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we are ghosts among these hills
Oct. 15th, 2019 02:15 pmIt wasn't safe to return to Winterferll, and after all she's lost that was almost too much. Until she remembered, Jon wasn't at Winterfell anymore. He joined the Night's Watch, and Castle Black had to be safe for a girl pretending to be a boy, if anywhere was.
The road wasn't safe, but it hadn't been, not once since she'd left King's Landing. And it had been lonely, without Gendry or Hot Pie or even the Hound. More than once she felt watched, and clutched Needle in cold hands while she huddled under a tree, too afraid to light a fire. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, and kept her breathing calm and quiet. Sometimes she would climb trees, try to sleep in their limbs; that stopped after she almost broke her arm falling out of one in the middle of the night.
At least there were the wolf dreams: they kept her warm at night, and fed, and comfortable. She never realized how many wolves there were, between the riverlands and the north.
When she first sees the Wall, she halts on the Hound's horse, mouth agape. She feels like a stupid girl, but for a long moment she can't bring herself to move forward. It's only when the destrier stomps his foot in the cold that she nudges him forward. It's still up here, quiet - a little like her earliest memories, but missing the laughter and the shouting. She'll never hear that again: it's only her and Jon, now, and maybe Sansa, if she hasn't turned into a bat or a wolf or been killed by the Lannisters. People say all sorts of things.
Mole's Town she avoids completely, though gods she is tempted to stop there. The fires promise at least some reprieve from the cold - but they also promise people, and people talk. She bites her lip and carries on, and by the time she arrives at Castle Black, the Wall looms too high to see the sky on that end without tipping her head all the way back. The horse doesn't like it when she does that, so she pushes on instead, and there, in the dead of night, she sees the gates.
Arya stops short of them, suddenly nervous. What will she say to them? Can she walk in demanding to see Jon? Should she sneak? She could send the destrier in ahead of her, maybe smack him on the flank and send him off to make a commotion as a distraction. As she eyes the horse, she decides he's much more likely to kick her in the head for trying it. The Hound liked his meanness.
They're sworn to the realm, she reasons. There are traitors of all kinds on the Wall, aren't there? They go there to find their honor again. So they can't turn her over to the Lannisters. Won't.
Except, the Freys were meant to be on Robb's side, and they killed him.
She wraps her hand around Needle's hilt, squeezing hard. Sneaking, then. It's easier than she thought; they don't look much toward the south, it seems. Leaving the horse near the gates, she watches as he stamps inside, too proud by half for an animal. It hardly causes a commotion, but it does distract a few folks, and she makes her way into the fort itself, searching the most in tact places first.
The road wasn't safe, but it hadn't been, not once since she'd left King's Landing. And it had been lonely, without Gendry or Hot Pie or even the Hound. More than once she felt watched, and clutched Needle in cold hands while she huddled under a tree, too afraid to light a fire. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself, and kept her breathing calm and quiet. Sometimes she would climb trees, try to sleep in their limbs; that stopped after she almost broke her arm falling out of one in the middle of the night.
At least there were the wolf dreams: they kept her warm at night, and fed, and comfortable. She never realized how many wolves there were, between the riverlands and the north.
When she first sees the Wall, she halts on the Hound's horse, mouth agape. She feels like a stupid girl, but for a long moment she can't bring herself to move forward. It's only when the destrier stomps his foot in the cold that she nudges him forward. It's still up here, quiet - a little like her earliest memories, but missing the laughter and the shouting. She'll never hear that again: it's only her and Jon, now, and maybe Sansa, if she hasn't turned into a bat or a wolf or been killed by the Lannisters. People say all sorts of things.
Mole's Town she avoids completely, though gods she is tempted to stop there. The fires promise at least some reprieve from the cold - but they also promise people, and people talk. She bites her lip and carries on, and by the time she arrives at Castle Black, the Wall looms too high to see the sky on that end without tipping her head all the way back. The horse doesn't like it when she does that, so she pushes on instead, and there, in the dead of night, she sees the gates.
Arya stops short of them, suddenly nervous. What will she say to them? Can she walk in demanding to see Jon? Should she sneak? She could send the destrier in ahead of her, maybe smack him on the flank and send him off to make a commotion as a distraction. As she eyes the horse, she decides he's much more likely to kick her in the head for trying it. The Hound liked his meanness.
They're sworn to the realm, she reasons. There are traitors of all kinds on the Wall, aren't there? They go there to find their honor again. So they can't turn her over to the Lannisters. Won't.
Except, the Freys were meant to be on Robb's side, and they killed him.
She wraps her hand around Needle's hilt, squeezing hard. Sneaking, then. It's easier than she thought; they don't look much toward the south, it seems. Leaving the horse near the gates, she watches as he stamps inside, too proud by half for an animal. It hardly causes a commotion, but it does distract a few folks, and she makes her way into the fort itself, searching the most in tact places first.