Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

тнree-αɴd-тweɴтy

THEY TIE STRANGER behind the wain, but Shadow bolts after one of the dogs snaps at his hooves. The silver beast is lucky to have fled into the wilderness —Anya would nigh do anything to be astride the beast's back, running to freedom. Anguy takes her pack, sifting through the contents, searching for a coin purse or anything else of value for the Brotherhood Without Banners to sell. But there's nothing of worth —it's all still in Winterfell and King's Landing.

"What's this?" He holds up the small jar of poultice and unscrews the cap, sniffing the mephitic paste. The smell sours his face.

"I need that," Anya says, reaching out with her bound hands, trying to snatch it away from the bandit.

"What for?" The archer asks, face still scrunched up from the smell.

"A wound," she explains. "I have sutures which must be kept clean." Anguy tosses it anyways and grips the ropes binding her wrists before she can dash to recover it. They cover her head with a sack after that, then toss her into the cart with the Hound. Sandor grunts from out of the canvas hood covering his head when her weight lands atop him. Anya grumbles and shifts, but she's still half-laying on him and can't will herself to move; instead, she presses her cheek against the cool metal of his gorget and tries her best to relax against his warmth.

The rabble band stops for the night and drags Anya and Sandor from the cart but pushes them in separate directions. Merrit o' Moontown shoves the Hound forward and then starts tying him to one of the trees ringing where there's a fire started. "Looks like a good fuck, don't she, boys?" It's Jon O' Nutten who says it as he approaches her, hands reaching out to pull her forward by the ropes on her wrists. He has a pinched face and a deep scar shining through what little brown hair remains on his head. Anya stiffens, her heart pounding in her throat —all she can remember is that day in King's Landing during the riots when the mob had her on her back.

Jon O' Nutten offers a crooked smile of snaggled, blackened teeth. He can't help but wonder what it'd be like to fuck a highborn lady. "Let me go!" She shouts when his hand curls into the rope binding her wrists, hauling her up to stand and pressing her to walk toward the group of men sitting around the fire. Sandor Clegane twists and pulls at the ropes binding him to the tree, but he can't free himself. "Stop!" Anya screams. He doesn't, and her flailing attempts to kick at him do nothing. Jon O' Nutten only laughs, but finally Anya Stark rears back, smashing her forehead into his nose —that gets his attention.

The turncoat curses and pulls a knife from his belt. "I have a proposition," she starts hastily, and instead of slicing her throat or pressing the dagger between her ribs, he lays the blade against her cheek, listening. "A draw. Between you and I. First to break skin wins," Anya pauses, searching the man's dirty face, "if you win, you can have me." Jon O' Nutten and the men around him guffaw and cheer. "But if I win, you and the others will never lay a finger on me again."

Jon O' Nutten laughs and sheathes his dagger. "Quite like to work up a sweat before I fuck a girl," he says, laying his hand over the bulge in his britches. "Give her a sword, boys. But feather her if she tries to run."

Anguy the Archer undoes her fetters, none too happy about it, and takes the sword from his scabbard, offering it to her. She wonders if she's quick enough to run —to cut through the ropes keeping Sandor prisoner and run for it. But Anguy is a good archer, and she doubts he'll miss them both. So, she stands her ground and readies her weary body and mind for a fight.

She waits, and Jon O' Nutten strikes first —an easily blocked blow. She lets him gain ground, slowly inching back toward the ring of him and the bow lying next to Anguy the Archer. Anya ducks away and twists, picking up Anguy's bow and a single arrow. She notches the arrow and releases the taut string in a blink. The arrow sails through the air for half a second before grazing the side of Jon O' Nutten's face, from lips to ear.