Hi there! So I'm aware that some of this is going to merge the books and the show together, but that's okay. I sort of plan on mixing bits and pieces from both. Some of it will be completely different altogether- I mean it, is fanfiction after all. Anyway, please comment and whatnot so I know to keep going!

Chapter One

Arya reigned in the horse she had taken from the stables. Shifting in her saddle, she watched as the sun slowly made it's way over the horizon. Red and orange, like fire, it spread through the sky. No, not fire- blood. It's bloody kiss reached the peaks of the twin towers, a river of red engulfing the sky. Just as the river of red had burst from Lord Frey's throat. Arya could still feel the stickiness of the old man's blood between her fingers.

It had been satisfying watching him crumble against the table, his blood pooling onto his dinner plate. But the feeling came and went. She had learned the hard way, after killing Raff the sweetling, that her satisfaction never lingered very long. There were too many names- names with faces that needed to die. For every one she managed, it was as if three more crept up in their places.

While biding her time in the Twins, she had come to hear news of the world she had once left behind. The world she had forgotten when she stowed away on Titen's Daughter. Kings had come and gone, dying like flies and growing back like weeds. Some of what she heard was old news, like the death of King Robert and the flesh hungry Bolton bastard in the North. Other stories were simply too ridiculous to believe. Men spoke of a dragon queen across the narrow sea and a bastard king hiding in the Riverlands. There was word of white walkers and wildings, a god of fire and a woman of stone.

There was one tale, however, that she couldn't bring herself to disbelieve. She had been in the Frey's kitchens when she heard the old crones whispering with their heads together. A wolf had taken back Winterfell. The northerners named him King of the North as they had once done for her eldest brother Robb.

Jon.

It was all she could hope for- being back in his arms and feeling him muse her hair. Her loving brother with his dark eyes and easy smile. They said the girl was with him too- the last Lady Stark.

Sansa.

Arya could still hear her sister's shrill voice, her insults and disdain. She had been a selfish creature but Arya had been a little monster. She found herself willing to give anything just to hear her sister's shouting once more.

She wanted to go home- she wanted to something fierce- but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something stopped her every time she set her mind to it. A hollow feeling in her chest- emerging whenever she envisioned herself passing through the walls of Winterfell. She had tried going home once before and ended up half a world away. She was frightened the same thing would happen again. She also couldn't help but feel, deep inside, beneath the blackness the red witch had warned her about, that she wasn't a Stark anymore. Arry, Weasel, Salty, Mercy and the ghost of Harrenhall- those were who she was. Perhaps even Arya, the girl with murderous prayers, but not Arya of house Stark.

Leading her horse through the woods surrounding the Frey's domain, Arya dismissed her harrowed thoughts. She needed a plan- a place to go.

Morning mist layered the ground, making it soft under her horse's hooves. The Riverlands were naturally a wetter place than most and she had almost forgotten what dampness felt like. There was no such thing as waterlogged boots in Braavos unless you were foolish enough to take a dip in one of the canals. Granted, she did miss the salty tang and spice of the air. Braavos had always smelled of freedom. Westeros smelled like pain and suffering.

Following the Trident, she made her way south. She kept to the enclosed spaces between thickets of trees, trying to remain as concealed as possible. With her hood drawn up and her cloak wrapped tight, she didn't look any different than a poacher's son or a farmer's boy.

Since turning six and ten, pretending to be a boy had grown harder and harder. She was still slight and slender, and hard with muscle, but her tunic was starting to pull tight across her chest. Her hair, wild and black as pitch, had also managed to make it's way halfway down her narrow back. She would have bound her breasts and sheared her head in a heart beat but she found that girls were welcomed far more easily into noble houses. Her sweet face and blossoming body had been the only reason the Frey swine had allowed her into their home. They had thought her a nice piece- a serving girl more than a few probably intended on bedding during her stay there.

Arya couldn't help but smirk to herself. Idiots. Men were such Idiots.

Arya wasn't sure where she was headed. All she knew was that she wanted to put as much distance between her and the Twins as was possible.

Arya tried to draw on memories of the old maps Maester Luwin had kept in his study. She knew she was near Riverrun- but she didn't want to go there. She didn't want to see the leaping trout of her mother's house.

An explosion of sound erupted from behind her; stampeding horses and the clang of steel. Cursing herself for being so lax, she dug her heels into the side of her stolen mount and took off at a gallop. She hadn't expected the Frey's to hunt her so quickly.

Refusing to look back and see how close they were, Arya pushed on ahead- leaping over rocks and roots. Arrows whistled from behind- one of the soldiers having spotted her through the trees. They shouted for her to stop as if they actually expected her to listen. An excitement flooded through her body, slowly filling the spaces usually left empty. Every nerve tingled like a spark beneath her skin. She laughed aloud as they cursed angrily, trying to keep up. She was a strong rider, small and agile. They had no hopes of catching her- she knew this, but she wasn't foolish enough to believe their arrows would continue to miss. One of them would hit their mark eventually.

A heavy crash drew her attention and she chanced a peek over her shoulder. The soldiers who had been following her, six by her count, and all in the blue and silver of house Frey, stopped their chase. One of the horses burst from the group without a rider. Arya pulled her own mount to a stop, shielding herself behind a tree.

Arya watched, confused, as the horseless soldier wrestled with someone on the ground. Only one of the soldiers noticed Arya, the others too preoccupied with their fallen companion. Roaring angrily through his helm, he raced towards her. Gingerly, she pulled needle from it's sheath.

The soldier wasn't even halfway towards her when Arya finally understood what was happening. A man, hidden in the treetops, flung himself at the charging soldier- throwing him completely from his horse. More shapes emerged from behind the trees and before Arya knew it, the woods were alive with the sound of clashing swords.

Using the bandits as her means of distraction, Arya drew her horse in the opposite direction- making her escape. One of the bandits, a beefy fool, tried chasing her down on foot but tripped over his own feet.

She didn't believe in gods but luck was certainly on her side. She couldn't have planned for something so perfect to happen- not that she deserved the fortune. It was her own stupid fault for being so careless in the first place.

Riding hard, she kept on- even after she could no longer hear the fighting. She could, however, hear the thunderous hooves of a single rider. He met every leap she took, followed every twisted turn. She had half a mind to stop and meet him in combat- slit his throat and be done with it. But she didn't know if he was soldier or bandit- and she didn't know how many of his friends had survived.

For a brief moment, fear settled itself in the pit of her stomach. She could feel her mount straining beneath her thighs, slowing as he grew tired.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She repeated the mantra over and over, picturing her old dancing master. She saw Jaqen in her mind's eyes as well, the kindly man and the waif. What would they do? How would they save themselves?

She barely had a grasp on the hilt of her sword when the rider came up beside her. She expected steel in her back or a club to the head. She did not, however, anticipate the man vaulting from his saddle.

Her horse screeched in surprise as she was tackled from it's back. Curling herself into a ball, she let herself go flying- hoping that a smaller bundle would make for less damage. The man appeared to think the same thing, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing hard. He angled them in such a way that when they made contact with the ground, it was he who took most of the hit.

Arya didn't want to bother questioning what crazy lunacy was going on in the man's head- attacking her and then trying to stop her from getting too hurt. As soon as she felt the shuddering thump and heard the air leave his chest in a gasp, she scrambled to her feet.

Immediately, the man reached for her ankle and pulled her back down. His was in boiled leather rather than steel and wore a black handkerchief across the bottom section of his face. He was one of the bandits.

Kicking and clawing, she fought against his massive form, trying to wiggle free. But he was too strong- too heavy. With ease he had her pinned beneath him, his knees on either side of her hips. With one hand holding her wrists above her head, he used the other to pull back her hood.

His crisp, blue eyes narrowed.

"You're a- you're a girl?" he said, his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth.

Rather than responding with her words, Arya spat in his face.

"Well that wasn't very lady like," he said, glaring at her as he removed his spit covered handkerchief and tossed it aside.

Arya stopped moving- her body numb with shock. He hadn't changed, not a single bit. The stubborn set of his jaw, his eyes- even his scowl. He looked the same; as if it were only moments ago that she had last seen him rather than a handful of years. There was no mistaking him. How could she? He was a name she repeated often- a name from a different list. A list of people she had lost.

Thinking that she had given up her fight, the young man, Gendry as she had once known him, lessened his hold.

"You-" she murmured, struggling to find whatever it was she wanted to say, "... You."

Brows furrowed, Gendry stared at her, "Did you hit your head or something, girl?"

Arya could hear people approaching but Gendry didn't seem too worried. One of the men let out a bird call and Gendry answered with one of his own. It brought back strange memories of an even stranger time.

"If you need help bark like a dog."

"That's stupid. If I need help I'll shout help."

The other bandits drew closer- laughing and jesting with one another.

"You really have no idea who I am?"

Gendry shook his head.

Just as the other men joined them, Arya swung out with her fist and slugged him in the jaw.

"You stupid!"

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