This is super pushy, but I love your takes and characterisation of Gendry/Arya but also mostly the Hound! Could you do your take on the Hound realising that there's something going on between them or possibly stating that he doesn't need to threaten Gendry because he sure as shit knows that Arya'll fuck him up if he screws up?
The first time he sees them it’s all because he needed a whetstone. His axe was too blunted, covered in corpse–some of it still clung to the edges. So he walked, midday, into the forge and there it was.
She’s got that idiot pinned against one of the wooden beams, kissing him as his hands land on her hips. Her fingers are moving on the laces of his breeches and Sandor scowls.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath, slamming the door closed behind him and hoping one of those wildlings got something he can use instead.
“Something the matter?” The idiot asks him when they sit around a fire later that night, food in hand.
Sandor tears off a piece of rabbit from the bone with his teeth. “Not all that bright, are you?”
The idiot looks like he’s about to open his mouth when he cuts him off.
“Tie up your bloody shirt.”
He looks down, and his ears turn pink as he sees the telltale bruises above his collarbone.
“Fucking moron,” Sandor grunts, tossing him the other rabbit leg which he fumbles.
If he has to take in this twat’s stupid expression for another minute he’s going to be swinging his axe.
The two of them are working side by side outside the forge, him being occupied with reconnecting the links in his chain mail and the idiot hitting the anvil without bloody watching where the hammer lands.
Across the courtyard, Arya is sparring with that bumbling squire. He smirks when she hits him in the neck with an elbow and he goes down. The bitch never did fight fair.
But he’s not the only one watching. And the smith’s not looking at the shit in his hands because he’s eyeing the pair of them with the hint of a frown on his face.
“I’ll hit you in the throat if you’re so fucking concerned.”
The smith reluctantly looks away. “What?”
“Pretty sure she never dropped her pants for that.”
On the ground, the squire lets out a wheeze followed by violent coughing.
His stupid expression grows even worse as his eyes widen. “I wasn’t-”
“Do your work or you’re even more useless.”
“You know her pretty well, then?”
Sandor looks upward. Sighs. He doesn’t know how he found him, but in seven hells he’s not coming back to this room. He kicks back another long swig from his flask.
“Bitch left me for dead.”
And then he’s sitting next to him. He’s about to tell him to fuck off when he tosses him another skin. Sandor eyes him skeptically as he pulls the cork. Smells. Ale. Not that rum shit.
They sit in silence. And then the boy has to ruin it by opening his mouth.
“We’re not doing this,” he interrupts flatly, then tosses the flask back to him. “Tastes like goat piss.”
“What do you keep talking to Gendry about?” She asks as she bites into an apple.
She’s sitting on the battlements, her legs kicking out from a crumbled part as he lays down some bricks.
“Chew with your mouth closed.”
She pointedly spits some of it onto the ground. These fucking brats will be the end of him.
Her brows raise as she takes another bite. “Don’t be such a bastard.”
“Thought that’s what rung your bells.”
She throws the rest of the apple at his head. He catches it and throws it off the ledge.
She scowls, then takes out another apple from her bag and starts to loudly chew on it like a bitch with a bone. His teeth grind together.
A month later, and he walks in on them in the forge again.
“She’d be able to kill you.”
The boy startles, clearly not expecting Sandor to be laying on the bed roll next to his. “What you mean?”
“You’re slow and swing that thing like you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Sandor stuffs his bag under his head for a pillow. “She fights better. Saw her stab a man with that stupid sword of hers. Right through the neck. Bastard choked on his own blood.”
“I said alright.” The boy rolls over, pulling the blanket over his shoulders.
Sandor frowns at the ceiling.
“I told him to marry me you know.”
He pauses his axe mid-swing. She ducks down and evades it easily. They never fight with anything but live steel. Or glass. Whatever this was.
“Why would you go and do something stupid like that.”
She shrugs. “Felt like trying it.”
He snorts. “Other places to find a cock if that’s what you need.”
Arya rolls her eyes. “Don’t be a twat. We’re doing it before King’s Landing.”
She sheathes that sword of hers. “Come if you want.”
He watches her go, nose wrinkling.
A few days later he stands in the cold, scowling at a tree as Gendry puts a regular cloak around her shoulders because there isn’t time for anything else.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
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