Chapter Ten: Seven So-called Knights

Sandor sat still with his back to a large tree, facing away from the fire. He was listening to their talking in loud voices as they sat around it. Mostly about women and their cunts. He could've done well with a woman in that moment. It had been ages since he'd felt a soft woman's flesh touch his own. The talk of it made his cock twitch. Maybe he'd visit a brothel after he'd killed them all. He'd have more than enough money after selling their horses. Tonight was the night, he thought. Sandor was getting sick of being a captive. It didn't really suit him being someone else's prisoner. Sooner or later, they'd have to go. His arms and hands were bound to his slides tightly, but they hadn't tied his hands together, which would make it easier for him to get out of the ropes.

You always tie the hands, you dimwits.

It had been just a few days since they'd left the Eyrie on horseback and Sandor could only guess at where they were headed, though he had a fairly good one. None of the men would speak to him except to taunt or to get him to eat whatever slop they'd pitifully cooked up for that night's supper, but they disclosed enough to each other within earshot of him to gather a pretty good idea of their destination. He'd spent the past two months trying to get himself away from Kings Landing and now they were taking him back? There was no fucking way. Tonight was the night. By tomorrow they'd all be dead. And he smelled rain in the air.

Good.

Sure enough, within minutes, small droplets of rain began to fall down and all around them. Sandor worked at the ropes, loosening them as he shifted about. They seemed thin enough to break, but he couldn't break them yet. Not until the fire had gone out, or at least, dimmed considerably. Though he prided himself for being a decent fighter, seven "Kights of the Vale" was a little much for him to take on in a fair fight. He'd need the element of surprise to kill them quickly. If the rain could fall hard enough to put out their fire, that would be ideal.

"I can tell ye, 'er teats were this big, an I ain't lyin- "

The deafening sound of a thunder clap was the harbinger of the storm, after which it began to pour almost instantly, much to Sanor's good fortune. The dwindling shadows of men racing back and forth in front of him, trying to gather their belongings to keep dry, grew smaller and smaller as the fire died out.

"Fuckin fire's out! We got any more wood?"

"'Ell, I can't see shit!"

"Neither can I!"

Sandor grinned ever so slightly. It was time. Puffing out his chest, he pushed both his arms against the ropes and felt them stretch. If he couldn't break them, maybe he would be able to slip out the bottom, or try to find the knot. He couldn't cut it. They'd taken his longsword and Sandor kept no knives under his clothes. That was one of the wolf girl's little tricks. He was reminded of her suddenly and remembered their deal. He'd told her to wait for him at the stables. An unexpected wave of guilt washed over him. He'd completely forgotten. Maybe she'd changed her mind and decided against leaving, he told himself, maybe she wanted to stay with Sansa? No, he knew she never would. The girl was too bloody spirited, if obnoxious, but still, she was wild at heart. She'd never have stayed at the Eyrie. He should have known better. There was a possibility that she'd escaped on her own. She probably could, but where would she go?

Quit it. The bitch is finally gone.

Sandor shut her out of his head. He wasn't going to go on worrying about some little girl who'd gotten him in a whole lot more trouble than she was worth, wondering if she was alright. He was happy to be rid of her. Now he needed to focus on freeing himself. He pushed himself harder against the ropes until they dug into him.

Come on.

Again, and he could feel them begin to tear. Once more, and they broke apart.

That's it. Now, let's fucking kill these morons.

Another bout of thunder claps rolled loudly over them, shaking the ground. Sandor's eyes had nearly adjusted completely to the to the darkness. He peeked out from behind the tree where he sat and gauged the situation. All the men were still sitting around the extinguished fire, talking to each other, probably still trying to re-light the damn thing.

Idiots.

It wasn't going to work. Over the sound of the pouring rain, Sandor couldn't hear anything they were saying, which meant that they wouldn't be able to hear him sneaking up behind them. What a perfect night this was.

He stood up slowly and carefully walked around the perimeter of the small clearing where they were camped until he spotted the man furthest away from the group. He was sitting just on the outskirts of the circle, breaking a handful of small twigs one by one, as if that was going to help them any. Sandor snorted. The dumb cunt deserved to die first. He moved closer to the man step by step by step as the rain fell hard around them, cloaking the sound of the sloshing in his boots. The man didn't even look up until Sandor was just inches away from him and by the it was too late. In a split second he crumpled lifelessly into the arms that broke his neck. The sweet sensation of a smooth kill. Sandor guided him down carefully, so as not to make a thud, and felt for his blade. Once he found it, he stood up and walked over to the group. There were six left. The first, Sandor calmly slit his throat and felt the warm rush of freshly spilt blood run over his hand. The man let out a weak gurgling sound as he collapsed, clutching his own neck, that alerted the others. They looked up. Once they'd seen him, Sandor would need to be quick. He didn't want to risk getting injured tonight. Any other day he would have enjoyed a good fight, but these men were hardly any good to begin with, and he didn't want to be sporting any wounds without knowing how far he was away from the nearest town. So, he acted without hesitation and lifted his sword high above him before bringing it down hard on one of their heads, which split evenly in the middle.

Three down.

One of them reached for the sword at his side, but before he had the chance to grab it, Sandor stabbed him hard in the belly, twisted and pulled out again, quick, to parry an attack from the side. He slipped out from underneath it to behind the attacker and let the man stumble forwards, kicked him to the ground, spun around to slash another man's face and then brought his sword back down onto the fallen one's spine. He screamed. A drop of rain fell into Sandor's eye. Or was it blood?

Two to go.

The last two men had backed away and were holding their swords out far in front of them. Fucking scared shitless...as they should be. He chuckled to himself. And they called them knights?

"Don't' come any closer!" One of them shouted, backing himself up as Sandor took another step forward. "Don't come any closer and we promise not to kill ye!"

This is bullshit.

He ran at them, sword at the ready and met the first man's pitiful attempt at a block before knocking his blade straight out of his hands. The other had just ran; the fucking coward had just dropped his own sword and ran away. Like hell he was going anywhere. With just one small "please", Sandor broke the second last man's neck and let him fall to the ground carelessly as he took off to chase down the remaining cunt-of-a-knight into the bushes.

It took nearly two seconds to bring him down.

"Please, please! Don't kill me! I can tell ye anythin ye want to know, I can take ye into town, I'll give ye all our food. Anythin ye want! Just don't kill me, please!"

"Shut the fuck up." Sandor squeezed his chin in one monstrous hand and shook his face. The man whimpered.

"Bloody coward."

And with that, he drove his blade all the way up through the man's gut until the hilt met his flesh.

"Whoever is little shit hiding behind the bushes, if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm coming in there and I'm cracking your fucking skull."

There was a rustling sound in the bushes in front of him and then, right before his eyes, a girl, dripping wet and filthy, crawled out on her hands and knees, wearing a look of true surprise on her face.

Seven fucking hells.

"You fucking followed me?"

The wolf girl stood up and raised her eyebrows, taking in the bloody scene before her. She was shivering.

"Holy shit. How did you kill them all?" She asked, hugging herself, shaking. There was something different about the way spoke her question. It, for once, wasn't pointed or sarcastic or rude or anything of the sort, really. If Sandor wasn't imagining things, he could've sworn she sounded...impressed? The thought made him feel strangely elevated.

"You're freezing and you're soaking wet, wolf girl. You're an idiot for following me." He replied, not acknowledging her question.

"Fuck you, I've been following you this whole time because I was going to rescue you."

"You were going to rescue me? Girl, I thought it was obvious that I can bloody well take care of myself. You, on the other hand, look like complete shit."

As if to confirm his statement, she coughed violently into her elbow, shaking fiercely as she did so. There was that guilt again. She was sick too.

"I wanted to come with you."

Sandor sighed. Of course. Why did he always have such rotten luck?

"Well, fuck. You're here now. Go sit down. You need to get into something dry or else you'll freeze and make yourself sicker. I should stop calling you wolf girl and start calling you wolf moron. You were a fucking idiot for following me."

Surprisingly, she did exactly as he said without saying anything and went to sit down in front of the fire pit, just a foot or two away from where the dead man with his head split down the middle was sitting, folded in on himself, in a pool of blood. She didn't seem bothered by it. Sandor scoured the campsite for any sign of a bag of sorts; one that would possibly contain something dry for the girl to wear, but he found nothing. So, he went to sit down across from her.

"I can't find you any dry clothes and were almost out of food. I think we were headed for a town nearby, so we'll continue that way and sell these horses to make us some money." He said. The girl nodded. Her eyelids were heavy.

Goddamnit.

"Are we going to Kings Landing?" She murmured, leaning over to the side. Her eyes closed completely.

Sandor stood up quickly. She was about to fall over. He lunged out across the fire pit to grab her in time.

"No fucking way I'm going to Kings Landing." He scoffed as he caught her in is arms, lowering her gently to the ground. "That's the one place I've been avoiding."

"No...we have to...go..."

The wolf girl's eyelashes fluttered as she shifted into a more comfortable position, bunching her legs up to her chest and resting her head on one of her hands, still shivering. Sandor ran a blood stained hand through his wet hair and exhaled.

"Shut up, and get some fucking rest."

Hey! Thanks for reading, everyone! I hope you all liked this chapter. I'm trying to update regularly, but I'm pretty busy these days. I think every 2 or 3 days is fair don't you? Anyways, more to come in the future. As always, leave reviews, ideas, criticisms etc etc.

Until next time,

-OW