Author's note: This is my first attempt at fanfiction. The backstory and history of the characters will be based off the TV series, I have not read all the books yet (sorry). Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy what I think should happen in Season 8. :)

Chapter 1

Fuck. She was alive…and at Winterfell. Sandor Clegane gave a gentle kick to his black warhorse, encouraging more speed. If he had his own way, he would have ridden his horse into the ground to get to her faster. She was in danger. She might not know it but she was. That son of a whore, Littlefinger, was alone with her at Winterfell. He glanced to his side, seeing Davos riding alongside, his horse desperately trying to keep up with the larger warhorse. Davos had not complained much on their journey, his tired face had begun to look more haggard the farther they traveled. He must have felt the tension seeping from Sandor and understood that speed was key. In the distance Sandor thought he could see towers slowly materializing in the mist. Winterfell, the little bird had made it home. He thought of her as he had last seen her. Sansa, tears on her face and fear in her eyes. His little bird alone in the den of lions and vipers. He should have taken her with him during the Battle of the Blackwater but she had refused. He may be a vile monster, a rabid dog but to her…he would respect her wishes. He thought of what he would say to her, his reason for coming to her aid. Would she be happy to see him or turn him away like he deserved? How did she remember him, a vile brute in her room, bloody and running from a fight? He shoved the thought away, whatever she thought of him, he had to protect her from Littlefinger at least.

Soon Sandor and Davos passed through the open gate. A few men approached but once they saw the Hound, hands went to their blades and a look of fear flittered in their eyes. Fucking cunts, he would kill them all if they tried to stop him. Luckily, Davos was more diplomatic.

"Hello there. We were sent by Jon Snow, King of the North to help Lady Sansa." Davos smiled easily while Sandor glared. "The Lady should have received a raven from her brother of our coming."

"Would my lords care to wait inside while the Lady is found?" One of the men asked, he looked hesitant to offer it. Sandor snorted, they should not let them in but the idea of a warm hearth and ale appealed to him.

"That would be most kind." Davos said, his kind eyes gleaming as he climbed down from his horse. "It has been a long ride and a bit of warmth would do these old bones some good."

Sandor did not say anything as he dismounted, glaring around. He could see some of the guards opening staring at him…and at his scar on the side of his head. Intimidation was never an attribute he lacked; he stood a head taller than any other man besides his brother, and a scowl typically rested on his face. His scar only added to the look of a warrior that you did not want to fuck with unless you were ready to meet your end. A young stable boy approached reluctantly. He lazily wondered how many boys he had killed during his life that were petrified like this one. The boy kept glancing between Sandor and the warhorse, clearly unsure which would hurt him first.

Sandor thrust out a hand to give the boy the reins. "Watch yourself, he bites."

The boy gulped, taking the reins and keeping an eye on the horse, led it away to the stable. Another boy took Davos' horse. The guard that had spoken to them turned on his heel and started towards the Great Hall. Davos glanced over and shrugged before following. Six other guards formed a looser perimeter around them. Sandor smiled to himself at the thought that it would take more than these six to stop him in a fight.

"Hound!"

Sandor stopped in his tracks, his mind momentarily in shock. He had never thought to hear that voice again. He turned to his left to see Arya Stark frozen staring at him. She looked well, still dressed as a boy instead of the lady she was. She still had that stupid sword on her hip, he was surprised it had not shattered yet. Quickly she walked over to him, her brown shoulder-length hair bouncing and a grin on her small, determined face.

"How are you still alive?" Arya demanded, not unfriendly as she stood near him. He could see the guards openly gaping at their interaction.

"I'm a hard fucker to kill. You should have finished me off when you had the chance." He smirked, watching one of the guards' eyes bulge at the comment. "How in seven hells are you still alive?"

"It is hard to kill me now." A ghostly smile spread across her face. "It is good to see you."

"Aye, am I still on your damn list?"

She seemed to think about it a moment before responding. "You paid your debt."

"You might still try and stab me with that twig you call a sword." He joked, more pleased that he would admit to seeing her. During their travels together, a piece of him had begun to care for her wellbeing. She was a pain in his ass but there had been a fire of pain and revenge that burned fiercely in her that he admired. It was reminiscent of his own need for revenge.

"I would cut your throat instead."

He examined her more closely; she had grown up in the few years since he had seen her. She had the look of a killer in her eyes now. It seemed she had finally become what she had always wanted to be. He wondered how many eyes she had permanently closed since their last encounter. "You can fucking try."

She laughed then turned to face the Great Hall.

He followed her gaze and felt his heart stop. Sansa Stark stood just outside the door, a polite, blank expression on her face. She had been a pretty girl in King's Landing but now she had morphed into a beautiful woman. He could not help the lustful thoughts that wondered how her body would look differently in the thin Southern dresses compared to the thick, wool dress she wore now. Her long, red hair fluttered softly behind her with the cold breeze. She clasped her hands in front of her, a picture of a true highborn lady. Behind her stood Peytr Baelish with his usual smug look. Instinctively Sandor put his hand on his sword hilt.

"You might want to keep your hand there." Arya whispered so only he could hear. He felt a sigh of relief that at least one person in Winterfell did not trust Littlefinger.

Peytr Baelish stepped forward and casually placed his hand on Sansa's shoulder before whispering in her ear. The intimacy bothered Sandor but he could not think further on it; Sansa stepped forward, approaching her guests.

"Welcome back to Winterfell, Ser Davos. You arrived much sooner than we anticipated."

"Thank you, my lady. We did not waste time getting here." He gave a slight bow, an easy smile on his face.

She turned her gaze to Sandor and he felt his heart stop again. Had her eyes always been so vividly blue? "Ser Clegane, we were most surprised to hear of your coming."

"I'm not a Ser."

She smiled faintly. "No, I suppose not. You both are most welcome. You must be tired from your journey. Rest and eat, we can talk before the evening meal."

She was still a pretty, little bird with her pretty words but there was something else now. A grimness hung in her eyes, a telling of hard times and their lasting affect on a person. He remembered trying to instill it in her that the world was full of monsters and killers, unlike the knights and maidens in her songs she preferred when they were in King's Landing. Now he saw it, she understood. It was surprising that it pained him to see it in her eyes. She also spoke with a new authority that suited her. She no longer was a frightened girl but an strong woman. He watched her walk away, Littlefinger quickly scampering to her side, before he was directed towards where he would be staying. He noticed Arya still by his side and grumbled.

"What, girl?"

"You will tell us everything that happened?"

"Yes, yes. Let a man bath and eat first."

"Was it nice to see my pretty sister?" Arya teased, still whispering.

It was a good thing he had learned to master his facial expressions long ago, otherwise he would have jerked at the comment. Instead he playfully swatted the back of her head. "Shut up, brat. You are still a pain in the ass. Now scram before I hit you harder."

She laughed and quickly disappeared amongst the people returning to their duties.

"I didn't know you were friendly with the young lady Stark." Davos commented, coming up beside him.

"Don't let her hear you call her that."

"When did you last see her?"

Sandor snorted. "When she left me to fucking die on a hillside."