Arya hears a group of them, muttering round the campfire. "She's a pretty thing, isn't she?' mutters one. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asks another. Her misgivings have grown as they have ridden South over the past week, by the banks of the Derwent River, reaching its confluence with the White Knife. She doesn't like the way that so many of the men look at Catelyn, or Jeyne, for that matter. As usual, she is armed to the teeth, with a short sword strapped to her waist, a hand axe hanging from her saddle, and a pair of daggers on her person, one in her boot, the other up her sleeve. No, she could defend herself well enough, but she worries for the other two; Catelyn was taught to fence, but she has never fought at close quarters, as Arya has. The troopers they ride with are a rough lot, and, she is more and more convinced, untrustworthy. She knows from Jon that Yara Grejoy would not hurt Catelyn; she had even thought of riding for Yara's lines with the Princess, but that would mean abandoning the prisoners of the Nights Watch to their fate, at her sister's hands. Yet, she fears the men she rides with have much worse in mind than simply selling Catelyn to Yara. A slaver would pay a rare price for the daughter of the Queen of the North; especially, one who had been "broken in" before sale.

She has watched them closely as they ride, through a disordered countryside. They've encountered mobs of unruly peasants and deserters, from time to time. Usually, they have been given a wide berth, although they've hidden in the woods a couple of times, from the larger bands. The country is in complete disorder, as her sister's authority breaks down. From time to time, they've come across burnt out settlements, flies hovering over the corpses of men, women, children, and animals. She'd rather forget one hideous scene, a couple of days ago. They came across a village, which had been sacked. They searched it for any supplies of food, and she entered a longhouse. The stench was indescribable. She hardly recognised the things that were stretched out on the floor, before realising they were human beings; they hadn't even used weapons to kill them, just a variety of household implements. The troopers were unconcerned, just searching for plunder. She's served with some hard cases in her time, but these are something else. Even as she is lost in thought, the commander of the troop, Lewyn Manderly, a very distant cousin of the late lord, comes up to her. "A word, my lady," he murmurs. He takes her arm, and leads her into the darkness.

"My men are about to desert. A countryside in chaos is far too great a temptation for them, But, I fear they'll do a lot worse than that."

"How well do you know them?"

"I don't. I've been in command for a little over six weeks."

"Can you trust any of them?"

"I just don't know". Arya thinks for several minutes, and reaches a painful decision. She has Catelyn, Jeyne, and Sansa's prisoners to think of, as against men who are strangers to her, who may or may not be trustworthy. Some are plainly guilty, others, in all likelihood, are innocent. As always, the Gods have left her no easy choice. "Lewyn" she whispers. "Toy with your stew, when it's served up later. Don't swallow it, I'll tell Catelyn, and Jeyne the same."

A short while later, the four of them sit in a huddle, as the soldiers eat. They hunted hares, earlier that day, which they stewed with roots, over the campfire.

"I feel rough" says a sergeant. He kneels on both knees, retching his guts. Then he screams. Short, high-pitched screams, of a man in agony. On all fours, now, he starts to convulse, as his companions stare at him with horror. Another rolls onto his back, his spine arching uncontrollably. All around them, now, men are clutching their bellies, rolling on the grass, dying badly. Several of them are howling like wolves in their pain.

"Bitch!" shrieks one, seemingly unaffected. He draws his sword. Then he coughs. He falls forward onto the ground, a red froth pouring from his mouth. Catelyn starts to keen, as Jeyne wraps her arms around her. "Look away, Sweetling" she murmurs, burying Catelyn's face in her breast.

"Walk away" commands Arya, fiercely, to the other three. "We're riding out of here".

"Did you kill them? asks Catelyn, staring at her, open-eyed.

"They would have done worse to you, Catelyn. I put a flask of Demon's Dance in the stew. I'm not proud of it. But, I'm not ashamed, either".

"First mother, then you. You murder people. I loved mother. I do love her. But, the things she does...I'm never going to see her again..." Catelyn breaks down, again.

"Your mother has made some very hard choices" says Arya, taking Catelyn into her arms from Jeyne. "I can't say your mother made the right choices. But, remember, your mother always loved you, and she always wanted the best for you."

"I saw a man burn in a cage. I can't get it out of my head!"

"Nor should you. Your mother was wrong, but she thought she was doing the right thing. Try to remember the good times. The times your mother was kind to you."

"I can't. It's all blood, and fire, and cruelty! I can't stand it!"

"That is the curse of our House, Catelyn. Your mother, me, King Bran, Uncle Jon , we made terrible choices, and the Gods have punished us for those choices. You don't need to do the same things. We cheated, betrayed, and destroyed a woman who came to the North in good faith to fight alongside us, against the Dead. The Dragon Queen fought with us, for all the people of this country, and we hated her for it. Your uncle loved her, and we pushed the pair of them into conflict. We wanted her dead. Purely for the sake of our own ambition. But, the Gods are not mocked Catelyn. We took oaths before a heart tree, and then we broke them. We spat in the Gods' faces. Only fools spit in the face of the Gods! We were fools! But, that's not you Catelyn. You can avoid the choices we made. You can choose to be good. All that I can do now is get you to safety."

They ride for a couple of miles in the darkness, before making a fresh camp. "Catelyn, Jeyne, " says Arya. "We have to be extremely careful from now on. Any one of the bands of men we encountered could attack us, and we're still two hundred miles from White Harbour. Any band of men we see, we hide, until they've gone past. I'll take first watch, now. Lewyn, you take over in a couple of hours, and then we'll start riding again at dawn. Arya thinks back at what happened. I just poisoned forty men. And, I feel no more remorse for it than if I killed a nest of rats. But, what choice did I have?" Truly, the Gods have cursed House Stark.

Notes:

1. Demon's Dance was a poison stolen from Pycelle's cabinet by Tyrion. I don't know what it is, but I'm assuming it's similar to strychnine.

2. I don't know the name of the river that flows into the White Knife from Winterfell. Derwent (meaning Valley of Oaks) is a common English name for a river.

3. An important theme to this series is Be Sure Your Sins Will Find You Out. There is a price to be paid, once you go down the path of betrayal, for ambition, but it may take many years for that price to be paid