Work Text:
“It’s here!”
“Surely the rest will follow.”
“Why don’t we flee?”
Hushed whispers passed like wildfire through the camp, burning down every conversation in its path. From one brother to another, from wife to camp follower - everyone wanted to share the news, just as everyone wanted to see the scourge to their cattle and flocks.
A girl, nearly a woman grown, short and skinny as a tree branch, pushed through the gathered crowd of older men. She elbowed as needed to get to the front of the pack, desperate to see what drew out their fear fast as blood rushing from a fresh kill. She shoved between two final onlookers before stumbling free of the press of people.
There was a safe distance between the spectacle and the people watching with wide eyes and open jaws. She stared, dumbfounded, nearly reaching to wipe her own eyes. No way this was real. No reason for it to be anything but an illusion. But yet, there she stood.
A great beast, of a size to set men trembling, set upon the bloody remains of some poor mare, the beast's supper for the day. This was not any wolf, but something even more terrifying to behold. Direwolf. There was a certain wildness about her, even more than just any creature of the wilderness. Fearlessness, one might say. She was fearless of men. Those hunters who would normally kill a wolf that preyed on their herds were nothing but ants to the majestic creature. And something else, that pulled on something else within the girl, long buried and forced to be forgotten. The creature's fur was grey, her eyes golden. And above those eyes: a long, jagged scar from a rock thrown long ago.
The girl stepped forward, slowly with thought-out precision. She met the eyes of the snarling creature, and took another step.
"Get back, girl! It'll surely kill you!"
She ignored their words, moving carefully. Visions flashed before her, either a bought of memory or the last thoughts of a dying warrior. A pup in a yard, romping with its packmates; again, bringing a stick before its master; finally, a lunging creature, teeth sopped by a human's blood. Finally, she stood before the beast, gaze still set to hers.
She held a hand up to the beast, leaned in and set her hand against its snout. She waited, holding its dark gold eyes steady with her own. The direwolf reared and released a mighty howl that echoed across the forest. More murmurs from behind, ignored again even as more creatures' howls answered their alpha. The creature pawed the air and landed with a massive thump before her. And suddenly, the beast bowed its head. She felt the bated breath released behind her, all at once, as they startled at this new development.
"Nymeria." She sighed the direwolf's name. This was one prayer she didn't expect to be answered.
Suddenly, there was motion in the trees around them. One by one, two then four grey wolves emerged from the foliage, then a dozen and soon enough a hundred. They all stood, silent behind their leader.
The direwolf raised its head, and a tongue left its snout to lick her ear like old times. She resisted a giggle from within, long buried with the memories of the animal before her. Now was not the time for laughter.
She patted the direwolf's side, and again she bent her back. The girl realized with a start what it wanted. She took a deep breath and leaped onto it. The direwolf stood with the girl clutching its fur for support. She surveyed the onlooking faces, dozens of people who never looked to her before. She had thrived on being inconspicuously odd, but no longer.
"Nymeria, forward." There was more to her voice than when she was a girl, a sternness and command that she had only recently mastered.
The direwolf stepped forward.
The people parted quickly but with a disorganization that made them look as scattering geese. Again word quickly spread as she nudged her mount onward.
"Look, its that girl!"
"The one with the little sword!"
"That girl's on a wolf!"
For weeks she had she been an oddity in this camp, but not more than she was used to. The smaller wolves followed behind them, plodding as silently as they had emerged in the first place. After their ride, she brought Nymeria to heel before a massive tent, the heart of the operation of the Brotherhood. A warrior stumbled from within, unsure of how to handle the frightening site before him.
"Girl, what is it that you want?" He asked, words carefully weighed.
"My name is not Girl." She said, although she had never provided anyone with any name to call her. She thought of a sister lost long ago, and bore the full attitude so well remembered. She straightened her shoulders and looked down at the man. "I am Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn."
His eyes turned to saucers, recognition that dawned as easily as his fear of Nymeria. She had asked for this once and been rebuked, but now she asked again and knew the answer that would come. "Let me through to your Lady Stoneheart. I have much to discuss by way of her plans."
There was a certain confidence that came with being who she truly was, and a certain strength that came from having her direwolf at her side. Arya dismounted, slowly, with the balance and grace of a lady of their world, and entered the tent for the next step in her reclamation of herself.