Work Text:
"Remember when you said you've had better?"
"When did I ever say something as stupid as that?"
"You know, Polliver. The chickens. That day."
Sandor laughs. "Aye. Now I remember. Guess it stuck with you, eh?"
"Well... I'm going to make you forget you ever said that," Arya says, with a look in her eye that Sandor has never seen before.
"You can certainly try," he says, trying not to sound as nervous as he is. His heart is beating so fast, he's worried he'll have a heart attack by the time this is all over. He hopes it's a slow one, at least, so he can enjoy every second of it.
*****
Everything seems so different now, but also exactly the same. It's sort of confusing.
For one thing, Arya doesn't feel like the lost little girl the first time she and The Hound, as she knew him back then, went on a journey together. She's not naive, she's not prone to dumb mistakes, she's not being used for ransom. This is on her own terms now. She's been through hell and back. He knows this about her, too. And she can tell he respects her for it. Respects her for it all--leaving him for dead, for making it on her own, for coming back to Winterfell, and most importantly, for killing the Night King. The best part is, they don't have to talk about it. They have an understanding. The mutual admiration is unspoken, and for two people who don't like crowds, the silence is appreciated.
Arya is drawn to him somehow, she supposes. She saw Sandor sneak out of Winterfell on his horse and had a good inkling to where he was headed. Now that Jon had told her and Sansa his big secret, and how he had no intentions of becoming the rightful king and his total allegiance to his queen, Arya doesn't want to stick around and see what happens. She wants to be a part of what happens. So without saying good-bye, she leaves. She leaves her family, and she leaves Gendry, and she joins Sandor. He wasn't exactly overjoyed to see her, but he didn't tell her to leave him alone, either. So now they're on another type of trip together. It feels good, actually. Natural.
He's different, too. Arya is actually a little unnerved by Sandor's state of mind. She knows now that the war with the dead is over and there's nothing in his way, he only has one thing left to do. He's on a mission and nothing is going to stop him, which, if nothing else, Arya completely understands. But there's a difference--she wants to kill Cersei so she can live the rest of her life knowing that she was the one who murdered that bitch. But Sandor... it feels like he is marching to his inevitable death, and Arya kind of hates it. She tries to bring it up a few times, but she doesn't want to... well, she doesn't actually know what she doesn't want to do. She's conflicted. About a lot of things.
It doesn't help that their trip to Kings Landing is fraught with danger. It seems like there's someone lurking in every corner, just waiting to rob him, rape her, or murder them both. Word of Jon's true parentage and claim to the throne has made it throughout Westeros, and the people are restless and rootless. Not that most of them actually care who the fuck sits on the iron throne, but it gives them a good excuse to be on their worst behavior.
The two of them have saved each other so many times now, they've lost count. Arya will turn around after killing two overgrown dickwads who tried to steal her horse to see Sandor facing off with five different men, one of whom is inching closer and closer from behind, and she finds herself running with all her power to put a sword through the idiot's back. Once, she woke up from a pleasant nap under a shady tree to a sword to her throat. Before she could reach for Needle, Sandor comes from behind and slits the idiot's throat. Arya was grateful, but didn't appreciate being covered in this idiot's blood that was spurting out of him uncontrollably. Sandor just shrugged, and they went on about their day. Arya and Sandor don't even thank each other anymore. It's just... what they do. They save each other and they will continue to save each other until they part ways again.
There's something else that is unsettling to Arya, and that's how utterly safe she feels when she's with Sandor. How safe she's almost always felt with him. She doesn't question his loyalty for her; she doesn't question how much he cares about her and her well-being, and she is confident that he would go to battle with anyone who tries to harm her. And vice versa, of course, even if it hasn't always been that way. But that's not the whole story, really. She can obviously take care of herself and likes to think that she doesn't need anyone else. But Sandor is tall and imposing and people generally don't want to fuck with him. She likes that he's so much bigger than her. She likes... she likes his danger, or something. After leaving Gendry behind in Winterfell, declining his proposal and the safe life he offered her, Arya is feeling more dangerous than ever. Like she wants to make some mistakes. Or maybe the opposite of one.
They've been on the road for almost two weeks now and are only a day or two away from Kings Landing. Arya is both dreading this and also can't stop thinking about it. She can't stop daydreaming about how she will kill Cersei. Maybe she'll throw her out of the window (how satisfying would that be after what happened to Bran?), or maybe she'll find Jamie Lannister along the way and take his face for fun. So many possibilities.
"What are you thinking about, girl?" Sandor asks her as they ride together, side by side, as has become their habit lately. "You have that look in your eye."
"What look in my eye?" Arya is actually sort of startled that he said anything at all; he's barely talked to her since they woke up in the morning.
"I don't know, really. The one where you look like all you want is blood on your hands."
"I mean, yes. That's the whole point, right? You know that as well as I do."
Sandor nods thoughtfully. If anyone knows what she's thinking, it's him.
There are things on her mind, though. Things she can't possibly talk about with him, of all people. He would probably be appalled at some of the thoughts in her head, and after all that has happened to him, after all he's seen, after everything he's been through, she knows he doesn't need her childish distractions. That is what she considers these thoughts she's having. So annoying.
They continue to ride without any charming local assholes bothering them until they come across an empty inn. They tie their horses up and enter the inn on high alert, but nobody is there. Not an innkeeper or guests, not a single person. There is only one room with a bed, which Arya supposes they will deal with later. For now, they are starving.
Their first stop is the kitchen of the inn, where they find a loaf of bread, which they share. Sandor looks everywhere for some chicken, but none is to be found. They both scour the place for something to drink and comes across not one, but two bottles of wine. A lot of wine. He and Arya share a look and then both break out in a smile. Jackpot.
"Gods, this is so good," Arya says, drinking the bottle quickly.
"Don't drink it too fast, girl. We have a long night ahead of us and only these two bottles of wine," Sandor says.
She slows down, but just a little. They sit on a cold bench in the inn, drinking their wine and talking about things that don't matter, really. All Arya wants to do is talk about Dany and her crazy ass and what Arya is going to do to Cersei and how Sandor plans to kill his brother, but they avoid these subjects.
When their wine bottles are nearly empty and they're both feeling a lot better than when they got to the inn, the conversation changes. Arya is feeling warm inside and out. That's an improvement over what she considers to be her permanent mood lately--the feeling of nothing. Absolute nothingness. But something about being with Sandor, someone who has saved her countless times, someone who taught her so many things and is a part of who she is today... she wants to give into it, whatever that may mean.
"You're the only one who understands me," Arya blurts out after emptying her bottle of wine.
Sandor over at her in surprise. "What are you going on about, girl? That's nonsense. What about, I don't know, your sister?"
Arya shakes her head. "She's on a different path than me. She understands my past, but has no idea what to do with me now."
He nods. "Yes, that's probably true. But she's been through a lot too, you know. That Ramsey dickface, and Joffrey, and who knows what else. I think she gets you better than you think."
Arya concedes his point, but that's not really it. And he knows it.
"You know, she's kind of always had a crush on you," Arya says, knowing that Sansa would absolutely murder her for telling him this, and not caring. She'll never know.
Sandor nods. "Yeah. I got that impression. She didn't know what she wanted--she was confused. What about you, though?"
At first Arya thinks he's asking if she has had a crush on him too, but he continues.
"What about that blacksmith idiot?" Sandor asks. Arya was wondering if/when he was ever going to bring Gendry up.
"What about him?" She asks petulantly.
Sandor chuckles. "I get the impression that he gets you just fine. I know what you two were up to in the forge that night. Nobody can keep a secret around Winterfell."
Arya doesn't care for this. "Yeah? What do you think we were doing?"
"I think you were fucking. And by the sound of it, and seeing that you left with me and not him, it must have been pretty shit fucking."
"Fuck off," Arya says, irritated. Mostly because he's right and that's irritating.
"What, does he have a small cock? Of course he does. I guess he can make a good enough weapon out of dragonglass, but he's not good enough to please a woman with that small noodle of his."
Arya punches him in the arm, which of course does not bother him at all. "That is none of your fucking business. He was... he was fine."
Sandor considers this for a second before he starts laughing. She's hardly ever heard that noise come from his mouth so she's frankly somewhat startled by it.
"I bet he was 'fine.' Too bad you'll never know how it's really supposed to feel. Once you marry that small-dicked whinger and pop out a bunch of kids with him, it won't matter as much anymore, I suppose."
Arya doesn't even know how to respond to this outburst of his. Frankly, she's more upset that Sandor thinks she's the type to settle down and have kids. She still has so much more to do with her life than be someone's lady. And although the sex had been pretty unsatisfying, she still doesn't like him talking about Gendry like this. Occasionally she dreams about a simple life in Storm's End with the boy she's had a crush on for so long. Maybe she could be happy. But probably not.
"Don't be so crude. And besides, I don't see you making it into any women's bedrooms lately," Arya says, a rude grin forming on her face.
This apparently hits some kind of nerve, because Sandor looks annoyed, which Arya appreciates. "What the fuck do you know about anything? You don't know what I do at night, girl."
"Sansa told me about that whore you snarled at," Arya says, unable to stop herself from blabbering, the wine flowing freely through her body. "What, she wasn't pretty enough?"
"I don't have time for whores," Sandor mutters, not looking at her. "I have other things on my mind."
She can't decipher the look on his face or the sound of his voice. Is he pissed or sad or what? She kind of really wants to know.
"Have you ever been in love before?" She asks, feeling like an idiot three seconds after the words leave her mouth.
Sandor did not expect this question. He scoffs. "What in the seven hells are you talking about? Why do you care?"
"I don't know. I just do."
"It wouldn't matter. You try 'falling in love' or whatever shit you're on about with someone like me. A monster with a face like this. A killer. Oh, yeah, women just love me, I have so much to offer."
Arya doesn't know what to say to that. Well, she has a lot to say about it and now would be the time since the wine is making her loose-lipped and willing to say dumb shit, but she
understands this is not a subject he wants to talk to her about. So she bites her lip, and the two of them sit in silence, until he starts making fun of Gendry again, which Arya allows since it's
easier than talking about anything else.
When the bread has been eaten and all the wine is long past gone, they stumble back into the sole bedroom. Sandor takes his armor off, and Arya watches him. He knows she's watching, and she knows he knows she's watching, but neither of them say anything about this process. Arya is sitting on the bed, Sandor in an uncomfortable wooden chair by the door.
Sandor's shirt is in tatters and Arya can see the scar on his shoulder from where he was bit so long ago, the one she helped him sew up since he was terrified of fire. Before she could even think of what she was doing, she got up from the bed and found herself facing him. She touches the scar lightly, and he lets her.
"Does it still hurt?" She whispers.
"No. No, it doesn't still hurt," he says, looking her in the eye. Everything that Arya has been feeling in the past few weeks while traveling with him is all coming up, and it's too powerful, and Arya hates everything about it. She's a trained assassin, she's a killer, she's practically a robot; all that little girl shit she used to care about took a backseat to the mission she's been on for years now. Not to mention, didn't she used to hate this man? From the moment she learned he killed the butcher's boy, and when he was there the day her father was killed and didn't do a thing to stop it, and that whole holding her captive for ransom thing, too, and a million other things she's probably forgotten about. And yet, now... it's like she feels closer to him than anyone else in the world, including her actual family.
"I have scars, too," Arya says. "When I left you to die, I went to Braavos. You won't believe me if I told you what happened there, but I have the scars to prove it."
Arya lifts her shirt to show him, even though he didn't ask to see them.
*****
Sandor has an idea of what's happening here and he should put a stop to it. This girl--well, this woman, as she's apparently become, is maddening. What does she think she's even doing? This is not their relationship. All he wants to do is protect her and fight alongside her, and not once has he thought of anything more.
Okay. That's a lie. That's a goddamn lie, because ever since he caught wind of what she and the blacksmith were up to, he's been... something. Something he can't quite make hay of either way. Jealous is perhaps the word he's looking for but that seems like a stupid way to describe it. He's more than twice her age. He's the closest thing she has to a father, for fuck's sake. The thought of having children never appealed to him but if he did, he supposes he'd want them to be like her. Everything they went through together, everything he saved her from, everything he taught her, and what, now they're equals or something? It's ridiculous. He can't. He won't.
But... maybe he will.
Arya is looking at him and he is looking at her. She is talking about Braavos and her scars. Truth be told, he's heard about the trouble she got into over there, and it's hard to believe it could be true. But now she's showing him the evidence.
"I have the scars to prove it," she says. She lifts up her shirt, and he sees them, still looking like fresh injuries, and it hurts him. It hurts him to know she went through something he can never really know about or protect her from. He reaches out and fingers a scar on her rib cage, grazing her stomach, wanting to know how it feels to touch her. He's obviously never touched her like that before and it's... it's too much. A line is very close to being crossed, if it hasn't been already. Does she even want anything to happen next? Just by looking at her face now, he can clearly see the answer to that question.
"Ah, girl, what are you thinking? This shouldn't happen... you know it as well as I do..."
Arya says nothing. She takes his hand and leads him to her other scars. There's so many of them. He touches all of them softly, gently, making sure it's not hurting her. It seems like it's doing
the opposite, so he continues. She reaches up and touches his face, moving his hair out of the way of the burns. His first instinct is to shoo her away, or make her stop. He long ago came to peace with his face, but to have someone touch him like this, it's... well, it's not something he's used to. However, he doesn't stop her. It's kind of nice, actually.
"I don't think you're a monster," Arya whispers. "I never did."
"Oh, come on," Sandor says, amused. "You hated me. I was on your fucking list. You wanted to run a sword through my eye."
Arya doesn't disagree. He hopes for a moment that she'll drop the subject, that she'll shake it off and move away from him and he can go sleep on the goddamn floor or something. But he also is curious about what she wants. What she needs from him. Because as much as he wants to walk away, he can't seem to move.
The two of them share a look that lasts too long. Sandor thinks about reaching for her, about touching more than just her scars, about many things that have crossed his mind from time time, especially now that she's not the little girl he had to teach where the heart was so long ago (and yet it seems like yesterday, too). Instead he waits. He can wait for Arya.
Arya slowly backs away from Sandor, maintaining eye contact. She sits back down on the bed, and then lays on her back. She beckons to him and while he knows this is absolutely the wrong thing to do, he finds himself moving towards the bed as well.
"Ahh, what do you want from me, girl? It's been so long... I don't..."
"I just want you," she says simply, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Well... I'm right here," he says. "Come take what you want." Because he's not. Going to make. The first move. And he believes she's not going to either, since when it's all said and done, Arya does not want him--
Arya hops up from her position laying on the bed and she is now eye to eye with him, as he sits. While she looks him in the eye, she takes his shirt off, which he doesn't help her with because he's clearly stunned. She takes a good look before taking his head in her hands. Once again, she touches his burns gently, and kisses the side of his face. His own hands are shaking and he doesn't know what to do with them--he doesn't want to touch her yet. He's just not sure yet.
She continues to kiss his face, until she makes it to his lips. She grins a little before going for it. Her lips finally meet his, and although it's been a terribly long time since this has happened for him previously, he still knows what to do when a woman kisses him--Sandor kisses Arya back. It's a good kiss, it's a powerful kiss, and somehow it's a compatible kiss. And now he wants more. So. Much More.
"Remember when you said you've had better?"
"When did I ever say something as stupid as that?"
"You know, Polliver. The chickens. That day."
Sandor laughs. "Aye. Now I remember. Guess it stuck with you, eh?"
"Well... I'm going to make you forget you ever said that," Arya says, with a look in her eye that Sandor has never seen before.
"You can certainly try," he says, trying not to sound as nervous as he is. His heart is beating so fast, he's worried he'll have a heart attack by the time this is all over. He hopes it's a slow one, at least, so he can enjoy every second of it.
*****
At first it's about the danger Arya is looking so hard for--Sandor, much to her delight, is not gentle. Nor is she. His calloused, rough hands feel like sandpaper on her body, but this only turns her on more. She finds herself almost desperate to tear the rest his clothes off--what does he look like under there? Before she can go exploring, he pins her down on the bed--which is easy, obviously, since he is huge and she is not. She struggles a little just to see if she can pry herself loose from him--not that she wants to--and she can't, which she enjoys and appreciates. Gendry was too... nice. She doesn't want nice. Not now, at least.
Sandor pins her hands down with one of his, and pulls her shirt up with the other. She shivers as he touches her all over, gently and not so gentle, grazing her breasts with a finger, and then his whole hand, sending tiny shockwaves through her body. He teases her this way for a long time, and she's aching for more, but she bites her lip and says nothing.
Soon enough, he takes her pants off with one tug. She shrieks a bit, but he doesn't let that stop him. Sandor leans down and kisses her, his tongue and her tongue meeting again and again, and she wants to break free and touch him, but he hasn't released her yet. Instead, he touches her between her legs, where she knows she's wetter than she's ever been. He likes this, she can tell, and he continues to explore. When he sticks a finger inside of her, she groans a little because it's still tender. He instantly stops what he's doing.
"What is it? Should I stop?" He looks so worried, Arya almost wants to laugh.
"Keep going, please keep going," she whispers. So he does. At first he has a light touch, moving slowly, but as she arches her back, willing him to do more, he is not so gentle. It hurts but in the best way possible.
He finally frees her from his grip, but before she can move again, he's between her legs, licking and slightly biting her thighs, licking her clit as she moans and writhes underneath him, feeling ecstasy that she's only read about in books.
When he is satisfied with the work he's done, he lays down beside her. She takes this as a cue that it's finally her turn. So she quickly yanks his trousers off, desperately wanting to look, to taste. He runs his fingers through her hair as she takes him in her mouth, moaning, not knowing what else to do but enjoy this moment as if it's their last together, which who knows--it very well may be.
Arya feels like she's doing some good work here, although this is not very familiar to her. Still, she's relieved when he stops her, and pins her back down again.
"Are you ready for this?" He asks her, fingers between her legs again, moving in and out, teasing her, making her want him more than she's ever wanted anything.
"Yes," she says, and that's all he needs to hear before he's inside of her. It goes without saying that he is much bigger than Gendry, not to mention he's nearly twice her size to begin with, and she has to brace herself. He manages to tower over her without crushing her, and the heat of his body makes her crazy with want. He bows down to kiss her, to touch her, to cradle her head in his hand, to make her believe and trust that this is the only thing he wants to be doing at this exact moment. It's too much, and it's not enough. She feels like she has earned this, and she doesn't want it to end.
When it's over--and it's not over quickly--Sandor collapses on the bed. Arya has a million different emotions come and go, and can't seem to settle on one.
"Next time, I get to be on top," she says, and he chuckles.
They don't talk. They take turns in the bathroom and eventually settle into bed again. It's weird, of course. No one knows what to say, exactly. So they don't say anything. Typical.
*****
"You don't have to do it, you know," Arya whispers into the night. The two of them are laying back to back, not talking, just wondering what the hell happens now that they gave into temptation.
"Do what?" Sandor asks sleepily. Arya realizes she's never heard his voice quite like this before. It's so gentle and soft, it is giving her emotions she's not familiar with, and she's not even sure if she likes it. It feels like a voice just reserved for her. She wants to run as far away as possible and she wants to stay by his side forever.
"You don't have to kill him. He's not the same person he was when he hurt you so long ago. Cersei turned him into something else. A monster."
"I know who he is. I know what he is. I know my brother is still in there somewhere. He's done so many fucked up things and he has to be stopped. I think I'm the only one who can stop him."
Arya is quiet for a moment. For some reason, it's become important to her to talk him out of this mission. Because they both know what's going to happen by the end of it.
"I know... I know it's all you want, I know revenge is what keeps you alive sometimes; believe me, I know. But it doesn't have to be. You can walk away."
"Revenge is not what keeps me alive sometimes, it's the whole reason why I'm still here. How do you think I made it after you left me for dead? Do you think the fucking Lord of Light brought me back to life? Fuck no. It's the thought of killing that son of a bitch that made my life hell. It's the only thing I want."
"The only thing?" Arya says, raising her eyebrows.
"Ah, I just got the other thing," he says, and she hits him yet again.
"What do you want me to do? Run away with you to Winterfell? Follow the Starks around like I did the Lannisters for too much of my life? Wait on you hand and foot like a good little dog? Not going to fuckin' happen."
"Is that what you think I want? You think I bed you once and then pledge my undying love for you and ask you to follow me around like a puppy? Fuck off, then. I'll be better off alone."
Arya forgot how good it feels to just be angry. Who does he think he is, anyway?
Sandor grabs her hand and holds it in his giant palm. "What do you want, then? What do you want to do? You can move on from getting revenge on Cersei after she's been on your list for ages, just like that? I know you still want it. You can walk away?"
"Not easily, no. But I've been thinking lately. About places I haven't seen or heard about. I want to go to the west. I mean, the far west, further than anyone else has been before. I want to
explore. I want to give life a chance. I've had enough death to last me for a good while."
"That's ridiculous. What if there's nothing out west?"
"I haven't thought that far," she admits.
Sandor turns around to face her. The full moon shines through the window, illuminating his warm, dark eyes. "I've wanted revenge my whole life. I can't just... walk away from it. I have to find him. I have to--"
Arya gently kisses him, something she hasn't gotten used to yet, but still enjoys quite a bit. She wants to kiss him all the time, maybe.
"You don't have to. He's not your brother anymore. He's just a creation of Cersei. If you fight him and you die, you will have died for nothing. You can still do so much more good in the world. I believe it."
"Your faith in me is inspiring, if not complete horse shit," Sandor says, but... she can tell he's at least considering it. So although she doesn't want to say this; although she wants to say anything but this, she puts it out there.
"Please. Please come with me. When this war is over, with whoever ends up sitting on that damn throne, I am leaving and not coming back. I want you to come with me." I need you to come with me.
She hates being vulnerable with him. What if he doesn't come with her? What if he doesn't want to? Then they part ways despite the fact he knows how much she needs him.
"I don't know. Why change direction now? We have plans, both of us. I don't know if I can walk away as easily as you can."
"Because you know it's the right thing to do," Arya says softly. "You know that his death is not going to satisfy you the way you hope. And you know that you're probably going to die, too. Don't let this be the end for you. There's so much left to do."
Sandor shakes his head and sighs.
"You know I'm right."
"Bullshit. What do you even know about it? When you get to my age, there's barely anything left to live for, anyway. You don't get it. Why are you even asking me to come with you? I'm not your father. I'm not your... your blacksmith. Just because... this happened doesn't mean..."
Arya is starting to lose faith, and patience. "I know what you are and are not, and I expect no promises from you, either. I just want you to consider it. Consider walking away from revenge. Please. For me, Sandor."
He looks up at her, surprised that she's calling him by his name, which she figures no one ever does anymore.
Sandor exhales. "Fine. I will go with you to the west. But if there's nothing out there, I will come back, and I will find my brother. Does that work for you, ma'am?"
Arya is relieved. And ashamed of her relief. But also happy. It's complicated, okay? It's a compromise, and she'll take it.
"Yes. It works for me just fine."
"Good." He shakes his head again. "My god, what does it say about me that after one night with you, I want to forget anything I ever needed before you came along? What have you done to me, woman?"
"Sandor... thank you," she says, and he places a gentle kiss on her lips, one made of potential promises, but also fear of the unknown. They are giving up a lot to be together, and what if it's not worth it? What if they're making a mistake? Arya doesn't want to think about that.
They fall into an uneasy sleep, not knowing what's going to happen in the coming days, weeks, months. Possibly even years. But for now, they have shaken off the bitterness of revenge. For now, they will explore the future instead of dwell over the past.
Together.