The wolf bitch hadn't spoken to him since they had woken up that morning. Thank god she had gotten rid of that bloody nightgown. She was back in her breeches and tunic, looking a little less feminine. Her hair had been pulled back in a knot on the top of her head and she sat on her mare, not speaking to him and instead staring straight ahead at the path in front of her. She was angry at him, but what else was new?

He was angry too. She had thought him asleep when she rolled over and had been caressing his face. What the fuck was that all about? He should have jerked away and scared her then and there, but he hadn't. It had been a gentle touch and he had continued to pretend to be asleep, even touching that soft, exposed thigh of hers.

He was furious that his body had reacted to the wolf girl. She was such a foul mouthed little cunt. He did not like that he liked when she had been practically grinding against his hips. It had scared him a moment. So he had pushed her away. Hard.

He felt a little bad that he was rough with her sometimes. He knew she was more sensitive than she let on. Still, she was tough for a female. A worthy opponent for him. He was beginning to realize this, but would rather cut his tongue out than admit it. She drove him mad.

He partially wanted to get under her skin again, but partially did not want to be the first to engage in conversation. The bantering was just comfortable and normal for the two of them. It was much easier to deal with that than the other thoughts that had crossed his head. He knew damn well he was old enough to be her father. Additionally, she was the last woman on earth he would entertain the idea of fucking. She was annoying and he half wanted to just shake her off. It had just been unspoken between them that they stayed together until the conclusion of the war.

He cast a sideways glance her way. She was staring straight ahead, her lips pursed. She must have sensed his eyes on her because she turned her head and scowled at him. "The fuck you looking at?" she snarled at him, throwing his typcal words back in his face.

"I'm looking at this annoying wolf bitch and hoping she will eventually just get out of my life."

Her eyes narrowed and she smirked at him. "My pleasure!" She urged her horse forward and galloped away from him, not looking back.

She knew he would follow. He always did. It was part of one of the many games they played. Whether it was out of the hopes of still claiming a reward or because he had grown soft and wanted to protect her, she knew he would come after her. She did not need his protection or want it. Perhaps one of these days she would slip off for good.

She knew that would likely not happen either. She would rather die than admit it, but she enjoyed his companionship. He was the closest thing she had to a family. With Jon, Sansa, and Bran missing, she was alone.

She relished the feeling of the wind in her hair and she loved going fast. She turned her head back, laughing as she saw the Hound kick Stranger and yell for him to go faster too.

Stranger moved fast and she slowed her horse slightly so that he could at least kind of catch her. Where was the fun in just rushing forward? She eased up slightly and as he came close, she kicked her horse to rush forward again.

Unluckily for her, the Hound was a decent horseman and he had a much closer bond with his horse. He had come almost next to her, the sound of hoof beats thundering.

"Enough of this, wolf girl," he snarled.

She laughed and she reached over and gave him a rough shove. She knew he would keep his balance - he was pretty much a knight without the title of Ser and a very skilled horseman.

He did seem surprised that she had pushed him. He gave her a menacing look and urged his horse closer to hers and then grabbed her roughly around the arm and yanked her right from the horse, pulling her onto his saddle and across his legs.

She let out an angry squeal as her horse bolted forward and he slowed Stranger down. She was sprawled across his lap and he had a grip on the back of her tunic, and he was chuckling now.

"I said enough." He shoved her off the horse and hopped down himself.

Arya was pissed. She bit her lip and glared at him from the ground. "You're such an ass!"

He was still laughing as he reached down and grabbed her shoulder, yanking her roughly up from the ground and steadying her before turning away. "We'll make camp here tonight."

The sun had started to set and it was getting darker and chillier.

Arya glared at him. "I need to go get my horse. And you can build the fire." She turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving him standing there.

She was furious and could tell that she was bright red. Her cheeks felt so hot. She hated that he had bested her. It was the competitiveness in her as well as the fact that it was the Hound. He brought out the worst in her.

She found her mare hanging out by a group of trees and she grabbed the reins and yanked them angrily, turning to make her way back towards camp. She heard a rustling behind her and she instinctively reached for Needle, releasing the reins.

There were six men coming up to her. By the looks of them, they seemed just like common thieves. "Evening, sweetheart," crooned one of them, a dark haired individual with several missing teeth who was sneering at her.

She took a step back and placed her other hand on the horse's hindquarters. She dug her fingernails into the horse's flesh and raked them down. The horse jumped up and tore away from her, galloping back in the direction of where the Hound had stopped before.

She was nervous. There was no way she could take on four men, but she would damned well try. Hopefully the Hound would see the horse and come to her rescue. Not her rescue, just to help her. She was Arya Stark and didn't need rescuing.

"I'm talking to you, girl," the male sneered and advanced closer. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here in the woods? It's not safe."

She took a step back and narrowed her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you." She took another step back. "I'll be getting after my horse now." She backed up another step, trying to keep herself from trembling.

Another one of the men chuckled darkly. "Not so fast, little one." He moved forward with a wicked glint in his eyes.

She drew Needle out and held him in front of her. "I won't kill you if you just walk away."

They eyed the sword and collectively laughed. They withdrew their own swords and advanced on her.

She jumped back and slashed Needle out in front of her, focusing on the water dancing steps Syrio had taught her several years ago. She had her fair share of practice with traveling with the Hound, but she was outnumbered and the odds did not seem good.

She gave it her best, clinking swords with the smaller, meatier of the men and ended it with sticking her sword sharply in his neck. As she withdrew Needle and turned, one of the men had smacked her with his sword, slicing her arm open. She let out an involuntary cry of pain before a hand was clamped over her mouth and Needle was ripped out of her hand.

The Hound had still been chuckling to himself as he collected wood for the fire. He loved when he won their little games. It was so satisfying to see her get angry. He would be easier on her when she returned. Maybe.

The sound of hoof beats caused him to glance up. He felt his throat tighten when he saw her horse had no rider. The beast ran up and stopped at the site. He stood up and he immediately went over to Stranger, grabbing his saddle and tightening it on. It was as he was hastily tacking up his horse when he heard her scream. It was absolutely horrible and he felt helpless as he leapt on the horse and began to gallop in the direction, urging Stranger to move faster and faster.

He rode several hundred meters before he saw the body. A man lay dead, a pool of blood around his neck from a small puncture wound. Needle? There was blood on the ground and he followed the trail as it led deeper into the woods. Merely a few feet in, he saw her, laying on the ground.

There were five men. Two were holding her arms and another was holding her legs while the other laughed and was in the process of yanking down his trousers. Her shirt had been ripped open and there was what looked like a bruise purpling on her shoulder and her arms was bleeding. She was struggling angrily, her mouth gagged and her eyes wild.

The Hound didn't even hesitate, he barreled into the clearing and was slashing his sword wildly, beheading the first man who had been standing a distance away and then brutally stabbing one of the men by Arya's feet.

He let out an angry bellow. The men had released Arya and gotten up, drawing their own swords. In a horrific dance and slashing of swords, they were at it, him battling the three remaining men.

He easily finished the one and mortally wounded the other. The remaining man was the one who had hastily pulled up his trousers. The man raised one hand. "Aye mate, relax." He lowered his sword down, eyeing the Hound nervously. "We can share her. No need to worry. She may be a skinny bitch, but there's plenty to go round." The man was shaking, but seemed hopeful that the Hound would take the offer.

The Hound inched forward and grabbed the man by the neck, lifting him up and curling his lips into a nasty sneer. "I don't share. She's mine." He plunged his sword into the man's stomach, raking the sword up as it sliced through his insides.

As the blood began running out of the guy's mouth, the Hound discarded him on the ground, not even bothering to wipe off his sword as he turned his attention to Arya.

She was still trembling, but had lifted herself up to a sitting position, staring wide-eyed at him. She didn't speak, seeming to be quite shaken by the entire ordeal.

He moved down and gently picked her up off the ground as if she were a bag of flour. "Come on," he said softly. He carried her to Stranger and pulled her up with him, holding her in front of him and riding back to camp.

They rode in silence. She was still shaking when they arrived at the campsite. He set her down and wordlessly built the fire he had started before the entire debacle. He was still fuming, angry, and wanting to kill. The rage he had felt when he was what they were about to do to his wolf girl was unlike anything he had ever experienced and he was an angry man.

As the fire was crackling, he laid out the mats and grabbed a hunk of bread, moving to sit by her. He shoved the piece of bread at her, not bothering to take a piece for himself. His appetite was gone. He was just still raging mad at the momentary helplessness he had felt when seeing her held down and what those men would have done to her had he not intervened.

She had tied the ripped tunic to protect her modesty and had wrapped a bandage around her arm. He knew it would need cleaning, but figured it could wait until the next day. She accepted the bread, holding it in her hands and breaking it into smaller pieces. She crumbled the bread into small crumbs, staring at it in fascination as she ripped it into tinier and tinier pieces.

He rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, eat the damned bread."

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him and she tossed the bread in the fire. "I'm not hungry." She turned to lay down, facing away from him. She had begun to recite the names slowly, beginning with "Cersei..."

He laid down on his mat, staring up at the sky. He wasn't sure if he ought to have said something to comfort her or if he should have just left her alone. Clearly the bread hadn't been the right answer. There she was, reciting her bloody list.

She paused in her recitation. He knew which name would be coming next. She had hesitated for a moment, he heard it in her voice. "The Hound." There it was.

He lay there, staring at the stars when he heard the muffled sobs. She rarely cried. She hated showing weakness and he was glad of it. He had no clue how to deal with a woman's tears. Still, she did sound awfully pathetic.

Growling to himself, he got up and laid next to her, pulling her close to him. "Yer safe, little wolf," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her quaking body. "I won't let nothing happen to ye."

She turned in his arms and her face was buried in his chest as she let her sobs just take her over. She was crying into his shirt noisily, her hands clinging to him.

He felt immediately overwhelmed and awkward. He laid his hand on the back of her head and gently stroked her hair, letting her cry. He said nothing, just continued to hold her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the sobs quieted and she had grown still in his arms. "Thank you..." she whispered against his chest. She rolled back over, still in his arms. She reached her arm over and grabbed the blanket, tossing it over both of them. She said nothing else, just lay there in his arms, not demanding to be released.

As her breathing grew heavy, he realized she had fallen asleep. She felt so warm and small in his arms, but it felt so right to be holding her. He lay there awake, just enjoying the closeness before the slumber took him over.

Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I figured there needed to be some things happen to build rapport between the pair, even if they won't admit it. :)

Happy reading and reviewing!

-Pawprynt