He got up from the cot, and slowly, he reached the foot of the bed. Arya had just left a rough wooden tray. On it rested, a small bowl with water, soap, something to dry, and clothes. He saw a small sharp dagger, and a small mirror. He stayed watching him for a while. He closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side in disgust ... No, it wasn't time to see each other. That would have to wait ...
He took off the few clothes he was wearing and, overcoming the pain he felt, began to wash.
As he was doing so, he was really aware of the consequences of the confrontation with Gregor. Apart from the loss, almost total, of the vision of the eye, he saw the bruises of his chest, and felt the bumps of something, which he had wanted to get out of his body but had not succeeded.
The pain was considerable when he touched those parts, especially his leg, where the same skin burned as he ran his hand through it.
He realized that he had lost a lot of weight ... The fat in his waist had disappeared, which he accumulated on the basis of feeding for a long time, almost exclusively of wine.
The muscles of his legs and arms had shrunk considerably ... and he noticed how part of the skin hung from them ... He couldn't help wondering if he would be able, now, to wield his sword ... He closed his eyes and smiled .. His sword ... He stayed in that damn tower, just like his brother.
When he considered that he had already taken off a few grams of dirt and sweat, he began to dress ... Thick wool underwear, leather pants, also black dyed wool sweater, vest and leather coat lined with wool sheep, ... Northern clothes, without a doubt. Amazingly, everything looked pretty good in stature ... He wondered where Arya would have taken it ... but immediately, he remembered all the soldiers from the north who had died in the city, and did not do it again ..
He put on his coat and again, looked at the mirror. He slowly brought his hand to him and took it.
He had spent most of his life ignoring the image he saw in them ... He had been forbidden to suffer for his cause, but now, he couldn't help but clench his lips tightly, altered when he saw his reflection. He noticed, perfectly, like the part of the damaged eye, it was somewhat sunk, complementing the disaster that was already his face before ... Both sides shattered by the same animal ... He threw the mirror to the bed, thinking that death had It was little punishment for him ... He asked the gods that he had suffered before doing so and that the fire had taken its share.
He put the knife in one of his coat pockets, leaving his beard as it was. It was what least mattered to him at that moment.
He took a breath and headed for the door of the store. He had eaten a few hours before, but he noticed how it was not enough. The legs barely responded. Luckily, that little wolf had brought him a horse that was waiting for him, outside, tied to one of the posts.
When he left, he saw that a squire, just an 11 or 12 year old boy, was waiting for him next to the hard horse.
Sandor's first reaction was to dismiss him sharply, but, he had realized, it was going to be impossible to get on the animal without his help.
He accepted it without saying a word. The boy ran away from there as soon as he saw that he was no longer needed, undoubtedly looking for a place where it was hotter.
From above the horse looked at the devastated city for the first time. Most of the castle had disappeared. There was only one of the towers and part of the central body where the throne room was. The roof was completely gone. Everything was dyed black and dark gray ... and smelled like death.
Cursing, he took the reins of the horse and at a slow jog, forced him to walk towards the port.
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Wounds (Sansa & Sandor)
Fanfiction... what if the Hound had not died when consummating his revenge?" Sansa and Sandor
