His palms were sweating like he was about to go into battle. The fluttering in his gut had him feeling like he was 12 years old again, and he was running from his monstrous brother. The pulse thrumming in his neck was equivalent to the pounding of a war-horse's hooves, and for the love of the gods, he could not stop clenching and unclenching his fists.

Yes, Sandor Clegane was utterly out of sorts, though he supposed most grooms felt that way the morn of their wedding.

The past weeks had passed in a blur - a joyful and astounding blur to be sure, but complete confusion none the less. Try as he might, he could not even recall the details of the tourney. He remembered his name being moved up in the rankings, and he recalled robotically knocking boy after boy into the dust. It was the longest tourney of his life, as countless men had answered the offer of the King, to win his beautiful sister. The day was cool, yet Sandor had worked up a boiling, nervous sweat.

Two moments remained crystal clear to Lord Clegane. The first was when he had stepped into the ring for the ninth time, and came face-to-face with the offensively proud Lion of Lannister, painted onto the crimson and gold shield of an unrecognized man. Immediately, Sandor felt his rage sharpen his focus, and that battle was nearly the shortest of them all. In that instant, Sandor wished that he swung a real sword, one not dulled for tourneys.

The final clear moment occurred as he finally, finally, defeated the last opponent standing - a flowery young man from Highgarden who seemed to be a crowd favorite. There were the shrill cries of women as the rose-knight fell, and it was the Hound who remained.

He dared look up then, as the crowd both roared applause and displeasure seemingly equally, to the royal seating dais. King Robb and Queen Jeyne clapped slowly, a look of slight concern shared between the two before they returned their gazes to the new champion. Yet the princesses, both seated a level lower, stood to their feet and clapped wildly.

Princess Arya hollered and jumped up and down, tugging a hesitant smile from Sandor. Yet he quickly shifted his eyes to the little bird, to Sansa, to his bride-to-be, and it was then that the apprehension completely left him. She was crying, though not in sadness, but rather through her gasping laughter and grins. Unlike her sister, she managed to stand still in a ladylike manner, but her happiness was clear enough to Sandor Clegane, and any other who doubted the match.

He didn't much care what anyone else thought after that.

"Lord Clegane." The voice snapped Sandor back to the present, and he looked up from the table where he was attempting to force himself to eat, despite the nerves. At seeing who was visiting him, Sandor Clegane stood and bowed his head curtly.

King Robb was no longer a little boy playing at swords, but rather a full-fledged ruler in his own right, iron crown nestled upon his dark auburn curls. He had filled out in the shoulders, almost looking like his kingly father, though not nearly as solemn.

"Your Grace," Sandor answered respectfully and waited until the King sat down before re-seating himself. Almost instantly, two servants appeared on either side and placed breakfast in front of the King, a steaming plate of salmon and honeyed toast.

Robb studied his opposite's face for a long moment, before stating: "You marry my Sansa today."

Unsure how to respond, Sandor simply replied, "Yes."

"She looks just like our mother now. I'm sure you remember." He took a sip of wine and continued to study Sandor over the rim of the goblet. "She is a sweet girl...woman now, I suppose. Sansa is clever, and though she allows her kindness to get in the way sometimes, she would make an adept Lady of a great house. I told her as much when she proposed that ridiculous sham of a tourney."

Sandor shifted uncomfortably on the bench, not confident at where this conversation was going.

The King continued without waiting for a response: "House Martell, I suggested, or House Arryn. Never in my mind did it occur to give her to anything lesser, yet she insisted otherwise. I had my suspicions that she had someone in mind when she offered the tourney idea, but I went against my better judgement. I wanted to please her, and it seemed a good way to unite the realm once more."

"And you weren't betting on a Clegane to win," the Hound finished for him, taking a swig of wine and feeling his nerves increase even more, if that were even possible. He knew how unworthy he was of Sansa, no one else needed to remind him. The whole realm was laughing at her for gods sake, thinking her fully wasted on such a lesser lord - a scarred, brute of a lord no less.

Robb gave a short, humorless laugh. "Well, no. I was not. I hadn't seen you in court since my coronation." He paused, and for a moment Sandor glimpsed the boy he once knew. "Lord Clegane...I really must ask..."

"Just out with it then."

He looked up with a new determination in his Tully blue eyes, a fierce protectiveness. "Sansa. Is this just some play for power for you? She is too sweet a soul for you to toy with, Clegane. And frankly, if you do not swear to me here and now that you will treat her gently and with all the respect a great lady deserves, I have no qualms about finding an 'accident' for you."

Incredulously, Sandor barked a laugh. "No offense meant, Your Grace, but do you really take me as such a bloody fool as to not recognize my good fortune? I know who the princess is, and I know who I am. I swear to you."

King Robb looked quite a bit relieved that the threat had gone through without any opposition, and took another drink, before standing once more. "Well then. I will see you at your wedding, Lord Clegane."

The little bird walked down on her brother's arm slowly, her face slightly obstructed by the lace veil that shrouded her. She carried sunflowers. Her direwolf maiden's cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, a think gray and white fabric, richly made. Sandor Clegane, former sworn shield, thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

She placed her hands in his own, and as the veil was lifted, she peeked shyly at him. She cheeks bloomed into red roses, and her hands gave his a slight squeeze. He was floored by the happiness he felt standing across from her, not listening to the Septon's speech.

As the prayers were recited, words and promises exchanged, Sandor was awash in a blur of memories. Their years together passed in a haze in front of his eyes. His charge, his unlikely companion, his sneak-thief, his friend, his foolish hope, his bride, stood before him. And they stood together, supposedly forever, if this Septon was to be believed.

And by Gods, did he want to believe him.

He draped his cloak around Sansa's shoulders, and kissed her in front of the whole bloody world to see, and the Septon pronounced them before the gathered crowd as man and wife.

As they faced the clapping assembly, the blushing little bird peaked up on her toes and whispered to her husband with a smile, "I still think you're the handsomest and bravest man in all the land, you know."

Sandor Clegane the Royal Sworn Shield smiled. It turned out his job wasn't so bad after all.

...

Holy shit lol when did I start this. Over a year ago? Well better late than never! :) Thanks everyone