Author's Note: Sorry this update too so long, I really wanted to get it done for Christmas but I ended up being a little late.
Warning: As always, violence warning, language, some SanSan implications. Arya's POV
Disclaimer: Nope, all characters except for my original characters at the end of this chapter belong to George RR Martin.
A Sword With Wings
Arya hated changing her mind about people.
In order to change her mind about someone, Arya had to first admit that she was wrong about them. Plenty of times in her short life she had to face that difficult task, but none of them compared with the difficulty of admitting she was wrong about Sandor Clegane.
She wasn't sure when exactly her feelings toward him had started to change, but when she finally noticed them Arya bitterly reminded herself that this man had murdered her poor friend. Poor Mycah... She couldn't remember his face, but she remembered how the Hound did not scold her for killing the Frey man the morning after her mother and brother were slaughtered. Only asked that he be told first.
Arya still held on to her grudge, but when when she saw the Hound packing his weapons and standing by a well supplied wagon, she felt a very real fear that he was leaving and that he was not going to come back.
The fear gripped her gut and she had run up to him, demanding to know where he was going. Her terror was easily mistaken for fury, and the Hound hand spat back just as venomously that he was merely joining a hunting trip so people at the inn, like herself, he angrily pointed out, could continuing eating.
Although the answer was reasonable enough, Arya still felt very afraid that he wouldn't return. Whether he didn't come back because he just decided to leave or because of an accident on the hunt, didn't matter. She almost went with just to make sure he did, but remembered that someone would need to stay behind to tell Sansa where he had gone.
After all, her absence from their shared room had not gone unnoticed.
Assured that Sandor would be back in a few days or a week, Arya stormed off into the woods before the rains got too heavy to try practicing swordplay with a large stick she had found the first day they'd stayed at the inn. Day after day she practiced with her stick, going through the names on her list and having to consciously remind herself to say 'The Hound' more than a few times, before she had to finally admit the truth.
Her friend's murderer felt like family to her.
As if things weren't complicated enough with Sansa liking him. Arya spent the whole first day Sandor was gone thinking about where Sansa must have been the night she hadn't returned to their room. She didn't need to ask, her older sister must have spent the night with Sandor, Sansa wasn't going to sleep in a room with a stranger. But what had happened that night?
Sansa clearly liked Sandor much more than Arya did. But she didn't like him like that, did she? Everything about him was in complete contradiction to everything Sansa had always said she wanted. On the other hand, she also saw the way the Hound looked at her sister, and didn't trust him to keep his hands to himself if left alone with her.
But if something had happened between them, why was Sandor so quick to leave on a hunting trip the morning after? Maybe nothing had happened. Maybe he'd been too drunk and Sansa just didn't want to leave him alone. Maybe they'd argued, and that was why he left, so he could have a few days to cool off and figure out what to do next.
What were they going to do next? Arya wondered to herself as she felt the first drop of rain hit her nose. It was a miracle they had been able to stay at the inn for this long, but even fear of the Hound's wrath couldn't keep them here forever.
The realization that they had no home and were running out of family kept Arya awake at night and kept her practicing her sword play in the rain until the mud made it impossible for her to move without slipping.
What were they going to do?
She trudged by to the inn the first day, up the stairs and to her rooms to find Sansa there, curled up and trembling with vomit on the floor. Arya was terrified that her sister had become ill, but she had no fever. "Sansa, what's wrong, are you alright?"
"...It's real!" Sansa blubbered incoherently for a moment before repeating herself. "It's real! It's real!" She sobbed loudly and Arya left her to shut the door. Sansa didn't respond again when Arya asked her to continue.
Things had been going so well the day before, they were talking again, and closer than they'd been since they'd left Winterfell. Please talk to me, Arya silently begged, don't close off again. She couldn't bear it if she lost Sansa to despair again.
"The dreams!" Sansa croaked, "The dreams are real!"
That answer made no sense, Arya tried to get Sansa to calm down. She wasn't the singer Sansa was, and messed up the first line, which Sansa immediately corrected. After a second of silence Arya laughed and Sansa joined her. They embraced for a moment before Arya asked her to explain what she meant.
"I must be going mad." Sansa said, wiping her face with a trembling hand, "Madness is the only explanation."
"For what?" Arya asked. "Sansa, you're not mad. You may be the only one left who isn't."
Sansa laughed, not a her usual gentle sound, but a bitter laugh that reminded her of the Hound. "But I must be." She replied, "The dreams, with Stranger and Sandor. They're real."
"Dreams can't be real." Arya told her.
Sansa said it with such a chilling certainty, and did not break her gaze as she repeated "They're real."
"What do you even mean by that?" Arya demanded.
Her sister still did not break eye contact as she began. "Those dreams we've been having, where you are in the woods and I am in the stables or the tavern. I just had them again, but I was wide awake."
"You might have been-"
"-I was awake." Sansa insisted, "I was helping the stable boy because he was afraid of Stranger. While I was feeding him everything was fine, but when the boy tried to give me the brush to groom him, Stranger started to attack, and then...it was just like the dreams. For a moment, I was Stranger, and I stopped him from killing the boy."
Arya's mouth opened and closed, trying to think of something to say, "Maybe you were just-"
"-I know that's what I thought." Sansa interjected, "Until I tried to do it by choice...And...Sandor..." Arya wasn't sure what that last bit meant, but didn't like the way Sansa's voice broke.
Calling her mad wouldn't help Arya assure her sister that she wasn't mad, but she was right there was no other explanation... Unless, "Magic?" Arya suggested meekly, it seemed even more incredible than madness.
Sansa raised a brow, but her expression changed no further, "The magic is all gone." She said.
"What if it isn't?" Arya replied, "I have been having these dreams for months, and yours started, how long ago?"
"Only a day...maybe a few more, or a week. The nightmares are all I really remembered until recently, but maybe..." Sansa replied, "But how can they be magic?"
"I don't know. And I don't know who we can ask about it." Arya sighed, "Would you rather have magic or be mad?"
Sansa didn't say anything else for a long time. "We can't tell anyone else about this." She said, "Magic or madness, no one else can know, at least until we know what's happening. Swear it."
"I swear." Arya promised.
Complications. As if they didn't have enough of them. Arya's days after that had her head buzzing with complications. The Hound's transition from monster to family, that was complicated enough for Arya. The death of their family, one by one then two by two. They could be next and that was beyond complicated. But the way Sansa and Sandor looked at each other these days lead to the very real possibility that something even more complicated was going on between them.
Oh, Arya wanted to smack them both. Now was not the time for them to be complicating things with feelings, especially not for each other. This wasn't one of Sansa's songs where being in love solved all their problems, evidently it caused more of them. The Hound must know that, even if Sansa didn't.
Arya didn't want to think about them running off into the woods someday without her, having a secret marriage and starting a family in hiding. There were more important things to be worrying about. The dreams should be what Arya thought about, not the fear that she might be left alone again.
A week went by with no sign of the hunting party's return. Arya left in the morning before the rain to practice with her stick. The mornings were getting colder, a little more each day, just enough that Arya knew it wasn't her imagination. Before long, this rain might turn to snow. They needed a safe place to live before that happened, with food and shelter.
She thought of Nymeria out in the wild. Her dreams of her direwolf, like Sansa's grew so vivid that she knew they couldn't just be dreams, but had yet to experience them in the day time like Sansa had. She wondered about that. If this was some magic at work, why had Sansa's ability evolved so much quicker than hers when Arya had been experiencing it longer, was it just because Sansa was older, or something else?
The rain started to fall. Syrio had taught her that a fight could occur at anytime, in any condition, rain or shine, so she tried to practice a little longer in the rain each day, getting the feel of the way mud slid under her feet, learning to keep on them when she slid. There was no fight now, so after falling in the mud more times than she could count, Arya decided that was probably enough for today and she'd better go back to the inn before she made herself sick.
Arya trudged back through the muck, and through the rain heard the distant sound of approaching horses. Her heart raced thinking that the hunting party had returned, but as she came into view of the inn she knew she was mistaken. Her heart stopped when she saw one man heading her way with a familiar sword at his belt,.
Needle!
She knew the face of the man who was carrying it too, Polliver. The excitement of seeing her sword again turned as cold and sick as the mud caked on her boots. The man didn't even look up as he started to undo the laces on his trousers to take a piss on the nearby tree, but did before he pulled his cock out and almost pissed while it was still between his legs.
"The fuck are you doing here boy!?" He shouted, obviously not recognizing her "Learn a little privacy!"
"I was here first. You should watch where you're going." Arya replied, her voice sounded like a dead thing, which was exactly what Polliver would be in a minute. She still had the knife Sandor had let her keep, if she could get close enough...
"Well don't just stand there!" Polliver continued "Off with you, you little creep."
More men were attracted to his shouting, too many, but they were obviously staying at the inn. She'd get him soon, if she had to sneak into his room at night and cut his throat while he slept. At least he appeared to be taking good care of her sword, perhaps it would be better to wake him first, before she killed him with it.
Arya planned many ways to reclaim her blade and kill Polliver on her way back to the inn. She rounded a corner and realized she had been wrong again, the hunting party was back, they must have met Polliver's group on the trip and shared the road. Sandor was helping unload a large stag off the cart when she saw him, and let out a sigh of relief, confirming once again that she was truly beginning to like him.
He didn't notice Arya approaching him, too busy telling one of the men who had joined them to fuck off. He looked terrible, out in the rain and muck without a decent bath too long, no doubt, wouldn't be surprising if he got sick.
Arya got a bad feeling suddenly. Polliver hadn't recognized her, but what if one of the other men did? What if someone in this party knew Sansa when they saw her?
The element of surprise might give the girls both a chance at killing one or two of them on their own and escaping, but Arya remembered how quickly Sandor was able to dispatch the Lannister men they'd met.
If he was sick, could he fight off the ones that Arya couldn't?
Sandor spat, "When my brother tells you to fuck off, do you give him this hard of a time before you leave him be?" He wiped his brow and turned, but Arya was no longer there to be seen by either men.
She stole up the stairs to her room, and told Sansa he was back. Her sister's face lit up when she did, but darkened again when Arya revealed who else had come and her connection to them. She didn't mention her plan to kill Polliver and take back her sword, that would involve explaining how she got the sword to begin with and that would mean a lecture on why ladies shouldn't have swords and Sansa trying to talk her out of taking it back.
She didn't have time to argue with her about it.
"We should stay here." Sansa said, "Sandor will come to check on us. We'll tell him who they are and we'll decide what to do."
"We can't stay here much longer." Arya said, "We will need to get away from this inn eventually and get somewhere safe."
"I know." Sansa agreed, but she had a look in her eyes that said she was as stumped about where they could go as well.
There came a rough knocking on their door, Sansa stood immediately to open it. Sandor stood dripping wet in the doorway as if he had been summoned, and took note of the two of them, "Good, you're both here, we need to talk."
"About Polliver?" Arya asked, "We know, I saw him."
"Oh, perfect you know the prick's name, wonderful that's not what we need to talk about." He replied with a snort, "My brother's coming. We need to leave. Tonight."
It took a moment for that to process. "Your brother, here?" Sansa sounded shocked.
"Yes, he and his men frequently stop at this inn, and apparently the people here aren't afraid of me because of my reputation." He growled, "He'll be here by morning, get your things packed and and be ready to go once they're all asleep."
As serious as it would be if Gregor Clegane- who would recognize her for sure- caught them, Arya blurted out, "We can't, Polliver has my sword!"
"Your what?" Sansa gasped.
With that much revealed Arya couldn't avoid explaining. "My sword, Needle, Jon gave it to me before we left Winterfell!"
As expected Sansa started her usual speech about how they were ladies and Jon shouldn't have given it to her. Arya didn't care to listen to it, she'd heard it a hundred times, and hadn't cared to listen to it a hundred times too. Tears formed in her eyes that Arya couldn't fight down. Sansa didn't understand, it wasn't just a sword, it was a gift from Jon, their brother. It was the only thing she still had of Winterfell, of home.
And it was so close!
Sandor's lip twitched downward with a thoughtful look on his face, "I thought it was odd he carried that skinny bit of scrap metal." He mused, Arya glared at him, and he matched her stare, "We're staying for one more hot meal since we don't know when we'll get one again. I'm leaving with or without you once they've all gone to bed, get your sword if you want, but don't expect me to help you."
And just like that Arya was furious with him again, "Why? Why are you so eager to leave now? Your brother might be worse than you, but there's no reason you to runaway with your tail between your legs!"
Sandor's hand flew up, Arya winced, expecting to be hit, but his hand went to his face and hesitated a brief second before brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. The movement was a cover up, a bad one, pretending that he hadn't just brushed the burned side of his face.
Sandor sent and angry glance Sansa's way, and Sansa gave a small nod of understanding, sharing some unspoken agreement. That was when Arya looked him in the eyes and noted the genuine terror behind them. Not just for them, but himself too. That look he gave Sansa...She knew something Arya didn't.
Sandor turned back out of the room, glancing over his shoulder only once to repeat himself, "I'm leaving once they've all gone to bed or drunk too much to notice. Get your sword if you can, but I won't help you." The door shut behind him with a loud slam, reminding Arya of how her brothers often slammed the doors when they were angry at each other.
Arya sniffed and wiped her face. She was so furious she almost put the Hound back on her list, but then she realized that Sandor had not forbidden her from trying to reclaim Needle, only refused his assistance. She had no idea if he had said that because he thought she would be deterred from attempting or because he thought she could handle it on her own. After a moment, Arya doubted that Sandor had any faith in her abilities and made a promise to herself to prove him wrong.
She wasn't Sansa, she didn't need to be saved and protected all the time.
Arya left the room and went down stairs, Polliver was in the tavern making a toast while one of his companions grabbed a tavern girl and yanked her on to his lap. Sandor sat in his usual corner, avoiding contact with any of them, but not appearing to be deliberately ignoring them. They'd all taken off their armor and she could see no sigils sewn into any of their clothes. They just looked like a bunch of regular townsfolk.
Only some of them were armed.
Needle was still on Polliver's belt, Arya counted the men in the tavern. One...Two...Three...Four...Wait was that man with the scar on his nose with Polliver, or was he just another patron? What about the man with one brow?
A round of laughter erupted among the tavern dwellers. Arya bit her lip and tried to sort out who here was her enemy and who was innocent. Not easy. Damn, the Hound had a point about waiting until they were asleep, or at least Polliver, hopefully he'd go to sleep quickly so she could get Needle, kill him and be gone before any one was the wiser.
But what if Polliver was the last to retire?
Arya's legs quivered, Sandor and Sansa wouldn't really leave her here if she tried to get Needle, would they? She needed to get her sword, she needed to hold it again, to prove to the Hound that she was a capable warrior. She needed to...
"What are you stare'n at boy?" Arya was grabbed roughly from behind and all but thrown in to the tavern, pretty much at Polliver's feet, "Eh, I think this one fancy's you! Done nothing but stare at you since he walked in, this one has!"
Arya didn't dare look up, but cast a quick sideways glance at Sandor to see him gripping his sword. Perhaps he'd meant it when he said he wouldn't help her retrieve her sword, but it looked like he wasn't planning on leaving her to his brother's men if things took a turn for the worse.
Polliver leaned down and cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. It wasn't until this precise moment that he seemed to realize he knew who she was. "You!?" He dropped her face.
Arya couldn't contain herself any longer, "I want my sword back!" She shouted loudly, there was no mistaking her for a boy after that cry. The moment of shock she had created gave her just enough time to grab the knife on her belt and throw herself at Polliver, stabbing with all the strength she could muster.
Everything after that was a blur. Someone pulled her off him, a knife was at her neck one second, gone the next. A warm wetness dripped down her shirt, Arya thought for a moment that her throat had been cut and she would be choking on her blood soon. She never did, herneck had been nicked by a blade, but the cut was not deep enough to kill her.
She threw herself at Polliver again, mutilating his face with her knife, totally blind to the chaos that erupted around Polliver felt good, but not as good as pulling Needle off his corpse. A wicked smile grew on her face as she turned around and realized what a mess she'd caused. Drunk men exchanged fist blows, and swords clanged against each other. Sandor stood between her and his brother's remaining men, the Innkeeper begged for them all to put down their weapons. Women scuttled back whimpering and crying.
Sansa stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide with horror.
"What you doing defending this little gutter rat, eh Clegane?" The same man who had grabbed her before demanded.
Sandor didn't answer them, but Arya stepped forward, holding her sword up the way Syrio had taught her. "He's not defending me!" She declared, although the two bodies on the ground put there by the Hound against the one she'd put there herself begged to differ.
Her stance was perfect, as if she'd never lost her sword and been practicing every day, but the men stared at her as if she had just grown a second head, even Sandor eyed her as if to ask what the fuck she was doing. The men started to laugh, Arya's anger welled and she she twirled her sword.
One man stepped forward, his mistake. He wasn't wearing armor, Needle cut through the cloth of his shirt as if he weren't wearing it, she pulled back instantly and danced out of the way of a return blow. The man hardly seemed to notice his injury, Arya dashed forward again to poke another hole into him.
This time she wasn't quite quick enough in her retreat, his blade knocked Needle out of her hand and Arya ran to retrieve it. When she was out of the way the men all turned on Sandor, considering him the threat, and Arya merely a joke. The man she'd attacked fell, but no one seemed to care that it was her doing, they were all busy trying to bring Sandor down.
"Your brother's going to be awfully pissed when he hears about this." Someone mocked.
"Then I better make sure none of you are alive to tell him." Sandor replied.
Arya glanced back at the stair where she'd seen Sansa, but her sister had left the spot and and was coming toward her. "We need to go!" She said.
Arya lifted Needle, "I can help him!" She insisted, pointing toward Sandor and the fact that he was out numbered.
Fear cuts deeper than swords.
The people of the inn ran out the open doors into the rain to avoid being caught in the fight, obviously past experience with these men meant that no one was safe as long as their swords were drawn. Sansa tugged her arm, "We should help them." Sansa replied.
Arya could tell that Sansa was trying to discourage her from joining the fight, but also saw that she had a point. The Hound was out numbered, but his enemies thought that gave them the advantage and several of them were already breaking away from the fight to terrorize the women and children.
Finally she nodded and the two of them helped the frightened on lookers find other ways outside than the main door. Arya thrust Needle through the throat of another man who approached them, yet none of their attackers still seemed to take her as a serious threat.
It only made her angrier.
Everyone was outside, the sky was dark with heavy rain clouds, but it would be hours yet until the sun set. Sansa checked for injuries, there were a few bruises and cuts, the innkeeper's wife, Abagayle had been stabbed when she resisted the advances of a man with a sickle shaped scar under his left eye. Sansa was comforting her, assuring the old woman that she would be alright. Arya wasn't convinced this was the truth.
"...Fire..." Abagayle whimpered, Arya turned around and could see what she meant.
Through one of the windows, yellow flames licked at the walls, presumably started by a knocked over candle or someone getting thrown into the fireplace. Arya remembered Sandor's trial and the look on his face when Beric Dondarrion's sword went up in flame. She didn't know what secret the Hound had shared with her sister, but she did know this secret.
Sandor Clegane was afraid of fire.
"I have to help him!" Arya shouted and ran back to the inn, Sansa shouted after her, but she didn't listen. She opened the door and smoke blew into her face, stinging her eyes. The scent of burning flesh hit her nostrils, making her gag.
Fear cuts deeper than swords.
Arya ran through the halls, back to the tavern, where she was greeted by the sight of bodies on the floor, and the Hound on his knees with a sword at his throat. His eyes were wide with terror, not at the blade poised at his neck, nor the man carrying it, but at the surrounding flames.
His own sword, Firebird as the girls called it, lay less than an arm's length from him. Sandor was fast enough, he could duck away from his attacker snatch up his sword and cut the man's head clean off before he knew what had happened. But Sandor couldn't move, the fire danced too close to his sword, a single lick of it could catch his arm aflame.
He clearly was incapable of saving himself, so Arya ran forward with Needle. This man did have thin armor on under his shirt, thin enough that a big thick sword like Firebird would have no trouble cutting through it, but Needle was thinner, not meant for piercing armor, and had it been forged with lesser steel perhaps would have snapped in the attempt.
Arya stood like that in shock for a moment, unable to process that he sword was stuck there uselessly. The man was too surprised at her appearance to do anything, but it gave Sandor the opportunity and reason to snap out of his fear induced paralysis.
He yanked the sword away from his throat and out of his opponent's grip with his bare hands and rose to his feet again, Arya stepped back to retrieve Sandor's sword for him. His bloody fist collided with the man's jaw, knocking him back a step, but Sandor didn't seem interested in finishing him off, "Go, get out of here!" He snapped at Arya.
Their attacker regained his balance and struck at Sandor, the blow wasn't hard enough to knock the Hound back though. The fire was slowly circling the room, in a few minutes there would be no exit for Sandor to escape through. He didn't have time for a fist fight.
Arya did the only thing she could, she ran between them and pushed the attacking man with all of her strength. She was surprisingly strong for how small she was, with her back to Sandor she had no way to judge his response when their enemy stumbled back into the fire. Arya heard the man scream, but then she was being lifted and carried away from the scene.
Sandor ran through the inn, Arya felt like a rag doll being dragged along by an over enthusiastic child. They were outside in a moment. Sansa ran up to meet them, but Sandor didn't slow down, heading straight for the stables to get Stranger. The fire in the tavern was spreading slowly in the rain, but the storm was blowing itself out, they needed to get out of there.
Arya felt terrible for the other people who were staying there, the innkeeper and his family, even if the fire was put out at all, the damage had already been done. Winter was coming, they didn't have much time to rebuild, and it would be a struggle to get it all back together before the rains turned to snow flurries, and to blizzards.
Sandor got Stranger saddled and helped the girls onto his back before effortlessly climbing on himself and bid his horse to run. The mud was nothing to the war horse, obviously accustom to these conditions and worse. Arya glanced back at the inn, the flames were easy to spot even as it faded into the distance.
Arya was a Summer child, she knew only summer snows, and could not quite imagine how terrible a true Winter could be, but she knew that it struck fear into the hearts of many. What were they going to do when the Winter came?
The rain let up just before sunset. Sandor was avoiding the road, and any chance he might meet his brother on it. Arya was the one that spotted a large cave, it reminded her of the lair of the Brotherhood without Banners. Sandor slid off his horse's back and limped forward to check if it was unoccupied. Black blood trailed down his leg, and his breath was heavy.
He gave a shout to signal that it was safe to come in. There was no wood dry enough to build a fire, so they slept huddled together to keep warm. The night was uncomfortable, all of them were wet, each other's heat was not enough to keep even one of them warm, and Sandor stank of blood. Arya dreamed of the old woman and the owl, and that was the only reason she knew she slept.
The light of morning crept into the cave far too quickly. Arya's teeth chattered, and she opened her eyes only when the sunlight woke her. She blinked a few times, yawned and tried to focus. Her head hurt and her hands quivered with cold. Fire, they needed a fire. Sandor and Sansa were still asleep, so Arya tried to be quiet as she stumbled out of the cave to find wood.
Her clothes were still wet, soaked through in some places, only damp in others, but the surrounding woods were dry enough. Arya gathered as much as she could and returned to the cave. Sansa was awake, Sandor was not, but Sansa was at work trying to roll up the leg of his trouser to see about the wound that had caused him to limp last night.
The wound didn't look terrible, but it smelled foul. Sansa put her hand on his forehead, in the light of day Arya could see that he was sweating. His teeth were chattering and his body quivered with cold, but Sandor was pale and sweating. No, please no.
"Get that fire started." Sansa commanded, her voice sounded a lot calmer than she looked. Arya found herself unable to move, this was her fault, she realized. If she hadn't been trying to get back Needle this wouldn't have happened. "Fire. Now!"
Arya did as she was told, her hands shook with more than cold and she kept dropping things, clumsy as a new cursed herself, but that did not help. Finally Sansa came over and brushed her aside, arranged the wood and started the fire.
"We need water to clean wounds." Sansa said, glancing out of the cave "I saw a stream a little ways back...But we don't have anyway to carry it."
Sandor moaned, when Arya looked over his eyes were open but he didn't seem to see them. He only seemed to see the fire, which he was trying to back away from, but with his wounded leg only managed to scoot aside a little and fall over. Sansa returned to his side whispering soothing words, Sandor gripped her arm and closed his eyes again, shivering and moaning.
Arya stepped over to them, not knowing what to do. "...Kill me..." Sandor groaned, "Mercy..." She didn't understand why he would say that for a moment.
Then it dawned on her. He was going to die, Arya realized, he didn't just need water to clean his wounds, he needed them stitched up and medicines they couldn't provide, milk of the poppy for the pain too. Even then, it could already be too late. A quick death now would be much easier.
Arya touched Needle, she knew what Sandor wanted, but found herself in capable of drawing her sword. She didn't have the heart to kill him. She wanted to run away, leave him there, he'd be dead soon with or without her help. Trouble was, even if she ran, Sansa wouldn't. She'd never leave Sandor's side while he still breathed, and if Arya couldn't kill him, her sister certainly couldn't.
"Don't talk like that, you're going to be fine." Sansa said, "Arya see if you can find a...a rock or some tree bark or something you can use as a bowl and get water!"
As commanded Arya turned and ran out of the cave, but there was nothing to be found. All the rocks were too flat, and the ones that weren't were too big and too heavy. The tree bark was too small and mushy, one that might have worked fell apart in her hands. Arya didn't know how long she was out, but she finally concluded she'd never find what she was looking for and headed back to the cave before she got lost.
As she tramped back through the woods, it happened. She was looking up at the sky, thinking of her dreams, of Nymeria, the old woman and the owl when suddenly she stumbled. Arya fell to her knees, but when she rose, she was no longer where she was when she tripped.
She was standing by the river, the old woman stood with her owl not far off. She looked at her, then the sky, and realized something. Those were the same rain-filled clouds she was just looking at! Maybe the old woman could help Sandor!
Arya ran to her and tried to tell her she needed help, but she couldn't speak. Only snarls and whines came from her. The old woman looked confused, Arya tugged at her skirts. Come on, you need to help!
"I'm sorry, sweetling." The old woman told her, "I don't know what you want, you'll have to come to me in person."
That's not good enough! Arya wanted to scream, she let go of the woman's skirts and howled mournfully.
The old woman turned her back and spoke to someone she couldn't see. "Find her."
And then Arya was back in the mud, on her way to the cave where Sansa and Sandor were waiting. Arya wanted to tell them of what had just happened, confirm to her sister that she wasn't mad, or both of them were. But she entered the cave to find Sandor half undressed and Sansa stitching up a cut in his side that Arya hadn't known about.
"Did you find anything?" Sansa asked.
"Did I find- No, Sansa something just happened!" Arya began, but she was cut off by Sandor's agonized groan, he beckoned them closer.
"E...Eryie..." Sandor moaned, "...You, have an aunt in...the Eyrie..."
"Aunt Lysa, yes." Sansa confirmed.
"You need...to go there...Eyrie...both of you to the Eyrie...No matter what... Get to your aunt..."
"We will, but you'll be coming with us." Sansa said, her voice quivered.
"Swear it... You'll both make it...to the Eyrie...Swear it!"
"We swear." Arya said, but Sansa only started to cry, Arya stepped closer to her, "I think help is on the way, just tell him we'll go to Aunt Lysa."
Sansa sniffed and squeezed Sandor's hand, "I swear. But we're not leaving you!"
Sandor didn't answer, he was still breathing, shivering, moaning, and occasionally squeezing Sansa's hand, but he wouldn't respond when she tried to speak to him. Instead, the only full word that came from his mouth was a miserable groan of "Mother..." Though it was unclear if by that he meant the Mother or just his mother.
"What did you mean you think help is coming?" Sansa asked after a long while.
Arya sighed, and began explaining, "Remember a few days ago, when you told me about that thing with Stranger? You're not mad, it just happened to me with Nymeria. She's close."
"And you think she can help?" Sansa sounded skeptical, "We should get that looked at." She said pointing the cut on Arya's neck.
"She's a wolf, of course she can't help." Arya replied with annoyance, "But the old woman might." Arya quickly filled her in on the details of what had happened during this strange occurrence where she had been in Nymeria's body.
"She could be a Lannister spy." Sansa suggested, "She may have sent soldiers to come look for us, capture us and take us back to King's Landing." Her voice stiffened at the mention of the capitol, Arya bit her lower lip.
"If she was- were, a Lannister spy, she'd've come looking for us a long time ago." Arya defended, "And it's not like we have much of a choice if we want to save him." She nodded to Sandor.
Gods she hoped they had time.
Ayra gathered more wood before the rain started and made rabbit snares like Sandor had shown them. After the first storm, she went back out to look, a skinny rabbit had been caught in one of them, hardly any meat on it, but it was better than nothing. Arya killed it and brought it back to the cave.
Sandor's condition did not change for the worse, Arya prayed that was a good sign. She remembered the night after his trial, when the Hound had a bad reaction to the medicinal ointment the Brotherhood had provided. She'd spent the whole night praying for him to die, forget the others on her list, that whole night she whispered "The Hound" over and over, hoping to find him dead by morning.
I take it back, Arya told any god that would listen, I take it back, please let him make it to morning.
With that thought in her head, day passed by slowly, and the night even slower. Neither of the girls dared sleep, fearing that if they took their eyes off the Hound he'd die while they weren't looking. The kennel master back at Winterfell once told her that dogs liked to die alone, never in the presence of their masters. If Sandor was truly like a dog, he wouldn't dare die while they watched.
The pair did not notice the shapes in the darkness, drawn to the cave by their dying fire. One figure pointed to the group, the other to the massive horse. They whispered to each other so quietly that the sisters did not hear, they came to a decision and crept closer to the war horse.
Unfortunately for them, Stranger was not as oblivious to their presence. At first he just flattened his ears and curled up his lips in warning. When the shapes continued to come toward him, he stomped his hoof and began to snort. That did not deter them either and at last they were so close that he reared and let out a sound so close to a roar it hardly seemed possible to come from a horse.
That finally got Sansa and Arya to turn away from the Hound, as did the terrified screams of children. Stranger was not tied up, so the three children could only run out of his way and hope he chased one of the other two. It happened again, like the stables, Sansa stood to try and stop Stranger from killing them. This time Arya saw it too.
A strange look came to Sansa's eyes, and Stranger stopped in his tracks. Sansa guided the horse away from the children, to the back of the cave, before whatever spell this was broke and Sansa returned to her own body. Arya ran over to the would-be horse thieves and pulled her knife on the oldest, "What are you doing here?"
The girl could have passed for her twin if not for the bright greenness of her eyes. She must have been her age, or not a year older or younger, the other two had to be six and four at most. The girl did not seem to notice the knife drawn on her, her gaze was on Sansa, wide and in awe, "She's like Nana!" The girl gasped.
Arya pressed the knife into her throat, "Who is Nana?" She demanded.
"She protects us!" The girl answered wildly, "She's very old, and a little mad, but when the soldier's burned down the village, Nana saved us and has been protecting us!"
One of the younger boys spoke up, "Alyss, Nana said to find the wolf-girl!" He nodded to Sansa, "She can skin change too, she must be the one!"
Arya turned the knife on the boy, "Nymeria? Nymeria is my wolf!"
The third child only cried, but the girl, Alyss, replied again, "Then you need to come with us, Nana said we needed to find you!"
Sansa stepped closer, proceeding with caution she demanded to know, "Which side does Nana support? North or South."
"North of course!" The speaking boy replied, "The lions set the dogs on our village, she'd never help them, never!"
"Please, we wanted your horse because Nana can't walk very far," Alyss said, "But she can help you, you need to come with us!"
Sansa glanced over at Sandor, he shifted a little and groaned in pain, "Can she help him?"
They crying boy wailed a little, frightened by Sandor's face and all the blood. Other two children looked equally frightened, "He's wearing armor." The first boy whispered, "Is he a soldier?"
"Anyone can buy armor, Lynn." Alyss said and turned to Sansa, "Who is he?"
"He's the man protecting us." Sansa replied, "And we're not leaving, unless Nana can help him." She
Alyss, Lynn and the third boy looked at each other and Lynn replied, "Nana was the maester's wife. Maybe she can help, but how will you move him?"
Arya nodded to Stranger, "That's his horse, we can get him on Stranger's back and he'll do all the work."
The children whispered to each other for a moment but finally agreed to bring Sandor along, though they refused to help mount him on Stranger.
Arya didn't remember leaving the cave, she didn't remember trekking in the dark, guided only by the light of the moon. But before she knew it the sun was rising on the horizon. They had followed the nearby stream and finally reach the river. Soon enough they came across a familiar sight, one Arya recognized from the day before when she looked through Nymeria's eyes.
Her direwolf was nearby, Arya could almost sense her, but a reunion would have to wait. The Old woman from her dreams sat on a rock, watching them approach, a toddler slept against her breast like her own grandchild. Alyss and Lynn ran to her and took the young one from her arms. The Great grey owl from Arya's dreams gave a hoot and flew down from the tree to sit beside Nana.
She looked much older seeing her with her own eyes than she did when Arya saw her through Nymeria's. She looked frail, like she had no business standing and walking on her own, or that she might crumble to dust and fly away in the wind.
"So...you've finally come." Nana greeted, stroking the owl's head. "Children...have you introduced yourselves...yes...come meet them...Sansa and Arya Stark of Winterfell..."