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Chapter Text

Arya Stark was fuming.  The thin soles of her borrowed shoes barely made a sound as she stormed across the damp stone corridor.  

Why was he here?  Were the other two also around?  She hadn't seen Bitter or the angry man, but then again she hadn't seen much of anything since Lord Tywin whisked her away to the east tower to be his cupbearer. 

She hadn’t even seen Gendry yet.  Not that she needed him for anything. 

Hot Pie had seen him though, but Hot Pie saw everyone.  He had been put to work in the kitchens and would sneak her some extra crusts of bread when she would visit.  He said Gendry liked the master blacksmith and had done well enough that they kicked out one of the other apprentices to give Gendry his very own cot above the forge.  He had to share the room with three other apprentices but it was still better than most.  

Arya wanted to scream at Hot Pie after he told her that.  Gendry was making swords that would be used to kill her brother's men.  Hot Pie was making food to feed the soldiers who would wield those swords.  She wanted to scream.  She wanted to bang the two boys' heads together until they understood.  

But she didn’t. 

Instead, Arya was stuck serving stupid lords more food than she had seen since leaving King's landing, and pouring stupid wine that made the guards in the castle loud and clumsy and stupid. 

And dangerous ,  She thought with a shudder. A few nights ago, a drunken guard had tried to make a grab at her, and Arya had stomped on his toes, twisting away before he could even get his fingers around her wrist. She had run then, her heart pounding like the caged animal she often felt like.  He hadn't come after her, and Arya tried to count herself lucky.  Most girls didn't get away.  It didn’t make her feel any better when she heard later how he had hurt someone else instead.   Arya had gotten overused to the sound of women screaming, and she wondered if she would ever be numb to it. 

She was so caught up in her thoughts, Arya nearly missed the Lannister helm resting on top of the water barrel.  She froze. 

“A girl says nothing."   Jaqen H'ghar stepped out from around the alcove and in front of her, looking down at Arya curiously.  Like they were old friends sharing an inside joke.  Arya immediately bristled.  He smiled.  “A girl keeps her mouth closed.  No one hears her.  And friends may talk in secret, yes?"  

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, if she was meant to respond to that, so she said nothing. 

Jaqen offered that easy smile he often wore.  The one that never reached his eyes.  “A boy becomes a girl."  

“I was always a girl.”  Arya snapped.  Anger was something she could deal with.  It was something that could hide just how afraid she was. 

He raised a brow.  “And I was always aware.  But a girl keeps secrets.  It is not for a man to spoil them."  

“You’re one of them now."  Arya grabbed the helm from the barrel and shoved it in his arms.  “I should have let you burn."  

Jaqen seemed unaffected by her barbs.  “And you fetch water for one of them now.  Why is this right for you and wrong for me?"  

“I didn’t have a choice!”

“You did.  I did.  And here we are."  Jaqen spoke softly and bowed his head, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal.  “A man pays his debts.  A man owes three."  

Arya narrowed her eyes.  “Three what?"

“The Red God takes what is his, lovely girl, and only death may pay for life.  You saved me, and the two I was with.  You stole three deaths from the Red God.” He paused and bent down closer, like he was going to tell Arya a secret.  “We have to give them back.  Speak three names, and a man will do the rest.  Three lives I will give you, no more, no less.  Then we are done."  

Arya looked at the strange man in disbelief. “I can name anyone?  And you’ll kill him?"  

Jaqen smiled once more.  It didn't reach his eyes.  “A man has said."  

Joffrey.  Cercei.  Illian Payne.  Ser Meryan.  Chiswyck.  The Tickler.  Raff the Sweetling.  Weese.  The Mountain.  The Hound.  Her list could be three names shorter.  She could do it right now.  Give the man any of her names and cross them off her list tonight. 

“A girl needs time to think.  A man knows."  Jaqen nodded understandingly. The smile never left his face, it looked a bit different though, like he was amused, like he was laughing at her.  Usually, a smile like that would bother her, spark her ire, and she might even be possessed to try something stupid.  Instead she was silent, her list playing over and over in her head like a macabre drumbeat.

 “How will I find you?"  

Jaqen put his helm back on slowly and stepped back.  “A man will be close by for a girl who knows how to see."  

Joffrey.  Cercei.  Illian Payne.  Ser Meryan.  Chiswyck.  The Tickler.  Raff the Sweetling.  Weese.  The Mountain.  The Hound. 

Three names. 

Just three.

Her first instinct was to name Weese.  His death would certainly improve her life here.  He couldn’t beat her or scare her or order her around anymore if Jaqen killed him.

Or The Tickler, for all those days she slept in the mud, terrified, listening to the agonizing screams he caused.  For enjoying it.  For almost doing the same to Gendry.

Or Chiswyck.  For Lommy.  For taking her sword, the only part of Jon Snow and pack that she had left. 

But then she thought of Sansa still trapped in King's Landing, alone without Lady for company.  

And Father.

Could Jaqen H’ghar really kill anyone?

Arya found herself outside the forge with no clear memory of deciding to go there.  Swift as a deer.  Quiet as shadow.   It was far too easy to sneak in the forge, but Arya supposed that any steel worth stealing would have already been distributed among the soldiers.  The forge here was always lit so it was uncomfortably warm all the time.  Arya had never been to the rooms above the forge but they weren’t terribly hard to find.  The room was half in shambles with three cots each pushed against their own side of the wall, there didn’t seem to be much room to do anything else and the air up here was sticky with heat.  All three apprentice boys seemed to be asleep. Arya couldn’t see any of their faces but she didn’t need to.  Her boy was the largest occupant in the room and thus easy to find.  

Careful not to wake the others, she snuck beside her friend, who seemed to be peacefully asleep, legs tangled up in the threadbare blanket.  It was so hot up here that Arya wondered how he was able to sleep at all, then again Gendry had taken up the habit of not wearing a shirt as he worked down in the forge.  A practice that was apparently put to use while he slept as well. 

She poked his cheek, hard, and he jolted awake.

Arya gave him a warning look to be quiet before getting right to the point.  “If you could kill anyone in the world, who would you choose?"  She whispered.

Gendry looked an amusing mixture of both annoyed and painfully confused.  “The fuck Arry.  How’d you get in here?"  He glanced worriedly around at the other boys, who were still asleep. Arya rolled her eyes.

“Just answer the question."  

Gendry sat up groggily and made the stupid face he always makes when he thinks too hard, like the very act is painful.  “Don't know.  Whoever sent those gold hatted bastards after me I guess.  Get ‘em off my back."  It’s a testament to how long they’ve been together that he didn’t try to ask any more questions or tell her to leave before she got caught.  It was useless to do so anyways, Arya never listened.

“Gold cloaks listen to the king.  You’d kill the king?"

 Gendry looked worried at how seriously Arya was taking his answer.  “Seven hells, I didn't mean it like that.  That's treason you’re talking."  

“So?"  Joffrey was no king of hers.  Robb was the only king she would ever support.

Gendry looked frustrated again.  He always got this way when he thought Arya wasn’t understanding something that he thought was common sense.  Arya usually understood just fine, she usually just didn’t care.  “What’s it matter anyway?”  He whispered.  “You ain’t sneaking out of here, much less making it back to King's Landing to kingslay."

Arya chewed on her lip.  “What if I didn't have to?"

“What’re you goin’ on about?"  

“Nothing, It’s stupid.  Like you said.  It’s not like we can get out of here." 

Gendry frowned at the odd way Arya was behaving and grabbed her arm before she could sneak away.  “Don’t be goin’ around talking like this, Arry.  It’s dangerous."  

“I’m not stupid, stupid ."

It’d been three days since Jaqen had offered to kill for Arya and she hadn’t seen him since.

Not that she needed to yet, she was no closer to deciding a name than she had been that first day.

Could she really name Joffrey?  Would Jaqen even be able to do it?  

Arya thought of Mycah, and Nymera, and Lady, and Sansa.  Sansa.  Her sister was still in the lion's den.  Would killing Joffrey help her?  Did she still want to marry the bastard?  No, she would never.  Not after Father.  

Father. 

She didn’t see it, but did it really matter if she had or not?  The crowd cheering, the sound of Ice being unsheathed.  The hollow thud of something hitting the cobblestone steps.  Sansa screaming.  The birds. 

No. 

No, she couldn’t name Joffrey, because she was going to kill Joffery herself.  She wanted to see the fear in his eyes as he choked on his own blood and bile.  She wanted him to soil his pants like that stableboy did when she stuck her blade through his belly.  She wanted revenge.  She wanted to be that revenge. 

But first, she needed to get out of here. 

Jaqen found her in the godswood the very next night. 

She snuck out here when she could find the time.  The Gods gave her no solace but the weirwood tree reminded her of Father, his kind face, lined with age and grief, his laugh.

Had Arya not been expecting him she might have been surprised at his soft voice drifting from behind her without any of the warnings that footsteps tend to give.

“A girl has decided on a name."  

Arya didn’t turn away from the crying face of the heart tree.  “How did you find me?"  She didn’t expect an answer and he didn’t give one.

“Speak the name, lovely girl.  A man will do the rest."  He whispered softly, far closer than he had been a moment ago.

Finally, Arya turned around to look up at Jaqen.  He was dressed in his red and gold guard uniform and was smiling down at her like she was something cute or amusing.  Arya truly hoped he was as dangerous as she suspected.  What she wanted would be no easy task and Arya still wasn’t entirely convinced that the Lorathi wouldn’t turn around and betray her once she spoke.  But the possibility of Jaqen actually doing what he promised was far too tempting to pass up.

Arya stepped on her tiptoes and leaned close.  Jaqen bent at the waist so her mouth was a breath away from his ear.  The sickly sweet smell of his hair was almost overwhelming from this close. 

“Tywin Lannister."

Chapter Text

Arya had been acting strange for weeks.  She always had a bit of a shifty way about her, but lately, she had taken to jumping every time a Lannister soldier shouted, head jerking to the source of the noise like she couldn't help herself.  The circles under her eyes spread and darkened like an ink stain against her pale cheeks. 

It made Gendry clench his fists every time he noticed.  He tried to breathe through the anger and concern that knotted in his stomach, as, every time, he desperately tried to put together the words he needed to ask her about it.  But Gendry had never been good with words and, coward that he is, he is afraid of the answer she might give. 

A sharp pain on his hand pulled Gendry out of his thoughts.  The other smith boys laughed at Gendry making such a novice mistake as to burn his own hand.  

“Too busy thinking about your girl?”  Tadd japed.

Gendry frowned.  Tadd had seen Arya sneaking out that night weeks ago, Tadd often would joke about Gendry’s ‘sweetheart’ despite anything Gendry might say to the contrary.

"Don't have a girl," he muttered, gruffly, though he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.  Tadd had no idea who he had seen sneaking out that night, but that seemed to be half the fun.  He and the other boys had taken to guessing names of the women they knew at Harrenhal, trying to figure out the identity of Gendry's secret love.

It made Gendry want to drive his head through a wall.

He wondered if he just told them it had been Arya if they would finally leave him alone.  After all, they had become familiar enough with the girl appearing at random hours of the day to bother Gendry, or watch him work.  But maybe telling them Arya was the one sneaking out of his room at night would only get her into trouble.  The last thing Gendry needed was hearing that Arya had been dragged away to the cells because Lord Tywin wanted nothing to do with a sullied cupbearer.

Before the others could jump on their usual speculations, Master Lucan walked by and everyone quieted.

The master grabbed Gendry's wrist to examine the burn.  “Best take care of that now before it gets worse boy.”  He frowned.

“It's nothing.”  Gendry protested.

Lucan would have none of it.  “I won't be having your work suffer from such a silly thing.  Best go now so you ain't lagging behind later.”

It wasn't the first time the master blacksmith used such an excuse to give the apprentices a break now and again.  Gendry could tell Lucan tried his best to take care of the boys he was in charge of, however, there was often only so much he could do in a place like this.  

“Yes, Master Lucan.”  There was truly no arguing with the man.  Gendry bowed his head and hurried off to the kitchens.

Hot Pie was kneading a lump of dough when Gendry walked through the door. He looked up and waved a dusty hand in his direction before continuing his work.  After Gendry had grabbed a bucket of cold water for his hand, he sat down in a chair next to his friend.

Gendry was quiet for a while, grateful that Hot Pie was used to his moods, and stayed silent as well.  Finally, he couldn’t help himself.

“Has Arry been acting strange to you?”

Hot Pie shrugged, “Arry’s always been strange, Bull.  I thought you knew and were just too afraid of her to say anything.”

Gendry scowled.  “I meant more than usual.”

Hot pie stopped working the lump of dough in his hands and frowned.  “I don’t know, why don’t you ask her? She was just around here not five minutes ago.”

Gendry's head snapped up. "What?"

Hot pie grabbed a sheet pan and began flouring the lump of dough, shaping it into a loaf.  “Thought you would have ran into her on your way here.  She just left to find that Jaqen guy. You know, the one that was in the cage, not the angry one or the ugly one, the other one-”

“Hot Pie.” Gendry did not have time for his friend's usual rambles.  “Why was she asking after him?”

“I don't know, she said she had some kind of important deal or something and I should mind my own business.  You seen Arry mad?  I didn’t wanna take any chances.”

The knot in the bottom of his stomach returned full force. “Where’d she go?” He asked frantically.

“Towards the south entrance, I think he’s stationed at guard duty there.”

Gendry was already running.

Arya sought out Jaqen the moment she could after Tywin announced his intent on leaving Harrenhal.  She had been patient, far more patient than she ever had been, but Jaqen wasted over a fortnight and still, nothing had been done. 

It took her a while (and threatening to dump Hot Pie's freshly baked bread in the nearest pig stye) to find him.  When she finally did, he looked neither surprised nor concerned about the news of Tywin leaving.  In fact, he was frustratingly calm about the entire ordeal.

“It is not a girl's place to say when a thing is to be done." Jaqen shrugged, looking like he truly believed he had all the time in the world.  It made Arya grind her teeth. "A man will act when the time is right.”

“It has to be soon.  He’s leaving in five days!”

Cool hands enveloped her shoulders as Jaqen leaned over her.  “A girl must be patient.  A girl will have what she wants when the time is right.”

Arya glared down at the ground, thoughts scrambling as she tried to think of something else, anything else to say to convince him. Maybe stress the timeframe again or accuse Jaqen of not being capable.

Before she could say a word, there was a flurry of movement and Jaqen was shoved back, away from Arya.  She blinked at the motion, trying to force her eyes to make sense of it.  A solid thump echoed as Jaqen and his assailant knocked against the guard tower.

"You stay the hell away from her!"

Gendry stood between Arya and Jaqen, heaving angrily and glaring at the man.

Jaqen did not seem to be surprised or angry at Gendry's appearance or outburst, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes as Gendry continued to block Arya from view. A small smile played at the edges of his mouth as he stared him down.  "A man's business is between a girl and the red god. A boy has no place here."

Arya tried to grab Gendry's arm and pull him away before one of them did something stupid, but Gendry held firm. Arya glanced around, cautiously, and, to her chagrin, a few wandering eyes were already beginning to notice the confrontation.  It wouldn't be long before guards showed up, and that knowledge made Arya twice as determined. “Gendry stop!  He’s helping me!”

“Yeah?”  He tore his arm away from Arya's grasp, never looking away from the man in question.  “In exchange for what?”

Heat flooded Arya’s face at the implication, though from humiliation or fury she couldn't tell.  “Nothing!”

Gendry turned to glare at her incredulously.  “You can't possibly be that stupid .”

Arya's whole body went taut as she clenched her fists and she just knew she was about to do something foolish, like yell at him, or punch him, or maybe bite him. But Jaqen's quiet voice carried from where he still stood against the wall, calm as ever, before she could act.

“A bull need not worry about the safety of a wolf.  She is among friends.”  He smiled again. Arya didn't like this smile.  It wasn't the polite one that he often gave her, it was all teeth and narrowed eyes.

The statement only seemed to make Gendry angrier and Arya wondered if perhaps that was Jaqen’s intention.  Others were beginning to take notice of the exchange and Arya once again tried to tug Gendry away from the scene.

"Come on! You’re going to get yourself killed.”  She hissed.

Gendry finally tore his eyes away from Jaqen and saw the handful of people staring at the three of them. Only then did he let go and take a step away.  Arya didn’t think it wise to bring up that she was more concerned about Jaqen than the crowd.

Arya could feel Jaqen’s eyes follow them as she dragged her friend away.

The minute they were both alone, Gendry stopped them both, turning to face Arya.  She had been so busy dragging him away that this was the first time she really got a good look at his face. He looked terrified .

“Has he hurt you?” 

Arya gaped at him.  “What?  No!” 

Relief showed for a split second before his face twisted in anger.  “Well then what in the seven hells Arya!”

“I told you!  He’s helping me!”  Arya couldn’t fathom why he was angry at her , she wasn't the one that caused a scene in front of Lannister guards!  She didn’t have to explain anything to a stupid boy either.

Gendry looked unconvinced.  “What business could you possibly have with a man like that?”  Arya couldn’t remember the last time Gendry looked this angry, and she sure as hells couldn't remember his anger ever being directed at her .  But then she remembered how scared he looked just moments ago, and maybe she did owe him some kind of explanation.  He was pack after all. 

Arya looked down at her shoes, all of her resolve to not tell him anything seeped out of her.  “You can’t tell anyone.  Not even Hot Pie.”

Her even asking stung Gendry more than he would have cared to admit.  Had he not proven himself trustworthy time and time again?  This was hardly the first time he would be keeping a life or death secret for Arya.  “Of course I won’t.” 

“He said he would kill three people for me.”  Gendry looked at her, surprised, and she continued.  “He said that since I saved him and the other prisoners from death that his god demanded three lives in payment. He said I could name anyone.”

Gendry blinked.  “That’s crazy.”

Arya bristled. “I don’t care, " She snapped. "As long as he actually does it.”

He shook his head.  “No, Arry, that’s crazy.  This whole thing is mad.” Gendry said, pulling his hair in frustration.  “How do you know he’s not going to turn you in, or kill you, or worse?”  Arya continued to scowl at her feet and Gendry got the sense that she had been asking herself similar questions lately.  He sighed.  Winter would come and go before Arya changed her mind about anything.  “Who did you name?”  He relented.

She looked shocked at him asking.  “Lord Tywin.” 

Gendry sighed again.  Arya never did things by halves.  “You're gonna get yourself killed.”

“No I’m not .”  The determined glint in her eyes was back but it didn't reassure Gendry.  It did quite the opposite, actually.  Arya would burn the castle down with herself in it if it meant she got what she was looking for.  Just what Arya was looking for, Gendry was still unsure.  He hoped she found it soon, for everyone’s sake.

Tywin Lannister was found three days later, lying in his bed with blood dripping down the sides of his mouth, dead.  Some were saying he was poisoned but no one could prove how or with what.  While the servants talked in panicked whispers of curses and ghosts, Gendry frowned and prayed to the gods that Arya knew what she was doing.

Chapter Text

“Did you hear the news?”

Ryman wanted to slap the stricken expression from Emmon’s face.  Had he heard the news.   The entire castle won't shut up about it.  Word has likely reached Essos at this rate.

“Call a counsel with Lord Walder, we must revise our plans.”  Ryman sounded a lot calmer than he actually felt. 

Predictably, Emmon continued to fret.  “Do you think It’s wise to continue with the plan?  We were counting on the support from Lord Tywin!  Without it, what safeties are we guaran-”

“Just go get our brothers you fool.”  He growled.  Ryman had no patience for his uncle's usual distressed ramblings. 

After Emmon scurried off, Ryman began making his way to the main hall where the rest of the Freys would surely gather, rubbing his temples as he walked.  Emmon was right to be fearful, but now was no time to voice such concerns. 

Sure enough, the news of Tywin's death had all of the sons of Walder gathered in the great hall in record time.  The chatter, which was nearly deafening, hushed down to absolute silence the moment Lord Walder finally managed to appear.

Ryman looked at his grandfather, who gave him the signal to take the lead, before beginning. 

“I’m sure you all know why we have been gathered in such haste.  Lord Tywin was found dead a sennight ago.”  Ryman glanced at Lord Walder with a bit of apprehension before continuing.  “We must be smart about our next actions.  We must consider the possibility that calling off our attack may be the best course of action.”

The hall erupted into chaos before he had even finished.

“And let the Starks get away with their disrespect?!”

“The plan is already in motion!”

“We never needed Tywin to begin with!”

“Cravens!”

“ENOUGH!”   Walder’s roar was followed by a coughing fit from the effort.  "We- we will continue with the plan.  Nothing has changed for us.”

Ryman stared at the Lord of the Twins in shock, but it was Emmon who spoke. “Father, we cannot hope to proceed without the guarantee of a pardon and the power that Tywin agreed to bestow.”

Walder waved him off, sloppily drinking from a cup before continuing.  “And I’m sure our terms can be renegotiated with the King himself,”  Walder said dismissively.  “Why shouldn’t his grandson keep his word.”

This time Benfrey spoke up.  “The king has been rumored to be volatile and unpredictable.  Even if we could trust his word, he still hasn’t agreed to the terms set by Lord Tywin.  It is equally likely that he calls for our heads as it is that he rewards us in gold.”

Emmon, ever the sniveling coward, interjected, “Perhaps we ought to send a raven and wait for a reply before acting.”

“And risk it being intercepted by one of Robb's Bannermen?”  Merrett scoffed from the crowd of Freys.  “Ravens were well and good when the boy king was hundreds of leagues away but the Starks and their banners will be here in two weeks' time. We cannot risk this information getting out.”

“Then perhaps we should send a messenger.”  Emmon pleaded, looking more and more uncomfortable with being in the middle of this conversation.  “Postpone the wedding-”

“We cannot postpone the wedding.”  Benfrey interrupted very matter-of-factly.  Ryman had a difficult time deciding which side the man was even on.  “It will be suspicious enough without Alesander, Olyvar, and Perwyn here. Robb may catch on if their only allies in House Frey are conveniently missing throughout their entire stay here.”

Walder nodded thoughtfully at each of his kins' responses before speaking. “What say you, Ryman?  My grandson, my heir?”  He looked at Ryman, not in the way a loving father might when asking for his son’s perspective, but like a maester might look at a child when asking a question.  Not to get information, but to see if he will say the right answer.  Like a swindler who already stole the man’s gold and is waiting for him to notice.  Like a devil who has already won.

Ryman paused to think.  “I have more reasons than most here to hate the Starks.  I traveled and fought with them.  I led my brothers and sons and nephews to battle by his side and then watched as he spat on our name, on our honor, and on our word.”  Ryman glanced once more at his grandfather.  Walder looked pleased with his words, it wouldn’t last for long.  “And yet, I cannot with a clear conscious risk those same brothers, sons, and nephews without the guarantee that the House of Frey will continue as a strong and respected house.  I recommend we call off the attack and wait for another opportunity.”

The great hall was once again deafeningly loud, some agreeing to call off and wait, others shouting that they don’t need a wedding to kill the Starks and they should meet the banners on the road and slaughter them.  Lord Walder looked livid.

“I wasn’t aware all my offspring were so craven.”  Walder stood up.  His hands shook and his ugly wrinkled face turned red, then purple.  “Are you all so afraid of uncertainty that you balk at defending your own name!”  He spat.

The hall once again quieted to a low rumble of voices. 

Walder sat back down in his seat with a thump.  “I am Lord of this holdfast and I say we will continue as planned. King Joffery will see our actions as a service to him and surely reward us tenfold.”  He then turned to his second son.  “Emmon, you will go to King's Landing to negotiate what the king will give us for our services, since it was your idea after all.”

Emmon went pale but Walder just skipped over him and continued.

“Everything will proceed as we had planned and any that should betray this family will find themselves removed from the line of succession, and I don’t mean by decree.”  Walder threatened, glaring at Ryman in specific.

Ryman nodded at his grandfather, who left the hall as everyone dispersed.  Black Walder was already telling graphic tales of what he plans to do with the Lady Starks body should Robb be fool enough to bring his wife along.  Emmon and Benfrey seemed to be in a serious discussion off in the corner, both frowning and speaking in hushed tones.  Benfrey tried to catch his eye but Ryman had more pressing concerns to address, so he ignored them all.

The moment he was alone in his room Ryman began writing.

Alesander

You must return to the Twins post haste.  There are things you need to be made aware of-

Chapter Text

It was early in the morning in the forge when they heard.  

Hot Pie had snuck them some burnt bread earlier that Arya had the suspicion he had burned on purpose.  She gnawed on the hard roll, watching as Gendry worked.  Some of the other boys were laughing and japing amongst themselves, which only seemed to put Gendry in a foul mood.  Arya didn’t hear what they were talking about nor did she particularly care, but it seemed to be bothering Gendry which was reason enough for Arya to be seconds away from yelling at them to shut up.  

Before she could do anything, screaming pierced through the noisy forge, guards shouted as soldiers ran to the West Tower.  The tower that Tywin resided in.  Arya jumped up, dropping her half-eaten roll of bread on the ground as she ran towards the commotion.  She didn’t have to turn around to know that Gendry was right behind her.  Guards were blocking the entrance to the tower, others were yelling for a maester.  

A hysterical chambermaid was crying.  “He’s dead! He’s dead!”  she kept repeating as if she had forgotten how to say anything else.  

Arya turned back to Gendry in shock.  She saw his mind work through what had happened.  Arya knew exactly when he figured it out because his mouth tightened and he stomped away, never once turning back to look at her

Arya should have run that very night.  She had planned to run that very night.  She had a bag packed and was on her way to drag Gendry and Hot Pie along, no matter what they said, when she noticed just how many guards were patrolling around the castle.  There was shouting and screaming by the gates as Lannister guards rode in, dragging bloodied bodies behind their horses as they went.  Arya heard one of the guards spit something about deserters and cowards.  

Evidently, others had the same idea as her… it didn’t look like any of them were successful.

More people were caught trying to run away in the coming days, prisoners, servants, even Lannister Bannermen.  Each of them was caught and killed, or worse.  One by one, heads began crowding the southern gates once more. 

Arya hadn’t heard of anyone managing to get away alive.

She almost hadn’t believed that Tywin was truly dead, the rumors that followed were certainly absurd enough.  The other servants whispered of the Ghost of Harrenhal taking revenge on Tywin for disturbing the castle grounds.  Arya bit back a smirk when she heard that.  The Ghost of Harrenhal.  She was no longer a mouse with wooden teeth, afraid and defenseless, scurrying along the walls of a decrepit castle.  She was a ghost, silent and deadly and vengeful.  She no longer hid the corners to avoid anyone's ire.  She snuck in the shadows, observing, waiting to name her next kill.

Joffrey.  Cercei.  Illian Payne.  Ser Meryan.  Chiswyck.  Poliver.  The Tickler.  Raff the Sweetling.  Weese.  The Mountain.  The Hound. 

Two more names to take off her list.

Only two.

With Lord Tywin dead the other Lords seemed at a loss for what to do.  The first day she went back to work as cupbearer they did nothing but squabble over who was to be in charge in place of their Lord.  Apparently, some cousin of lord Tywin had just as much claim to the spot as a few others.  After an argument that nearly ended in swords being drawn, one of the men suggested that no major decisions were to be made until Jamie Lannister came to take his father's place.  Arya thought Tywin might have been right about his men being idiots.

With less frequent meetings, Arya was put back to work under Weese, a decision that almost made her regret killing Tywin.  Weese had always been volatile and cruel to those under him, but with the tensions following Tywin's death, he'd become almost unhinged in his punishments and demands.  He had beaten a servant girl bloody for dropping a pot of ink one day.  Arya hadn't seen that girl since, so it was difficult to say for sure what had happened to her.  Weese seemed to be looking for any excuse to abuse the servants under him; Arya was careful to not be the one caught on the receiving end.

She was half tempted to use Weese as her second name if she could ever find Jaqen again. 

The Lorathi had been conspicuously missing since Tywin's death.  He probably ran.  Maybe he was caught and killed with the rest of the deserters.  Arya scoffed, so much for her other two names .  She was tempted to ask Hot Pie again, or the other guards if anyone had seen Jaqen but decided against it in the end.  What if she drew attention to him, or worse, herself?  It was too much of a risk.

Now though, Weese had Arya running the length of the entire castle and back again fetching water, parchment, delivering letters, cleaning chamber pots, and each time she came back he shouted at her for taking so long and then gave her ten more things to do.  Never mind Arya had sprinted through the entire castle.  Her current job from Weese was to clean every chamber pot in the East wing.  She never thought she would miss serving wine and fetching books for stuck-up lords.  

It was well past dark when Arya finally finished cleaning the chamber pots in all the occupied rooms.  She brushed the grim from her hands, her nose wrinkled at the smell.  

She looked out a window, cursing when she saw stars twinkling in the night.  Only guards were allowed outside this late anymore.  Perhaps if she were quick enough, she could run down to one of the water trenches in the courtyard to wash up before going to her rooms for the night.

Arya looked around the hallway cautiously before sprinting down the staircase.

Swift as a deer.  Quiet as a shadow.  Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She stuck to the shadows, listening for footsteps, before turning the corner.  Arya was nearly out the door, turning around to check behind her again when a voice made her blood run cold.

"What the fuck are you still doing out?"  Weese spat, stepping through the doorway and looming over her, glaring.

Arya froze.  "I just finished cleaning the chamber pots, I was on my way back now."  She said, careful not to look him in the eye.  Weese always said he could smell even the thought of defiance, and Arya was careful not to test that out.

There was a crack and Arya's head snapped to the side as Weese slapped her across the face.  Her cheek was burning from the pain and something felt tight in her neck.  "I told you to do that hours ago you bitch, did you even fetch the water for Ser Damon's chambers?

It took everything in Arya not to snap that he never told her to fetch water, that of course cleaning every fucking pot in the East tower took hours.  Instead, she nodded meekly, never taking her eyes off the ground, and turned on her heels to scurry away before he did more than smack her across the face.

Arya expected the hand that reached out to grab her and spun away easily enough, but Weese was used to her tricks.  What she did not expect was the leg stretched out to trip her as she moved away, causing Arya to land hard on the cobblestone floor.  Her hands stung from catching herself and her wrists ached.  She had barely processed falling at all before Weese drove his foot into her side and her arms gave out from underneath her.  She felt her jaw snap shut and her chin skid over the rough stone floors.

"You think you're clever, yeah?  An ugly little cunt like you?"  Another kick to her side stole the breath from her lungs.  Arya began to panic as she struggled to suck in air, tasting copper on her tongue.

Weese was still talking but Arya couldn't hear him.  She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think .  Her ears were ringing as another blow landed on her stomach.  Her whole body ached as Arya finally managed to look up.  The knife by his side glinted in the torchlight as she struggled to look up at his face, which was purple and ugly as he continued to yell at her. 

She couldn't hear him, it didn't matter.  Maybe he would finally kill her, maybe he would do worse.  Weese's ugly face was suddenly much closer as he bent down and grabbed Arya by her hair, yanking her face inches from his own.  She missed her hair being short enough not to grab, back when she was ' lumpy head' .  Arya could smell something rotten on his breath and small droplets of spit landed on her face. 

Arya didn't realize she had gone for his knife until it was already in her hands.  She was just as quick as Syrio taught her when she jabbed the blade with all of her strength into his throat.

It was a short blade but Arya had still expected it to go in deeper.  Something hard hit the tip of the knife and forced it to the side, slitting a deep gash in Weese's throat. 

His blood looked almost black in the dim light as it leaked from his throat, soaking through his shirt in seconds.  All men are made of water.   When you pierce them the water leaks out, and they die .  Arya looked on, partially in morbid curiosity and partially in horror, (she tried to push that last one from her mind, tried to remember that he deserved far worse) as Weese gaped at her in surprise.  Gurgling sounds escaped his throat as he tried to speak.  His hand went slack in her hair as he pitched forward.  Arya managed to scramble away on her hands and knees before he fell on top of her.

It took three tries before she managed to force herself into her feet.  The first try nearly sent her flat on her face again.  Her entire body protested as she stood up slowly.

Weese was laying on the ground beside her, a dark puddle steadily growing underneath him.  His eyes were wide in panic and fear and Arya couldn't help but remember the stable boy.  How he soiled his pants and cried as he died.  She watched as those same eyes lost focus a moment later.

Arya wasn't sure how long she stared at Weese’s lifeless body, it wasn't until she heard footsteps off in the distance that Arya woke up from whatever stupor she had been in.  Torchlight cast long shadows off in the corner of the street outside and Arya began to panic.  She grabbed Weese by the arms, dragging him further into the tower.  Arya was panting and exhausted by the time she barely managed to move his body over in a corner behind some barrels.  Someone was going to find his body but maybe it would buy her some time.

She hesitated before grabbing the bag of coins tied to his belt and pocketing his knife.  Once she was sure that she had anything useful off of his body, she ran to the forge.

Perhaps Father's Old Gods had finally taken pity on her because Gendry was alone, hammering what looked like a dented chest plate on an anvil.

Arya nearly tripped as she entered the forge.  She was lucky that no guards caught her on the way, but even injured and bleeding, Syrio's lessons stuck with her.

Gendry turned when he heard her enter.  "Arry?"

"We need to go."  Arya panted. When did she lose her breath?  "We have to leave right now."  Her eyes were wild and she felt like her entire body was vibrating.

Gendry put down his hammer and stepped in front of her.  She could smell metal and soot as he stepped closer, his eyes wide and brows furrowed at his friend.  For a second Arya would have said he looked scared, but that was stupid.  "What's going on-"  His eyes raked down at the state she was in and grew even more concerned.  "You're bleeding."

"It's not my blood," Arya said before thinking that at least some of it was probably her blood.  Her chin and hands ached from where they had hit the stone floor and she felt a pang in her chest with every breath she took.  She still tasted blood in her mouth, though if it was Weese’s or her own, she couldn’t say.  Gendry's mouth went slack, even in the moonlight, Arya could see his face pale.  They didn't have the time.  "I'll explain everything after we get out of here.  Just, grab Hot Pie and some swords and meet me by the stables.  We need to leave now ."   

A week ago Arya would have left the forge without questioning if Gendry would follow her.  A week ago she was certain he would want to follow her.  Now though, he knew she was a killer, he knew she was the cause of Tywin's death, and probably blamed her for the state the castle was in too.  He probably suspected she had just killed another.  He might not want to come.  Gendry had a decent life here in Harrenhal despite being a prisoner.  The blacksmith liked him, he was working with boys his age, a roof over his head and food in his belly.  He might stay, he might want to leave her.  Hot Pie might want to stay as well.

Arya paused, staring at Gendry, silently pleading with her friend to follow her.  Gendry seemed lost in thought for a moment, his jaw clenched and mouth tightened.  Arya held her breath.

Gendry let out a long-suffering sigh before shaking his head.  "Fine.  But I don't know how you expect to get past the guards."

"Leave that to me,"  Arya said far more confidently than she felt.  "Just tell Hot Pie to bring food and get three horses ready."

Gendry still had a stupid look on his face but he nodded once all the same.  Confident that her friend would come through, Arya took off in the direction of her rooms.

Arya had the bag she had packed the day Tywin died slung over her shoulder and most of the blood washed from her hands and face when she found Gendry and Hot Pie crouching behind a pile of hay bales not twenty yards away from the stables.  Neither one of them heard her approach.

“Where are the horses?”  Arya asked, making Hot Pie jump at her sudden appearance.

"Arry what's goin’ on? Are we really leaving?  They just got cherries in.  I have the dough prepped and everything!  Can't we wait another day?"

"Shut up Hot Pie," she hissed, tugging the boy down further into the shadow left by the hay bale. "Did you grab food?"

"Yep, snagged some bread, and half a wheel of cheese." His eyes brightened, patting the bag slung over his shoulder.  "Oh!  And some meat the guards brought in! It's not quite done drying but-"

"That's great Hot Pie."  Arya cut him off, turning to Gendry.  "Where are the horses?"  She asked again.

"Didn't get any,"  he grunted.

Her grey eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why not?"

Gendry pointed his thumb at the stables.  There was a young boy with sandy hair and freckles covering the entirety of his face, milling around the inside of the stables.  He couldn’t have been much older than Arya herself.

Arya rolled her eyes.  "So?" 

" So, he'll alert the guards if he sees us!"  Hot Pie answered, eyes wide in panic.

Arya sighed.  "Do I have to do everything? "

The stables smelt like hay and leather and horses.  It was far too similar to Winterfell.  Arya could almost pretend she was sneaking out of a lesson with the septa to bother Harwin into letting her go for a ride in the Godswood.  He always smelled like hay.  Harwin would pat her on the head, calling her Arya Underfoot, and tell her to be back before supper, less her lady mother have both their hides.  

Was he even still alive?  Probably not.  All the Stark men were slaughtered the day Arya escaped the Red Keep.  It always hurt to think of home; home was father and Jon and Harwin and Jory.  It was throwing mud at Sansa when she and Jeyne were mean to her.  It was running through the Godswood with Nymeria at her heels.  It was all things she would never see again.  Home was nothing but ghosts now.

Arya walked up to the boy, who was currently shoveling hay, with as much confidence that she could muster.  The boy put down the pitchfork he had been using, watching her with wide eyes when he saw her.  He wiped his hands on his trousers nervously.

Arya raised her chin.  "Weese sent me to ready three horses."  She said briskly. 

The boy tilted his head curiously.  "Why would they need horses at this time of night?"  He said, looking over Arya's shoulder like an explanation might be behind her.

"I didn't ask."  Arya snapped.  " You're more than welcome to go to Weese and ask him yourself, while you're at it you can explain why the horses aren't ready."  She said with a cool raise of her brow.

The boy turned white as a ghost at the thought of confronting Weese.  "I'll have them ready in ten minutes."  He squeaked, rushing off to get the saddles ready.

Arya checked behind her, there weren't any guards around the stables yet, but that could change at any time.  "Make it five, and leave them by the west gates," Arya said, spinning on her heels and marching away.

“Right away.”  The boy said nervously, nearly dropping the reins he was working on in his hurry.

Arya made it back to Hot Pie and Gendry, the former looking at her impressed, the latter was scowling.

"The horses will be by the gates in a few minutes, I say we wait until they're ready before going near there."

"So what's your fancy plan to get rid of the guards?"  Gendry asked.

Arya looked around nervously.  The gates were visible from where they were hiding, she counted five guards around the exit. Too many to kill herself.  The adrenaline from her fight with Weese was wearing off and her ribs felt like they were being pressed against hot coals with every breath she took.  Even if she wasn't injured it was still too many.  Gendry might be able to help but if anyone saw the commotion more guards would be alerted and they'd be dead.

Gendry looked at her puzzled face with visibly growing concern.  "Please tell me you have a plan."  

Arya bit her lip.  She couldn’t give up now.  Not when they were steps away from freedom.  There had to be something .  Some way for them to sneak past the guards with three horses unnoticed.

“ Arya- ”

Shouting interrupted whatever Gendry was about to say and a single guard rushed to the gates.  Arya couldn’t hear what was being said but whatever the guard had to say caused the other five to rush away from the gates towards the castle.  Towards the East Tower.

They were running out of time.

She got up after checking to make sure no one else was around and motioned the two boys to follow her.

Hot Pie looked at her impressed, still sitting behind the hay bales.  “Did you know that was gonna happen?”

Arya grabbed him by the arm, yanking him upright.  “Come on .”

The three of them snuck across the open courtyard, Hot Pie was crouching as he walked as if he thought doing so would make him less visible in the empty pathway.  They were doing good, they were almost there.  Arya followed behind Gendry as they snuck closer to the gates.

There was a crunch of shoes on gravel to her right.

Arya stopped, Hot Pie bumping into her back.  She grabbed Gendry's arm, pulling him back and behind a stack of crates.  Hot Pie stumbled after them, eyes wide.

"What?"  Gendry whispered.

Arya pointed off to the side to a figure in the torchlight, staggering next to the wall.  The man nearly fell face-first into the dirt before catching himself.  He paused to take a long drink from a wineskin, leaning against the stone wall.  After a moment Arya recognized the skinny blade hanging from the man's side.  Chiswyck.  Arya's face hardened.

Gendry didn't seem as bothered as she was.  "Okay. He looks drunk."  He whispered.  "We can probably sneak past him if we're careful."

Arya got up from where they were crouched, walking straight toward Chiswyck, eyes never once leaving the sword at his side.  Gendry grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her back down behind the crates.

“What the fuck are you doing?”  He whispered angrily.

“Meet me by the gates.”  Arya’s eyes were still glued on Chiswyck.

“What?  No.”

She finally looked away, eyes meeting Gendry’s.  “Just trust me.  Please. ”

Gendry worked his jaw before breathing harshly through his nose.  “Fine.”  He pointed a finger at her.  “If you ain't back in five minutes we’re leaving you behind.”  

Arya snorted, knowing full well that Gendry’s threat was empty.  Still, if she wasn’t back quick enough he might be stupid enough to come after her.  She kept that in mind as she made her way to Chiswyck.

He had his head tilted back and was drinking from his wineskin, dark liquid dripping down the side of his cheek and staining the tunic under his chainmail.  Arya wrinkled her nose as she got closer.  Even from there, Arya could smell the sharp note of alcohol coming from Chiswick in addition to his usual rotten stench.  Chiswyck snorted a bit when he caught her approaching, coughing a bit before glaring at her halfheartedly.

“Prisoners ain’t allowed out this time of night girl.”  he slurred, not bothering to even get up from where he was leaning against the wall.

Arya looked up at him, widening her eyes and pinching her brow like she would do to get her brother Robb to not tattle on her to their Lady mother when he caught her practicing with swords.  “I’m sorry Ser, Weese was the one that sent me.  I thought it better than to disobey.”

Chiswyck pulled a face in thought that was so close to a grimace Arya almost laughed.  “Weese?”  He questioned and Arya got the feeling that he wasn't fully hearing all the words she had said.

She smiled as politely as Sansa, forcing herself to not make a face as she breathed through her nose.  “Yes, Weese sent me to give you the money he owes.”

Chiswick scrunched his face again.  “The fuck are you going on about?”

It took physical effort for Arya to keep smiling as she tried not to breathe in the putrid smell of alcohol coming from Chiswyck.  “He said you had a bet and I was to bring you the money he owed.”

“I ain’t got no bet goin’ with that bastard.”

She frowned.  “So you don't want the money?”

Arya could see the wheels grinding in his head as he struggled to think in his inebriated state.  Eventually, his eyes widened and Chiswyck smiled like he thought himself clever.

"Hand it over and get the fuck out of my sight girl." 

Arya pulled out the small bag of coins she nicked from Weese's body before spilling the coins on the dirt below them.

"Oops."  Arya stared wide-eyed as Chiswyck grumbled and cursed at her clumsiness. 

Chiswyck bent to his knees to start gathering the fallen coins.  His knees had yet to hit the ground when Arya took the dagger stolen from Weese, still covered in its owner's blood, and plunged it into the side of Chiswycks neck, dragging it roughly to the other side, slitting his throat like she did Weese.  Her hand was wet and sticky from the blood.

The Lannister soldier fell face-first into the mud.  Arya had only a moment to relish it. Two names off her list.  Two names by her own hand.  She bent down, hand wrapping around the hilt of the skinny sword strapped to his hip.

Needle .

She had it back.  Finally, Jon, Winterfell, Syrio, Father, home .  It was all in the palm of her hand as she gripped Needle , tucking it back in her belt where it belonged.  Not a mouse, not a ghost, Arya had the teeth and claws of a direwolf.

Joffrey.  Cercei.  Illian Payne.  Ser Meryan.  Poliver.  The Tickler.  Raff the Sweetling.  The Mountain.  The Hound. 

Arya smiled as she ran towards the gates where Gendry and Hot Pie were waiting. 

Hot Pie was still struggling to get on his horse when Arya made it to the gates.  She rolled her eyes and climbed atop her mare.  Gendry was ready to go, though he was gripping the reins a bit too tightly and his back and legs were far too stiff to ride comfortably.  He reached for one of the swords he had stolen from the forge and tried to hand the dull, rusted blade to her, swaying uneasily astride the horse as he reached over. 

Arya brandished her sword in front of her.  “I don't need it.”

Gendry furrowed his brows before smiling stupidly when he finally recognized the little weapon.  “Fancy blade you got there, milady.”

She didn’t care that Gendry was mocking her, she didn’t care that he called her a lady.  She had Needle, she was a wolf and she had taken back her fangs.  She was Arya Stark again, and nothing was going to get in her way.

The second she saw Hot Pie had finally managed to sit atop his horse, Arya took off out of the gates, not bothering to see if Gendry and Hot Pie were following.  She knew they were.  Instead, she focused on leaving the cursed castle and all its ghosts behind her.  

A man watched as the young girl and her friends rode away.  She was surprising, certainly brave to a fault.  Very few would view such a girl and see a killer, but a man knew a fellow servant of death.  A girl would do well in Braavos, a man mused.  Perhaps, if given enough time and the right motivations, a man would not return to the house of black and white alone.  

He turned back to the ruined castle.  Other guards were already shouting and searching for the murderer of Weese, it wouldn't be long before the other body was found and they began sending search parties for the culprits.

A man began counting the knives in his possession.  It would not do well for a girl to die just yet.

Chapter Text

They rode for two days without stopping.  About halfway through the first day of riding, Hot Pie began complaining of being exhausted and sore, complaints which Gendry immediately silenced, snapping at him to shut up and keep riding.  Arya might have done so herself, had all of her focus not been on simply staying atop her horse.  After riding all night and morning, each shallow gasping breath felt like fire being forced into her lungs.  The scrapes on her hands stung from her white-knuckled grip on the reins.  Chin and cheek were throbbing in time with her chest, which felt like broken glass was rattling between each rib.  Despite all of this, Arya pushed forward.  Nothing was more important than putting as much distance between them and the cursed castle as they could.  

By the end of the second day, Gendry called for them to set up camp. He claimed tiredness, but Arya saw the worried glances thrown her way.  She scowled that he might not think her capable. Arya would have insisted they keep riding, but Hot Pie had already hopped off his horse and laid down underneath a tree, nibbling on a chunk of hard cheese.  Perhaps it was a good idea to give the horses a break. 

Gendry’s knees wobbled as he jumped down his steed.  "I'll take first watch." He grunted.

Had Arya possessed the energy, she would have scoffed, "I can take first watch. You go to sleep."  Her jaw clenched to stop from crying out as she slid down the mare, barely managing to keep upright.  Supporting her weight against the saddle, Arya squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the world to stop spinning.  After a moment, she tied up the horses and walked over to the tree Hot Pie was under to sit down.  All the while ignoring the look Gendry was giving her.  Sleep wouldn't come easily to her even if she tried.  Only one of them would be awake this way.  Barely a moment later, soft snoring sounded from the boy next to her, and Arya snorted, feeling the tiniest bit jealous of Hot Pie’s uncanny ability to sleep anywhere.

Her ribs were still burning; the pain steadily worsened with each breath she took.  Arya finally dared to lift her shirt and see the damage done, only to regret checking immediately.  Ugly black and purple bruising covered her entire right side.  A curse sounded beside her, and Arya quickly pulled her tunic down and leaned against the trunk, eyes closed.

"I'm fine,"  She mumbled.  She didn't bother to open her eyes yet, not wanting to see Gendry looking at her like she couldn't handle herself, or worse, to see pity in his eyes.  

"Have you seen you?"  The sharpness in his tone made Arya flinch.

"I said I'm fine."  She snapped, finally looking at Gendry to glare. Her face felt hot, but whether it was from embarrassment, anger, or pain, she couldn't say.

His jaw clenched, and Arya braced herself for another argument.  Instead, he sighed and sat next to her.  "No, you ain't."  He muttered, leaning against the tree, right hand moving to rest (incorrectly, she might add) on the pommel of his sword.  "Since we're both staying up, you gonna talk about it?"

" You don't have to be up."  Arya scoffed.  "One of us should get some sleep."

"One of us should, and it ain't gonna be me."  Arya didn't have to turn to know Gendry was glaring at her.

"Gods, why do you have to be so stubborn ?"  She spat.

"So that's a no?"  The edge in his voice faded to an exhaustion that Arya felt in her bones.

She sighed and started picking at the grass beneath them with a frown.  "What's there to say?"

"You can start with why you showed up covered in blood and looking like you got the shit beat out of you."  Gendry kept his voice low, most likely not to wake Hot Pie, but Arya nonetheless appreciated the change in tone.  It felt like two friends sharing secrets in the dark, rather than Arya confessing her sins to the gods.

Her jaw tensed, thinking back on that night.  "It was Weese."  She finally said, her eyes focused on her hands.  "He found me out after dark, and I killed him."  Arya tensed, waiting for Gendry to move away or act disgusted.  Maybe he would be angry that she didn't tell him before dragging them all out of that damned castle. Perhaps he would take Hot Pie and leave her.

"Good,” Gendry nodded, “he deserved a lot worse than whatever you did to him."  Her eyes darted over to him in shock.

"I stabbed him in the neck."  Arya didn't know why she was telling him this.  "Did the same to Chiswyck too."  If he was going to leave, he should do it now and not waste her time.

"Yeah, I figured."  He hummed, completely unfazed.  How many times was he going to surprise her that night?  Gendry snorted at her incredulous look.  "Well, I didn't think he gave you back that sword 'cause you asked politely."  Gendry smiled.

Arya stared at the boy who had followed her from the seven hells and back and wondered why she doubted him.

Gendry didn't seem to notice her focus on him, or if he did, his gaze never left the treeline.  The two sat there, listening to the rustling of branches overhead.  The wind whistled around them, and Arya closed her eyes, pretending the sound was of wolves howling in the distance.  The night was getting colder, but she didn't dare build a fire.  In all likelihood, Harrenhal guards were right on their tail.  They might have gotten an edge riding through the past two nights, but Arya wasn't diluted enough to think that meant they were safe.  Far from it.

"Was that your first kill?" Gendry's quiet voice caught her off guard.

Arya paused, no longer sure why she hesitated to tell him.  Gendry was her friend, more than that. He was pack, family.  She began to trust him with her life long ago.  "No,"  She whispered, almost afraid to disturb the silence around them.  "I killed a stable boy when I escaped the Red Keep."

She saw Gendry nod from the corner of her eye, not saying anymore.

Still, his calmness gnawed at her.  She didn't deserve his sympathy or forgiveness or whatever Gendry was offering her at that moment.  Arya was a killer.  She liked killing, liked the feeling of vengeance.  "Are you scared of me now?"  She said softly, eyes focused on the pieces of damp grass sticking to her hand.

Gendry snorted like she had told a joke.  "I mean, I've always been a little scared of you."  One side of his mouth quirked up as he glanced at her.

Arya glared, sitting forward and turning to face him better, only to fight a grimace as her side protested the movement.  Gendry sighed.

"You did what you had to, Arya."

She leaned back against the tree carefully, no longer wanting to see how Gendry was staring at her, not wanting to name the emotion in his eyes.  Her bicep brushed against his elbow as she leaned back.  It must have been a testament to how tired they were that neither one moved away.  Heat radiated from him, warming her side, and Arya sighed, resting her head against the rough bark behind them.  

Arya didn't know when her eyes closed. Her body must have finally crashed after running on adrenaline alone for forty-some hours.  The only thing she noticed was the smell of sweat and metal and heat getting slightly stronger before everything went black.

Hot Pie woke to the sound of howling.

He opened his eyes, groaning, it was still dark out, but the moon was beginning to set.  He was pretty sure that meant the sun would come out soon but wasn't certain.  The moon was tricky like that.  He remembered looking up at the sky in flea bottom some days and seeing it setting before the sun disappeared.  Arry would know why. She was smart like that.

Remembering his friends, he sat up before flopping right back down in the dirt and groaned again as his entire body protested moving.  Riding a horse was already grueling that he wasn't sure how anyone could ride all morning, let alone two days straight.

He heard a snort and turned to see Gendry looking at him, amused.  A look that vanished as Hot Pie took in the sight before him and smiled goofily.

Gendry was leaning against the tree, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand on the pommel of his sword.  Arry, on the other hand, was slumped against him, with her nose smashed against his upper arm.  Her hands and feet twitched, and Hot Pie could have sworn he heard a growl come from her throat.  It made him think of how the stray dogs in King's landing whined and twitched their legs as they dreamed.  It was cute.  Arry certainly reminded him of a feral dog, scary and might bite your hand off, but sort of nice once you've been around them long enough.

Hot Pie slowly got up, grabbing his sword and a blanket he left in the saddle pack.  He kicked himself for not keeping his sword on him like the other two.  They were probably of more use in a battle than he was, but he still needed to try and protect his friends, or, failing that, at least not make himself a liability for them both.

Tucking the blade in his belt, he quietly walked over to the pair, unfolding the blanket and tossing it at Gendry, who nodded in appreciation.  Hot Pie didn't know why the other two hadn't grabbed it sooner, he was asleep before he could even think of such a thing, but they couldn't have been comfortable in the cold.

Gendry tucked a corner of the blanket across Arry's shoulders, spreading the rest across their feet, or rather, across Arry's feet; Gendry's legs stuck out the end.  A dopey smile spread across Hot Pie's face as he watched his friends.  Arry probably hadn't been very cold to begin with, sleeping next to Gendry like that.

"I can take up watch, Bull."  Hot Pie whispered, nudging his foot.  "You should get some sleep too."

Gendry stared at him apprehensive for a moment before shrugging the shoulder not currently being used as a pillow and closed his eyes, leaning back a bit more to rest his head against the tree.

Hot Pie didn't know what 'taking up watch' meant precisely, but he figured he should walk around and keep an eye on the area.  If not to 'keep watch,' then at least so he didn't fall asleep again.

He walked in large circles around his friends and their horses, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the hilt of his sword.  The howling was getting louder, and it was making him nervous.  He should talk with Gendry and Arry about how close the wolves were getting.

 When the horizon finally turned from black to a light blue, and the howling faded away, Hot Pie finally made his way back to camp and found his friends with their heads stacked together, fast asleep.

Arya was running.  The sweet tang of copper lingered between her teeth as she led her cousins on another hunt.  Her mouth watered as the scent of blood got stronger.  Her pack would eat well tonight.

She froze.

There was something in the air, something familiar.  She had only caught whiffs of it before, never quite able to find the scent.  It was tempting to turn around to track it, but then the prey they'd been hunting passed by the path, a group of humans wearing red and gold metal.  She leaped in to attack.

Arya woke up with a start.  It was bright outside, far too bright, she thought, squinting. The sun was almost directly overhead.  A blanket fell from her shoulders as she sat up slowly, careful not to aggravate her injuries.  Hot Pie was rooting through a saddlebag, talking Gendry's ear off apparently, given the smith's pinched expression from where he was sitting.  He was fiddling with one of the stolen swords, striking a small stone across the edge.  Arya didn't know why he bothered. It wasn't like they had the tools to sharpen them properly.

Hot Pie was the first to notice her up.  “Oh, you’re finally awake!"  He smiled and grabbed a roll from the bag he had rifled through, handing it to her.  "Gendry said I wasn’t supposed to wake you ‘cause you were healing,"  Arya scoffed, taking a large bite of bread, but Hot Pie was undeterred.  "Right!  Why didn’t you say sooner that you were hurt, Arry?”  He pointed a finger at her, glaring.

Arya rolled her eyes.  "I'm fine. Gendry is being stupid."  She stood up carefully, trying to hide a wince at the motion, albeit unsuccessfully if the matching frowns on both boys' faces were any indication.  Arya glared at them both.  "We should have left hours ago."

Gendry gave up whatever he was doing with the sword, tossing the rock on the ground as he stood.  "We'll leave as soon as you're ready, m'lady." 

Hot Pie guffawed at the nickname, and Arya's glare hardened as she stomped to the horses.  "We'll leave now,"  She ordered, shoving the blanket in a bag with the stale roll between her teeth.

Mounting her mare proved to be a challenge.  Arya stood on the stirrup, grabbing the saddle in an attempt to hoist herself up, only to nearly fall backward as pain shot from her hands. She grit her teeth to stop from crying out.  Arya completely forgot about the tears in her hands, more concerned with not jostling her ribs.  The second attempt was no more successful than her first, and she cursed.  

Arya backed up, intending on getting a running start when she felt two large hands picking her up by her hips.  She yelped in surprise, kicking her legs before being gently placed on the mare.

She spun around red in the face to glare at Gendry, but he already had his back to her, climbing atop his steed.  She huffed, deciding to let it slide in the interest of saving time.

As they set off, she noticed that her side felt a bit better than last night.  Giving her body a chance to rest seemed to be the right call (not that she would ever have admitted that to Gendry), but it still ached each time she took a breath.  Without her worst injury pulling most of her attention, she was painfully aware of the state the rest of her body was in.  The gashes in her hands were red and irritated.  She would need to wash them soon, along with her chin, which throbbed in time with her pulse.  The rest of her body ached from riding for so long, and she wondered how the boys were faring, having no experience on horseback.

It took all of five minutes for Hot Pie to start talking again.  She was almost impressed at his restraint.

"So, where are we headed?"  Hot Pie asked excitedly.

"Riverrun,"  Arya answered.  "My Uncle is the lord there.  He'll help us."

"You're uncles a lord?"  Arya glanced nervously at Gendry, but Hot Pie wasn't done.  "Wait, is this why Gendry called you milady?  You're kind of like a high born then!"

Gendry smirked and shook his head at the daggers Arya shot his way.  "Well, I wasn't gonna tell him."  He smiled as she scowled at him some more.

"Tell me what?"  Hot Pie frowned. He scrunched up his face so ridiculously that Arya might have laughed had she seen it.

Finally, she looked away from glaring holes in Gendry and huffed.  "My name isn't Arry. It's Arya Stark."

"What?  You really are one of them high born then!"  Hot Pie exclaimed. His enthusiasm dropped for a moment.  He paused thoughtfully, and a brief frown appeared on his face before he grinned again, less excited than before.  "I'm still gonna call you Arry."  

"you better."  She glared again, but there was no heat behind it.  "Even if the gold cloaks weren't after me, it's still safer to travel if I pass as a boy."

Gendry snorted.  "You ain't passin' as a boy for much longer." 

Arya frowned.  "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked indignantly.

"Just your hair's getting longer, and you're looking more like a girl."  He shrugged. His cheeks were beginning to pink from riding.

"Then I'll cut my hair,"  Arya said with a shrug.

The color on his cheeks darkened a bit.  "That's not really what I meant."  He muttered.

Arya was about to ask what he meant, but Hot Pie interrupted them before she could speak.  "What's gonna happen when we get to Riverrun?"

She almost ignored him in favor of grilling Gendry some more but thought better.  "My uncle will know where my mother and brother are and take us to them."

"Us?"  Hot Pie asked, eyes wide in awe.

"Well, of course, you both are coming with me."  Arya rolled her eyes.  "You can work in the kitchens when we get back to Winterfell, and Gendry can make swords for my brother."  

Hot Pie smiled excitedly.  "And what about you, Arry?"

She scrunched up her face.  "What do you mean? I'll be with my family."

"Are you gonna fight with your brother in battles?  You're really good with a sword."  Hot Pie nodded at the blade at her waist.

Arya frowned.  She wouldn't be fighting in any battles once she was back with her mother and brother.  Her mother would keel over at the thought, and Robb would laugh at her for suggesting such a thing.  Arya could be the best fighter in the north, and her mother would never see her for anything except a lady.  A failed lady at that.  She'd be forced into dresses and doing needlepoint with the other ladies, back to sneaking out if she wanted to practice her water dancing or go riding.

After a few moments of her not answering, Hot Pie began talking to Gendry, speculating what Riverrun would be like. 

Arya fell silent for the rest of the day, Gendry frowned at her, but Hot Pie filled the silence with his chatter, not bringing up her brother again.  For the first time, Arya dreaded her reunion with her family.

Chapter Text

It'd been over a week since they escaped Harrenhal, and they had run out of food. Arya had been particularly proud of herself for catching a squirrel the other day, but the stringy meat was barely a mouthful split amongst the three of them, and hunting proved to be a skill they all lacked.

Hot Pie had been complaining of hunger since they began rationing a week ago. Since the food had run out, he had only gotten louder. Gendry was characteristically quiet as they rode. Only speaking to suggest a place to camp for the night or snap at Hot Pie to shut up. But even that was done less frequently, and Arya knew the hunger was getting to him as well. After stopping for a break, Arya suggested a solution.

"I ain't eating worms." Gendry wrinkled his nose at Arya, who was digging through the mud for another mouthful of worms. She tried her best to chew as little as possible and fought the urge to gag. Hot Pie was reluctant but apparently hungry enough to try her suggestion. Not that it helped him much, the baker had spat it out almost immediately and was bent over, dry heaving next to a tree.

Arya shrugged. "They're not that bad." She lied. She had eaten worms before, dug them up in the Glass Gardens, and munched on the slimy creatures to watch Sansa turn green and run away screaming. Then she promptly turned to the side and gagged, fighting valiantly to keep her disgusting little snack in her stomach. She had managed it, but it had been a near thing, and it wasn't an experience she wanted to repeat. 

Better worms than another day without any food at all, she reminded herself.

Gendry shot her a look so incredulous that he appeared angry about it. "Hot Pie is losing his stomach over there, and you're saying they're not bad?"

Arya paused, glancing at Hot Pie, who was wiping his mouth with a grimace. "...not that bad."

The boy in question seemed to have recovered enough to join them, though he still looked a bit greener than usual. "Come on, Gendry. I tried it." Hot Pie said, more confidently than someone who spent the past minute dry heaving had any right to.

Arya smirked and piled on. "Yeah, Gendry, stop being so picky. I swear you're like my sister."

"I ain't picky! I'm just not eating worms!" Gendry threw up his arms in frustration as he stocked away. Arya and Hot Pie shared an amused look. It was rare for Arya to side with Hot Pie over Gendry, and she noticed the younger boy's lips stretch into a pleased little grin. A painful echo hit her then, of moments so much like this one back in Winterfell. She could almost see Bran grinning at her, Robb biting down on a smirk as she did or said something her mother would disapprove of. She squashed down the memories and forced herself back into the present moment, where surviving another day took precedence over giving into a past life she could no longer reach.

"You'll get hungry enough eventually." Arya taunted, though it was half-hearted. The truth in her statement stung. Over the last few months, Arya had gotten used to going without food. The days of decadent feasts were so far behind her, they felt like a dream. But even after months of skipped meals and lackluster portions, this was the longest she had ever gone without food. Never before had she been so aware of the emptiness of her stomach. She knew Gendry and Hot Pie weren't fairing much better.

"By that point, we should be running into a town!" Gendry shouted behind him. Arya was surprised at his optimism. They were purposefully avoiding towns, a fact Gendry knew well, suspicious lout that he was. If anyone recognized them, they'd be done for.

Each day felt like it dragged on longer, so it was no surprise that neither boys complained when Arya called for them to camp hours before sundown. Instead, they dropped off their horses like sacks of flour, stumbling to the nearest tree for shelter.

It was surprising that Gendry hadn't volunteered for the first watch like he usually did, nor did he fight Arya for taking it. The blacksmith had barely tied his horse up before he collapsed on the ground with a grunt.

Hot Pie wasn't far behind, laying down on a pile of leaves between her and Gendry, his arm thrown over his eyes.

Arya watched her two friends and fought the urge to laugh. They were exhausted, hells, she was exhausted, and that was without even taking her injuries into account. Her hands had begun to heal, though ugly scabs still covered half of her palms and the bottom of her chin. It still hurt like hellfire to breathe, but the pain was becoming more manageable. At least, that's what Arya told herself. She hadn't checked the bruising since that first night, afraid of what she might find. 

It was easier to laugh at her friends than cry in frustration.

Pain was becoming a constant in her life. The burning with each breath she took or the empty gnawing in her stomach was easier to focus on than the pain she felt every night when there was nothing to distract herself from the torment of her thoughts.  Father kneeling at the Sept Balor. Men being slaughtered in broad daylight. Northern men that Arya had grown up around, who called her 'Arya Underfoot' and laughed as she ran past them covered in mud. Syrio holding a broken wooden sword. Yorren crumbling to the ground, dead. Gendry, being strapped to the chair by the Tickler, trying and failing not to look terrified. Thoughts of Jon, too far out of reach to give her comfort. Or Sansa, alone and being tormented by Joffrey.    

She wasn't sure how much longer they could go on like this, wandering around without a real idea of where they were, with no food in sight. It was taking a toll on them all.  

"Hey, Arry?" Arya nearly jumped at Hot Pie's voice. He was usually the first to fall asleep.

"Yeah?"

"What's your favourite food?"

Arya snorted. Of all the questions that might keep her friend awake, she should have guessed. "Do you ever stop thinking about food?"

Hot Pie considered the question for a moment. "Not really." He answered very seriously.

"Lemon cakes," Arya said after a moment. "They were my sister's favourite, too. We used to fight over who got the last cake. I would swipe it before she could and eat the whole thing in front of her. If Mother got involved, she usually gave it to Sansa. Robb and Theon would laugh and place bets on us. Bran or Jon would sometimes sneak me food when I was sent to bed without supper."

Hot Pie rolled over to face Arya. "Were you sent to bed without supper a lot?"

Arya smiled, surprised at how easily the words were coming. She hadn't been able to remember her family without pain for a long time, but in the dark of the forest, with the sound of her friends breathing beside her, talking about them left her relieved instead of sad or angry. "I was always doing something mother didn't like. Father's men called me Arya Underfoot."

"It must have been nice," Hot Pie said thoughtfully, "growing up in a big family like that. I never had much of a family. Except for Lommy, I guess."

She tried not to flinch at his name, tried not to think of her friend most days. Lommy was put in a box with all the other names of people she would never see again.  Father, Jon, Mika, Jory, Syrio, Yorren, Lommy.   No, it was easier to think of her other list.  

Joffrey. Cercei. Illian Payne. Ser Meryan. Poliver. The Tickler. Raff the Sweetling. The Mountain. The Hound. 

Hot Pie frowned at her silence before his face lit up in his usual grin. "When we get to Riverrun, I'll see if I can make us some lemon cakes."

Arya smiled at her friend, an unexpectedly tender feeling rising up in her at the offer. "Sounds good, Hot Pie."

"Will you two shut up?" Gendry snapped from where he was lying. Arya and Hot Pie bit down on twin smiles as they shared a commiserative look, united once more in amusement over their much grumpier friend. Besides, they both knew he wasn't nearly as angry as he pretended to be. Gendry had been taking the first watch almost every night since they left and was probably more tired than either of them.  

"Sorry, Bull." Hot Pie whispered very loudly, and Arya snorted.

"Get some sleep," she told Hot Pie, nudging him gently with her foot. He yelped like it hurt anyway, which made her roll her eyes. "I'll wake you when it's time to switch."

Hot Pie smiled, rolling back over to sleep. Arya counted the minutes before she heard the loud snoring from her friend and shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips when Gendry gave an uncharacteristically loud grunt in his sleep. She might be starving, injured, and more exhausted than she had ever been in her life, but it was good not to be alone. It was good to have a Pack.

Off in the distance, too far to hear, the sound of wolves howling blended into the wind.

The next day found them sore, still hungry, and not at all rested as they trekked further along on their doomed escape, picking a direction almost at random. It hardly mattered anymore which way they went, so long as it was away from Harrenhall and the Lannisters.

But much to Arya's surprise, and Hot Pie's relief, they did run into a town. If one could call the smouldering ruin of ash and crumbling walls a 'town.'

They had spotted the smoke from a league away. At which point, Gendry insisted on avoiding it all together, sure that nothing good could come from going anywhere near a burning town, but Arya was insistent.

"What if there are survivors?" She asked, glaring at him, utterly unimpressed by the stubborn tilt of his chin and the hardness in his eyes. She supposed other people might find Gendry intimidating when he clenched his fists and set his jaw like he was ready to fight the whole world if given half a chance, but all Arya could feel was annoyed at all the time they were wasting. He really could be so stupid.

"What if there are Lannisters?" Gendry countered and had the gall to look a little smug, like he had actually come up with something Arya hadn't considered. As though Arya ever stopped thinking about all the dark corners a Lannister might be hiding in.

Arya crossed her arms and matched the stubborn glare Gendry was giving her. "You're the one that wanted to find a town in the first place."

A muscle in his jaw jumped, and Arya could swear she heard his teeth grinding together. He was looking at her as though she were the single most frustrating thing he had ever come across, and Arya could feel herself near vibrating as she readied herself for a fight.

"What if there's food?" Hot Pie interrupted. In the end, Hot Pie's pleading tone decided for them and dissolved the argument before it had a chance to get truly out of hand. They needed food. Even the risk of Lannisters wasn't enough of a threat when the alternative was starving.

Still, they needed to be careful, which of course, didn't stop Hot Pie from attempting to jump off his horse and run to the wreckage. Gendry had to wrestle the boy back into his seat and looked supremely unhappy doing it. Arya supposed it was good for Gendry's ego that his glare could cow at least one person in the group.

Arya insisted on riding around the entire town perimeter, checking for any sign of life. Most of the town was a ruin of crumbling cobblestone walls and ash. All except for the small Sept on the other side of town. There was a big lumpy pile covered in sheets behind the building. Arya didn't get off her horse to investigate. The smell gave it away. It was the same smell that permeated every crevice of Harrenhal.  Dead people.

After one more lap, she nodded at the boys to dismount and follow. They immediately started searching each of the houses for food. Most of it was burnt to ash, but there were a few things that were charitably deemed edible. A garden patch with overripe tomatoes, green carrots, and potatoes hidden in the drying mud.

Hot Pie had the biggest find, four slightly burnt loaves of bread thrown in the trough of an empty pig sty. He kept chattering about throwing day-old bread to the pigs when he worked at a bakery and stealing a few loaves for himself and his friends.

Meanwhile, Gendry had insisted on keeping watch, squinting at the perimeter like he expected an army of Lannisters to pop out from behind the trees. He threw a glare at Hot Pie every time his excited talking got too loud. When Arya returned, arms full of overripe vegetables, Gendry's face scrunched in what she thought might be disgust. She assumed it was the state of the food, or perhaps it was because her pants and sleeves were caked in mud from digging in the field.

"We can't exactly afford to be picky." She huffed at his disapproving look.

"What if they come back?" Gendry said, still frowning at the vegetables in her arms.

Arya rolled her eyes. "Look around, stupid. There's nothing here to come back to."

He huffed and turned his face, glaring down the dirt road. "We should get going," Gendry said. "Someone else might've seen the smoke."

Arya nodded and began loading up her saddlebag with her findings just as Hot Pie bounded towards them with an arm full of apples and a wide grin.

"I found apples!" He exclaimed, stuffing his own pack full of the round fruit. "If we had some sugar, I could cook them down to last longer too. I don't suppose you two found any sugar?"

Gendry grunted a no at the same time Arya shook her head, fighting a smile.

Hot Pie looked crestfallen for the briefest of seconds as he pulled himself onto his own horse. He was getting better at it, only needing one or two tries to get atop the beast. His distress only lasted a moment before he turned back to Arya with a grin. "That's alright, I can dry them too. They'll be good to munch on while we ride that way."

Arya didn't have the heart to remind him that they never built a fire, so his dreams of dried apples would never come to fruition. The fear of getting spotted stopped any desire for warmth at night.

They hadn't gotten very far away when a nearly inaudible murmur of voices sounded off in the distance.

Arya froze. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Hot Pie swivelled around on his saddle, looking for the source of a sound he hadn't heard.

There was the unmistakable sound of laughter, louder this time, like whoever was making that sound was getting closer.

Arya jumped off her horse. "People coming." She hissed.

Hot Pie's eyes widened comically before he clumsily dismounted his horse, nearly falling on his face in the process. "What do we do?" He asked, clearly trying to whisper, but his volume was suddenly grating to her ears, far too loud, far too easy to discover.

Arya glanced at Gendry. The sound was getting clearer, something melodic and loud. The man making the noise clearly didn't fear others hearing him, making him dangerous or stupid.

Her eyes darted around before landing on a crumbling cobblestone wall, tall enough to hide them and their horses. "Behind here, bring the horses." She commanded, ushering her own steed behind the wall. The two boys were close behind her. Gendry's horse huffed and whinnied as he tugged it along, and Arya's stomach dropped. How were they meant to hide three horses? She could barely get Hot Pie to be quiet.

The horse was scuffing his hooves and snorting, and Arya was trying desperately to think of a plan in case they were caught. If she were by herself, she would just ride away. Even on a workhorse, Arya could outride whoever was coming. But that would involve leaving Hot Pie and Gendry, and she couldn't leave her pack. Lost in her own thoughts and focus on the man coming- no, men. There was another voice talking over the man singing, possibly two. She hadn't even noticed the horse quieting as Hot Pie stroked its muzzle, muttering softly to the animal. Arya nodded gratefully to her friend before handing her lead to the boy and quietly unsheathing Needle from her belt. One glance at Gendry had him following suit.

The three held their breath.

It took less than a minute before Arya could hear the men clearly, and she poked her head around to see them dismounting their own steeds and walking straight through the town. Four men total with three horses between them. Arya only risked a glance but saw three carrying swords and one with a quiver on his back.

The singing man finished his song with a long, boisterous note before speaking. 

"Bloody mummers, you think?" He mused to the other three.

There was a snort. "More likely the Mountain and his men. They've been on our tail for too bloody long."

"Reckon there are any survivors?" Another voice said.

"None that would still be here, more likely thieves and pillagers."

"Right then," the singing man said, "Anguy, loose some arrows over that wall then." Arya's stomach dropped.

"Now Thoros," the third voice said, Anguy, Arya revised in her head. "What if it's some poor soul trying to support his family?"

"An honourable man wouldn't hide, and a cowardly man would surely show his face by now," Thoros said. Arya shared a panicked look with Gendry.

"Right then." Far too quickly did Arya hear the creak of a bow being drawn.

"Wait!" She shouted, stepping out from behind the wall.  Needle was firmly gripped in her hand as she levelled it in front of her, glowering at the men.

"Would you look at that," Thoros smiled at Arya. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Anguy lower his bow but noted that the arrow was still notched. "Not a man at all. What are you doing out here, little one?"

Arya seethed as she dropped into a fighting stance. "You just keep walking," she spat, "and keep on singing, so we know where you are. Leave us alone, and I won't kill you."

The men laughed raucously, and her face hardened. She had killed men before. If they wanted to underestimate her, it would be their mistake.

Thoros tilted his head as he studied her, a new, calculating look in his eye, even as his expression remained irritatingly friendly. "You're a dangerous person," he announced, a more genuine smile appearing on his face. "I like dangerous people. Tell me, why are your friends so shy?"

Arya was careful to keep her expression blank. "What friends?"

"The fat one and the angry one hiding behind that wall." The man said, his friendly tone never faltering. He sounded for all the world as though the two of them were old friends casually chatting instead of strangers meeting in the middle of nowhere. It was his niceness that put Arya on edge. No amount of smiles or friendly words could ever hide the truth; this man was dangerous. 

Arya didn't dare turn around, she opened her mouth to deny it, to say she had never met anyone matching that description, but Gendry, the idiot, stepped out from behind the cobblestone wall with his sword drawn, dragging Hot Pie with him.

"Ah, there you are, good of you to finally join us," Thoros said with pleasure, but he clearly decided, with all of her companions revealed, that he could dispense with the niceties, and his face took on a more serious bent. "Now, what are you three doing in a place like this?"

Gendry and Arya glanced at each other before setting their jaws stubbornly. Neither one spoke.

"You're names, at least then," Thoros said cajolingly. "Surely you can give us that."

"What's yours?" Arya countered.

"Thoros of Myr," he said with a courtly bow that seemed ridiculously out of place in their current circumstance. Then he nodded to the other men, indicating them each in turn. "That over there's Tom-o-sevenstrings, the angry looking one is Lem Lemoncloak, and the archer is Anguy."

"I'm Hot Pie." Hot Pie blurted out, only to shrink as Arya glared at him.

The men laughed, and Thoros turned his attention to Hot Pie and Gendry. "I see the girl is the one in charge, yeah?"

An uncomfortable-sounding laugh bubbled from Hot Pie. "Arry ain't no girl. She's a boy."

Arya could have hit him. "Hot Pie-"

The former baker's apprentice sighed, "Yeah, I know, shut up."

"Arry, ey?" Thoros interjected, stubbornly steering the conversation back to him. "That's no name for a girl. What's your real name, lass?"

Arya glared at Hot Pie again before answering. "Nym, and that's The Bull." She pointed her thumb at Gendry.

"Nym, Hot Pie, and The Bull, ey?" He sounded skeptical. "Pleasure to meet you all. Now, why don't we talk more after a nice hot bowl of stew, yes?"

Arya opened her mouth to refuse, she didn't trust these men, but Hot Pie had already started following them excitedly at the prospect of food. She glanced at Gendry, who looked at her apologetically. It's not like they could refuse.

Arya scowled as she followed her friends.

To Arya's immense frustration, the four men led them east, in the opposite direction she needed to go. Not only did she have to deal with these men for who knows how long, but they were also surely adding at least another day's travel for her friends and her. Not to mention Anguy annoyingly insisted on keeping her within sight the entire time. Each time she fell back, Anguy was right on her tail with a smug grin and a wag of his finger. In a fit of spite, Arya pressed her mare to gallop up front, leaving Anguy coughing in a cloud of dust.

Gendry nodded at her, and she fell in step beside him.

"I was thinking." He said low enough for their nosy companions not to hear.

Arya raised a brow, not bothering to turn and face Gendry. "Well, don't hurt yourself."

Even from the corner of her eye, she could see Gendry's scowl. "If we're going to a town, we should sell one of the horses and buy some food. Two of us can fit on one horse, and the other can carry supplies."

She frowned in thought. "That puts more strain on the horses. It'll slow us down."  

"So will starving to death."

"We have food now, don't we?" Arya turned to glare at him, her chin set stubbornly.

"And how long will that last?" Gendry said, matching her glare with his own. "Another week? How long before we get to where we're going?"

"And where might you be going?" The archer chimed in from behind them.

"What's it to you?" Arya snapped.

Anguy rode up between them, forcing Arya's mount to veer to the right with a snort. "Let's play a game." An insufferable smirk played on his lips. "You love games, don't you, Lem?"

"Fuck off," Lem grunted from behind them.

"Let's guess where our young companions are travelling to. Yes? Why don't you go first, Lem."

Lem shot a glare that could have made a grown man wither on the spot but answered nonetheless. "They're on the run from the war, just like every other bloody person we've run into."

Anguy frowned at his friend. "Now that's not a very fun guess." He chastised Lem before grinning at Gendry, a mischievous look hidden behind his eyes. "I think they're tragically in love. Nym's parents disapprove of her beau, so they're running away to be together."

"Where does that leave the fat one?" Tom chimed in.

Anguy smiled so wide his face nearly split in two. "A loyal friend, supporting their forbidden love."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Arya snapped.

"You're more than welcome to correct us."  The archer challenged.

She huffed, glaring ahead.

Anguy looked almost disappointed at her silence but shrugged all the same, just as cavalier as he always seemed to be.  "Forbidden love it is."

The 'inn' was an old rundown cottage at the juncture where two roads met. The floor and table felt sticky, and the black bread was hard and chewy. But when seven steaming bowls of stew were brought out, all thoughts of tough bread and sticky ale were lost in the aroma of cooked meat. Arya spared a glance at her friends before all three of them devoured their bowl of stew. Distantly, Arya could hear the men chuckling at their display, but she ignored it. After so long surviving on scraps, she almost forgot the feeling of a warm meal settling in her belly. She couldn't help but feel that maybe going with these men was worth it, for nothing else than this single bowl of stew.

For all his flaws, Thoros at least had the decency to allow them to finish eating before beginning his interrogation. "Now, how do three children-"

"We're not children." Arya interrupted. Her eyes hardened as she looked up from her previous task of scraping her bowl for any morsel of broth left.

"Apologies," the priest continued with a dismissive wave of his hand, "how do three young people find themselves wandering the Riverlands carrying castle forged steel?"

Arya jutted her chin out and resolved not to tell these men a thing.

"You wouldn't by any chance have escaped from Harrenhal? Would you?" He said. His eyes were calculating as he scrutinized the three friends.

"And where's that?" She feigned confusion at the same time Hot Pie gasped-

"How'd you know?"

Arya was going to throttle Hot Pie.

Thoros smiled and leaned across the table to whisper conspiratorially to Hot Pie. "Your friends aren't very forthcoming, lad."

"They don't trust people easy." Hot Pie said with a frown. Gendry continued to glare a hole through the table. He hadn't said a word since they arrived at the inn.

"I can imagine so, what with all that you three must have been through," Thoros said, nodding understandingly like he had any clue. Arya ground her teeth. She didn't need this man's pity. "When did you say you escaped again?"

"We didn't." She snapped.

"Of course, of course." Thoros smiled easily. "It wouldn't happen to be, say, nine days ago?"

Arya kept her face carefully blank, but her two companions must have given something away because Thoros's smile grew. "You know, we heard a report about Lannister guards being killed and pinned to their posts with knives. Anguy, when was that again?"

"Nine days ago exactly."

Everything became muted as Arya heard blood rush to her head. Guards dead? She hadn't seen that when they escaped. But something had been gnawing at the back of her mind for days now. Why hadn't they seen the search parties looking for them? They had ridden through the night, yes, but wouldn't Lannister men have caught up to them by now? Shouldn't they have at least heard them?

There was only one man Arya knew who was capable of what Thoros described. Arya thought she had left all the ghosts in Harrenhal, but maybe there was still one watching her.

Thoros only seemed more pleased at catching her off guard. Arya glared. "If you don't believe that we escaped by ourselves, you can't possibly think we did that."

He tilted his head and leaned across the table, his forearms supporting his weight. "You're right. I don't." The smile he had been wearing finally dropped. "What I do think is that you three had some help on the inside. We aren't gonna hurt your friend now, whoever they might be. We just want to know who they are."

"We escaped by ourselves." Arya snapped. She didn't care who these men were. She wasn't about to tell them about Jaqen. "Whoever killed the guards was acting alone."

Thoros raised a brow. "Know that for certain, do you?"

Hot Pie was glancing at Arya nervously. "Arry-"

"Shut up, Hot Pie."

"Now, why don't you let your friend speak?"

Hot Pie glanced nervously at Arya, but Thoros was undeterred, focusing his attention on Hot Pie now. "Whoever this person is might be willing to help us. Like I said, we don't want to hurt him." The baker's lips pressed together like he was physically trying to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. Arya grit her teeth.  

Even if she told them about Jaqen, and even if they believed her, Jaqen wouldn't help them. He would sooner slit their throats. The thought was strangely comforting. Perhaps if she told them, they would find Jaqen, and she could use her last two names.  

But no.

These four oafs could never find someone like Jaqen, not unless he wanted to be found. Arya threw her last two names away the night she left Harrenhal.

"We escaped alone," Arya said through her teeth. "The Bull is a blacksmith, he got us swords, and I know how to use them."

Thoros stared at her for a moment before the four men burst out in laughter. She grit her teeth.  Swift as a deer. Fierce as a wolverine.  Arya jumped up from her chair and leveled Needle directly between Thoros's eyes.

The priest regarded her curiously for a moment before jumping up and unsheathing his own sword. Arya expected his move to disarm her and quickly stepped out of the way, dropping into her water-dancing stance. Thoros had the decency to look impressed. He lowered the tip of his sword as if he were done with the spar, but Arya saw the shift in his feet and moved to the side, batting the flat of his blade away as he swung again. She took the opening to attack, Thoros deflected easily enough, but Arya was fast-

"I KNOW YOU AIN'T FIGHTING IN MY INN, THOROS!" The Innkeeper bellowed.

Thoros lowered his weapon sheepishly, and Arya reluctantly followed suit, though, for one mad moment, she did consider pressing her advantage and running the man through while he was distracted. The chair gave a loud creak as she sat back down next to Hot Pie. Thoros sheathed his sword and turned to Arya with a smile.  

"You're not too bad, tiny as you are." He said kindly, handing her a roll of bread.

Arya stared at the roll but made no move to take it. "Smaller target." She muttered half to herself.

Thoros' eyes crinkled at that. He looked ready to say something else. Before he could, the door swung open with an echoing bang, and a rowdy group of men bustled inside. They were laughing and howling as no less than five men pushed an even larger man with a sack over his head through the door.

The priest looked up excitedly at the newcomers. Anguy hopped directly out of his seat, jumping over an irritated-looking Lem, and stumbled up to their newest prisoner.

"That," Anguy said, poking the man in the chest with an impish grin, "is an unreasonably large man. How does one subdue such an unreasonably large man?"

"Get him while he's two and ten drinks in." One man grunted. While another yanked the sack off the man's head.

Arya froze as a familiar scarred face came into view.

"Not a man at all," Tom-o-sevenstrings called from where he was sitting, "but a Hound!" Several men around the bar heckled the very disgruntled-looking prisoner, howling in a cacophony of noise.

Arya locked eyes with Gendry. The panic must have been written clearly on her face because he stood without question, grabbing Hot Pie by the arm. She moved to the door, hanging her head low, hoping that her hair was long enough to cover her face. She was mere steps away from the door when she risked a glance up.

The Hound's bloodshot eyes caught on her, Arya's stomach dropped at the recognition, and what might have been genuine shock on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing with the Stark bitch?"

Arya could feel everyone's horrified gazes jerk to her as the full weight of the Hound's words settled on the formerly rowdy group, but she paid them absolutely no mind. He had revealed her true identity and, in so doing, likely ruined her chances of escape. She was too furious to care. The moment she had locked eyes with the man, all she could remember was the look on his face the night he had murdered Mycah. Here he was, at last, a name on her ever-growing list.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Arya lunged for the Hound.

Chapter Text

It was sheer blind luck and the advantage of surprise that Arya got a decent hit in. She tackled the Hound and miraculously sent him tumbling on the ground. He was slower than usual, Arya thought he might be injured, hungover, or perhaps both. The fact that he was bound by the wrists certainly didn't aid his agility.

Good, she thought. Uninterested in fair play, Arya clenched her hand into a fist, recalling Jon's teachings, and swung with all her might at the Hound's stupid face.

His look of utter surprised was entirely worth it. Arya could have tilted her head back and laughed but then she saw the steady trickle of dark red blood dripping from his nose and she lost it.

She wanted to see the Hound bleed more. Maybe if he bled enough- if she blotted out his face with the blood she was owed- maybe she wouldn't see Mika's terrified face every night when she closed her eyes.  

Arya could feel the skin beneath her nails give way as she clawed at his face with one hand. Her breath left her in a ragged pant as her other hand scrambled to unsheathe Needle from her belt.

Before she could feel the reassuring touch of cool steel, someone grabbed her arm and forcefully pulled her backward, away from the Hound.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, and Arya was yanked away, kicking and screaming to be released. Dragged underneath Gendry, she found herself pinned on her stomach, futilely attempting to claw her way out from under his weight.

The skin of her elbows and knees scraped painfully against the ground as she struggled, but she barely even noticed it through the red curtain of rage that obscured her vision. She nearly succeeded in scrambling out from under him and Gendry went to grab her again. His hands landed on either side of her ribs and Arya screamed as her old injury was engulfed in flames.

"Shit." Gendry quickly shifted his hands to grab her wrists. "Shit. Sorry." Arya resumed kicking, and he sat on her legs. "Gods, Arya, stop!”

A dark chuckle made Arya freeze. She shook the hair out of her eyes and looked up to see the Hound of all gods forsaken people, laughing at her.

Her vision flattened.

Arya was going to kill him.

"Crazy fucking bitch." He said with a sneer. Blood dripped from his nose from where Arya managed to land her first hit. It looked crooked and broken, but he didn't seem at all concerned. Something cold twisted in her heart. Something altogether different than the fire of her earlier anger. Something sharp.

Her fury was a blade, and one way or another, she would make him bleed.

"Well, that was quite the show!" Thoros exclaimed from behind her. Arya turned her glare to the red priest. She stopped struggling against Gendry's iron grip and he immediately got up, dragging her on her feet. He was careful not to touch her side again, but he kept a hand wrapped around her elbow. Subtle enough to not draw too much attention, but firm enough that she would have a difficult time slipping it without another fight.

"Like watching a feral cat." Anguy remarked, his face stretching into a wide grin. Arya nearly launched herself at the archer, but Gendry was still behind her, and he tightened his grip ever so slightly on her elbow. Not enough to hurt (Arya knew Gendry would never hurt her), but enough to remind her he was still there, holding onto her. Holding her back.

"What exactly did you hope to do?" Gendry's sharp tone reverberated in her ear, as close as he was standing, but her attention remained fixed on the Hound's ugly face.

"Kill him." Arya spat, her glare unwavering. Gendry sighed loudly, a puff of air tickling the hairs at her nape.

One of Thoros's men dragged the Hound back to his feet with a chuckle.

"Hear that, Clegane? We might not have a trial after all, if the little girl gets to you first."

Arya's eyes darted to the man, her face scrunched in disbelief.

"Trial?"

They were headed in the wrong direction… again. At this point they must have lost at least three days of travel. The brotherhood knew the trails better than Arya or Gendry did, and they cleverly avoided the main road, making infuriatingly good time, all in the wrong direction.

Arya wanted to scream.

The one time she brought it up to Thoros, he just chuckled and attempted to pat her head. Arya jerked away so violently that her horse veered to the side. The man pointedly, made no comment about it, which only served to worsen Arya's mood.

"Rest assured, little lady, we know where we're going," Thoros said with a condescending smile.

Arya had been with these men not half a day, and she was already tired of being treated like a babe, or worse, a lady. "We need to go to Riverrun! You're dragging us in the wrong direction!"

"We need to head back to camp to get the rest of our men," he said, as if such a thing mattered to Arya at all.

"No, you need to get back to camp. My friends and I need to go west," Arya retorted.

Anguy butted in. "You're lucky we found you. These woods are no place for little ladies like yourself."

She scowled. If these men called her "little lady" one more time, Arya was going to start running them through with Needle.

"We've managed just fine by ourselves," Arya said through her teeth.

"You were lucky," Thoros said. "Imagine we were the bloody mummers that ran into you in that town instead of the honorable knights that we are."

Arya had some choice words about these men's "honor" and "knighthood," but for once, she kept her mouth closed.

She slowed her mare to find Gendry and Hot Pie in the back. Hot Pie was talking to Lem about how to make the perfect pie crust; Lem didn't look particularly interested but let the boy rattle on all the same.

"And you need to brown the butter, most people don't because it takes too much time, but-"

Arya fell in step with Gendry. "We could run. Our horses are faster than the work steeds they have," she whispered.

Gendry sent her a confused glance and shook his head. “We're better off with this lot. Face it, we had no bloody clue what we were doing before they found us."

"We're better off alone." Arya said, her narrowed eyes on Thoros's back.

"You don't trust them?"

She turned her sharp gaze suddenly on Gendry. “Do you?”

There was a beat of silence as they regarded one another, and Arya felt oddly wrong footed. Her and Gendry disagreed often enough. In less dire circumstances, she could have found it an enjoyable pastime. But, just for a moment, she felt something cracking in their foundations, a divide opening up between them she wasn't sure how to stop. It made her uneasy.

"Let's just get to camp first," Gendry suggested, his tone cautious. "We can always sneak off at night if they're trouble.”

"They are."

His jaw set stubbornly. "Then I s’pose we'll see if they're more trouble than starving."

"Fine,” Arya replied tersely.

"Fine."

When Gendry awkwardly encouraged his horse to slow, bringing himself closer in line with Hotpie and Lem, Arya didn't bother to follow.

In the last few miles, Thoros declared that the three of them had to be blindfolded. "A safety precaution," he assured, raising an eyebrow at Arya's evident resistance. She was ready to fight tooth and nail, but then both Gendry and Hot Pie sent her matching pleading looks. With a huff, Arya handed her reins to Thoros, allowing him to lead her horse. She reluctantly shoved the stupid bag over her head, casting a final glare at the red priest before plunging into darkness.

The hood was yanked from Arya's head, revealing a dimly lit cave. Surrounded by no more than 40 men, they stank of unwashed bodies and looked more like countrymen than outlaws. Mismatched clothing and rusting armor adorned them, a ragtag assembly that seemed ill-suited for anything beyond farm work.

Arya's hand instinctively went to Needle as she took in the scene. The uneven cave walls cast eerie shadows on faces etched with the weariness of hard-lived lives. The low murmur of hushed conversations filled the cave.

Then, a figure strode forward — Ser Beric Dondarrion, both alive and far from the handsome knight Arya had heard about. She remembered Jeyne Poole's giggles with Sansa over his supposed charm. Jeyne wouldn't be giggling anymore. Beric looked half dead, a grizzly scar slashing across the right side of his face, a piece of his nose severed, and an eyepatch concealing his right eye. 

How long had Arya been away from the Red Keep? How could Beric appear to have fought a hundred battles in just a few months? Or was it only a few months? Had a year passed already? The uncertainty gnawed at Arya, a pang at the loss of time, realizing she could be three and ten by now and not even notice.

Beric's appearance stirred questions in Arya's mind, but the impending trial for the Hound refocused her attention. The cave buzzed with accusations, each effortlessly denied by Clegane. Arya's anger flared in the face of this farcical trial, deepening her disdain for the Brotherhood. They dragged her here, stopped her from killing the Hound, and now their incompetence might let him walk free without a real trial.

Arya's anger couldn't be contained any longer. "You killed Mikka!" Her voice echoed through the cave, the raw hatred palpable.

The Hound's attention snapped to Arya, focusing on her as if he had momentarily forgotten she was there. "Aye, the butcher's son. I remember.”

"He was a boy! He was defenseless, and you ran him down," Arya's words sliced through the charged air.

"The boy ran, I caught him. I was only following the Queen's orders," the Hound retorted, his tone unapologetic.

Beric observed the exchange, his gaze shifting between Arya and the Hound with curiosity. "You confess to killing this boy?”

"The boy attacked the prince. I was doing my job,”

"That's a lie! I attacked Joffrey,”

The Hound sneered, "Well, I guess I should have killed you then! Far be it for me to question princes." 

“Sandor Clegane,” Beric's voice echoed through the cave, noble and solemn cutting across the argument. "You stand accused of murder, but no one here knows the truth of the charge. It is not for us to judge you. The Lord of Light will do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat."

The Hound laughed, a gruff and mocking sound that reverberated against the cave walls. "Trial by combat, is it? Which one then? Does the archer want to try his hand with a sword? Or mayhaps there's a pig farmer around here brave enough.” His gaze lingered on Arya, a smirk played on his lips. "Or maybe you'll let the little girl have another crack at me."

Beric's response was unwavering. "Though I have no doubt she's willing." He shot a knowing smile at Arya. "It's me you'll face." 

The air crackled with anticipation as Beric knelt before Thoros, who was muttering something in a language that sounded familiar to Arya, even though she couldn't understand the words being spoken. As the blessing concluded, Beric cut his hand, and his sword burst into flames. 

Gendry muttered in awe, "That's not wildfire.” Arya looked at him confused, nearly missing the look of surprise and fear on the Hound's face at the sight of the flaming sword.

Hot Pie, huddled among the Brotherhood, widened his eyes at the fiery display.

The ensuing fight was a spectacle of contrasting styles. The Hound, strong and brutal, swung with power, but his movements were sloppy and slow. Beric, the practiced knight, fought with precision and care. 

The cave echoed with the clash of steel as both combatants held their ground. The Hound's ferocity kept Beric on constant alert, his strength evident in every strike. The flames danced around them, casting an eerie glow on the intense struggle. The Hound flinched, avoiding the fiery sword's close encounters, his fear adding a volatile edge to the confrontation.

In the heat of battle, the Hound managed a deadly swing, embedding his sword in Beric's shoulder. The noble knight dropped to the ground, lifeless. The flames on his sword sputtered out. 

The Brotherhood stood in stunned silence, the verdict of the gods delivered through the fading echoes of the fierce clash.

With a desperate hope etched on his face, Thoros rushed to Beric's lifeless body, chanting in the same foreign language as before. Gendry and Hot Pie stared in shock, their faces pale. Arya couldn't let herself pause; with a cry, she drew Needle and started toward The Hound, fueled by a mix of fury and grief.

Anticipating her reaction, Gendry swiftly grabbed Arya's sword arm, while Hot Pie enveloped her shoulders in a tight hug, preventing her from moving forward.

Arya struggled against their restraint, shouting and cursing to let her go!

"He deserves to die!" Her voice was rough, and Arya felt something hot and wet on her cheeks. Hot Pie was shaking behind her, and she looked up to see his face streaked with tears; his eyes were glued to the scene before them, of Beric's body and Thoros's desperate prayer.

Arya wiped her face with her free hand, frustrated and beyond embarrassed that Hot Pie wasn't the only one crying.

Beric stirred, and the cave fell into an astonished hush as everyone, Arya included, watched in shock. With the aid of Thoros, Beric rose to his feet, using his sword as a makeshift crutch. The air hung heavy with disbelief as the once-presumed lifeless man now stood among them

Arya, so shocked that for the briefest moment, she found herself believing in the Lord of Light. It was a startling shift in her convictions. The old gods had abandoned her since her father's death, the God of Death seemed her only companion in the past months. And yet she found herself reevaluating all of that, even if just for a second.

"The Lord of Light has spoken and found this man innocent," Beric declared. His words satisfied the Brotherhood, but Arya seethed. Her anger simmered beneath the surface amid their perceived exoneration of the Hound. The cave's atmosphere held tension, contrasting with the apparent relief felt by the fervent believers in their god's intervention.

Arya stormed out of the cave, anger radiating from every step. "No God of mine," she spat, frustration echoing in the cool night air. Gendry and Hot Pie trailed reluctantly behind her, the cavern's entrance swallowing them as the distant sounds of the Brotherhood faded.

A day had passed since the Hound's trial, and Arya's frustration festered. The worst thing about the brotherhood was not their bawdy jokes, their loudness, or even the irritating "little lady" comments. It was the way Gendry appeared to get along seamlessly with the group of false knights.

Gendry didn't get along seamlessly with anyone. And yet, Arya found him more and more in the company of the other men, and seeming less and less out of place among them as the hours passed.

He laughed at things Arya didn't understand, and when Beric offered to spar, claiming it was to "teach him how a true knight fights," Gendry accepted. Arya's only consolation was that Gendry seemed to regret taking up Beric's offer as soon as the fight commenced. 

A few members of the brotherhood gathered around, shouting suggestions to Gendry and laughing each time Beric knocked him flat on his backside.

Beric's voice boomed across the makeshift sparring area. "Steady your stance, lad! Don't let the weight throw you off balance. A knight fights with discipline, not recklessness!" Gendry, looking more frustrated by the second, tried to follow Beric's advice.

The Brotherhood, now fully engaged in the spectacle, shouted either suggestions or taunts. "Watch your footwork, blacksmith!" one called out, while another laughed, "Maybe you should've stuck to forging, eh?" The air was filled with a mix of Beric's booming instructions and the raucous commentary from the Brotherhood.

Arya, arms crossed and scowl firmly in place, stood at the fringes of the Brotherhood's impromptu audience. Each loud thud of steel meeting steel grated on her nerves.

"Water dancing would be more useful," Arya muttered under her breath, but her words were drowned out by the boisterous cheers of the Brotherhood.

As the mock battle concluded, Gendry stood there, grumpy and disgruntled, dusting off his clothes. The Brotherhood, on the other hand, erupted in laughter, thoroughly amused by the spectacle they had orchestrated. Arya's scowl deepened. Why offer to help Gendry if they were just planning on mocking him?

After the crowd dispersed, Arya approached Gendry, kicking a pebble on the ground. "You're rubbish with a sword."

"Thanks," Gendry spat, turning away with a miserable look, his brow furrowed in frustration.

Arya suppressed a grin, observing his moodiness even as it turned the tides of her own previous irritation. Seeing Gendry like this was more familiar than the stranger he was among the Brotherhood. "But I bet you'd be really good with an ax or a hammer," she suggested encouragingly

Gendry remained facing away, and Arya frowned at the sag of his shoulders.

"I'm serious," she insisted, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to turn around. "You don't need to be quick with a weapon like that. Just stupidly strong and a little stubborn."

Her friend paused, a thoughtful expression wrinkling his brow. "I could make meself a hammer," he said after a moment.

Arya smiled. "When we get to Riverrun, you'll have plenty of good steel to work with."

Gendry nodded, but the wrinkle between his brows didn't go away.

Gendry approached Hot Pie as the camp flickered with the warm glow of fading embers. The night air carried the subtle crackle of smoldering wood, and Gendry's boots crunched softly against the forest floor. He had left Arya with Beric, who was trying to engage her in conversation. She didn't seem too thrilled about it.

Turning to Hot Pie, Gendry hesitated before asking, "You like it here with the Brotherhood, don't you?”

Hot Pie, still munching on a piece of bread, shrugged. “Sure Bull. They give us food and don't seem to bothered with all my talking. Though, I don't think Arya likes them much.” He shifted to face the older boy. “Why do you ask?”

Gendry scratched the scruff on his chin, glancing around the Brotherhood's camp. “Just something Tom was tellin’ me. We could stay with them, you know, after Arya gets to Riverrun.”

Hot Pie gave him an incredulous look. "I ain't no knight, Gendry, what use would these men have for me?"

"What use would Arya's lady mother have for any of us?" Gendry muttered bitterly. "What do you think will happen when we get to Riverrun, huh?"

Hot Pie, with unwavering conviction, replied, "I'll work in the kitchens, and you'll make swords for Arry's king brother, like she said."

Gendry scoffed. "You really think that'll happen? I'm thinking we'll both be sent to the Wall for even looking at a princess. If not that, then forbidden from seeing her."

"Arry wouldn't do that!"

"She wouldn't have a choice!" Gendry nearly shouted in frustration. "With the Brotherhood, we at least get a choice, instead of serving yet another highborn lord who doesn't give a damn about us."

The look Hot Pie shot at his friend was so full of betrayal that Gendry nearly regretted his words, no matter how true they were. "You do what you want, Bull. I'm sticking with Arry. She didn't leave us at Harrenhal, and I ain't leaving her either."

Gendry watched Hot Pie walk away, his frustration lingering in the night air. As his friend distanced himself, Gendry called out, "Don't bring this up to Arya, alright?"

Hot Pie shot him a pointed look. "I'd never betray a friend, Bull," he declared firmly before disappearing into the darkness of the camp.

Chapter Text

King's Landing sprawled before Emmon as he entered through the gates, the bustling noise of the city was overwhelming, merchants shouted over the sound of a thousand shuffling feet.  Anxiety gripped Emmon as he navigated the teeming masses, his palms damp with nervous sweat.

His horse's hooves clacked against the cobblestones as he approached the castle.  Emmon's eyes darted from face to face, unable to shake the feeling of being a lamb entering the lion's den.

The guards at the Red Keep's gates regarded him with a mixture of indifference and scrutiny as he stammered out his purpose and was led through the gates.  The Frey name was enough to get him in the doors, but not much else.  Led through shadowed corridors, murmurs of intrigue followed him from passersby.

Despite explaining the urgency of his meeting with the King, Emmon was informed, rather brusquely, that the king waits on no man, and he would need to stay his business till court was held again the following morning.

He was assigned quarters, a garish room of Red silk and golden paint, where he freed himself of his riding leathers and pulled out the note that Benfrey had given him before his travels.

The parchment was crumpled and creased from repeated folding and unfolding.  The words caused a knot of anxiety to form in his belly. 

Emmon

Do not promise the king anything, I fear our fathers pride has clouded his judgment.  Deliver the message then flee to the Neck and find Olyvar, my brother will know what to do, regardless of the outcome.

May The Crone grant you wisdom on your travels,

Benfrey

Emmon didn't know which worried him more, Benfrey’s doubts about their father's judgment, or the prayer at the end, asking gods for wisdom while they planned on spitting on guest rites.  Benfrey never seemed like a devout man, but perhaps Lord Frey had pushed them all to the limit with such a request.

Nonetheless, he would heed his brother's warning and flee to the Neck.  It's not as if Emmon wished to stay in King's Landing a moment longer than necessary. 

Ascending the stairs toward the throne room the next day felt like climbing toward judgment itself.  Emmon's legs quivered beneath him, and the air grew heavier with every step.  The doors creaked open, revealing the Iron Throne and the young king perched upon it.

Joffrey Baratheon, a mere boy with the power to command life and death, regarded Emmon with a gaze that seemed to pierce through pretense.  

The rest of the room had been emptied, save a few members of the king's guard, Emmon had waited hours for court to be dismissed so that they might talk in private.

As he approached the throne, Emmon's voice quivered, "Your Grace, I am Emmon of House Frey, loyal servants to the Crown.  I come with grave news and seek your wise counsel, Your Grace," Emmon uttered, his eyes fraught with trepidation, 

Joffrey, lounging on the Throne, regarded Emmon with disdain.  "Get to the point, Frey.  I have little patience for groveling.  What news could you possibly bring that would interest me?" The young king's arrogance was palpable, and Emmon felt like he had already lost control of the conversation.

Emmon began with a hesitant smile as he stammered.  "Your Grace, I come representing House Frey, loyal servants to-to the Crown,”  he repeated.  He felt a drop of sweat trailing down the side of his neck, “your grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister, had certain arrangements with my family.  A pact, if you will, that involved securing the realm from a common enemy." Emmon carefully chose his words, gauging Joffrey's reaction.  The young king, however, grew visibly impatient.

"What is it, Frey?  Spit it out," Joffrey demanded, irritation evident in his voice.

Emmon hesitated, it was clear the boy king's grandfather hadn't informed him of their schemes.  "Your grandfather had spoken of rewards and protection for House Frey upon the successful completion of a certain task.  A task that, regrettably, requires some... unconventional methods." Emmon's eyes darted around despite the empty throne room, his voice dropping to a whisper as if the very stones of the Red Keep had ears.

Joffrey's eyes narrowed, his impatience escalating.  "Speak plainly, Frey.  I won't ask again."

Emmon took a deep breath, his fear of Joffrey and the consequences palpable.  "Your Grace, we have plans to permanently dispose of one of your enemies, but it involves breaking a sacred right.  We seek your assurance of reward and protection, as promised by your grandfather, for completing this task in service to the realm."

"Why should I promise you anything for a task that hasn't been done?" Joffrey retorted sharply.

"Your grandfather had-"

"My grandfather was not the king!  I am!" Joffrey interrupted with a disdainful sneer.  Soon after the outburst, the boy king's expression then turned thoughtful, a dangerous glint in his eyes.  "You ask for assurances for a task that, as of now, is mere talk.  I will decide if the task is worthy of a reward after it's been done, not before.  Until then, you get nothing, not even a promise."

Emmon's heart sank at the response.  The unpredictable nature of Joffrey Baratheon left him on edge.

The king leaned back on his throne, a smirk playing on his lips.  "Do not waste my time with empty words, Frey.  If you wish for rewards, show me results."

"Yes, Your Grace.  You will not be disappointed by the noble House of Frey," Emmon replied, his voice strained but with a veneer of confidence.

"I better not be.  It's unwise to waste a king's time," Joffrey sneered, a veiled threat in his words.  Emmon bowed hastily, retreating from the throne room with a mixture of relief and trepidation.  The weight of his mission hung heavily on his shoulders as he navigated the corridors of the Red Keep, contemplating the uncertain path ahead.  The fate of House Frey and the success of their ominous plot rested on the capricious whims of the boy king.

In the opulent chambers assigned to him within the Red Keep, Emmon tried to shake off the tension that clung to him.  

Should he run to the Neck now?  He hadn't exactly gotten what he came here for.  But what else was there for Emmon to do?  it seemed Benfrey was right, the boy king was just as likely to call for their heads as he was to reward them with gold and prestige.

A knock at the door interrupted his uneasy pacing, and he opened it to find Margaery Tyrell, a vision of grace and charm.

"Lord Emmon, what a pleasure to have you at court," Margaery greeted him, her smile warm and eyes sparkling with curiosity.  "My grandfather always spoke highly of House Frey. It's a pleasure to meet a son of Lord Walder."

Emmon replied, "The pleasure is mine, Lady Margaery.  House Frey is honored to serve the Crown.  We seek only to contribute to the prosperity of the realm."

“Well, I'm gratified to here that.  You certainly came at an exciting time, did you not?  And, of course there's talk of a wedding in the near future.  What with Lord Tywin's success at the battle of Blackwater Bay, saving the city, the Queen Regent talks of a worthy wife as a suitable reward.  I think a wedding is a fantastic idea, personally.  Things have been so dreary since news came of Lord Tywin's death, and under such strange circumstances too.  Forgive me, you probably don't wish to hear the idle gossip of women.”

“On the contrary, my Lady.  I find it an entertaining reprieve from my current thoughts.”

“Something troubles you, Lord Emmon?”

“Nothing that needs to worry a young lady like yourself, House Frey is an ally of the Crown.”

Margaery smiled warmly at his words, and Lord Emmon fought a blush from the attention, "Allies are crucial in these uncertain times, wouldn't you agree?  A shared understanding ensures the well-being of our friends."

Emmon raised an eyebrow at the beautiful girl and replied, "Quite wise words for a young maiden like yourself."

"Oh, are they?" Margaery responded with a wide, doe-eyed look.  "I must confess, most of my understanding of politics and alliances is quoted directly from my father.  I believe him to be an exceedingly wise man."

Emmon remembered meeting Lord Tyrell a few years ago at a turney.  He couldn't imagine anyone believed the bumbling oaf of a man to be exceedingly wise in anything.

He smiled at the foolish girl.  "How refreshing to find a daughter that regards her father in such high esteem," Emmon remarked.  "I wish my own daughters would think of me so highly."

"Oh, but I'm sure they do!" Margaery insisted, with a delicate touch to the Frey's arm.  "After all, you must be tremendously brave to come here under such circumstances."

"Yes, well, the situation we're in now demands a live audience with the King, I'm afraid," Emmon admitted, fighting a blush from the praise.

"It must be especially grave news for you to come all the way here from the Twins," Margaery observed.  Her brow scrunched in concern.

Emmon hesitated, then replied, "Yes.  It is." After a pleading look from the lady, Emmon continued, "The whole ordeal leaves a bad taste in my mouth if I'm honest.  I am loyal to the Seven, as you know, and to break such sacred rights-" Emmon stopped, "Forgive me, my lady, I have said too much."

Margaery nodded understandingly.  "If there's ever anything you need, my Lord.  Even just an open ear.  Please don't hesitate to find me," she offered with a beautiful smile.

"I shall keep that in mind, Lady Margaery.  Your graciousness does not go unnoticed." The air in the room held a new tension, and as Margaery took her leave, Emmon couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps he had said too much to the maiden.