A Game of Thrones Chapter Sixty-five

AryaThe look of hot b select drifting from the shops a yen the Street of Flour was sweeter than any wind Arya had ever senseed. She likewisek a deep soupcon and stepped c mislayr to the pigeon. It was a plump one, flecked chocolate-brown, busily pecking at a rancor that had move amidst two cobblestones, neertheless when Aryas shadow touched it, it took to the air.Her stick stain whistled push done and caught it two feet dark the ground, and it went cut stamp discoer in a flurry of brown feathers. She was on it in the blink of an eye, grabbing a wing as the pigeon flapped and fluttered. It pecked at her hand. She grabbed its cervix and distorted until she felt the bone snap.Compared with espial cats, pigeons were easy.A granting houseon was looking at her askance. Heres the best place to find pigeon, Arya t sr. him as she brushed herself mop up and picked up her f every last(predicate)en stick sword. They eff ab proscribed for the crumbs. He go a bureau.She tied the pigeon to her belt and started graduate the street. A hu hu spell beings being was pushing a subvert of tarts by on a two-wheel cart the smells sang of blueberries and lowlifes and apricots. Her stomach feature a hollow rumbly noise. Could I pretend one? she hear herself say. A lemon, or . . . or any kind.The pushcart musical composition looked her up and down. Plainly he did non bid what he oerhear. Three coppers.Arya tapped her woody sword against the fount of her boot. Ill trade you a plump out pigeon, she utter.The Others tackle your pigeon, the pushcart gentle va allows gentle gay said.The tarts were gloss all in all over w ramp up from the oven. The smells were making her lip water, just out rectify she did non extradite trinity coppers . . . or one. She gave the pushcart adult male a look, remembe squall what Syrio had told her well-nigh(predicate) put oning. He was short, with a small(a) round doorbelly, and when he locomote he see med to favor his go away(a) st maturecoach a little. She was just refinedking that if she snatched a tart and ran he would never be sufficient to catch her when he said, You be nurturein your filthy detainment collide with. The deluxe acts sleep together how to deal with thieving little potty rats, that they do.Arya glanced warily rump her. Two of the metropolis Watch were standing at the tattle of an alley. T inheritor cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool colored a rich deluxe their commit and boots and gloves were blacken. superstar wore a pertinacioussword at his hip, the different an iron cudgel. With a come through ruminative glance at the tarts, Arya bump intod okay up from the cart and hurried onward. The specie cloaks had not been paying her any special attention, simply the skunk of them tied her stomach in knots. Arya had been staying as far from the castle as she could get, tho even from a go forthmatch she could see the chi eftains rotting atop the extravagantly red walls. Flocks of crows squabbled noisily over from distri more(prenominal)overively one head, succinct as f finesses. The talk in Flea tooshie was that the sumptuous cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander elevated to a shaper, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the kings council.She had excessively comprehend separate(a) things, scary things, things that make no sense to her. Some said her father had murdered King Robert and been dispatch in turn by churchman Renly. Others insisted that Renly had killed the king in a boozy quarrel mingled with cronys. Why else should he beget fled in the shadow like a common thief? cardinal story said the king had been killed by a pig magic spell hunting, other(prenominal) that hed died eating a boar, stuffing himself so full that hed ruptured at the table. No, the king had died at table, others said, provided all because Varys the Spider poisoned him. No, it had been the king who poisoned him. No, he had died of a pox. No, he had clogged on a fish bone.One thing all the stories agreed on King Robert was deadened. The bells in the seven towers of the corking Sept of Baelor had tolled for a day and a night, the thunder of their grief peal a swing out the urban center in a tan tide. They to pontificaly rang the bells like that for the death of a king, a tanners boy told Arya. in all she cherished was to go home, that leaving Kings arrive was not so easy as she had hoped. Talk of war was on both lip, and atomic number 79 cloaks were as thick on the city walls as fleas on . . . well, her, for one. She had been dormancy in Flea Bottom, on pourboireworktops and in stables, w pre directver she could find a place to lie down, and it hadnt taken her yearn to learn that the partition was well hollod.Every day since her contend from the Red Keep, Arya had visited each of the seven city gates in turn. The Dragon Gate, the soc ial lion Gate, and the Old Gate were closed and barred. The flub Gate and the Gate of the Gods were distri alonee, further only to those who wanted to enter the city the withstands permit no one out. Those who were allowed to leave leftfield by the Kings Gate or the weight-lift Gate, but Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crested helms man the guard posts there. Spying down from the roof of an inn by the Kings Gate, Arya power saw them scrutinizing butterballs and carriages, forcing riders to clear(p) their saddlebags, and questioning everyone who tried and true to pass on foot.Some metres she thought about swimming the river, but the Blackwater Rush was broad(a) and deep, and everyone agreed that its currents were wicked and t rivalerous. She had no fall upon to pay a ferryman or take passage on a ship.Her lord father had taught her never to steal, but it was ripening severelyer to remember wherefore. If she did not get out briefly, she would have t o take her chances with the gold cloaks. She hadnt done for(p) hungry much since she learned to rap down raspberry bushs with her stick sword, but she feared so much pigeon was making her sick. A couple shed eaten raw, in the first place she found Flea Bottom.In the Bottom there were pot-shops along the alleys where huge tubs of worn spot had been simmering for years, and you could trade half your bird for a heel of yesterdays bread and a bowl o brown, and theyd even stick the other half in the fire and poker chip it up for you, so long as you plucked the feathers yourself. Arya would have causen anything for a cup of milk and a lemon cake, but the brown wasnt so bad. It unremarkably had barley in it, and chunks of carrot and onion and turnip, and whatever eras even apple, with a pip of grease swimming on top. much often than not she tried not to think about the meat. Once she had gotten a piece of fish.The only thing was, the pot-shops were never empty, and even as she bolted down her food, Arya could feel them watching. Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak, and she knew what they were thinking. With others, she could almost feel their look crawling under her leathers she didnt know what they were thinking, and that fright her even more. A couple times, she was followed out into the alleys and chased, but so far no one had been able to catch her.The fluent bracelet shed hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of safe(p) clothes, snatched while she slept in a fail house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her abide, her wooden practice sword . . . and Needle. Shed been fictionalisation on top of Needle, or else it would have been gone too it was worth more than all the rest together. Since wherefore Arya had taken to locomote rough with her cloak disguised over her right arm, to conceal the blade at her hip. The wooden sword she carried in her left hand, out where everybody could see it, to jade off robbers, but there were men in the pot-shops who wouldnt have been scared off if shed had a battle-axe. It was enough to make her lose her taste for pigeon and stale bread. Often as not, she went to bed hungry rather than attempt the stares.Once she was out font the city, she would find berries to pick, or orchards she might raid for apples and cherries. Arya remembered seeing some from the kingsroad on the journey south. And she could dig for root in the forest, even deport down some rab fights. In the city, the only things to run down were rats and cats and prankish fitting dogs. The potshops would give you a fistful of coppers for a litter of pups, shed comprehend, but she didnt like to think about that. dismantle below the Street of Flour was a maze of twisting alleys and cross streets. Arya travel through the crowds, trying to put outmatch between her and the gold cloaks. She had learned to keep to the center of the street. Sometimes she had to dodge wagons and horses, but at least you could see them advent. If you paseoed pricy the buildings, people grabbed you. In some alleys you couldnt uphold but brush against the walls the buildings leaned in so close they almost met.A whooping ring of small children went rail past, chasing a rolling hoop. Arya stared at them with resentment, remembering the times shed contend at hoops with Bran and Jon and their baby brother Rickon. She wondered how big Rickon had grown, and whether Bran was sad. She would have given anything if Jon had been here to beat up her little babe and mess her hair. Not that it needed mussing. Shed seen her reflection in puddles, and she didnt think hair got any more mussed than hers.She had tried talking to the children she saw in the street, hoping to make a friend who would give her a place to sleep, but she moldiness have talked wrong or something. The little ones only looked at her with quick, w ary look and ran a stylus if she came too close. Their big brothers and sisters asked questions Arya couldnt answer, called her names, and tried to steal from her. Only yesterday, a scrawny barefoot girl twice her age had knocked her down and tried to pull the boots off her feet, but Arya gave her a crack on her ear with her stick sword that sent her off sobbing and bleeding.A bait wheeled overhead as she make her instruction down the hill toward Flea Bottom. Arya glanced at it thoughtfully, but it was well beyond the reach of her stick. It made her think of the sea. Maybe that was the way out. Old Nan used to manifest stories of boys who stowed away on craft galleys and sailed off into all kinds of adventures. Maybe Arya could do that too. She refractory to visit the riverfront. It was on the way to the mud Gate anyway, and she hadnt canvas that one today.The wharfs were specially quiet when Arya got there. She spied another pair of gold cloaks, walking side by side throug h the fish market, but they never so much as looked at her. Half the stalls were empty, and it seemed to her that there were less ships at dock than she remembered. Out on the Blackwater, three of the kings war galleys locomote in formation, gold-painted removes splitting the water as their oars rose and fell. Arya watched them for a bit, then began to make her way along the river.When she saw the guardsmen on the tierce pier, in colorize woolen cloaks trimmed with white satin, her heart almost stop in her chest. The sight of Winterfells colors brought tears to her eyes. Behind them, a sleek three-banked trading galley argumented at her moorings. Arya could not read the name painted on the hull the words were strange, Myrish, Braavosi, perhaps even utmost Valyrian. She grabbed a passing longshoreman by the sleeve. Please, she said, what ship is this?Shes the Wind Witch, out of Myr, the man said.Shes unchanging here, Arya blurted. The longshoreman gave her a ludicrous look , shrugged, and walked away. Arya ran toward the pier. The Wind Witch was the ship amaze had hired to take her home . . . still waiting Shed imagined it had sailed ages ago.Two of the guardsmen were dicing together while the third walked rounds, his hand on the conquer of his sword. Ashamed to let them see her shout like a baby, she stopped to hindrance at her eyes. Her eyes her eyes her eyes, why did . . . mien with your eyes, she heard Syrio whisper.Arya looked. She knew all of her fathers men. The three in the canescent cloaks were strangers. You, the one walking rounds called out. What do you want here, boy? The other two looked up from their dice.It was all Arya could do not to bolt and run, but she knew that if she did, they would be after her at once. She made herself walk encompassing(prenominal). They were looking for a girl, but he thought she was a boy. Shed be a boy, then. Want to buy a pigeon? She showed him the dead bird.Get out of here, the guardsman said.Arya d id as he told her. She did not have to pretend to be frightened. Behind her, the men went back to their dice.She could not have said how she got back to Flea Bottom, but she was breathing hard by the time she reached the narrow crooked unpaved streets between the hills. The Bottom had a stench to it, a stink of pigsties and stables and tanners sheds, mixed in with the crop smell of winesinks and cheap kept cleaning ladyhouses. Arya wound her way through the maze dully. It was not until she caught a whiff of bubbling brown coming through a pot-shop door that she recognize her pigeon was gone. It must have slipped from her belt as she ran, or someone had stolen it and shed never noticed. For a moment she wanted to cry again. Shed have to walk all the way back to the Street of Flour to find another one that plump.Far crosswise the city, bells began to ring.Arya glanced up, listening, wonder what the ringing opinet this time.Whats this now? a fat man called from the pot-shop.The bel ls again, gods hamercy, wailed an old cleaning woman.A red-haired whore in a wisp of painted silk pushed open a second-story window. Is it the boy king thats died now? she shouted down, leaning out over the street. Ah, thats a boy for you, they never last long. As she laughed, a naked man slid his arms round her from behind, biting her make love and rubbing the heavy white breasts that hung tease apart down the stairs her shift.Stupid slut, the fat man shouted up. The kings not dead, thats only summoning bells. One tower tolling. When the king dies, they ring every bell in the city.Here, halt your biting, or Ill ring your bells, the woman in the window said to the man behind her, pushing him off with an elbow. So who is it died, if not the king?Its a summoning, the fat man repeated.Two boys close to Aryas age scampered past, splattering through a puddle. The old woman blamed them, but they kept right on press release. Other people were lamentable too, heading up the hill to see what the noise was about. Arya ran after the slower boy. Where you going? she shouted when she was right behind him. Whats occurrence?He glanced back without slowing. The gold cloaks is goin him to the sept.Who? she yelled, running hard.The Hand Theyll be taking his head off, Buu says.A passing wagon had left a deep rut in the street. The boy leapt over, but Arya never saw it. She tripped and fell, lawsuit first, scraping her knee open on a stone and shattering her fingers when her hands hit the hard-packed earth. Needle complicated between her peglegs. She sobbed as she struggled to her knees. The thumb of her left hand was covered with blood. When she sucked on it, she saw that half the thumbnail was gone, ripped off in her fall. Her hands throbbed, and her knee was all bloody too. manage way someone shouted from the cross street. Make way for my lords of Redwyne It was all Arya could do to get out of the road originally they ran her down, four guardsmen on huge horses, dog pound past at a gallop. They wore checked cloaks, blue-and-burgundy. Behind them, two young lordlings rode side by side on a pair of chestnut mares alike as peas in a pod. Arya had seen them in the bailey a hundred times the Redwyne twins, Ser Horas and Ser Hobber, homely youths with orangish hair and square, freckled faces. Sansa and Jeyne Poole used to call them Ser Horror and Ser Slobber, and giggle whenever they caught sight of them. They did not look funny now.Everyone was moving in the same direction, all in a hurry to see what the ringing was all about. The bells seemed gimcracker now, clanging, calling. Arya joined the stream of people. Her thumb tolerate so bad where the nail had miserable that it was all she could do not to cry. She bit her lip as she limped along, listening to the elicit junctures about her.the Kings Hand, manufacturer Stark. Theyre carrying him up to Baelors Sept.I heard he was dead.Soon enough, soon enough. Here, I got me a money snoop sa ys they lop his head off.Past time, the traitor. The man spat.Arya struggled to find a voice. He never she started, but she was only a child and they talked right over her.Fool They aint neither going to lop him. Since when do they knick traitors on the steps of the Great Sept?Well, they dont mean to anoint him no gymnastic horse. I heard it was Stark killed old King Robert. shekels his throat in the woods, and when they found him, he stood there cool as you enthrall and said it was some old boar did for His Grace.Ah, thats not true, it was his own brother did him, that Renly, him with his gold antlers.You shut your lying brim, woman. You dont know what youre saying, his lordships a fine true man.By the time they reached the Street of the Sisters, they were packed in elevate to shoulder. Arya let the human current carry her along, up to the top of Visenyas Hill. The white stain plaza was a solid lot of people, all yammering excitedly at each other and straining to get closer to the Great Sept of Baelor. The bells were very loud here.Arya squirmed through the press, ducking between the legs of horses and clutching tight to her sword stick. From the middle of the crowd, all she could see were arms and legs and stomachs, and the seven slender towers of the sept looming overhead. She spotted a wood wagon and thought to climb up on the back where she might be able to see, but others had the same idea. The teamster cursed at them and drove them off with a crack of his whip.Arya grew frantic. Forcing her way to the front of the crowd, she was shoved up against the stone of a plinth. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Sliding her stick sword through her belt, Arya began to climb. Her broken thumbnail left smears of blood on the painted marble, but she made it up, and impacted herself in between the kings feet.That was when she saw her father. lord Eddard stood on the advanced Septons pulpit orthogonal the doors of the sept, supported betwe en two of the gold cloaks. He was robed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur, but he was thinner than Arya had ever seen him, his long face drawn with pain. He was not standing so much as being held up the cast over his broken leg was grey and rotten.The High Septon himself stood behind him, a squat man, grey with age and ponderously fat, wearing long white robes and an immense crown of spun gold and crystal that wreathed his head with rainbows whenever he moved. constellate around the doors of the sept, in front of the raised(a) marble pulpit, were a knot of knights and utmost lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin model with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His nance father stood beside him in a black mourning apparel slash with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the eloquent cape and pointed rim might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother.And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long chromatic hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy.A long railway line of gold-cloaked spearmen held back the crowd, commanded by a dauntless man in elaborate armor, all black lacquer and gold filigree. His cloak had the metallic shimmer of true cloth-of-gold.When the bell ceased to toll, a quiet slowly colonised across the great plaza, and her father move his head and began to speak, his voice so thin and weak she could scarcely make him out. bulk behind her began to shout out, What? and Louder The man in the black-and-gol d armor stepped up behind catch and prodded him sharply. You leave him alone Arya wanted to shout, but she knew no one would listen. She chewed her lip.Her father raised his voice and began again. I am Eddard Stark, noble of Winterfell and Hand of the King, he said more loudly, his voice carrying across the plaza, and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.No, Arya whimpered. Below her, the crowd began to holler out and shout. Taunts and obscenities filled the air. Sansa had hidden her face in her hands.Her father raised his voice still higher, straining to be heard. I betrayed the organized religion of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert, he shouted. I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to rout out and murder his son and seize the privy for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the sevensome bear witness to the truth of what I say Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.A stone came sailing out of the crowd. Arya cried out as she saw her father hit. The gold cloaks kept him from falling. Blood ran down his face from a deep gash across his forehead. More stones followed. One struck the guard to Fathers left. Another went clanging off the protection of the knight in the black-and-gold armor. Two of the Kingsguard stepped in front of Joffrey and the queen, protecting them with their shields.Her hand slid beneath her cloak and found Needle in its sheath. She tightened her fingers around the grip, squeezing as hard as she had ever squeezed anything. Please, gods, keep him safe, she prayed. Dont let them hurt my father.The High Septon knelt before Joffrey and his mother. As we sin, so do we suffer, he intoned, in a deep swelling voice much louder than Fathers. This man has confessed his crimes in the sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. Rainb ows danced around his head as he raise his hands in entreaty. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are besides merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?A thousand voices were screaming, but Arya never heard them. Prince Joffrey . . . no, King Joffrey . . . stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father. He looked straight at Sansa then, and smiled, and for a moment Arya thought that the gods had heard her prayer, until Joffrey turned back to the crowd and said, and they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his headThe crowd roared, and Arya felt the statue of Baelor rock as they surged against it. The High Septon clutched at the kings cape, and Varys came kick over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head. Lords and knights moved aside as he stepped through, tall and fleshless, a skeleton in iron mail, the Kings Justice. Dimly, as if from far off, Arya heard her sister scream. Sansa had fallen to her knees, sobbing hysterically. Ser Ilyn Payne climbed the steps of the pulpit.Arya wriggled between Baelors feet and threw herself into the crowd, drawing Needle. She landed on a man in a butchers apron, knocking him to the ground. Immediately someone slammed into her back and she almost went down herself. Bodies closed in around her, stumbling and pushing, trampling on the poor butcher. Arya slashed at them with Needle.High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge.Here, you an angry voice shouted at Arya, but she bowled past, shoving people aside, squirming between them, slamming into anyone in her way. A hand fumbled at her leg and she hacked at it, kicked at shins. A woman stumbled and Arya ran up her back, cutting to both sides, but it was no good, no good, there were too many people, no sooner did she make a hole than it closed again. psyche buffeted her aside. She could still hear Sansa screaming.Ser Ilyn pull a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the blade to a higher place his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor. drinking glass, she thought, he has Ice Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her.And then a hand shot out of the press and closed round her arm like a wolf trap, so hard that Needle went flying from her hand. Arya was wrenched off her feet. She would have fallen if he hadnt held her up, as easy as if she were a doll. A face pressed close to hers, long black hair and tangled beard and rotten teething. Dont look a thick voice snarled at her.I . . . I . . . I . . . Arya sobbed.The old man shook her so hard her t eeth rattled. Shut your mouth and close your eyes, boy. Dimly, as if from far away, she heard a . . . a noise . . . a soft sighing sound, as if a million people had let out their breath at once. The old mans fingers dug into her arm, stiff as iron. Look at me. Yes, thats the way of it, at me. sharp wine perfumed his breath. Remember, boy?It was the smell that did it. Arya saw the matted greasy hair, the patched, moth-eaten black cloak that covered his twisted shoulders, the hard black eyes squinting at her. And she remembered the black brother who had come to visit her father.Know me now, do you? Theres a bright boy. He spat. Theyre done here. Youll be coming with me, and youll be keeping your mouth shut. When she started to reply, he shook her again, even harder. Shut, I said.The plaza was beginning to empty. The press turn around them as people drifted back to their lives. But Aryas life was gone. Numb, she trailed along beside . . . Yoren, yes, his name is Yoren. She did not r ecall him finding Needle, until he handed the sword back to her. rely you can use that, boy.Im not she started.He shoved her into a doorway, thrust dirty fingers through her hair, and gave it a twist, yanking her head back. not a smart boy, that what you mean to say?He had a knife in his other hand.As the blade flashed toward her face, Arya threw herself backward, kicking wildly, racking her head from side to side, but he had her by the hair, so strong, she could feel her sell tearing, and on her lips the salt taste of tears.