Arya

Her uproarious laugh filled the canyon and echoed back at her off the steep granite walls of the ravine leading to the Bloody Gate. The Knight of the Bloody Gate had just told Sandor Clegane that her Aunt, Lady Lysa Arryn, was dead. He had intended to ransom her to her Aunt. Well, that wasn't happening now. And while it was very sad that yet another member of her family had died, albeit one that she didn't really know, she could not get over the sheer irony of it. Or the look on Sandor's stupid, burned face. It was more than enough to send her into paroxysms of laughter.

She just about had it under control when the Hound scowled at her and told her to shut up and that just served to set her laughter off anew. This time she was laughing so hard at Sandor's misfortune that she was doubled over and barely able to breath. Sandor had started to turn away from the gate when the Knight of the Gate said:

"Wait. If that really is Arya Stark, we've heard that her brother has been declared King in the North. You might try taking her there."

What?! That brought her laughter to an abrupt end. Before Sandor could even get a word out, she responded to the Knight, "What brother? Bran? Rickon?"

"No, neither of those. The Bastard of Winterfell. Least ways, that's what we've heard."

Jon was King? When? How? He was a bastard and a man of the Night's Watch. How could he be King?

"What else have you heard?" Sandor asked.

"Not much. Just rumors. We've heard that he came down from Castle Black and took back Winterfell with an army of Wildlings at his back."

Grunting, Sandor told her to come on and they made their way out of the ravine. Arya was in shock. Her brother was at Winterfell. Her brother was King. Her head was spinning wildly. Sandor was telling her something, but she couldn't understand what he was saying. That was when he grabbed her arm and shook her roughly, snapping her out of her stupor. She started to glance at Sandor out of the corner of her eye. Would he take her to Winterfell? Or would he say "fuck it" and leave her to fend for herself? Or even kill her himself as a burden? Could she kill him while he slept maybe?

"Don't even think about it girl. You could never kill me. Not even when I'm sleeping. I'll get you home to Winterfell. Surely someone there will pay for you. You and your bastard brother close?"

"His name is Jon, not bastard. And yes, we're close. He's the one who gave me Needle."

"Still can't believe you named your sword 'Needle'. Stupid fucking name."

"Not as stupid as 'Sandor' or 'Hound.'"

The rest of the day was spent largely in silence as the two fugitives rode away from the Bloody Gate. By the time evening came they had reached the crossroads where the High Road met the King's Road and the inn that was there. Riding up to the inn, they walked inside and sat in the common room and ordered their dinner. While waiting for the innkeeper to bring them their roast chicken, Arya spied two faces she knew well at the far end of the room. They were two of the names on her list, the Tickler and Polliver. And Polliver had Needle on his belt.

It was just her luck that they knew who the Hound was. But really, who wouldn't know who he was with his burned and ruined face? The two of them, along with some pimply faced squire they had with them, invited themselves to their table to talk. Arya did her best to keep her head down and concentrate on her food. But when Sandor said "Fuck the King," all hell broke loose.

Rolling her eyes at his monumental stupidity, Arya snatched up the knife that was by her hand and that she had been using to carve up her chicken. Lunging at the pimply squire, she had the knife buried in his gut with his blood streaming over her hand before he could blink. Behind her, she could hear the clash of steel as Sandor fought the other two. Ripping the knife from the squire, who was only just now registering what had happened to him, she plunged the blade back into him over and over again. She looked in his eyes as the life faded from them and, remembering what her friend Jaqen H'ghar had said to her, she told the squire, "Valar morghulis."

Standing up from her grisly kill, she turned to see Sandor still fighting the other two. With a scream, Arya launched herself at the unarmored back of the Tickler and plunged her knife into his back. As the blade went in, she felt it grate against something hard and the Tickler suddenly fell to the ground, unable to control his legs. Arya rode his body to the ground before pulling the knife out of his back. Tilting his head back with one hand on his forehead, Arya whispered the questions she heard him asking the smallfolk he tortured at Harrenhall. As his eyes grew wide at the realization that justice had come for him, Arya whispered one last thing in his ear: "My name is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And Winter has come for you." With that, she dragged the bloody blade of her dagger across his throat and watched the life flow out of him.

Looking up, she saw the Hound standing over her, his sword dripping Polliver's blood onto the stone floor of the Inn. Looking at her, Sandor said, "And people say I'm scary. You try that shit with me girl, and I'll gut you like a fish."

Nodding, Arya looked back on the body of the Tickler and spit on him. Walking to Polliver's body, she pulled Needle from his belt and put it back in it's rightful place on her own. Staring down at the body, Arya realized that she felt nothing. No disgust at the fact that she had killed two men, no anger that she hadn't gotten to kill all three, no relief or happiness that two of the names on her list were dead. She didn't know how to feel about that. It didn't bother her, exactly. It was just unexpected. She'd fantasied about this moment so much, but when it came right down to it, the moment was over so fast that she had barely registered what had happened. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned away from the bodies and headed back to the table she had shared with Sandor. Obviously they wouldn't be staying to finish their meal now, but it would be stupid to waste the food.

Grabbing the food from the table, she spied an empty haversack and pilled the food into it so they could take it with them. Sandor was already heading out the door towards the stables, having already taken the liberty of removing the few stags and pennies from the bodies in the inn. Once they were saddled up, the two of them quickly rode out of the yard and up the King's Road toward Moat Cailin.

That evening, she asked Sandor, "So how do you plan to get past Moat Cailin? It's held by the Ironborn. They're not going to just let us ride right through."

"There are trails and paths to the west that a small party can get through where an army would drown. The North isn't as safe behind those ruined towers as your wet nurse probably told you. A handful of people could raise pure bloody hell if they wanted to."

That was information that Arya filed away. Sandor seemed to like her and would occasionally something that he might not have around someone he might have to fight one day. And that fact that raiding parties could slip through the swamps surrounding Moat Cailin was one such piece of information. Maybe Jon could have the Reeds patrol that area better?

The journey through the Neck was not a journey that Arya cared to remember. It was wet, dirty, cold and it stank. She didn't mind getting wet and dirty so much, but the stink of the swamps clung to them for days after their passage through them. And if she concentrated, she was pretty sure she could still smell it on them, despite having bathed a few times since reaching the North.

It was strange though. This was her home, yet they still moved about the land like two poachers afraid of getting caught and sent to the Wall. Sandor insisted on moving this way because the Ironborn still prowled across the land and he had no clue which houses had declared for Jon and which had declared for the Boltons. And giving her to the Boltons was one sure way to make sure he never saw a single penny in ransom. Hells, it would probably see him losing his head instead. So they moved slowly and cautiously. Well, at least until they caught sight of the towers of Winterfell on the horizon. Arya felt her eyes widen and moisten. Home. She was home at last.

That was when she snapped out of her reverie. She heard something, off to her right. It sounded like a twig breaking when someone stepped on it. No animal would be so careless. Glancing at Sandor, she saw his shoulders had almost imperceptibly tensed, so he had heard it too. In that instant, Sandor wheeled his horse and charged the brush where she had heard the noise come from. His great sword cleared its scabbard even as his horse broke into a gallop. With a start, Arya realized that she was also charging the brush, with Needle in her hand and a wordless scream coming from her throat.

As their horses crashed into the brush, she saw two people struggling through the undergrowth toward a clearing by a heart tree. One was dressed in little more than rags while the other seemed to be in ill fitting clothes. Judging by the sounds coming from that one, it was a woman dressed in men's clothing, much as she was as well. When the girl turned to face her, Arya pulled up short. She knew her! Jeyne Poole? What in the name of the Old Gods was she doing here? Arya thought she was dead, killed in King's Landing the day that bitch Cersei turned her men lose on them. Instead, she was here, outside Winterfell.

Realizing that his companion was about to be captured, the man she was with finally ended his headlong flight and turned to face them with nothing but a dagger in his hands. She thought that he looked familiar, but she couldn't be sure. When the man saw who was attacking them though, his eyes widened and he dropped the knife and fell to his knees.

"Wait!" Arya screamed at Sandor, mere moments before his sword would have descended and sliced the head off the man on the ground. With a grunt of effort, Sandor managed to stop the blade inches from the man's neck.

"What now, girl?" Sandor growled. "I thought you weren't squeamish about seeing a little blood?"

"I know them. At least I think I do."

Looking at the girl, Arya asked, "Jeyne? Is that you? I thought you were dead?"

"It's me, Lady Arya. And I wish I was dead. That I'm not is surely some cruel jape by the Gods."

What the fucking hells was this? Arya wondered. Jeyne had never been this quiet, withdrawn or self-loathing.

"How do I know it's really you? You don't sound like the Jeyne I remember."

"Sansa and I used to make fun of you and call you Arya Horseface and insult your needlework with Septa Mordane," Jeyne said in a small, terrified voice. Did Jeyne really think she would kill her? She had hated her for calling her that, but that was years ago and she had changed dramatically in that time.

"Jeyne, I'm not going to hurt you. What are you doing here? And who is that you're traveling with?"

The man answered for Jeyne. "Lady Stark, my name is Theon Greyjoy. I was helping Lady Poole escape from the Boltons where she was forcibly married to Ramsay Bolton, with the Boltons claiming that she was you. We were running to Winterfell."

"TRAITIOR!" Arya screamed. "You betrayed Robb! You betrayed Father! You betrayed us all! You killed Bran and Rickon!"

Leaping down from her horse, Arya stalked up to Theon with murderous intent. She had heard all about how Theon had killed and burned Bran and Rickon from people that were traveling on the road. It was all some people in the North could talk about, how Theon had pissed all over the man that had raised him by killing his sons. She had happily added his name to her list after that. She was sure that she would enjoy this kill.

"Don't kill him! Please!" Jeyne shouted. "He saved me from the Boltons, he's protected me as we ran from them. He killed Ramsay to save me. Please don't kill him!"

That brought Arya to a pause. She still wanted the traitorous cunt dead. And he had still murdered her brothers, regardless of what he had done since. With that realization, she started to move back toward Theon.

"I didn't. I didn't. I didn't," Theon was blubbering. In between sobs, he said, "I didn't kill Bran...Didn't kill Rickon...Just two farm boys...Had to make people think I did...So I burned them...Didn't kill them...Didn't kill them...Didn't kill them."

Bran and Rickon were alive?! Could she trust him to tell the truth? He could be lying. But he was shaking in terror and continually blubbering about how he didn't kill them. Coming to a decision, she put Needle under Theon's chin and told him in a voice that was as cold and full of ice as the Wall, "Get to your feet traitor. You're coming with us to Winterfell. And once there, you will answer for your crimes. I wonder what your head will look like decorating a spike?"