298 AC

Arry was terrified. She knew Syrio told her that to the God of Death you say 'Not Today!', but if it was the Tickler that put her there, she knew she'd scream like all the others. Like a sheep would before the slaughter. That's all she was here, no Water Dancer, not even Arya Horseface. She wasn't even Arya anymore, she had to be Arry the Sheep.

They started out with a group of two score, now barely two dozen remained. Of those two dozen, six were girls that the men liked, and the others were fast enough to not fall behind. It didn't matter how pretty you were or how much you begged, if you fell behind, you were dead, Arry swore she wouldn't fall behind. Nothing else mattered, not her Needle, not her lessons with Syrio, not even her name, she couldn't fall behind.

As much as Arry misliked it, Gendry was the only reason she didn't fall behind some days. Him and Hot Pie would always pull her between them, forcing her to stay upright and walk with them. Even dressed as a boy other boys thought they had to take care of her. She was so weak, nothing like Syrio who wouldn't dare to even follow the orders of these monsters, he'd kill the Tickler soon as look at him.

But not Arry, or anyone else. They just all let the Lannisters do what they wanted, one of the women had a daughter, but the woman didn't even look up as a dozen men took her, screaming and begging until she grew tired of it. Arry hated them. She hated the soldiers, she hated the Tickler and the Mountain all the more. But she didn't hate them half as much as she hated herself – Arry the Sheep, even Lumpyhead was better than that. Syrio would've killed the soldiers. Father would've killed them all.

Except they were both dead. They couldn't kill anything or protect her anymore.

Every night, Arry the Sheep became Arya the Sheep, and Arya the Sheep knew two important things, never fall behind, and her list.

Nothing else mattered. And she hated it.

They would get up before the sun, when it was grey, walk and walk and hope that nobody fell behind. Then they would stop in the evening, and maybe if they were lucky, they would be thrown a bit of stale bread. Or one day, one of the soldiers rubbed the bread around his crotch and fed it to the girls - they ate it all the same as he laughed, then grabbed one of them and got her head between his legs. Arry was glad she was dressed as a boy with Gendry and Hot Pie.

It took four days of walking and groaning and fucking before it happened.

It was the girl, in the end, the pretty one that caused it, Arry thought. Pretty girls caused everything.

She was the prettiest girl they had, although some of the men looked at Arry the same way sometime, but Arry never understood why, only that it scared her.

The pretty girl would be forced to go with at least five of the soldiers every night. She screamed at first, all the girls did. But the pretty girl was clever, at least she realised that the men got tired of screaming in the end, and killed all the 'screamers' before long. Now there was just grunting and moaning, the girl even cried quietly. She always bled though, Arry thought that must hurt a lot, but maybe she got used to it quickly – she heard lots of men say women enjoyed it no matter what.

But then, on the fifth day, early on, one of the soldiers got greedy, and grabbed the girl to rape her, not caring that you can't fall behind, which was stupid.

Then Arry realised, that rule was only for stupid sheep like her and the others, not soldiers. Or their toys.

This time the girl cried, and tried begging.

"No no n-no Ser, please not this morning I beg! Not now, please ser, please ser, not now not now no-" She choked on her sobs then. Shaking, even going on all fours and crawling, begging 'not now'.

Or that's what Arry thought she said, over and over, no one could understand her anymore, especially not the soldier who was laughing with his friends now, one of them even grabbed under her ruined tunic, feeling her barely there breasts, the girl didn't even notice.

It was stupid, she didn't cry yesterday, or the day before, why was she crying now?

She was just a stupid sheep, that was it, Arry thought.

The laughing man picked her up, and half dragged her behind a tree, pushing the other man's hands away. The men didnt look like they cared they would fall behind because of it.

Already, the girl's legs were spread, her sobs just became one long moan, and at least she stopped trying to beg for something that was never going to happen.

Arry hated pretty girls like her, they thought they could get out of anything if they asked enough. Then immediately she flushed shamefacedly, her father would be truly disappointed in her for that thought.

But Father's DEAD she had to remember that. How stupid was she that she couldn't even remember that.

Arry turned away to hide her face, maybe if the girl couldn't see her face she wouldn't know that Arry had been thinking unkind thoughts about her.

Of course, since Arry had turned away from the tree, she didn't see what happened next.

She heard it though.

The girl screamed, and so did one of the men.

Then there were two thumps, and it was just the girl screaming.

Arry, like the rest of the sheep, turned around.

And Arya burst into tears.

He died. She saw – well she didn't, but she knows what happened.

But there he was, Father, standing in strange clothes, with a sword and shield that Arya had never seen before.

Nothing mattered anymore. Not her list, not her appearance, not her name

Not even the stupid rule.

She ran to him, not caring of the blood, the screaming girl, or the stupid villagers or men that just stood there.

Nothing would stop her reaching her father. Not again.

She ran into him, not caring that she looked like a half starved boy, that even Father couldn't fight off a score of men and the Mountain.

But if Father was going to die again, Arya would die with him, no matter his strange clothes, or sword. Or that he looked slightly younger, like he did when Rickon was first born.

She ran to Father, and leapt onto his chest, she never wanted to let go. Ever.

But then something else happened. Arya knew her Father was the best swordsman ever, he even beat Ser Arthur Dayne, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, in Dorne.

But she had never seen even Syrio move this fast when he was in a tunic, or any of the knights at the stupid tourney. But Father was carrying her and he was moving even faster than that, she could feel it. But It Didn't Matter.

Arya grabbed her Father at first because she wanted to stay with him, and never let him go. Now she was holding on because she knew that he was fighting much faster than she ever saw, and she didn't want to distract him more, she remembered that lesson from Syrio.

Clang, clang, thush, slop, Crack.

The three nearby soldiers must be dead now, Arya thought. It didn't matter, she couldn't see anything, her head was buried in Father's neck, arms wrapped fully around his neck so Arya was touching her own elbows. It didn't matter that the clothes felt strange, that Father carried himself differently, it Didn't Matter At All.

Then he spoke. She heard the voice shaking through his neck and out of his mouth. But it wasn't Father. Father's voice came out in truth, she would never forget her families voices but the sounds it made were not Common Tongue. It was almost like singing, but not.

It Didn't Matter At All.