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KoW - Chapter 32
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 21:42:52 +0000 UTCArya Stark
Arya ran through the forest, her breaths coming in short, ragged bursts. The underbrush clawed at her legs as she sprinted past the gnarled trees, each step fueled by desperation.
“She headed this way!” The shout came from behind her, echoing through the dense foliage. The voice grew louder, the thud of boots on the forest floor growing closer.
“Shit,” she whispered, her tone sharp and strained. A dull ache throbbed in her side where her half-healed wounds protested the exertion, but she pushed on. There was no room for weakness, not now.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of the marked tree ahead, the rough bark scarred by a crude sigil that meant safety — or a semblance of it. Turning her head, she saw the man in red livery closing in, his face twisted with determination.
“I see her!” he bellowed. “This way!”
Arya’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath hitching as dread tightened its grip on her. But dread was familiar now, almost comforting. It sharpened her focus, steadied her movements. She darted toward the tree, every muscle in her body screaming for her to stop, but she forced herself forward.
The man reached for her, his meaty hand swiping at the scruff of her collar just as she reached the tree. “Get here, you wretch!”
Arya ducked low, twisting her body to evade his grasp. She lunged forward, rolling across the ground as he followed her, his momentum carrying him straight into a waiting mace. The sound of the blow echoed through the woods, the crunch of his skull unmistakable. Arya glanced back to see Gendry standing tall, the mace in his hands smeared with blood.
“That’s one,” he muttered, his voice grim as he prepared for the others.
The remaining men closed in, their movements cautious but determined. One raised his hand to signal the others, but a crossbow bolt from the shadows buried itself in his throat. He collapsed with a wet gurgle, and Arya turned to see Biter lowering his crossbow with a satisfied grin, his jagged teeth making for a terrifying sight.
Hot Pie stood nearby, clutching his own crossbow, but his hands trembled. Arya’s sharp gaze caught the hesitation in his eyes.
“Damn it, Hot Pie!” she growled, snatching the crossbow from his hands. “If you’re not going to use it, stay out of the way!”
One of the men stepped forward, his sword drawn. “We ain’t willing to kill ya, girl,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “But we ain’t gonna hold back if ya don’t give us a choice.”
Arya spat on the ground, her lips curling into a snarl. “Come and try, then.”
The man’s face hardened. With a nod to his companions, the four of them charged.
The forest erupted into chaos. Gendry swung his mace with rough, yet brutal blows, the heavy weapon connecting with bone and flesh as he held the line. Biter, wielding a battered sword, fought with the experience of a Kingslanding sewer rat, which is to say, not much, but he was enormous and savage, which somewhat made up for it. Arya had moved back, wrestling the crossbow from Hot Pie and clumsily throwing pot shots to help her companions.
But the numbers weren’t on their side. The men pressed forward, their attacks coordinated, forcing Gendry and Biter to fall back. Arya felt the weight of their disadvantage settling in her chest, but she didn’t panic. This was the plan.
A low growl rumbled through the forest, primal and menacing. The attackers faltered, their eyes darting around as the sound grew louder. From the shadows, Nymeria emerged, her massive form cutting an imposing figure as her golden eyes locked onto the men. Behind her, the rest of the pack followed, a dozen wolves moving as one.
The wolves descended upon the attackers with feral precision. Nymeria lunged at the nearest man, her jaws clamping down on his arm with a sickening crunch. Another wolf took down a second man, his screams cut short as sharp teeth tore into his throat. The remaining two tried to flee, but the pack was relentless, their pursuit swift and merciless.
When the forest fell silent again, Arya had to tip toe beside Nymeria, her hand brushing over the direwolf’s coarse fur. “Good girl,” she murmured. Nymeria nudged her hand, a low whine escaping her throat.
The others gathered around, their faces pale and drawn. Hot Pie leaned against a tree, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Gendry wiped his mace clean on the grass, clearly withholding his desire to vomit.
Biter, a glower on his face, spits at one of the men’s corpses.
Ever since the escape, Biter had seen fit to stay with them, the death of Rorge, who turned out to be a sort of a guardian for the man, had made him aimless.
Turns out, Arya’s defiance before death, and her relationship with Nymeria and her position as “head of the pack”, so to say, seemingly inspired something akin to loyalty for a man who grew up fighting with dogs and bears in the fighting pits of Flea Bottom.
Gendry thought him dangerous, and Arya agreed. The man had been a Flea Bottom orphan, captured for the crime of moral corruption, as apparently, the High Septon had Rorge and his illegal arena -Biter included- confiscated once he refused to pay tribute to “cleanse his profession of sin”.
At least that’s what Jaqen told her, Biter could not corroborate, as he had his tongue cut off long ago.
But he was on their side, and had grown strangely protective of their group, so Arya had no issues with his presence.
Her gaze lingered on Nymeria, her thoughts drifting. It had been months since their reunion, a chance meeting that felt like fate. Nymeria had grown in her time away, becoming the leader of her own pack. The direwolf was wild now, but she still recognized Arya, the bond between them unbroken by time or distance.
Her mind wandered further back, to the day Jaqen H’ghar had left her with the iron coin. He had headed southwest, toward the Reach, his cryptic words lingering in her mind long after he disappeared. She had tried to follow him at first, but the dangers of the road had forced her to change course. Survival came first, always.
A rustling in the distance pulled her back to the present. Gendry’s head snapped up, his hand tightening around the mace. The others tensed, their weapons at the ready.
A group of men emerged from the trees, their armor battered and their faces grim. They wore the red and gold of House Lannister, but they weren’t advancing. Instead, they stumbled forward, their movements hurried and disorganized.
“They’re running from something,” Gendry said, his voice low.
Arya nodded, her eyes narrowing. “We need to hide. Now.”
The group scattered, finding cover among the trees and underbrush. Arya crouched low, her heart pounding as the Lannister men drew closer. She counted at least twenty, too many to face even with Nymeria’s pack.
For a moment, it seemed they might pass without noticing them. But a shout rang out, one of the men pointing in their direction. “Over there!”
The chase began anew. Arya and her companions ran, weaving through the trees as arrows whizzed past them. The wolves stayed close, lunging at any soldier who got too near. But the Lannisters were relentless, and their numbers gave them the advantage.
Arya’s mind raced as she tried to think of a plan. They couldn’t outrun them forever, and fighting head-on was suicide. She glanced at Gendry, who met her gaze with a grim nod. They would make their stand here.
The group turned, using the terrain to their advantage. Biter climbed a low branch, dropping onto an unsuspecting soldier and barbarically biting into the man’s neck. Gendry swung his mace with a roar, taking down two men in quick succession. Arya fired her crossbow, the bolt finding its mark in a soldier’s leg.
But it wasn’t enough. The Lannisters surrounded them, their weapons drawn and their expressions triumphant. Arya’s hand tightened around her dagger, her jaw set. If this was the end, she would go down fighting.
A horn sounded in the distance, its mournful note cutting through the chaos. The Lannisters hesitated, their eyes darting toward the source of the sound. Moments later, riders emerged from the trees, their banners flying high. The trout of House Tully was unmistakable, and at their head rode Brynden Tully, the Blackfish himself.
“Hold your ground!” he shouted, his voice commanding as his riders charged. The Lannisters barely had time to react before the Blackfish’s men were upon them. Chaos erupted once more, but this time, Arya’s side had the advantage.
Among the riders was a massive man, his frame unmistakable. Smalljon Umber fought with the ferocity of a bear, his greatsword cleaving through the Lannister ranks. Within moments, the skirmish was over, the surviving Lannisters fleeing into the woods.
The Blackfish dismounted, his sharp eyes taking in the ragtag group before him. He stopped in front of Arya, his gaze appraising.
Biter ignored some of his wounds, stepping between her and the aging knight, growling like some sort of animal.
“Quite a wild girl, are you, Arya Stark?” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
She unsheathed needle, using the flat side of the blade to nudge the giant man away to the side.
Arya met the Blackfish’s gaze, her chin lifting defiantly. “You have no idea.”
Comments
Dark B3rry
Thank you for the chapter!
