"Keep up, Arri, or I'll feed you to my horse."

Lord Baelish's camp spread itself over the hills like a great patchwork quilt. Hundreds of men scurried every way, eager and full of smiles. They must have not fought in any battles yet, Arya thought glumly. Robb's army at the Twins had been fighting since the beginning and their faces had been hard and serious. But those men were all dead, Arya remembered. Carder had said that Lord Baelish was going to avenge Robb, but Sandor had sworn that was a lie. Arri wrinkled her nose. Since when had she cared what the Hound thought? Her father had trusted Baelish.

Bolton had been as bad as a Lannister, she reminded herself, and Robb had trusted him. She knew better than to give her trust easily. She would see this Baelish for herself and make judgement. The Hound could do little to stop that much, even if he wanted. Whatever might happen, Grey Wind was not far from here.

"What's Littlefinger got on you?" Sandor stated, addressing the knight who had collected them on the highway.

"Gold," Brune stated flatly. "I'm no sellsword, but you can't buy bread with honor alone."

"Sure, he's paying you," Sandor chuckled, "But what does he have on you?"

Brune sighed, "If he did have any control over me beyond my wages and my oaths, why would I ever tell someone of your quality about it?"

"Someone of my quality?" The Hound spat. "You work for fucking Littlefinger and you're talking about quality?"

Brune did not even deign to reply, just rode on in silence. Arya winced to hear it. If Baelish was a true fellow, why then did his sworn sword take such an insult lying down? Jory would have drawn steel against a man who said such a thing against her father. But men like Father or even like Jory were not half so common as she wished they were.

Heads turned as Sandor rode through the camp. Everyone knows the Hound's ugly face, Arya thought bitterly. She wished she had been stuck with someone like Brune instead. He seemed quiet and boring. People wouldn't turn to stare at him. But then, if they were not staring at him perhaps they might stare at her instead, and she was not sure if she would like that. Arya had never sought after attention, but she had envied Sansa at times. Now I'm the pretty one, she thought with something like a smile, and still no one stares at me.

Soon they were well into the heart of the camp, away from the washerwomen and the quartermasters and the smiths. Knights were everywhere now, followed by little parade bands of red and green and yellow. They looked like painted soldiers, Arya thought with contempt. They looked like the little doll that girl in the village had dragged everywhere.

"We've arrived," Brune stated, dismounting in front of one of the many stables scattered throughout the camp.

"Where is Baelish?" Sandor grumbled, dismounting in turn along with Arya.

"We're to await his arrival," Brune replied, calmly handing his horse off to a stableboy. A boy came to take Craven away from Arya, but she snatched the reins away from him before he could leave.

"For fuck's sake, Arri, give the boy your horse," Sandor cursed, "Take Stranger with them and try not to get your hand bit off." Arya's lip curled but she did as she was told. None of the stableboys would be able to manage the Hound's wild horse, but the big black stallion would listen to Arya most days. "And get back here when you're done, you lazy shit," Sandor yelled after her.

By the time she made it back some servants had laid out a table with refreshments between Sandor and Brune, and Arya's stomach rumbled at the sight of the food. Fresh-baked rolls fashioned into the shape of rabbits, sliced cheese, and a crystal pitcher sparkling with arbor gold... Light fare, barely more than a mid-morning morsel, but after months of salted beef and moldy bread, she felt as though she had stumbled upon buried treasure. Had she truly eaten such wonderful treats every day? Thoughts of home welled up in her and threatened to overflow. She spied a half-eaten tray of lemon squares and nearly burst into tears.

But Arya did not cry, not then. Why should she? She was Arri, and Arri had never been accustomed to such luxury as this. She sat down next to the Hound in silence as he guzzled down a flagon of the Arbor Gold. Would Ser Brune notice if she stole the cheese? Sandor finished his wine, grunted, and pushed the basket full of rolls to her, sparing her any further contemplation of theft.

She bit the head off the first bread-rabbit, savoring the lightness of the bread, the sweetness of the glazing. Then she ate all the rest of it at once and reached for another, not even bothered by her own unwashed hands.

Horses were coming. Arya stole three more rolls from the basket and a wedge of cheese before they arrived, earning a raised eyebrow from Brune.

"The Lord Paramount of the Trident, Petyr Baelish!" a herald called, and Arya saw now that it was him, at the head of the host, looking much the same as he had when he had ridden around the capital with her father. He was not tall or strong, but he had smirking confidence as though he knew more than you. Would he recognize her? She looked different now, she knew. Had it been two namedays or three since he had last seen her? Did she want him to recognize her?

She rose with Sandor and Brune as Lord Baelish dismounted. Baelish took his time, removing his gloves and regarding the Hound coldly. Arya bowed quickly, remembering that she was Arri, a simple squire. As she raised her head, she realized that Sandor himself had remained standing stiff and tall.

"Joffrey's dog has gone feral, it seems." Baelish observed evenly, "You must know that I hold your life in my hands, Sandor Clegane. Disrespect such as this is futile."

"If you wanted me dead I wouldn't be in the middle of your camp eating sweets. What is it you want me to do for you?"

"At present? Nothing. But I find that I might have a use for a dog. Sometimes I will want you to kill things for me. Other times I'll want you to threaten to kill things for me."

"The same thing everyone wants me to do, it seems."

"Are you good for anything else?"

The Hound shrugged. "Never had to find out."

Baelish raised an eyebrow. "Yes… you will serve. Unless you've lost your belly? But no, even then it does not truly matter." His voice came quick and low now, possessed by an energy Arya had never seen him show around her father. But people behaved differently around people of lower rank, she knew. She had seen it often enough, back when she had been known as Arya Underfoot, poking her nose into every servant's business.

"Even if you've lost your belly for war," Baelish continued, "Your status as a warrior and a villain will be sufficient for my purposes. You're huge, recognizable. Your history with House Lannister is known, and that will play into my hands. Some will see me as sheltering a traitor, others will see me as a catspaw for Queen Cersei… I can use that to my advantage." He paused. "I will pay you of course. Gold, titles… everything you could want."

The Hound snorted. "Everything I could want? And what do you think that is?"

"Whores, food, and wine? That's what you spent your coin on when I knew you. But then..." he paused and touched his own goatee, "You've always been a miserable dog, now that I think of it. Is there something else you desire? Speak it aloud. You know that I have connections."

"I want to kill my brother,"

"Of course!" Baelish laughed, "You and half of Westeros. Did you know that the Imp put Oberyn Martell on his small council? I can try to arrange a chance for you, dear dog, but I can't guarantee someone else won't get to him first."

"A chance is all I want."

"Overall," Baelish said, his smile now broad and leering, "I think you'll find me a most equitable master, compared to the late King Joffrey," Joffrey. Arya bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. He was dead? Good. "I can protect you from the many, many people who want your head, I can pay you better than Cersei ever did, and I won't even ask you to beat small children."

"Is that what Brune here is for? To beat the children you're not giving to me?" Arya's eyes went to the gray-haired knight, who merely rolled his eyes at the insult and took a bite from an apple.

"Hardly," Baelish replied, his demeanor altering suddenly. He straightened his back and reined his smile into something more innocent and pure. "I'm a different sort of man here than I was in the capital. I've altered considerably since you know me. I'm married, dear dog, and I'm a ruler now. Responsibility changes a man. Family changes a man."

"That's been my experience," Sandor replied, sighing. "Well, I was meaning to look for work anyway, suppose it might as well be with you. I'll be your dog, loyal as you please."

"Very good." Baelish paused and looked straight at Arya as if he was only now realizing her presence. She froze, like a bug pinned up in a Maester's collection, pierced by Baelish's too-sharp eyes. Baelish had been in and amongst her father's household a dozen times in that month in the capital. Surely he would know her?

"...who is this?" Baelish asked Sandor.

"I'll be fucked if I know," Sandor replied. "Some Northerner's get I found crawling in a ditch and made into a squire."

"My name's Arri," Arya hissed. A man needs a name.

Lord Baelish's smile vanished, "Keep your boy's tongue in line or I'll have it ripped from him," he stated calmly. "I know you like your pets to have some fight in them, but I do not care much for insolence."

"It won't happen again."

"Good," Baelish said with a sigh. "But before we part, there is one thing more. I have a daughter here in the camp with me."

"I don't recall as you had a daughter."

"You wouldn't. I never took her to King's Landing. The city is so unhealthy for a young woman. I never mentioned her nor brought attention to her. Despite this, you may find that she resembles someone you knew in the capital, but you must understand: You do not know her, and you have never seen her before. Any resemblance must be pure coincidence."

Arya felt Sandor's spine go rigid with tension next to her. "I'm not my brother," he grumbled scornfully, "I know how to behave."

"Ah, but do you understand? She's a fragile little rose, dog, and a big ugly brute like you might scare her. If I so much as hear of you coming near her I will cut your disgusting head off your shoulders, pack it in salt, and send it to the Lannisters. I am sure the Queen will be overjoyed."

Something sparked in Sandor's eyes but it stayed deep. "Huh," he grunted. "Getting executed, that's one thing, but I'll not give that bitch any satisfaction if I can help it."

Baelish's dark expression disappeared, leaving no trace of it's having ever been present. "So glad we could come to an understanding. Now, I have other more important things to manage than the loyalty of one Sellsword. Brune will make arrangements for you."

Baelish replaced his riding gloves, mounted his horse, and then was gone again in the space of a few minutes. Should Arya have revealed herself to him? That had been her chance, she thought bitterly. But he had talked of working with the Lannisters, and also of working against them? Was he for Robb or against Robb? She grabbed another rabbit roll and bit its head off angrily.

The Hound was in a foul mood and did not so much as say a word to her until they were safely alone in the tent Brune had provided for them.

"Why the fuck did you give him your name?" He growled, his voice low and threatening.

"Why aren't we leaving yet if he's friends with the Lannisters?" She hissed in reply, "He called himself the Lord Paramount of the Trident. That's my grandfather's title! I can guess who gave it to him."

He leaned in, his breath hot and full of wine. "Don't tell aught to me of politics or scheming. You're a fucking child, little shit, and your head is as full of song as your sister's."

Arya stepped back, remembering now why she had once been terrified of the big man.

"You might hate me," he continued, "but Littlefinger is a different sort from me. No one orders Littlefinger to do anything he doesn't want to do. Everything he does, he does because it was part of his plan, and he's always got a plan. I know for a fact he has men watching us, waiting for us to run, and they'll happily cut us down afore we get free. But if we play nice? If you keep your fucking mouth shut? We can be safe for a little while. Get some food, get some rest."

"He's taking us back into the Riverlands!" Arya growled. She felt like she had spent half her life in the Riverlands.

Sandor drew in a deep breath. "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

Arya opened her mouth and closed it again. Grey Wind had wanted her here. He had wanted her with the Hound. If she tried to leave now… would the wolf just guide her back to Sandor?

"Who is Baelish's daughter?" She said, after a moment.

"He doesn't have a daughter," the Hound said, turning away.

"Well then who are you supposed to be keeping away from?"

"Someone else," He supplied, looking about the tent. Arya too became aware of how thin the flaps of the tent were. "I'll tell you tomorrow," Sandor said at last. "We've made too much noise, and besides, I have to decide what I'm going to do about it. Now help me get out of this armor."

She had no more to say to that. For better or for worse, she had to trust Sandor. There was no one else, not anymore, and Grey Wind trusted him for some reason. Was she betraying Mycah? She had barely known him, how could she betray him? There were so many dead boys in the Riverlands, she almost felt numb thinking about it. So many of Robb's, and… so many others too.

Arya went to sleep early that night. For the first time in what felt like years, she had a proper fur to sleep on and a full belly. No wolf dream came that night, just a dream of her walking through the tall grass in the hills above Winterfell, as the night sky danced above her. Grey Wind slept nearby, curled into a ball, but she was glad for him. Robb was there too, and that was how she knew this was a dream. He looked older, sadder despite his smile, and they talked for hours and hours but she could never remember what they were talking about. She wiggled her toes in the grass.

"Why did you have to die?" She asked, at last, as her control over her own mind returned.

"Everyone dies, Arya," Robb said, "But as long as you remember me, a part of me remains."

"I won't forget. I won't..." she said, hot tears stinging her cheeks.

He laughed, and then awkwardly moved to muss up her hair as Jon had always done. "Get some rest little one, you've more than earned it."

She blinked away the tears, blinked… and then she was awake, all at once, a hundred sensations rushing to her. The mud between her toes, the wetness of the grass around her, the sounds of midnight… had she walked up here in her sleep? Once, when she was little, she had awoken in Sansa's bed, though she had never remembered getting up in the night. Was this like that?

Grey Wind's great shaggy head rose from the grass and smiled doggilly at her, and she rushed to hug him, crying pitifully. "I'm glad you are real," she said, her face deep in his ruff, "I'm glad I've got you." He let out a huff of air, shrugged her off, and walked away. Without a thought, Arya moved to follow him. They couldn't be on the hills above Winterfell, so where were they? A moment later her question was answered, as she saw the whole of Lord Baelish' camp spread out beneath them, the light of the moon bright on the tents and the banners.

Grey Wind yawned, lay down, and looked out. Arya frowned and lay down with him. "What is it?" she asked aloud and cursed herself a moment later. Grey Wind could not talk.

The nearest part of the camp was the Northern end of the camp, she realized. She must have been walking for hours to come all the way up here. She should not be here! Baelish had said… but Baelish had said that to the Hound, not to Arri. And she was a Stark of Winterfell! She did not need to take orders from the likes of Lord Protector Petyr Baelish, no matter how many fancy new titles he had.

The great tent beneath them must be his, she realized. It was a great tall thing of expensive cloth, almost a castle as much as it was a tent, with a low privacy wall erected around it to form a small courtyard. For all his hard talk Baelish must truly be a very soft man, to require so much finery. She wondered idly if she might see her cousin or her aunt walking about the courtyard, but even as the thought entered her head she knew it was unlikely. The hour was late and all men of station had long gone to bed, with only a few servants and couriers and guards running about. In the courtyard of the Lord Protector's tent, there was only one, a brown-haired girl saying her prayers before a small shrine of the seven.

What might she be praying, Arya wondered. What struggles did some little Vale girl have to face in her life, that she would need to pray? Arya herself had not prayed in months. Maybe she should start. After all, Jon had said the direwolves were gifts from the gods, and perhaps they could bring one more of them to her. Arya dipped her head just a moment and then raised it again a moment later. The girl remained still for a moment longer, but soon raised her own head and stood and…

Sansa. Sansa was here. Sansa was here now.