Hi ! Here is chapter 3, I hope you like it ! Please note that this is a translation of my french fic La revanche d'Arya, so if you speak/read french, you can check it, it has a 5 chapters advance ^^. Also, english isn't my first language so if you see mistakes please point them out in a review so I can correct them !
Anyway, here it is, enjoy !
Previously :
They left at down on the third day after her fight. Arya rode her mare on the road while the wolves ran in the forest all around her. Sometimes when the cold wind became too much she jumped to Nymeria, running with her in the warmth of her fur. The wind wasn't too bad yet in the Neck. Snow fell sparingly.
It wasn't Winter yet.
Chapter 3: The Twins
It was five more days until Arya arrived at the Twins. Her wounds were mostly closed by then, only reminding her of their presence when she moved too swiftly. She had not needed to stop to hunt, even though she had spent three more days on the road than she had planned for. The pack had brought her rabbits and small game at every meal. The woods were still full of life, but it would dwindle soon when snow would cover the landscape. She had stopped twice when passing big enough villages and hadn't left before explaining how Arya Stark was hiding on the Wall with her brother Jon Snow, was fighting with Daenerys on her own dragon called Ice, was a witch with evil powers learnt in four years of study in Penthos, or had married Lord Greyjoy and now ruled the Iron Fleet after killing him. Each time she told the same story a few times to a few people then moved on.
She asked Nymeria and the wolves not to make themselves known to the West Town smallfolk as she entered the city. As it's name clarified quite nicely, West Town stood on the western side of the Twins and she didn't have to cross the bridge to enter it. She stopped in an inn and sat down. She immediately noticed the loneliness of the place. Situated on the main square of West Town it should have been at least half full at this time of day, but she was the only client. When she asked for something to eat and drink the innkeeper seemed so happy one could have thought she had just said she would pay him 100 golden dragons for it.
- Pour yourself one too, innkeeper, she said with her most masculine voice when the man brought her ale and meal.
He had obviously waited exactly for that and thanked her profusely while pouring himself a drink and joining her.
He sat down after she nodded with a smile to the seat in front of her.
- You don't seem to have many guests, pardon me sayin', Arya said, using a sympathetic tone and a Vale accent.
The man sighed.
- Aye, since the Weddin', it is, he said in a whisper. Folks liked the – King Robb, he whispered the name as though someone could be listening to them in the empty room– an' now they says the Twins are haunted.
Arya shrugged, answering.
- The gods are unhappy. Killing a host, even if it's for good reason…
- Ya think ? Asked the man, looking around and seeming scared by the idem. Arya shrugged again, acting as though it didn't really matter to her one way or the other. The man continued, eyes wide open. "But the Great Sept in King's Landin' says the Gods forgave the Lord Frey".
- Really? Arya asked, still unperturbed. I didn't know.
- Oh, aye, Lannister soldiers carried the news two moons ago. But folks take time to come back, they do. What can ya do except wait ? It's been three years since the Weddin', people got to get used to it.
- Well I am quite sorry for you, Master Innkeeper. At least you have some work when Lord Frey's allies come to visit him.
- Lad, 'm not one to criticize a Lord meself, but I rather stay poor than host Lord Bolton's men.
The name almost made Arya flinch. She looked at the innkeeper, hard pressed to calm herself. Roose Bolton was one of her father's bannermen. She had thought the Lannisters had helped or supported Lord Frey, for the Lord wasn't man enough to go through with such a thing on his own. But… Bolton ? She had heard he was Warden of the North now, but had thought it was because he was the only one the Northern Lords would accept. But she had been as naïve as a child, she realised. She would have to go kill Bolton in the Dreadfort, or maybe even in Winterfell, to avenge her family. Only then could she turn towards the Iron Islands and Theon Greyjoy and the Lannisters and all the others on her list.
- Lord Bolton, Arya asked, keeping up with the conversation through her musings. I thought Lord Bolton was Warden of the North ?
- Aye, he is. Was at the Red Wedding, too, and killed King Robb with his own hands, in the middle of the Great Hall. Me cousin was a servant an' she says he said "The Lannisters send their regards".
- And now he rules the North.
- Aye, that he does. He was to be married to Arya Stark, ya know, because the Northern Lords didn't want to be ruled by none but Starks, but then it was found the girl wasn't a Stark at all. Since Lord Bolton defeated Stannis Baratheon at the time, no one dares to move.
- The Stark girl must be long dead, Arya said.
- Probably, aye. A pity, she could have married some lordly Lord and he would have killed the Bolton monsters for her.
Arya grunted to agree with the man, paid for the beers and the meal and left. She knew enough for now; she would have time later to extract the details from Frey before killing him.
The fortress of the Twins had been aptly named. Arya remembered the lessons from Septa Mordane, given an eternity ago to her and Sansa in their study room in Winterfell. The Freys of old had spent three generations building the First Bridge, six hundred years ago. Since then stone had replaced wood and on each side had sprouted identical strongholds. This bridge was the only crossing on the Green Fork, the great river dividing North and South under the Neck. To avoid the Twins one had to travel through the dense forests in the West or the mountains in the East, and none of those ways permitted to travel fast or with waggons. The Freys' fortune had been built from the taxes travellers and merchants had to pay to cross their holdfast. On both side of the bridge the twin castles were manned, armed and constantly prepared to be sieged. Drawbridges could be raised at a moment's notice, and even if by some miracle you could cross the three meters wide staves between solid ground and gates, you only found yourself in an enclosed courtyard where you were siting ducks for the archers firing at you through arrowslits in the walls all around. You could not defend yourself and any army would be cut down. And even if, one way or the other, you managed to survive the massacre and cross through to the bridge on the other side of the stronghold, you still had to cross it under fire from the tower in the middle of the bridge itself. Once the bridge was crossed the men you had left would have to go through the same defences all over again to exit the second fortress, the same archers embushed in the courtyard...
One didn't attack the Twins, it was a well known fact. Even though all the Great Houses and most of the smaller ones of Westeros resented the Freys for the taxes they had to pay and the tributes they had to offer each time they wanted to cross the bridge with their armies, no one had ever evicted the Freys from their holdfast.
Until now, thought Arya, smiling to herself. She had survived her training in the House of Black and White, she could attack the Freys at the Twins.
She could of course have entered the Twins in the dead of night, found Lord Frey's chambers and slit his throat while he slept (or woken him up and tortured him until he died from his wounds to quench her thirst for revenge). But she didn't want to simply kill Lord Walder Frey. She wanted to annihilate the whole House, detroy the Freys until none were left to carry the name and history forgot them. She wanted to kill the three thousand men manning the fortress, men who had taken part in the murder of her brother and mother. She would kill them all. She wouldn't make the mistake her father had made, letting enemies live to hurt her ten years later when they had become men grown. Maybe it wasn't an honourable way of doing things, but Freys didn't deserve to be treated with honour. And Arya wasn't exactly sure she knew what honour meant anymore. The Many Faced God didn't offer his gift depending on such a thing as honour.
Arya entered the fortress easily, hidden under a grain waggon brought in to feed Lord Frey's men. She first went to the kitchens, passing effortlessly for a young serving boy with her neck bent, her eyes lowered, her boy wig on her head and her common clothes. It was ridiculously easy to poison foods and drinks. She just had to be careful to use a poison which would not hurt her wolves if they decided to feast upon the flesh of the fallen guardsmen.
Walder Frey was a paranoid man and she assumed he would have at least one taster, but it didn't matter. She didn't intend to let him die in his sleep before answering her questions or before he knew who had ruined him. She inquired smoothly on the exact time the guards ate their dinner and waited quietly.
The had chosen the Amber Pearl, a relatively slow poison, of which the symptoms could only be felt in the last minutes before death. Three hours after ingesting it the head started pounding. Ten minutes later you took your last breath. It was a particularly good weapon against a large group of people because even if they all didn't eat exactly at the same time no one would become suspicious until three hours after the first started eating.
Fortunately for them the servants didn't eat the same meals as the guards. It would have been a shame if they had died too, for no real reason. Arya wouldn't have lost sleep over it but she might have felt bad about it for a few minutes afterwards.
Night had fallen for an hour before she heard the first screams. Arya smiled. She could have chosen ten poisons with the same overall effects, but she had chosen the most painful she had. She wanted to hear them wail in pain as loudly as the songs of joy they had sung while they mounted his wolf's head atop her brother's body. She would never forget that image, but their screams now could maybe weaken the almost physical pain she felt when she thought of it.
First the servants thought of an attack, but they understood soon enough that it wasn't the case and that the guards were dying untouched, vomiting blood and entrails screaming at their posts.
Arya heard the terrified whispers from her hiding place.
"The Gods' punishment" said a woman, looking as a guard fell from a high tower, howls of pain cutting through the night.
The daughter of Winterfell asked herself briefly if, maybe, that wasn't the case, if she was not perhaps the means by which the Many Faced God was punishing these men for their treason to host custom. But it didn't matter, after all. Whether she was or wasn't some god's tool she acted of her own free will, she accomplished her own vengeance.
Lord Frey had hidden with his close family in the Great Hall of the Western Castle where stood the Frey quarters. Arya took her time to open the great Gate of the Fortress and lower the drawbridge, opening the way for her pack. Nymeria jumped on the bridge before it was halfway down, her great muscles tending fearsomely. Soon wolves were growling at trembling servants all through the castles.
- Not the servants, Arya reminded them. She had explained the plan with images that morning, and they knew what to do. She would keep broadcasting the images of the guards, the ones they were here to kill. She would take care of the others herself.
It was very easy to cross the bridge. All the guards still alive to shoot her with their arrows were too unorganised to do so properly. Some men had not eaten that night, or eaten too little, or eaten something else, and were still alive but they were few and far between. When her wolves found them in castle rooms and she wasn't with them they tore their throats out. When she found one herself she killed him with no effort whatsoever.
Two guardsmen were still alive and sharp, waiting in front of the doors leading to Lord Frey's quarters but Arya didn't even bother to kill them herself. She opened the doors while two wolves started eating them to her right and left.
Inside the room waited the House Frey members, men and women and children, innumerable sons, grandsons, daughters and granddaughters of Walder Frey looking at her with terror in their eyes as she crossed the last doors her mother and brother had ever crossed alive.
Another chapter translated ! Arya is badass as ever, and she has no mercy. Sorry, but she lived in a house of assassins for 4 years, it seams the logical turn of events to me. Anyway, I hoped you liked it, see you next week for the next chapter called "The Freys" (big spoiler here ^^)
Please do not forget that you are very welcome to press the review button down bellow. It's like a drug to authors, you know, we need it. I'm always very impressed by the number of people who read my fics and don't leave comments. It's stupid but I always feal like if you read it and don't leave any comment it's because you really didn't like it, and then I feel sad... I know, it's stupid, I said so first XP
Hope you liked it !
Ferz
