A/N: So how does everyone like the new season so far? Personally, I love it. How hilarious are Arya and Sandor? I think they should make a spin-off of those two. I mean, come on. Pure comedy gold.

Also, I am so sorry about the lack of update. I was struggling on how AU I wanted this to be and I fought against going this route since day one but in the end, the characters told me this is AU for a reason.

Chapter 21: After the Storm

Sandor watched Arya from across their fire. She wasn't sleeping but staring up at the stars. It was their second day on the road and she hadn't said a single word to him yet that didn't involve stopping to make water or some other basic need. He thought she did a few times but realized she was saying names. To whom, he hadn't the faintest idea. Looking at her now, it occurred to him that maybe it was her old gods. She was more Stark than Tully anyway so it wouldn't surprise him.

"I'll be damned."

Her voice cut through the air, bringing him out of his revere. "What?" he said in alarm. His hand went to his sword as he whipped his head around.

"I'll…be…damned," Arya drawled softly to herself. Her Stark eyes flew to the side and stared at him.

Sandor's good side went into a scowl. "Don't do that." His hand relaxed and he went back to skinning the rabbit he had caught earlier.

"What did you mean?" she asked. She saw his brow furrow. "When you caught me, you held my head and said 'I'll be damned'. Why?"

He shifted slightly and glared at her before pushing a stick through the rabbit. "You reminded me of someone."

"Sansa?" she sneered gently.

With a sharp laugh he placed the rabbit over the fire. "No."

"Then who?"

"Hasn't anyone told you?" he asked. "You look like your Aunt Lyanna."

Arya was caught off guard. "Lyanna?"

"Aye. The Queen of Love and Beauty," he mocked. "At least Rhaegar Targaryen thought so."

"She looked like me?"

"Too much, actually. No wonder Cersei hates you."

She frowned slightly. "My father never really talked about her."

That didn't surprise Sandor in the least. "Robert made up for that."

Arya hesitated slightly before asking, "Who was she?"

"Lyanna? She was…" Sandor looked in his mind for the right word but kept coming up blank. "She's the one that started it all. All Stark that woman was. I didn't know her well though; I was only thirteen when the rebellion began but I saw her at Harrenhal during the tourney. She was almost as savage as those wolves on your banner."

"My father once told me I reminded him of her."

Sandor's head bobbed in agreement. "Aye. I see it." Almost as an afterthought he added, "Her favorite flower was the blue winter rose."

"How do you know that?"

"She wore them. And when Robert would get drunk, he would tell stories about her. From what I can tell, he didn't know her too well."

"Why do you say that?"

"He only talked about her beauty. That's not what you remember most about the one you love." He caught her glare and erased the emotion from his voice. "So I've heard anyway."

"How old are you?" Arya asked curiously.

"Old enough to tell you that the comparison between you and her is almost uncanny."

"What about my sister?"

Sandor ripped the cooked bunny in half and tossed it to her. "What about her?"

"Is she like Lyanna?"

"I wager there's a bit of wolf in her. Know what she said to Joffrey?" Arya shook her head. "He had taken her to the embattlement and showed her your father's head and her septa's. Then he said he'll give her Robb's; she said maybe he'll give me yours."

"I don't believe you," Arya said lightly.

Sandor shrugged and bit into the meager meat. "That was the first time she hadn't chirped something she had been taught."

"What did Joffrey say?"

Sandor chuckled at the memory. "He didn't say anything at first. He was just as surprised as we were. Then he had Meryn hit her." He watched Arya's face fall. "Then she almost killed Joffrey."

Arya's eyes flew to his. "You're lying."

"I don't lie."

She watched as he inhaled the rest of the rabbit and flicked the bones away. "How do you know so much about Sansa? Aren't you Joffrey's dog?"

"I guard her most of the time. Joffrey has the rest of the kingsguard to look after him but a valuable hostage needs the best."

Minutes went by in silence before Arya started to let a small smile crease her lips at the image of her sister trying to kill Joffrey. "Did she really try to kill him?"

Sandor nodded. "Tried to push him off the embattlement."

Arya let out a gentle laugh at that and was joined by Sandor for a brief moment. The fire crackled and popped as though it resented the joyful noise. They fell into a comfortable silence before settling into their makeshift beds. Despite the exhaustion running through their bodies, neither felt like sleeping.

"You should rest," Sandor remarked gruffly. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"I'm not tired."

"That wasn't a suggestion," he snapped. "Go to sleep. I'll take watch."

Arya tugged against her rough blanket and turned over. His heavy footsteps grew more distant after a few minutes. Soon, there was only the sound of popping flames and howling. Something about the latter soothed her deep in her blood. It crawled through her skin and settled in her bones as easily as the hatred she felt for those who had wronged her family. They had been on the run for the past two days, making it impossible for the events of the Red Wedding to sink in. Now she was alone and all she could think about was the sound that echoed down that bleak hallway before the Hound had carried her out. The screams bounced around in her memory, the arrows they loosened on her brother hitting their mark. All of it choked the breath from her lungs like ashes after a raging fire. She wanted to cry; she needed to cry. But nothing was coming out. Was she this cold? 'No,' she thought fiercely. She couldn't be. Cold was what Cersei was and Gregor Clegane, who had so brutally shoved his own brother into a fire and watched him burn. Her family was nothing like that – not even Sansa.

She sniffled quietly as images can unbidden to her of her sister's head on a spike next to her father. She could smell the stench of their deaths and hear Sansa's blood dripping down to the floor. The howling in the distance began to grow louder as Arya closed her eyes. The only thing she felt was the warm sensation of a tear crossing the bridge of her nose. The trail it left blazed the way for the others that were waiting their turn.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sandor grasped a stone from the mud and took his place against a tree trunk. The bark itched against his back but he was grateful for it. The more it itched, the better it was at distracting him from what he had seen. In all his years of fighting and killing, nothing prepared him for seeing Robb Stark's corpse like that.

Tenderly, he swept the stone along the edge of his sword, the honing sound easing his nerves into a relaxed but alert state. He could only imagine what Sansa must be going through. He ceased sharpening his sword when she came to his attention. He felt his face contort into a deep grimace as he thought about her in the middle of the lion's den. He needed to get back to her as quickly as possible. Every inch of his body ached to be around the ivory skinned beauty. He desperately needed to feel her fingers through his hair and her lips on his cheek. More than that, he wanted to be there for her when she found out, which he assumed could be any minute. Now that the Kingslayer was on his way to King's Landing and Robb Stark's army was massacred, Sansa was no longer as precious to the Lannisters. True enough she was Tyrion's wife now but the little lord had no shortage of enemies. If anything, Sansa could be in even more danger as both she and Tyrion were at the top of Joffrey's hate list. The only worthy thing she held would be her status as heir to Winterfell – at least to the Lannisters, and probably the Tyrells.

While his thoughts were occupied, the hairs on his body stood at attention. The tingling in his spine told him he was no longer alone. Carefully, he grasped the hilt of his longsword and swung around. His breath left in a harsh whoosh as the snout of a direwolf sniffed the air around it. The first time Sandor had seen a direwolf was at Winterfell, when the Stark children introduced them but those had been small.

This one was massive.

"You're no pup, that's for sure," Sandor observed uneasily. He backed away slowly and quickly noticed that this was not the only wolf. "You brought a pack," he said in a low tone, the comment being made more for himself than anything. As long as he kept talking or thinking, he knew he was alive.

The wolf circled around him, encasing him between the tree trunk and the rest of the pack. Its eyes mocked him with every turn and it was if it knew each thought running through his head. Suddenly, it stalked over to Sandor and leveled its eye at him. A few sniffs of the man's body and it let out the bleakest howl Sandor had ever heard. It stuffed his entire frame with grief and rattled the skeleton inside. The close proximity of the uproar surrounding him brought him to his knees as he gripped a hand over his good ear.

When it was finally silent again, Sandor tilted his head up and saw Arya Stark standing in front of him, her back to the pack.

"They won't hurt you," she stated calmly.

"How do you know that?" he challenged. He went to grab his sword but stopped when Arya put a hand on his shoulder.

"Because they would have already," she replied as though he were stupid for asking the question.

The pair watched the pack disperse with trepidation and a bit of awe. It was then Sandor noticed the small hand on his shoulder was shaking violently. His one good brow furrowed deep and the urge to ask her what was wrong almost overcame him. But since she wasn't Sansa, who had the habit of hiding her problems, the impulse was nothing more than a fleeting concern. If something bothered Arya, she had no problem letting him know. Not that she normally needed, wanted or asked him to help. And fuck the gods if she thought he was going to volunteer.

Arya squeezed Jaqen H'ghar's coin in her hand to still her nerves and jerked her arm away from the Hound. He had a puzzled look on his face but it disappeared before she could comment on it. "You should sleep," she offered coldly. "With these wolves around, I don't think anyone is coming in these woods."

"Since when do you know so much about the woods?" he sneered. He snatched his sword from the ground and followed her back to where the fire was waiting.

"I don't. But I know wolves. If they had wanted us, we would have been dead already."

"Who told you about wolves?"

"Maester Luwin mostly but every child in the North learns about them."

"Even direwolves?"

"Yes," she answered bluntly. "It was the only time I listened to my studies. But until my brothers and father brought back the ones we have now, I had never seen one – no one had for centuries. Maester Luwin said they lived beyond the Wall and rarely ventured south. He was wrong about that."

"I'd never seen one until Winterfell," Sandor confessed tightly. "Always thought they were a myth, actually. I hated your sigil because of it. The mighty Starks have a big wolf," he taunted. He let out a snort and added, "What use was a wolf against a lion?"

"And now?" Arya asked, her voice laced with ice.

His gray, tired eyes met hers and he smirked, "Well, that's a big fucking wolf, isn't it?"

XXXXXXXXXX

It was still dark when the two packed their things and Sandor hauled Arya up on the horse. They were still hungry, which put Sandor in a sour mood. All they had been able to eat since the wedding was small rabbits that they had to share. Neither complained but it was evident their stomachs weren't happy.

Long after the sun had come up Sandor spotted smoke from a fire. Knowing the odds weren't in their favor of the person who had lit it being a Stark, Sandor jerked his cowl up and double-checked his sword was by his side. The closer they got, Sandor saw the sigil of two towers. 'Frey,' he thought snidely. If any trouble arose, they would be easy. Frankly, Sandor was surprised that they hadn't run into them earlier. 'Walder must have put guards further out just in case,' he mused. It made sense. The Freys would catch Tywin's wrath if any Starks or Tullys survived. This was most likely the last outpost, set just far out enough to make anyone think they had made it through before being cut down.

He planned on just riding by. The men paid little attention to them as they did so and had they not been talking about her recently massacred family, Arya might have let them go too.

But they didn't. So she didn't either.

Arya let out a small smile when she saw the man she stabbed lying lifeless. The Hound had dispatched the rest of them as easily as she would spread butter on bread. She saw him eating the food and joined him as he gestured to the other slab of meat grilling over the fire.

They ate in an amiable silence, content with food in their belly and a wineskin – a thing even Sandor could thank the gods for. He desperately needed a drink. He spared a glimpse at his companion and noted the pleasure etched across her face as she stared at the dead Freys. Something changed in her demeanor for a split second before her body eased back into the trunk behind her. He shrugged slightly and bit into the tender meat. He took a long swig of wine and wiped his mouth.

Arya saw his hand extend out to her and she noticed he was offering her the wine. She carefully accepted it and followed his example. He let out a soft chuckle as she choked on it, her tongue resisting the bitter taste. But warmth spread through her chest so she drank again.

"How do you drink this?" she asked with a slight cough.

"You get used to it," he shrugged carelessly.

After they ate, they pulled the bodies deep into the forest for the animals to feast on. Sandor cleaned off the weapons and hooked them on to the saddle while Arya put out the fire and cleared away the stones. By time they left, there was little evidence of what occurred.

"How many more do you think there are?" Arya asked a little while later.

Sandor let her have the horse to herself as he guided the horse from the ground. It was slower but Sandor's body wasn't used to being on a horse all day every day. It was a side effect to being a sworn shield. "Can't say," he replied. "Men like the Freys don't usually leave their own land. Lannisters are probably everywhere though, maybe Bolton too but doubt it. I reckon that was the last post we'll see around here."

"Bolton?" Arya repeated.

"Aye. Roose's troops are bound to be scouring the woods too."

"How dangerous are they?"

"Not very," Sandor scoffed. "The Freys have the numbers and the Boltons are vicious little cunts but neither know how to fight." He waited a heartbeat before he added, "Where'd you get the knife?"

"I told you," she replied in confusion, "It was yours."

"Not that one," he said gruffly. "The other one after the wedding."

"From one of my brother's men when they weren't looking. Didn't do me much good though."

"It served its purpose," Sandor assured albeit in a coarse tone.

Arya had lost it shortly after they escaped when they had to sneak away from their first camp. Sandor had woken her in a hurried manner and they slipped past a scouting party just in time. But in their haste she had to leave the small sword behind. It had been no Needle, but it made her feel better to have it anyway.

"I want another one."

"There's plenty in the saddle."

"I don't want those," she said, annoyed.

"Do I look like a fucking smithy?" he snapped. "Either get one of those or shut up."

She made a face at his back before wiggling around in the saddle. Her butt was numb but she was grateful for the opportunity to be alone on the horse. The Hound's stench had begun to make her queasy. Scratch that: both them had been smelling pretty rancid lately. Dried blood, clothes that hadn't been washed in a while, and no bath all combined to make a seriously horrid stench between them.

The Hound didn't care about how clean he was however so Arya had little choice beyond accepting it. She had smelt worse things at Harrenhal and Yoren was no flower either; but there was something about this situation that made her skin crawl. She thought about why that was and discovered that it was the company making her senses more aware. She had Gendry for all her adventures so far and that certainly helped things, even if he did piss her off sometimes. Her last talk with the apprentice played in her mind and the sting of his words was as keenly felt now as it was then.

"You miss him yet?" Sandor asked, his voice sounding resistant to the inquiry.

"Who?" She asked suspiciously.

"The boy you're thinking about."

"I'm not thinking about a boy," she replied with disdain.

Sandor recognized the bitterness in her voice. The denial in her tone made him grin to himself. "It's written all over your face," he pointed out.

"Is not," she countered hotly.

"Now I know I'm right."

"You don't know anything."

Sandor shrugged casually. "I know a lie when I hear one." He glanced back at her and saw the glare meeting his eye. "You don't want to be a highborn, don't get pissed when you aren't treated like one."

"Why are you even asking?" she dared. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

"Aye," he conceded. "But at least I'm not a liar."

He brought them to a small stream that led out into the main river and let Stranger drink heavily from it. Sandor washed his hands and face, the blood reanimating at the water's touch. Arya rested beside him and did the same, thankful for the chance to cleanse herself even if it was only a little bit. Her eyes were transfixed at the way the clear water became murky with the dirt and blood. It was cold and goosebumps formed along her skin. "How is my sister?" she asked quietly.

Neither looked at each other but Sandor's eyes slid along the edge to see she was serious. He sniffed at the air as he scratched his beard. "Alive last time I saw her." The last meeting with her gripped his heart and squeezed tight. It almost knocked the breath out of him. "Who knows now," he added bitterly.

"Where are we going to go?"

"You have an aunt in the Vale. Might take you there since your options are limited."

"The Vale," Arya echoed with a grimace.

"Unless you have a better plan, yes."

"Jon's at the Wall."

Sandor turned his face and sneered. "That means going through the North."

"So?"

"So have you lost your mind? The North no longer belongs to your family and if you're recognized, you'll be taken to the Boltons or the Lannisters. Neither of those families would be happy to see you. Everyone thinks you're dead. It's better you stay that way."

"But Jon could help me."

"No one's heard from him since he went there. He may not even be alive."

Arya's gaze hardened with animosity. "He's alive."

Sandor sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I won't risk it."

"I don't know my aunt Lysa," she put in. "She probably has no idea what I look like."

"She knows who Lyanna was. Trust me, she'll know." He stood and stretched his frame to get the kinks out of his body. "The Vale would be best. I have to get back to King's Landing and I don't want to waste any more time out here than I have to." His scarred features turned down at her and smirked as he added, "Unless you want your sister at the mercy of Joffrey." When she didn't respond his smirk stretched into a vicious smile. "Maybe you do."

"That's not true," she defended tightly.

"Then you can see my position here," he emphasized aggressively. "Either I keep you safe and leave her to them or go back and leave you with no one."

Arya watched him stroke Stranger's mane and lead him away from the water. The man's mind was clearly elsewhere and it was painfully obvious that he wanted to go back to King's Landing more than the Vale. After she took a drink of water, she got back on the saddle with him behind her. It was an uncomfortable silence now as they both went through different scenarios in their mind. Arya had nothing else to do than to think on his words and by time they stopped for sleep, she had made her decision.

The Stark girl, who had determination written across her face, jerked Sandor from his sleep. He knew that look. Sansa got it whenever she had made up her mind. "What?" he bit out.

"Take me to King's Landing."