A/N: You all know how I feel about Arya & the Hound. I liked their reunion last night, I guess, but I think that (even though they are both not talkers), they have more to say to each other. Below takes place a bit after S8E1 – the Hound is suiting up for some kind of mission outside of Winterfell.


Most of the party had someone coming to see them off, but Sandor was lacing up alone.

Or so he thought. He sensed a presence and turned, and the little Stark bitch was right there, stabbing distance for sure, just waiting. Hand on the hilt of her stupid little sword.

"You," he said, and made a point of going back to what he was doing. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to tell you something." Her voice was flat and quiet, now – almost like his. He didn't like it. "Something I forgot to say, the other day."

What happened to you, girl? But he expected it was quite a lot, and he didn't have the time or the patience for a long story. If, even, she would tell it. "Well? So say it."

"I'm glad you survived," she said. "That's all."

He looked over at her and laughed outright. "You're glad I didn't die for you back then, so that I'm around to do it now? Warms the heart."

"You don't have a heart." Still flat and quiet. Certain.

Anger flared up in him. "You don't know that." He didn't know himself, really, except that the septon had hurt, and the girl and her sad old father had hurt, and Arya herself had stirred something, apparently, so much that he didn't even feel like killing her for the awful way she'd served him. "You don't know anything," he said, and her face didn't change. He gestured to her, up and down. "I wouldn't have done this to you."

Something twitched in her expression then, but it was gone too fast for him to read. "I stayed alive," she said. Nothing in the voice, but, the words were revealing enough. She was defensive.

"I know. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you." He stared at the boot he was working on. What the everloving fuck had he just said?

"I didn't need your help where I went next." He didn't ask, but a moment later she said, still in the same monotone: "The House of the Black and White."

"The-." He looked up – not sure if he was misunderstanding. "The Faceless Men? You actually...?"

She nodded. "I said I was going to Braavos, didn't I?" For the first time, he heard a hint of something in her. Sulk and resentment.

But bad attitude was better than nothing. "Good for you. Probably crossing names off your list left and right now."

She smiled. "You have no idea." Then the smile disappeared, suddenly. "I took your name off, though. Back then. Before..." she jerked her head. "You know."

He huffed. He'd thought as much, more than once over the years, when he'd thought about her. "Just my shit luck. I would have appreciated a dagger."

"I know. I'm sorry." Back to the monotone, and he could read nothing. "But I mean it: I'm glad you didn't need one in the end."

He was done – all wrapped and strapped and ready. "Listen," he said, as he stood. "If I come back all dead and blue-eyed, you cut my damn head off – list or not."

"All right. I promise." She re-gripped her little sword. "I won't leave you for the fire."

He froze. That wasn't what he'd meant – he hadn't even thought about that horror, about those dragons, about what the Mad King's daughter was likely planning to do with her enemies.

Thanks for sending me off with that happy fucking thought, he wanted to tell her, but when he looked she was gone already. As silently as she'd come. Little bitch.


The End.

The Hound is my absolute favorite thing in this show! I hope he gets satisfaction in the end. (It'd be great if he survives, too, but I sort of think that's secondary.).