fight like gods. asoiaf

THIRTY FIVE

XXXV
LUCELLA
"the Knight and the Boatman"

Lucella Clegane could remember the last day she'd ever cried.

They had been tears filled with anger, but cries they still were. Sandor had loomed in her doorway, as thick as a brick and as solemn as a grave. Gregor had hit her. Hit her in a way that made her nose sting and eyes prickle. It was a natural reaction. Gregor always made her cry. Sandor always stayed and watched until she finished, lips downturned but always silent.

Sometimes it was anger that made her weep. Pure, unbridled rage that left her chest heaving. Frustration bubbled into hot tears, making her want to scream. She wanted to jump and shout and throw her things across the room, let them smash to the floor in pieces, regardless that it was all she had left of her father. But instead, she stayed silent, a foul glare on her face, darkening her eyes and dulling the throb in her head. The tears fell down her face until they no longer could, and dried where they landed, cold and forgotten.

It was the day they left the family Keep.

It was much like an oath to herself, one that she'd honoured well so far. Never again would she cry, no less because of her brother.

Now, staring at Sansa's raw face, damp with tears, Lucella tried to remember what it felt like to cry. The cries were long gone now, but the memory of them was not. The sound had sent a chill down her back.

The cliff face seemed to stretch for miles in front of them. Underfoot, the rock was slick with the last remnants of a summer storm and far ahead dark, murderous clouds loomed above the canopy of the Kingswood, their destination. Lucella feared they wouldn't reach the end before the onslaught of rain.

Arya had slid in front of her at some point, paving their way down the rock face, feet careful but quick. She moved much like a cat, skilfully and as if she had nine lives to protect her from such a far fall. Perhaps she did. It was by pure luck that the Stark girls had survived the Capital.

"How much further?" Sansa asked, not daring to look ahead.

Lucella could not answer for a moment. There were two responses to the question. First, they had already mastered most of the descent, and their ground would be flat soon enough. But then there was the difficult truth.

Their journey would never end if the Lannisters were looking for them.

She wanted to know what had happened in the Great Hall. She wanted to know if Ned Stark lived. She wanted to know where her brother was, and what he was doing. Lucella wondered if a part of him knew that she would be in the middle of it.

"We're almost there," Arya said, turning to take her sister's hand, smiling feebly.

Sansa only nodded. She moved slowly, too afraid to look down at her feet for fear of the height. The two girls guided her with both hands clenched together.

Yet as the gargle of the Blackwater inevitably grew louder, Sansa grew more confident. Lucella held her hand out to Sansa, letting her put her weight against her shoulder to jump down upon the next step. The mouth of the river stretched wide in front of them. Twisting like a snake, the water tumbled over great boulders that rutted from the earth, crashing in great clangs of noise. Only as the river flattened, did the water calm, stretching into the vast expanse that lay home to a harbour.

Along the cliff face they hid against, small, wooden hoots were shackled to rocks. The girls watched the people come and go. There were all sorts of people, all sorts of voices and noises, languages they couldn't comprehend. Lucella didn't trust these people. She didn't know their loyalties. Though the city watch liked to turn out their houses, money could buy even the angriest of souls.