This chapter was edited by Gladiusx.
Hollow Hill
Arya
Arya opened her eyes with a gasp. For a few heartbeats, she could only see the last vestiges of the night terror she had, the images flashing in her mind's eye hardly comparable to the sense of dwindling warmth and sudden darkness. She died. Multiple times. So many times that she nearly went insane as her feathery body was peppered with arrows and her furry little paws crushed under metal boots or stabbed with spears.
She nearly panicked, and the scream of terror was on her lips before noticing the powerful heartbeats of her companion, causing her to calm down. Arya dragged her weary body up from her cot, Nymeria occupying all of it while allowing her to sleep on her comfortable flank. Ever since she had been reunited with her direwolf, her companion had not left her side even for a heartbeat.
The first thing Arya did after they arrived in this massive cave was to commandeer an underground spring that the women and children were using. She did not mean to kick them out, but they ran away screaming in terror when they saw Nymeria, not giving her a chance to explain.
Arya only wanted to wash up and clean Nymeria. If she were to meet with her family soon, Arya wanted to be at her best. She no longer worried about being a lady or learning her courtesies; Arya had had her fill of wild adventures and fighting for her life. If that was the price to be back with her mother, Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon, then so be it. Arya would be the most lady-like lady that ever existed!
For now, though, she was stuck in this hole underground as the rest of the Northmen deliberated with that strange band of men here.
After a very thorough scrubbing in the surprisingly hot water, she even cleaned Nymeria's fur properly too, Arya finally noticed several of the Northmen standing guard by the entrance, much to her chagrin.
Regardless, she was finally ready to meet the outlaws claiming they followed her father's last decree. A suspicious claim if she ever heard one, as if her father would allow anyone to turn to banditry!
At least that was her plan, but then exhaustion hit her like a sack of turnips, and she allowed the no-longer corpulent form of Wylis Manderly to handle that matter. He and the rest of the nobles; Harry Karstark? No, it was Harrion, but he said to call him Harry; Arya shrugged inwardly. No matter, the nobles had sworn their loyalty to her as the Princess of the North, the highest royal authority available around, and vowed to return her to her family, so it was fine with Arya.
She was far too busy fighting off those night terrors as they discussed those boring matters. Whatever Arya had done with the vermin and birds of Harrenhal had wrung her dry; more than just mentally and physically.
She doubted she would ever do anything like that again… just remembering the disjointed feeling of being in so many minds, jumping from one to the other as she tried to return to her body - desperately trying to flap wings that she did not have enough experience using and the damned birds would not cooperate. It was like she was a ghost… the Ghost of Harrenhal, Arya mused with a strained chuckle.
Wearing small animals' skin for information gathering was easy; they barely even noticed her presence as long as she did not drive them to do something they did not want. The sheer terror that Arya absorbed from the animals she possessed was illuminating to learn the downsides of skinchanging, especially when done into small and typically meek animals.
It was only thanks to Nymeria anchoring her that Arya managed to return to her body.
"Princess Arya? Are you awake?"
Arya turned to the sound of approaching steps and found that same boy from yesterday at the cave entrance. The underground complex was so vast that it had many smaller caves that acted as rooms and chambers. Some of them were large enough to be halls! Nevertheless, the most striking feature of Hollow Hill was the abundance of weirwood roots everywhere. Arya had never seen roots so large; they were as big as the trunk of Winterfell's heart tree!
Then again, Arya had never seen a weirwood's roots so deep underground. What was it that Old Nan said?
"The trees will live forever if undisturbed. The wood never rots, and its roots forever dig deep as they try to reach each other. It is said the oldest weirwood has roots that reach the center of the earth!"
Arya always liked listening to those tales; at least they offered her reprieve from the Septa's lessons. Sansa and Theon would tell her they were tall tales made to frighten children, yet so far, Arya had found all the stories Old Nan told come true. She was a skinchanger, she was a warg, and the roots around her certainly seemed to go on forever.
"Princess? I have someone here to help you dress if it pleases you, and we have brought breakfast."
She flinched as the pretty boy from yesterday - Dayne? - knocked on a wooden panel outside her cave and peeked inside. Nymeria did not seem bothered, and while Arya could very well dress and groom herself, her clothes were a tattered mess.
"You may come in."
The fair-haired boy gracefully entered, dressed in his tattered purple cloak and lugging that massive sword over his shoulder. It was so large compared to his frame that it dangled down to his knees, and the boy was not too short, yet he still carried himself with grace. A warm smile was on his face even as he gazed at Nymeria, indigo eyes bright with excitement as he beheld her form and withdrew a large bone that must have come from a horse or a donkey. He looked hesitantly at her, and a confused Arya simply nodded as he offered the bone to the direwolf.
The act seemed appealing to Nymeria, who huffed and arrogantly raised her head before accepting the bone, though judging by the way her tail wagged, she certainly liked the offering. It was a strange sight, as her wolf was usually far more suspicious of others, especially after Arya had driven her off the way she did.
Behind the Dayne boy were two older girls, one holding a tray of food and the other a bundle of clean clothes. Unlike him, they looked as if they wanted to turn tail and run away screaming, judging by the wary looks Nymeria was receiving.
"Good morn, Princess. This is Catelyn Rivers and Willow Heddle."
Arya perked up at the first girl's name, an older blonde-haired girl with blue eyes and a pleasant face marred by worried glances thrown towards Nymeria. Still, she was named after her mother and a Rivers? She barely managed to hold her snort before standing up to properly greet them.
"Arya Stark." She said simply before turning to the other girl. Willow was probably her age, or perhaps older by a year, with brown hair and eyes. She also looked scared of Nymeria, which was silly; her direwolf would not hurt anyone who did not wish to harm her. Besides, what's-his-name already showed that Nymeria was a good girl. "Thanks for the change of clothes."
She looked pointedly at the fair-haired boy, who tilted his head in confusion until Catelyn Rivers nudged him with her elbow. "She wants to change, you dolt."
"Ah, certainly." Dayne nodded seriously but did not move as he waited until a kick from the blonde girl to his knee caused him to flinch, his rosy skin gaining a flush. "Hey, what was that for?"
"You are not in Dorne anymore, My Lord." Catelyn pointedly looked at the cave exit until the boy finally got the hint.
"Ah, my apologies. Please don't hesitate to call me if you need any aid." Dayne bowed courteously to them, causing both girls to blush lightly, and smiled cheerfully at her before leaving the cave.
As she stared at the boy leaving, Arya had a weird feeling in her belly as she recalled his smile, yet she clenched her teeth as she remembered the countless beautiful faces of King's Landing. That freak, Joffrey, also looked handsome, but Arya had sniffed out the shit hidden inside long ago, unlike her sister.
Still, Arya did not get the same suspicious feeling that always followed her when she was in King's Landing, particularly in the presence of Joffrey. But Nymeria did not mind Dayne, the canine already curled in the corner, happily gnawing at the bone to extract the marrow.
Perhaps the young Dayne was not all bad? Still, Arya will keep a healthy distance from the Dornish boy. She was a princess now, no matter how much she did not care one whit about it other than returning to her family, and she did not trust some strangers she had just met, especially boys.
Instead, Arya decided to try to make friends with these girls. Hopefully, they would be better than Sansa's friends back home - which immediately sobered her as she remembered Jeyne Poole was also in King's Landing and silently prayed that she managed to escape with Sansa. "So, what's your story?"
"I'm the bastard daughter of Lord Lymond Lychester, begotten on a serving maid that he fancied." Catelyn Rivers spoke calmly as she helped brush her hair. She looked to be two or three years older than her, the same age as Dayne. "My Lord Father had not been well since the death of his sons, my half-brothers, in the rebellion. I am told my mother was the bright spot in his life and that he even hoped to wed her, regardless of how scandalous it was." Once done with the brushing, Catelyn began braiding her dark hair. Though Arya could not see her face, she could hear the somberness in her voice. "Yet my mother died from a cold that struck the land shortly after giving birth to me. Father never married despite the many offers, and now, the castellan and maester rule in all but name, while Lord Lychester speaks of nothing but some duel he had fifty years ago against a knight called Maynard."
Catelyn finished braiding her hair and grabbed the clothes held by Willow. Arya did not feel like giving the girl condolences or empty platitudes; her brother Jon never cared for any. "And what about you, Willow?"
"Me? Oh, well, my great-aunt Masha used to own the Crossroads Inn, but when Lady Catelyn, your mother, Princess," Willow added apologetically at her confusion. "When Lady Stark… apprehended the Imp in my aunt's inn, it doomed her. Tywin Lannister was ruthless as he had villages, inns, and any undefended towns burned, and the people butchered." The meek girl growled with hatred in her eyes, yet there was also a healthy amount of fear. "Masha Heddle was hanged like a common brigand for allowing the Imp to be taken, regardless of the fact there was nothing she could have done to stop it, and the inn was ransacked. My sister and I watched as the lion's men ravaged the place, but our parents managed to gather the survivors and rebuild what was left."
"I see," Arya allowed the girls to help dress her into a comfortable yet plain dress that she doubted Sansa would be caught dead wearing. "So, how did you end up here?"
"The war happened." Catelyn replied, "Although my father was hardly lucid, he still ordered me to be raised as his heir. I was taught how to read and write, numbers, heraldry, history, and how to run a household. The old Maester was kind enough to teach me and have me involved in running the castle, but the castellan was not at all a fan of that. He is a distant relative raised in his Frey mother's home, the Twins."
"The Freys?" Arya did not know much about them, but the little she knew was not kind. "There were plenty of Frey prisoners in Harrenhal, but they were quickly ransomed or released. Unlike the Northmen."
"Yes, the Freys have practically married into every house of note south of the Neck. I'm not surprised they manage to get preferential treatment from the Lions." Catelyn Rivers blithely explained with a tone not at all flattering to Arya's future kin - even she had heard the price of her brother crossing that bridge. "Once Maester Wallace passed away, the new Maester Roone had no influence to contend with the castellan, often spending most of his time tending to my father. Castellan Walder coveted the Lychester seat, and with the Freys joining the Northmen with a promise of a queen, they had grown bold and grasping. Realizing that I would most likely find myself killed in my sleep, I found myself a fugitive from my home and ended up here."
Catelyn chuckled sardonically as they finished dressing her before laying down on the ground for breakfast. Dayne took that as a sign that he could come back in and set down a short-legged round table with artistic motifs, a metal surface, and a spike of all things set in the center. The boy placed the plates of food on it, and they sat to eat the meager meal, salted fish, pickled vegetables, a bowl of onion soup, a large loaf of black bread, and one large pie.
It was delicious compared to the gruel Arya would scrounge in Harrenhal.
"I'm happy you managed to find a safe place," Arya comforted awkwardly. She did not know what courtesy dictated in such a situation. Looking to change the subject, she glanced at the other girl, "What about you, Willow?"
"Oh, my story is far less interesting. I was sent here by my family for my safety, along with a few girls. A wandering septon would come by and ask for supplies for the Brotherhood, you see." the shy girl fiddled with her thumbs. "My older sister, Jeyne, had married this young smith from King's Landing. Claimed to be the apprentice of some famous foreign master but was tired of the city and worked as a wandering smith. Eventually, Gendry met my sister and they fell in love - and it truly was a joy to watch him work metal like he was an embodiment of the Smith himself! It was a fortuitous meeting, for shortly afterward, some Lannister foragers discovered we rebuilt the inn and tried to raid it. Gendry did not like that. Did I mention he is seven feet tall, built like a bear, and a monster with a hammer?"
"Sounds like someone who could give the Mountain a good fight." Dayne shivered as he seemed to recall something unpleasant. "So he protects your inn?"
"Yes, Gendry had attracted the eyes of some Northern Lord who passed by with the army, claiming the lad must either be a Storm or a Waters," Willow looked confused, yet Arya shared a glance with Catelyn. "Especially with his dark hair and blue eyes, booming voice, and talent with a warhammer."
Arya might not have been as diligent in her studies as Sansa, yet she had always loved reading about the battles of the Rebellion, especially anything that had to do with Robert Baratheon. While the king turned out to be a disappointment when she saw him, she still met Lord Renly, and she could easily see the resemblance of the Demon of the Trident in Renly Baratheon if the latter ever discarded his silks for steel. This Gendry had to be a bastard of Robert, not that it truly mattered. The man might be offering protection from bandits, but if he caught the eye of the Lannisters, or they suspected his lineage, he would surely not survive a week.
Arya glanced at Dayne, "What did you say your name was again?"
"Why, Princess! You have already forgotten mine name?" The Dornish boy lamented with a dramatic gasp as he held his heart, his theatrics causing Willow to giggle. "You wound me, your grace, especially as we might be kin for all we know."
"Wait, what? I don't think many Starks married outside the North in the past hundred years, and those that did were in the Vale."
"True, but I was told your brother was my milk brother." The boy shrugged as he dipped a piece of bread in the bowl of soup before eating it with a piece of the pie. "Ah, my name is Edric Dayne, but everyone calls me Ned."
"Ned? Like my father."
"Aye, House Dayne owes a great debt to House Stark. As Lord of Starfall, though my sister acts as my regent, it is up to me to make sure we make amends."
Arya was tempted to ask what debt he spoke about, but she remembered the tale of her aunt. Lyanna Stark was spirited away by the Silver Prince, yet he was not alone. The Kingsguard were with him, one of them, the most famous of all: Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and wielder of the legendary blade Dawn; which Arya realized with a start must be the same blade that Ned Dayne had laid on the ground beside him.
She had heard the story several times, though her father was loath to hear about it for some reason. How Eddard Stark and his six companions marched through the harsh desert and mountains of Dorne for weeks, dodging bandits, deserters, and Dornish outriders, how they arrived at the Tower of Joy, weary and exhausted, their armor abandoned to the smoldering heat.
Yet, the Northmen were undaunted when faced with the three fresh and heavily armored Kingsguard. It was a tale of valor and epic combat, for while the Northmen outnumbered the Kingsguard, the knights were better armed and rested. Many embellishments were made on how the fights went, for neither her father nor the elusive Howland Reed had provided any details, yet the end result was known to all. The Northmen triumphed, though only two of them survived. Her aunt Lyanna was found dead after enduring whatever horrors the mad prince had done to her. The Kingsguard served their king or prince, yet they were also knights, and by abetting the abduction of a noble lady, they were as much at fault as Rhaegar Targaryen - was the only thing her father had let slip about the entire affair.
Her father had every right to claim Dawn for House Stark, yet he instead brought it back to Starfall, a castle that was far away from wherever he was and forever gaining the respect of the Dornish house. Eddard Stark already had a splendid reputation in the war, from the little that Arya heard, especially near its conclusion when he denounced Tywin Lannister for the murder of Rhaegar's children and brokered peace with the Reachmen.
This move, however, solidified his legacy. To return such a legendary blade after he won it through fair combat, none would have begrudged him, yet her father was better. Besides, House Stark had Ice as an ancestral blade, which reminded Arya of her list and how Ilyn Payne needed to die most gruesomely when she recovered the blade.
"Hang on," Arya suddenly recalled what he said. "Milk brother?"
"Aye, Jon Snow is your half-brother, is he not? His mother was a servant in our castle called Wylla… at least that's what my sister told me, but to be honest, I do not believe that was true." Ned Dayne had a shrewd smile as he chewed his food thoughtfully, "Wylla was my nursemaid, and she never claimed to be Jon's mother, only that she also nursed him when he was a swaddling babe. After all, how would a servant of Starfall, who had never left the vicinity of the Torrentine all of her life, have captured the eyes of Eddard Stark?"
"So, is Jon truly Ashara Dayne's son?" Arya did not truly care who Jon's mother was. Jon was Jon, her brother, and they looked like their father the most among the six siblings.
"No, my aunt gave birth to a girl," Dayne's voice thickened with amusement as Arya sat there, blinking in confusion. "Cousin Lynara is a few years older than me, born at the end of the rebellion… which does make me wonder if the rumors of Aunt Ashara getting it on with your uncle Brandon while he was imprisoned in the Red Keep have a grain of truth in it?"
Willow blushed as she stammered out a few sentences while Catelyn merely groaned at the Dornish boy's vulgar theories. Arya, however, did not care about any of that. "Are you saying I have a cousin in Starfall that I was never told about?"
"I wouldn't know. I've never been to Winterfell to know what your father decides to tell you, but he did see the girl and occasionally sent gifts over the years." Ned shrugged again as he finished the last of his plate. Arya and the rest finished at the same time. "Now, how about we head out and see if the older fogies are done with their discussions."
They stood up, Catelyn taking away the platter while Ned grabbing the table, fiddled with some hidden mechanism that caused its legs to fold, and Arya suddenly stared at a round buckler instead of a table. It was an interesting design where the legs were folded into its underside, allowing it to be carried easily. That, combined with the short curved sword she only now noticed on Ned's hip, told her his weapons of choice.
"Nifty little thing, isn't it? Starfall is famous for three things: the Sword of the Morning, cotton, and our craftsmen. I got this as a gift from Aunt Allyria when I won a squire tournament last year. She is betrothed to my knight, Lord Beric Dondarrion, you see. I may not yet be strong enough to wield Dawn," The young lord of Starfall grabbed the great sword and latched it over his shoulder, "yet Lord Beric tells me I'm pretty decent with sword and shield."
"'Decent,' he says," Catelyn huffed in amusement, "I saw you disembowel that knight a few weeks ago like he was a farmhand on his first battle."
"It was a difficult fight, but to save a young lady, I would fight much worse." Ned Dayne laughed lightly, causing Catelyn to blush prettily, though Arya could see both turned somber, giving the impression it was not a particularly happy memory.
Nymeria stood as she approached her; Needle was laid against the wall next to the wolf, and Arya remembered how difficult it was for her to recover Jon's gift. It had taken a lot of patience and copious use of her skinchanging powers to recover it from Amory Lorch's rooms. How it made its way there after they were waylaid by the Mountain's men so long ago, she did not know, most likely lost in a bet or won in a fight. Regardless, it was hers, and she vowed that no matter how lady-like she may need to act in the future, Arya would not let her Needle out of her grasp.
Secured on a belt over her dress, she nodded to the rest, "Let's go."
As they left the cave, a squad of Northmen approached. Arya recognized Alyn and Harwin from her father's retinue; the three others were Glover, Karstark, and Manderly men, each major house of the North vying to show their loyalty by providing her with sworn swords. She vaguely recalled Wylis Manderly mentioning it last night, yet she was too tired and opted to sleep. Apparently, they had been guarding the entrance to the cave leading to her room, though Arya wondered why they allowed Ned and the rest in without a fuss.
"You had your direwolf, Princess," Alyn explained as if it was the most obvious thing. "And we are all under guest rights. None would dare harm you lest the Gods smite them where they stood. Especially here."
They walked through the rocky tunnels, Nymeria following them like a towering guardian. Arya saw many people taking refuge in the vast cave system and was once again reminded of the many weirwood roots everywhere. If anywhere in Westeros could be a bastion of the Old Gods besides the Isle of Faces, it had to be this place.
"Where are we, exactly?"
"This is Hollow Hill," Ned explained. "Though it's not exactly a hill, but a massive cave system. These roots come from a weirwood grove above us called High Heart."
"High Heart?" The name sounded familiar; it had something to do with some Andal king killing the First Men and the Children of the Forest there.
"Aye, thirty-one weirwoods, the smallest of them would put even the ancient weirwood of Starfall to shame. All of them were cut down, leaving naught but the stumps, yet as we have discovered, they never stopped growing."
Judging by the vast labyrinthine roots of the trees, it really seemed like cutting a weirwood merely had it change where it grew instead of killing it. Arya could not help but laugh inwardly at the petulant Andals unable to kill the Old Gods.
"I'm surprised no one had claimed this place," Arya noted as she approached several clean water springs. "This cave must be larger than many a castle!"
"The land here is considered cursed." Willow shyly said. "There used to be an elderly lady that would tend to the grounds; she was a tiny thing, barely over three feet, with hair as white as the trunk of the trees she tended to and eyes as red as their leaves. Rumor has it she was responsible for keeping many an ambitious lord from claiming Hollow Hill, the hill below High Heart. She allowed the Brotherhood to take refuge here provided they helped her tend to the roots."
"A woods witch? What happened to her then?"
"She suddenly disappeared a few moons ago. One day, she was visiting like the ghost that people called her, asking for alms or food, but when she left, some ill wind came from the east, followed by unholy screeching. She was never seen again since that day."
Arya involuntarily shivered. An ill wind from the east a few moons ago? That couldn't be a coincidence.
Soon, they passed by numerous tunnels, crannies, and crevices, Catelyn and Willow greeting several girls heading into a room full of women working looms. Silently thanking the gods that she did not need to work on any stitches, Arya followed Ned until they finally made it to a large cave. Scores of men were seated on the ground around a large bonfire, its smoke coiling in the air as it seeped into several small vents leading outside.
Their entrance was missed, yet Arya had no intention of announcing herself, nudging Ned to lead them to an empty spot in the back. Soon, they were seated on the ground, the girls beside her, Ned in front, and her guards stood behind her. Then, they listened to the ongoing argument between the former captives of Harrenhal and the Forgotten Fellowship.
"You claim you follow Lord Stark's orders, yet refuse to join his son?" Wylis Manderly scoffed, his bearded face like a mask of granite. "How many moons have you hidden here instead of joining the liege lord of the Riverlands in his quest to rid it of the Lannisters and their brigands?"
"Robb Stark had declared himself King of the North, which makes him no better than the other pretenders." Lord Dondarrion coughed, causing one of his open wounds to bleed an ugly puss. "We follow the orders of His Grace Robert Baratheon, and Lord Stark was merely his voice as Hand of the King. Being the son of the Lord Hand does not mean we owe our fealty to Robb Stark, but only Robert Baratheon."
"Are you saying you would swear fealty to Joffrey the Ill-born?!" Robett Glover spat out in disgust.
"Never! No matter the charges or circumstances, he had Lord Stark, King Robert's chosen Hand, executed without a trial." Beric growled, "What has Robb Stark done for the Riverlands? Tywin Lannister might have spared most of the castles, yet he brazenly unleashed the Mountain and the Bloody Mummers on the smallfolk. Instead of cleansing the lands of the brigands, the Northern King went to the Westerlands and acted no better than those same brigands that his father ordered purged!"
"Yet following your logic, it would be your duty to follow the rightful heir to the Iron Throne," Harrion Karstark noted coolly. "If you believe Lord Stark's claims that Joffrey is a bastard and not from the King's blood, then Stannis Baratheon would be your rightful liege."
The heir to Karhold's words caused several of the men of the Brotherhood to shift uncomfortably. The first time the Brotherhood claimed they were following her father's orders, Nymeria had growled so deeply that one of them shat his pants, causing them to insist they were following King Robert's orders instead - though by proxy, her father's orders nonetheless. Arya was unsure of the specifics of her father's orders, but there was no way he would order men to raid and reave yet pretend to be his leal men who protected the smallfolk.
"While I would certainly prefer you to either disperse home or swear fealty to Lord Tully, as he is the lord of the lands you are hiding in," Donnel Locke added carefully. "I would not begrudge you from joining Stannis Baratheon. He is definitely the rightful heir to King Robert and the Iron Throne, and the Stormlands," Donnel added as he glanced at Beric, "is his by right with Renly's death. Why, then, are you here?"
"This has been going on for half the day now," Arya turned to Ned, who grimaced at the sight of his knight coughing again and a tall, gaunt man in flapping red robes and a shaggy mess of greying black hair tending to him. "It was why I came to wake up you, actually. I got bored out of my mind listening to this."
"Shouldn't you be on your lord's side of things?"
"I should, yet Lord Beric had already knighted me, and I am no longer beholden to him," Ned said the words, yet she could see the worry as he stared at his old master. "The men of the brotherhood are afraid. They know that what they are doing is not right. It is true that we help the smallfolk as best we can, yet sometimes, we act no better than the brigands we are supposed to hunt."
Arya hummed as she stared at the half-dead lord of Blackhaven. "So how is he even alive with such wounds?"
For a moment, Ned remained silent, and Arya turned to find him morose, "I don't think he is alive. I think… this is but a puppet being strung along through that foreign red god of Thoros'."
Arya felt her blood freeze as whispers of Old Nan warning of wights and Others sprang into her mind before she calmed herself. "Just what in the Seven Hells happened to him?"
Ned glanced around, noticing that her Northmen guards were also curious. Alyn and Harwin, who had immediately sworn themselves to her service as the only survivors of the Stark Guard that traveled south, looked queasy. Sighing, the Lord of Starfall explained the many deaths and miraculous recoveries of Beric Dondarrion.
"I still say that Thoros is simply a good healer." Harwin argued, "Even if the Red Priest claims he does not know how it happened. The dead rising again; such things have never happened since the Age of Heroes!"
"I have heard that magic may have waned to but an ember in Westeros since the death of the dragons, yet in Essos, such unnatural powers like sorcery are very much real." Ned warned ominously, "And I have seen Lord Beric's wounds. Four times, he had been slain, and four times, Thoros managed to bring him back. I was the one to recover him from the Mummer's Ford when he was gored by the Mountain's lance. He still has that hole in his torso."
The Northmen had nothing to say but merely cursed under their breaths. The Manderly man held onto a pendant made from weirwood in prayer as they focused back on the rest of the argument. Still, something was odd, and Arya turned to Alyn. "Who are the Bloody Mummers?"
"A band of thieves and murderers." The Stark guardsman scowled, "They are a sellsword company from Essos that Tywin Lannister hired at the onset of the war. How he managed to bring them to Westeros so early, we do not know. Most likely, the Lannisters have men in the Free Cities busy contracting more sellsword companies as we speak."
Arya listened, and a part of her worried if the Lannisters would bring even more swords to their cause. The Northern army was beaten outside Harrenhal, something that greatly worried her and the Northmen, which was one of the reasons Wylis Manderly and Harrion Karstark were so insistent on recruiting the Brotherhood without Banners. They knew the land better than anyone else, and the Northmen needed men on hand to rally the routed troops before they could be hunted down.
It had only been two or three days since they escaped the terrible castle. While Nymeria and her wolves had sent the few Lannister horses scattering, along with Arya's final gift of making the cursed castle truly live up to its name, it was only a matter of time until the Lannisters recovered and hunted down the broken army.
Nevertheless, there was something crucial she was missing. Something about the Bloody Mummers that niggled in Arya's mind. "The Bloody Mummers… Is that truly what they call themselves? Sounds stupid."
Harwin snorted, "Nay, the blighters arrogantly call themselves the Brave Companions. Nothing brave about them or their goat of a leader. They never attack in the open, always from ambushes and rarely against men-at-arms. Usually, they would pillage the unprotected villages, acting like bandits, and that's exactly how the Lion Lord had used them."
Finally, it clicked in Arya's mind why she realized this was important. She wiped some sweat from her brow at the sheer foolishness of the argument still ongoing with what she already knew. "Just to be clear. Does their leader ride some kind of strange striped donkey?"
Ned turned to her strangely, "Aye, a zorse from far to the east of Essos."
"Does he have some kind of goat as a sigil?"
By now, the rest of the Northmen and some of the men in the hall had turned to her, since Arya had not bothered lowering her voice. Ned nodded hesitantly, causing the princess to ask one final question, "Is his name Vargo Hoat? Slobbers a lot, terrible lisp, and wears a chain of coins?"
"Princess! How in the Seven Hells do you know such a man?" Wylis had approached aghast, along with many others. Lord Beric Dondarrion stared at her curiously, and Arya realized what needed to be done.
"Because the Bloody Mummers are dead." Arya stood and walked to the center of the gathering, attracting all eyes toward her - her short stature might not have been impressive, but the monstrous direwolf following her struck a fearsome sight. "They have been dead for moons, ambushed by Bracken Horsemen. Vargo Hoat had managed to escape, only for Nymeria here and her pack to hunt him and his men down. I remember, for I have seen it!"
Perhaps it was unwise to claim to have magical powers before these people, yet considering they were taking refuge in the realm of the Old Gods and they followed a man who was kept alive by foreign magic, Arya did not care.
"For many moons, you have done nothing but pretend to be keeping the peace. All the while, your target has long since been destroyed. If you truly follow my father's commands, then your remaining target lies elsewhere. The Mountain That Rides still lives, and I know he rides with Tywin Lannister in the Reach as they make their way to King's Landing."
It had been simple to read Lorch's correspondence using her powers and the simple fact that the wretched man had made her his cupbearer, not realizing who she was or even that she was a girl.
Arya stared at the men of the Brotherhood; all of them were deserters, broken men, some even from the Westerlands that had abandoned the Lannisters but did not wish to descend into banditry. "If you truly wish to help the Riverlands and have a place for you to call home, then you must know that only through swearing fealty to my brother would you manage this. Hiding in this hole for eternity until the war ends is stupid. The Lannisters had burned the Riverlands, yet it was my brother who kicked them out. Now they have returned, the Northern army scattered, and the Riverlands open again to predation. What will you do?"
The silence that ensued was broken by the Northmen hollering loudly, "STARK! STARK! STARK!"
The men of the Brotherhood shrank among themselves; Arya could see shame and, surprisingly, fear in their gazes.
Once the shouting stopped, one of the smallfolk that had joined the Brotherhood stood up, "I don't know about Robb Stark or the Northmen. For all I know, they might be even worse than the Lannisters," The Northmen shouted abuse at the man, a stocky and balding huntsman, yet he remained undaunted. "But I know Lord Edmure cares about us. He would visit us, hear our woes, and does his best to make our life easier. I'm willing to fight for Edmure Tully if nothing else."
"HEAR, HEAR!" Many of the smallfolk and even members of the Brotherhood shouted. "TULLY! TULLY! TULLY!"
Harrion Karstark approached Beric then, "What will it be, Lord Dondarrion? We will be leaving this place within a day, and we aim to rally the Northern army as best we can. Will you join us? Or will you remain hidden here until your skin falls off your bones?"
Beric Dondarrion grimaced before sighing tiredly. He glanced at the core members of his group: the archer Anguy, the bard Tom, and the priest Thoros. Finally, his eyes fell on his former squire, and Arya stared as Ned stood resolutely with the rest of the Northmen, his stance clear.
"We will join you."
The Frostfangs
In a deep cave under one of the many mountains of the Frostfangs, teams of men in tattered furs were busy digging holes and striking rocks with primitive rock and bronze tools. Women and children were busy boiling ice into hot water before pouring it on the rocks futilely attempting to soften them before the men struck. More often than not, the water would freeze a few heartbeats after being poured.
"Fucking cunt!" A grey man nearing his fifties swore as his pickaxe broke when he struck an especially tough rock. He stared at the broken tool before throwing it away with a curse and sat on a rock around a fireplace where other men and women were resting. "Until when will we keep digging like this? All we keep finding are worthless things, not even iron or copper!"
"Stop whining, Jax. We all agreed to dig for the fucking horn, and so we dig." Another man, busy sifting through the dust and grains of rocks, shot at the first man. "Besides, it's not like it's all useless. We've found enough gold and gems to adorn us better than any kneeler."
"Bah, what use are such soft, shiny trinkets against the Cold Ones? Maybe you enjoy collecting such meaningless baubles, Gavin, but if you can't make a proper axe out of gold, then it's bloody useless!" Jax grabbed a bowl of hot soup from his daughter, along with hard and gritty bread that he left in the soup to soften. "I don't believe a mere horn would be enough to bring down the Wall either. Mance must have been high on weirwood smoke when he boldly made those claims."
"Well, we did believe him, and I might have been drunk myself at the time." The other miner chuckled as he grabbed a golden nugget and threw it in a sack full of similar shiny metals. "And don't disregard these mere trinkets. The kneelers would trade their best steel for some of this gold. You may never know what may happen in the future."
"Trading with the kneelers? They would sooner kill us and let the Cold Ones take us."
"They are not easy to convince, I will admit, but some of them would be willing to trade sometimes. Even the crows." Gavin the Trader stood up and tied his sack before sitting with the rest of the men. "Besides, if you truly hate it here, you could always join the foragers and hunting parties and risk getting eaten by the White Huntsman."
A cold wind seemed to blow from the mouth of the cave, and everyone shivered uncomfortably. Jax slapped the trader's shoulder. "Don't jinx us, Gavin! They say that damned fiend could hear through walls and haunts your dreams."
"I heard Harma's entire warband was whittled down to nothing over the course of the last moon." One of the others spoke in a whisper. "The huntsman came out of nowhere, dressed in all white and leading an army of wolves, some say even direwolves! The word is, Harma had killed one of his wolves, and then misfortune seemed to follow her everywhere."
"Aye, I know a man who switched to the Bone Lord's group. He swears that he saw her demise with his own eyes." Another man spoke gravely, "The thing is, they were all present. Her closest warriors, her brother, and half of the warband were there. It was midday, with plenty of daylight, and Harma was sitting by a fire, not too dissimilar to what we all are doing now. One moment, she was laughing and eating, and the next, her head was torn off her body by a giant wolf, with fur as white as snow and evil red eyes."
"Come off it, and you expect me to believe the rest of her two thousand strong warband watched as a wolf feasted on her corpse?"
"They were too busy fighting off the packs of wolves that attacked following their leader's death. No matter how many you kill, more wolves came, sometimes even direwolves!"
"Aye, then the Huntsman appeared in his white fur cloak and gleaming hands as he struck down the survivors. Harma's brother, Halleck, was cut in half by a dark sword when he tried to rally the men. Some say he is actually an Other, yet there have been no tales of risen corpses, so perhaps that was a small mercy."
"I heard the White Huntsman had been seen near where Alfin Crowkiller's warband was." Despite being the one to complain about curses and jinxes, Jax couldn't help but join in the gossip. "That damned crow from the Shadow Tower, the Half-Hand, was seen ranging with a large force, tearing down any crossing along the Milk Water. The Rocky Bridge and the Oak Bridge are gone, and the nearest fords have suddenly flooded. The Crows are forcing us southward for some reason, and Alfin has sworn to hunt the bastard, yet we have not heard from him. Who knows where that Huntsman is and why he keeps attacking us."
"Isn't he a crow?"
"Can't be. When seen, he's always dressed in white. Crows be black, see?"
"I don't care about some ghost or shadow," A gaunt man growled as he gripped his empty bowl. "We've been digging for over a moon with nothing to show. There's hardly any game or roots or anything that can be eaten in these rocky hills!"
"Aye, Errok has it right." Jax grumbled as he gazed sadly at his too-thin daughter nursing her babe from her breasts. "Less and less game could be found, and with the Crows harassing us, we can't even hunt beyond the Milk Water. They don't even let us fish, the cruel bastards. If we don't find that damned horn within the next few days, we will all starve, and I don't know about you," Jax's gaze on his daughter was full of determination as he turned to the rest of the men. "But I would rather die with an axe in hand than with cold knives in my belly."
A solemn silence followed as the men nodded resolutely, and one after the other, they returned to their digging.
"You know," Gaving suddenly said as he struck a wall with his pickaxe. "If we're going to die anyway, might as well see if the Crows really are as merciless as others claim."
"What, you mean surrender to them?"
Gavin shrugged at Jax's ludicrous tone. "Nothing to lose, unless you want to try your luck with the White Huntsman."
Jax grumbled, though Gavin thought he had a thoughtful look on his face.
As the rhythmic beating of rocks and pickaxes continued through the night, deep in the depths of the Frostfangs, a rumbling noise could be heard as a massive figure shifted; a titanic, bear-sized silver eye blinked lethargically deep underneath the frost before returning to sleep.
I have combined Hollow Hill with High Heart. It is not explicitly stated in the books, but considering the description of Hollow Hill, it stands to reason that there is a large weirwood grove about it.
Catelyn Rivers is an OC, while everyone else is canon. Alyn of Winterfell survived the Mummer's Ford yet died in a later unnamed battle in the books. Here, that unnamed battle never happened due to Tywin switching tracks.
Arya is an interesting character to write as her most important goal is to return to her family. Unlike Sansa, with her big dreams of power and ruling, Arya wants none of that, yet she would do it if it means returning to her family.
Gendry is older here, which means he was not an apprentice much longer and was eventually let loose by Tobho Motte. He's a happily married man who's smack dab in the middle of a warzone. Fun.
Jon is busy being the Wildlings' boogy man. Let's just hope he does not wake something from the deep.
If you would like to support me, or read five chapters ahead (total of twenty across all of my stories), join me on my Patr(eo)n under the same penname.