When they had spoken of facing the beast, as she knew was going to happen, Sandor Clegane’s eyes became two sparks of flame, and his tongue slid out of burned lips to lick them in anticipation. “I like how badly I crave to kill that cunt,” he had said. “To bathe in his black blood, laugh at his dead eyes. It keeps my mind clear.” His voice was alive with confidence, a courage she placed to strategy. She was wrong. It was of the rawest of emotions, hate.
The two scythed at each other like animals. The Hound daren’t parry any swings Gregor took with his six-feet greatsword, for his blade would surely shatter. He dodged them, and whenever he found the chance, swung his sword against his enemy. The blade rung against the Mountain’s armor, leaving nasty scratches but nothing more. The beast wore heavy golden plate over chainmail and boiled leather. He looked chiseled out of rock.
The only gift she owed was Cersei Lannister. The first time she saw her, she caught frightened eyes, but as the swordfight progressed, she sunk deeper into her chair, a smile forming on her face. The bitch sips wine, Arya noticed with rage. She usurps the Iron Throne, murders my father, and sits sipping wine?
But whenever she went at her, the glint of gold came her way. They were only four, but the holdfast was short of space, and the Mountain quick for a man of eight feet. The sudden sight always scared her, but Gregor had no eyes for the little girl. The slits of his flat-topped greathelm were always focused at his half-burned brother.
When she went to help, Sandor yelled her away. “No!” he said, narrowly escaping Gregor’s slashes. “Leave him to me!” Arya ignored him. The Mountain was covered with armor from head to toe, spare the slits where his joints were. She thrust her sword through his left kneecaps with all her might. The sword found flesh, but it was so tough it did not even pierce.
I need to stab at something softer.
She hastily pulled away her sword. The Mountain’s slits stared down at her. The greatsword flashed before her eyes, and she ducked. His feet sunk into her stomach. She flew across the room like a ragged doll.
Credits ertacaltinoz for the wallpaper
She looked up, the breath knocked out of her, relieved to see the Hound keep the beast busy while she was fallen. “Leave him to me!” he kept shouting, hacking away at his impenetrable armor. She saw Cersei. The bitch had almost risen in hope, looking to finish away the girl while she was gasping for breath. She wiped sweat from her brow. The room was cramped and warm, the crackling hearth making the closed quarters stuffy, away from the snows outside.
That’s it.
The Mountain’s sight was limited, but his greathelm turned as she approached the beast. Now he means to kill me too, she realized. The jab at his kneecap had cost Arya her safety, although it had made the beast limp slightly. She presumed he may be bleeding inside. The more, the merrier.
She carefully positioned herself with her back to the fireplace, facing him. Her decision was made. When she was as tiny as she was, there were only few places to aim for. The Mountain bulled at her, and Arya feinted. She quickly slid the sword between his other knee, so hard the blade stayed inside.
In the second he grunted, she ran behind, swift as a deer. “Help me!” she told Sandor, as she charged at the Mountain’s back. The Hound looked at her, his staggering brother, the burning flames besides, and he understood. At the same moment she leaped at the golden plates, Sandor thrusted his shoulder in the same direction.
The wounded knees buckled, and Gregor Clegane fell headfirst into hot coals.
Cersei’s yells were barely audible over the roar that the animal gave. His greathelm may have saved him from the sparks, but the Mountain was probably already cooking under heavy armor. The heat inside his headdress must be making his face melt, like a sword plunged into furnace.
Gregor Clegane flailed his feet around before he rose, weary that the Hound or she may plunge more swords into the slits, and for the first time Arya Stark sensed fear. Fear cuts deeper than swords. When he stood, he yanked his greathelm from his face, gasping for cool air.
Things moved quickly.
Arya climbed at him from behind. Sandor charged from the front. The Mountain was swinging, trying to drop her, but her claws sunk in, holding firm. Arya’s left arm was wrapped tightly around Gregor’s neck. Her right arm unsheathed the dagger and found the eyes. As she fiercely pierced away, she saw Sandor’s sword hand raise. Gregor was blind, but his greatsword pointed in his direction.
“Watch out!”
There was a horrid, stomach-turning crunch, a thunderous noise, and they all fell to the floor, yelling in agony. For a second, groans and grunts sat the Iron Throne.
She heard the noises of quick feet. She looked up. Cersei Lannister charged at her. The queen’s dagger flew in her direction. Arya raised her left arm in reflex. She noticed the blood before Cersei’s blade hit it.
The dagger caught itself in Arya’s mangled arm. Quick as a snake, the girl thrust her bodkin deep into Cersei’s heart. She fell.
Arya Stark felt faint. When she saw the dying queen, the fallen brothers and her broken, bleeding arm, the chaos started to come together. While she had stabbed daggers at the Mountain’s face, the Hound had aimed for his brother’s neck. His sword had found it, but in the process, taken away half of Arya’s left arm.
The Hound…
She staggered to Sandor. Gregor’s greatsword had plunged through his entire torso. It had made it through the other side. He was covered and spitting in blood, but even then, Sandor Clegane’s eyes blinked feebly of life. His eyes found hers. “Is he dead?”, the lips whispered.
She looked over. Gregor Clegane’s face was blackened and burned, his eyes crying with blood. He was motionless. The Hound’s sword had not made it to the other end, but was deep enough to take his life. It was still wedged inside, as was her sword on the Mountain’s knee. He was dead… dead as any beast could be.
“Yes,” she told him, but Sandor had already gone.
Arya fought against unconsciousness. She plucked out her sword from Gregor’s knee. She wrapped thick cloths over her arm. There are people to help me, a voice inside reminded her. Jaqen H’ghar had kept well-placed allies in King’s Landing. They could take her from the war and save her life.
The thunderous roar helped bring her further to her senses. She felt the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast shake, as the screeching of a dragon rained across the morning sky. The Red Keep is under assault. I need to flee soon.
A cough came from the fallen men. Arya brushed the tears with her unharmed arm to see clearly. It was Cersei, her dying eyes looking intently at her, the fingers reaching in her direction. She was whispering something.
“Tell Jaime…”
A girl sliced her throat. Why waste your breath on the dead?
*
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