A Hound in the Woods

Parting

Parting is such sweet sorrow

The men of the brotherhood made camp in the nearby woods. Angharad looked at their firelight glowing through the trees. The vision played over in her head. Whatever awaited Sandor in the north had to be dealt with. She didn't know what she saw, or what they could do, but there was a feeling deep down that he had to go. And a feeling that he would be back.

She pulled the blanket tightly around her shoulders. Sandor stood behind her in the doorway. He didn't understand the vision or the feeling that she had. He felt like he was being driven away from yet another home. It almost felt like he was a young man of 16 again. When Gregor had taken control of Clegane Keep near Lannisport and banished Sandor from the grounds. Sandor left willingly, he didn't wish to be subject to his brother's rule. But Sandor didn't want to leave Angharad. He didn't want to leave their home, their companions, their unborn child.

Sandor would leave, but he would come back as soon as he could. With luck it wouldn't take longer than it took the moon to reach its fullness in a few weeks time. But for now, Sandor wanted to be with his wife. He wanted to savor her softness, her smell, her every feature. He put a big hand on her shoulder. "Come, I'll have a song from you while I hold you."

Angharad turned from the open doorway and followed Sandor to the bed. She rested her head on his bare chest and listened to his heart beating in her ear. His thick hair curled and tickled her cheek. She hummed Jenny of Oldstones while Sandor traced the freckles on her shoulders with his rough fingertips. He rested his chin on her head and smelled the lingering scent of the ivy soap she washed her hair with. This is what he would miss the most, the sight of her draped over him. The feeling of her drifting off to sleep, her breath on his skin. The sweet smell of dried herbs, flowers, and oils that clung to her fiery locks. The sound of her hard at work, humming a song.

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Angharad folded hardtack bread into wax cloth. She tucked it into the leather satchel that Sandor would take his meals in to cut trees. She had already packed several days worth of dried meat, fruits, and vegetables. It wouldn't be enough to last the entire trip, but it would be enough to see him through a few days. She added a small jar of the pain relieving salve that she rubbed on Sandor's leg when it hurt him after a long day of work.

She looked to the bed. Sandor remained asleep for the time being. She wouldn't disturb her sleeping giant if it meant she got to keep him for a moment longer. Angharad wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and slipped her shoes on. She left the cottage and went to where the Brotherhood had made camp in the trees. The morning air was cold. Dew stuck to the grass on either side of the dirt path that wrapped around the garden.

Angharad had to leave the path to get to the camp. Her skirts picked up the dew as they swayed with each step. She could see some men moving about the camp, striking tents and rolling blankets. The priest, Thoros, was at the edge of the trees discussing their route with an archer. He was the first to notice Angharad.

"The morning light does you great justice," he greeted. Angharad didn't want his flattery. She still harbored feelings of malcontent to him and his companions for what happened to the settlers. She only offered a curt nod in response.

"Who is the leader amongst you?" she asked.

"That would be Baric Dondarrion."

"I wish to speak to him," she requested.

Thoros nodded and led her to where Baric was packing his sleeping mat. Baric stood and bowed his head to Angharad. "The Lady Clegane wishes to speak to you," Thoros left them alone to speak. Those words felt strange to Angharad. 'Lady Clegane.' She was Sandor's wife and he was the heir to his family's lands, true enough, but she was no lady. She eyed Thoros from the corner of her eye until he was out of sight.

"What can I do for you, Lady Clegane?"

"Angharad," she corrected.

"Hm?" Baric tilted his head to the side, confused.

"My name is Angharad. I'm no lady, nor do I wish to be one. I only wish to preserve my existence, our existence," she gingerly placed a hand over her stomach. "You need to bury them." Tears welled in her eyes. She was talking about her friends that lay dead in the field where they were slew.

Baric shook his head, "I'm sorry, we must move on. There isn't time-"

"I don't care!" Angharad raised her voice, cutting off his excuse. "Your men did this, you are responsible. You have what, ten men here? You have the numbers to do it by days end, and I do not. I cannot do it myself." Angharad's chin trembled as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. She looked into Baric's good eye as he thought of her words.

He couldn't let her bury all of the people by herself, especially in her condition. He felt uneasy as she held his gaze. Her eyes bore into his like she was looking into his soul. Baric conceded. "We can't bury them. We will have to burn them, it will be the fastest."

"Very well," Angharad pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and left the camp to return to her home. Burning wasn't what they deserved, they deserved better. They deserved to be left alone to live. They deserved to be laid back into the earth to meet their Gods as intended, but if the Gods were truly merciful and loving a funeral pyre would have to be good enough.

Sandor was still sleeping when Angharad returned. Her heart ached, this would be the last time in a long while that she would see him sleeping in their bed. The last time that she would make him breakfast. Sandor lay on his side snoring softly, Angharad sat on the bed beside him and rubbed his back. Sandor stirred and rolled to face her. His brown curls were wild and pulled across his face. Angharad gently picked each strand off and tucked them behind his ear. She traced the burned flesh that covered the side of his head and face. She tried to take in every detail.

Tears filled her eyes again, she was much more emotional than she had been in the past. Everything was coming to a head and she was trying to make the most of every second before Sandor would leave.

"Don't cry," Sandor begged. His voice was heavy with the rasp of sleep. He didn't need much for an excuse to stay. Sandor sat up and sighed, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. Angharad wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, she sniffed her nose. She couldn't help her outpouring of emotions.

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The brotherhood left, before Sandor was ready, to build a pyre for the dead settlers. He would meet with them soon enough. "Promise me you won't go to the settlement until black smoke no longer rises over the horizon. You don't want to see what awaits."

"I promise. Promise me you'll come home when the fighting's done."

"I promise." Sandor took a knee and rested his hands on Angharad's belly. "Promise me you won't give your mother too much grief," he said. Sandor rose to his feet and hugged Angharad to him one last time before leaving down the dirt path over the hill. Angharad watched him until he disappeared.