A/N: First, thank you for the reviews. I haven't expressed how grateful I am to all your kind words; it keeps me motivated to keep going. Second, this chapter is darker than what I have been writing so far and you'll see what I mean once you reach the end. Just think the style of the TV show and you'll be fine. With that said, I'll leave you to it. Enjoy!
She had been wandering through this endless forest for weeks. She knew she was heading north, but she didn't know how far west she was or if she would make it to the Trident before each nightfall. She knew enough about trekking through the realm with Gendry and Hot Pie that she could make small traps for herself, build fires, and forage for berries. She thought of them now as she popped a few blue-colored berries in her mouth. She had forgotten what they were called but knew they weren't poisonous.
The last thing she saw was Gendry doing his best to fight. He was an awkward fighter at best and he was exposed to his enemy. Arya had turned away and ran before she saw him getting killed. She didn't want to cry out or go charging into that fight. They were already sacrificing their lives for her, how many would curse her for letting herself get captured? She didn't want to believe Gendry and Hot Pie were dead, but who could know?
As the sun started to sink lower on the western horizon, she moved faster. She needed to keep going. The moment the stars came out was the time to hide. She searched for a small cave or a hollowed tree as she traversed the landscape. It was getting colder, but she still had the cloak one of the Brotherhood had given her. She patted the bag it was in, knowing full well if she broke out into a sweat and then lied down to sleep, she would never wake up again.
Finally, just as the sun's last rays were being consumed beyond the earth, Arya finally slowed down. She hadn't found a good hiding place for the night and she knew she had to stop soon. Her eye caught something in the distance. It was in front of her, shining out from the darkness. As she watched it, trying to name it, she tripped over a hidden root and suddenly felt herself cascading down a hidden, dark decline. She grabbed at fallen leaves, twigs, anything that would stop her fast descent or from ending it with a sickening crunch into a tree. She felt the ground below her even out and she finally stopped rolling.
She heard footsteps racing toward her, men yelling at one another about a breach in the camp. Horses were galloping toward her, dogs were barking. She had unwittingly stumbled upon a camp of brigands. They would kill her for sure—or worse. She tried to run back up the hill or at least to find a decent hiding place when something landed on her back and knocked the wind out of her as she fell to the ground. She turned over, groaning, to see a large dog standing above her.
No. This was no dog. It was a wolf. A…direworlf? The wolf licked her face and cleaned off all the dirt. The men around her seemed disappointed. "Attack, stupid wolf! Don't lick 'im!" A voice commanded.
"Grey Wind," an authoritative voice called. The wolf stopped its ministrations and pulled back, returning to its master's side.
Grey Wind? Arya thought. Robb? She looked up at the dark faces on the horses. "Who are you?" the voice called out again.
"Who are you?" Arya commanded. She was sitting up, but she didn't dare stand just yet.
The men laughed. "Stop playing games with us, boy. We know you're a spy for the Lannisters," a solider called.
"Lannisters? Do I look like a blonde freak to you?" she demanded, careful not to argue her gender.
"Such a tough spirit for a small child out in the woods alone," the solider said through his laugh.
"Who do you fight for?" she asked.
"Who do you fight for?" another solider asked.
"I asked you first," she replied.
Again, the soldiers surrounding her laughed. There were six men in total, all forming a semi-circle around her. If they made a move, she could easily avoid three of them, but the other three might catch on to her escape attempt by then.
"We fight for King Robb Stark," the solider announced. "You bow to your king."
Arya's heart leapt. It was Robb! "I'm not going to bow to any king unless I know he's a true king," she said almost teasingly.
"What do you mean by that?" the authoritative voice said. Was that Robb's voice? It had been too long since she had heard it.
"You won't see me bowing and scraping to Joffrey anytime soon," she spat.
"Who do you fight for, then?" the soldier asked again.
"I fight for Lord Eddard Stark and his children. I fight for my friends who have been abused by the Pretender, but mostly I fight for myself and the hope that I'll make it through this forest alive to find my family," Arya said.
The man with the direwolf dismounted his horse and walked slowly toward her. "What is your name?" he asked.
"Friends call me Arry. But my family calls me Arya," she replied, chin held high, even though she was still seated on the forest floor.
The direwolf passed its owner and approached Arya, nuzzling her lovingly. The wolf was as tall as she was in her position, but he was still as beautiful and dark as when he was a pup. Arya pet the wolf, then wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him with an aching sensation in her chest. She missed her own wolf, somewhere in these never-ending woods. She hid her tears in the wolf's thick coat.
The man dropped to his knees beside her. "Arya?" he asked tentatively. He sounded as if he too was crying.
She pulled her face out of Grey Wind's fur and looked into the blue, familiar eyes of her brother. "Robb," she cried, leaping out and wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his neck. She was utterly exhausted from the months of walking and all the things she had seen. She couldn't begin to describe all she was feeling about finally reuniting with her brother. She felt as if she would burst.
Robb held her tight against his chest. He felt his insides ache with joy, relief, and love for his little sister. He never thought he would ever hold his feisty sister again; but somehow, she had managed to find him, find her family, again. He picked her up and carried her over to his horse. "Shh, it's all right, Arya. You're home."
Arya raced her horse through the cold forest to get back to camp. She heard Gendry and Captain Glover trailing behind her, trying to keep up with her. Her hood had fallen off her head and her short hair flew free around her face. She knew she risked frostbitten ears, but she didn't care. She had a duty to uphold.
They reached the camp by nightfall, just as the stars were starting to peek behind the twilit curtain. Captain Glover looked mad. Gendry looked amused. He knew she wouldn't have ridden recklessly if there hadn't been a reason.
She jumped down quickly from her horse and handed the reins to one of the soldiers who managed the stables. Arya passed by her council as she headed for the tent that held the traitor. She heard footsteps behind her as her trusted advisers rushed to keep up with her. Finally, she reached the tent and threw open the flap.
If possible, Theon looked worse than he had when he was first brought to the camp. She never thought that his guards would have protected him from abuse, and she honestly didn't care that they hadn't. He was responsible for the deaths of many innocent men, women, and children who were under the protection of Winterfell. Some of her men came from that great house or had family who had lived on the land. They deserved justice and she was going to finally bring it to them.
Theon looked up with the one good eye that wasn't completely swollen shut. He had bruises all over his face and he was filthy with dirt, sweat, and dried blood smeared all over his body. His clothes hung in tattered rags on his emaciated frame and made him look like a living skeleton. Her stomach lurched when she smelled the room. Normal smells mixed with the unnatural—feces, urine and a sickly tangy scent that Arya had a fairly good guess about but didn't want to name.
She walked slowly into the circle of light as she let her eyes and nose adjust to the room. She heard the council rustling nervously behind her, urgently whispering to one another, but not saying a word to her. They had to let her play this out.
Theon sputtered and coughed as he tried to speak. His thin frame shook as he tried to shake the dryness in his throat. He had no moisture left. "Give him some water," Arya ordered to one of the guards. He looked at her for a few seconds with a confused expression on his face, but decided it best to follow her orders without question. He took the skin container from his belt and slowly approached Theon. He tipped the bag up as her prisoner drank quickly and greedily. After a few seconds Arya said, "That's enough," with a mix of civility and forcefulness that caused the solider to quickly retreat from the traitor.
He took a few breaths and swallowed as he allowed the liquid to coat his parched throat. Finally, he licked his lips and croaked, "Arya?"
Arya's jaw clenched. While she didn't like the title everyone insisted on calling her, she felt he didn't deserve the privilege of speaking her name. Not the name her mother and father had given her. Not the name her brother Robb uttered with a hint of pride and awe laced in his voice. No, this man who betrayed her family and ruined her home did not have any right to speak her name. "You will call me your grace," she said in a steely tone.
Theon looked at her with his one good eye for nearly a minute before slightly nodding. "Do you know why you're here?" she asked.
He nodded again. "Yes," he croaked. "Your grace," he added quickly.
"Tell me," she replied.
He looked at her pleadingly. His voice was rough by not being used and he felt like every inch of him was on fire. He didn't know if he could speak, let alone compose a coherent thought. Her gaze told him he was to speak or else. Theon sighed and prayed once more to the Gods—old and new. "I'm here for my actions at Winterfell," he said slowly, pushing his voice to utter the words.
"And what were those actions, Greyjoy?" she asked with an edge of urgency.
"I conquered your house. I killed your master-at-arms," Theon said in as little words as possible.
"You betrayed my family's trust; you stole my home; you killed my brothers and my people; and you burned the home my ancestors built down to the ground. Have I left anything else out?" she said impatiently.
"I didn't…" he said in a hoarse whisper.
"What?" she asked sharply.
"I didn't kill your brothers," he blurted.
Arya snorted in derision. She had heard the story; she knew the reality of things, even if Robb had remained hopeful. "Then where are they? It's been over five years, Greyjoy, and no one has heard from or seen Bran or Rickon since you made them your hostages. Everyone on those grounds perished, burned and bloodied beyond recognition. Do you expect me to believe that a little boy of seven and a crippled boy of ten could somehow slip under your nose and into the wilderness? And survive?" She had started to pace around Theon, circling him slowly like a vulture waiting for its prey to finally give up and die.
"They did escape," he sputtered out resolutely.
"How convenient for you," she remarked. "Whether they died by your hand or not, you are the cause for their demise and so I still blame you for them. And I name you as Robb's murderer," she continued.
"Robb? I wasn't even here," he started.
"Exactly. You abandoned my brother and your duty to try and please your father instead. If you had been with him that day, he might still be alive."
"Ar—your grace," Theon began, "You cannot predict what could have happened. He might still have died. I would most definitely be dead."
"Yes, but then I wouldn't have had to deal with you," she said coldly.
"I've paid for my crimes, your grace," Theon pleaded. "I've done my penance. Please, end this misery." Tears had formed in his eyes. His pain was getting to be too much, and he could see the hatred on Arya's face. There was nothing he could do.
"Paid for your crimes?" she asked. "You think because you've been a prisoner and have suffered injuries to your person and to your pride that you are entitled to be freed? I have been where you have been, Greyjoy. I stood in a pen with twenty scared, young boys as they picked us out one by one to torture and kill us. My honor was threatened daily by the soldiers who watched me and waited for the day when I would blossom into a young lady. They kept whispering into my ear that the moment I bled, would be the last moment I could ever be considered an innocent girl. They promised to rape me every night, Greyjoy, countless soldiers who only desired one thing.
"And do you think I wanted to be treated like a child and given immunity? Do you think I sobbed and begged for someone to pity me? Do you think because I came from a noble family that I deserved to be treated like a high lady? No. I wanted to fight them all and prove that I was stronger than them. To show them that their words had no effect on me. That my name was nothing more than simply that. And now you sit here in front of me crying and beseeching. You're weak, Theon. You've always been weak. And my father did not teach you that. You got that by being a coward and a Greyjoy. Your sentence is simple. You will be beheaded and soon you will know nothing more of this world. I was promised a lifetime of misery and abuse. Tell me which sentence is worse and who deserves what."
Arya paused and found tears had fallen down her cheeks. As she reached up to wipe them away, she noticed her hands had clenched into fists and her fingernails had left crescent imprints on her palms. She furiously wiped away the moisture on her face and continued to stare at Theon defiantly. She had never spoken a word about those moments in Harrenhal where the soldiers would watch her, leering at her and inspecting her body to see if her breasts were growing or if her hips were starting to take a shape. She had had nightmares of those faces, she still sometimes did. She thought of Gendry's reaction. She hadn't told him of this. She knew if she had, he would have been stupid and tried to protect her. Stupidly noble Gendry.
"I didn't ask for this role, Theon, and I certainly didn't expect my life to turn out like this. We have been dealt our hands, and now we must play them out. You do understand why this has to be done, right?" she asked. The tension was high in the room now, and she knew she had to finish this. Now. Finally.
He nodded. Tears were still leaking from his eyes, but not from pain anymore. He hadn't known what his fate would be, but he had suspected it would turn out like this. He had half hoped to die during the endless beatings he had been taking from the Northern men. To hear the confirmation of his imminent death would be enough to make any man weep. "There is no hope you will reconsider?" he asked, half hopeful, half dreading her response.
"No. Whether or not you killed my brothers, you still attacked the North and you killed innocent people. My men will not let you live and I agree that it is best," Arya explained. "It will be more honorable if I carry out your sentence rather than let my men beat you into oblivion. That, I will give you." She knew she was not required to explain this to him, but she thought it would offer him some comfort knowing his actions all those years ago were finally leading to the drop of the sword. There was never any hope of reconsideration.
He choked back his sobs and sniffed as snot slid down his dirty face. "Thank you, your grace," he replied with his tired voice.
She turned to the soldier who had retreated into the corner. "Please retrieve the block," she requested. The soldier left and soon returned with the large slab of wood. In the time he was gone, no one uttered a sound. Not even the curious council. They finally knew what was taking place and they had no arguments or comments.
The soldier untied the prisoner and eased his body down to the uncomfortable block. At least he wouldn't register it for much longer.
Arya unsheathed her sword and placed it point down on the ground in front of her, kneeling and placing her forward on the end of the hilt. She tried hard to remember the wording her father had uttered all those years ago—or at least the wording Jon had told her their father had spoken. "I, Arya, of the House Stark, Lady of Winterfell and Queen in the North do sentence you, Theon, of the House Greyjoy, traitor to the Starks and Winterfell, murderer of the innocent Northerners, to die."
She stood up and lifted her sword, placing edge of the steel on the back of Theon's neck. She felt him shudder underneath the cool edge. She took a deep breath and stared at the skin between his hair and shirt. Just under the hairline, someone had told her last week. Strike with as much power as you can muster, someone else had mentioned. Do it in one stroke, if you can, yet another had advised. Thoughts jumbled around in her head searching for the right one when she saw images of her little brothers in her mind's eye, running around Winterfell. They stopped and turned to look at her. They both nodded then ran off, back into her subconscious.
Arya took another deep breath and lifted the sword high above her head. With all the strength she could call upon in her body, she pushed the sword through the air and finally through flesh, bone and sinew. She saw Theon's head fall to the ground with a sickening thud as blood poured from his body. The head rolled toward the council who was watching her in shock. His body collapsed and twitched, its life's blood draining out of it quickly. Arya felt completely numb. She felt her stomach churn unpleasantly as she stared at her bloodied sword.
She stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the place where Theon's head had just been. No one else moved or uttered a sound. Suddenly, she stood upright, turned, and walked straight past the council and out of the tent. Captain Glover made a move to follow her but Gendry stopped him. "No. I should go. Have someone clean this up," he said, gesturing to what was left of Theon Greyjoy.
He quickly ran out of the tent and looked along the aisle the rows of the tents had made. Night had set but there were lamps lighting the snowy paths in a flickering, low light. He squinted in the dark, hoping to detect any movement in the dark. There was no one outside.
She was gone.