What we're doing here ain't just scary. It's about to be…
Legendary
The night breeze blew in cold off the Red Fork as Arya paced the battlements with her brothers. There, high atop the castle's defensive walls, they could speak with little risk of being overheard, and so the false knight and his false squire tolerated the chill with little complaint. In fact, the Rat was uncharacteristically pleasant, almost cheery, as they walked three abreast. The girl positioned between the two assassins was becoming suspicious. Finally, unable to ignore his mood any longer, his sister spoke.
"What has you so chipper?" she asked, eyes narrowed as she regarded the smaller of her two brothers.
The Westerosi assassin shrugged. "You've agreed to move northward, which fits very nicely with my own commission from the order." He ignored the way the Bear snorted at that. "I was afraid I was going to have to slit the throats of every last soul in the castle to get you to move on, now that you've found yourself some family again." His threat of mass murder was delivered in the same tone as someone else might've discussed the weather or their opinion on boar versus pheasant as the main course of the evening meal.
It made the hairs on the back of the girl's neck prickle.
"You'll not lay one finger on the Blackfish," she snarled at him, her tone hinting at her menace.
"Of course not, my lady," Baynard replied, false obeisance coloring his own tone. "As I've said, with your scheme, there's no need."
Up until that point, the Cat's two Faceless brothers had been discussing the specifics of her plans with her, their voices hushed. Her Lyseni brother had insisted on this, had insisted they include the Rat, because he claimed their best chance at success and survival would require that the three assassins be of one accord. While conceding that the Cat was capable of much on her own, the Bear had reminded her that nothing she'd achieved to this point had been on the scale of what she was proposing now.
'Only because I've not had the opportunity or the need to accomplish anything truly grand yet,' she'd groused, misliking the implication of the Bear's words.
'He has his strengths,' the large assassin had reminded her, 'and they will prove invaluable in this, I'm certain.'
The girl suspected the Bear simply hadn't wished for their brother, his friend, to feel left out.
"So, we are all in agreement?" the large assassin asked.
"I look forward to it," was the Rat's answer. "The sooner we dispense with this business, the sooner we can make for Winterfell."
"Then you've no objection to my visiting Walder Frey?" Arya pressed, not trusting his sudden tractability, or that blasted smirk he was sporting on his false face.
"The Twins lie between here and Winterfell," he replied, sounding matter-of-fact. "It's not out of the way. Why should I object? And we are visiting the Twins, dear sister. Not just you."
It was the Bear's turn to be skeptical. "It took me half a day to convince you to support our plan to remove one Frey from Riverrun, but she lays out this strategy, and you've no concerns? None at all?" The three had stopped walking then, and the large Lyseni crossed his arms over his chest, peering down at his brother.
"What can I say, Ser Willem?" Baynard grinned. "I love watching her work, and one less tyrannical lord in the world is hardly something to mourn."
"You suddenly care about tyranny?" Arya snorted. "Justan Carver, champion of the smallfolk, is it?"
The Westerosi assassin's smirk wavered and died at that. He frowned at his sister, saying, "So long as we keep the danger in check and don't openly defy the principal elder, why should I be concerned?"
"Three assassins against a whole castle, and you feel the danger is in check?" The Bear lifted an eyebrow.
"Well, I'm one of the three," the Rat explained, "so that's to our advantage. And the castle is manned lightly, or so I have heard."
"Overheard, you mean," the girl corrected, "spying on the river lords' council."
"And how difficult could one old man be to kill?" he continued, ignoring her. "He'll probably keel over in fright as soon as he sees us. I'll likely not have time to draw one weapon before his heart gives out."
"Let me be clear," Arya cut in, suddenly serious. "Walder Frey is mine." She made it plain this was a point she was unwilling to debate.
"Yes, fine, you can kill that dusty old letch, what do I care?" the Rat agreed with a shrug. "Cross one more name off your list, paint yourself in his blood, so long as we finish this business and move north."
"There are some names on my list that will require me moving south."
"Well, we'd best wait until the uncertainty in King's Landing is over before we make that journey," the Bear pointed out. "The dragons may do your work for you."
"Pity," the girl muttered, "but you're right."
The Lyseni's reply was a practiced one. "Valar morghulis."
They continued on, gazing out over the landscape at the fires dotting the encampment across the river below. In the distance, Arya heard a wolf's howl and knew instinctively it was Nymeria. She hadn't seen the direwolf since before their arrival here and the sound of her howl in the night made the girl wistful. It also filled her with the desire to run; to hunt; to stalk her prey.
She didn't have long to contemplate the feeling for the assassins soon met up with Lord Blackwood and his sons, who were walking the battlements in the opposite direction.
"My lady," they all greeted as they drew close. They spoke practically in unison, bowing to Arya as they did.
"My lords," she returned, inclining her head at each Blackwood in turn. Ser Brynden smiled fondly at her while Ser Ben's grin was more licentious than fond. Hoster Blackwood, though, did not smile at her at all. Instead, the tall lad stepped forward, pushing past his brothers and father, and dropped to one knee before the girl. The gesture inspired a quiet snort from Ser Ben, but Hoster ignored his brother. He reached for Arya's hand, and, taking it, bowed his head, pressing his forehead against the back of it, just below her wrist.
"Lady Arya, I have not had the chance to properly thank you," Hos murmured, still looking down at her hand. "I owe you my life."
"Nonsense, my lord," the girl said with a small, uncomfortable laugh. "Please, rise."
"My son speaks true, my lady," Lord Blackwood told her as his son stood once again, still holding Arya's hand. "Without your intervention, I don't know that we could have saved Hoster before Emmon Frey carried out his mad plan."
"Oh, I'm sure you could've…" Arya started, but Brynden interrupted her.
"No, my lady, we could not have. But for you, he would not be here with us now and we would only have been able to avenge his death. Our family owes you a great debt."
"Lady Arya, I am not a man of many talents," Hos continued. "I'm not half so skilled with a sword as either of my knighted brothers, but whatever service you may ask of me, I will happily provide."
"I thank you, Lord Hoster, but you owe me nothing. Consider this recompense for the kindness your family has shown me from the time of my arrival at Raventree Hall. They sheltered me and my men, and have supported me ever since."
"My sons," Lord Blackwood said, "will you allow me a private audience with the Lady of Winterfell?"
The Blackwood sons bowed once again, taking their leave, and after a look exchanged between the girl and her brothers, the false knight and his false squire did the same. Tytos offered Arya his arm, which she took, and they continued along the battlements together.
"My lady, my sons and I take this debt to you very seriously, so please allow us to serve you as well as we are able."
"I know that what you've done for me has been for the sake of the respect your bore my father, and for the fealty you owe my mother's family, but please know, I do not consider it my due, Lord Blackwood," the girl replied, "and I am no less grateful for your friendship simply because you may consider it your obligation to offer it."
"It's true that when you entered my gates, it was your father's memory which instructed my attitude toward you, my lady, but in the time since, I have learned you are a person of worth in your own right. That was never plainer to me than when you saved my son. You are not a parent yet, so you cannot know how deeply my gratitude runs." He squeezed her arm firmly against his side. "Such a debt can never be paid, for what do I have to offer you that could equal the life of a most beloved child?"
Arya bit her lip and cast her gaze into the distance, not sure how to answer him. They walked quietly for a while before she spoke again.
"Lord Blackwood, I know you wish for me to claim my brother's crown…"
"Ah, right to the crux of the matter," Tytos remarked approvingly. "Yes. I do wish it. And I know you wish to have nothing to do with the Winter Throne."
"How can we resolve such a conflict and still remain friends?"
Lord Blackwood patted the girl's hand which rested on his forearm. "My lady, I believe this conflict will resolve itself."
"Oh? How so?"
"With time, I believe you will come to see things my way."
The girl chuckled. "That's it? You have faith I'll come to my senses? I should say I could introduce you to several priests and masters in Braavos who would warn you off such hope."
"You're a sensible girl," the lord said, "and you are your father's daughter. You don't see it now, but once you do, I believe you'll do your duty."
"See what, my lord?"
"That the North has need of you, as does the Riverlands."
You are my grey daughter. The North has need. The time is now and you must come.
Her father's voice echoed in her head, words he'd spoken in a dream that was more than a dream. Arya swallowed and she looked up at Lord Blackwood, her face unguarded.
"My duty…" She sighed. "I've sworn an oath to my mother. That is my duty." And I've promised certain lives to Him of Many Faces, she did not add.
"Worry not, my lady. I know what it is you hope to do, and I know why. My sons and I will see to it that you keep your oath to your mother so that you may be released to fulfill your greater purpose."
"And you believe sitting on the Winter Throne is my greater purpose?" she asked, her doubt evident in her tone. Lord Blackwood stopped walking then, releasing his companion's arm so that he could turn to face her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gazed down at her, his brow furrowing itself heavily.
"It's so much more than that, Lady Arya. You are so much more."
The girl returned his gaze, her uncertainty painted across her features. "What is it you think I am, my lord?"
"Oh, my dear lady," he murmured, "you are the beginning of a dynasty that will serve the Riverlands and the North well and will span a thousand years."
Arya scoffed. "A dynasty?"
She'd spent so long in the House of Black and White trying to become No One; trying to shrink herself down, trying to shrink within herself, so as not to be seen. Though she'd not been completely successful at it, the lessons still burned within her. Hearing Lord Blackwood say that not only would she be someone, but the point from which a thousand-year dynasty would spring struck a strange and discordant note within her.
She looked up at her companion and her frown proclaimed her displeasure at the notion.
"As I've said, you don't see it now, but you will." Lord Blackwood smiled at her with an almost fatherly affection. "I have faith, and the old gods both your family and mine have held to for centuries do not take such faith lightly. That you found your way to me at Raventree Hall is proof enough of that."
Arya's frown reshaped itself into a look of sober consideration. She could not deny the power of the gods. She'd seen too much of it, felt too much of it, to mock the Riverlander's words. But, neither could she quite accept that Tytos had truly understood the scope of the gods' desires for her life.
The Red god did not care for dynasties, she thought, and the old gods seemed to slumber, but for imbuing her with some power which gathered in her bones before chasing her from their shadowed realm. And the Many-Faced god? What did he want, but death? With every gift he'd given her, he'd shaped her into an instrument only to be used to that end.
Shaking her head in denial, her neck nonetheless prickled uncomfortably, both at the words of the master of Raventree Hall as well as other words that flickered through her mind as he spoke; words remembered from a time when she'd flown through the night and visited the woods witch who haunted the ancient circle of felled weirwoods, their petrified roots digging deep into the ground below their feet.
'The gods have chosen you, and you owe a great debt,' the ghost of High Heart had warned the girl. 'The old gods. The new. The red god and that gluttonous executioner you served across the sea."
While her companion chuckled indulgently, sure in his assertion, the girl mulled over the memory of that night on High Heart, and her own certainty waned as she did, for there were other words the ghost had spoken which only now seemed to make sense to her.
'I dreamt of a shadow standing in the midst of a dark wood, and all the mighty trees bowed low.'
As she looked up at Lord Blackwood's face, her smile died and her brows knitted themselves together.
"My lady," the maid of Tarth greeted when she found Arya feinting and thrusting in Riverrun's training yard early the next morning. The Lady of Winterfell paused in her exertions and nodded politely at the newcomer.
The girl had been taking advantage of the space in the days since she'd been brought into the castle, finding Riverrun's training yard far superior to any she'd encountered thus far in the Riverlands. The yard was large, the ground partly packed dirt, partly smooth river stone (which allowed training on various surfaces and in the rain, when need be). Two wooden training dummies had been made of separate parts which corresponded to different areas of the body and attached to a central spindle which allowed them to turn freely. It was the next best thing to training with a sparring partner, particularly for hand to hand combat, and the weighted bases of the dummies were not affixed, allowing the girl to move them in such a way as to train with both dummies at once, as if she were engaged in a duel with two opponents.
Although the action approximated a scuffle more than a duel, she thought.
Arya wiped the sweat from her brow with her sleeve and returned the greeting. "Lady Brienne! Fancy a spar?" Her face was bright, her tone unworried, belying all that had been on her mind as she trained.
"I would, my lady, but… I have something I wish to discuss with you."
"Well, then," the Cat shrugged, turning her attention back to one dummy and striking at it with her forearm before lifting her thigh to block the spinning appendage which swung toward her leg in response, "discuss."
"It's about Ser Jaime," the knightly woman began. Her words caused the girl to strike rather harder than she meant to at the dummy's right arm, sending the left arm flying into her shoulder. It crashed against her with an audible thump.
"Oomph!" Arya grunted, rubbing at her shoulder. "What about him?"
"My lady, can you not make peace with him?"
"It's not for me to make peace. He's the one who's angry with me. I bear him no ill will."
"He's not angry…"
"Oh, he's not?" the girl laughed. "Then he should consider joining a mummers' troop, because he gives a convincing impression of it."
"He's just worried…"
"Though I have assured him I neither need nor want his worry…"
"…and he feels as though he is ineffective in his role."
Arya laughed, withdrawing from the training dummies and placing her balled up fists on her hips. "And you want me to tell him how effective he is? Is that it?"
The big woman sighed. "My lady…"
"I wish you would stop calling me that. My name is Arya."
"My lady," Brienne repeated, her face all seriousness, "you may not realize this, but Ser Jaime, he regards you almost as… well, almost as a daughter."
"More like an annoying urchin."
"No, that's not right," the maid of Tarth insisted.
"He called me a little shit!"
Brienne stiffened, then crossed her arms over her broad chest. "Well, were you behaving like a little shit at the time?"
"Lady Brienne!" the girl barked, unable to contain her startled laughter. She'd never heard the knightly woman utter a vulgarity before. Brienne's cheeks colored slightly, but she made no apology.
"Well? Were you?"
"Only a bit," Arya admitted. "But that's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"That Ser Jaime doesn't look at me with any sort of affection. He sees me as a burden and for some reason, he has this strange sense of obligation towards me despite that."
The knightly woman shook her head. "You don't know him well, I know, my lady, but believe me when I say that Jaime Lannister holds you in higher regard than almost anyone else with whom I've ever seen him interact. And now, he's brooding because of it. He doesn't want to fail you, and he seems to think his failure is inevitable."
"How can he fail me when I have no expectations of him?"
"If you have no expectations of him, why has this rift developed?"
Arya's hand dropped away from her hips and her arms hung limply at her sides then. She cocked her head and looked at Brienne. Her voice was almost resigned as she spoke. "I respect Ser Jaime, I do, but he seems unable to respect me and so we are destined to always be at loggerheads. It seems as though the best we can do for one another is… part ways." That last was said with a reluctance, and the girl studied the maid of Tarth's expression, searching for her reaction. She expected disappointment, but instead, was rewarded with irritation.
"So, you're one of those highborn ladies, are you?"
"What do you mean?" the girl asked, confused.
"You're the type who can't stomach being told 'no.' You'll surround yourself with sycophants and groveling puppets who'd as soon lick your boots as offer you any useful counsel, or tell you when you're wrong."
"What? No!"
"Yes! And you'd throw away a man whose primary desire is your protection and who is willing to risk your displeasure to achieve it, simply so you don't have to stop and think every now and again."
The girl shook her head. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
Arya's expression dissolved into one of disbelief. "No!" she insisted. "All I do is think! All the time, ceaselessly! I think about what my mother wanted of me, and wants still, and what my father expected. I think of what the gods want, all of them! I think about my duty, and the desires of my friends, and the hopes of all these lords, and how I can avenge my family without hurting anyone who does not deserve it or putting my friends in harm's way! My brother Jon may yet live, and I think that I should find him, just as I think I should stay by the side of the uncle I've only just found. I think when I ought to sleep instead and if I do finally sleep, I still find no relief from it all! My very dreams plague me, and drive me, and admonish me! I think about all I must do and how it must be done, and all the while, I just wish I could simply…"
The girl's heart began to flutter and her eyes began to sting and so she clamped her mouth closed suddenly, cutting off what she'd been meaning to say and breathing in sharply. An image played in her mind; an image of Jaqen, and she thought of what it was she truly wished.
(That she could mount Bane and make her way south, stopping only to water her horse. She would ride until she found the Dragon army (for she'd worked out that he must be with them) and would blaze through their camp, searching. She would look tirelessly until she found her master once again. In her mind's eye, she saw him, and leapt from her horse, grasping his hand. She pulled him along with her, away from the dragons, making him promise to take her to the house with the blue door she'd seen in a vision; in a dream.)
But then, she understood that she could not know that he still traveled with the army. She'd told him in the dream they'd shared to find her at Winterfell. Perhaps he was even now on the road North, searching for her. Who knew? She'd been unable to find him in any dream world since. And if he were still with the army, where among a hundred thousand men would she find him? And wearing whose face? It seemed an impossible task; a foolish dream, to even think she might discover him.
Still, she could go. She could leave in the night and ride hard and fast. Her pounding heart urged her to go, even now.
But she felt like a traitor as she thought it; felt the weight of her mother's disappointment, and her father's; the weight of her own unrealized wants, to punish those who had hurt her family and robbed her of all her peace; to cross all the names from her list she'd been whispering for years to the Many-Faced god. And could she abandon the Bear? Or her uncle? Gendry? The Brotherhood she'd chosen to lead and the Riverlanders who had agreed to march on the Twins in her name? All for her own selfish desire?
The girl closed her eyes, forcing the image of Jaqen's face, of her hand grasping his, of the blue door of the white house set on a cliff high above a sapphire sea, to dissolve into a grey nothingness.
"I'm sorry, my lady," the knightly woman said softly. "I… I suppose I have not fully appreciated your burden." Brienne hesitated, then cleared her throat and continued. "But perhaps this is even more reason for you and Ser Jaime to come to an understanding. You have need of trustworthy advisors, and a man such as Jaime Lannister could be immensely valuable to you. You do not have to carry these concerns alone, Arya, and for all his… irreverence, I find him to be a man of hard-won wisdom and great integrity."
The girl opened her eyes, regarding the woman, and nodded.
Perhaps Brienne was right, she mused, chewing her lip. Perhaps she'd been a lone wolf so long, she'd forgotten what comfort there was in the pack, if one allowed oneself to accept that comfort. She'd been gathering a pack, since even before she set sail on Titan's Daughter, and it only seemed to grow by the day. She carried her sense of obligation to the members of her pack, and the burden of her duty to them, considerations which served to restrain her when she might've otherwise been free. If she were to continue shouldering the weight of these obligations to her pack, mightn't it also be time to open herself to its benefits?
"Alright, Lady Brienne," Arya finally said. "I'll speak with the man. But, if he calls me an infant, I can't promise I won't bloody his nose."
"I'll not fault you if you do," the knightly woman replied. "It's only through the exercise of extreme patience that I don't do so myself on a daily basis."
The two laughed and Arya returned to her training. She was impressed with Brienne's persistence, and that the normally reserved woman had demonstrated such willingness to fight her on this matter. She thought the maid of Tarth must care for Ser Jaime a great deal. Then, a thought occurred to her and it made her turn from the training dummies and regard Brienne in a new light.
"My lady," the Cat called as the woman made to depart, "when was it that you fell in love with him?" There was no judgement in her voice, only curiosity and, perhaps a touch of sympathy as well.
Brienne paused, and turned to watch the Lady of Winterfell who did not return the stare, but politely turned back to attack the training dummies, the heel of her hand striking where one foe's nose would be while her foot simultaneously kicked out toward the area of the other foe's groin. After a few moments, the knightly woman shrugged, and to Arya's surprise, she did not blush or stutter or make any half-hearted denials.
To Arya's surprise, she merely offered the truth.
"It's been so long ago now, I can hardly remember anymore, my lady."
Arya had resolved she would speak with the Kingslayer, figuring she owed it to Brienne after all the woman's efforts on his behalf, but she hadn't meant to do it quite so soon. However, when the golden knight nearly collided with her outside of the Great Hall later that morning, she supposed it was as good a time as any.
"Gods, Stark!" Jaime cried, thrusting his hands up defensively. "Someone should hang a bell around your neck."
Still testy, she thought, but what she said was, "Is it my fault you're exceptionally unobservant? You should watch where you're going."
"Would it do me any good?" he asked, raising his eyebrows as he looked at her. "You'd likely run into me anyway, if you'd already set your mind to stand where I needed to walk."
"I didn't run into you, Ser Jaime. You ran into me," the girl reminded him sweetly. His only answer was a frown, and so Arya asked if he would like to enter the Great Hall with her and sit by her side.
"I suppose," Jaime said, still not completely appeased. "If only so I know where you are so you can't trample me by surprise."
It was the day of Emmon Frey's trial. Arya had come to observe how the Riverlanders applied justice. Apparently, so had Ser Jaime.
They entered the hall and were immediately engulfed in a milling crowd made largely of lords, knights, captains, and household guards. The maester was there, looking uncomfortable, as was the man newly named Ser Brynden Tully's steward. Jaime huffed a sigh and grabbed Arya's hand without ceremony, pulling her along the last row of benches where they could sit undisturbed. Everyone else seemed more interested in getting as close to the proceedings as possible.
As the gathered throng began to settle in, the Cat observed the Blackfish, Tytos Blackwood, and Karyl Vance seating themselves at the high table. The three men, it seemed, would serve as judges in the matter.
After a few moments, Emmon Frey was brought in, and a low rumble began amongst the river lords. Arya ignored it and asked Jaime if he would fancy a spar after the noonday meal. She thought it might give them a chance to talk, as Lady Brienne had wished. The girl was never more comfortable than while engaging with her steel and the same could be said for Jaime Lannister. She thought it might make things easier between them. The golden knight eyed her up and down, his look rather haughty to Arya's mind.
"You look as though you've already been sparring," was his remark. The girl patted at her disheveled hair, tucking some loose strands behind her ears.
"Not with a live partner, though. And not with my swords."
"You really ought to find some new hobbies."
She snorted. "What, like needle work? Darning stockings? Singing ballads? Anyway, what's wrong with sparring?"
"Nothing, except it seems you do little else."
"That's why I'm so good at it."
The Kingslayer rolled his green eyes. "Yes, Stark, you're amazing with your swords. We all know it," he retorted in a bored tone. "You certainly don't need to sharpen your skills against an old, one-handed knight who can't even keep one little girl from sneaking off to assassinate anyone who dares to look at her sideways."
"I'm not a little girl," she seethed under her breath so that only he could hear, "and you know that bastard did far worse than give someone an errant look. Don't downplay it just because you got your feelings hurt."
"Is that what you think? That I'm angry because my feelings were hurt?" he growled quietly. Arya sighed.
"No, I know why you're angry."
"Do you?" The golden knight sounded skeptical.
The girl glanced toward Emmon Frey as the steward recited a litany of charges against him and the crowd chattered after each. After a moment, she leaned her head toward Jaime's and made him an answer in low tones.
"You're angry because you believe I could've been hurt…"
"Killed," he corrected.
"…and you think I was reckless to ignore your warning."
The knight raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I never thought I'd hear you admit your error, Stark."
"I'm not admitting anything," she laughed lightly. "I'm just telling you that I understand your perspective. I also understand that it's wrong, but I appreciate your concern."
"You appreciate my concern? Well, now you're just lying."
She smiled at him then. She couldn't help herself. "I'm really not."
"Well, Stark, you should know that my concerns aren't for appreciating. They're for heeding."
"Well, Lannister, you should know that I will definitely heed your concerns in the future. When I deem them worth heeding…"
Jaime, the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the former emissary of the crown in the Riverlands conflict, the former general of the Lannister armies, did not like that at all. He was used to having his orders obeyed, not taken into consideration.
He frowned at her. "That's not enough."
"It will have to be."
The two looked at each other for a long moment. Arya's face was implacable while Jaime's discontent was undisguised. It radiated from his very eyes. After a time, though, he seemed to decide that consideration was preferable to outright dismissal, and if he let his pride interfere with his duty, he would be sent from the girl's side and there would be no one there who could speak sense to her. Finally, he addressed her.
"Well, you certainly inherited the Stark stubbornness." And as he said it, Arya knew she was forgiven.
"And you inherited the Lannister arrogance." And as she said it, she hoped Jaime understood that she respected him.
That evening, as Emmon Frey's tarred head was placed on a pike next to his half-brother Hosteen's, Jaime and Arya sparred together in the training yard, their bellies full of supper and their mouths spewing jibes and criticisms and japes as their swords clashed. The girl ducked under a cut leveled toward her shoulder and used a low spinning kick to sweep the knight's legs from under him. He spat a curse as he landed on his arse and the girl asked if, in light of her demonstration, he still had concerns for her safety. Her voice was sweet as she spoke, but her smile was wicked. He shot back a remark about once seeing a trained monkey in a traveling menagerie from the Summer Isles who had performed a similar move.
"You're comparing me to a monkey?" the girl scoffed.
"Oh, no, my lady!" the Kingslayer said, trying to curb his own wicked smirk. "I'd not like to insult the monkey."
"Now you just sound bitter," she shrugged, trying to mimic one of Jaime's haughty expressions.
"Not at all," the Kingslayer sniffed. "Can I help it if the monkey did it with more panache?"
"Perhaps it's hard for you to appreciate my panache from the ground, ser," Arya teased. "Maybe try to keep your feet next time, and you'll be more suitably impressed."
"Help me up, then, you insufferable toddler," Jaime growled, and the girl laughed, extending her hand and taking his, pulling him to his feet. As he swatted at his breeches to knock the dirt off them, Arya dropped all pretense of offense and arrogance and her face lit up in a way that made her look very young.
"Did you really see a traveling menagerie from the Summer Isles?" she asked. "Tell me, what did you see? Was there a spotted panther?"
Brienne of Tarth watched them from a shadowed alcove set back in the stone gallery overhead, a small smile of satisfaction playing on her lips.
Arya had thought it best to defer to Harwin's judgement when dividing their band. The Northman, therefore, had chosen which of the Brotherhood would ride for the Inn at the Crossroads to protect Jeyne Heddle and the orphans-in-training and which would follow the Lady of Winterfell to the Twins. It was decided that Jack-be-lucky and Lem Lemoncloak would lead the newest members of the Brotherhood Without Banners back to the inn. There, they would join Tom-o-Sevens, who had ridden on after their sojourn at Raventree Hall.
The time for their departure was set for two days after Emmon Frey's execution. As the sun rose over the horizon that morning, the entirety of the Brotherhood gathered just inside the gates of the castle, saying their goodbyes and imparting messages to deliver along the way to their various allies. Ser Brynden Blackwood was there, too, though he was not strictly a member of the Brotherhood. He merely wished to remind the company that they could depend on the hospitality of his family and take their rest beneath his father's roof if they would only please tell his mother and sister that his brother Hoster had been saved, and was well.
"Yes," Arya murmured to Jack-be-lucky, "and please give Lady Bethany my regards." This caused Ser Brynden to smile at her.
"You can count on me," Jack promised as Harwin caught his attention and drew him away.
"My sister will be most pleased that you are thinking of her, my lady," Brynden remarked.
"She was… very kind to me," the girl replied, looking off toward the gate. In the whole of her life, there had not been any girls of an age with her that Arya could name as friends, except for Olive, until she met Bethany Blackwood. She sincerely hoped the Blackwood daughter was well.
Harwin had sequestered himself across the yard with Lem and Jack-be-lucky, giving them some last-minute instructions. Jaime, Brienne, and Gendry stood off to the side, wishing the remaining company well (Jaime exhorting them to be on their guard as they rode while Gendry reminded them of the proper care of their weapons). As all this was taking place, Rider and Fletcher separated themselves from the group and approached Arya and her Blackwood protector.
"We had hoped to ride with you to Winterfell, my lady," Rider said, his disappointment evident in his voice.
"Yes," Fletcher agreed. "I thought I might meet a wildling."
"You may yet get your chance," the girl said, "but Jeyne has need of you now, and we cannot leave the children unguarded. Times are too uncertain now, and it's an important task with which you've been charged." Though a bit older than Arya, the orphaned boys deferred to her as respectfully as if she were their rightful queen.
"Yes, my lady," was Fletcher's dutiful reply.
"We understand," Rider added, bowing his head as they took their leave and turned to hoist themselves atop their horses.
Rider and Fletcher may have been understanding, but Elsbeth was less so. She stood perhaps ten yards from Arya and Brynden, hands balled into fists and planted on her hips, looking up at Gendry.
"You need me," she was hissing at him. "You need my bow!"
"Jeyne needs you. Your brothers need you," he admonished, nodding toward Stout Will, Little Nate, and the rest. "Your bow will make their journey safer, and it will make the inn safer."
She scoffed at that. "That's not why you're dismissing me."
"Dismissing you? Elsbeth, this wasn't my call," the dark knight reminded her. "Harwin split the company, not me."
"But you can speak with Harwin!" she insisted. "He'll listen to you! You can convince him…" The young archer stopped when she saw Gendry shaking his head. "But, you won't, will you?" It was more of a statement than a question. Elsbeth's lips pinched together bloodlessly and she glared past the blacksmith-knight to scrutinize Arya. "Because of her."
"Mind your tone," Gendry warned in a low voice.
"My tone," Elsbeth spat in disgust.
"Yes," the blacksmith-knight replied, drawing himself up to his full height. He towered over the little archer. "She is our lady, and you will mind your tone."
The implied threat in his posture was unmistakable and Elsbeth bit back whatever reply she was about to make him. Still, she glowered disdainfully at Arya, her rage a nearly palpable thing. The Cat's skin prickled at it, and she turned to regard the dark knight and the spurned archer, wondering at the feeling. The archer's thoughts assaulted her then and Arya sucked in a breath at the vehemence of them. Elsbeth's hatred of her in that moment could not have been plainer if she were shouting it at the top of her lungs. It caused the girl to suck in her breath.
"My lady, are you quite alright?" Brynden asked, reaching for her elbow and taking it gently, almost as if he expected her to faint and wanted to be sure to catch her. "Your face is so pale."
Elsbeth's snarl had caused Gendry to turn to look at the object of her derision. He saw the Blackwood heir take Arya's elbow and bend down to murmur to her. The dark knight's heavy brows drew together at the sight.
I hope when she gets to the Twins, Walder Frey cuts off her head and sews her stupid direwolf's head on in its place!
Elsbeth's petulant thought seemed to blare at Arya, and the image of it, so close to her own imagining of Robb's corpse similarly desecrated, was projected as clearly as if it had been painted on a canvas that now hung before her very eyes. The ill wish had felt like a slap across Arya's face. Her cheeks tingled and burned but she returned the archer's vicious look coolly, and assured Ser Brynden that she was quite alright, but was simply overtired from rising so early after staying up so late the night before.
It was, of course, a lie. The girl needed little sleep these days.
"Perhaps you should rest," the heir to Raventree Hall suggested. "Shall I escort you back to your chamber?"
Arya nodded, not needing any rest, but grateful for a reason to leave the group and escape Elsbeth's painfully projected thoughts. She took Brynden's proffered arm. Both the small archer and the blacksmith-knight watched the pair's retreating backs and the look on Gendry's face emboldened his spiteful companion enough that she stepped forward, drawing even with him. She leaned into his side.
"Poor Gendry," Elsbeth muttered with false sympathy. "You know she'll never be yours, don't you? And some day, you'll come to hate her for it."
Gendry set his jaw, still staring after Arya. "No," he gritted out, "I could never hate her."
Elsbeth laughed humorlessly. "We'll see."
The march of the armies of the Riverlands northward was set to begin less than a week after the departure of the orphans with Lem and Jack. Arya and her great-uncle argued ceaselessly during this time about his role in the plan. Since the girl would not agree to stay behind the walls of her mother's ancestral home, her uncle wished to accompany her.
"I cannot allow you to come with me, uncle. The Riverlands has need of you," Arya insisted.
"You have need of me, niece," the Blackfish returned.
"I do," she conceded, "but there must be a strong presence in Riverrun. I'll not have the Lannisters or the Freys darkening these halls again! And who can be trusted to safeguard this land more than you? You've said yourself that we don't know what threat the dragons pose, or what their intentions are for the Riverlands."
In the end, they reached a compromise. The Blackfish would accompany the forces to the Twins, to assist in the siege, for the faithlessness and treachery of the Freys was indeed a problem which fell within the purview of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.
"Walder Frey is as much my business as yours," her uncle had insisted, and Arya could not argue with that. They agreed that after the Freys were dealt with, however, the Blackfish would return home rather than move north toward Winterfell with her. Their most recent intelligence suggested the Dragon army would be much occupied with their move toward and assault of King's Landing, so it seemed the Riverlands was in no immediate danger from the south.
In truth, the girl believed she had no need of her uncle, or the armies which were camped around Riverrun, for her plan to confront Walder Frey relied on Braavosi cunning and Faceless deceit rather than Westerosi force. She could not very well tell the Blackfish this, however, and besides that, she was loath to part with family so soon, even if she must endure the separation eventually. Her uncle had also proven himself to be an invaluable strategist during the meetings of the makeshift war council and the siege he'd plan of the Twins would provide a useful distraction. While Frey eyes were trained on the gathering troops, she and her brothers could slip into the castle with little fear of detection.
Patrek Mallister had offered up Seaguard as a base for their forces, telling Arya that his father was anxious to meet her.
"He knew your mother and your brother well, my lady," Ser Patrek revealed, "and was present when your mother wed your father."
That had caused Arya's heart to quicken a bit. "I shall be glad of his welcome," she replied, "and look forward to hearing his reminiscences of my family."
The morning they set out, Brynden Tully and Tytos Blackwood rode at the forefront of the troops, with Arya between them on Bane. Standard bearers rode just behind, holding aloft three banners: a leaping trout on a split field of blue and red, a white weirwood surrounded by an arc of black ravens stitched over a blood red field, and, between the two, the largest banner of all, flying higher than all others, with a snarling direwolf head placed over a gray field. It was the first time Arya had seen her family's sigil done up properly in years. It had filled her with a strange feeling she thought must be pride.
And she was gratified to see that it was not a pretty banner at all, but rather, one that could only be described as fierce.
The king, for now there is no doubting who he is, walks along the edge of the Kingswood, thinking, head bowed as his eyes rove over the ground before him, not really seeing. Or, rather, he sees only what is in his mind: a battle to come, and a test already passed. He has taken to rubbing the back of his bare head when he is concentrating, the feel of the fine silver stubble beginning to grow there a reminder of just how ruthless his aunt can be.
Tyrion Lannister and Jon Connington walk with him, and the griffin is droning on about troop movements and outlining how their forces are to be deployed once they make their march through the Kingswood along the Roseroad. Aegon nods absently, still rubbing his palm over his head. Tyrion regards the king shrewdly.
"Lord Connington," the dwarf interrupts, "his grace was at the war council. He watched and listened as Ned Dayne detailed these exact plans. Surely we have no need to bore him further by rehashing it all."
Jon bristles at this. "I merely wish to make sure he understands the strategy and how…"
"He understands," Tyrion assures the sour griffin. Jon Connington had not particularly liked Tyrion Lannister at the best of times, but since losing his arm, the man has become almost insufferably gruff and humorless.
"I do," Aegon tells Lord Connington, suddenly attentive once again. "I understand, Jon, and you should get some rest. We have a long march ahead of us tomorrow if we hope to pull clear of the wood and actually employ all these careful plans we've made."
The dismissal in the king's tone is unmistakable and so the Lord of Griffin's Roost bows stiffly and takes his leave. Aegon sighs.
"I fear I've offended him now," the king confides, watching his mentor's retreat.
"You could not help but to offend him, he seems to live to be offended these days," the dwarf says comfortingly.
"He is angry that I made the maester take his arm."
"Better his arm than his life."
"I have more need of his mind than his sword, but he believes he could have given me both, long enough to secure the throne, anyway." Aegon shakes his head. "He's been the only father I've ever known. Perhaps it was selfish on my part, because I did not wish to contemplate doing without him."
"You'll not please everyone with every decision you make," Tyrion tells him. "You'd best learn to live with that, if you wish to have any hope of ruling effectively."
The silver king nods, telling the dwarf his counsel is appreciated.
"Perhaps you'll accept this counsel, then, your grace," Tyrion says with only the slightest hesitation.
"What is it?"
"Daenerys…"
Aegon stiffens a bit at hearing his aunt's name. "What about her?"
"You can ill-afford to spurn her now…"
"She would've killed me!"
"She only succeeded in legitimizing you. She proved beyond a doubt that you are the blood of the dragon."
"I doubt that's what she intended, however she may have couched the challenge."
"But surely it's the outcome that matters. Truly, she did you a favor."
"Be that as it may, how can I trust her now, knowing what lengths she'll go to?"
"I'm not suggesting you should trust her," the dwarf replied. "I'm simply saying, do not spurn her."
"Wasn't it you who said I cannot marry her if I am to have any hope of holding the kingdoms together without having to destroy half of Westeros?"
"I did, and you can't, but she doesn't know that."
"And wasn't it you who told me that I need the North? That I've been promised the North and…"
"You do need the North," Tyrion cuts in, "but Daenerys must believe there is hope for her to share the throne if we are to succeed here. At least for now."
"Daenerys is not a fool."
"No, but neither is she without weaknesses. Let her think that you could love her. Show her that you forgive her…"
Aegon frowns, grunting in disapproval.
Tyrion's tone is measured. "We need her dragons on our side."
"I'm impervious to their flame," Aegon counters. "She proved that beyond a doubt, as you've said."
"You are, but the rest of us are not. Tell me, your grace, how will you take the throne if your armies and advisors are reduced to ash?"
"At some point, she will know."
"I hope by then we'll have an alternative to offer her that she'll accept. There are many great houses which would be only too happy to ally themselves with the crown through marriage, after all. Your friend Edric Dayne has want of a wife."
"And she's shown no interest in him whatsoever, nor he in her. She's also made it clear that she has no intention of wedding a Tyrell."
"There are others. Ned Stark's son sits in Winterfell as we speak…"
"A bastard?"
"It is within your power to give him his father's name," Tyrion reminded the king, "and make him a bastard no more."
"What makes you think she'll willingly trade away the crown for marriage and family?"
"Have you seen the way she looks at Daario Naharis? And he's just a sellsword. The only thing the khaleesi wants more than power is love. And with the right encouragement…"
Aegon considers the dwarf's words. "With the right encouragement, she might find she loves a newly-made Lord of Winterfell?"
"I know him," Tyrion reveals. "He's intelligent, and honorable. A bit melancholy, perhaps, but all in all, a good man. Truly his father's son. And he's handsome enough for her. Yes, if any others fail to capture her heart, Jon Snow may be just the man for the job."
"Don't you mean Jon Stark?" the king asks, smiling a little at the thought.
"Just so, your grace."
Aegon nods. "Yes, my aunt may find she likes the North very well, after fire and blood and battles. Perhaps we should send word to Winterfell, to lay the groundwork…"
"I suggest we wait, until after we have taken Kings Landing. It would not do to promise Winterfell a Targaryen princess, only to have her fall during the battle. No need to make your relationship with the North more difficult."
Shrugging, the king replies, "As you say, Lord Lannister. Ravens may be sent from the Red Keep, after we have occupied it. But perhaps we should at least broach the idea of legitimizing Eddard Stark's natural son? It can't hurt to have Daenerys thinking on him. Perhaps you could discuss his worthiness, to plant the notion. Who knows? My aunt may fall in love with the idea of Winterfell's lord, even before they meet."
Just as you are already half in love with the idea of its lady, the dwarf thinks, but does not say.
Near a fortnight of rough travel had brought the army of the Riverlands and the Brotherhood Without Banners to the gates of Seaguard. The highborn and ranking men among the regiments had been welcomed with bread and salt and were invited to sup beneath the castle's roof with its lord, Jason Mallister, and his family. The fighting men set up camp outside of the castle walls as their commanders toasted the Mallisters, the Riverlands, the Lord Paramount, and the Lady of Winterfell in turn.
"Lady Stark, I would be pleased to host you here as the army lays siege to the Twins," Lord Mallister told Arya as they finished the welcoming feast.
"I… thank you," the girl said, striving to be gracious, "for your… kind consideration, my lord. But I plan to accompany my men on their journey."
"It's no use, Jason," the Blackfish broke in. "My niece is made of stern and stubborn stuff. She means to match us all, stride for stride."
"My lady, would you not be more comfortable here, with a soft bed and warm food?" Lord Mallister asked, befuddled.
"I've been plenty comfortable in the pavilion my uncle and Lord Blackwood have insisted I sleep in," Arya said, her eyeroll indicating just how ridiculous she found it all. "I even have a lady's maid to see to me, though I find the very idea laughable."
"We couldn't very well leave the poor woman behind, insistent as she was about accompanying you," her uncle admonished. "I feared she might do herself some harm!"
Arya doubted very much that Rosie would've tossed herself from the battlements into the river had she been made to stay behind, but the Blackfish spoke truly when he described the maid as 'insistent.'
"A siege can sometimes be a long and tedious affair," Lord Mallister lectured. "My lady, surely you can't mean to camp in the mud, amongst the men?"
"Something tells me this siege will not be long, my lord, and I mean to be wherever my men are. I cannot ask them to risk their necks for me if I am unwilling to even endure the most minimal hardship for them."
"I told you, Mallister," her uncle laughed. "Save your breath, you'll only exhaust yourself if you try to convince her, and the outcome will be no different."
"It does hearten the men to see their lady at their head," Karyl Vance added quietly, "and the direwolf banner seems to have strengthened their resolve."
Arya placed a hand over her heart and bowed her head in gratitude for Lord Vance's words. "I thank you for saying so, my lord."
Jason Mallister shook his head and shrugged. "Well, then, I suppose that's that. And when do you plan to march for the Twins?"
"In three days' time," Lord Blackwood said, "if you'll allow us to impose on your hospitality for that long. That should give the men and horses enough time to recover and prepare."
"Of course, you may stay as long as need be, but to march so soon?" Lord Mallister seemed surprised.
The Blackfish replied, "The days are only getting colder, now winter is here, and Lady Arya has a great need to see Walder Frey answer for what he's done. The sooner we march, the better." The girl nodded her agreement.
"And after the siege? What then?" Lord Mallister asked.
"I should think it will depend on what is happening to the south," the girl replied cagily. "Have you any news of the Dragon army, my lord? We've heard no word since leaving Riverrun."
"Indeed, my lady. The Targaryen forces have undertaken their own siege, nigh on a week now, according to a raven we received just yesterday."
"Then they've not used their dragons?" Arya bit her lip, considering it.
"Fearsome beasts, to be sure, but once their power is unleashed, the destruction would be nearly unfathomable," Jason said. "One imagines King Aegon does not wish to rule over corpses and ash, and has convinced his aunt to stay her hand for now."
"King Aegon?" Lord Blackwood echoed. "Are they married, then? The two dragons?"
"That, I cannot say," Lord Mallister told him. "I only know that he is now regarded as the king by their forces."
"Then we must direct our addresses to him, I suppose," the Blackfish mused, "if we are to determine what the Targaryen intentions are towards… the Riverlands and the North."
The way he said it, the Riverlands and the North, the way he hesitated for just that small moment, gave Arya pause. It was as if her uncle had intended to say something else, but thought the better of it. She thought she would ask him about it later, but the feast quickly transformed into a discussion of siege strategy between the lords and commanders, and the girl became so enthralled that her question completely slipped her mind.
Legendary—Welshly Arms