At the point in the story when
- Cersei is queen,
- Joffrey was poisoned by Oleana Tyrell at his wedding
- Tyrion and Sansa were accused of the murder and had fled King's Landing
- Danaerys is about to cross the Narrow Sea
- Jon is making a name for himself in the Night's Watch - he brokered an accord with the Wildlings and he's being elected Lord Commander
Sandor
"North," she said.
He pursed his lips. It didn't actually matter to him where they were going. He would follow her to the edge of the world, and beyond.
They rode in silence for many miles. Then for many days. The girl seemed to have forgotten his existence, but he caught her studying him more than once when they made camp. He let her watch, pretending not to notice. He could understand why she liked this face. It was one of his favorites. So many things came easy to beautiful people.
In life, the man whose face he wore had been a killer as vicious as the Hound himself, but put them next to each other, and one would seem an angel, the other a beast. He had to hope the journey with this woman of the Night's Watch would not end up with him having to retire this face from use in Westeros. He'd had enough of a famous face the first time around.
The hair though… he could do something about the long red and white hair. He didn't need it to be so long since he no longer needed to hide the burns. He could ask her to cut it if he trusted her with a blade so close to his neck.
They ran into trouble at an inn. They walked in while a band of brigands were robbing the place. He'd earned her respect by dispatching of the men efficiently. She'd hardly had to use her blade. The strange little smile playing on her lips at the end was all the reward he needed.
#
The further north they went, the colder it got. It didn't take long for the first snow to fall on them. Winter had come. He pulled the heavy tighter around his shoulders.
"You can go back," she said.
"A man has a debt to pay."
She rolled her eyes. Didn't she know how feminine she looked when she did that?
"Speak normally," she said in a flat tone.
He spurred his horse onward, tearing his eyes from her. His gaze got caught on her lips too often. How long had he been without a woman? He had to do something about all this unhealthy tension bottling inside his body. Sooner rather than later. The next whorehouse they found, he'd pay them a visit.
"There is no one around. A man can speak freely."
"A man is quite annoying when he does that," she said. "We should look for a place to make camp. There's a storm brewing."
They agreed on a place, and fell into the routine of gathering wood, making the fire, securing the horses. They shared bread, smoked meat and wine. He watched her precise, elegant movements. She even licked her fingers like a lady. How had she gotten away with her disguise? Were the men of the Night's Watch blind?
The cold was seeping into his bones. He arranged his bedding on the other side of the fire from hers. The image of her face through the curtain of flames was the last thing he took with him into the land of dreams.
His senses alerted him to the presence. His hand gripped the hilt of her dagger when she spoke.
"Get back to sleep, idiot."
He became aware of the unexpected warmth against his back. A warm body was pressed against his under the covers.
"Why are you-"
"You were freezing," she interrupted him. "We're conserving body heat this way. But I'll move away if you have a problem with it."
"No," he said immediately. "Lucky I didn't kill you, that's all."
She snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that," she said, patting him patronizingly on his thigh before settling her arm along his back.
He tried to relax, but knowing that he was being spooned by a girl ramped up the tension that kept gathering inside. She buried her face in his neck. Her steady breath tickled his skin. He should have visited every fucking whorehouse since King's Landing to whatever the fuck place they were that night. If he got through the night without doing something stupid, he would do just that for the rest of the journey.
She let out a soft sigh and he bravely fought the urge to turn around and hold her for a full heartbeat.
Arya
She had checked that her breasts were wrapped securely before moving her bedding next to his. After doing it every morning for so long, she had perfected the method to conceal her breasts without squeezing them uncomfortably hard. She was certain that he wasn't feeling anything out of the ordinary while she plastered herself along his back. Even when her nipples hardened and ached… because of the cold.
It felt so right to be close to him. She had caught glimpses of his body while he changed clothes. Accidentally at first, driven by curiosity later. She licked her lips and sighed at the memory of the broad chest and well-muscled arms. She began to doubt the wisdom of her decision to get so close when the big man turned around.
He pulled her close and wrapped a massive arm around her shoulders. Her breath stopped, and her fingers twitched, as if compelled to untuck his tunic, to unlace his pants… She had a very vague notion of what came after that. She knew enough to name the hunger that took over her body.
Lust.
She panicked.
'Imagine it's Jon. Imagine it's Jon.'
"This reminds me of my brother," she said without thinking. "He still feels he has to take watch over me."
"He's a good brother," Jaqen said.
"He's a good man," she said.
Her mind skittered, grasping for something to say to stop from feeling. She thought about another good man who had watched over her one night, a lifetime ago. That had been the first time she'd reacted like that to another person. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was him. She started rambling in an attempt to drown her body's demands with memories.
"You remind me of someone else, too. He was as tall and strong as you. Everyone who saw him, was instantly terrified by him. Just because of the way he looked. Anyone who fought him… didn't live to fear him."
"I remind you of someone who terrified you?"
"I wasn't afraid. The first time I saw him… People around me whispered that he looked like a monster. I thought he was fascinating. When I got to know him a little, he made me feel safe. Like I could never get hurt while he was around. Just like Jon."
"Who was he?"
"The only one aside from my brother who ever believed in me. Who thought that the Night's Watch has an important mission. He's one of the reasons I took the Black. He was the only person I wanted to see in King's Landing. And worried that he might see me."
She shouldn't have said it. Any of it. How much wine had she drunk with dinner? Too much wine by the looks of things, and too little dinner. First she'd warmed up with lust, now she was getting carried away by nostalgia.
"Why? Didn't you think he might want to see you, too?"
She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. He's probably dead anyway."
Her heart ached at the thought of the Hound, dead at the order of the bitch queen, or of the odious Joffrey to whom he'd been as loyal as any dog. She wondered if she should give Jaqen the first name. Cersei. The bitch queen was the reason poor Sansa was in hiding.
No. No names that night. She'd think about revenge once the Great War was over. If Jaqen was as good at killing as he seemed, she had one name for him, but not yet. She wouldn't take advantage of a promise made out of a weirds sense of honor until he saw the truth behind the Wall for himself.
She forgot herself for a moment, and she drew even closer to him. The expanse of his chest, so much like the Hound's. Her heart skipped a beat when his arm tightened around her shoulders. She felt oddly safe, and fought to stay awake, unwilling to lose the sensation.
Sandor
"Let's get some sleep," he said, holding her close.
Easier said than done. Her breathing didn't seem to slow down either. They'd have to leave soon. They needed sleep. He needed respite from the temptation.
He hadn't dared to believe that she remembered him fondly, but to find out he had such an impact on her life. Her talk of Braavos and freedom had sparked the hope in him. His talk of duty had pushed her to the most dangerous place in the known world.
And yet, beyond all such concerns, he still had to solve the pressing issue of sleeping with a beautiful woman in his arms.
A beautiful woman who had compared him to her brother. He shouldn't fool himself. The girl clearly had created an idealized image of him in her mind. Another brother. She didn't know the horrors he had done in the Lannisters' service, or she'd feel different about him.
He tried to find an appropriate place to rest his hand. He settled on the rounded curve of her hip, but instead of relaxing into comfortable sleep, he was stiffening. Everywhere.
Next whorehouse. He would go in and spend enough time and money to ensure that something like this would never happen again.