A Furious Thing

The Riverlands

"What would she be doing in the east? Does she mean to beat us to King's Landing?" Harwin wondered.

"The Gods only know what she's thinking," Jon snapped.

She felt bad, up in that tree. She was worrying everyone, ruining everything. Arya had left her family without even a goodbye. She'd come south to be with them, and then left without a thought. But not enough of her wanted to be home in Winterfell to suffer through marriage. Marriage, which would make her a guest in her own home and a distant relation to her own brothers and sisters. That was the issue, wasn't it? Mayhaps what she was doing, the running, was selfish, but Arya had only ever asked her father for this one thing - let her marry when she was ready. And he hadn't.

So when Jon and Jory and Harwin and the rest of the Stark men started off, heading south, probably to return to the King's Procession. Arya waited. She didn't fling herself to her older brother's feet, or beg for his forgiveness. Arya waited up in the tree, perched precariously, and watched the grey cloaks disappear through the leaves.

She waited almost an hour before she climbed back down, legs and arms sore from holding on. Her feet were unsteady and she considered stopping for the night, but it wasn't dark enough yet, and there could be no dallying because of some minor set back. Nymeria met her as she continued own.

The forests of the riverlands were young, and the vegetation was green with summer. As she walked along through the trees, Arya gathered berries that she recognized from nights spent pouring over books. She ate them to relieve the rumbling in her stomach, whenever she needed. If not for the circumstances, she would be truly enjoying herself. Even in the summer the North was a cold place, and while the chill of the weirwood and the wolfwood was beautiful and familiar, she rather liked the warm cheer of these southern forests.

Each day she traveled east and a little north, in search of the Trident. She knew that if she only followed the large river all the way to the sea she'd find Maidenpool, but she didn't want to tramp her way into a group of travelers.

For all that she planned not to meet anyone, this couldn't stop it from happening. The first day she came along the river, rushing loudly away from her, she also encountered three hard looking men in a cluster. Arya tried to turn, head back for the cover of trees, but she'd already been spotted.

"Oi, what are you doing out in the wilderness all alone girl?" asked a man in a rather filthy looking cloak.

"Walking," she snapped. Arya knew she shouldn't anger them. There were three of them and only one of her. Not very promising odds. But she also didn't want them thinking she was some silly little farmer's daughter who wouldn't hurt them if they tried anything inappropriate.

"Aye, we can see that," another said. He had hair like straw. "Where are you tromping off to?"

"Maidenpool," she answered hesitantly, handing slipping down to grip Needle's pommel.

"Do you need how to use that?" the filthy-cloaked one asked. He was staring at her with a grin spread across his face. His teeth were also filthy.

"Of course I do. What sort of idiot carries a sword if they don't know how to use it?"

"He does," he said, gesturing towards the man with yellow hair. With that, the three men laughed good-naturedly. The yellow-haired one laughed the hardest.

"We're headed to Maidenpool ourselves," the third, a thoroughly unremarkable sort with brown hair told her. "Would you mind keeping us safe with that fine sword of yours?"

"No thank you," she replied shortly.

"Now, don't be cross, girl. We'll be traveling close either way. We're just offering," he told her easily.