A/N: My other fix-it wasn't much of a fix-it, so I'm trying again. Still not much of a happy ending, but I feel like the Hound would like this better than a mercy killing at least?

"You're still here."

Arya didn't let her face change, but the words made her angry. He was glad to see her – he needed her. What a pathetic shit he was in the end. And how stupid was she, for putting her eggs in such a shit basket. "Are you going to die?" she asked rudely. He almost certainly was, but before she did anything else it was smarter to be sure. She didn't want to say something nasty and then have him get up and break her head for it.

He admitted that he was done and then waited. She waited too. What did he want, a hug? Maybe he shouldn't have been nasty about Syrio, then. Maybe he should have helped her rescue her mother at the Twins, instead of turning tail just to save his own miserable life.

But then his eyes widened. "Girl," he rasped, looking at something over her shoulder. "Don't look. That big bitch – she's back."

Arya felt fear – not fear though, Syrio had always had her think of it as readiness – flow through her muscles. She tensed and got ready to jump up. "She's behind me? How far?"

He gave a tiny shake of his head. "Not far enough. She's hanging back – give you time to finish with me I guess? – but too close to run from. They'll catch you."

"Fucking hells. What do I do then?" She was an idiot to come back. Why had she come back? She'd just wanted to... something. Say goodbye maybe. He might be the worst traveling companion ever and she hated him, but he was all she had left.

The Hound showed his teeth. "Bring her here. I'll take care of her."

She almost laughed. "You? The fuck are you going to do? You're dead already, you said."

"No, not just yet. Not dead yet." But when he shifted he groaned in pain, shuddered. He was lying – she knew he wouldn't even be able to get up. His bone was sticking out of his leg. "Not dead yet," he insisted, huffing bloody drool. "If you can-... bring her close... I'll hold her for long enough."

"But she'll kill you." She swallowed. What a stupid thing to say!

But the Hound didn't make fun. "She already has," he said. Almost kindly - which made her want to kill him herself. How dare he try and make her soft, now when she needed to be strong most of all! "Bring her."

Arya didn't answer. Her throat was all thick; if she talked now he would think she was about to cry.

"Come on, girl," he growled at her. "The deal's done. My life for your escape. If you don't get away now I'll have died for nothing, and that's a shit thing to do to your only friend."

Finally she swallowed down the lump. "You're not my friend," she said. "I don't have any friends."

He chuckled – did he not believe her? – and gave what looked like a nod. "Good girl."

She was ready now. Ready to run – or fight. "Want me to stay? Maybe we can kill them together."

He shook his head. "Look at me. Not a chance in hell." He showed teeth again. "Now hurry up. I don't have forever."

"What do I do?"

"I'll lie still. You walk – don't run – to my-..." His eyes closed. "Ten o'clock. Go slow and don't look back. She'll walk right by here, she'll come too close, I'll grab hold."

She looted his corpse, the way he'd taught her. "Dead men don't need silver," she said, and took it. "They don't need weapons either, normally."

"I do. Put my knife in my hand. But there's a smaller one in my boot; you can take that."

She did. "Do you have anything else of value?" She felt herself smile at him – a mean smile. "Or was I really it?"

He snorted and shook his head. "Go."

Once the girl was gone it was quiet for a while. The wind, the bugs… the pain. It was hard to lie still and silent, but he did it, because the big bitch had killed him and damned if he'd go out without getting a little of his own back.

Eventually the stones crunched. Crunched louder. She was coming closer. If she had any brains she'd stick a sword through his heart just to make sure, but of course instead he heard her armor shifting and she was squatting down.

Got her. He rolled to his side and threw his arm around her ankle. Heaved himself at her with everything he had left.

The pain of moving was so bad it drove back the fog. He was conscious now, all the way conscious and fighting. "Run, girl! Now!" He dragged himself on top and tried to blind her.

The bitch got her arms up in time to force his knife away, and all he did was put a big gash down her cheek. Still he liked that. Leave her as ugly as I am.

He wanted to get his thumbs in her eyes. With his gauntlets on, if he bore down hard enough he might be able to crush her skull. He badly wanted to see her head explode. Bitch deserved it.

But she was up protecting her face again, and the blood on her was making her slippery, and he didn't have it in him to wrestle her for a better position. He gave up on that and grabbed at her jaw instead, squeezing, covering her mouth. The jaw might break, sure, but more importantly she couldn't breathe this way. Suffocating her was the quickest way to sap her strength; she was in bad shape too; even after he died it would take her some time to get out from under his body.

He thought of how he'd lain trapped underneath a dead horse once, half dead himself, for two hours until someone found him. (Gregor had laughed about it. The bastard.)

He dragged himself up higher and turned so he was lying almost at right angles to her, sprawled across her chest and shoulders. He heard a noise of pain and guessed that some of her ribs were broken.

So much the better. She'll be here a while. He wriggled a little to fuck up the ribs worse.

Once he stopped struggling he started slipping away again. It was all right – the bitch was pretty well pinned; by the time she got up the Stark girl would have had plenty of time to get away.

He did notice – and hate – that in the end it wasn't skill or strength or grit that had carried the day; what was doing the job was just his dead meat, the weight of his armor and his bulk, everything he shared with Gregor.

Aye but Gregor wouldn't be such a bloody idiot as to die for a little girl, would he.

No, he wouldn't. But I would.

That thought was some satisfaction at least, so he held onto it until his thoughts dissolved into blackness.

The End.

There – a somewhat better fix-it.

But I continue to hope, hope, HOPE that fix-it isn't really necessary because the show is going to do what we're hoping it's doing…