Morning saw her laying on top of her bedroll, back braced against the trunk of the thick tree her armor was piled beside the previous day, a dagger clenched firmly in her hand. Her eyes snapped open at the sound of approaching feet, the feel of the morning sun like daggers through her skull. Forcing them closed for a moment before she forced them open again, it was one of the camp squires with a small platter of food, which he placed on the ground beside her and quickly left without a word at her familiar glare. Letting out a slow breath she leaned her head back against the tree and grabbed the small pitcher of water, lifting it up tremulously and letting it run freely into her mouth.
Despite all her years of practice with having an extra hole in her mouth, some water leaked out of it all the same, even with her head tilted to the side as it was. Letting out a frustrated and pained growl, she placed the pitcher down and started to tear into the bread and slop provided. She jerked angrily when the back of her soft shirt clung to the tree, glued there by blood and discharge from her weeping wounds. Huffing, she leaned forwards against her knees gingerly and ate while glaring down at the ground, it was going to be an unpleasant week.
Sandor had already brushed down Stranger and familiarized himself with the surroundings, getting to know where the important parts of the camp were. The Golden Company had supplied him with a two-handed sword, bedroll and a tent to get him started. The sword was shoddy work, but any sword can kill, especially when I'm holding it, he thought. He was sitting on a log outside of his tent, staring into the dead coals of his camp fire as he sharpened the sword with a continual scraping rhythm, when a familiar voice called to him "Gravedigger, the host is at rest now, but the Bloody Ravens gather a ways north of the camp, if you plan on getting to know your new brothers any." Sandor only gave Midas a grunt in response, he wasn't interested, especially not in making friends. With a shrug Midas walked off, unconcerned with the disposition of their latest recruit, or at the very least not willing to suffer another black eye from him.
He caught sight of Elyse walking towards the healers tents some time later, when the mist of morning had burned away, noting that her light brown undershirt had been soaked through completely with blood on the back. He was not going to feel bad about it, not now and not ever, he scowled to himself and drew his hood down a little lower. With little else to do but sharpening his tool however, his mind thought over all that she had said to him last night. Her origins seemed as brutal as they come, he had to admit. Especially if it really was Gregor and his companions that she managed to escape from, that was a feat of its own, especially for a child at the time. Although, Robert's Rebellion was really when Gregor had bloomed into a killing machine, he was green in the ways of war back then, mistakes happened. Why had her manner not been blackened by that experience though? Maybe it was his deep familiarity with Gregor that made it so hard to deal with the fact that someone who also had suffered an attack from him wasn't burning for revenge as deeply as he was.
These thoughts were annoying and flitted about his mind continually as he tried to focus on his task and consider where the golden army was going to be moving in the days to come. Storms End was an incredibly powerful castle, would they march on it to prove their power? Maybe their dragon queen would assist in its capture, dragons changed the game of war so dramatically, cursed Harrenhall would forever stand as testament to that. If Storms End it was, they would surely follow the coast and fall upon Griffon's Roost. Sandor couldn't imagine such a large host of people who weren't used to the chill of Westeros trying to make their way through the mountain passes that he traveled through to get here, even if it was the fabled Golden Company. No, they were bound for Griffin's Roost, that was the end of it. The only question was when would the host move?
Later in the evening, he had listened quietly to the other men talking among themselves as he filled his stomach on hard bread and gamey stew. Most talk was about where the company was headed, and most seemed to agree with his inner thoughts, the host was moving to Griffin's Roost. Nobody could agree on when though, but the scouts did point out they were foraging as much meat and edible goods as they possibly could, stocking up on the bounty of the forest before moving to less hospitable places. He had tuned out all of them by the time he was done eating, striding off to his camp silently once more.
He was stoking the small fire he kept outside of his tent when she appeared. "Found you." "Go away" she gave him a dramatic sigh and slowly set herself down on the far end of his log seat, covering up her wince from the jarring of her rib, all while he glared. "Not yet. I'm sure you acquainted yourself with the camp and such, that much is a given." he nodded impatiently "Out with it wench, I don't desire company, yours especially." "That's alright. Never been one to give a damn about the wants of others, personally." she smiled into the fire, the unbroken side of her face looked calm and ethereal in the warm light. His warning growl went unheeded, much to his displeasure.
"The commander of the Bloody Ravens should have briefed you by now, I'm sure he has not. So, I'll tell you what this particular unit is about, and what your place in it will most likely be." Now this was technical, possibly useful, information. Sandor slowly turned his head from the fire to look at her with a new interest. "Thought that would get your attention, nobody who likes living is content with little to no information about what they are to be doing." He snorted in response and made a small gesture with his hand for her to continue, setting aside his sword and resting his hands on his knees. "The Bloody Ravens are a mixed unit of archers, footmen and horse riders. Most members are capable of interchanging these roles and as such, that makes us a very special tool for the high command. Our unit is used for surgical strikes, sabotage, and various other dangerous behind enemy line style fights. We are known for our successes against impossible odds." her sneer was both verbal and visible, leaving him with a quirked brow and waiting for more.
"Basically, Edgur sends poor fools who he doesn't like on impossible missions, expecting them to die and no longer be a pain in his ass. But if they succeed the units reputation grows wild. A win for him either way, you see? So my advice to you is keep laying low, as much as an aurochs like you can anyway." she snorted "Avoid the dothraki twins, they are his lickspittles and like to look for fights. Meric and Moat are their names. Don't get on Edgur's bad side." she smirked, looking directly at him. Her gaze did not waver from his scars, and he appreciated her nerve, but he found himself chuckling all the same. "I'll not tuck my tail and hide from these fools, it will be their problem if they want to be on my bad side. You'll do well to remember that yourself, wench. Leave me be."
She wanted to chuckle but only managed a tired "Heh." in response as she slowly stood back up, intent on making her way back to her bedroll for some much-needed recovery time. His gaze was heavy on her back as he looked at the coppery sheen her long brown hair gave off in the fire light, wispy fingers that trailed down her spine and ribs, coming to rest at the small of her back. If he thought about it, he could still remember the soft ply of her flesh under his fingertips when he gripped it the other night. The thought made him scowl, it had been too long since he had a woman.
Her torso was wrapped tightly in fresh bandages, already stained red through in some places, and it hurt ever so much to sit up against the tree again. Tossing the scrap of her bedroll over her legs roughly, she scowled to herself in the darkness while clenching her knife in hand, the sleep of the injured tugging away at her consciousness. There was no moon overhead to determine how long she had slept, dark clouds obscured it thoroughly, but it did not feel like very long when her eyes shot open at the sound of multiple people approaching. "Elyse." the sharp, cruel voice of Edgur called out to her as him and his companions stopped at the edge of her camp.
"Commander." she grated out, voice deepened and ragged with sleep, not making a move to stand in his presence. "To what do I owe the pleasure of such good company?" the silent dothraki twins glowered at her, like they had half a mind to attack her over not moving when she was injured. Edgur's voice lowered into a honeyed tone however, which she understood was more dangerous than any yelling voice he could conjure. "The host moves in a weeks time, and there is a task I would set upon you and the new recruit. A test for him, if you will. Success is also paramount, which is why I'm sending you with him." Her fingertips fondled the leather wrapped handle of her knife while she thoughtfully wondered how it would look plunged into his neck, and the wideness of his watery eyes when he realized she had ended his life. Blinking away the fantasy, she kept silent and nodded for him to continue.
"Griffin's Roost is where the host will move, which you already knew. The keep is vulnerable, its lord and fighting men gone to war. You know what I require of you, and if the big fool can't keep up with his gimp leg, that is his own problem. You have three days to recover enough to travel, see that you do it swiftly." a brief pause "Aye commander, it will be done." the air was tense with hatred, them for her and her for them. "It better be, Shadow." They left then, leaving her thoughts heavy and troubled as she drifted back to sleep, even more eager to recover than she had been already.
Sandor was in a foul mood. The wenches words weren't a warning—they were a bloody omen of things to come. A squire had come running into his camp to summon him to his commanders tent that morning, and there he met the two dothraki cravens and the lithe, watery eyed fool who dared to be his commander. Edgur's blond hair and slight build were enough to remind him of the Lannisters, and for that reason alone he hated him. To send him on a suicide mission within the first few days of actually being here, it was purely a stupid waste of good men. Worse yet, to say that he was to be accompanied by the wench to make sure the mission succeeded? Insult to injury. But he was used to being a beaten dog and kept his emotions from his face and voice, much like when he served the Lannisters.
He found her in the armory tent, hair loose over her shoulders and obscuring the too large brown tunic she had donned, leaning over a map of the stormlands. Upon the long table was an array of weaponry and tools which he looked over while standing just inside the entrance. A longbow with quiver and arrows, two fine knives beside sheaths that were meant to be strapped to the lower back, her great sword and a small hatchet for wood and the like. It was clear all of it was made specifically to her size, there wouldn't be anything practical for a woman in the armory, even if she was larger than the average one. Her armor was on a mannequin and had been cleaned and polished with a practiced hand, and all the weapons were freshly sharpened too. "You aren't even going to be able to carry all that, wench." He muttered darkly, the mental image of all the weapons piled up on her and rendering her useless an amusing thought.
Ignoring his words, she crooked a finger at him over her shoulder, calling him over. Two brief strides closed the distance between the two and he took up the space to her left, resting a hand on the table as he partially leaned over her and looked at the map. "You've been briefed, we're bound for Griffon's Roost in two days. I'd discuss the path we'll take with you, if you're keen on not being lost." she remarked in a tired, snarky tone. She placed a thick, calloused fingertip onto the rainwood "We're here. I plan on taking this route." her fingertip snaked along the chosen path as she spoke. "But I have also never traveled through this place before, and you at least have come through the rainwood once. Is there anything you'd change?" "Aye" he grunted "If you don't want to be sucked into a bog like a fool, we'll make for the coast and follow it as long as we can." his finger thunked onto the map and charted the path as he spoke, to which she nodded grudgingly. "Of course. We will have to take to the woods closer to the destination, however." tapping her fingertip near the Roost, to which he grunted his ascent. "No horses. We'll make better time than the host even without them, and draw no eyes or ears. Your horse will be with the host, don't worry for him." she smirked, feeling him stiffen briefly at the mention, before turning to look up at him gravely. "If you fall behind because of your leg, I'll not wait. I expect you to keep up, your arm will be needed if this is to be successful, mark my words." His glare was acidic.
"I'm not the fool who will be carrying too much crap to move." he gave a sweeping gesture to the table, frowning. "Leave worrying about carrying my shit to me." she snapped, looking back down as she folded up the map neatly. "You'll be thankful for it." There would be no more contact between the two of them for the next two days, he didn't even see her in glimpses during them. The men eventually figured out that something was up, gossips that all bored men were, and he spent much of his time hiding in his tent to be free of annoying questions. At some points he had wished for his old reputation and the healthy dose of fear and the wide berth men used to give him for it, but he had left The Hound behind in many ways. The Quiet Isle had soothed him to a degree, and he agreed with Elder Brother when he had said that The Hound was dead, but his talent for violence was engraved on his soul and wasn't going anywhere, no matter how much Elder Brother babbled otherwise.
