Title: Catharsis
Rating: M
Pairing: None. Platonic Sandor and Arya only.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, sexual assault against minor, discussion and description of rape, crude language (it is the Hound, after all).
Notes: I've been in a serious mood for Sandor and Arya and I wish, I really truly wish, there were more fics about them—particularly regarding their travel time together. I know it's old news at this point, but I just really feel like they had a special bond (and no, I don't mean a romantic one). So, I wrote my own little piece after reading a couple amazing gems. I may or may not add to this, we'll see what happens. But for now, it is considered complete.
Please enjoy and don't hesitate to leave some feedback!
It was one of those rare moments in Arya's recent life where her belly was full, her skin clean, and the weather was pleasant. She and the Hound had happened upon a turned over carriage in a ditch, the owners of which were strewn haphazardly across the road in a failed escape attempt. Bandits,The Hound had grumbled as he knelt down to begin his looting. Some months ago, Arya would have been appalled, would have balled up her tiny fists and beat against the man's armor for having such disrespect and such an apathetic reaction to the massacre of an entire family. Now she found herself sharing the same sort of apathy as she too reached down and began digging through one of the children's pockets.
There wasn't much left, the bandits had obviously cleared out with most of the good stuff. But then Arya discovered something, a strange hidden compartment in the bottom of the carriage. Sliding it open revealed several packs of wrapped meat and wine—the latter of which made the Hound crack a small grin and snarl when Arya suggested she might have some too.
After cooking up the meat and indulging, perhaps unwisely since it was unlikely the two would happen upon such a rare find again, the Hound laid himself out upon a grassy patch in the woods and began to doze. Arya pinched at his hand until he reached up and slapped her.
It wasn't hard, but it certainly made her ears ring at the suddenness of the strike.
"Seven Hells." She groaned, cradling her cheek.
The Hound opened one unsympathetic eye and snarled, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"We can't stay here." Arya snapped, a warm sting settling in her cheek, which just completely pissed her off. "You said bandits did that. They could still be around."
"Doubtful. They're probably off buying whores with their newfound wealth."
He was drunk, that much was clear. The man was shameless when it came to his consumption of alcohol, but that was the least unappealing thing about him that Arya discovered since their traveling together.
"Don't go anywhere, girl." He grumbled, "Unless you want to be fucked bloody by some mountain dwelling halfwit." And then he was snoring, loudly and obnoxiously.
It was only midday, the sun was shining and for once the sky wasn't pouring rain. Arya would even go as far to say that the air was warm enough to ditch the fur lined coat she'd stolen off some dead peasant a few towns back. She wasn't about to waste such a lovely day watching the Hound drool in his sleep.
Standing up from the ground, smiling at the almost uncomfortable fullness of her belly, Arya stripped off the coat and dropped it beside the Hound. Grabbing Needle and one of the Hound's smaller daggers, she made her way to the creek that they'd been following for several miles. Though she could no longer see the Hound, she could still hear his snores like far away tweets of a bird and she figured he wouldn't be too pissed when he woke and found her gone, as long as she didn't venture too far from him.
Truth be told, she didn't want to. Despite his lack of personal hygiene (not that Arya was much better at it these days) and his grossly inappropriate mouth, Arya had grown, if not fond of, then at least used to his company. She didn't want to be alone and she had no one else. And despite his nasty threats and history, he had never really hurt her. A few slaps were nothing compared to what she would had endured if she'd stayed in King's Landing.
Straightening her back with a satisfying crack, Arya began training in silence.
The Hound awoke slowly and painfully. He had long since grown accustomed to the stiffness in his muscles from sleeping on hard forest floors and the subtle throbbing in his head that followed a night of drinking. That didn't make it any more pleasant, however, and he was always a cranky ass when he first came to, the little girl always told him as much when he would snap at and cuff her in the mornings.
"Girl, get me water." He commanded, eyes still closed. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his face and knew if he dared to crack them open, the throbbing in his head would become full blown pounding. "Girl!" He repeated when no water came to him. He was going to beat her into the ground, he swore it!
Opening his eyes was a mistake, the sun nearly blinding him. But he'd gotten enough of a peek. The girl was gone.
"Little bitch." He snarled, raising himself into a sitting position. She was close by, her coat was crumpled on the ground beside him and her traveling pack was leaning against a nearby tree. She'd likely just wandered off to practice her sword play. Still, he was going to beat the piss out of her when he found her.
You won't.
The Hound got to his feet and took a quick piss, ignoring the little voice in his head that sounded disturbingly like the little bird from King's Landing, and turned in search of the wolf bitch. He could hear some kind of commotion in the distance. Grabbing his sword and quickening his pace, he headed in that direction.
Arya practiced undisturbed for at least two hours, taking a brief break to chase after a rabbit that would make for a tasty stew in the future. The sun had lowered slightly and the temperature had dropped a bit, but Arya was still enjoying her time. That was, until she heard voices.
By the sound of them, they were about two minutes off and she had plenty of time to scurry back to the Hound, but some part of her snarled at the idea of cowering behind the hulking beast of a man. She had plenty times before, though she tried to block those moments from her mind. Mostly, he'd just grab her shoulder and shove her behind him. That alone was humiliating enough, she wasn't about to go crawling back to him. Certainly not when it only sounded like there were about three men.
She could take them if they started anything with her. The Hound had taught her many lessons since their departure from the Eyrie. How to use her size to her advantage, how to paralyze, how to make a brutal killing strike. Strike the heart.
So Arya did not hide or slip away when she had the chance. Instead, she continued going through her moves and stopped only when the voices did. They'd seen her. Pausing, she turned on her heels, pointing Needle straight at the intruders. Just as she'd suspected, three men. All covered in various shades of red and brown—blood both fresh and old.
"Hello there, lad." One said, his voice dropping in that familiar tone that Arya associated with the Hound's gross endeavours with whores. She didn't understand how anyone could be drawn in by it. "What are you doing all the way out here by yourself?"
"Just practicing." She answered politely. The Hound was a brute, twenty-four seven hostility. But that sometimes got them into trouble. Despite all that she'd learned and despite the list she recited every night, Arya didn't want any trouble. Certainly not when her only back up was passed out drunk.
"It's a girl, Symon." Another snapped excitedly. That seemed to change the atmosphere instantly.
The men drew closer, forming a semi-circle around her—closing her in. Arya stepped back and raised Needle. "I don't want no trouble." She insisted.
"Ain't no trouble to be had, little lady." One crooned, "No trouble at all."
"Come here and let us show you a good time." Another said.
Arya was well aware what a "good time" entailed when it came to men like these. She wasted no time and charged forward with a feral cry and poked Needle straight through one man's eye and out through his skull. It took more force that she had originally anticipated when she first threatened the Hound with a similar fate. He made her stab her way through countless melons as practice.
The scream was terrible, but the crunch of the skull was worse. Arya had stabbed plenty of men during her travels, but the silence of the forest provided plenty of opportunity to hear the gruesome sounds of Needle breaking through bone.
"Fucking bitch!" The men were fast.
One punched her straight in the face and she yelped from the impact. Did they break her nose? She didn't know, her vision blurred and her ears rang sharply as blood ran in rivers down her chin.
Arya was so out of it that she barely recognized the feeling of her pants being undone and yanked down her legs. The cold of the forest floor brought her back to her senses. She kicked out wildly and clipped one of the men in the face—she hoped it was the one that had punched her as she heard a brutal crack.
"Hold her! Hold the bitch!"
"Get off!" She knew the demand would do nothing, but it was a reflex and desperation was clawing at her chest as cracked hands braced her arms down against the ground. "No!"
Somehow, one of the men, the one she'd kicked, shuffled his way between her bare legs and pushed her knees up, exposing all her vulnerable bits for the world to see.
Arya couldn't help it. She shrieked. She knew what would happen next. She'd heard the horror stories from the Hound, what happened to idiot little girls that ran off alone and got caught by men. Raped until their cunts were twisted and unrecognizable and they couldn't walk. Fucked until they bled out and died. He'd fed her every cruel tale he had ever heard from soldiers, from girls, or that he'd witnessed himself. In the back of her mind, Arya recognized it was his way of trying to ensure she never found herself in a similar situation. But she'd grown so immune to his violent stories and threats that she often tuned him out these days.
She wished she hadn't.
She wished she'd listened.
The man was undoing his breeches, and he pulled out his cock. It was small, smaller than Arya had expected. Arya had seen plenty of cocks and asses during her time with Gendry on the way to the wall, but this was by far the smallest. Though that didn't matter much. It was still going to hurt, didn't matter how small the cock was. The Hound had told her that plenty of times too.
"No! No! No!" She felt the tip at her entrance and she clenched. "Please!"
And then it was gone. Nothing but air. And a warm wetness. It took a long moment for Arya to realize she'd been released and that the man who had been close, so close, no longer had a head.
Blood. That's what the wetness was.
"Fucking hell!" The man who'd been holding her was running, she heard his feet scrapping and struggling, and then a gurgle and then nothing.
Arya laid there, unmoving. She stared at the treetops where the sun peeked through. It had to be nearing the evening hours now. She was suddenly very cold.
"Girl."
Oh, she thought, The Hound.
And then she passed out.
The Hound was quick to pull up the girl's pants. He didn't know how far the fucking cunt had gotten. He didn't relish looking too closely at the girl's bits, but he didn't see any blood as he fastened her breeches so he didn't think the cunt had stuck his cock in yet. He would have asked, but the girl passed out almost immediately. Delicately, the Hound lifted the girl up and carried her back to their small camp. He stuffed her into her bed roll and placed her coat over her for extra warmth. The sun would disappear completely soon and the night air was not kind to skinny little girls.
The Hound watched her for more time than he cared to admit before busying himself with cooking up some of the meat they'd found earlier. It didn't take long before he noticed her eyes were open and staring at him.
"Girl." He said. "Anything hurt?"
"No." She answered, but then, "My nose."
He'd already set the thing back in place while she'd been unconscious and unable to feel it—a small mercy, he thought. He'd also taken the liberty of cleaning off her face with a damp rag. The blood was so thick it was like a syrup.
"It's broken. Going to take some time to heal." When she said nothing else, he asked, "Anything else?"
"You mean my cunt?" She snapped crudely.
Her foul language didn't shock him, though he knew that's what she was trying to do. Make him uncomfortable enough to shut him up. She was a bigger fucking idiot than he thought if the girl really believed that'd work. He'd taught her most of those uncouth words that would have her highborn parents rolling in their graves.
"Aye, that's what I meant." He answered calmly.
His calm seemed to only agitate her more. She wiggled rebelliously under the coat. "Don't pretend like you fucking care. I told you those bandits were still in the area. I told you!"
The Hound was stunned into silence. She was fucking blaming him?! The little bitch was the one that wandered off when he explicitly told her not to. Granted, she'd never made a habit of obeying him before, and it wasn't the first time she'd gone off on her own while he napped or was busy with something else, but he was fucking pissed that she was placing the blame on him for this.
"You little bitch. You're the one that went off and—" He stopped, shut his fucking lips right then. Her eyes were boring straight into him. Hollow little eyes that had witnessed oceans of blood and a snaggle toothed cunt looming over them, his prick breeching her maidenhood. He wanted to smack her. He wanted to kick her. He wanted to hurt her for being so stupid, for being such an idiot and bringing this on herself.
"Go on." She whispered. "Say it, dog."
"Did he fuck you?"
Her eyes widened and her whole body went stiff under the blankets. She hadn't been expecting him to go back to his original inquiry. Stupid girl.
She was quiet, and then she said "No. He was about to. I could feel it—his cock—I could feel it pressing in." Her voice shook in a way that he had never heard from her before. "I thought I was going to become one of your stories."
"Huh?"
"You're always telling me about little girls getting their cunts torn to shreds, their bones broken as they struggle, and all the blood that pours out. I thought I was going to be your newest story to share with your stinking whores."
Aye, he'd told her plenty a stories such as that. Clearly it hadn't done much good. He didn't say that, though. "Sleep, girl."
"I can't. They'll come back."
"They're dead. Hacked them up myself. I even took the bold one's cock before he lost his head." Standing up from where he'd been positioned across the fire, the Hound kneeled beside the girl. She relaxed, surprisingly, and rolled over, burying her face against his knees. It couldn't have been very comfortable given the state of her nose, but she pressed hard and closed her eyes.
"Sleep, girl." He repeated, this time firmer. "I ain't gonna let any cunts come near you."
"I didn't mean for them to—"
"Hush." He growled. "It's done. No good will come from dwelling on it."
"I thought I could handle it. I thought, I, I thought—"
The Hound did not want to deal with the little wolf's breakdown. He didn't want to listen to her wails or her lamenting over what could have happened, what she should have done. He just wanted her to shut up. The cunts were dead. They hadn't even fucked her.
"Quiet. Now." Sliding down against the dirt, the Hound scooted awkwardly until he was face to face with the girl and her big eyes stared into his.
She never turned away from his scars, never sneered at them or blanched. She never hesitated to stare him dead in the face, scars and all, and tell him how much she fucking hated his rotten guts and all the ways she was plotting to kill him. It was one of the things that kept him from strangling her a lot of the time. She was a pain in his ass, but she looked him the face while doing it.
"Enough wallowing. Sleep is what you need. You'll slow us down at this rate and we don't have time for your fucking pity."
She glowered fiercely and he thought for a moment that she might bite his nose. "I deserve a little, don't you think?"
He did. But he wasn't about to tell her that. "Quiet, little bitch. Sleep."
She scoffed, "Is this supposed to be comforting? Your ugly face staring at me?"
"How about my fist through your teeth?" He snarled, but there was very little bite to it.
"That's better." She grinned.
Wriggling closer, the girl pressed her face under the Hound's chin and against his chest. He knew it wasn't cosy and warm, he was still wearing his armor, but he allowed it and eventually her breathing evened out. Not a single tear shed, thankfully.
Sighing, the Hound kept his ears sharp and listened to the sounds of the forest as the little wolf slept.
The next morning began as their mornings usually did. The Hound woke Arya with a kick (much gentler than his usual morning jostle) and ordered her to put away the bed rolls while he packed the food and supplies back onto Stranger. She did, but slowly. Her nose was throbbing awfully and her whole face hurt like someone had taken a club to it. That man had really got her good with his punch. For such a small cock, his arm sure held a lot of strength behind it.
"What in the seven hells is taking so damn long, girl?" The Hound bellowed when he had finished his packing and found Arya still working on his roll. "We need to get going. Move it along."
Far be it for him to offer to help after yesterday's ordeal. But no, that wasn't who the Hound was. Forget and move on. That was his way. Though he never seemed to forget his crippling fear of fire. But Arya wouldn't mention that. He had saved her, after all, and that afforded him at least a day of her not digging at his wounds.
"Sorry." And she quickened her pace.
Arya had lost her horse at some point along the journey after the Eyrie. They'd had to sell it for coin since the money they'd gathered along the way was dwindling. Thus, she was back to horse sharing Stranger with the Hound. She didn't really mind all that much. He stank like piss and he coughed in her ear, but his body was warm and she liked being able to hold onto someone, even if that someone happend to be the Hound.
Who else was there, anyway?
"That nose is looking fucking disgusting."
That was the first reference he'd made to the previous day and it took Arya by surprise. They'd been riding for a few hours in silence and were to due to stop soon for lunch and a rest for Stranger.
"It's broken. What do you expect?" She spat. She really wasn't in the mood.
"It's not doing you any favors."
Her hackles were raised and if she weren't in such a compromised state, she might have realized he was doing it on purpose. Reaching up, she grabbed hold of his nose and yanked hard.
The sudden jerky movement startled Stranger and he started to buck as the Hound nearly lost his balance and toppled off, taking Arya with him. The Hound grabbed hold of the reigns and settled the horse before he took his free hand and gave Arya's cheek a good smack. It hurt, whenever the Hound hit, he hit to hurt. But he did avoid her nose, which was nice, she supposed.
"Dumb bitch, you're going to kill us!"
"You're being an ass."
"And that's a good enough fucking reason to crush us to death?"
Arya pat Stranger's head and smiled. "He would never."
"Don't do that again." The Hound wrapped an arm around Arya's waist and pulled her taut against his front. The action used to make her skin crawl, but these days it was comforting and familiar.
Arya put her arm back around the Hound, gripping the back of his armor, and leaned her head on his chest plate. Sometimes she'd fall asleep while they rode like that. It was intimate in some way, Arya recognized that. She didn't care. She didn't care that the Hound had just struck her, she didn't care that he called her a dumb bitch. She just wanted to be close to a body and his was the only one available.
The Hound said nothing and rode on, but Arya felt his arms close around her in a cage.
The girl fell asleep not long after she'd nearly fucking killed them both. She did that sometimes, passed out from exhaustion on Stranger, falling against his chest and leaving him to essentially make sure she didn't fall off the sadel and crack her head open. It wasn't hard. She was light and it didn't require much adjustment. She'd had a rough day so he could excuse it this time. And he had been picking at her, a purposeful attempt to get her to lash out.
The girl had been far too quiet and accommodating since they'd woken and it made him uneasy. An obedient girl was never good. It either meant she was plotting something that would inevitably cause the Hound undue trouble or she was wallowing, which just made things fucking awkward and lonesome.
Despite his threats and harshness, the girl was an endless source of snarky commentary and entertainment. He couldn't pay a whore enough to be that entertaining, at least not in the way that the girl was.
So he let her sleep as he rode on for another hour. Finally, he stopped when he thought Stranger might collapse from exhaustion.
"Up, girl." He commanded, giving her shoulder a decent shove as he dismounted. "Up."
The girl nearly fell on her face at the sudden loss of the Hound's body, but he grabbed hold of her before she could re-break that nose. It was already twice its size and black, it couldn't take anymore damage.
Slowly settling her on her feet, the Hound then brushed back a fistful of hair to get a good look at her face. It was bruised and her nose looked like it'd been through a meat grinder, but the rest of her seemed mostly unharmed.
The girl shook loose from the Hound's grip and glared. He only laughed and went about getting water for Stranger.
The girl got started on cooking up some rabbit legs while the Hound made sure to stand a respectable distance from the flames, pretending to be busy combing out the knots in Stranger's mane.
They worked like that in silence for several minutes before the girls spoke and very unexpected question.
"Would you ever do that to me?"
The Hound gazed at the girl questioningly. She was perched on the edge of a large rock, elbows resting on her skinny knees and her eyes focused on the orange flames of the fire. "Do what to you, girl?" He asked when she said no more.
"What those men did—tried to do, I mean. Would you do that to me?"
It was a fair question for any girl or woman to consider, but it did sting the Hound that she had the balls to voice it. After all this time, she really had to ask?
"Are you asking me if I'd flip you over and rape you bloody? Is that what you're asking me?" It came out far more aggressively than he'd intended, but the more the question lingered in the air, the angrier he got.
She met his eyes then, evenly. "Yes."
He charged at her like a bull, fast as lightning, and he could tell that she hadn't been expecting that of him nor had she been expecting him to invade her personal space. She flinched dramatically as the Hound gripped the front of her ratty shirt and yanked her forward, their noses touching.
"If you have to ask such a stupid fucking question, then maybe I should." Spittle flew from his clenched teeth and landed on her cheeks and for the first time since they started traveling together, she looked truly terrified of him. "Maybe I'll throw you right over this rock and rip off those little pants of yours, take you from behind. How about that?"
He was being excessively cruel, he knew that. But his temper had snapped and that was a weakness of his, he would admit. Kill and ask questions later.
The girl swallowed hard before speaking. "You could, you know. I got no one left who would care if you did. You could do it and then slit my throat and no one would even know or care. Everyone left already thinks I'm dead. Might as well make it a reality."
And it was those words that made the Hound pause. His anger immediately dissipated and he dropped the girl. She landed on the ground with an impressive plop and made no move to run or escape.
It all made sense now.
"You trying to get me to kill you, girl?"
She didn't confirm or deny it. But her eyes, always those mischievous and troubled eyes, told the truth.
"Damn you. I'm not killing you, you dumb bitch, and I'm not going to rape you either. I would never touch an ugly boyish girl like you. Just thinking about it makes my cock shrivel up." Part of that was true. He didn't truly think the girl was ugly or boyish—wild and untamed was more accurate, which was not the same as being ugly, not to him. But it was true that he would never touch her like that. Never.
The girl's shoulders relaxed significantly and her hand reached up towards him. Assuming she wanted a hand up after he'd dropped her to the ground, he extended his own to help her. Instead she gripped his wrist and pulled. It had been unexpected, otherwise he certainly wouldn't have joined her on the ground then. Bitch.
He was fully prepared to snarl and snipe at her, but the girl instantly curled up into her own sad version of a deflated ball and wriggled into the crook of his arm. It didn't take long before her body began shaking violently and she emitted loud gasping sobs.
The Hound didn't know what the fuck to do. He wasn't a damn nursemaid or the girl's mother. But he did his best. He pulled her close and cradled her against his side like he'd seen plenty of mothers do to comfort their children in the past. He vaguely remembered his own mother having held him like this when he was very young in his bed.
"Hush." He couldn't help that it came out as a growl. He was a dog, after all, and it was the best he had in him right now. "Hush and be quiet, girl."
That only made her sob harder and louder. Fucking great.
"Fine. You let it out. You scream. You wail. Let it go. And then it's done. We talk about it no more."
He squeezed her tight, remembering that when he was a child, he quite liked being held almost too hard when he was distraught. It seemed to do the trick. The girl howled into his side, wet tears running down his armor. She wrapped her arms around herself and her nails dug into her skin until she drew blood. Gently, the Hound would coax his fingers beneath hers to release the grip. Then she'd go for her hair, grab whole chunks of it and rip. She got one good handful before he stopped her and finally trapped her hands between the two of them. She kicked and bucked, but he didn't let go. She went on like that for some time, the fire had died down to embers and their rabbit had gone cold when she finally grew still and seemed to fall asleep in his arms.
Asleep or not, the Hound didn't move. He held her close and massaged the small part of her scalp that was now missing a clump of hair. He stayed like that with her for an hour before he got up and restarted the fire. Night would fall soon and they couldn't afford to fall ill from the chill. But he returned to her side as soon as it was done and assumed the same position.
A loyal dog and its master. The Hound barked out a laugh.
Arya opened her eyes. The sky was dark and a fire was roaring before her. She must have fallen asleep. Her throat felt like it'd been scraped raw and her eyes were sticky as if they'd been pasted shut. Reaching up, she touched a tender spot on her head where a bald patch had formed. That's right. She'd had an all out fit.
Arya would have been embarrassed, a small part of her still was, but it had felt good. The release of it had been unreal and it had taken over so quickly. It had felt so good to just scream and kick and hurt herself a bit. Just enough to get it out, whatever it was. And now, she felt liberated.
That was until she felt the cage of arms and a too warm body surrounding her. She was sweltering.
"Let me up." She groaned, pushing against the Hound's heavy arms. He must have fallen asleep too, but he quickly awakened at her voice.
He removed his arms immediately and sat up. "Feeling better?"
"Yes." No use in lying to him. He could always tell when she was anyway. "Thank you."
He spit a wad of something on the ground and gave Arya some kind of expression that she was unfamiliar with. "Don't thank me, girl. Just don't do it again."
She smiled, the first genuine smile in a while, and nodded. "Of course.". That was about as close a pleasantry as she was going to get from him and Arya learned a long time ago to be grateful for what the Hound offered up, no matter how pathetic and puny it may seem.
"We leave at dawn. I don't want hear any bitching from you either. We've already wasted enough time with your fits."
He didn't mean it, Arya knew that. But she pretended to be offended, as was expected of her in this odd little pair that the two of them made, and joined him by the fire to reheat the rabbit she'd been making earlier.
The two finished their meals and went straight to setting up their bed rolls. And if the rolls were pushed closer together than they usually were, neither said a thing about it. And when dawn came and Arya awoke, curled against the Hound's back, breathing in the smell of his sweat and leathers, he didn't react.
And when the two packed up and mounted Stranger and Arya leaned against the Hound even when she wasn't sleeping, well, not a word was spoken about that either.