AUTHOR NOTES:

* The main characters and places of this story belong to G. R. R. Martin.
* This story has been beta-edited by the lovely Ladycyprus and KBelle1
* Sansa is 18 and Sandor's about 30.
* Cover image by Martina Cecilia specially for this story.
* You can follow me on tumblr; my username is chaouenmadrid
* Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! :)

"There are some people who are only in each other's lives for a short period of time - but when together, touch something deep within the other that leave them forever changed. When Sansa Stark and Sandor Clegane met again years after the Battle of Blackwater, an overwhelming spark ignited between them, against which both were unable to fight"

- Maester Clydas, 294 AL. The Wall -

CHAPTER 1

THE GRAVEDIGGER

He'd been watching her for a while from a distance. She was kneeling at the foot of one of the many graves in the cemetery; most of which he had dug without remembering for who. She was wrapped in a grey cloak that concealed her face. The color of her hair was wrong, but he well knew the curve of her neck, and the gentle shape of her shoulders, now cleared of hair by a breath of wind. He saw them frequently when he closed the eyes at the end of the day.

His mind spun with unresolved questions: What in the seven hells was she doing at the bloody Isle? Where had she been hiding all this time? How had she managed to avoid capture by the Gold Cloaks, with a warrant for regicide on her head, she who used to be so fragile, so scared? How had she ended in his hidden corner of earth, long ago forgotten by the gods? Why, of all the damned places in Westeros, did she end up where he was?

It was meant to be a day like any other- rising with the sun, carrying water, chopping wood, repairing houses, tending Stranger, harvesting the garden, eating the meager stew prepared by the cook, digging in the cemetery and collapsing exhausted in his cell every evening. He might have shared a flagon of wine in silence with Elder Brother. Maybe he'd dream about her again. Instead, she was there, twisting his peaceful routine.

The commotion had begun before lunch. He had heard the monks who were allowed to speak whispering among themselves about the visit of two women who had arrived on horseback that morning. On occasion women came to the Quiet Isle looking for Elder Brother's help with a birth or to heal a disease. They were often penniless farmers, girls raped by soldiers or an elderly woman reluctant to admit that her hour had come. He had never been interested in them. His interest was in working, digging, eating and sleeping. These two women were different, as everybody was nervous, looking at the barracks where they had met with Elder Brother. That same feeling of anxiety invaded him upon Elder Brother's summons.

Before entering his cell he saw a woman almost as big as himself- well armed, ugly and vaguely familiar looking. He slipped inside and met the eyes of the Elder Brother, who looked at him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He knew with one look that this meeting was going to change everything.

"You may have noticed the women that arrived this morning" Elder Brother began, "I know one of them, the tall one. She visited us about a year ago with tales that she was looking for her younger sister. She also wanted to kill the Hound, but as we know the Hound died by the Trident long ago. Now she returns with the missing sister- who doesn't looks like her- because the girl wants to visit the Hound's grave." The smart man's eyes pierced him then, "I sent her to the cemetery; to that first grave you dug. She must be there already. I thought you'd like to know."

So there she was, a ghostly presence kneeling in front of the pile soil that she had been told was the grave she was looking for. The anonymous corpse would not deserve her prayers. Truth be told, the Hound did not deserve them either and he certainly would have scoffed at them.

He enjoyed the pleasure of watching her a little longer, trying to accept that her figure was not a figment of his imagination. Then she rose to leave. It was cold and the wind blew strongly, entangling her hair.

"Little bird, what are you doing here?"

His voice sounded strange after many months of silence. The words came out rough, harder than he'd have liked. He reflected that in the past he had used a similar tone when he spoke to her and felt a sting of regret at the thought. She turned to him and perhaps his eyes betrayed him, as he saw a faint smile trace her lips.

"I was told the Hound was dead, and I've come to see his grave."

"Why?"

"I have not forgotten who saved my life… and I'm probably the only one in the Seven Kingdoms to mourn his death."

Her voice was the same, the contour of her face, her blue eyes… but somehow she wasn't who he remembered every night. This little bird was a woman grown; taller, with fuller breasts, a woman's curves, and she looked him straight in the eye. She wasn't frightened to find him there, suddenly emerged from the dead, and he was suddenly consumed with longing. Why, of all the places you could fly you had to come here, to find the grave of a man who was dead to the rest of the world? What the hell do you want of me, girl? He wanted to shout. Instead, he approached her, stopping too close. A faint flick of her eyes told him she noticed his limp, embarrassing him like a child.

"You've grown up, girl"

She nodded with a sigh "Too much"

Unexpectedly, she raised her hand to take off his hood. He felt her soft hand touching his scarred face, caressing the burnt flesh. A trail of fire shot through every one of his scars at her trembling touch. She looked into his eyes, quiet and fearless, and with that new look that made him shiver. Fearing that she would fly away, he grabbed her wrist in a clumsy attempt to keep her close just a moment longer. Losing her once had been almost unbearable; he had not the strength to endure it a second time. With surprise that his crude gesture failed to illicit rejection or disgust, his mind became consumed with the thought. He pulled her to him, burying her in his arms, and as he held her slim body in his embrace, the rest of the world stood still.

He nuzzled his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of forest, autumn grass and a slight trace of something purely feminine. The touch of her palms on his chest made him feel as if his heart would burst. He fought the urge to mock her as he did before. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run away with her; to send to the seven hells Elder Brother and the monks, all gods known or unknown, old or new; and ride with her to the woods, defeated and defenseless, to get lost between her legs and make her his forever. He pulled her closer, enraptured by her and suddenly surprised that she was with him still. He felt how she clutched her fingers at his chest and murmured "Thank you".

It had been a long time since he had last held a sword, but at that moment, he felt an overwhelming urge to kill. Kill Lannisters, Freys, Kingsguard; anyone who had ever hurt her. He would condemn to death anyone who dared to touch a hair on her head and to cut the tongues from all who dared speak her name. He would be the one to keep her from danger, if she would give him the chance; because this time he knew he could really keep her safe.

He'd broken his vow of silence in speaking to her, but Elder Brother knew the truth of it. His mouth twisted into a smile at the thought as he whispered against her crown, "Little bird"

He stayed on the hill long after she was gone. He was shivering, though he wasn't sure if it was from the cold wind or from the traces of her scent that lingered after their embrace. After his life of nightmares, that evening had a dream-like quality, but it was someone else's dream, someone worthy; not a dream belonging to one who had once worn a hound's helm.

He heard steps approaching from behind and suddenly the Elder Brother was next to him. They remained in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sound of the wind blowing.

"Maybe you were wrong", Elder Brother finally said, "The Hound must have done something right, because it seems at least one person did care for him."

Sandor was still reeling and at a loss for words. This was unfathomable. Elder Brother, however, knew damned well how to read people.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked directly.

Sandor shrugged. "Don't know. Follow her, if she lets me. Protect her, fight again. Die sooner than later by a stinky road."

"Well, she's really a reason worth dying for."

He glimpsed Elder Brother's confident smile out of the corner of his eye and held back a curse. Elder Brother knew him well. The man had tended his fever and was there when he had deliriously poured out his heart on those first days on the Isle. Her name had come up several times between blasphemies, whimpers and remorse, almost as much as his brother's. First, the man had listened, then he had talked, and for the first time in years, the Hound's soul had felt some ease. That had been before, when he believed she was lost to him, another pretty thing vanished among the horrors of the world. Now everything had changed; she was there, looking at him in that bloody new way, as if she was glad he was there. Seven hells, I must be raving mad again.

Elder Brother gestured for him to follow and they walked again down the hill to prepare the dinner for the monks, as he had done so many days before.

(If you liked it, you can also read the same oneshot story from Sansa POV in one of my other fics, "The Grave". Thanks!)