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“If you don't shut that mouth of yours, I'll be happy to shut it for you.” Sandor tried to hide the depth of his frustration as he glared at the little beast he'd been stupid enough to kidnap. The little lady, Arya Stark. She insisted she wasn't a lady, but she could be bossy and entitled when it pleased her. Most of the time, he wished he could just cut out her tongue to quit her yapping, since gagging her had failed so miserably- buggering hells, she'd actually gnawed through the cloth. He even threatened her with a knife a couple of times, but his blade no longer scared the little wolf. She was a clever thing, if nothing else, and she saw right through his empty threats. Sometimes, he even thought of just leaving her behind, ransom be damned. Too late, he'd seen that the little brat was more trouble than she was worth.
“You could try again, if you like,” Arya retorted, with a grin. “Won't work.” Sandor was beginning to realize that the girl actually liked being threatened, if only to humiliate him when he couldn't carry them out. He growled angrily from his seat on his horse, but otherwise made no move to hurt the girl. She may not be worth it, but dammit, he was going to get that ransom and use it to drink away all the bleeding trouble she'd caused him.
Perhaps sensing his mounting agitation, the girl finally quit talking. The two of them rode on in blessed silence for almost an hour before she decided to open her mouth again. Sandor groaned wearily, readying himself for more of her prattling, but, not for the first time, she surprised him.
“Did you see my sister often when you were in King's Landing?” she asked softly. Sandor turned toward her with raised eyebrows. Arya Stark always made a point of looking him in the eye, sometimes even commenting that he really was quite ugly. It had even made him laugh sometimes, her reckless bravery. Now, though, her eyes were focused on her hands which were holding tightly to the horn of her saddle.
“Aye,” he replied, looking back to the road ahead. He'd seen the little bird more often than he really should have, strictly speaking. Unlike her little sister, Sansa was a pretty thing, with pretty words. He'd despised her and wanted her all at once. No doubt the queen would marry her off soon enough, to one Lannister shit or another.
“Is she safe?”
Sandor laughed at that. His bitterness curled tight and hot like a coil in his stomach, and when he spoke, his voice was full of derision. “A little bird in a den of lions? Aye, she's safe and sound, girl.”
Before he knew what was happening, he felt a pair of fists hitting him across his side. “Shut up!” Arya yelled at him fiercely. For such a small thing, she packed a surprising wallop, and he quickly restrained her.
“Enough,” he told her, feeling more calm than he had since taking her. She struggled against his hands for a moment, but soon enough she realized it was futile. When he saw the fight go out of her, he let go of her hands. “You'll want to learn to control that temper of yours, m'lady.” Every once in a while, Sandor would use the girl's title just to annoy her. “Might be one day the person you hit will decide to hit back.”
When she finally looked back toward him, Sandor felt the breath go out of him. The little bird had reminded him often enough of his sister. Joana had been a gentle thing, like her. But Arya was closer to her in appearance, and sometimes she'd get this sad look in her eye that he would swear only belonged to Joana, herself. The first time he'd seen the little Lady Stark look at him like that, he hadn't known what to do. He'd gotten angry, drunk himself to sleep, and refused to look her way for a week after. But now, he felt a strange surge of protectiveness for this little girl. It wasn't her fault that she was annoying as seven bloody hells. Or maybe it was, he didn't know. Irritating as she was, Arya Stark was just as alone in this world as he was- maybe even more. She needed to be with her family.
Sandor realized he'd been staring at the girl for some time, but he could see her steely refusal to turn away. The burned side of his mouth twitched, and he turned back toward the long road ahead. With a flick of the reins, he sent his horse into a trot. “Come on,” he called brusquely over his shoulder. “The ride to Riverrun isn't a short one.”