Fanfiction only. I own no part of Game of Thrones.

Spearwives

It was well after dark when Arya finally caught up with the army, and she charged straight through the column, searching for the Nightrunners. Whenever she cast a glance behind herself to check on Clegane, he had fallen further behind. She looked ahead into the dark, ignoring the surprised faces of Wildlings as they whipped by. Word of her coming preceded her, and several Nightrunner men met her. Arya dismounted and helped the Wildling woman slide to the ground into the arms of her kinsmen.

She grabbed one of the Wildling scouts that reported to Jon. "Take my horse and ride ahead. Have the baggage train set up my tent, and I want a fire built when I get there." When he scowled down at her, she grabbed the greasy hair straggling out of his fur hood, and pressed the tip of her blade into his throat. "My brother is the King of the North. Do as you're told, or I'll make sure you and every member of your clan is swinging by your entrails by dawn."

His scowl deepened, but he nodded his assent and jerked away.

By the time Clegane's mount reached her, he was slumped in the saddle and barely conscious. Arya grabbed his knee and shook him angrily.

"Wake up, damn you!"

Clegane's ice-crusted lashes fluttered. "'m awake. Just finally starting to get warm."

"Damn it!"

Arya climbed awkwardly onto the horse's haunches behind Clegane's saddle and ripped the reins from his numb fingers.

"'m fine," he slurred.

"Shut the fuck up. If you get any colder, I'll have to set you afire to thaw you!" She shook him hard. "Wake up, damn you!"

This seemed to pull Clegane out of his stupor. "Stupid wolf bitch . . . you come close to me with fire, I'll—"

"Not if you're dead."

Arya kicked the horse's ribs hard and almost slid off the back of its haunches as it jumped forward. She gripped Clegane tightly around his ribs, both to steady him and to keep herself from falling off.

By the time she reached their tent, the scout stood scowling beside her horse while a pair of Nightrunner spearwives built a roaring fire. Arya slid off the back of the horse's haunches and reached for Stranger's reins as Clegane dismounted. Clegane's ice-encrusted boot tangled in the stirrup, and he crashed to the ground.

Arya found herself pinned beneath his massive, leaden weight, increased exponentially by his wet leathers, weapons, and steel plate. "Get off!"

For a moment, Clegane neither moved nor spoke, the ruined side of his face pressed into the snow and his hair scattered around his head. Their faces were very close, but his eyes looked straight through Arya.

As a child, Old Nan had made her a rag doll dressed in a bit of wolf skin. It had a snarl of combed black wool for hair and beard, and one of the lads had been convinced to carve a crude sword to be sewn into the little northern knight's hand. She'd discarded it immediately, declaring that dolls were for stupid girls, but it had been taken up by Rickon instead. Little Rickon had carried it with him everywhere, and it had ended up frayed and tattered, smeared with gravy, its filling of carded wool peeking out from the seams. The last time she remembered seeing it, it had been discarded in the straw of the stable and stepped on by a horse. For a moment, Clegane was that discarded knight, broken and crumpled in the snow, his insides leaking out and staining the snow.

Clegane blinked ponderously and reached out icy fingers to lay them across her cheek. "'s alright, little wolf. We're not far from Winterfell now . . . you can manage the rest of the way on your own."

Clegane sighed a deep breath, closed his eyes, and went very still.

"No! Sandor! No!"

Arya flailed and fought her way from under Clegane's bulk, screaming his name and pummeling his chest. Finally the Nightrunner spearwives returned and pulled him off her, dragging him to the side of the roaring fire. The spearwives were shaking him, trying to wake him again, and his head lolled from side to side.

Arya scrambled to his side. "You rotten shit!" She reached back and slapped him across the face with every ounce of her strength. "If you die on me now, I'll leave you here for the wights." When Clegane moaned softly but didn't rouse, she reached back the opposite hand and struck him again. "Wake the fuck up or I'll set you and your horse on fire!" Arya swung her stinging hand back one more time. "I'll shove every inch of that Lannister steel up your—"

This time, he caught her hand before the blow could land, though his grip on her wrist was weak. "'s not Lannister steel," he mumbled through numb lips, "fucking wolf bitch."

Arya fell on her knees before him and ripped away his wolf skin coat matted with a sheen of ice. Her fingers tangled around the clasps of his brigandine as she raced to get it off him.

"Th' fuck . . . you doing?"

Arya's eyes blazed. "Taking you back from the Many Faced God. Move closer to the fire."

"No!"

"Now, damn you!"

Arya glared at him, and he grudgingly scooted close enough to the fire that she could feel its heat searing her cheek.

His enormous brigandine was completely saturated, and she guessed he must have fallen into the water at some point. Between the steel plates sewn into the garment and the sodden leather, she could barely lift it. Instead, she stripped it off his shoulders and dropped it at her feet.

"Help me with your mail."

He grunted and struggled out of the mail, though he followed instructions slowly and lacked any measure of coordination. By the time she stripped his sopping linen tunic off, he was shivering so hard that his teeth were chattering. Arya grabbed the wolf pelts she slept in and wrapped them around his bare shoulders, chafing his pale, clammy skin through the furs.

Growling surly beneath her ministrations, Clegane growled, "Leave off!"

"Take your boots off." When he made no move to comply, Arya knelt again beside him and attacked the buckles on his greaves. The icy steel buckles burned her fingers, and if she held on to them for too long, her skin froze to the steel. By the time the buckles on the first greave were loosed, the tips of her fingers were bleeding. Arya had to pry the greave away from the layer ice that had welded it to his boot, and she sprawled into the snow when it finally gave way. She scrambled to his other side and continued tearing at the buckles, when one large, leaden hand fell on her shoulder.

Softly, Clegane said, "Leave off, girl. The feeling's already gone in both feet. I'll likely lose them to the frost. You may as well—"

"No!" Arya glared up at him from beneath the fringe of her sweat-soaked hair. "If we're careful, you won't even lose your toes. It's been less than an hour."

The spearwives looked on skeptically. One of them pointed adamantly at Arya and gabbled on in the Old Tongue.

Arya looked up sharply. "Really?"

The spearwife shrugged nonchalantly and folded her arms across her chest. Arya nodded irritably and tore off the second greave. The spearwives had lashed together several staves to create a structure over the fire from which they hung Clegane's sopping brigadine and tunic. Arya wrapped her hand around the heel of one of Clegane's boots, but he jerked his foot away.

"Enough."

Arya glared up at him. "After the number of times you saved me from my own stupidity, I'm not going to let you lose your feet or your life to the frost. Now shut the fuck up and give me your foot!"

Grudgingly, Clegane allowed Arya to pull off both boots and the tattered woolen stockings beneath. She tossed them blindly to the spearwives who set them near the fire to thaw. Clegane watched puzzled as Arya clawed open her own brigadine. Without comment, she pulled her mail and tunic from beneath her sword belt.

"Give me your feet."

"Why?"

Arya huffed, and grabbing one of Clegane's ankles, she lifted her tunic and placed the sole of his pale, clammy foot against her belly. His feet were planks of frozen steel when she pressed them against her flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut and gasped quietly. Glancing down, she was relieved that his skin hadn't yet turned blue.

"Crazy fucking wolf bitch! What are you doing?"

Arya glanced up, grateful he was alert enough to curse fluently again. "Saving your feet, you ungrateful shit! Give me the other one, or I'll tell her to hit you."

When he opened his mouth to protest, one of the spearwives struck Clegane against the back of the head with her bow. Both women launched into loud adamant exclamations in the Old Tongue, gesturing at Arya. He glared venomously at all three women, but reluctantly offered her his other icy foot, and she placed it beneath her tunic against her skin.

Snow and ice had begun to fall away from the folds of his breeches in sludgy chunks as the fire thawed them. Arya looked up in inquiry to the spearwives while she chafed his feet through her tunic. "Like this?"

The older of the two women made a scooping motion with her hand. Arya pressed her eyes shut and groaned. She'd been afraid that that was what the answer would be, but if anyone knew how to best thaw a man's feet, it would be a Wildling.

"What's wrong?"

Arya grit her teeth together and refused to look at Clegane. The older spearwife snorted and launched into another tirade, this time berating her for her stupidity and squeamishness. Unbidden, the sight of him broken and discarded, delirious from fever, pain, and blood loss at the foot of a cliff, tugging on the Stranger's cloak because he'd defended her yet again, rose before her eyes. Arya scooted slightly closer to Clegane, leaned forward, and pulled his heels tighter into her belly so that his nearly frozen toes were pressed deep beneath the swells of her full breasts.

"Seven hells, girl! What are you—"

Arya wrapped both arms around Clegane's feet and curled her body around them. She glared him into silence. When Jon arrived, that's how he found his sister, her body and every ounce of her warmth wrapped around the Hound's feet, and the two of them glaring daggers at one another while two Nightrunner spearwives nodded their approval over the proceedings.

When Jon dismounted from his snorting gelding and took in the scene, his mouth fell open, but he said nothing. The flush that had started to rise up Clegane's neck deepened and started to enflame his ears. He tried to reclaim his feet from Arya's grip, but she tightened her arms around them and the younger spearwife jabbed him hard in the shoulder with her bow in warning.

Clegane glanced up at Jon, both furious and humiliated. "I'm sorry, your Grace, she—"

Jon cut Clegane off, obviously too embarrassed himself to hear the explanation. "I heard what happened. I've seen the Wildlings do something similar with men that had been pulled from beneath a snow slide. These women are sisters to the woman you saved. Her kinsmen already—"

Clegane's face darkened. "I can't say we saved her, but the fuckers won't lay their hands on her again."

Jon nodded. "You both did well." He glanced again at his sister, and she lowered her brow, daring him to comment further. He cleared his throat. "Send to me if you require anything."

Soon after the King of the North remounted his horse and rode away, the spearwives cleared off any other gathered spectators, using tongue or blade as was necessary. Arya and Clegane continued glaring angrily at one another. She couldn't say how long she knelt in the snow beside the fire, but she held her companion's feet for some time after their body temperatures had equalized. She refused to release him until the fire of humiliation was nearly banked in his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?"

Arya looked down at the hairy ankles emerging from the hem of her tunic. "If you can't stand, you can't fight. If you can't fight . . ." she swallowed thickly, "I know you'll let the Many Faced God take you again." She glanced up. "You need your feet."

She loosened her grip and grimaced. "Is it better? Can you feel your toes again?"

Clegane narrowed his eyes at her and tightened his mouth into a thin line, obviously considering just precisely where his toes were lodged. Arya's face grew hot. "Aye," he growled darkly, "if you've quite finished . . ."

Arya released him and allowed him to stand and collect his saddle bags so that he could change his sopping clothes. Someone had sent for a new pair of boots for Clegane, and they sat beside the tent. Arya watched the fire, trying to give him a few minutes to regain his composure.

"One of these days, the Stranger is going to stop taunting me and take me for sure, you know."

Arya gazed over her shoulder at him defiantly as he sat at the mouth of the tent and pulled on the dry boots. "Not today."