I own no part of Game of Thrones. Fanfiction only.

The Long March

Flanking the dead proved to be viciously tricky. Though the Night King's army plodded along at a glacial pace, there was no telling where they were going or how far away they were until the freezing mist and sudden cold foretold their imminent arrival. Arya had to trust what Bran had told them, that the Night King would follow him wherever he went. Since Jon and Daenerys's armies had taken ship at White Harbor, their small party alone stood between the army of the dead and what remained of the living. Any aid Jon or Bran could have lent them was long gone.

For his part, Sandor continued to drive them long past the point of breaking. Arya suspected he was keen to keep her far ahead of the vanguard of the Night King's army, though he needn't have bothered. Having seen firsthand what the walkers could do, she was firmly convinced that not even the entire guild of Faceless Men could have picked off the commanders of the Night King's army. Though she bitterly regretted having to admit it, Sandor had been right. Her water dancing and assassin's skills were of little value against an enemy so vast.

Arya was grateful to find that Moat Cailin had been prepared against their coming, and the granaries had already been emptied, the carts sent trundling towards Barrowton. Jon had sent them a raven, and thankfully, their maester had survived the Boltons and Greyjoys to issue his instructions.

When Arya woke after a few hours dreamless sleep inside the fortress, she was surprised to find Sandor leaning against the mantle of a raging fire, muttering to himself. She pulled her sark up on her shoulders and crossed the sweltering room to his side. She glanced between her husband and the blaze, shocked that he would permit himself to be in such proximity to its flames.

Cautiously, Arya wrapped her arms around Sandor's chest, and when he laid one of his heavy hands atop hers, she murmured, "What are you doing?"

Vaguely, he answered, "I thought you might be cold. I built up the fire."

Arya creased her brows and tightened her grip around him. "You're a bad liar. If you wanted me to be warm, you'd have stayed in bed where you belong. What's got you out of bed in the middle of the night."

Sandor let out a deep breath she didn't realize he'd been holding and tore his eyes away from the flames. Immediately, they died down nearly to smoldering coals. Arya backed away from the fireplace, dragging Sandor with her.

"Seven hells! What was that?" Sandor refused to meet her eye, and she grabbed his chin to force him to look at her. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing."

Sandor took Arya's hand and tried to lead her back to bed, but she refused to take another step.

"Not once have you ever lied to me. You're going to start now?"

Sandor glanced at the fire weakly licking around the glowing coals with deepest revulsion and shivered. With a gentle tug, he towed Arya towards the bed and she followed him reluctantly. He sat down on the edge of the bed, braced his elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor at her toes.

"Do you remember I told you that Beric and Thoros made me look into the fire, and I saw a vision there that led us to the wights?"

"Yes . . ."

"I saw more than the wights. I saw lots of other things besides, things that didn't make sense to me then, but mean more as time goes by."

"What kind of things?"

He shook his head slowly. "I can't tell you."

Arya knelt before him and took his hands. "Why not?"

"Because sometimes, when I tell someone what I see, the visions change." He glanced up at her from beneath his heavy brow. "There are things in the fire that I want . . ." He grimaced. "I won't risk telling even you lest they be lost."

"What do you see? Do you see me? Do you see us?"

Softly, reluctantly, he answered, "Aye."

"What did you see that changed?"

Sandor turned Arya's hand in his so that her ring was burnished in a ruddy glow. "I saw the wights below the Eyrie. We were raining the fury of the hells down on the dead, and though they kept coming, they were never able to overcome the narrow pass that leads up to its gate. Daenerys took her two beasts and mowed them down. After resting a short while in the Vale, we were able to march into the Crownlands and defeat Cersei with our forces almost entirely intact. King's Landing was still standing. After that last war council, I looked into the flames again at the Dreadfort, and I saw the dead somewhere else entirely, and this time, it was completely different. Our victory in the Vale of Arryn was gone."

"You mean trapping them in the Vale would have worked?"

"I think . . . aye." He studied Arya intently. "Almost certainly, but the moment when that could have happened is gone, and different choices are in front of us now."

"What kind of choices?"

Again, Sandor shook his head stubbornly, and Arya realized her question brushed against the flesh of his fears. "Hard choices. I see several paths that cross, but I can't see how they can all be true." Sandor lifted his head and his eyes were haunted. "I didn't want to look in the fire the first time. I didn't want to believe the visions, but when they led us true to the mountain where we found the wights, I couldn't deny what I had seen."

"Maybe the Lord of Light is just fucking with you."

Sandor's teeth flashed in his beard for a moment, and he drew Arya into his arms. Laying back into their bed, he answered, "It could be, but I hope not. There are things in the flames . . . things that I've barely dared consider my entire life, and they are right there, taunting me. I keep watching, trying to figure out which path to take to lead us there, but the details keep changing."

"What did Thoros used to say? The night is dark and full of terrors?"

He said the words with her. " . . . dark and full of terrors, aye." Sandor stroked one of his hands over her hair and down Arya's back. He was gratified when she practically arched against his touch. Smiling sadly at her, he continued, "And every fucking one of them is bearing down on us."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"I don't like it." Korseph, the man Sandor had appointed as their master of sword, frowned at the narrow causeway. "If we're ambushed here—"

"Aye. The swamplands of the Neck never really freeze over completely, least not in any winter I remember. At least most of the bugs have settled in or died."

"When we travelled with father, it took almost two weeks to reach the Riverlands. We were all mounted, but our entire household was loaded into wagons. How long will it take a small party?"

Sandor narrowed his eyes and considered. "On the Queensroad? Eight days, maybe ten."

Arya frowned. "How will the Night King do it? If the wights can't manage the water, he'd have to march every one of them over the causeway. I suppose he could march them through the forests west of here . . ."

Flatly, Sandor answered, "This is the way we need to go," and nudged his horse out onto the causeway.

Arya narrowed her eyes and watched her husband's back.

"Milady? Do you think we ought to go around?"

She glanced up at Irrun, and smoothed her features into a firm smile. "Lord Clegane has been soldiering in Westeros longer than the two of us combined. If he says this is the path, then we will have to trust him."

Dusk came early in the swamplands, the canopy and dense vegetation blotting out the weak winter light sooner than usual. Clegane showed no sign of stopping for rest. When the one of the horses stepped too close to the edge of the causeway and nearly slid into the murky black water, Arya made her way through the column to Sandor's side.

"Sandor, we must stop. We can't risk any of the horses straying into the water."

"No. Not yet. We must make every effort to shave time off our journey through the Neck."

"Don't you think the Night King will have to go around? He won't be able to march the wights through the water. That should buy us several days. Surely we can afford—"

"No." He said it quietly, but his tone left no room for discussion.

Arya pulled on the reins of Sandor's horse to bring them to a stop. "Tell me."

Sandor glanced over his shoulder. The Dreadfort men had started hanging back slightly when Arya and Sandor rode together, as though to afford them a modicum of privacy. In the dense darkness of the swamp, Arya could only barely make out Irrun's bay some twenty yards behind them. Under the pretense of kissing her, Sandor guided Arya's ear to his lips with a gentle hand behind her neck.

"You have to trust me. We haven't the time to spare. They are moving faster than you think." With a firm kiss, he released her.

"How do you know?"

Sandor glanced at her and back at the causeway. "You know how I know."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

By the time Sandor had pushed the Dreadfort men through a grueling nine-day march through the neck, morale in their party was becoming grave. Five more of their men had been dispatched to clear the people of Greywater Watch, and their relief to be released from Sandor's command for the moment couldn't have been more evident. It was only promise of a rest at the Twins that kept the rest of them going.

Sandor caught Arya and pulled her aside after hearing her promise them a respite. Angrily, he murmured into her ear, "No! There's no time. If we linger too long at the Twins—"

"What? What will happen?" Arya narrowed her eyes at him. "I can't see how the Night King's army can be anyplace close. You have to tell me what's got you so frightened!"

He shook his head resolutely. "I won't. You know I won't."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "If you won't tell me, then I have no reason to give the men as to why we're riding them into the ground. They need rest. By the Seven, if we push them any harder, they'll murder us in our sleep! We're resting for a day at the Twins." Arya released him and began to walk away. Over her shoulder she tossed, "Consider it an order from your liege."

Sandor caught her hand and pulled her back. "Do you remember the fear you felt the last time we stood looking at the Twins? When your family was so close that you could taste it, and you were afraid still they'd be snatched away?"

Arya's eyes widened. "Yes."

He closed his hands around her face. His eyes were ringed with dark bruises of exhaustion, and beneath his beard, his cheeks were hollowing. He implored her, "Sweetling, don't go to the Twins. No good will come of it."

Arya turned her face into his palm and kissed it. "We need rest. We need supplies and horses. There's no place else for us to go."

Sandor released his wife bitterly. As she walked away to speak with Irrun, he muttered beneath his breath, "No, there's no place for us to go at all."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When they neared the Twins in the morning, Arya was shocked they weren't met by sentries several miles out. She knew the lookouts on the towers had to see them, even though a bitterly cold drizzle had started to pepper them and muddy the road. Sandor refused to meet her eye.

When the road wound round to the main gate of the west tower, Arya was horrified to find the proud portal to the gate nearly ripped from its moorings. For the first time in six hundred years, the path across the Greenfork was wide open, and not a single human soul barred their path.

She rounded on her husband. "You knew! How did the wights get around us?"

Sandor buried his head in his chest. "I didn't know for certain until we were at Moat Cailin, but I got a better look at the part of the wall I've been seeing in the flames. I thought I've been seeing the fall of Eastwatch . . . though I've never seen it, I now believe I saw the fall of the Shadowtower. I think a second wave of the dead skirted Winterfell and came through the Barrowlands while we were at Moat Cailin. When our men and the people of Moat Cailin reach Barrowton, it will be a wasteland."

Arya dismounted and grasped the reins of Sandor's horse. "How did they cross the Neck before we did?"

Sandor lifted his eyes slowly to look at his wife. "In the flames, I saw the walkers put their hands to the ground. There was no mist, no cold, but the waters of the swamp froze, and they marched right through. I was hoping to reach the Twins ahead of the Shadowtower wights, but now we're caught between the two. If we had led them east towards the Eyrie, the two armies would have converged before they entered the pass to the Bloody gate. When Jon and Daenerys decided to make their stand at King's Landing instead, everything changed."

Barely able to find her voice, Arya asked, "How close are they?"

Sandor clenched his jaw. "I don't know. We could be a day behind the Shadowtower wights, it could be as little as a few hours. We could be as many as two or three days ahead of the Eastwatch wights." He shrugged and grunted in consideration. "Maybe more."

Arya's eyes went wide. "What about Seagard? Oldstones? Fairmarket?"

"They've likely already been taken, or will be within the next day. If we ride hard for Riverrun and have luck on our side, we might be able to save the people there, but within a week or so, Bran will have made it to King's Landing, if Jon hasn't already taken him there. If the dead follow Bran, they are likely to march in force through the Trident and into the Crownlands."

"We're fucked."

Sandor pursed his lips. "Aye, we're fucked."