Vagabond Battleborn
Chapter Two: In a Land Far, Far Away
"No furs, no material that Sansa recognised, no arms nor armour," Rickon snarls as they let themselves back into their great building – their warehouse. "No animals, godless transportation, and so many people – where the fuck did you send us, Bran!"
"Sideways!" Bran said defensively. "And – forwards or backwards, I'm not actually sure on that count."
"Seven hells you're not sure!" Rickon snaps at him, Dragonglass spinning over and over from one hand to another. Shaggy nudges at Rickon's side with a reproachful whine, and Rickon bares his teeth back, which earns him a growl in return.
"That'll do," Robb reprimands. "Don't be mad at Bran, it's thanks to him we're alive and together again."
Rickon snarled, punching at the wall.
"Rage later," Arya says blankly. "I'm going to go out and look for more food, but this is what I could get just from that quick trip." From her pockets she pulls a red apple, a long bun of bread with an odd red sausage in the middle, and a strange, twisted pastry. "Rickon, if you can find any wood down by the docks and ready a fire, I'll try and catch some pigeons or something. I'll be back within a few hours."
"Arya, you shouldn't go out on your own!" Jon fretted. Arya barked a laugh, and let herself back out of the building.
"She'll be fine," Sansa reassures them. "She lived alone on the streets of both Kings Landing and Braavos, she'll be fine here."
"At least those places made sense," Rickon barks again. "She has quick fingers, she would've stolen more stuff at home."
"She could have," Bran bit out, "but she wouldn't be alive to try, if we were back in Westeros!"
"Why don't we explore the building more," Sansa sighed, shaking out her skirts. "We can wait to eat until Arya is back, so that we can split everything more evenly between all of us."
"Good idea," Robb said immediately, hand going down firmly over Rickon's shoulders. "Lead the way, sweet sister, and tell me what I've missed of your growth."
Arya slunk up and down the strange streets of the world they now resided in, watching everyone as carefully as she could and trying not to draw too much attention to herself. It would have been easier with Bran casting his strange magicks, but she should do well enough with her own training.
Trying to find food to steal was harder than it had ever been for her before. There were so many more people – more to hide among, but more to spot and report her sticky fingers. This trip, she does see people singing or otherwise performing on streetcorners, and people passing by throw coins or pieces of paper (strange) into containers the performers had set up in front of their small stages. Arya files the idea away for later, to bring up with to Sansa and Jon, as their best singers.
She pinches another two apples, another red and one green, and also picks the pocket of a man who is yelling into a handheld device while people are gathered at what appears to be a crossroads, waiting for a break in the unnatural traffic on the road. She does not find a coinpouch, like she had hoped, but she pulls out a tiny leather book that, upon inspection down one of the alleyways and out of sight, she finds contains a number of the strange rectangular papers, and a shiny black rectangle as well. She thinks some of it might be a type of currency for this world (paper money, how strange!), and she uses it to buy a bag from one of the many tiny shops that litter the side streets, and then when she goes by more market-like shops, she buys a bag of oranges and another of potatoes and a box of oats, searches until she finds somewhere that has pots, and buys one of those too. She almost wishes that she had brought Nymeria with her so that she could carry more equipment – if she could buy a leg of goat or mutton or something for the wolves to split, then they would have just about everything!
She's slinking her way back to their massive building down the side alleys, eyes peeled for birds she might be able to warg down to her so they have some sort of meat in their upcoming meals, when she hears something ahead – someone slamming into something metal, perhaps one of the large containers where rubbish and detritus are placed, an accented cry of please, no! and a hissed quiet, gimme yer money!
Arya eased her bag off of her shoulder, holding it and her pot in one hand while drawing Needle with the other. Easing around the corner, she saw a small, older woman with skin as dark as the Dornish and hair in beautiful tight curls like Missandei of Narth's bailed up against one of the strange metal tubs, and a man dressed all in black with a dark cloth pulled low on his face and a tiny knife to hand.
"Let her go." Arya said lowly, flourishing Needle.
"Fuck off, fucking LARPer freak!" Spat the man.
"Let her go," Arya repeated, "and I'll let you live."
"What, with a plastic sword?" The man swung around and brandished the knife at Arya; she stepped forward, swatted the knife from his hand, and placed Needle at his throat. He let out a squeaky whine at the sharp pressure on his skin, and Arya spoke to the woman.
"Valar Dohaeris. Go on now. Be safe."
The woman released a chatter of something in a language Arya didn't know, before racing away with a heavily accented thank you! tossed over her shoulder. Arya allowed the wolfish smile to spread over her face. "Do you wish to die today?"
"You bitch!" Snarled the man. She pressed Needle a little bit further into his skin, and asked again. "NO! Dammit, no, I don't want to die!"
"Excellent. I'm new to this city – tell me more about it."
They have searched up and down their new building, investigated the various rooms and the strange technology that was scattered throughout it, and built themselves a nest of a bed out of their cloaks and the wolves when Arya finally returns. Nymeria announces that her Stark is back, tugging everyone along behind her as she runs for Arya – for her own part, Arya laughs and cuddles into Nymeria's side, burying her head in the thick ruff of Nymeria's neck.
She looks up at them all with mischief in her eyes. "We're going shopping! We have to be quick, though, before they cancel the card that I stole."
"Card?" Robb questioned.
"It's complicated and I don't care for it," Arya shrugged. "But there is invisible money on a credit card, and so long as we spend less than one hundred of the main currency in one sitting, we can just swipe the card and it should allow us to use this money without any security codes! But we have to be quick before the markets close, and if anyone asks us, we are LARPers for an RPG, though I am still unsure what that entails. We're going to get bedding and new clothing so we blend in, and then tomorrow we can try a more honest way of making our own way. Are you coming?"
"Lead the way!" Sansa laughed, tucking her hand into Arya's right elbow. The boys follow quickly, and they ride the direwolves through the streets with Bran's cloaking magic wrapped as tightly around them as he can manage. Arya leads them to a shopping centre almost an hour away from their new home, and they hide Bran and the 'wolves atop the roof of the building, sneaking down the stairs as quickly as they can. Arya is still leading.
"We need pants, undergarments, shirts, dresses for Sansa – although it looks as though girls can wear pants here too, if you want – face paint to hide ourselves when we perform, blankets, and coats. Apparently, it is very easy to purchase a brush for your teeth, and there is a paste you can use to help clean your teeth – here, Target, this should have everything we need."
"Everything is signed," Robb says lowly. "That's helpful. Where to first?"
"Take a basket each," Sansa advised, handing one to Jon and holding one for herself. "We should move together, and grab an item or two for Bran each."
"Girls' stuff first," Jon offered. "Their appearances will be judged more harshly than ours, so it might take longer to find what we need."
Arya pulls a face, but immediately sets off for the Woman's section. This is where their first hurdle lies – everything is so strange to them, and so much of the clothing that might fit Sansa is either too tight or too revealing.
"It's a new world, sister, you don't need to worry as much about modesty, it seems," Robb soothes.
"If the aim is to not draw attention to ourselves," Sansa bit out, "then I ought to cover my scars. Which means that I need to be covered from wrist to ankle."
Robb jerks and makes to say something, but Jon puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head quickly.
"Here," Arya offers, stepping forward with what looked like leggings, though the material was finer than anything they would have seen in Westeros. "These are tights, I think they're rather like stockings. Wear these under a dress. There's also jeans and … I don't know what those are called, but they're long sleeved and warm."
"Thank you," Sansa says lowly, measuring the clothing up against herself and rifling until she found the size she thought might fit her. A pair of thick black tights and a dress to go overtop of them in short-sleeved dove (Stark) grey patterned in white snowflakes. Two of the strange long-sleeved shirts in purple and black, and a cardigan in a pretty blue that she knew brought out the colour of her eyes was her final addition to her own cart.
Arya had two jeans, long-sleeved shirts in black and dark grey, a black coat that claimed to be leather, and a thin grey scarf. For colour she grabbed a beanie in a bloody red, and grabbed a second, thick scarf for Bran.
"Rickon, that's a skirt," Robb corrected gently behind them. "That's for girls."
"It's clothing," Rickon scoffed, running his hands over the thick, flowing material. "It's neither a boy nor a girl. Sansa, what do you think, would this fit me?"
She bites her lip as she analyses the skirt, and then his hips (such as she could tell through his furs). "Maybe another size or two up, Rickon. Oh, that scarf looks warm!" she added, gesturing to the grey-and-white chequered scarf in his basket. "It's even in our house colours!"
Rickon grunts, and adds the skirt to pool in a dark-yellow puddle in his cart, as well as a pair of thick black tights like Sansa's. "Ready, let's go."
They head for the Men's section, where Jon and Robb both grab two sets of jeans, two shirts in a thick material (black for Jon, dark red and dark blue for Robb) and a coat each. Rickon hums as he looks around, picking out pieces for Bran that he throws to either of the older boys before settling on a pair of jeans for himself, and two shirts in dark green and black.
"Let's get the facepaint and go." Rickon grumbled.
"We should get smallclothes too!" Sansa scolded. "Look, they sell a ten pack here! That's two each for you boys and then two pairs left over."
"Whatever would fit the boys should fit me too," Arya chirps happily. "Then we only need to grab smallclothes for you and the face paint and we're done."
This proves harder than they had originally anticipated; there are so many variations on woman's smallclothes! The boys stand awkwardly off to the side while Sansa and Arya try to puzzle it out together, and then once they feel as though they are somewhat satisfied, the siblings all move to find face paint. This is much more fun, and on their way out Rickon spots a sewing kit – he grabs one for himself and one for Sansa, so that they can make any alterations or repairs they might need to. When they leave, processing their orders one at a time with Arya standing close with the card and using slight of hand to pass the card from person to person as they needed it, and making small talk "in character" with the young woman at the counter. Her nametag reads Stacie, and she tells all of them that they're the best cosplayers she has seen in a while, and says that she hopes to see them at a ren fair someday. They laugh and go through the pleasantries with her, and then make their exit. They stop only once more, at a butchers for meat for the wolves.
When they rejoin with Bran on the roof, everyone gives a sigh of relief.
"Did it go well?" Bran demanded at their reappearance.
"It went, and now we need to go," Arya said cheerfully, helping him back onto Summer's back before swinging herself atop of Nymeria. "Let's go."
Over the following days and weeks, they slowly learn their ways around this new world. Arya adjusts the quickest, spending all manners of hours on the streets either on her own, with Rickon, or atop of Nymeria with Bran's cloaking magic around them, having learnt the trick from him as quickly as she could.
Sansa, Rickon and Jon sing on various street corners, songs from Westeros' Seven Kingdoms and from Beyond the Wall. Arya juggles knives or does weapons demonstrations with Rickon and the oldest boys, and eventually takes contracts on those that deserve it. All of them take turns wandering the streets at night in pairs, hoping to spare who they can the dangers of the night. Arya makes a name for herself as No One, as the Faceless Man, whilst the rest of them make names under their epithets. Those around the docks eventually learn to recognise the padding of wolfpaws, the howls made by human and canine throats, and learn to name them Young Wolf, Crow, Little Bird, Wolfgirl, Three Eyed Raven and Wild Wolf. They dress in their Westerosi clothes when they go out under epithet, and paint their face to help hide their identities. They eventually make the decision to hide themselves even further – when they are at home or under epithet, they are Starks (even Jon) and they go by their birth names. When they are out and trying to blend in, they all call themselves Snow, and give themselves American names to hide behind: Ed and Ben and Elaine and Kat and Joe and Dick.
The hardest part is not remembering the new names; it's remembering all of the new information and technology and geography. But, they adapt. All of them bar Robb have gone hungry before, so when their fingers aren't quite sticky enough or their singing not profitable enough, when they can't find safe water for a while, they lie together in their nest of blankets and cloaks and wolves, and tell each other happy stories, or repeat their family tree so they don't forget those who have come before them. They talk about strategies that could have been implemented to better survive each other's failings, and comfort each other when the memories or the nightmares are too much. They patch up each other's new aches and Sansa's old, and they train together until Bran is the best archer of them, until Sansa is as good as Rickon and Arya with the dagger.
After eight months, they have built connections. They have built a reputation, a standing. They can walk the streets in the day or the night at their leisure. They see notice of a man with the same House name as them on the news, an inventor with North-dark hair and eyes and a reputation.
And then, after eight months in America, they see the media release on Tony Stark's abduction in Afghanistan.
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