"You come with me, you die here." He told it to her straight, then headed off. He'd climbed the steps of the walk, was almost through the door when she called after him.
"Sandor." Her voice rang out clear and precise.
He stopped and turned. Her brow was creased. Worried, she was, or maybe sad. It was a little gratifying to wring even that much from her, stone cold little bitch that she was. "What?"
She swallowed. Breathed hard a few times. When she spoke again she wasn't clear or precise - her voice was high, like a frightened child's. "Wait – don't go. Come with me."
That was beyond gratifying, that she'd beg for him. "You know I have to do this," he told her, with as much patience as he had today.
"You don't." She took a few steps closer. Flinched as another falling rock shook the floor. "You can just turn around. And live."
"Rather kill my brother."
Now she was right below him. Reaching up, through the railing, to touch his leg. "Don't die here – please. Not after everything. Stay with me."
He could hardly believe this. What was the girl saying to him?
"Remember how I wanted to run into the Twins when they were killing my mother?" she said. "I wanted to go to her. You wouldn't let me. You carried me away and saved my life."
"Aye, I remember that." He had to laugh. "You planning to pick me up and throw me over your shoulder?"
She smiled – for a second, and then it was gone. "No," she said coldly, "I'm planning to hamstring you and drag you out."
The hand on his pants tightened – and something pricked him behind the knee. Knife.
He jerked, reflexive, but the grip held and the knife dug in. "Don't think I won't," she said up to him. Face smooth and ice cold. A killer's face. Where was the sad little girl now?
He thought that he could swoop down and crush her fingers before she managed to cut him deep enough to matter. But he wasn't sure – this was the girl who had knifed the Night King after all. "Don't make me hurt you," he sighed. "I don't want to, but I will."
"Why?" she demanded. "For the stupid Mountain? He's not worth my blood. He's not worth your life!"
"He is." Not a second's hesitation. "What the fuck's my life worth, if I can't even get what I want out of it? This is what I want." Need.
"But he's going to get his regardless! You said it yourself!"
Clank.
Amid the rocks falling-... the sound of armor. Voices. He froze. Finger to his lips.
Arya's eyes were wide. "They're coming," she hissed up at him. Released him and stepped back. Beckoned. "Get down here. Let's do this and fast."
She was right. Fighting Gregor on the stairs, him with the high ground, was a good way to get his head lopped off. At least in the courtyard he had space to move.
"I'll do it," he hissed back, hurrying down to choose a spot. A spot to make his last stand. "You go."
She shook her head, still listening. "There's more than one," she said softly. "You need me." She didn't wait for his permission – just hurried towards the doorway where they would be coming from, and crouched down behind a broken column.
When Gregor came in there were three other knights with him. And the fucking Queen.
He swore to himself. The girl would abandon him in a heartbeat to deal with Cersei, and who could blame her. Well. Better get started. "Pardon, Your Grace," he said. Pointed, with his sword. "I just want him."
All at once one of the other knights was howling and collapsing, as Arya raced past, dagger in her hand.
So she can hamstring a man.
But he had other problems: Gregor was squaring up. Cersei was chirping at him not to, and her dirty old Hand was echoing the order, but Gregor paid them no mind at all.
And while one of the remaining knights stayed beside the Queen, the other went after Arya.
"Sandor – incoming!" she shrieked, bolting past him, and he turned to make short work of the poor bastard while she danced into Gregor's path to keep him away. "Sorry," she called over her shoulder. "Your sword goes through that armor; mine doesn't."
He shoved her aside. "I kill my brother," he growled. Eyes on him. "Get the Queen if you want her so much. And then get the fuck out of this keep."
The last knight was already hustling her out of the courtyard. Arya ran off (sparing a moment first to kill the man she'd wounded), and Sandor focused on his prize.
He'd been waiting for it for a long fucking time.
TBC.
Dundundunnnnnn! Suspenseful! Sorry.
