Arya thinks of Sandor as Jaqen as this point, so in her sections, I referred to him as Jaqen. Personally, I can't wait for him to take that face off. I miss the Hound.
Arya
She startled awake patting the empty bedding, looking for the warm body that had been there all night. She missed the man's comforting bulk, the feel of muscles and bones, the heartbeat loud like war drums.
Shit! He was up before her. She'd have to sneak away to take care of her morning routine, including re-wrapping the cloth around her chest.
Slow, heavy footsteps crunched the thin layer of snow. Jaqen was lacing up his pants as he came back toward the dying embers of their campfire. Her eyes lingered on his body, the sight of his massive frame stirring the dull ache between her legs. She dug her fingernails in her palms to stop from screaming in frustration at her own carelessness.
Stupidly she had allowed this stranger to sneak under her skin. To bring to the surface sensations that needed to stay buried.
She had lived among men for three years and she knew more about male anatomy than she ever imagined she would. There were some good looking men in the Night's Watch, but Arya had been vigilant to always think of all men as potential threats. If any of them got any ideas about her sex, the consequences would be dire.
For the first time, she understood the complaints of her brothers in Castle Black. She had always thought unkindly of those who talked about bedding women. She had considered them weak for missing sex. If sexual desire could be so strong just after being in someone's arms, how bad did it feel when you actually knew what you were missing?
Under the blanket, she checked her chest, maybe a bit more leisurely than she should. Her nipples, erect from the cold, were sensitive to the point of pain. If he would just leave for a moment, go tend on the horses or something, she could massage her breasts, get rid of that infernal tickling sensation. But he didn't.
They didn't talk all morning, which suited her just fine. At noon, they ate as they rode on in the thickly falling snow. The sight of a small town came as a relief to Arya.
"We're staying at the inn. Let's not kill anyone, all right?"
"Aye," he said, and followed her through the gates.
She couldn't wait to have her own room for one night. To wash her body in warm water. To sleep in a bed, without wrapping herself up and without the fear that any parts of her body would betray what she was. Jaqen's eyes were not only beautiful, but also sharp. Sharper than she was comfortable with.
Just her luck that the blizzard had gathered so many travelers in the inn, that despite having the coin for two rooms, the inn keeper only gave them one room.
Sandor
He would have been more upset about the fairly narrow bed in their room if he didn't already have plans to spend the night in the whorehouse. Arya on the other hand, looked decidedly unhappy.
"A man will not come back to the room after dinner," he said.
"A man will sleep in the stable, with the horses?" she asked.
"Close enough," he said.
She scrunched her face in puzzlement. It took her a few seconds to work it out. The blush blossoming on her cheeks made his cock twitch. Maybe he should skip dinner altogether. She took a long sip of wine from the flask to hide her embarrassment.
"You're welcome to partake," he said.
Her eyes widened and she choked on the wine. Embarrassment and anger flickered on her features while she coughed.
"It's a long road the Wall," he said. "A boy should take warmth when he finds it."
He wondered why he teased her. As payback for making him want her without even knowing?
"The men of the Night's Watch are sworn-"
"To take no wife and father no children," he interrupted her. "None of those things are likely to happen in a brothel."
Her grey eyes grew cold as he said the words of the Night's Watch oath. He knew the words. On his darkest hours in King's Landing, when he was guarding the door to a monster, he had thought about atoning for his sins on the Wall.
"Enjoy yourself," she said in a flat tone he hadn't heard from the first days of their journey.
"Dinner?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Not hungry."
He bowed his head in the Braavosi fashion, and closed the door behind him.
It couldn't be easy for her to pretend to be a boy all the time. Sandor Clegane had been eager to get rid of the Hound and become no one. Arya Stark… Maybe one day he would find out why Arya Stark had chosen a life of sacrifice instead of her highborn birthright.
Maybe one day she would trust him enough, to tell him. Or maybe she would always fear what men who knew would do with that information. Just because he wouldn't take her without her consent, didn't mean he wouldn't take her if she offered herself to him. And he would certainly make it easy for her to offer. He had learned much more in Braavos than intricate ways to kill people.
Arya
She barred the door as soon as he left and moved to draw herself a bath. The maid had left buckets of warm water by the fire.
Why would she care if he went to a whorehouse? She should have been more suspicious that he hadn't done it before. She hadn't heard him pleasuring himself either. The gods knew that after three years of nights sleeping in the same room with horny men, she could recognize the sound of men handling themselves.
She lowered her body in the tub, and scrubbed herself efficiently. She cursed herself for suddenly being unable to enjoy the solitude and explore her female parts as she had planned. She toweled herself briskly and put her clothes back on before climbing into bed. Instead of playing with herself, she tried to get to sleep. She felt tired, but also inexplicably cold in the well heated room.
Just as she was drifting to sleep, Arya startled awake at the noise of a struggle outside her door. She put on her tunic, grabbed her sword and went out into the corridor. The drunken laughter and singing from downstairs almost covered the muffled whimpers.
"Please, Ser, let me go. Plea-"
The sound of a slap cut short the girl's words.
Arya went straight to the source of the voice. A big man was pushing a girl against the wall. Her legs were spread and her skirts up. She was trying to wriggle out, to push him away, but the brute didn't seem to feel her punches. Arya heard the sound of cloth tearing and she hit him hard with the hilt of her sword at the back of his head. He groaned, but, unfortunately, he didn't fall unconscious.
He turned around, his cock flopping out of his breeches. His bloodshot eyes focused on her. He swiped on meaty paw to push away her sword, but Arya avoided it with a light flick of her wrist. The point of her thin blade was under his round belly and close to his cock.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. This is how accidents happen, you know."
"Go away, boy, and I might let you live."
He tried to swat her sword again, and Arya made another circle with the blade, this time the point resting on his shriveling cock.
"Next time you do that, I might cut some of it off. And it's not like you have much to begin with."
The man lunged at her in anger. Arya took a step back, and another one, drawing him further away from the trembling girl. She had to make sure this didn't escalate to a physical brawl. All her training with the sword, bow or hunting knife wouldn't help her in a close combat situation with a man twice her size.
"I'm going to shove that so far up your ass-."
"I don't know about you," she interrupted him. "But I don't swing that way."
He made another attempt to get to her. She tried to see his colors, or a crest on his clothes. In how much trouble would she be if she killed this guy?
She took small steps backwards, luring him closer to the stairwell. When she judged he was in the right spot, she looked at his crotch with wide eyes.
"Fuck, what happened to your dick?"
Predictably, he looked down, and Arya kicked him down the stairs, but he grabbed her foot and she tumbled along with him. She let the sword fall out of her hand on the top landing to avoid any serious injury to either of them. The noisy common room grew quiet, all eyes trained on the two of bodies crash landing into a table.
Just her luck, the fat fuck had landed on top of her. He was dazed from the fall, and probably from Arya's first blow because his movements were sluggish. He put his forearm on her windpipe and was about to punch her when Arya's knee connected with his balls. He whimpered and rolled off her partially to curl into a ball.
She was trying to free her legs from under him when she saw a boot she knew pushing the man all the way off her. She took Jaqen's hand and got up.
The common room seemed to have come alive again, and the two of them were at the center of an angry mob.
"What's going on here?" the innkeeper broke through the circle of people.
"They attacked me," the fat man bellowed. "You all saw it!"
Some of the inn's patrons unsheathed their swords. Arya cursed for letting go of her sword. She was about to reach for the dagger Jaqen always carried a dagger on his right hip. Like the Hound. The thought flickers through her mind. Before she reaches for the dagger, a girl's voice breaks the tense silence.
"Don't hurt them. He tried to force himself on me, and the boy saved me."
The throng parted and a girl not much older than Arya, with her arms wrapped over her torn shirt, ran into the arms of one of the men.
Arya and Jaqen melted away upstairs as the common room split into sides. This was not their fight.
Sandor
She bent down to pick up her sword then hurried into their room. The back of her shirt was spotted with blood. She must have fallen on some glass or splinters.
He was furious.
"You got back early," she said.
One more reason to be furious. He had found the brothel, but he never went inside. Maybe it was his time in Braavos, where he had lost the habit of paying for sex. The women there hadn't been bothered by his scars. Former slaves or women born free, most of them bore their own scars and their eyes were not offended by his disfigurement.
Even if that was the reason, and he was not willing to look deeper into that, his body didn't care. The pent up sexual frustration was doubled when he came back to the inn and saw Arya on the floor.
"You're hurt," he said.
"What? Oh, the back. They're just scratches."
"Fine. Scratches. Let me clean them."
"No need. I'll do it myself," she said.
"They're on your back!"
He heard the sound of his old voice when he said that. He had let anger bring the Hound to the surface. He tried to calm down.
"You realize you drew attention to us. They will start asking questions."
"We'll have to leave during the night," she said.
He nodded. He was not happy to be on the road while it snowed.
"I couldn't let the girl be raped," she said.
Her tone was between excuse and defiance.
"You could have been raped, too," he said. "You didn't know what kind of men were downstairs."
She had stopped breathing. He hung his head. He couldn't wait for her to open up about it.
"I know you're a girl," he said. "I've know it since I got my sight back, in the wagon."
"I'm not a girl," she said.
"No? Take off your clothes," he challenged her.
"You take off your clothes," she said defiantly.
He raised an eyebrow, but he stood up, and started taking them off. Tunic. Undershirt. Her eyes saucered and he stopped with his hand on the lace of his pants.
"Your turn," he said.
"Fine. I'm a girl," she said. "And I'm in the Night's Watch. What will you do about it?"
"I'll clean your wounds," he said.
He put his clothes back on and he sat down next to her on the bed. She turned her back to him and pulled up the hem of her shirt. He replaced her hands with his, and pulled the shirt up gently, careful not to shift the bits of glass and wood embedded in her skin.
He worked in silence, removing all the shards and splinters. He added balm over her wounds and pulled her shirt back down once he was done. Best thing for healing was to leave such wounds uncovered. He would dress them before they left, so that they didn't open up while riding.
"How can I trust you with this secret?" she asked, with her back to him.
He had to give up his own secret in return. He was about to speak when they heard the urgent knock on the door. He opened the door and saw the man whose daughter Arya had saved earlier. He stepped aside, and the man walked in.
"My name is Adrew Varner. I didn't get a chance to thank you for saving my daughter, Elayna, earlier. I am a merchant from the Reach. I sell grains all over the Seven Kingdoms. Wherever you need to get, I have a transport going there."
He looked at Arya, wondering what she would say. She hadn't even told him that their final destination was the Wall, although it had to be. Could they trust this stranger?