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Chapter Text

It was more like a dream, some sort of a surreal nightmare, and Arya felt lightheaded and dizzy. The ground was moving and shaking under her feet, she saw the ruin and debris, the flames and doom, but everything was quiet. So quiet… There were people passing by, their eyes filled with utmost dread. Many of them had their mouths open but Arya didn’t hear them scream and she wondered if they actually did. If they hadn’t already lost their voices. If that really was the end of things… 

Facing that destruction Arya almost laughed at her mission, at her harboured hate. What did it actually mean now? It was so meaningless and small. Just like she was. A tiny speck of nothing. Her killing of the Night King didn’t mean anything to anyone here. Nothing mattered anymore. 

“Shut up…” 

Arya blinked. Somewhere above her head she heard a distant screech of the dragon. She came to her senses and realized she was bleeding on her forehead and had dust all over her face. She looked down at the street and saw the ridiculously distorted bodies resembling burnt trees. Charred into coal and ash. 

Dragon fire will burn us all… 

No fire! 

Arya breathed in sharply, her eyes wide. She smelled the blood on her face. She heard her wheezy breathing. She felt pain. And she was glad for it. Oh, how she was glad for it. She knew where she was. She recognized the place. And she remembered why she came there. What she was looking for. 

It’s nonsense. It’s crazy. Just look at the place. It’s hopeless… 

Arya frowned. Of course it was. The Red Keep was a colossal building when still standing. You could easily lose your way there. But now and in that havoc? Looking for one person? Laughable. 

Yet I’ve come here for a reason… 

Arya started moving in circles around the ruins. She forced all the doubts out of her head. If she decided to do this there was no place for them. And she wasn’t in King’s Landing. She wasn’t at the Red Keep. She was in the middle of no one’s land, surrounded by flames and collapsing houses and crumbling walls, where stones the size of an ox would explode like a cherry under the dragon’s breath. So much destruction… 

Arya sat down for a moment, catching her breath. Her lungs were filled with so much ash and dust she felt like there was no space for air anymore. She wiped her face into her sleeve and looked around. What the fuck was she doing? 

What I have to… 

Arya stood up and swaggered a little when exhaustion took over her. Slow but determined she went on, circling closer to the former centre of the Red Keep. Every now and then she noticed the rest of a staircase, a chair or a cup and she found it so odd… Those ordinary things used just a few days ago and now thrown into a nightmare… 

Arya suddenly stopped dead. She turned and took in the dusty ruins. She’d just seen something… But where… Arya’s heart bounced in her chest. It was a leg, crushed under a big block of stone. But it wasn’t the leg she noticed. It was the size of it. The biggest leg she had ever seen and that could mean only one thing. 

Arya searched the place desperately and her pulse was getting faster. She was close, she could feel it. The air around was burning and flames were reaching her quickly, eating all that was in their way. 

“Hound!”

Arya began to push the stones she could lift away, growling with effort. 

“Sandor!”

She wasn’t really expecting an answer but she felt like trying it anyway. There was a pile of wooden boards and tattered curtains and Arya knew the moment the flames reached them they would burn like paper. She threw a gigantic stone aside - somewhere deep in her mind impressed with her sudden strength - and then she saw it. The hand she couldn’t mistake. 

“Sandor, can you hear me?!”

He was apparently pinned down by the remains of a heavy wooden gate and Arya could only do as much as to shift it a few inches aside. She looked into the hollow space beneath and her heart raced. 

"Sandor!"

Covered in dust he was almost unrecognizable and one could confuse him with another piece of the collapsed keep. Arya lowered herself to him and shook his shoulders. 

"Wake up, c'mon!" 

She put a hand on his chest and breathed out with relief when she felt the heartbeat. He wasn't dead. So he shouldn't play one. 

"Sandooor!" Arya yelled into his ear. He twitched and turned his head slightly. The white of one of his eyes was all she could see from his face and that eye was looking at her with such a comical surprise and disbelief Arya almost laughed.

"I don't fucking believe this," he uttered. His voice was so hoarse it was difficult to even understand him. Arya looked up. The flames reached the gate.

"You have to move. We have to go."

"Didn't I tell you not to follow?"

"You did. And still I came back."

"Why?" 

"For you," Arya said. "Lift the gate up, quick."

"Fuck off," Sandor muttered. 

"On three," Arya ignored him. "We both lift it on three. One, two, three !"

The gate moved slightly and fell back down. Sandor cried out in pain.

"Just go," he said through his teeth. "My bones are shattered."

"You're still breathing, aren't you? So stop whining like a little girl and lift the damn gate up!"

Arya looked into his eye and saw it all there. He was ready to give up. But she couldn’t care less. That wasn't why she’d come back.

"Do it or burn here," she said. "I'll leave you here, I swear. I did it once and I'll do it again. Lift the gate up."

The flames had already consumed half of the gate. Arya could feel the burning heat in her face, just as she could see the anger and anguish in his. 

"You can do it. On three…"

Arya put her hands on the edge of the gate. 

"One… two… three! "

She used all the strength she had left and heard Sandor growl, the sound of an animal, but the gate moved at last and Sandor threw it aside. 

"Now let's run. Give me your hand."

Sandor laughed bitterly and coughed.

"Why don't you carry me while you at it?"

"Shut up and move."

Arya took his hand and pulled it. Sandor sat up, his face twisted in agony, but Arya had no mercy. 

"Can you walk?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he breathed out. "Can fucking dance. My leg is broken."

"Only one?"

"Who the hell knows…"

He started falling back but Arya held him and shook him violently. 

"Get up, now !"

Arya was sure trying to force one of the boulders to move would be easier. Sandor stood up and yelped, swaying dangerously. Arya tried to steady him and he laughed again. 

"I was quite at peace before you came," he said and shook his head. 

"We have to run," Arya said. She heard the dragon screech above her head, much closer than before. The hair on her back stood up. She didn't want to end up a charred black coal. Please, no … 

"Run!" she screamed but her voice was muted by the deafening blast behind them. Arya didn't have to turn to know death was right behind them. But she couldn't hope for a better motivation to run the fuck away. They staggered their way out and it didn't really matter where it led, just anywhere away from the doom. Arya would like to believe she was helping him run but she was rather hanging on his arm like a leaf in a storm. Once a falling stone hit her shoulder and she didn't even squeak as all the air was pushed out of her lungs. She flew through the air like a whisked fish bait but soon enough felt the firm grasp on the back of her jacket as Sandor pulled her back to him. He would fall then but she yelled at him to get up and they ran, they ran for their lives until they just couldn't anymore and Sandor collapsed, dragging her down with him. Arya laid on her back, her mouth dry and full of dust, her eyes burning and body aching. She had no idea where they were and she couldn't hear anything except for the loud ringing in her ears. She had blood in her mouth and pain was piercing her temples. And she was grateful for that. So fucking grateful. 

"Sandor," she whispered and squeezed his upper arm. There was silence for a moment.

"If you tell me to get up and run I'll kill you," he said and Arya started laughing hysterically until the darkness embraced her.

Chapter Text

Part I: Flashback - Stones in Fire

Summary: Arya and the Hound have a heated argument some months after the Red Wedding. Arya has a secret and the Hound makes a kind gesture that upsets her.

(I probably stretched the timeline of season 3 and 4 but honestly - it was pretty confusing to begin with :) 

Arya seriously wondered if the fifteen or something year old guy on the other side of the crowded pub could be eyeing her. Two months had passed since the night her brother and mother had been slaughtered and Arya and the Hound travelled to Vale, in which Arya had little interest. She had other plans than staying with her aunt and didn’t expect to linger longer than a few days. 

She raised an eyebrow. The boy smiled at her. Damn, did he recognize her? He stood up and walked towards their table. 

“Can I sit down?” he asked. At that moment, the Hound sitting on Arya’s side turned and looked at him. It was actually hilarious to see the boy’s smile change into sheer shock. 

“I guess so,” Arya said and was sure the boy only sat down to maintain his dignity. 

“I’m Beldon. But everybody calls me Ben,” he introduced himself. 

“Hi. I’m Arry,” Arya said. “And this is my father, Babadolph.” 

Arya could only imagine the anger vibrations behind her back. Served him right, fucking bastard. Her lower lip was still sore from the slap he had given her a couple of days ago and ever since she had envisioned returning the favour, preferably with a big white-hot fire poker. 

“Where are you travelling to?” Ben asked.

“To not your fucking business ,” the Hound said and wiped Ben’s smile. The boy faltered but gave another try: “I’m travelling with my parents to a family wedding.” 

“You the bride?” the Hound asked and glanced at Arya. Did he notice her distraction over the word wedding ? She looked at Ben and decided to test him. 

“Aren’t you afraid?” she asked. “After what happened to the Starks?”

“We are hardly so important,” Ben said. 

“I’ll drink to that, boy,” the Hound said, finishing his ale at once. Arya’s guts were telling her Ben wasn’t lying. There was no trace of deception in his big blue eyes and that broad smile really would not be easy to fake.  

“Do you like birds?” Ben asked and the Hound rolled his eyes.

“I have a trained falcon, trained him myself. Do you want to see him?" 

“We are leaving,” the Hound said and stood up.

“What?" Arya asked, annoyed. "We've just come.” 

Ben opened his mouth. 

“I’m sorry if I -”

“Shut up,” the Hound said. “Find someone else to show your bird to, fucking twit.” 

The Hound pushed Arya out of the door and she moved reluctantly, not even turning to say goodbye. She was sick of sleeping on the cold forest ground and being bitten by thousands of insects. Especially that evening she absolutely hated the idea, for a reason she had sworn to keep a secret from him at all costs. Some hours later they stopped and Arya was making fire, not giving the Hound the smallest glance. 

"You didn't have to freak out,” she said. “He had no idea who I was."

"Was just a matter of time and you'd give something away."

"I'm not so stupid," Arya said. "It was nice to talk to someone normal again. And it was warm there."

"Lay closer to the fire," the Hound brushed her off and Arya glared at him.

"Perhaps I will," she said. "And perhaps I'll get up while you sleep and finish what your brother started. So don’t sleep too tight."

Arya didn’t give a damn about his angry look but lay down and closed her eyes. 

The King of the North…

Take the wolf's head down, please… Where is Robb's head? She has to find it… And she ran, ran through the crowd of headless figures, all of them stretching their arms to her.

The King of the North!

Everything was blurred and Arya couldn't move anymore. Her eyes were heavy, as if she had tar in them. She heard the headless crowd closing on her. 

Arya…

Her mother was standing behind her. She had no eyes and her face was torn off. No skin, just muscle and bone.  

You came too late, Arya…

Her mother screamed and it was an inhuman sound, like a thousand dying crows. She grabbed her shoulders with her clawed hands. And she screamed and the claws sank deeper into Arya's skin. She started shaking her and Arya realized it was her own scream, her own voice…

"Wake up!"

Arya opened her eyes wide and gasped. She was sweating and shivering and felt sick. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her heart was bouncing in her chest. The Hound's face surfaced out of the darkness and it was him shaking her shoulders. He seemed like saying something but remained silent eventually and walked away. Arya clutched her belly. The cramps got so severe she would love to whimper but she would rather eat a dead rat than whine in front of him. She lay on her side, trying and failing to ignore the pain. When the Hound wandered away from the light, Arya moaned quietly but shut up the moment he came back. He brought an armful of stones and threw them into the fire. Sparks flew in the air and the fire cracked. Arya closed her eyes. She couldn’t care less about what he was doing. She was in her own miserable world filled with pain, coldness and her dead mother’s skinless face. 

“Take this.” 

Arya squinted upwards. The Hound was bending above her with something in his arms. Arya first thought it was a dead fox. What the fuck would she need that for? 

“What’s that?” she asked. 

“Put it on your stomach,” the Hound said. Arya touched it and realized it was the stones from the fire, wrapped in a piece of fur. She stared at him and he gave her a mocking look. 

“What? You think I didn’t get it? I’m forty fucking years old. And it’s not like the biggest damn secret in the world.” 

Arya didn’t say anything. She took the fur and put it on her belly as he said. She tried to fall asleep again but she was too upset. And for some reason, the latest addition to her distress was this warm-stones gesture. The more their warmth seeped into her body and relieved the pain and shivering, the angrier she was. She watched him over the flames until she just couldn’t hold it back anymore. 

“Why did you kill Mycah?” she asked. “He did nothing bad. And you hunted him down like a scabby cat!”

“Give it a rest, would you?” he said unconcerned and threw more wood into the fire. 

“How could you do it?” Arya said. “You’re like a walking nightmare and you go and chase an eight year old? You’re a fucking coward, fuck you!” 

“Cut the crap,” the Hound said. “What do you think would happen if I said I wouldn’t do it? If I said to that prick’s face: fuck off, your grace . That your little friend would live? The kid would die anyway and so would I. I can do that much counting. I gave him a quick death. He was gone before he hit the ground. You couldn’t really ask for more.” 

Arya knew what he said made sense from his point of view. But she couldn’t forget Mycah’s body dangling lifeless on the Hound’s horse. 

“What do you think you would do?” the Hound asked. “You ready to die for feeling honourable in the last few moments of your life? Like you did the right thing ? You think you’d die smiling? I’ll tell you what. You’d be fucking screaming. You’d be begging for your life. That’s how it is.” 

Arya didn’t want to listen. She hated these excuses. She hated that he might have been right. And she hated that the world worked that way. But she would never give in to that. Never. 

“It’s just an excuse for you,” Arya said. “So you wouldn’t feel guilty going around murdering little kids.” 

“Guilt won’t get you anywhere. And quit the blathering.” 

“You’re lying. I’m sure you have nightmares about it. I hope you do. I hope you have them every night.” 

Arya wasn’t sure what she was doing - if she was trying to provoke him - but it seemed it started working. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he snapped at her. “I won’t get lectured by a little stupid girl. Stop expecting everyone to be like your father. The world won’t be saved by Ned Starks.” 

Arya felt a dash of fury, like a crack of a whip. 

“Don’t you ever dare to say his name! He was worth thousands the likes of you!”

“Maybe. But he was a fool .” 

Red haze clouded Arya’s mind. She jumped up and hurried to him. She raised her right hand to punch him but he caught her wrist. Arya grabbed the first thing from the ground she could find and hit him straight in the face with it. The power of the blow was so strong it immobilized him for a second. He threw her on her back and stooped down so close she could see the flames twinkle in his eyes. His eyebrow was cut and blood was dripping from it on her face. 

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me,” he said. “Raped and chopped in pieces.” 

“You only did it for the ransom,” Arya retorted, furious. “So don’t feel so good about it. You’re no better than those who sewed a wolf’s head on my brother’s neck. You’d do the same if they paid you. You’re a fucking scum .” 

He growled and Arya felt fear in her stomach but she raised an eyebrow daringly.

“C’mon, hit me! You’ve already done it once. That’s what you like, right? Hitting kids and little girls, cutting their throats. You’d cut mine if they paid you. You’d rape -”

His grip tightened painfully and Arya yelped. Rage was dripping from every single inch of his being, it was burning in his eyes and Arya liked it. It gave her pleasure to be the one who caused it. She gritted her teeth and waited for the slap, looking him straight in the eyes. C’mon, do it. Do it, you fucking piece of shit! 

The Hound glanced at her lower lip then as if he noticed something he hadn’t seen before. His expression changed and the rage faded away slowly. He let her go and Arya stayed on the ground for a while, panting and with her heartbeat frantic. She got up and returned to her place by the fire. She wiped her sweaty hands into her trousers and looked down at the stones wrapped in fur. She touched her lower lip lightly. Damn, first he slaps her and then he brings her this? Arya frowned. She reached for the stones and put them back on her stomach. 

“Don’t give a shit what you think about me,” the Hound said and Arya looked at him. He was lying on his back, facing the night sky. 

“But I’ve never raped anyone, believe it or not.” 

He caught her off guard with that and she had nothing to say. But she believed him. There was something about the way he’d looked a moment ago, as if she had really cut him pretty deep with that accusation. But she was too tired to think about it. She embraced the stones in her arms instead and buried her face in the warm fur. It reminded her of home and with that last thought, she finally fell asleep. 

Part II: The Day After 

Summary: Arya, shaken by her new found vulnerability, seeks out Sandor the day after the burning of King’s Landing and they share their closest moment so far.

If the day before the city had looked like the seventh hell itself, the other day it was like a limbo. A real land of no one. All Arya could hear was screaming and crying. Thousands of people buried under the ruins, some of them still alive, some of them dying and screaming to be found, screaming to be saved. Arya took part in the rescue works along with other volunteers. She was lifting stones and debris until her hands bled and what she found was death and blood. People crushed and mangled beyond recognition, reduced to charred coal and bloody stains. The air was thick with ashes and dust and the sun couldn’t shine through it, casting a yellow haze over everything. Arya didn’t rest nor eat until late evening. It was only when the sun disappeared that she sat down in a quiet corner and rested her head against a stone wall. She was so tired. So exhausted. She looked down at her bleeding hands. She didn’t mind it. Bleeding was a good reminder she was alive. She sighed. She didn’t want to speak to anyone and yet didn’t want to be alone. 

Arya got up and walked to the city gates - or at least where the city gates used to be. A camp built overnight was spreading there as far as the eye could see. The closer she was, the louder the wailing grew. It was like a big field of pain and misery. 

Arya passed tens of tents until she reached the one she was looking for and entered it. There were at least fifty people lying on the ground. Some of them screamed like animals and some just laid still and whispered prayers, immersed deep in their inner worlds. Many of them bore horrific black and bloody scars left after the dragon fire, sometimes the whole leg or half of their body turned to coal and they would die in agony. Two women were attending to them but they couldn’t do much, they had neither the skills nor the equipment for it. Daenerys Targaryen didn't send any healers and Arya knew it hadn't been an accidental omission. She watched the scenery for a few minutes. She couldn’t understand why she was so upset. She had seen people suffer before and could stay indifferent. All those dead in Winterfell and yet she had kept her composure. The spirit of victory back there had lessened the pain and loss, made it bearable. But this… This was just pure destruction. There was no victory. And she felt the pain all around. Pain of common folk, people that knew nothing about rulers or big armies and their war plans, revenges and intrigues. Most of them just wanted to live their lives in peace. And she would so want to help them and stop it all, stop the suffering at once… 

There was a new Arya. A new Arya who just stood there and didn't know what to do. 

She took a deep breath and walked to the other side of the tent where Sandor was lying.

“Hi,” she said and crouched down. Compared to the others he didn’t look that bad but it was still a pretty nasty sight. What his brother did would be enough but the fall didn’t make it any better. Even in the weak torch light she could see clearly the damage done, most prominent being the lost eye. Nobody tended to his wounds yet, most probably because he wasn’t screaming in agony. He didn’t acknowledge her presence and Arya shook his shoulder and opened her mouth to call his name.

"Don't scream again," he said and his eye remained closed.

"You look like shit," Arya said. Sandor snorted. 

"Nothing new," he said and Arya smirked with amusement. That was why from all the other people she could talk to, she seeked him. And she wondered again how easy it was for her to connect with him, no matter how much time passed or what happened. Something she couldn’t do with her own family, or with Jon, she could do with him in a second. 

“How -"

"Fucking awesome," he interrupted her. 

"How has it come to this? That's what I wanted to say. The city is gone…"

Arya’s throat tightened. What the hell was wrong with her? 

"I've never seen anything like that," she whispered. "And I can't stop seeing it..."

Everything had been so simple just a couple of days ago. Nothing made sense anymore. Arya wanted desperately to express herself, all the confusing thoughts she couldn't understand, but somehow she wasn’t able to say it. 

"But the world was always like this," Arya said. "I only chose to ignore it. How truly unfair everything is. The insignificance of human life.” 

"Your cheertalk sucks."

Arya lowered her eyes to him. 

“I wanted to kill her.” 

For the first time since she’d come he opened his eye and looked at her.

“A new list?” he asked. Arya didn’t answer.

“Am I still on the old one?”

“You really think I would drag you out if you were, just to kill you now?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. You’re a vicious little thing.” 

He closed his eye again. 

“Will you?” he asked. “Will you kill them all in the end?”

“I don’t know…” 

Silence spread between them and then a strange sound startled her. First she thought he had some sort of a fit, only to find out he was laughing. 

“ Drag me out ,” he said. “Aye. That’s one way to put it.” 

“I did,” Arya objected. He didn’t stop laughing. 

“I swear the moment I saw your face looking at me, I thought: why the fuck is she so pissed? Like how dare I lie there dying.” 

“You could be at least slightly grateful.”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” he replied. 

“You can’t die this easily,” Arya said. “You already screwed once and lived so shut up.”

He snorted and remained silent. Arya recalled a memory from her time in Braavos, the time she had been attending to the poor, sick and dying. That time was never very important to her. She was no healer and never would be one. She always thought she lacked the necessary kindness. But yet she remembered she had felt fulfilled occasionally while embracing each human’s vulnerability and the inevitability of death. 

“Human bodies are so fragile…” she said. “Even men like you can be crushed like apples. We are only a bit of flesh and bones in the end. That’s what I’ve seen today. How quickly a human can just... disappear. ”

Sandor gave her a long look.

"Everything fucking brightens when you walk into the room, right?"

Arya moved closer to him and took his arm. 

“What are you doing?” he asked warily. Arya ran her fingers over his arm and felt the broken bones. 

“I haven’t done this for some time,” she said. 

“No need to do it now, whatever it is,” he replied. Arya ignored him and moved his arm to straighten the bone. He gasped and cursed silently and Arya shifted to his left leg, examining it in the same way. 

“Don’t fucking touch it,” he uttered. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Arya said and with a small but strong tug straightened it while he shouted some more curses. She took her dagger then and stood up, sticking the blade into the fire of the torch. Sandor’s remaining eye followed her with clear denial. 

“Don’t you come near me with that,” he said. Arya watched the flames dance over the shiny blade. 

“I have to. It’s not a small bite this time. If all the wounds fester you’ll die an agonizing death.” 

“I already fucking am dying an agonizing death, you don’t have to make it worse. Don’t you dare to touch me with that.” 

“Oh, quit the whining,” Arya said. “You’re not dying. You’d either be dead already and if you’re not, then it’s just not happening anymore.” 

“You really hurt my feelings,” Sandor said. Arya stared into the fire, not paying much attention to him. When the tip of her blade was ablaze with shining white, she knelt above him and cut the left trouser leg, exposing a long deep cut across his thigh. 

“Maybe you can bite something,” she suggested. 

"Maybe you can fuck off.”

"It'll be quick," she said.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he said silently.

Arya grimaced at him with exaggerated pity and with no further warning she pressed the whole side of the blade against the wound. He cried out and Arya moved swiftly to the other wounds on his chest and arms. 

“It’s over now,” she said then.

“What a bloody relief,” Sandor said with a shaky voice. “Dying under the Red Keep seems like a fucking fairytale now.” 

He panted and was clenching his unbroken fist. Arya put her palm on his forehead and he winced and gave her a slightly surprised look. 

“I’ll make you feel better,” she said and exactly like so many times before in Braavos she did that without really thinking about it. Just easing the pain. Lessening the suffering. Wiping the blood and dirt and ash from the skin. She had almost forgotten she could be this gentle. Never before had she felt such compassion as she did for him at the moment. Humans weren't indestructible and she wasn't either. She had never been closer to death than yesterday and she had to admit to herself she feared dying. Showing this sort of kindness to him soothed her. What she could never do for anyone she cared for and lost, she did for him. And he gave in as well. Nobody wanted to be hurting and bleeding in the end. 

When it was over, she took the bloodied water away and found Sandor either sleeping or unconscious. She looked over the tent and albeit already sluggish and worn out, she took them one by one, doing all she could to give them a chance. She wasn't done sooner than after midnight and contemplated shortly about going to the other tents. She checked on Sandor and touched his arm. He snapped awake and his hand went immediately to his hip where his sword would have been. He forced a cry of pain and let his arm fall. 

“Relax," Arya said. "You shouldn’t move now. I’ll get some splits tomorrow."

“I’ll skip my morning exercise,” he mumbled. “So you’re a healer now?" 

“No. And don’t speak. You should rest.” 

“Lucky to have you tell me what to do. Just wanted to go fucking fishing.”

He looked at her. 

“You look like you're passing out soon.” 

"I'm fine," Arya said, although she kept her eyes barely open. 

“Bullshit. Don’t lecture me about rest then.” 

Arya rubbed her eyes. He was right. She needed to sleep. She couldn't go on anymore. She had absolutely no strength left in her body and probably wouldn't even make it out of the tent, let alone attending to hundreds and thousands of people. She lay down next to Sandor instead, curling into a ball with her back pressed against his side. Somehow it was the perfect balance of being with someone and being on her own. 

“You gonna sleep here?”

“Why not?” 

“The screaming of dying people not bothering you?”

Arya knew she would have other places to go to and other people to confess to but this was still the only place she wanted to be right now. She didn’t reply. She wanted to close her eyes but when she did, all she could see was fire and blood. She stared into the dimmed tent and felt a lump in her throat. 

“Take a break, kid,” Sandor said and Arya knew perfectly well how he meant it. 

"You did alright," he said and his voice was sincere. Arya felt her eyes burning. She thought it was the exhaustion but realized with shock it was tears. Tears started running down her cheeks and she couldn’t stop it. Soon her shoulders began to shake and she couldn’t suppress the sobbing anymore. 

“You vicious little thing,” Sandor said as he moved his less shattered arm and put it around her. Arya turned and buried her face in his chest where she cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Part I: Flashback - At the Lake

Summary: On their way to Vale, Arya plays a little trick on the Hound which ends unexpectedly with a meaningful bonding moment between them. And Arya finds out it’s not only him who has the knowledge but there are things she can teach him, too. 

Except for the times someone wanted to kill them, travelling to Vale was mostly pretty boring. Arya’s new discovery was using the Hound as a tool for her training when he didn’t know it. She would steal his possessions, only to put them back without him ever finding out. She would misplace some of them, watching him contemplate with confusion, giving her suspicious side looks but his pride wouldn’t allow him to ask. 

It had rained heavily the day before and everything solid had turned to mud. Their horses could barely walk in so much sludge and they proceeded very slowly until the Hound decided it was enough and they made their evening stop already in the afternoon. It was at the border of a forest and Arya left the Hound behind, going for a little observation walk. She had been silently granted more freedom although there hadn’t been a single word spoken about it aloud. 

Arya climbed up a steep hill and stood there, watching a lake spreading beneath. The breeze was warm and there were patches of blue sky underneath the clouds. Sun beams protruded out of one such a hole and danced on the water surface. Arya enjoyed the beauty of the moment and the precious calmness of her mind. A soft sound attracted her attention and she turned to see a flock of quails not yet aware of her presence. A small smile crossed her lips.

A few minutes later she was on her way back with two quails in her hand. There was hardly any meat on them but it was still better than nothing. She stopped three hundred or so feet away from their camp and peered at the Hound from behind a tree. He was trying to make fire and judging from the hearty curses, it wasn’t going well. He was tired, hungry, slowed down by the neck wound and he hated fire in all forms. And on top of that, everything was soaked wet. Arya wasn’t giving him much of a chance anytime soon. 

“Fuck!”

The Hound threw the ignition stones on the ground. 

“Fucking piece of fucking shit!”

The Hound spat a few more fucks, then ran a hand over his face. Arya shook her head. A hopeless case. She smirked and put the quails on the ground. She started approaching, step by step, minute after minute. After around ten minutes she was close enough to see the total disgust in his face as he crouched and began his fire mission again. Arya inhaled inaudibly. She was hiding behind the last tree there was between them. She made a few steps further until she got so close she might touch his back. She only had a second to think if that actually was a good idea when the Hound looked over his shoulder. 

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?”

But there was nobody behind him. Arya slipped around him like an eel and knelt in front of him, just over the sad attempt of fire. 

“Bo!” she shouted loudly straight into his face. The Hound staggered in surprise and lost his balance, falling right into a pool of mud behind him. A loud squelching sound followed and Arya widened her eyes in horror. The feeling of her upcoming demise intensified when the Hound tried to get up but slipped and fell again. He stood up then and Arya awaited her inevitable termination. 

“Did I startle you?” she asked as matter-of-factly as she could. It was quite hard to see his expression under all that mud but his eyes were not exactly friendly. 

“You fucking nuts?! I could have killed you!” 

“By what, rolling around in mud?”

Arya laughed and shouted with exaggerated fright: “Oh no, please ! Enough, I have mud in my eyes, have mercy!”

The Hound looked like gutting her but Arya remained calm and pointed over the hill. 

“There’s a lake,” she said. “Let’s have a camp there.” 

She walked past him and when he didn’t behead her, she breathed out with relief. It was a little too soon, though, as right at that moment a big handful of mud found its target and Arya landed smoothly into the same sludge.

The sky cleared up and a mesmerising deep purple sunset was hanging over the horizon while the wind blew softly and the air smelled of earth. The quails were roasting on a stick over the fire, looking even tinier than before. All the mud in Arya’s hair and on her clothes dried and was itchy as hell. She stood on the lake bank and looked over her shoulder. The Hound was scratching pieces of dried mud from his armour, murmuring curses under his breath.

“Don’t look,” Arya said. The Hound glanced at her. 

“I said, don’t look,” she repeated. He turned away and Arya took her jacket and trousers off until only the thin shirt remained. 

“Are you looking?”

“Give me a break for fuck’s sake,” he said.

“Just don’t look, alright?”

“I’m not fucking looking, just go on with it!”

Arya stepped into the water. It was chilly but she was a North's child and she didn’t hesitate and head dived with a loud splash. A throb of sudden happiness ran through her. She made a few strokes and exhaled loudly. 

“You should come in!” she exclaimed. 

“Later,” the Hound answered coldly. 

“Sissy,” she said. “Are you afraid of water, too? What comes next, the air? Trees? Or butterflies?”

The Hound was too far for her to see his face but she pulled the right string, obviously. Unlike her he didn’t give a shit about privacy or nudity, let alone shyness and just undressed and walked into the lake.

“Fucking freezing,” he uttered before sinking under water. He emerged after a couple of seconds, washing the mud off his hair. Arya swam happily around and he shook his head. 

“You’re insane,” he said. “If you get sick, it’s your problem.” 

He walked out and Arya found herself staring at him. She hadn’t seen a naked man in ages, last time probably still at Winterfell and it’d been one of her scrawny younger brothers. She observed him with that pure curiosity naked bodies usually invoked, at least where she was from and where you wouldn’t see a naked person walking around that very often. It was odd to see him without the armor he would never take off, not even when sleeping. Arya couldn’t really sort out how it made her feel. But somewhere deep in her mind a thought occurred, that beside a big armoured bastard he was just another human being like everybody else. Only twice as big.

He looked at her and asked: “You staring?”

“I wasn’t,” Arya said quickly and dived. Some minutes later she swam to the shore. The Hound was sitting by the fire, turned away from her. Arya stepped on the bank and started shivering immediately. She took her clothes from the ground and faltered, then proceeded to the fire and stood near it, waiting to get dry before putting clothes on. The Hound gave her a quick look but didn’t say anything and surprisingly, there was nothing awkward about it. Arya dressed, took the Needle and used the time for her training. The Hound was unusually silent which was quite a welcomed change from his recent grumpiness. Arya caught a glimpse of him watching her. He had such a strange expression Arya couldn’t understand. 

“You’ve ever thrown a knife before?” he asked suddenly. Arya shook her head. He got up, drew his knife from its sheath and threw it at a tree some hundred feet away. It stuck there with a loud thud. 

“Get it,” he said. Arya had to pull really hard to get it out of the wood. 

“Now look,” the Hound said. “What matters is the heavier part. Here it’s the blade so you hold the blade.” 

The Hound walked behind her and moved her fingers around the blade. Arya had to grin. The difference in size was ridiculous. Her hand completely disappeared under that paw the size of a war shield. 

“Can you feel it?” he asked. “That’s the way to do it.” 

He pumped with her arm a couple of times, showing her the correct angle. 

“This is for close range,” he said. “You have to stretch your arm the further you are from the target.” 

“I want to be as far as you were,” Arya said immediately. The Hound raised an eyebrow but smirked. 

“As you wish,” he said. “Now put your leg forward and bend a little. And throw.” 

The knife flew beside the tree and disappeared in the grass. 

“Get it and try again,” the Hound said. Arya didn’t count how many times she tried but the sky darkened and the sun was long gone. And then it came. The sound of a knife stuck in a tree. She let out a victorious yell. 

“I made it! I made it!”

The Hound walked to the tree. 

“You would only scratch him,” he said and took his knife back. “But even that counts.” 

Arya was floating on a little cloud of euphoria and wasn’t really listening to him anyway.

“We better eat these rats as long as there’s still something to eat on them,” the Hound said then and removed the quails from the fire. Arya was so starving she considered eating even the stick the quails were on. The Hound threw her one over the fire and Arya realized it was the bigger one. She raised her eyebrow but didn’t ask. 

“Tastes better than the fish,” she said. The Hound shot her a glare. 

“You cook next time. Let’s see if tastes like a fucking pheasant.” 

“I’m not the one for cooking,” Arya said. “Cooking, embroidery, cleaning… I hate that shit.” 

The Hound snorted. 

“One day you’ll make some poor bastard very miserable.” 

Arya shook her head. 

“No family, no kids,” she said. “I already told my father he could forget that. It’s not my thing.”

The dinner was over a little too soon and Arya sighed and lay on her back. The sky was deep blue, with more and more stars appearing until even the moon came up and its clear silver light flooded the valley and reflected in the lake. 

“There’s the Hunter,” Arya said and pointed at the constellation. “You can see him really clearly tonight. And next to him is the Queen and her three sons: Taisi, Daven and Aesir. A great storm took them and she went to look for them in the sky. Then there is the Weeper. She longed for a baby so much the moon took pity on her and put a baby inside her. The Weeper was so afraid something could happen to that baby she begged the moon to keep them forever together. So he made them into stars - you can see the baby she’s embracing? Oh, look, and there’s Eldur, one of the first three dragons.” 

The Hound scoffed. 

“Such bullshit. Who the fuck made this shit up? None of it looks like anything.” 

“That’s not true,” Arya protested. “Eldur really looks like a dragon.” 

“Or like a sack of fucking fleas,” the Hound said. 

“You’re just pissed because you don’t know a single constellation,” Arya said. The Hound laughed. 

“You got it, girl, that’s exactly why I’m pissed every single day. Coz I don’t know any fucking constallation. When’s the last time it saved someone’s ass?”

“That’s all you’re interested in, right?”

“Aye, that’s why you’re still alive.” 

“Cut it,” Arya said. “You really don’t see the dragon?”

“No.” 

“Oh, by Oldrun.” 

Arya got up and lay by his side, pointing her finger at the sky. 

“You see? There, there and there. There’s the head, the tail and the wings. Just use your fantasy.” 

“Looks more like a pile of shit.” 

Arya fumed and gave up. The Hound looked at her. 

“Alright, don’t get pissed. Show me again?”

“There, there is the head,” Arya said. The Hound squinted his eyes. 

“Hm, you mean that ?” he asked. “Fucking miracle, it’s just changed my life.” 

“My father taught me all this,” Arya said. “He knew much more, I don’t remember half of it.”

“You were his favourite?” the Hound asked. 

“He didn’t have one,” she said. “He loved us all the same.”

“Oh, he had,” the Hound said. “He was just decent enough to not let you know.” 

Arya thought about it. She remembered her father telling her stories and legends bound with the stars, so many sleepless nights would they stare at the night sky, just the two of them. What would he say if he could see her right now? 

“He told me once I should have been born to a wolf,” Arya said. “When I was like five I was imagining having wolves instead of children. I even had names for them, Sygun and Maevi. I think I could do with wolves but not kids.”

“I would believe that,” the Hound said. “You are a vicious little thing.” 

Arya smiled with pride. 

“Do you believe the spirits of the dead can see us?” she asked. “Like your mother or father?”

“Fuck,” the Hound said, “I hope not. I hated the bastard when he was still alive.” 

Arya burst out laughing and shot him a quick side look to see if he was offended but he seemed amused himself. 

"Maybe your brother will watch you once you kill him," Arya said.

"Aye, that would be like a dream come true," the Hound muttered. 

"Have you ever tried to really finish him?" she asked. 

"A few times," the Hound said. 

"Were you ever close?"

"Once," he replied.

"What happened?" Arya asked but had to wait a couple of seconds until he answered.

"I met someone who didn't mind this," he said and gestured to his burnt face. 

"But when he found out, he paid her a visit."

Arya felt her hair stand up a little.

"He didn't kill her. But she never came back and I wasn't surprised. I told you I've never done anything like that. I wanted to be better than him."

“That’s not such a difficult task,” Arya pointed out. "He's like the worst of the worst."

"Makes it an easier job," the Hound said. "And I'm fucking lazy anyway. Enough with this shit. Let's talk about something else. Bore me with more of your constellations, that should put me to sleep fast."

Arya gazed at the sky, lost in thoughts. She thought of her father and how she had always looked up to him. The Hound was like his total opposite. And yet she started relating to the bits of his story and the more she knew, the more related she was. She understood why he was doing the things he was doing. It worked for him that way. But was it really excusable? Was it enough?

"Hey? I wasn't fucking joking," the Hound said and Arya sighed but started showing him all the constallation she knew. After some time he closed his eyes but Arya kept watching the stars and it reminded her of her childhood and Winterfell so strongly tears swelled up in her eyes. 

Arya looked over at the Hound and realized he had already been sleeping. She could tell by the rhythm of his breath and the arm that slid by his side. Damn, he must have been really tired, he wouldn’t usually fall asleep like that. Arya watched him and her eyes wandered to the knife strapped to his leg. She took it gently from its sheath. She held it in her hand, then moved the blade to his throat. It’s tip almost touched his skin and Arya knew if she cut deep enough, there was nothing he could do. He would be dead. Seconds passed and Arya shivered. Last time she had intended to crush his head with a stone, she had really been determined. But that determination somehow wasn’t there anymore. 

The Hound opened his eyes and met her look. Arya didn’t move for a couple of seconds but then she simply put the knife on the ground and turned on her side, closing her eyes. And that was the first night retelling of her list didn’t make her fall asleep. 

Part II: Night Talks

Summary: Arya wakes up the night after King’s Landing burned and has a late conversation with injured Sandor, a conversation that helps her to look in the right direction. 

Arya opened her eyes into the darkness. She had no idea where she was and immediately grasped the hilt of her dagger. There was an image burnt in front of her eyes, a woman and her child being incinerated by an enormous fire blast. She still could see the expression of the mother, a mother aware of what was coming, a mother not able to protect her child. 

Arya blinked and noticed the yellow light of a torch, painting a dimmed picture of the sick tent. The air was cold and she had steam coming from her mouth. Curled under a thick layer of furs, she was more than warm, though. She relaxed slowly. She felt almost like an animal in its lair and she liked it. The sense of a safe place, a cozy den in all that madness. With her back to Sandor, her dagger at hand and under all the furs she felt quite out of danger. She didn’t move to not disrupt Sandor’s sleep, it was enough to hear him breathing, and she enjoyed the moment of peace. And a very little part of her, someone hidden deep, deep inside her, never wanted to leave. 

Arya pricked up her ears suddenly. Seemed like the moment of peace was gone sooner than she expected. She overheard something else than the choral groaning of the injured. A muffled conversation coming from the other side of the tent. She could see the shadowy figures of three men walking around the lying people. They crouched at each of them and proceeded slowly closer to the corner where Arya and Sandor were. She could see them going through the clothes of the injured, taking their jewelry and coins. She grasped her dagger and held it against her chest. One of the tree men was already kneeling in front of them and at first he mistook Arya for a pile of furs. He stretched his arm to Sandor and blinked with sheer surprise when he noticed Arya’s shining blade. He looked into her eyes and startled, withdrawing his arm immediately. 

“Touch him and the first thing I’ll stab will be your eyes,” Arya said silently. She didn’t make the slightest move, looking him straight in the eyes. She almost wanted him to try something just so she could cut his throat. 

“Thinking about calling your friends?” she asked quietly. “I’ll cut your tongue out before you draw a breath. Now get lost and never come back to this tent.” 

The man hesitated only for a fraction of time, then got up and followed his two pals quickly out. Arya rested her dagger on the ground and turned at Sandor. His skin burned with fever and Arya wondered if he really was going to make it. She couldn’t bring herself to admit that it wasn’t so sure. She only expected him to live because she wanted it. That was no guarantee. And almost unwittingly she put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Watching over me?” he asked. “For something so small you can be fucking convincing.” 

“You heard that?” Arya asked. 

“Aye. Don’t know if I should feel grateful or embarrassed that I'm protected by a little girl.” 

Arya raised an eyebrow and Sandor opened his eye and looked at her. 

“Deadly little girl,” he added. “Fine, the deadliest little girl I know.” 

“Better,” Arya said. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was. At least I had a dream.” 

Arya looked up at the ceiling. 

“What was it about?” she asked. 

“My cousin Patt. He died when he was five.” 

“You liked him?” 

“I only met him once. My father’s sister visited us. Can’t blame her she never did it again. Can you get me some water?”

Arya took her water bottle out of her coat and she held his head up as he drank and coughed blood afterwards. She wiped the blood from his face and he exhaled slowly. 

“Fucking water,” he rasped hoarsly. 

“You'll get ale if you survive the night,” Arya said. “So what was it with Patt? Why did you dream about him if you only met him once?”

“He was two years old when they visited,” Sandor said. “They put us kids all into one room. That was before Gregor fried me. Patt was quite scared of him. Might have upset him when he'd crushed a cat’s head the other day but who knows. He cried a little - all kids of his age do. My brother told him if he didn't shut up he'd crush his skull as well. He was great with kids - little Patt was silent like a mouse. He crawled to my bed, chose the lesser evil, I guess. He snuggled next to me like a kitten. I remember he was playing with my face, squeezing my nose as if he hoped it would make some funny sound. He fell asleep with his head on my chest. I would have changed him for my brother anytime.” 

Arya smiled. She rubbed her eyes then and let out a long sigh.

"Did you get any sleep?" Sandor asked.

“Some,” she said. “I had a dream, too. Or not a dream, more of an image. A mother and her child being burned. I saw it myself. The look in her eyes when she realized everything was over and her child would die.”

Silence set in between them and Arya thought about the mother’s eyes, eyes full of flames.

“Give it time,” Sandor said eventually. Arya felt a sudden urge to resist. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all... You know, Rickon used to come to my bed at night."  

“You think about them often?” Sandor asked.

“Everyday,” she said. “It’s really odd when I think about how we used to be together all the time. We knew everything about everyone in the family. You almost couldn’t have a secret. I knew exactly why Bran looked guilty and Sansa was pissed when he destroyed her favourite dress to make an army tent. Or when Robb had a crush on that servant girl and thought he could hide it from us while we were laughing at him. And when I look at Bran now, or Sansa, or Jon… It just seems so far away like it never happened. I don’t know anything about them anymore. They are different people to me. And so am I. I love them but they are gone.” 

“Happens,” Sandor said. “People change. Usually to the worse. And believe me there’s a big fucking difference between your expectations and the truth. You can think or believe whatever you bloody want, it’s always going to happen otherwise.” 

“I thought I would stay with them after the war was over.” 

“You changed your mind?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I wanted it the whole time. I wanted to be with my family or at least what was left from it. And now I met them and feel like not staying. I’m not sure I want to be a part of what happens now. Does that make me selfish?” 

“Selfish? What the hell does that even mean,” Sandor uttered. “It makes you someone with a mind, that’s all.” 

“Jon and Sansa are the players now,” Arya continued. “And she needs to be stopped. I’m just not sure if I’m the one to do it.” 

“You don’t have to be at every fucking killing in the Seven Kingdoms,” Sandor said mockingly. “Let others do some work, too.” 

“But that's all I can do.” 

Sandor scoffed.

“That’s horseshit.” 

“It’s not -”

“When’s the last time you were happy?” he asked and Arya blinked with surprise over that unexpected question. 

“When I killed the Night King.” 

“Here we go again. Fucking showing off, aren’t ya? I killed the Night King ," he said, imitating her voice. "Will you shut up about it? Supposed to be the worst undead motherfucker and he's finished by an eighteen year old girl. What a bloody loser."

"Didn't see you getting anywhere near him,” Arya said. “You could have at least finished the damn dragon when you are such a smart ass."

"Didn't want to steal your fame," Sandor said.

"You're jealous, that's all. And I'm almost nineteen."

"Whatever. Back to the question. When you killed him, you were triumphant, that’s not the same. I meant happy. At peace.” 

Arya contemplated. The last time she was at peace? Must have been ages ago. 

The air in her hair. The sea scent in her lungs… 

“On my way to Braavos,” she said silently. “On that ship.” 

“Think about that,” Sandor said. “If I were you I’d be out of here tonight . Forget this shit.” 

“And you? When was the last time you were happy and at peace?” she asked him. 

“A few hours ago when you stopped burning my bloody skin off. That was a nice and peaceful moment I will remember.” 

Arya poked him to which he responded with a painful hiss. 

“You just love making me suffer, admit it,” he said. “Never finishing me off so you could keep torturing me. And I thought my biggest problem was my brother.” 

“For such a big bastard you weep like an old woman,” Arya said. “And I’m still not finished with you. Answer my question or I'll burn you more.” 

“You’d be a perfect healer. Compassionate and gentle.” 

“Answer me.” 

“After you left me for dead,” Sandor said. “And those people found me.” 

“So you like farming?”

“I hate farming,” Sandor said. “Wasn’t about milking fucking cows.” 

“What was it about then?”

“Nobody knew my past and I could - I don’t know, I could just bloody forget it, too. I thought I could protect them. I was the only one with the skills. But I failed them anyway.”  

There was a couple of seconds of silence. Arya hesitated.

“If I sailed, would you -”

“Nah,” Sandor cut her off. “You need neither protection nor a dog, not anymore.” 

“It’s always nice when someone’s got your back,” Arya objected. Sandor snorted. 

“You just take pity on me. You’ll see it differently tomorrow.” 

Arya actually surprised herself with the question. Why should he come with her? She didn’t need a protector. She was used to being alone, being in control of everything. Not taking any other responsibility but her own. No compromises and only her own decisions. She thought about her future. What she actually, really wanted. To be alone. Or not. Or both. She put herself back on the ship sailing to Braavos. The excitement of the unknown. The new adventures waiting ahead. And freedom. She could see herself there. There it could make sense. 

“Sandor?” she said. He grunted softly and Arya turned over to face him. His one eye was looking at her and Arya wondered if it would open in the morning. A strange feeling descended into her stomach. 

“I wasn’t pitying you,” she said. “I would never do that.” 

“I know,” he said. “Wolves don’t pity.” 

He lifted his uninjured arm up then and Arya raised her eyebrow lightly. She understood the expression, the look of his face asking her to do him that one favour. 

“It’s going to hurt,” she said. “You only have like one or two not broken ribs.”

“Who fucking cares,” he replied. “If this is my last night, then make it count.”

Arya moved closer to him and lay her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her with surprising strength and Arya closed her eyes. 

“Don’t be so fucking hard on yourself,” he said then. “You want to walk through hell and have a good laugh about it? It’s good you feel like shit. Just go with it. Don’t be afraid, you’ll still be that cruel little savage at the end of it.”

“You promise?” Arya asked. Sandor laughed. 

“Aya, I pretty much know that.”

Chapter Text

Part I: Flashback - You’d have taken the arrow?

Summary: In the last few days before Arya and the Hound are separated by the fight with Brienne, something happens that shakes Arya’s beliefs. 

A week or so before their fiasco in Vale, Arya and the Hound were caught in a swift and wild storm. It came out of nowhere and surprised them under the open sky. And exactly like that it looked. Like the sky just opened. They headed to the lowlands to find shelter and soaked wet they came upon a seemingly abandoned house with a little barn standing nearby. The windows were wide open and there was no smoke coming out of the chimney. 

“I’ll go check it,” the Hound said loudly to drown the storm down. “You’ll wait here.” 

Arya didn’t protest as she was too tired to complain. She watched the Hound walk into the house and it took about five minutes till he appeared again. 

“There are dead animals everywhere, smells like shit,” he said. He took the reins of his and her horse and led them both to the barn. The gate was hanging only on one hinge, there were holes in the roof and the wooden planks were so rotten you could see through them. The Hound went in and returned after a couple of minutes. 

“There’s a dry spot in the corner. We’ll wait here,” he said. Arya slipped down the horse and walked into the barn, breathing in the smell of decay, dirt and earth. She lay over a small heap of hay and closed her eyes. One advantage of being that extremely tired was the fact you could fall asleep almost in any kind of terrible discomfort. Even wet to the bone, in a rotting barn and with thunder and heavy rain hitting the roof. 

She woke up in the middle of the night and immediately realized the storm had ceased and the rain was softer, the thunder coming from greater distance. She sat up and looked around. The horses were standing near the gate but the Hound was gone. Arya pondered where he could be as he rarely left her at night. She stopped for a second to wonder how she had already been so used to him guarding her she would simply fall asleep when he said so, not having any second thoughts about the safety. When he said that, it was probably safe. 

Arya stood up and walked to the gate. She looked outside. The sky was pitch black, the moon and stars hidden under heavy clouds. She couldn’t see nor hear anything suspicious and there was no sign of the Hound. Could something happen to him? But that was nonsense. He was probably just pissing or something… Arya watched the house in silence as minutes passed and the Hound wasn’t coming back. 

Dead animals everywhere… 

Arya frowned and looked over the barn. There were a few pig pens, now empty. 

Why would there be animals in the house? 

Arya looked at the house again and felt drawn to it suddenly. She walked across the yard and to the entrance door. She pushed the handle and stepped in. The Hound wasn’t lying, she thought. The awful stench hit her the second the door opened. She walked in slowly. She recognized the outlines of chairs and the table and the stench grew stronger the closer she was to the fire place. She stopped there, covering her mouth. At the moment, a lighting in the distance illuminated the place and Arya gasped. She felt bile crawling up her throat and the ground swayed under her feet. She closed her eyes and threw up on the ground. She wanted to run away but crashed into a chair and fell on the ground. Something sticky got on her arms, her face and legs and Arya threw up some more. She crawled on all four away, finally got on her feet and started towards the door when she hit something big. 

“Hound…” 

But she knew before the word left her lips it wasn’t him. She widened her eyes as an arm wrapped around her neck and squeezed her throat. She wheezed and felt herself being lifted up in the air. 

“Shut up or I’ll rip your head off,” a voice whispered into her ear. Arya couldn’t scream even if she wanted it and her vision was getting blurred from the lack of air. 

“Where is he?” the voice asked. 

“I don’t know,” Arya breathed out. 

“We’ll wait here for him,” the voice said. Arya felt his other hand on her chest. 

“A girl…” the voice said, almost surprised. “That’s nice.” 

His hand slipped under her jacket and grabbed her breast. Shivers ran all over Arya’s body. No, not like this, she thought. Please, not like this… 

The Hound walked into the house and stopped in the door. 

“Don’t fucking move,” the man behind Arya said and Arya heard a strange metal sound near her ear. The Hound just stood there with the sword in his hand and Arya couldn’t see his face.

“Put the sword down or I’ll pierce her neck.” 

Arya knew then what the thing pressing against the back of her head was. A crossbow.

The Hound hesitated. Arya knew what he was thinking. There wasn’t much chance they both could get out of it. If he didn’t fight, the man would kill him and then rape and kill her. If he tried something, the man would kill her and then would try to kill him. Either way, she was as good as dead. The Hound could just go with it, try whatever he wanted and probably would win. But he couldn’t save her. 

“Put the sword down,” the man repeated. The Hound still didn’t move a muscle. And then, very slowly, he lowered his arm and let the sword fall. Arya blinked with surprise.

In that case, she thought, it didn’t really matter anymore and she might as well try something. And with her heart racing, she went for it and bit the arm around her neck, as much as she could, until she could feel the bone against her teeth. 

The man roared and his grip loosened just enough for Arya to get away. She dashed towards the Hound. He was looking over her shoulder and Arya expected the arrow in her back anytime. The Hound moved forward and pushed her aside so vigorously she flew a few meters in the air and hit her back against the stone floor. She looked up and saw the Hound facing the man, being only a couple of feet away from him. The crossbow was pointed directly at his chest. The trigger clicked. 

“No!”

Arya wasn’t aware she screamed that aloud. She got up, confused because she didn’t hear the sound of the arrow. Only then had she realized the crossbow was jammed. And at that point a huge wave of relief washed over. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore. The Hound proceeded to the man and watched him drawing his sword out. With one blow he threw it out of his hand and punched him in the face. The man fell on the ground and the Hound knelt above him, giving him one punch after another. He kept punching him even after the man stopped screaming and each blow followed a disgusting squishing sound. The storm was meanwhile gone and the light of the sunrise came in through the broken window.

The Hound got up slowly, the bloody mess of the man’s head at his feet. Above his corpse, Arya could see the bodies of four people. A mother and three little kids, the youngest might have been only two years old. They were gutted and half eaten, each of them hanging head down from the ceiling. Arya felt her stomach curl with disgust and dread. 

“What the fuck were you doing here?” the Hound snarled so loudly Arya jumped a little. 

“What? Hey, I didn’t know he was here! You told me -”

“Shut up!” the Hound said and walked out of the house. Arya followed him to the back of the house, still too shaken to be really angry. 

“I thought it was safe!” 

Arya caught up with him and grabbed his arm. 

“Where the hell were you?!” she shouted. He didn’t answer and Arya looked behind him. There was a big hole in the ground and a shovel lying next to it. 

“Did you do it?” she asked.

“Well, it wasn’t that motherfucker inside, now, was it?” he said. Arya shook her head. 

“Why… why would you -”

“Because I knew you could come sneaking around. Didn’t want you to scream and get all whiny about it.” 

Arya widened her eyes and had no idea what to answer. The Hound breathed in deeply and looked up at the sky. 

“Fuck!” he exhaled. Nobody said anything for a few minutes. A flock of crows flew over them and disappeared over the hill. 

“I didn’t know he was there,” the Hound said suddenly and his voice was a lot calmer. “It was empty when I went to check it. He must have come back later.” 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Arya said. “We got lucky.”

She blinked. What the hell? Had she just said that to make him feel better? And was she right to think he felt guilty? Arya frowned and tilted her head on one side. 

“You’d have taken the arrow?” she asked, curious. The Hound looked at her quickly. 

“Nah, I wouldn’t have taken the fucking arrow,” he said angrily. “I saw it was jammed.” 

Arya made a disbelieving face. 

“You didn’t. You couldn’t, it was too dark.” 

“Think what you want,” he said. “I don’t give a shit.” 

All sorts of confusing thoughts ran through Arya's head, beginning with her brush with death a couple of minutes ago and ending with the Hound’s questionable explanation. 

“I’m gonna finish this,” he said. “I wasn’t digging the fucking grave for nothing.” 

He glared at her over his shoulder. 

“Piss off,” he said. “Go play with something.” 

Arya obeyed and sat in the gate of the barn. She watched him take the corpses out and only came back when she guessed it was done. She found him standing by the grave, leaning against the shovel. She brought a few small stones and put them on the grave, forming a little cairn. 

“Beautiful,” the Hound uttered with irony. “Now let’s go. Can’t wait to fucking drop you off."

They got on their horses and left the valley behind. Big grey clouds swallowed the early sunrise again and Arya watched the horizon with unease. She would like to believe her anxiety was caused by the attack of the man but it wasn’t entirely true. She tried to repeat her list in her head, for that was that one thing which would usually calm her down. She named them in her head, one by one, until there was only one name left. And she couldn’t say it. Not even in her head anymore. 

Part II: Lady Arya 

Summary:  Arya feels more and more distant from Westeros and her family. She can see where her future leads but still cannot figure out if she wants to go alone.

It took three days for the dust to settle down and expose the ruins of King’s Landing. Arya used to spend a lot of her free time in the remains of the main harbour where she watched the sunsets and sunrises, the glimmering sea waters and the flocks of birds heading to unknown lands. She would like to be one of them. More and more she grew impatient, almost as if there was a voice over the sea, calling her. She gazed towards the horizon and she wanted to answer. 

The night Sandor had told her about Patt, he had fallen into sleep so deep he wouldn’t wake up the following day, not even another day. Arya found it unfair. After she had found him and brought him back it was only logical he would make it. She didn’t consider any other option. She had lost enough, she thought. But unfair didn’t mean impossible. 

Each time after Arya had been to see him she wandered off to the fallen city or to the soldiers’ camps. She would sit by the fires and enjoy a little human company and she welcomed the fact people wouldn’t recognize her and she didn’t know them either. There was freedom in it. And Arya realized she preferred their company to the company of her own family. She loved them, she loved her sister, Jon and Bran and yet what she enjoyed was sitting with strangers. She couldn’t explain it but it was true. It made her feel better. And so did some of the young men she met in the camps, the lucky few permitted to touch her.

It might have been a week after the city had burned and Arya walked into the sick tent as every evening, preparing to see what she had always seen.

“Oh, by Oldrun,” she uttered. Sandor was up and - cursing loudly - couldn’t reach the sword lying next to him. He noticed her and jerked his head. 

“The fuck is the sword so far for? You did that on purpose, right? How long are you watching me, having a bloody laugh?”

Arya burst out laughing. 

“A few seconds - so far,” she said. She walked over him and put the sword into his hand. 

“That’s not my sword,” he said. Arya sat down next to him. 

“Yours is lost. I brought you this one. I thought you could freak out if you woke up and didn’t have one.” 

“You’re smarter than you look,” Sandor said. Arya felt her worries and that weird constant agitation loosen dramatically. Damn, what was she thinking? This guy couldn’t just die, that was bullshit. 

“The fuck are you smiling about?” Sandor asked. His face was almost ridiculously bruised and battered, as if stomped on by a thousand horses. It bloomed in all shades of black, deep purple and green and his right eye was a bloody hole. Arya couldn’t help herself but snickered. 

“The fuck?” he asked, confused. 

“Sorry,” Arya said. “It’s just that you look like shit doesn’t really do you justice. You look like someone pulled you through an apple press.” 

“Fuck off,” Sandor said. “You said you’d bring ale if I survived the night, where the fuck is it?”

“Here,” Arya said and pulled a bottle from her coat. Sandor raised an eyebrow. 

“How long was I gone?”

“Long,” Arya said. “Almost a week.” 

“Damn. And how did you know to bring it today?” he asked. Arya shrugged. 

“I didn’t,” she said. “I had it everyday. Just in case.” 

Sandor was watching her with something that could only be a very poorly masked bewilderment. He frowned lightly, his one eye shifting away from Arya’s face and then back. 

“Were you here the whole time?” he asked. Arya shook her head. She didn’t find it necessary to tell him she was coming twice a day to make sure he didn’t need something or wasn’t already dead. 

“I remember you talking to me,” he said then. “ You took care of me.” 

Arya didn’t answer. She quite hoped he wouldn’t remember it but it was true. She wouldn't trust the volunteer helpers with his life. 

“Was I saying something to you? Shit, was I? Some damn bloody nut talks about how my daddy didn’t like me or some shit like that? Or did I cry?” Sandor asked, sounding positively horrified. 

"If I fucking cried you better kill me now."

“You didn't cry. Or talk,” Arya lied. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell him the truth but she didn’t let it bother her at the moment. All she wanted was just to drink some fucking ale with him.

“Can you get me the hell out of here?” Sandor asked. Arya raised her eyebrows.

“Sure,” she said. “Feel free to jump into my arms. Where should I take you? Sea or mountains?” 

“I’ll crawl if I have to, I don’t fucking need you but I can’t listen to that bloody crying anymore.”

He threw the furs aside and frowned. 

“You put these on me?” he asked, touching the splints on his arm and leg. 

“Wasn’t you now, was it?” Arya said. 

“Fuck, I don’t remember shit,” Sandor said. 

“Good for you,” she said. “It was quite painful. You begged for mercy.” 

He glared at her. 

“You know, I would fucking believe that,” he said and Arya had to laugh again. 

Transporting him out of the sick tent took ages and included an impressive amount of cunts, fucks and bloody fucking nightmares . 

“Damn it, what the hell you think I am - a fucking Titan? You’ll have to try a little harder,” Arya panted with his arm around her shoulders, collapsing under his weight. She felt like trying to carry a bear corpse on her back. 

“Thanks for that shitty advice. I didn’t know I should try a little harder . You ever tried walking with both legs broken?”

“Only one is broken,” Arya said through her gritted teeth. “The other is cut in half.” 

Finally, they somehow managed to get to the wooden barrel outside the tent and Sandor fell on the ground with a painful groan. Arya took a deep breath, brushing the sweaty hair from her face. 

“You better get your shit together soon,” she said.  

“Will be easy with those words of encouragement,” Sandor said. Arya slid next to him and leaned her back against the barrel. On the grass a hundred or so feet in front of them, a fire breather was performing for the wounded and the survivors, who gathered around him in a circle. Snow was falling from the sky and melting on her face and the afternoon brought early darkness. Among the sick tents, huge fires burned into the night. The civilians were joined by some of the soldiers of the North alliance Jon sent to help, along with proper healers, food and booze. 

“One thing is now clear,” Arya said. 

“And what is that?” Sandor asked, his one eye fixed on the fire breather. 

“You’re going to get through it,” Arya said. 

“Hm,” he grumbled. 

“ That's the spirit. Just get a patch on that eye. Something like a flower or a smiling puppy.” 

“That would be lovely ,” he said in a sarcastically friendly voice. 

“So will you tell me your plans?” Arya asked. 

“I’m wasting no time with damn plans,” Sandor replied. “Not until I can piss without falling on my face.” 

“You’re avoiding the question,” Arya said. 

“Maybe I am. So what,” he replied. The fire breather had just spat the oil against the wind and caught fire. His servant threw a cloth over him and some people clapped their hands, unsure if that was a part of the show. 

“For fuck’s sake, what a bloody halfwit!” Sandor exclaimed. Arya snorted and glanced at him. 

“You haven’t told me about your brother yet,” she said. “How did you feel when it was over?”

“Fucking great, I was really enjoying it. I was stuck under that gate and then you chased my ass through the seventh hell,” Sandor said. Arya rolled her eyes. 

"You just won't shut up about it, right?" she said. 

“It was just something that had to be done," he said. "I knew I had to do it, that’s all.” 

“You’re lying,” Arya said. Sandor gave her a sour look. 

“What do you want to hear?”

“Everything,” Arya said honestly. Sandor watched her, then sighed with resignation. 

“I knew it the moment I looked at him he’d already been gone,” he said. “And I knew I wouldn’t make it alive. I wanted to put an end to it but it was like fighting a fucking white walker. He didn’t feel any of the blows I gave him, he just kept going. So if you want to hear the truth, it was fucking disappointing. There would be better ways to die.” 

“But you killed him,” Arya said.

“I threw us both down from a bloody tower," Sandor corrected her. "You can kill a lot of cunts like that if you don't give a shit you're a goner, too. And he was already dead. He didn’t care that I came for vengeance. He didn’t give a rat’s shit I wanted to square up. He had to die but he would probably die anyway, burn like all the others. He didn’t give a fuck it was me who did that.” 

“Did you regret going?” Arya asked. Sandor didn’t answer right away. 

“No,” he said eventually. “But not because of him.” 

“Why, then?”

“You,” he said. “That was what I was thinking about when I threw him down. That it wasn’t such a washout after all, if I made you stay away." 

He peered at her with annoyance and added: "I didn’t know you’d come back, right? Fucking nuts.”

“I’m still waiting for your thank you,” Arya said but couldn’t deny she felt touched.

“Keep waiting,” he uttered. The bottle was empty and Arya got some more ale from the gathering in front of them. The fire breather had to be taken away and some band took his place. Arya had to admit they were much better and threw them a coin. She came back and Sandor drank like half the bottle at once. 

“When the dragon fire blazed behind us I was thinking about how nothing really mattered,” he said then. “It didn’t matter who would win. My stupid vengeance didn’t bloody matter either. There was just that fire everywhere. It would burn us both. I should have killed him back then when it still mattered. Right after he burnt my face or in the following few years. Why should anyone give a fuck now? It’s ancient history.”

Arya didn’t tell him how similar she had felt the day King’s Landing had been on fire but she guessed he’d known. She drank some more ale, watching the burning fires. 

“What the fuck am I doing here,” Sandor said suddenly. “That’s what I was thinking. And I was just pissed. Bloody pissed. It didn’t feel that great. It felt rather damn lame to die for that sack of shit.” 

He fell silent, then turned at her. 

“Why did you come back?” he asked. She looked him in the eye. 

“I could have died but I didn't. And so shouldn't you. All this crap about vengeance - that’s just a load of bullshit. It's nowhere written that you have to die for your revenge. It’s not like it’s some fucking destiny . You just keep going. You get up and keep going, that's the whole miracle…” 

Arya sighed.  

“I never told you much about my time in Braavos, right? I had a lot of time to think there. Sometimes I thought about you, too. I was thinking if you could make it, if you were still alive. I even started doubting my decision to leave you, I thought I should have stayed but I had my plans, I didn't want to be slowed down. Do you think the reason I didn't give you a mercy kill was because I wanted you to suffer?"

"Crossed my mind," Sandor muttered. 

"It wasn't. Not entirely. If I killed you, I would know you are gone. But when I let you live, I could think you made it somehow. That’s why I left you. And that’s why I've come back now. I left you so you’d have a chance. And now I had to find you for the same reason.” 

Arya frowned and shook her head. 

“Wow, I thought it would be much more difficult. I was planning to tell you since we’ve met but couldn’t make myself. And it was a piece of cake.” 

Arya had to chuckle at Sandor's plain, astounded expression. He blinked and frowned at her. 

“Sorry, am I supposed to say something?” he asked. Arya shrugged. 

“Only if you want to. All what happened in King’s Landing made me realize it’s quite easy to just speak the truth, you know. Be honest. At least sometimes. With some things.” 

“Hm, good for you,” he grumbled.

“Doesn’t really matter anymore,” Arya said, “because I saved your ass and that makes us square again.” 

“Fine,” he said and took another long sip of the ale. If Arya didn’t know him, she would think he looked almost moved. He gave her the bottle then and cleared his throat. 

“What’s with you and Gendry?” he asked all of a sudden and Arya raised her eyebrows. 

“Nothing,” she said. “We’ve known each other since my escape from King’s Landing, that’s all.”

“Really?” he asked sceptically. 

“What? Do you have something against him?” 

“No,” Sandor said. “He’s definitely brainless but I don’t give a shit about him.” 

“Brainless? I don’t think so.” 

“He is,” Sandor said. “You’ve never seen him? He always looks like he’s just pissed his pants.”

“He doesn’t,” Arya said. “He’s quite clever, you know.” 

“Sure, for a brainless guy.” 

Arya narrowed her eyes. 

“You like him?” Sandor asked. Arya nodded. 

“I do.” 

“So why aren’t you with him now?” he asked. 

“I probably don’t like him that much,” Arya said. Sandor watched her but then smiled gleefully and said: “Because he’s brainless, right? I told you.” 

“He’s not brainless. And shut up,” Arya said. Sandor laughed. 

“Fine, who’s worth it in your eyes, hm? Who’s not brainless?” she asked.

“That’s a bloody tough question,” Sandor said. Arya wanted to pursue the topic but suddenly recognized one man of Jon’s forces, one of the few she had spent a night with. 

“Shit,” she uttered and rolled her eyes. Sandor looked over at her, then noticed the guy passing by. Arya waved at him and he smiled while she did her best to avoid Sandor’s look. 

“ That ?” he asked simply. Arya shot him a defiant glare. 

“Not your business,” she said. 

“He -”

“Let me guess - brainless? You can tell just by one look, it’s a fucking gift, right?”

Sandor grunted. 

“I didn’t say shit,” he said. 

“He looks good, you have to admit it,” Arya said. “And he was very clever, by the way. He knew all the North history and he showed me - " 

"Shit, shut up,” Sandor said loudly and raised his arm. “I don't want to know what the fuck he showed you, I don’t want to know nothing about that.” 

Arya grinned and looked up. A young boy was running towards them. He stopped at once and almost collapsed, bending forward and catching his breath. 

“Lady Arya,” he gasped and Sandor chortled.

“ Lady Arya… ” he repeated under his breath and Arya poked him. 

“What’s up?” she asked. 

“You have to come with me now.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Arya asked warily. The boy looked her in the eye. 

“Haven’t you heard? Daenerys Targaryen is dead.”

Chapter Text

Part V: Flashback - Fires that burn at Nights

Summary: A little flashback showing the part Arya kept secret from Sandor, the part where he spoke from his delirium. Arya uses the situation to ask questions he would otherwise never answer. And what she finds out leaves her startled. 

Arya was standing at the big bonfire in the camp of the Vale’s soldiers and she had been watching the flames for almost an hour. Men were gathered around it, the spirits made them merry, some were singing and some even dancing. However horrifying the burning of King’s Landing was, it still was victory for them. They survived and won, they weren’t just pieces of coal laying under the ruins of the city forever. It was a reason to celebrate. 

Arya noticed a young dark-haired soldier looking at her over the fire. He was singing along with a group of his Dothraki friends but stopped and gave her a small smile. Arya didn’t return it but maintained their eye-contact. She turned then and disappeared in the shadows. 

She walked into the tent of the dying and sat down on the ground next to Sandor, exactly what she had done in the past four evenings. She put more wood into the fire burning beside and wrapped herself in a fur. And then she just sat there and watched the pain, she listened to the cry. She had what she had always wished for, she thought. Her family had died and she hadn’t been there. She had never been there. She had always wished to be there with them at that moment. To do something. To change it. But she could see now, even if she was there, even if she couldn’t be closer, there was nothing she could do to change it. It wasn’t in her hands. She hated it so much. She hated that waiting. She hated that powerlessness. Such humiliation… Even with her skills and training she was helpless. She wasn’t in control. And it could be anybody else, not only Sandor but her sister or Jon or Bran or Gendry, she would be just as helpless. All she could do was to sit there and watch the people suffer and die and listen to them wail and beg. She couldn’t fool death. 

There was only one God and his name was Death. That was what they taught her in Braavos. She thought she understood. But she didn't. 

Arya could feel death all around her. It was coursing through her veins. She closed her eyes and saw blood. She covered her ears and heard crying. But she wouldn't leave. Why? She couldn't tell. Maybe she still believed her presence mattered. Or she felt like it was a test and she was not to run away if she wanted to pass. 

"That fucking shit off me…"

Arya's eyes lowered to Sandor. He was delirious from the fever like many others in the tent.

"Fucking burns… Burns like hell…" 

Arya watched him silently, sitting motionless like a cat on guard. 

"The fuck is this place?" he asked. 

"King's Landing," Arya said. 

"What the hell am I doing here…?" 

Sandor looked at her but it was clear he didn't really see her. 

"You've seen that girl?" he asked.

"Which girl?" Arya asked.

"Little fucking vicious girl," Sandor said. Arya contemplated if his mind was back at the time he had fallen from the cliff. She smirked slightly. It was really shitty to have such bad luck twice. 

"Why are you looking for her?" she asked. 

"To look after her," he said. 

"Why?" Arya asked. "She's not your flesh and blood. She wants you dead."

Sandor snorted, 

"Aye," he said. "She does." 

Arya felt her guts wrench a little. Was he dying? She couldn't tell. She still didn’t move and a part of her didn’t even want to be there, a part of her wanted to run away. 

"Would you die for her?" she asked him. She knew she was taking advantage of the situation but she also knew it was probably the only time to hear the truth from him.

"I would," he said and Arya stiffened. 

"Is she dead?" he asked and Arya didn't know what to do. Comforting wasn't her thing, she felt vulnerable and exposed and she hated that feeling. She moved closer to him and neared her face so he could see it. First she thought he wouldn't recognize her but his look turned sharp for a moment.

"Damn, it’s you…" he uttered. His eye closed then and he fell back into deep sleep. Arya was watching him with her eyes wide and then she knew she couldn't watch him like that for one more second. She got up and left the tent of dying, heading to the fires of the camps. She needed to see some life. She wanted to wash the death off her. She wanted to hold something warm. Something alive…  

The dark-haired, dark-eyed Dothraki soldier was still there as if waiting for her. Arya didn’t even want to know his name or where he was from, even if he could speak her language. No words were necessary. Just a bit of warmness, a bit of feeling alive. Flesh and blood. 

Part V: Flesh and Blood

Summary: Arya bids her farewell to Sandor and they talk as they wait for her ship in the harbour. Arya struggles maintaining her independence while staying honest. And Sandor gets drunk. 

(I wanted them to get drunk at some point but I always thought it would be pretty OOC, because they both wouldn’t risk being so unfocused. I finally found a fitting moment.)

The sky blossomed with late afternoon green and purple, the cold and bright colours of winter. Arya had her eyes on the horizon and knew she wasn’t going to watch the next sunrise from here anymore. She took a deep breath and realized she was shivering slightly. It wasn’t a distant dream anymore but something that was happening, very soon. Was she going to make it, all on her own? Arya closed her eyes to withstand the wave of nausea coming. 

“First things first,” she whispered to herself. She walked into the tent and found Sandor sitting on his bed and reading some sort of a book. She had a personal tent arranged for him and the first thing he had said was that he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without the screaming anymore. He looked at her and put the book aside. 

“I didn’t know you could read,” Arya said. 

“I wish I couldn’t,” Sandor said, “It’s the most boring crap ever. I’d poke my eye out if I didn't have only one anymore. Reminds me why I never fucking read."

“Who taught you?” Arya asked and sat down on a chair opposite to him. Fire was cracking softly in the middle of the tent and Arya felt herself relaxing slowly, her agitation and anxiety subduing step by step. 

“My mother,” Sandor said. “She wanted me to be some sort of a smart ass scholar.” 

Arya imagined Sandor in a maester’s clothes, all wised-up with books under his arms and she burst out laughing. 

“What only went wrong…” she said and shook her head. 

“Let’s say I didn’t have the gift,” Sandor said. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. 

“I think I’ll soon go mad. There’s not a bloody thing to do. Some cunts have come here this morning and asked me if I wanted to play Who’s the king with them.”

Arya laughed again. 

“You buried them under this tent, I guess,” she said. “Well, you could still learn how to knit. I bet your mother would be proud.” 

Sandor shot her a dark look. Arya wanted to ask him about his plans but didn’t. She’d already asked him so many times and had never been given an answer. He didn’t know himself. And she couldn’t help him with that. Her worries flooded her again. Was she going to make it? She had no idea, no bloody idea. Shouldn’t she stay here where it was… what? Safe? It wasn’t safer here than anywhere else. And she could protect herself, she could take care of herself… And she didn’t want to change her plans. Her life was elsewhere. She couldn’t stay here, she had to answer the voice over the horizon. That much she knew. 

“What’s wrong?” Sandor asked. Arya blinked in surprise. 

“What?”

“You look strange,” he said. “Are you sick?” 

“No,” Arya said. “I’m just…” 

She hesitated but stuck to her decision not to tell him. Not like that.

“I’m leaving this evening,” she said. “On the last ship taking off at sunset. I came to say goodbye.” 

“Good,” he said. It was impossible to read his voice or expression. 

“Are you ever coming back?” he asked. Arya shrugged. 

“I guess so. But I have no idea when. Not anytime soon.” 

“It fits you,” Sandor said. “It’s a good plan for you.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Arya repeated and let the words sink for a while, gazing over his head at the canvas. Sandor gave her a suspicious look. 

“What’s that?” he asked. Arya was again surprised how he could read in her face, especially when she was sure she wasn’t giving anything away. He wasn't her damn flesh and blood, yet he knew her better than anybody else. 

“Nothing,” she said. “I brought you a gift."

She handed him the eye-patch and he took it from her hand. On the front side there was a Stark Direwolf stamped into the leather. Sandor smirked. 

“I was actually planning to wear a fake eye but this will do.” 

He turned the eye-patch over and raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s that?” he asked. 

“I had it stamped," Arya said. "That’s in the old language of Braavos.” 

“The old language of Braavos,” Sandor repeated slowly. “Coz I fucking master that old language of Braavos, right? You expect me to learn it just so I could read it?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” Arya said. “Can I help you with that?”

He waved his hand and Arya got up and walked over him, taking the eye-patch from his hand. She brushed his hair off his face and wondered how natural it felt to do such an intimate gesture to someone invoking all the opposites of the word intimate. She strapped the eye-patch over his eye gently and rested her hands on his shoulders for a while. It felt nice, she thought. Familiar. He reached his hand to her and faltered shortly before putting it over hers. Arya smiled slightly and enjoyed the short moment of closeness. She stepped back then and whistled.

“Oh my, what a cracker. Beric would be fucking jealous, he could never look this beautiful.”  

“Shut the fuck up,” Sandor said and pushed her next to him on the bed. 

“No, I mean it. You look dangerous but still classy."

"Isn't it already time for your ship?"

"Soon," Arya said. 

"You said your goodbyes?"

"To everyone. You're the last," Arya said. “Oh, and one more thing…” 

She pulled a bottle from her coat. 

“Don’t ask me how I got it but that’s one of the finest spirits that survived the burning. Thought that could be a proper goodbye.”

They were mostly speaking the usual shit and the less there was in the bottle, the funnier everything seemed. Arya was holding herself down, though, and only had a couple of small sips. She didn’t feel that very well and wasn’t intending to vomit the whole voyage. She wouldn’t be able to keep up with Sandor anyway, as his pace was quite remarkable from the start and he washed each shot of spirit with a wave of ale.

“Nah, I think you’d be a great couple,” Arya said, laughing. “All the passion, you know… That’s precious.” 

“So are my ears. Especially now when I’m losing all parts of my bloody face,” Sandor said and touched the ear Brienne had bit off ages ago. 

“A half of the Hound is still no match for a common man,” Arya shrugged. Sandor snorted. 

“And she only wanted to show you she cares,” Arya said. “Don’t you know women?” 

“Fucking nightmare,” Sandor said and Arya slapped his shoulder.

“Imagine you had kids,” she said. “Wouldn’t that be cute?” 

Sandor was watching her grimly but then cracked an amused smile. He had another mighty gulp of the spirit which made Arya raise her eyebrow. 

“So this… this Gendry,” he started but Arya frowned. 

“Shut up about Gendry. I have a better question. What about my sister, hm? Are you in love with her like everyone else?”

“What?” Sandor asked and his bewilderment seemed genuine. 

“Don’t play an idiot,” Arya said. “I know you’re smitten. If she told you to jump off a fucking cliff, you’d go, right?” 

“The fuck you’re talking about?” Sandor asked, his tongue getting heavy. 

“About my sister. Admit it, admit you’d just dribble in front of her day and night.” 

“She a beautiful -”

“I know she’s beautiful. She always was, much more than me. I made my peace with that.”

“The fuck is your question?” Sandor asked. “Speak clearly, kid.” 

“Who’s your favourite?” Arya asked. “If we both were falling, who’d you catch? Me or her?”

“Damn, I’m not catching anyone,” Sandor said. “I’m done with jumping off cliffs and towers.”

“Who’s your favourite?” Arya asked and realized it wasn’t a joke for her anymore, she really wanted to know. Mostly only out of curiosity but there also was a smart part of jealousy, no matter how she disliked to admit it. 

“You said everyone has favourites, even fathers,” Arya reminded him. 

"Can I walk you to the harbour?" Sandor asked instead of answering. Arya crossed her arms on her chest but then decided to let it be. 

"I would like that," she said.

"Then we better go now," Sandor said. “Will take bloody forever with this fucking piece of shit.” 

Arya wasn’t sure if the fucking piece of shit was supposed to be his broken leg or the crutch but she guessed it didn’t really matter. They walked slowly through the ruins of the city and had to take several detours because many streets were blocked with stones and debris. 

"Are you alright? We can take a break, there's plenty of time."

"Fucking marvelous,” Sandor said. “Stop bloody asking.” 

“Oh, by Oldrun, just sit down,” Arya sighed. “You’ve recovered faster than anyone I know, what the hell are you expecting? It's not even two months yet. If you’re trying to impress me, it’s not working.” 

“Move out of my way or you get one,” Sandor said and Arya rolled her eyes. What a damn stubborn bastard. They descended to the harbour eventually, with the sunset upon them. Arya’s ship was anchored in the ruins of the least destroyed marina and a small group of people gathered around, some already standing on the dock. 

“Give me that,” Sandor said and grabbed the almost empty bottle. He sat down on a block of stone, looking considerably exhausted. He finished the bottle in one big draught. Arya shook her head. 

“It’s not going to be me who pukes at the captain,” she said. 

“Nah, I can stand worse shit,” he said but Arya could tell from his voice and movements he was nicely tanked up. She sat down next to him and they remained silent for a while. She watched her ship and out of the blue, a horrible fear twisted her guts. She couldn’t understand it or control it and she felt like choking. 

“Don’t you want to fucking tell me what’s really going on with you?” Sandor asked. She turned at him and saw he was observing her closely. Arya wanted to brush him off but couldn’t find any words to say. She knew if she opened her mouth, nothing would come out. She looked away to hide her tears but they started rolling down her cheeks. 

“Oh, shit, not the tears …” she heard Sandor moan and she would love to stop it but it was like a broken dam. He put his hand on her back and held it there the whole time she cried. She caught her breath at last, wiping her swollen eyes into her sleeve. 

“Hey, I have this for you,” Sandor said and handed her a little piece of metal. 

“What is it?” Arya asked, sniffing. 

“Bloody hell, how the fuck should I know,” Sandor said. “It’s been in my family for ages. I took it from the house the day I left this fucking shithole. It’s the only thing I took.” 

“It’s a cloak pin,” Arya said. 

“Whatever,” Sandor replied and tried to shake out the remaining drops from the bottle. Arya turned the pin in her fingers. It was gold and definitely at least a few hundred years old. The engravings were worn smooth but she could still recognize it was supposed to be an eagle’s head and its eye was a bluish gemstone.
“Whom did it belong to?” she asked. 

“I have no bloody idea,” Sandor said. “I never asked. Nobody gave a shit, it was just a part of the inheritance. It’s not like my brother would wear it in his hair or something.”

“Why did you take it then”? Arya asked.

“I don’t know,” Sandor said. “It was the oldest thing we owned. I sometimes wondered what the story behind it was. And now it’s the only thing left after the House Clegane.” 

“You should keep it then,” Arya said. Sandor shook his head. 

“I want you to have it,” he said. “It reminds me of you. And House Clegane is shit. All it did was shit. All I did was shit. Forty fucking five years of shit. You say your father was killed unjustly. I say he was lucky. He could look back and be proud of something. His House. His kids. You can die then. Look around, people keep fucking dying every day. I don’t know anybody who’d die of old age. You just die, it’s how it is. If you can look back and be proud at at least one bloody thing, you can fucking die. To hell with House Clegane. Doesn’t need a token to be remembered.” 

Arya listened closely, looking at the pin in her hand.

“That’s not true,” she said then. “House Clegane should always be remembered. I will remember.”

She pinned the eagle’s head on her cloak and they sat in silence, their eyes turned to the sea. Seagulls were flying over their heads and their voices were so casual, so normal. They didn’t care what happened. They would make their nests in the ruins or fly somewhere else and find a better place. The sun touched the sea and Arya rose to her feet. Sandor did the same and Arya had to smirk how he was towering above her, making her tilt her head back. 

“Fuck,” he said. “I’m so fucking useless in this. I can’t be nice. I can either insult you or make a nasty joke, what’s it gonna be?”

Arya laughed shortly. 

“It’s fine,” she said. “That’s what I always liked about you, it’s a part of your charm.”

She looked him in the eye. 

“There's enough space on that ship,” she said. 

“Not for me,” he answered. "I’m getting old. How long would I still be of some use? A few years. Then it turns into crap."

Arya kept looking at him.

"A few good years then," she said. “You said it yourself. You can never know what happens.”

He didn't reply and Arya almost did it, she almost asked him to come. She didn’t need him to survive. She didn’t need anybody to survive. But he wouldn’t be the burden he thought he would be. Arya knew that but she couldn’t explain it to him, he had to understand it himself. She might not need a protector. But nobody said anything about a companion. 

"You don't need me anymore," Sandor said. And as he said it, the fear, that strange and uncontrollable fear of the last few weeks ran through her again. 

“No,” she said silently and more to herself, "I don't…"  

She shook it off, at least for the following couple of minutes. 

“You’re such a damn indestructible bastard,” she said. “I’m sure if I cut both your legs off you’d just grow a new pair. The look you gave me under the Red Keep, this stupid vengeance done, what now - I should probably die look. What a load of crap, right? That’s not for you and I could see that in your face. And I could understand it because as I found out - I’m the same.” 

Sandor just stood there and Arya had a hard time not laughing or smirking at his genuinely overwhelmed expression, almost like a child’s.
“Can you at least bend down, for fuck’s sake?” she said. “The sentimental talk is over, you get it? Damn, you really are hopeless, you weren’t joking.” 

Sandor reached down to her, low enough so she could put her hands on his shoulders. 

“You know me,” she said. “You don’t really think I’ll be collecting bugs and writing books about it, right?”

He snorted and Arya gave him a small kiss on the cheek. 

“Good bye, Sandor,” she said. She wanted to move away from him but he caught her wrist. He was looking at her for a while and Arya wondered if he too was recalling all they had been through. 

“You are my favourite,” he said. “When I look back, you’re the only thing that wasn’t shit. I wish you were my flesh and blood.”

Arya felt her eyes swelling.

“Safe voyage, you vicious little thing,” he said and placed his giant hand on her cheek.

Eye Patch - 2 days earlier...

Arya wouldn’t imagine the best armourer in the camp that way - small, bald and chubby. Like someone you’d rather picture under a table in a pub but hardly a man capable of making the most delicate armour accessories. 

“Hello,” Arya greeted him and he stopped hammering a fine looking sword. He eyed her and imme,diately recognized the House Stark symbols on her clothes. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked and put the hammer aside.

“Just a small favour,” Arya said. “I need a leather eye-patch, for a man. A big man.” 

The man raised his eyebrow, clearly expecting something of a greater significance. 

“I can have it done by tomorrow,” he said. Arya nodded. 

“I want you to stamp something on the inner side. It’s in Braavosi. Can you read?”

“No,” the man said. “Never needed it.” 

“I have it here. Can you stamp it anyway, exactly how it is here?”

Arya handed him a piece of parchment. The man frowned. 

“I think I should manage," he said and looked up at her. 

“What does it mean?” he asked. 

Arya lowered her eyes to the parchment. Spontaneously, she put her hand on her lower belly. The incredible sensation of something alive there, something living inside her, overwhelmed her again. 

“Vero Ziannh ara Neshav. Darah nuar mer Hoo-uta?” Arya said then. 

“My flesh and blood. Do you remember the Weeper?”

Chapter Text

Part I - Flashback: Long Nights

Summary:  Before she leaves Westeros, Arya finds out what the delay in her days could actually mean. 

Winter brought such long nights it seemed like the day wouldn’t even happen. The sun wouldn’t fight its way through the clouds and the sky would only lighten up very feebly in the morning and turn darker each hour until the darkness swallowed everything. The gatherings around the fires never left at those times. They became their own temporary family. The sense of belonging fascinated Arya. She couldn’t explain it better but she belonged among the strangers. Strangers were her family. 

The wind bellowed, setting the snow in the air in whirls. Arya frowned and cowered under her heavy fur. She was sitting propped against the wood barrel as usual, with Sandor by her side. He had put himself on a self-designed treatment of drinking ale everyday until he passed out. Arya knew it was to dull the pain and she didn’t try to stop him. Someone who had already survived once after laying rotting on the ground for days, having worms in his flesh, deserved a little trust from her side. 

Arya watched the snowflakes against the flames and raised her eyebrow when Sandor’s head fell on her shoulder. She wasn’t surprised he had dozed off, though. He must have drunk like a gallon of ale only in the last few hours. Arya was usually quite enjoying just sitting with him in silence. But not that evening. Something felt off and she couldn't wrap her mind about it. 

"Hi. Don't you want to come to the fire?"

Arya looked up. It was a man around twenty five, lean and - actually - not that bad looking. Judging from his clothes he was from King's Landing.

"Why not…" Arya said. She moved away carefully, holding Sandor's shoulders and steadying him against the barrel. He seemed pretty passed out, with snow harbouring on his shoulders and in his hair. Furs had fallen off his shoulders and Arya pulled them back up before smirking lightly. She wasn't expecting him up any time soon. 

“He’s your father?” the man asked and Arya shook her head. 

“He’s a friend,” she said. They walked to the fires and the young man introduced himself as Morran. Arya was only half-listening to his story of what he had been doing on the day of the destruction. 

“You are quiet,” Morran said and put a hand on her knee. They were sitting on the wood benches near the fire, all sorts of people gathered around them and their loud voices and singing carried through the still winter night. Arya looked down at the hand on her knee. She took it and removed it. 

“I’m sorry,” Morran said. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.” 

“So did I,” Arya said, more to herself. She looked at him again. Damn, he wasn’t bad looking. He was even friendly and only moderately booze-horny. She couldn’t put her finger on it… 

A group of men behind them started singing the Rains of Castamere and Arya stiffened. No matter how much time had passed, the melody would always send chills down her spine. When she remembered the night now, the thing she was most upset about was herself. The little hopeless girl who could only watch. The little useless girl who had wanted to do something and would have tried if she hadn’t been stopped but she would have died and wouldn’t have saved anyone. Where was that little girl? Had she died a long time ago? Or was she sleeping somewhere, hidden?

“I love that song,” Morran said and got up, joining the singing men. 

“Don’t you know the words?” he asked. “Sing with us.” 

Morran opened his mouth to go on but was suddenly smashed by a forceful blow and fell on his back with a surprised gasp. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Sandor said. “All of you, fuck off with that bloody song.” 

The singing group did indeed fall silent but they looked more pissed than scared. 

“How did you get here?” Arya asked, quite impressed. 

“Well, I didn’t fly here on a fucking chicken now, did I?” Sandor said, leaning against the wooden crutch. 

“The fuck is your problem?” one of the group asked. 

“Right now it’s you,” Sandor said and Arya rolled her eyes. 

“Am I seeing right or we’re threatened by a fucking cripple?” another man from the group asked and Sandor grasped the hilt of his sword. 

“You wanna see what that fucking cripple can do to you, you sack of shit ?” Sandor asked and Arya put a hand on his forearm. 

“Let’s go in,” she said, not in the mood for a fight. 

“Oh yeah, listen to the girl,” one of the men sneered. Sandor wanted to draw his sword out but Arya pushed it back. She looked him in the eye. 

“Let’s go inside,” she repeated. “If you're looking for a fight, I’ll get you some real bastards, not these losers.” 

Sandor snorted but Arya could see she had won. Morran approached her, taking her hand. 

“Don’t leave yet,” he said. “I’m sorry if we offended you.” 

Sandor’s eyes lowered to Morran’s hand holding Arya’s and he shoved it aside with an annoyed grunt, as if it was a giant fly.

“Keep your bloody hands on your cock,” he said. Arya gave Morran a look. 

“We’ll see each other later, maybe. Good night.” 

She heard Sandor muttering something under his breath while they stumbled at the speed of a two-hundred-year old grandpa and turned at him. 

“You have such a charming entrance, you really are the heart of every gathering.” 

“These are your new friends?” Sandor asked. “Fucking twats.” 

“Not everybody is such an amazing and well mannered gentleman like you,” Arya said. “And what was your problem indeed? You just miss breaking noses, right?”

Arya’s smirk disappeared as a sudden wash of sickness surprised her. She gasped and stopped, leaning forward. 

“What’s wrong?” Sandor asked. Arya shook her head and wanted to continue but shivered as the bile crawled up her throat. 

“Shit…” she grunted and squeezed her eyes shut. But despite all her will and strength she couldn’t stop vomiting and threw up into the snow. Sandor held her around her shoulders, brushing her hair off her face. In some other situation, Arya would probably take a little moment to ponder about the unusual gentleness of such a brute but she had to fight another wave of nausea and just stayed still, breathing deeply. 

“You done?” Sandor asked. 

“I hope,” she breathed out, spitting into the snow. She straightened up and inhaled deeply. 

“I need a drink,” she said. They reached the tent and Sandor fell on the bed with a painful hiss. He had a long sip of ale from the bottle by his bed and Arya meanwhile put more wood into the fire. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t drunk so much that evening, was she sick or something? She looked at Sandor who was half-laying with his broken leg stretched and his eye closed. 

“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked. 

“I was in more when they were singing,” he said. 

“C’mon, lie down. The sooner you recover, the sooner you can go fighting people without the crutch and stop embarrassing yourself,” Arya said and walked over to him, helping him to lift his broken leg onto the bed. Sandor let out a painful sigh and looked her in the eyes. 

“You’re so kind it’s fucking fishy.” 

“I’m not kind like that to just anyone. You should be rather honoured,” Arya said. Sandor smirked. 

“I am,” he said and Arya glanced at him, surprised how honest it sounded. 

“And drunk,” Sandor added. “I’m bloody drunk.” 

“That’s good. It’s the best cure for you,” Arya said. “I’ll get you more ale later so you'd have enough for the whole night.” 

“Good girl,” Sandor grunted and closed his eye. “That’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard in the last ten years.” 

Arya laughed and sat down on the chair near the bed. 

“So you liked that little piece of shit out there?” Sandor asked and Arya scoffed. 

“You mean the quite normal and friendly guy who didn’t punch anyone?”

“Yeah, that little fucker.” 

“I find him fine,” Arya said. Sandor let out a long breath. 

“You’re a damn woman now, I can’t get fucking used to it. You’re often still a little kid to me.” 

Arya watched him in awe. Instead of being offended she felt touched by that rarest display of affection from him. Sure it was mainly ale speaking from him but it was no secret that drunk men spoke the truth. 

“I’m sorry I’m not a kid anymore,” Arya said. Sandor laughed shortly. 

“Already as a little kid you had bigger balls than any of the cunts outside.” 

Arya’s eyebrows flew up and she smiled. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sandor asked suddenly. "You should be there somewhere, finding some boy or something. The fuck are you doing here with me?"

"I don't know," Arya said truthfully. "But I don't want a boy. Or something. I've already told you once by the lake. It hasn't changed. It's just that everyone expects it from women. Sure, let's have my wild time but after that I better quickly get a man and a cow and five kids. I don't want it now and I don't want it after."

Arya paused and realized what she had said. She really wanted to stay alone? Till the end?

"Nah, sounds like a shit plan for you," Sandor said and Arya smirked softly. She might still meet someone in future, someone she would like to tie the knot with, she could not rule that out. But it wasn't on her horizon at the moment. 

"Since we are so sharing, you're planning to do what? Stay alone till you die?"

"No, I'm gonna open a fucking sweet shop."

"You have to know what you want."

"Not having every bone broken again, that's what I fucking want."

"You're hopeless," Arya said and sighed. 

“Aye, don’t listen to me, I’m bloody done,” Sandor muttered.  “Doesn’t make any sense… Doesn’t make bloody sense.” 

“What?” Arya asked. 

“Nothing,” he said. “No point…” 

Arya was thinking if she understood how he had meant it but before her thoughts could decide which turn to take, another uncalled wave of sickness stunned her. She held her breath to avert the vomiting, then took a few deep breaths. She was probably just tired, she hadn’t had a decent sleep in months. Months… 

Arya froze as she sat. Months… Damn, when was the last time she had bled? She was always counting it to know when to expect it and be ready. It was coming after twenty eight days, sometimes thirty, but never more. With all the chaos around it wasn’t easy to recall the last time so precisely. It had been at least two weeks before she had come to King's Landing. She hadn’t bled here yet and it had already been more than a month…

Arya widened her eyes. Oh gods, was she with a child? And whatever she wanted to believe and whatever excuses or explanations she wanted to make, the rational part of her brain was telling her the obvious answer. She was. She pretty damn was… 

Part II - You sure there's something?

Summary: Arya’s first longer stop on her journey takes an unexpected turn… 

The island of Arrihvar was a two-month voyage from King’s Landing, had a population of around four hundred thousand people and half of them were residing in the capitol, a harbour city Teptis. Arya was planning to stay a month or two before sailing further west. And after one month she found herself in a situation again . It was late at night and she used herself as a bait to lure a murderer out, a man killing little girls, raping them and mutilating. All those girls found dead in the harbour were beggars or orphans and had no one to care about them. No one… And no one came for their killer. 

Arya wore the face of a ten year old for her disguise. She let the killer “surprise her” in her own room in a little pub she was staying in, pretending she was robbing it. But the moment she was about to kill him, he said something that stopped her. 

“They will like you. And your little filthy cunt…“ 

Arya hesitated. She could kill him and be done with it but she knew herself well. She wanted to look into the eyes of the bastards who made the orders and presumably paid this man to do the dirty job for them. 

The man tied her arms and legs and put a bag over her head. Arya felt an excitement rush building inside her. It’d been a long time since she had felt like that, her fingers almost twitching with the urge to strangle the man immediately. He carried her out of her room and Arya could tell exactly which streets they passed and where they were heading. To the wealthy part of the city, way above the harbour, with beautiful gardens and a stunning view at the sea. That was where the monsters lived. 

The man threw her on the ground in a waste, silent hall. Arya didn’t move, making sure once again she had clenched her hands in a way to have the rope as loose as possible. Her dagger was strapped close to her hip and she was ready… She was sure the killer wouldn’t really search her. He thought she was a ten year old girl and ten year old girls didn’t usually carry weapons or pose any real danger. 

“My lords… There she is.” 

The man removed the bag from her face and Arya looked up with a perfectly scared look. She recognized the three faces instantly. Those men were prominent members of the royal Teptis society, often could she see them strolling over the harbour, watching their ships leaving or landing with goods and slaves. Looking for little girls to torture and kill. Arya’s heart raced. She couldn’t wait to see that exact moment they would realize how totally fucked up they were. The moment was worth all the risk. 

“She looks angry…” one of the lords said, a tall bald one. He smirked and ran a finger over his chin. 

“And scrawny…” the other lord said, a man with feminine face features and thin lips. 

“You like them scrawny, don’t you?” the third man asked, a fat sweating creature. They all were dressed in the finest robes and from where she stood, Arya could smell their sweat mixed with expensive perfumes. 

“She was trying to rob a room in Three Coins,” her kidnapper said. 

“Poor thing,” the fat man said. “We’ll give you what you need, little girl…” 

Arya watched the fat man approach her over the big hall, his steps echoing in the silence. He handed the kidnapper a pouch with coins which he took and receded aside. 

“Look at you…” 

The fat man lifted her chin up and Arya looked him in the eyes timidly. 

“So afraid," he said. "Poor thing.” 

“Have you heard about the other girls?” the tall, bald one asked. “All these unfortunate girls found in the harbour? And yet you were not afraid to wander there alone? At night?”

“I was looking for food,” Arya whispered and her voice trembled. 

“I see…” 

The fat man eyed her up and down. He put a hand on his cock and rubbed it. 

“I’ll give you something nice, little girl. Something to suck on.” 

Arya widened her eyes - precisely the reaction the man had hoped for and it made him sneer. 

“And after I give you that honour, you’ll please my two friends as well. As long as we wish. The longer you last, you filthy bitch, the longer it takes till you end up in the harbour sewer like all the little whores before you.” 

Arya managed to squeeze some tears from her eyes. It was a recently learned ability and she was pretty proud of it. She moved her hands carefully and undid the rope, holding it in her hands. 

“Kneel down, bitch…” the fat man said and pulled his cock out as Arya knelt in front of him. 

“Suck it, you cunt,” the man said and kicked her. Arya sobbed and the man laughed. 

“Already crying? Save your strength,” he said. “Now suck him, you fucking whore.” 

Arya grimaced with disgust. The time had come, she thought. She took a small step back and straightened up. She let the ropes fall on the ground and looked the fat man in the eyes.

“I won’t be the one crying here,” she said. She drew her dagger out and with one swift movement, she cut his cock off. The first second he just watched his friend lie on the ground, an expression of utter shock on his face. 

“Guards! Guards!” the two remaining men cried out. 

“Gua-”

The man with a feminine face didn't finish his sentence as Arya jumped to him and cut his throat. She looked at the tall one. He was watching her with disbelief and horror. The gate of the hall opened and seven guards ran in. Arya didn’t want to hurt them, though. They had probably nothing to do with it. 

The bald man headed to the door on the other side of the hall but Arya threw her dagger at him, hitting the back of his head. She defeated the first guard and took his sword, fighting the following three and successfully eliminating them. She turned at the other three when she felt a powerful cramp in her underbelly. She only faltered for a few seconds but it was enough for one of the men to push her several steps back. Arya stiffened when another cramp came, even stronger. She tried to ignore it but the third time it came she yelped and swayed, her arm with the sword dropping. She looked up and realized she wasn’t blocking the coming blow. She tried to raise her arm but knew it was too late. No moment in her life had ever felt so long. 

“Fuck off.” 

Arya gasped. Two swords clashed just a few inches away from her head. Sandor was standing between her and the guards, as tall as he had never seemed. Damn, she forgot how big he was. So fucking huge… 

“I said, fuck off,” he said and pushed the man away. It gave Arya enough time to get up and catch her breath, feeling the strange cramp subduing. All the three guards attacked Sandor at once but he didn’t even need Arya’s help to have the upper hand. 

“Don’t kill them,” Arya said. Sandor punched one of the men so hard she heard his jaw break. It only took a minute and the last two men joined their five companions already unconscious on the ground. Arya walked over the fat man who was laying on the ground screaming and she would love to leave him like that. But then she pierced his throat and spat on him. 

"There was one more," she said. "The man who brought me." 

"He's done," Sandor said. "I met him on my way here." 

“Good," Arya said. "Let's go."

They both rushed out of the mansion and didn’t stop until they were at a safe distance in a dark and empty alley. Arya turned at Sandor standing behind her and he frowned.

“Take that face off, for fuck’s sake,” he said. Arya raised her eyebrow but removed the little girl’s face. 

“How did you know it was me?”

Sandor scoffed. 

“You’ll need more than a fake face to fool me.” 

Arya smirked but Sandor looked considerably pissed. 

“What the fuck was that? Didn’t you kill the bloody Night King?”

“Wasn’t my fault,” Arya said angrily. “I got some cramps I’ve never had before.” 

Sandor looked down at Arya’s stomach and she found that uncomfortable. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s gone. It was nothing.” 

Sandor was silent for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly. 

“Can we go somewhere else? I need a fucking drink.” 

They returned to the small inn Arya was staying in and went to her room she had been kidnapped from a while ago. Sandor sat down on the only chair next to the bed and Arya stayed standing, looking him in the eye. 

“What took you so long?” she asked. Sandor tapped his leg. 

“Had to wait till the bloody bone healed or I’d be fighting those cunts with a pair of fucking crutches.” 

“And how was the voyage?”

“Damn bloody nightmare, I hate that fucking sailing,” Sandor said and paused to have a sip of ale. He put the bottle back on the ground and his one remaining eye fixed on her. 

“Let’s cut that crap, aye?” he said and pointed his gloved finger at her belly. 

“You sure there’s something?” he asked. “Looks still the same to me.” 

Arya snorted. 

“Yes, I’m quite sure,” she said ironically. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. Arya hesitated, not even realizing she was standing in such a rebellious posture as if preparing to fight. 

“I didn’t want to,” she said. 

“Who was it?” Sandor asked. Arya raised her chin defiantly. 

“Doesn’t matter,” she said coldly. 

“ Who ?” Sandor repeated. Arya waved with her arms abruptly. 

“Fuck, I don’t know. There wasn’t only one. I didn’t even know the names of some. And I don’t give a shit, I don’t want to start a family with any of them.” 

Sandor’s face was so sour Arya felt the urge to slap him. Who the fuck was he to judge her?

“So, what’s your plan?” he asked. “Playing a little assassin while having a kid chasing you?”

“Shut up, you are in no position to judge me.” 

Arya was getting all heated up and suddenly all she wanted was to scream at him, to attack him or at least punch that disapproving damn face and punch it fucking hard. 

“That’s why you came? To give me this crappy question and make that face like some saint shit? I didn’t want… this . I will have to manage somehow, myself . I didn’t ask you for anything so shut the fuck up. You’re not here to tell me what to do! Or do you think when I wrote that message I wanted you to come and give me a bloody lecture?” 

Arya was already shouting and somewhere deep inside found herself surprised how calm Sandor was taking it. Too calm, too damn calm!

“So there’s going to be a kid. So what? They are fucking everywhere. Almost all women have them. And I can’t do anything with that anyway, it just happened. It just fucking happened.” 

Sandor crossed his arms on his chest and for some unclear reason that was the last straw for Arya. 

“Fuck you!” she cried out. “You men do it all the time. Fucking around, not giving a shit. Having ten women a night! And nobody finds that odd, right? You are even proud of yourself. But when a woman does it, it’s wrong? It makes her a slut? That’s what you think about me, right? That I’m a bloody whore? Fuck you, fuck you all!” 

Sandor’s chest started shaking with deep laughter. 

“I never said shit like that,” he said. “But you forgot one thing - we don’t have kids that often.” 

Arya rushed to him and punched his upper arm with all her strength. 

“You fucking bastards, that’s the fucking unfairness of the world!” 

Sandor winced with pain and the slight astonishment in his face filled Arya with such satisfaction she punched him again. Sandor caught her arm then and both annoyance and amusement reflected in his eye. 

“If that makes you feel better I’ll get you some other fucker to hit.” 

Arya stopped fighting him and pulled her arm from his grasp. She put a hand on her eyes and took a deep breath, her heart still beating fast. She rubbed her eyes and felt them burn. Sandor was watching her with an expression Arya couldn’t decipher. 

“Did you want me to come?” he asked. 

“I didn’t care,” she lied and wondered if the lie was really so obvious. 

“All I want is to sail on. I have to. It has to work somehow. Don’t you understand it?” 

Fuck, she sounded so pleading! Sandor didn’t move a muscle but then, very slightly, he nodded. 

“Damn, girl… But you’ve messed it up a little, right?”

Arya gasped with another blast of fury. 

“Shut up! Shut up or I’ll punch you again!”

Sandor chortled shortly. 

“Aye, this reunion goes just as I imagined.” 

Arya was shaking slightly. She walked to the half-opened window to get some fresh air and she could see the streets leading to the harbor and could hear the silent whisper of the sea. And the voice calling her. It grew stronger, just like her baby. 

“I want to sail on,” she repeated quietly. And she felt that fear again, that horrible fear of threat and the unknown. But the real unknown, unknown of a life like that with a baby, unknown that scared the shit out of her and made her stomach swirl. There was no excitement, no feeling of adventure. Only that fucking fear… 

She was so distracted she didn’t hear Sandor getting up from his chair and was surprised to hear him speak behind her. 

“You sail on then, that’s what you should do,” he said but Arya didn’t feel any better. It wasn’t about that decision, that decision she had made ages ago. She could say it as many times as she wanted but it wouldn’t make it more possible.

“I’ll go with you,” Sandor said. “I’ll help you to protect that little thing if that’s what you want.” 

Arya inhaled sharply and tears spurted into her eyes but they were tears of joy and relief, such incredible relief. Because she knew that one sentence from him had made it all possible and she was so longing to hear that, more than she had been admitting to herself, all that time on Arrihvar had she hoped to hear it. 

She turned to face him and struggled for a few seconds, not sure what to say, not sure if a simple thanks would do. She looked into his face, that rough and battered face scaring people already from far distance and she finally understood just how much she loved that damn face. 

“Is that what you want?” Sandor asked. Arya nodded and then she did something she had already wanted to do a few times before. She hugged him. She put her arms around him and squeezed him tight. She could sense it caught him off guard and she couldn’t care less. He put his arms around her shoulders eventually, his chin touching her hair and Arya rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, a smile spreading on her face. She would go on. Now, she could . She knew what difference him joining her would make. And that horrible fear of threat and the unknown didn’t seem so horrible anymore. 

“But let’s make one thing clear right now,” Sandor said. “I’m not some bleeding nurse, you do fucking get it?” 

Arya burst out laughing but didn’t move away from him. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “What did you say?”

“No fucking way,” Sandor grunted and Arya laughed again.