The Provenance || Jon Snow | Game of Thrones

4.04

"How far is it to the Eyrie?" Arya asks from her seat in front of the Hound, looking rather muddled in her clothing than matches her hair, all equally matted with a propensity towards knotting.

The Hound just grunts, "Far."

"And you're sure we're going the right way?"

"Believe me, girl, I want you there as soon as I can," Sandor spits with agitation at the incessant rambling of this younger Stark daughter.  "Get my gold, fulfill my promise, be on my way."
    It's the first time Arya's heard of this much, turning to look at him suddenly as she asks, "Your promise?"

"Lady Baelish sent me after you to protect you.  Didn't say anything about me not profiting off of it," the Hound relents easily, a thought seeming to strike across his mind before he laughs in that strange encounter with amusement.  "She probably fucking knew."

But Arya's not so humoured by the news, keeping her eyes trained on him as she pushes, "Why would she want me protected?"

"The devil knows," Sandor scoffs, but relents nonetheless, "She's been pretty adamant on keeping the Starks safe since your father was killed.  All she's done, really."

Arya's deeply confused by the woman's supposed actions, for after the small number of interactions they had, the Stark never got the impression Gabrielle liked those of her family even in the slightest.  Her blood burns in her veins at the rather mocking sensation, asking quickly, "Why would she do that?  What does she owe us?  My father is dead."

"I don't fucking know," the Hound replies, huffing loudly, "Maybe it's because your father is dead."

Arya does not know what to do with these questions, but it seems like the Hound either truly doesn't know or will never tell.  She supposes that she can't blame him, although Arya's adamant in the belief she has the right to know.  But even so, Sandor does not agree with her perspective, and so Arya changes the topic: "Where will you go after?"

"Why do you care?" the Hound finally meets her eyes with blazing brown, though her muddled grey seem to set a peace about him as he recognizes her less-than-dangerous question for what it is.  He shrugs, "Might book passage across the Narrow Sea.  Fight as a sellsword.  Second Sons, could be.  Seems like a good fit for me."

Arya agrees with the latter point but refuses to say as much, instead thinking of the great land of Essos and all the adventures promised upon travelling there.  The coin burns a hole in her pocket at the mere thought of heading east, and so she responds with, "I'd like to see Braavos one day."

His eyebrows furrow in question at that choice, "Why Braavos?"

"I have friends there," Arya vaguely replies.

And the Hound just blows a bit of irritated air through his lips at the simple thought, "I doubt it."

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J—

    Joffrey is dead.  Sansa's escaped King's Landing with Lord Baelish after I prepared her in all ways to deal with his treasons, strategies, and advances.  She's still in a dangerous place, but this battle...she's armored for.  Tyrion has been accused of killing the king and now sits in the dungeons of the Red Keep.  I think Cersei's sent guards after me—likely to just take my head—but I've taken company with others who despise the Lannisters as much as I—the Dornishmen, and specifically Oberyn Martell.

    It hurts me to hear of your own heartbreak, but I take comfort in the fact that you are a man of duty and must be so preoccupied with protecting the Wall that you've thought little of her. I know it must hurt to hear this, but remember that thousands of Wildlings are more important than a girl you left behind.  She's in the past now, and it will not do well to dwell on the hurt.