August-September, 299 AC
Arya rose from her nook in the hollow hill, dressing herself quickly before creeping past Sansa and Jeyne. Meri's spot was empty; she rose early to milk the cows.
"Gendry," Arya hissed, shaking the boy by the shoulder. His dark hair was shaggy against his neck. With a quiet groan he rolled over, his blue eyes fluttering open.
"Morning, m'lady," he said gruffly, sitting up. Arya rolled her eyes.
A few women were already awake, preparing the fire and the porridge, and they nodded respectfully as Arya slipped past them, careful not to wake the sleeping children. Gendry was getting better at sneaking, his steps quieter than Arya remembered.
The rising sun shimmered on a thousand dewdrops as they entered the clearing. Arya yawned as she pulled their practice sticks from the hollow log where she'd hidden them.
"Already tired, little wolf?" Gendry asked, easily catching the stick she'd thrown at him.
"Tired of beating you every time," Arya replied, sliding into her water dancer stance. The Hound, Ilyn Payne, the queen, Meryn Trant, Amory Lorch. One day she'd kill them, and every spar was a chance to learn.
Gendry was much taller and stronger than she was, but all of her opponents would be taller and stronger too. Arya dodged and wove around him, her feet always moving. He couldn't hit her if he couldn't catch her. The trouble was, she couldn't reach him to get in any strikes of her own. His arms were so long, it wasn't fair. A fight is never fair , Syrio Forel had said. Use what you have. Arya bit her lip as she thought, her stick darting at Gendry.
Suddenly she slid on the wet grass, just barely keeping her feet under her as she glided between Gendry's legs. Her legs screamed as she pulled herself back up, the tip of her stick pressed to Gendry's back.
"Yield," she panted, grinning.
"I yield," Gendry said, dropping his stick. Arya stepped back, lowering her stick and wiping the sweat from her face. Gendry bent to pick up his stick.
"Got you-" Arya only barely raised her stick in time as Gendry brought his stick down at her shoulder. The blow was so hard that her stick rapped herself on the head. Gendry winced.
"Sorry, m'lady," he said sheepishly as Arya glared.
"What was that for?"
Gendry ran a hand through his hair, frowning.
"You said fights weren't fair. Someone could pretend to yield and then attack."
"You- you-" Arya made a rude noise. "You listen too much."
"Of course, m'lady," Gendry said. Arya turned away, as if heading to the stream, then whirled on Gendry, her stick a blur as she attacked.
They sparred until they were both soaked with sweat. A small audience of wolf pups watched, their tails wagging. When they finally lowered their sticks, one of the wolf pups yipped and made for Gendry.
"Who's this?" Gendry slowly extended his hand to the pup, letting her sniff at his fingers.
"She doesn't have a name yet. Guard the stream so I can wash?" Sansa got cranky if Arya came to breakfast stinking of sweat. Not that she said anything, she just wrinkled her nose and sighed while looking in Arya's general direction.
"Was there any more word of Robb?" Arya asked as she scrubbed herself with a sliver of soap. Gendry had come from the forge last night, bearing a dagger for her and news for Sansa.
"Just what I told the Lady at dinner. He won some victory in the west, and he's sent ravens ordering all the lords to prepare for a bad winter. Northmen are helping rebuild north of the Red Fork and out east by Maidenpool so the rivermen can focus on getting the crops planted."
The stream water was cool and clear as Arya dunked her head, running her fingers through her growing hair to sort out the tangles.
"She's just Sansa, you don't have to call her the Lady all the time." A splash doused Arya's legs- Berry had leaped into the stream to pounce on a fish.
"You say that now, but it'll be different at Riverrun, m'lady," Gendry said. Arya stared at his broad shoulders and back.
"What? We're not going to Riverrun, not yet."
"Half the smallfolk have gone home, Arya. Do you think the lightning lord will let you and Sansa stay here for winter?"
Arya sat down in the stream. Beric Dondarrion had been gone so long she'd almost forgotten about the leader of the brotherhood without banners. He was following the Lannisters west, that much seemed to be true, but...
"Sansa would have told me," Arya said, watching a minnow swim over her pale legs.
"Have you asked her?" Arya made a face.
"Thought so."
Arya blew a raspberry at Gendry's back as she stood up, shaking the water off her like the wolves did. She threw on a simple gown and bundled up her sweaty roughspun.
"Your turn," Arya grumbled, stalking past Gendry.
While Gendry washed, Arya thought. Riverrun . She'd see her mother again, but would her mother want her? She'd killed a stableboy, she'd ridden in Nymeria as she slew rapers. Her hands were covered in calluses and blisters and her feet were hard from running around barefoot practicing her water dancing. At Riverrun there'd be no more Needle, just needlework and gowns and being a proper lady.
At least Sansa could say she'd spent her time well. Comforting babies, rescuing lost children, ensuring the hollow hill stayed fed. Those were important tasks, so important that stupid Tom o' Sevens had made up a stupid song. Arya didn't have a song. All Arya did was practice water dancing and ride in Nymeria when she stole supplies. No one even knew she was there.
Arya sighed as she ruffled the wolf pup's fur. Breakfast was a loud and busy affair. After breakfast Sansa usually spoke with Jeyne, checking on the state of their supplies. When that was done Sansa helped with the babies and younger children until the midday meal, then sewed all afternoon, surrounded by all the women of the hollow hill. If Arya wanted to speak to her alone, she would need to choose her moment wisely.
"Are we going to Riverrun soon?"
Sansa frowned as she rocked the baby in her arms. Little Sansa was only a few months old, born just after they arrived at the hollow hill. Sansa had sat with the mother during the birth, putting cool cloths on her head and praising her strength and courage, and the mother had named the baby girl for her. Sansa had thanked her, promised to sew her baby a gown, and then thrown up as soon as they were alone.
"Why do you ask?"
Arya blew a strand of hair out of her face as she picked up a toddler who was wobbling on unsteady legs. Walder gurgled as she dandled him on her lap.
"Gendry said half the smallfolk are gone, and the lightning lord will be back soon."
"He's not wrong," Sansa said softly. "I just... you've been happy here, Arya."
What? What did that have to do with anything?
"Robb needs alliances, and marriages are one of the only ways to seal them. As soon as we reach Riverrun, there will doubtless be marriages arranged for both of us. Maybe we'll go back to Winterfell for a while, but they could send us away immediately. You won't be my sworn sword anymore." Her blue eyes welled with tears.
"I don't want to get married," Arya protested. "I'm only ten!" Sansa laughed bitterly.
"I was eleven when father betrothed me to Joffrey." Arya frowned. Had it really been only a year since they left Winterfell? "Betrothals can last a long time. You might not wed for another five or ten years, but they could foster you with your betrothed and his family."
"No," Arya retorted. "We won't let them. I've got Nymeria, and you can talk mother into letting us go home."
"Mother isn't in charge, Robb is; he's our king too."
Arya snorted. "So? I'll tell him that if he makes me go before I'm ready, I'll behave so terribly that they'll break the betrothal."
Sansa stared at her, then shook her head.
"Robb needs alliances to win the war," she explained. "I don't want to be betrothed either, not- not again." Sansa swallowed. "But this is how we can help Robb avenge father."
Arya's stomach sank.
"It's stupid ," she said, bouncing Walder. "I could help other ways. I wish Nymeria and I could do something worthy of a song before- before-" The toddler wriggled, and she set him down.
"I don't think I deserve a song either," Sansa said quietly. "Lord Beric feeds a dozen villages, and Robb is rebuilding the riverlands. All I do is sing to babies and do needlework." Arya winced. Had Sansa overheard her?
"Besides, half the song is Tom talking about how shapely I am." Sansa shuddered. Arya frowned. Sansa was getting a bit bigger in the chest. "And if it makes you feel any better, Bran would probably get betrothed too, if he weren't crippled."
"I miss Bran and Rickon," Arya whispered. "I want to go home, not go to Riverrun." Sansa reached out, her pale hand soft against Arya's calluses.
"I do too. But we have a duty, and we can't run from it."
In her dream she ran. The she-wolf snarled, her jaws slavering as she chased her prey. The man was filthy, his cloak hanging from one shoulder. He reeked of a sickly sweet aroma, the scent of a wounded beast. The stink had lured her close to his camp, curious to see if the injured man was friend or foe. Then she had recognized the man beneath the shaggy hair, and the hunt was on.
Nymeria howled, the pack music echoing through the night as her smaller brothers and sisters raised their voices with hers. Arya shared the she-wolf's excitement as they closed in, the man's lead dwindling as he made for a hawthorn tree.
The smelly man leapt, her jaws snapping shut on his boot as he clung to the branch. Nymeria shook her head back and forth, tugging at the leather as the man kicked and yelled. The voice was vaguely familiar to Arya. Why did she know that voice? The she-wolf yanked, and the boot came off. Disappointed, she dropped it.
The man was trying to climb higher, but his cloak caught on the thorns that sprouted from each branch. With a growl the direwolf-girl leapt, grabbing the cloak in her teeth. It ripped, sending the she-wolf back to the ground. She spat out the cloth, her eyes fixed on the climbing man. The massive direwolf crouched on her haunches, gathered her strength, and sprang. At the last moment he pulled himself out of her reach, and she yelped as the thorns bit into her paws.
Her pack had the tree surrounded. It was only a matter of time before he tried to come down. Panting, Nymeria lay down and began licking her wounds. One of her pack brothers was shredding the cloak into ribbons. Another trotted back to the man's camp, to see if he'd left any food behind.
Up above, an alarm call broke the silence. The man had climbed too close to a nest, and its occupants, a pair of robins, shrieked their fury at the intruder. The robins dove at him, pecking and clawing as the man flailed. Nymeria chewed on the leather boot as she watched, utterly enjoying herself. She could feel the fierce girl laughing, her presence warm within her skin.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and a light drizzle began to fall. Within minutes it was pouring. The wolves clustered against the trunk of the tree, the thick leaves sheltering them from the rain. The robins had given up their attack, huddling in their nest for warmth.
A low wuff caught Nymeria's attention. Her pack brother had returned, a sack held tightly in his jaws. He dropped it at Nymeria's feet. The scent of ham made her mouth water, and the pack descended upon the cloth bag, tearing it to pieces to get at the hunk of meat within. From above the man shouted curses at the wolves, his voice hoarse beneath the patter of rain.
"I tell you, Lord Beric's going t' give 'isself up," the stocky man insisted. His leathers were poorly patched, his head balding.
"Start from the beginning, Huntsman," Anguy said. The Huntsman's eyes flicked to Sansa.
"You're havin' me answer to a little girl?"
"You speak to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell," Alyn snapped.
"Princess," someone called from the shadows within the hill. Robb had made them both princesses, but Arya didn't care. Alyn forgot half the time, he was so used to calling them lady.
"Lady or princess, she's still a little girl," the Huntsman objected.
"I understand your hesitance." Sansa's voice was different than usual, queenly and gentle, yet strong. "My brother is young too, but he is a King and winner of many great victories."
The Huntsman looked at Anguy, then at Alyn. The archer had one hand on his bow, and Alyn's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Thankfully Lem and Greenbeard were off somewhere else; Arya wasn't sure if they would support Sansa so strongly. The Huntsman exhaled, annoyed.
"Ser Amory Lorch were raiding near Rushing Falls. He took a beekeeper and his wife, claiming they were some o' ours. He says he'll hang 'em unless the lightning lord surrenders and takes their place. They've been spreadin' the news far an' wide; Lord Beric will go if he hasn't already."
"Ser Amory?"
The Huntsman glared at Arya. He wasn't happy that she'd greeted his arrival with Nymeria by her side. His hounds had run away whimpering, despite Arya telling them that Nymeria would leave them alone if they behaved.
"That's what I said."
"Is Lord Beric near here?" Sansa asked.
"Aye, away to the west. Searchin' for the Kingslayer." The Huntsman spat on the ground.
"The Kingslayer? He's locked up at Riverrun," said Anguy.
"He escaped, weeks ago."
Arya's skin prickled, and she rubbed the goosebumps from her arms. "We have to help Lord Beric." The men frowned at her.
"How?" asked the archer. "There's only three of us, and then there'd be none left to guard the hill. And Lord Tywin's host is gods know where, since no one's seen it since your uncle threw him back at the fords."
"We have to help," Arya insisted. She looked at Sansa. "We could find Lord Beric before he gets to Ser Amory, or maybe we could kill Ser Amory somehow." Sansa bit her lip, her eyes uncertain.
"The queen wants Lady Sansa's head," Alyn snapped. "And you want to go within spitting distance of Amory Lorch ?"
"Who is Amory Lorch?" Jeyne piped up from behind Sansa. Alyn looked at her solemnly.
"One of Lord Tywin's mad dogs. 'Tis said was he that killed Rhaenys Targaryen." Sansa paled, and Jeyne grabbed at Sansa's hand, her brown eyes wide.
"My lady, it is time. The folk of the hollow hill can take care of ourselves. Let us escort you to Riverrun," Alyn said. "Your lady mother should be there, and your uncle and grandfather."
Sansa glanced at Jeyne, then Arya.
"He's right." Arya looked at her feet as she scuffed one toe against the floor.
"We shall prepare to leave on the morrow," Sansa said at last, her eyes lingering on Arya. Arya smiled.
The sun had not yet risen when Arya slipped away from the hollow hill, a sack of food slung over her shoulder. Faithful came at Arya's whistle, and Arya carefully saddled the mare, packing the food in the saddle bags. Taking a last look at the hollow hill, horse and girl turned south.
At midmorning Arya stopped beside a stream. While Faithful drank, Arya sat on a rotted log and closed her eyes, reaching out for Nymeria. The she-wolf was still beneath the tree. It had been two nights; the man must come down soon. The wolves could hear his stomach rumble with hunger, and smell the stink of the wound in his hand. No. I need you, Nymeria. Killing Ser Amory mattered more than taking down a strange man, no matter how much Nymeria disliked him. The direwolf whined, then obeyed.
It was mid afternoon when Arya next checked on Nymeria. The direwolf was running through the woods, the wet grass soft and slippery beneath her paws. As the wolves crossed a stream Nymeria paused, her nose twitching. She smelled another stranger, a woman on a horse. But the scent was different than Nymeria expected. Most women smelled of soap, or sweat, or wool. This woman smelled of steel and leather.
Nymeria, come , Arya insisted. The woman wasn't near enough to the hollow hill to pose any danger, no matter how oddly she smelled. The she-wolf obeyed, her pack at her heels.
Arya wondered how far Riverrun was from the hollow hill. Perhaps they would be there by evening. For a moment she imagined Sansa hugging their mother tight, Jeyne crying behind her and Gendry scowling. That was alright. Sansa went out now and then in wolf form to let herself be glimpsed, but she didn't have the stomach for getting her teeth bloody. Sansa just wasn't a fighter, and neither was Jeyne. As for Gendry, he'd forget all about Arya as soon as he saw the forge.
Nymeria caught up with Arya on the second day. They were careful to keep to the woods, the wolves guiding Arya away from any whiff of a man. On the fourth day Nymeria slew a Lannister outrider, and Arya called the frightened horse over, releasing her after emptying her saddlebags.
On the fifth day they had to change their path to avoid a group of soldiers carrying a standard with a brindled boar. Crakehall, that was it, a house sworn to Casterly Rock. After the incident with the deserter Sansa insisted that Arya learn all the sigils of the North, Riverlands, and Westerlands, drawing them in the dirt with a stick. How did Sansa remember all of them?
On the ninth day they made camp in a thicket, the falls thundering dimly in the distance. As Arya chewed on salted beef, she wondered what the others were doing. Was Sansa being fitted for new gowns? She deserved something pretty, after months with only three old gowns that were too short. Was Jeyne taking a bath every day? She hated washing in streams. Gendry was surely busy in the forge, learning whatever he could with a proper master to teach him. Well, Arya would see them soon enough, when she finished her business here.
Quiet as a shadow , she told herself as she crept through the trees and hid herself beneath a bush. Nymeria and her wolves were scouting around the camp, careful not to get downwind of the horses. Arya didn't want anything to warn of her presence, and spooked horses were loud .
A standard bearing a manticore flapped in the wind beside the camp, the tents shuddering as the wind pulled at them. Arya glanced at her hip, where she wore the dagger Gendry had made her. All she needed to do was wait until nightfall, then she would creep into Ser Amory's tent and slit his throat.
But first she needed to figure out which tent was his. None of them were especially grand, though a few were larger. And so Arya watched, waiting for Ser Amory to show himself. It was hours before she finally saw a stout man with ornate scrollwork crawling across his steel breastplate. She thought it was Ser Amory because everyone did as he said. Then a squire handed him a shield with a manticore on it, polished bright. It had to be him.
When Ser Amory went into his tent, Arya cursed her bad luck. His tent was in the middle of the camp. Even if she could slip past the sentries, it only took one man rising for a midnight piss to catch her. There had to be another way.
Carefully Arya crawled out from under the bush and began climbing a tree, hoping for a better view of the camp. She was so preoccupied with thinking of a new plan that she didn't notice the next branch was half broken. As she pulled herself up, it snapped, and Arya plummeted to the ground.
She awoke to rough voices.
"Awake already?" a man rasped. Arya blinked. She was lying flat on the ground, the broken tree branch digging into her back. Above her loomed a group of soldiers.
"What happened?" Arya asked, trying to think what to do.
"Spying on our camp, you was, til you fell out of the tree. Knocked yourself out for a few minutes." The soldier's friendly smile didn't reach his eyes.
Dimly she sensed the direwolf slinking through the bushes behind her. No, Nymeria! Even if her wolf handled the soldiers, she'd never get to Ser Amory. And what if they realized who Arya was? The whole camp would chase her down.
"Wasn't spying," Arya said, sitting up. Her head throbbed and her belly ached. "I... I have word of the lightning lord." The men looked at each other.
"Is that so?" The first soldier asked with a sly smile. "Why don't you tell us, then? There's a reward."
"I can only tell your commander," Arya said stubbornly.
"Hear that, Denys? The boy wants to see Ser Amory," the friendly one said. The others laughed, and Arya's skin prickled as he hauled her to her feet. Something rustled in the bushes- where was Nymeria going?
Her stomach roiled as they dragged her halfway across the camp and threw her to her knees before Ser Amory. Up close she could see he was no taller than Robb. The knight's face was pale and piggy, his expression bored.
"What's all this?" Ser Amory demanded, frowning. His voice was high and thin.
"The boy says he knows where we can find Dondarrion." The one called Denys smirked, as though he knew some amusing joke.
Ser Amory looked down at her with his little eyes. "A girl, I think."
They hadn't noticed the dagger at her hip, but Ser Amory was out of reach. Arya cast her eyes down, surreptitiously glancing about her. She was surrounded by the men who had found her, and other men were all around, pulling down the tents. But they were busy, and Arya was fast. As soon as she got loose she could call Faithful to her, and be gone before they realized what had happened.
"Well, speak up," Ser Amory commanded, the waterfall thundering faintly from the other side of the camp. Arya kept her eyes fixed on the ground, her hands hanging loosely at her sides.
"I saw the lightning lord." Let them think her voice was quiet from fear.
Ser Amory stepped closer. "Speak up," he ordered.
"I saw the lightning lord, near Stoney Sept," Arya whispered, swallowing back bile. If he would just take a few more steps...
"She saw the lightning lord near Stoney Sept, she says," one of the men volunteered. Ser Amory stood still, his piggy eyes blinking. Arya bit her lip to keep herself from screaming with frustration.
"When?"
"Last night," Arya said, hoping that was the right answer. It was hard to think with her head still pounding. Ser Amory's eyes narrowed.
"You're one of his," the knight said. "Put her with the others." Strong hands gripped Arya's arms, pulling her to her feet.
"No, I'm not," Arya protested. What had she said wrong? "I saw him, I did, I just want the reward."
"Maybe you did, maybe you didn't," Denys chuckled, dragging her toward the opposite end of the camp, away from Ser Amory and the men. The falls roared louder. Or did she hear hoofbeats? "But you'll see him again, never fear."
Arya's foggy mind spun as they approached the river. Had they caught him already? Were Beric and his men captives?
Then she saw the gallows.
Three bodies dangled in the wind. Between a man and a woman hung a knight in a ragged black cloak speckled with stars. His battered breastplate bore a forked purple lightning bolt, and a thicket of red-gold hair hid most of his swollen face. Arya's stomach lurched again.
"Another rope," Denys called to a man in chainmail. "We'll put her beside Dondarrion."
"No!" Arya shrieked. At last her stomach overcame her, and she retched. With a noise of disgust Denys released her, and she drew her dagger and slashed open his belly, his guts spilling out like worms as he fell.
The man in chainmail charged, his blade drawn. Arya grabbed for the dead man's sword, but Denys had fallen on his belly. Desperately she tried to roll him over, her hands slipping in the blood and guts. The man in chainmail raised his sword for a killing blow- and a great red direwolf tackled him to the ground.
Suddenly the air echoed with howls and snarls. In the distance ragged outlaws were fighting Ser Amory's men, and as she squinted she recognized some of their faces, Greenbeard and Lem, Alyn and Gendry- Get behind me, Sansa shrieked. Arya crawled behind her sister, her legs shaking, her head spinning. Why was the earth moving so much?
The man in chainmail stood, his face contorted with rage. The red direwolf snarled as the man approached, his sword streaked with blood.
"Want some more, bitch?" He swung the blade at Sansa, and the red direwolf dodged.
Arya scrabbled for the dagger and stumbled to her feet. If only she could get behind him! She took a few steps, then the ground rose up and slapped her.
The man charged at the red direwolf, Arya forgotten. Forward he came, and back Sansa retreated, her blue eyes fixed on the sword. Blood dripped from the direwolf's chest as the man drove her toward the falls. Where were the other wolves? Where was Nymeria? Arya licked her dry lips and screamed, just as Sansa slipped and fell into the river.
Time seemed to slow as the red direwolf thrashed against the current. Her fur was darker in the water, her eyes wide with fear- and then she was gone.
The ache in her legs disappeared as Arya got to her feet. She was on the man before he knew what hit him. His body might be covered in chainmail, but his head and neck weren't, and she stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until someone pulled her off, the dagger falling from her bloody fingers.
"Let me go!" Arya screamed, twisting and kicking. Her elbow flared with pain as it smacked against the knight's breastplate, but still she fought. Didn't he understand? It was all her fault, she had to go after Sansa. At last her energy was spent, and she went limp, her breaths ragged.
"She's gone," the man said, his raspy voice filled with sorrow as he deposited her on the ground.
And Arya looked up into the eyes of Beric Dondarrion.