note: I was toying with writing a second chapter, and ultimately couldn't resist. Your reviews and support are awesome, and I love you guys for it. I'm still undecided on if this will become a full story, but there are a few scenes that I want to write with Arya and Sandor that haven't been written here yet... Don't hold your breath, but cross your fingers and a third chapter might appear in the future! Thank you so much for your support. Please enjoy.
The man lifted Sandor under the armpits, raising him enough for Arya to slide the makeshift litter beneath his slumping body. Despite the Hound's weight, the man eased him down gently. Sandor moaned, sweat slicked down his scarred face, his body shivering. Arya stepped back from the litter, watching the man as he arranged the Hound to lay comfortably. When he had finished with the man, he took the ropes from the end of the litter and stepped up to Stranger. The warhorse stomped his hooves, but he didn't shy away or rear, as he had with Arya. Looping the rope around the horse, he fashioned a makeshift harness with the saddle he had placed onto Stranger while Arya built the litter.
"Who are you?" Arya asked as they began walking, Arya leading her horse.
The man looked back at Sandor, to make sure he wasn't slipping off the litter as they walked. "I am the Elder Brother," he answered the Stark quietly. For such a large man, he had a soothing voice and a gentle touch.
"The elder brother of what?" Arya questioned.
The man smiled. "The Elder Brother of the Quiet Isle."
Arya pretended to know what this was, and dropped the subject there.
It felt like days before the pair neared any sort of village. Arya's feet were sore and her eyelids were heavy as lights appeared twinkling in the windows of a nearby hut. Elder Brother tied Stranger to a post inside the crude wooden gates, taking the rope from the horse's saddle and tossing it over his shoulder. He ordered Arya to leave her horse, and she did so. The Elder Brother put his weight into the rope, dragging Sandor's limp body into the small village.
"Is this Saltpans?" Arya asked. Was it really so close? I could have made it.
"No," the Elder Brother answered with a grunt, perhaps a laugh but the weight of the Hound forced it out of him. "This is a farming family that has yet to be touched by war."
"Oh," Arya said sullenly.
Elder Brother knocked on the nearest door. A man answered shortly, gave one look to the Brother, and vanished behind the door. When he reappeared (Arya asked if he was coming back, it seemed to take a long time), he was holding a candle, lighting the gloom. He looked at the litter, then to the Brother.
"You can use our grain shed for the night," the man said, without any prompting.
Arya was significantly impressed by this power the Elder Brother possessed, and as they moved the Hound into the shed, she found herself thinking about the benefits of having such power. Her imagination didn't last long. She was told to fetch water, so she did. The bucket was heavy coming back, but she didn't stumble once. When she returned, the man had gone and the Elder Brother was unwrapping Sandor's wounds. Arya wrinkled her nose at the sight, setting the bucket of water beside the Elder Brother and stepping back to sit cross-legged on a sack of grain.
The Elder Brother worked long into the night. Dawn was peeking over the hills when he finally wrapped the last strip of clean linen around the Hound's wounded head. Arya jumped when the Elder Brother got to his feet. She blinked several times, realizing she had been dozing off as the man worked. The Hound's bandages were clean, but the ones that Arya had used were mounded near the foot of the litter, drenched in blood and ooze and gods-know-what.
"His wounds are severe," the Elder Brother said slowly, wiping his hands on a clean cloth.
"Will he..." Arya stopped herself, looking down at the Hound with an expression of curiosity and disgust.
"He may die," the Elder Brother said with a heavy sigh. "He may not."
"Oh."
"I must return to the Quiet Isle. I'll take the stallion with me to work."
"Stranger?" Arya asked suddenly.
"A blasphemous name," the Elder Brother replied. "I'll take him with me back to the Quiet Isle. If your dog returns to health, he may come to claim his horse."
Arya fell into thought, her brows knitting together. He's not going to be happy, she thought gloomily. If he did make it, and she wasn't sure he would with the way his brow was slicked in sweat and his bandages were soaking through, the Hound would be furious that something happened to his horse.
"You will need to clean his bandages three times a day, until his wounds begin to heal. Give him water once every hour, and if he wakes, try to make him eat something plain," the Elder Brother said, peering at Arya closely. "Can you do this?"
She puffed herself up, trying to seem important and strong. "Of course I can," she answered stubbornly.
"Good. The man who helped us last night is named Barlin, he will let you stay here until Sandor Clegane is able to leave, but he will want payment."
"Payment?"
"You will have to work, and he will want your horse."
Arya frowned, but nodded in understanding. She touched Needle, at her hip, and suddenly a thought came to her. "Will he want Needle?"
"You should not carry a sword," the Elder Brother answered her with a sad look. "But he will not ask it from you. He knows the dangerous times we live in."
Arya's eyes drifted to the Elder Brother's arm, where he held the dogshead helm. "What about that?"
"Sandor Clegane has no use for this anymore," he answered sagely. "He will no longer be known as the Hound, if he survives. He will be born a new man."
Arya wasn't so sure.
"Farewell, Arya of House Stark."
Days passed in a flurry as Arya toiled in the gardens and tended to the Hound. When she wasn't working, she was trying to sleep, but the Hound's moaning and thrashing kept her awake and Barlin refused to let her stay in a different house. One day, the Hound was getting better, and the next he was sweating, moaning and thrashing in his sleep. Arya did what the Elder Brother had told her. She wiped at his brow when she had the time, she trickled water into the Hound's lips, she changed his bandages. Everything she did seemed to work less and less. One night, after Arya returned from the gardens covered in dirt, a bunch of carrots clutched in her fist, the Hound opened his eyes.
Arya stopped in the doorway, staring at the big man, her eyes locked on his.
"Water," the Hound croaked.
She dropped her carrots, crossing to the Hound's side and scooping the ladle into the water. Lifting it to the Hound's lips, she was surprised when the man gripped the handle and poured the entire contents over his face. He sputtered, water going everywhere.
"More," he demanded roughly.
Arya took the ladle, dipped it into the bucket again, and handed it to him. He drank it slower this time, but his shaking hands spilled some into the days-old beard growing over his face. Arya backed away, sitting on the stack of grain that she has been sleeping on.
"You tried to kill me," the Hound growled, his voice hoarse.
Arya didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. After a long silence, she realized the Hound had fallen back asleep. Situating herself on the sack of grain, she pulled a thin blanket over her shoulders and tried to sleep. Heavy breathing and the fitful snores from the Hound's position made her toss and turn, until she couldn't take any more. She slipped out of her bed, picked up Needle, and padded to Sandor's side. Fondling Needle's hilt, she stared down at the sleeping man with contempt. I can kill him now, and all this can be over. I can get on a ship at Saltpans and I can find Jon. With everything in her grasp, Arya lifted Needle. She remembered where the heart was. She didn't need Sandor's help.
The Hound grunted in his sleep, a heavy hand reaching out to grab Arya's hip. She jumped, and the Hound opened his eyes. "Again?"
Arya pulled out of the Hound's grip and returned to her grain stack. She wasn't afraid of him, the Hound couldn't do anything to her now. She could kill him at any time. But to her, it seemed like a waste of time. After spending all this time taking care of him, she couldn't just kill him. Even if she wanted to. It wasn't the Stark way, or they would have killed Theon Greyjoy instead of taking him in as a Ward. Maybe father should have killed Theon. Winterfell would still be there.
Thoughts of Jon Snow slowly leaked from her mind as the time went by. She spent longer in the gardens, after Barlin tried to put her in the kitchen and she set fire to the cabinets. The Hound gained strength back and was seen for brief moments outside of the grain shed, walking slowly, standing in the sun with a glare on his scarred face. When he was well enough to lift a shovel, Barlin set him to work in the fields, but made it incredibly clear that they weren't welcome much longer than they'd already stayed. With winter howling down from the North and war threatening to encroach on their tiny slice of life, Barlin couldn't protect his own family, let alone two strangers.
The night Sandor brought up leaving, he was seated at a barrel of onions and Arya was dropping carrots into a boiling pot of water. He spoke of where they would go and how they would get there. When he began speaking of the next place they would go, he paused, and seemed to have a thought.
"Where is my horse?"
Arya stirred the carrots faster, looking down.
"I would have asked sooner," the Hound growled dangerously. "Where is my horse?"
"The Elder Brother took him," Arya mumbled into the meager soup.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the crackle of the fire beneath Arya's pot.
"Took him," the Hound repeated. After no answer, he slammed his fist on the barrel. "You let someone take my horse?"
"He saved your stupid life!" Arya shouted back, throwing the ladle down and standing.
The Hound snarled, his eyes bright and feverish. "I never asked for it!"
Arya clenched her fists. "No! You asked for mercy that you didn't deserve!"
"Is that why you've been trying to kill me in my sleep, she-wolf?"
Arya didn't respond. She glared at the man angrily, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. The silence settled awkwardly over the pair as they stared each other down. Finally, the Hound spoke.
"Where is this man?"
"He said you can get Stranger back at the Quiet Isle."
Sandor snorted throwing his hand up. "A holy man." After a strangled grunt of anger, he scratched his bearded chin. "We leave at dawn. I'm sick of toiling in a field like a bloody farmer. Get some sleep, you're going to need it, girl."
Arya didn't ask where they would get a second horse. She didn't want to know.
