He didn't speak about the battle. In fact, he hardly spoke at all during the first days of our travels. He silently rode ahead of me, shrouded in his cloak to best hide his identity. Surely there would be a bounty on him if King Joffrey had prevailed. Perhaps even one on me if anyone cared to notice my absence.
I stifled a yawn and glanced up at the sky. The clouds above us had grown darker since the last time I looked. I wondered if I should interrupt Sandor's thoughts to tell him it was likely going to rain and decided against it for now. He likely knew already. And he'd know what to do.
Pulling the hood of my cloak over my head, I couldn't help but think that something profound had happened to him during the battle. No part of me imagined that he would desert a battle without a good reason for it.
There hadn't been enough time for me to truly process what was happening when he came to find me in my chamber. Everything had happened so fast. And the fear of being caught and punished still loomed over me.
I looked over my shoulder for what was probably the hundredth time that day. Paranoia had set in long ago and I feared that we could have been followed by someone trying to sneak up on us. If someone had, they were adept at hiding, as every time I looked I saw nothing but trees, bushes, and the hardly-traveled ground we were leaving behind.
Still, I felt safer as I urged Shevaun to catch up to Stranger.
Sandor gave me a sidelong glance when I came to his side. I caught his eye briefly and offered him a small smile I knew he wouldn't return. I stared at his profile, the burnt side of his face most visible to me.
"Should we find shelter?" I finally asked, my voice crackling from not using it for some time.
Sandor reclined his head briefly, his hood, which had been lazily resting on the middle of his scalp, sliding down to his broad shoulders.
"Not yet," he said gruffly.
Two words, I thought to myself. I got two words out of him.
He reached a hand back and thrust the hood over his head, this time covering his face from my view. I felt the bottom of my stomach fall out and began to worry that I had upset him in some way. I gulped and let Shevaun fall back, just enough so that Stranger was ahead by a neck.
The woods around us darkened even more over time. I could hardly see the hulking mass beside me by the time the rain started falling. The heavy droplets almost hurt when they fell on the hood of my cloak. I pulled mine down as far as I could without impairing my vision.
Aside me, Sandor directed Stranger to turn to the left. I followed him, feeling the rain fall harder and faster upon us. I wondered if we were in the Riverlands yet. I hoped we were. I imagined it would be safer for us there than it would be in the Crownlands, if only a little.
It wasn't very long until I could feel the unpleasant sensation of rain soaking through to my skin. I wanted to say something, but I was afraid I would only upset him more, so I kept mum. Instead, I remembered something that made the corners of my lips twitch upwards.
That day on the Kingsroad. Gods, I was so mad at him, I thought. He'd just killed that boy…and I wasn't ready to forgive him—even after he'd saved me from the rabid dog. And then he kept trying to talk to me… Wish I had that problem now.
I continued thinking about that day on our trek to King's Landing. Arya and Sansa had been arguing in their carriage and I tried to defuse the situation by having lunch with my former charge.
Oh, Arya, I frowned. Where are you? Are you safe? Are you dry?
My attempt at a smile returned when I recalled Arya's behavior that day. She bitched and moaned about her sister's diplomatic response to King Robert's interrogation. That was back when the worst of our problems was a pet biting a prince.
I felt a tear brimming as I remembered what Arya had said to me before we parted ways after our luncheon.
"Fallon?" Arya asked, just as Sandor's eyes met mine.
"Yes, child," I averted my gaze to my charge.
"You told a lie," she said. "You do have a family."
I cocked a brow.
"You have me."
A tear pricked in my eye. It was rare that Arya said such sweet things like that. And whenever she did, I never took it lightly. Pressing my lips firmly together, I pulled Arya into my side and squeezed her tightly.
"I couldn't wish for a better sister, could I?" I stroked her hair and felt her arms wrap around my waist.
"Tell the king you don't want to be his musician," Arya said.
"If only I could," I sighed. "Fret not, though. You'll still have me around some of the time."
"Until my thirteenth nameday. Then you're gone forever."
"That's where you're wrong, my dear," I squeezed her again and pulled away, grabbing her shoulders. "I'm part of you and you are part of me, Arya Stark. I could be shipped off to Essos, never to return to Westeros, and you still wouldn't be rid of me. Why? Because, little lady, no matter what happens, I'm right here," I said, pointing to her heart.
I began to wonder if she remembered what I had said that day. I could only hope I was still in her heart. What I would give to hold the little lady again...to play with her hair…to see the mischievous glint in her big gray eyes…just one more time.
A great shiver took over my body, distracting me momentarily from my reverie. The downpour had increased and there was a chill in the air. I wanted to pull my cloak tighter to me, but it was sopping wet, just like the rest of me.
Instead, I watched as Sandor was leading us towards a main path, something he'd neglected to do on our journey so far. I wondered if perhaps tonight we would find an inn and sleep in an actual bed, rather than make camp in the woods. As beautiful as it was to sleep under the stars, my back was growing quite sore…
As I stared at the hood atop Sandor's head, it brought me back to my memories. The last time we had ridden together in the rain, he had worn his magnificent helm. I remembered being quite jealous, as I was sure it was doing a much better job of keeping him dry than my own cloak. I also remembered seething to myself because I had failed to prove him wrong.
He had told me so matter-of-factly that it was going to rain. And I was still so angry with him that I refused to believe him in that moment. He suggested I stay in the carriage with 'the wolf children' and I told him I wasn't made of flour. I told him I could handle a little rain. If it even rained at all.
Which, of course, it did.
I felt him staring at me that night, even though I couldn't see his face. He had ridden alongside me just to rub it in. But he didn't say a word. And neither did I. I merely stewed.
And now, here we were again, soaking wet, beside each other on horses, not speaking. Only there was no humorous, ironic tension. And Sandor was the one stewing this time.
I could vaguely make out a small village coming up in the darkness. I felt a great amount of appreciation towards Sandor for finding it. I hoped that no one would recognize him here, as we both deserved a good night's sleep, and I doubted I could help very much if a fight were to break out…
I laid my cloak next to Sandor's on the rug before the crackling fire. I could feel his presence behind me and I turned over my shoulder to see him struggling taking his armor off. I stood up and approached him as soon as he was down to his shirt and trousers.
"Here," I murmured carefully, helping him peel his wet shirt from his back.
I placed my arms around Sandor's waist from behind after I tossed his shirt down on the floor. But I felt his body go rigid, as if he was unsure how to respond to my advance.
"Get in," he grumbled. "While the water's still warm."
Seven words.
"Mm," I frowned, reluctantly letting go of him.
I discarded my wet clothing and stepped around his large body. He refused to look at me as I clambered into the tub. He even turned away when I settled in, though I could have sworn I saw his mouth twitch when I hissed in reaction to the water's temperature.
Sandor crouched before the fire, staying a good distance away, I noticed. He had moved our cloaks to the side so that he could dry out his shirt. Then he reached for my dress behind him. I could see the damp gray fabric draped over his muscular thigh. He hesitated before placing it down finally, and I wondered what he was doing. Was he feeling the dress in his hands?
I turned my head before he stood up and set about removing his trousers. I reached over the side of the tub and found the bag Sandor had brought in with us when we left our horses in the stable. I supposed he had had the same idea of us bathing while we were at this inn, as the sack contained rags and cloths to dry with.
There was something else in the sack, though; something heavier at the bottom. I reached deeper and felt my fingernail stab into something soft. Pulling away, I touched it with the pads of my fingers and realized it was soap before even casting one glance.
I looked at the item in my hand and recognized the white and red marbled bar. My breath hitched when I lifted it to my nose and smelled the flowery scent.
"You kept this?" I breathed, not really sure if I had actually intended on addressing Sandor.
He paused before stepping into the tub himself. I hadn't even noticed that he had come away from the hearth just yet. Then the water rose to my chest as he sat down across from me.
I curled my legs into my chest to make room for his large body, leaning against the head of the tub as far as I could. Sandor's feet sat on either side of my hips, his knees sticking out above the water.
Without a word, I wet the soap and rubbed it between my hands to lather it up. I found myself feeling embarrassed to be sitting there, naked before Sandor. It was as if we were strangers, as if our night of passion had never happened, as if I had never gotten up the nerve to lay a kiss on his lips so many moons ago.
Sandor wouldn't even look at me.
My heart felt heavy. He wouldn't talk. He had pushed me away when I tried to hold him earlier. Gods, I wouldn't be shocked if he slept on the floor, I thought to myself as I continued to scrub my body.
But then I felt his hand on mine, gentler than anticipated. My eyes locked onto his for much longer than they had in recent days. Perhaps I had been wrong in my assessment.
He pulled me closer until I was on my knees before him, the water sloshing around us. Sandor grabbed the soap from me and washed my arms, then my neck and chest. I wondered if he could feel how fast my heart was beating.
He reached around me to get my back. I could feel his body heat against my front. It was nothing compared to the flush in my cheeks, however. I stared into his eyes until the distance between our faces closed in and our lips met.
I felt the soap slide down my spine and hit the floor of the tub before Sandor's hands dug into the skin of my back. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him back fervently. I tangled my fingers in his hair, holding his head as close to mine as I could until neither one of us could breathe. He rested his forehead against mine and I relocated one of my hands to his chest.
"We, er…shouldn't waste…the hot water," I said between breaths, a smile creeping on my face.
"…The sour cherries was all crushed up and ready…"
"Shut up," the blacksmith hissed at the baking apprentice.
"Probably in the piecrust by now. In the oven. The nice, warm oven…"
"Shut up," Arya Stark turned her head away from the dark sky to glare at the rotund boy standing behind her. "What did you bring?"
"The cheese could be better," Hot Pie glanced dismissively at the bag hanging over his shoulder. "I did get some nice sausages."
"What did 'e want us to do about those guards?" Gendry asked. He was crouched beside her, waiting for midnight as eagerly and anxiously as she was.
"He didn't say," Arya told him. "He just said, 'walk through the gates.'"
"What about the guards?" Gendry asked, eyeing the Lannister soldier who stood very still on the scorched battlements across from them.
"He didn't say anything about the guards," Arya told him, annoyed that their conversation was going in circles.
"Oh, what, 'e left that bit out?" the blacksmith looked at her with wide eyes, his whispers having a tinge of frustrated sarcasm to them. "It's a pretty important part, don't you think?"
"We have to trust him," Arya implored, her shaggy hair falling in her eyes.
"Trust him? You trusted him to fight with us when you set 'im free and he ran," Gendry retorted.
"I want to go back to the kitchens," Hot Pie whimpered.
"Shut up," Arya turned to him once more. "Stay here if you're afraid." Then she picked herself up and started walking into the darkness.
"Arry, don't!" Gendry called after her before he and Hot Pie eventually followed.
Arya walked through the Lannister flags that made her blood boil. She would be lying if she said she wasn't tempted to take one of the torches down and burn them all to ashes. But then she looked up at one of the guards on the battlements—the one who was standing so still—and saw that he was being held up on a spike, as were all the others, their feet hanging inches from the ground.
Jaqen had done what she asked. And now she was free from Harrenhal. Free from Tywin Lannister. Free to find her family. What was left of it, anyway.
The rain had stopped by the time Sandor began roughly shaking my shoulder. My eyes snapped open, straining to see in the darkness of the room. He was standing before me, dressed in his armor.
"Up," he grunted.
"Are we leaving?" I asked dumbly, hoisting myself up on my hands and knees.
"Before the sun rises," he told me as he turned away.
The air was cold against my naked body when I crawled out from under the tattered blankets. I pulled out one of the other dresses I had packed the night we left. It was another commissioned by Cersei after my flogging, one that was Stark gray with white accents and had no back to it. My cloak was still damp when I pulled it over me and fastened it around my neck, but I couldn't risk not wearing it as we traveled out of the small town.
Following Sandor through the steely morning was a challenge, especially having just woken up. I stifled each yawn and rubbed my eyes every now and again. What I would give to curl back up in bed under Sandor's arm…
Back off the beaten path, I urged Shevaun forward and rode beside my burned companion. He was still reluctant to make eye contact with me for too long. He had gone out his way to show his love for me at the inn last night, but was acting cold and distant again.
"Is everything alright?" I asked, having finally gotten the courage up.
Sandor glanced at me, only he didn't say anything.
"You've hardly talked about the battle," I added. "You've hardly talked at all."
His body went rigid at the mention of the skirmish. The way he clenched his jaw made me wonder how much he was holding back. I could tell if I was any other person, he would've told me to fuck off.
"'Snothing to talk about," he finally told me.
I knew he was lying.
"You can tell me anything, my love," I pressed as gently as could be.
His reins creaked as his strong hands squeezed them and I knew I was upsetting him. I felt guilty for not stopping earlier.
"Forgive me," I whispered. "I shouldn't have…"
Sandor hesitated before taking a deep breath. He then reached into his cloak and pulled out his wineskin and took a hefty gulp. I was about to pull Shevaun back to give him more space when he thrust the skin out towards me.
I felt a knot in my throat as I looked at him. His eyes were focused ahead of him, but I could still see the pain on his face. But instead of trying to ask him about it, I took the skin and sipped from it. The wine was tart on my tongue and I remembered that he didn't particularly enjoy sweet things.
No wonder he'll hardly speak to me these days, I thought darkly.
"Thank you," I said, handing him the wineskin back.
Sandor grunted, his warm fingers brushing against mine for a moment. He took another large gulp before capping the skin and putting it away.
There was a thick silence between us. A heavy pressure sat on my chest and I started to worry that he was falling out of love with me.
Gods, Fallon, you are so dramatic, a voice in the back of my head scoffed. Don't you remember last night? You could hardly keep your hands off each other. He held you until the morning.
I pursed my lips in a vain attempt to stop my smile from appearing. I felt my insides flutter at the memories of what happened once we had left the bathtub.
Lest you forget he took you from King's Landing. He left the battle for whatever reasons…and he risked everything to find you, the voice reminded me.
The pressure started to lift from my chest and I heaved a great sigh, allowing the smile to come to fruition on my face. The thick silence seemed to thin just as the clouds above us seemed to spread apart and allow the sun to shine upon us through the trees.
"The water…was on fire," Sandor said after a long moment.
"Sorry?" I whipped my head around.
"The Imp," he sighed, glancing at me. "He set the Blackwater ablaze."
"I, er, I saw," I murmured. "It was green."
"Wildfire."
"It must have been terrifying," I shook my head slowly. "I mean, it was terrifying enough from the window of my chamber. I-I can't even begin to imagine what it must have been like from the battlefield."
Sandor's body went rigid again.
"Oh, for the gods' sake, forgive me for babbling, my love," I grimaced. It figured the one time he opens up, I'd ruin it…
Sandor took another deep breath and held his hand up to stop my guilt. "Everything was going fine until… There was man…running at me…on fire."
I gulped. All I wanted was to throw my arms around him and comfort him. As much as I wanted him to talk to me, it was hard to see him like this.
"I froze," he told me. "And the Imp's sellsword's the only reason I'm still alive. I owe that cocky bastard my life."
Remind me to thank that cocky bastard if I ever see him again, I thought to myself.
"Once I got my senses back, I knew," Sandor glanced at me once more. "Knew I 'ad to find you. And leave."
"Thank you," I gave him a tight-lipped smile.
"Tried to get the little bird to come too," he said. "Told her I'd bring her to Winterfell."
"But she said no," I nodded.
"But she said no," Sandor echoed. He looked up to the sky for a moment before looking down at Stranger's mane. "Do you think me a coward, girl?
Without thinking, I reached my hand out and grazed his thigh with my fingertips. His leg tensed up for a second and his eyes snapped to me.
"I think you're the bravest man I know," I told him honestly.
Sandor looked away, his lips tightly together. He looked down, as if he was embarrassed, then back up at the sky. Finally, he turned to me once more, the corner of his lips curled the slightest bit upward. He let go of his reins with one hand and briefly squeezed mine.
Progress, I grinned to myself. I've lost count of how many words he spoke.
I am the *Jean-Ralphio voice* wo-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-orst. I meant to finish this so much longer ago, but my summer job was super draining and it was hard to get a creative spark. But I'm back, babies. I love this story with all of my heart and there's no way I would abandon it forever. Love you guys and thank you for always understanding when life gets in the way.
