Sandor couldn't believe that he was going to see her after all these years. He was still struggling to understand why she would agree to come the Kings Landing, but she was on her way; and as he thought about her, he couldn't help but shudder at the memory of his childhood.
As bad as things had been for him as a child, they had been even worse for his younger sister (Y/n). His father had hated the fact that his wife had given him a daughter, especially a daughter that seemed so weak and small.
When their mother had died, their childhood was lost. Sandor and Gregor were trained to fight, and even though their father favoured Gregor, Sandor had, on a very, very rare occasion felt like his father was proud of him; the same could never be said for (Y/n) though. She was forced to train longer and harder than her brothers ever had to; their father hated weakness and he was determined that his daughter would be a fighter even if he had to work her day and night, day in and day out.
Sandor would watch as she practiced hour after hour, even forced to fight against men that were bigger, stronger and more skilled than she was. But no matter what she did, it was never good enough for their father, and at the end of the day he had often beaten her.
Sandor remember how he would sneak to her chambers late at night to help her clean her wounds, and no matter what she had been through she would always smile at him, just at him. To Sandor, she was the sweetest creature in the Seven Kingdoms, kind, and loving despite everything their father did; and the two would talk and laugh. Most nights only ending when she would fall asleep in his arms, as his fingers combed through her long hair.
As the years had passed, she had got stronger, more skilled, taking down any opponent that her father forced her to fight, that was until their father had made her face Gregor. Sandor only able to watch as Gregor beat their sister down. His final strike cutting into the flesh of her face so deep that Sandor could swear that he could see the bone beneath.
As (Y/n) was taken away, Sandor had tried to follow, only to find himself forced back by his father who had told him not to hold out hope for his sister. He had watched for days, as the Maestre would enter and leave his sister's chambers, until one day his visits had stopped. Sandor had tried to ask what had happened to (Y/n) but no one would tell him anything, and from that day he had not seen her again. Forced to presume that she was dead. Her loss, the last time Sandor had ever wept.
Recently though, like others, he had heard rumours that came to Kings landing of a feared female sellsword that wore a mask that covered half her face, supposedly concealing a great scar that she had received in her youth. She was known as the Ghost due to her bright white disguise, and the fact that if you were to meet her on the battlefield the chances were that that was what you would become.
The rumours of the woman had intrigued Joffrey so much that he had immediately sent out the Kingsguard to bring her to the capital, and as Sandor waited for her arrival, he had spoken to the only man that may know something about the woman.
Bronn had looked at the large man in disbelief when he had asked about the Ghost, unable to believe that the Hound did not know the identity of the much anticipated sellsword.
"What do you mean, who's the Ghost?" Bronn had asked, looking strangely at Sandor.
"Exactly what I say. What is the real name of the Ghost?" Sandor asked as he looked over at Bronn who was gulping down yet another cup of wine.
"Well I would presume that you of all people would know what her name was; she is called (Y/n) Clegane. Admittedly not everyone knows that, but as her brother I would have thought you would." Bronn told him, as he watched as the big man visibly stumbled backwards at the knowledge that the sister, he had believed dead for so many years, was on her way to the capital.
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Sandor stood next to a grinning Joffrey, he had been waiting days to see her and the anticipation was killing him; he was unsure what to expect, unsure of how she may have changed over the years. But whatever the answer, he had to see her again.
Suddenly the doors flew open, the Kingsguards entering the room before in walked a person clothed in a large coat of fur, and a dark hood covering their features.
"Well! Remove the hood, I want to see if it is true about what is hiding beneath." Joffrey sneered, looking down at the figure.
Slowly, the hood left the head of the figure to reveal a ghostly white mask, a head of long jet black hair, and a pair of eyes, one bright blue, and the other as white as the mask she wore; Sandor feeling the breath hitch in his throat as her eyes met his. For although he had not seen her face in so many years, he knew those eyes could belong to no one else.
"Remove the mask, I want to see your face." Joffrey ordered, glaring down at the Ghost.
The Ghost hesitated; her eyes still fixed on Sandor's which seemed to be impeaching her to comply with the petulant child's order.
"Remove it now, or I will have someone remove it for you." Joffrey growled, as he indicated for the Kingsguards to move in.
"That will not be necessary." She said, her deep voice echoing around the throne room as she slowly raised her hands to pull on the clasps that held the mask in place.
As it dropped to the floor, Sandor saw for the first time what Gregor had done to their sister all those years ago; the scar was ragged, and extended from her hairline down to her chin, and the cut had obviously damaged her eye when it was made; but despite all that, Sandor could still see the beauty of his sister. She stood tall, proud and brave before Joffrey who gleefully smirked at the warrior.
"It would seemed that you are as beautiful as your brother is handsome." Joffrey laughed, causing Sandor to grip at the hilt of his sword. If he could have struck the impudent child down then and there he would, but as he watched how unaffected (Y/n) was by Joffrey's mockery, he knew that that would be more interesting to let his sister play this out.
"You are too kind your highness, our father always judged beauty by the number of scars you had, therefore Sandor and I must be the two most beautiful people in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. It is nice to see that your highness appreciates such a thing" Sandor couldn't help but smile, as he watched the exchange between his sister and the boy; she had always had a gift with words and as Joffrey started to look flustered, it was obvious that she had not lost that gift.
"Not many kings appreciate the elegance of battle, and the beauty of the marks that they leave behind on those that wear them with pride; I believe that the kings that don't, are fools. Ignorant and impotent, as they themselves fear the fight, but given your compliment to myself and my brother, it is obvious that you are not one of those........... your Highness." Sandor could hear the sarcasm drip off every word as she spoke them, and the uncomfortable look on Joffrey's face was making the whole experience strangely enjoyable.
Joffrey coughed. "Yes of course I appreciate such things, I appreciate those things so much that I order you to remain in Kings Landing and by my side just like your brother. Now you may join him." Joffrey said, motioning for her to stand by Sandor.
As she did so, Sandor saw the old smile that he remembered so well, her hand slipping discreetly into his, holding it tight, as she stood by his side. Despite the years, Sandor knew then that time had not changed her, battle had not changed her, and nor had the scar; the Hound and the Ghost were together again, and nothing, not even the Mountain would stop them.