Chapter 1: A Visitor in the Night.

It was too dark to properly see anything, so there was no hope of finding her sword. She could hardly even make out her attacker but she knew he was massive and resilient. Though she was still rather small, she had become strong and smart in the ways of combat but her experience was doing her little good. Oh, why hadn't she listened to her sister and brother-in-law? They had told her not to go alone, warned her of the danger but she didn't listen. She thought that if she was alone then there was less of a chance of being found. That and she knew that the majority of troops were needed near Winterfell, she didn't want to take any away from their posts just so she would have an escort.

Now, as the stranger's hands wrapped around her thin neck she wished that she had troubled a few of them. She struggled and tugged at his massive hands but it did no good. Her feet were kicking wildly but even that didn't do much, till she landed what she assumed was a lucky blow and the stranger howled in pain.

"He must be wounded," Arya thought.

He let her go and she was tempted to try her luck again but she decided against it. Instead, she felt around to get an idea of where she was and then she bolted forward. It took a second to find the opening in the tent but just as she felt his hands grasp at her again, she darted out into the moonlight. Her breathing was heavy and she knew her lip was busted by the sharp tang of metal in her mouth but now that she was out in the open she felt that there was some hope of surviving.

Her attacker didn't emerge immediately but when he finally did her breath caught in her throat. In the moonlight she could finally see his scarred face, a face that was unforgettable.

"Hound?" she breathed in shock.

He was disheveled, thin, sickly looking and blood was frozen on his dark breeches but it was definitely him. His dark eyes stared at her but they were glazed over in delirium so she wasn't sure if he recognized her.

"Sandor," she tried again, this time using his actual name. "Sandor, it's me, Arya."

This time his eyes focused and she could see recognition cross his features. "Arya Stark," he drawled. He sounded as if he was intoxicated but Arya doubted it. It was freezing outside, yet his dark hair clung to his face from perspiration. He was feverish, she could tell just by looking at him.

"Didn't realize this was your tent," he said, swaying where he stood. "Pardon my intrusion but mind if…"

His eyes crossed and he tipped to one side. He was able to catch himself but he overcompensated and fell to the other side. Seeing him sitting there in the snow, with one leg in obvious pain, her heart went out to him. They had always fought and in truth, she hated him when she was younger but she was more mature now and less concerned with things like vengeance. Without giving it a second thought, she rushed forward and pulled him back up to standing. He was mumbling but she couldn't understand a word he said. In a soft tone she assured him that it would be alright and she helped him back into her tent.

Once inside she had to let him drop to the floor for a moment while she looked for her lamp. It didn't take her long and she smiled a little as Sandor eyed her. Depending on how secluded he had been there was a chance that he hadn't seen one of these yet. Inside the metal lined class circle was two stones separated by a thin piece of metal. When she turned the knob on the outside of it, the piece of metal slid down allowing the two stones to touch. Like two magnets they came together and began to hum as they vibrated against one another. It only took a second but then the two stones began to glow bright enough to illuminate the entire tent.

Arya looked back down to see if Sandor was impressed but he was just laying there, his eyes beginning to glaze over again. The floor was lined with furs but it was still cold so she pulled him up once more and led him to her small cot. He was much too big for it but it was better than nothing. Just as she had suspected his skin was so hot that that it was almost scalding.

"You're hurt?" Arya asked, hoping that he was coherent enough to give her an answer.

"Just a cut," he grunted. "Need to sleep it off."

"No, you need to stay awake, that's what you need to do. Where is it?"

It was a stupid question, the wound was quite obviously on his upper thigh but it was compulsory for her to ask. During battles she often acted as a field medic and certain things had just become a habit for her.

"Meh leg," he said groggily, his eyes beginning to slip closed.

Arya's brows furrowed in concentration as she began to work at his belt. It wasn't difficult but as she began to peel down his breeches, Sandor objected. He firmly grasped her hands and stared up at her intensely.

"What do you think you're doing?" he grumbled.

Arya pulled back for a moment, her hands coming up to rest on her hips. "I need to look at it and see if there is anything I can do. You have two options, you either let me take them off and save your breeches or I cut a hole and you can go around like that till you can find a new pair."

Sandor frowned but then nodded. He helped her pull them down to his knees and Arya had to stifle a laugh when he firmly cupped his manhood, hiding it from view.

"Honestly," she sighed. "Yours wouldn't be the first I've seen, you know."

Sandor didn't say anything. Now that is modesty was out of the way, he seemed to be slipping back again. Arya could now see why he was in such a state though, the wound on his leg was a dark purple that faded out into an angry red. The wound itself wasn't very wide, perhaps only two inches but she could tell from the look of it that it was deep. Judging by the location, he was lucky that it hadn't hit an artery. As if the sight of it wasn't warning enough, she could also tell that there was infection simply by the smell.

It worried her but she had seen worse. The world was getting harsher and harsher with every passing day but people were also getting more resilient and adaptive. It was no longer uncommon for children to be born with the sight, or other special gifts – but one of the greatest advancement had been medicine and the art of healing. Sandor was lucky it had been her tent that he came across, if he was left in the care of anyone else, he would probably die.

Arya stood again and made her way over to the other side of the tent where she kept her bag. Inside it was almost everything she needed to bandage and heal twenty men, so she wasn't too worried about the lack of supplies. She quickly pulled out a few rolls of bandages, some clean cloths, some horse hair, a needle and lastly a vial of clear liquid.

"Try not to move too much," she murmured to him as she got everything ready.

"No fire," she heard him mutter as she grabbed two more of the black stones.

She smiled a little and shook her head. "No fire," she promised.

Aside the cot was a small black stone bowl which she usually used to melt snow in for water. It worked well as a conductor; though she wished she had one that she knew was cleaner. It wasn't exactly dirty but when dealing with infection it was always good to play it safe. She bit her lip and regarded it for a moment before picking it up. Inside the bowl she poured some water, added some of the clear liquid from the vial and then dropped the two stones inside.

Just like with her lamp, they came together immediately and started to glow. They produced enough heat that within a few moments the water started to steam.

"Learned a few new tricks?" asked Sandor, his eyes now open and on her.

"You could say that," Arya smiled.

When she was sure that the water was hot enough, she took a piece of metal and forced it between the stones in the water, then fished one out with the same piece of metal. Even though it had been red-hot a second ago it was now cool to the touch. Inside her head she praised alchemists around the world and set the stone aside.

Now, it was time for her own special gift. It wasn't like Bran, there was no magic involved but still – she was good enough at healing that she liked to think of it as a gift. She dipped the cloth into the water but didn't wring it out.

"This will hurt… a lot," she warned. "Try not to scream."

With that, she placed the soaking hot cloth over the wound and pressed down. It was almost too hot for her to touch so it was no surprise to see Sandor jerk away when it touched his wound. There was no worry of him falling asleep now. His eyes were wide and his jaw clenched as he forced back a yell. The cloth cooled under her hand but she knew the pain was just starting for him. The clear liquid was a combination of oils and it was used to draw out and clean infection – a very painful process. She had never had the need to use it on herself but she knew from experience how difficult it could be. Many seasoned warriors had cried like babes when it was used to clean their wounds.

Sandor was doing pretty well though. He grunted harshly and his breathing was labored but he didn't scream. As his eyes were beginning to water Arya pulled the cloth away. Just as expected, thick bloody puss was oozing from the wound. Arya used the cloth to wipe it away and then discarded it to the floor. She dipped another cloth into the still hot water and repeated the process – over and over again till less puss oozed.

The wound was looking better but it wasn't getting easier for Sandor. As fresh flesh was exposed the pain became greater and greater. He tried to remain still but his back arched and his silence started to break.

"Almost," Arya cooed softly.

When the last cloth was pulled away, pure blood seeped out without a trace of puss and Arya set to work on her next task, sewing it up. Compared to the pain he had been enduring, the feeling of the needle piercing his flesh seemed almost relaxing. He settled against the cot and closed his eyes, slipping away into sleep.

Arya smiled a little as she glanced up at him. It could be difficult to see people in pain but if she did her job correctly there was always the reward of seeing them better off at the end. He was still feverish because the infection was likely in his blood but rest and a few herbs would take care of that.

"I left him there to die. The stupid dog disserved to die a slow death" young Arya stark said callously. She was in the greenhouse at Winterfell, recalling her journeys to her sister. The words had hardly left her lips before she felt a sharp pain radiating through her cheek. It was so quick that she didn't even know what happened till she opened her eyes and saw her sister standing there in front of her.

Sansa's face was scarlet and her eyes looked a little red, like she was about to start crying – or perhaps she already was. Her hand was still raised threateningly and that's when Arya knew that Sansa had struck her.

"What did you," she started angrily but Sansa cut her off.

"Don't you dare ever speak of him like that again!" she roared and for a moment Arya thought she may strike her again. "He was a good man, a kind man."

"Do you know how many children he killed?" Arya cut in defensively.

"I don't care!" Sansa screamed. "Do you know how many times he saved me? Do you know what he was willing to do to keep me safe? He had even protected you, you ungrateful little brat! He didn't disserve to die like that!"

Arya awoke with a start, her sisters screamed words still echoing in her head. The memory stayed with her in vivid recollection for a few minutes. Times had certainly changed. That had happened four years ago, three years after she had left Sandor. Back then she was still just a young girl who's only interest in life had been killing. It had taken a long time but as the world began to get worse and worse, Arya began to see that there were more important things in life than satisfying her lust for vengeance.

Arya shook her head to free her mind from the memory completely then stretched. Her bum felt like ice from sitting on the floor of the tent but that wasn't her first concern. She hadn't meant to fall asleep for fear of Sandor relapsing into the fever that had finally broken. Her eyes immediately darted to him and she breathed a relieved sigh. His breathing was slow and steady and color was beginning to come back to his pale skin. He was still asleep, wrapped in her blankets and furs but he almost looked like he was smiling.

The sight would have brought Arya some comfort but his gaunt face and protruding cheek bones stunted her joy. It looked like he hadn't eaten in months. Someone like Sandor smiling in his sleep like a comforted child was a rather disturbing sight and it was a testament to how bad it was getting out there. Not everyone was as lucky as she was and some villages faced starvation – especially those that weren't equipped to withstand long winters.

Arya sighed and stood, her aching legs protesting as she walked to the opening of her tent. Soft blue light was creeping in through the small gap, so she knew she was going to be met with disappointment when she opened it but she did anyways. As expected, it was still dark out with only the moon offering a bit of light. In the past, this would mean that the sun simply hadn't risen yet but that was the past. Nights were getting longer and longer – the longest lasting five days. Arya couldn't be sure, but if her calculations were correct, this night had lasted three. She hoped that the sun would make its appearance soon but with each passing day, her hope dwindled.

She had enough supplies but the cold would be her greatest opponent. Without the sun, it would get progressively colder. Arya frowned and pulled her cloak and furs more tightly around herself and stepped out further from the tent. She carefully examined the surrounding snow for any signs of tracks but only found the half buried footprints of Sandor. Her wolves still weren't back. Sometimes, on long nights, they would be gone longer than usual but it still worried her. Without them she would be trapped out here.

As the nights began to get longer and the winter harsher, using horses for transport became increasingly difficult. Even the stoutest horse had trouble managing the snow and bitter cold – not only that but the lack of fields to graze in made feeding them near impossible. Luckily, as winter rolled in so did an increase in the direwolf population. They were intelligent, could hunt for themselves and their thick coat served as good protection from the cold. Pups were taken from their mothers, domesticated and used in the place of horses. Granted, you couldn't ride them but if your opponent wasn't on a mount then there was no need for you to have one either. Though, there were rumors of larger species being found, large enough to ride but to date one hadn't been captured alive.

Arya stared out into the darkness till her face started to go numb and she had to re-enter the tent. To her surprise she was met with two dark eyes staring at her from her cot.

"You're up," she smiled.

Sandor sat up, wincing as he did and moved as if he were about to stand but Arya stopped him with a sound of disapproval. "You need to rest," she said sternly. "Your fever has broken but you aren't out of the woods yet. I bet you're hungry though."

Sandor didn't have to give a response, at the mention of food his stomach gurgled loudly. Arya nodded a bit then pulled open another one of her bags. From inside she pulled out a bit of cured meat, a loaf of bread and come cheese. She worried about feeding him too much too soon but she also knew how hard it would be to ration his food intake. She hated seeing him like this. If they were back home she would have had a feast prepared for him – but this would have to do.

"Slowly," she said before handing him the meat, bread and cheese. At first he heeded her advice but as the minutes ticked away his appetite won out and he hardly chewed the food he put in his mouth.

With nothing to do or say, Arya sat awkwardly on the side of the cot and watched him.

"Not eating you out of all your supplies?" he asked around a mouthful. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he was worried and ashamed.

"Not at all," she smiled reassuringly. "I always make sure I am well prepared and my wolves usually bring me back a little something as a show of affection."

"Wolves?" Sandor asked after swallowing.

"M-hmm," Arya hummed. "You're lucky they're out hunting. They would have torn you apart last night if they hadn't been."

"Figures you Starks would have those bloody wolves as pets," Sandor growled. "Do you know how many kills I've had stolen by those damn things?"

Arya paused a moment. She hadn't thought about it like that. A larger wolf population meant scarcer prey and possible civilian attacks. She had seen them as a blessing but other villages must have seen them as a curse.

"Quite a few?"

Sandor grunted in response. There was a silence as he finished the bread but then he spoke.

"Not that I'm not grateful but what are you doing way out here?" he asked.

"I'm taking some supplies to our encampment by Long Lake," Arya replied. "It wasn't supposed to take this long but then this night started and I don't like to travel at night."

Sandor nodded, a deep scowl on his face. He couldn't blame her, no one liked to go very far from protection at night – that's when they were the most active. It was stupid to be out alone though, a fact that he made sure she knew. Arya explained again that she didn't plan for it to take this long and added that she hadn't wanted to take any men away from their obligations at Winterfell.

"Stupid girl," Sandor grumbled. "Always did take on more than you could chew."

"If I hadn't, then where would you be?" Arya snapped back defensively.

"I'd manage."

"Oh, yes, I can see how well you had been managing."

"You need an escort, you know."

Arya wanted to smile a little at his hinted proposition and would have if it were for the slight desperation in his voice. He was never the type to ask for help, even when he was in hopeless need of it.

"You're right," said Arya, deciding to spare his pride. "You up for the job? If you do it well I may even keep you permanently."

Sandor snorted but his features eased up a little at the idea of not being out there alone anymore. "Permanently, you mean until I'm wounded and you leave me under a tree to die?"

Arya rolled her eyes, and then lightly patted him on the leg, through the furs.

"Consider that my debt repaid. What happened, by the way?"

"I had some bread, a man wanted it, so he decided to take it," said Sandor bluntly.

Arya could feel her stomach tighten. If men were killing men for bread then it really was getting bad out there – worse than she had thought it was.

"I didn't know it was getting that bad," she said quietly.

"No? Well, you lot seem to be doing pretty well."

"We're used to it. Harsh winters aren't uncommon in the northern villages, we're more prepared. I don't think anyone anticipated for the snow to go so far south or for the nights to be like this."

In the distance Arya heard the howling of wolves and her heart leapt. She knew those howls – gleeful and excited. Wherever they had gone, her wolves had obviously had a good time. Beside her she could feel Sandor tense at the sound; it brought him far less happiness.

"Mine," she smiled, then stood.

By the time she exited the tent, they were there waiting with a large, slightly shredded, stag. There was Nymeria, Devantaes, Westbrook, and Shinok – each of them staring at her with wagging tails and toothy smiles. Seeing them lessened the anxious feeling that had been eating her but they weren't her only surprise. Far off, through the trees she could see the first rays of sunlight peeking up over the horizon.

Things were starting to look up again. Hopefully, it would stay that way but she had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't be so lucky.

AN: So I have a more basic Arya/Sandor story going but I wanted to also do this one, which will have more action than the other and focus on more than just a relationship.

There are a few "loose ends" in this chapter but there are some things I haven't been able to cover. If something seems a bit off, just stay with me and it will piece together, I promise.