Catelyn
The green forests of the Riverlands began to melt away giving way to broad and fertile fields of wheat or barley, that in peace would have already been harvested by the smallfolk. Now though the fields were barren or burned, and what smallfolk they saw fled at the sight of armed men. Their party, a bare thousand horse, the last of the northern cavalry that had crossed the Twins to free Riverrun so long ago, had departed Riverrun a four days past crossing the forests and fields of the Riverlands and riding hard to Stone Hedge, the seat of House Bracken.
Lord Jonos Bracken himself had taken two hundred men and had ridden ahead, to prepare their for their arrival he said. But Catelyn knew that that was not the truth, she had happened to see the furtive glances and knowing looks passed between Lord Jonos, Black Walder, and Edmure. Two hundred fighting men and whatever levies and sworn swords remain to Lord Bracken… more than enough to hold Stone Hedge against what Robb has to attack it, and he cannot waste the time for a siege.
The sun was bright in the cloudless sky as they approached the seat of House Bracken. The Stone Hedge was an old and proud castle, old and blackened now. The ancient stones were scorched from the fires that had consumed the moss that had once covered all the lengths and heights of the walls and the towers, moss that had grown so thick and so green it had helped to give the castle it's name. The long walls were lined with squat square towers every thirty yards, enclosing a tall stone keep and dozens of wooden buildings, most of which were now naught but ash. The gates were made from fresh cut oak and were reinforced with newly forged iron, archers and footmen manned the walls. The gates were closed, and as the northern cavalry grew closer they stayed closed. Robb let his horse pull to a halt as he rode to the base of the gates.
Hallis Mollen, who rode beside Robb and was serving as his squire since the death of Olyvar Frey at the Feast for Crows, stood in his stirrups and shouted. "Open the gates in the name of King Robb!"
The guards atop the gatehouse stood still, acting as if they hadn't heard Hallis.
Lady Maege pushed her shaggy mare forward and shouted. "What is the meaning of this? Open the gates in the name of your king!"
Again the guards didn't move, they stayed still and silent, like statues uncaring and unfeeling. Robb was shaking in his saddle, his fist twisting the reins around and around. A refusal, an ambush even would have been better, but this… to pretend he isn't even here… Catelyn shook her head, that is simply cruel.
Robb stood in his stirrups and for a moment it seemed that he was going to scream at the guards, but then he sat down and slumped in his saddle. He stared at the guards atop the wall and shouted. "Lord Jonos! I took you for a man of courage! A man of honour! Now I see that you are neither! You are not but a craven! Who would betray his liege and quiver behind his walls rather than face the enemy! Are you so craven that you will not face me Lord Jonos! Will you not face your king! The king you have betrayed!"
As Robb's voice echoed in the afternoon air, there was movement atop the walls as the guards stepped aside and bowed as Lord Jonos came and leaned over the battlements. "I see no king," Lord Jonos Bracken said softly. "Only a maimed wolf begging for scraps."
Robb fumed. "You would betray myself, your king? You would betray my uncle, your liege?"
Lord Jonos snorted. "It is by the command of Lord Edmure that I have closed my gates to you. For by his command the Riverlands now swear fealty to King Stannis Baratheon."
Silence reigned over the walls of Stone Hedge. Robb glared at the walls for several long minutes and then turned his head turned away from Stone Hedge. Catelyn shifted in her saddle, as much as the straps and bindings would allow, she followed Robb's gaze and saw that it settled on a collection of low buildings, newly made of wattle and daub and roofed in thatch. The homes of smallfolk, who were already trying to put the war behind them, she could see children playing, some even younger than Rickon. Please Robb don't, please Robb. She wanted to say something, say anything, but… to rebuke him before his bannermen, especially after this, it would destroy what little authority he has left.
But her son looked away from the smallfolk, from the children. He turned his horse, guiding it with his knees and his sole remaining hand. "We march to Harrenhal," he declared as he lead his horse back through the column of cavalry, back to the road, back to the war. Catelyn followed, though her gaze remained settled on small hamlet that was settled on the edge of the field. It's likely they will never know how close they came to death. Catelyn closed her eyes, and let exhaustion carry her worries away. For a time at least.
Another week passed and the weather turned sour. Blue skies gave way to dark clouds and the light autumn breeze fell to nothing and left the air still. Again and again Robb found the castles of the Riverlands closed to him. The Riverlords have deserted him, and I fear Robb's wroth will soon break.
On the morning of the ninth day from Stone Hedge Catelyn saw a scout return, riding with all haste to Robb's side. She didn't hear what was said but she saw what happened next. The northern cavalry spread out across the nearby field forming a wall of steel and horseflesh, they're preparing for battle. Catelyn waited behind them wrapped up in a thick, water soaked cloak.
Minutes passed with no sign of the enemy, the rain falling endlessly from the sky as a thousand men on a thousand horses waited for what would come. From her place in the rear Catelyn's only clue that something had changed was a stirring at the rear of the ranks of cavalry. Then the ranks of cavalry parted to let a party of riders banners carried by the riders hung limp in the rain and the windless air, but even so Catelyn could recognize that one bore the grey direwolf House Stark. Robb gripped his reins in his one hand and urged his horse forward with his spurs to meet the leader of the riders.
The leader of the riders, who Catelyn recognized as Ser Helman Talhart of Torrhen's Square, dismounted and knelt in the mud. "Your Grace," Ser Helman Tallhart's brown and green cloak spread over his back as the rain poured upon him.
Robb stared at Ser Helman from the height of his horse. "Ser Helman, does Lord Bolton send you to greet me?"
Catelyn eyed a bloody bandage high on the arm of one of Ser Helman's guards.
Ser Helman took a deep breath. "No, Your Grace. Harrenhal has fallen. Lord Roose, Lord Harrion, and the Frey's led by Ser Aenys," the northern knight all but spat those names. "They turned traitor and went over to Stannis Baraheon."
Robb clenched his hand into a fist. Oh gods please let my son see sense.
"Were it not for a servant girl," Ser Helman continued. "They would likely have killed us, Your Grace's loyal men, in our sleep. As it was Robett Glover was killed in the fighting, but I bring more than two thousand men to your banners."
"And the girl?" Catelyn asked starling both men with her sudden question. "What happened to her? Such loyalty should be rewarded."
"I know not what happened to her. It's likely Bolton has flayed her alive by now," Ser Helman said with a hint of sympathy in his voice.
"Then I shall pray for her," Catelyn said sadly.
"As should we all," agreed Ser Helman, Robb said nothing.
"Lord Bolton remains in command of Harrenhal then?" Robb asked.
"Yes Your Grace, Lord Bolton, Lord Karstark and the Freys under Ser Aenys," answered Ser Helman.
Robb shook his head in frustration. "Ser Aenys would never turn traitor without his lord father's permission. How many men are left to the traitors?"
Ser Helman sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I know not the exact number Your Grace, but at least five thousand, mayhaps as many as six," Ser Helman responded glumly.
"Then we lack the numbers to do anything to punish his treason," Robb growled. "Not yet at least. We march north, avoid Harrenhal and cross at the Ruby Ford. From there we enter the Neck and drive the Ironmen from the North and take the traitor's castles."
What few lords and knights that were left in Robb's council nodded their agreement save for Lady Maege Mormont, who asked. "And how will we get past Moat Caillin? Or do you mean to be the first to take it from the south… Your Grace."
Catelyn did not think she was alone in hearing Lady Maege's pause in her courtesies.
Robb turned to stare a moment at the Lady of Bear Island. "Lord Reed has long been a friend of House Stark, with his aid we will move through the hidden paths of the Neck and bypass Moat Caillin and then attack from the northern side. Does that suffice to allay your concerns?" Robb asked harshly.
"It does, Your Grace," Lady Maege said grudgingly.
"Good," Robb tugged savagely on the reins of his horse. "Than let us begone from the south. For the North!"
"For the North!" The northern bannermen echoed.
"For the North," Catelyn whispered. Mother Above, I pray you have mercy on us.
Mathis
"With the Seven's blessing Ser Garlan will take Bitterbridge before Lord Stannis comes from King's Landing," said Lord Tywin as he loomed over the map of southern Westeros. "If not then he will retreat down the Mander and join Lord Mace at Highgarden." Lord Tywin tapped the map where the capital of the Reach was marked.
Mathis eyed the markers representing Ser Garlan and Lord Mace's armies, their shadows flickering over the map in time with the candles that gave light to the late hour, and pulled to mind the hundreds of notes and details from previous meetings of the Small Council. Ten thousand under Ser Garlan, another twenty thousand for Lord Mace, at most. And the scouts say Stannis has at least forty thousand men at King's Landing, another five at Bitterbridge, and more if he gathers the Stormlords and Crownlanders.
"Even should Lord Mace and Ser Garlan's armies combine Lord Stannis would outnumber them," Mathis said. "Rather badly it looks like."
Lord Tywin grunted. "Our host will be here," he pointed at Weirwood Keep a holdfast halfway between Goldengrove and Cider Hall, right on the Roseroad. "Ready to trap Stannis between the two hosts, or if the worst should happen our line of retreat to Goldengrove or the West will remain open."
Unless the very worst should happen, Mathis repressed a shudder as he remembered the fire and the smoke of the dragons at Storm's End, and how they'd turned the flower of southern chivalry into so much fleeing children. He nodded once and, stifling a yawn, it's far too late to be planning a war, let a finger fall on Casterly Rock. "And when will Ser Daven be joining us?"
Lord Tywin shrugged. "A few weeks at most, though he'll be stopping here for a time."
Mathis thought a moment, staring out the window into the starry night sky, and then snapped his fingers. "Oh yes, for his nuptials with young Lady Stark," he smiled cheerfully. " My dear Bethany loves few things more than planning weddings." One of those things being not planning weddings for example.
"Excellent," said Lord Tywin. "Once Lady Sansa is wedded and bedded Ser Daven will join us at Weirwood Keep bring our forces to forty five thousand men."
"And how many of those will be armed with dragons?" Asked Lord Varys in his typical simpering tone.
As if you don't know already, Mathis growled internally.
"Some seven hundred men have been armed with dragons," Lord Tywin answered.
"An auspicious number," Mathis said piously.
"A lacking number," Lord Tywin responded. "Stannis has at least twice that number, and likely more."
"At least the odds are evened somewhat, and our overall numbers are superior by far," Mathis countered. "When Ser Daven joins us there will be forty five thousand men at Weirwood Keep, and another thirty thousand under Lord Mace and Ser Garlan," he waved his hand. "All that compared to Lord Stannis' bare fifty thousand at best."
Lord Tywin returned to his seat before he acknowledged Mathis' point. "It takes more than numbers to win a war, but they do help," he admitted. "Once the host has left for Weirwood Keep, Queen Cersei, Prince Tommen, the Small Council, and the rest of the court will remain here, in Goldengrove, until Ser Daven has had his wedding, after that the court will journey to the safety and security of Casterly Rock," Lord Tywin turned his goldflecked green eyes upon Mathis. "It is my hope that Lady Elinor would also travel to Casterly Rock, where she might grow closer to her betrothed, and be safe from any misfortune."
And my daughter will be well within your grasp, and I can't refuse without an offensive accusation that would be the perfect reason to have me resign from the Small Council. Fuck me and fuck you. Mathis smiled and nodded politely at Lord Tywin. "I'm sure Elinor will love Casterly Rock."
Lord Tywin didn't smile, thank the gods, but Mathis could tell he was pleased. "I'm sure she shall," he said quietly.
"And. -kof-" Pycelle began to ask but his question was cut off by a vicious fit of coughing.
Mathis eyed the aging maester, physician heal thyself, the long road from King's Landing to Goldengrove had not been kind to the old maester and his coughing fits were getting worse as the days went by.
"And what -kof- of the king?" Grand Maester Pycelle finally managed to ask between his hacking coughs.
"His Grace is almost of age," answered Lord Tywin. "And the time is long past for him to see true battle, he will accompany myself and Lord Mathis to Weirwood Keep and hence to wherever the war should take us."
"My lord," Pycelle sputtered. "Is that wise, to-" Pycelle spent a few moments coughing into his wide sleeves. " To risk the life of -kof- His Grace, before he has -kof- sired an heir? Or even -kof- had his wedding?"
"His Grace, my grandson, will be kept safe from harm, I can assure the Small Council of that much," Lord Tywin's tone brooked no argument, he cleared his throat. "Now onto our other matters. Lord Petyr's successes in the Riverlands," Lord Tywin stood again and began to place red markers near the appropriate castles. "Houses Goodbrook, Vypren, Deddings, Lychester, and Ryger have all been swayed to return to the King's Peace."
The markers joined those that represented the two branches of House Vance and House Blackwood. This brought much of the southern and central Riverlands back under royal control, save for House Bracken, which formed an island of defiance. Mathis tapped his fingers on the map. "What of the other houses is there any news on why they would prefer to remain shackled to House Stark?"
Lord Tywin's frown deepened for a moment. "It seems that Lord Stannis has been nearly as aggressive as ourselves. Edmure Tully bent the knee to Lord Stannis, and has brought the Mootons, Mallisters, Brackens, and Freys with him."
Mathis felt his eyebrows rise. "If Robb's own uncle has turned from him… Then it cannot be long before all of the Stark vassals do the same. What do we know of the goings on in Harrenhal, if the Freys have bent the knee then what of Lord Bolton?"
It was Varys who answered, simpering behind his fat little smile. "My little birds whisper that blood has again been shed within the walls of Harrenhal. It seems Lord Roose Bolton, Lord Harrion Karstark, and Ser Aenys Frey conspired to bend the knee to Stannis. Alas their plans were found out and Stark loyalists took up arms against their disloyal countrymen."
Mathis leaned forward onto the table. "What about Stark's movements?"
"He left Riverrun some weeks ago," he smiled and giggled at the map. "And given the lack of castles for him the shelter in," he shrugged. "It is rather hard to keep track of him. At my best guess Robb Stark is heading toward Harrenhal."
Mathis pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. "He can't be going into the Crownlands, Stannis would crush him, he must mean to head north and-"
"It matters not for the time being," Tywin interrupted. "What Robb Stark does is his own business and not our concern. We must focus on the south. Lord Varys, has there been much news of goings on in the Vale? Do the Valelords mean to march?"
"Not as yet my lord Hand, it seems Lady Lysa is determined to keep the knights of the Vale in their castles. But," the eunuch gave one of his small dimpled smiles. "My little birds whisper that Lord Stannis is courting the Valelords. In particular Lord Yohn Royce, whose son Ser Robar now wears a white cloak in service to Lord Stannis."
Mathis frowned, twenty thousand knights of the Vale riding out for Stannis is the last thing we need right now. "If Lord Petyr has proved himself so well in the courting the Riverlords, perhaps he should return to the kingdom of his birth to continue his good work?" And stay far from court.
"My lord Hand," the Spider spoke again. "The lords of the Vale are proud and are of ancient heritage, I doubt they will take kindly to His Grace's messenger only being of a family ennobled for only three generations."
"Lord Petyr was a trusted confidant of Lord Jon. Was it not Lord Jon who pushed for Lord Petyr to become Master of Coin?" Mathis countered. "And he is a childhood friend of Lady Lysa, even if the Valelords don't respect him they have every reason under the Seven to listen to him."
Lord Varys opened his mouth to speak again, but Lord Tywin spoke first. "Enough Lord Varys I believe Lord Mathis has the right of it. Grand Maester Pycelle send the ravens, Lord Baelish must go to the Vale, though I think he will need some extra aid in persuading them." Lord Tywin leaned forward and tapped his finger in the Riverlands. "House Whent is extinct and House Tully are traitors unsuitable to inherit such great holdings. Lord Petyr's long service and recent accomplishments are worthy of reward. You will convey to Lord Petyr his rewards as well as his duties Grand Maester."
"-kof- Yes my lord," the Grand Maester bowed slightly in his chair.
Lord Varys frowned slightly as Lord Tywin spent a few moments glaring at the map of Westeros. Mathis saw his eyes flickering between points on the map, before settling on the Summer Sea. "We need to know more about the foreigners, these Beikango," his mouth twisted around the strange word.
"They seem to want money," Mathis said blandly. "Though why they'd start by trading with the Stannis when he was naught but the Lord of Dragonstone," he shook his head. "It makes no sense."
"They," Pycelle began only to start coughing. "They -kof- they could mean to esta -kof- establish some level of -kof- influence over the Seven Kingdoms."
"But why would they then sell dragons to Ser Daven?" Asked Varys. "Let alone the fact that their merchants are popping up all over the Free Cities. Hardly the actions of those wanting to turn the Seven Kingdoms into some kind of vassal," the Spider shook his head. "No I think the esteemed Lord of Goldengrove has the right of it, what the Beikango want is gold and silver."
"Nevertheless," Lord Tywin began. "An official emissary should be sent at the next opportunity to extend the warmest of greetings from His Grace to the Beikango king," he huffed. "Assuming they even have a king and not some damnably confusing mess like the Free Cities," he spoke to Pycelle again. "Send word to Lannisport and Oldtown that the captains of the next Beikango vessels are invited to an audience with His Grace. That is all for today my lords, the Small Council is dismissed. I shall see you on the morrow Lord Mathis."
"Indeed you shall my lord," Mathis said with a smile as he stood without hesitation. It's far past time to be asleep. Mathis followed Lord Tywin out of the Chamber of the Trees, with Lord Varys not far behind him, and the coughing Grand Maester Pycelle tottering along in the rear, his wet hacking cough echoing in the tower halls.
Arya
The door to the dungeons opened, letting light into Arya's barren cell. She curled even tighter into herself, pulling her bruised and beaten body into a ball in the corner of her cell. Lord Bolton's men had not been kind when she had been found in Ser Helman's chambers. They had punched her, kicked her, and then they'd thrown her into the cells. She hadn't been alone for long. The guards had quickly brought others into the cells. They were Tallhart men and Glovers and Manderlys and Hornwoods too. Knights and lordlings and the masters of holdfasts from half the North had been thrown into the cells by men in the red and pink of House Bolton or the black and white of House Karstark.
As the light from the open door near blinded Arya she closed her eyes even tighter They're coming for me now… There's no one else left. Only hours after the last of the prisoners had been thrown into the cells, the guards had started to take them back out, and they hadn't come back. One by one they'd been all taken until, three days later with barely any water and no food at all, only Arya was left. The soft steps echoed in the empty dungeons, she forced herself not to shudder. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Nan," Roose Bolton spoke in his queer soft voice. "Nan. Nan. Nan. Why would you betray me? Am I truly so terrible a master?" The Lord of the Dreadfort sounded truly curious. "Look at me Nan," his voice took a harsher tone, though no less quiet.
Arya opened her eyes, Lord Bolton was sitting on a short stool facing her through the rusty iron bars. "You're a traitor," she said. "You betrayed King Robb, the Young Wolf." My brother.
Lord Bolton's thin lips twitched and he leaned forward. "Do you know the difference between treason and loyalty?"
Arya said nothing and stayed still.
Lord Bolton's lips twitched again. "The difference is the side that wins decides which is which. Robb Onearm has lost and King Stannis has won," he spread his hands. "Therefore I am loyal. You on the other hand are a traitor," he said. "You betrayed King Stannis, you betrayed me, and now you will hang for it," he stood and motioned for the guards. "Take her."
The guards left their places at the wall and with a great crash threw open the door. They ran into the cell and roughly grabbed her by the arms, lifting her off the floor. Arya struggled twisting in their grip and kicking at their legs, their stomachs, anything she could reach. It didn't matter, they were too big and too strong and too well armoured. Lord Bolton said nothing, he just watched. He's going to kill me. He really is. He doesn't care about me. I'm just Nan, and Nan doesn't matter...
"My lord," she cried. "Please my lord! My name's not Nan! It's Arya! I'm Arya Stark!"
The guards froze in place turning to meet the gaze of their lord. Lord Bolton hadn't moved so much as a muscle since the guards had seized her. He still didn't move as he looked her right in the eyes, his pale eyes seemed to bore into her. "Arya's eldest brother Rickon, the bastard, he likes to climb does he not?"
Arya closed her eyes, it's a test. "Rickon is the youngest not the oldest, that's Robb, and it's Bran who likes to climb."
Lord Bolton's face gave nothing away as he asked another question. "And the bastard? Where does he fit it?"
"Jon's younger than Robb, but not by much."
"And Arya's younger sister Jeyne, how much younger is she?"
"I don't have a sister named Jeyne. My sister's name is Sansa and she's three years older than me."
Roose Bolton let a small cold smile slip. "What are the names of the wolves?"
"Grey Wind, Nymeria, Lady, Shaggydog, and Ghost."
"There's one name missing," Lord Bolton seemed amused.
"Bran didn't name is wolf," Arya answered. "Or at least not before we left Winterfell for King's Landing."
Roose Bolton let his cold little smile play over his features. He turned to his guards. "Take her to the Kingspyre Tower, have the servants bathe her, and do keep a careful watch on her. I'd hate for Lady Stark to cut short my hospitality." The soldiers picked Arya up again and dragged her out of the dungeons and through the open door into the Flowstone Yard.
The dead were being stripped of their armour, by the gates a pile of naked, dead men was growing. A few of the dead had been laid out away from the main pile of corpses, among them was Robett Glover, the back of his head was a smashed up and bloody ruin. Not far away Arya saw Gendry standing amongst a number of Bolton men, he was dressed like them in mail and a surcoat of pink and red, he had a sword at his belt as well as his hammer. Arya would have stopped dead if the guards hadn't been dragging her. I thought you were my friend? Arya let herself get dragged away into the Kingspyre Tower.
The guards led her into the third level of the tower servants that had once slapped her and bossed her around now simpered, curtsied, and called her "m'lady." They bathed her, scrubbing her skin raw to rid her of months of dirt and filth. Their combs and brushes all but tugged her hair out by the roots, in their attempts to get out all the knots. In their frustration the ended up trimming her hair with a sharp knife rather than fighting with it. After that the servants dressed her up in a frilly thing made of pink lace, pink silk, and pink everything. And then the guards came again.
The guards escorted her to the third floor of the Kingspyre Tower, to Roose Bolton's bedchamber. There were five people inside, two were servants who had just finished serving supper, at the table sat Harrion Karstark and Roose Bolton, and behind them, standing guard, was Gendry.
Roose Bolton motioned at a third, empty seat at the table. "Please my lady. Sit."
Arya sat and gripped the silverware in each fist. She stared at the lamb pie and roasted vegetables.
Roose turned to Harrion. "Are you satisfied?"
Harrion nodded, as he picked up his dagger and began to spear the vegetables. "Once you rid her of the grime… she's Arya Stark without a doubt," he chuckled. "But how she made her way from King's Landing to Harrenhal is beyond me."
Roose Bolton turned to Gendry. "Tell Lord Karstark what you told me," he said almost lazily.
Gendry started as the attention of the two lords, and one lady, settled upon him. "I uhm," he coughed. "I met Lady Arya in King's Landing, we were in the company of a man of the Night's Watch named Yoren."
Gendry spoke at length about their journey with Yoren, the encounter with the goldcloaks, the battle at the holdfast where Yoren had died, their time spent on the run in the Riverlands, how the Mountain had captured them, and last of all how they had come to Harrenhal. Through it all Arya felt her fists grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Traitor…
She threw her knife at Gendry. He blocked it with a raised arm and the knife slid off his chain mail. "I trusted you!" She threw her fork now. "You betrayed me!" Her fork went wide without even hitting Gendry. She pushed her hand into the meat pie and threw and handful at him. "I!" Another volley of pie. "Trusted!" Arya threw her plate at the traitor. "YOU!" The silver plate clattered against his armour. Arya was starting to clamber anto the table when Lord Bolton's guards grabbed her and pulled her away. Arya struggled against them, not caring if her pink dress was torn, she turned and grabbed the naked hand of one guard and bit him.
The guard screamed and ripped his hand away. "Fucking bitch!" Arya saw him close his hand into a fist, even though she saw the blow coming she couldn't dodge or block. She saw the fist and then she saw stars. She tasted blood and spat it out, a tooth went left with the blood.
"Hah!" Harrion laughed as he slammed his fist against the table. "She's a Stark alright."
"Marlon," Roose spoke to the man who had punched Arya. "See yourself out. Gendry you've been very helpful go to the kitchens and help yourself to whatever you want."
"Yes, m'lord," the two men said as they hurried out of the room.
Roose Bolton stood, wiping globs of meat pie off his doublet, and spoke to the remaining guards. "Take Lady Stark to her chambers and put her to bed," he turned to the servants. "Have her wagon readied for the morrow. We leave at midday."
Arya struggled helplessly as the guards took her away. They dragged her into the halls and into her own bedchamber, a gilded cell, and threw her onto the bed. Without a second's thought Arya leapt to her feet and tried to squeeze past their armoured bulk. But there wasn't enough room and the guards caught her and threw her back onto the bed.
Arya glared at the two men, but bereft of options she laid down to sleep. That night as she laid in a soft bed with warm wool sheets, trying to ignore the armed and armoured guards who stood within her room, she whispered her prayer. "Dunsen, Polliver, Raff the Sweetling," she breathed. "The Tickler, the Hound, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, King Joffrey." Arya let a tired gasp escape her as she added three more names to her prayer. "Roose Bolton, Harrion Karstark, and," she cut back a tearful gasp. "And Gendry."