A Little Unorthodox, I'll Admit.

A Great And Noble Quest.

He wasn't wasting any time, as he readied his horse immediately after the tourney to make for Harrenhal, grumbling to himself all the while. This was not his plan for today. At most, he would have attended the feast, drank himself into a stupor and headed for the brothel only to change his mind and pass out alone in his sleeping quarters, too annoyed with the world to withstand the presence of a whore lying to him.

That's the honor you deserve, you stupid mutt, he told himself. Of all the foolhardy things, why had he bothered with defending that little pillow-biting knight? He knew the answer to that. Any opportunity to tussle with his older brother was worth seizing, though even killing the motherfucker would hardly be a fair exchange for the work Gregor had made of his face all those years ago...

It was better than any of his toy horses or wooden swords. He'd found it while playing in the kennels that morning. A small boy, he often took to diving into hay stacks and riding the large hounds like miniature horses made just for him. Amidst a pile of hay, he'd found a figurine of a man donning armor and a helm, wielding a sword and shield. It was painted allover in white, and fit perfectly in his hand, which was larger than that of other boys his age, but still small. He imagined some adventure taking place, running the toy knight across the mantle in the dim firelight of their Keep that night...

The Hound's thoughts were interrupted by a very demanding little voice.

"Ser Hound," she started. It was Lord Stark's youngest daughter, dressed like a boy and with the tiniest sword he'd ever seen in hand. She held the reins of her own white pony, who didn't dare come any closer to his intimidating courser.

"I'm no fucking Ser!" he roared, immediately pissed. How many times did he have to say it?!

"I don't care what you are," she bit back, "But I'm going with you."

He snorted, "The Hells you are. I travel alone." The last thing to pack, he shoved his flagon of wine in with his rations.

The Stark girl wasn't moved any, "As a Lady of House Stark, I command it."

"You don't command me, baby wolf. Now, why don't you go back to your needlework and let me be, before you get in trouble with your Septa for forgetting your courtesies?"

At this, her doe eyes, much too large for her face, were furious, her voice shrill, "Fuck courtesies!" She then pointed her pathetic little sword at him, poking him in his armored chest. "And this is the only needlework that concerns me, dog!"

As a reflex to her harmless threat, he grabbed the scruff of her collar and lifted her off her feet, pulling her face close to his burned side to scare her. "You really want to travel with this?!"

She didn't waver one bit. "My sister sure as Hell won't want to."

He lowered her to the ground. She had a point, after all. What Lady in her right mind would follow him anywhere, aside from this little pain in the ass?

"Face it, you need my help. And I want to get out of this stinking city." she said. "And besides, if you don't, I'll tell my Father all about how you roughed me up just now."

The Hound sighed and rolled his eyes, unwilling to continue arguing as daylight burned away. He placed his hound helm over his head, resigned to giving the girl her way.

"Keep up, wolf bitch. I won't wait about." he growled, mounting his horse and departing the stable without a single pause.

The girl shuffled to quickly apply a random helmet, mount her pony and follow suit, cursing under her breath to urge the animal along and catch up with him.

"Name's Arya, by the way." she announced as she reached his side with surprising haste.

His brows furrowed. Don't care, he thought.

"Sandor." He mumbled involuntarily, before telling her to keep her mouth shut as they exited the gates unnoticed by the guards.