The fire crackled low in the hearth of the crumbling cottage where Syrio had taken shelter with the two Stark girls. The storm that had raged over King's Landing had passed, leaving behind a damp stillness.
Even from this far away they would have seen the massive storm brewing on top of King's Landing. If there ever was a list to leave that horrid city behind, then another very good reason had been added there today.
They knew that they couldn't stay there for long. Maybe the storm would slow down the soldiers coming after them, but they would come eventually. However, the journey they had undertaken wasn't a short one; it would take them an entire moon (a month in Westerosi language) to reach their destination. So they had to rest and regain their strength before they moved on further.
Syrio knew this, and thus he allowed them a little rest time before they eventually moved on.
Sansa knelt upon a threadbare rug, her hands clasped tightly in prayer. Arya, meanwhile, paced like a caged direwolf, muttering and glaring at the shuttered windows.
"Seven above, hear me," Sansa whispered. "Bring them back. Bring back my lord father and… and Thor. Let them live. Let them live…"
"Seven won't listen to you. If they had to, then they would have a long time ago. And prayers won't bring them back," Arya snapped, her voice sharp with worry, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "I should have stayed. I could've helped."
Syrio sat nearby, cleaning the edge of his blade. "Everyone has their battle, Arya child. You will have your own someday, but this is not yours to take part in. If you had stayed, you would be dead or worse, held captive, which would have led to the death of your family, and the reason would have been you. The god of death has many hands, boy, but even he knows better than to raise them against those who have yet to come to adulthood."
Arya gritted her teeth and turned away. She, of course, knew this. Thor had said pretty much the same things. However, she didn't wish to hear them now. She needed to know what was going on in King's Landing. What had happened to her father and Thor.
Her mind drifted to the moment before the escape—when Thor took them away from their chambers and helped them escape the city.
"You take them far, to the Riverlands if you must," he had said, voice grim but calm. "I will bring their father back and come after you. Just make sure to stay clear from the King's Road. Follow it but stay hidden."
Arya had clutched his cloak. "Let me fight. I can hold a blade now. I won't be a burden."
Thor had knelt, putting his big hand on her head like she was some sort of animal, ruffling and mostly messing their already hard-to-handle messy hair. "You're brave, little one, a little wolf if your father's saying about wolf's blood is anything to go by. But bravery alone wins no battles, Arya. I cannot save your father and look after you together. You're better needed here anyways. Protect your sister. That is your war, for now."
"Wakanda Forever..." She pursed her lips and repeated what Thor usually said to motivate himself once he started to get tired of his workout, to get a few more reps in.
"Haha...Even Heimdall would find it challenging to find another like you, child." Thor laughed and ruffled her head more, completely ruining her hair.
Sansa had only nodded tearfully, unable to find words. "Please," she whispered to him, "bring my father back. Bring us back together."
And Thor had laid a hand on her shoulder, gently. "You have my word, my lady."
If only Thor knew then that giving away his words like second-hand clothes wasn't quite healthy for him.
That was two days ago, though. They had covered as much distance as they could while hiding from any patrol or guards they found. Keeping a low profile.
Arya halted mid-step. "But what if they don't see me coming? I can slip back, poke them like you taught me. No one will see me..."
"Speak such madness again and I'll bind your feet," Syrio warned without looking up, halting Arya's speech mid-way.
"It's my fault," Sansa muttered under her breath.
"It's not, Sansa child."
"No, it is. It's because I asked Mother to convince Father to take the Hand's position, only so that I could marry the prince and become queen. It's all my fault."
"Oh, he would have taken the position anyway. Don't beat yourself over it. Thor said it himself," Arya said, remembering what Thor said to her—her way to comfort her sister, maybe.
"What if they are..."
"Do not speak it," Arya hissed. "He promised he'll come back. We just have to wait and keep moving."
At first, they weren't quiet, devastated and afraid but quiet. But only recently, when there was no sign of Thor or their father, did they start to feel hopeless. They started to break down emotionally.
The night was thick with fog and silence, yet no one found sleep. If later they could have, then those chances too got lost when the silence was broken only by a sound coming from a distance, coming towards them. Syrio's hand shot to his blade, and in a breath, he stood before the hearth, sword gleaming in the firelight.
"Behind me," he hissed low, eyes sharp as a cat's in the dark.
Arya pulled Sansa close, her breath caught in her throat. They heard the rider before they saw him—a tall shadow upon a black steed, cloaked from head to spur. The horse neighed, stamping near the doorway, and the figure slid down with the quiet grace of a trained killer.
The darkness didn't let them see much; the cloak didn't help in that regard either.
Syrio raised his sword. "Show thy face, shadow, lest I remove it myself."
"Thou shall try me, friend, though victory in this ordeal you'll would find none..." A deep voice came, making others tense. However, the voice sounded familiar.
The figure said nothing after that, only pulled back his hood with one gloved hand. Firelight kissed golden hair and storm-wrought eyes.
"Thor," Sansa breathed, the name breaking from her lips like a prayer answered.
Arya didn't even bother saying anything. She just bolted like a flash, gone from behind Syrio before he could know it, barreling into Thor with such force even he staggered half a step. She threw her arms around him without shame.
"Thought you were dead!" she muttered into his chest.
"Haha...I assure you many have tried and failed before, and so would in future." Seeing Arya like that, I just ruffled the little she-wolf's head. After making sure she was fine, I turned to the elder.
Sansa followed slower, her steps hesitant but her eyes wide with unshed tears. When she reached him, she too threw her arms around him—but barely a moment passed before she realized what she'd done. She stepped back quickly, cheeks afire.
"I—I beg your pardon, my lord. I—"
"No pardon needed, my lady. It warms the heart to know I was missed by a fair maiden such as you. Another reason not to die, don't you say, my friend?" Grinning, I turned to Syrio.
Syrio sheathed his sword, still watching the trees. "You have the timing of a cat in a winehouse, but yes, it makes all the difference..." Syrio grinned back.
"Where is Father?" Arya was the first one to ask, and immediately Sansa too followed.
"On the horse. He's, hmm, sleeping. Too tired from all the fighting and the dungeon. Better bring him down and lay him near the fire...." My smile stiffened suddenly. If only they knew why their father was down and out like a corpse, then maybe I wouldn't be getting any more hugs in the future.
xxx
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