Sandor Clegane yanked his reins, wheeling Driftwood around with a snarl. His rusted longsword met Jon's descending blade with a shower of sparks that hissed in the autumn air. The sun, filtered through the skeletal beech branches, cast a web of shifting shadows across the hollows of his brow.
"Bugger your ancestors and your mangy sister!" Sandor roared, using the momentum of the clash to shove Jon back. His horse's hooves crushed the fallen leaves, turning them into a mulch that looked uncomfortably like flayed skin. "You think I keep a ledger of every stray bitch in the Riverlands? Looking for a sister? Go check the corpse-piles in Flea Bottom!"
The violent shriek of metal on metal sent the refugees into a panic. A woman tumbled into a cart of pumpkins, and a basket of hickory nuts spilled across the road, popping like knuckles under the feet of the fleeing crowd.
At the front of the column, the warriors of the Brotherhood drew their steel and wheeled their mounts, preparing to charge the intruder. They were stopped short by Captain Rand's raised arm. He had recognized the red robes of the man riding behind the black-haired youth.
By then, Jon and Sandor had tumbled from their saddles, wrestling in the mud and acorns. Jon gripped the Hound's cloak, his dagger scraping against the rusted sword as the last yellow leaves vibrated off the branches above.
As Jon lunged for a throat-lock for the third time, the Hound suddenly froze. He sensed an eerie silence. The Brotherhood warriors weren't attacking; they had formed a semi-circle, watching the fight. One scarred man was even nonchalantly eating a green apple.
"Hell's gates!" Sandor barked, kicking Jon away and vaulting to his feet. The smell of damp humus clung to his boots.
Jon stood, chest heaving. Even with a Blessing of Might thrumming through his limbs, he realized he could not simply overpower the burned man. He lowered his sword as his own companions caught up.
"Jon Snow?"
Kevin Turner rode out from behind Rand, his voice startling a jay from the thicket. On the other side, Thoros of Myr dismounted, his red robes sweeping over the dry pine needles. "Rand, what in the heavens are you doing with the Hound?"
Half an hour later, as the sun dipped behind the maple line, the refugees were herded into the lee of a hill to make camp. Nearby, the Brotherhood sat in a wide circle, firelight dancing in their eyes as Jon recounted the horrors he had seen at the Twins.
As the shadows lengthened, Jon's voice grew rapid, his breath puffing white in the cooling air. "...I fell into the river and Ghost pulled me out. But Sandor Clegane—before the Freys took the gates, I saw you take my sister, Arya Stark. Who did you sell her to?"
The news of the Red Wedding was a physical blow to the outlaws. Rand turned a glare toward the Hound. "Sandor Clegane, if you were there, why didn't you speak of this?"
"Speak of what?" Sandor's voice was a dull knife on a whetstone. Poison dripped from his scarred throat. "Tell you I watched the Young Wolf get a wolf's head sewn onto his neck for a mummer's suit?" He spat a glob of blood and phlegm. "Or tell you the stupid wolves couldn't even guard their own throats?"
"You smelled the charred meat of the King and ran," Rand growled, slamming his scabbard against the earth. "And you didn't think to bring word to the North?"
Sandor scoffed. "Since when does the 'Brotherhood' care for the Starks? I must have missed the sermon."
Jon surged forward. "I saw you take her! By the blood of Winterfell—where is Arya Stark?"
"Your sister..." Sandor said coldly. "I don't know where she is."
Thoros leaned in. "Hound, you recognized her the day Lord Beric put you to trial. You followed us until she was alone, then you stole her. Aye?"
"Aye, I took her! You lot stripped me of every copper I won at the tourney—gold won fairly in the dirt! You took my life's blood, so I took your prize. Why wouldn't I?"
"She isn't a prize! She's my sister!" Jon shouted, reaching for Sandor's collar.
The Hound slapped his hand away. "Boy, you should be thanking the heavens it was me. If Dondarrion had taken her, he'd have sent her to Riverrun or her mother, and she'd be a Lannister trophy spiked on the Red Keep by now."
"I should thank you for kidnapping her?!"
"If you had any breeding, you would!"
Septon Ray stepped between them before steel could be drawn again. "Sandor. Tell us what happened to the girl."
Sandor sat back, exhaling a ragged sigh. "At the Crossroads Inn, Gregor's pets gave me a fever and a wound that wouldn't close. Under a tree—the one you found me under, Ray—the wolf-girl left me to rot. I don't know where she went. She knew her mother and brother were dead. I'd meant to take her to the Vale, to Lysa Arryn, but the mountain passes are crawling with the Imp's savages. I thought of Saltpans—to find a ship for the Eyrie. But alone? She talked about the Wall. She might have looked for a ship heading North."
Jon's rage evaporated into a hollow ache. Sandor hadn't harmed her; he had simply been too broken to hold her. How much has she suffered alone?
"If I had found you a few days earlier," Jon whispered, "I could have taken her to her mother."
Sandor frowned. "What are you talking about? The Tully woman died at the wedding."
Thoros shook his head. "Lord Beric gave his life for hers. By his final word, Lady Catelyn leads the Brotherhood now."
Kevin's brow furrowed at the news. "Resurrection... that is not the natural way."
"I agree," Thoros said, "but Beric made his choice. When we left her, Lady Stoneheart was leading the core of the Lightning Lord's men toward the Frey lands. She seeks vengeance."
Kevin looked dissatisfied. "The Brotherhood was meant to protect the smallfolk. We never took Tully gold. We took our gear from the dead and our bread from the farmers. Why follow a ghost for Stark revenge? I've seen the 'wolves' treat the peasants no better than the 'lions'."
One of the Northmen behind Jon bristled. "The Freys turned a feast into a slaughter! Do they not deserve the sword?"
"Is it only the Freys?" Kevin's voice rose. "What of the Lannisters who burned the fields? What of the Tullys who bled the Riverlands dry and then lost? What of the lords who sat behind their walls while the Young Wolf was butchered? They failed their people and their allies. Do they not deserve the sword too?"
The circle went silent. The Northman looked stunned. "That... that is a dangerous thought."
"The Way of Light does not care for bloodlines," Kevin said. "Only for what is right."
"Lady Catelyn will not agree with you," the youth argued.
"Then I will tell her myself," Kevin stated. "We followed Beric's dream. He said the Hand was dead and the King was dead, but the Realm remained. We fight for the people, not for names. That is why we have no banners."
The debate left the camp in a pensive mood. Sandor Clegane looked at Kevin. "Boy... did your teacher tell you all that?"
"Some. But I know he would agree. My teacher is a merciful man, but his vision is far more 'extreme' than mine."
"I'm beginning to wonder what kind of monster this Aldric is," Sandor grunted.
"Go to the monastery," Kevin said. "You'll see."
He turned to Jon. "And you? Your path?"
"I have to find her," Jon said, his head bowed. "I have to find Arya."
"Go, then. I suspect she is waiting for you, in her way. I will tell the Master what has happened when our paths cross again. He expects us to have our own wills, Jon. He won't hold this against you."
"I feel... as though I have failed him," Jon admitted.
Kevin laughed. "The Master has the Resonance Crystals. If he truly lacked for men, he would lower his standards and have an army of Sunwalkers in a week. He chooses not to. He wants us to be real."
"He has a new student," Jon added. "A boy named Gendry."
Thoros perked up. "The smith from the Crossroads? Why him?"
"He has a gift for the forge," Jon explained. "He helped the Master craft Light-Forged Iron. It is a steel unlike anything in the Seven Kingdoms."
The next morning, Jon and his few remaining companions bid the Brotherhood farewell and headed for Saltpans. Six days later, the air began to taste of salt, and the roar of the Trident grew wide and deep.
They reached Saltpans at midday. It was a town built around a square, grey castle, but it was a ruin. Most of the shops and inns near the docks had been looted or burned. To the east, the Bay of Crabs shimmered in a brilliant blue-green.
Jon began to question the locals. He quickly found a boy on the docks who remembered a girl selling a horse. The stable-mistress was a large, muscular woman who smelled of manure and hay.
"A long-faced girl with grey eyes and brown hair? Aye, I saw her," the woman said, leaning against a post. "She had a fine garron—a knight's horse, no doubt. I know a high-born beast when I see one. She wasn't high-born, though. Stole it, likely. I gave her a silver moon for it."
"And then?" Jon pressed.
"I heard she took that silver to the docks. She boarded The Titan's Daughter—a merchant galleas bound for Braavos. That's all I know. Now, are you here for the horse? Because I paid for it fair and square."
"The girl you bought it from is my sister," Jon said, his voice thick with emotion.
He turned to his companions. "Eula... go back to the others. Return to the monastery."
"And you, Lord Jon?"
"I'm going to Braavos," Jon said, looking out at the sea. "I'm bringing her home."
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