3. No One
He was different now.
Where there had been a boy, now there was a man, tall, broad, and strong. His black hair was still the same, though dirty, but underneath it was a coarse dark beard that nearly covered his red mouth and ran a few inches down his neck. His right arm was significantly bigger than his left, although both were large, and on the front of his roughspun tunic she could see the faint outline of a concealed scabbard. The back of his neck and his nose were badly sunburned, and his boots were worn from riding and caked with dried mud; she didn't know how long he had been there, but he had come from the south.
He carried a couple of sacks over his shoulder, clearly trying to pass for a farmer in town to buy seed. (He wasn't doing a good job, she thought. Any decent farmer would have already stocked up on seed - winter was coming, and the further the season ran from summer, the more expensive seed would get). He kept his eyes downcast, and stooped unnaturally to avoid drawing attention to himself (Another failure; it was impossible not to notice a man that large.) When he looked up, she saw that they were a piercing blue.
She remembered.
By his side was a boy - no, a man, delicately built but not overly short, with neat golden hair - she knew this man too, she thought. Yes, she knew him. There was another pair across the square that they were moving with, although clearly trying to seem separate; she knew this other pair too, the skinny man with the red hair and the hunter's crossbow, and his dirty, yellow-haired companion, carrying a skein of pelts for market. She watched the yellow-haired man hawk the pelts to an indifferent merchant, while the red-haired man skillfully slit his purse before following the other pair as they went to the food market.
There was something about the lines on his face, she thought. Before he had been young - no, innocent, and hid face had had few lines. It had been a serious face, even a stubborn one, but a hopeful one. Now she saw anger, years of it, etched on his brow, and experience - no, authority. He led the man at his side, where once he had followed. And something else; not stubbornness exactly; determination.
She followed, and she watched.
He bought dried meat from the butcher, a wedge of cheese from the dairy man, and several sacks of lentils and oats from the dry goods merchant. As he bent to make sure the lentils had no worms, she caught a glimpse of gold by his collarbone, where the ill-concealed sword stuck up. No, it can't be, she thought.
The dry-goods man liked dogs, and his dogs liked to play. She sent one running after a bone at the right moment and the man tripped, cursing as his lentils spilled out onto the street. As she'd hoped, the sword fell forward with him, and she caught a glimpse of the hilt before the he hastily stuffed it back inside his shirt, looking clumsily around to see if anyone had noticed. It was the same; gold lions with rubies for eyes carefully wrapped around the cross, and the sturdy grip of a longsword with another large ruby inlaid at the end.
She would have kept following, but they came to her.
**NOTES
we all know who Arya was in this one. but who is everyone else?