CHAPTER 38

Sandor

On the next day she's still withdrawn and distant with me. Let her sulk then.

I have decided to have her stay at a good inn which is roughly midway between the keep and the start of our journey and have brought about a dozen men with us, including master Elmar and Kyle. I had chosen them to be the ones to stay with Sansa at the inn, as Elmar is really the only one that I fully trust. And while he's a healer, he does know how to use a sword. I would have liked Brienne more than Kyle to stay with them, being a woman, but I really don't know her and I mistrust friends of Jaime Lannister. And she would have been insulted and would have refused, as the agreement was for her to travel with us. But can she fight?

The day has started with overcast skies and they stay that way; great masses of grey clouds darker edges and twisted forms, but no rain. Yet. The land has started to get the forlorn look of late autumn with browning grass, red leaves falling and billowing in the winds. The air smells moldy, of dying things. Nothing to cheer up my somber mood.

We make good progress on the road and I know that we'll be able to reach the inn a few hours before sundown. We stop for a midday meal at a copse of tree, sitting down and eating cheese, salt pork and bread from our supplies. Sansa and I are sitting beside one another leaning against a tree, Brienne leaning against the next tree, with the men scattered about. Jack and, Podrick Payne – the distant cousin of llyn Payne and the former Imp's squire, surprisingly – are getting on famously; unlike Sansa and I, unfortunately. While she answers my questions politely, she still won't speak to me, and I find her tolerance for pouting stronger than my own tolerance for it. After we've finished eating, I put my face close to get a kiss and she averts her face coldly. Then I lose my patience.

"Will you stop with your sulky ways? I'm sick of them."

"Oh, you are?" Her cheeks flush red and her mouth tightens. "You reap what you sow. You shouldn't have treated me like a child and called me a fool. I won't tolerate you speaking to me this way and shouting, you brute."

She gets up abruptly and walks in the direction of her mare. I get up too and find myself side tracked by Elmar, who's raised a brow at me.

"Slip of a girl, but with a nice temper. It's high time somebody put you in your place, dog."

"Fuck you," I growl, clenching a fist. He dodges my blow, laughing and strolling away insouciantly. Before I have time to regain my composure, Brienne gets up and brushes by me, smiling from the corner of her mouth.

"Quite a charming way you have about you, my lord. That girl must be a saint."

I hear a few sniggers but when I circle my gaze to find the culprits, everybody has gotten up and are looking innocent and preparing to resume travelling. Elmar, free of resentment, gives me a wink and I can't help a corner of my mouth quivering with a suppressed chuckle.

Maybe now that Sansa has gotten off her chest what had been bothering, she'll get in a better mood. I hadn't thought that I had hurt her with my words. I was being protective last night. But I had spent such a great part of my life dealing with men, with whom I had used much stronger words and who had replied in the same manner. None of us had pouted after these exchanges. Except for whores, I didn't have much experience with women, especially highborn and sensitive girls like Sansa whose feelings were easily bruised.

We leave the men and Brienne at the edge of the road while we make our way to the inn's entrance. It seems lively and to be enjoying a good business. I turn to Elmar and hands him a pouch full of coins.

"Pay for a week in advance, for a room for Sansa and another one for Kyle and you. If I'm gone longer, there's plenty more for several weeks and to cover your expenses."

Then I hand the other one to Sansa. "You'll be able to go out and have rides, provided that you have them with the men. You'll be allowed to go to the nearby village and visit the market on the condition that you cover your hair and wear the servant's garments that I've had your maid pack for you. Buy what you want there."

Her eyes widen in surprise at my words.

"I didn't want you to be shut in, like you had assumed I would. If I seemed harsh, it was for your protection, you little mule."

"Oh." She looks remorseful and I shush her with a finger on her mouth.

"Never mind that. Now be a good little bird and say your farewells."

Her face has cleared and she gives me one of her rare luminous, dazzling smiles, creating a lump in my throat. Her hands come up to my neck, stroking my face and hair, and she kisses me in the way that I love with her lips and tongue, lingering long and sweetly. I gaze at her intently and wrench myself away before it gets too hard.

Striding fast, I shout to Elmar:" If you're still in after five minutes, I'll expect that things went well."

"Good luck dog!"

When I rejoin the men, I'm met with snickers and Jack even blows me a kiss.

"Get away, you little shit!"

Everyone laughs, including me. I won't get huffy about this, as I know how lucky I am. None of these men in their lifetime will get to have such a beautiful and sweet girl as Sansa.

We ride at a good pace for two hours, stopping at the edge of a forest for the night. While the nights were cold now, I hadn't brought a tent this time – it would be too cumbersome to carry for our party and I didn't feel like sleeping in a tent full of other smelly men.

Wood has been gathered and two fires have been lit. As we sit around for the warmth of them – I'm not sitting as close as the others – we eat once again of our rations and I have the Maid of Tarth sitting near me. I have the feeling that she'll shadow me the whole time, however much I'm not easy with her company. But I have to, so I ask her the same question as I'd asked Jaime Lannister.

"Why do you want to be on this quest? You made an oath to a woman who's dead now."

She lifts her chin. "An oath is an oath. I don't break them."

"But you're no knight."

Her eyes narrow. "Neither are you. Then?"

She's got me there. I just grunt, as I don't feel the need to explain myself to her. She cocks her head at me.

"I get the feeling that you're not comfortable with my presence, Hound."

I sigh impatiently. She won't leave me be then. "True, I'm not. You're a friend of Jaime. And while you're a woman, you look like one of my warriors. I don't know how to treat you."

"Treat me as both then," she replies with a ghost of a smile.

I sigh again tiredly this time. She won't make it easy for me then. But that's the way of females... With this one, it's the duality of her nature that bothers me; the blurred edges between woman and man. I wonder if she prefers flowers to swords; I wouldn't blame her for that. But I remember when Jaime had spoken to her how she had her expression had softened, her blue eyes becoming earnest. Then I know where her preferences lie. Is he aware of how she feels about him? Probably, and he's using this for his own purpose, as it's his way.

It gets clearer for me. I'll treat her as one of my warriors while remembering that she's a woman. With this in mind, I get up and shout for attention.

"This maid is a warrior like you, but if any one of you bothers her with your unwanted attentions, you'll get a taste of my steel."

Not long after, we lay down our bedrolls for the night. Men will take turns to act as sentries and keep the fires going for the night through. While I've put my bedroll at a certain distance from them, I feel uneasy and resentful at the need for them. I don't trust it – what if sparks and embers fall on my bedroll and a fire is started while I'm asleep and nobody notices it?

Other thoughts keep me from settling comfortably in the fur lined bedroll; I feel somehow empty and incomplete, lying by myself in this bed. While I had slept alone all of my life and Sansa has shared my bed for only several months of it, I don't revert naturally to what was usual for me. I miss her presence which I had felt every night against me. In our bed, we always slept close together with our legs entwined. I'd not realised how quickly I had grown used to this, but then is it not the treacherous way of sweet things – taking to them right away? While fighting for a lifetime to get used to the bad ones, never really succeeding.

My limbs feel empty and clumsy; now there so much empty space.

On the morning we start our true journey. The skies have cleared considerably, leaving a few white clouds travelling against the bold blue sky. I had wondered if news of my innocence about the raids had reached these parts – but even still, that band was still roaming here, and I was the Hound after all, helmet or no helmet. My scarred face would be recognized right away, and I had brought with me the cloak with the hood as to shadow my face from glances.

But I hadn't realised that my identity would also forbid me direct contact with the people we encountered – my height and size would betray me, and it was always possible that the hood would slip and a glimpse of me would be caught. That had infuriated me, as it had given me a passive role I wasn't used to, and I had to wait at a distance while my men and Brienne would speak and question people. And that would get us noticed quicker too – a band of men shadowed by a figure in a hooded cloak. Tongues would wag and their words would travel.

So it had been like this when we had reached Maidenpool. Brienne had a letter signed from Jaime Lannister explaining that she'd been sent with the mission of finding Arya Stark and that help should be extended to her if needed. She had gone with two of the men to Mooton castle to meet with Lord Randyll Tarly and get as much information as she could from him.

So we had to wait outside of the ruined city for her return. Some men take the opportunity to hunt in the forest while others tend to their gear. I take the opportunity to close my eyes and drifting off.

When she comes back later, she had a lot to tell.

"The Hound was last seen at Saltpans, riding west after along the Trident. Lord Randyll said that he must feel cornered and trapped with the fighting going on and the Freys at the Twins and Dondarrion's Brotherhood searching for him. He can't go to the Vale because the roads are closed by snow. I was told that there was another band, led by Dondarrion, the red priest and a Lady Stoneheart, whoever she is. But the tales vary. He must be hiding somewhere near then. I feel it. Lord Randyll also told me to go to an inn called the Stinking Goose, where we could meet a septon, called Meribald, from the Monastery at Quiet Isle, who makes circuits with his donkey and dog to help the poor. He's seen a lot and can be helpful to us. Lord Randyll gave me the directions to this place."

"But why not start at Saltpans, where he was last seen?" one of the men says. "We could maybe pick up his trail from there, speak to the survivors."

"I went there myself with Jaime Lannister when we returned from Harrenhal. There's nothing there, just an old knight hiding in his towerhouse."

"Even if there were survivors, what would be the use of questioning them? I don't need names or descriptions; I need to know where they could be hiding. We'll do what the maid has suggested," I add, getting up.

There were many inns near the docks of Maidenpool, and Brienne entered the most disreputable looking one with two men. She had said that she would treat the septon to a meal and then bring him out to meet us outside of the city.

More waiting. This is still a strange land for me, these riverlands, where the ground is low and muddy; a wilderness of sandy dunes and salt marshes. Outside of Maidenpool, the dwellings are isolated and far apart, some people living right in the reeds with huts built from straw and mud. It is slow going there with soft ground and tidal pools; the frequent rains. The sky has stayed overcast day after day, with darker grey clouds hanging low in an oppressive manner. The air is cold and always damp near the bay. The climate here is a perfect complement to my gloomy moods.

I then spy a group of three riders, accompanied by an old man in robes, an overloaded donkey and a dog who are coming toward us. Brienne introduces us to the septon, and before I can hang on to it, a gust of wind catches my hood, pulling it away from my face.

When the septon spies me, he gets as white as snow and makes a sign as if to ward off something wicked. His mouth works silently. I scowl at him.

"What the fuck is the matter with you, old man?"

"It's impossible!" he manages to utter. "You're not supposed to be there. You should be in your grave."

"What?"

I'm getting shivers all over my skin. I remember when I felt I was dying, leaning against that tree, but I certainly didn't remember being put in a grave. Then I chide myself for my foolishness. Of course you wouldn't remember being in a grave because you would have been dead, you oaf! Then what was it? Have I died and dreamed that I had woken up near the other tree, and am I still dreaming this life? But corpses don't dream – they just rot away in the ground. Has my brain finally gotten sick from the drink?

"Then if I was buried, as you seem to know all about it, who buried me then?"

The men and Brienne had all startled at the septon's reaction and now they are all looking at me as if I've grown horns.

"The head father at the monastery, on the quiet isle. He buried you himself."

If I was buried like he says, then I don't remember coming back to life and digging myself out of the grave; and I couldn't have walked all those leagues in my burial robes, covered in dirt without attracting attention or being killed. But I remember the fortune teller asking me if I wanted to live again. So I had truly died. With what kind of screwed forces had I gotten myself entangled in? This talk about graves – my grave - is really unhinging me, and I fight hard to regain some kind of control over my mind.

"You've mistaken another man for me, old man. I'm certainly no bloody ghost, as my riders could attest to. If I was one, how come your dog is not spooked by my presence?"

I remove a glove and bend down to scratch his dog behind an ear and the dog's tail starts to wag.

"See that? Your dog's not afraid of me."

He hesitates, then draws his courage and touches my ungloved hand. Then he gasps.

"I don't understand. There's something unnatural about you standing here in front of me. He buried you! The head father put your helmet on the cairn to mark it. But it got stolen."

"Not be me! I got wounded near the Trident, and when I woke up it had disappeared."

"I know that you didn't steal it. A man from that band who sacked Saltpans had stolen it and worn to pass himself as you, the Hound."

"Then why does nobody in King's landing know that he's not the real Hound?"

"Because nobody has come here to ask about it, that's why!" he replies testily.

I feel my mind getting very tired from that conversation and I have to sit down to rest and take a big gulp of wine to steady myself. The men mutter between themselves and keep glancing at the septon and me with uneasy glances.

"Why have you come back then?"

"To get rid of that accursed band and to reclaim my helmet."

"Well, good luck to you then. I'm on my way."

He walks away as he cannot wait to put distance between him and our group. Life must be simpler making his circuits with his animals and speaking with the folks of the river whom he encounters.

I signal to the men that our travels are over for the day and to make camp. As we sit once again around the fire, I feel everybody's lingering discomfort from the encounter with the septon, and I want to settle them before they get too spooked and do something stupid.

"Never mind about this priest; you could hear yourselves how mad he sounded. He's old and has walked too long besides the river; some river spirit must have gotten to him. Do I look like the Others, with a white skin and blue eyes?"

"But maybe Thoros found you and blew life back into you," says Jarmen, one of the more imaginative ones.

I scoff disdainfully at that. "Why would Thoros would want me brought back to life if they're searching for me, as Lord Randyll said? What nonsense it is. You sound and look like a maid for true."

The others laugh at this and the matter is cleared.

We resume our search on the next day, riding by the river, lingering at small villages and inns, for the men to drink a few cups of wine, listening to the talk among the folks there. They also speak with inhabitants of the huts, asking if they've spied a group of men with a young peasant boy – as Arya was dressed last time as I had seen her – and getting once in a while baskets of clams or fish in exchange for coins or our own supplies of meat.

After a while, the reports can be reduced to a few answers: " 'No, we haven't seen this band.' " " 'Don't know about them; they've never bothered us.' " " 'We haven't heard of any Hound.' " "We don't understand what you're talking about.' "

I've felt an increasing exasperation after hearing this dozens of times.

"Seven Hells! It's like they've learned the same fucking song and keep singing it."

"Lord Randyll had told me that the smallfolks protect Beric Dondarrion and his brotherhood, as they kidnap lords and highborns for ransom money to give them. They won't talk." says Brienne.

Then what can I do? The days blur into themselves, all of the same, riding at the pace of snails on the boggy grounds, our clothes and bedrolls always wet damp and cold, never having the chance to dry completely. On some days the men haven't been able to find driftwood dry enough to kindle for a fire, and we've spent miserable nights shivering on the ground, the wind raining drops of water from the overhanging trees on us.

I've also felt the increasing length of my separation from Sansa eroding at me, the man slowly being reclaimed by the Hound, and I've found myself going back to my old ways of being. He haunts me especially at night in my bedroll. At night in my keep, Sansa and I would often speak in bed before sleeping, lying side by side companionably; rambling about the day's happenings, laughing at little nothings. Now it's the Hound who keeps tormenting me, pouncing on my growing discouragement, increasing it. Stop this useless, futile quest and go home. Noble quests are false, a myth for men who want to play at being knights. Are you a knight now, you fool? What do you care if a man who's raiding in your name kills more? Most people are just stupid sheep. And she doesn't know that you were looking for Arya, anyway – you'll find something else to please her.

It sounds so true. I have done all that I can. Haven't I accomplished the most important thing, the thing that I'd regretted the most in my last hours of having failed at – protecting and saving the girl that I loved? It was enough. Now instead of enjoying my new life with her, here I was tramping on roads like a fucking dimwit who wanted justice. As this the thing had ever existed. I thought that if Jaime Lannister would be unhappy when I came back empty, I could tell him to go himself on his damned quest – wasn't it his own fucking oath, anyway?

Even the men are getting tired of it. They've grown gloomy and discontented too, grumbling and fighting regularly between them, and I had let them at it as it was the only pleasure that I had left. I would watch them fight with a grim satisfaction; even sometimes wished that it would come to a knife fight, for some blood to be spilled. The bloodlust, of which I had been free in my months at the keep was awakening once more, simmering.

And I'm tired too of the men. Everything they do irritate me – I'm sick of our constant closeness, of their complaints, their songs and their words. They offer nothing of value to our search and just follow orders like slaves with no minds of their own.

On this night other thoughts start to haunt me too, when I think of Sansa. I really mislike the thought of having left her at that inn, with Elmar and Kyle. What if she doesn't obey them, is imprudent? A girl like her can be snatched anywhere, anytime. The world is full of vultures who would like to get their claws on her, despoiling her of the innocence they crave. Men are animals. Even Elmar and Kyle; what if all the time they spend with her awaken desires in them too? Look what had happened to the King's sworn shield who had felt drawn to his betrothed...

I feel myself descending in my dark chamber, where everything that dwells there is poisoned and truly rotten. I'm wondering what she's doing, thinking. I'm sure she's not missing me, as she had mentioned the night before our departure that she would be happy to be free of my unkindness. What if she feels so much better without me? I remember then the words of the fortune teller in the tent; that I would get something unexpected but wouldn't be able to keep it long. My heart starts pounding madly. Was she meaning Sansa? My mouth hardens as I think that she may have taken the opportunity to escape since I was gone, having left the inn, maybe wanting to go back again to the court, wanting the life some highborn lord can offer her, with feasts and glittering company.

I feel like getting drunk, really drunk until I fall into oblivion and sleep peacefully for once. The men are preparing for the night, taking their bedrolls from their horses and spreading them on the ground. I'm sitting in front of the fire, having emptied a wineskin and longing for another one. Brienne is sitting beside me silently, and her presence doesn't bother me as much as the others; maybe because she's a woman, and usually doesn't open her mouth to say stupid things. She sighs and I suddenly feel her gaze on me, intent and insistent. When I turn my head to look at her, I find her large blue eyes – her best feature – full of wistfulness.

"You miss your wife, don't you?"

I feel a twinge in my chest starting to expand. "I do wish I could ride to the inn and find her there. But I can't do that and leave you and the men here without purpose." I growl in anger.

"I too would wish that you could do it," she replies, startling me. This makes me looks at her more closely. "Maybe a fuck could improve your dark mood and our lot along with it. But since this is impossible, I'd like you to snap out of it and get a hold on yourself."

I feel the heat on my face, the anger that is rising quickly, making my hands close in tight fists. My voice comes out in a harsh, low tone. "I warn you. You'd better shut up."

"No!" she retorts without fear, looking at me straight in the yes. "Things have to be said. Don't you see? The men have been tainted by your lack of conviction; they have started to lose their motivation because of it. They're getting into mischief among themselves because you've not disciplined them; you're getting careless with them. They need you to lead them, not to seethe in your own gloom."

She gets up without waiting for my reactions and goes off to find her own bed. The silence after her leaving is resonating hollowly in my mind, joining the howling emptiness in my belly. My hand drops on the ground the new wineskin that I had wanted to open.

The dark mist which was clouding my mind clears suddenly. She's right. What am I doing? I understand now what had been gripping me. I hadn't foreseen how I would be affected by travelling again in these lands; bringing back to life the feelings of the last leg of my trek with Arya Stark – the despair, the lack of purpose and meaning. How I had sensed having come to a final dead end on my path.

Then the reversal, the excitement of coming back to King's Landing, feeling hope for the first time in my life, of having gotten something I'd never hope to have, had kept me from thinking about it. I'd even thought I had forgotten it. And now it has come to remind me of old pains, which I've been engulfed in, with all the waiting and the monotony, leaving me so much time to brood.

The Hound is part of me but is not all of me. He'd been born in fire which had disfigured me and had made the hurt boy a formidable warrior, never to be hurt and defenceless again, driving him with his everlasting hatred and anger. But he's become a foe too, never at peace and always wanting to wreak destruction on everything, even the things that he cares about because of his everlasting pain and hate. I can't let him take over again, however I feel. Like with my men, I have to discipline him.

When I lay down in my bedroll, I feel peace for the first time since the beginning of our search and slip in a restful sleep.