Wilting ♞ Sandor Clegane

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EMBERS GLOWING A dim reddish orange had entranced Anya. The camp had grown quiet for the night, even Sandor had left her side and returned to their tent. She wasn't tired, though, she was restless. She was going home. Beric Dondarrion reappeared from the shadows and sat next to her by the fire. The Lightning Lord passed her a wineskin, and she drank. It had been so long since Anya Whent had good wine that she nigh forgot how sweet it tasted on her tongue or the warmth it created in her belly. "My lady," he addressed and she turned her cold gaze to him, "there is something you should know."

The Lord of Blackhaven thought quietly for a moment on how to say what he wished to tell her. I was, after all, a matter that she would hold close to her heart. "After the Red Wedding, we found Catelyn's body in the river, or rather a direwolf did." Nymeria. The direwolf had followed her through the Riverlands when she was traversing the King's Road to see Jon and some nights she still heard the lonesome cry of a wolf calling for its pack. "A mockery of the Tully tradition, no doubt, but we did perform the rites and gave her a final resting place."

Anya bit back her tears and reached over, placing her hand atop his. "Thank you, Beric." But she feared even those words could not show him the depth of her gratitude. Catelyn had grown to be her sister through the years, just as the Starks became her family. "I pray she and Ned are reunited." She wished desperately that they could be together again, for a love such as theirs did not deserve to be ended by death. Beric nodded, whether he agreed with her sentiment or somehow knew they were together again she didn't know.

Silence lingered for several long minutes before the Lightning Lord looked over his shoulder in the direction that Sandor had gone. "You've stayed with him all this time?" Beric asked, knowing it took a special type of person to deal with the Hound for so long. Yet when he recalled the trial that had taken place in the hollow hill of the Riverlands, he knew there was something being kindled between the two.

"I'm very fond of him," Anya admitted, there was a smile creeping up on her features that made her look youthful and whole again like she had once been at King's Landing before everything went to shit. "He's saved my life more than once and I don't wish to be parted from him." Her companion seemed surprised at the confession but knew she had no reason to lie. With matters of the heart at the center of their exchange, he let himself think of his betrothed, and what might have been.

"There have been many times that I wished for things to be different," he paused and Anya glanced over at him, "that I may see Allyria again." A wistful smile appeared on his hollow face as he looked toward the stars that could be seen through the thin veil of clouds. "You know," he mused, "I've quite forgotten the color of her hair."

Harrenhal loomed above her, a menacing plot of charred brick that had been overtaken by vines and thorny brambles. Though in a blink it all changed. The tall towers were no longer decaying. The brick was dark, but not burned. Above the ramparts, the banners of House Hoare were raised and around her were men and women scrambling from the great castle. Swords and shields were being forsaken in the greensward, as were bows and quivers. A shadow engulfed the large castle, and stones fell at the strength of the sudden hot wind.