#Brotherhood Without Banners

[wodania]

stoneheart

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

“Arya wouldn’t have survived what Sansa went through at the Red Keep” And exactly why? Because she’s an angry girl that can’t shut her mouth and that would’ve gotten her killed? Bullshit

Are we talking about the same girl who managed to escape the Red Keep and lived undercover for days while her father was imprisoned, without reveling her identity to any of the guards that were constantly searching for her? The same girl who managed to keep her identity hidden and traveled with criminals for weeks? The same girl who survived being one of The Mountain’s captives? The same girl who then survived Harrenhal, where she was smart enough to keep her identity hidden from Roose Bolton (who at that time was believed to be one of Robb’s allies) because she couldn’t be sure she would be taken to her family if he knew who she was? The same girl who helped Hot Pie and Gendry escape Harrenhal, the largest castle in the Seven Kingdoms, when she heard Vargo Hoat would take over, and freed the Northmen as well? The same girl who then was taken by the Brotherhood without Banners, and then kidnapped by Sandor Clegane? The same girl that had to watch the body of her older brother, a man she admired, being paraded around as his “allies” cheered on? The same girl that escaped Westeros and managed to get to Braavos (granted she got a free trip to Essos because of Jaqen’s coin, but up until she got to the ship she didn’t have any help)? The same girl who was then taken in and forced to give up everything she had and was? The same girl who was treated almost like a slave there? The same girl that was beaten and belittled? The same girl that was blinded and was forced to get used to life without vision? The same girl that, somehow, survived and endured until that point, outsmarting grown ups and finding “shortcuts” to ensure her survival?

You’re telling me that same girl wouldn’t have been smart enough to survive Cersei and Joffrey, people who she had figured out shortly after meeting them and knew what to do or not do to push their buttons, because she’s good at reading people? She wouldn’t have survived what Sansa survived?

At least Sansa was safe until Robb’s death, because she was a hostage and if something bad where to had happened to her, it would’ve caused outrage on the North. She was the Lannisters’ safety net, of course she wouldn’t have been killed, no matter how crazy Joffrey was —even he was aware of it, and it’s clear when you read her chapters. I’m obviously not trying to take away Sansa’s trauma because she was abused and humiliated in the Red Keep by Joffrey, but there was always someone who intervened (especially after Tyrion married her); that’s a sense of security that Arya never have because no one knew who she was— if she somehow made the wrong move she would’ve been killed, no time to get help from someone or try to prove who she actually was because people wouldn’t have believed her. She was in constant danger and not even being Ned Stark’s daughter was of any help, if anything it put an even bigger target on her back.

So yes, Arya would’ve one hundred percent survived what Sansa went through, because she went through so much worse without having the “privilege” of her parentage to protect her. Stop watering down Arya’s intelligence just because you know Sansa would’ve died on day one if she had been on Arya’s shoes without the privilege of being a lady.

[fromtheseventhhell]

I've seen a lot of theories about Arya leading the BWB so she can "fight for the smallfolk" but would that not mean that our new generation of rulers was failing and nothing had fundamentally changed? The whole point of the BWB was that they were fighting for the smallfolk when nobody else would. The war was incredibly devastating for them and yet none of the rulers made them a priority or really cared about them. How is it satisfying that the story ends with them still being necessary? Would it not make more sense that we have rulers who care about the smallfolk and make it a point to protect them? I've never understood why Arya's association with the smallfolk makes people believe she won't have any political power when that's precisely why she would be a good candidate. She witnesses first-hand what the smallfolk are experiencing and even confronts the hard truth that Northerners are part of that devastation. Those seem like important lessons for a leader determined to change the system.

[jaimeslayers]

Jaime when Stoneheart and the brotherhood confront him on his crimes against House Stark and Tully:

[dalekofchaos]

How Robb could've won the North's independence

Realistically, it would be impossible for Robb to win the War of the Five Kings unless he teamed up with Stannis or somehow got married to Margaery Tyrell(Robb goes to treat with Renly instead of Cat, Renly dies and Robb convinces the Tyrells to join forces, only condition:marry Margaery). But it would've been possible to win The North's Independence.

Before we get into the how he could win, let's look into how and why Robb lost.

Sending Theon to Pyke. The beginning of the end. On one level Robb was right to trust Theon, because we see from Theon's POV chapters that he intended to stay true to Robb's cause…. up until his father rejected him and sent him to reave the West coast and Moat Callin with the other Ironborn. It's only after Theon has been rejected by his father and forced to serve on a ship with another captain (putting the heir to the seastone chair lower in rank than a battle commander) that Theon cracks and decides to do something big to prove he is a worthy heir to Balon Greyjoy. But Cat is also right: because she expected that something could go wrong. Now, she expected that Theon would betray Robb from the off, because she has a nasty suspicious streak and really assumes the worst about everybody - think of all the times she bleats that Jon can't stay at Winterfell as he'll usurp Robb's rights, and ask yourself: has there been any indication that Jon would ever do this? No. Jon could have worked his way up to captain of the Winterfell guard as a Stark bastard, and Robb would have been better protected by his much loved brother than anyone else. But because Cat is so deeply entrenched in her belief that bastards are grasping stealers of birthright, she cannot allow that possibility to even be discussed. Same thing happens with Theon. Cat knows more about Ironborn culture than Robb, and she appreciates that Theon has been a Stark prisoner for years whereas Robb unfortunately thinks of Theon as another adopted brother. But she fails to adequately explain to Robb that her concerns about Theon are not about Theon's character per se, but about Ironborn culture. She anticipates that something could go wrong - she doesn't see exactly what happens to turn Theon against the Starks, but she had enough knowledge of the Ironborn to make a case to Theon and Robb that Balon Greyjoy was a cantankerous old prick who would not be willing to provide a naval fleet to a king he has no interest in pledging his loyalty to in any case.

Not Informing His Uncle of His Plans: Edmure threw back the Lannister forces at the Battle of the Fords. Because of this, Robb is unable to encircle Tywin's host, as he had hoped to surround and capture them further within the Riverlands. I'm not so sure that Robb actually had that "plan" in Riverrun. I think he hammered out the details of the trap somewhere in the West, and didn't think Edmure would interpret differently. As to the trap itself: oh no, Tywin's cause would have been lost for sure. If he delayed for even a few hours, he'd be late to the rescue of King's Landing - Lannister Plot ArmorTM struck again. And the thing is, if he crossed the Trident, he'd be caught between Robb, Edmure and Roose - you can forget about the Red Wedding then: Roose and Walder are dipshits for sure, but they're above all opportunistic dipshits. With Tywin caught between 3 different forces, at least one of which - Robb - is way, way better at guerilla hill-war that Tywin (who never seems to win anything unless he outnumbers his enemy at least 2:1), that's it for the Lannister army. Meanwhile, Stannis takes KL, but keeps pissing off everyone with his charming personality, so his reinforcements are dubious. But Stannis is a man of honor and of his word and he would've given the Starks Sansa. Dorne would be pleased that Tywin and the Mountain dies and extends an alliance with The North. The Tyrells just fuck off in Highgarden. The Ironborn are dealt with and would be at death's door until Euron returns. Stannis has Varys and Littlefinger executed and Lysa just sulks with Sweetrobin in The Eyrie. The Starks regain The North and the Starks reunite and most importantly Robb is the one who goes to the Wall and helps prepare the North for The Others.

Beheading Rickard Karstark: Karstark, feeling the need for vengeance due to his son's deaths, slaughters prisoners of war Tion Frey and Willem Lannister. Due to this act, Robb sentences Karstark to death and beheads him personally. This leads to the Karstark' abandoning ship and heading home. Rickard and the Karstarks had been some of, if not, his most loyal vassals. When Ned was imprisoned and Robb called his banners Rickard answered bringing as many men as he could unlike many other Northern Lords who held back men in reserve for their own interests. Or the Umbers who threatened to go home unless he got his way and had to be threatened to stay and help Robb free his father. When Winterfell was captured and Bran and Rickon's lives endangered the Karstarks were one of the few Northern Houses to send men despite the large distance to Winterfell. Despite all this, despite the fact that two of Rickards sons were killed as they were protecting Robb from Jaime Lannister, or his heir was captured being sent into a battle that Robb knew they were going to lose Robb still gave Rickard Karstark the harshest punishment he could instead of being lenient like his own advisers suggested and keeping him prisoner or sending him to the Wall. Now this move was especially stupid as the remnants of the 2,000 Karstark foot was with Roose. Robb was actually worried about them turning on Bolton, which was a real possibility, but instead they worked with Roose to take down Robb at the Red Wedding. Would Roose have had the confidence to act without those Karstark numbers? Being lenient with Rickard might have still lost those Karstark men but they would never have helped in the Red Wedding. Karstark sacrificed a lot and while killing those two Lannisters was bad, no one would have cared if it had been on the battlefield. Their age has little to do with it, both sides would have had casualties of similar ages in the battles.

Marrying Jeyne Westerling: Robb was betrothed to a daughter of Walder Frey; however, this act broke that vow, thus leading to the Frey's feeling betrayed and withdrawing home. This act of defiance towards the Frey's is later paid in kind via the Red Wedding.

With that out of the way, here is how Robb could've won The North's Independence.

If we’re looking at deposing Joffrey and extinguishing the Royal Branch of House Baratheon-Lannister, then no. Too many riches, lords, and men support them for the Stark/Tully coalition to mount an offensive. They’d be enveloped, surrounded and destroyed.

If we’re looking at the independence of the North, then its possible, but Robb is going to have to do some unpleasant/unhonorable things, because here’s the ultimate goal:

Getting behind Moat Calin and fortifying for the Winter.

If Robb can do that, then he’s pretty much untouchable.

So, how do we get there?

First things first, don’t tie the knot with Talisa/Westerling and marry Roslin Frey like he agreed to. That stupid marriage should never have happened in the first place.

Eddard Stark survived the stain of a “bastard.” Robb can too, which may not even be a problem since Westerling never became pregnant (probably due to her mother). Robb marrying for love was so out of character that we’re just setting aside the Talisa incident.

Next, its time to get the Northern Alliance some breathing room for their strategic retreat.

Robb needs to recognize that Edmere is an idiot and needs his uncle Blackfish to watch over his shoulder the whole time. If he does so, then Robb’s cannon plan in season 3 works. The Mountain and his Ravagers are drawn out of Harrenhal, surrounded and annihilated.

That not only deals a blow to Lannister prestige, but also wins them brownie points with the Brotherhood Without Banners. Enough so that maybe they let Robb know that they have his sister.

That with a nice sack of cash will firmly place the BWB on the Stark side, so long as Robb can keep his Northmen in line. They are going to be the Stark’s eyes and ears as well as turn the Riverlands into the Spanish Ulcer for the Lannisters.

Which brings us to Karstark.

At the beginning of season three, the Kingslayer is gone, so Karstark goes berserk as a result. Instead of beheading the man, Robb should parlay with him instead. Use his anger to help with the retreat, while at the same time, put him in overwhelming situations where a stray arrow or well-timed blade may get through his guard.

In other words, suicide by Lannister.

Karstark won’t notice, he’s too bloodmad, his focus will solely be on killing Lannisters. The problem will eventually resolve itself. And if not, mayhaps the BwB can help, for another sack of cash of course.

So now Robb has his space.

The BwB and Karstark are disrupting the Lannister/Tyrell logistics, inflicting lop-siding losses on demoralized and green Lannister/Tyrell levies (most of Lord Tywin’s professional force was either wiped out at the Whispering Woods or at Blackwater and the Tryrell “impressive” force of 80,000 are farmhands who’ve never seen a blade in their life).

Now comes the hard part, withdrawing the Riverlords and what’s left of their men behind the Moat.

After two years of war, the Riverlords have maybe 15–20 thousand men left. Add on to Robb’s own 15,000 Northmen, and Robb can command an impressive 30,000 battle hardened soldiers.

And every one of those men are needed in the North:

To remove the Ironborn.

To fortify the Moat, the White Knife, and the Stoney Shore.

To deal with the Wildlings, Stannis, and ultimately, the White Walkers.

But the Riverlords are stubborn. They don’t want to abandon their homes to the Lannisters. Who would? Moreover, to abandon their homes to fight a supposedly Northern problem? That’s adding insult to injury.

Hence why marrying Roslin is so important. It means that Robb can’t just pack up and go home. He is now permanently tied to the survival of the Riverlands.

The marriage carries a promise: that Robb will return. Just as Doug MacArthur returned to the Philippines.

Combine that with parting with 5000 men to garrison the strategic and symbolic castles throughout the Riverlands (Riverrun, Oldstones, The Crossroads, the Twins, and Seagard), Robb and the Tullys command the displayed area:

With all three forks of the Trident under the Stark Banner, the Starks can send constant supplies, provisions, and ferry BwB raiding parties. The long-ships they need to navigate the forks can easily be supplied by the ironwood of House Forrestor and designed by captured Ironborn in exchange for clemency.

In canon, The Blackfish claimed that Riverrun could hold out for two years, and that was with an unprepared Riverrun. With a proper strategic retreat, a proper supply route along the three forks, that time frame for Riverrun and all other hard nuts in this system could be raised to near indefinite, or at least until Winter hits.

Until Gunpowder came around, it was almost nearly impossible to take castles. The loss of life in an assault was just too much for farmhand levies. The only way to break a castle is through a siege, and well supplied Trident prevents such castles from starving out.

So, by leaving behind say 5000 men, using the Lannister plunder Robb acquired from his expedition west for payment and loyalty, maximizing the continued harassment and disruption by the BwB, and taking advantage of impetuous, but slow thinking lords looking for glory and blood, the Riverlands could hold out until at least Winter, at which points all sides would have to retire.

Its a stalling game, basically.

Now, with that secured, Robb will then take the remaining 10–15 thousand Rivermen with him North to deal with the Ironborn. Which is a piece of cake, since most already left for the Kingsmoot, and while being incredibly skilled sailors and marines, fighting on the Green Land makes them worthless.

Winterfell is secured (unfortunately still razed), the North is liberated, and the Southern choke points are fortified with the Rivermen:

The warmer climate is better suited for them.

It keeps them close to the Riverlands just in case the Lannisters/Tyrells attempt to make an incursion.

That will then allow Robb to use his reinforced 20,000 battle-harden Northern Banner Army to force Mance Rayder into submission.

Unlike Jon Snow, Robb will clearly explain to everyone that a potentially treacherous Wilding is infinitely superior to a definite enemy wight among the White Walker force.

As for the Wildlings, Robb uses Jon Snow and Mance Rayder to keep them in line as they in turn man the Wall and reap up the final harvest before Winter sets in.

As for Stannis, without a proper logistics network (The Nights Watch and the North will not help him), his mercenary army either dies or defects to Robb.

Stannis is imprisoned, Melisandre either stays to help Robb and Jon or runs away.

While the North digs in for the fight at the Wall, the events of the South happen as they do in cannon:

Joffrey is murdered.

Tyrion is blamed and flees.

Sansa disappears to the Vale.

Tywin is killed by his own son.

Cersei single handily destroys the Lannister/Tyrell Alliance.

The Faith Militant rises and imprisons everybody.

Euron wins the Salt Throne and begins ravaging the Reach.

FAegon invades and secures the Stormlands.

With the South in such chaos, the incursions into the Trident diminish, as Lannister, Tryrell, Dorne, Ironborn, and FAegon are too busy fighting each other.

The line of supply along the Trident is strengthened by the spoils of war that came with Stannis, and Stannis’ mercenaries are sent South to warmer climates and better opportunities for plunder.

Sansa, who by now has become a political player in her own right, tricks Sweet Robin into declaring for Robb, and rallies the Knights of the Vale to the Stark Banner.

Who knows, maybe even taking out Littlefinger in the process.

So now Robb’s dominion looks like this:

His army around Moat Calin and South now compose of:The ~5000 Garrison of Rivermen. The 10–15,000 Rivermen ready to march. The ~1000 Partisans of the Brotherhood. The fresh 40,000 Knights of the Vale. The 6000 mercenaries that abandoned Stannis.

Meanwhile up North, Robb with his 20,000, the 50,000 Wildlings, and remnants of the Night’s Watch are ready to fight a grueling war of attrition against the Walkers at the Wall.

And if Tycho Nestoris is aware of the White Walker threat, then Robb’s got Bravoos’ armory and the Iron Bank on his side as well.

Robb doesn’t need to beat the South into submission. Not anymore. Arya is safe in Winterfell. Rickon is safe at Skagos. Bran is missing, but NOT in the South, and Sansa now commands the Vale with Yohn Royce.

All he has to do is hold out, using Darry, Riverrun, and the Oldstones as choke points.

The Royal Navy was destroyed at Blackwater. The Iron Fleet and Redwyne Navy annihilated each other when Euron went South, so the choke points can’t be bypassed.

Robb has won defacto independence.

Assuming they survive the Long Night and the rest of Winter, then Robb can coalesce his forces and reclaim the God’s Eye Basin, thus maintaining his pledge and duty to the Riverlords and increasing his prestige.

And the South will still be too divided to mount a proper counter offensive.

A treaty is eventually signed with whoever is left and Robb wins his independence, and with the wealth of a restored Riverlands, and untouched Vale and revitalized North, becomes the most powerful man in Westeros.

And if Robb listens to Roose Bolton more, explains himself to him, and rewards him for his victories, it may be enough to dissuade him from betraying him. After all, Roose is a pragmatic man, and will always back the winning side.

Robb was no longer on the winning side when he married Jeyne Westerling, executed Karstark, and lost Winterfell, the seat of his authority. If he plays his cards right, and doesn’t restrict himself with his honor, he could avoid the first two and quickly rectify the third, thus snagging victory from defeat.

The South was unified with the marriage of Margarey/Joffrey and the iron hand of Lord Tywin. Kill the union and the Hand, and you kill the alliance. And then, the war looks a whole lot less hopeless for the Starks.

And since Robb is now the most powerful man in Westeros AND has married Roslin Frey, the Late Walder Frey may be hesitant with his blade.

Justice has been restored. The North, the Vale and the Riverlands stand united. The Red Wedding never happens. The Starks are reunited and they fight off the Long Night and bring peace to the realm.

THE KING IN THE NORTH!

[daenyra9742]

Aaaaaand here it is!!! The second in our series of female POV in ASOIAF. This time Catelyn Stark nee Tully. Controversial character but I simply love her chapters, I mean she has the meeting between Stannis and Renly 🍑 and the Red Wedding.

In the drawing I put her at the start of GOT, and at the end of ASOS, as Lady Stoneheart. The stars represent her children, but in the lower half they are colorless, Catelyn believed her children were all dead.

[eonweheraldodemanwe]

Brotherhood Without Banners core box artbook.

And some heroes miniatures

Lord Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr. Tom Sevenstreams, I think the other guy may be Lem Lemoncloak. The hag maybe the Ghost of High Heart? The woman Lady Smallwood?

[nulnoildrinker]

The tragedy of Beric Dondarrion is that if he were to be revived to the point where nothing but his loyalty to his cause remained, there would be a non-zero chance of him being a Westerosi Goro Majima.

Being a husk of who you were, forced into serving a cause for reasons you no longer know or care for, almost more machine than man is one of the greatest horrors I could imagine.

But imagine being a Frey and seeing this in some inn:

... Also imagine him chilling on his weirwood seat like this

Yeah, it was a good thing that he passed his flame on to Lady Stoneheart. Catelyn would, could and should slay in any sense of the word, but I don't think she has the spark of whimsy required to be camp within her anymore.

[a-thousand-eyes-and-one]

this is insane. how was the lord of lightning who died six times before it finally stuck also the same age as a college junior. imagine you’re a new BoB member who hasn’t met the boss yet but everyone talks about him like he’s some fucker from the age of heroes come again so of course you’re picturing some big majestic warrior. and then you finally meet him and he’s a zombified frat brother who looks like he says things like ‘kinsmen before wenches’. i’d be livid

[sad-endings-suck]

the brotherhood without banners: *when a 10 year old arya just wants to go home and for the guy that happily murdered a child to be executed* no can do, we don’t take orders from starks, and we always give everyone a fair trial.

the brotherhood: *three business days later* was this one at the wedding lady stark? yes? okay, hang him-

[rosaluxembae]

You, weak, barely tipsy on copium: Jaime's fine, he's just gonna talk his way out of it

Me, powerful, completely off my tits having a transcendental experience on copium: Pod's fine, Stoneheart needed collateral to make sure Brienne didn't run off and now she's going to do an SAS hostage extraction with Jaime to save him

[lego-asoiaf-fan-minifigs]

Thoros of Myr and Anguy the Archer, members of the Brotherhood without Banners

Here's my LEGO adaptation of alexandrokayart's Thoros and Anguy fanarts, linked below

Thoros:

Anguy

[mattyalwayssmokesweed]

I don’t care how unlikely it is, the thought of Gendry, Jon, Nymeria and Lady Stoneheart meeting halfway to Winterfell to kill Ramsay for demanding the real Arya to be brought to him is fucking hilarious

[toilandtroubled]

𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 || inspired by @kingsroad

[nymerias-heart]

Brotherhood without banners AU

Sometimes she thought she might go back to Sharna's inn, if the floods hadn't washed it away. She could stay with Hot Pie, or maybe Lord Beric would find her there. Anguy would teach her to use a bow, and she could ride with Gendry and be an outlaw, like Wenda the White Fawn in the songs.

[ravenofthefandoms]

The Lucky Stag: Part 3

Word Count: 4621 (oopsies)

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x reader

Characters: Sandor Clegane, original character (Marlys), original character (mentioned) (Jeremiah Bryne), Morgan (mentioned), Lem (mentioned), Gatins (mentioned), Brotherhood without Banners, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion

Warnings: some gore (it’s Game of Thrones), some mild angst, some mild fluff

A/N: Hi :) sorry for disappearing but life has been hectic. I’ve been wanting to write again, especially after House of the Dragon. Hopefully, people still wanna see more of this. Hopefully, for a time, I’ll have more regular updates and posts. As I said a while back, there are some Podrick x reader posts I have brewing plus some ideas for House of the Dragon. This one isn’t super exciting but I’ve got some plans for the next few chapters that should get the blood pumping if you will

Tags (let me know if you would like to be removed since it’s been so long): @anita-e-taylor, @my-bitch-loki @orange-sherbxrt

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters outside of my own original characters. The others belong to George R.R. Martin. I do not own any of the gifs used. They belong to the original creators.

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

You had been walking for ages, or what felt like it at least. Walking where, you did not know. Sandor had muttered to himself while he held you outside of the burning tavern, something about finding the men so he could tear them to bloody fucking pieces. Unfortunately, you had nothing but the singed, smoky clothes on your back and the aching hole in your chest left to your name. You knew, in reality, that it had only been a day and a half since your life had turned to ash but time no longer felt as it did before. Your eyes always felt dry, and your voice caught in your throat more often than not. Sandor could count the words you’ve spoken on his two hands.

On the first night, your friend, Marlys, was gracious enough to let you stay with her and her husband. She insisted that it was her duty as your friend, however. Another thing she tried to insist on was you sleeping in her and her husband’s bed, which he had heartily agreed to. You refused, though. Instead, you curled on the hay floor near the fireplace, Sandor sitting against the wall near your feet. 

Marlys was truly a kind woman, and you felt badly now for the way you were when you stayed there that night. You supposed that you shouldn’t, considering your grief was fresh and intense. The next morning, you and Sandor broke your fast with Marlys and her husband before they gave you enough food for a day of travel and a skin of water. Their kindness made tears well in your eyes. As you said your goodbyes, Sandor waited outside for you. 

Your childhood friend pulled you into a tight embrace. Tears spilled onto each others’ shoulders as she whispered her condolences. After a night of rest, you realized that you weren’t the only one who grieved your brother’s death, and held onto Marlys as tightly as she held onto you. “I’ll miss you, (Y/N). Promise you’ll come back someday.” You nodded in response, not trusting your voice to be steady. 

Letting go, you walked out to a patiently waiting Sandor. “Ready?” He knew what your real answer was, the same as anyone else’s would be. Your nod was good enough for him though. With one last tearful look towards probably the one place you wish you could stay, you began walking.

The first day of walking had been largely uneventful. Sandor led you with, surprisingly, gentle hands. Whether on your elbow, on the small of your back, or even holding your own in his, he never let go of you until you needed a break or it was time to set up camp. He found a clearing off the side of the path you had been traveling. With no ax, he was unable to cut any logs to build a proper fire, and instead gathered twigs and sticks from the surrounding copse of trees. As he gathered the firewood, you sat and prepared the area where the fire would blaze. Stones from a nearby stream were set in a circle to keep the flames contained. You handed it over to Sandor when he returned. He began to stack the wood, stuffing fallen leaves and tall grass into the center.

By the time you sat and made yourself as comfortable as you could on the hard ground, Sandor had the tinder smoking, then smoldering, and finally beginning to burn. As the fire slowly grew, Sandor moved to sit next to you. His eyes watched you carefully, unsure what to do or say. He had never been good with words, most of them crass and rude. He didn’t want to be crass or rude with you though. When it came to you, Sandor wanted to make you smile and laugh, to see the glimmer in your eye when you spoked animatedly, to keep you warm during the chilly nights, to-... He shook his head slightly, needing to derail this trail of thinking. As odd yet enjoyable this sensation was, there were priorities to be dealt with first. He needed to track down those sons of bitches that hurt you so and make them regret ever being born. 

“Sandor,” you murmured. He looked down and grunted. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.” He suddenly found his hands, fiddling with a small twig, to be much more interesting. 

“Don’ thank me. I’ve been more trouble than not,” he muttered. A soft chuckle, more of a sigh than anything, fell from your lips and you shook your head, almost as if he had made some silly joke. Pride swelled in his heart for a moment – hearing any sort of sweet sound from you was a blessing. You didn’t respond to his words, only scooted closer to him as a chill began to creep into the air. Your shoulders grazed his, body heat warming you as much as the fire in front of you. “You should get some rest.” His eyes flicked down to you, the smallest of bitter smiles gracing your lips. 

“Aye, I should.” You looked up at him; the lack of, well, everything in your eyes made him uneasy. He knew as well as you that rest would not come easy, if at all. Your eyes returned to the flames, your gaze becoming unfocused in them. A long moment lasted before you spoke again. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper. Sandor kept his gaze fixated on your face, waiting for you to continue. “I’ve always known what needed to be done. Cook the venison, bake the bread, serve the ale, keep the tavern running, watch over my-... watch over my brother.” The last few words came out slightly strangled, as though you choked on them. “I am lost now.” 

Another long silence fell between you before Sandor reached over and took one of your hands in his own. “You’re not lost. You’re not broken neither.” Your gaze lifted to meet his own. “You’re strong. And I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you, if you let me.” You were able to offer him a small, watery smile along with a quick nod.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Your eyes returned to the flames for a moment longer before you closed them. “I want nothing more,” you said softly. Again, silence fell over the two of you, nothing to hear aside from the crackling of the fire. Sandor was unsure how long he stared into the dancing flames before your head nodded onto his shoulder and soft snores filled the air. 

The next morning, you awoke with a start, images from the past few days haunting your dreams. The sun was just beginning to climb over the horizon, though the chill of night still hung in the air. A shiver ran down your spine as your body began to wake from its slumber. Your tailbone and legs ached as you stood and made your way to the stream. The water was cold and brisk. Dipping your hands in the babbling brook made your arms break out into gooseflesh. You cupped the water in your hands, gently bringing it to your face. The freezing shock was necessary, you felt, before you began on your journey again. When you returned to the fire, Sandor’s eyes were open and sought out your approaching figure. 

He said nothing, something you were accustomed to after a few months of knowing him. Sandor would never be considered a particularly chatty man. However, sitting in silence with the large man brought you a sense of peace and calm. 

You nodded once at the question in his eyes, and he rose to his feet. There was nothing for you to gather or put away, only the still-smoldering embers of the night’s fire. Sandor kicked dirt over it, if only to ensure that the flames would stay smothered rather than springing back to life. Once again, he guided you to the path with sure steps. There was a bloodlust in his eyes as he tracked the men that he was intent on killing. It didn’t scare you, strangely enough. For once, it made you feel… protected. You couldn’t say that you remember a time when you felt protected. Your brother, gods rest his soul, was strong and protected you from men who were too handsy or too violent. There was always the silent agreement, however, that you were the one that protected your brother. You raised him, cared for him, and made sure he grew to be the man that he was beginning to be. This sensation from Sandor, it lifted a weight off of your shoulders that you had not realized was there. A shadow that had hung from you for as long as you could remember.

Gently, you shook these thoughts from your head. You instead focused on the path ahead, watching and wary of your surroundings. Many hours passed, early morning turning into early afternoon. As though he was indeed a hound picking up a scent, Sandor stopped suddenly. He turned to your left. You turned as well, trying to see or hear or smell whatever it was that he was sensing. After a few moments, you could hear the sound of raucous laughing, as well as cursing. It was enough for Sandor to tug you along gently, despite his long, angry strides.

You walked just behind Sandor, the sound of laughter growing as you continued to walk closer. An ax laid next to a stump and a pile of chopped logs. From where you stood, you could see four men, all somewhat familiar, sitting around a fire. Sandor stopped, looking back at you slightly with a warning in your eyes. It was something you understood quickly. You nodded and took a step back.

That bloodlust was back in his eyes, if it ever left. He grabbed that ax and began stalking towards the group of men. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late. Sandor swung his ax with a yell at the first man, lopping off his head with ease. It was at this moment that you turned around, hand pressed to your mouth to keep the bile down. It wasn’t that you had a sudden guilt about the silent agreement between you and Sandor to avenge your brother. In fact, you quite enjoyed the ferocity with which he swung his weapon. What made your stomach churn was the memory that it returned to you: your brother’s corpse. The grisly nature of the scene unfolding was something that you found you just could not watch. Squelching flesh as it was maimed by steel still reached your ears. Your eyes closed quickly, taking deep breaths to keep your stomach calm. As the final man whimpered in pain, you could hear Sandor speaking to him. You weren’t sure what Sandor said, his voice too soft to be carried over the wind. You did, however, hear the dying man scream at the giant before him.

All you could hear was further grumbling from Sandor. You did not open your eyes nor did you remove your hand from your mouth. The crunch of leaves and sticks stopped behind you. “It’s over now, little flower.” His hand gently came up to grab your wrist, pulling it away from your face. Your eyes opened slowly, looking up to meet Sandor’s own gaze.

“Did I scare ya?” There was something in his voice that had you shaking your head quickly.

“No, Sandor. I just… I couldn’t watch.” He nodded softly. Your hand drifted up slowly to rest on his scarred cheek. “Thank you.” Your voice was more frail than you expected or wanted it to be. “They met the ends they deserved.” 

He nodded his agreement. 

“Aye, they did. There are still more. The one who led them, with the yellow cloak. We find him, and your brother will have been avenged.” You nodded, looking up at him with a fierceness in your eyes that made his heart stutter a moment. With no more need to stay, the two of you continued back on your journey. 

Surprisingly, you did not walk as far as you thought you would have to before the sounds of men reached your ears again. It was distinctive this time, and much closer than the last group of men had been. Sandor looked down at you, nodded, and then headed towards the noise, ax ready to attack.

To both your own and Sandor’s surprise, the men you sought were standing on barrels with nooses around their necks. A handful of men, no more than ten, stood around them, and one sat above on the tree branch. Swords were partially drawn in caution, until one of the men spoke.

“Clegane.” He was a handsome man, the one who spoke. An eye patch covered his right eye, a crop of sandy hair cropped close to his head. If it weren’t for the setting you found yourself in, you would think him to be some dashing knight that you, as did many of the other girls in your village, dreamt of being swept away by. You stayed close to Sandor, however, almost hiding behind him as a child does behind their mother’s skirts.

“The fuck you doing here?” Another man asked. This one had long hair gathered into a knot atop his head and a deep red cloak hanging around his shoulders. His gaze flicked to you, seemingly amused.

Sandor pointed at the soon-to-be hanged men. “Chasing them.” His hand, still gripping yours, tensed slightly. “You?”

The second man to speak looked back at the men before responding. “Hanging them.” He seemed almost bemused in the way he spoke, as though it were just another sunny afternoon. 

“Any particular reason?” Was Sandor’s somewhat irritated response. The clipped conversation had your eyes darting between the men as they spoke. 

The first man spoke again. “They’re our men, or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Burnt down a tavern in the next village too. Why do you want them?” His eye flicked to you, as though just realizing that the Hound was not alone. Curiosity made his head quirk to the side, his lone eye seeming to look you up and down. Not in the way you were used to men doing, but in a way that made your skin crawl. Like he was reading your body, your mind, and your soul. There was a part of you that felt sure he could hear every thought in your head.

“Same reason.” Sandor jerked his head to you. “It was her tavern they burnt. Her brother they murdered.” Your hand tensed in his, and he squeezed it gently. “She saved me.”

“Saved you? A surprise anyone would think to do that.” The second man seemed to be quite witty, or at least thought he was. There was a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that you could see, even from your distance. 

Sandor looked down at you once again before returning his gaze to the men in front of him. “Aye, it is.” A pause and he started walking towards them intently, you following behind him. “They’re ours.” Sandor said, a statement of fact rather than a request.

The first man moved forward. “It is the Brotherhood’s good name they’ve dragged through the dirt.

“Fuck your name.” Sandor’s response was instant. The two of you came to a stop in front of the men. “They’re ours. I’ve killed ya once before, Dondarrion, happy to do it again.” In response, a man in the small crowd drew an arrow, pointing it at Sandor. You frowned and moved to the side between the archer and Sandor, releasing his hand in the process. “Drop that arrow, you bloody girl.” His eyes remained focused on the man he addressed as Dondarrion. “Tougher girls than you tried to kill me.” Sandor raised his ax, pointing it at the archer but careful of where he knew you stood next to him. A beat of silence and Sandor turned to start stalking towards the archer.

“You can have one of them.” Sandor turned back.

“Two.” It was almost incredulous how they seemed to barter over the lives of these men, who got to kill them. The two men who spoke with Sandor looked at each other. The second one nodded to the first, Dondarrion, who in turn nodded to Sandor.

They turned to the three men whose fates they so casually debated. Sandor went to the one on the farthest left, looked him up and down, and swung his ax back. It was grabbed, however, by the second man before he could bring it down. “No, no, no. We’re not butchers. We hang them.”

“Hanging? “ Sandor’s voice was annoyed. “All over in an instant. Where’s the punishment in that? Not enough after what they did to her brother. What they did to her ho-” Your hand on his arm stopped Sandor in his rant. He looked down to you, where you shook your head. There was no point in arguing. The other four you found died in pain and suffering. It was enough for you. Sandor pursed his lips and shook his head slightly. 

“They’ll die.” Was the simple answer from the red-cloaked man, whose hands rested so casually upon the pommel of his sword.

“We all bloody die, except for this one here.” Sandor looked back to Dondarrion, making your brow furrow in confusion. You turned to look at the man as well, still standing a bit behind Sandor. The man looked at you, a small, almost knowing smile upon his lips as he held your gaze. It unsettled you a bit, so you looked back and up at the men facing their deaths. “I’ll only gut one of them.” The bartering nearly made you snort with laughter, but you held it in.

“No.” Dondarrion switched his gaze from you to Sandor as he spoke. The giant man next to you turned and glared at the man.

“Chop off one hand.” This time you couldn’t help the snort of laughter, the gazes of the men around you turning upon you suddenly.

“We gave you two out of the three, out of respect of the lady’s loss. That’s generous.” His eye held a bit of warning for Sandor, telling him not to push his luck. Sandor sighed and looked down at you. You nodded and he turned back to Dondarrion. 

“Bunch of nances,” he grumbled. Sandor threw his ax to the ground in annoyance before looking up at the men. “There was a time I would’ve killed all seven of you just to gut these three.” Your brow quirked at his statement but you paid it no further mind.

“You’re getting old, Clegane. Or maybe your lady love has just made you soft.” Again with the mirthful look from the red-cloaked man, whose eyes roamed you freely. His gaze, though holding no malice, roamed over you with far less intensity and far more interest in the decolletage visible from the top of your gown. This was the gaze you were used to from men, and did not unsettle you like the other man’s did.

Sandor’s eyes turned to a deadly glare at the man before turning back to the men soon to be killed. “Well, he’s not.” His foot moved to the barrel that the first man stood on and kicked it from underneath his feet. He dropped suddenly and a sickening crunch was heard as he struggled against the noose. Sandor moved to the next one, turning back to you first with a question in his eyes. Your eyes leveled with his before flitting to the man in the middle.

“Did you kill my brother? With your own sword? The man you hung from a tree with the deer he had killed.” Your steely gaze leveled on the man, a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth. Violently, he shook his head, muttering what you believed to be lies. You had no proof save the the cloak around his neck. The cloak was not something you recognized, but the pins holding it together were. Those were the pins you had bought your brother for his sixteenth nameday. Your hand reached up, grasping the pins gently as you looked at them before you ripped them off. You put your bootclad foot on the edge of the barrel, leveling to meet his eyes once again.

“Mistress, please, I’ll give you anything.” The final words barely escaped his lips before you pushed the barrel over and the air was stolen from his lungs. With this man, there was no snap, only the strained gasp as his throat quickly began to become crushed against the rope. You kept your gaze upon the thrashing man’s face, watching with a deepset frown as his eyes seemed to bulge from his face and the color drained from his face to only be replaced by a blue hue. Dondarrion, who had sidled up next to you, quickly kicked over the barrel of the last man, who also choked. As soon as the third man began his suffering, you stepped back. The two men who Sandor seemed to know watched with varying expressions as Sandor looked at the middle man’s feet. The red-cloaked one seem bemused as Sandor removed the man’s boots and compared them to his own feet, while the other seemed intrigued.

“Got anything to eat?” Sandor finally asked once he pulled the new boots onto his feet. The men nodded and began walking to where they had set up camp. It wasn’t far, but far enough from the road where the deadmen hanged that you could no longer hear the creaking of the rope as their limp bodies swayed in the breeze.

A few men had stayed behind, assumingly to cook the game they had hunted and keep the fires stoked. You sat next to Sandor on a log, your knees drawn close to your chest. A leg of rabbit was in your hand but your gaze stayed on the lapping waves of the lake next to you. Two men sat on the log to your right and the man called Dondarrion on the left. The red-cloaked man soon joined you, a skin of something in his hands. “Enjoying yourself?” 

Sandor examined the rabbit bone, cleaning it of its meat. “I prefer chicken.” A small smile graced your lips before you took another bite from the leg.

“Would you like to introduce us to your friend, Clegane? It is the proper thing to do.” The red-cloaked man passed the skin to Sandor, who took a swig of it before handing it to you. You took it, the burn of alcohol bringing a slight relief to you.

“Not really,” he replied. You nudged him with your elbow, though this was only met with a grumble from the man. “(Y/N), that is Beric Dondarrion, leader of this… whatever it is. And that bald cunt with the topknot is Thoros of Myr. This is (Y/N).”

They both nodded to you, which you returned. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I’m no lady, Ser. But I thank ye, for the food. And the justice.” Though you spoke of it, it didn’t really feel as though justice had been served. Those men were dead, but so was your brother. You wondered if the dull ache in your heart would ever leave, or even lessen at all. The men seemed to be able to see the dull look in your eyes. Sandor’s hand gripped your knee gently, tossing the rabbit bone into the flames. Your eyes met his, and a small smile lifted the corners of your lips. He nodded and turned back to Thoros and Beric, though his hand didn’t leave you. The aforementioned men shared a look, noticing this surprisingly sweet gesture of comfort from the Hound. 

Beric nodded at your words before returning his attention to Sandor once again. “You ought to join us.” You listened as Sandor snorted, responding to Beric. At this point, you tuned yourself out of the conversation, the only thing anchoring you to reality was Sandor’s hand on your leg. You finished the rest of the rabbit leg that had been given to you earlier, tossing the bone into the fire. 

Your eyes lingered over the water, lapping at the muddy shores. The image of the strangled man kept flashing in your mind, but you steeled yourself against it. He suffered, hopefully more than your brother did. This was not enough, but it had to be. You would make it so. 

The men continued to speak, Sandor’s thumb rubbing soft and slow circles against your knee. He stood, giving one reassuring pat to your leg before he walked to the edge of the lake and began to fiddle with his pants. You averted your eyes quickly, attempting to keep a soft blush from your cheeks as your eyes found the first thing that wasn’t Sandor. Unfortunately, that thing was the amused gaze of Thoros of Myr. Suddenly, something he said registered in your brain. “You’ve brought him back? Not healed him, but… how?” The man who called himself a priest chuckled into his drink. 

“I prayed.” Beric pulled up his shirt to show you many scars, many of which should have killed him. “Six times, isn’t it?” Beric nodded to Thoros’ question. “I just got lucky. Or he did, I suppose.” Beric dropped his shirt as Sandor returned from relieving himself.

They continued their conversation, though you only payed half a mind to it. The fact that Beric had died six times but was still standing before you, very much alive, was incredible. They continued to talk about fighting, cold winds, and mysterious creatures that sounded like tales that the old women in the village would tell you as a child. “It’s not too late, Clegane.” This was the last thing Beric said to Sandor, silently awaiting an answer to his proposition. Sandor gave a soft sigh, staring at Beric before looking down at you.

His gaze held yours for a long moment, longer than you’ve had before. A soft emotion that you couldn’t quite place entranced you. “Well, what do ya say, lass? Ever been to the North?” You shook your head slightly. “Would ya like to?” A brief moment of clarity washed over you. You accepted Sandor’s offer of protection. You thought that, once your brother’s killers were caught, he would see it as a job done. Or maybe he would simply refuse to bring you, a woman, on what was doubtlessly a dangerous adventure. It seemed that this was not the case. How it seemed, at least to you, was that Sandor was intent on staying with you. And this thought made your heart feel a little brighter than it had before, and a smile painted your mouth. A real smile, one that reminded Sandor of the smiles you would offer him back in the tavern. The smile that always made his heart skip a beat, despite that particular sensation frightening him.

“Aye, I think I would like to see the North. It’s not like there’s much left for me in the Riverlands.” Beric nodded his head to you while Thoros raised his skin and took another drink. Sandor offered you a small, secret smile before taking your fingers in his hand as discreetly as he could. It wasn’t discreet at all, but thankfully, neither Thoros nor Beric felt the need to say anything.