I wasn't planning to write anything more in this story but somehow the 1st chapter seems not enough for me. I hope you're gonna enjoy it as much as I did when writing it.
The sun is shining intensely through the branches of high trees but it doesn't warm up her skin. The wind is not fresh and chilly but rather piercing. The forest looks almost familiar with the roughness of the bark underneath her fingertips and the silent crunch of dry leaves beneath her feet. Almost like at home. Almost, because the trees seem much too tall for the ones she used to climb at Winterfell, much too thick and much too frightful.
She can't seem to remember what she is looking for. Is she looking for anything at all? She stops to listen for a while. She tries to muffle her own breath when looking around. Suddenly she realizes that all she can hear is… dead silence. She can feel the cold wind on her face, ruffling her short hair, even see the leaves whirling in the distance but there is no howling. Has she seen any birds here so far? Yes, but they are all silent now. There are no squirrels playing on the branches, there is no one here.
She finally decides to go further when she hears a crush of a broken branch. Arya realises that she's not alone but she hasn't seen anyone in the forest. She instinctively reaches for the Needle but all she finds next to her belt is thin air. Memory of the bald soldier taking away her sword burns with planned revenge but nevertheless right now she is defenceless. She decides to follow the man in the forest as quietly as possible. She can clearly hear his footsteps and somehow the sound is familiar. Crossing a rotten, fallen tree she gets to the clearing and stands exactly behind the followed man. It's like he's expecting her.
Firstly she notices that he is unarmed. This is some kind of relief for her. Only seconds later she recognises this posture, a well built man, stooping his shoulders which evidently have fought many battles and arms which have gotten used to a sword. Long hair looks like her own with the exception of grey highlights caught by the wind.
One word escapes her mouth even before the man turns around towards her.
"Father"
She is overwhelmed by emotions. Joy, confusion, relief, fear. Everything mixes in one painful bump in her chest. She starts running to him, to fall into his already widely spread arms. She sees his bright eyes and the smile she loves so much, the one they used to share whenever they thought alike, whenever she did something not lady-like but he was so proud of her anyway. Or maybe exactly because of that.
There are only few steps dividing them when Arya notices another person entering the clearing. He is a young boy with golden hair, a posture of a coward and a sickening, malicious smile on his narrow mouth. He's running towards them with a dagger and before she manages to warn her father Joffrey cuts Lord Stark's throat.
She can see the blood, almost smell it and most importantly she can hear it oozing from the body. Gurgling and bubbling last dreadfully long. The sound is terrifying, taking control over her own body.
She wakes up suddenly with tensed muscles and the sound of death still ringing in her ears. She looks at her hands tightly clutched on Gendry's hands. She tries to focus on them because they are real. They are not a part of a nightmare. She can actually feel how he squeezes her fingers. The touch is friendly and she appreciates the fact how clumsy it is. His hands have gotten used to holding a hammer, not a girl. The thought doesn't bring a smile, she's too moved by her dream to smile, but a feeling of relief allows her to relax her muscles.
She raises her eyes. It's still dark but she can hear the voices of the Gold Cloaks. She wants to gently lift up her head to see more but Gendry tightens his grip on her hands. Arya understands without words what it means. Something bad is happening. Something from her nightmare becomes reality and she freezes in terror when she realizes it's the sound, the gurgling of blood. That's what has awaken her and that's what they could both hear now.
Footsteps become louder.
"What are we going to tell at Harenhall?", asked one of the soldiers.
"That they were killed during escape. No one is going to ask about them anyway" replied someone. "Besides, they were the slowest ones. The rest should be happy to be still alive."
"If I were them I would be too happy about it. Harenhall is cursed…"
The voices fade away in the darkness. Soon after, there come another two soldiers dragging two bodies. Arya can easily recognise an old man who wasn't always nice to her but was harmless. She knew he was only a thief, not a murderer, not a person who should end up with his throat cut open. Despite his age he would be helpful at the Wall. They always needed a pair of hands there. But at Harenhall there was no place for him. His face is stained with blood now but oddly calm. At least he wasn't aware of the death coming.
The second victim didn't have that much luck if she could think of any. This man was killed because of a wound in his leg, it slowed him down and during their trip to the Wall he used to ride on a cart. He definitely wasn't sleeping when the soldiers came closer to him with their swords ready to cut through his flesh. He didn't have time to fight back. His face is twisted with horror, eyes wide open, scarlet pouring from his mouth and wound, glimmering in the moonlight. He saw death and death was looking through him, looking directly at her.
Arya closed her eyes but the look of the dead man didn't vanish. There is no way for her to fall asleep again. She wouldn't get much of sleep anyway. They have to keep going and to stay alive they have to move fast.
