ARYA
"Arry the Hero!" the drunken men cried, raising wooden tankards up in salute, cup and ale both stolen from the small tavern they were standing outside, "Gendry the Bull!" It was very dark that night, the clouds came to smother the stars. It made the men look even more sinister, like they were shadow people.
Anger gripping her heart, Arya waved reluctantly to them as she passed, picking up her pace to speed away as quickly as possible. She was at the wrong end of the village after all. Lommy had been drinking with the men, and she had tried to find him.
Calm as still water, she told herself, the voice of Syrio speaking the words, not her own, Quiet as a shadow.
"What's got up your bonnet?" Gendry asked quietly, easily able to keep up with his long legs.
"Shut up!" Arya replied, not in the mood to discuss it. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at how easily Syrio's lessons abandoned her when it was Gendry annoying her.
"Don't think I will," the tall boy snorted, "You're not my master."
Arya blew out a breath and rounded on him, waiting until two more men passed by to speak. "They're thieves," she said, "And they're calling us heroes."
"Just you," Gendry pointed out, "They're calling me the Bull. But they called me that before."
Arya threw up her arms in frustration. How to explain? "I don't want to be called a hero by thieves," she said, "They're so vile, the whole village is hiding up in that holdfast and still doesn't believe we were just here to stay for the night!"
Gendry shrugged. "And Yoren is up there explaining things to them," he said, "Not that it'll help. They shot at us first, Arry."
Beaten by that truth, Arya winced and paced onwards, unwilling to admit it aloud. It had been a busy day.
The Night's Watch party had marched up to the village that afternoon, just in time for the bells to be rung in alarm and its watchmen to shoot bolts at those marching in front. One man and a horse died at once, barely ten feet from where Arya herself was riding. Even the watchmen seemed surprised at their accuracy.
Without any word from Yoren, the news spread to the rest of the party and they charged into the little village. They didn't catch anyone, despite chasing the watchmen right up to the gates of the holdfast. The fight still in them, they decided to wreck and loot some houses. Yoren went forward to try and talk the men away, telling the younger group to stay.
Despite herself, Arya had been doing what she was told when she saw the other group of warriors come through the forest. She warned everyone at her end of the village just in time; the first thing they called her a hero for. The attackers burst into the middle of town and killed many before the men still nearby her ran to join the fight.
Gendry had put on his bull helm, told her to stay and ran to join in with his hammer.
She hadn't obeyed that time. It wasn't fair that he could fight and she couldn't.
Like a cat, she slid around the side of the houses, Needle in her hand. Almost without thinking about it, she found herself in the alley behind the middle of the fighting. In front of her down an alley, a woman with red hair and blue eyes like her mother's, shooting a bow as her hand bled like someone had cut the fingers off.
Arya remembered her insides turning even as she crept closer, her heart beating so loudly it was the only thing she could hear. The woman was dressed strangely, her trousers and helm greener than Lommy's arms, her boots and chainmail both black. By the time the distance was close enough to strike, Arya didn't know if she wanted to.
The woman slung her bow and pulled a black, boxy thing from a pouch strapped to her leg. She pulled a part of it back, as if loading a crossbow, her eyes looking towards the fighting southwards.
Arya had followed the gaze, seeing Gendry swinging his hammer at another man's shield. She stopped breathing as the woman aimed the strange weapon directly at him, taking a moment to adjust her aim.
"Winterfell!" the warcry burst out of her before she knew it, and her legs sprang her forwards. The red-haired woman flinched slightly, her eyes and body shifting.
Arya stuck her with the pointy end of Needle, but she had moved enough that the blow aimed at the middle of her back had hit her side instead. She pulled the blade out and went to stick it in again. She hesitated. Another woman with very dark skin spotted her, mouth agape but bringing her bow around.
The red-haired one snarled something in a foreign language, and the black weapon came around.
Feeling death approaching like it was a spider on her skin, Arya ducked and ran back into the alley, bouncing away. The three roars of the weapon deafened her. The bolts the thing shot bounced off the walls and ground around her. You can't hit a bounding wolf so easily! Her mind was insistent on that in her triumph. Even if for an hour the only thing she could hear in her left ear was a squealing sound.
The entire party of men had seen what had happened. It didn't help that it seemed like the red-haired woman was in charge too, as the attackers ran away the next minute at the order of their wounded leader. When Arya slipped back to where her donkey was tied up with the wagons, she found the recruits smiling at her and raising their weapons in salute.
Arry the Hero warned of the attack, they said, and poked the bitch good.
"If only they knew you were a girl," Gendry sighed loudly, "Then they'd only bugger you senseless, instead of hailing you."
Arya panicked. "I'm not a girl!" she complained.
"Yes you are," Gendry insisted, "Why else would you go off on your own to piss? Takes you a while to do it too, with so many of us about. Bet you were holding it in for half the day, the breaks were too short on the march."
She bristled, fists clenched. He was right, of course. "Shut up!"
"There you go again," he sighed, "But worry not. I'll not tell the lads about this. Hero or not. As I said, they'd be cruel as can be. I'll not help them do that."
Arya wondered why. It was hard to believe he was just a good boy, near a man in truth. Very few of the recruits seemed good. Not even the other boys.
He kept his word too as they arrived at the sept by the stables, at the start of the trail up to the holdfast.
The little castle was lit up with torches, those inside not taking the chance that the recruits might attack in the night. They're too busy getting drunk, Arya wanted to tell the defenders, Get some sleep, it'll be tomorrow if they try.
The sept was wooden, seven-sided of course and quite tall for a village sept she thought. It was the only building Yoren said the men were allowed to sleep in except the stables. Most had ignored him about it, it wasn't big enough for all of them anyway and the stables were full of horses and donkeys.
Arya and Gendry went straight inside the open doors, hit by the smell of cooking food and sweat from the men.
Yoren's faction were laying on the ground on their blankets, sharpening their weapons or getting ready to eat from the large cookpots over the fires set in the middle pit more usually reserved for burning incense. Hot Pie was helping the cooking, stirring hard. There were maybe eighty between those in the sept and those guarding outside.
The New Gods watched over all of it from their corners, painted wooden statues peering down with colourful eyes.
Arya felt itchy inside the place, almost wishing a weirwood would tear up from the floor and cover the statues with its red leaves. This sept wasn't like the small one at Winterfell, where sometimes she had to listen to boring lectures. It felt more like the New Gods were actually there. And they don't want us to be in their house.
Yoren wasn't far from the door, eating a travel biscuit and looking over a book. He gestured for them to come over. "Find the green-armed boy?"
Both Gendry and Arya shook their heads. Yoren ran his hand through his hair and closed the book. "Two hundred and forty two of us," he said, "Lost more 'an fifty of us in the attack before Arry here got their leader. Could be dead."
"Lommy was definitely alive after," Gendry said.
"He's still alive now," Arya said, rolling her eyes, "They're just celebrating him for throwing things from the roof and he was stupid enough to agree."
Yoren glanced around. "I'm more worried about what happens tomorrow," he said, "Doesn't look I'm going to be able to hold everyone together. They've won a victory now, some will think they don't need safety in numbers any more. One of the men out there is already talking to them of leaving."
"Won't they be killed by the northerners?" Gendry asked, "Bunch o' men wandering about, no Night's Watch man to vouch for them? If I were a Stark man, I'd not like the look of them."
Arya pursed her lips in thought. Gendry would make a good Stark man. The forge at Winterfell could use a good apprentice.
"Man doing it says he was a rich merchant," Yoren shrugged, "He's fat enough to be, at least. Must've angered Lord Slynt in some way, got bundled off."
Arya narrowed her eyes. Is he talking about the bald man who was talking to the prisoner in the cart? "Is he the one with the woman?"
Yoren nodded. "Aye, his woman followed him out," he said, "Vicious thing, that. One of the men tried his luck, she cut him down his face. Deserved it and all the others saw that."
"But you don't take women in the Watch," Gendry objected, unable to stop himself glancing at Arya. She nearly hit him for showing that he knew her secret.
"We don't, but she wouldn't be the first wife who followed her man to the Wall," Yoren shrugged, "They go to Mole's Town or the villages near Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, pretend to be whores. Some end up not pretending. Doesn't end well for them, usually. Anyway, he wasn't one that volunteered, Lord Slynt sent him so he's not had a trial. Can't force him to do what I want."
"So you'll just let them go?" Arya asked, "Lommy too?" She wasn't sure if she liked or misliked that idea. Her father always said you couldn't rely on unwilling men, but having fewer around seemed more dangerous.
Yoren opened his mouth to reply, but a loud hoot sounded in the sept and he shut it again.
A breath later and a large white owl swooped in through the doors, carrying something like a large scroll in its claws. It released the thing, and two dozen pieces of paper flew around the room, falling around the place. One flipped and slid through the air in front of Arya's face, and she snatched it up, just rising again in time to see the owl swoop out of the door again.
The paper was the thinnest and smoothest Arya had ever seen, flexible and light. On it, ink seemed to be etched in words that looked more like they had been written, but there was no way anyone could've written on this paper with a quill. It was topped by a stamp of a weirwood leaf, in blood red ink.
"To all men inside this village," Arya read aloud, "By command of the Canadian Army, you are hereby ordered to surrender on contact with our soldiers. Leave the buildings, put your weapons on the ground, kneel and put your hands on your head."
"Do this or we shall attack," Yoren growled out, interrupting her as he continued reading from another one, "All those who are armed when we enter the village shall be deemed a threat and shot."
Gendry blinked, and grabbed the paper from Arya's hand. A corner tore off it, remaining in her grasp. "Look," he said, turning it around.
There were two sets of drawings on the back, a thick line separating them.
One showed a man kneeling with his hands on his head, with an arrow pointing to the same man standing again with a smiling face, his hands holding bread and a cup.
The other was a man dressed for battle and holding a sword, raising it to strike. This time the arrow pointed to him dead with lots of holes in him, the blood red ink was used there to show the life flowing out of him.
"We're going to be attacked?" Arya asked, "By the Canadians?"
"Only if we don't yield," Gendry said, holding up the paper, "If I'm seeing this thing right?"
Arya frowned. Another fight so soon seemed like a bad idea. Most of the men were already drunk or asleep.
The brother of the Night's Watch half-slapped himself on the face. "Wildlings," Yoren groaned, "That's who attacked us today. The wildlings sworn to the Canadians. Gods, why didn't I see it before. Some of 'em even had fur cloaks."
Gendry's face paled. "So it is them," he said, "The ones that used magic to kill the Lannister host and sent Lord Lannister running back to King's Landing?"
"Aye, and breached the Wall, or so the Lord-Commander says."
Arya cocked her head, considering that idea. "But they don't look like wildlings," she thought aloud, "I mean, in the stories they don't have steel."
"They got it from Castle Black," Yoren growled, standing up, "And the dead Lannisters too."
Arya realised he was right, and her heart nearly lurched out of her throat. Castle Black? Is Jon dead? Did the Canadians kill him and Ghost, and give his castle-forged steel to some wildling? Her eyes almost flooded with sadness, and she bit down hard to stop it. Jon couldn't be dead. Robb would never have made peace with people who killed his brother, and that was what people said had happened.
Gendry looked at her with a pity that made her hate herself for showing fear, especially as he didn't know why she felt like that. "So what do we do?" he asked, "Yield or fight?"
Yoren spat, rejecting both ideas. Arya's lips curled back in disgust at the spittle on the ground near her feet. What goes on in men that they can produce that? "Run," he said, "The Canadians can't kill or capture us if we're not here. It's dark now, so we've got until sunrise. We head west, well out of their way. King's Landing is what they want, not some men on the road."
He raised his voice so all in the sept could hear him, "We're leaving!" he boomed. The men asleep jolted awake, those eating looked up from their bowls. Arya's stomach complained loudly. She hadn't eaten yet.
Yoren seemed to notice and handed her a travel biscuit, before he repeated himself. The men weren't getting the picture. Arya devoured it as he got them moving.
"We're leaving as soon as we can! Get your things, prepare torches, saddle the horses if you have one," he said, taking the paper out of Gendry's hand now, "We'll not be staying to see what this means. Anyone who's too slow gets left behind!"
That began a scramble among the men as they hurried to gather their possessions or finish their food. Arya looked on with amusement as men were bumping into each other, until Yoren pulled her outside. Gendry followed without being asked to, which earned him a scowl.
"You go get her donkey ready," Yoren commanded, "Run along now."
Gendry's mouth moved, like he might say no, but he turned and walked off towards the stables. Yoren watched him leave, waiting until he was further away than someone could hear.
"You're going to stick near me until we're well clear of this place," he warned, "D'you hear me?"
Arya crossed her arms. "Why?"
"Because I don't want you out of my sight," he replied, "I'm not handing you over to the men who killed so many of my brothers."
Despite her fears for Jon, Arya had to admit that was strange. "But they're allied to my brother, are they not?"
Yoren shook his head. "The wildlings probably don't know who you are," he said, "And what they'd do to a young girl? You don't want to know."
Arya could imagine what that might mean, but it was still confusing. "But they have women warriors," she objected, "Why'd they want to do anything to me?"
"You do not want to know!" Yoren stated word-by-word, "Even if they knew who you were and left you alone, they'd use you as a hostage against your brother! Now, you'll come with me to warn the rest. They probably won't listen, but they deserve to know what's coming."
The men were no longer joyous when Arya made it down to the other end of the village again.
They had tied the bodies of the dead wildlings to the peaks of the roofs, and to each wooden pillar of the tavern. Some of the dead had been stripped, some had parts hacked off. Heads were usually missing and were decorating the tops of spears more often than remaining on the bodies they came from.
As she followed Yoren, Arya saw that some of the men had taken to hiding in the houses, peeking out from behind shutters to watch. Most had gathered with their weapons around the tavern, almost as many as had been in the sept. The torches they were holding cast long shadows, which looked like they were made from broken up chairs and tables.
The smell of dead men already choked the air. Arya gagged as she got closer to the mob, her eyes tearing up. Why would they do this to you? she asked silently as she met the bulging eyes of one corpse that hadn't been decapitated, propped up on the roof.
There was shouts to the crowd, someone making some kind of speech. Wiping her eyes clear of tears, she looked up and saw it was one of the three that had talked to the red-and-white haired man in the cage, one of the three she had been warned against getting the attention of.
The thin man looked half a corpse himself in the dim firelight, standing atop a barrel. The fat bald man and the ordinary-looking woman were nowhere to be seen. Arya listened to him more closely, wondering what he'd be speaking to the mob about.
"We'll not be talked to like servants!" he shouted, holding another one of the pieces of paper with the Canadian warning on it up in a clenched fist, "We are guilty of nothing! We were sent to die by the Lord Hand like we were shit on his boot to be scraped!"
His accent was strange and nasally, but that did not seem to matter. He continued speaking like this, and each sentence was met with the cry of 'AYE!' from the men surrounding.
They mean to fight?
Yoren cursed under his breath again and again as he paced more quickly forwards, forcing Arya to half-run to keep up. He rounded the mob until he was almost out of the village, as the tavern was the last building in the row, and came up on the thin man.
Arya stopped following as Yoren drew his blade, sensing the mob's presence more keenly now that steel had been bared. The brother of the Night's Watch had no fear. He ran to the barrel and hit the thin man on the shin hard with the flat of the blade. The target ducked with pain, reaching for his leg. Yoren took the opportunity and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, throwing him to the ground and planting a boot on his back.
The mob recoiled in surprise, which poured more light on what was going on as bodies got out of the way of the torches.
"Listen here!" Yoren shouted, pointing his sword at them, "The same men that defeated the Lannisters are coming here at dawn. Any man who wants to live and wants to be free can gather his things and comes with me! Now!"
Arya held her hands over her ears as the mob poured abuse back in reply, denying the Canadians were real or denying they were so close. She wanted to flee, their anger like standing too close to a fire, but her fear for Yoren overcame the urge. He was far closer, in more danger, and if he died, she thought she'd be stuck wandering the countryside forever.
Needle practically jumped into her hand, sending a ripple of laughter through the crowd. "Arry the Hero!" they shouted.
Arya knew there would be a fight now. She sucked in air, remembering her dancing master's lessons, removing any shade of anger or fear from her face. Strangely, it seemed to work. The laughter died down. The shouting did too.
Every man was completely still, until Yoren stepped off the thin man, strode over and grabbed her, pulling them both back towards the crowd rearwards. She struggled, not sure why he'd do such a thing, until he stopped in among the men and she saw them.
The clouds above had cleared and moonlight fell on nine dark figures about a hundred feet away. They were stepping out of the forest in a broad line across the road into the village before most of them took a knee. They carried strange black clubs like they knew how to use them, thin with lots of parts sticking out of them.
But the reason the mob had gone quiet at the sight of them was that their eyes stuck out like insects. The two in the middle of the line had two eyes each that did so, though one was tall and the other about the normal height of a man. The others had just one insect eye-stalk each, with an ordinary man's eye on one side or the other. There seemed to be a glow around the base of the eye-stalks that was unnatural, lighting up their cheeks slightly.
Yet they still wore armour and helms, carrying things on straps around their bodies, like they were men at arms from anywhere else.
Every hair on Arya stood on end at once, her grip on Needle weakening. What monsters are these creatures?! Even Old Nan's stories had not warned of such things.
"In the name of the Canadian Army!" shouted the one in the centre, his accent almost perfectly Riverlander, "Drop your weapons, kneel and put your hands on your heads!"
The thin man stepped forward ahead of the mob a few paces, and pointed his finger at them. "Who're you to tell us what to do?!"
The mob cried their agreement, shouting about fucking foreigners and wildlings.
The head of the insect-eyes leader shifted ever so slightly towards the thin man, before looking at the buildings around. At the bodies hanging from them.
They see what has been done. Arya side-stepped away, Yoren doing the same.
"I'm the fuckin' boogeyman," the tall insect-man stated with no humour, "You were warned. Last chance. Get on your knees and put your hands on your heads."
The demand seemed to snap everyone out of their fear. Arya realised who the newcomers were now. These were no strange creatures, they were definitely just men. The more she looked at them, the more it looked like the insect eyes were actually something the Canadians were wearing.
"You're outnumbered ten to one," the thin man said, arms held out to both sides, "You get on your fucking knees!" He shouted to the men to fight, raising his fist.
The mob regained its courage fully now, shouting and roaring, spearmen pulling the cut heads off the top of their weapons and those with crossbows loading bolts.
Ordinary men should have been intimidated. Instead, the Canadians raised their clubs as if they were crossbows of their own and took aim. Arya realised then. These are more weapons like the red-haired wildling had. She backed away from the mob still further, her ear aching from the memory of being on the wrong side of such a thing.
Yoren groaned, realising it too and grabbed her again, taking her along the side of the tavern. Arya watched the Canadians all the while, the second of them in the middle watching her. He said something to the leader, and both glanced at her briefly. Do they know who I am?
As soon as they were out of sight, Arya rebelled. I need to see this! She released herself from Yoren's grip and looked around the corner. The thin man was right. It was ten to one. Yoren growled something and looked too, sheathing his sword and leaning over her to do it. Just in time.
The mob charged with a mighty but wordless war cry, crossbows twanging their bolts towards the foe aimlessly. In response, the 'clubs' of the Canadians erupted with loud bangs and bright flashes, sending bright lights whipping through the air and into the bodies of the running recruits.
The moonlight let Arya see all; the Canadians on the edges of their line pouring a stream of the magic bolts out continuously while the others picked their shots more carefully. They went through both sides of the targets, spinning off on the way out.
Acrid smells mixed with that of blood and rot in the still night air, forcing Arya to stop breathing through her nose again, though the taste on her tongue was almost as bad.
In less than a minute, the mob was only a third of the size it had been when it had started to charge, and it was running the other way again, back into the village.
The sound of more of the sorcerous weapons echoed from that direction.
"Shit," Yoren ground out, waving her to follow, "Come this way!" He ran as quickly as he could along the outside of the village houses, back towards the sept and stables. Arya followed, glancing through the alleys as they passed them.
She saw men being shot by more Canadians that were emerging from the other side of the village. Others did what they had been told; kneeling and putting their hands on their heads, finding their arms tied together behind their backs by still more foreign soldiers. More lucky ones were running away, somehow not being shot in the back despite being in the open street. Between these glimpses, the sound of the weapons thumped and boomed, as if the sky was a ceiling, reflecting the sound.
Arya's breathing was hard and ragged by the time they reached the back of the stables, her senses dulled. There was only so much she could be afraid. All she knew was she had to get out.
She and Yoren found the boys had taken the donkeys and horses out the back of the stables, beside where the cage wagon was sitting. Yoren's men were using the building as a sort of small castle, the heavy doors and walls giving some protection from what was being shot at them.
At the other end of the square, the flash-booms of the Canadian weapons sent the flying bolts of light out, splintering wood. Large boxy shapes the size of huts were moving in the dark beyond.
Arya tore her gaze away from it all, looking for her donkey.
Yoren quickly went to Gendry and the boys. "You get out of here," he said, pointing off into the woods, "West is that way. Stay in the trees in the day and as much as possible. Ride hard for three or four days, then turn north for a week. After that, get to Riverrun, the locals will know the way once you're in the Riverlands. You're in charge, blacksmith."
Gendry blinked, but gave a sharp nod. Satisified, Yoren turned to Arya. "I'll follow as soon as I can pull the men out of this fight," he said, "You go now!"
Arya felt a relief unlike anything she had ever felt before, control of her mind returning to her. "I will," she answered.
Yoren nodded, stepped into the stables and began shouting at his men, his voice muffled as the door closed hard.
"Get on your donkey Arry!" complained Hot Pie, flustered and stained with blood.
Arya ran to do what he said, but noticed one of them was missing. "Where's Lommy?"
"Not here," Gendry replied sternly, "Hurry up."
Arya scowled at him, and took a look around for the green-armed boy. If there was trouble, she felt he definitely would have come back to the stables.
A splintering, smashing sound sent her diving to the ground. Heavier Canadian bolts came bursting through the wooden walls above her head, stitching the stable from one end to the other.
The last bolts went through the cage wagon, sparking off some of the metal as they passed. Those inside started scrambling against the strong metal bars, trying to escape.
The evil-speaking man named Rorge was shot in the back and slumped to the floor. The one called Biter caught his death on his face, shattering his jaw and snapping his neck with a terrific crack.
Sharpened teeth flung from the destroyed mouth spun through the dark, landing beside Arya's hands. She scrabbled away on all fours like they were bugs trying to bite her, afraid the bolts would come again. Her mind focused and her fears turned towards the boys or the donkeys being hit.
Arya looked up and saw they weren't, finally regaining the courage to stand again. Gendry was shouting at her to come at once, the others already nudging their animals away as the other horses began scattering.
"Good boy!" called the handsome man in the cage, tearing down his hood to reveal his red and white hair, "Brave boy! Come! Help!"
Arya looked over at the only remaining living person in the wagon. Her legs urged her to run to Gendry and her donkey. But the thought of leaving the man in the cage for the Canadians seemed too wrong. She rushed over, expecting to be hit by some magic bolt at any moment.
"This man is Jaqen H'ghar," he said, "A man will help you escape if you let him out. You must hurry!" He raised his chains, kicking the lock holding them towards her.
The sound of the Canadian weapons grew closer, and every part of Arya itched to run. But how could they escape? The Canadians weren't supposed to be able to reach the village before dawn. They moved too fast.
Arya answered the man by grabbing the lock and pulling at it. A Canadian bolt had damaged its front, but it held firm.
"What are you doing!" Gendry asked, riding up on his donkey with Arya's own beside, the reins straining.
"Break this lock with your hammer!" Arya demanded.
"What?!" Gendry retorted, glancing at 'Jaqen H'ghar' nervously, "He's dangerous, Arry!"
He was probably right, but Arya remembered how the mob was shot down, how the Canadians saw the bodies hanging from the buildings. No one was safe, and the man in the cage wasn't responsible for that. "We can't leave him to die!" Arya said, "The Canadians are killing or taking everyone! He'll help us get away."
Gendry bared his teeth, looking about. There were more shouts in the distance, telling all by the cage wagon there was no time to hesitate. He quickly dismounted and handed her the reins of both mounts.
"You better not do anything I don't like," the boy warned the man, "Or you'll get this to your head, fast." He pulled up his hammer.
"A man believes he would," the handsome said with amusement.
Gendry brought the hammer down hard on the lock, which shattered into pieces. Jaqen H'ghar pulled it apart and slipped out of his chains. "Wise boy," he said, "Get on your donkeys and follow me." The man moved more like a cat than even Syrio as he slid off the wagon's bed, and bolted for the forest.
"Canadian Army!" came a shout from inside the stables, "Drop your weapons!" A ruckus of scuffing boots and more booms from the Canadian bolts rang out.
Almost jumping out of her skin, Arya instead jumped practically all the way into her donkey's saddle. She and Gendry quickly followed Jaqen H'ghar into the black of the forest at night as the moon disappeared behind the clouds once more.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Some news: This story is now up for TWO awards on fandom reddits.
I would be deeply grateful if you would consider voting for Canucks. Even if you don't, there are many other stories in the running among many categories.
On TheCitadel reddit, it is up for Best OC Story (category 19). The vote open until December 31st, you can find the vote link on a thread called '2024 Fanfic Awards Voting Post'.
The AsoiafFanfiction vote is also still open until December 28th.