"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

If she concentrated, she could clearly hear her father's voice repeating those words, and picture the way he looked down on her with those kind, loving eyes. The memory was among her fondest; something she kept close to her heart, and treasured beyond anything of material worth.

Yet even now, her pack was falling apart.

Arya didn't regret what she had done; it had been a necessary action. The ghosts of dead men no longer bothered her in the slightest. But it was the way that her companions looked at her that she couldn't bear. They wouldn't meet her eyes any more, and when they did, there was something in their gaze that nearly broke her every time. Fear. Watching them as they walked in front of her now, there was no mistaking it. They were afraid of her. And it was that fact that left an empty hole in Arya's stomach, bigger than any number of dead enemies could fill.

Before leaving Gornhold, Arya made sure to go back and release Dolffe. It wasn't that she owed him anything; no, she just thought it was the decent thing to do. It had seemed like he was on their side, and despite the fact that he was a one of the wild men, he didn't deserve to rot away in a cell. He had done them no wrong.

Arya had found keys in Zalmadoc's clothing, and used them to unlock Dolffe's cell. The rest of her companions followed her at a distance, still watching her warily. She tried to ignore them, opening the iron-barred door and listening to the hinges squeal in protest. Dolffe was still lying down in the far corner, but he propped himself up when Arya entered, torch in hand. He squinted in the orange glow, trying to discern who had come.

"Lass?" He asked. "What're you doin' here?"

Arya tossed the keys onto his lap. "You're free to go."

Dolffe jolted fully awake, sitting up. He muttered something under his breath in some foreign language, then looked back up at Arya. "How the hell'd you get these? What happened to ol' Zalmy?"

"He's dead."

"Could've guessed that." Dolffe responded. "I meant how did he die?"

"I killed him."

"And what? You kill the rest of 'em too?"

"Yes."

Dolffe stared into her eyes, his brow creased. She thought, at first, that he might be angry. After all, they had been his people, his kinsmen. Even after being imprisoned by them, he might hold a grudge against her for what she had done. After a moment, however, he let out a breath.

"Then I owe you my life, lass."

Arya shook her head. "You don't owe me anything."

"And yet you've given me everything." Dolffe countered. "I shall not rest until the debt is repaid."

"Just leave. Go your own way. I'll consider that your payment."

She turned and left the room, paying no heed to Dolffe's protests from behind her. She had given him a chance at freedom. There was nothing else to be done. Even so, her heart was heavy as she went. She didn't say a word to anyone as they descended the tower staircase, contenting herself with watching the flickering shadows that her torch cast upon the walls. They were fast and fleeting, brief flashes of light pushing back the darkness. She wished she could burn this place to the ground. Burn through the stone, burn through the shadows, burn through the sinister malevolence that seemed to brood within the walls.

Arya tossed her torch onto the stone floor as they passed under the entry gate, watching it sputter out. Travelling without the light would be harder, but she didn't want to risk attracting any more attention. They had been through enough for one day.

They walked for an hour or so. It was late in the night, and they would need some rest before the next day, but Arya wanted to get away from Gornhold first. The farther away, the better. She knew they would need to stop, though, and brought them to a halt under the shelter of a large, many-leafed tree. They weren't near any roads, so they had been trekking through the wilderness, but Arya wasn't worried. She knew that if they went West for a bit, they would come across the road again. This detour had cost them lots of time, but they were lucky that was the only thing they had lost.

They had recovered nearly all of their possessions, including their sleeping rolls, which they now laid down at the base of the tree. Arya distanced herself from the others, not wanting to talk. Those hopes were dashed, however, when Laeric approached her. Colden followed closely behind the older man, watching Arya expectantly. She sighed heavily, leaning back against the trunk of the tree and closing her eyes.

"M'lady…" Laeric started, rubbing his hands nervously. "I was thinkin' we should talk."

Arya remained silent, not opening her eyes.

Laeric glanced back at Colden, then cleared his throat. "All I mean is… Well, yer worrying us, m'lady. Actin' strange, not talkin'..."

Arya exhaled, looking up at him. "I'm fine, Laeric."

"But yer not." He said. "I can see it in yer eyes."

When she didn't respond, Colden spoke up. "If we're going to make it through this, Arya, we need to trust each other. That means trusting us, too. I know you don't like it, but… Well, if you want to be a good leader, this is how you start."

The words jarred Arya. Her muscles tensed, and she clenched her jaw. It was like there was a battle raging inside of her. She didn't know why, she didn't know how, and she certainly didn't know who was going to win.

"What do you want me to say?" She asked.

"For starters," Colden said, "You could tell us what the hell happened back there." Laeric slugged him in the shoulder and hissed something under his breath, but Colden continued. "I'm serious. I mean, what, we're not supposed to ask questions? That was one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen. Are you some kind of witch or something? Where'd you learn to do that?"

Laeric was glaring daggers at Colden. Clearly he hadn't been supposed to be so… straightforward. Somehow, though, Arya found herself appreciating his bluntness. It made things feel less complicated.

There was a pause, then "Braavos."

"Braavos." Colden repeated flatly. "Yeah, I've been to Braavos too. But I didn't learn how to change into a whole 'nother damn person."

Ary sighed again. "It's a long story."

Colden was about to respond, but Laeric beat him to it. His voice was low when he spoke, almost a whisper. "The faceless men? "

Arya gave a nod. There was a short silence after that. Colden clearly had no idea what they were talking about, and Laeric didn't seem to know what to say. He opened and closed his mouth several times before sucking in a breath.

"I've heard the stories," he said, "But I never… yer one of 'em?"

"I was."

"I… I never knew." Laeric said, almost apologetically.

Arya chuckled ruefully. "Not many people do."

There was a another brief silence. Arya felt numb. She hadn't really told anybody except Sansa about her time in Braavos. It felt wrong, like she was giving up some important secret. But at the same time, her heart felt lighter. They weren't afraid of her. Of course not. She had been stupid to think it in the first place.

"Thank ye, m'lady." Laeric told her. "For trustin' us."

He ushered Colden back to their sleeping roles, away from Arya. She lay down, trying to clear her mind. She hadn't slept in a long while, and the events of the day pressed down upon her with an unearthly weight. Sleep would help, she told herself.

Over on the other side of the tree, she could hear her companions settling in as well. Colden's voice drifted over to her, a harsh whisper. "Can anybody tell me what the fuck a faceless man is?"

"Shut up." Laeric whispered back. "And take first watch."

A faint smile played at Arya's lips as she listened to Colden's grumbles. There was still conflict in her mind; a heated debate on whether or not she had done the right thing. But there was a clear victor emerging, and it put her at ease. Sleep was not so hard to achieve any more. It came quick and clear, dreamless and silent.

Colden woke Arya in the morning. All it took was a quick jostle and her eyes snapped open, already alert and on edge. When she saw his face, her expression softened slightly. She grunted, sitting up and brushing off the dead leaves that clung to her back. Colden appraised her with interest.

"You didn't attack me this time." He noted.

Arya shot him a glare. "Consider yourself lucky."

He laughed. "Of course. Teidrin shot a lion, so we'll be eating that for breakfast."

Arya squinted at him. "What?"

"Joking." Colden said. "I wanted to make sure you were really awake. We do have a couple of squirrels, though."

Laeric had indeed started a fire, and two blackened squirrels were suspended over it. He, Barroth, and Teidrin were picking at it, pulling strips of flesh off and eating them. It was the same way they had been consuming most of their food; none of them cared much for manners or customs, Arya least of all. When she sat down to join them, she was surprised at how… normal it felt. There was some tension left over from the day before, but not much at all. Laeric greeted her kindly, and Barroth and Teidrin were too busy to notice that she was even there, which was exactly on par for them.

The squirrels were burnt and tough, but Arya barely noticed. They ate quickly, finishing both squirrels in a matter of minutes, then discarding the remains by the base of the tree. After the food had been disposed of, Arya had Barroth get the map out once more. Everyone gathered around it.

"Just to be clear this time around," She said, "We're going west . Following the path that Lord Elrond set for us."

Everyone looked at Colden.

His face turned red. "You're not still on about that, are you?"

Arya sighed, ignoring him. "We should reach this river here in a few days. The Isen. Then we'll cross through the White Mountains and into the realm of Gondor. The steward there is on our side. He and his people should help us on our way."

"Seems like we're almost there." Teidrin commented, his voice hopeful.

Just then, a branch snapped somewhere out in the woods. Arya froze, listening. A few seconds later, another branch snapped. Then another. And another. The cracking noises became more frequent, eventually turning into a consistent crashing sound. And it was growing louder.

Arya drew Needle with a flourish, pointing it toward the oncoming threat. The rest of her companions scrambled for their weapons, standing behind her. The crashing grew nearer. Arya briefly wondered what it could be. A wild animal? More savages? Some other, more dangerous threat? Images of black riders flooded her mind. Her right arm ached, the old wound reawakened. Her stance faltered. Needle's point lowered slightly.

Whatever was coming, it was nearly upon them. The dense underbrush hid the approaching enemy from sight, but they could now see bushes shaking as it smashed through them. Beside Arya, Teidrin hefted a flaming log from the fire, his face a mask of determination and fury. Seeing him like that, Arya steeled her nerves. Needle leveled out again, her grip firm and unwavering.

Then the undergrowth burst open in front of them. A shape stumbled out, tall and broad. Arya yelled out and lunged toward it. But just then, the shape raised its head. Arya barely managed to stop herself in time, her blade coming to a halt just inches from the man that now stood before her. He stood there panting, breath coming out in short gasps. Familiar grey eyes looked up and met hers.

Boromir.