Part 9: Winterfell – The Direwolf Rebellion (Gendry)
As the red viewer vanishes, taking with it the last glimpse of Arya, a sense of shock reels through the District. The dome over Winterfell disappears. The Red Woman is gone, and with her, her power.
'Arry!' She can't really be gone. She can't, she was my best friend. I know they'll have killed her. She was about to win…
I hear Rickon asking Lady Stark why. Why Arya didn't finish the Games. I hear Sansa whisper "Why did she throw her life away?"
And suddenly I understand. The thought of that look on her face tells me, makes me see the chance she's given us. The Red Woman's power is gone. A few outnumbered guards are all that stand between us and… freedom. There's anger enough here in Winterfell, has been since Greyjoy's death. He was killed for hesitating to kill a child. This District is at boiling point.
Arya, with her strength and her courage, was the spark to light the fires of rebellion. Now all it needs is someone to stoke the flames.
Robb is beside me, still staring at the spot where his sister vanished. There isn't time to explain; the guards will snap out of their trances soon and corral us back to our homes. It has to be now, and it has to be quick.
I turn my head and, so he'll understand, I murmur, "For Arya."
He meets my gaze for a second, frowning, confused, and then I tackle the nearest soldier. The man has armour on but no helmet; it's easy to grab a piece of wood, pin him to the ground and knock him out. As I get up the soldiers begin to stir, startled, and then Robb and Jon catch on. They attack the first two who go for me and then the whole District's in chaos. Everyone's fighting. I steal a sword from the soldier I knocked out and engage another. I've never trained in sword fighting, but there's something instinctive about it.
From the corner of my eye I see Lord and Lady Stark bundle Sansa, Rickon and Bran over to the wall and join the fight. Lady Stark never trained in fighting either, and she's a product of the old world where ladies were gentle and protected, but she's fierce. She might have been a Tully by birth, but she's a she-wolf now. She steals a sword from a fallen soldier and throws herself into the fray. Rickon starts throwing stones at soldiers, and soon even Sansa is doing the same – Sansa, who is the opposite of Arya, probably the most gentle, ladylike person I have ever met.
The soldiers are outnumbered and faced with desperate people, but they have armour and we don't. The fight begins to turn. The yard of Winterfell's keep is littered with bodies, soldiers and northmen alike. The soldiers are no longer in shock. We might lose this yet.
Bran suddenly breaks away from Sansa and runs for the keep. Can't blame the kid for hiding. He's only eleven, and Rickon was always the fiercer of the two. Suddenly, though, Bran's running out again. What is he doing? In a brief respite from the fight, I see six huge shapes emerge from the darkness of the great keep. Bran's released the direwolves.
They bound into battle and rip into the soldiers. Armour is no protection against those great jaws, and the wolves move faster than swords. Ghost is a mass of white bearing down on every guard in his path until he can get to Jon's side. Grey Wind moves faster than the eye can see. Lady manages to be graceful even as she tears out throats. Summer takes to Bran's side, twisting and snapping, and Shaggydog is like a great black demon as he fights. I fell a soldier and hear a snarl behind me, followed by a scream. I turn to see a soldier who was about to take my head off fall to Nymeria's jaws. She regards me with bright golden eyes, and stays by my side for the rest of the fight.
Thanks to the wolves it's nearly over now. I spot a soldier making for the gate. I grab a bow and scramble onto the makeshift stage. The man's lost his helmet and gorget. I'm not a great shot and my arrow only grazes his ear, but it's enough to draw Grey Wind's attention. He and Shaggydog finish the soldier off together. No-one can be allowed to carry word back to King's Landing. The longer it takes Aerys to realise what's happened, the stronger we'll be when he sends his soldiers for us.
The fight's over now. All the soldiers are dead. The people of Winterfell turn from that last dead guard to me and I realise I'm still standing on the stage. They're waiting for me to say something. Damn it, I didn't start this, not really. What in seven hells am I supposed to say?
As Nymeria pounces up beside me I catch Lord Stark's eye. He's the one who makes the speeches. To my relief, he takes the stage beside me. I try to slip away, and he catches my shoulder, keeping me beside him. Nymeria sits proudly at my side.
"This is only a small victory." Lord Stark begins. "But if all the Districts take the same chance we did, then it will be first of many. Westeros will soon be free." A cheer goes up. "This day does not just belong to us. It belongs to Arya Stark, my daughter."
I feel my eyes prickle at her name. I force back the tears. There'll be time to grieve properly later, when I'm alone in my hut in the Refuge.
Lord Stark must notice somehow, because he squeezes my shoulder sympathetically before he continues. "She has saved lives here for years. Many of you wouldn't be alive without her and Gendry. We could never admit it aloud before, but we all know it to be true."
"Hear, hear!" someone yells.
"Now she's given us all a chance for freedom and life. She sacrificed herself to give us this chance. We owe her everything. And she will never be forgotten."
No, she won't. I'll make sure of that.
A voice rings out and a sword lifts into the air. "Arya Stark!"
Another voice adds, "The Wolf of Winterfell!"
Suddenly a thousand voices are raised in salute and farewell. A thicket of swords and spears has sprung into the air. Nymeria lifts her muzzle and howls, and the other five wolves take up the call. I lift my own sword, but my voice breaks and comes out as a whisper when I speak her name. I lift my face to the sky, where drifts of snow are falling.
I learned to read Arry's face years ago, as hunters have to so they can communicate silently. In that last moment I read her thanks. Did she know how grateful I am to her? I owe her everything. Without her, I'd still be a lonely boy struggling to catch enough food for myself, never mind feed the rest of the District. I wish I could tell her, make sure she knew.
The ache of losing her is really starting to set in now. Despite what she said, I always knew she had a chance to win. I hadn't let myself believe she wouldn't come home. Now the bitter truth is like a knife. She was my best friend. My mother died before I came to Winterfell and I never knew my father. Arry was all I had. It's so hard to accept that she's gone, that I'll never see her again. It's harder still to hold back the tears.
The only thanks I can give her now is to remember her, and to finish what she started: the Direwolf Rebellion.