A/N: This one takes place a while earlier than the prior chapter. This is Arya's wedding day. In order not to give stuff away in case I decide to write more, some things are ambiguous. Like, the identity of the groom. :o)
She usually liked the Hound better in armor, because out of it his clothes bagged off him, stained and ill-fitting, disguising his strength and his competence and basically everything good about him. Out of his armor he usually looked like a drunk peasant.
Today was different, though. This outfit had been sewn for him with care, made to hug his body so that you could see, for a change, that he was not in fact just a big shapeless lump.
(A big shapeless mountain of temper and metal. She had to wonder what Gregor would have looked like in regular clothes. Or out of them. She was glad she didn't know.)
She took in his broad shoulders and the tapering at his waist. The muscles of his legs. He looked... imposing, and more. Maybe we can sneak away from the feast, she thought, and fuck in our new clothes. The thought made her chuckle; it was exactly the sort of thing you weren't supposed to do.
He spun around, and saw her looking. "You," he growled. "What do you want?"
"Nothing. Just looking."
"Why?" He sounded suspicious.
Because it's nice to see you not look like a drunk peasant for a change. No – why pick a fight? She just gave him a quick smile and a quirk of eyebrows. "Because you look great."
Every single day of his life people told him, by word and glance and deed, that his face was a nightmare. He'd thought that he was completely used to it by now, that it could never bother him again. And yet…
Well, the wolf girl was special. He'd known that for a while.
He forced himself to take a breath though; even he wouldn't shout at a bride on her wedding day. She probably hadn't meant to do anything more than tease rough anyway. "You're going to look just as silly in your bloody dress," he snarled, "So I'd shut my damn mouth if I were you."
She blinked. Cocked her head. "Can't you hear?" she said at last. "I wasn't saying you look bad. I was saying it's good." She spoke slow and careful, like trying to explain to a halfwit. "You look nice."
He stared. No idea even what to say. He literally couldn't remember the last time he'd had his fucking appearance complimented.
Arya laughed at him. "You'd better get used to it," she said. "You're not going to be able to just lurk in corners today; people are going to notice you. And some girls are going to like it."
When he still didn't have an answer she sighed in annoyance and came close.
"You're tall," she explained. She reached up and patted his chest. "Strong up here..." Dragged her hand down his side to his belt, and tugged on it. "And no belly. Girls like that – you have a good shape."
He swallowed. "I-... I don't..."
She rolled her eyes. "Here – let me fix your hair."
He knelt down for her and closed his eyes while she fussed, running through it with her fingers. "I don't know how you even see, with it all flopping in your face like this," she said, for the hundredth time.
When she fixed his part, her nails against his scalp made him shiver. "Enough," he growled, but made no move to stop her.
"After all this trouble to look nice," she said. "We're not going to fuck it up because you don't have the patience to get combed for ten seconds. Hold still."
The comb was even worse (better?), and he made irritated hissing noises the entire time she used it. "Happy?" he said when she was done.
"Almost." She was frowning, examining his face closely.
He managed – barely – not to pull away. "The fuck are you looking at?"
"You missed a spot. Shaving." She touched his jaw lightly. "Can I fix it?"
He rose up laughing. "The day I let you at my throat with a razor, wolf girl..."
She shoved him. "Fine. I'll go get myself ready instead." Then she grew serious. "The ceremony is only three hours away. Do not get drunk in the meantime. Promise?"
He snorted. "You made me promise to show up at the damn wedding. I did not promise to do it sober."
"Well you can get a little drunk. But not, you know..."
"All right: promise."
"Thanks. I'll see you later." She started to leave... but paused in the doorway. "Can I ask a favor?"
Gods preserve him. She was going to ask him to, to dance with her or something. Couldn't very well refuse her, though, could he. "Aye."
"If I do look silly in my dress," she said, without facing him, "Be nice to me anyway."
Her voice was higher and tighter than it ought to be, and he felt like absolute shit. "Girl, you're going to look fine-," he tried to tell her, but the door was already closing behind her.
He sighed. Scowled at himself in the mirror. Great indeed.
The End.
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