Arya's POV
Who is this man?
He gives off a dangerous feeling, like death would follow if I made a single wrong move.
Should I reveal myself?
Would he even recognize me? No, nobody would. Not anymore.
And yet, I'm not truly hiding. Not anymore.
With deliberate motion, I pulled back the cloak and straightened. "I am Arya Stark."
I watched him closely, waiting for a flicker of surprise or recognition. Anything. But his face remained steady, unmoved.
No reaction.
It was as though he'd known all along.
"One of the last three or four Stark children still alive," he said at last, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.
He recognized me.
Three or four? The words echoed in my mind, sharp and cruel. Did it mean two were dead?
Jon and Sansa—surely they were alive. But Bran? Rickon?
Other than Robb, one of them must be gone too.
No news of them. My heart tightened, dread creeping in. Was this a guess, or did he know something I didn't?
I was about to question him when he interrupted me.
---
John's POV
"You're going after the Freys," I said, breaking her train of thought.
"Yes," she answered, her voice steady, her gaze sharp.
She was studying me, no doubt trying to make sense of my calm demeanor, wondering why I hadn't reacted to her name like most would.
"Me too," I said, keeping my tone casual.
Her brow arched slightly. "Why?" Suspicion bled into her voice, like she expected some deeper vendetta.
"I'm going to loot House Frey," I said bluntly
She tilted her head, frowning, clearly not expecting that answer.
"Loot them?" she muttered, half to herself, like the words didn't quite fit the picture she'd painted of me.
She probably thought I was after revenge—another soul looking to settle a score with the Freys.
But that wasn't me. Revenge didn't drive me. Gold did.
"The Freys are rich," I continued, shrugging. "Not Lannister-rich, but rich enough. Especially after Robb Stark's death."
Her gaze narrowed, but I ignored it, letting my words hang heavy.
"Marriage alliances filled their coffers, and they've been rewarded handsomely for their treachery"
I can't take their castles, but the gold? The weapons? The armor? That, I can carry.
She crossed her arms, watching me closely.
"And what will you do with all that gold?"
I paused, letting the question linger for a moment as I considered my answer.
"I'll use it in a way that benefits me," I said simply.
Her gaze didn't waver, but she tilted her head slightly, her expression sharpening. "You said three or four. Do you know which of my siblings are alive?"
I leaned back, letting the firelight dance across my face. "Sansa... Bolton or Lannister? Or just Stark, since she doesn't seem to like any of her fiancés," I said, my tone casual, almost teasing.
Her jaw tightened slightly, but she said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
"I heard Rickon Stark is being kept under Ramsay's thumb," I added, shrugging as if it were common knowledge. "And Bran Stark... well, if the situation favors him, he'll survive. He always does."
I took another slow bite of my fish, letting the words hang in the air between us.
"Jon is alive too," she said, almost to herself rather than me.
I raised an eyebrow at her tone and replied, "Are you talking about Jon Snow?" I paused briefly for effect before continuing, "Yes, he's alive. Not dead anymore."
Her eyes sharpened instantly, her voice laced with a hint of anger. "Then why didn't you say his name?"
I looked at her, trying to seem as innocent as possible. "I heard you ask about your siblings," I said, keeping my voice calm and a little slow, like I was explaining something obvious.
"Half or not, he's still my brother," she snapped, her anger flaring.
I could see it—she was losing her cool. Emotional about her family. Just like the series. It seemed like they were the only thing she really cared about.
"Is he?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, letting the question hang in the air.
"What do you mean by that?" she demanded, her hand instinctively moving to her sword.
I raised my hands slightly in mock surrender, keeping my tone casual. "Nothing," I said, glancing at her with a faint smirk.
She looked like Maisie. Exactly the same. No real change.
Without another word, she stood up, her movements sharp and deliberate, and started walking away.
"Looks like for House Frey, winter comes tomorrow," I thought, watching her silhouette disappear into the night.
One Day Later
I stood there, staring at the disturbed earth beneath my feet. The shallow marks in the dirt looked fresh, as if someone had dug there recently.
"Looks like Arya got the face she needed to enter the castle," I muttered, brushing some of the loose soil with my boot.
In the distance, the bridge across the Green Fork loomed, its arches stark against the murky water below. It was the major income source of the Freys' .
The pieces were falling into place.