Sandor's shoulders were strong and warm. Arya found that while she pressed her cheek against him, she felt nothing but warmth and happiness, and everything that had happened in the last hours was suddenly so far away. She was grateful that he hadn't put her down, hadn't forced her to go with that sell sword. He would stay with her until he was convinced she was safe. The sentiment made her eyes tear up.
He was keeping her safe.
But she couldn't let him keep carrying her. His breathing was already labored, and he looked pale, his arms normally as strong as steel now trembling ever so lightly. He was hurting, and carrying her wasn't making it better.
"Let me down." She whispered quietly, squirming gently in his firm hold.
"Nay, pup. I ain't putting you down till we get to where we want to be." He growled back quietly, halting behind Bronn as the male turned around a corner. Arya didn't know how long they had been walking, but she recognized the area. They were at the outer ring, the Wall that signalised the end of the city, so far away from its center and the Keep, it was at least an hours walk.
"No, Sandor, I can walk." She protested, squirming a little harder. "Please, you're hurting, and I want to walk! We won't make it back if you keep carrying me!"
"She's right, Hound. We've taken much too long to get here as it is, and the way back into the city, to the Keep will be even more dangerous. You need to put her down." The brunette male urged quietly, for once agreeing with the girl.
"Don't you tell me what to do, bloody fool." Sandor grunted, following Bronn into the dark alley, the smaller man having sighed in annoyance and then shrugged before making the move. He wasn't going to test the Hound's patience, and who knew, maybe they would make it back. If anyone did with that wound and a child on his arms, it was Sandor Clegane.
"Please, Sandor, Please." Arya begged, feeling surprisingly distraught by Sandor's refusal of, what she considered, her help. "I need to walk, please, I want to!"
"Enough!" Sandor finally barked, scaring a few birds and a cat that had settled in the many nooks and crannies of the wall. Arya swallowed, but shut her mouth.
The Hound was beyond reasoning.
His side burned like fire. Like bloody fucking fire. It almost took his breath away. Every single step was agony. But he was doing it for his pup. His child, maybe not by blood, but by heart, and he was going to carry the injured little wolf to safety. He wasn't going to put her down.
Breathing became harder as they had finally made it to the outer ring. Now, they would have to follow it, and once they reached the spot that was nearest to the Keep, steal through the city. That meant they hadn't even made half of the way yet. Sweat had started forming on his face and scalp, and his hair was plastered firmly to his head.
He could have been bleeding from his eyes for all he cared. He wasn't putting her down.
Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, imagining his little bird calling to him, worried for her husband and child. It was all he could do to not scream. It took every bit of energy he had in his entire body. One step after the other. Just one after the other. Just a little longer, and he would have returned his pup to his wife, and they would both be safe long enough for him to sleep a few hours.
He could hear her calling for him, her soft voice laced with worry. When he closed his eyes a second time, quickly opening them once he realized that they had closed, he swore he could see her standing by his window, his shirt in her hands, softly whispering his, and her sister's name. But it was gone half a second later, and Sandor shook his head. He was going mad with pain.
"Almost there, Hound." Bronn whispered, the words being such a relief that the tall man almost sank to his knee's. His body had no dimension, ripped and teared and tugged at by the pain, pulling him apart bone by bone, only to put him back together and start again.
Almost there.
Bronn had never wanted to kill the Hound, having never received the order or been given any reason to want the man dead. Right now, he wanted the man dead. They were moving too slow, and the pain the other man must have been feeling made his breath loud, and his steps as well. He prayed to the bloody gods that he'd survive this.
Reasoning with the Hound was like reasoning with a wall. You could talk and hit at it as much as you wanted, unless it was old and brittle, it wasn't going down. And the Hound was neither old nor brittle. In fact, Bronn was impressed.
It seemed the male was using sheer willpower to keep the frightened girl in his arms by the time they had made it to the Keep. Brown eyes looked numb, and yet wary as he turned around to inform him that they were almost there. Clegane looked like he was going to faint.
"Lets go then." He growled, and they surged forward, from shadow to shadow, until finally, the wooden door that would be their entrance point was in view.
"You don't got the key by chance?" He asked the Hound as they stood before the massive wooden door. The snarl was enough of a reply for Bronn to lower himself onto the ground, working on the lock with his tools.
"Few more minutes." He heard the Hound mutter to the child, which then gave a soft whimper. He felt sorry for the little lass, but he hadn't been quick enough, and that simply wasn't his fault. Baelish had worked too quickly. But she was alive, and that was a lot, in his opinion. She would get over it.
Finally, the tell tale sound of metal clinking against metal let him sigh in relief. The door was open. Quickly, he stood, pushing it open.
"Come on now, not much farther." He whispered, letting the Hound go in first. He would pick the next best room in this gods damned wing, and dump them there. He had done his duty, and he wasn't going to die for these people.
Once a suitable room was found, he left them to their own devices, throwing one last look into the room. The Hound was half sitting, half laying on the old bed, still made up as if it was going to be used, but dusty. Arya was cradled against his chest as he spoke to her, though Bronn could not hear what he said.
Shrugging it off, he moved out of the room and closed the door. He was going to report back, bring his Lord to them, and then go to the brothel.
It had been too long of a day.
Tyrion had waited impatiently all night for Bronn to return, cursing under his breath as he walked up and down the length of his room.
He had given a boy a little coin to stand at the Keep's entrance all night, and report to him should anything important happen. Like the Hound and Bronn being dragged in by the Guard, and brought before the King to face the consequences of their crimes.
The sun was already threatening to rise when he finally heard a knock on the door. Seconds later, Bronn opened the door just wide enough to stick his head in, and nod. It was done. It was finally done.
The dwarf sank onto a chair as a weight lifted off his chest. He would never have forgiven himself had the girl been lost to Baelish and his sort. He didn't know how Cersei had kept him in the dark about this meeting, but then, his sister certainly had her ways. Almost jumping out of his chair a few moments later, he rushed to the door.
"Let us get her sister. How is the girl? Did you see Clegane?"
He remembered all too well how Lady Sansa had stormed into his room only a few hours ago, demanding to know if the Imp had sent her man somewhere, or if the King had called for him. Shaking his head, he had felt a horrible pain in his forehead. The Hound had run off to do the gods knew what, while Arya was maybe already safely on her way back to the keep.
"Aye, ran into him on our way back. Took him with us. Fool carried the girl the entire way, we had to walk the outer ring with his injury. Wouldn't surprise me if we came back and the man was dead by the looks of him." Bronn had said, their voices hushed as they made their way to the older wolfs room.
"He is a fucking fool." Tyrion agreed, opening Sansa's door right after knocking. The young woman was standing at the window, grasping tightly onto a large piece of clothing, whispering to herself. Her eyes were red, her skin pale, cheeks streaked with her tears.
"Come my lady." He said quietly, and Sansa nodded, but rushing over to her dresser first.
Sansa had often thought how it would have been when she had never met Sandor. She would have spent many years in the brothel, alone eventually, when she sent Arya off to a better place.
Or maybe she would have been killed during the riots. Or, if they had never survived the attack on their family, would she still have met him, maybe in another life? Were they destined to be together?
Yes, they were. She had known that the moment she had laid eyes on him, that this was not just some man, that they were meant to meet, and that they had some sort of connection. She had felt it so deeply inside her the spark it ignited was almost burning her nerves. She would never have experienced true happiness without him.
When she had woken, cold and alone, her heart had stopped. Scanning the room quickly in her fear, her suspicion was confirmed. Sandor was not in the room, in fact, his sword was missing. And she knew immediately where he had gone But had he done so on his own, or had he been called on?
Rushing to dress herself properly, she hurried to Lord Tyrion's room, forgetting all her courtesy, and barged in. The Imp was still awake despite the late hour, and looked as surprised as she had felt once she asked him if he knew where Sandor was. He had not ordered him to do anything.
He had gone for Arya himself.
Sansa had cursed then, for the first time in her life, cursed her stubborn man and the Queen Regent, the Mockingbird and all the other people that had somehow contributed to their situation. The half-man had comforted her as much as possible, offering for her to wait with him in the Hand's tower. But Sansa had only shook her head. If someone saw them together, they would be in trouble, and Sandor had to return to his room eventually. She would wait for him there.
Grabbing one of his worn shirts, she pressed it to her nose, inhaling deeply the scent of sweat, wine, and Sandor. It comforted her as she moved to the window, too nervous to sit, much less sleep. No, she could not settle before she knew her family was safe.
And so she started to pray. Pray that her love and her sister were returned to her safely. Pray for a successful escape from this horrible city. Pray that they would find peace and happiness soon. She prayed for hours as tears fell from her eyes and onto his shirt, until she no longer had any more tears to give.
And after what seemed an eternity, the door was flung open, and there the half-man stood, his face serious. She immediately knew what was wrong. One of them was hurt, either Sandor or Arya, as Bronn stood steadily and calmly at his Lord's side. She rushed over to her drawer, pulling needle, candle, match and thread from it, showing it into a small pouch.
"We'll need wine." She whispered quietly. Whoever was in pain would need it. They couldn't go to the grand maester now, not with Arya having been sent to the brothel by the Queen Regent. And what was she going to tell the old, but smart man how Sandor had gotten injured once more?
"Where are they Bronn? We can find them without you. Go get wine from the kitchen." She heard the Lord speak, and an annoyed grunt from the swell sword as she checked over everything she had stuffed into the back, deciding it was everything she would need.
Bronn had told them in which Room they were, and the Imp and Sansa quickly made their way down to the west wing, and into the room. The sight made her blood freeze.
Arya lay crying on top of him, but he was pale, as pale as death. She noticed that his chest was barely moving, and in that moment did the adrenaline surged through her. Running to his side, the Imp helped her pull Arya back, who was thoroughly bruised. She wished she could take care of her sister right away, but Sandor needed her more.
"Little Bird.." Sandor breathed, his eyes barely open. "Brought back.. the pup."
"I know, I know you did, Sandor. Thank you so much, my love." Sansa whispered as she shoved his shirt up. It didn't make him flinch, and that was a bad sign. He was no longer reacting to pain. On the other hand, that meant she could burn the wound out without him suffering. All the stitches had ripped from his wound, the surrounding skin an irritated red, blood having seeped out of into and down his side, until it reached the hem of his breeches. Sansa wanted to scream. "Hold still, Sandor, husband, please. Do not move."
Sansa barely got a reply. Panic surged in her, the man that was normally so vocal, so loud, now not even able to speak a full sentence. She heated the needle and burnt out the wound, slowly, thoroughly. Sandor groaned weakly once or twice, but that was all the interaction he could manage. Meanwhile, she heard Arya weeping into the Imp's chest as they sat behind her.
"Sansa... listen to me. Look at me." Sandor rasped, placing his hand at her cheek as she started to stitch him up.
"Just a minute, my love. I'm almost done." She soothed, not lifting her gaze from the wound the was sewing shut. "Just a little longer."
"Bloody hells woman, look at me wife!" Immediately, Sansa's head snapped up, and she stared into his eyes. Never had he called her that, but the way he said it now frightened her more than it soothed her.
"What is it, Sandor?" Her voice shook as she looked at him, her hands trembling slightly.
"Don't cry. If the stranger takes me." He breathed, making her shake her head violently, wanting to talk, but was given no chance. "IF the stranger takes me. You can't cry. You take.. take that little sister of yours and you run... You hear me woman? You.. You run as fast as you fucking can. Promise me.."
"I promise, husband. I promise that if the stranger takes you I won't cry, and I will take Arya and run." She answered frantically, going back to the task at hand. She simply couldn't look at him like this, his skin so gray, and eyes so dark. She couldn't bare it. "But he won't come for you tonight, Sandor, he won't. Because we haven't married yet. And I haven't had your pups. And Arya hasn't beat you in a fight yet."
All those things still had to happen, all those things she, no, they had dreamed off. They were all still to come, and Sansa simply refused to believe that they had only been dreams. Finally she was done, ripping the thread with her teeth and knotting it up.
"Aye, little bird.. still to come.."
Bronn was finally back with the wine, and Sansa poured a fair amount of it over Sandor's wounds before trying to get the man to drink. But the Hound wouldn't open his eyes. Sansa couldn't hold back the sob that tore through her, before sipping some of the wine herself, carefully opening his mouth, letting the liquid drip into his mouth. She made sure to not give him too much at once, dribbling little by little into his open mouth until he swallowed, and then repeated the whole thing.
She gave him an entire cup this way, patient and gentle, the way only a Lady could be. Tyrion watched the young wolf tend to her mate. It was heartwarming, knowing that such unconditional love still existed. The girl in his arms suddenly stirred.
"Arya." He said softly, loosening his arms around her as she squirmed away from him. The taller female immediately moved to her sister, now that she was no longer weeping into the the half-man. Tyrion waited outside as she tended to her sisters wounds, but he already knew what had happened. Sometimes, spiders were very useful.
As he was called back inside, the look of horror was clear on Lady Sansa's face, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it. The brunette was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, staring at the man that laid on the bed.
"Is he asleep?" Arya suddenly asked, making the Imp glance over to Clegane. The man was probably more unconscious than asleep, but he wouldn't be the one to tell her that.
"Yes, Arya. He's sleeping." He said, wanting to spare Sansa from lying to her little sister. He wished he could have been somewhere, anywhere else. Arya wasn't stupid. She could see what they could all see. Death.
Suddenly, her small hand stretched out, grabbing the much bigger hand of the Hound. At first, the girl only held his hand, as if she wanted to comfort him. But then, she started tugging on it, while her sister sat helpless next to her on the floor.
"Sandor, you need to wake up." Arya whispered weakly. "You have to. Sansa needs you. And I need you, too. You need to wake up."
The little wolf almost whispered, and Tyrion couldn't stop himself from looking away. The scene was too intimate, to painful to watch. Tyrion had never witnessed anything so pure and so unbelievably sad.
"Wake up, please." Arya begged, her voice high and strained. Small hands snapped forward, a thin body suddenly straddling the Hound's thighs as angry, tiny fists came down against his chest.
Arya was yelling now, screaming at the man to open his eyes. The sudden change of the situation to something so much more dramatic shocked him, and he found himself standing dumb folded as he watched Sansa trying to pull her shrieking sister off of the man.
He had just caught himself when the door opened suddenly, and in rushed Shae, helping the Lady pull Arya off of the man, and into their soothing embraces. The girl screamed and screamed, until finally Shae placed her hand over her face, silencing her desperate cries.
"Keep her quiet!" He hissed, moving to close the door quickly. "If they find us, she's dead, and so will he and Sansa be."
Shae shot him a look that screamed "I know that, you idiot." That's what he appreciated about her so much. She wasn't going to bow to him just because he was a Lannister, and she didn't judge him for being half a man. Fierce, but kind, a mixture Tyrion found intoxicating.
He wished he could have helped, could have helped to calm Arya, and to chase away those silent tears Sansa was spilling as she held on to her sister, right next to the man she loved. And he was probably going to die.
"Arya please, quiet down!" He tried, kneeling next to the two women and the child. "Listen! You have to be quiet, or they'll find us! Do you understand?! You're getting us all killed!"
"She's just a child, Tyrion." Shae said quietly, but the anger spoke freely in her voice. Her anger was something he happily took over being discovered by someone, and his firm words seemed to have finally calmed the little wolf.
Her screams ebbed away as she calmed, now sitting calmly between Shae and Sansa.
"..Both of you need sleep." He said wairly, eying the Stark sisters. "Lay down with him. Gods know he probably won't be able to tell."
His comment earned him another pointed glare by Shae, but Tyrion shrugged. What else was there to say? They all knew the Hounds life was in danger. It was now up to the Stranger, if it was his time to go.
"Shae and I will keep watch."
Sansa woke just as the sun stood its highest. Arya was wrapped around her like a vine, still fast asleep. And for a second Sansa was confused as to how she had come to sleep in this huge bed, with her little sister in her arms. All too soon, reality came to her.
Quickly she turned her gaze to Sandor. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep, had forced herself to lay still while Arya rested, and make sure Sandor's chest kept moving with his breaths. They were shallow, but they were still there, Sansa could see them even in the dark, heard the small sound he made as he exhaled. But sleep must have crept up on and taken her.
Much to her relieve, Sandor was still breathing. The tension in her body left her, making her body ache. She was so tired, all she wanted to do was go back to bed. But no, she had to check on Sandor, and Tyrion and Shae would have other things to do than just sit around.
Much to her surprise, the room was empty as she looked around it. Shrugging, Sansa assumed that they had good reason to leave them. She trusted Lord Tyrion. He wasn't going to betray them.
Moving to the injured Hound's side, and making sure she didn't wake Arya as she untangled herself from the little wolf, she pushed up his shirt. The wound was still irritated, but not as badly as before. The stitches had held, and Sandor's skin was not gray any longer, though he was still ghostly pale. Decided that she should keep him hydrated, Sansa moved to a pitcher of water, not even trying to wake Sandor. She did what she had done the day before. First water, and then some wine.
The rest of the wine, she poured carefully over his wound. He wasn't going to survive if it festered. He might not even survive this. Sansa swallowed hard, pushing the unwelcome thoughts as far away as she could. He would live. He just had to.
The door opened, startling her, but it was only Bronn that came through the door, looking about as tired as she felt. He held another wineskin in one hand, balancing a small platter with food in the other.
"Sorry about that lass, but no one else could get food and wine. I was as fast as I could." He said, placing both items on the table.
"Its alright, my Lord." She said quietly, gazing at her husbands face. Yes, husband. For that was what she was to him, had been long before this moment. They may not have been married by a septon, or exchanged their vows before the old gods, but that didn't matter. They were husband and wife.
"Call me Bronn, lass. No need to be so formal." Bronn replied, settling into one of the long unused chairs.
"Sandor didn't like it when I chirped." Shesaid, more to herself than to the male, running her fingertips along his scarred cheek. "He's always blunt."
"Aye, that he is. You can say many things about Clegane, but him being a liar ain't one of them." Bronn agreed quietly, and Sansa could tell that he was looking at her. Not in a bad way, more like he was wondering about her.
"No, he's not a liar." She whispered, turning her head to look at the sell sword. "What are you thinking about?"
Bronn felt like a little boy that was caught doing something forbidden. Brown eyes avoided the steady gaze of the young women before him. How had she known he had been thinking about anything?
"..You love him." He finally said, deciding to be honest for once in his life. The girl had been through enough, sung and believed too may lies. "I was just wonderin' what its like. To love someone so much."
"..Its heaven and hell in once. Its everything you want, and don't want at the same." Her words were spoken softly, but he could clearly sense the passion behind them as he watched her run her thin fingers through her man's hair. "And once you have it.. you need it. Its like a fire, a fire so big it could burn you within seconds. But instead, it licks at your skin, and burns you when it likes. Its the most wonderful thing anyone can experience."
"Even if it hurts?" He questioned. Bronn had gone through a lot of pain in his life, and it was seldom worth anything. Could the good really outweigh the misery he was currently witnessing? A broken family, a woman about to lose her man, a child their father. What joy could possibly outweigh such sorrow?
"Yes, even when it hurts. Because hurt is a part of it. Never the bigger, but still a part. And we all need pain, to appreciate happiness." The woman's words made him think, and once more he was surprised at how intelligent the young wolf was. Her words made sense.
They sat in silence for a few hours. Bronn could feel himself grow bored, hoping that Podrick or someone else would show up and he could go to bed. Sansa had eaten, and woken her sister to eat as well. Every hour, she fed the man water and wine, and while Clegane did look a little better, Bronn was still not convinced the man would ever wake again.
Arya had woken up right before the sun set, and she still felt tired. Sansa helped her apply some ointment onto her burning thighs once she had finished looking her over before, and Arya was pleased to note that she could move her legs without the burning pain. It was still uncomfortable, but no where close to what it had been.
Turning her head, she found her sister sitting next to Sandor's bed, her head, arms, and upper body draped on the bed as she slept next to the fearsome man. Arya tilted her head, watching her sister. She and Sansa had never gotten along before their family had died. Now, she felt like an idiot for fighting with Sansa at all. She was a wonderful sister. She had just been too stubborn to see it.
Turning to Sandor, Arya swallowed. Once Ned had died, she had sworn herself that she would never have a father again. A family, but never a father. And then she had met the Hound. She had refused her own feelings for him in the start, not wanting to allow herself to respect and adore him. But finally, she had given up and admitted to herself a truth she had never once put into words. He was like a father to her.
Rougher than Ned, ruder, but a fierce protector. And in his own way, he was kind to her. Where Ned had held her and told her he loved her, Sandor growled and barked, but he had never once not fought for her. He had kept her safe.
Scooting towards the man, she laid her hand on his burnt cheek, sighing deeply as she felt his chest rise and fall against her knee's.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you." She whispered quietly. "And for hitting you. You can sleep as much as you want. I promise. I won't be mad. But you have to wake up again. That's all I want. Sleep for a week if you have to. But you have to wake up again. Please, father."
"How is he?" Shae asked quietly, watching the Lady Sansa sitting next to him and holding his hand, as she had for days now.
"His breathing has grown stronger. And he seems to hear us, he reacts when spoken to. But he hasn't.."
Shae nodded her head. Nothing had changed, just as she had feared. When the Hound had started moving, twitching slightly when they spoke to him, the dark skinned woman had really thought he would wake soon. That they had gotten away with this unharmed.
But days had passed since then.
Somehow, they had managed to move Sandor back to his rooms, and taken Arya with them. The young wolf had refused to leave the man's side so vehemently that eventually her lion had given in. And while she sat here, and looked after the other two woman, he was in court, explaining to the King that the Hound had broken out in fever, and would be absence for longer than expected. Shae had no doubt that Joffrey would not be happy to hear this, but he wasn't their biggest problem.
Tyrion had told her about the Queen's visit, and now Shae was afraid that the lioness would come again, wanting to check on her son's sworn sword. Stannis was only a days sail away. He would be here soon. And she would have to take Sansa to the other Ladies and the Queen, while Tyrion made sure that Clegane and Arya were safe.
While she could understand the girls eagerness to be with her family, but she couldn't help feeling upset at the child as well. None of this would have happened had she just done what she had been told. Now, her poor lion was forced to work eve harder than he already had, and she didn't like seeing him this tired and strained.
But when she looked at Sansa and Arya, the smaller settled on her sisters lap, both holding on to the male's hand.. She shook her head, sighing quietly. She was never going to have this, not with the man she truly loved.
He was a lion. And she was just a whore.
"He's close." Despite the words being whispered, Sansa could still hear him. The time had come. The time for war.
"How much longer?" She asked, holding Sandor's hand tightly. Shae had begged her to come to the hold with her and the other women, but Sansa had simply refused. If they were going to die, they were going to die together.
"A few more hours. He will be here before the sun rises." Tyrion said quietly. "We will be waiting for him."
"And will you beat him?" She asked softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sandor's forehead, closing her eyes. "Don't worry, my love. We will be safe. You mustn't fear."
"You ever seen me afraid, little bird?"
So, I know, tons of different characters and a lot of action. Next chapter will probably be more about the emotional side of things. Thanks to all of you for reading, favoring, following, and of course reviewing!
