Fire… Everything was fire. Even at a safe distance, he could feel the heat of it clawing up the destroyed side of his face. Someone shook his shoulder and he whirled on them, slamming the unknown assailant into the stone wall.
"Stand down, Clegane." Beric rasped through the pressure of Sandor's arm against his windpipe. "I'm not your enemy."
"Says you." Sandor growled, but lowered his arm anyway. "This your fucking Lord of Light's doing?"
"I do not claim to know his will, any more than I claim to know the purpose for which he's kept me alive." Beric said, sound very much like he was winding up for another one of his unwelcome sermons. "But not is not the time for such musings. Now we must get everyone out of Winterfell, through the tunnels."
"We?" Sandor sneered. "Fuck we."
"Ser Brienne…"
"And fuck the blonde cunt."
Beric frowned and stared him down for a long moment, but the one-eyed knight didn't scare Sandor, not near so much as the flames around them. He wasn't about to get himself killed on the orders of Brienne or anyone else.
"Clegane, the castle will fall in hours, if not minutes. We must do our part to save those we can." Beric pressed.
"Then find yourself another fucking hero. I'm not interested." Sandor growled, turning to leave, and finding himself face to face with the Baratheon Bastard.
No one had to tell him that the murderous little Stark girl's boyfriend was Robert's illegitimate son. They didn't need to. Anyone with eyes could have told as much just by looking at the youth. The young man was the spitting image of the fat old fuck in his younger days before living hard wore away his pretty features. Not that any of that mattered to Sandor, save the fact that the boy was the one thing on this godsforsaken earth that he'd seen kindle a flicker of life behind Arya's cold dead gaze. That, unfortunately, meant more to him than he cared to admit. Far as he could tell, the girl took all the lessons he'd imparted on her to heart, and he wasn't so sure that was a good thing. For survival, maybe, but for living?
"What you looking at?" Sandor growled, hefting up the very weapon the boy had crafted for him in a threatening manner.
"A worthless shit." The boy said, his voice steady and bold despite the fact that his face was pale a snow save for the gore smattered across it. Blood and filth, but, so far as Sandor could tell, not his own. "You were a worthless shit when you kidnapped Arya from the Brothers and you're a worthless shit now."
Sandor took a menacing step toward the boy, but the dark haired bastard held his ground.
"What d'you know 'bout it?"
"I know you been through hell. We've all been through hell, now. But at the end of the day you have a choice. You let it define you or you let it drive you. And I can tell you if run from your demons now, you're never gonna stop. There won't be any place or anything left to stop for."
"I'm not dying for no fucking dragon queen."
"I'm not dyin' for no fucking dragon queen." The boy countered. "I'm fightin' so I get to see the one face I give a damn about again. I'm fightin' so I can look her in the eye when I do."
Arya… the boy loved the younger Stark girl. It was written clear as day across the idiot boy's lovelorn face.
Sandor's vision blurred. You won't hurt me. The memory of the pale little face looking at him, still too scared to meet his gaze for long, stung his heart. He'd wanted nothing more than to keep that little bird safe. To keep her soft and safe and untainted by the world. He'd never decided what exactly he'd wanted from or felt for the little bird, but he'd known he felt something different for her than he'd ever felt for anyone else. She'd been good and pure and he'd wanted her, but he'd wanted her to stay that way, good and unsullied by his bloodstained hands. How refreshingly simple it must be to be the bastard before him. To just love a girl and know that a future with her was possible if only he made it back to her.
Sandor knew no such thing, even if he wanted a future like that, he could never have with her. The perfect little bird of his memories had hardened into someone capable of meeting his gaze but no more capable of loving him than she'd been all those years ago in King's Landing. What did it matter if he could look her in the eye if he couldn't have her?
But Arya still could… she didn't have to be the mean old fuck that time had hardened him into. But only if this boy of hers kept that spark alive and fanned it back into a living flame.
Sandor let out a heavy breath that sounded more like a growl.
"Let's get out of this fucking place."
"Hurry," the one-eyed zealot bellowed as he and the bastard lead the way down into the crypts, toward the hidden tunnels below that lead out of the castle and away from certain death. Sandor followed behind the two fucks at a safe distance, not wanting anything to do with the torches both wielded with cavalry disregard. Being trapped with flames in such a confined space with bodies pressing against him on all sides made his skin crawl.
Deeper they wandered into the earth, until they no longer passed the statues of dead Starks, instead just rows upon rows of bones stacked up to his shoulder height of unnamed and forgotten dead.
The Northmen were twisted fucks. At least in the South they buried their dead and forgot about them. No need to revisit the decaying bones of those who were no longer living. Not like they cared anyway.
They reached a dead end and Beric came to a stop, turning back to Sandor.
"Now it is time to play your part, Clegane."
"Huh?"
The one-eyed fuck indicated the blocked way. "The mouth of the tunnel is blocked by a great stone."
"You want me to move it?" Sandor gave him a scathing look. "Fucking cunt."
Despite his annoyance, he shouldered past the boy and dug his shoulder into the stone, pushing with all his might. He felt a slight budge and then nothing.
"Take this." The boy said to someone and in an instant was by Sandor's side, shouldering the load. Slowly, the great rock began to shift. At first an inch, then enough that an arm might fit through. Just a little further. Just a little more.
"Stop!" Beric yelled.
Sandor looked up and yanked the boy back as Beric dove between the bastard and the opening, flaming sword in hand.
Beric blocked the view for a moment, then swayed and fell back, a knife sheathed in his one good eye. Dead… really dead this time with no cocksucking Thoros to bring him back.
Bile rose in Sandor's throat, but he looked through the opening and saw glowing blue eyes in the dark and knew he had no time to lament the crusty knights final passing. Instead, he grabbed up the fallen knight's flaming sword and looked back to the boy who'd already reclaimed his battle hammer.
"We're not dying for no fucking dragon queen, you hear?" He growled.
The boy swallowed hard but nodded and crushed the skull of the first wight to squeeze through the opening who his great hammer.
I'm not sure how long I can keep going at this rate, but for the past couple weeks I've really been in the mood to work on this story. I think it helps that I can finally see the end of the battle, at which point I can get back to the kind of storytelling I'm more comfortable with (aka not massive battles). In the meantime, I've got a pretty good plan for the remainder of the battle, with the exception of a few lives that still hang in the balance. To kill or not to kill... that is the Game of Thrones questions, isn't it?
Oh, and p.s. the next chapter will be a Sansa POV. Hope that's good news in everyone's book ;)