Commissioned from @mathiaarkoniel as a belated birthday gift to myself. It is an illustration of Sansa’s false memory of being kissed by Sandor in ASoS and AFfC.
Tyrion plans to exchange Sansa for Jamie behind Joffrey’s back and he gives Sansa a magic potion that makes her appear dead. Completely devastated Sandor is ordered to bring Sansa’s body back to the Starks to prove she had died of natural causes. On the journey Sansa becomes increasingly aware of her surroundings and hears Sandor speak.
Joffrey- Well struck Dog! Did you like that? Sansa- It was well struck, Your Grace. Joffrey- I already said it was well struck. Sansa- Yes, Your Grace. Joffrey- Who’s next? Herald- Lothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord Baelish. Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard. Ser Dontos the Red of House Hollard! Ser Dontos- Here I am! Here I am! Sorry, Your Grace. My deepest apologies. Joffrey- Are you drunk? Ser Dontos- No. I..no, Your Grace..I..I had two cups of wine. Joffrey- Two cups? That’s not much at all. Please, have another cup. Ser Dontos- Are you sure, Your Grace? Joffrey- Yes, celebrate my name day. Have two. Have as much as you’d like. Ser Dontos- I’d be honored, Your Grace. Joffrey- Ser Meryn, help Ser Dontos celebrate my name day. See that he drinks his fill. Sansa- You can’t! Joffrey- What did you say? Did you say I can’t? Sansa- I only meant it would be bad luck to kill a man on your name day. Joffrey- What kind of stupid peasant superstition? Sandor-The girl is right. What a man sows on his name day, he reaps all year. Joffrey- Send him away. I’ll have him killed tomorrow, the fool. Sansa- He is. A fool. You’re so clever to see it. He’ll make a much better fool than a knight. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death. Joffrey- Did you hear my lady, Ser Dontos? From this day you’ll be my new fool! Ser Dontos- Thanks you, Your Grace. And you, my lady. Thank you.
He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away. The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him. The Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but he caught her arm. “No,” he growled at her, “no, little bird, he was no true knight.”
The night of the battle, Sandor Clegane had come to her chambers to take her from the city, but Sansa had refused. Sometimes she lay awake at night, wondering if she’d been wise. She had his stained white cloak hidden in a cedar chest beneath her summer silks. She could not say why she’d kept it.
Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone.(insp.)
