When Arya saw Gornhold for the first time, she immediately thought of Harrenhal. This ruined stronghold bore an uncanny resemblance to the abandoned castle back in Westeros, though it was much smaller in scale. It was built atop a bald hillside, dominating the surrounding landscape. The canopy of the forest had hidden the structure from view as they had approached, but now that they had emerged from the treeline, it was fully visible in the waning light of the sun. Crumbling, broken towers reached into the sky, and thick vines grew up the decaying stone battlements. A small path wound its way up the hillside, disappearing into a yawning opening in the fortress walls, where it seemed a gate had once stood.
Arya didn't realize she had stopped to stare until the man leading her yanked her rope impatiently, and she started forward again with a jolt. They had been walking for nearly five hours straight at a brisk pace, and her feet were starting to get sore. At least it looked like they would be stopping soon, she thought. Not that she expected their stay to be pleasant. She would gladly have accepted any amount of time walking with sore feet to facing whatever they would have to deal with next.
Arya turned to the guard next to her. He was a large, lean man, like the rest of them, and had a crude wooden bow slung over one shoulder. His eyes were focused on the hilltop in front of them. She had not yet tried speaking to her captors during their long walk, but she decided it couldn't hurt to try.
"What happened to this place?" She asked.
She was genuinely curious. Harrenhal, of course, had been destroyed by dragons. Gornhold did not exhibit the same scorched or melted stone, which probably meant that it hadn't been dragons, but something had decimated this place. The guard glanced at her for a second, then turned his attention back to their destination without any acknowledgement. Arya frowned, but didn't ask again.
Instead, she focused on Zalmadoc, who was walking at the head of the pack. Needle was hanging loosely from his waist, and he was inspecting her dagger, studying the shiny blade. She glared at his back, angrily watching as he swished the weapon through the air experimentally. He seemed to be enjoying himself. She swore to herself that if she got the chance, she would make sure he died by her hand. Of course, it would be preferable to get out of this situation peacefully, but she wouldn't really mind if things got a bit… violent.
They were led through the entrance, the high guard towers of the stronghold spiraling into the sky above them. Overall, the structure was probably around the same size as Winterfell, though it was hard to tell because of the way it sprawled over the hillside. Inside the entry tunnel, the stone was wet and slick. Some vines had found their way inside and wound their way up to the ceiling, thriving in the damp environment. A single rat scurried along the floor in front of them, scampering away from Zalmadoc's heavy footfalls.
On the other side of the tunnel was a small courtyard, which they only passed through briefly, before proceeding into one of the many ruined towers dotting the wall. At that point, most of the guards left and headed off in a different direction, leaving Arya and her companions with only Zalmadoc and a handful of other wild men. Despite the lessened security, Arya knew they still had no hope of escaping. Not yet at least. She never stopped looking for chances, however. Her eyes darted back and forth constantly, prepared to take advantage of even the smallest opportunity she was provided.
The walking came to an end when they arrived at a small, windowless cell at the top of the tower. One of the guards pulled the heavy iron-barred door open, and Arya was thrown roughly inside, followed by the rest of her companions. As soon as they were all clear of the doorway, the guard slammed the door shut once more, locking it with a small key. Zalmadoc rested his hands on the bars, looking at Arya.
"Stay here." He said, as if they had any choice. "We will come back for you later, after the feast is prepared."
He began walking away, flanked by the guards. Their footsteps receded into the distance.
"Uh, feast?" Colden called after him. "What feast? We're not going to be… part of it, are we?"
There was no response. Instead, they heard the sound of a door opening and closing down the hall. Colden looked at Arya uneasily. "They're not going to eat us, right?"
Arya sat down against the back wall. "I doubt it. We're still here, aren't we? They must want us for something."
She took a look around the small cell they had been locked into. It was falling apart, just like the rest of the castle, but retained enough structural integrity to make it impossible to break out through force. Rags and bones were strewn across the cold stone floor, some of them clearly the remains of past occupants. In the corner of the room, the large, fur-covered body of a man was curled up in a fetal position.
"Is he alive?" Colden asked, clearly having noticed the corpse himself.
Barroth craned his neck to get a better view. "Looks dead to me."
"Alright, good." Colden said. "Then we can walk about our plan." He looked at Arya. "You have one, right?"
"Me?" Arya said. "You're the one who got us into this mess."
"I know, I know." Colden held his hands up in resignation. "I shouldn't have brought us here. It's just that Pippin told me this region was uninhabited, and I thought we could cut off a day or two-"
"Pippin ?" Arya asked incredulously.
"Okay, maybe not the most reliable source." Colden admitted. "But seriously, I was just trying to help out. How was I supposed to know that there was some tribe of madmen living out here in the forest? Just my luck, I guess."
Arya groaned, rubbing her temples. Colden seemed to sense her frustration and stopped talking, much to her relief. He sat down against the opposite wall, letting out a pent-up breath. Despite her annoyance, though, Arya knew he was right. They did need some sort of plan. She felt the reassuringly cold steel of the knife in her sleeve once more. It gave her more options, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough. She considered using it to cut all of their bonds, but decided against it. They were still stuck in a cell, and acting rashly would only give away her advantage.
All of a sudden, the body in the far corner of the cell stirred. Teidrin yelped and sprang away from it. The man kept shifting until he had assumed a sitting position. His face was pale and scarred, dried blood caking his forehead. His eyes flicked back and forth between the other occupants of the room. He was wearing the same ragged clothing of animal skins as Zalmadoc and his men, and had similarly wild hair. Although Arya had been startled at first, she quickly composed herself. There didn't seem to be any danger; the man was manacled to the wall.
He coughed dryly, then spoke. "You may need more than a plan to escape these dungeons, my friends."
Arya regarded him with new interest. "And why is that?"
The man shrugged, which seemed to take a great deal of his energy. "No way out of here, lass. To many of them. Even if you made it out, they'd catch you. And if they catches you," He looked around meaningfully. "They throws you in the pit."
"The pit ?" Colden echoed dubiously. "The hell is the pit?"
The man chuckled into his beard, then rolled back over onto his side. "Best hope you don't find out." He closed his eyes, as if trying to fall back asleep.
"Wait!" Arya said. The man opened one eye to look at her. "How many?" She asked. "How many of them are there?"
"I'd say a score, at least. But don't get your hopes up. They're warriors, every one of 'em."
"And how do you know all this? Who are you?"
The man sighed from his position on the floor. "Should've let you think me dead." He griped. "I'll tell you who I am, but then you'd best leave me in peace. Won't have much more of that, I expect. These old bones ain't gonna last much longer."
"Well?" Barroth prompted.
"Name's Dolffe. And I know who these bastards are 'cause I used to be their chief."
It was nearly two more hours before someone came to retrieve them. In the meantime, Dolffe refused to say anything more, and had swiftly fallen into unconsciousness. He was in bad shape - that was easy to see. Arya didn't know what they had done to him, or why, but she didn't think he'd live more than a few more days if they kept him locked up in that cell.
When Zalmadoc finally showed up, he was again flanked by eight of his followers. He didn't say anything, just unlocked the door and swung it open. The rusty iron hinges squealed in protest. Five guards stalked in and grabbed each of the companions, hoisting them to their feet and shoving them out the door. They paid no attention to Dolffe, walking past him like he wasn't even there.
After a long, tense walk down the tower staircase, the prisoners were ushered deeper into Gornhold, away from the main gate. Outside, the day was growing late, the crumbling stone battlements casting eerie shadows across the ground. They passed several passageways and offshoots, all of which were shrouded in shadows, making it impossible to tell where they led. Even the vines on the walls seemed sinister in the fading light, twisting their way up the stone's like giant snakes.
As they drew nearer and nearer to the heart of the fortress, Arya could hear a loud noise coming from up ahead. It sounded like voices chanting and cheering, though it was faint. At one point, she thought she heard the roar of an animal mixed in with the rest of the noise. As they rounded one final corner, the source of the racket became apparent.
Up ahead, illuminated by hundreds of flaming torches, there was a massive arena.
It was built in a giant courtyard, but the walls had been lined with wooden planks, and more wood had been laid out around the rim to serve as stands to watch from. Wild men ringed the hole, which was nearly twenty feet deep, chanting and hooting. There must have been nearly forty men in all, which was far more than Dolffe had told them to expect. Arya's felt her spirits drop. When she came into view, the cheering grew even louder, becoming deafening. She stared straight ahead, not making eye contact with anyone.
"Woah." Colden said, as soon as he had rounded the corner. "So that's the pit."
As they came up to the edge, Arya saw that several large, metal gates were set into the sides of the arena, as if to allow access from underneath the stands. Ropes were attached to the tops of the gates, and they all converged at a single wooden pole right near the entrance, where Zalmadoc was standing with the prisoners. Arya failed to make any sense of what the ropes were meant for, much less the gates. It all seemed like a very complicated system; she had no idea how a group of savages had managed to come up with it.
Zalmadoc drank in the jeers and yells with a broad grin. He held up a single hand, and everyone abruptly fell silent.
"Men of Dunland!" He yelled. The stands roared, but quickly quieted down again. "Today," He continued, "We have guests! Caught them trespassin' near our Northern border. A fine prize, for fine men! And now we shall see what they are made of. To the pit!"
"To the pit! To the pit!" The crowd cheered.
Zalmadoc turned aside to Arya and her companions, running his tongue over his lips. "Now." He said, just loud enough for them to hear. "Which one of ya cowards wants to go first?"
Before Arya could react, Colden stepped forward. "I'll go."
"Colden!" Arya hissed.
He looked at her and shrugged apologetically. Zalmadoc belted out a laugh. "Good lad. Well then, in you go."
He promptly shoved Colden over the edge.
Teidrin yelled out angrily, and Arya rushed to the edge of the pit just in time to see Colden splat down into the muddy bottom face first. Barroth was struggling helplessly against his guard, squirming and shouting. The men in the stands roared with laughter. There was a tense moment where Colden didn't move; Arya was sure he had died. Then, groaning, he rolled over and stumbled to his feet.
He was completely covered in dark brown mud. It was in his hair, coating his face, and all over his clothes. He bent over, gasping, and coughed out a large quantity of the foul substance. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but after wiping his eyes clean, he managed to stand up straight. He looked up at Arya, who was watching with concern. When he saw her face peering over the edge, he gave her a lopsided smile, obviously trying to put on a brave face.
Arya stood up and faced Zalmadoc. "What the hell are you going to do to him?"
Zalmadoc laughed yet again. "Oh, you'll see. We keep 'em nice and hungry, just for times like this."
Arya felt the blood drain from her face. "Keep who nice and hungry?"
In answer, Zalmadoc drew a long serrated knife from within the folds of his rags. It glinted wickedly in the torchlight. He strode over to the nearby wooden pole, and slashed one of the ropes tied to it. The rope went slack, it's loose end falling into the pit. The gate it was attached to began to swing open slowly. It became evident that the rope had been holding it shut. Now that it has been cut… whatever was behind it had access to the pit. Arya held her breath.
Colden turned to face the new threat, arms held up in front of his face in a defensive stance. He had no available weapons; just his fists. And his hands were still bound.
"What… What's in there?" Arya asked pensively.
Zalmadoc joined her by the edge, peering into the pit. "Not really sure, to be honest. Different beast behind every door. But don't you worry; they all have a taste for man-flesh."
The gate finished swinging open, revealing a yawning black space behind. A hush fell over the crowd. In the sudden silence, Arya could faintly hear a low growl emanating from the blackness. In the pit below, Colden tensed up. He scanned the surrounding walls, looking for a way to escape, but it was hopeless. They were far too tall, with nothing to serve as a foothold anywhere on the flat wooden surface.
Then, slowly, a dark shape emerged from the shadows. At first, Arya couldn't tell what it was. It looked like the darkness was shifting, twisting in on itself. Then a shape emerged, huge and hulkling. A bear. Not the biggest Arya had ever seen, but certainly large enough to present a serious threat. It's back was about as high as Colden's chest. The beast advanced towards Colden slowly, mouth foaming, a snarl corrupting it's features. It's body swayed as it walked, muscles rippling under tight skin. It looked half starved, ribs showing through its fur. Colden looked pale, but he held his ground.
Arya looked around desperately for anything she could do to help. Maybe she could use her hidden knife to kill Zalmadoc. But what purpose would that serve? It would just get the rest of them killed, too. And the bear would still get Colden. Maybe she could jump in there with him and kill the bear. But Zalmadoc would only release more animals, and there was only so much she could do. No, that would get her killed too. She couldn't think of anything. All she could do was watch helplessly as the bear picked up it's pace, coming at Colden in a charge.
But then, the least expected thing happened. To Arya, it seemed like a miracle. Colden would later remark that it was nothing, but they all knew it hadn't been.
Just as the bear was about to crash into him, Colden twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding it's outstretched claws, and brought his bound hands down onto the bear's back with a fierce yell. The creature stumbled, then tripped and fell, the force of the blow knocking it off balance. Colden shouted in triumph, already turning to face the next assault. The bear stood, shaking mud out of it's fur, and growled menacingly. It lowered it's head and charged again.
This time, Colden delivered a sharp kick to it's underbelly as it barreled past. The blow knocked it to the ground once more. As it scrambled to get up, however, Colden charged forward, taking advantage of his foe's position. He lunged and slammed the bear on the head, then sprang out of the way as it swiped at him with it's claws. Every time the animal tried to stand, Colden would jump in and keep it down, pummeling it with both his fists and feet. The bear roared furiously, clearly not having expected such a fight.
It finally managed to stand, staggering to its feet with effort. If nothing else, Colden had managed to weaken it significantly. He had a chance, Arya thought, stunned. A good chance. He had nearly managed to even the odds. In all of her days, she had never seen someone fight with so much skill and ferocity. If things kept going the way they were, Colden might actually win. The bear seemed to sense that, too. This time, it didn't charge: it stalked forward, teeth bared. Colden began backing up, staying out of reach. They circled each other for some time in that manner. Colden utilized the space inside the pit well, making sure never to trap himself against a wall.
Quick as lightning, the bear made a move. It heaved itself toward Colden, mouth wide open. But Colden had been expecting that. He ducked down, and the bear's teeth snapped harmlessly over his head. Then, in one fluid motion, he slid his arms over the bear's head, pulling the ropes on his wrists taught against its throat. They both fell to the ground, Cold hanging on to the bear's neck while it thrashed and bucked wildly.
He pulled with all of his might, squeezing the breath out of the massive beast. It made horrible retching sounds, flailing it's claws around wildly, trying to break free from the stranglehold. But somehow, Colden managed to keep his grip firm, never allowing his opponent even a single breath. His face was beet red with the strain of the effort, and sweat beaded on his forehead. Arya wasn't sure he would make it.
But then he did. The bear went limp, it's head lolling to the side. Colden flopped onto his back, exhausted. The men in the crowd went crazy, hooting and cheering like never before. At first, Arya thought they would be angry. After all, it didn't seem like Colden was supposed to live. She still wasn't exactly sure how he had . But then she saw the smile on Zalmadoc's face, and her muscles relaxed slightly.
Indeed, Zalmadoc seemed almost as impressed by the performance as Arya was. "This one's a fighter!" He bellowed. "A true man! Never have I seen such a great beast bested so easily! Come now. let him up! He has earned his life."
A rope ladder was lowered into the pit. Colden limped toward it and clambered up the rungs. When he reached the wooden platform at the top, he collapsed onto his knees, panting and heaving. Arya ran over and crouched down next to him.
"Are you alright?" She asked.
Colden looked up into her face, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Yeah" He rasped. "Just peachy. Why?"
Arya had to resist a smile of her own. She had been sure that Colden was going to die. And yet somehow, she had been spared the hard decision of leaving him to perish, and for that she was grateful. She would have to thank him later. Her relief was washed away, however, by Zalmadoc's next words.
"So." He boomed, silencing the crowd. "This one has proven himself. Who shall be next?"
Arya whirled to face him. "What?"
"He has earned his freedom." Zalmadoc told her, chuckling. "You're other friends have not. They must survive the pit or die. That is our way."
"But-" Arya didn't know what to say. There was no way her other companions would survive. Colden had only escaped by the skin of his teeth, and that was only after an incredibly skillful performance on his part. It was extremely unlikely to happen again. But as Arya stood there, a plan formulated in her mind. It was so simple she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. She looked Zalmadoc dead in the eye, trying to exude confidence.
"My companions and I will agree to your terms, and do what you want without a fight. But only if you agree to speak with me first. Alone."
Zalmadoc hesitated. She could see he was weighing her offer in his mind. The men around him paused, waiting for him to make a decision.
"I'm just a girl." Arya pressed. "What harm can I do? And my companions will stay behind. If I so much as touch you, your men can kill them."
"As you wish." Zalmadoc conceded. "I see no harm in it. If I do this, your friends will go into the pit?
"Yes."
"Then come." Zalmadoc said. "We shall speak alone." He began to walk off, away from the pit. His men parted to let him pass, murmuring amongst themselves.
"Wait." Colden pleaded from his position on the ground. "Arya, don't."
She ignored him, following closely behind Zalmadoc. She paid no heed to the rest of the savages, who were glaring daggers at her as she passed. Zalmadoc led her out of the courtyard, then down several different winding passageways. They were going into a part of Gornhold that she had not yet seen. It looked, however, very much the same. They finally arrived in a small, circular stone room with no roof. The flickering torches of the pit were now too far away to cast any light, but night was almost upon them, and the moon shone brightly up above, illuminating Zalmadoc's face as he turned to face her.
"We are alone now." He said. "Come. What is it that you would say to me?"
Arya regarded him coolly. "What would I say? Well, how about this: You will set me and my companions free, and won't harm us. We will leave your lands peacefully, and hold no grudge. If you fail to do that, I cannot promise that you will live to see the dawn."
At first, Zalmadoc seemed taken aback by her bold words. His eyes widened and he took a step back. Arya held his gaze, trying to look intimidating. But then he barked out a laugh.
"You are in no position to make demands, girl." He said.
"I'm not?" Arya asked. She grasped the knife within her sleeve, and with a flick of the wrist, used it to sever her bonds. Then she rushed forward, holding it up against Zalmadoc's throat. "What about now?"
Zalmadoc gulped, a single drop of blood trickling down his neck from where the knife had nicked him. "If you kill me, your friends will never escape."
"And if you don't release us, you die."
"We seem to be at an impasse."
Arya laughed softly. "No. You're at an impasse. I have another way out."
Like a striking snake, she drew the knife back, then plunged it upward into his chest. The blade passed right under his ribcage and punctured his heart. A perfect kill. Just like the Hound had taught her. Zalmadoc gasped, crumpling to the floor. He lay there, staring up at Arya's face with a mixture of anger and fear.
"You… have… no… honor." He wheezed .
Arya leaned over his body, looking down at him as the life drained from his eyes. "No?" She said, "Well, at least I'm still alive."
He let out one final, shuddering breath before slumping back against the cold, hard stone. His eyes stared blankly up at the moon, reflecting it's light in their emptiness. Arya wiped the knife on her cloak, throwing her broken bonds to the side. She retrieved her dagger and sword from Zalmadoc's corpse, inspecting them carefully before sticking them in her own belt.
Then she went to work on his face.
Colden still couldn't believe he had killed a bear. An actual freaking bear. When it came out from behind that gate, he thought he was doomed. But then he had killed it. He didn't have time to relish the feeling of pride, however, because he had a much more serious problem on his hands. His friends were about to be put to death, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. And then, to top things off, Arya had actually agreed to it. He had no idea what she was thinking.
He lay on the wooden walkway now, covered from head to toe in gooey black mud, and reeking like a swamp. The chilly night air made him shiver in his wet clothes, and he was still having trouble getting his breath back after the ordeal in the pit. He was a complete mess. He wouldn't be up to saving anybody from wild animals any time soon.
He lifted his head when he heard loud footsteps approaching. Zalmadoc came into view, striding back onto the walkway. And Arya was nowhere to be seen. Colden's mind immediately jumped to the worst. Had Zalmadoc killed her? Had he taken her to some remote corner of the keep and slit her throat where no one could hear her screams? The thought made him furious. He had been hired to protect her, after all. And he did not fail his missions. But also, more importantly, she was his friend. Of course, she might not think of them that way. He knew she didn't like to get close to anyone; that much had been clear from the moment he met her. But he trusted her, and he hoped she trusted him.
Gritting his teeth, he stormed over to Zalmadoc, blocking the man's way. Zalmadoc paused, looking down at him.
"Where is she?" Colden asked, voice dangerously level. "What the fuck did you do to her?"
Zalmadoc just sighed. "Get out of my way, boy."
"You bastard." Colden seethed. "You killed her, didn't you? You fucking bastard!"
"Stop." Zalmadoc put out a hand. "Your lady is fine. Trust me ."
Colden opened his mouth to respond, then stopped abruptly. ' Trust me'. The words echoed in his ears. There was something about the way the man had said them…
Without really knowing why, he backed down, stepping aside. Laeric shot him a funny look, but he ignored it. Zalmadoc gave him a grateful nod, then walked forward to stand beside the wooden pole with the ropes tied to it. He raised his hand again, and everyone stopped talking. Within a few heartbeats, the chief had everyone's attention.
"Men!" He called. "I have reached an agreement with the young lady. It seems that she wants an honorable death for her companions. They will go into the pit… But they shall not be food for our beasts. No. We shall kill them ourselves."
Confused murmuring broke out among the crowd. Colden himself was blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of the statement. Arya had arranged for them to get killed by savages instead of animals? How was that any better? Did she know something he didn't? Or maybe she just wasn't thinking straight. Unless… unless this was some sort of plan she had come up with. A way for them to escape. He decided to trust her, and waited silently to see what would happen.
"A strange request." Zalmadoc continued. "But one worthy of honoring. So now, my fellow warriors; into the pit with you. You shall be the ones to slay these cowardly souls. All of you in, I say! Whoever strikes the killing blow shall be rewarded!"
There was a moment of hesitation; it seemed the wild men were thoroughly confused by the command. But none of them were very bright, and no one wanted to disobey their chief. So, one by one, they went into the pit. Some jumped down, landing heavily on the floor below, while others lowered the rope ladder and began to descend the rungs. The prisoner's guards, however, stayed where they were, unsure of what to do. Zalmadoc gestured for them to follow their brethren into the pit.
"The prisoners will be of no harm to me." He said. "I shall throw them down to you. Go now."
Reluctantly, the guards left the prisoners with Zalmadoc. As soon as the last one of them had descended the rope ladder, Zalmadoc hauled it up, presumably to ensure that the prisoners would not escape once they were thrown down. He stood at the edge of the pit, looking down at the savages amassed below him. There were nearly forty, as Colden had estimated before, all waiting expectantly, looking up at their leader. Zalmadoc didn't move.
"Well come on now!" One of the men bellowed. "Throw 'em down and let's be done with it!"
And then, Colden's world was turned upside down.
Because Zalmadoc took off his face.
It was the strangest and most horrifying thing Colden had ever seen. The huge man reached up to his head, grabbing hold of his skin, and pulled it off, like it was some sort of mask. And then it got even more unbelievable. Colden's mouth dropped open, and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes were telling him one thing, and his brain another. This couldn't be possible. There was no way.
There, standing where Zalmadoc had just been, was Arya.
She was dressed in the garb of the wild men, but there was no mistaking who it was. Her face was expressionless. Her grey eyes looked down on the savages with no semblance of pity or mercy. There was a collective gasp from the pit. It seemed that they were just as surprised as Colden.
"What-" Colden started haltingly, not sure he could trust his own tongue. "Arya… how…"
Laeric, Tedrin, and Barroth, were equally stunned. Laeric was clutching his chest, and took several steps back. Barroth looked like he was about to faint. And Teidrin simply stared with wide eyes, unblinking. All of them watched as Arya drew a small knife, the smooth steel flashing in the firelight of the torches.
"Arya…" Colden said again, mind racing. He looked down at the wild men, trapped in their own pit. They were beginning to shout angrily, the noise growing into a steady roar of fury.
Colden gulped, looking at the knife in her hands. "W-what are you going to do?"
Arya her head to look at him. Her eyes remained stoic, and her voice was level as she spoke. "What does a wolf do when it is set loose among the sheep?"
Then, without a moment's hesitation, she slashed the knife toward the wooden pole. It was a fluid strike, and the keen blade passed easily through the ropes attached to the pole, slicing through every single one of them. They all went slack, loose ends falling away. And then, slowly, all of the gates in the pit began to swing open.
What followed could only be described as a bloodbath. The wild men, numerous as they were, were no match for the starved beasts that came upon them with great fury. There were nearly twenty different animals; bears, wolves, boars, and even some large dogs. Screams began to fill the air as they tore into their prey, ripping and mauling without remorse. Some men tried to climb the wall, only to fall back down into the pit and be devoured.
Arya watched the hellish scene unfold before her. Men were dying, bleeding out on the ground. Others were being eaten alive as they screamed for mercy. Blood was everywhere, pooling in the mud and staining nearly every surface below. Horrible dying shrieks echoed throughout the stone courtyard. And as Arya looked down on the carnage she had wrought with her own hands, she whispered a single phrase into the night, drowned out by the terrible clamor below.
"Valar Morghulis."