The Dragon and the Hawke 56

When morning dawned, Marian and Arya joined Stannis before the Dreadfort. The massive structure loomed above them in the grey mist of dawn. The cold air fogged their breath and the snow about them was stained red and brown from the near constant battles of life and death over the past few months.

"Who's this?" Ser Davos, the first to notice Marian's companion, asks.

"I'm Arya Stark," the girl introduces herself, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the Seaman.

"A pleasure, M'Lady," He bows his head.

"A pleasure indeed," It is Mellisandre who speaks next, turning to gaze down at the girl with interest, "Have you done as the Lord directed, child?"

Arya glares at Mellisandre, "Did you?"

"I'm afraid not," the Red Woman shakes her head, turning to Davos, "Ser Davos saw to that."

The Onion Knight looks between them and asks, "You two know each other?"

"She was a companion of the bastard," the Red Lady supplies.

"Gendry," Arya corrects, "His name was Gendry, and you did something to him, didn't you, you witch?"

"Oh she tried," Davos agrees, giving the witch a baleful glance, "But I set the lad free. If he had strong arms and a good sense of direction he should be alive."

Arya turns to him, blinking up at him, then nods in thanks.

"Regardless of who the child is," Stannis speaks, turning from a conversation with Marian over what the mage would do, "She's here and she intends to fight."

The last missing Stark sniffs, "Roose Bolton dies today."

"That's a mite bloodthirsty, lass," Davos notes.

Arya gives him a sidelong glance, "Next you'll be telling me I was harsh on the Freys."

Davos, and everyone else who knew exactly what happened to the Freys, has to stop when they hear the small girl say that. The wizened seaman blinks down at her, then snorts, "I'm sure we can make exceptions for Freys."

"I thought as much," Arya agrees.

"Who're the Freys?" Marian asks, not really understanding the context.

Arya looks to her and with an enigmatic smirk she tells her, "Nobody, now."

"Fair enough," The mage snorts, then she turns her attention to the massive drawbridge in front of them, and the archers perched above just waiting for her or anyone else to be stupid enough to come into range.

The storm god starts striding confidently towards the raised bridge, and is peppered with arrows almost as soon as she crosses that undefined line between in and out of range. The forces of the King do not expect the sudden shock of seeing their trump card apparently shot to death before she can make a single move.

They need not have worried though. Marian was, as had been proven time and again, a high enough level in badass that an entire hailstorm of arrows didn't do much to slow her down. She'd taken that much from Varic back home on an average day, at least six times! Arrows never truly were the bane of her existence. It was always the tanks that hurt her the most, and in this realm she never seemed to run into any. Though she hadn't fought a Westerosi knight yet, so that may just be a consequence of location.

Again, Marian was discounting her condition as a faught Fade Demon, or her newly crowned status as Storm God. But her continual refusal to acknowledge her new state did not take away from the power she could wield with startling ease.

Case and point: When she reached the drawbridge - covered in arrows sticking from odd places - all she had to do was raise a hand and the massive structure of wood was torn from its mooring. Heavy chains slithered out of their holdings, men screamed as stone was uprooted with the fastenings, and then there was silence as both attackers and defenders had to stare at the massive wooden bridge hanging suspended in midair.

With a thunderous crash and a cloud of splintering wood, the bridge slams down, wedging itself in place and creating a clear path for the Baratheon army to take. Eyes from the walls trace the woman as she starts to move away, and without much thought, there is a scream from inside the castle. Men, some as young as children, and some as old as Walder Frey, charge from the destroyed drawbridge with mad desperation.

Behind them, a young man with black hair urges them on alongside a team of dogs. The dogs nip at the heals of the charging men, and it is clear to the preparing soldiers that it isn't a case of bloodlust that drives the mob onwards. It is bowel loosening fear at the idea of being consumed by the dogs, as some of the stragglers soon are.

Marian blinks, erecting a shield as the disgorge of humanity charges at, then around her. They smack into the solid barrier of magic, and then are pressed into the sizzling sphere by their own allies. She watches as some catch fire from the concentrated magics and other break off and charge in another direction. It takes no more than a second for her to be consumed by the writhing mass of humans.

Back at the line of the Baratheon forces, Arya fingers her sword and asks, "Should we help her?"

"She'll be fine," Davos assures her, "It'd take a might more than some dirty Bolton bastards to put her down."

"How can you be sure?" Arya asks

"You've not heard the tale of her wedding night?" he asks her.

"I've been out of touch," She tells him, a frown marring her face as she thinks of her time in Braavos.

"Understandable," Davos nods, "I'll tell you the tale over a drink when this is over."

"You'd share a drink with a girl?" She asks.

"I'd share a drink with anyone who's got the balls to kill Walder fuckin Frey," Davos had had many run-ins with the Late Lord during his time as a smuggler and as Stannis's right hand man. The old bastard was a grump, a cackling sack of cats, and an utter shit of a human being all at once.

Arya turns her eyes back to the clump of humanity trying to get into the glowing circle, and her eyes widen when she sees that the Boltons atop the castle walls had started firing at the sphere, and into their own men, with impunity. She supposed that explained why the Baratheon army hadn't advanced yet. They'd been sieging the Dreadfort for months, and must have learnt every dirty trick that the Boltons had in stock.

On the subject of dirty tricks, she chose that moment to slip away from the Baratheon men. It was a simple task to get out of sight, as all the attention of the battle was on the growing mess near the drawbridge. By the time she'd slipped out of the army, the pile of dead men around the glowing sphere was large enough that others had to climb over it to get through.

She had to admit that she was surprised that either army let that heap of madness continue for so long, but she supposed it made tactical sense from the Baratheon point of view. She already knew that the Boltons were as mad as the Waif, so it made a small degree of sense that there would be terrible events on their side.

Speaking of terrible events, the growl behind her told her that she had been caught in some capacity as she moved silently through the field. She turned slowly and was greeted by the sight of the young man who had pushed the army on, accompanied by two large hounds. He smiles at her, the kind she knew well, "Hello there, little girl, would you like to play a game?"

The smile she gives to him is equally as deadly, "Sounds fun, what are the rules?"

"Oh, it's quite simple, really," The man, who she began to suspect was Roose Bolton's bastard son she'd heard so many terrible rumors about on her journey North, tells her, "All you have to do is run. If my hounds catch you, you lose."

Arya nods, and he smile slowly sinks into a smirk, "And if I catch you?"

"If you catch me?" Ramsey Bolton chuckles, "Then my lady, I suppose the game is over in a very different way!"

"I suppose so," She nods, "Shall we count to ten?"

Ramsey's grin starts to show teeth, "Oh, I think we shall. Ready?"

Arya nods, and says, "One."

The bastard's eyes light up and he pulls his bow from the side of his horse, "Two."

"Three," She tells him as she starts to circle around to the side.

Ramsel pulls an arrow and sets it on his lap as he tells her, "Four."

"Five," is accompanied by her drawing her blade. The tiny blade, named needle so long ago, glistens as it swishes through the air.

Ramsey pulls a second arrow as his dogs start to growl, hunching over in excitement, "Six."

"Seven," Is accompanied by Arya moving her sword in front of her and her free hand behind her back.

Ramsey pulls a third arrow and checks to make sure it will do, "Eight."

"Nine," Arya stops moving and is absolutely still.

Ramsey notches the arrow and takes aim, "Ten."

The moment is an explosion of sudden movement, with both setting about their motions with precise control. Ramsey's releases his first arrow, which flies straight towards the girls heart. At the same moment, Arya falls to her knees and to the left with such sudden speed that she has already completed her move before Ramsey even releases.

As his arrow flies just past her head, Needle stabs out and the first dog who had been rushing her is impaled through the heart along its length. With her training at the House of Black and White, the girl pulls the blade out with ease, which allows her to spin to the right to avoid the second dog.

Ramsey, not having expected to miss, nonetheless already has his second arrow notched and firing as the Stark girl spins from his hound. The arrow flies straight and true, but the point where it would have pierced her heart is diverted and passes below her armpit with an amazing display of sudden motion by the girl.

The girl's spin, which had deflected the arrow, ends with her sword pointed towards the hound as it leaps at her, and the blade slides down the snarling beast's throat, killing it. The hound carcass drags the girl to the ground, and Ramsey thinks that victory is his as he takes aim with his final arrow. He lets loose, and is terribly disappointed when the girl has the presence of mind to move so that the dead hound takes the arrow.

He sighs, frowning to himself, and then pulls another arrow from his quiver. He is in the process of pulling it when he feels a sharp cut along his thigh. He looks down, and sees that the girl is stepping away from him, a smile on her face, "What has you so glad, girl?"

"They teach you many things in the House of Black and White, Ramsey Bolton," the girl tells him. He starts in shock at the name; for in certain circles, especially the ones he was part of, the House was a grand legend to live up to. His eyes widen and he looks down at the cut on his leg, which seems to be bleeding quite terribly.

"So you've killed me, then?" He asks, not truly believing it.

"I have," Arya tells him, then she smiles and asks, "Would you like to play a game, while we wait?"

"Oh, I love games," Ramsey pulls his sword from its scabbard and with his good leg kicks his horse into motion.

"What do we say to the god of death?" the girl asks him calmly as the horse rushes towards her. Just as it reaches her she slides to the left, the side his sword was not aimed at, and lashes out with her blade.

The Bastard Bolton feels himself sliding from his seat, and he realizes that the girl had cut the stirrup, too late to do anything but fall. He crashes to the ground as his horse rushes off, neighing piteously. He tries to pull himself to his feet, but he feels to weak to stand. The blood flowing from his leg has become too much to act, and he can do nothing but watch the girl step up to him.

He has to ask, "Well, what do you say to the god of death?"

"Not today," She tells him, watching as the light dims in his eyes.