Chapter 23: The Kingsroad
Arya
Arya took the fastest horse that Sansa could spare her when leaving Winterfell. She paid no mind to the tears forming at the corners of her sister's eyes as they said their goodbyes to each other. She had prepared herself for a long journey. She wore her brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and pulled on a pair of soft black leather riding pants. She wore a riding cloak fringed with fur. She had designed it with one shoulder free, so that she could maneuver the reins of her horse, and dual wield her sword, Needle, and her Valyrian steel dagger. She carried a selection of dried meat and dried sausages and hard cheese in her travelling bag, and a small knife. She brought a bedroll, and a warm fur for the cold nights. The horse she rode, a sable colored stallion, had a silky mane as black as onyx, and she called him Balerion. That wasn't his proper name, not really, but he seemed to like it alright. Horses had always taken to her easily. She was a great rider. When she was a young girl, she had always been told that she rode "like a northman." She would often smile at this. Riding was one of the few things that she had always done better than Sansa, even when she was a girl.
The first time that she met the red witch, Melisandre, the witch had told her that she would shut many eyes forever. She had been right. Brown eyes, blue eyes, and green eyes, the red woman had said. At the time, Arya didn't know what she meant, but now it was clear. I am going to kill the Queen. Arya smiled to herself as she set off towards the South, and back towards the stench and squalor of King's Landing. For a fortnight she rode, trailing the foot soldiers of the Dragon Queen's army. Cersei Lannister was on her list, and she was going to shut Cersei's green eyes forever. In the years, since she had watched her father die on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, her list had grown. As she traveled, she would often recite the list to herself before she fell asleep. Her list had become a prayer-and now she was to give a sacrament to the many-faced-god. She had promised the life of Cersei Lannister to the many-faced-god through whispers night by night as she had traveled from Westeros to Essos and back, and now she would give the many-faced-god what was owed.
Valar Morghulis. She repeated to herself. Many sacrifices had been stolen from her in the intervening years. Many on her list had died before they ever met the pointy end of her sword, and she didn't intend to let it happen again. Cersei, had been one of the first on the list, and now, she was to be the last. Valar Dohaeris.
Westeros was suffering. The wars had taken a toll on the land and the people. Arya passed through burned village after burned village. The faces of the people that they passed were angry, tired and hungry. The days seemed to creep on endlessly. Day turned to night, night turned to day, and in between they stopped just long enough to rest their horses, or rest their feet, and eat a piece of dried meat, or a piece of hard cheese. Despite the visible signs of desperation, they had yet to encounter any resistance from the people. The army was intimidating, even without the dragons. "The people are too tired to resist," Arya thought. The Dragon Queen didn't even need to bother riding south at all. If she would just tell the people that she would feed them, they would all bend the knee to her without reservation, Arya mused.
She passed through mountain ranges, with their stony crests rising towards the sun. She passed through green fields, and farmland, and flat ground that stretched far and wide before her, seemingly endless. She passed through holdfasts, and small villages, and forded narrow rivers with her horse. When she could rest properly, she set up a small tent, and roasted wild game over a campfire.
At night, sometimes, Arya heard the cries of wolves, and occasionally the cries sounded familiar to her. Nymeria. Nymeria is out there somewhere, she thought, and sometimes when she dreamt after a long days ride, she dreamt that she was a wolf herself. She prowled through the forest, and hunted for rabbits, and pheasants, and her stomach roiled with hunger. She smelled blood, hot, and metallic that made her mouth water, and she ran with a pack of wolves, her sisters, and brothers- bounding through a forest in the darkness. Sometimes she caught the prey that she chased, and it seemed to Arya that she could taste the blood on her tongue.
After weeks of hard riding, Arya began to smell the stench of a half million people, and she knew that she was close. King's Landing was like a trash heap, filled with people and filth all crammed on top of each other. It was nightfall when she got close enough to see the walls of the city. Outside the walls, she could see the beginnings of ragtag settlements of smallfolk, lit by firelight. The Unsullied and Dothraki set up camp outside the walls of the city, within sight of, but a comfortable distance away from the settlements.
Arya dressed herself in a black hood, with black gloves, and prepared herself for her trek into the city. Preparing to break into the city reminded her of the time when she had to escape from it as a child. She thought back to her dancing master, Syrio Forel. When she had trained with him, she had chased cats through the Red Keep. She wound her way through tunnels, climbing staircases, exploring halls filled with dragon skulls. She got to know the Red Keep very well. These were lessons that she would now use, as she went through the secret tunnels that lay beneath the city as "swift as a deer," and as "quiet as a shadow" to make her way to the Queen. She walked towards the shore, close to the water's edge, where the city refuse emptied out into the sea. She knew a secret tunnel that led near the dungeons, this was going to be her way in.