dream "Little Bird?".
The guards and Jon had watched in shock, at this very improper scene. This beast of a man holding the lady in his arms.
"Lady Stark…. Sansa…. Sister…..What…… what?" Jon stammered, stepping towards them.
Sandor let Sansa down to the ground gently, pushing her back from him, and knelt before Jon.
"Forgive me your majesty". He grunted out.
Sansa ordered the men to leave them. Jon, his Kingsguard, herself and Sandor were soon all that remained.
Sansa turned to Jon, unsure what to say, how to explain…. She gestured towards Sandor and said "Jon, brother… this is….. this is….."
Jon barked out a laugh "the Hound of the Lannisters? Yeah, I know. Can’t mistake a face like that!"
Sansa fumed…"No… not the Lannister's Hound. MY Hound. MINE!"
She grabbed Sandor's hand and tugged him away, back to her rooms.