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Chapter 12

Gendry

Gendry had not slept at all that night. The only thing he had been able to think about was Arya's request. Take me away from here, Gendry, she had said. He remembered imagining doing the exact thing, only hours before and yet he hadn't been able to say yes. He was no knight in shining armor, nor would he ever be one. Sighing, he got to his feet, flashes of their latest kiss flickering through his head. Make it stop. He should have said yes. It would have been one of those romantic gestures the singers sang songs about. Why couldn't he at least pretended to be a knight, and taken her away from this life she hated? He decided he would accept her request this very day. He would seek her right now. He would go up to the castle and demand to speak to Lady Arya, and then he would sweep her off her feet and kiss her. Perhaps he was only a blacksmith, but Arya had wanted him to take her away, not Dickon the lord.

But as he approached the castle, his determination faded. It was so big and glorious, hundred times bigger than the forge. The guard outside the main door looked skeptically at him. Gendry knew his face, but could not remember the man's name.

"What do you want?" the guard asked. Gendry hesitated. Was he bold enough? Would he dare to stand up to Arya's family and confess his love? Would Arya even want him to?

"I wish to see Lady Stark," he said, his voice weak like a coward's.

The guard snorted. "But does she wish to see you?"

"Please, tell her Gendry's here."

The guard looked at him, eyeing him from top to bottom. "You're the blacksmith she's been running around with," he said, his lips twisting into a little smirk. "You are too late I'm afraid. The Lady has run off in the night. The men are out looking for her as we speak."

Gendry wanted to bash the guard's head in. Couldn't he have said so sooner? He ran to the stable, ordering a horse and was on its back in a matter of seconds, leaping through the hunter's gate.

The Wolfswood seemed so big and infinite when riding alone. Usually he would have Arya by his side, complaining about her sister or brothers.

He was blaming himself for not joining her when she had asked. The woods were dangerous for a lady, even for a lady like Arya. Praying to every god he knew about that she would return to Winterfell, safe and sound, he headed for the lake – their usual spot. But she was not there, and judging by the untouched layer of snow, she never had been. He turned the mare towards the king's road while deciding whether she would go north to the wall or south to her father and brother or mother and sister. He caught a glimpse of about twenty men a horse, riding south, which made his choice simple; if they were all riding south, he had the feeling Arya would ride north, to somewhere the other's least expected her to go.

Since it hadn't been snowing for days, Gendry had believed finding her would be an easy task. He was soon proven wrong. There were no trails after her horse or her wolf, and Gendry was about to turn his borrowed horse around when he heard a wolf howl in the distance. Could it be Nymeria? He knew it was a longshot, but it was all he had. Putting his heels in the horse's side, he prayed to the gods – old and new- that no harm would come to her.

Gendry had never been very fond of riding, and had scarcely sat on a horse before he left King's Landing, so the journey through went much too slow. Arya already had a night's head start, and for all he knew, she could be on a boat to the free cities by now. But Gendry kept going, ignoring his sore behind.

Arya

She had ridden all night, and only stopped to take a piss. Nymeria was jogging besides her, showing the way. She had not yet seen anyone on the road, and did not know whether that was a good or bad thing. Her father had told her how dangerous the roads were for a girl when she had last asked to visit Jon on the wall, but she had merely scoffed. She was not afraid of anything. But as she had ridden through the snow in the darkness, taking a long detour so the guards would not find her tracks as easily, she was glad she had brought Nymeria, as the wolf would keep her safe. Yes, she had Needle and the dagger Robb had given her for her last name day, but what good were they if someone shot her with a crossbow?

When the sun stood tall in the sky, Arya finally allowed herself to rest. In her hurry to escape from Winterfell, she had forgotten to bring anything to sleep on except for a thick fur rug; however, with Nymeria by her side and her cloak draped tightly around herself, she managed to remain warm enough to fall asleep.

She awoke by Nymeria's low growling. She was tugging her cloak, urging for her to wake up. Arya jumped to her feet, looking around.

"Is there someone here?" she asked her wolf, but Nymeria leapt through the trees without a warning. Arya gathered her things together and saddled her horse in such a hurry, she almost put the saddle on the wrong way. She could hear hooves in the distance, followed by Nymeria's snarling. A man screamed in agony, and when Arya finally caught a glimpse of the intruders, she saw three men on horses. The direwolf was glaring warningly at them, baring her bloody teeth.

"Kill the beast!" one of the men said, clutching his bleeding leg. Another raised his bow, aiming at Nymeria, but before he could shoot, Arya shot out of the woods.

"Don't you dare hurt her," she yelled, pointing Needle toward him. The men exchanged looks before they burst out, laughing.

"It's a girl," one of them said. "Take her horse, and slay that beast. Let's bring the girl back to the leader. After that last bitch got herself killed, he needs a new maiden to keep him company."

The shortest man stepped down from his horse to reach for the mare's reins, but just as his feet hit the snowy ground, Nymeria went for his throat, blood staining the white snow. As the man with the crossbow aimed at Nymeria again, Arya threw her knife at him, stabbing his chest. The last man stayed at his horse and watched as his friends got murdered. She jumped down from her horse, swinging needle at him, but the man turned his horse and hurried away, shooting her one last frightened look before disappearing into the woods. Nymeria looked at her, as if to get permission, and when Arya nodded, the wolf ran after him. She heard another scream pierce through her ears and then the forest fell silent.

As she pulled her dagger from the man's chest, her stomach twisted and she had to bend over not to vomit all over herself. She had killed a man. She had stabbed him in cold blood, taken his life. But even though she wanted to curl into a ball on the ground and cry, wiping the blood of her dagger made her feel powerful and fearless. If she and Nymeria could defeat three armed men on their own without much effort, what else could the two of them achieve together? She was no longer Arya Stark of Winterfell, she was Arya the wolf girl.

Gendry

He did not know for how long he had ridden, but a day had passed and the darkness was starting to blind him. I should rest, he thought, but knew he wouldn't be able to sleep before Arya was by his side. I should have gone with her. This is my fault. If she dies, her blood will be on my hands.

Gendry's horse was getting tired as well, and for a while, he stepped of it and walked by its side, trying to hold a quick pace. Patting the horse's neck he realized it was probably both hungry and thirsty. I must stop before I kill it. Reluctantly, he paused and tied the horse up to a tree while he went to look for water. He found a small, icy pond a few hundred feet away and tried to crack through the ice with a rock, but it was too thick. He sighed when he realized he would have to make a fire and melt the snow surrounding him. If there were wildlings or outlaws around, they would be able to see the smoke and come kill him in the darkness, but that was simply a risk he had to take if he wanted to keep himself and the horse alive.

He had not brought a real weapon except for a dagger, which would work poorly against a sword, and even worse again a crossbow. He knew he should have prepared a little for his little journey, but he had never imagined that Arya had gotten this far. Although he had seen traces of a horse a while back, he did not know if it was Arya's mare that had left them. As he gathered sticks for his fire, he hoped the guards had had better luck finding her south.

He wondered if Mikken and Myra was worried about him. Myra probably was. She never bothered to hide her feelings, and if she ever felt scared or annoyed, she let them know without hesitation. She was almost like Arya when it came to that, except Arya would never admit being scared of anything.

A wolf howled again that night. Gendry could swear it seemed closer, and rose to his feet at once. If Arya had stopped for the night, this would be his best opportunity to catch up with her. He climbed onto his mount again, heading for the direction the howl had come from, but the horse was tired and walked rather slowly.

Gendry could feel the weariness creep up on him and almost fell asleep on the horse's back, when it suddenly jumped to the side, neighing loudly. Patting the horse's neck to calm it down, he saw two bodies in the snow; one of them had been bitten in throat, and stiffened blood colored him and the snow around him red. The other man's wound was harder to locate, but Gendry finally found a tear in the man's tunic and felt a wound underneath. A dagger, he decided. He searched the bodies for valuables and found himself a few coins as well as a silver blade. It was not as good as the ones he and MIkken made at Winterfell, but it would have to do. As he continued into the wood, he was sure it was Arya's work-Who else was running around with wolves?

Suddenly he heard a yell from behind, and his horse fell to the ground, an arrow poking from its chest.

Nymeria

She was running through the woods in such a speed, the trees blurred beside her. Her nose had caught a familiar scent and curious as she was, she had had to find out who the smell belonged to. She then heard screaming, yelling. The sound of steel kissing echoed through the woods, and she quickened her pace, her four legs moving silently under her. Another yell, and then she could see them. Five men, all with weapons was fighting each other. Four against one. A dark-haired man stood in the middle, defending himself with a silver blade - a small dagger. She could smell his blood before she could see it. He was wounded. Snaring, she jumped out of the shadows, sinking her teeth in whatever flesh she could find. The bleeding man limped sideways, slashing his knife across one of the attacker's stomach. He fell to the ground screaming.

She tore another's throat out, bit the third's arm off. The limping man speared the crippled man with the attacker's sword as she finished the last one. When the wildling's screams faded, the man turned to her.

"Nymeria," he said. She went to him, licking his wounded leg. She wanted to take him back, but it would be difficult as long as he was injured. His horse lay a few feet away, dead.

"Is Arya okay?" he asked, limping after her as she started into the woods. She turned, growling at him. You have to stay here.

"Take me to her, Nymeria," he told her. She growled again. Stay. The man lifted his arms defensively and dropped to the ground, sighing.

"So this is how I die, is it? Stranded in the middle of the woods without a horse, without food or water and with a hole in my thigh." She looked at him. I'll be back.

"Take care of Arya, girl," the man said, leaning his back against a tree. "Make sure she survives this."

She ran to the dead horse, pulling a satchel from underneath it, before strutting back to the man. I'll be back, she promised and took off into the woods.

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