Chapter 65 Chapter 65 Arya

The skull is soaked in tar, so it will not decay quickly.Arya passes under them every morning when she goes to the well to fetch water for Roose Bolton.They turned away from the square, so she never saw the faces, but imagined that one of them was Joffrey's head, his pretty face soaked in tar.If I were a crow, my first target would be his thick stupid lips. These heads are not alone.The carrion crows hovered above the city gate all day long, chattering hoarsely, fighting for every eyeball, shouting and expelling each other, and only temporarily dispersed when the patrolling sentries passed by.From time to time the maester's ravens flap their broad black wings from their nests to join in the feast.At this time, ordinary crows flap their wings and leave, only to fly back to clean up the leftovers after their slightly larger distant relatives have had a full meal.

Do these ravens remember Maester Tosmery?Arya wondered. Will they mourn for him?Did they cry at him day and night, wondering why he didn't answer?Perhaps, the dead have a secret method of communication, but the living cannot hear it. Tosmir was beheaded by the axe for sending a bird to report to Casterly Rock and King's Landing on the night of the fall of Harrenhal; Lucan the blacksmith was charged with forging weapons for the Lannisters; Mrs. Halla was charged with organizing Lord Hean The Lady's servants served the Lannisters; the steward was put to death for giving Lord Tywin the key to the treasury.The chef survived (it is said that it was thanks to the pot of weasel soup), but "Little Beauty" Pia and other women who had become friends with Lannister soldiers were herded together, stripped, shaved, and thrown on the bear in the courtyard. On the edge of the pit, let the men enjoy it.

When Arya went to the well that morning to draw water, three Freys had been playing on them.She tried not to look at it, but the lewd smiles of the men still reached her ears.The wooden barrel filled with water was heavy, and she turned to carry it back to the Burning King's Tower, but Mrs. Emmabel grabbed her arm.Water swung from the side of the bucket and onto Emmabel's legs. "You did it on purpose!" the woman screamed. "What do you want?" Arya wriggled.Ever since they chopped off Hara's head, Emmabel has been a little bit insane. "See it?" Emmabel pointed at Piya across the yard. "When the Northerners fall, this is what happens to you!"

"Let go." She wanted to break free, but Emmabel's fingers clenched tighter and tighter. "He will fall! Harrenhal curses everyone. Lord Tywin won the battle and will soon return with an army, and then it will be his turn to punish the traitors. Don't think he won't know what you have done!" The old woman laughed aloud. "I'll torture you myself. Harrah's got an old broom I've kept for you, and the stick is cracked and thorny—" Arya picked up the bucket.The weight of the water made her lose her aim and missed Emmabel's head, but the splash of water splashed the old woman and forced her to let go. "Don't touch me," Arya yelled, "or I'll kill you. Go away!"

Mrs. Emmabel, dripping wet, pointed a long thin finger at the skinned man on the front of Arya's coat. "Don't think that having a little blood on your chest is enough to be a tyrant, no such thing! Lannister will be back! Just wait and see, you wait and see!" Three-quarters of the water splashed onto the ground, and Arya had to return to the well.If I tell Lord Bolton her words, her head will hang on the wall with Harrah's head before dark, she thought as she pulled the bucket up, knowing she wouldn't say it. Once, when the heads on the wall were more than half their size, Gendry caught her looking at them. "Admiring your own work?" he asked her.

She knew he was mad at Lucan's death, but it wasn't fair to say that. "It was Walton 'Ironlegs' who killed him," she said defensively. "It was all done by the Mummers and Lord Bolton's minions." "Who got them on us? You and your weasel soup." Arya punched him on the arm. "It's just hot soup. And you hate Ser Amory, too." "I hate these guys even more. Ser Amory is just working for his master, but the Mummers are shameless mercenaries, chameleons! Half of them Can't even speak the lingo. Friar Utter loves little boys, Qyburn manipulates black magic, your friend Fangs eats people."

Too bad she couldn't deny his words.Harrenhal's food and fodder was mainly collected by the Warriors, and Roose Bolton ordered them to uproot the remaining Lannister forces while collecting food.Vargo Hurt divided his party into four companies, led the largest one himself, and handed over the rest to his trusted subordinates, so as to plunder as many villages as possible.Rorge often talked about Lord Wagger's method of finding traitors. This Lord just returned to the place where the Warriors visited under the banner of Lannister, and arrested all those who took refuge in him.Most of these people took Lannister's money, so the blood troupe brought back to the city not only baskets of heads, but also bags of coins. "Quiz time!" Shagwell yelled happily around. "Lord Bolton has a goat that has eaten up those who fed Lord Lannister's goat. How many goats are there now?"

"One," Arya replied when asked. "A weasel is as smart as a goat!" the clown snickered. Rorger and Fang are as bad as they come.Whenever Lord Bolton dined with the defenders, Arya would spot them among the party.Fang stinks like rotten cheese, so the Warriors seat him at the end of the table and let him grunt and hiss and tear flesh with his hands and teeth.He would sniff at Arya as she walked by, but it was Rorge who frightened her most.He sat next to "the pious" Urswick, and Arya could feel his eyes wandering all around him as he walked around serving him.

Sometimes she regretted not going across the Narrow Sea with Jaqen H'ghar.She kept the stupid coin he gave, which was just a piece of iron not much bigger than a copper plate, with rusted edges.One side had weird writing she didn't recognize, and the other side was a man's head, almost completely worn out.He says it's precious, but like his fake face and fake name, it's just another lie.Indignant at the thought, she threw the coin away, but within an hour she began to be distressed, and got it back, though it was worthless. While pondering over the coin, she pumped water across the flowstone courtyard. "Nana," someone called, "put down the bucket and come help me."

Alma Frey was about her age, but a little on the short side.He was rolling a bucket of sand along the uneven stone floor, his face flushed.Arya went to help him, and together they pushed the barrel against the wall, then back again, and finally stood it upright. Alma opened the lid, pulled out a piece of mail, and the sand flowed "crash". "Do you see that it's clean?" As Roose Bolton's squire, he was responsible for keeping his master's mail armor bright and shiny. "You gotta shake all the sand out. There's still rust there, see?" she pointed. "You'd better do it again."

"You come." Alma would show a friendly expression when she asked for help, but then she would remember that she was a servant and she was just a maid.He was always bragging that he was the Lord of the Crossing's own son--not a nephew, not a bastard, not a grandson, but a real son--and betrothed to a princess. Arya doesn't care about his baby princess, nor does she like to listen to him calling the shots. "Your Excellency is waiting for my water. He is bleeding with leeches in his bedroom. Not ordinary black leeches, this time they are big and white ones." Alma's eyes were as big as hard-boiled eggs.He was terribly afraid of leeches, especially the fat white ones that looked like jelly until they were full of blood. "I forgot, you are too thin to push such a heavy bucket." "I forgot too, you're stupid as hell." Arya lifted the bucket. "You should bled, too. There are leeches the size of pigs in the neck marsh." She left him alone with his bucket of sand. The lord's bedroom was full of people.Qyburn was serving his lordship, a dour Wharton stood by in mail shirt and gloves, and there were a dozen Freys besides—brothers, half-brothers, cousins, and cousins.Roose Bolton lay naked on the bed, the insides of his limbs and his pale chest covered with leeches, long transparent worms that faded to a bright pink.Bolton ignored them as much as he ignored Arya. "Lord Tywin cannot trap us in Harrenhal," Ser Aenys Frey was saying as Arya filled the basin.He was a big, balding, hunchbacked gray man with watery red eyes and giant, gnarled hands.In Harrenhal, fifteen hundred Freys were under his control, but he seemed incompetent, not even his own brother. "This city is too big to hold an entire army, but once it is besieged, we cannot support an army because we cannot store enough supplies. Farmlands are reduced to ashes, villages are occupied by wolves, and harvests are either burned. Either be stolen. Autumn is coming, but our army has no food stock, let alone seeds for sowing, and can only survive by looting. If the Lannister army blocks it, within a month, there will only be mice and leather shoes left to eat .” "I won't be trapped." Roose Bolton's voice was so soft that one could only hear it with strained ears, so his room was always eerily quiet. "Then what?" asked Ser Jerry Frey, a thin, balding man with a pockmarked face. "Could it be that Edmure Tully, who was dazzled by the victory, wanted to fight Duke Tywin head-on?" He will break them all!He'll break them down as he did on the banks of the Red Fork, Arya thought, and you'll see.She quietly stood beside Cobain without attracting anyone's attention. "Duke Tywin is far away from here," Bolton said calmly. "He has a lot of things to deal with in King's Landing. It is impossible to attack Harrenhal in the short term." Ser Aenys shook his head stubbornly. "My lord, you don't know Lannister as well as we do. You see, King Stannis also thought that Lord Tywin was thousands of miles away, and he was killed." The pale man on the bed smiled as the leeches sucked blood. "I'm not like him, sir." "Even if Riverrun summons all the troops, the Young Wolf Lord returns from the west to take advantage of the victory and join forces with Edmure. Our troops are still not comparable to Lord Tywin's army. Let me remind you that his current army is far more than that of Lord Tywin. Highgarden joins Joffrey with the number that was at the Green Fork!" "I haven't forgotten." "I was Lord Tywin's prisoner," said Ser Hosteen, a tall, square-faced man who was said to be the strongest of the Freys. "I don't wish to be entertained again." Ser Harris Hay kept nodding. His mother was a Frey. "Even the battle-hardened Stannis Baratheon was defeated by Lord Chinwen. Wouldn't our imp king fight him like a pebble against a stone?" He looked around at his brothers and kin for support, and they murmured agreement. . "Somebody has to say something ugly," Hosteen said. "King Robb must understand that the war is lost." Roose Bolton looked at him with pale eyes, "Your Majesty has fought against the Lannister army many times, and has never been defeated." "But he has lost the North," insisted Hosteen Frey, "and Winterfell! His brothers are dead..." With a bang, Arya couldn't breathe.died?Bran and Rickon dead?What does he mean?What happened to Winterfell?Joffrey couldn't take Winterfell, no way, Robb would beat him.Then she remembered that Robb was out in the West when he wasn't at Winterfell at all, that Bran was crippled, and Rickon was only four.She did her best not to run over and question him loudly, but to stand upright like a piece of furniture in the way Syrio Forel had taught her.Tears pooled in her eyes, but she fought back.It's not true, it can't be true, it's just a Lannister lie. "It would be very different if Stannis had won," said Lonnore Rivers, Lord Walder's bastard son, wistfully. "Stannis has lost," Ser Hosteen said gruffly. "Wishes do not change the fact. Whether King Robb likes it or not, he must make peace with the Lannisters, take off his crown, and bow to his knees. " "Who will tell him this proposal?" Roose Bolton smiled. "It's great to have so many brave brothers standing by my side in troubled times. I will carefully consider your words." His smile signaled the end of the meeting, and the Freys saluted and went away, leaving only Qyburn, Ironleg Walton, and Arya.Lord Bolton called her forward, "Enough bleeding, Nana, remove the leech." "I'll do it right away, my lord," said Roose Bolton for nothing.Arya would have liked to ask him about Winterfell that Ser Hosteen had mentioned, but she dared not.I'll ask Alma, she thought, and Alma will tell me.She carefully removed the leech from the earl's body, the worm wriggled slowly between her fingers, the pink body was wet and swelled from sucking blood.They're just leeches, she reminded herself, and they rot when pinched. "A letter from Ma'am." Qybain drew a roll of parchment from his sleeve.Although he was wearing a bachelor's robe, he didn't have a necklace around his neck. It is said that he was exiled from the Academy for dabbling in necromancy. "Read," Bolton said. Mrs. Varda wrote from the Twins almost every day, and the content was the same. "I pray for you day and night, my lord," she wrote, "and count the days till you come back and sleep with me again. Come back soon, and I will give you many true sons to replace your dear Domilik, Rule the Dreadfort after you." Arya couldn't help but picture a plump pink baby in a cradle covered in pink leeches. She handed Lord Bolton a wet washcloth to wipe his soft, hairless body. "I'm going to write," he told the former maester. "To Madame Varda?" "To Ser Herman Tallhart." Ser Herman's messenger had arrived two days ago.Tallhart's forces retake Darry's castle, and after a brief siege, the Lannister garrison surrenders. "In the name of the king, tell him to kill the captives, burn the castle, join Robert Glover, and attack Duskendale from the east. The land is still fertile and barely touched by war, and they should try it too. Taste. Glover, without his castle, and Tallhar, without his son, must be desperate for revenge." "I'll do it right away, and bring it here to seal it for you, my lord." Arya was delighted that Darry's castle was going to burn down.It was there that she was taken after the fight with Joffrey, and it was there that the queen forced her father to kill Sansa's pup.That place deserves it!In fact, she had hoped that Robert Glover and Ser Herman Tallhart would return to Harrenhal sooner, but they were gone in such a hurry that she had not yet decided whether to tell them the secret. "I'm going hunting today," said Roose Bolton, asking Qyburn to help him into a quilted vest. "Is it safe, my lord?" Qyburn asked. "Three days ago Brother Utter's men were attacked by wolves. They came straight into the camp and killed two horses within five yards of the fire." "It's wolves that I want to hunt. They keep me up at night because of their noise." Bolton buckled his belt and adjusted the positions of his sword and dagger. "It is said that in our northern border, direwolves once wandered in packs of hundreds of them. They were not afraid of people, not even mammoths. But that was ancient times, and in the north. So bold?" "Bad times breed bad things, my lord." Bolton grinned with a half-smile, "It's so bad now, maester?" "Summer is over, and there are four kings in the country vying for supremacy." "One king is bad, four? Hey," he shrugged. "Nana, my fur cloak." She handed him the cloak. "The room is to be cleaned and put in order before I come back," he said, as she tied his cloak. "By the way, get rid of Mrs. Varda's letter." "As you order, my lord." The earl and the maester left the room quickly without looking at her again.When they were gone, Arya threw the letter into the fire, and stirred the wood with the poker to kindle the flames.She stared blankly as the parchment curled and blackened, bursting into flames.If Lannister dares to hurt Bran and Rickon, Robb will kill them all, he will never give in, no, no, no!He is not afraid of anyone!Arya crouched by the fire, tears welling up in her eyes as plumes of smoke rose up the chimney.If Winterfell is really gone, is this my home?Am I still Arya?Am I just going to be Nana the Maid forever, ever, forever? For the next few hours, she devoted herself to tidying up the lord's suite.She swept away the old rushes and put in new, fresh-smelling grass, and rekindled the fire in the grate, fluffed up the feather bed, changed the linen, emptied and scrubbed the chamber pot in the latrine, and made a final cup. A pile of dirty laundry was given to the washerwoman, and a bowl of crisp autumn pears was brought from the kitchen.After tidying up the suite, she went down half a flight of stairs and continued tidying up the study.It was a large, airy room, as large as the halls of many smaller castles.The candles were stumps, and Arya replaced them all.There is a large oak table under the window, where adults write letters on weekdays.She stacked the books, put in new candles, and arranged quills, ink, and sealing wax. Between the files was a large sheet of tattered parchment.Arya was just about to roll up, but was attracted by the mottled colors on it: blue for lakes and rivers, red dots for castles and towns, and green for forests.She spread it out involuntarily.The gorgeous font under the map reads: The whole map of the Three Rivers Basin.It seems that this picture is the geography between the Neck and the Blackwater River.Harrenhal was over a great lake, she thought. Where was Riverrun? ...found it, not too far away... After work, it was only mid-afternoon, so she went to the godswood.Serving wine under Lord Bolton was much more relaxed than under Wes or Pinkeye. The only trouble was that she had to get dressed neatly and wash up from time to time, which made her a little impatient.The hunting party did not return for several hours, so she had a little time to do "needlework". She chopped birch leaves hard until the jagged tips of the broom swords were green and sticky. "Ser Gregor," she gasped, "Dunson, Polliver, Raff the Sweetmouth." She spun and leaped, tiptoeing, moving left and right, sending pine cones flying everywhere. "The Tickler," she yelled, and then "The Hound, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei." With the oak trunk looming in front of her, she lunged, growling, "Joffrey! Joffrey Joffrey!" Sunshine leaf shadows sprinkled spots on her body, and when she finally stopped, she was sweating profusely, and her right heel was scratched and bleeding, so she stood on one leg in front of the heart tree, holding Sword salute. "Valar morghulis," she said to the ancient gods of the north.She likes this string of pronunciation. Arya caught a glimpse of a raven circling and landing on a nest as she walked across the courtyard to the bathhouse, and wondered where it came from and what news it brought.Maybe it was sent by Robb, just to clear up about Bran and Rickon.She bit her lip in anticipation.If I have wings, I can fly back to Winterfell by myself.If it's true, then I'll just keep flying, over the moon, over the shining stars, over all of Old Nan's stories, over dragons and sea monsters and the titans of Braavos.Never come back. The hunting party came back near dusk and brought back nine dead wolves, seven of which were adults, large, grey-brown, fierce and strong, with their mouths open to show their yellow teeth from a dying snarl ; the other two were cubs.Lord Bolton ordered their hides to be sewn into a blanket and spread over his bed. "The pup's fur is soft, my lord," pointed out one of his men, "better make a pair of warm gloves." Bolton glanced up at the banner flying on the gatehouse. "Well, as the Starks always remind us: winter is coming. So do it." Seeing Arya looking at him, he said, "Nah Na, I've got a bit of a chill in the woods, and a jug of warm mulled wine to keep it from cooling. I'm going to supper alone. Barley bread, butter, and wild boar." "I'll do it right away, my lord." That's always the best answer. In the kitchen, Hot Pie was making oatcakes, the other three cooks were boning fish, and the stoker boy was turning boar over the flames. "My lord wants dinner, with warm mulled wine," Arya announced, "not to be left cold." After hearing this, a cook hurriedly washed his hands, took out a saucepan, filled it with viscous, fragrant red wine, and called hot pie While looking at the fire, he crushed the spices and added them.Arya went to help. "I'll do it myself," he said grimly. "You don't need to teach this little thing." He hates me, or is afraid of me.She backed away, sad and more annoyed.When the food was ready, the cooks closed the silver covers and wrapped the flagon jugs with thick towels to keep them warm.As dusk fell, the crows on the city wall whispered around their heads, as if the civil and military officials of the Manchu Dynasty had an audience with the king.A guard stood guard at the entrance of the Burning King Tower, "Isn't this weasel soup?" He joked. Roose Bolton was reading a thick leather-bound book by the fire. "Light some more candles," he ordered while turning the pages of the book, "It's getting darker." She placed the tray by his hand, and obeyed, lighting the candles, and in an instant the room was filled with flickering light and the smell of lilacs.Bolton flipped through a few more pages between his fingers, then closed the book, and slowly put the book into the fire.His pale eyes glistened as he watched the flames consume it.The dry old leather caught fire with a whoosh, and the yellowed pages were rolled up one by one, as if a ghost was reading. "I don't need you tonight," he said without looking at her. She should have slipped away like a mouse, but somehow she stayed. "My lord," she began, "will you take me with you when you leave Harrenhal?" He turned to stare at her, as if he had suddenly realized that dinner was talking to him. "Am I allowed to ask you a question, Nana?" "No, my lord." She lowered her eyes. "Then you shouldn't ask, should you?" "No, my lord." He seemed interested. "If you are a first-time offender, I will answer once. When I return to the north, I intend to hand over Harrenhal to Lord Wag. You stay with him." "But I do not--" He interrupted her, "I'm not used to being questioned by servants, Nana, do you want me to pull out your tongue?" She knew that this kind of thing was as common to him as beating a dog. "No, my lord." "Then keep your mouth shut." "Yes, my lord." "Go ahead, I forgive you for being rude this time." Arya left, but did not go back to sleep. She walked out of the Burning King Tower and stepped into the dark courtyard. The guard at the door nodded and said, "Did you smell it? A storm is coming." The torches around the heads flickered rapidly.On the way to the godswood, past the Wailing Tower, where she had lived in fear of Weese.When Harrenhal had fallen and the Freys had taken it, she heard many angry voices from one window, a crowd shouting and discussing a quarrel at the same time.Alma sat alone on the outside steps. "What's going on?" Arya asked, tears streaming down his cheeks. "My princess," he sobbed, "Aenys says we are dishonored. My lord father sent a bird from the Twins and told me to marry someone else or become a monk." Just because of a stupid princess, she thought, there is nothing to cry about. "My brother may be dead," she confided to him. Alma gave her a contemptuous look, "Who cares about the maid's brother?" To hear him say that, it's hard not to punch him. "Die your princess!" she yelled, and flew away before he could catch her.She ran into the godswood, found the broomsword where it was, took it, and knelt before the heart tree.The red leaves rustled, and the red eyes pierced through the heart. These were the eyes of ancient gods. "Gods, please tell me what to do," she begged.For a long time, there was silence, only the sound of wind, water and whirling branches and leaves.Then, from far away, from beyond the godswood, from beyond the haunted towers, from beyond the great stone walls of Harrenhal, from somewhere in the world, came a lone, drawn-out howl.Arya got goosebumps and was dizzy for a moment.Then, she vaguely heard her father's voice, "When the snow falls and the cold wind blows, the lone wolf dies, and the pack lives," he said. "But I can't find company," she whispered to the weirwood.Bran and Rickon are dead, Sansa is in the hands of the Lannisters, and Jon has gone to the Wall. "I'm not even myself, I'm Nana." "You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the North. You promised me to be strong. Don't forget, you have the blood of a wolf in your veins." "Wolf's blood," Arya remembered. "I said I'd be as strong as Robb." She took a deep breath, then raised her broomstick with both hands and banged it on her knees.It snapped loudly, and she threw the pieces away.I'm a direwolf and don't need wooden teeth. That night, as she lay on her narrow bed of straw waiting for the moon to rise, she listened to the whispers and arguments of the living and the dead.It was the only voice she believed in now.In her ears not only her own breathing, but also the howling of wolves, they were already in packs.They are closer than I heard them in the godswood, she thought. They are calling to me. Finally, she slipped out from under the covers, fumbled for her coat, and went down the stairs barefoot.Roose Bolton was a cautious person. The gate of the Burning King Tower was guarded day and night, so she had to slip out through the narrow window in the cellar.The courtyard was silent, and the great castle fell into a haunted dream, except for the cold wind howling overhead from the Wailing Tower. She found that the fire in the blacksmith's room was out and the door was closed and bolted, so she opened the window and went in as before.Gendry slept with two other apprentice blacksmiths.She crouched in the attic for a long time, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and she was sure he was the one on the side.She put one hand over his mouth and gave him a pinch.He opened his eyes immediately, he must not be asleep. "Please," she whispered, taking her hand from his mouth and pointing out. For a moment she thought he didn't understand, but then he slipped out from under the covers, crossed the room naked, put on a baggy dungaree jacket, and crawled down the attic after her.The sleeping people did not move. "What are you doing again?" Gendry asked in a low voice, exasperated. "I want a sword." "I've told you a hundred times that Black Thumb locks all swords. Lord Leech asked you to come get them?" "I want it myself. Break the lock with your hammer." "They'll cut off my hands," he grumbled, "or worse." "It won't work if you run away with me." "Escape? They'll kill you." "It's worse to stay. Lord Bolton told me to hand Harrenhal to the Mummers himself." Gendry brushed the black hair from his eyes, "So what?" She looked him straight in the face bravely. "Once Vargo Hutt becomes castellan, he will cut off the feet of all the servants in the city to prevent them from escaping. The same goes for the blacksmith." "It's just a story to scare children," he said dismissively. "No, it's true, I heard Master Wag said so himself," she lied. "Everybody's going to have a foot chopped off by him. It's the left, it seems. Go to the kitchen and wake up Hot Pie - he'll listen to you - and get him some bread or oatcakes or something. You're holding the sword anyway, I'm Lead the horse, and finally meet at the door next to the east wall behind the ghost tower. Few people come in and out there." "I know there, but it is guarded like other doors." "So what? Well, don't forget the sword!" "I didn't say I would come." "Fine. But if you're coming, won't you forget your sword?" He frowned. "No," he said at last, "I don't think so." Arya returned the same way back to the Kingburner Tower, listening for footsteps as she crept up the winding stairs.In her little room, she undresses and dresses carefully.She put on two layers of underwear, a pair of warm stockings, and her cleanest coat—a Bolton uniform with the flayer of the Dreadfort stitched on the chest.Then she laced up her shoes, and draped a woolen cloak over her thin shoulders, knotting it at her throat.Quiet as a shadow, she went downstairs again, stopping at the door of the lord's study halfway to listen.There is only silence.So she slowly opened the door. The parchment map was on the table, next to Lord Bolton's leftovers from his supper.She rolled it tightly and inserted it into her belt.In case Gendry didn't dare to come, she also took the dagger that your lord left on the table. Then she slipped into the dark stable, and a horse neighed low.The grooms were all asleep, and she woke one up with her toe, and the other party sat up crookedly, "Uh? What are you doing?" "Lord Bolton wants three horses, saddled and bribed." The boy stood up, patted the straw in his hair, "What? Now? You... want a horse?" He winked at the family crest on her coat. "In the middle of the night, what does he want the horse for?" "Lord Bolton is not in the habit of being questioned by servants." She crossed her arms. The stable boy stared at the flayer, knowing what that meant. "You want...three horses?" "One, two, three. Hunting horses, steady and fast." Arya helped him prepare the bridle and saddle, so as not to alarm the others.She hoped that he would not be implicated in the future, but she knew in her heart that it would be difficult. Leading the horse across town was the hardest part.Whenever possible, she hid in shadows within the walls, so that the walking guards on the ramparts had to look straight down to spot her.So what do they find out?I'm your lord's valet.It was a cold, damp autumn night, with dark clouds blowing from the west that hid the stars, and every gust of wind made the Wailing Tower wail horribly.It smells like it's going to rain.Arya didn't know whether this would be a good or bad for their escape. No one saw her, and she saw no one, except a gray and white cat slinking along the walls of the godswood.It stopped to spit at her, and for a moment it brought back memories of the Red Keep, her father, and Syrio Forel. "I could catch you if I wanted to," she whispered to it, "but I have to go, cat." The cat hissed and ran away. The Spooky Tower was the most damaged of the five towers at Harrenhal.It stood grimly and forlornly behind a ruined church--for nearly three hundred years only mice had come to pray there.There she was waiting for Gendry and Hot Pie.For what seemed like an eternity, the horses ate the weeds among the gravel, and the clouds swallowed the last star.Bored, Arya took out her dagger and sharpened it.Rub long and steady, the way Syrio taught her.The sound calmed her. Before they arrived, she heard their voices from afar.Hot Pie was breathing heavily, and stumbled in the dark, scratching the skin of his calf, and cursed so loudly that he nearly woke half of Harrenhal.Gendry was quieter, but the swords he carried clashed and clanged as he moved. "Here I am." She stood up. "Be quiet or they'll hear you." The boys picked their way toward her among the rubble.Gendry wore well-oiled mail under his cloak, and slung a blacksmith's hammer.Hot Pie's round, flushed face loomed under the hood, and he dangled a bag of bread in his right hand and a large wheel of cheese under his left arm. "There's a guard at the side gate," Gendry said quietly. "I told you there would be a guard." "You stay and watch the horses," Arya said. "I'll take care of it. Follow the signal." Gendry nodded.Hot Pie said, "Just be like an owl, and we'll come over." "I am not an owl," said Arya, "I am a wolf. I can howl." She walked alone through the shadows of the Ghost Tower, walking quickly to fight against the fear in her heart, imagining that Syrio Forel, Yoren, Jaqen H'ghar, and Jon Snow were beside her.She didn't have the sword Gendry gave her, and she didn't need it yet.A sharp, sharp dagger would be more appropriate.The side door on the east wall is the smallest entrance to Harrenhal. It is very narrow, with thick oak boards inlaid with iron nails, and it is at an oblique angle to the city wall. It is located under the defensive tower.There's only one guard by the door, but there must be more in the tower, and many more patrolling the walls.No matter what happens, it is as quiet as a shadow.Can't make him speak.Sporadic raindrops began to fall, and one drop fell on the tip of the brow and slowly trickled down the nose. Instead of hiding, she went straight to the guards, pretending to be sent by Lord Bolton.He watched her approach, very curious why a servant came to him in the dark night.At last she found him a tall, thin northerner, wrapped in a tattered fur cloak.Really bad.She might be able to outwit the Freys or the Brave Company, but the men of the Dreadfort had followed Roose Bolton all their lives and knew him better than she did.If I told him I was Arya Stark and ordered him to move... no, she wouldn't dare.He was from the north, but not from Winterfell.He was under Roose Bolton. So she went up to him and opened her cloak, revealing the flayed man on her chest. "Lord Bolton sent me." "At this time? What to do?" She saw the glint of steel under the leather cloak, but wondered if she was strong enough to drive the point of a dagger through mail.Throat, the throat must be pierced, but he is too high, I can't reach it!片刻之间，她不知如何是好；片刻之间，她又成了受惊的小女孩。雨水聚在脸上，感觉像是眼泪。 “他要我发给每个卫兵一枚银币，以示嘉奖。”这句话也不知打哪儿冒出来的。 “你说……银币？”他并不相信她，但心里渴望相信，毕竟银币就是银币。“拿过来吧。” 她把手伸进外衣，掏出贾昆给的硬币。黑暗中，钢铁可以冒充褪色的银子。她递出去……并让它从指间滑落。 那人低声骂了一句，蹲下来在泥地中摸索，脖子凑到她眼前。艾莉亚拔出匕首，划破喉咙，动作流利得像夏日的丝绸。热血一下子涌出，喷满她的手。他想喊叫，却被血哽住。 “Valar morghulis。”他死去时，她轻声念。 当他不再动弹，她捡起了硬币。赫伦堡的高墙之外，传来一声悠长而响亮的狼嗥。她推起门闩，搁到一边，然后打开沉重的橡木门。等热派和詹德利牵马过来，雨势已大。“你杀了他！”热派倒抽一口气。 “当然！”手指上全是粘粘的血，气味令母马紧张不安。没关系，她一边想一边翻上马鞍，雨水会将它们冲得干干净净。