ARYA IV
Varys had told her how to reach the keep, even though time hadn't totally erased the memories from her days chasing cats through the tunnels. So, when she led her little army into the dragon's skulls chamber, she knew they were close. Soon enough, they were crossing a discreet archway close to the Hand's Tower, right next to the armory.
Arya nodded to herself, glad the courtyard was empty as the Spider said it would be.
"I'll take it from here, my lady." Smalljon said, discharging her before she could reply. "You've done more than what we bargained for. I know the keep better than you and I'll do a better work getting us inside without giving us out."
Work with allies is fucking frustrating, Arya remembered, taking a step back to renounce her lead. But yeah, it's necessary.
As soon as the sellswords had organized to form a column composed of rows of two, they left the courtyard and passed to the more agitated areas of the keep. It was strange, and completely insane, to walk among the enemy, as if invisible. Not that the castle was crowded, because it wasn't. It seemed most of the people were indeed at the Tournament's grounds.
However, servants had been left behind, as well as older noblemen who were too weak to make a journey through the wintry morning mist. And, of course, there were guards watching every passage, all of them wearing the red color of the Lannisters or the golden cloaks of the City Watch. They nodded as they passed, acknowledging their presence, not caring about who was beneath those helmets.
This is too much easy, she thought to herself, feeling her stomach revolve when the gates of Maegor's emerged through the snow.
It was there that their first obstacle awaited: a knight with a white cloak of the Kingsguard
"What do you want?" The knight asked, as they approached.
Since Arya didn't recognize his face, she supposed the man had taken his place at the Kingsguard recently.
"Ser Osmund Kettleback, the Dowager Queen just sent us." Smalljon said, with a surprisingly good southern accent. "We are here to reinforce the security on the Prince's quarters."
"The Prince?" Kettleback asked, suspicious. "No one told me to expect reinforcements."
"Are you questioning the Dowager Queen's orders, ser?"
He was right, Arya smirked underneath her helmet. He can get us in.
Osmund Kettleback stared back to Smalljon, trying to figure out who was underneath the helmet. The threat of disobeying an order coming directly from Cersei Lannister imposed enough fear to rethink before saying no again. So, uneasy, the knight change his mind and cleared the passage.
"Come on, then." He said, taking a step back. "You can enter."
Smalljon didn't thank. He simply marched through the drawbridge, soon crossing the gates as if he owned the place. Arya followed, side by side with other sellswords.
They were inside Maegor's as if it was the most easily breaching holdfast in the Seven Kingdoms.
"We don't have much time now." Smalljon said, removing his helmet. He looked gaunt and pale, his eyes turning quickly, testing strategies in his mind. Thankfully, the passageway was clear for the moment, but somewhere were more guards and probably another Kingsguard.
The captain of the Queensguard turned toward one of the sellswords, the tallest of them all, before Arya could share her view about what they should do.
"Go to the quarters near the Queen's Ballroom and deal with any man or servant you find on the way. Escort the prisoners to the ballroom and kill the ones that don't collaborate. Take five man with you and make your best at it. Be quick and make you way to the top of the tower when you're done." Quickly, he turned to another sellsword, this time a broad one. "You'll go to the Guest Apartments. I don't expect you'll meet any threat on the way, but we must be careful. I think three men should suffice to accompany you. Take them and go." And, finally, he turned on his heels to face Arya and the five men who lasted. "The rest of us will take care of the prince."
Arya nodded, pulling out Needle of her sheath.
"Let's go."
She felt more alive than ever. Her heart was racing maddened by the idea of getting revenge for her family. And wasn't that the most glorious thing in the world? As she started following Smalljon through the corridors and then through a set of stairs, climbing their way to the royal chambers, she kept on smiling like a maniac.
"It's too much quiet." One of the sellswords said, impatiently, as they turned a corner.
It's quiet, yes, but not for long.
"Who are you?"
The voice came from someone placed right ahead of them. Her hands started trembling with excitement when she noticed the five Lannister guards – real Lannister guards – at the other end of the corridor, blocking the staircase that led to the royal bedchambers.
"The Dowager Queen sent us to watch the prince." Smalljon repeated the lie, once again using his fake accent.
The man on the other side wasn't so easily convinced by that.
"Why are you wielding your weapons, then?" The man asked, placing a hand on the hilt of his
"All care is needed nowadays." It was not even an attempt to salvage the situation. It was more like a joke. Smalljon was prepared to fight.
"Well, then remove your helmet." Commanded the guard, pulling out his sword. His men did the same. "All of you. Let me see your faces."
"Yeah, about that…" Smalljon laughed. "I don't think it'll happen."
The fight started in a blink of an eye. Suddenly, it was five against seven in an easy, but messy battle. Arya went after a guard who came directly at her. He was a good fighter and gave her a though time for a few seconds, reaching for her flank. However, after a few strikes she managed to lift Needle, catching the man off guard, and plunging the thin blade through his chin. She felt his teeth and bone crushing as the sword slipped through his head.
Looking around, she realized how messy the fight had turned so quickly. Which guards were on her side? She gulped, trying to distinguish Smalljon among the red crowd.
"Look out!" Someone screamed right behind her. She looked over her shoulder in time to escape what would have been a fatal blow on her head. The sword of her attacker hit the wall.
"Seven Hells."
She couldn't know who her attacker was: friend or foe? Definitely foe, she thought, averting a second blow that would have ripped her hand off. Doing her best to escape his sword, she couldn't keep up with his up. She kept on raising Needle in time to defend the attacks, but not quick enough to retaliate.
"Stark!" Someone yelled, someone she couldn't understand. It wasn't Smalljon's voice. "Justice for the Starks!"
As must as she wanted, she couldn't afford the luxury to turn her neck to see who was screaming for her family. Fortunately, her rival committed the mistake she didn't, giving her the chance to knock him down. In a desperate move to get rid of him, she pushed the man. Losing his balance, the guard trumped on a body already on the ground and crashed against a window, falling noisily through it. His scream, quickly followed by the sound of his body being impaled by the frozen spikes at the bottom of the moat, made everyone silent for a second.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. A body falling through one of Maegor's windows? Shouting to the seven winds that they were invading the castle would have been a better way to announce themselves. It was a matter of time now until reinforcements arrived.
And then, to her great consternation, Jaime Lannister appeared on the hallway, descending from a staircase. Three more red guards followed him, their swords ready. She blinked, excited, and eager to give her blade a taste of Lannister blood. She cut down a guard who came running out of nowhere, brandishing his sword like a mad man, and pushed him against another guard approaching.
The Kingslayer fought gracefully, his sword nothing more than a flash of light, ripping through flesh and bone as if it was as soft as paper. He could be older and balder, but he was still capable of fighting like a young warrior.
"I can fight him." She said to herself, even though it was a lie. Inhaling, she lift Needle and…
Someone grabbed her arm and threw her against a wall.
It was as quicker as that. In a moment, she was preparing herself to face the Kingslayer, on the other she was at the end of sword, its tip on her neck. In a failed attempt to get out of that situation, she tried to use Needle do strike back. The guard stopped her with a simple tatic: he spoke.
"You must go and fetch the child… Do it quickly, girl. Do it while the Kingslayer is here." Even if his voice was cut off by his hasty breathing, she recognized Smalljon. He was pointing his sword at her as a cover up, gaining a few seconds for them to talk. He nodded toward the set of stairs: the way was clear. "The royal chambers are right above."
"No." She replied, her eyes flashing in search of Jaime Lannister. "We are outnumbered at the moment. You won't have a chance to defeat the Kingsalyer by your own, not even with the help of a few sellswords. But I can help you."
Someone yelled, startling them. Down the hallway, Jaime Lannister was still fighting three men at the same time and winning. More Lannister's guards were running down the corridor, lifting their swords to aid the ones who were duelling the Kingslayer. More sellswords, more than the ones who had accompanied them from the chambers underground. Could there be more false guards than the ones Varys hadn't told them about?
"It seems the Gods are smiling upon us." Smalljon said, with a weak laugh. "Now go, girl. Go and run like the wind. I'll do my best to clear the way for our prince."
Before he could go, Arya pulled one of her daggers and, to Smalljon's surprise, made a scratch on his breastplate.
"This way I'll recognize you." She explained, also scratching her armor.
He nodded before returning to the fight.
Swift as a deer, Arya started climbing the staircase, three steps in a row, running faster than ever. Quickly, a gallery with too many doors appeared in front of her. Thankfully, there was no sign of a guard. With the sound of cries and swords clashing below stairs, she surveyed the doors, trying to concentrate, and easily found the one she looked for.
"Who is it?" Asked a voice behind the door, after she knocked.
"It's me." Arya answered, noticing for the first time how breathless she was. "It's me, mother."
She was not expecting an embrace from her mother when the door opened, not even a comment about how happy she was to see her. A speech about how stupid she was for putting herself in such danger would've been more than normal coming from Lady Catelyn Stark. However, the greeting waiting for Arya was totally unexpected.
"May the Seven be gentle…" Her mother said, tears running down her face while a smile spread on her lips. "You've come for Edwyle."
"And for you." She added quickly, taking off her helmet. "But we've to leave now."
Catelyn nodded, gesturing to someone inside the chamber. Arya looked over her mother's shoulder to see Sansa's lady-in-waiting approach, pushing a chair with wheels. The prince was sitting in his little wooden throne, with his leg bandaged and his eyes wide open in curiosity. Arya blinked, mixed feelings troubling her concerning the little boy. During all those years in Winterfell she had developed her own idea about what her nephew would be, imagining him like a version of Joffrey, maybe with something from Sansa. However, the boy's eyes, blue like her sister's, were full of something Joffrey never had: kindness.
"No one told me about this." Arya said, taking a step further. She used Needle to point to the chair. "Can't he walk?"
"I'm afraid I can't, my lady." The prince replied on his own, so much like Sansa. "I've injured my leg."
Arya exchanged a glance with her mother and shrugged her shoulders.
"I guess I can simply carry him on my back."
Hodor used to carry Bran on his back all the time when he was younger. Yes, she hadn't the built of the half giant, but the child wasn't bigger than Bran was at the time.
"You'll carry him where?" Asked the lady-in-waiting, more than intrigued.
Arya blinked, not sure how to deal with the girl.
"Jeyne, if you value your life go and lock yourself up in the bedchamber." Commanded Catelyn, sternly.
"Lady Catelyn, this is treason." The girl said, aghast.
Arya pulled her dagger.
"And this is death." She warned, ready to shut her up. "Haven't you heard my mother? Lock yourself up and don't whisper a word, or I'll kill you."
"Jeyne has done nothing wrong, my lady." The prince observed, his eyes wide open. He was clearly growing distressed. "There is no need to kill her."
The boy was getting under her nerves and she didn't know why. She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. In fact, she found herself smiling to him.
The little brat.
"Yes." She said, kneeling to comfort the prince. The last thing she needed was an agitated child. She had hated being a child, and she now hated children. Or wanted to hate. "But sometimes, to prevent someone of hurting us, we must hurt them first."
Hastily, Lady Catelyn led the girl to a side room, locking her up and saving the key in a pocket of her dress.
"Won't the girl give us any trouble?" Asked Arya, standing up.
Lady Catelyn smiled and shook her head.
"No, I'll take care of her."
Arya blinked and looked again to her mother.
"What do you mean you'll take care of her?" Deep down, she knew what her mother meant. "You won't come?"
The smile on Catelyn's lips was not one for happiness, not even for sadness, but was instead a smile of relief.
"No, I won't." She said. "I can't leave your sister alone."
"But she isn't alone." Arya replied quickly. No, she hadn't come so far to leave without her mother. She refused to let her behind. "We've sent men to rescue Sansa. She'll join us on the ship, I assure you."
If someone could see the truth beyond her lies, that someone was her mother.
"Oh, Arya, no. I won't go…" She said, sitting on a chair. "I promised her I would leave King's Landing to make sure Edwyle was safe, but now that you're her you'll take care of him. Sansa needs me here. If she manages to escape, as I pray the Seven she will, I'll surrender my life willingly and do my best to amend the relations between the Throne and the North. Gods knows we'll need that. If she is caught, I'll help her escape this hell, any way I can." Arya shivered, noticing how deadly her mother sounded. "But I've nothing to go back. Not anymore. Your brother has a wife and doesn't need another woman surrounding his castle, and Bran and Rickon… Well, they may need me, yes, but they are grow up and have learned how to live without my presence. Sansa, however—"
"But they do need tou!" Arya yelled helplessly. "Even I need you!"
She only realized tears were running down her face when the taste of salt reached her mouth.
"I need you to come, Mother." Arya urged between sobs. "We can be together again. All of us. As a family should be. And from Winterfell we can face whatever Joffrey throw at us. Father always said it's impossible to invade the North if two hundred determined archers hold the Neck. So please, mother, we can still do this. You've to come… You've to come home."
"Arya, you're losing time." She said, softly, stretching a finger to catch her tears. "There is nothing you can do to convince me to go. You've the right to be anger with me, but some day I know you'll understand. I could never leave King's Landing knowing there was a chance, even if it's a slim one, of Sansa being alone in these walls, trapped like a mouse at Joffrey's will and growing mad with the pain of not having a single person, not even her brother, willing to fight for her."
"But if she escapes, you'll suffer. The torture, the pain, the loneliness."
Catelyn shrugged.
"I'm an old woman. My life ended the moment your father said yes to Robert Baratheon. So, let them come. I'll gladly pay the price. They can torture and kill me slowly, but I will greet the Seven when they come for me if I know all my children are safe at Winterfell, taking back what it's ours."
"No, I won't allow it." Arya replied, feeling angry tears boiling up to her eyes again. "You will come with us, even if I've to force you."
"Where are we going after all?" For the first time in a while, the prince spoke. He had listened to every word exchanged, and seemed to have understood everything. "And who are you after all, my lady?"
"This is your aunt Arya." Catelyn presented, kneeling in front of her grandson. "She'll take you to the North."
"I'm taking you both to the North." Arya insisted, gripping the pommel of her sword.
"The North?" Edwyle asked curiously. "But it's cold there, isn't it?"
"Yes." Catelyn sniffed, containing the sobs. "But once you're at Winterfell, you'll be warm. In fact I've one last story to tell: long ago, when I wed your grandfather, he knew I would miss home in the cold plains of the North. So, as a proof of love, he gave me a little piece of something that reminded me home and since that than onwards every time I missed my father and siblings, I would to the Glass Gardens your grandfather built for me. A place where the temperature is warm even during the coldest blizzard, where blue roses bloom even when the sky is dark and where water never freezes. Every time you miss home, go to the gardens and pray to the Seven. I'll be there with you, even if you can't see me. Will you do that for me?"
The prince opened his mouth to answer, but someone else spoke behind them.
"I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the prince's visit."
Arya lifted Needle immediately, turning to the door. Ser Jaime Lannister was standing by the threshold. His white cloak, she noticed, was stained with fresh blood, but unfortunately it seemed it wasn't his. He removed the helmet, exposing his blond hair and an expression of anger and disappointment.
"No, we won't." Arya said, taking a step toward him. She could sense her mother right behind, hearing the rustle of her dress while she moved to stop Arya from a certain death.
Jaime Lannister laughed, but the sound that came out of his mouth was mortifying.
"I don't want to kill you, girl, but I will if you don't put your funny little sword down."
He's underestimating me, she thought with a crazed desire to show him what she could do.
"Why would I do that?" She replied, advancing another step.
However, dispensing her as if she was nothing more than a nuisance, Jaime Lannister's eyes moved from Arya to Catelyn.
"Lady Stark, I beg you to stop this madness before you pass the point of no return." He said, sternly. Surprisingly, he leaned against the door's threshold, showing no intent to fight. The tip of his sword touched the ground. "We can start a new war right now… or we can put this bloody feud between our Houses to rest once and for all. It's your call."
Catelyn stepped from behind her daughter. The tears who just seconds ago were streaming down her face were gone, replaced by a serious and curious expression.
"I'm afraid certain wounds will never heal, ser Jaime." Calmly, she lifted her hand to pull down Arya's arm. "Maybe my daughters are right." She continued, pausing for a second to consider her next words. "Maybe it's time we defy the Throne so that you will stop treating us as prisoners."
It was strange to see Jaime Lannister advocating peace, especially after watching him slay man after man downstairs. But for once Arya saw something in the Kingslayer she had never seen before: he seemed tired and suddenly so old. Every wrinkle in his face seemed to beg her to put the sword down and stop fighting. Unlike Robb, his words were not a show of cowardice, but a man wishing to start living a life that had been denied to him for years.
He wants what we want, Arya understood. Home. A place away from this shithole and with the one person he loves at his side.
Yes, she could read the pleading in his eyes. That was why he was willing to put down his sword and discuss terms. Peace would grant him a way to finally leave the keep, the place where he had lived since he was a boy of fifteen or sixteen-year-old. But once again, Starks and Lannister wouldn't align because the only way for them Starks to get home now would be war. She looked at her mother, so close now to the Kingslayer, trying to understand if she would also act as a coward and surrender again their future.
A word from the queen's mother and the bloodshed downstairs could be forgotten by the Lannisters in a second. The prince could be safely transferred to a chamber with no chance for escape. Maybe even Sansa could be escorted back to the keep. The birds would be locked again on their cage.
It was Catelyn's choice.
"Do you want a negotiation, ser?" Her words were hard as ice. "I'll hear your terms, then. But only after you give me the truth. Tell me the one thing I've wanted to know for all these years, and I'll hear anything you might have to say and truly consider it. But first, the truth."
Arya turned her head toward Catelyn, not following the conversation anymore. What truth was that she was talking about? She may have not understand it, but Ser Jaime clearly had.
"Your son." He said, nodding. A grim glint transformed his eyes. "The cripple one, isn't it? Is that what you want to know?"
Bran. Everything had started the moment he had fallen from that tower, hadn't it?
Catelyn nodded, advancing another step toward him.
"It was you, wasn't it?" Her voice trembled, as did her hands, which she was keeping inside the pockets of her dress. "Did you push him from that tower? I've to know. I've to know the truth to start healing my wounds."
Jaime Lannister stared back at her, considering her words.
Arya felt her heart beating faster.
The truth.
But then, the kingslayer shook his head.
"No, it wasn't me."
What followed next happened so fast Arya didn't saw it coming.
Out of nowhere, Lady Catelyn took her right hand out of her pocket pulling a dagger.
My dagger, Arya realized, touching the empty sheath of the blade.
"LIAR!" Catelyn screamed, and in that sound was something capable of shaking Arya to the core. She had never believed Old Nan tales about ghosts and spirits, but it was the type of scream that belonged to those stories. A scream of someone who had had her soul ripped out, of someone who had given up on life even though their heart was still beating, of someone in a great unmeasurable pain.
Unfortunately, it was a feeble attempt, and Arya felt a pang of pity for her mother when the Kingslayer hit her in the face, with his mailed hand, throwing her against the stone wall. The pity was over quickly, though, because Arya had already released the rage she couldn't control, that very same rage she had been feeding for years. By the time Lady Catelyn's body hit the floor, Arya was already moving to strike against the Kingslayer.
Not even Jaime Lannister's laugh made her fear for her life. Needle met his blade. The sound of swords clashing echoed through the room as the prince started crying, joining his sobs to the song of steel.
"I should have guessed it would be pointless to talk sense into you." Ser Jaime snarled, striking to her waist. She stopped him in time, trying to tackle him next on the leg. He was too strong for her, too tall, too quick. But she kept fighting, making her best to detain his blows, observing the way he moved, trying to find weaknesses. "You're just like your father."
Fear cuts deeper than swords.
No, she couldn't be afraid. Looking around quickly she saw the table and understood what she had to do. If she could only run to it and jump to its top, she would be taller than Ser Jaime and…
Needle flew from her hand before she could do anything else.
"Will you surrender now?" Jaime asked, resting his sword on her neck.
What do we say to the God of death?
"Not today." She replied, before spitting in his face. Her hope was that the spit would distract the Kingslayer for a second, allowing her to get the second dagger in her belt. And when Ser Jaime blinked in surprise, she found a way to grab it, and pull it out and…
She couldn't believe her eyes when Ser Jaime's sword descended upon her hand, missing her flesh by inches to hit the dagger. The impact force her hands release the dagger, which fell a few feet away.
"Good try, girl." He said, pointing his sword to her throat while the other hand cleaned the spit still on his face.
"Go on, then, you monster." She snarled.
If this was the end, she wouldn't die pleading for her life.
"Do you really think I will kill you?" He asked, astounded, laughing again. "I know better than that. You Starks are hard to—."
Once again, a quick sequence of events followed, almost too quick for her to follow. Ser Jaime's words were cut off literally by a dagger on his throat. The blade had been stuck on the back of his head, right at the end of his scruff, buried so deep that its point came out at the middle of his throat. Arya blinked, watching the arrogance transform into something else in his eyes. It wasn't fear, more like as if in his head he was saying Oh fuck, didn't see this coming. Blood blurted from his mouth, sprinkled directly to Arya's face.
"No… Wha…" He said, touching the end of the blade with his free hand.
And then, to Arya's horror, Jaime Lannister swirled on his heels, lifting his sword and cutting the head of the person behind him. One blow wasn't enough, but as the scream filled the room Arya understood what was happening. Managing to deliver three more blows, Jaime Lannister finally managed to cut off the head of the person who had stabbed him on the back.
Arya fell on her knees when the head of Catelyn Stark rolled to her feet.
The prince's screams were filling her ears, and somewhere Sansa's lady-in-waiting was banging on the door to get out. But Arya couldn't move as she watched Ser Jaime also sinking on his knees, drowning in his own blood, next to her mother's headless corpse. His body stopped moving after a few seconds, with his lifeless eyes staring toward the ceiling.
"No, no, no…" Arya said, refusing to look again to the head a few inches from her hand. She feared a part of her mother could still be alive. "No, no, no." Completely bewildered, Arya turned got up and turned to the prince. The child screamed even louder as she extended her hands toward him, ready to grab him and run from that hell. "No, no, no."
For a few minutes, she lost track of everything. And then she was running through the holdfast, the Prince crying while sited on her shoulders, making his best to hold her neck. His tears against the skin of her neck made her even more desperate to get out.
No, no, no.
The moment she reached the passageway downstairs, the fight seemed to be over. There were no men there, only bodies piling on the ground and blood painting everything in red. So much death, so much more than what they were supposed to bring to the holdfast.
You've walked into a trap, a trap, trappity, trap.
She descended another set of stairs, and then another, find the way clear to her escape. She just wanted to run, disregarding completely the dead bodies on the way. She only remembered she was supposed to find Smalljon Umber when the knight appeared right in front of her, close to the drawbridge. He had lost his helmet, his face covered in blood, but he seemed fine.
"What happened?" He asked, noticing how distressed she was. "Why did you take so much?"
She simply shook her head, incapable of speaking. Gesturing toward the Prince sitting on her shoulders, Smalljon quickly understood what she meant and, without questions, transferred the boy to his own back. He was still adjusting the prince when Arya walked through the gates, down the drawbridge, feeling despair taking over her.
She couldn't understand what had just happened, but something was broken inside her forever. The Arya Stark who had climbed her way to the top of Maegor's Holdfast had died beside her mother, and had been replaced by something entirely, a new person she didn't know.
If I could've just climbed to that table…
But her Mother had died, losing her head as her father would've lost years go. War was inevitable now. Even Robb couldn't turn his head to the events that would follow. If he were to do that again, she would rebel. Not a rebellion for playing with swords or use pants instead of dresses. She would actually rebel against her brother, divide the Northern Houses against him, rally men willing to defend the Stark's honor and get her revenge over Joffrey, the Lannisters, the Tyrells and all the others who had looked for their fall.
More carnage awaited them outside, but also what seemed to be a celebration of victory. Guards wearing the red armor were running everywhere, their yells filling the morning with words she couldn't grasp.
"FOR THE NORTH!" Many of them were chanting.
"JUSTICE FOR THE STARKS!" Another one cried.
How many red guards were? More than fifty, not considering the ones who lied dead on the ground. Maybe even more than seventy. Looking back to the holdfast, she then saw someone had hanged a banner from a window. A white banner, with a grey direwolf's head on it. That made no sense at all, unless…
Varys.
The truth sunk in like a punch in her stomach,
It all had started with him.
She knew it was too late to catch the eunuch, but she ran through the chaos, oblivious to anything else. For seconds, she lost sight of Smalljon and the prince. She forgot her mother's head laying on the floor. She forgot about Sansa. The only thing on her mind was to get her hands around Varys' neck to rip his head out of his body.
Her feet led her to the hidden archway close to the Hand's Tower, and then down the stairs, the chamber of the dragon's skulls, and more stairs, and more passageways and then she was again on the chamber where everything had started less than an hour before. She was breathless, tears running down her face and sword ready to kill.
But there was no sign of the eunuch. Instead, she trumped on something in the dark. She had to cross the room to grab a torch so she could see whatever was on the floor. It was Wendel, of course, staring at her with his eyes open, next to the eunuch's bodyguard. Someone had broken his neck.
Arya knelt by his side and placed her fingers on his eyelids, closing them.
Another kill for the North to bear.
Varys had played them like a puppet master. He knew the tensions between the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, especially the animosity between House Stark, Lannister and Tyrell and in a brilliant move he had set the path for them to destroy themselves and start a war. She doubted he was siding with any House would take part on that war, but we would get a war, and with war chaos, and with chaos new possibilities.
New possibilities for his other friends.
Modaen had to know who those friends were, and for who the eunuch had bought this war. As she suspected, the bard was the key to unsolved this riddle.
"We can't take his body with us." She didn't hear Smalljon approaching, but suddenly he was at her side, veiling Wendel's body. The prince was still on his shoulders, the crying subsiding to a sniffling. "The ship is waiting for us."
He had to help her stand.
"And you've to put yourself together." He added, shaking her. "We'll avenge your mother." He continued, showing he already knew what had happened. "But first we've to leave."
She nodded, and voluntary made her way to the exit.
As if the day hadn't reserved them enough horrors, another terrible sight waited for them at the end of the tunnel. Three other corpses lied on the ground, almost totally buried in the snow. They only found out they were there because the snow was painted red and there were some signs of a struggle.
It was Dacey.
And Harrion.
And Robett.
The three of them were dead.
Manderly, Mormont, Karstark and Glover.
More than one northern House had lost one of their ones that day.
It was the kind of pain she needed.
She had no words to say that moment.
"Seven fucking hells." Smalljon mumbled behind her, his voice contorted by pain.
Modaen had to be the one behind those deaths, since the queensguards had run after him to bring Sansa back. There were no signs of the bard, so she assumed he had decided to fight them to go look for Sansa alone, as it had been his intention since the beginning. That meant her sister should be lost too.
"Yes, we'll avenge them." Arya muttered, looking up to focus on the path ahead. The docks were not far. "We'll avenge all of them."
Not long after, the three of them were getting aboard the Purple Vessel, a ship bound to White Harbor. Donnel Locke, who had agreed to wait for them before resuming his journey to the North, was waiting for them with a grim expression when they climbed the wooden plank and into the ship. Arya saw him grabbing Smalljon's arm to confide in him whatever sad news he had.
I can't do this now.
Arya went directly to the cabin reserved for her and locked herself inside. Pulling Needle out of its scabbard, she started destroying every little thing around her, letting rage out of her body, unable to contain it for one second more. She kept on fighting pillows as if they were her enemies, ripping them apart. The cushion was next, followed by the bed and even the small mirror behind the door.
Chaos.
She was still fighting her demons when the ship passed by the Tournament's grounds, sailing away from the fire and terror installed by the river side.