Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
This is a oneshot, and unrelated to We the Fallen, though as it doesn't really interfere with anything you could certainly link them together. Read and enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback or constructive criticism.
It was quiet when she woke.
Too quiet.
Eerily quiet.
Arya stretched out, cat-like, on the hard stone floor where she had curled up to sleep, and tried to work the cricks and aches from her body. She felt cold, like her blood had turned to ice in her veins, and there was still no noise, not even the breathing of the other servants sleeping in the room or her scraping against the floor. She pressed her hands to her ears, but she couldn't even hear the thump of her heartbeat or sound of her blood. There was nothing.
It was darker than dark. There were no windows, but there should have been a torch burning. Arya tried to peer around the room, but she could see and hear nothing. She felt out in the darkness, feeling for one of the others that slept in the room with her and finding nothing but stone. Even that, which she knew should be cold, felt warmer than her.
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. Shivers and shudders ran through her. She was colder than cold, so cold that even the lukewarm night air of the fortress felt like flames against her skin. There was a deep hum, a kind of thrumming, that seemed to be inside her chest and skull and all around her at the same time. Arya reached out for the wall and thankfully found it, laying her hand flat against the stone. She looked around herself, willing her eyes to adapt to the darkness, but she couldn't see her hand in front of her face. Carefully, she felt her way around the room. She should have stepped on Rena, a kitchen girl who she had formed an uneasy alliance with and stayed close to at night as protection – but she didn't. The older girl wasn't there. She should have run into or stood on other servants who slept in the room – but she didn't. She reached the door without touching or hearing anyone.
Arya would never have though it possible, but the door handle was even colder than she felt. It burnt into her skin. She let out a soundless cry and yanked her hand away, nursing it against her cold chest. In the thick blackness, she couldn't see what damage there might be. She breathed gently on it to try and work some feeling back into it, but she couldn't feel the warmth. Carefully, she wrapped it in her sleeve and then reached for the handle again. She could still feel the coldness through the fabric, so cold it was hot. As soon as it was turned and opened a crack Arya hooked her foot behind the door and let go of the handle, widening the gap via the wood and slipping out into the hall.
There were torches and slatted windows there. A few of the torches were lit, glowing a dull, dead orange. Arya saw white and stars for a moment, her eyes used to the darkness. She blinked and scrubbed at them with her good hand before hurrying over to one of the thin windows overlooking the courtyard. It was a moonless, starless night, with only a few lit barrels in the empty courtyard below providing any light. Everything was cast in grey and black.
Arya couldn't help thinking of the stories about Harrenhal and its curse, of Danelle Lothston who bathed in blood and feasted on human flesh and Harren and his sons who were burnt alive and said to still walk the halls at night, burning, and those that see them burst into flame too.
Arya's breath caught with a soundless, fearful gasp. She glanced around herself, afraid that the burning spectres might appear from the darkness at any given moment.
When none did, she hurried over to the nearest burning lantern. It was providing an odd, dead kind of light, as though it was burning without being burning and giving off light that wasn't light. There was no heat or shadow.
Arya turned her hands over in front of her. Her skin looked paler than it should, and there was no visible damage to her still tingling hand. She flexed her fingers gently, feeling the stinging resistance. She wrapped her hand up in her sleeve again, and then quickly wrapped her other in the other sleeve.
It didn't help.
Arya couldn't remember ever being so cold, even when she was back home at Winterfell and swam with her brothers in the cold black water of the pond.
There was a noise in the deep silence.
Footsteps.
Look with your eyes was pushed aside as her mind again went back to the burning ghosts of Harren and his sons. Arya looked here and there for a hiding place and spotted one behind a large tapestry. She dove behind it as the footsteps turned the corner and squeezed her eyes closed lest she even accidentally catch a glimpse of the cursed burning spectres. That thrumming deep within her seemed to get…
~not louder, it wasn't a sound, but…
~stronger.
~more intense.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it," said the voice of an older woman. Arya didn't recognise it.
"But-" said a younger voice.
"It's all words. This castle is impregnable."
Arya opened her eyes and peered at the bottom of the tapestry. She heard the footsteps pass but saw no boots. Warily, she nudged the tapestry aside and squinted down the hall in the direction the two women had been walking, catching a glimpse just as they reached the corner. One was a taller woman with grey hair in a bun; the other was younger, with long, golden hair.
They had no feet.
Arya could see the wall through them.
She screamed noiselessly and dove for the other end of the hallway, her old worn boots slipping and sliding against stone that seemed more shiny and polished than it had the night before. There was a cry and a soft thump from behind her.
Arya narrowly avoided running and sliding into the wall and skidded around the corner. Daddy, shouted the voice in her head, except her dad no longer had a head, mummy, except she was so far away, Jon, but he was further, Nymeria, who she dreamed of and wished she was dreaming of right now, Robb, Bran, Theon-
Gendry.
Gendry.
Gendry was here, Gendry was close, and she had to warn him!
Arya was sure her heart was going to break from her chest. Her lungs burnt. Despite her running she was still cold, shivers and shudders shaking her violently. She was crying, she realised, sobbing desperately, and the tears felt chilled against her skin. She kept moving, though she was looking with her eyes now, seeing things that were…
~not right
~different
~wrong.
Arya had worked in this fortress for long enough to know it now. Not like she knew Winterfell, but enough to recognise it – or not. The floor was wrong, lacking scuff marks and heat caused cracks. The walls were wrong, lacking dirt, cracks, and tapestries where there should have been hunting and historical tapestries. The brackets holding the torches were wrong, new and shining. The torches themselves were wrong as well, the light was dull, light but not light, burning wrongly, casting no shadows.
Look with your eyes.
It was Harrenhal, but…
She exploded out into the courtyard. The lock and handle for the door were so cold they were hot, like the handle to her room, but this time fear meant she barely felt it. She fell out onto the cobbles, scraping her knees and palms. She didn't even feel the pain. She stumbled back to her feet. The courtyard was empty, both of people and ghosts, but she could see blurred, shadowy figures on the battlements of the immense walls. They were all armed with bows, spears, and crossbows, and all had them aimed into the sky. Arya scurried across the courtyard to the forge where Gendry worked, ate, and slept. The door looked different and the handle was that same burning cold. Arya put her shoulder to it and found it still swung easily open like it should.
It was dark inside, that thick, swallowing blackness again where she couldn't see her hand in front of her face.
"Gendry," she whispered into the shadows, not wanting to leave the door in case it swung closed and she couldn't get out again. "Gendry!"
He didn't answer. Arya remembered that empty room she woke up in. Was he gone too? Had he left her? Daddy, cried the voice in her head, but her father was dead now, mummy, but she was far away in her home of the North, Jon, but he was at the Wall with the Night's Watch now, Nymeria, but she was gone too now, Robb, Bran, Theon…
None of them could help her.
Nobody could help her.
"Gendy," she pleaded into the swallowing, suffocating darkness, but she knew in her heart he wasn't there. "Gendry!"
No one answered.
There was only her and the ghosts.
She let the door slam closed behind her and backed out to the centre of the courtyard. The ghostly figures were still up on the thick wall, all still threatening the sky.
Would they let her pass, Arya wondered, if she tried to leave? Would they stop her, she thought, if she tried to open the gates?
In Old Nan's stories, ghosts and spectres were tragic, wailing figures who wandered their halls or wicked, threatening monsters waiting to pounce upon any who saw them. They shouldn't be trusted or approached. Arya looked frantically around the courtyard. Usually there would be a few Lannister men around, drunk and rowdy by this hour, only stopped from doing Gods knew what with her by the fact Lord Lannister had ordered her not to be touched after her first and last beating.
Now there was no one.
Everything felt empty, deserted.
The thrumming grew-
~more~
in her chest.
There was something in the sky.
Too big to be an arrow, the wrong shape for a raven or bird-
-but what else could it be?
Rocks or oil as bombardment?
Another ghost?
The spectre of Harren the Black, descending from above her to burn Harrenhal thrice over?
Arya was frozen. Even if her limbs would obey her and move, where would she go? There was nothing here but the ghosts; nothing but the ghosts and thick, neverending darkness-
A light shone in the dark of the night. It was black, but a glowing black, with sparks of red and orange deep within it.
The shape above was bigger now, huge, a black shadow with glowing eyes.
It was a huge scaled beast, Arya saw, with wings large enough to cast a shadow over the entirety of the ruined fortress, and on its back a figure with flying silver hair~
~her heart stopped
~her breathing stopped
~she knew what she was seeing
~and the dragon opened its mouth and screamed out its fury.
Arya screamed, convinced she was about to die in a vision of the past and blaze of black dragon fire, and this time she heard the sound. She fell backwards, scrabbling against the cobbles and drawing her arms over her head, squeezing her eyes closed as the hot flame bathed everything around her~
~and it felt warm
~warm like she thought she would never be again.
She stayed there, huddled on the cobblestones with her arms over her head and her eyes squeezed closed. How long it was Arya wasn't sure.
She was dead.
She was sure she was dead.
She had to be dead.
A hand touched her shoulder. "Arry?"
She nearly jumped from her skin. Arya screamed and spun round, throwing her fists up ready to fight off the attacker~
~was she dead
~she wasn't dead
~why wasn't she dead?
She stared up at Gendry, numb, uncomprehending.
"What are you doing?"
She opened her mouth to answer, closed it again, opened it again, and closed it again. Her heart pounded in her chest.
She wasn't dead.
She wasn't dead.
She wasn't dead.
"Are you alright?"
She shook her head. He sighed. "Get up, let's get you inside."
Arya couldn't even make her limbs work.
She was still sure she should be dead.
Gendry stuck his hand out for her with a grunt. Arya managed to control herself enough to reach up to him. He took her wrists and hauled her up like a sack of goods. "Gods you're cold. How long have you been out here?"
Still unsure whether her mouth and tongue would cooperate for her to speak, Arya only shook her head. He sighed and hooked his arm under hers, half-carrying, half-dragging her into the forge and dropping her in front of the furnace. Her legs buckled under her and she slid to the floor in a rather ungraceful, very unladylike manner. Gendry opened the furnace, hitting her with a wall of heat that only licked her skin and failed to melt the ice in her veins. Arya wrapped her arms around her knees. Behind her eyes she could still see that great beast descending on her, its maw glowing and open wide, big enough to swallow a horse whole. Gendry set a mug of water on the floor next to her. "You can stay here tonight if you want."
She nodded weakly and stared into the flames.
"You want to tell me what happened?"
She shook her head again, still unsure whether her mouth could obey her.
"I'm going back to sleep."
She nodded again as he settled down beside her.
She must have sat there much of the night, just trying to calm her frantic heart.
She was still sure she should be dead.
At some point she lay down and huddled up next to Gendry, wrapping herself into a tight ball and pressing herself against him.
Part of her was still certain that if she closed her eyes, if she fell asleep, he would vanish and she would be trapped in that thick, suffocating darkness with the ghosts again, and so she lay awake like that until she felt him start to stir and wake.
"You feeling any better?" he grunted. Arya stretched out. Every part of her was stiff and aching, and her right arm and leg had gone numb from her lying on them.
"Not really."
Pain shot through her hand when she tried to wrap it around the mug of water. She drew it away and turned it over. Thick, silver welts ran over her palm and fingers. Gendry snorted. "The cook give you a lashing?"
Arya shook her head. "Didn't you see it?"
"See what?"
Again Arya remembered that great black shadow, the eyes in the dark, the ominous glow.
"Did they- y'know..?" he waved a hand at her lower areas. Arya blushed and shook her head.
"No. It wasn't like that." She reached out with her other hand and managed to pick up the mug, though that one still felt sore.
"You should be going before you're late milady."
"I already told you I'm not a lady." Arya stumbled to her feet. Her legs trembled beneath her, though they held her weight this time. She stood and stared at the door into the courtyard.
Her mind was screaming what was out there the last time she set foot out there.
Gendry looked at her. "Well?"
"Well what?" she retorted, reaching for the door.
Nothing in the world could make her open it.
Gendry had to open it and walk with her into the bright light of day.
Arya felt cold for the next week and a half.
There was still a part of her that thought she should be dead.
When she closed her eyes she saw that great black shadow descending from above.
Every time she fell asleep she feared waking up to the silence and the dark.