Timeline

This chapter covers the beginning of "Marriage" from Arya's POV up to Chapter 6.

What you need to know

Arya never had sex with Lord Redwyne. She gave him mild sedatives to curve his sexual drive (because, as Walder Frey shows, just because men are old doesn't mean they don't have sex any more) and mild hallucinogenics from time to time to make him think they had sex. She never cheated on him, she didn't try to kill him with the potions. She just didn't want to fuck him.

She talked him into adopting Rickon and naming him heir, she set up trustworthy people around Rickon so that once he died she would be free to leave the Arbor.

Once the old Lord Redwyne died and Rickon became the new Lord Redwyne, she left the Arbor. She took the western route north, to stop at Keep Clegane and check he was not married or in love with someone else before she got him involved in The Game


2 years later, Lannisport and Keep Clegane

She was wearing the face of a boy when she made her way through Lannisport. She looked around the market for some local clothes. Arbor clothes weren't that different, but she hadn't brought any peasant outfits with her. Having the right clothes helped blending with the locals, not the face.

She haggled, out of habit, to get a good price for a horse. She had a day's ride to Clegane Keep and back.

Her ship would stay in Lannisport for three days, unloading wines and buying all the provisions they needed to sail all the way into Saltspear, and up the Fever River. Then from Moat Caitlin she would take the Kingsroad straight to Winterfell.

When she reached Clegane Hall, the old man who fed the hounds told her that Ser was at the tavern with the boys. She thanked him and inquired about the lady of the house. The old man's features clouded.

"No lady," he said, and went back to his task.

She found a secluded spot at the edge of the village, and put on another face. She changed into the peasant girl clothes, and looked for the tavern. It was child's play to talk the owner into giving her a bed for the night in return to her serving at tables.

Sandor Clegane stood in a corner of the tavern, surrounded by laughing boys. They must have been around her age when she travelled with him the first time. He was his usual brooding self, not joining in the merriment, but he didn't seem too annoyed by it and was not trying to squash it either. Her hands trembled.

"He's not gonna bite you, girl," an older serving wench told her. "Go, they need more ale."

Her heart beat in her throat when she approached their table. She couldn't believe he was there. She could touch him if she just reached out.

Her fingers gripped the pitcher convulsively. Her palms were sweating. She noticed her bosom palpitating at the top of her outfit and she tried to control her breathing. Suddenly, all the boys of the table stopped talking and stared at her.

He didn't look at her face while she poured the ale. He did when he thanked her, and she felt her knees go weak. It didn't help when one of the boys said loudly 'That one likes you, Ser'.

Life in the Arbor had softened her. She should have prepared better for this meeting. She'd been thinking about this man every night for two years. Why did she think she could keep her cool around him?

"See?" the woman said. "He ain't bad. Better than most."

"He seems so sad," Arya said.

"Aye, he is that."

"Why?" she asked in the tone of a young silly girl who wanted to hear a tragic story.

The woman sat down, and Arya followed suit. She needed as much gossip as possible.

"No one knows. He's been in the War. Up north. He fought undead and direwolves and giants. When he came back here, we thought he was gonna be like his brother, but he just stayed all alone in Clegane Hall, not coming in the village to do… like Ser Gregor."

The woman's features darkened and she grew quiet, no doubt remembering life under Ser Gregor.

"He's here now," she pointed out, nudging the story along.

"One day an orphan boy ended up at the gates. He was half dead the poor mite. Ser Sandor ran with him in his arms all the way into the village. He came right here, in the tavern. We fed him, called the wood witch and got the boy patched up as best we could. Ser left and in two days he came with a healer."

"What happened to the boy?"

"There he is, at Ser's table. The one with hair like a mummer's wig."

The big boy with curly reddish hair did not fit Arya's image of a starving orphan.

"After Ser had a talk with the boy's master, he kept him around. The second one was the old blacksmith's apprentice. When Ser found the boy, he did more than have a talk with the blacksmith."

There was a somber satisfaction in her words. Arya knew how good it felt to see a bully get what he deserves. These people had lived under Gregor. They must have been terrified when Sandor came back. And now they all respected him. Even cared for him, judging by the tear at the corner of the woman's eye.

"He's a lord, he's healthy, what does he miss?"

"What is health and fortune if you have no one to share them with? You're young, what do you know? A good man like that is not meant to be without a woman."

"No highborn lady wants to be his wife? Because of the way he looks?" Arya asked.

"Looks? What's looks compared to a man's heart? Any highborn lady would be lucky to have him," she said, her tone harsher than ever before.

"I'm sorry," Arya said quickly. "I didn't mean… I think he's quite handsome," she blurted.

Damn her lack of preparation. The woman read her through like an open book, and laughed.

"Bless you, child. Don't hold out hope he'll bed you. Ye're pretty enough but Ser never takes anyone to bed."

She patted Arya's knee and stood up. She returned to her work, and Arya swallowed the lump in her throat. She had wished so badly that he hadn't taken a wife in her absence, but the woman's words painted an all too sad picture.

When she looked at his table, Sandor was no longer there. She went outside the inn, and stayed clothed in shadows, staring at the sky, trying to prepare herself. She would die if she didn't talk to him.

Her heart skipped a beat when he walked into the moonlight. He sat down on a bale of hay and looked up at the moon. She spoke before all courage left her.

"Why did you never marry?"

He turned his head when she spoke, but her appearance didn't seem to grab his attention enough.

"Go back inside, girl," he said, turning his eyes back to the sky.

"Don't you like women?"

Not what a nice girl would ask the lord of the land, but he ignored her.

"You always come in alone," she said. "You never take anyone to bed."

This time he looked at her more carefully.

"I haven't seen you here before."

"You haven't seen me, but I saw you," she lied casually.

She sat down next to him. Heat radiated from his body, melting the ice with which she had surrounded her heart for years.

"What do you want, girl?"

The truth spilled out of her mouth.

"A husband."

He only laughed. Not mockingly.

"Plenty of boys inside who would have you."

His voice was somewhere between warning and kindness. Her own mouth however was spouting out the truth without consulting with her brain.

"I don't want a boy. I want a man."

"Run away now. You're bothering me."

"I hope so."

She touched the back of his hand with her fingers. He swatted her hand away, and stood up.

"I'm in no mood for games. Take care who you offer yourself next time. Someone worse than me will take more than you're offering."

She watched him go back inside the tavern. She would not follow. Not this time. She had learned all she needed to know. Walking back into his life wouldn't threaten the happiness of a family. Her Hound had been as miserable as her, and it was time for that to end.

#

Sansa was easy enough to persuade. Her sister's reaction confirmed that she had gone about it the right way. Even if she hadn't been a Stark, someone with her assassin training and her notorious record of murdering noblemen moving so close to the Hand of the Queen would not have gone down well. She'd rather not be seen as a threat to the Lannisters, or bring unwarranted suspicions over Keep Clegane.

A part of her wanted to run to Clegane Hall and bang on the gates. Another part was making a case for the lack of wisdom in that approach. And the deepest part of her was afraid.

He had blended a chain of love and lust and she was willingly walking into his power. Twenty-two years old and still a maid. All she knew about being with a man came from him.


A month later, an inn a few hours from Casterly Rock, the day before their wedding

She chose a rat-grey dress with a high collar and lacing in front which she could put on without the help of a maid. Calling a girl from the inn to assist would draw attention that Lady Redwyne's maid had disappeared into thin air. Jeyla's face was neatly hidden away with the other faces.

She put on the fine grey gloves she often used when she was snooping about in foreign castles, and let her hair loose so it would cover her face. She moved like a shadow, at one with the other shadows to get to his room, on the far side of the crowded inn.

If he knew her at all, he'd know to expect her. Finding the door locked or not might tell her how much of a pain in the ass he was going to be.

She pressed on the handle and let out a small sigh of relief. The door was unlocked.

There they were, finally alone. In another anonymous room at some inn. But for the first time in a long, long time, she was showing him her face.

He was sitting in bed, looking much like she had seen him when she woke up in her room at Winterfell.

"We're really doing this," she said.

"You got involved two Wardens to make sure. How could I say no?"

He was trying to sound snide and she found it funny. Like he had any fucks to give if all four Wardens asked him to marry.

"You being too shy to refuse was the least of my concerns."

She sat on the bed, not yet comfortable to be so close to him.

"I still remember the first thing out of your mouth I liked hearing. Fuck Joffrey. And fuck the Queen."

"Still mad you didn't get to kill either of them?" he asked.

She tugged at her gloves, finger by finger. She put the gloves neatly in her lap and looked at her hands.

"The first time I picked red grapes, my hands looked like they were dipped in blood. It took me months to stomach red wine after that. All I could see in every bottle was the way my hands looked after I killed Merryn Trant. I don't think Syrio would have approved," she said. "It wasn't elegant. No noncing about."

"Are you trying to tell me something, girl?"

She had seen so much blood on her hands. He had killed men, too, but he had trained his hands to do other wonderful, incredible things. She had learned a lot from him. Maybe she would learn this, as well.

"No. Yes. That list is done. Closed."

"Good," he said. "I was last on the damned list and all the others are dead."

"You know you haven't been on that list for years," she said softly. "Aren't you worried it's not really me?" she asked, daring to crawl next to him. "Just some waif wearing my face?"

How close it had come to that. All those years ago. How easily that fight could have gone differently.

"I know every inch of you. I'd know."

His voice made her shiver. She hid her head in his chest. "I hate you," she said, but in truth she didn't hate, but feared the power he had over her.

"You definitely closed the list though?" he asked.

"I have a new one. You're on it."

Her list of things she wanted to make right. He was at the very top of that list.

"You said that changing the face doesn't change the body," he said. "I want to see it."

That shook her out of her dark thoughts. He wanted her naked without as much as lifting a finger to do it. The nerve on him!

"That has got to be the laziest thing you ever said to me! You want an excuse to see me naked and not make the slightest effort."

He pulled her close, and she forgot to be outraged when she felt him close.

"Want you naked," he whispered, nibbling at her ear.

He made a token effort to unlace her dress. His hands may have learned new skills, but he was rubbish at fancy dresses.

"You have other dresses, I hope," he said. "This one might not survive the night."

That was more like it! The thought of him ripping the dress off her made more sense than her stripping demurely at his command. Things long forgotten were happening in her body. His voice did things to her that her nimble fingers and beloved memories often failed to achieve.

"Sansa has a bunch," she said, instead of the less ladylike 'Slice it to pieces right now!'

He was still pretending to try to work the laces. She ran her fingers over his hands, drawing energy from that light touch.

"We're…"

'….really doing this,' she didn't say when she felt his lips and beard on her neck.

Maybe a low-cut dress and a cape over her shoulders would have made more sense. She tugged on her laces, but she felt them tangling.

"Seven hells! One time I try to wear a proper dress!"

She pushed him away, frustrated, and worked on the damned fiddly ribbons until her patience snapped a moment later and she reached for the dagger strapped to her ankle.

"Let me," he said, taking the dagger from her.

That was the hottest thing she could imagine at that moment. Valyrian steel in his hands, close to her skin. Close to her throat. Close to her heart.

'That's where the heart is.'

It wasn't fear of death, but fear of love that made her pulse quicken and her breathing speed up as if she'd run for miles. After so long, what if she was wrong? What if there was nothing between them than accidental lust, born out of the shadow of death that always loomed around them.

She couldn't stand the uncertainty any longer. Or the desire thwarted for so long.

"Can you move any slower?"

"Aye."

He actually moved slower! Irony was biting her in the ass. She should know he was better than her at waiting. She chose the direct route.

"Well, don't! It's gonna be morning by the time you cut through it. Didn't you say you want to see me naked?"

That incentive seemed to work. He cut through that pretty dress like he was skinning a dear. She always loved watching him handle weapons. And her breasts.

"This better not be a dream," she murmured and closed her eyes when his hand covered her breast.

She grunted when he pinched her nipple and the pressure eased. She wanted to see his face but the sensations overwhelmed her. She felt his breath on her face. He was so close. She opened her eyes when he cupped the back of her head.

"We never kissed," she whispered.

Her lips brushed his when she spoke. That was closer than they ever got to kissing. Until then. She lifted her head and pressed her lips on his. It was a nice feeling, her lips tingled and she opened her mouth to speak.

"That wasn't such a-"

And then it changed. His tongue delved into her mouth and the room started spinning around her. She tore her dress up even more and pushed it down her hips, along with her small clothes. Unwilling to break the kiss while he took off his clothes, she was about to slice his shirt her dagger when he took it out of her hand and threw it on the floor.

"That's fucking Valyrian steel," she said, but while she protested, his shirt landed in the same area of the room, and his mouth was once again in charge of hers.

He lowered her slowly into bed, and she hanged on to his shoulders as he did so. She couldn't stop shaking, even when his weight pressed her into the mattress. His enormous cock twitched against her flesh, under the fabric of his trousers. Those had to come off and quickly.

She was rubbing her thighs together to ease the aching inside. His hard flesh dug into her thigh. She was moments away from being his. She should tell him he would be the first, but her mouth wasn't working. She started to push her legs apart, somehow dreading the moment when he would find out that she was an old maiden.

All thoughts of shyness and doubts flew out of her mind when he wrapped a leg on the outside of hers and clamped her legs together.

"What are you doing?" she asked, heatedly.

"Not until we're married," he said.

She lost it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

"A man's gotta have a code."

"You are the biggest idiot in the Seven Kingdoms!"

She pushed him off her furiously.

"Your words wound me deeply," he said dramatically, pulling her back in his arms. "What's one more night to wait?"

"You are cruel."

"You said that before."

She squirmed at the memory. She had had time to think about her words. She never wanted to take them back, but having compared him unfavorably to his brother had been too much. Even if his decision to stay out of her life, out of her bed, had torn her heart apart.

"I was right."

"Do you know how many times I thought about what you asked me?" he said. "Do you know how much I wanted to leave everything and come to you?"

"Why didn't you?"

"You're the smart one. You should know."

"Your stupid honor," she said.

"Fuck honor," he spat. "Honor meant nothing when all I wanted was to touch you again. To make you shake and call out my name. To give you everything I had to give."

His words touched a deep, sad part of her. She had spent many nights wishing he would come. Wishing she could conjure him by magic in her lonely room. The yearning in his voice had the same harmonics of pain she felt in her soul while they had been apart.

"Then why?"

"Because I'm dumb. And I would have died to see you with another man. To know you share his bed. To see him touching you."

The raw emotion in his voice got to her. She wanted to tell him, but she couldn't go past the knot of tears in her throat.

"I dreamt of killing him," he said. "And you."

She swallowed hard. He kept caressing her while he spoke, but at the last words, his hand stopped on her neck. Large hand that could wrap around enough of her neck to stop the flow of blood if he squeezed. Arya knew how little it took to make someone pass out by squeezing their neck. And how close the margin was to go from putting them to sleep to killing them. She was too small to do it effectively with her bare hands, but he wasn't. His fingertips rested against her carotid. All he had to do was spread his thumb for a better grip, and squeeze.

He leaned over and skimmed over her lips. Such a soft touch. His lips ghosting over hers. She hungered for a deeper kiss. His restrained frustrated and secretly delighted her.

She would have let him fuck her outside the tavern when she had gone to Keep Clegane to check if he was still unmarried. She would fuck him right then if he wanted it. But the thought had snuck in her mind and nestled there. Having a proper wedding night might not be that bad. After all, she had her own surprise for him.

She thought about telling him that she was still a maiden, but to her horror, she realized she was ashamed. She was twenty-two years old, and still a maiden. He might well like to be her first, but she knew how the world worked, and she knew that by that age, she was embarrassingly old for being bedded for the first time.