Little Latte

Years after the Great War a traveling group of brown brothers reaches Winterfell and seeks refuge from cold rains inside the castle walls. One of the devout men is a mysterious monk who towers over his brothers and never lowers his hood. Sansa dares to hope she might have a clue about who the stranger is.

She stayed outside for a long time. When at last she sought her own bed, wet and chilled, only the dim glow of a peat fire lit the darkened hall. There was no sound from above. The young singer sat in a corner, playing a slow song to himself. One of her aunt’s maids was kissing a knight in Lord Petyr’s chair, their hands busy beneath each other’s clothing. Several men had drunk themselves to sleep, and one was in the privy, being noisily sick. Sansa found Bryen’s old blind dog in her little alcove beneath the steps, and lay down next to him. He woke and licked her face. “You sad old hound,” she said, ruffling his fur.

Sansa and Sandor Clegane Fan Art by http://bubug.deviantart.com/

“When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” – Eddard Stark, Sansa III, AGoT

Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was  s c r a t c h y  against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.