There was a soft knock at the door and the old woman held up a hand, then opened it a crack, pulling in a slight figure wrapped in a hooded cloak. She spoke to someone outside, then closed the door and bolted it. "You can let me have that cloak, dear."
Sansa pulled back the hood and unfastened the cloak, handing it to the woman and smiling with relief as Arya came running into the room, followed by Sandor Clegane. Her little sister hurled herself at her and for a moment they clung together, hardly able to believe that so far their plan was working. Then the Hound cleared his throat. "We'd best be on our way."
"You'll be on your way when it's safe to go!" said the old woman shrilly. "This young lady needs to get rid of those fancy clothes."
"Come on, Sansa," said Arya. "I've got some boy's clothes for you to change into."
Sandor frowned. "She's not going to be able to pass as a boy."
"No, but she can look less like a lady." Arya took her sister into the bedroom and they emerged a few minutes later, both dressed as boys in trousers and tunics and riding boots. Sansa had braided her hair and covered most of it with a stocking cap and Morwen expressed approval.
"Much better. And now you can just all sit you down and have some supper while my grandson sees to the horses and makes sure no one followed you. The Seven only know when you'll have a decent meal again…" She bustled off over to the hearth, grumbling, and the Hound's jaw tightened as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
"If I had known I would have to hide out here for two weeks, I would have demanded a thousand pieces of gold from Baelish."
"I heard that, young man!" The old woman brought a pot of stew to the table. "That's the gratitude I get, keeping you safe, jumping at every shadow…"
"All right, all right, there's no need to make a speech," said Sandor.
"And no need to make introductions?" She slapped a loaf of bread and a knife down in front of him.
He took a deep breath. "Lady Sansa Stark, Lady Arya Stark, meet Branwen, sister to Morwen, the best healer in the Vale. I am told Branwen is the best cook."
Branwen huffed at him. "I should hope you like my cooking-you've been eating enough for two men these past weeks."
"Well, you won't have to cook for me any more after tonight." The Hound sliced the bread and handed it around, then started in on the stew. "We'll be lucky to get out of the Vale before Baelish catches up with us."
Sansa and Arya traded glances. After his fever broke, the Hound had spoken to the girls about their father's death and the part Petyr Baelish had played in it, tricking Ned into thinking the City Watch was on his side and then handing him over to Cersei Lannister. Arya had been furious, clapping her hand to her sword and swearing that she would kill Littlefinger before the night was out. Only the Hound's harsh intervention had stopped her, as he informed her that even if she succeeded in killing Baelish, she would forfeit her own life, and his and her sister's as well. Even in her rage, Arya had realized the price for Baelish' life was too high and she sullenly agreed to escape the Vale and take her revenge later. Sansa still looked askance at her little sister-was it possible that Arya really did mean to someday kill Petyr Baelish? She confided in Sandor that anyone would think from the way Arya acted that she was already a practiced killer, but Sansa could not believe Arya would actually harm anyone, and the Hound did not enlighten her. Let Arya tell her sister in her own time-they had more important things to think of.
He still couldn't believe that Morwen, the old healer, had come to their aid, yet she was the one who broached the subject of him taking the girls away, and no matter how often he asked her why she would help them, she would only say that she hated Baelish and she didn't want to see any nice young girls under the same roof with him. He had been afraid to trust her, but Sansa and Arya had both been willing to take a chance on her, and he had to admit they had been right. For two weeks he had been at Branwen's farm and the only people he had seen was a simple-minded farm hand who lived in the barn and the old lady's grandson, who came by a couple of times a week to bring supplies and tell her the news in the village.
There was a soft knock again at the door and Branwen went cautiously over and peered through a knothole, then opened the door and let in the tall young man who had brought first Arya and then Sansa to the farm. "The horses are ready," he said. "And I packed as much food as I could into the saddlebags, and there are three waterskins as well."
"Water," grumbled the Hound.
Sansa gave him a look, then smiled at Branwen. "I don't know how to thank you. Your sister saved our friend's life, and now you and your grandson...you're taking such a risk to help us."
"Aye, and I'd like to know why," said Sandor.
"So would I," said Arya. "How do we know you're not just trying to trick us? Now that we're all together, Littlefinger can arrest all of us."
"Arya!" Sansa fluttered her hands. "I'm so sorry…she's always been so rude."
Branwen sighed. "I suppose you have a right to know. It may ease your minds-at least you won't be wondering if I'm going to set the Lord Protector of the Vale on you as soon as you leave." She sat down heavily and her grandson came to stand behind her, a hand on her shoulder. "I doubt you ladies have heard the tale, but I'm sure you know of the two girls Lord Baelish gave Prince Joffrey as a nameday present, young man?"
"I know I had to carry one away," said Sandor grimly.
The old woman's eyes filled with tears. "She was my sister's only granddaughter. She always had such grand ideas about going to King's Landing and making her fortune...ah, well, now you know why my sister asked me to help you, and why we would all rather die than see two girls under the same roof as that…"
Sansa and Arya were staring at Branwen and the Hound snapped, "Don't just sit there! The hunt will be on for us by now." They scrambled to get their things and he took out a gold dragon and laid it on the table.
Branwen shook her head. "I don't want your money."
"Take it anyway." Sandor spoke with unaccustomed softness. "Someday you may want to take a trip to Rosby-that's a little town near King's Landing. There's a cemetery there, and a grave marked with three dogs."
Sansa overheard him. "That's your sigil."
"Aye, and what of it?" The Hound avoided her eyes. "I had a sister once-a sweet little thing she was. She used to sing to me after…" He brushed his hand over the scars on his face. "It helped the pain, some of it. And then she died." His hands clenched on the table. "I don't suppose I'll ever know how it happened. All I know is she wasn't even given a decent burial." Branwen reached out, her small wrinkled hand patting the Hound's hard brown one, and he nodded to her once, then got to his feet and ushered Sansa and Arya out the door to the waiting horses.