Second Chance // Sandor Clegane

2. The Path to the Hound

    It was not longer than half a day before I reached Westeros. I chose to swim around the southern region of Essos rather than risk a run-in with the Volantene Coven, purposefully landing in Dorne. I planned to see the country in its entirety, and to take my time doing so.

    I stayed in Dorne for a year, one of the most beautiful cities I'd been to by far. I grew quite close with the Dornish prince, Oberyn Martell, and his partner Ellaria, but especially Oberyn. He was a breath of fresh air, just a wonderful presence. When I met him, I wondered how I'd lived so long without knowing him.

    Long days were spent wandering between the foliage, absorbing all of its beauty. My self-control surprised me, never having been in that close of proximity to humans, unless I was feeding on them. But the urge to feed from my new acquaintances was outweighed by the admiration I held for them.

    Leaving Dorne was difficult, and leaving Oberyn behind was painful. It felt like venturing out of the sunshine and into the rain. But Dorne was not the sole reason I crossed the sea, and I knew deep inside that I'd be doing myself a disservice by staying in one place.

    After bidding an emotional farewell to my newfound friends, I started northwest to Highgarden. I hunted along the way, stopping to explore and inspect every inch of my surroundings.

    I stayed the same duration in Highgarden as I did in Dorne, falling in love with the city in the same way I had the last.

    I built new relationships, having long talks ripe with wisdom in the gardens with the ruling house Tyrell's matriarch, Lady Olenna, and taking to her granddaughter Margaery like an older sister. Margaery also told stories of her brother Loras, but he'd been residing in King's Landing during my stay.

    They dressed me in the finest clothes and fed me the finest food (that I would later upchuck when I had the privacy to do so). The Tyrell women treated me as one of their own; they made me feel human again.

    On the day of my departure, I was sent off in a new silk dress, the one I had arrived in tucked neatly in my satchel.

    My new dress was a bright crimson with black lace trim, picked by Margaery to match the ribbon I refused to swap for a new one. Nonetheless, I was still sent off with new ribbons in my bag. "Just in case," Margaery had said, putting them in my hands.

    After Highgarden came the small town of Bitterbridge. I decided only to stay for a day, as there was not much to immerse myself in. I spent most of the night at the local tavern, where I beat a man in an arm wrestling match, every man in sight clamoring to buy me an ale afterwards.

    It was not too difficult to pretend I was drinking when the company I was in had already consumed so much prior to my arrival.

    During my night out, I heard talk from other patrons about the terrible fate that the Stark patriarch had recently suffered on the orders of Westeros's King Joffrey.

    From what I'd gathered, Lord Stark had suspicions that Joffrey was not the son of King Robert, and conspired to help Robert's brother Stannis acquire the Iron Throne. My chest ached at the thought of Lyanna, how she would feel when she discovered that her son's sole protector was now dead.

    As I left the tavern that night, I came upon a grotesque old letcher attempting to drag a younger woman into an alley. I ran to them at a pace that would not raise suspicions, and without a second thought, I grabbed the man by the throat.

    Quickly, I grabbed my new blade from its place on my hip and plunged it into his chest, dragging it downwards.

    As I dropped the now lifeless body to the ground, I returned my sword to its sheath and looked down at the woman who was breathing heavily and watching me with wide eyes.