The sound of clashing steel echoed throughout the forest, startling a group of birds into flight. They rose into the air, squawking and flapping wildly, and passed over the source of the noise: A small grassy clearing just off to the side of the East Road. Arya stood there, arms folded, watching in amusement as Teidrin faced off against Colden.
They had collectively agreed that It would be best for Teidrin to learn how to wield a sword, and Colden had offered to teach him whenever he had the chance. So here they were, circling each other, swords held at the ready.
"Come on!" Colden urged. "Hold it a bit higher! You're leaving your head completely open!"
Teidrin shifted his grasp, just in time to block a strike aimed for his neck. His eyes widened and he took a step back.
"Hold your ground!" Colden called. "Stay on balance!"
Teidrin tried to comply, shifting his feet around, but he only succeeded in getting his legs tangled up and toppling over, blade falling from his grasp. Arya winced and looked away. She was legitimately concerned that Teidrin would accidentally fall on his own sword one of these days. It was a disturbingly likely possibility. She remembered her first lessons with a sword; she hadn't been very good, but she had usually managed to stay on her feet.
The thought almost made her feel bad for Teidrin. He was eager to learn, and he was no coward. But he wasn't built to be a great strong fighter like his brother. She considered helping him out a bit. After all, she hadn't been warrior material at first, either.
The afternoon was now growing late, the sun sinking towards the horizon. They had stopped to have some supper, and Colden had decided to work with Teidrin a bit while they were off the road. Círdan and Galdor were sitting on a nearby stone outcropping, conversing in their own language and gazing out Eastwards over the forested lands. Barroth and Laeric were sitting on a log nearby, watching the training session. Barroth was eating a piece of pie he had saved from the inn at Bree. It had been over a day since they had left, bidding farewell to old Butterbur and riding out through the Eastern gate. Nobody had said anything about Ferny, but somebody would probably have found him by now.
Though nobody will miss him. She thought to herself. A man like that doesn't make many friends.
She was pulled out of her thoughts by Teidrin yelping as he nicked his hand trying to retrieve his sword. Barroth facepalmed, and Arya sighed, stepping forward.
"Before you start attacking him, you might want to teach him to at least hold it properly."
Colden glanced over at her. Sweat was beading on his brow, though the air was chilly. He had borrowed Laeric's sword, having only brought his spear with him, which he had deposited next to an old dead tree with low-hanging branches.
"There's not much to teach." He said flatly. "He just has to wrap his fucking hand around it."
Arya ignored him and walked over to Tedirn, who had managed to pick the sword up, and was holding it away from himself carefully, as if it were a venomous snake. He threw her a wary look as she walked up to him. She stopped next to him, then drew Needle.
"Grasp it like this." She told him. "Slide your hand a little lower, and wrap one finger around the back. No, only one. Good. Now slide your thumb over this finger here…"
Once he had managed to copy her hold, she gestured toward his feet, which were positioned right next to one another. He moved them apart, mimicking her sideways stance as well. Colden was watching them with his eyebrows raised.
"He shouldn't stand like that." He told Arya. "He won't be able to swing it effectively."
Arya inclined her head. "He doesn't need to. He's smaller, like me. This way, he makes himself an even smaller target. And if he can learn to dodge and stab, he can fight just as well."
"That doesn't work." Colden snorted. "I'm trying to train a fighter, not a damn dancer."
Arya regarded him coolly. "It doesn't work? Would you like to test that?"
Colden looked taken aback. He looked over his shoulder at Barroth and Laeric, who were listening to the argument with interest. He turned back to Arya warily, holding up his hands.
"Wait… Um, that's…" He stuttered. "You… you want me to fight you?"
Arya kept a straight face, though she was laughing inside. He looked so worried, it was comical. She twirled Needle over in her hands a few times.
"Sure. I could use some practice. It's been a while since I sparred with anybody."
He shrugged nervously. "Uh, okay. Just… Don't be too disappointed if you lose. I've heard stories about what you can do. They call you the Hero of Winterfell, I think. But I'm not too shitty myself. I've taken down lots of heroes."
She smiled, taking a few steps backward. "That's fine. I like a challenge."
Teidrin backed away quickly, getting out of the way, and Colden hefted his sword. He and Arya began circling one another, both looking for and opening. Pine needles crunched softly under their feet. Barroth and Laeric leaned forward almost simultaneously, eager with anticipation.
With unnatural speed, Colden lunged forward, bringing his blade downward in a glittering arc. Arya twirled aside gracefully, but before she could strike back at him, his sword was already coming back around, this time swiping for her legs. She jumped to avoid it, then took a step back. They paused, both breathing heavily. She needed to get in close. That's what Syrio had taught her. When you had the shorter blade, you had to get in close.
Steeling herself, she darted forward, thrusting Needle in a swift jab. He barely managed to parry the strike, catching it at the last second on the hilt of his sword. She kicked out for his legs, trying to trip him up, but he stepped aside, and her leg swung through empty air. She recovered just in time to deflect another blow he sent her way. They continued on like that for a few minutes. Arya would dodge all of Colden's attacks, but wasn't able to land any of her own.
Eventually, though, Colden made a mistake. With a grunt, he heaved the sword over his head in a mighty sweep. It was slow enough for Arya to dodge with practiced ease, but hard enough that it stuck in the ground with a wet thunking noise. He tried to pull it free, but it didn't come out on the first tug. Arya seized the opportunity, stepping forward and pointing Needle at his throat. He sighed heavily.
Applause sounded off to the side where the other three men were sitting. Arya saw Barroth pass Laeric a few coins, his expression frustrated.
"That was so fucking good." Colden said once she had sheathed her sword. "How were you so fast? It was like trying to hit a cat."
She grinned. "I've had practice. That was well fought, Colden. You almost had me several times."
He smiled back. "I did, didn't I?"
They shared a laugh, all chuckling merrily. Maybe this wasn't such bad company, Arya decided. She didn't much like other people in general, unless they were her family. That was how it had always been, ever since her father had been killed. Yet it was getting harder and harder to distrust these people.
Círdan and Galdor came down then. They were still trading words, but as they approached the others, they stopped talking. Círdan halted and told them that they had all been idle long enough.
"We must make for Imladris with all haste." He insisted.
He had been saying that all the time over the course of the last day, and it had grown rather tiresome. Nonetheless, they readied their horses and set forth, following him once more. The East Road, as it turned out, was far busier than the other roads they had taken. They often passed other travellers, most heading West, but a few walking in the same direction as they were.
The two elves had shed their drabby brown disguises, and were riding once more in their kingly garments from the Havens. Arya had not had a chance to clean her muddy clothing, but she didn't mind it all that much. She had spent far longer dressed in far worse.
At one point, just as the sun was disappearing, a foul stench came over them, a reek like a thousand rotting corpses. Arya gagged reflexively as it grew stronger.
"What is that?"
"A bog, just off to our left." Galdor said. "We should pass by it soon enough."
Arya covered her mouth and nose with a portion of her cloak. The smell of mud and sweat, at least, was far better than the bog's horrible odor. She wondered how it could possibly be so bad. It was just a swamp, after all.
It soon subsided, however, true to Galdor's words. Arya removed the cloth from her face and began to breathe more easily. The land around them evened out, and the forests gave way to great rolling fields, broken only by the occasional hill or grove. The few remaining trees cast long shadows in the dwindling light.
One tall hill stood out against the evening sky. It towered over the land around it, and was crowned by what looked like the ruins of a great tower. Arya could make out a fire glowing faintly on the slopes, just below the summit.
"There is the great watch-hill of Amon Sûl." Said Círdan. "A stronghold of the men of Arnor, before its destruction. Now it serves only as a point for travellers to look out at the lands around them."
"Should we go up there?" Laeric asked. "Ye know, to spend the night, maybe?"
"Nay." Galdor told him, gesturing toward the fire. "It looks to be already occupied. I would not risk meeting strange folk on a dark night like this."
"Nor would I." Círdan agreed. "And our horses would likely not make the climb. We will make camp just off the road here, sheltered by a grove of trees. But be wary; there is evil abroad. I would sleep lightly."
With those foreboding words, he led them off the road. They dismounted and started preparing to sleep. To her own surprise, Arya decided to let Laeric take the first watch this time. She lay on the ground, listening to a horse braying in the distance, and for the first time in a long while, she felt at peace. Just as she was starting to drift off to sleep, however, the unearthly shriek from two days ago once again split through the night.
Arya jumped to her feet, and this time, through sheer force of will, she managed to stay standing, and was able to tell the direction from which the noise was coming. She saw her companions stumbling around, trying toblock the sound out by holding their hands over their ears. As soon as it stopped, she made her way over to Círdan.
"It's coming from the hill." She rasped. "The one with the watchtower on it."
Círdan exhaled slowly. "Yes. But why they would go there, I cannot guess."
As soon as he finished speaking another cry filled the air. This one was shorter, but was followed by other shouts and yells, also coming from the hill. These voices sounded human. And they were scared; panicked, almost.
" They were looking for someone." Círdan recalled softly. "So the innkeeper said. I wonder If they have not found their prey."
Arya raced to the edge of the grove and looked out towards the hill. The fire had been put out, and several dark shapes could be seen in the faint moonlight, climbing the sides swiftly.
"We have to do something." Colden said, appearing next to her. "There are people up there."
"You would only hinder them." Círdan answered dejectedly. "They are too powerful. Let us not interfere."
Arya was torn. On one hand, she agreed with Círdan. This wasn't their problem. They would only get themselves hurt. But on the other hand, there were people that could die if she didn't do something. She couldn't just let that happen, could she?
"I'm going." She said aloud. "Whoever those people are, we can't abandon them to their fate. If you would aid me, come quickly."
She ran to Findel and leaped onto her back, slicing the tether that bound her to a nearby tree with a quick swipe of her dagger, before tucking it hastily into one of her saddlebags. Once free, she urged the horse into a full gallop, heading straight for the towering ruins. Looking back, she saw Colden, Laeric, Barroth, and Galdor all climbing onto horses as well. Findel's hooves thundered over the grassy fields as they drew nearer and nearer.
Arya worried for a brief moment that she had made a terrible mistake, getting in the way of whatever was making that noise. But this was no time for hesitation, she chided herself. How was she any better than all of those people she had killed if she just left innocents to be slaughtered?
Onward she rode, heading toward an unknown foe; but in her heart burned a fire that told her she was going in the right direction.