DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING AT ALL, RIGHTS TO GRRM AND HBO
Hiya my lovelies, hope you're all well, I just saw the season eight teaser trailer, and honestly HBO? Unimpressed. We've been hanging on for a loooooooong time for this, we deserve more than fog floating across a 3D map. Has anyone else seen that meme? With Ygritte being like "You show nothing, HBO,"? Pretty funny lol. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, it wasn't hugely eventful I get that, but it was, as the Italians say, importante'... actually, they probably don't but you get me. So recently I have been flicking back and forth between characters POV but the majority of the story will be from Arya's perspective; there will be bits that aren't, but only really if its a scene that she's not in and its vital, but from this point on, it will mostly be Arya. Hope that is all good! Anyway, I shall stop wittering and just get on with the actual writing you all pay me for... well, no one pays me anything actually, but you know what I mean! Anyhoo, hope you enjoy, as always review, review, review! Over and Out xoxoxox
Gendry had to admit that the feast was good; the Northerners were seldom jolly, but their feasts more than made up for it, though they had a completely different atmosphere to Southern ones. Not that Gendry had attended a huge amount of feasts. Gendry stifled a smile as Tom O' Seven pulled a pretty young serving girl into his lap, his hand up her skirts. The girl clearly didn't appreciate it, and in her efforts to get up, sloshed her jug of ale on him, causing him to jump up, wiping it from his eyes. Gendry sent Jon a subtle look to see if he disapproved of Gendry's men's conduct, and concealed a sigh of relief; rather than disapproving, the king appeared quietly amused by the proceedings, hiding a smile behind a goblet of wine- even if Sansa did not appear so impressed, with a quiet frown of disapproval gracing her face. Gendry would have been happy to allow his friend to become increasingly drunk, would even have enjoyed the hilarities that would have ensued, but not wishing to upset his host, he sent Anguy a subtle look, and signalled that he take Tom outside. Anguy nodded, and stood up, all but dragging Tom from the hall, whacking him over the head when he stopped to sing a song that Gendry immediately recognised as an extremely bawdy one.
The night was coming on late, the moon high in the sky, and Gendry found himself to be growing impatient with Arya's continued absence. He had expected her to at least be at the feast, though he supposed he couldn't really blame her, seeing as she had no idea it was even happening- though he suspected that she still wouldn't have come even if she had. Every time he thought of his bride, Gendry felt a surge in his stomach, of excitement or nerves he didn't know. What if she didn't even recognise him after all of this time? Gendry wasn't the fourteen year old boy that she had first met all those years ago, nor the sixteen year old that she had run from either. Gendry wondered what she looked like now; when he had last seen her she had been a scrawny eleven or twelve year old, wearing raggedy old boys clothes, with lice and scrapes and bruises, no shoes and a jagged hair cut. Gendry had no idea what to expect; he had heard fables of her beauty, but he couldn't picture it- the girl he had known was still too young to call beautiful, and odd looking, especially with her haircut and everything else to boot. However, he had no doubt that she still preferred men's clothing over women's. Gendry covered a smile as he remembered that night at Acorn Hill- when she had been forced into that dress, and had said she looked like an oak tree with all of the acorn decorations on it. Gendry had thought that she looked nice, even if she did look different.
It wasn't long before the feast ended and the dancing began; Gendry was glad he had sent out Tom O'Seven when he had. Gendry was watching from the table, nursing a glass of wine, when Sansa sashayed over to him, smiling gently.
"What is it, Gendry?" She asked teasingly. "You won't dance with anyone besides your bride to be?"
Gendry shook his head smilingly. "Well, I shouldn't like to offend anyone with my dancing, Sansa," he said. "Besides, I'm still waiting for Arya to arrive."
Sansa gave him a sad little smile. "Gendry... I know that you must be disappointed that she isn't here, but I'm sure that once she knows you, she'll warm up to you."
Gendry took a bitter swallow of wine. "She did know me once," he said quietly, "a long time ago."
Sansa raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem hugely surprised. "You knew each other? Before?"
Gendry nodded tersely. "We were on the run together; after your fathers execution Arya pretended to be a boy, and travelled North with the Nights Watch; Yoren was going to take her home." Gendry wondered what would have happened if she had made it home safely.
"I assume that she never made it home?" Sansa said gently.
Gendry shook his head, and was about to reply when the doors burst open loudly, causing the music to stop abruptly; the dancers stopped dancing, and the room fell silent, people pushing forwards to see what the commotion was. Being so huge, Gendry could see perfectly; Anguy had burst in, but appeared somewhat lost now that everyone was staring at him. His eyes fell on Gendry.
"What is it, Anguy?" Gendry asked, moving forwards. Anguy stepped closer.
"Well- its the guards," he said. "They found a dead stag in front of the Hall..."
There was a loud gasp in the room, and a smattering of chatter; it was a great offense, to kill the sigil of a house, especially while they were guests.
"What else?" Gendry asked, sensing there was something more. Anguy swallowed.
"The stable boy... he found Princess Arya's horse in the stable," he said, causing Gendry to stand up straighter. "and another horse is missing... the guards said that a queer man rode through not so long ago, seemingly in a hurry. Said you sent him to get wine from Winter Town, but he hasn't been back."
Gendry barely had time to acknowledge his stomach dropping, when there came a large bang from behind him. The crowd span around, to see Jon at the high table, his fist slammed onto the top, and a murderous expression upon his face.
"I want every man available out looking for her!" Jon shouted, rushing out into the Yard. "I want them ranging East, West, and South; I will ride North," he didn't even stop to look at Gendry when he added, "Lord Baratheon, if you would ride to the ship bay, East of here. She might be hoping to catch a ship." Gendry caught sight of the dead Stag, seemingly forgotten, and shook his head; why would she...did she know? It had to be a coincidence, she had just been out hunting after all. If it wasn't an accident, Gendry didn't even want to think on the consequences. Arya might not even know herself, but Jon's face said it all.
The king had been furious upon hearing that Arya had come back only to escape somehow, though Gendry wasn't sure if it was because of her escape, because his guards failed so badly, or because of the whole Stag affair. Likely, it was all of it; Gendry rather got the feeling that Jon was becoming increasingly frustrated by his sisters antics.
In no time at all Gendry was mounted upon his destrier, Rogue, and Jon on his own stallion. Just afore they left, Gendry saw a stunning grey mare kicking and snorting in her stable; it must have been Arya's.
"We ride and don't stop until we hear word of her capture," Jon said to his men, and Gendry had to agree; he was not about to let Arya get away from him now, not when he had come so close. Gendry trotted over to his own men in the yard, who were all mounting up.
"We don't rest until she's found," Gendry commanded."If you find her, you bring her back straight away, no matter what she says. I don't care if you have to bloody well knock her out to do it, but I want her found as soon as possible."
Arya slowed her panting horse to a trot and then a walk. The horse's quick breath came out in puffs of silver mist that dissipated in the cold air. Arya filled up her lungs; she had been riding hard for the whole night, in long bursts of gallop and then periods of walking and trotting to rest the horse. It would be another week or so before she reached Long Lake, and Arya knew that she would have to be careful; there weren't many villages in the North at all, but the further you went up, the less there were. While that did mean there were less spying eyes to report her to Jon, that meant that any tracks left behind were also even more noticeable for someone who knew what they were searching for. That would mean no night fires until she was much further away, and the nights were freezing. Arya wished that the cloak she had stolen wasn't so ragged, even if it had helped her get past the guards. She felt even worse for the fact that she had not thought to pick up more weapons; of course, she had already had Needle on her, and a spare dagger or two, but with people out searching for her, it might not be enough.
Not that Arya was unused to going it short; she had spent many, many years unarmed in the face of danger, but she wasn't about to go back to just relying on hiding and hoping that she wasn't found. Wasn't about to go back to being unable to defend herself, unable to really make decisions. And if Jon found her, and gave her to Lord Baratheon... that was right back where she would be.
Arya wondered whether they knew she was missing yet; it was the very early hours of the morning, still dark, but Arya was sure that they must know by now. She had left early in the evening, so they had had several hours to know by now. If they did, then Arya couldn't risk letting her horse walk for a huge amount longer- the more space she put between her and Winterfell, the better.
Had the useless guards raised the alarms by now? Surely they had. She would have preferred to leave behind much less evidence that she had been back, even if only briefly, but she needed to think about getting out fast first. But still, even the stupid guards would pick up on it soon; Astrid in the stable, the dead deer, the wine fetcher not having returned... and no Arya. Even if they hadn't seen anything amiss someone was bound to. If anyone even bothered to question the stupid serving girls they would soon find out exactly what had happened. Though, she supposed, even if they did, they didn't know where she had gone; she could have gone anywhere... but Arya had a feeling that Jon would know that she had headed North. With the unpleasant thought in mind Arya made to spur the horse on, when she heard a faint sound from behind.
Arya paused for just a second to hear it, and with a sickening lurch of her stomach, urged the horse to gallop, desperately trying to evade what was now clearly the sound of horses moving at a very fast pace. The horse protested at the need for speed yet again, exhausted as it was from Arya's rigorous riding; Arya cursed- Astrid would not have tired so easily, would still be champing at the bit, but this horse was clearly older, and a sturdier build, made for endurance and pulling wagons, rather than speed. As Arya urged him faster and faster, she could hear the group behind her growing closer and closer.
Thinking quickly, Arya lunged to the side, skyrocketing towards some woods. As she did so she looked behind her; the group had crested the hill now, and Arya's heart skipped a beat, for she was sure she could see Jon right at the front, a murderous expression gracing his features. Arya snapped her head forwards again, lifting herself high into the saddle, bent low over the horses neck, hips hiked up high. If she could just get into the vast and dense woodland she might stand a chance at getting away. Where their horses were all enormous destriers, the gelding that Arya had taken from the stable was much smaller- the same height as Astrid, and much more sturdy, but still, a lot smaller. Jon and the others would struggle to make it through the undergrowth.
There was a small wall separating the vast field land and the treeline, and Arya kicked her horse over a low part. She could feel the horse baulking beneath her, but he did it, and Arya ducked, her head lower than before, but even then the branches still tangled painfully in her hair, and whipped at her face, leaving stinging cuts. Arya had only been in the woods for a short amount of time, when she realised that the trees were not as dense as she had originally thought, and listening carefully, she could even hear horses crashing through the trees behind her. She could feel the gelding puffing and blowing beneath her, slowing down rapidly, and she began turn him off of the track, hoping that the thicker layer of pines on the ground might help to conceal the sound of his hooves... when she had an idea. Arya jumped off of the horses back as he continued cantering, and ran silently into the much denser trees to the right of the track. She could hear the gelding still moving loudly away from her, and Arya slunk away as fast as she could, keeping her head low.
She caught a glimpse of two horses go galloping by, clearly still chasing after her horse. She smiled when they didn't even pause as they passed her, and made her way carefully through the undergrowth, cursing when the stupid cloak caught in brambles. The trees grew thicker and darker as she progressed, and Arya decided to double back onto to track again, lest she risk running into the riders again. Arya slowly made her way back, until she reached the tree line looking onto the vague track she had first ridden along. Just as Arya was about to step onto the track, she thought she heard a snapping of branches behind her, and turned around to see what it was... but there was nothing there. Sighing in relief, Arya backed out onto the empty track, only to freeze as she heard a horse snort. Arya span around, to see Jon, glaring at her from his horse. Her breath caught in her throat.
"It appears you've lost your horse, sister," he said coldly.
Arya sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself not to grab a dagger from her belt. "It appears I have," she said. "A shame. I liked him."
Jon scowled at her. "Arya, what in seven hells were you thinking?"
Arya felt her eyes flash. "How did you find me?" Just as she asked the question, Ghost came trotting out of the woods behind her, clearly the noise that she had heard.
"You aren't the only Warg here anymore," Jon said. He thrust out a hand aggressively. "Now get up, we're going home."
Arya stumbled backwards a step, shaking her head. "No, I'm not going back," she said, trying to sound firm, while inside she knew she was defeated. She may have teased him before, but she knew that Jon was an exceedingly talented swordsman, and his Bastard blade against Needle, when she didn't have the element of surprise... Arya didn't like the odds, but she would fight him if she had to.
Jon stiffly tilted his head. "Don't be ridiculous, Arya! This has gone on long enough! Now take my hand, and get up, or I swear to the Gods-"
"What?" Arya snapped, her hand on Needle. "You'll do what? Sell me off to some stranger? Punish me by sending me away? You're already doing that! I can't believe that you would do what you did, behind my back!"
Jon looked a tiny bit ashamed for a second, but it was fleeting, and quickly replaced by anger. "I had to do it behind your back, you wouldn't co operate! If you had just done what I asked-"
Arya hissed. "If I'd just done what you asked? Commanded, you mean!"
Jon's hands tightened around the reigns. "Commanded then! I had to, you wouldn't listen! I had no choice-"
"And you're giving me no choice!" Arya shouted, beyond furious now. "Why can't you see that I can't do this? Because I can't, and I won't-"
"You can!" He shouted back, his voice much louder than hers and drowning her out. "You can, and you will!"
"Then you'll have to drag me back!" Arya shouted. "Because I will never do this willingly! If you want to sell me off to some Lord, then you'll have to fight me the whole way, because there is no other way that you could ever get me to do this!"
Jon regarded her coldly, before swinging down from his saddle, and unsheathing his long sword. The heavy Valyrian blade shone in the filtered light of the trees, and Arya pulled out her own tiny blade, her hands shaking. Arya cursed; Jon had another full sword at his other hip; Arya had one small dagger in her boot.
"If you want a fight, then so be it," Jon said, "but at the end, I will drag you to that horse, throw you over it, and take you back home, and you will wed Lord Baratheon, whether you are willing or not."
Arya swallowed; the odds of winning this fight were slim- her tiny braavosi blade would never stand against Longclaw. In the North it had been different; she had been rested and used to fighting for her life, and she had had the element of surprise. In a battle to the death, Needle would stand its ground well- it was small and quick, made to kill the opponent with agility and speed, but in a dual? She could never really hurt Jon, and they both knew it. In a battle to disarm the other, unless Arya was willing to seriously wound her brother, she could never win.
But this was her only chance at freedom. She wouldn't get another chance. It was fight, and maybe win, or refuse, and sign up to marriage herself. Arya nodded.
and lunged, Needle an extended part of her arm, aiming to cut his arm. Jon blocked it easily, and Arya was forced to whip Needle away; one sweep of Longclaw on Needle and the tint blade would snap in two, and somehow, Arya had little doubt that Jon would care if he did shatter the blade he had once gifted her. Arya wondered if he regretted giving her the sword all those years ago.
Arya span away as Jon slashed at Needle with his sword, hoping that she might strike his side, but Jon had the advantage of reach and a much longer sword. Longclaw was there to block her parry before she could even get close to him. Jon attacked next, and Arya was surprised by his speed, and, unable to use Needle to block him, lest it shatter, Arya span away again, lunging for his lower leg, but he was there already. Arya hissed and whipped around, throwing her weight into Needle. She felt her stomach sink as she caught the pattern; unless she wanted to kill him, Arya could only try to disarm him, but even if she did, Jon would not give up, and just catch her again, and again, and unless she killed him there was no way to break the circle- unless he beat her. If she disarmed him, he would just keep fighting; if he won, Arya would have no other escape.
"Arya, you can not win!" Jon said, circling around her, Longclaw half raised. Arya knew he was right, but she wouldn't, would not, back down and give up. With a snarl, she threw herself at him, Needle pointed at his sword hand; if she tried to swipe at his much larger sword, Needle would shatter, but if she could get close enough that he couldn't use reach as an advantage, then she might be able to knock him over long enough to climb on his horse and ride away. It was unlikely, but it was her best chance.
Jon seemed to anticipate her move, and before Arya could spin away, slashed his Valyrian steel sword at Needle, and forced the slim blade from her hand. Arya went to move away long enough to reclaim her sword, but Jon lunged at her, smashing his lower arm into her body. Arya flew backwards to the ground, the wind knocked out of her, and crawled backwards on her elbows, to see that Jon had lowered his sword. She was surprised to see that instead of the inherent anger that had been upon his face before, her brother appeared slightly remorseful.
"Arya, you know you won't win this," he said, barely even aiming his sword at her. "Just give up, for once."
Arya hissed, and blurringly quick, kicked Longclaw away from her, and flipped herself over, with one hand already clutching her sword, and the other holding her dagger. She couldn't back down now, she couldn't.
Arya lunged at Jon, hoping that her speed and agility might be able to tire him out eventually, and danced her blades around Longclaw as they fought, moving backwards and forwards on the track. After some time, Arya moved to press her dagger against his throat. Jon saw it coming, and used the pommel of his sword to smash into the side of her temple. Arya gasped in pain, and flew to the side from the force, feeling Jon catch her before she fell, before everything went dark.
Arya slowly became aware of a swaying motion as she came to. A small moan escaped her lips, and she moved her head to the side slightly; just that small action sent her reeling, and she felt something tighten around her waist slightly. Was it ropes? Had she been caught again? Arya tried to push whatever it was away from her, squirming sideways.
"Arya, stop wriggling, you'll fall off," said a deep voice from behind her. Arya struggled to open her eyes, and when she did everything was a spinning blurred mess. She felt herself lurch to the side, before she was pulled back... where? Arya breathed deeply through her nose, and became aware of an intense pain in her temple. She raised a hand to touch it, and gasped in pain, snapping her hand away again quickly.
"That's going to be sore for a few days," the voice said. Arya tried to turn around, but couldn't. "You'll have to rest a few days. That means not fighting me at every turn."
This all seemed so familiar... Arya couldn't think straight. When had this happened before? A horse, she was sharing a horse with someone... Gendry? No... no, that wasn't right- Gendry was with the Brotherhood... who was she with if it wasn't the Brotherhood? The Hound! Yes, that was it, the Hound had kidnapped her, he was taking her to the Twins... no, that wasn't it, they were dead... mother, Robb, dead, dead and gone.
"Robb..." Arya whispered. "Robb..."
The Hound stiffened behind her. "I'm not Robb, Arya. Robbs dead, remember?"
Arya sighed and leaned back a little, feeling tired. "I know. I saw it. We were there, remember?"
She heard a horse snort; there was someone else? Arya wondered who. "We were?" Said the voice again.
Arya felt frustrated; didn't she just say? "Yes, we saw it. Saw him. That's why my head hurts, isn't it? Because you knocked me out with an ax."
"I didn't use an ax, I used a sword, Arya," the voice sounded mildly concerned now.
Arya tried to shake her head, and went reeling, nearly falling again, but the Hound pulled her back into the saddle. "No. An ax. I remember. To stop me from going to them."
"To who, Arya?" Why was he calling her Arya? He never called her Arya.
"Mother and Robb. We saw it. I wanted to save them, but you hit me with an ax." She mumbled. Why didn't he remember?
There was a pause and Arya felt herself begin to drift off again. She was so very tired, and her head hurt... why did her head hurt? Oh, yes, because the Hound hit her with an ax. Arya remembered.
"Who do you think I am, Arya?" The voice asked again, tightening his arm around her.
Arya sighed, leaning the side of her face back against his chest. "The Hound of course," she mumbled sleepily. "You're on my list."
The person froze for a moment, and Arya shifted slightly. "Who else is on your list?" He asked. Arya wanted to open her eyes but they were so heavy.
"Joffrey," she started. The prayer, every night. Couldn't forget it. Had to remember them all. "Cersei. Illyn Payne. The Mountain. Amory Lorch. Meryn Trant. The Tickler. Raff the Sweetling. Polliver. Chiswyck. Weese. Dunsen." Who else? Arya knew there were more... "Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr." Who else? There was one more... "The Hound."
That was her list. So important. She had to remember it, never forget. The voice behind her stirred again, rumbling in his chest. "Why are they on your list?"
Arya closed her eyes again. So tired, so very tired. "I'm going to kill them all," she said, barely aware of anything as she drifted off to sleep, just hearing him say one last thing.
"Sleep, Arya. You'll need it."
Jon sighed as he looked down at his baby sister, lying unconscious in his arms. He exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes. He shouldn't have hit her that hard; he had hit her as if she were a full grown man of his size, rather than a young girl that was half his size. He hadn't needed to hit her at all, really. They had both known that she couldn't win, not with Needle against his Longclaw.
But he had been so angry; why did she have to fight him at every turn? Years ago, when Melisandre had mistaken Alys Karstark for Arya, he had been so hopeful. "A grey girl, on a dying horse, trying to escape her marriage." Had the red witch been right? Hadn't Arya just been riding away on a horse with dying energy, trying to escape marriage? Jon felt a surge of shame. When he had heard it the first time, thinking she was to marry Ramsey Bolton, Jon had been terrified for her, had even lead an army South to save her... why was it so different now? Yes, Lord Baratheon was a good man where Ramsey Bolton was a monster, but either way, she was being forced into a marriage that she didn't want.
She looked so young, lying in his arms, and for a moment Jon could truly see the little girl he had once known. The girl whose hair he used to muss, who always had a dirty face. Well, she still had a dirty face now, but everything else was so different. Jon felt a surge of shame; he should be protecting her, not fighting her. The second he had found her he knew that he had her; even from a distance he had been able to see that her horse was tiring. When she had stumbled on foot onto the track Jon had known that there would be no escape for her. If she had run, he would have just scooped her up from horseback. Had she refused to get up, he could have just picked her up. But he had known it would come down to a fight.
It was ill done, fighting her like that. He had been yet again surprised that she had been able to hold out that long against him. Jon wondered who would win in a fight to the death; she had won before. But that was just because he had been unprepared and not shattered Needle. That was all it would take in a fight- break her tiny Bravoosi blade, and she was a goner. Oh, Jon had no doubt that his little sister was far more dangerous than anyone else he knew... but when fighting with Needle, she just wouldn't win.
Jon scooped her up in his arms, and carried her over to his horse, before lying her over its withers and climbing into the saddle. He arranged her gently, so that she was sat in front of him, her legs, one on either side of the saddle, her feet ending a foot or more above his own, and her back leaning against his chest. Jon nestled her head against his chest, and wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. She would hate this if she were awake, he thought, riding out of the woods.
He didn't have to wait long for his men to return, leading the horse she had taken behind them. Jon was surprised she had gotten so far on it; the animal was clearly not built for speed. She must have chosen it to fool the guards. Still, Jon was glad that she had not been on a faster, fitter horse; he would still be chasing after her if she had.
"Is she alright, your grace?" One of the men asked, Ramber Wyller.
Jon nodded. "She'll be fine. Let's just get back and send word to the others," He looked to Sam Kertson, and told him to ride ahead and send word to Lord Baratheon that his bride had been found.
Carrying Arya meant that the group had to stay at a slow pace, something that Jon found frustrating. He was just contemplating telling the others to ride on ahead when Arya stirred in his arms.
She squirmed in the saddle, and lurched to the side. Jon caught her and pulled her back against him. "Arya, stop wriggling, you'll fall off," He said, as she wriggled around again. She was so tiny in front of him, he was afraid that she might pitch herself off the side and hurt herself.
She groaned in response and lifted her hand to where he had hit her. Jon watched as she touched it and hissed in pain, feeling another surge of guilt in his gut for hitting her so hard. "That's going to be sore for a few days," he said. Arya tried to turn around, but gave up. "You'll have to rest a few days. That means not fighting me at every turn."
"Robb..." Arya whispered. "Robb..."
Jon stiffened as he heard the name fall from her lips. She must think that he was their dead brother. "I'm not Robb, Arya. Robb's dead, remember?" He must have hit her even harder than he thought, if she thought Robb was still alive.
Arya sighed and leaned back a little into his chest. Jon drew his cloak around her a little; it was cold, and she seemed to have forgotten one. "I know. I saw it. We were there, remember?" She said slurring the words a little. Jon was confused. Did she mean she and him had seen something, or did she still think he was Robb? A horse snorted in front of them, and he felt her body tense a little.
"We were?" He asked lightly, hoping that he might glean something about her past from her.
Arya squirmed in the saddle. "Yes, we saw it. Saw him. That's why my head hurts, isn't it? Because you knocked me out with an ax."
Jon frowned; she remembered their fight then. But he hadn't used an ax. "I didn't use an ax, I used a sword, Arya."
Arya seemed to shake her head a little, and swooped to the side. Jon caught her, and pulled her upright again. "No. An ax. I remember. To stop me from going to them."
"To who, Arya?" What did she mean? Jon didn't understand her.
"Mother and Robb. We saw it. I wanted to save them, but you hit me with an ax." She mumbled.
Jon froze in the saddle; she couldn't mean... she was there? Arya had been there, at the Red Wedding? How was she even alive? Jon knew that she had been betrothed to one of Walder Frey's younger sons at one point, was that why she had been there? Jon assumed that she thought he was someone else, that she was in a different time.
"Who do you think I am, Arya?" He asked, tightening his arm around her.
Arya sighed, leaning the side of her face back against his chest. "The Hound of course," she mumbled sleepily. "You're on my list."
Jon felt his stomach lurch uncomfortably, and Arya shifted slightly. Her list? Jon had heard her mumbling some kind of list before, in her sleep, but he'd never really been able to make out what she was saying. "Who else is on your list?" He asked. It was a second before she answered.
"Joffrey," she started. Jon started; why was she talking about Joffrey? "Cersei. Illyn Payne. The Mountain. Amory Lorch. Meryn Trant. The Tickler. Raff the Sweetling. Polliver. Chiswyck. Weese. Dunsen." Who were all of these people? People Arya knew? Jon didn't recognise many of the names, but for the ones that he did know, he hoped that wasn't the case. "Beric Dondarrion. Thoros of Myr." She paused again for a second, and Jon wondered if she was finished, but then she said one more name. "The Hound."
Jon didn't understand. "Why are they on your list?"
Arya closed her eyes, and then muttered words that sent a jolt through his heart. "I'm going to kill them all," she said, barely even awake. Jon felt dizzy, and clutched her tighter to him. So they were people who had hurt her, people she hated. That was a lot of people, and Jon wondered if that was even all of them.
She was barely stirring now, her breathing heavier, and Jon pressed his lips to her hair. "Sleep now, Arya," he murmured. "You'll need it." And she would.
Arya woke again, but this time far more suddenly. Her head throbbed in pain, but her mind felt clear. She had had such a weird dream about before, about the Hound. She wondered why, but already the dream was leaving her.
She opened her eyes with a gasp, and surged forwards away from the person holding her in place, but the arm tightened uncomfortably around her waist.
"Sit still Arya, or you'll fall off," the person warned. Arya groaned in reply. It was Jon. Of course it was Jon. Arya remembered their fight, and cringed in embarrassment. He had beat her so easily. She would need to get a proper sword; no matter how much she loved Needle it just couldn't bare the strength of a full sword.
"Where is my sword?" she asked suddenly; it wasn't at her hip, nor was her dagger in her boot. What if they had been left in the woods? How long had she been unconscious for?
Jon seemed to huff behind her. "It's with Kirtson, I thought it would be better if you didn't have a weapon while you were unconscious."
Arya grit her teeth together. "Or rather, because you didn't want me to stab you when I woke up," she snapped. Jon shrugged behind her, and Arya tried to turn around; Gods, she felt like some small child, riding like this, and worse, it reminded her of when the Hound had taken her.
"Stop trying to turn around!" Jon snapped at her. "You'll pitch us both off."
"Well let me down and I'll ride back!" Arya said, having caught sight of her borrowed horse.
Jon snorted. "If I do that, you'll ride off again. No, I think I'll keep you right here where I can keep an eye on you." He tightened his arm around her again, and Arya tried to pry him off of her. He squeezed her side slightly. "Arya, stop. You're riding with me and that's the end of it."
Arya wanted to hit him. "Stop telling me what to do!" She snapped, furious. Gods, he could be so up his own arse sometimes. He'd always been a little sullen as a child, but not as brooding as this.
"The stop making me!" He snapped back. "Gods Arya, you push and push, all of the time! Why can't you ever just do as you're told?" His thick voice was brimming with irritation. Arya tried to twist around again to see his face, but couldn't with the way he had positioned her over the horse.
"Jon, just let me down," she said, feeling drawn. She felt humiliated, and embarrassed at having to ride his horse with him after he had beat her so easily in the woods. "I feel like some stupid child riding like this!"
"Sometimes I think you are just a child!" Jon retorted, not letting up on his grip, despite Arya still pushing at his arm. "Besides, you used to ride with me like this all the time, whats changed?"
"Everything has changed!" Arya said. "I'm not your baby sister anymore, Jon!" She looked up at his jaw, and thought she saw a flash of pain there. Good.
"You'll always be my baby sister," he said more quietly. "I get angry at you, and I don't always understand you, but I do care about you, you know that."
Arya felt a hot rise of shame and anger and humiliation inside her and burst out "Its just- It's not fair!"She declared.
Jon seemed amused by her little outburst. "What isn't fair?" Arya huffed and didn't reply, but Jon guessed. "What, that I beat you so easily?" Arya ground her teeth together, and didn't move. Then, as if he wanted to make her even more furious, he continued. "You shouldn't worry about it, little sister. You did well to last that long against me," he said.
"Shut up!" Arya snapped, pushing at his arm again, desperate to put some distance between themselves.
Jon still seemed amused at her obvious discomfort. "You're actually embarrassed, aren't you?" he asked. When she didn't reply he poked at her again. "Aren't you?"
"Yes!" Arya snapped, angry beyond measure. "I won last time, I know I'm just as good as you! I could beat you again, I know it!"
Jon chuckled quietly, sounding smug. "No you couldn't, and that's what makes you so angry."
"It isn't fair!" Arya snapped again, aware of how much she sounded like a sulky child.
"No it isn't fair, but no matter how good you are with that tiny blade, you're still a girl," Jon said. "A small one at that. I could break you in half if I wanted to, Arya." He seemed to hesitate before he spoke again. "Who taught you to fight?" He asked her, surprising her.
Arya breathed in sharply. "No one," she said, breathless.
Jon frowned, but didn't question her. "Well... I know that you love Needle, but we ought to get you a proper sword. It was perfect when you were a child, but it can't help you anymore. I never intended for you to use it in battle."
Arya creased her brow. "What did you intend for me to use it for then?" she asked, confused.
Jon shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I gave it to you in the hopes that it might keep you safe if you needed to defend yourself. I never imagined that you would really need to use it." He sounded dismissive of her little blade, and Arya felt a spike of anger again.
"I learnt to fight with it because of you!" She said. "I learnt to fight with it because I thought that was what you wanted!"
It had been Jon that made it all possible for her to fight; if she hadn't been gifted Needle then Arya would never have had her first sword lessons with Syrio Forrel, would never have really thought that it was a path she could take; she would have carried on with sewing with Sansa and being slowly and unsuccessfully moulded into a Lady, and when their father was murdered, who knew what Cersei would have done with her? She would never have submitted like Sansa did, would probably have ended up in the dungeons, or hidden away, and traded like a brood mare, as could have happened to Sansa had Littlefinger not manipulated her.
To hear that Jon hadn't truly meant for her to learn the art of sword fighting... Arya felt a kick of upset in her stomach; she had thought all of these years that Jon had thought she was capable, viewed her as more than the youngest daughter of Ned Stark. Clearly he hadn't ever truly believed she had what it would take to become great swords person.
"And I'm glad that you did," He returned quickly, "but I wish that you would stop using it against me." And just like that he seemed irritated at her again. "When we get back, Arya, you will not be given back Needle." Arya made to protest, but Jon cut across her. "I'm not giving it back to you until you behave, so there is no point in asking. I'm telling you so now, so that I might save you embarrassment later on."
Arya pursed her lips. "I'm not some naughty little child that needs punishing," she snapped. "I don't understand how it is that you can say that I'm grown up enough to marry, but young enough for you to treat like a child!"
Jon exhaled violently, his breath fanning her hair slightly. The feeling irritated her greatly. "You're a grown up who is acting like a child," he stated bluntly. "I understand that you don't want this marriage, I understand that you haven't ever met him, and I understand that you haven't been home very long." Arya but her lip, hoping that maybe he would relent... no such luck. "But I need you to do this. You understand why you need to, so I won't explain it again. I am not only asking you as your brother, but I am demanding it of you as your King. Whichever you prefer."
Arya balled her fists and bit out "I'd prefer neither."
Jon didn't seem fazed; he simply shrugged. "I don't care which you prefer. You'll marry him either way."
Arya brimmed with anger, and clamped her jaw shut tightly, refusing to say another word. She didn't understand how it was that Jon could do this to her. Everything had been a lie; he had told her that she could go home again, see her family- or rather, what remained of it. And what had happened because of it? She had been made an outsider again, and trapped by Jon. Maybe he just wasn't the kind boy that she remembered; the Jon from her childhood used to hold her hand when she was upset, not give it away to make life easier for himself. Maybe he had grown so used to command that he couldn't even relinquish it for her. Arya didn't know. She should have just stayed North of the Wall; should have just let him walk on past her under that tree before they were attacked. Then he could have gone back alone, and she could have stayed North with the Free Folk. She wouldn't have the opportunity again for a very long time; even if she did somehow escape the guards that Jon would no doubt have at her sides at all times, they would know she was heading for the Wall- perhaps she ought to ride east, to Essos; she would have to steer clear of Braavos, but the other Free Cities, maybe. She could easily make her way as a sellsword- even if it meant getting a new sword. Anything would be better than at Winterfell, her once home.
They had been riding to Winterfell for many hours when they saw the castle; Jon had alternated between walking and trotting, which Arya found she despised- while Jon could sit easily on the saddle, she was perched somewhat precariously between Jon's thighs and the pommel of the Saddle, meaning that she couldn't rise nor sit comfortably to the gait. Cantering had been easier, due to the smoother pace, but it irked her how Jon held her more tightly then. Since he had commanded her neither of them had spoken, Arya fuming in the front, and Jon brooding from behind, and somehow the silence seemed loud.
Jon reigned up the horse as they peaked the hill, and Arya could see it now; during her escape in the dark she had missed the enormous camp out in Winter Town- there were easily half a thousand men down there, and Arya was sure it wasn't even the full support of the young Baratheon Lord. He might not even be that young, Arya thought. She didn't know a single thing about him. The two serving maids seemed to think him handsome and fit, but then, all Lords and Knights were handsome to young and hopeful maids. He could be old enough to be my father, she thought, as Jon said something to the men. He could be arrogant or cruel or stupid. She didn't much care- she would do anything she could to fight the marriage no matter what he was like.
"Arya!" Jon snapped; apparently he had been trying to gain her attention for a while. Arya exhaled sharply in reply. "When we get there, we will dismount first, and then I will send six of my best men to take you to your chambers, where you will stay. There will be men stationed at your door, and along the corridor leading to your chamber, as well as beneath your window. When we get there you will not make a scene, you will just go quietly." Arya snapped her jaws together in anger, still refusing to speak to him.
Jon waited for a reply, and the sighed testily, before urging the poor horse into trot, and then canter, making it once again difficult for Arya to stay on. She had found the long ride difficult; had she been on her own horse it would have been fine, but doubling up was immensely uncomfortable, and the hilt of Jon's sword had long been digging into her back. The way that she sat, and the horse being much bigger, forced her thighs wider than normal, and she found that they ached painfully, especially as Jon's own thighs were squeezed around them, constantly putting pressure on then. On top of it all, Arya was still dizzy from being knocked out, and her head was still raw. She wondered if there would be a bruise there.
The Gates opened and Jon spurred the horse through; thankfully it was late in the day, and the Yard had few occupants. Jon drew up the horse and dismounted smoothly, keeping a firm hold on the reins. Arya concealed a smirk; he clearly thought that she would just ride off the second that he had dismounted. Arya wasn't stupid though; the gates were already closed.
He stared at her darkly, and with a huff, Arya slid off the horse, stumbling as she landed. Jon caught her instantly, and checked her over quickly for hurt, but his eyes were cold, and his grip on her arm harsh. Arya ripped her arm out of his hand, and Jon's brow lowered, before he signalled that his men take her to her chamber.
The walk went in a haze of frustration and anger, but Arya was thankful that no one was around. She didn't know where Lord Baratheon was, and she didn't care, but she was grateful that he wasn't there at least to gloat. The walk , or rather march, went uninterrupted, until they passed Sansa's chambers; her sister strode out of the room just as they approached it.
Upon catching sight of her younger sister, Sansa inhaled sharply, and froze. "Oh Arya," she whispered. She made to take hold of her sister, but Arya didn't want to deal with her sister just then, and stepped past her, heading for her own room. She knew that she had probably worried Sansa sick, but she wasn't in the mood for a speech.
As the heavy wooden door clanked shut behind her, Arya stopped and stood still, fighting the tangle of emotions that were rising up inside her. It was becoming too much; the betrayal, the long rides both ways, the fight, her entrapment, everything; it was too much. Arya let out a choked sob from where she stood, before grabbing the nearest thing to her, and hurling it at the door, where it shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.
