Nerd In the North 6-27B (Patreon)

The giant in black didn’t look back at his sword, a grunt tearing free from him. He balled his hand into a leather-wrapped fist the size of a ham and threw a heavy blow.

It landed hard; the sound of the short straight punch in Nymeria’s ribs enough to make Arya’s own chest ache. It was the wet thud of a siege hammer landing heavy against a wooden gate. The she-wolf barely staggered all the same, breath a sharp grunt.

A glob of blood flew from her lips onto the giant’s breastplate; lips curling back to show teeth.

Human teeth, but sharper than most.

Even still, the snarl behind them was entirely animal; raw direwolf as her hands grabbed onto the giant’s armor, blunt yet clawed fingers hooking into the leather straps at his collar.

Still snarling, Nymeria threw her forehead right into the center of the man’s face. Bone crunched and blood sprayed freely, a spatter of it painting that black collar a bright red and trailing onto her own tan chest.

As if he felt no pain, that same fist flew up again — a heavy blow catching the she-wolf under the jaw. 

Nymeria’s head snapped back, dark matted hair flying but her grip failed to loosen, not even as the black swordsman drove a steel-capped knee upward into her stomach.

They went down together, bodies crashing into the brush as they threw feet and fists with no footwork, no form, and no fear; the brawl nearly a slaughterhouse. Both rolled through a thick patch of briars, thorns and thistles crushed into a smelly green paste under their combined weight. Every shift of their bodies made the earth suffer, the ground creaking under Arya’s feet and forcing a groan from the trees.The giant swung his arm in a sweeping backhand, one Nymeria caught on her forearm — bone against bone. Another knee swung up toward her groin but the she-wolf was no simple beast even as a beast and she was certainly not simple now. Her hip twisting, she took the blow on the meat of her thigh as she punched down with her right hand. The ground trembled again, fist burying into the mud right next to the man’s ear as he jerked his head aside.

Earth split under her knuckles, a clod of red-splattered peat flying up to nearly strike Arya.

The Stark girl flinched, already scrambling for safety in the wet mud as the dirt broke against a tree. By the time she turned back, breath caught in her chest, the giant in black had gotten his arm free to drive it into Nymeria’s throat. She-wolf jaws snapped shut, sharp teeth missing the man’s throat by an inch. Gurgling on her own breath, her thumbs went for his face; sharp thumbs threatening to gouge unshielded eyes as they rolled across the ground.

With a howl, Nymeria’s feet kicked up and Arya Stark stared with mouth open at the sight of a man flying through the air. The black-armored giant ripped through a curtain of hanging moss and slammed back-first into a trea, bark splintering on his landing.

Before the dust could even settle, Nymeria was already on him again, fingers buried into the gap of his collar as she did her best to tear out the throat beneath the armor. Leather-wrapped hands caught her wrists, thick cords of muscle on his neck bulging under the scars. 

As they both found their feet, the ground shuddered as they locked together; roots snapping beneath them as the air smelled of churned mud, spilled blood, and angry sweat.

This was no swordfight, no battle of honor.

This was two hounds battling over a grease-bone, tearing at flesh and iron with whatever could reach.

Arya couldn't breathe; hand welded to Needle's hilt. Yet, drawing it was a joke. If she even tried to help Nymeria, she knew she’d be snapped in half just by either one of them shifting their weight.

"Get back!" Gendry was shouting somewhere to her left, heavy hammer pulled loose to do all of nothing.

The giant hooked his leg behind Nymeria’s knee and shoved upward, throwing them both back into the center of the clearing. They hit the ground tearing at each other again, flesh hitting metal and dirt flying free.

"Down! Back off, you stupid mutts!" Away from the crater they were digging, the blond boy in the silver armor had dropped from his saddle, a white blade flashing in his hand against the six grays snapping at his knees. His knees were all they could hope for as he moved too fast for them to reach anything else — faster than any man Arya had ever seen, faster even than Syrio had moved. That white blade flicked out, but he wasn't using the edge, not as he brought the flat of it down on the largest snout with a sharp smack. "I'm not looking to turn you into boots, alright? Back the hell off!"

"Oi! M'lord!" The youngest rider, a boy with a gravelly voice, shouted a call from atop his own mount; silver sword shaking as his mount reared. "The big 'un! She's gonna have his eyes out!"

"Guts is fine, Lobb!" The blond lord barked back, plate armor clattering as he caught a lunging wolf by the thoat and threw it across the clearing with a scoff. “Just-” 

He ducked another bite with a scowl. “Just watch the perimeter!”

"Arya?!!"The voice didn't belong to these woods. It belonged in a stone courtyard, the soft high pitch belonging to high walls and snowy fields.

No. It couldn't be. Not here. Not in the mud.

That voice belonged to home. “Arya!”

Arya’s head snapped toward the horses.

A girl in blue silks was quick to slide down from behind one of the rusted men, skirts catching on the leather of the stirrups before she ripped themfree with almost no care. Red hair fell out from under a grayed hood of rags, hanging down over her face in a wild tangle that was more unfamiliar than anything else.

"Sansa!" The word ripped out of Arya Stark, voice cracking as the ground did the same. It left her with as much grace as a frog’s dry croak, hand loosening on Needle as her steps had her stumbling out into the open.

"Arya! Oh gods, Arya!"

The ground shuddered again, howls of rage and fury coming from both man and wolf, forcing Arya to still in place as her gaze whipped between her sister and her wolf, unsure who to look at. “Stop!”

The scream sounded out, gray eyes wide. "Nymeria, stop!" 

The dire-woman froze. Her hand remained wrapped around the man's iron collar, knuckles covered in black dirt and red blood, but the snarl left her mouth. A long low whine left her — a wet, rattling sound that came from the deep of her ribs — before she threw herself back out of the briar patch to land on her hands and knees five yards away, blood smeared across her mouth.

"Pup.” The word rumbled out of her, bare chest heaving as she stayed low; a string of bloody foam trailing from her lips to the moss. 

The man in the black iron stayed on his side for a second, his breath coming in dry rasps before he rolled to his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his nose into a puddle at his feet as he grunted, the back of his hand wiping it away. 

The blond boy spun, dropping the tip of his white blade as the wolves backed off, whining low in their throats as they looked toward Nymeria.

Sansa didn't care about the wolves. She didn't care about the mud. She hit Arya so hard both sisters went down into wet grass, the blue silks of Sansa’s sleeves soaking into Arya’s face. Her sisters were shaking, fingers digging into Arya’s shoulder blades like she was trying to find the bone underneath. Arya buried her face in the stupid blue dress, her small hands knotting violently into the thick fabric. 

She wasn't crying. 

She wasn't. 

She just couldn't get enough air into her lungs.

"They said you were dead." Sansa was sobbing, words broken into wet ugly pieces against Arya's neck. “They… they said…”“I’m not dead.” The words left her as she held onto Sansa’s waist. “I just ran away.”

"Is… is that the princess?" Gendry’s voice cut through her grief, the forgehand still with his hammer up, thumbs hooked around the handle. The princess? Arya let go of Sansa even as her sister clung tight, the younger girl pulling back until she could look past her sister's shoulder. Another girl — a familiar girl — was sitting perfectly still on another horse, her blonde curls nearly as much a mess as her sister’s. 

Her green eyes were calm as she just watched them, hands cradling a... what was that? 

A white ball of fluff with a blue ribbon tied around its neck. "Fou!" 

"The princess?" Arya echoed Gendry’s words as a hand came up to point, grey eyes narrowed at the other girl. "Myrcella? Why is she..."

"Lord Veder." Sansa wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, standing up straighter as she gestured toward the blond boy in the silver armor and the men in gray. "He rescued us. From King's Landing with… with Robb’s men. And this is..." 

She glanced with sad eyes back over at the three men on the exhausted horses. "These are men of House Umber."

The Umber men simply looked down at the mud. “Your Grace.”

"Sup.” The blond lord twirled the white sword once as it literally vanished into thin air before Arya’s widening eyes. "Correction on that, Princess. I rescued you." 

A silvered gauntlet pointed over at Myrcella. "I kidnapped her."

Myrcella didn't blink as she gave a single slow nod. "He did." 

Arya frowned, face going sour as her eyes dragged over the blond… boy. 

Face as clean as if he’d just drawn a bath, hair as soft as silk, and features downright pretty, like a highborn lady who dressed up in men's armor for a tourney. "How? He looks... he looks..."

"Handsome?" The boy offered.

"No." Arya glared his way, frown deepening before she turned back to Sansa. "He looks prettier than you, even. If you said him…?" She pointed over at the big one, the giant dragging his massive slab out of the mud hole it had made. 

"Hey, rude," Lord Veder said, clipping the words short as he cracked his silver knuckles. "I have my ways, okay? Magic, muscles, and a little monster of my own." He put his hands to his mouth, his chest swelling under the light plate. "Ash! Get down here!"

A sound came out of the gray clouds that made Arya’s belly turn over, a roar enough to shake the leaves above. Nymeria surged forward before the sound even finished, thick arm hooking around Arya’s waist and dragging her back three paces into the brush. 

A great wall of black dropped out of the sky.

The ground cracked, a small fissure opening through the black dirt as four taloned feet struck the clearing. Wet earth and pine needles sprayed Arya’s face as leathery wings snapped open wide, blotting out the gray light, the leathery canvas shifting into dark, furred scales. The eyes on the thing were two pools of burning red beneath a crown of black, sweeping horns.

A dragon.

Arya’s mouth hung open, fingers trembling against Needle’s wire. It smelled like the blacksmith's forge at Winterfell, the heat from it baking the mud on her boots.

A real one.

Lord Veder stood next to the scaled beast, entirely unbothered as he wore a smirk. "Meet Ash."

Arya couldn't look away from the red eyes as her thoughts spun, possibilities falling into place as she realized what this meant. “...they’ll burn.”

Her pulse hammered in her throat as she looked back over at Sansa with teeth spread wide in a grin. "We can kill them now." She stepped out from Nymeria’s grip, chin up. "What are we doing waiting in the mud for? Let’s go meet Robb! He’s got the whole North at Riverrun, he’ll have the horses ready, we c—"

The silence was sudden as she realized Sansa hadn’t moved from the dirt.

Her sister’s eyes faced her knees, lips pressed together so hard they were white. Even the blond lord had stopped smiling as he looked away, fingers tapping restlessly against his own thigh.

The wind blew through the split birch tree, making the green leaves rattle against the muck.

"Sansa?" Arya’s voice went thin again, the heat from the dragon suddenly turning cold against her back. "What... what's wrong?"