The look in Sansa's eyes was enough to still him for a moment, she shared that same look when she brought him the news of Stannis's death, and when they'd burned thousands of bodies outside the walls of Winterfell. "Jon, we need to talk." she'd just walked in on the first meeting to be had with Tyrion and Lord Varys. Tormund and Davos sat around the table with him, along with a few other lords and ladies, Robett Glover, Maege and her daughter Lyanna.
Tyrion looked up from beside him, his eyes flickering between him and Sansa. Jon had no doubt he could feel the tension rippling off Sansa's stance. "Something amiss?"
"Lord Tyrion, would you mind if we spoke later?" The Lannister nodded, seeming sobered by the formal title. Jon had no idea what had Sansa's fingers tapping impatiently against the hem of her navy dress for, but he knew better than to make her wait for an audience.
"Of course, Your Grace." Tyrion threw the title right back, though he seemed much more curious than annoyed by his dismissal.
"Sorry to interrupt." Sansa said with all the courtesy of the Lady she was, "You can all continue this meeting later I'm sure?"
"Of course Lady Sansa, it's no trouble." Lady Dustin's courtesy was just that, all courtesy. Sansa gave her a smile Jon knew to be a lie.
"Davos, Tormund, you two stay." His half-sister sent him a glare for that, but his eyes were steel looking right back. Sansa didn't trust any of his advisers, but he trusted Tormund with his life and this moment would be an opportunity to see just how useful Davos could be. Once the room cleared out Sansa pulled the yellowed scroll out from her sleeve.
"What's going on?"
Sansa's watched him carefully, there was a message in her eyes he'd seen before, back when he wanted to leave Winterfell and ask the Southern Lords for an audience. Don't do anything stupid.
"Walder Frey is dead." she announced bluntly.
"Dead." he repeated, not sure how to feel. He thought he should be happy, but there was no joy to be found. "How?"
"Murdered, burned alive with all his sons." Though the story was horrific to think about, Sansa looked rather indifferent.
"Gods." Davos muttered, "all of them?"
Sansa shrugged, "That's what she says in the letter..." She? Jon glanced at Sansa, no need to voice his questions, who sent you the letter, and what else does it say? "The letter was sent from...Lady Stoneheart." the name fell oddly from her lips.
Tormund frowned, "Lady what? I haven't heard that House name before..."
"It's not, Lady Stoneheart is an outlaw who leads the Brotherhood without Banners, she's been hanging and murdering anyone under the Boltons or Freys service for years." Davos explained.
"Why is she writing telling us what's she's done to the Freys?" he pressed.
Sansa looked suddenly nervous, "she's not, she's writing because she wants...you, and she wants Winterfell."
"Let me see it."
"Just...before you read it. You remember how Ramsay said he had Arya, how he used her against you?" Jon nodded, he'd broken his vows and got murdered to save a girl that ended up being Jeyne Poole. "Lady Stoneheart is trying to claim the same thing, we shouldn't believe a word of it."
Jon's blood boiled at the thought, he wanted to rip this Lady Stoneheart out of hiding just for speaking his Arya's name, how many people were going to try and use her name for power?
Finally, Sansa handed him the letter.
Dear Bastard, you've risen higher than you ever should have. You've no right to Winterfell, no right to any crown, no rights to anything before a true-born child of Eddard Stark. I'll give you one chance to redeem yourself, and if you do what I say, you won't end up burned alive like Walder Frey and all his sons. I'll release your half-sister Arya Stark, and she'll sit the thrown you've no rights to. Bring yourself to me with no false army at your back and no tricks. If you don't her blood will be on your hands and you'll never see her again.
"Who the hell does she think she is?" he spat, stomach burning with anger as he unfolded the bottom of the letter, surprised to find more words.
"She's just some mad women who wants Winterfell Jon, there's no reason to do anything about the letter." Sansa insisted.
"Why is she even-" he stopped as his eyes flicked to the bottom passage, a single word catching his eyes, Needle.
"Jon?" his sister's voice echoed oddly from the other side of the room.
In case you don't believe me, she still has the Needle you gave her the day you left for the Wall. It is tragic how determined she is to think you dead, but I know better. I know what you are.
He cleared his throat, his mouth now very dry. "Did you read this last part?" he managed, Sansa was beside him instantly, picking the paper from his hands and pulling the page to show the last couple of sentences.
"No..." she seemed to be reading it more than once, but he didn't need to. "What Needle?" Jon sat down, his heart beating faster by the second and his stomach turning, could it really be her? Her little grey eyes glowed up at him, she'd been so happy when he'd given her that sword. He closed his eyes a moment and he could feel her jumping in his arms the day they bid each other goodbye, covering his cheeks with innocent kisses. "Jon..." Sansa's voice was softer this time.
"The last time I saw Arya, I gave her a sword. And since she hated stitching so much..." he paused his voice lowering. "I named it Needle."
"She never said anything about it in Kings Landing." His and Arya's childlike voices rang in his head "...don't...tell..Sansa!"
"You would have told father." Sansa sat down beside him her eyes staring blankly at the wall. She didn't press or tell him what he had to do, there were no plans she wished to share or warnings she wanted him to heed.
"Did anyone else know about it?" Davos asked.
Jon shrugged, "Mikken forged it."
"Mikken's been dead for years." Sansa said darkly.
Tormund sighed dramatically and pulled out his sword, "It sounds as if we have a princess to save then."
When morning finally came Arya couldn't bring herself to speak to her mother right away, instead she took herself away from Winter's Castle. The snow was endless as it always seemed to be in the north, floating down around her calm and quiet. Arya lifted the bow she'd borrowed from the barn, (she hadn't asked who it belonged to) and took aim. The tension of the string pulling back and the grip of her leather gloves around the arrow's shaft; brought her the kind of tranquility her sister no doubt used to find in stitching. One breath, two, and the arrow flew. She relaxed when the small squeal of a rabbit reached her ears.
"Good shot." she turned, a new arrow donned from her quiver and pointed at Gendry's heart. He didn't so much as flinch or raise his hands in defense, but watched her rather unimpressed. "Go on, since you hate me so much."
She held her ground for a moment, but both of them knew she wasn't going to kill him. Arya turned back to her rabbit and away from him, "Stalking me now?"
"Thoros wanted to make sure you weren't running away."
She laughed, "and you would have stopped me if I had?"
"No." he didn't hesitate in his answer, "I wish you would." His blue eyes held a melancholy haze when she glanced back, a sadness she hadn't known him to hold before, despite how serious he always was when they were younger. "You could go anywhere you wanted."
"I've been anywhere Gendry, for the past four years."
"Seeking out Jaqen wasn't just being anywhere."
She pushed down the anger from the accusation in his tone, "For the record, I never did find him."
"You found someone out there."
"More like no one." she muttered with a sigh, but Gendry wouldn't understand her play on words. "Look I'm not running anymore, I've been running since we left King's Landing."
"You weren't running then, you were trying to get home."
"And that went just great, as you pointed out the other night." He stood there annoyingly silent. "What do you want Gendry? You got your Brotherhood, the family you never had. Why do you care where I go?"
His foot tapped impatiently in the snow as he searched the evergreen trees for whatever words he was having trouble finding. "She's not who you think she is."
"My mother?"
"Lady Stoneheart." he corrected her harshly. "You can't trust her."
"I don't trust anyone, something you helped me learn."
He glared at her, "why don't you just go south again, or back to Essos? There's going to be a war here Arya, and with your name you'll be stuck in the middle of it."
"Why don't you?" she threw back, "If you hate it so much here just leave, no one is stopping you."
"If I left they'd hunt me down and hang me for a deserter."
"And they'd hunt me down too, you already said Thoros told you to follow me."
He smiled then, his shaggy black hair getting caught in the icy winds. "You'd be fine." he waved a hand at the dead rabbit, "You can take care of yourself for a start, but more importantly, like you said; you can do a lot more than defend yourself."
She shook her head slightly, breathing in the thin snowflakes. "I'm done running Gendry." There was nowhere left to go, her time was running out whether Gendry understood that or not. When she blinked she saw two glowing red eyes staring back at her. Jon and Robb were dead, Lady Stoneheart was real, Jaime pushed Bran from the Broken tower...there was no escaping her vision.
"Then go home."
"That's what my mother wants, she wants to take back-"
"Everyone's saying your brother already did!" he insisted.
"Would you just stop, he's gone."
"What would you know of it?"
"More than you!" she couldn't fathom the reason for his persistence, but she was close to hitting him over the head with her stolen bow. She approached him all the while biting back her anger. "I told you to stay out of my way." her face was an inch from his.
He lifted his arms up wide to either side, "I'm notin your way!" his voice echoed through the empty trees. Arya stepped back, pushing down her rage and emotions as best she could. He could only be in her way if she let him, and she had stop letting him get to her so easily. "You don't owe her anything, if you don't want another battle, leave."
"You've no idea what I want."
"No, you're right about that. But you don't have to base your decisions on the fact your name's Stark." Arya thought of Jaime, you could change things and you know it. "I understand if you think that."
"No offense, but I doubt that."
He shifted awkwardly, his hands coming together to fidget from nerves or maybe just the cold. "You don't know as much about me either."
"and what's that supposed to mean?" he was already on the defensive before he confessed.
"The reason the goldcloaks wanted me...my father was Robert." she blinked blankly. "Robert Baratheon." Arya stared at him, his thick black hair and dark blue eyes. Her memory of the late king was surely not as clear as it'd been five years ago but she supposed they were similar, more so if Robert hadn't been so fat.
"King Robert Baratheon." she repeated, seeing her childhood friend vaguely in the man before her. As he nodded and she finally processed his words, not a hundred years of training at the House of Black and White could stop the smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She chuckled softly, but next thing she knew she was bursting out in laughter.
"Arya it's not funny..." his voice was dipped in annoyance, but it only made it all the more hilarious. Gendry Waters, the bastard who hated the Lords and Ladies, son of a King. As like most laughs, hers was contagious and he was biting back a smile. "Seriously?" she tried to stop, bringing a hand to her mouth as if it would keep in the laughter, but as she looked at the blue eyes the fat King had, she couldn't stop. "It's really not..." he was chuckling now too.
"No, no..." she giggled, "It's not funny at all, Your Grace."
"Don't call me that."
"As his Grace commands." she shot back, and a true smile broke across his face. And the two of them struggled to breathe as they wheezed in the empty white forest, no doubt scaring away any other prey for miles around them. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt and she had to sit on the closest fallen log, and he fell down beside her. As she wiped the tears from her eyes and their breaths finally settled, so did a silence between them. One where she oddly held peace in place of the anger and betrayal she felt every other time his eyes met hers. She sighed and a cloud of white floated away. "It broke my heart when you chose the Brotherhood." she whispered softly.
It was hard to meet his stare, but she did. "It was a mistake Arya I never wanted to hurt you, I always thought...I don't know, your name made you too good to be my friend."
"You know I never cared about any of that."
"I know that now."
She smiled sadly, "You might be more high born than me, son of a King and all."
His bittersweet smile matched hers, "I'm still a bastard, and you're still a Princess."
"You're still so stubborn."
He grinned "So are you."
When the barn became visible between the pines her sense of lightness started to fade slightly. Gendry was a step behind but his presence was no longer irritating, the idea of discussing a new siege of her family home with her mother was a whole other matter. She'd told Gendry he'd no idea what she wanted, which had to be true because she'd no idea what she wanted.
The obsession with bringing a reckoning on her enemies had led her down a bloody path she could never cleanse herself of. She'd thought it was finally fair when Jaqen had granted her death wishes, she thought it was justice when she served the Many Faced-God in Essos, and it'd been retribution to burn down the hall at the twins. And even though she couldn't find any feelings of guilt for most of the blood on her hands, there were too many instances when she wasn't sure anymore.
A brutal laugh pulled her from her own mind, her attention back on the world around her. The clearing around the barn opened up, the old grey wooden building seeming bland surrounded by white. On the edge of the small expanse of snow-covered earth, before the world was lost in trees; hung the bodies. Arya stopped in her tracks, one body too small and the other two large. No. Three men were beside the large tree, and one forced upon his knees. She wasn't close enough to see but she'd didn't need to be.
"Arya..." Gendry's voice was an apology and a question all at once. I'm sorry, are you alright?
Without a word she approached, Lem and Harden stood proud, their wicked smiles making heat rise to her skin. "Go on, take a long look Kingslayer, that'll be you on the morrow." Lem spat down on his prisoner.
Jaime was on his knees, hands chained behind his back, his clothes much to thin for the freezing weather. The bodies hung on either side of the truck, and on either side of the broken man between them.
"What have you done?" she heard herself say. Lem and Harden glanced at her, none of them noticing her before.
"Lady Stark." Harden's greeting was made with a scowl, his hate directed at her for killing his friends was still as sharp as the night they'd met.
"It's justice little squirrel." Lem smiled as he used her old nickname, "What your Lady mother ordered."
"She ordered this?" her fury was being drowned by her sense of dread, and she couldn't even bring herself to scream at them, scream that Podrick was just a boy, that Brienne had done nothing to deserve this. They were innocent...a tiny voice cried in her mind . And how many innocents have you killed? A poisonous one answered.
Lem and Harden ripped Jaime back up onto his feet, the beaten lion met her eyes briefly as he was dragged back to his cell. The hate in his gaze might have made a younger her flinch. I never wanted this, she wanted to shout back, but it wouldn't do her or his grief any good. Her sight shifted to the base of the tree, unblinking, two pairs of shoes hanging in her preferential vision.
"It's wasn't your fault." Gendry said quietly behind her.
"Not now." she breathed, sensing her needs she heard her old friend turn back toward the barn. Her eyes stared at the base of the old oak but instead she saw the tree of corpses she'd stumbled upon in the forest by the God's Eye. She'd been trying to rescue Gendry after his capture, looking up to see the rotten naked bodies half eaten from her spot in the leaves. What was left of the man glared down at her with only dark holes in place of his eyes, had her father's head looked like that after it'd been mounted on a spike?
Arya made her eyes move up, made herself confront the atrocities committed by the thing claiming to be her mother. Brienne's face was an ugly purple-blue, her eyes bulging and standing out against the new color of her skin. Podrick's once young face was now swollen, his eyes fixed on nothing as his mouth was stuck in his final gasp for breath. She swallowed the bile rising in her throat despite how much death she'd already seen.
She felt the presence of Nymeria and as she closed her eyes and she wanted nothing more than to fall into it, to run with the wolves and leave all this behind her. She pushed it to the back of her mind but not so far that Nymeria could no doubt feel the turmoil under her skin. Arya placed one hand on Needle's hilt searching for courage from anywhere she could find it. She walked toward the barn.
The windows left Lady Stoneheart's chambers washed in a pale blue light. It made her mothers skin look even paler and lifeless than in the dark, even her eyes glowed pale with death. "Arya, where have you been?"
"What have you done?" Arya was not a the little girl who owed her mother answers anymore. "You told me we'd discuss it!"
Her mother almost looked bored but Arya was starting to think reading her features was a waste of time, the half rotten skin made it impossible to know what the women was really thinking. "I told you we'd discuss it in the morning and you weren't here."
For half a beat guilt stole into her chest, but her rage shoved it out. "So you just went ahead and hanged them? A boy no older than Bran!"
"You've always had a loose tongue Arya but you're too old now for such insolence."
"Insolence?" Arya stalked around the table in the room to face her mother. "Have you just been hanging every person ever associated with the Frey's and Lannisters?"
"They're guilty!"
"Then you should you should be tying a rope for the both of us, you hosted them in our castle in case you forgot."
"You think me some kind of monster? They butchered Robb, murdered Ned and stole my daughters from me!"
"I know. I was there for all of it! When they threw father before the steps of Baelor. I was there. When the Frey's paraded Robb's corpse like a prize. I was there. You don't need to remind of their crimes! But what does killing Brienne and Podrick change?"
"You want to come here and remind me of my sins a fortnight after burning down an entire House? Tell me sweet daughter how many innocents died there?"
Arya felt her hands begin to shake, "And I feel worse than I did before!" tears stung her eyes. "It doesn't fix the past mother, it doesn't bring anyone back."
"No, but they'll lose what I've lost. I'll see to that myself." her mother turned away from her and Arya reached for her arm. The women whipped around so fast Arya only had time to blink as hands grabbed her throat and slammed her against the wall. "I won't hear another word of it, do you understand?" Arya coughed painfully, she'd not even enough breath to speak. Lady Catelyn's dead hands pushed harder when she didn't answer, fingers so cold they felt like icy vines choking her. "I am your mother and you will listen to me."
You're not. It was instinct to reach for Needle, instinct to pull the blade from her belt. Half a moments hesitation though gave the fingers the opportunity to tighten and she nearly dropped her weapon. With a heart of stone she drove her sword forward. Her mothers eyes widened, shock she thought, no matter how distorted her mothers features were she could read shock in the lines of the dead skin. She stumbled backward and Arya coughed in air with the fingers gone, sinking to the floor as her mother fell onto her knees.
Arya held her throat as if the icy hands were still there, shaking on the floor as her mothers eyes stared at her accusingly. "Arya..." it was hardly audible with her hands around Needle's hilt instead of the gash in her neck. The tiny sword was plunged into her mothers chest. With one last look of betrayal she fell backwards, a pool of black blood enveloping the wooden floor.
Chapter 19
Mercy
It hurt to breathe but she was still alive, for now anyway. The red eyes of death that had haunted her dreams would be a welcomed escape now. If she faced them maybe she'd see her father again, or Jon, but if her mother was there too...no, the stone floor underneath her would do. Her eyes stung for she kept them open. If she closed them, she'd see all the things she wished to forget. She knew the Kingslayer had been watching her, he called her name enough times, even things that were not her name. But all she could do was stare at the ceiling of their cell wondering if Lem would kill her by finishing the beating he'd given or by hanging her with the man calling her name. Besides all the external pain, it felt as though a thick cloud was submerged in her head. She placed a hand to her temple; the other was resting softly on her sore ribs.
"You're in shock I suppose." he was talking to her, he had to be, but it didn't feel like it. "When I killed the Mad King, the deed was done before I thought to do it. He turned around and the next thing I knew my sword was driven through his back. I don't how long I stood there over his body after he stopped chanting toburn them all...but eventually I sat down. That helped with the coming to grips with what'd done.
"I killed my honor when I killed him, at least that's the world thought. But I knew better, the blood on my sword saved more lives than it ended. Speaking of swords...I brought Joffery's with me. If we get out of here, or if you ever look at anything other than that ugly ceiling, it's yours. Why in the world would you want Joffrey's sword? I'm glad you asked. It's your father's, mine melted his down, forged it into two swords. Brienne had the other...Oathkeeper."
Jaime cleared his throat. "Joffrey named his Widow's Wail." he scoffed at that. "I imagine you'll give it a better name, it's right there. Oathkeeper too, I'm surprised these bastards aren't fighting over the Valyrian Steel…but might be they just want to torment me with the sight. They seem fond of that idea." A silence stretched on and she found she enjoyed it much more than his ramblings. "What I was trying to say before, you did the right thing, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."
Arya turned her head to look at him for the first time since waking up on the floor. He sat with his back against the wall, his beard more unkempt than ever and his emerald eyes impossibly dark in the dim light. "I stabbed my mother in the heart."
His eyes never left hers, "You stopped a killer from killing more people. It've been even better if you'd done it yesterday-"
"Stop talking."
"Brienne and Podrick would be alive, but I suppose you didn't know how much she'd lost it until she hung them."
"Shut up."
"You really couldn't have figured that out a little sooner?" Arya's hand reached for the first thing she found, a small stone and whipped it at Jaime's head. It flew between the bars separating them but he blocked it with his arm and looked back up with a triumph smile. "There, now you've moved an inch, why don't you try sitting up?" Ignoring his smug face, she pulled herself off the floor, a stabbing sensation piecing her ribs making her grind her teeth. Sliding back, she leaned against the opposite stone wall and faced him.
"What do you want Kingslayer?"
"You could call me Jaime for a start. I've no doubt you'd prefer Lady Stark, over say, Kinslayer? Oh, don't look at me with your murder eyes. We committed different crimes no doubt, but they carry a similar burden, wouldn't you say? No matter what, no one will understand why we had to do it."
"It doesn't matter, we're as good as dead down here so why don't you stop tormenting me?"
"If we are as good as dead, then I won't spend my last night here staring at a wall. And I don't mean to torment you, I only want you to understand."
"I understand what I've done, I understand every mistake I've made that led me to where I am. And I don't need you to help me justify my actions. I had my reasons."
"We all have our reasons" he muttered back, staring at the swords. "but no one gives a damn for them My Lady because they're your reasons and not theirs." he glanced back at her. "I want you to know that much."
"I know." she whispered, shivering from the cold breeze the tiny basement window offered. Arya held her knees to her chest, wishing for warmth and some sort of peace of mind.
"So, what will you name your new sword Lady Stark?"
Biting back a retort she looked up at the swords leaned against the wall. Oathkeeper was longer and wider than Joffrey's sword, his would fit her hand nicely and with the Valyrian steel it'd be light and easy to wield. She tried to feed off Jaime's distraction, but her mind was too cloudy. "I don't know."
The Lannister sighed, "Nothing, no ideas? Didn't your little sword have a name?"
"My brother was the one who named Needle."
"Robb?"
"Jon."
"Ah, your half brother."
"My brother."
Jaime only chuckled in a strained throat. "Right well, that one looked like a needle I suppose." he eyed the blades, shimmering dark red with only a single candle hanging by the door. "They look like they're already bleeding to me...how about the red fang? Or wolf fang, that'd be fitting considering."
"Lion's blood." she offered dryly.
"There's that sense of humor you Starks are known for."
Arya closed her eyes a moment, focusing on Jaime's question and not letting anything else fill her mind. "Mercy."
"Mercy…the world we live in could surely use some more." He agreed.
"Just so."
"You've no ideas on how to get us out of this?" Jaime sounded more tired suddenly.
"You're the one who had the escape plan before."
"Yes, but you're the mysterious assassin from across the Narrow Sea, you ended an entire House by yourself." Her heart sank at his words. "You do remember what you said? When you first saw Gendry and you both got into your little screaming match...stay out of my way or join the Freys in a pile of their own ashes. It was very dark and quite poetic."
"I..."
"Didn't mean it?" he raised an eyebrow.
She paused, but what was the point if they were both as good as dead? "I thought it'd make me feel better."
Jaime's laugh surprised her, he even coughed in the middle of a snort. "You thought mass murder would make you feel better?"
"After what they did to Robb and... Yes, okay? I thought their deaths would bring me some shred of peace. I was wrong."
His smirk faded, "A lesson better learned late I supposed, Cersei never learned it. She always savored whatever pain she could bring upon those she hated."
"But you loved her anyway." under his gaze she could see the pain the thought of her brought him, the betrayal, regret even.
"I loved her despite it all."
"How?"
"You love your siblings, don't you?"
"I think that was a little different." Arya resisted a crude smirk.
"What about Sansa? From what I recall you two didn't get along all that well, you're to tell me you didn't love her?"
"There were good times too." she said in a low voice.
"The last time you saw her, were you still in an argument?"
Arya nodded, thinking back to the last time she'd seen Sansa. Standing beside Joffrey and Cersei, her scream that had haunted her nightmares for moons filled her mind then. "I wish I could've said goodbye."
"Goodbyes don't make losing someone any easier. Besides, get us out of here and rumor has it she's sitting a little further North of here, your half-or brother or whatever, beside her."
"Rumor has it I married Ramsey Bolton too."
Jaime watched for an uncomfortably long moment, "why don't you want to believe they're alive?"
Arya pondered her answer a moment. "Have you ever had a dream that came true?"
"Do wet dreams count?" He grinned at her short glare, "No, I don't think so."
"I saw him die in my dream." She admitted.
"That doesn't make it true."
"I saw you push Bran from that window." That seemed to give him pause. "No one told me, I never heard it as a rumor or story, I saw you push him. I saw a woman with bleeding eyes and a heart made of stone too…Lady Stoneheart I suppose. Other things I didn't understand…But I saw Jon." She swallowed despite the tightness in her throat. "I saw him pulling a knife out of his chest."
After a long moment he pushed on "Do you often have dreams that come to pass?" she shook her head.
"This was the only one."
"And Sansa?"
"I never saw her."
"Then there's no reason to think she's dead, now come on, find us an escape plan."
"I don't have a plan."
"Some assassin you are." he nearly rolled his eyes.
"I never said I was! And I'm not."
Jaime didn't look very impressed as he fiddled with a piece of straw between his fingers. "Didn't you go and find a Jaqay, or Jaque? Someone must have taught you how to wield a sword, how to burn down a dining hall without getting caught."
Arya closed her eyes a moment, pushing away her annoyance at him and herself for ever speaking Jaqen's name. "I never found him."
"Jaycou?"
"Jaqen." she sighed, "I didn't...I never learned as much as he did. It'd have taken a lifetime to." her eyes scanned their cells, "Not that it matters now. Unless you can dig through these stone walls or bend those steel bars, no one is getting us out of here, not me and not a Jaqen."
Once a silence finally settled over them Arya relaxed, and thankfully there was only darkness under the lids of her eyes. No monster or nightmares, no future ideas or haunted memories. Arya only allowed herself to breathe in the stale scent of straw and her own dried blood. The shallow breaths of Jaime as he slowly let himself be dragged into sleep filled her ears, as did the odd creaking complaint the wood made about the cold. Rubbing her fingers over the thin sleeves of her shirt gave her mind a simple task to focus on, searching the thread for any stray strings. There were more than a few.
Sleep never reached her, even though every part of her felt as though it weighed more than the Seven Kingdoms. Even with the excessive weight of her eyelids, and her mind drawing oddly blank now, there was no true rest. She sighed into the darkness with eyes open. The candle by the door had burnt out, and Jamie she was sure was asleep. She'd no idea how late or early it was, and she'd never imagined a night could last so long…but she still had no idea how long it'd truly be.
Her head turned as the door opened slowly like a cautious wind, the dark broad shape of the person even more careful with his steps. Arya flinched at the light that burst in the room from the intruder's candle, the flame taking shapes as stars behind her eyes. She blinked them away and Gendry leaned over with a heavy smile. "Get up."
She got up. "Have you lost your mind? You're going to get yourself killed!" her rage was a barely contained whisper.
"You're the one who decided we don't leave people behind." He put down his sword and the keys sang softly as they were lifted from his pants pocket and chimed louder as he unlocked the space between them. An unusual bout of fear seized her and without warning, she dragged him into an embrace.
"Thank you." She wasn't going to weep, there was no time for it, there wasn't even time for their hug really.
"I'm glad you two have made up, but can we get on with the escape?" Jaime stood by his own cell door.
"You can forget abou-" Gendry shut up as she stole the keys from his fingers and began working them on the lock. "Arya…"
"Leaving no one behind." She whispered without looking up. They all knew enough not to raise their voices in argument, silently Gendry and Jaime armed themselves, and Arya picked up the shimmering sword that once belonged to Joffrey. Mercy was heavier than Needle was, and as the little sword came to mind, she wondered how she could get to it. The last she saw it was on the floor of Lady Stoneheart's chambers, upstairs and on the other side of the barn. She went to bite her lip then and was reminded it was already broken.
"Come on." Gendry led the way out the door and up the stone stairs. Her muscles screamed with refusal and her lungs seemed to scrape against her ribs, but she pushed onward. The stone steps would lead to the main room of the barn, and she'd no idea how many bodies would be spread out along the floor. The calculations started running through her mind.
Once the door was open there would be no chance the three of them wouldn't draw any attention. From her memory, the barrels would be lined up along their left side and not far past them would lie the exit, a side door. No doubt there'd be someone or a few someone's outside on watch, attempting to steal the horses wouldn't be an option. They wouldn't be leaving with clean swords and with every aching step she felt their inevitable deaths growing closer. Gendry glanced back as he stopped at the door and she could feel Jaime's presence behind her. His gaze asked if they were ready. Arya closed her eyes and breathed deep, searching for a warmth she prayed was close. After a moment she nodded. We just have to get out the door.
Time slowed in the chaos. Even though Gendry didn't just swing the door open someone glanced up from the shadows at their entrance, and halfway through his shout they were already halfway to the door. The dark shapes that were sleeping were stirring with the sudden panic, and she could hear the voices, "The prisoners!", "get up!", "Stop them!"
People tried to get in their way, but they didn't last, the first Gendry shoved away with a strong elbow, the second he used his sword. In a matter of bloody heartbeats, they'd made it to the door. Bodies shifted and steel was being drawn behind them. The icy wind hit her face as the door whipped open, but the clang of swords drew her attention back inside the barn. Jaime had just barely blocked a blow to the head and before she could do anything about it an axe was swinging her way. Arya moved swiftly, swiping her sword across her attacker's face with ease and using her other hand she grabbed the lantern still in Gendry's.
She slammed it into the head of the man who attacked Jamie, glass and sparks flying everywhere. Gendry was tugging on her arm, pulling her muscles and ripping her sleeve. Arya turned, A protest on her lips that she never spoke. "Run!" She'd never seen his eyes so wide with panic before, and he wasn't even looking at the swarm of people in the barn, but the tiny little flames that were now licking at the straw covering the floor.
Her old friend practically dragged her onward and somehow Jaime was following, but he stopped short to slam the door behind them. Using Oathkeeper, he struggled to place it in the rusted hooks to block the exit, delaying their pursuers if only for a moment. "JAIME, RUN!" Jaime was turning to catch up to them, but Gendry wasn't waiting, he tugged on her arm harder and Arya looked at him confused. They had no time to spare, no doubt, but they had enough time to run…
The ground roared beneath her feet and she flew forward, the trees spinning madly past her. The icy pile of snow filled her eyes and nose, and when she wiped it away the world around her was bathed in pale jade light. The sky cracked as if being ripped apart by some unimaginable monster and that was the last thing she heard. She turned her head, one hand to block out the blinding light above her eyes, green flames licked up at the stars and moon. The ground stood still after a moment, but the barn's structure was breaking. It filled the air with the acidic reek of the fire's wrath, the wind with the breath of a demon. She'd never seen anything destroyed so quickly, so fiercely. Where once the barn was, a burning mouth leading straight to the seven hells stood.
Gendry was struggling onto his feet and took her up with him. Yet even standing she was frozen, looking on with horror at the turmoil before her. Arya had seen Wildfire before, in small controlled areas, but she'd never seen it like this. Gendry's lips were moving but there was no sound, just a high pitch ringing. He pulled one last time and she followed.
She couldn't recognize it as Lem at first, but the dark shadows appeared out of the madness; A group of about a dozen men who'd been on watch, or maybe just taking a piss at the right time. They were rushing forward, steel in their hands. Arya saw Jaime stumbling behind her, unarmed. Lem was shouting something at her but she couldn't hear him, she couldn't hear anything. Despite the pulsating deafness, all the feeling of her previous injuries faded away and she sprang into action.
She loved the feeling of Mercy in her hands, she couldn't deny that, no matter how reluctant she was to spill more blood. Her mind was still processing the fact that she might have just lit another building on fire, processing all the people that had just been incinerated. The people who were dying even now, and how thankfully if they were screaming, she was none the wiser of it. Old Hawin who she hadn't really hated, little Lucas in search of another life, and Needle…Needle had been inside the barn too.
The violence was a familiar song, but she knew she was playing out of toon. Deaf and injured from a beating, weak from a moon of being underfed and more than a day without sleep. She fought hard, but it wasn't enough. After a swing, she saw Lem materialize behind Gendry. Arya opened her mouth, yelled a warning, but if he could hear her it was drowned out by something else. Even as she struggled toward him it was only in time to see the sword driven through the Smith's back. His blue eyes glanced down wildly to the tip of the long sword sticking out of his chest, only to look up at her, some helpless plea left on his lips.
"NO!" she screamed, desperate and powerless, and somewhere, maybe only in her mind, a direwolf howled. Jaime stood, dumbfounded by her outburst, he turned his head but probably only saw the hammer meeting his face. The half-starved Lannister fell to the snow, and for a heartbeat she stood paralyzed, unmoving for the first time in years when faced with foes. Gendry fell backward as Lem tore his sword in reverse, and where some enemies might wear a sinister triumphing smile on their lips, his pulled back in rage. Gendry's body was not the one he'd smile over, it was hers. The rage in his eyes woke her and Mercy was posed and ready somehow.
She screamed once more, running forward in a blind rage, not thinking of her odds one bit. Mercy was a flash of red and she hardly felt it when she struck the man closest to her, the one who'd attacked Jaime. Even as she turned, she'd no idea where she'd stuck him or if he was dead, only that it was Lem she wanted. Someone else stood in her way first, but she couldn't tell a single detail about him. The only thing about the man that registered in her mind was the crash of his steal against hers, the whisper of his sword tickling her arm, and fear in his eyes as Mercy granted him her only gift.
Lem was on her instantly, and she was dimly aware of how close she was to getting her head cut off. She was blind of anything that was happening, she was faced with a sword driving toward her and her body reacted as it was trained to. All she saw was the wild look in Gendry's eyes when he fell, Jaime's head hitting the ground. Her mind was split down the middle, on one side she was no one, she was empty, numbed by the terrible things that had happened. The other was burning hotter than the fire behind them, scorching with all the anger she'd buried for six years. The latter was the part wielding her father's sword.
They danced back and forth in the pale green light, for an hour or maybe only a single breath. The flaming monster behind them roared once more, bringing the barn to its knees and deafening bells smashing together once more in her ears. The ground shook in return and she tripped backward but regained her balance in a beat; half a beat too late. Mercy went flying from her grip and distantly she felt something crack, and Lem's fist flew toward her face but she didn't fall. His hand grabbed her and the other punched lower, but she didn't fall. The punch to her stomach stole her breath and was much too sharp. To say she gasped would be ill-fit, Arya found herself choking on the air, choking on her sudden chilling fear. "I-" her hand gripped Lem's arm, the other the faded yellow cloak on his shoulder, fingers clinging desperately to him, lest she fall.
"You what?" he spat in her face, no smile lighting the darkness in his eyes, only the fury from before. She was sure he was shouting but his voice was smothered by the pulsating in her head, barely a whisper. Her own eyes looked down, the steel glimmered green firelight between them, half disappearing into the far side of her stomach. She glanced back up at him lost in her attempt to comprehend what was really happening, dread creeping in and clouding her mind. His lips moved but couldn't hear him. He shoved her backward.
Arya somehow found the balance to fall on her knees rather than her back, and she noticed it was snowing. "When the snows fall and the white winds blow…" On her knees with one hand to the hole in her stomach, she gazed up at the man before her dully. He towered over her with his sword slowly being brought to touch her throat. "Stick em' with the pointy end!" The forest behind him was a blur of darkness flickering with the light of the fire behind them, and somewhere in the haze glowed two red eyes.
So this is it then. The thought was almost calming, her dream was true, and it was finally at an end. Arya swallowed her fear, determined to be undaunted in the face of death. She'd bore witness to it countless times, been the reason and the cause, the instrument; if death were a song then it'd been written in her blood. Vaguely she realized her appearance of courage only infuriated him more, his sword arm rose fast, and his mouth twisted painfully. Even despite the conviction she'd felt a breath before, she closed her eyes. The darkness hung thickly, and she breathed in the snowflakes that tasted like ash in her mouth, slowly, waiting, not sure if she was dead yet. The ringing in her head faded slightly and sound sneaked back into her senses, the crackling of the wildfire snapping behind her along with echoing screams and growls…
Hesitantly the lids of her eyes opened, and the pale light washed over the scene in front of her. There were wolves everywhere, any man left standing was falling under the wave of teeth and claws. Lem laid in the snow with his eyes staring blankly at the empty sky, blood smeared all over his face, teeth, his throat missing. Above her, the red eyes glimmered back at her with a bloody muzzle and a pink drooping tongue.
"Ghost" she breathed and the direwolf nuzzled its head to her neck, near knocking her backward. Any other time she might have laughed, smiled even, but the world was still spinning on its axis and she could hardly pet him in her disorientation. The fighting around her died down and hundreds of eyes glimmered around her, lean shadows slithering in the flicking light. "Ghost" she repeated dumbly, patting his head hesitantly.
The red eyes glowed back at her, his silence doing nothing to answer her questions. Arya attempted to wipe at her face, trying to wake herself from the nightmare she felt she was stuck in, but all she did was get her own blood in her eyes. Her hands were deep crimson, and her stomach and thighs felt like they were being soaked in warm water. Though she knew it wasn't water she couldn't let herself linger on the thought, instead she stumbled to her feet. Despite the weakness in her legs, she made it to Gendry with her sword by her side again. She collapsed in the snow beside him, heart in her throat.
"Gendry." she reached out for him, hands instantly covering the hole in his chest. "Gendry." his eyes widened with a deep blue gaze that was unfocused until it landed on her. He opened his mouth but choked, blood bubbling from his lips. "Don't, don't talk." she urged. And in the eternity of a moment, she took in his state. His blood nearly left a puddle at her knees, his skin paler than she had ever seen, and she could see the unwillingness of his lungs as he tried to breathe. Arya knew it didn't matter, that no matter what she did it wouldn't make a difference, she bit her lip.
"Arya..." his shaking hand reached upward, and she grabbed it, clutching it with both of hers as what was left of her hope burned faster than the wildfire.
"Gendry." She whispered his name, "I'm so sorry." She hadn't meant to cry, but she couldn't help it. "This is all my fault."
He shook his head, attempted a smile, "n-no." a wet cough. "You came...back for me...first" He choked again, unable to speak. Arya had no words for comfort, and he didn't need nor want her apologies. Knowing she was running out of time she fought back her tears with all she had left. Gripping his hand tightly, she hummed softly the only song that came to mind. She didn't sing the words, just the toon.
My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I'll lay you down, I'll dress you all in yellow silk, and on your head a crown.
His blues eyes closed slowly, half a smile on his lips.
For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I'll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword.
His fingers grip lessened, and he sucked in another ragged breath.
And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me.
Gendry never exhaled.
I'll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.
She sat in the cold bathed in the light of green flames, surrounded by smoke and carnage. The wolves howled in their victory, but she could only weep in defeat.
Please don't be dead. Davos was never one for praying, but right now he'd take his answers from anyone who'd listen. They could see the smoke over the trees for miles away, it led them through the gray morning. The snows flurried around them lightly but the smell of burnt wood and flesh was suffocating. Val walked beside him, cautiously as she stepped around a half-burned leg, who it belonged to, he'd never know.
"Davos." Val's voice was calm, "Is that her?"
Before the trees devoured the earth into the darkness, there sat a small clearing beside a smoking pile of wood and ash. It was littered with bodies, and there in it sat a girl. She was on her knees. Relief flooded his heart, he'd no idea what Jon would have done if all they found were her body, but it was undercut by the scene he was looking at. The girl sat beside a corpse, not a breathing man, her hands clutching one of his, head bowed. Then there were the wolves…there were three times as many of them as there were bodies, and he'd no doubt there were more.
Her hair was dark, like Jon's, and she was the only person seen alive. It has to be her. Davos approached her cautiously, stepping over bodies and lost limbs. The wolves glanced at him apathetically, the ones that were hungry already had plenty to feast on. When he stood not three feet from her, she didn't move, not even to look up at him. He placed himself on the other side of the body, kneeling slowly to reach her height.
"Hi." He spoke softly, "Arya?" Her eyes opened and she blinked as if waking up, she spared him a quick look before her gaze fell on the body. The boy had sharp features, and pitch black hair that seemed almost familiar. "My name's Ser Davos." Her dull eyes met his once more.
The girl's brow wrinkled slightly, "Ser Davos." she repeated, her voice a scratchy whisper. Her hair hung loose, falling a little past her shoulders, her face and clothes were covered in ash and stained with blood. Her head turned upward slightly and even with her eyes hovering over him, he wasn't sure she saw him sitting there at all. But Davos knew this had to be her, those were the grey eyes identical to Jon's. But her appearance was gut-wrenching. Her skin was too pale, half-dried blood sank down the side of her head and was smeared across her face, an angry red cut and been sliced across her left cheek, and one of her eyes were wrapped tight in a purple and blue bruise. "You were Stannis Baratheon's Hand..." her gaze fell on the body once more. "I heard your head was mounted on a spike."
"No one's executed me yet."
"Did you know him well...Stannis?" she asked.
Davos frowned, "I did, yes...bu-"
"Do you think he'd care to hear his nephew was dead?" the girl's eyes never met his but briefly glanced up as Val approached behind him, only to fall on the body in between them again. It occurred to him she was in some kind of daze, her eyes, though the dark grey he was looking for were glossy and her voice so low he could hardly catch her words.
He paused as his mind tried to connect what she as saying, "This is..."
"Robert's son...Gendry Waters." she confirmed quietly before the smallest of smiles crept across her pale broken lip. "You wouldn't believe the hell he gave me for having a lord as a father...and that whole time his was a king."
"You knew him well?" he asked gently, not wanting to push her.
"No...no we hadn't seen each other in years..." she coughed and grimaced slightly, bringing a palm to her throat and closing her eyes.
Davos studied her hands, one blood stained with a crooked finger traced the blue marks around her neck, the other still held Gendry's. "You're hurt." he stated stupidly.
Her voice was flat when she answered. "It's my fault." she said while looking him in the eye, possibly seeing him for the first time.
He cleared his own throat "You didn't kill him." he was sure of that much.
Her gaze cut right through him, "I did. I might not of have wielded the sword, but I lit the match." she looked at the lifeless hand in hers and placed it across the boy's stomach. "I killed him...I killed all of them when I came back here..." she coughed again, more painfully.
"Arya..."
"I should have forgotten Arya Stark like they wanted...I should have just let them kill me."
"My Lady, I can't imagine what you've been through..." The girl swayed slightly, and he reached over to grab her shoulder, but she grabbed his arm with an ice-cold grip instead.
"Don't." She was focusing on something he couldn't understand and then her expression changed, the softness of her sadness slipping away and hardening to iron. Her eyes flicked up to Val hovering beside him, to the men standing behind them watching the scene. Her hand reached for the sword he hadn't noticed, and she stood, and as she did all the wolves rose with her.
Davos stumbled to his feet, dozens of glowing eyes seeing him, his swift fear left him with his hands slightly raised. Whatever cloud had covered the girl's gaze was gone and it seemed she'd woken up from her grief. "What the hell do you want with me?" she asked with her sword pointed at his heart.
Blood, smoke, and cold clouded the air he breathed. His steps were almost as heavy as his heart as he stepped around a body, the man's throat torn out by some animal. Wolves. He knew it, he knew it a few hours ago when hundreds of them had cried into the night, making his stomach turn. The remainder of the barn was a pitiful pile of smoking ashes and blackened wood, some pieces still glowing green in the grayness of dawn. The bodies and limbs were laid all around, between trees and face down in the snow, and beside them, the eyes glowed back.
"Jon." Tormund's voice was laced with a caution he rarely heard from a man who'd run headfirst into battle with a bloodcurdling scream. There were countless eyes, leen shapes feeding on the bodies while others sat looking bored of the massacre before them. "I know your family likes making jokes about being wolves...but I don't think they'd agree."
He was right, Jon was sure, but he had to find her. But there was no one here, no one alive anyway, am I too late? Tormund's hand guided him gently back into the forest, "We'll go around and find Davos." he muttered, and Jon nodded in agreement, following the Wildling numbly and as quietly as he could. She still has the Needle you gave her. The letter echoed in his mind and his fear was cutting him apart on the inside. The thought of finding nothing but a small sword and a body was running through his mind on an endless loop.
The trees parted behind the barn to reveal a small clearing, bodies littered around, not many had been killed by the wolves, most just burned and thrown. But there was the rest of his group, there were Val and the other men standing in the snow surrounded by bodies and apathetic wolves. Jon's heart jumped to his throat when he saw the shape of her, sitting in the snow with Davos on his knees across from her, but he didn't miss the body laid between. He couldn't see her face, but he felt it was her. It must be her.
What had to be Nymeria and Ghost stood not far behind her, and he could see her still holding the hand of the body despite how lifeless he was. He searched for movement in the clearing, but the only things that stirred were the wolves. Before he had a chance to think the girl put the boy's dead hand down, saying something he couldn't hear. Davos reached for her, but her hand shot out and stopped him, and then she was rising to her feet, sword in hand. All the wolves stood as well, looking to her and the giant direwolf beside her for a command. Everyone but Jon took a step back, Davos lifting his own hands as if to prove he wasn't a threat. Jon didn't even realize he was walking toward them.
A blood red sword shimmered in the light of the dawn as the girl lifted it towards Davos. "What the hell do you want with me?" her voice was hoarse but dangerous, and familiar in an odd way. Always fearless. Davos's eyes shifted to Jon's, full of warning to be careful as a hundred wolves laid their eyes on them. Her wolves. Jon cleared his throat, trying to find words, anything. But she turned at the slightest noise and he froze, not a sound leaving his lips as her sword pointed at his neck.
He thought of the night Jeyne had shown up at Castle Black, how terrified and broken she'd been, and how he'd been grateful that Arya had never faced the wrath of Ramsay Bolton. But whatever had happened here he feared it'd been worse, for Arya stared at him blankly for far too long a moment. Almost as disturbing as the nothingness in her eyes was the blood; it was smeared across her face, her hands, her shirt, and her breaches. Other than the cut clearly stricken across her cheek, she could have been bleeding from anywhere and everywhere.
"Arya." he said her name softly and she blinked, the tip of the flaming sword slowly falling toward the snow. His heart was slamming inside his chest so hard he could hardly breathe, she was here and now he was terrified if he said the wrong thing, she'd run the other way, that; or the wolves would tear them all apart. He walked forward and she took half a step back, but Jon swallowed the heartbreak. Her stonewall was crumbling and he knew there was a war in her mind by tears that filled her eyes, her dark grey irises scanned him up and down.
"Jon..." his name was hardly a breath, all he could do was nod to confirm it. He walked forward, slowly and she didn't move away this time, but her eyes bore into him wide with fear and unshed tears. She was no doubt in shock, she didn't move but her sword dropped from her fingers as she stared at him, unblinking. A shame she is determined to think you dead.
"I'm right here." he whispered bringing his hands to her shoulders, giving her any warmth he could and fighting the urge just to pull her against him. She opened her mouth as if to speak but breathed in sharply instead, the movement causing the tears to fall down her cheeks. And as quick as a breath she fell against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. Her body shook in his arms as she cried, so hard tears of his own came crashing down his cheeks, and all he could do was hold her tighter. "I'm right here."
His words only left her shaking more, and he couldn't say how long it took for the crying to stop but he didn't move. Sniffling he buried his face in the nook of her neck, her dark hair tickling his face. She didn't smell like forest pines or Winterfell anymore, but like blood, ash, and death. He rubbed a hand soothingly along her back, knowing she must be catching her death out in this cold, wearing nothing but her long-sleeve and breeches. Eventually, she pulled back and Jon found himself lost in the grey storm of her eyes, so much older. But the cut on her cheek distracted him, as did the broken lip, the blood, bruises...if whoever did this still lived I-.
"Seven Hells." The mumble distracted them both and Jon saw one of the bodies moving. Arya stepped back and half fell to her knees when she bent beside the undead corpse, helping him sit up.
"I thought you were dead."
"You wish Stark." Jon blinked at the shape of Jaime Lannister and his little sister, somehow concerned for his well being. Jaime turned toward him, blood covered half the man's face from a gash on his head, he opened his mouth and hesitated a moment before speaking. "I think your brother might really be alive." Arya breathed out what could have been a laugh as she went to stand up, but it was cut short by a gasp of pain when she fell right back to her knees. Jon was down beside her instantly.
"Are you okay?" She leaned on his shoulder for support and held the side of her stomach as she bent over, eyes closed.
"Yes..." but her words were strained.
"Lair." Jaime accused and Jon knew he was right. Arya brought a hand to her mouth and choked on a wet cough, wincing as she did so. After a moment her dark eyes were fixed on a crimson palm, and her bloody lips muttered softly "Fuck…"