“Here’s your choice. Three dragons, or you teach that hellhorse how to walk on water.” “I like an honest brigand. Have it your way. Three dragons… when you put us ashore safe on the north bank.” “I’ll have them now, or we don’t go.” The man thrust out a thick, callused hand, palm up. Clegane rattled his longsword to loosen the blade in the scabbard. “Here’s your choice. Gold on the north bank, or steel on the south.” The ferryman looked up at the Hound’s face. Arya could tell that he didn’t like what he saw there. He had a dozen men behind him, strong men with oars and hardwood poles in their hands, but none of them were rushing forward to help him. Together they could overwhelm Sandor Clegane, though he’d likely kill three or four of them before they took him down. “How do I know you’re good for it?” the bent-backed man asked, after a moment. He’s not, she wanted to shout. Instead she bit her lip. “Knight’s honor,” the Hound said, unsmiling. He’s not even a knight. She did not say that either.
—A Storm of Swords, Arya IX
art from asoiaf sketch dump, by Hanieh Salehi (twitter). Posted to tumblr with permission of the artist.
