AN: Well, for better or worse, I had so much fun writing my first ASOIAF fanfic, that I've decided to take a stab at another one (sorry, George). Despite being a completely different story, it will be similar to Winter has Come in certain respects. As always spoilers abound for all five books and all five seasons. There are also aspects of book cannon and aspects of show cannon in this story and when in doubt, I went with what worked best (ex: I used the show's character ages, but the Bloody Mummers are characters in the story). Additionally, this is going to be another "loads and loads of characters" story.
I own nothing. I give all the credit in the world to George R.R. Martin, D&D, Bryan Cogman, Vanessa Taylor, Jane Espenson, Dave Hill, Maisie Williams (first among equals in the best ensemble ever), Peter Dinklage, Jack Gleeson, Michael McElhatton, and everyone else who has done so much to bring this incredible world to life. I hope you enjoy this story and as always, please let me know what you think of it whether it be positive, negative, or somewhere in between!
_
Arya
He doesn't know, Arya decided as she stared at the heads that had lined Harrenhal's walls ever since her brother's bannermen captured the fortress. They'd been dipped in tar to slow the rot, but that hadn't kept away the crows and it was already impossible to say who most of them had belonged too. Arya could still recognize Maester Tothmure's head...even though the crows had already taken his eyes. Robb couldn't know about what the Bloody Mummers are doing. He'd make them stop if he did. He'll punish them for it when I tell him though. Them and stupid Lord Bolton.
"Admiring your work," asked a voice from behind her. Arya turned and saw Gendry scowling at her. He'd been like this ever since Walton Steelshanks took off the head of his old master at the armory, Lucan. It was the same with Hot Pie only he wouldn't even look at her anymore. She couldn't decide whether it was worse if he was doing that because he was afraid of her or because he hated her. He's too scared of the stupid bloody man on my chest to tell me how much he hates me. He probably does though...just like everyone else, Arya thought to herself sadly.
"It wasn't my fault! Walton Steelshanks killed Lucan and the Bloody Mummers were the ones who killed Maester Tothmure. My brother will make them stop when he finds out, you'll see."
"Your brother gave the order, more like. None of you bloody highborns have ever cared what happens to the rest of us. Don't see why your brother would be any different. And you was the one what gave us Lord Bolton and the rest of this lot." I care...
"That's not fair! And Ser Amory –"
"So we traded Ser Amory, the Tickler, and the Bloody Mummers for Lord Bolton, Walton Steelshanks, and the Bloody Mummers. Lannister and Stark, Bolton and Baratheon, you're all the same far as I'm concerned. At least Ser Amory didn't let Biter eat his prisoners. Vargo Hoat cut off a little girl's feet and then threw her into the bear pit this morning for bringing him four pieces of breakfast bacon instead of three. And Urswyck says that when the Bloody Mummers run out of heads, they'll start mounting our hands and feet on the walls, so don't be telling me how much better things are now that your brother's bannermen are here."
"Things were worse under Ser Amory. And Robb doesn't know about what Lord Bolton and the Bloody Mummers are doing to the smallfolk, stupid."
"So the King in the North has no idea what his own bannermen are doing, is that it? I bet your brother told Lord Bolton to have the Bloody Mummers chop of everyone's feet until there were no smallfolk left in Harrenhal from when the Lannisters was here." Gendry is just being stupid because he's angry about Lucan. Robb would never let the Bloody Mummers or his bannermen cut off people's feet for no reason, Arya told herself, hoping it was true.
"Shut up!"
"I forgot I'm talking to a highborn lady with a bloody man on her chest. You're now enjoying Lord Bolton's table scraps and serving him his wine, aren't you? The Bloody Mummers and the rest won't hurt you so long as you're his cupbearer and even if they did, all you'd have to do is tell Lord Bolton who you are and you'd be back with your brother and the rest of your highborn family in Winterfell. Who cares if everyone else here dies, we're just smallfolk, right? All that matters is that you highborns are happy, just like always. Your brother is no different than Joffrey, far as I can –"
"SHUT UP," Arya shouted, shoving Gendry as hard as she could. That was stupid. Someone might hear or see us and then Vargo Hoat will cut off both of our hands...or Lord Bolton will send us to Qyburn. Arya shuddered and tried not to think about what would happen to her if she was sent to Harrenhal's rookery. No one knew what Qyburn did in there to make people scream the way they did, but Arya knew that she didn't want to find out.
As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was that Gendry was right about things being worse since Harrenhal fell. Some of the Lannister men got what they deserved, like Ser Amory did when Vargo Hoat fed him to a bear, but most of the dead men didn't do anything...not really. The Lannisters would've given anyone who refused to serve them to the Bloody Mummers or the Tickler. The last head mounted on Harrenhal's northern wall had even belonged to a little boy who was killed for biting Utt to try to stop the Septon from holding him down and taking him.
"I'll go," snapped Gendry, "but don't be pretending your family cares any more about the likes of me than the Lannisters do. Give me a forge, a meal a day, and a long summer, and you lot can do whatever you want for all I care so long as you leave the rest of us alone...not that you lot ever do. I bet even if your brother's bannermen knew who you are and you told them to stop hacking off hands and feet, nothing would change."
"It would so!"
"Would not!"
"Would so!"
"Fine, go tell Lord Bolton. I bet he'll show you an order from your brother saying to put all the smallfolk here to the sword for serving Lannisters."
"He will not!"
"Go on then, m'lady. Run along and prove it."
"Fine, I will! And I'm not a Lady, stupid."
"Could've fooled me, boy."
"I'm a girl."
"You're a highborn girl, but not a proper Lady? Is that what m'lady means?"
"Yes, I mean – I told you to stop calling me that."
"Or what? Will m'lady run to Lord Bolton and ask him to have my tongue out? I beg your forgiveness, m'lady."
"I said shut up, you...you big stupid!"
"What's a big stupid?"
"You are, now go away," snapped Arya, as she stormed off.
"Bloody highborns," Gendry muttered bitterly.
...
Gendry's words continued to haunt Arya as she made her way to Ser Robett Glover's chambers. He probably hates me too, just like Hot Pie and everyone else. He has stop being mad about Lucan someday. It wasn't even my fault anyway...not really. He'll forgive me eventually. Him and Hot Pie both will...maybe. He's just a big, stupid, stubborn old bull. Even if he was part of her pack, Gendry could be the most frustrating person in the world sometimes. How can one person possibly be so stubborn about everything?
Stupid bull. I'll show him! He'll see! I'll tell Ser Robett who I am and he'll make Lord Bolton and the stupid Bloody Mummers stop cutting off everyone's feet. Even if she couldn't trust Lord Bolton, Ser Robett had never been cruel to anyone at Harrenhal and he behaved far more like one of her brother's bannermen should than Lord Bolton ever did. Gendry won't be so stubborn tomorrow, Arya thought to herself with the smallest of smiles before nearly walking right into Ser Robett.
"Best watch where you're going, girl. Wouldn't want to bump into that damn Goat," said Ser Robett. Everyone in Harrenhal knew that Vargo Hoat and Ser Robett hated each other almost as much as Vargo and Ser Amory did...or maybe it was just that everyone hated the Goat of Harrenhal.
"I –"
"No need to beg my forgiveness, girl. I won't hurt you."
"No...I mean...thank you, but..." Arya suddenly realized that she never actually thought about how she should tell Ser Robett her secret. What should I say? Will he even believe me? Should I just say it or try to explain first? Arya bit her lip.
"Thank you, Ser. Very well, what else? You're Lord Bolton's cupbearer, aren't you? The one who made that soup? What does your master want? Be quick about it, girl, I don't have all day. Is Lord Bolton holding a meeting of some sort? I swear by the Old Gods and the New, if he forces me to endure one more of those damned things while he sits in a tub covered with leeches, I'll –"
"Lord Bolton doesn't need you for anything...Ser."
"In that case, it would seem that we have nothing more to discuss. Run along back to your master, girl." Wait, where are you going? Don't leave!
"But –"
"My patience is not without limits, girl. Another word and Lord Bolton will hear about –"
"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell."
For a moment, Ser Robett looked as though he'd seen a ghost. He studied her silently although he looked more confused than anything else.
"What...what did you say, girl?"
"I said I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell. I escaped from King's Landing and...please, you have to help me get back to King Robb and my mother."
"I...I...have...I have to what? Whatt did you just say?"
"For the last time, I said I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell. I need you to help me find my family and make the Bloody Mummers stop cutting off everyone's feet." Suddenly, a flash of anger appear on Ser Robett's face and Arya knew she'd made a mistake. He doesn't believe me. Before she could run away, the knight grabbed her right arm and held it so tightly that it was impossible to escape.
"I don't know what in the Seven Hells you think you're doing, girl, but you'll regret it. I can promise you that much," snapped Ser Robett.
"No, my name is Arya Stark. Really, I...I can prove it. I know all about Winterfell, the crypt, Old Nan, Hodor, and –"
"What the fuck is a Hodor?" Maybe Ser Robett's never even been to Winterfell before. He's just some stupid knight, not a Lord. And he's probably never seen me before besides, Arya realized as Ser Robett tightened his grip on her arm.
"Please, you're hurting me," Arya shouted, fighting back tears. I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry.
"We'll just see what Lord Bolton has to say about all of this," said Ser Robett coldly, dragging her along the ground by the arm. No! No! No! No! Not Him! He'll send me to Qyburn and... Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Not today! Not Today! Not Today!
"Please, I'm sorry, I –"
"Not as sorry as you're about to be, girl. Now if I hear one more word from you, I'll knock you out cold, do you understand?" Arya nodded and began chewing her lip as Ser Robett dragged her through Harrenhal.
...
When Ser Glover stormed into Lord Bolton's solar, still dragging Arya behind him, the Leech Lord was sitting at his desk writing a message of some sort. He calmly raised his head and studied them, looking as though nothing could have bored him half so much as the sight before him. After ten painful seconds, he spoke in a voice as soft as a whisper.
"Ser Robett, it would seem that you have managed to apprehend my cupbearer. I commend you for what was, I trust, a hard-earned victory. Lord Vargo would have considered the task beyond your abilities, I think."
"That bloody goat can think whatever the fuck he likes for all I care."
"As you say. Now then, tell me, why have you seen fit to grace me with your presence. I am quite certain that I have no need of it at the moment."
"My Lord, your cupbearer is telling some of the most wretched lies that I've ever heard. She claims to be Arya Stark and demanded that I take her to her family. She even tried to order me to make your pet goat stop maiming prisoners."
"It would seem the two of you are in agreement on that matter, Ser."
"My Lord?" Ser Robett was plainly confused and that was good. Arya knew that Lord Bolton seemed to enjoy making knights like Ser Robett and the Freys uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe Ser Robett will forget about me and...no, that's stupid. And even if he did, Lord Bolton won't forget.
The Lord of the Dreadfort was staring directly at her, even when he spoke to Ser Robett and that was bad. It was almost as though his cold, blue eyes were staring directly into her soul. You never wanted Lord Bolton to look at you the way he was looking at her...not even for a second. Everyone who she'd ever seen him look at that way had been given to Qyburn, but Arya never broke eye contact with the Leech Lord. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Yes, yes, you are quite right, Ser. It simply wouldn't do to have an impostor running around claiming to be Arya Stark, would it?"
"I'm not lying, my Lord. I –"
"Shut up," snapped Ser Robett. "I'll not have you disrespecting Ned Stark's memory and the pain House Stark has suffered by breathing another word of this filth. Arya Stark is dead, everyone knows that. The Lannisters killed her when they seized the Throne."
"But –" Ser Robett slapped Arya in the face with the back of his right hand, knocking her to the ground.
"Tell me, Ser, do you make a habit of striking little girls?"
"Lord Bolton, do you mean to tell me that after everything you've let that little shit of a goat do to the prisoners here, you can't stomach the sight of a well-deserved slap? Your House's sigil is a bloody flayed man." Lord Bolton's lips curled upward into what might've been a smile. Arya shuddered. Somehow, the thought of the Leech Lord smiling was more frightening than the way he had been looking at her a moment ago.
"You may slap anyone you please, Ser. It matters not at all. You may slap every little girl in Harrenhal if you wish...only not this one. The girl is my cupbearer, my servant, and my property until such time as I depart from Harrenhal. I shall discipline her as I see fit. I believe you are familiar with how I punish those who displease me, are you not?"
"Of course, my Lord, only...despite what she has done, the girl is only a child and..." Lord Bolton began looking at Ser Robett the same way he looked at people right before he sent them to Qyburn and the knight fell silent. As the Leech Lord continued to silently stare at Ser Robett, the knight broke eye contact and began to shift about uncomfortably. He's afraid of Lord Bolton too, Arya realized.
"You are to gather all of your men and ride for Duskendale immediately. Harrion Karstark and Ser Helman Tallhart will accompany you. We will strike at the heart of the Crownlands. Are there any objections, Ser," asked Lord Bolton in a voice so soft that Arya could barely hear him.
"No, my Lord."
"Good. Now, leave us. I believe my cupbearer and I have some matters to attend to, don't we, girl?" Arya nodded and began chewing her lip. Ser Robett left the room and closed the door. Not today! Not today! Not today!
...
"Ser Robett tells me that you are pretending to be Arya Stark. What am I to make of this?"
"I...I..."
"Yes, you. Go on, girl, explain yourself. I could always have your tongue out, since you don't seem to be using it."
"I...yes, my Lord. My name...I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell."
"And tell me, Arya Stark of Winterfell, how is it that you came to be here?"
"I escaped from King's Landing when the Lannisters started killing everyone. Yoren was supposed to bring me to Winterfell. He cut my hair and told me to pretend I was a boy."
"Yoren?"
"Yoren was a member of the Night's Watch who was bringing prisoners to the Wall. He...he was a friend of my brother, Jon."
"Hmm. And where is this Yoren now?"
"Ser Amory killed him when he captured me."
"Does anyone else know who you are?"
"No, my Lord." He might hurt Gendry and Hot Pie if I tell him about them.
"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, girl?" Lord Bolton began staring at her again, but Arya looked him directly in the eye, just like the first time. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"No, my Lord."
"That was a lie. Being lied to displeases me. But you are Arya Stark, that much is certain."
"How did –"
"I always knew that you were highborn. The smallfolk say m'lord, not my Lord. I assumed you were the daughter of some Riverlord and made you my cupbearer because that soup of yours amused me, but you have the Stark look. A blind man could see that much. When Ser Robett told me what you said to him, it was plain that . Of course, our fine friend from Deepwood Motte was too big a fool to realize what a valuable thing he had in his possession. Most men don't look with their eyes, they only see what they expect to see."
"Syrio, my dancing master, he said the same thing."
"Your dancing master was right. Now then, you will remain under my supervision at all times. You will sleep in a room across from my chambers which I will lock from the outside every night. This is for your own safety. It would not serve for one of the Bloody Mummers to kill you before I have a chance to return you to your brother. And not even I can say what they would do if they found out who you really were..."
"Thank you, my Lord."
"Tell me, my Lady, why didn't you tell anyone who you were when Harrenhal fell?"
"Not everyone who sounds friendly is a friend. I wasn't going to tell Ser Robett who I was, only...I thought he might make the Bloody Mum...I mean...the Brave Companions stop cutting off people's feet or at least make Biter stop eating people. And I'm not a Lady."
"Clever girl. My son Domeric learned that lesson the hard way. It nearly cost him his life."
"What happened?"
"Mayhaps I will tell you some day. Oh and one more thing, when I do return you to your family, promise me that you will tell your mother what Ser Robett did to you today. Your brother will see to it that he never hurts you again, I think. Or anyone else, for that matter."
"Yes, my Lord. I promise," replied Arya, allowing herself a small smile at the thought of what Robb would do to Ser Robett. If not everyone who sounds friendly is a friend, doesn't that mean that not everyone who sounds dangerous is an enemy? Lord Bolton did send people to Qyburn, but maybe he only sent bad people to the rookery.Arya realized that she had only actually seen him send some of the captured Lannister men like Raff the Sweetling to the rookery. He won't hurt me, but I still can't trust him...not really, Arya decided.
"Good. That will be all, girl. I require silence while I work. You'd best have a seat, I expect you'll be spending quite a bit of time in here. We will speak more tomorrow, if you wish." I'll show that stupid, stubborn old bull! Lord Bolton will make the Bloody Mummers stop cutting off people's feet if I tell him my brother would want them to leave the smallfolk alone, Arya told herself, and for just a moment, the Leech Lord didn't look quite so scary.
"Lord Bolton?"
"Yes?"
"Is...is Robb winning the war?" For a moment, the Leech Lord silently stared at her. "Everyone always says ladies shouldn't ask about such things," Arya muttered bitterly.
"I thought you weren't a Lady? It matters not at all. Anyone who cares more about songs and stitches than the war going on around us is a fool. In truth, most people are fools, just like our friend from Deepwood Motte."
"Everyone always liked Sansa best because she was a proper Lady. She knew all the songs, her needlework was perfect, and everyone was always saying how beautiful she was. My mother probably doesn't even want me back because my stitches were always crooked."
"Probably not. But she is wrong, I think. You're not a proper Lady, but mayhaps that is why you made it this far while your sister is still a hostage in King's Landing."
"The Lannisters still have Sansa?"
"Yes. As for the war, your brother is winning the war against the Lannisters in the Riverlands. Of course, the war in the North is another matter entirely. What happened at Winterfell was rather...unfortunate. That will be all for today, girl. I have work to do and you will be silent until it is finished. You're not going to make me say that a third –"
"The war in the North? What happened at Winterfell? Are Bran and Rickon alright? What about my mother? Please, you have to tell me." They have to be alive! Robb would never let the stupid Lannisters attack Winterfell. Never!
"I have to tell you. You presume to give me commands, do you," asked the Leech Lord, suddenly looking as though he had decided to give her to Qyburn after all. He won't hurt me now that he knows who I am. He can't; he's one of Robb's bannermen. He just...likes scaring people is all. But he'd have probably given me to Qyburn when I was just his cupbearer. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Very well. I will indulge you this once, but from now on, you will mind your tongue when you speak to me. Lady Catelyn is alive and well, as far as I know. She is with your brother, most like. They will have arrived at Riverrun by now, I think. Your brother recently destroyed an entire Lannister army in the Westerlands and yet some men have taken to calling him the King Who Lost the North ever since the Iron Born seized Winterfell."
"The Iron Born?"
"Yes. Your brother sent Theon Greyjoy to treat with his father, Lord Balon. He thought the Iron Born would lend their fleet to our cause if we helped them win their independence. Instead, the treasonous whore led an attack on the North and captured Winterfell." Why would Theon attack Winterfell? Arya had always hated him and he was almost as cruel to her as Jeyne Poole had been, but he was like a brother to Robb. And how would he ever take Winterfell, even if he'd wanted to? When Arya called someone stupid, it normally just meant that she didn't like them or that she was mad at them, but she'd once asked her father why Theon could say more than one word even though he was soft in the head like Hodor. She'd tried sheep-shifting Theon's bed, but he was always too drunk to care about the smell and never noticed until the next day. How could someone like that ever take Winterfell?
"What about Bran and Rickon?" Theon...he wouldn't hurt them...would he?
"What about them?"
"They were at Winterfell and..."
"And you want to know about the fate that has befallen your brothers. Is that it, girl?"
"Yes."
"Are you certain of this?" Arya nodded, chewing her lip nervously.
"Very well. It brings me no pleasure to tell you this, girl. Mayhaps your mother or your brother should be the one to tell you. No, no, I suppose you have a right to know. *sigh* How can I put this? I would hate to drag this out and yet one must be delicate when speaking of such things, don't you think?"
"Please, just tell me! What happened to them?"
"As you wish. I *sigh* have no idea whether your brothers are dead or alive. In truth, there has been no word from Winterfell since it fell. Your brothers may be hostages or two more dead little boys. Fear not though, your brother has charged me with retaking Winterfell and while my son's presence is required at the Dreadfort, I have instructed my bastard to raise a host. If your brothers are still alive, I have no doubt that Ramsay will save them from the Iron Born. And if they're dead...well...I imagine you'll be the first to know."