AN: Alright, this is going up today in honour of the Joe Dempsie sighting in a Belfast airport. WHO ELSE IS SHAKING?!
FIVE; Arya
"Cersei, the Mountain..." She stared at the low hanging moon with her knees drawn up to her chest and sighed. It came out as a puff of white air, reminding her so strongly of her home that her heart ached. You could always see your breath in the north. The nearer she strayed, the colder it got.
Her hands were pale, and crusted with blood. In her hands was the hilt of her prized blade; her one solid memory of Jon. Of home.
But Jon was dead.
Jon was gone as he never should have been.
It was like being the Mouse of Harrenhal all over again.
She felt small and insignificant amongst the Brotherhood, though they listened to her all the same, sometimes. The called her 'Princess,' and 'Lady,' but Arya knew she was none of those things. She was No One.
Or perhaps she was Arya Stark again. She had told Walder Frey her name, after all. She had re-claimed the name of Arya of House Stark once more, but she was not sure if that truly made her Arya. None of that gave her back such a willful spirit, which she had been stripped of. None of that restored her wolf's blood, which had been beaten out of her. None of it gave her back her pack, which had been slaughtered.
It had taken so long to truly become No One, after all.
"We are coming upon the Trident," Beric told her, hands on the reins of his horse as he pulled up tightly. He looked worse for wear; skin marred and blistered, eye-patch frayed so much she could see the edges of his scarred socket, and skin glistening with sweat. He smelt, too. How many times had he died? Was it the smell of death that lingered there?
Arya felt like Arya when she turned to the Hound. "Maybe we'll find the spot where you murdered a defenceless boy," she said, measuring her tone just so.
The Hound rolled his eyes. He looked different from how she remembered him; he no longer wore armour, and he looked cleaner than he had. He was still the worse shit in the Seven Kingdoms as far as she was concerned, though.
"Maybe I'll finally be rid of you, there," the Hound retorted easily.
Arya did not reply. She was too busy trying to suppress the sudden quivering feeling in her gut — a sort of excited twisting — which felt all too familiar and warm and wonderful. She shoved it away, unsure, as they approached the rushing red waters of the Trident — which had come into view as they rounded the bend in the road. Arya stared at the sparkling surface, frowning. Once she had thought the place to be pretty. Now it was only a reminder of what she had lost.
Arya dismounted with the others. She tied her horse to the trunk of a nearby tree and approached the rushing river. She washed her hands off in the water, scrubbing away what remained of Walder Frey's blood, and the dirt she had acquired from her travels. She splashed her face, as well.
Beric knelt beside her. "How are you fairing, my princess?"
"Don't call me that," she snapped.
"My apologies," Beric picked the dirt from beneath his fingernails. "I thought perhaps with your brother being King—"
"My brother is dead," Arya told him fiercely. I am Arya Stark. I have to be Arya Stark again; a wolf. A fighter. Remember remember remember... "Robb died a long time ago. You know that."
"I am not talking about Robb."
Her head shot up. Suddenly all she could hear was her heart; pounding against her chest. There was no river, no Beric.
Only snow.
Falling softly, so white and crisp. And there was Father, mounting his destrier. And Sansa beside him, wearing a cloak of pale blue, her cheeks flushed from the cold. And there was Robb, grinning up at her with snow melting in his hair.
All was silent. No whinnying of horses, no laughing, no noise. Only a calm, peaceful serenity that belonged only to the wolves of her pack. All the same she was shaking, not from the cold — never from that — but from fear. From anticipation. She'd never set out so far from home before.
Her eyes found Jon, standing at the railing above her, smiling. She remembered Needle in her trunk and smiled back.
The silence did not last. It never did.
Beric was watching her carefully. Assessing her. She'd suspected he knew something was different about her, when she'd told him it was her who killed Walder Frey. His worry had lessened when she explained why, though.
"Bran?" She asked, hoping.
"Not Bran, either."
Arya balled her fists. "Rickon, then," she said. It has to be him. They would never crown a bastard as their King. Only, Jon isn't just a bastard; he was Robb's brother. He's my family. There was that longing, again. That hurting, only eased by the memories of him mussing her hair, of giving her Needle, of calling her 'little sister.'
Fear gripped her in the seconds it took for Beric to speak again. "Not him, either," he told her quietly.
Her eyes widened. Jon. Jon is alive. Those stupid people at the inn said he'd died! She'd carried that burden with her for days, until the Brotherhood found her again. Or she found them, more like. All the same, she'd cried herself to sleep that night, and dreamt that she was Nymeria for the first time in weeks. She'd been so close to her pack...
"Are you sure?"
For the first time in months, there was hope in her voice. A forgotten lightness that startled the both of them.
Beric nodded. "Word has spread all throughout the seven kingdoms," he said. "I am surprised you did not know."
Arya almost choked. She turned to the Trident, watching the water rush. It was so much colder than it had been the last time she was here. Soon it would start to freeze. Winter was here.
"How did it happen?" She asked.
Beric hummed. "There was a battle," he said. "Your sister's husband, Ramsay Snow, was murdered, some say. Others say he fell in battle. Others say he still lives, in the skin of another. Your brother himself, some claim."
Sansa had married a man like that? Or, more to the point, Sansa had married again at all? What for?
"Is she alive?"
He knew what Arya meant. "So they say."
Arya pushed upward. The sudden movement must have startled him, for he leaned backward. But she had to get away from him; she had to think. Her eyes prickled. She could feel tears forming. Ashamed, she turned away and walked steadily toward the trees.
Once far enough in, she leaned against a maple trunk and cried for the first time since Robb and Mother had died. They're alive. The both of them. My pack. My home is safe... I can go home...
Before she had wondered whether or not it would be safe for her to return to the North, but now she knew there was no threat. It was better than travelling with the Brotherhood, after all. Better than a wasteful journey to King's Landing to kill Cersei Lannister.
Arya wiped her eyes, shaking. She had to get to them. She had to go back north. Jon was her home. And her sister, of course. If she loved her at all anymore. Suddenly all of those insecurities from her childhood came flooding back to her in one go.
Sansa had hated her, she remembered. Let Jeyne Poole call her 'Arya Horseface' and teased her about her crooked stitches. None of those things mattered, anymore, really; Arya had forgiven Sansa for that long ago.
But had Sansa forgiven her?
Jon would have. Even for chopping up Walder Frey's sons and cooking them in a pie, he would forgive her. He had given her Needle for a reason; to fight. To get stronger. To kill if she had to.
Not if I wanted to, a little voice in the back of her head whispered.
She shook it away. Jon loves me best of anyone, she thought defiantly, gripping her leathers so tight her knuckles turned white. He loves me and he'll take me back. He's my brother. Even Beric says so.
"Arry?"
Oh.
Her head snapped up, and her eyes met his own. She knew him. He was there. How could he not be? The stupid, stupid Bull...
He looked worse than she had ever seen him, even when they had been traveling through the Riverlands together, covered in dirt and soot and surrounded by enemies. Now, there were shadows under his bloodshot eyes, and his knuckles were white, and his chest was heaving as they stared at one another.
"Gendry," she whispered. She'd never been more relieved in her whole life.
He glared down at the ground, instead of her, with his fists balled. "Beric told me you'd run off," he said. "I was worried, so I—"
He wasn't able to say anything more. How could he, with her lips covering his own? She pulled him close — closer than anyone had ever been in so long — pressing his body against her own and slipping her arms around his neck. Her fingers ran through the end of his hair, which was damp from sweat but soft.
He hadn't expected that, but he responded with equal enthusiasm; wrapping his arms around her waist and straightening so that her feet couldn't even touch the ground any longer. Then he pressed her to the same tree trunk she'd been crying at a moment earlier.
It was a wonderful moment. She hadn't believed such things could exist, and not without being gross or stupid, but here was this pulsing in her stomach that made her want so much more, and disappointed when Gendry pulled away.
They were both panting.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—"
"Oh, gods, you're still an idiot," she shook her head, utterly exasperated. She'd hoped he still wouldn't be such a stupid. But he must have been. All the same, she stayed close to him, warm in the stomach and weaving her fingers through his messy black hair, still.
Gendry didn't move, either.
"Why did you go with her?" They both knew what she meant.
"I just wanted to... To be seen as more than a bastard apprentice, Arya." His eyes met her own. They were blue like crystals. "Can you believe that?"
"Maybe," she shrugged. "It's still the dumbest thing you could have done. Not being more than a bastard — that's not what I meant." She squeezed him best she could, which was not much given how broad and muscular he was. Gods above... "I mean, you shouldn't have left me. You shouldn't have gone."
He bit into his lip. "I know that. I'm sorry." After a pause, he asked, "Why are you kissing me if you're so angry?"
Her eyes widened. "I never said I was angry!" Flushing at his growing smile, she added without hesitation, "I was angry, but I'm not anymore. I left, too. And I... Could have done something different." She could have gone to Robb, instead of running away, and ordered him to send men after Gendry. Ordered him to be found.
But she hadn't. "I'm sorry."
He stared at her silently for another moment, and then the softest of kisses was given. Even that sent shivers up and down Arya's spine. "I don't want you to be sorry," he told her firmly. "And I don't want to be sorry anymore, either."
"You're so stubborn," Arya exclaimed, frowning.
Gendry laughed. "I'm stubborn?" His head cocked in that way it did when he was both mocking and curious. Arya gave in to the instinctive aching in her belly and pulled his lips down to hers, again. She was still mad, she knew; deep within she was still furiously angry, but he tasted like salt and smoke and berries. She nipped his lower lip lightly.
It took a while for her to succumb to the need for air. Her need for him was greater. His skin was warm, and he held her in a rough way that didn't hurt at all. Suddenly she realised what it was she was feeling.
"I'm going to ask you again," she said breathlessly. "This time you're not allowed to say no."
Gendry grinned. "Go on, then."
She swallowed, and then forced the words out. "Let me be your family?"
"Wouldn't have anyone else," he said softly. She smiled a true smile and peppered his face with kisses, the last one firm on his lips and burning them both.
She would have stayed there forever, if not for the growl that interrupted the both of them.
There, standing in the shrubbery — golden eyes and grey fur — was her wolf. The very same wolf that she had dreamed of, whose presence it must have been that she had sensed. Gods, she was massive. As big as a filly, Maester Luwin had predicted once.
It was indeed true.
She approached them, and somehow Arya could feel the great trepidation of her direwolf - through an unspoken bond, their nervousness connected into one steady flowing of anxiety. Her wolf stalked them; paws not making so much as a slight sound upon the leaf-ridden mulch. Arya's throat clenched. Her blood ran hotter than it had in ages. Gendry pulled away and stepped in front of her, stupidly drawing his sword.
Nymeria still did not make a sound. Arya tried to convey to her that Gendry was not a threat. There was a long and tense moment, where Gendry was panting and Arya was clenching her fists and thinking so loudly she worried she might truly be yelling. Thank the Gods, it worked; Nymeria's molten eyes flickered from the blade to Arya, and then her head titled innocently.
"Get help," Gendry ordered.
Arya blinked, suddenly realising where she was and what was happening. She locked eyes with her wolf, whom she had not seen since Nymeria was a pup, and rushed forward. Gendry called after, grabbing at her arm, but she was too quick. She had always been too quick.
Arya threw her arms around her wolf's neck. "You came back for me," she whispered into her soft, wet pelt.
They spent the next two hours talking to one another, before Thoros came to fetch them both with an amused grin and stupid, rude questions. Nymeria had gone by then, with a promise in her eyes that she would return as soon as Arya said the words.
It hurt Arya to part with her wolf, even if it was only for so long, but all the same... She hated the ripping feeling that tore her soul in two.
At least she had Gendry.
And Jon. And Sansa.
She was doing this for them. It was all for them.
They sipped with the Brotherhood, eating watery stew and roasted rabbits. Arya was starving. She tore into the meat with her teeth, juices flowing across her tongue. Damned brotherhood could make even a rabbit taste good.
The entire meal through she thought about her plan. She thought about her brothers. Her sister. Jon always stood out the most, though. Jon's smile. Jon's laugh. Jon's voice, calling her back home in her dreams...
Gendry gave her the rest of his broth with an amused smile, having seen how she devoured the rest of her food. She thanked him, wanting even kiss him for it she was so hungry, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Night fell. Arya waited.
Finally the first howl sounded. No one seemed all that concerned; it was far off enough and there were plenty of wolves around. Probably the brotherhood was used to it.
The second came. The Hound kicked a log into the fire with a scowl. "Fucking animals," he muttered.
The third, this one much closer. Make them howl, she had told Nymeria, come when night falls. Anticipation gripped her. She moved closer to Gendry and rested a hand on Needle's hilt.
Another one. This time, Arya was sure that it belonged to Nymeria. Her wolf. She fought a smile, eyes darting to the tree line where she could see two glowing, golden orbs. Beric rose, and so did Thoros.
Nymeria broke through the bushes, slow but strong. She had a grace that Arya had learned to discover within herself, and though it wasn't exactly perfect, her size made up for it.
There was a sharp shink as dozens of blades were drawn. "Get back, lads!" Beric ordered, but Arya stepped forward instead, letting go of Gendry's hand.
No less than twenty wolves broke through the tree line, all snarling and growling. Arya stepped to the centre of the brotherhood, who had now broken apart from fear or intelligence. Beric shot her a look; it is not safe.
It is for me, she wanted to say. But he wouldn't understand. Not yet.
Anguy nocked an arrow. He aimed steadfast at the head of a small grey pup. Outraged, Arya whirled around. "Nymeria," she commanded of her direwolf, voice sharp as a whip crack. Nymeria acted.
No man had ever outrun one of Anguy's shots before. But her wolf was no man. She was a beast to be reckoned with; a soft streak of fur and meat.
In that moment, Grey Wind lived again.
The arrow snapped in her sharp, bloodstained teeth. Anguy stumbled back from either shock or humiliation. Arya couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face, but it died with Beric's next words.
"Attack!" He ordered.
They all readied their weapons. No. No! Don't they see? How do I make them see? Arya hastily stepped forward, with her back to the wolves. "DO NOT ATTACK."
They froze at once, swords dipping. Arya's breath caught when every eye in the camp fell on to her. But then she thought about Lady Crane, about how she had done better with twice this many people looking at her all the time.
You could be an actress, she had told Arya.
The wolves were all around her. Circling her and howling. She raised Needle, and her chin, addressing the Brotherhood properly. Even the Hound looked shocked. "You call me your princess," she said loudly, above the pack's noise. She shouted, in fact. "You call me your lady. And yet, how can I be princess when I am not home? How can you be soldiers when you are not serving your King?"
Nymeria brushed her fur against Arya's back. "Come north with me," she ordered. "The ravens have flown! Winter is here and with it come our enemies! Will you let them come any farther?! Will you let them destroy what remains of us?!"
With a roaring outcry they raised their swords. "Princess of Winter!" They yelled. "Wolf Queen! Lady of Ice!"
Her eyes found Gendry, who had raised his sword as well and was grinning at her. She had never been more proud to bear a title.
AN: And here we have chapter 5!
Review, if it pleases you, my lords and ladies!
Much love! xx