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"Life Is Not A Song."
The Clegane Keep had not always been so grim and desolate, for a time it had once been considered agreeable and somewhat hospitable. Though the feeling of welcome had come with the lady of house Clegane, Lady Wren Clegane. Lady Wren had a firm hand but a gentle heart, as did her oldest daughter Sable Clegane. Alas not all her children had been born with a gentle heart, her first born son Gregor Clegane had somewhat of a nasty temper. His blood would boil to the point of destruction and the boy would not let anything stand in his path. When he was but a mere child Wren and her husband Ser Aldred were able to sooth him, though the older and larger he grew the more difficult it became to sate his temper and thirst for destruction.
By the time Wren's second son was born, the light in Clegane's Keep began to fade along with her. During the difficult birth her daughter sat by her side, as did her husband for a time. Though the moment he realized she would not succumb from this birth, he stormed out and refused to look upon the child that was set on ending her on his way into the world. Wren had not even gotten the chance to hold her son, her light had snuffed out while his sister clean the blood from his pink face.
"Sandor,"
Had been Wren's last words, and that is what the boy had been named: Sandor Clegane. Sable had remained at her mother's side, holding the small babe to her breast as she looked down at him with wide grey eyes. She found she could not any ill will towards the sweet child, what had happened was no fault of his. He was an innocent, but she knew her father and brother would think different, it would be up to her to keep the boy safe.
Later that evening Aldred had found them huddled up by the fire, Sable had been humming a soft tune to the sleeping babe as she rocked him gently in her arms. It was obvious by the way in his step, Aldred was quite drunk. Sable glanced up at her father, her thin lips pulled into a frown as she held her baby brother close.
"What are you doing, girl?" he slurred,as he staggered over towards her.
"Lower your voice, Sandor is sleeping." she said, her tone cold as she turned her attention back towards the babe sleeping happily in her arms.
"Who in the Seven Hells is that?" he slurred, his lips curling up into a sneer.
"Your son."
Aldred's intense grey orbs shifted over towards the bundle in his daughter's arms, and he felt the rage fill up his chest. He looked just like her, his Wren. While in most this would bring about a certain fondness, but in Aldred it brought about distaste and hate. "He's no son of mine." he slurred, waving his hand in a angry motion. "He's a runt, feed him to the bloody hounds. I'm sure they'd be happy for the scrap of meat."
Appalled by her father's suggestion Sable stood to her feet as she held her brother close, her grey eyes full or rage as she stared up at her father. She was a very headstrong woman, the type to stand her ground despite her small size. "You will do no such thing." she said, her voice stern. "If you will not have him, then I will. You do not have to look upon him, if it please you. Sandor is my responsibility." she said, her voice full of promise as she looked down at her sleeping brother, how could anyone hate someone so pure and sweet?
From that moment on Sandor became like a son to her, she was there when he began to crawl, when he had taken his first clumsy steps, when he had said his first word. She never once went back on her promise to protect him, Sandor was her world. He had even taken to calling her "mother" for a time, though Sable was quick to correct him knowing that her father and brother would have none of that. Sable was happy with Sandor, just as he was happy with her. She did her best to keep Sandor out of their father and brother's way, teaching him how to be kind, brave and understanding. She didn't want him to turn out like their father and brother, and she knew her mother wouldn't want that either.
On the morning of Sandor's seventh name-day, he and Sable had been sitting on the floor as she ran her fingers through his long messy dark hair. His hair always seemed to find itself in tangles, though Sable didn't mind weaving the out, nor did Sandor. He always liked to claim she had a gentle touch, she never hurt him when she gently tugged the tangles away. With Sable at his side, life had been bearable. Sandor had lived his life learning to fear his father and older brother, but he knew Sable would always be there to protect him and when she was near he had no reason to fear. She was like a savior of sorts, keeping away the bad and darkness from his life.
"So, what would you like to do special today, little man?" Sable asked gently, as she stroked his hair gently.
Sandor paused as he thought over her words, today was his name day and as Sable claimed he could do whatever he liked, he had no responsibilities for the day. "Eat lemon cakes?" he said, though it came off more like a question which made Sable smile.
"Of course, I'll have cook whip you up a special batch." she grinned, as she pulled him onto her lap and wrapped her arms around him snugly.
"Might be, I'd like to play with my wooden sword." he said softly, as he rested his head against her shoulder.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea, perhaps you'd like to take the hounds along with you?" Sable suggested, as Sandor nodded his head in agreement.
Sandor had then spent that day filled with joy and the thought of fear out of his mind. He had ran through the yellow fields, swinging his wooden sword with the hounds at his heels. He often liked to pretend he was a knight, just like the one in the songs his sister liked to sing to him before bed, he hoped that one day he'd actually become a knight. He thought the life of a knight would be a fulfilling one, he'd defend the weak and save fair maidens from those who were wicked just like his brother.
Sandor didn't know his older brother well, but he was not oblivious to his temper. Sandor had witnessed it on many occasions, Gregor had always left a trail of destruction in his path the moment his anger reached his limit, which did not take too long to reach. The servants were afraid of him, as were the hounds. Gregor had never given Sandor a passing look, each time he merely walked by him as if he didn't even exist. Though this was something Sandor didn't mind, he was glad Gregor never stopped to see him. He was afraid if he seen him, something horrid would happen, he didn't know what but he felt it deep within his bones.
As the blue sky began to turn red and orange, much like autumn leaves, Sandor made his way back to the keep in search of his sister. It did not take long to find her, all he had to do was follow the smell of Lemon cakes. A small smile appeared upon his lips as he watched her from the door way, his grey eyes wide with delight as he allowed the wonderful scent to wash over his sense. When Sable had taken notice of him, she smiled sweetly.
"Your supper is almost finished, why don't you stand by the brazier to warm yourself. It's quite chilly outside, and I would hate for you to get a cold." she said gently. "I'll fetch you once it's ready."
Sandor nodded his head as he turned on his heel and made his way towards the brazier that stood outside, the closer he got to it the warmer he became. He hadn't realized how cold he had been until he felt the heat kiss his flesh, as he stood his grey eyes began to wander and that is when his gaze landed on his brother's little wooden knight. It had been sitting on a tree stump, standing proud. Sandor tilted his head to the side as he studied the find crafted wood, it even had strings attached to it so one could pull at his limbs and make it seem as if he were fighting.
Slowly he glanced around, just to be sure he was standing alone, and when he did not detect movement he shifted closer towards the stump and picked up the little wooden knight. He held it up high as he studied it in awe, it was much better than the knight he was given. Carefully he pulled at the strings, causing the knight's sword to jump in the air ready to defend. Sandor laughed gleefully as he gave the string a tug once more, he was sure Gregor wouldn't even notice, he never seemed to notice much of anything, besides he was far too old for toys.
Sandor then sat himself on the dirt floor as he continued to pull at the strings, making the little knight fight a dragon that was not there. Though little did poor Sandor know, he was not alone. Gregor had been on his way inside the keep when he had heard his little brother's gleeful laughs, and when his grey eyes fell on the knight that rested within his grubby hands that dangerous anger began to boil under his skin as he made his way towards the boy, his foot steps heavy on the ground and his face twisted into one of pure abhor.
As Gregor round up behind his brother he watched as Sandor innocently fiddled with the wooden knight, oblivious to the pending danger that stood behind him. Then with lightening reflexes Gregor reached out and picked up his little brother by the collar of his tunic, causing him to gasp he dropped the wooden knight to the dirt. Gregor then gave him a toss in the air, as he grabbed him from around the middle and tucked him under his large arm as if he were naught by a log for the fire.
Sandor gasped and pushed at his brother's strong arm, but Gregor didn't even seem to notice. "L-let me down!" Sandor begged, as he continued to claw at his brother's flesh. Sandor had clawed Gregor's arm raw, leaving angry bleeding claw marks, while under Sandor's fingernails were caked with blood from the struggle. His grey eyes then grew wide as he notice his brother's approach to the brazier, and in that moment he felt his stomach drop.
"G-Gregor, please! Let me down, please!" he sobbed, as he continued to claw at him.
Then in ominous silence Gregor dropped Sandor to the ground, allowing him to land flat on his stomach near the brazier with a gasp as his breath was knocked out of his small body. Then without given Sandor a moment to breath, Gregor grabbed his little brother by the scruff of his neck, and pressed the right side of his face to the burning coals. As the flames consumed his flesh, Sandor began to scream, an awful bloodcurdling scream as his flesh began to blacken, blister and crack.
The pain was unimaginable, the smell was worst. In that moment Sandor was sure he was going to die as the flames began to eat him alive. It had taken four men to pull Gregor off of him, though Sandor did not remeber much of it. His world was consumed by blackness as he fainted from the pain, and the milk of the poppy the maester had given him and kept him out much longer. Sandor was in a state where he didn't know much at what was going on, but he could still hear the voices around him, and at times feel the throb and sting of pain in his face. Sandor felt the peeling of bandages sticking to his angry blood flesh that oozed and blistered, he felt the prodding of tools to his skin, it was torture even though he couldn't express it physically.
"The corruption has spread, I fear it must be cut away." the soft voice of the maester claimed.
"What can be done?" Sable sobbed.
"I can take away the rotting flesh,and try to burn out the corruption with boiling wine." said the maester. "But I do suggest you hold him down, there will be quite a bit of pain."
Sandor had screamed louder the second time, the scent of burning flesh still lingering in his nose. Though it was over before Sandor could blink, his weary mind dead and exhausted from the trauma he felt. Sandor didn't know how long he had been bedridden, and he found he didn't really care. All he wanted was for the pain to go away, but it still continued to linger. When Sandor finally woke, Sable was the first person he had seen. Her eyes were red from crying, and her cheeks stained with tears.
"...Sable." he croaked, his throat dry from lack of water.
"Sandor!" she gasped, as she stood and rushed over to his bedside. Slowly Sandor attempted to sit up, but winced at the horrid pain and fell back into his bed. "You must not push yourself, you're not well." she said sternly, as she took a seat besides him. She then picked up a flagon of water and brought it to his ruined lips, even the water hurt as it passed his lips.
"It...it hurts." he whimpered, and Sable frowned as she brushed back a strand of his hair on his good side. "I know, little man. Just rest, and you shall be well." she said gently, as she offered him a weak smile.
"Will you," he trailed off as he opened his eyes to look at her once more. "will you sing to me?"
With another smile she nodded her head as she reached out to take his hand gently in hers, stroking the back of it with her thumb as she began to sing:
Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, Let them know a better day. Gentle Mother, strength of women, Help our daughters through this fray. Soothe the wrath and tame the fury, Teach us all a kinder way. Gentle Mother, font of mercy, Save our sons from war, we pray. Stay the swords and stay the arrows, Let them know a better day.
And it was his sister's sweet voice that lulled him to sleep that night, and all the nights to come.
Sable had been at Sandor's side each and every day, she refused to leave him alone. She had slept beside him in case he needed her in the night, and even took her supper in his small chambers. No one could rip her from her sweet little brother's side, she would not allow it. She had even began to dress his wounds when the maester could not, at times Gregor would sent the maester away just to make things worse for their little brother, and who was the maester to no to Gregor?
When people had asked after Sandor, it was their father who jumped to Gregor's defense and claimed it was merely an unfortunate accident, Aldred claimed Sandor's bedding caught fire in the night. Hearing those lies set Sable's blood aflame, how dare her father stick up for that monster! Of course, someone with a fiery will as Sable did not allow the lies to spread, she spoke the truth of it and pointed the finger of blame towards Gregor and rumors began to spread. She wasn't surprised they had reached her brother and father as quickly as they had, she was glad it had.
Then one sunny afternoon Sable had went out to the stables to feed the hounds, due to the simple fact most of the servants had fled the keep once the truth came about. The hounds were happy to see her, and happily accepted the table scraps from the night before with wagging tails. With a sigh Sable leaned up against the wall of the kennel, her thoughts wavering to Sandor, her poor little brother. The maester had said claimed it would leave a nasty scar, and as she thought of the scar it would leave him her hate for Gregor became stronger.
Slowly she reached out scratch one of the hounds behind the ear, though before she could even touch the creature it began to whimper and back away from her. Sable felt a cold chill rush down her spine, as she turned to face her brother. He was only twelve years old, but he was much taller and larger than she'd ever be, but she was not afraid. The silence fell between the two of them as they they regarded one another with grey eyes.
Gregor was the first one to advance on her, causing her to stumble back a step as she looked up at him with wide grey eyes. "Gregor, stay away from me." she said sternly, as she held up a hand that was meant to stop him.
Though Gregor kept coming, and the moment he reached her he grabbed her by the head, both large rough hands on either side of her face. Her hands reached up on instinct as she gripped at his wrists, pulling at them with all her might but he was far stronger than she would ever be. Gregor then squeezed, and she screamed as the pressure began to build in her skull, her eyes almost popping from her sockets. The scream was enough to send the dogs running from the kennels, and then with one swift movement he screams were put to a silence as the crack of her neck echoed throughout the kennel, and her frail body dropped to the dirt, her wide grey eyes glazed over and staring into nothingness.
When Sandor awoke next, he was alone and Sable was no where to be seen. He had remained up for hours, despite the pain in his head as he waited for her to come. It was the maester who came this time to change his bandages, and that is when he heard the news.
"Where is Sable?" he whispered, the left side of his face throbbing with pain.
"I am so very sorry to be the one to tell you," he said as his pale lips fell into a frown. "your sister is dead. She had tripped in the kennels and broke her neck, I suspect one of the hounds knocked her over. Gregor was the one to find her."
At the old man's words Sandor felt his face fall as he allowed the horrible news to soak in, his sister was dead. He would never see her again, never hear her voice again, she will never sing him songs or tell him stories. And Gregor had found her, that couldn't be right. It had to be Gregor that caused this, that was the only connection Sandor's mind could come to. This was Gregor's fault. And as he sat alone in the darkness that dreary night he realized it had all been a lie: The songs and the stories. Life was not a song, good things did not happen to good people.
Four years later Gregor had been knighted by the dragon prince, Rhaegar Targaryen. Not only was life not like the songs, but the knights were not good people either. For as long as Sandor could remember he had wanted to be a knight, but now he spit at the word. Honor and glory were all lies to make idiot boys want knighthood and idiot girls to spread their legs for them. Shortly after Roberth I Baratheon came to the throne, their father had died in a hunting acident, which was also implied to be suspicious, leaving the family estates to Gregor. There had been rumors that Gregor had killed their father, their sister and his first two wives, Sandor had believed them be to be true. That is what Gregor did, he killed without thinking.
Clegane Keep had become a grim place where servants vanish unaccountably and even the hounds are afraid to enter the bloody hall. Sandor hated his home, there was nothing there for him. As he grew older he became bitter and hateful of everyone and everything, especially his brother. Sandor hadn't grown into a handsome man either, he never expected to be considered as handsome with his ride side a burned ruin with a stump of an ear, slick black flesh pocked with deep craters and cracks that ooze red and wet. The scars had extended down to his bloody throat and left his jawbone exposed, he was lucky his right eye had been unaffected. This and his large height and build made him feared, and Sandor would much rather be feared than loved.
Sandor had taken on life alone, and he wanted to continue it that way.
In the world of songs and beauty, there was nothing. They were only lies to keep one satisfied with their dull life, to keep them oblivious from all the truth. To Sandor life was made up of the strong and the awful honest truth. There were no Gods, no true knights or fair maidens. If you couldn't protect yourself, then die and get out of the way of those who can. It was sharp steel and strong arms that ruled the world.
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