The Hollow of Harrenhall [IC]

A bed. The prospect of something warm and feather soft instead of the cold hard ground of Harrenhall.  Even the thought, just the name put her on edge and she froze atop her horse.  The names rattled off in her head, each and every one, and then those she lost.  Every man she wanted to kill, every man on her list, she would find them.  It pained her to know that even simple thoughts like that put her in a fit of fear.

"A'ye...a bed." She murmured first off. "I'm enjoying the road, but it's not the same without Nymeria.  I remember looking for rubies, not marching in a war."

It was meant to be a joke, from a time she really thought she'd find Rhaegar's rubies in the stream, but that was from another time.  The road felt far lonelier with the thousands of soldiers without the company of her direwolf, even her sister would've brought some conversation.  Even if she was the prim sort.  Arya wasn't saying Jon was bad company, she just felt off around everyone.  She couldn't say her own name, Robb was too busy with war plans, and no one had any love for Jon.  He was a deserter, and it wasn't fair.

"What's it like?" She interjected. "Up North at the Wall?"

She was suddenly more interested about hearing stories of the monstrous block of ice which guarded all of Westeros from the horrors above.  Even if there were no white walkers from the stories of old, or dragons sleeping beneath the snow.  What kind of men did he meet?  If they were cowards or strong like their father, what kind of life he held there.  From what Arya had heard he was a deserter, but that didn't do justice to what he'd done in his time there among his new Brothers.

She wanted to hear it from his mouth.

She hated to think about it, too. Had Jon never found her in the depths of Harrenhall it was very likely the Northern soldiers would've mistaken her for a crazed defector. She looked like a boy, Gods with her hair cut so short, and the mud on her body concealed any feminine features about her. The horror set in as to what her fate might have been. Had they discovered she was a girl, it would have only been worse. No one knew of her Stark blood, and she would've been nothing more than a peasant girl by the looks of it. Rapers were common enough, even in the most honorable armies.

"I want to see the wall." Arya stated. "Someday."

For a moment they rode in silence. She hated the way the other men looked at her brother. They'd never know the shame it was to be born a bastard in the first place. It had never mattered much to her. Jon was Jon, a brother the same as Robb. He may not have been considered such in the eyes of other noble men and women, but to Arya they were as close as blood got.

"Would you take me?" She asked.

They'd fallen to the back of the line in their slow conversation, and for once she didn't mind.  Normally it was Arya who raced ahead to get a glimpse at the coming road.  She was intent on reconnecting with her brother.  The time in Harrenhall had done much harm to her well being, and distracting herself from the dark was the best thing she could do.  Was it wrong of her to pretend everything was alright?  To speak about the Wall, yet be unable to imagine the horrors he faced while she roamed Westeros in hiding?

"Even if you did leave, you came here to defend your brother.  I think that's more honorable than standin' on a wall of ice." She muttered.  A few heads turned her way as she spoke, and she shot them dirty looks in response. "I don't like the way they look at you."

Arya frowned hard. The Old Gods wouldn't permit Robb to kill Jon, but they also would've had it so deserters from the Wall were to be killed anyways. It put her brother in a hard place, and she would've rather not had to deal with the situation (gladly she didn't), but it still put her in a difficult place watching all the hate funneled in his direction.  It wasn't fair, she thought, that either of her brothers had to be subjected to such hatred.

"I'm sane!" Arya blurted.  A few men turned their way at her exclamation.  She stared them down hard, shouting towards the group in front of her. "What're you lookin' at?"

One by one the men turned to face forward once more, leaving Arya fuming with irritation.  Sanity.  Who was anyone to question her sanity?  On the one hand she felt perfectly fine, normal being back with her family and moving on with the army.  On the other hand, the nights in Harrenhall haunted her.  She knew this, but when questioned outright all she could do was deny the accusation.  Arya was by no means sane, by no means comfortable with the horrors she witnessed.  She simply wasn't ready to admit to it.  Not yet.

"Is mother, er, Catelyn coming to meet us?  This is where she's from." She shifted the conversation elsewhere, but realized it might be a sensitive topic too late.  Not only was Jon a bastard, but now he'd defected from the Wall.  If there was any more shame he could've brought to his father's wife, it was that action. "What're we even doing here?  War is boring."

She laid back on her horse with her arms spread out on either side.  There'd not been a single battle since she'd joined the entourage, and it was boring to witness.  She wanted to see a real fight between the armies, see some actual progress.  Although...maybe she didn't, maybe it would have been best for her to stay away from the violence. 

Arya reached up her hands to hide from the volley of arrows, as if such pale skin could deflect any sword blow which would come her way. As arrows found their targets, she found herself lucky to escape with a single shaft sliding thickly through her arm. The end stuck, and she screamed for Jon. He, too, was out of commission, begging her to run.

She flew.

"Jon? You're bleeding, you're-" Arya whirled her head around to find Jon slumped over on her horse.  It cried out beneath her, the added weight was a shock to the animal, but it didn't threaten to throw them at least.

It was then she was a coward.  Arya talked big, about how she'd stick her enemies through, she had a whole list of people she aimed to kill.  Yet, there she was, crying in pain with her bastard brother at her side as they fled the scene.  It was only a troop of bandits.  An army would be enough to skewer them quickly enough but her nerves just couldn't talk it.

Arya had never thought herself a coward until that very moment.  Harrenhall had taken its toll on her.  She didn't think about raising Needle in defense or going forward through the lines to make an attack of her own.  She simply trudged on, gripping hard to Jon and his blackened leather armor.  Useless.  That's how she felt, useless.  The air was thick in the heat of battle, her horse moved swiftly through the crowd of swords and men.  Then there was Arya and the bastard, no one knew who she was, and no one would if they didn't escape.

"Where do I go?" She screeched, eyes wide with fear in the raging battle.  Harrenhall would never leave her.  It was always there, the anger of men was always the same in the deepest depths of their hearts, they wanted war, she'd seen it in the eyes of the Hound and she saw it in the eyes of the men around her. "Jon?"

A bandit in front of them swung his sword hard in Arya and Jon's direction, she paled watching it come closer, knowing there was little she could do.  Men wanted what they wanted.  Murder and women, a blood lust insatiable without the coming of war.