A/N: So this is more of a Sandor centered chapter. I hope that doesn't bother anyone. And there might be a little surprise character to pop up. Oh, and Merry Christmas or whatever you celebrate!
Chapter 19: Into the Frey
Despite the constant chill in the air recently, Sandor felt stifled in the king's chambers. The idiot boy was trying on new clothes for Sansa's wedding and bleating about how wonderful it is to see his monkey uncle betrothed to a traitor's daughter. There was nothing but pure delight on his face, which had Sandor itching to smack it. His mind wandered to different fantasies about killing and/or torturing the blonde. 'If I crack his head open,' Sandor thought. 'Will anything spill out?'
As if sensing his thoughts, Joffrey turned and splayed out his arms. "Well?"
"Well what?" Sandor replied, his voice like sand grinding against stone.
"What do you think of our plans for the Starks? It's the perfect – Ow!" He smacked the head of the royal dresser for pricking him. "Next time I'll cut off your hands." The man bowed low before resuming his duty. "It's the perfect place to cut down that traitor. I hear his whore is pregnant too. We'll take care of that though."
A sense of dread began to creep up Sandor's spine. "You're going to murder a man under another's roof?"
"He's a traitor, not a man," Joffrey replied snidely. "He deserves to die. And I want you to do it."
"Me? Why?"
"I trust you to do it without messing up," Joffrey snorted. "I don't want my future in the hands of someone who will hesitate at the swelling belly of some whore." The king turned and sauntered up close to his guard. "Can you do it?"
"Aye," Sandor replied gruffly. "The king commands it."
"I want no mercy for any of them."
"The Freys are stupid but they know how to handle a knife. And you'll have the element of surprise."
The king's wormy lips slid into a smirk and he shifted the red and gold doublet he had on. "Get ready. You leave in one hour."
He had been on duty no more than three hours. He was by the king before breakfast, which was probably a good thing for his stomach right about then. "I am to miss your uncle's wedding then?" he teased.
"I want Robb Stark's head on a plate," Joffrey snickered. "I know you hate my uncle – though you never did tell me why; but I want this war done. Who knows, by time you get back, I may let you have some fun with the Stark girl. I know I'm looking forward to it."
Sandor's hands curled into themselves. His mind imagined them taking the king's head and twisting until it came off. Instead, Sandor gave a curt nod and left. Once he shut the door, he smacked his head against the stones. "Fuck," he whispered violently.
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Sansa ran her fingers over the material that had been picked to be her wedding gown. Her lips strained against the sob that threatened to erupt. For the longest time she convinced herself that something would happen to interrupt the wedding – Robb winning the war, Sandor whisking her away in the night, or even herself running away. The past few weeks had flown by and during that time she had lived as though the whole thing were a dream. She would awaken and be in her bed at Winterfell, preferably next to Sandor with his strong arms wrapped around her. At the thought of his name, her heart ached with misery. It was too much. All of it was starting to collapse on her shoulders. Not only did she have to marry Tyrion, but also Sandor had left her broken in the godswood.
"Not broken," Shae had said that night. "Just bruised."
Now with this being the last week before the wedding, her nerves had become jelly. With a deep sigh the redhead nodded for Shae and the dressmaker to help her into it. It was the final day of preparations and things were going along smoothly. Most of that was due to Margaery's interference; Sansa suspected it was because the Tyrells felt bad that she had to marry a Lannister instead of one of their own. She exhaled slightly when the dressmaker wound the strings on her corset tighter to bring her cleavage out more.
A heavy knock on the door echoed through the tapestries before Shae answered it. "My lady," she called out. "The Hound is here."
"Out," Sandor barked at the dressmaker. With a fumble, the old woman slunk out of the room. Shae stayed inside but stepped into another room to give them privacy. When the pair was alone, Sandor took the time to gaze at Sansa. "That looks nice."
Sansa stood with only her lavender colored corset on. "You haven't seen the dress yet."
"I don't need to," he winked.
"What are you doing here?" she asked gently though a hint of a smile graced her lips. She just couldn't help the way her insides leaped when he was around.
"I'm going."
"Going? Where?"
"To the Twins."
Sansa blinked. "The Freys? Why?"
"I can't tell you. I just wanted to let you know that I have to leave."
"For how long?"
"A week. Maybe more."
"Can you get to the Twins and back in a week?" she asked in disbelief. "That's in the north."
"I'll be by myself so I won't have anyone holding me back."
"But still. It took you a month to reach Winterfell."
"That was Winterfell," he clarified. "And we were forced to stop at every other inn to refresh our wine skins. The Twins is at least half that journey, less so since I will be alone." He saw a disturbed expression cross her face. "What's troubling you?"
"What if something happens to you?"
"Then something happens. But nothing will."
"I have a bad feeling about this. Is there something you're not telling me?"
"Yes," he said truthfully. "But I'm going to try to fix it, Sansa. I promise. If I'm not back in time, just remember that."
"Fix what?"
"Everything." He pulled her close and held on tightly, making sure to recall every last curve on her body lest it be the last time he feels it. He took in her scent and stored it away; the color of her eyes too and her hair to remind him of what he'll miss.
"Can I get a kiss goodbye?" she inquired softly.
He brought his mouth to hers in a short but passionate kiss, savoring the taste of those lips that were made just the way he liked. "Goodbye, little bird. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Sansa gave a weak smile that did anything but reassure him. "Just hurry."
He grew concerned at her tone. It was more tense than usual. "Why?" he nudged.
"I don't feel safe unless I know you're nearby."
He smirked and kissed her again. "Take some time to think while I'm gone. Go pray in the godswood or the sept. You never know what kind of peace you can find there."
"You don't believe in the gods," she countered.
"No, but this isn't about me. Make your own choice, Sansa. You may not have a lot of freedom, but with this you do. And remember that no matter what you decide, I'll still be your friend."
She unwrapped herself from him and watched as he closed the door. He was right of course; this was the perfect opportunity for to do some soul searching. It would give her the chance to ponder on the situation she was in without having to worry if Sandor would be hurt. But the truth remained this: Sandor Clegane had become the best friend she never knew she needed. She couldn't let him go for good unless she knew it was for the right reasons.
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Sandor hauled his bag over his shoulder. Now that he said goodbye to Sansa, his mind began to focus on his task. It was risky that was certain. He really shouldn't be going, he thought. But there was hardly a choice. It was either him that could go and he could try to warn the Starks; or allow someone else to take his place and let them slaughter the family. No, there was no doubt about it. Sansa would be marrying Tyrion and though he and the imp hadn't ever really got along, at least Sandor would know she was under his protection – limited as it was.
He ran his hand down Stranger's mane. The motion helped soothe his mind. Without looking back, he flipped his leg over the animal's back and kicked his heels. He stopped for no one as Stranger flew past the shops and small children in awe of the Hound. "Hurry, Stranger," he whispered to the horse. He had only a small window of opportunity to get to Robb Stark. Once it was gone, only death would follow in its wake. It was the Dragon Gate he went through, opting for the Northeastern route. It wasn't as direct to the Twins, but it held fewer risks thereby giving him a greater chance to arrive. Without interruptions, he could even arrive there within the better part of the week. Of course, that meant no stops save for a few hours rest for Stranger. Sandor was an expert on a horse and knew how to get much needed sleep on the back of one. There was food in his pack and wine to sustain him until he reached the Freys. At the thought of Walder Frey, Sandor's stomach rebelled against him. He was not a religious man by any means but slaying a guest under one's roof was a curse that could blight any house and its future generations. But he had no doubt that this was Tywin. Joffrey had neither the brains nor the balls to think of such an act. This was the problem with the Lannisters – they had faith only in their own name, nothing else. Even Sandor knew better than to mess with that tradition.
He spurred Stranger on, pushing the horse to the limit. If he could keep this pace, he would reach Crossroads Inn by way of Rosby around noon the next day. There, he would take a breather and let Stranger regain some strength. That kind of trip normally took people two or three days as horses would meander down the roads and there would be stops for dinner and sleeping. But Sandor didn't have time for either of those; he could eat when he got there and he could sleep when he died. By time the sun had set, Stranger was still going strong. Stranger was used to being ridden for hours and even days at a time. It was standing idly in a stall that made him tired. They rode straight through the night until Sandor led Stranger to some water at daybreak, taking their first respite. While the horse fed on the grass, Sandor snarled into an apple that was tucked away in his bag. Once that was done he swung himself back into the saddle and tried to make up for the lost time. Though his eyes drooped Sandor forced himself to remain awake.
A sharp turn westward and hours later when the sun had set, they made it to the Crossroads Inn. Stranger was nearly frothing at the mouth and Sandor's eyes were heavy. The Hound jumped from the horse and sauntered to the door. He looked around carefully and noticed that there were several horses attached to posts – too many for his comfort but it seemed that the Crossroads was one of the few last inns left standing intact. Overall, he didn't have much of a choice. "I should have stopped in Darry," he muttered. A small boy came around the corner and slid on his heels at the sight of the fearsome Hound. "Boy," he called out roughly. "You work in the stable?" The terrified boy nodded, his brown locks sliding across his forehead. "Good. Don't get too close to this one lest you want a hand gone."
The dirt road thumped with his footsteps. As he drew closer, he could hear the bawdy singing and roaring laughter. He didn't want to go in. But he wasn't going to be much use to anyone, especially himself, if he were so tired he couldn't fight. So in he went albeit reluctantly. The moment the tavern wench saw him the room went quiet. He stalked through the tiny room feeling better than he had in weeks. His reputation was still intact it seemed. Sometimes he felt a little too much like one of those pretty knights in songs when he was around Sansa and as much as he loved her, he did often feel as though he had gone soft. Tonight, he felt like his old self with the stares and frightened females scattering every which way to get away from him.
"What can I get for you, Hound?" a plump woman asked.
He took a seat at the table in the back and near the shadows. Slowly, the other patrons began to sing and laugh again. "Wine," he snapped. He watched her walk away, noting her thick curves and curly brown hair. He thought she must be the mother of the boy from the stables. They both had the same striking color of green for their eyes. She hurried back and he grabbed her wrist before she had a chance to leave again. "I need a room."
"Tonight?" she squeaked.
"No," he scoffed. "Yesterday. Of course tonight."
"I'm sorry but there's no rooms available."
"Who was the last person to get one?" She pointed to a man with golden hair that went down to his shoulders. He reminded Sandor of Jaime Lannister. Just that thought alone made him pull out his dagger. The others were so involved in a story being told that they didn't even notice his approach. He slid the sharp knife across the man's throat and while his victim slumped to the ground Sandor took his seat again. "One just opened up."
Sandor ordered hot water for a bath and a chance to warm his chilled body. Now that night had fallen, the weather took a winter turn, making everything cooler in an instant. He left Stranger in the stable and the horse promptly curled into itself for warmth. Food stretched his stomach and wine lingered on his tongue as he stripped down to his undergarments. A soft knock on the door bounced through the wooden room and he allowed the innkeep to bring the water.
He left the last of his clothes by the tub as he sunk in the steaming water. His muscles were aching from the stress vibrating through his body and his head was pounding as though someone were putting a nail into his temple. The back of the tub held his head while he dreamt of Sansa running her fingers into the ache that was causing him pain. Just at the image of her he could feel himself relax. It wasn't until the water turned cold that he realized he had drifted off to sleep.
With great effort he managed to drag himself to bed and get a few hours of rest.
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He woke soon after, unable to sleep from the empty feeling of being away from Sansa. The only way he even was able to sleep in the Keep was knowing that she was only a few floors above him. After saddling Stranger, he drove the horse hard hoping to make as much progress as possible in the shortest amount of time. There was simply no time to waste. In a peculiar way, Sandor felt refreshed despite the deep sleep he truly needed. This was his third day on the road and he felt good about how much closer he was to the Twins.
After the morning sun had set and began to get hotter, Sandor pulled Stranger into the stream for a drink. He refilled his own container and took the time to take care of some irksome necessities. While stringing his trousers again, he heard a twig snap. Out his sword came in a flash just as four men sauntered around the trees they had been hiding behind.
The first man to approach, who Sandor assumed was the leader, spoke first. "Welcome," he mocked with his arms spread. His voice was high and made the amateur thief sound silly. "You look like you're on your way somewhere important." Sandor didn't open his mouth. "No? Good. Then you won't mind us taking a few things you won't be needing."
The others inched closer and Sandor snarled in response. "You can try."
"Wait," another called. "I know you. You're the Hound."
"Looks like one of you isn't as stupid as he looks." Sandor had his armor on, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. He knew just by looking at these boys that they had probably never seen combat. They most likely just threatened passerbys who were too scared to fight back. But he was itching to release the tension built up inside him. "Let's see what you're made of, boy."
They came at him all at once, too terrified to go at it alone. Sandor grabbed the first attacker by the throat and swung him around, taking out the two behind him. They fell against the ground with a hard thud while his sword scraped against another's shoulder. The boy cried out and Sandor didn't even try to hide his eye roll. Just as the first boy – the one who talked – charged him, Stranger reared up, his hoof breaking the would be attacker's hand. The young men gathered themselves into a group again and fled. Sandor, angry that they took time away from his trip, leaped into the saddle and ran off like wildfire was licking at their heels. Having passed Harrenhal already, he knew he was halfway to the Freys by now.
Instead of traveling the Kingsroad, where the Crossroads Inn was located, he headed northwest by way of the Greek Fork River. It was a straight shot once he crossed the river and would lessen his journey by at least half a day. He only hoped that he would catch Robb Stark in time. There was really only one threat to him on this journey and that was the Brotherhood Without Banners. But the gossip he heard last night had indicated that they were hanging around the Whispering Woods, which was south to his location.
Six miles in, just as the sun was setting yet again, Sandor stopped at the river for Stranger and to splash some water on his own face to wake him up. He took the time think over his plan, which if he really thought about, wasn't much of one. Now that he was getting closer he needed to come up with one that relied on stealth rather than muscle. And therein lay his problem: Sandor was anything but stealthy.
On cue, he heard the birds above him make a ruckus. Wondering what could have gotten them so riled up, Sandor went to investigate. He listened for the sound as he moved through the trees. Finally, he heard several voices call out a name. Not just any name though; a special name. Not believing his ears, he crept closer until he saw a small figure running for its life.
"Arya!" one of the voices shouted. "Come back!"
'Holy fuck,' he thought. He couldn't believe his luck. Maybe Sansa was right about her gods after all. It was clear the girl didn't know where she was going and he used that to his advantage. He moved ahead where he figured she would run and waited until the right moment. With lightning speed he grabbed her by the waist and wrapped a hand around her mouth. She kicked and bit his hand but there was no way in seven hells he was letting go. "No use in fighting," he snarled.
They stayed like that until he put a piece of cloth in her mouth to stop her from screaming. He tied her hands and feet together and threw her on top of Stranger. He kicked the horse's hide and they sped off once again.
For a while she tried to scream and flail about but Sandor kept a firm grasp on her. "Are you done now?" he asked blithely when he felt the tension leave her. She nodded and he pulled out the cloth. True enough she didn't scream, just glared. "You know where you are?"
"On the way to King's Landing," she stated obstinately.
He blinked once and then laughed, a harsh sound to her ears. "Why would I do that? No, you're a few miles closer to your family."
"What?"
He could she didn't believe him. "Your brother is headed to the Twins. I'm taking you there too."
"Why?"
"Because you're my way in."
He leapt down from the horse and watched as she unceremoniously followed. Her feet were still tied but it didn't look like she cared. It made him chuckle at the difference between the Stark sisters.
"What's so funny?" she bit out.
"Never you mind. Just go about your business so we can leave."
"I can't take a piss with my feet tied," she remarked. Her tone was scornful and she itched to take a knife into his chest.
"That's not my problem," he shrugged.
"It will be if I piss myself on your horse."
Sandor eyed her carefully. Her short hair and boy clothes couldn't hide those Stark features any more than Sansa could hide her Tully side. Now that he could really see her, it struck him how alike she was to her aunt Lyanna – the woman who started Robert's Rebellion. He hadn't noticed before, mostly because her looks were either covered with dirt or completely outshone by her sister. He took her chin roughly and examined her closer. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
Arya jerked her chin from his grasp. "I hope so," she replied bitterly. "I hope you go to hell for what you did to Mycah."
"Who?" he gruffed.
"The butcher boy you killed."
He gave her a look that indicated she was insane for thinking he could remember one specific victim. "Who was that?"
"He was the one you ran down on the kingsroad on our way to Winterfell."
Now it became clear. "The one who attacked Joffrey."
"He didn't attack anyone!" she bellowed. "Joffrey lied!"
"Yeah, well that's Joffrey for ya. Truth be told it's him I should have run down."
His blunt confession made her speechless for a moment. "Then why didn't you?"
"Because I like my ugly head – so does your sister."
"Sansa?" she asked with a slight gasp. Then her grew accusatory at him. "What did you to her?"
What hadn't he done? "I saved her life," he snorted.
"I don't believe you."
"Like I give a shit." Then he turned and let his mouth draw back into a snarl. "If you ever see her again, ask her who came to the rescue when the crowd had her on her back or who shields her from Joffrey's wrath or who is willing to lie for her so she won't get beaten."
"Beaten?"
"Aye. Every time your brother won a battle, it was Sansa who paid the price." He regarded her for a second before adding, "You may hate me for killing that butcher's boy, but what about your brother, the honorable King in the North, for keeping his own sister in a den of lions so he can keep his title?" She said nothing and he grunted in response. "That's what I thought."
"One day, I'm going to kill you."
He chuckled at her threat before throwing his dagger toward her. "You can't kill me with tied hands and feet. But rest assure that if you run, I will catch you."
Arya snapped the bindings and flexed out her wrists and feet. She glanced at the Hound running his hands through Stranger's mane and grimaced. He was making up every part of his Sansa story, she was sure of it. Sansa was too prim and proper to be around the likes of him. But it was said around the Keep that the Hound hated liars. Besides, what reason would have to lie? She was no one to him really. Yes she was a Stark but he already had one in King's Landing. "Why are you taking me to my family?" she asked cautiously.
"I'll never get close enough to your kingly brother otherwise," he replied off handedly.
"So you're using me."
"If there were any other way, I'd be using that one."
"Why are you even here?"
"Don't worry about it. All you need to think about is how to get me an audience with the Young Wolf."
"Why should I?"
"Because if you don't, I'll bring you back with me to King's Landing. Joffrey would piss himself to get his hands on you."
"You won't hurt me," she defied.
"And why not?"
"Sansa wouldn't want you to."
Sandor seized her by the arm and gripped her tight. His hulking frame rising to its full height before his head came to a rest just inches away from hers. "Don't ever think you can use her against me," he seethed. "I could twist your head until it snaps off and she would never know."
"Then do it."
He pulled her even closer. "Don't tempt me."
"If you hate me then why are trying to get me to my family?"
He didn't answer for a long time. Instead, he thrust her away from him before putting her back on the horse and started along the river again. When he did reply, it was with great resistance. "Because she would want me to," he said tightly, his eyes fixed on the scenery in front of them.
"Did you really save her?" Arya asked blandly as her body shook with the horse's movement.
"Yes."
Arya didn't like it. Not one little bit. If it were her choice, she would kill him right then and there. But for someone who supposedly had only violent tendencies, the Hound was being surprisingly calm. His temper flared and his body tensed when she brought up her sister but so far, he was actually helping her get to her family. And she wanted that more than anything. For that reason, Arya cooled her anger. For the moment.
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Now that Sandor had company, it was taking him a bit longer to reach the Twins. It wasn't until two days later that he finally spotted the two towers peeking up from beyond the trees. He woke the sleeping girl in front of him and gestured for her to look. Though she tried desperately to hide it, she was excited and definitely anxious.
"What's the plan then?" she asked after they had eaten - some kind of meat from a poor man's cart that had the misfortune of crossing their path. In a way, Arya admired his prowess; the way he was comfortable with a sword and was able to take a life without blinking. But in her eyes, he would always be the man who rode down Mycah.
"Let you sneak in and tell your brother that someone is here to save his life," he answered carelessly.
"And if I get caught?"
He paused in his movements to think about that. "Don't."
"How do I let you know if I get him?"
"I'll know."
Arya turned back toward the towers and let a smile come over her. She was so close she could taste it.
"All right," he said roughly. He threw away the bone he had been gnawing on and put her in the back before taking the horse by the reigns. Stranger was hitched to the back and Arya was warned repeatedly not to touch him. "Let's go."
By nightfall they had reached the gates. Sandor pulled up to the gatekeeper while Arya snuck out from the cart. Her dancing lessons echoed in her mind as she kept to the shadows, ducking glances and gliding around men. On her tiptoes she managed to creep past guards and seeing them made her take a second look. Was that armor under that one's Frey sigil? The glint she thought she saw vanished when the torch moved. Not wanting to stay in one place for too long she grasped a rope in her hand and shimmied up, taking the shortcut into the castle.
Sandor was admitted after a lengthy argument but abandoned the cart when he was sure no one was paying attention. Pulling the hooded cloak around his face, he too kept to the shadows. His heavy physique would be a dead giveaway to the bannermen, who had known each other for years. The Frey men and Stark bannermen were laughing and teasing each other but Sandor could feel something was off. Perhaps it had been a lifetime of battle or years being around people like Tyrion who played games of a different sort but he could feel it – just underneath the placid surface something was bubbling. The air crackled with it. With every laugh, there was a sinister glance between them. Even if he hadn't known about the plans about to take place, he would sense it. How the Northernmen couldn't was baffling to him.
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Arya scooted along the wall tightly as she made her way around the inside. The first thing she had to do was see her mother so she slipped into the Great Hall and looked for any sign of her. When a few maids came in, Arya took the opportunity. "Hello," she said in her most polite voice. "I was told to empty the Lady Stark's…chamber pot. What room is she in?"
"On the second floor," one of them answered wistfully. "She's the first door on the left."
Arya nodded and ran as fast as she could up the stairs. She admonished herself for bringing up the chamber pot. But frankly, she looked like a boy and she hadn't planned any of this out a great deal. With a shaky hand she knocked on the door.
"Come in."
Hearing her mother's voice forced Arya to barge in, surprising the older woman. "What – Arya?"
"Mother!" she cried. She wrapped herself around her mother's shoulders tightly. The deep green dress she was wearing strained as Catelyn returned the hug just as hard.
Catelyn wasn't able to think for a few minutes before she ran her hand through her daughter's hair and swept it back. Though she was filthy and dressed like a boy, Cat would know her wildest child from anywhere. Both held on to each other for some time, crying and making sure the other was real. When they got their wits back, Cat's eyes shifted over Arya's shoulder. "Where is your sister?"
"Still with the Lannisters."
Cat wiped Arya's tears and smiled. "Is she okay?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her since the day Father…"
Catelyn nodded seriously before hugging her again. "What are you doing here? How did you get here? Where have you been?"
"Later," Arya said quickly. "I have to speak to Robb."
"Oh sweetheart, he and Talisa are busy at the moment."
"No, you don't understand," she urged. "I have to see him right now!"
"But you just got here."
"Mother, please! It's important!"
"Okay," Catelyn replied, though she didn't understand why, it was clear Arya's eyes showed severe panic. "I'll go get him."
"Yes! And don't move when you get in here. I have to get someone but it's really important for everyone to stay in here. Okay?"
"Okay." Catelyn watched her daughter fly out the door and heard her footsteps echo down the stairs. She still couldn't believe that the gods had smiled on her this way. Regaining her composure, she left to fetch her eldest son.
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"Hound," Arya whispered into the air. She didn't want to be too loud as it could draw attention and that was the last thing they wanted. "Pst! Hey, where is your ugly face at?"
"Good thing your sister likes this ugly face," he growled back. "Where is he?"
"Upstairs. We have to go now before anyone can see."
He followed her up the broad steps that once held an honorable family for generations. That was before Walder Frey took over. Now the entire castle was painted gray and was a dismal reminder that not every noble family has honor. The heavy wooden door looked aged and rotten, showing that the Starks were probably the only recent visitors the Freys had in a long time. The whole place felt cold and lifeless, like someone had drained all the joy from the world.
"Robb!" Arya called before she flung herself in her brother's arms.
"Arya!" the young man echoed. He held on tight but was alarmed at her appearance. "This is Talisa, my wife. Talisa, this is Arya, my littlest sister."
Arya's eyes glittered with distrust as she took in the swollen belly and kind face. Despite her mother's indication that she needed to be polite, Arya was out of breath and in no mood for courtesies. "Hello." It was all she could muster considering the desperate circumstances.
"Mother said you were in a hurry?" Robb prompted. "What could be so urgent that you can't take time for us?"
Arya suddenly looked shy. "Robb, don't get mad and whatever you do, don't tell him to go away."
"Tell who not to go away?"
"Me," Sandor said from the doorway. His long frame leaning against the worn wood. He looked downright dangerous.
"Hound," Robb spit out.
Catelyn instantly tried to pull her daughter out of the way but Arya resisted. "He brought me," she reasoned.
"For a reward no doubt," Robb retorted tightly. "Or are you on a mission from the Lannisters?"
Though Sandor knew the young king hadn't truly meant the last part, it was still true. "The only reward I want is something you would never hand over," he replied with a shrug. "But I was sent by the Lannisters."
His blunt response threw Robb and Catelyn off.
"Why?" Robb asked.
"To make sure you die."