DISCLAIMER: This story is entirely based on character[s] from George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire

The Younger Son

The lands southeast of Lannisport were verdant with grass and rough and uneven with hills and mountains. The terrain was poor for tilling but served well for grazing sheep, which Beth's family had done for as far back as anyone could remember. Most families worked the same land or the same trade from generation to generation, unless some young man could prove himself able enough to their masters to be taken on as a squire or soldier. Their master Clegane kept a small retinue of soldiers and a maester at arms but most promising lads preferred to win a place with their Overlords, the Lannisters, who were Wardens of the West. The Cleganes had not long been created landed knights: the current master's father had saved Lord Tytos from a lioness , losing three of his dogs in the effort and was rewarded with the keep and tower house and all its lands. Though still derided by some as merely elevated kennel-keepers, the commons largely though of Clegane as a decent and fair master and attributed his taciturn manner to being unaccustomed to his station.

The master had two sons; his only daughter had died young though no one quite knew the circumstances. The elder son was a squire but was believed destined for knighthood for even at a young age he was bigger than any man that anyone could remember seeing and he was well trained at arms and reputedly knew no fear. The smallfolk said he was a veritable mountain of a man and soon he came to be called that very name. The younger son was not yet a man but was also a big boy and strong though he was not often seen and so few could say for certain; they spoke of him in hushed tones, a monster, some said: his young face gruesomely disfigured by scars from a fire. Fire was the punishment of the gods, the suffering of the seven hells, and disfigurement was a sign of their displeasure. The boy must be marked for misery they said, and warned their children to stay away if they saw him.

All this was known in the village and the crofts and mills that encircled Cleganes Keep, from which flew the family's banner of three black dogs on an autumn yellow field. They were vassals pledged to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the richest lords in Westeros. Lord Tywin had served twenty years in King's Landing as the Hand of the King and was also Warden of the Westerlands. They had wealth, peace and protection and did not fear the winters or raiders from the distant rebellion. No man dared defy Lord Tywin Lannister, not since he had razed Tarbeck Hall and Castamere.

Beth lived in a crofter's cottage with her family. She helped with the cleaning and cooking, tended their few chickens and milked their sole cow. She was old enough to help with shepherding now, and so her father and brother began to take her into the hills some mornings to teach her the work; her father had only one son, so Beth would have to help now that she was older. Then she was send back to the cottage to help her mother. She had played with other children when they were all younger but they all had chores now and worked alongside the adults. Soon boys would start apprenticeships, or become soldiers or work their fathers' pastures or mills. Girls would soon flower and then marry and have children and keep their own homes.

Sometimes in the afternoon when her chores were done and the supper not needed yet, Beth would walk from the cottage to the stream. Where once she had thrown rocks and climbed trees, now she picked wildflowers or sat and listened to birdsong and sometimes wondered when she would flower and be married and to what boy. Sometimes she thought she might like to live in the village but other times she wanted to stay in the hills and woods and quiet. Villages had taverns and smiths and shops and lots of people and there were piles of horse dung and bad smells. Her father, who had once herded sheep all the way to Lannisport, said cities were even worse,

One afternoon, she found a kitten and her parents grudgingly let her keep it, but she was to feed and clean up after it. The kitten was tiny and soft, with little green eyes and grey fur and he mewled and waved his tiny paws and chased the hems of her skirts or any ribbon that she dangled in front of him. She sometimes brought him outside to roll in the grass and sniff at the fresh air and he would wander away but never very far until one day he ran faster than she could catch him and she chased him all the way to the road. She could hear horses approaching and caught him just as a great destrier reared to miss running her down. She rushed to the side of the road and curtsied low, as she had seen women do in the village when Lord Tywin's men passed. A great man swung down off his heaving horse, he was clad in heavy armor and stomped towards her, furiously angry.

"I should have run you down, stupid cunt!" he yelled at her in his deep voice. He loomed over her, blocking out the sun. He was enormous: tall and broad with thick legs and arms and neck. His face was red and his eyes and the muscles in his neck bulged from fury. The Mountain, she realized. Beth was terrified but tried to apologize to him.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I am sorry, I was afraid for my kitten: he's just so small." She held him out to show him.

The great man growled and snatched her kitten away. Glowering at her, he squeezed it tightly and it gave a sharp tiny cry before spitting up blood. Beth heard the little bones crunch and gasped. Then the man turned and slammed the kitten's lifeless corpse into a tree trunk with tremendous force, breaking open its skull and leaving a bloody clotted stain on the tree bark. She stifled a scream and covered her face with her hands and then felt something warm and wet land on her bare feet. The man had tossed her kitten back to her.

"Stay out of my road, little bitch, or I'll do the same to you!" he roared as he mounted up. His men had remained silent and followed him now as he spurred his horse and rode off at a gallop.

Beth stood by the roadside, stunned and shaking and trying to catch her breath. When it finally came it was in gusty sobs as she looked down at the horrible little mass of bloody fur and guts and brains. She wrapped it in her apron and carried it crying back to the cottage where her father and brother had just returned. When she told then what has happened, they exchanged grim looks and told her never to speak of it. Then her father sent her with her brother to dig a hole and bury her kitten. Beth was desolate and ate no supper and went to bed teary-eyed and sniffling.

Two days passed and still she did not go to the stream or near the road. She worked hard and silently mourned her kitten and struggled with trying to understand why the man had killed it, why he was so mean and angry. On the third day when she returned to the cottage from the hills, there was a woven basket sitting outside the door.

"Mama," she called. Her mother set something down with a bang and came to the door.

"What is it, child?"

Beth pointed to the basket. "Is it washing?"

Her mother looked at it, clearly not knowing what it was or where it had come from. She bent and pulled at a length of white linen and then jumped back. "There's something in there."

Beth kneeled and peeked under the cloth that her mother had let fall back into the basket. Inside she saw a black kitten staring out with golden eyes.

"Oh! Is it for me?" she cried and lifted it from the basket. It had tiny white paws and dug its claws into her dress when she held it to her throat. It felt soft and warm against her chin.

Her mother bent again for the cloth and held up an apron, fine linen and finished with fancy stitching. She gathered it all up quickly. "Come inside," she said darkly, and looked around before closing the door shut.

Her mother told her father as soon as he returned. He looked at her sharply. "You were to tell no one, girl; we cannot be known to speak ill of the master's family; not over a bloody kitten."

Beth shook her head. "But I didn't tell, Papa; I haven't even seen anyone since then."

They knew she was telling the truth but were still wary. Days passed and Beth went again to the stream, taking her kitten in its basket and playing in the grass. It jumped at her skirts and batted its paws at her hem when she swayed and moved. Finally it sunk its claws in her apron and tried to climb her. She giggled delightedly. Then she heard the branch snap. Startled, she picked up her kitten and held it to her tightly.

"Who's there?" she called, her voice shaking. She looked around and felt someone was there watching her. "Please, you're scaring me," she said when no one answered.

"Don't be scared," a scratchy voice answered. "I just wanted to see if you liked him."

Beth turned and thought she saw a dark sliver of someone behind a tree. "Who are you? Why are you hiding?"

"You don't want to look at me," the voice mumbled.

"But…I want to thank you," she told the voice as she moved closer to the tree. "Why did you leave him in the basket?"

"I saw what my brother did. He's mean. I'm sorry."

His brother, she thought: the burned boy. She knew he was about her age but she had never seen him before. They said he was horrible to look at but he had done something kind for her so she had to thank him.

"That was kind of you." She edged closer and looked around the tree. He stepped back and turned away as he saw her.

He was tall and sullen-looking and stared at the ground. "Leave me be," he muttered sourly.

"My lord, you're the younger son," she said.

"We're not lords," he spat the words out.

She saw his face then and gasped. He had dreadful burns on the side of his face: all red and black and shriveled from his jaw to his past where his ear should have been. His dark hair was brushed over the burns on his head. The livid red skin made him look angry. He was angry now.

"I told you not to look at me!" he raged and jerked his head away again.

"I-I'm sorry, but… it looks like it must hurt; do you feel pain?" He talked like it hurt to open his mouth and his voice sounded like he hardly used it: all scratchy and hoarse.

"I don't feel anything," he muttered darkly. He glanced back at her, trying to keep his burns hidden from her. The kitten was batting at her hand now and trying to nip her fingers. "You like him then?"

"I love him," she smiled tremulously. "You are thoughtful to give him to me. Will you tell me what to call you, so I can thank you?"

He had been staring at the ground and so glanced sharply at her again. "Sandor," he mumbled.

"Thank you for my gift, Sandor. I like it very much," she said with her best manners.

He grunted faintly and kept looking down.

"I'm called Beth," she told him.

"Beth," he repeated, then kicked a rock at his feet. "You're pretty," he muttered shortly and walked away without looking back at her. A moment later she heard a horse nicker and snort, and then the sound of hoof beats on the road.

"Oh, kitten," she whispered, putting her head down to brush her cheek on its soft head. "Poor Sandor."