The maester heard them out, asked a lot of questions (which Arya had to answer because the Hound kept lying), then tried to make Arya leave for the rest. Before she could even throw a fit herself though, the Hound growled: "Let her stay; she's the one tended it all the first time anyway."
Arya didn't really like that, because now if there was something wrong with his healing it sounded like it was her fault. But the maester examined the wounds only briefly and then moved on. I was right, she thought. There's something else.
He spent a lot of time moving the shoulder around and digging fingers into it from every angle. "That one hurt," Arya would volunteer, when the Hound didn't say anything but she could see it in the twitch of his mouth.
The maester finally told them that there was an obstruction inside the Hound's shoulder joint that hampered his movement and would only get worse with use. It would have to be dug out, so that the shoulder could finally heal.
The Hound gave a smile that wasn't happy. "Dug out," he repeated. "Sounds lovely."
He wasn't that uncooperative, though, all things considered. He didn't comment when the maester started laying out blades and pincers, but Arya put her hand on his arm anyway and reminded him that they would give him something so that he wouldn't even feel it.
He shrugged her off. "I don't give a shit about feeling it; all I care is that he doesn't fuck it up worse," he snarled. But apparently that wasn't quite true, because a moment later he asked: "You're not going to sear it afterwards, are you?"
"It doesn't matter," Arya said quickly. "You'll be asleep anyway, you won't even know."
He made a face but didn't argue. "Give me your potion." He drained the cup in a single gulp, and demanded another. "That's a dose fit for a little girl. When's the last time you knocked out a drunk as big as me?"
"Give him more," Arya said, because what if they did sear it? "You don't want him waking up while you're working."
The Hound showed teeth and let out an animal growl. (She hid a smile.) The maester gave him another cup.
Arya didn't stay to watch the cutting, but afterwards she came to stand by the table and wait for him to wake up. "It will be some time," the maester told her. "He took enough to put a giant to sleep."
She'd never seen him so pale and still. He'd been pale sometimes during his fever, but he'd been twitching around and mumbling the whole time. Even when he slept deep he didn't look this... dead.
She put a hand on his chest to feel for a heartbeat. It felt slow.
"Here, child. Drink this." The maester gave her some kind of tea, and it smelled awful but if she planned on taking advantage of his hospitality until the Hound woke up, then she had better at least be a polite guest.
"Thank you," she said, and took a sip. It wasn't bad; she took another. "Is it all right if I stay?"
He laughed softly and pointed her to a chair. "You're not the first worried daughter to sit up and-"
"I'm not his daughter," she said right away.
The maester waved it off. "Friend, squire. Whatever you are."
"I'm his prisoner." She looked up. "He killed my friend, and kidnapped me."
"Oh, I see," the maester said politely.
"Now we help each other kill people. He's really good at it. I'm going to kill him some day, though." She touched his chest again. She knew exactly where the heart was.
"Not in here, you're not," the maester said, just as politely.
"No." Arya took her hand away and just looked. "I want him to wake up."
"He will. Drink your tea."
She took another sip, and suddenly was so tired that she had to go sit down.
The next thing she knew was getting woken by a slap to the head. The Hound was up and standing over her. "The next time I hear you talk about killing me," he said, "I'm going to put a sword in your hand so you can try, and I'm going to cut you in fucking half."
He checked the dressing in the mirror and it looked fine, so he eased a shirt on carefully and went to look for wine – he'd woken with a gnawing pain deep in his bones and it was already becoming fucking annoying.
He'd only got a few steps out of the room when the girl caught up with him. "Wait," she said. "Listen. I didn't mean for you to hear that."
"Good thing I did, though," he huffed. "I'll be checking you for weapons the next time you try coming into my bath." He was joking (mostly), but the girl stopped in her tracks and yanked hard on his shirt.
Ow. He stopped too, because the pressure was awful, and reached back carefully to tug the cloth from her grip. "What?"
"You did it," she insisted. "You killed my friend."
The maesters' halls were dark and when he turned he couldn't really see her face, except for the glint of her eyes. He squatted down slowly (very slowly; they really had drugged him) and said: "And what the fuck do you want me to do about it?"
"I don't know." She was silent for a while. "All right: I'll leave you til last at least. I promise."
He swallowed down the urge to make fun of her optimism, and said just: "Good enough."
She grabbed him when he went to rise. "But now I need you to promise me something," she said. "I thought of it before, while I was watching you sleep."
Watching him sleep? Fuck the maesters and their potions.
"I need you to swear," she said, "In the light of the Seven, on everything you hold dear…" She hesitated.
He heaved a sigh. "Seven hells. This is going to be good. All right, come on: what?"
She said it fast, but without dropping her eyes for a second. "That you aren't going to leave, or die, without letting me say goodbye first."
He had to stand up; she was too earnest. "You know that's fucking ridiculous," he said over her head.
She punched him (pathetically. Apparently he needed to teach her that too). "I don't care. Promise," she ordered.
"All right, all right." He was never one to ride off without giving everyone a piece of his mind anyway. "To the extent I can do anything about it: yes, I promise."
A week after the maester worked on him, Clegane ventured back down to the training yards.
After two weeks he started bringing Arya with him. (Good thing; showing off for her made him work harder).
Three weeks and he started sparring with grown men, four weeks and he was using his sword in either hand again, five and he started doing it in armor.
He wasn't where he used to be, maybe, but to Petyr it looked good enough.
It had to be: now was the time.
Petyr caught him on his way inside, still panting and sweating and stinking. "I have some good news, Clegane."
A noncommittal grunt – and a clanking twitch of gauntlet that might have been a gesture to go ahead. "Awhile ago," Petyr went on, quietly, "You mentioned certain lists to me. Since then I've done some thinking."
"Speak plain," Clegane growled. "I don't give two shits for your thinking; give me orders or get out of my way."
Petyr took a moment to consider the best approach... and while he did, Clegane started to clunk on by him.
If the man wants plain speech... "Your brother," he said quickly. That stopped him, all right. "He's about to be called back to King's Landing to stand as the Queen's champion in a trial by combat."
A snort. "Who the hell's he fighting?"
"The accused hasn't yet named a champion. I've found out that-"
"Bugger that; I'm not doing it," Clegane said over him. "I'd probably lose a fair single combat, and I've no interest in Gregor killing me in front of a hundred people."
Was he as stupid as he was ugly? "I wasn't suggesting that you stand as champion!" He lowered his voice – with an effort. "Give me some fucking credit will you. I'll know the route he's taking, and the size of his party." Now the dog was listening. "Lysa doesn't want him raping and murdering his way through the countryside any more than you do," he went on, which wasn't entirely true but might as well be because Lysa would want anything he told her to. "She can give you the men you need to go find him and bring him to justice."
Clegane spat on the ground. "Fuck justice. I want his head."
"That," Petyr said, "Was my thinking."
TBC.
Chaosconetic - Haha yeah Arya doesn't seem to respect personal space much, does she, but I really get the feeling he doesn't mind it. It's not like he's secretly pining for the intimacy of someone sleeping in his bed though... it's more like he really doesn't need the other half and therefore doesn't give one single shit if someone else comes to use it.
