Chapter XII: The Retaking

Arya played her part. She acted like a common kitchen maid, rushing about and cleaning things and taking orders. Her face was her own, pale and long, and she hadn't bothered to wear another.

They wouldn't recognize me, she thought. Not here.

Since the hours she had been inside the castle, not once had she came across Jaime Lannister. Time, however, was a luxury that was slipping away from her hands quickly, and as she saw the sky outside lose their vibrancy, she knew she had to rush. Night would fall soon, and if she did not complete the task at hand till then, she would have to wait another day.

She knew that by then Jon would've known. He would have realized she was gone, and if he was still the same Jon she knew and if her instincts spoke true, he would try to find her. She wouldn't allow anyone to jeopardise her plans, not even Jon, and if any news of disturbance in the North even reached Riverrun, she would lose the advantage of surprise. It would not do for an entire Lannister army to stay on their guard.

My wolves are strong and they will slaughter, but men are men.

She dropped the rag on the basin, and turned, when the cook handed her a tray filled with hard bread and honey.

"Get on with it now, girl!" she told her. "Take it to the cells."

"This food to the cells, ma'am?" Arya asked, looking at the big chunks of bread.

Since when have prisoners been given such good food?

The woman narrowed her eyes and slapped Arya lightly on the cheek.

"Aye, girl, did ya not hear me? To the cells, aye. Milord Lannister asked for the men to be given good food, cause our Milord-" the woman stopped, and bit her tongue, thwacking Arya on the cheek again. "Go on now! Enough of your questions! Out. Go!"

Arya nodded and ran outside. The castle didn't have many men around, and only the guards could be seen in the corridors. Obviously, Jaime Lannister hadn't brought the whole army to Riverrun.

The less, the better.

The first two cells were empty. A man was crouching inside the third one, and be mumbled incoherently when Arya handed him a piece of bread. He ravished it immediately, and feeling sorry for his state, she handed him another.

"On to the next, quick!" The guard called, and she nodded. She reached the fifth cell, and called out gently to the prisoner. The man was stuck to the far end wall, his face well hidden from view. Arya kneeled on one knee to look properly, and she only saw him lowering his eyes on the floor. His clothes were torn, and his face covered in hair.

"Milord?" She called in a sweet voice. "Don't you want to eat?"

"Go away," he mumbled, loudly enough for her ears to catch. Arya frowned.

Have I heard that voice before?

She looked sideways at the guard who was now not looking at her, but instead standing near the entrance.

She moved closer, dragging her knees, and called out again. This time, the response was more aggressive, and spontaneous.

"I don't want it!" He shouted. Arya shrank back in shock at finally watching his face.

"Uncle?" She whispered, but he hadn't heard. Arya stood up in an instant.

Uncle Edmure is alive.

She rushed to the guard, and clutched his arm with her hands. He turned to her in annoyance.

"Ser, good Ser. The man there." She pointed to Edmure's cell. "He shouted at me, and lunged at me. Help, Ser. Please, you must help me give him his food or else the cook will skin me alive. Please, gentle Ser. I'm so afraid of his face!"

"Go and do your own job!" The guard snatched his arm away but she clasped it again.

"Please, Ser. It's only one man. I'll give the food to the rest. But he frightens me so!"

The guard huffed and took the tray from her hands roughly. Arya smirked as he turned away from her and went to the cell, crouching down before it.

She wasted no time in taking the flask out of her pocket, and holding one palm across his mouth, opened it forcefully and emptied the liquid into his mouth. The man grabbed behind him, but it took only seconds for the potion to take effect, and then he was numb and fell down on the floor, eyes closed and fingers clutching at his throat.

Arya searched through his pockets, quickly taking the keys. She pushed his heavy body aside, and placed her hand over the bars of the cells.

"Uncle?" She called, but he had turned away from her, sitting cross-legged against the wall.

"Uncle Edmure." Arya raised her voice, and he looked up. He crawled closer to her, then looked at her carefully when she pushed the key inside and turned it. The gate made a squeak and opened.

Arya reached out her hand to touch his own.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"Your niece," she said, smiling. "Arya."

His eyes widened and he tried to stand up holding onto the wall.

"Underfoot?" He asked, bewildered.

"The very same," Arya said as she used the keys to unchain his hands and feet, and Edmure stood up straight.

"But how?" He looked at the body on the floor.

"We will have time for that later, Uncle. First, I need you to tell me if there are people inside this castle we can trust."

"Can we not wait for the King in the North?"

Arya sighed.

"Your King is not coming," she told them, trying not to sound annoying.

The men looked hesitant. They were finding it hard to believe that she had a pack of wolves behind her, and the very thought of attacking the Lannister men without an actual army seemed to be a jape for them.

She had recognized Lord Mallister and Bracken; the others she didn't know. But Edmure had told her they were loyal to the Tully name and the King in the North, and for now she had to believe that. Moreover, she didn't find any lies coming out of their tongues, and she trusted in her instincts well enough.

"If we keep wasting time and do not make a decision soon, they'll find out Uncle isn't in his cell and the very moment those men brace themselves, we're lost," she said.

"Then we do as you say," one of the Lords said. "I stood behind a Stark once, I'll do so again. And I will gladly give my life if need be for driving the Kingslayer out of here." He looked at her, eyes and voice determined. "Arya Stark, what will you have me do?"

It took two minutes for chaos to descend.

The wolves growled with ferocity, and moved across the lowered drawbridge with lightning speed.

"For House Tully and the Blackfish!" The men roared, and drew their swords. Arya hadn't brought Needle, but she wouldn't need it. She took her daggers and went out to look as her pack, led by Ghost and Nymeria, stormed the castle. Behind them were Beric, Sandor and Gendry, mounted and armed.

"For my mother," she whispered.

Lannister men in gold and red rushed outside in hurry. Steel clashed against steel as the entire castle was woken up in an uproar. Edmure had been locked inside a room with guards, for the fear of Jaime Lannister getting his hands on him. They would lose instantly if they managed to capture Edmure.

Arya had an advantage in all of it. She was a woman, and the men kept out of her way. Only when she thrust her dagger into a soldier's gut and twisted it, did they start to pay attention to her, and she was being attacked by two men at once.

Arya threw the dagger in her hand directly at the man, and it hit him on the neck, blood spluttering out of his throat as he fell down on the ground. She reached for another one on her hip, but the other man was too fast, and she was just within his reach...

A sword came out of his torso and he fell down lifelessly. Behind him, Gendry threw a chiding look at her.

"I told you battle was not for you, Milady."

"Shut up, stupid."

He winked.

"Don't worry. I got your back."

He wasn't wrong, though. Stealth was her weapon, and she had never fought against men with swords.

But there is no going back now, she thought, as she dodged a big, brown man that stood at least two feet above her. She moved around him, and jumped on him, plunging her blade into his back twice, thrice, right through the mail, piercing it, before he was knocked down.

She looked around panting, blood oozing out of the cuts on her arms and cheek and shoulders.

We are winning, she thought, and looked at Ghost, eyes bloodshot, and suddenly in the direwolf's eyes, she saw a familiarity, and his eyes were his no more, but someone else's.

He has the gift, too, she realized suddenly, watching the shadow of her brother pass over the wolf's eyes. But Ghost leapt away for another kill, and Arya wasn't able to think on the matter for long. Her attention was diverted to a soldier behind Gendry, ready to strike.

We're even now, you bull, she thought as she sprang into a run.

The blood was shed, and lives were lost.

But it had to be done, she told herself, although the sight managed to shake her a little.

Every last Lannister man was slaughtered or imprisoned, and Riverrun was free again. But their Lord was still missing.

Arya looked at the aftermath of the carnage: bodies teared open by teeth and swords and covered in blood. Her wolves didn't feed, only killed, but still some bodies were ravaged from limb to limb, unrecognisable. Dozens of her pack had also perished, swords thrust through their bodies and backs ripped open. She had known since the beginning it was inevitable. Nymeria had known it all along as well, but looking into the wolf's eyes, Arya realized it wasn't so easy for her to accept that, even if she knew it was bound to happen. Arya knew what it felt like to lose part of her pack.

"Valar Morghulis," she whispered, softly. The prayer was to a God she had left behind in the House of Black and White, whose services she had resigned from.

But she knew better than anyone how much truth the two words held.

"Princess."

She turned around to look at the Lords Mallister and Bracken, and behind them stood the Hound, Beric and Gendry, and men loyal to the Tully name. They were exhausted, but their chests were swelled with the joy of victory. Clegane's face was covered in blood, but he looked pleased, almost thankful that he had gotten a chance to kill. Beric stood stoic and composed, as he always was, and she saw in his eyes he didn't appreciate one bit of it, but he had done it because it had to be done.

Gendry was the only one whose eyes told a different story. He looked at her like he was worried for her, and not for himself. She had found the Brotherhood with Nymeria's help, not far from where she had left them. Beric hadn't wasted a minute in following her, and Gendry was too glad to see her that he wouldn't say no to her. Sandor had been the hardest to convince, but after she told them it was Lannister men she was fighting, he was more than willing.

The bloody dagger was still in her hands and she dropped it on the floor with a clank, feeling warm liquid drip down her fingers. Her hands ached, and her legs, and her entire body, but she didn't care.

"Jaime Lannister?" She asked aloud.

Lord Bracken shook his head.

"He's gone. Ser Bronn of Blackwater died saving him."

Arya clenched her fists.

He has escaped. Again. I made a mistake.

Between fighting and killing, she had not even bothered to search for him.

I thought he wouldn't flee leaving his men to die.

She cursed herself for thinking a Lannister capable of honor.

"Ghost!" A voice rang through the silence. Everyone turned, and Arya heard the hushed voices and gasps.

Her eyes widened when she saw him, eyes angry and hard staring at her.

"You're too late, King Crow," she heard the man beside her brother say, throwing her a smug smile.

"I guess I am," Jon replied and slowly walked towards her, the men making way for him. He had drawn his sword, but it was back in it's scabbard in seconds.

"I've won," she told him, when he was close enough to touch, trying her best to stay calm. She didn't know why she felt afraid of him, of the way he looked at her.

"So I see," he said, taking her hand and rubbing the blood at her wrist with his thumb. Jon was so angry with her, she knew that without him betraying himself by his words. But there was also fear in his eyes, a fear she was much familiar with.

The fear of losing someone of her pack.

Of her blood.

Arya heard the sound of swords being drawn, and in moments everyone was on one knee. Even Sandor, after a bit of hesitation.

She looked back at Jon, and he was still staring at her, like he was trying to read her.

I can teach him that if he wants, she thought, smiling inwardly.

"Riverrun is yours, Princess, Your Grace," Lord Mallister said. They laid their swords before her and Jon.

"The King in the North!" Everyone chanted.

Jon squeezed her hand tightly, and she would have winced if she was not so used to pain.

"Princess," he whispered near her ear.

Arya shivered.