They were finally here. Great brown walls stood before them through white leaves and thick trees. They stood hidden in snowy woods, watching from the horizon slowly emerge shapes and silhouettes.
“Lots of war,” Clegane was saying, “by lots of cunts. Getting in will be easy.”
“Yes,” she said, eyes still fixed on the closed gates. Her plan was to wear a face Jaqen H’ghar had made, but the Hound knew secret tunnels and passageways which would make infiltration easier. She had reached the end of her path, to the last gift she owed the Many-Faced God. What came next she did not want to think, albeit a seed of an idea had sprouted in her mind.
“Didn’t know you still cared about your bloody list,” the Hound was telling her. “If I were you, I’d flee back to Winterfell. At least you have a home now.”
She did not want to disclose much, about the list that did not live. “Maybe not,” she said instead. “But what if the rumors are true? What if White Walkers have occupied Winterfell?”
“Rumors,” the Hound said, laughing crassly. “Some claim Winterfell has been sacked. Nearly all the inns we visited called your bastard brother a son of Rhaegar. Another claims a half-burned man wielded a burning sword against an army of the dead. But I’m no fool. If I believed half the rumors at King’s Landing, I’d think sea dragons were real and Tywin Lannister shat gold. The only way to know truth is to see for yourself.”
An inhuman screech filled the air, and the pair turned.
The army was clearer now, marching upon the Rosby Road, but she and Clegane had eyes for the winged beast above them, spewing hot air into cold winds. She had seen the dragon at Pyke, but Clegane did not know that. She feigned surprise with him. “Sometimes rumors can be real.”
“Aye,” he replied, eyes still in the sky. “That’s enough flames I’ve seen for a day,” he said, grimacing morbidly. “It’s time to go cross some names.”
*
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