Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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THE FIRST THING Sandor Clegane noted was that he lay on the floor in a stone room. Vials of numerous shapes and sizes lined the walls on split wood shelves and small pots of flowers and herbs dotted a table before a wide window. The second thing was the stiffness in his leg and the aching pain in his shoulder. He pushed himself up —or at least tried to— his shoulder gave and he hit the piles of blankets and linens that surrounded him with a groan.

"The Hound lives." Brother Ray looked down at the disoriented man with a bemused smile. There were over a dozen times that he thought the Hound would have died yet he had shown immeasurable perseverance to live.

Sandor looked around at the near-barren room. "The fuck am I?" His voice was hoarse from disuse and had an even harsher rasp from the dryness of his throat.

"The Quiet Isle," Ray responded, moving over to fetch a cup of cool water pulled up from the well. The holy man pressed the cup into the Hound's hand and saw the confusion on his scarred face. "In the Bay of Crabs."

And then he remembered her and how briefly he had remembered smelling the sweet scent of roses. "Where is she?" They had been in one another's company now for two years, he was not keen on imagining what his days would come to be like in her absence. He wished he could hate her, but that was impossible. No, Anya Whent had wedged herself into his heart of stone.

Brother Ray knelt, a fond little smile coming to his withering lips at the thought of Anya —a stubborn little rose with too many thorns to count. "She wished to return to King's Landing to look for her kin."

The Hound tried to stand again. Pain spread through his leg but he tried his damnedest to push through it. "Just where do you think you're going?" Ray asked, almost laughing.

"King's Landing," he rasped.

"Not with that leg" —the old septon shook his head— "you wouldn't make it off the island." Sandor Clegane didn't listen and somehow he managed to get to his feet. His balance lasted all of a few seconds before the splinted leg gave beneath his weight. "What'd I tell you?" Ray scolded as he stood from a wooden stool. The Hound grumbled and took the milk of the poppy that had been offered and laid back on the pallet.

The elder man returned to his seat and ran his wrinkled fingers across the seven-pointed star representing the Faith of the Seven. "You can stay here, Sandor Clegane," he says. "There's always work to be done in the name of the Seven. You'll have food, shelter, maybe even a bit of coin and wine but first, you must heal, and for that, you must rest."

He huffed in response, never having been one to sit idle. Brother Ray opened up the book of scripture that was propped up on the leg of the stool. For a few moments, Sandor watched him almost suspiciously, only after the elder man had turned several pages did he say anything. "Why'd you let her go back to that shithole of a city?"

Ray shrugged. "It was not my place to deny her." There was an unspoken degree of admiration in Anya's voice when she spoke of finding her kin. In their short time of knowing one another, there was no denying Anya Whent was strong. She was a survivor, just like Sandor Clegane. "Don't fret, though," he said, and Sandor furrowed his brows. "I believe you will see her again. But the true question is, what do you believe?"

The Hound's laughter was rough and mocking. "If I were her I wouldn't come back for someone like me." No, he did not expect the little rose to come back. Not after the hateful things he had said and done since Joffrey snipped her brother's neck on the steps of Baelor. Not after the heated arguments they had on the road.

Now it was Ray's turn to laugh —the old septon had a laugh beginning deep in his belly and sounded nothing short of genuine. "You've spent all this time with her and yet you still don't see." Sandor glared up at the man. "Some love comes like the wind off the sea, while others grow slowly from the seeds of friendship and kindness." Brother Ray stood from his small wooden seat with the large scripture book under his arm. "The gods have given you a remarkable woman. It would do you well to remember that." He left the wounded Hound with those words and the bitter taste of hope on his tongue.