Chapter Text
Arya
A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I’m going home.
The words echo in Arya’s mind the whole journey back to Westeros, playing on a loop as the sea breeze hits her face causing her eyes to water. With each step, she takes across the wooden deck of the ship bound for a port-side town it hits her exactly what she did. She defied The Faceless Men. Killed one of them. The thought follows her across the narrow sea, taunting her. She wonders if Jaqen will send another Faceless Man after her to finish the job. The God of Death was promised a name after all.
It takes most of the silver from the coin pouch she stole in Braavos to bribe her way onto the ship and to convince its captain to dock at the random port town she has chosen, before stopping at Kings Landing. Not that she thinks she would be recognised if they docked in the capital, but she has no desire to prove her theory wrong and die. Not Today. The captain has been nice enough and supplies her with a cabin, she didn't expect that much from the older man, he has a rough nature, and is not the kindest to the crew, perhaps it is because Arya has a pair of tits.
Arya spends her time at sea befriending the crew, they only know her as Mercy. With the weeks at sea she thinks it best to get to know them, their motives. It is safer to know who you are traveling with, that way it is easier to see the blade coming. She never lets her guard slip though. They ask her questions during their travels but she always evades easily, replying with questions of her own. The crew doesn't suspect a thing, when they finally dock at the port after weeks at sea she leaves, and they seem genuinely sad to see her go.
Idea’s swirl in her mind as she sits in the inn at the pitiful port town. It's dirty here, she doubts her mug is clean and the floors are covered in ale causing her boots to stick to the ground, yet her mind is elsewhere. Where will she go? Who will she be? For she had claimed back the name of Arya Stark of Winterfell but she doesn't truly know who that is anymore. Who is Arya Stark? The Arya Stark of her youth had been reckless, never willing to back down from a fight even if it would surely get her killed and overflowing with emotions, brimming with anger and fury. And while now she is sure the anger and fury are still there somewhere, it is buried underneath the cold, emotionless body that she has become whilst playing the game of faces and she doesn’t know how to get that back.
So while she drinks her warm ale in the corner of the inn, disappearing into the shadow’s, invisible, and keeping an eye on every exit. She decides to start where she left off, crossing names off her list. She has no idea if she has any family left to protect, she's sure the Bolten's have killed them all, so little news of Westeros reaches Braavos. But she still has the names,
Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, Walder Frey, The Red Woman, Cersei
Her list has shrunk over the years but she still has names to cross off. People to die. And this small, rundown port town is rather close to the twins. But first, she'll need a horse.
***
“When people ask you what happened here, tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey.” The poor serving girl looks horrified but she nods along none the less to Arya’s request.
Blood splatters underneath her boots, soaking into the leather as she exits the hall. She doesn't feel anything, as cold as the stone over her head, as cold as the bodies of house Frey will soon be. All she can think about is the last time she was here. Her brother's eyes staring into hers, the horror dawning when he realised that she was in the room. Her mother's throat being slit, how red her blood was. The screams of the poor girl who had helped her as they road away.
Despite getting her revenge she still feels empty. Perhaps when her list is finished she'll feel something again, perhaps then she won't be so cold, so unsatisfied.
Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, The Red Woman, Cersei
She has no idea of the whereabouts of Ilyn Payne, nor the Red Woman. But Cersei she knows she can find in Kings Landing and most likely The Mountain will be at her side. She just has to make her way to the King's Road and then South to Kings Landing. There is a forest at the edge of the Neck, close to the Twins and will provide with cover for the night, she’ll take the King's Road in the morning.
Bedding down in a forest has never bothered her, yet she stays closer to where the trees are thin, she has no desire to fight a lizard lion from the swamps tonight. No desire to loose her newly acquired horse to the beasts. She will not walk to Kings Landing.
She's a beautiful thing, her new horse. Cost nearly all the silver she had leftover from the coin purse she stole save for a few, but worth it. The horse is calm and not too old so she won't die if Arya rides her too hard. Arya makes sure she's properly tied up before settling on the floor, forgoing a fire, it's not too cold and it will most likely only draw unwanted attention. Yet sleep still evades her.
It has been a while since she has needed to recite her list aloud in order to sleep, yet she does it anyway, in the hopes it'll help settle her. “Ilyn Payne, The Mountain, The Red Woman, Cersei” Her voice sounds strange to her, she rarely uses it these days, perhaps after all this is over after her list is finished she'll get used to it, maybe she will even get to laugh again.
***
She's running through the forest on all fours, her pack behind her. The dirt and snow are soft. The air is fresh and crisp. The wind-cold. North. This is North. She has been leading her pack in this direction for some time, the further she went the more anxious those behind her grew, few had left, her pack behind her still a hundred strong, yet none as large as her. She has met no other dire wolves in her travels only her smaller, weaker cousins who submitted to her rather easily.
Her wolf's body is lean, and tall, and strong. She jumps over a fallen log with ease and dodges trees on instinct. She's fast like the girl was, her human. It is that scent she follows now. Or rather the scent of her kin, someone who knew her at least. She knows her girl is still alive. Can still feel her in the back of her mind, like now, that bond is not broken even after years. So she hunts in her pack till she finds her, or she is found. Waiting to return home.
She lets out a howl and stops, her pack close behind her, and makes way for a nearby stream. They have been running since dawn and it's well into the night, they deserve water and sleep. The stream is barely that, most of it is frozen over, but she bows down to drink from the still flowing water at its edge. When she draws back she sees her face reflected in the water. Yellow eyes staring back at her.
***
Arya wakes with a gasp. Her breathing heavy and heart beating rapidly. The air is cold as she forces it down her lungs, gripping the dirt beneath her to ground herself and bring her back to reality. The forest around her is quite. The only sounds are of the rustling trees in the wind and small nocturnal creatures scattering along. It is not yet dawn, the world around her still bathed in darkness but darkness hasn't scared her for a long time. Not since she was blind.
It has been a while since she has had a wolf dream. She misses Nymeria like she misses the rest of her family, but at least her wolf is alive and searching for her. She's glad that the bond between them has yet to break, when she sent Nymeria away she was sure the wolf would always hate her. Yet after all these years she still clings to Arya, much like Arya clings to her and that bond buried in her mind. If she concentrates Arya can feel her there in the back of her mind, waiting.
The dreams started the week before the late King's visit to Winterfell, though she never told anyone. Old Nan used to tell her stories of Skin changes and Wargs, she never managed to figure out how to let her family know, she was already an outsider as a child, she didn't need another reason to be. She briefly mentioned to Jon that she had been having strange dreams but never got the chance to elaborate. Now she wishes she had told them all, at least she wishes she had the chance to.
The dreams had not stopped when she crossed The Narrow Sea despite her distance from Nymeria. They taunted her, reminding her of the past and why she could never truly become No One. But they also comforted her.
When she was blind for a year she managed to warg into other animals, a cat, a few birds but the sight was temporary and she knew not to rely on it. Eventually she learnt to fight back on her own, to fight in darkness as well as she did in light. Turns out that's exactly what she needed to defeat the Waif.
Realising that she is not likely to fall back asleep after her dream and that dawn is approaching she gathers her things, climbs on her horse, and makes towards the King's Road, avoiding the swamplands of The Neck as she does.
***
She makes it to the Crossroads inn by midday, she could have been here sooner had she not made the decision to go further North in favour of shelter the night before but she is in no real hurry. Cersei and The Mountain will still be in Kings Landing a week from now. And her horse makes the journey a lot easier then it would be on foot.
Being here brings back bittersweet memories for her. Days when she was just a child, her family still alive, her father still alive, of traveling with a smiths apprentice. It was here where Arya sent Nymeria away, where Lady was killed, where Mycah was killed, where she said goodbye to Hot-Pie.
It is exactly how Arya remembers it, she briefly wonders if Hot-Pie is still working here and if his bread-making skills have gotten any better. She ties her horse up outside before making her way indoors. It's still dim and dirty inside, wood being used to make everything, tables, chairs, walls.
A few men stare at her as she makes her way inside. She's not entirely sure why, she's positive that none of them recognise her. The Lannister soldiers on the road had looked at her the same way, with appraising eyes. It makes her feel uneasy. She has never had this sort of attention before. Though she knows she has grown and changed a lot since she was a girl mistaken for a boy.
She was never allowed a mirror in The House of Black and White, Jaqen would say that she couldn't be No One if she saw what Arya Stark looked like each day and she hasn't looked in one since leaving Westeros, perhaps since leaving Kings Landing. Yet she knows she is taller now, if only slightly. That her body curves like a women's should, small waist, larger hips. That her breasts had grown in and grown reasonably large, large enough for men to look when she would play as Mercy or Cat of the canals, and large enough to require breast bindings. She knows logically that by now her face would have lost the roundness of childhood, but she cannot picture it. Her hair has grown and is now almost as long as it had been before Yoren cut it all those years ago, it surprised her that it grew back so quickly especially without the Nobel treatment it used to receive. Yet still she can't imagine herself to be the beauty her mother and father claimed she would grow to be.
She settles at an empty table waiting for someone to bring her some food and ale, listening to the two men behind her talking about The Dragon Queen, most of it is information she has already heard, the people of Braavos loved gossiping about The Dragon Queen.
“Arry?” The name that only a handful of people knew, most of who are now dead, causes Arya to break from her thoughts and look up to find Hot-Pie holding a tray of food in front of him. He looks the same as he did a few years ago when they parted. Still fat, still curly-haired but he seems happier.
“Hello Hot-Pie.” Is the reply she gives, she makes sure to keep her face closed off acting as though she was expecting to find him here, her voice is devoid of emotion. “Sit down,” she tells him, before gesturing to the food on the tray as he sets it in front of them, “who's that for?” Before he can reply she's taking a pie off the tray, stabbing it with a knife and savagely biting into it, forgoing any highborn table manners she learnt as a child in favour of eating as quickly as she can. She hasn't eaten in days, the last food she saw was made out of the Frey sons, and that was not appealing to her. “Mmm this is good,” she praises him as she bites into it.
“Really? Do you think so? The trick is in browning the butter before making the dough, takes more time you see, so most people don't bother.”
“I didn't do that,” She muses, again thinking of the pie she had served Walder Frey with his sons inside.
“You've been making pies?” Hot-Pie asks disbelievingly.
“A few,” she goes back to eating, swiping at her face with her hands and licking meat off her fingers.
“I can't believe you're here. Did you meet the big lady?” At Arya’s blank stare he elaborates, “the lady knight, figured she was a knight because she had armour on you see.” Arya almost smiles at the remark from their childhood. Hot-Pie continues, “she was looking for your sister but I told her about you.”
“She found me.” Arya gives no more information than that, continuing to eat her pie, Hot-Pie looks disappointed.
“What happened to you Arry?”
At the question Arya does look up, she pauses her eating, looking at his face, seeing his desperation, but she can't tell him, “You got any ale?” She asks instead. He hands her a mug and she downs it all before going back to her pie.
Hot-Pie continues with his questions, “Where are you headed?”
“Kings Landing.”
“Why?”
“Heard Cersie is the Queen now.”
He tells her about how he heard Queen Cersie blew up The Great Sept, but she's only half listening as she eats, the Lannister soldiers already told her this much. “Can't believe someone would do that.”
“Cersie would do that.” Is her confident reply,
“Thought you'd be headed for Winterfell.”
“Why would I go there? The Bolton's have Winterfell.”
“No they don't.”
“What?”
“The Bolton's are dead. Jon snow came down from Castle Black with a wildling army and won the Battle of the Bastards.” Hot-Pie says it like it is supposed to mean something to Arya. “He's King of the North now.”
“You're lying.” Arya’s quick to deflect but she knows he's not, years of training don't lie.
“Why would I do that?” He asks, “He's your brother right?”
Arya feels like her world has been turned on its head, she was so sure that the Bolton's had killed the last of her family. That Jon, if he wasn't dead, was bound to the Night's Watch. But her brother, her favourite sibling is alive and King in the North. Jon. She looks away from Hot-Pie and down to her pouch of silver coins. “Thanks for the pie,” she says as she goes to pull the coins out.
“Friends don't pay.” He says back to her confidently, as though she hasn't changed into something he can barely recognise, as though they are just old friends who happened to see each other again, as though their lives weren't turned upside down now, as if they were still children. It almost makes her want to cry, but her grip on her emotions is too strong for that. “Can't believe I ever thought you were a boy, you're pretty.”
“Thanks,” is all she can say, slightly stunned at the compliment. She gathers her coins and stands but before she walks away she places a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself Hot-Pie, try not to get killed.”
“I won't,” he tells her, “I'm like you Arry. I'm a survivor.”
She gives him a small smile before leaving the inn. Outside she unties her horse and climbs into the saddle. She watches as a wagon of people set off South to Kings Landing. She turns her head over her shoulder to look North, to her home, to Jon, King in the North. Then she looks forward to the South and Kings Landing and killing Cersie before she makes her decision and turns her horse around to head North, to Winterfell.
A girl is Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I’m going home.