Dead brown leaves crinkled underhoof, the horses trampling them headlessly. A refreshing Autumn breeze was blowing up from the South, rustling through the undergrowth. Birds chirped overhead, nesting in the branches of the overhanging trees. Arya sat silently on her steed's back, watching a deer foraging for food off to the side of the wide dirt path. She rode alongside Laeric, who was keeping silent for the most part. Círdan and another elf, Galdor, were leading the group. Galdor was blond-haired with high cheekbones, one of the ones who had served them food the previous day.
Whinnying and braying sounded from behind, and Arya turned swiftly, looking for the source of the commotion. Teidrin was lying on the ground, flat on his back, and his horse was stamping around nervously. He was smaller than his brother, with a mop of light blond hair hanging down in front of his eyes.
Arya had almost decided not to let him come when she had realized who Barroth had been referring to, but had gone against her better judgment and allowed him to remain. He was loyal, like his brother had said, and hardworking too… But he had very poor coordination, always blundering around and bumping into things.
"Brother!" Barroth exclaimed, shaking with laughter. "What have you done this time?"
Teidrin stood up and dusted himself off, blushing profusely. He tried to clamber back onto his horse, but slipped in the stirrup, falling once more, and landing in much the same way as the last time. Barroth only laughed harder, but rode forward to help his brother, hauling him upward with one hand. Teidrin managed to stay on the horse this time, though he swayed dangerously.
"Sorry, sorry." He apologized once he noticed that everyone had stopped. "I wasn't trying anything, I swear. It's just… I've not been around horses very much, if you take my meaning."
Arya just sighed and turned to face forward again. She herself had not had much experience with horses, only having ridden them when she was much younger. Luckily, she remembered enough not to make a fool of herself like Teidrin was doing. The group started moving again, at the same brisk pace that they had been travelling at for the last few hours. Colden urged his horse forward this time, drawing even with her.
"Teidrin?" He asked quietly. "Really? He was the only one of those bastards who didn't know a thing about surviving or fighting. And you chose him."
"Yes." Arya replied simply, keeping her eyes fixed to the road ahead. "I chose him because I wanted Barroth with us. And he's not all that bad. He has a good heart."
Colden snorted. "A good fucking heart ain't gonna get you anywhere if you're fighting for your life. And you could've ordered Barroth to come without him."
"That's not the kind of leader I want to be."
"No?" His eyebrows shot up. "Then what kind do you want to be?"
"I don't want to be a leader at all." She admitted. "I'm not good at this. I never was. But I couldn't have sailed here by myself, could I?"
They were both silent for a moment. Arya's horse gave a snort and dipped it's head, reaching for a bush full of bright red berries. She tugged the reins to the side, preventing him from taking a bite.
"Your brother was a great leader." Colden told her. "Proud, fierce, inspiring. Clever, too."
Arya turned her head to look at him, raising an eyebrow at the description. "Jon?"
"No, no." He chuckled. "Though I suppose he was a good one as well. No, I was talking about Robb."
"You served under him?" Arya asked.
"For a time." Colden's eyes drifted toward the sky, lost in memories. "I was a young boy, then. Probably only sixteen. Reckless, immature."
"You haven't changed much." Arya observed.
He smirked. "Well, you'd be surprised."
"But how did you survive?" She pressed. "Were you at the Red Wedding?"
"No." He said. "I had a stroke of luck there. About a week before, some dumb Lannister cunt brought a damn hammer down on my leg. I slit his throat, but the damage was done. The bone was fucking broken clean in two. They sent me home to heal."
"And-" Arya was cut off by another tumult of noise coming from behind her. There was a loud thumping, followed by a horse whinnying again. She sighed in exasperation and turned to look back.
"I swear, Teidrin, if you fall of that horse one more…" She trailed off, eyes widening in surprise as she caught sight of the ongoing fiasco. Teidrin and Barroth were on the ground. Teidrin appeared to be unconscious, his eyes rolled back in his head. Both of their horses were backing away from their riders, panicking loudly. And when Arya saw Barroth, she understood why.
The large man was being dragged off by a massive white wolf with a scraggly coat, it's fangs embedded in his shoulder. He was grunting and moaning, trying in vain to free himself from the iron grasp of his captor. It was over four feet tall on all fours. Blood was pooling out of the afflicted area, turning one side of Barroth's cloak crimson.
Colden shouted a curse and fumbled for his spear, which he had strapped to his horse along with his saddlebags. Laeric was trying to get his own horse under control, as it had started to buck around with fright. Arya reached behind her back and swiftly drew her valyrian steel dagger. She raised it and prepared to throw, but stopped herself at the last second. It was too risky. The wolf was mostly hidden behind Barroth. Even with her deadly accuracy, she could very well kill her own man if the wolf decided to so much as shift it's grip at the last second.
She changed tactics, twisting out of the saddle and dismounting. As she was about to start running toward the retreating animal, however, an arrow whizzed past her, narrowly missed Laeric, and lodged itself in the wolf's eye. The creature sank to the ground almost immediately, dead. Barroth yelled and flung himself away from the carcass, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
She looked back sharply, and saw Galdor sitting calmly upon his horse, a bow in one hand. He inclined his head, then knocked another arrow, glancing around at the surrounding forest. Círdan had climbed off his horse, and was hurrying toward Barroth.
"Stay alert." He called to Arya as he passed. "Seldom do wolves such as these travel alone."
She scanned the sparse foliage. A few large squirrels ran about here and there, but there was no sign of any other such beasts.
"What in the hells was that?" Colden demanded. He had finally managed to free his spear, and was leaning forward atop his horse, poised to throw.
"It…" Arya began with uncertainty, "Well, it looked like Ghost. Jon's direwolf."
"It was a white wolf." Galdor said solemnly. "They roam the wastelands of the Forodwaith. Never have I seen one so far South. An ill omen, this looks to be."
"Nay." Círdan called over. He had removed Barroth's cloak and was wrapping the wound with long white pieces of cloth. "It is no omen. Merely it means that the days grow colder, though that news does not bring comfort to my heart."
After he had finished bandaging Barroth, Círdan cast one last uneasy look at the shadowy forest before climbing back onto his horse. Colden and Galdor both put their weapons away as Arya roused Teidrin and helped him back onto his horse. He had hit his head on a rock, but didn't seem to have suffered any serious injury.
They set out once more, this time at a faster pace, all watching their surroundings warily. The rest of the day passed without incident, save for one time when Laeric gave shout, thinking he had seen another wolf. It turned out to be only a small white goat, probably escaped from a nearby farm, and they continued on.
The sun sank lower and lower in the sky as their path wound away eastward. Eventually it dipped below the treeline, casting the world below into ominous shadow. Círdan signalled for them to halt in a small clearing off to the side of the path, next to a trickling stream.
"Here we will take our rest." He said. "We will depart again at sunrise. Sleep now, for you are all weary."
They all dismounted and began unpacking their horses. Arya quietly fed her horse an apple she had kept from the ship. It snorted happily as it ate, and she smiled. She had always liked horses; this one was no exception. They were honest and straightforward, never lying or deceiving.
"Her name is Findel." Círdan's voice sounded from over her shoulder. "She was once the steed of a great warrior, but old age has turned her soft and gentle."
Arya managed to keep her composure, though he had startled her.
"It's a lovely name." She replied, not turning around. She opened one of her saddlebags and withdrew a tightly wrapped sleeping roll.
"Yes." Círdan agreed. He walked up to Findel and began stroking her mane. "A lovely name for a lovely horse."
Arya set to work unravelling her roll, choosing a flat, grassy spot with no roots or rocks. She was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, and much of the time she had not had anything to sleep on except the cold hard ground.
She turned back to her Findel, about to tie her up for the night, when she saw Círdan lifting the flap to another one of her saddlebags, peering in. She rushed over and closed it quickly, but not before he had caught a glimpse of the severed human faces inside. They were gaunt and pale in the moonlight, staring upward with opened mouths like the tortured faces of the damned. He raised an eyebrow at her, mouth pulled into a thin line.
"There is more to you than at first there seems to be, lady Arya." He said in a low voice. "I would warn you to tread lightly in this land, lest you endanger yourself or others."
"And I would warn you to mind your own affairs." Arya responded coldly, glaring up at him. "Lest I be forced to kill you."
He regarded her with a blank expression for a moment, a strange light entering his eyes. He said no more, however, walked back to Galdor, who had prepared his bedding for him. Arya watched him go with narrowed eyes. She had only brought a few faces, just in case. She hoped not to have to use them, but something told her she would. She briefly considered killing Círdan and using his face to speak to Elrond, but dismissed the notion. There was really no need. And he seemed to be aiding her, at least for the time being. Laeric walked up to her, glancing back over his shoulder at Círdan.
"What did he want with ye, m'lady?" He asked softly.
"It doesn't matter." Arya said. "You should get to sleep. Tomorrow will be another day full of riding."
"Beggin' your pardon, but I was thinkin' that I could take the first watch, if you'd allow me."
Arya sat down lightly on a tree stump, eyes distant, lost in thought. The moon was shining brightly through a hole in the shreds of cloud drifting above. The night was still, and the sound of crickets chirping emanated from all around them, mixing in with the bubbling of the nearby stream for a calming effect.
"No, Laeric." She said. "I won't be able to sleep for a bit anyway. Get some rest. I can wake you in a few hours, if you'd like."
"If it pleases m'lady. Jus'..." He hesitated. "Ye do need to sleep. Don't think ye can stay up all bloody night."
The corners of her mouth twitched. "I'll be fine, Laeric."
He nodded again, then walked off awkwardly, looking back at her every few seconds. She was glad to have someone care about her so much, but a life of fending for herself had left her more than capable of surviving on her own. Accepting help was not exactly in her nature.
After a few minutes, everyone had fallen asleep, and Arya sat alone on the stump, watching over them. Though she had told Laeric she would wake him, she had no intention of getting any sleep. The only person she knew she could trust completely was herself. She would rather not place her life in anyone else's hands, at least while she had the choice.
Suddenly, without warning, the night was broken by an ear-splitting shriek. It was the most horrible sound Arya had ever heard, full of darkness, despair, and terror. It was like a fell voice carrying over the wind, full of malice and contempt. Her heart was seized with horror, and she crumpled to her knees, hands over her ears.
Dimly, she was aware of her companions waking up at the noise. Colden tried to stand, but his knees buckled underneath him. Laeric was rolling around, clutching at his head. Barroth and Teidrin were curled up in fetal positions. Círdan and Galdor were kneeling on the ground, eyes shut tightly.
The shriek cut off as suddenly as it had started. Arya rose shakily to her feet, hand resting on Needle's hilt.
"What…" She gasped, out of breath. "What… was… that?"
Círdan had risen as well, though everyone else remained lying on the ground. Teidrin was so still that Arya worried he was dead until she caught sight of his chest rising and falling slowly. Even Galdor, the great elven warrior, was still shaking slightly.
"That," Círdan said, his voice full of sorrow and pain. "Was a sound I had hoped never to hear again in my lifetime. I fear that we are too late. Already it has begun."
"What has?" Arya demanded.
"The coming of the darkness."