A month passed without any major incident, thank the Seven, and Maud and the Hound began to form a routine.
Maud woke up first every morning. If she was feeling brave, she would look over at her bedmate's scarred and twisted face, and wonder how the injury occured. In a great battle she was sure. Her favourite theory was that he was mauled by a bear and it was bleeding so much they had to cauterise the whole side of his face. Maud had asked, on her first week, what happened, and regretted it. "Never ask me that again," he had growled, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Or I'll do the same to you. And trust me, you won't fucking like it one bit." Since then, Maud would only stare at his face when he was sleeping.
When she was ready, she would sneak out of bed, occasionally having to move the Hound's arm if it ended up slung over her during the night. Quietly, with the Hound's snores as background noise, she would wash in yesterday's water and pull on her clothes. So far, apart from her lashes, her captor had never seen her without her clothes on - Maud wanted to keep it that way.
Once fully dressed, Maud would plait her hair or wind it into a bun, before starting to clean the room. This was a daily task, as the Hound had a tendency to just throw things down when he was done with them - his swordbelt, his skin of wine, his armour. He particularly didn't seem to care for his new white cloak. In fact, the only thing that he did take care of was his sword, which he polished every evening before locking it up - usually with a dirty look at Maud. She had a sneaking position that before she was forced on him, he had slept beside his sword.
After two weeks of good behaviour, her captor allowed her out the room in the morning, to fetch breakfast. She had to taste test the Hound's food, in case she had poisoned it. After they ate, he would return the plates - but not before locking Maud into the room.
She was, she thought, a very poor slave. Apart from cleaning up, bringing food, cleaning the chamberpot (her least favourite task), and occasionally darning holes, she spent the day reading books he brought her. Once, out of sheer boredom, she asked to polish his armour, but his scowl was so large she never asked again.
It was, overall, a comfortable routine. Except for two things.
The first, which the Hound didn't know: Maud had discovered a slow acting poison in one of the books she had been lent and was planning to use it on her captor next week during the hubbub of Joffrey's latest melee.
The second, which neither knew: the Mountain would be attending the melee.
The day of the melee began like any other - Maud washed and dressed and tidied, steely in determination. She felt as if her brothers were beside her. It was the Hound's fault they died, and his brother's fault that her father died. Kill the Hound, and the Mountain would mourn. Maud and her brothers thought they'd never stand a chance of killing the giant beast, so Horace had come up with the plan to kill his brother instead. "Make HIM feel what it is like to lose a loved one," became the battlecry.
Slipping down to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding crashing into a messenger grasping a piece of parchment, she stopped in a dark passageway and double-checked everything was set. A hidden pocket she had sewn into the hem of her dress held two small vials she had bribed a servant to steal from Grand Maester Pycelle one day (luckily the Hound hadn't noticed a few missing coins). One held a clear poisonous liquid, the other, a light purple antidote. Maud should be able to taste test the Hound's food and seem fine. As long as she took the antidote before sundown, she would live - maybe just suffering mild sickness.
To ensure the Hound ate the food as quickly as possible, Maud had requested chicken legs, as well as his usual eggs and bacon. She copiously poured every drop of the liquid into the chicken. The meat was so hot the poison melted in - perfect.
Breathing a sigh in preparation, Maud opened the door - to see the Hound hopping on one leg, pulling his boots on.
"Where the fuck have you been?" he said, although from her hands it was fairly obvious. "Get that food wrapped, we're going for a ride."
Maud's mind went wild. She wanted to scream 'how the fuck do you expect me to wrap fried eggs?'. She wanted to double check the book to see what waiting did to the potency on the poison. But one thought took priority.
"WE'RE going?"
"Oh, are you deaf as well as being a fucking idiot? Yes, you're coming with me for the day. Go to the kitchen, wrap that up and meet me in the stables as soon as you're done. I'll wait for you there."
Maud left, half annoyed and half excited to be able to be able to go outside.
As she left she didn't notice the Hound crumple up a piece of parchment, or take a deep drink from his skin of wine.
After being pointed in the direction of the stables by a friendly servant ("down to the right, just past the kennels."), Maud found herself enjoying the short walk. She'd never realised how much she'd taken fresh air and the outside world for granted.
She reached the stables, swinging her canvas sack of now-wrapped breakfast foods,and was instantly drawn to a beautiful black horse. Sleek, with a daring look in his big brown eyes, Maud instantly knew this must be the Hound's horse.
"Well, at least he has beautiful taste in animals," she cooed, reaching out to stroke his mane - then jumping back as the horse tried to bite her wrist. "Seven hells - you're just as bad as each other!"
Taking another step back, she bumped into something solid, yet warm. She turned around, expecting to see her captor scowling at her, but something seemed different. Time almost seemed to slow down as the words boomed. "That's no way for a whore to talk."
The Mountain.
Maud found herself unable to speak, and dropped her canvas sack as the huge beast grabbed her by her plait and dragged her out the stables, muttering "I'll show you how a bitch should be treated."