Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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ANYA FROWNS AS she washes out the wound on Sandor's neck. It needs cauterizing and proper treatment from a maester or herbal witch, but neither of those is like to be found this deep in the Vale, not until they reach the Eyrie, at least. She fumbles with a torn piece of linen from her shredded cloak —folding it in two before covering the festering bite to keep his mail and armor from aggravating the broken flesh further. They need supplies —bandages, nettle, mustard, and wine. Wouldn't need any of it if the Hound let her seal the wound with fire.

A pair of bandits came upon them just after they met the dying archer on the road. Biter and Rorge are what Arya named them —prisoners of Yoren who were supposed to be sworn brothers of the Night's Watch by now. Instead, they're dead. The Hound snapped Biter's neck, and Arya stuck Rorge with her Needle. "You'll need medicine once we reach the Eyrie," Anya tells him, and Sandor huffs, shrugging her off, and then he rises to saddle Stranger for the new day. He knows she's right. He's just too stubborn to admit it.

Arya rides her pale mare next to Anya and Stranger —the Hound lumbering along on foot to have a break from riding— watching the twists and turns of the High Road pass by. So far, the road's been clear. No shadowcats are hiding in the trees and hills, and none of the mountain clans have come to pick their bones clean. But good fortune must come to pass. It always does. But Anya finds herself praying again, asking the Old Gods and the New to keep their path clear. To let them arrive safely and with welcome.

The road becomes narrower as the day goes on until there's scarcely enough room for two horses to pass by one another. From the top of one of the mountains, Anya can see the Eyrie —the ancestral castle of House Arryn— looming over the landscape. Formidable, impregnable, and a haven from the chaos ravaging the rest of Westeros.

Two long parapets are hewn from the mountains, and the pass, narrow where it meets the gate, has twin watchtowers joined by a covered bridge of grey stone arching above the road. "Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" The Knight of the Gate calls, looking down at the small, narrow pass and the three haggard, road-weary travelers standing before the massive gate. Some of the archers draw their bows. Others rest their hands over the hilt of sheathed swords. They've been given orders not to let anyone pass, no matter their reason for coming.

"The bloody Hound," Sandor calls back, pulling at the gorget around his neck that's been rubbing against what he's stubbornly started calling a flea bite —a festering flea bite slowing him down.

Anya recognizes the knight by the crest he wears over his breast —a broken black wheel on a vert field —Donnel Waynwood. She shares her namesake with his mother, Lady Anya Waynwood. "And your companions?" He inquires.

Sandor glances at Anya Whent and her niece. "Lady Anya Stark and Arya Stark," he answers, "kin to your Lady Lysa." With the mention of House Stark, the archers lower their bows and return their arrows to their quivers, and the swordsmen stand at ease.

Ser Donnel Waynwood steps down from his post to the narrow walkway spanning across the gate. "It will grieve you to know then that Lady Lysa died," he announces. Anya glances up at the Hound and sees his face twist in ill-humored disappointment. "Three days ago," the Knight of the Gate adds.

All Arya can do is laugh.

Anya feels her stomach twist and the warmth of tears pricking her eyes. It's not anguish for Catelyn's late sister, but for the reprieve and shelter they will never obtain. They will not find welcome here in the Eyrie —not now amid war and chaos. Regardless, she steps forward. "Then may we seek refuge and pay our respects?"

Donnel shakes his head, returning to his position on a high seat. "Lord Arryn and Lord Baelish are not accepting guests at the moment," he tells her. Anya bristles at the mention of Littlefinger, but she says nothing more, nor does the Knight of the Gate. If the archers reaching to nock arrows again are anything to go by, they have already overstayed their welcome at the Bloody Gate. Sandor Clegane lays his hand on Anya's shoulder, urging her to turn back. She does, and he lifts her with a grimace onto Stranger's back.