A Little Unorthodox, I'll Admit.

Layers.

They were making decent time, despite his initial reluctance to even take on this stupid quest. Following the Kingsroad, they'd already traveled through the crownlands and into the riverlands, passing all manner of farms and vast wheat fields before their surroundings started looking significantly greener.

And the entire way, the Stark girl had not. Stopped. Talking;  About anything and everything from her self-taught archery skills, to her puny toothpick of a sword, to her intolerance of uncomfortable wool dresses, to her fondness of her bastard brother, to her water dancing instruction, to her disdain for needlework and curtsying and basically all activities high-born ladies are obligated or subjected to. For all the information he absorbed, a threefold amount went in one ear and out the other as Sandor's eyes glazed over and mentally checked him into some other realm where this annoying little girl wasn't yapping his mind into insanity. 

"Sssh!" he'd said at one point, and "Shut your hole!" he'd said at another. It had proven ineffective. He was daydreaming about roasted chicken when she asked if his sword had a name.

"Mine's Needle." she declared.

The Hound scoffed, "'Course you named your sword."

"Lots of people name their swords." she defended.

"Lots of cunts." he said.

"Alright, how about your horse, there? I assume he too is nameless?" 

"Stranger. Best you keep your distance from him. Doesn't play well with ponies. Or baby wolves." 

"I'm not a baby!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with angst. 

Sandor chuckled at this, "Sorry, I meant to say "Lady Wolf." 

"I'm not a Lady!!" she swatted his arm, then winced as her hand made contact with the steel armor. 

He laughed even more. "No, I s'pose not." 

They happened upon a humble inn just outside Brindlewood, as The Hound's stomach began to growl. After getting Stranger and the pony whose name he didn't care to recall settled in the stable and purchasing a room for the night, the unlikely duo sat down for supper in the main hall. It was the most cheerful he'd felt all day, with a bowl of rabbit stew and an assortment of vegetables to add to the broth as he liked. The innkeeper offered shit for ale, but their Dornish Red would do the job just fine. He washed his first savory bite down with it and reached for the whole onion sitting among the potatoes, carrots and cabbage in the middle of the table. 

He had almost forgotten the little Stark bitch was even sitting there across from him, until she stabbed a dagger into the table between his hand and the onion, then grabbed the onion for herself to start peeling. He sat there, gaping and glaring at her at the same time. 

"Where'd you get the knife?" he asked.

"From you." she said nonchalantly, continuing on with her meal like nothing happened. 

Little shit. He yanked the knife out of the table and wiped the blade with his kerchief. 

"Do you know what happens to little girls who steal?"he asked, proceeding to eat like it was going out of style.

She shrugged. "You could just give it to me, and consider it my half of the reward." She picked up the onion and started peeling it again, tossing more pieces into her stew.

Courteous as ever, this one.

"Your half? " He wasn't even certain he was getting any sort of reward aside from so-called honor. "You're lucky I'm feeding you and not selling you to some pleasure merchant for a sack of pretty gold dragons. Any reward I reap is my own." he grumbled.

Arya seemed unfazed and changed the subject, tilting her head curiously. "What happened to your face?"

The Hound was tipping his bowl to where we was drinking the broth straight from it, thick brows and dark eyes glaring pointedly at her over the top of the bowl. He slammed it bowl down. Now that it was empty and his belly was full, he could devote all his attention to the wine and try to drown out all her annoying, unrelenting chatter.

"Got burned, girl. The fuck does it look like?!" 

"But how did it happen? I've heard different stories. One version where your bedding caught fire. Another version I heard, was that your-"

"You know what's a grand idea? Playing the quiet game."

"your older brother,"

"Ready, start!" he interrupted, making all the wine in his wooden goblet disappear in two swallows. He refilled it.

"Didn't know knights drank so much." she said, failing to play the game as he expected she would.

"Never sworn a vow." he corrected.

"Can I try it?"

He refilled the goblet and shoved it in her direction, certain she wouldn't drink much after she tried it.

The baby wolf picked up the goblet without any hesitation and guzzled it like water until the taste occurred to her and she coughed most of it up. Sandor snorted. 

"Why join me on this quest, girl?" he asked. He was genuinely at a loss for why.

"King's Landing stinks like shit." she said. 

Sandor snorted again, spitting out a bit of his drink. They were in agreement there.

"And I'm going to talk my sister out of marrying that cunt, Joffrey." she declared.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? You think she'll listen to you? I doubt if she'll even have a choice in the matter." He knew well enough that this arrangement had been made at her birth. Though again, they agreed on something. Joffrey was, indeed, a cunt. 

"Don't know. But I have to try. He is a liar and a coward and not good enough for her." she said, finally shutting up long enough to eat her food.

Sandor chuckled briefly before continuing to drink. He pondered on the concept of this girl going to such lengths to protect her sibling from a future with the mewling Joffrey. He struggled to fathom it, and it all made him feel not so unlike the onion Arya had peeled; tough on the outside, though as each layer peeled away, the sadder it got. 

I'm going mad on this venture, he thought. 

The room had one single bed, which Sandor left to the little Lady, as was proper, and he opted to sleep on the floor. Her many attempts to keep yapping on about anything and everything that crossed her mind were interrupted by his telling her to shut it, "Sssh"-ing, and eventually, his thunderous snoring.