Not fic related: E.E. Cummings is truly one of my faves, so I couldn't bring myself to alter his paragraph structure because it's so integral to his style.

Anyway… We're finally here! I hate that this took so long, but i'm glad it's done. There is a part two already in the works, and it'll be shorter than this, and i've got it all worked out, so *fingers crossed* updates will be better. Thanks again to everyone who commented, and subscribed, and especially to those of you that have stuck with me for all this time, I see you and it means alot! And for those of you that are new here, thanks for taking the time.

Not a super long chapter but a lot happens, so I hope you enjoy.

dying is fine)but Death

?o
baby
i

wouldn't like

Death if Death
were good:for
when(instead of stopping to think)you

begin to feel of it, dying
's miraculous, why?be

cause dying is

perfectly natural; perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but

Death

is strictly
scientific
& artificial &

evil & legal)

we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life!the sin of Death

dying is fine)but Death by E.E. Cummings

Arya

️

If Arya had truly embraced anything from the House of Black and White, it was the use of the faces. They enabled her to get around unnoticed, and being near invisible definitely had its advantages. Though she had not in fact, been using them much of late.

The Hound still did not know of her many skills, nor who she'd learned them from, and for reasons she could only guess, had not yet pressed her to prove herself. He had not even bothered to ask how she'd gotten into his brother's castle. Arya wondered if that was because he believed that she could handle herself, or if he simply didn't care either way. The latter seemed more likely, but what truly bothered her was why she cared at all.

She had nothing to prove.

Their journey so far had been tersely quiet, talking only when they needed to. Though she didn't bother to tell him what she'd heard, her suspicions were confirmed when they reached Lannisport, and the Hound heard for himself the news.

Arya heard him mumble some profanity under his breath, which she didn't bother to try to hear, before he turned to her. The expression on his face was distinctly different from his usual scowl. Instead he looked at her with something like sadness.

"Your sister's got shitty luck," He said to her.

Arya tensed, disliking his pity, or whatever it was.

"I'd say Sansa is right where she wants to be."

Truthfully, Arya had no clue what sort of woman her sister had become. She'd heard many things, not all of them good. Though some of what Arya remembered of Sansa didn't favour her character, she refused to believe that Sansa would truly turn on her family.

And Arya knew better than most, that the world wasn't kind to girls.

He scoffed, but didn't say anything more.

They remained in the city for a few days, each looking for information in their own way, though the Hound seemed to spend most of his time drinking, and eating—and other things—in brothel's, taverns and inns.

It worked however. He'd run into someone who'd heard word of his brother, or at least of a man as large as him, near Tarbeck Hall. And that he hadn't been alone. A woman, heavily garbed, was seen trailing beside him.

"He'll be heading for Casterly Rock, we should wait for him there. There are too many people in the city, our odds will be better in open space."

Arya didn't particularly want anyone else to get hurt, nor to get caught in a position she couldn't escape.

"What about the woman?" The Hound asked then.

"What about her? Whatever reason he's brought her, we'll find out there."

"And if you're wrong? There's a market coming in a few days, it returns to Essos after. What if he's supposed to bring her here, so they can escape with it?"

Arya actually laughed.

"I can just see that. Passage for two to the Summer Isles. Who's going to let a dead man board their ship? It's not as if he can just sneak onto one without being seen."

"You're pretty daft for a girl who thinks she knows everything. Why do you think my brother's hauling around that woman? It's not for what's between her legs, doubt his even works anymore."

For once, Arya felt at a loss. She hadn't really given the woman much thought. All she'd thought about was the ambush, and crossing the name from her list. When she didn't speak, the Hound continued talking.

"I've served the Lannisters for a long time, and I got to learn a thing or two about the Mad Queen."

"The Mad Queen," Arya mocked. "Cersei Lannister, you mean? Who's son called you dog?"

"Shut up and listen," He barked back, annoyed at the interruption and not bothered by the reminder.

"Why do you think she sent my brother away when the Dragon Queen was at her shores? That woman woulda done anything to survive, but she would do much more to protect her bastards."

Arya caught on then, what he was saying. It made sense of course. But what was the Mountain going to do? Raise a child in Essos, in exile? No. If there were a safe place for Cersei's secret child, it would only be Casterly Rock. With the last remaining Lannister.

"If you're right, there's even more reason for him to go to the Rock. To the only person Cersei ever trusted. Jaime. He's the child's father after all. We should wait for the Mountain there."

Since the Hound could not argue with any of this, he could only nod in agreement.

Arya was on watch the night the Mountain arrived, only hours after her sister and the Lannister did, and as told, shadowed by a crumpled woman. It was easy to note the bundle, now that she knew to look for it.

She wasn't entirely surprised they'd let him in, a dog was always welcome in its master's house after all.

As luck would have it the Hound was fast asleep, having chugged a skin of wine only a little while earlier. Arya was too wound up with curiousity to wake him, so she left him to sleep off his stupor. Having long ago found a way in, she slipped into a mask, and slinked her way inside unseen, as always.

Arya was surprised to find that she'd been wrong. The Mountain was locked up, though only because it seemed as if he didn't mind being there. Disguised as a grubby servant, she pretended to kindle the hearths as she explored the castle, room by room.

That was how Arya had been discovered, well found at least, by her sister's handmaiden, and made to relight the fire in Sansa's chambers.

It took her a while to build the fire, wet and chilly as the room was, and though she'd come looking for the child, Arya couldn't help steal a glance at her sister.

It was the first time Arya had seen her in many years, and though Sansa was beautiful as ever, there was a heaviness in her, as if she'd been through a lot. She was not sure how Sansa came to be the Kingslayer's wife, but she started to wonder, doubt even, that it had been by choice.

By chance, or fate, Arya found Jaime after that, in his solar. He was sitting in his chair, his hand rested on the bassinette at his side, his posture lagged, clearly asleep. It was an opportunity she'd not been expecting, and she realized, it would be so easy to slide her blade across his bare neck…

As for the girl, Arya would take her and give her to someone who would care for her, and no one would ever know she was the child of Cersei Lannister.

Stepping closer, she began to do just that.

Arya took off the girl's face, deciding that since she was killing him for her family, she had to be the one to wield the sword, though in this case, it was only a dagger. Her blade had just reached his neck when she heard a gasp.

She turned to look, but kept her hand in place, pressing it to his skin in case he woke. Sansa stood before her, suddenly taking in her face, and as recognition hit, she was shocked silent.

Arya turned back to her victim, and somehow, he was still asleep. She smiled.

Sansa stepped closer suddenly, and whispered forcefully, "No, please don't!"

This surprised her enough that she pulled her blade an inch away.

"Why not?" Arya whispered back looking at her sister once more, unable to understand why she wanted him alive.

Sansa took another step, and answered plainly, "I… care for him."

Arya didn't have time to register her own shock, as suddenly a hand closed over her own, simultaneously pulling and spinning her until the dagger was at her own neck, and a hard rock at her waist pinned her back to Jaime's. She felt the knife close, but he did not move, and Sansa did not plead for her life.

Instead she spoke, looking at him, "It may be hard to believe, but Ser Jaime is a good man, despite himself and his family name. And he saved my life once."

The way Sansa looked at him, it was obvious what she said was true, and Arya would not kill him, not if her sister loved him. She loosened her grip on the blade at her neck, and when Jaime had hold of it completely, he let her go.

Arya stood between the two, but it seemed as if they barely realized it. He gave Sansa a questioning look, but said nothing.

"My sister, Arya," She responded.

His brows went up in surprise but he grinned and only said, "I suppose I deserve that greeting. I thank you for not killing me, Lady Arya."

He bowed low, deferently. It was bizarre. His gaze found hers as he straightened, his left arm shot up, her blade, though hilt first in his hand. Jaime offered it to her. She took it slowly, and said nothing. She gave him one last scrutinizing look before turning to her sister.

"And the girl?" She asked simply.

Arya was not sure if Sansa would think she meant to kill the child but if she did, she said nothing.

"Will stay here. She is my husband's, and she is now mine. I will care for her as our mother never did for Jon."

This time, Arya smiled.

"Good," She answered, finally slipping her blade into the sheath at her waist.

"You must release the Mountain," She said seriously, to them both.

She didn't bother to explain why, surely they knew understood. He was not natural, had never been. And he was on her list. He had to die.

"Surely you don't think you can handle him on your own," the Lannister replied then.

"I don't plan to."

She didn't explain further, and Jaime did not press. Instead, Arya took a few steps until she stood before her sister, and surprisingly, Sansa hugged her.

"Don't tell anyone you saw me. Tell no one."

She moved past her heading towards the door when Sansa nearly shouted, "Arya!"

She couldn't remember the last time anyone had called her that, and for a brief moment, she was that little girl who would pester her elder, more beautiful sister.

She stopped and turned her head.

Sansa hesitated a moment. "Theon—He didn't kill our brothers. He only pretended—"

Her voice trailed off, either unable to say it or knowing it didn't need to be said. Arya understood.

A moment passed before Sansa continued, "Rickon is gone, but Bran—"

Again, she didn't say more, but it was clear enough. There was a chance. Arya let herself focus only on the problem she could solve.

"Where's Theon?" She asked simply. Casual even.

Sansa wasn't fooled. "He's paid for his crimes, tenfold. Even Jon has accepted this."

Neither was Arya. "So Jon's pardoned him?"

"In a manner."

Arya wanted to smile, Sansa had given her everything without knowing it, but she wasn't about to give away her hand. She nodded, as if accepting this answer, and started moving again.

"Will we ever see you again?" Sansa asked just as she reached the door.

She tried to smile with meaning, and replied, "When I am finished."

Sansa returned the grin, and with that Arya left, slipping into the girl's face once more.

️

The Mountain emerged later, in the wee hours of the morning, still dark, the sun had not yet risen. Arya wasn't sure how they had forced him out and didn't care. Instead she waited hidden behind a thick copse of bushes near a clearing in the woods.

Neither she nor the Hound had wanted to kill the Mountain just outside the castle gates, but where would he go? Gregor Clegane was more monster than man, beyond reason, there was no way to guess what direction he might take.

It was the Hound who offered himself as bait. "Dead or not, i'm still his little brother."

Arya wondered, for a moment, what that would have been like. To have a sibling who hated you, whom you couldn't trust not to kill you in your sleep. As bad as she'd gotten along with Sansa, it was never that. Not even after Micah.

So Arya agreed, and waited for Sandor to lure his brother to her.

She should have known it would all go wrong when she aimed her dagger to his throat… and missed. It stung, but she simply reached for another, and with Needle in her other hand, she and the Hound moved in for the kill.

Sandor took the brunt of the Mountain's focus, Arya taking to slicing and stabbing, to inflict as much damage as possible, hoping to wear him out. Only, he didn't tire. And hardly reacted to Arya's attacks.

And then Gregor got the best of his brother, and knocked him to the ground. Just as he raised his arms to bring down his sword to end the Hound's life, Arya threw Needle to the ground and launched herself onto the Mountain's back, intending to slice his throat, and finally be done with this.

Only, the Mountain abandoned his attack, and surprisingly also his sword, panicked for the first time. He reached back for her head which she narrowly avoided, only his hand found her arm instead. He yanked her forward, and over his shoulder, as if she were little more than a rag doll.

Arya couldn't help the scream that tore from her lungs as the bones in her arm crushed in his grip, forcing her to drop her own weapon. The Mountain threw her to the ground, still holding her, and raised his free hand into a fist, and Arya had a brief moment to wonder where the Hound was, before the hand squeezing her tight abruptly let go. Arya looked over to see a mass of white and black fur, larger than any wolf or dog could be, a snarling rage of teeth, tearing at the arm that had been raised to kill her.

Nymeria.

Arya did not have time to dwell on her appearance, as the Hound made his own reappearance in that very moment by plunging his longsword straight into his brother's heart before he could even react to the direwolf latched to his arm. Arya used the moment to quickly stand, and move back, her injured arm cradled to her chest, her other hand had already found purchase on the secret dagger stashed in her boot.

Only nothing happened. The Mountain did not flinch or die, his only reaction was to sweep his arm, the one still free, straight towards Nymeria, as he'd been about to do. The Hound was directly in his path, and only managed to avoid the blow by throwing himself back, and letting go of his sword, still plunged in Gregor's chest.

This freed the Mountain's attack on Nymeria, though she too realized it and quickly let go of him. His arm and hand were torn beyond use, though there was no blood. Instead it was thick and black like bile.

Gregor did not waste a moment though, with his good hand, instead he pulled the Hound's blade from his chest without even a flinch, and headed toward them.

For the first time, Arya was afraid. The Hound was weaponless, and she was badly injured. Even down an arm and with Nymeria at their side, she wasn't sure it would be enough to take him down.

Quicker than anyone could notice, even the Mountain, Nymeria pounced. The force of her attack threw him to his back, dislodging his grip so the sword went flying.

As Nymeria tore at his neck, the mountain's hand found her own. A terrible whine, the like would haunt Arya's dreams, tore from her direwolf's mouth. Before she knew what she was doing, Arya threw herself into the fray, dropping her dagger and reached with both hands, the pain in her shoulder only a distant throb, as she tried to pry him off.

"Do something!" Arya yelled, panicked.

"Goodbye brother," The Hound said then, oddly calm.

She hadn't realized it, but Sandor had picked up his blade, and finally swung it down, cutting the Mountain's head completely off.

Nymeria quieted almost immediately, and Arya was finally able to pry his fingers from her mane.

Somehow, they were all still alive. Battered to shit, as the Hound would say later, but alive.

️

None of them came out unscathed, Arya had the Hound set the broken bone in her arm, and she stitched the long gash on his side. Nymeria was the best off of the three, and had only licked her wounds before crawling up under a nearby tree to rest.

"Did you know she was tracking us?" The Hound asked suddenly, as they were collecting kindle for the pyre.

Arya looked over at her direwolf, still surprised she was there. That Nymeria had found her. After all this time.

"I didn't," Arya answered truthfully. "I didn't even know she was still alive."

The Hound brought his small stack to the spot they'd chosen before he spoke again.

"Will you keep her?"

Arya scoffed. "She's not a dog, she's not mine to keep. But it looks like she might stick around."

She had no way of knowing this for sure of course, but it felt like the truth. He did not say anything else, so they worked in silence until they'd accumulated enough dry wood.

It was quiet, the fire crackling loudly but filling the silence effectively. The smell was acrid and offensive, but they waited anyway, both needing to be sure it was done.

"Will you go back to the Brotherhood?" Arya heard herself ask.

The Hound scoffed. "Back to that mess? Not bloody likely. I'm the Lord of a castle now."

She felt a smile in the corners of her mouth but didn't let it show. "Well it's a good thing you're already here then."

When the Hound gave her a confused look, she could supress the smirk no longer.

"Seeing as how Lord Jaime and my sister have called their banners, I think that means you now."

Understanding flooded his face then, before he scowled bitterly.

"Well what about you?" He said then, not addressing her words. "Going to go scratch another name off your little list? Or go find your bastard boy, now that you know he lives?"

He meant to rile her, as always, and it never worked, only this time, something pierced enough that she felt the grin slip from her lips. But it was only for a moment.

"Why would I tell you?" She answered, managing to sound her usual stoic self.

Truthfully, she hadn't given it any thought. Learning Gendry was alive hadn't swayed her decision to go looking for the Mountain. But hearing it now, she let herself briefly consider it. Would he welcome her with open arms? But even if he did, what next? She still had names. And he hadn't wanted her then, why would that change now?

Thankfully though, the reply worked, as the Hound scoffed again, and turned away from her. Finally deciding to leave.

Arya let him go without a word, unable to find any she wanted to say.

She didn't hear him stop, but he spoke.

"Thank you. For saving my life," Sandor said then, without contempt, in a tone she'd never heard him use.

When she turned to look at him, he was already gone.

Arya stood by the fire a little longer, unable to step away despite the stench. She'd finally crossed another from her list, but though it brought her some resolution, it wasn't enough. She already felt the need for the next name.

The list was short now. Only two left. For now at least.

Melisandre. And Theon Greyjoy.

Maybe it was time to go home after all.