The Inn at the Crossroads was as packed as she had seen it. The eyes of many were filled with joy as they tipped their attendants with gold dragons, drinking to the health of Lord Brynden the Blackfish. “To Queen Daenerys, First of Her Name!” they shouted as well, as goblets clinked and ale spilled.
She only had ears for the underbellies, of rumors of war at the Wall, but talk was less here than at other inns. She had spotted Hot Pie among the staff, but made no move to call out to him. Her face was still of Arya’s, but it had grown and scarred beyond recognition. There was a time when I thought Gendry and Hot Pie were my pack, she thought, the drink almost squirting from her lips in amusement.
“Will you stop those bloody toasts, you miserable cunts?” a gruff voice came from a corner of the room, unheard in the din but to her. The figure was hooded, but Arya had no trouble recognizing the voice. She felt her feet walk towards the hooded man. “You?” she said silently, incredulously, when she sat on the bench opposite.
The Hound’s black eyes looked at her with equal surprise. “How…?” the syllable leaked from his burned lips, before he regained his tone. “Looks like the little wolf bitch cheats death as well as I do,” he said, suppressing the smile.
*
Comments