Chapter Nine: The Big Rescue

He was looking down at her from his perch at the top of the gates, probably trying to get a good look at her face. It was times like these when Arya was glad she was still able to pass as a boy, or at least remain somewhat androgynous. They'd been talking for quite some time already and she was growing irritated.

"What's your name boy?" He asked her at last, seeming to have given up on his eyes. She exhaled in relief. She was fairly sure he wasn't one of the guards she and the Hound had passed the day before, but there was always the chance.

Okay, a name, yes-a name,

"Jon, m'lord. M' name's Jon." She replied and hoped he didn't think she'd taken too long to answer. Jon was a good name wasn't it? Her brother's name. She wondered about him sometimes. Actually, she wondered about him often-mostly if he was still alive or not. She hoped so. Maybe she could go there, to the wall, and live in the far north with him, assuming he was, in fact, still alive and kicking. It would be better than running around aimlessly with the Hound, wouldn't it? Arya stopped herself in her thoughts.

"Jon, eh. Well Jon, you say you're squiring for them knights that just passed by, hm?" The guard seemed convinced...at least to her being a boy. She didn't know if he believed the rest. He wasn't opening the gates yet. She spoke up to answer him.

"Yes, m'lord, that I am. I just woke up a bit late, but if I don't catch up with 'em soon, I might lose 'em."

"That your horse?" The man asked, pointing to Stranger, who's reins she had clasped in her right hand. He'd been extremely difficult to wrestle into the bridle, and was still shaking his head vigorously up and down and side to side, occasionally rearing up on his hind legs. How on earth did the Hound manage to ride the beast like he did? She hadn't realized that Stranger was such a nightmare to control. That morning she'd been kicked to the ground three times by his flailing hind legs just trying to get around him. Her own horse, Craven, hadn't caused her any trouble, and was standing calmly on her left side.

"No m'lord. It's that big man's 'orse. 'Is name's somethin like Stranger I think. This one's my own." She gestured to Craven.

He stood there for a moment without saying anything.

Please let me through...

Arya fidgeted nervously with the hilt of her sword. She half wished that he were close enough for her to kill. The more time she wasted here, the more ground she'd lose between her and the captured Hound and the less time she have to create distance between her and Lord Baelish, who would most certainly be on her tail in a matter of hours, if not minutes.

She asked him again.

"Beggin' your pardon m'lord, but I really must be makin my way to the rest of 'em now. Think you could open the gates?"

The guard took another minute to stare at her. What was the problem?

Come on, you halfwit. Let me through-

"Oy, open em up then!" He called out at last to the others, and slowly but surely, the enormous iron gates began to crank open before her eyes.

Finally.

Arya couldn't help a smile. She'd done it. She'd gotten herself out to the Eyrie, relying solely on her own wits and a clever disguise. She mounted Craven and ushered him towards the opening gates, pulling Stranger along side. That smile she wore faded as soon as she heard a voice behind her call out, "Stop that girl!"

She veered around and gasped. Riding swiftly on horseback across the bridge headed straight for her was her own bloody uncle, Lord Peytr Baelish. He was just one man, but his word was command and his commands were obeyed and so the gates, now half open, were beginning to close again. She turned back around, heart racing, and kicked Craven to a canter. She'd make it through the gates yet.

"Girl?" The guard from the perch shouted out, she assumed to Littlefinger. Apparently that was something shocking.

Not all girls wear dresses and ribbons in their hair.

"Yes, yes she's a goddamn girl! Now close the bloody gates! She's getting away!"

He was getting closer.

They were just a few feet away from the gates now. Just a bit closer-and then she felt a sharp tug in her right hand. Stranger had conveniently stopped dead in his tracks-the stubborn fuck-and was now pulling back on her, shaking his head side to side. The opening between the gates was fast becoming smaller and smaller. Arya's stomach sank.

"Seven hells Stanger, now's not the fucking time!" She hissed at the big black beast and tugged hard on his reins. He kicked up on his hind legs, nearly yanking her off her own saddle. She let go so as not to fall off her horse. Turning back to the gates, she saw that they were nearly closed. A wave of panic and adrenaline washed over her and she brought Craven to a full gallop. She wasn't going to give up now. If she could just make it through the opening...

"Stop her! Arya Stark!" She heard Peytr practically scream at her. A tiny smirk crossed her face at her knowing she'd gotten the better of him.

Goodbye Peytr.

3...2...1...

The sound and reverberation of the heavy metal doors clanging shut behind her made Arya's teeth knock together. She didn't look back. If they were going to follow her, she needed a decent head start. Her little smirk soon turned into a grin and then into a wild laugh as she felt the cold wind nipping at her nose and cheeks while Craven flew them both further and further down the dirt road, away from the Bloody Gates and the bloody Eyrie, her heart still beating rapidly. But she'd done it. Thank the gods, she'd done it.

Three days she'd been following their trail as best as she could manage. She never got close enough to hear or see them, but she followed their tracks continuously, only bothering to stop at night for rest. And it was only at night that she got close enough to see their fire, though she was never close enough to be warmed by it. In the mornings she would wait until a half hour had passed since they'd left before she made her own way after them. The riding, for the most part, was easy. They kept more or less to the main road, having nothing to hide from fellow travelers. There weren't many other travelers on the road thankfully for her. Any they did happen to pass seemed harmless and friendly enough, but Arya still couldn't help but tense up every time anyone nodded to her or muttered a "good day" in her direction. She may have dressed as a boy, but she now admitted to herself that she no longer really looked the part, especially not up close. Arya knew well enough that the only things keeping her looking like a boy were her dirty clothes and her short hair. Everything else about her had somehow become undeniably feminine. She hadn't expected that. It just seemed the only way she'd ever been and the only way she could be: a plain, boyish little girl. She'd proved herself wrong, so now she always kept her knife close by (as if she didn't before) and, of course, needle was always at her hip. She would take no risks while travelling essentially alone. Having the Hound beside her had suddenly become an idea that she quite fancied. But she'd have to rescue him first.

The weather was favourable for them. A bit chilly at times, and the nights were cold without fire, but the god's had been kind...that is, until the fourth night. The fourth night it poured.

She hadn't been asleep for long when it began to rain. At first it was just a drizzle, and she pulled Sansa's petticoat over her head to keep her face out of the rain, but not long after, the drizzle became more like a shower, and then she heard thunder.

Please no.

A storm was coming.

Within minutes of hearing that first thunder clash, the rain picked up until it poured down on her furiously, soaking all of her clothes and chilling her to the bone. She had almost nothing around her to use for shelter, save a small nook made by a rather large root from the tree nearest them that jutted out of the ground. It was just big enough to cover her head and shoulders, but it was better than nothing, so she quickly crawled into it and turned over onto her back, leaving her legs and most of her torso to stick out the bottom as the rain was now pouring down in buckets. Lying down in discomfort, Arya peered out past her soaking wet feet and through the bushes to the others' camp . She could see their fire dimming. They'd be without it as well tonight. With that thought, she smiled slightly-happy they'd probably be having just as rough a time as she was. She closed her eyes and forced herself to rest, despite the chattering of her teeth.

Morning didn't come quickly. The storm lasted nearly the entire night. Arya had almost frozen to death and her sleep was a restless one. She was wet and exhausted and she felt a bit sick. She'd probably cought cold. But it was time to move again, so Arya forced herself to get up and moved nearer to the camp to see if they had already gone. She crouched down almost to her hands and knees and moved slowly and silently through the brush until she was as close as she could manage to get herself to the camp, which happened to be behind a bush quite close to their fire pit. To her surprise there was also a fire. They hadn't gone after all. In fact, they were all still sitting around it. Why hadn't they left yet? Arya paused. She listened. There was something strange about the situation. No one seemed to be talking...or moving for that matter. Then she noticed the blood. Gods, they were all dead.

A large pair of boots walked in front of her view and stopped. She couldn't see the rest of the man wearing them, but his voice was as good a hint as any.

"Whoever is little shit hiding behind the bushes, if you don't come out in the next five seconds, I'm coming in there and I'm cracking your fucking skull."

I'll get into Sandor's POV next chapter just to fill you guys in on what exactly happened here lol. I'm also thinking of doing a few Sansa POV chapters...what do you guys think? Is it something you'd want? I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I had fun writing it :)

-OW