Arya froze. The guards on the storehouse where they'd taken Gendry remained in place but others were pointing towards her. For two heartbeats she thought she'd been spotted, then realised they were pointing to a strange figure rounding the brambles. She froze, not wanting to draw their eye by moving. The figure walked forward, into her view In the afternoon light she could see that it was a woman, holding one hand to her cheek and muttering to herself.
Even from behind she could tell that the woman was young, with a messy mop of brown hair. She was clad only in a short jerkin and tight britches, the only concession to modesty a length of cloth draped loose around her hips. And she'd walked towards the armed men in the village with a blind confidence that astonished Arya. The idiot seemed to think she was in one of Sansa's stupid stories.
“Another wrecked village. You guys hunting whatever did it?”
The men didn't bother to answer, beyond obscene descriptions of their plans for the woman. Two of them approached, towering over the short woman who'd casually wandered into a village of armed killers. They reached to grab her, but others kept a watch out. Arya could only hope they didn't spot her.
“Oi. Hands off, jerks.” Somehow the woman had grabbed the wrists of the two men and shoved them back.
Arya could see the angry snarl on the face of one one of the men under the shade of his helmet, until his vicious backhand had been pre-empted by a shove that had left him on his back several feet away.
The men's laughter and obscene suggestions faded away as they armed themselves. Soon the lone woman was facing some twenty armed men.
“Sounds like you're a bunch of scuzzy bandits. I guess it's you who've been attacking the villages around here.” Arya could see metal gauntlets on her hands that hadn't been there before, which rang as she clashed them together in front of her. “In that case, I'm bored and angry, so bring. it. on.”
Arya had seen things that had shaken her to her core before. She had felt like she was looking through a transparent wall as if the world had turned on its side and “this can't be real” before. So when the woman jumped nine feet in the air and a kick had unleashed a burst of yellow light that tore into the ground and scattered grown men like a thrown ball had scattered Bran's wooden knights, for a moment she could feel the square outside Baelor's sept under her feet.
Landing among the shocked men she lashed out with wide sweeping blows that hurled men to lie broken on the ground. For a moment Arya remembered Syrio's precise movements and disdain for wide flashy blows, but this demon woman had strength and speed enough that she could fight like this. A bearded man was thrown into a hut wall here, a crossbow bolt was batted out of the air there. In a matter of moments there was nothing moving, the armed men cowering or fallen.
It was then that the door of the largest village house burst open and a gigantic armoured figure stepped out.
“So trash enough mooks and the boss appears. So Mr. Bandit Chief, are you going to fight or make a speech?” The woman looked over at the gibbet. “I'm not in the mood for talky rationalisations right now.”
The huge armoured figure charged. A massive sword swung down. And the woman deflected it with one armoured fist. She stepped forward and, with a noise like a blacksmith's hammer, drove a series of punches into the breastplate and jumped back to avoid the backswing.
“You are already dead.” and she laughed and stepped forward again. However the next swing of the massive sword was a feint and the giant figure grabbed one thin arm and threw the woman in the air. With both hands on the sword he chopped into her bare midriff and sent her body flying into the wall of a hut. And Arya recognised the crest on his surcoat. The night of the tourney at King's Landing, all the knights had hung their shields outside their pavilions. “That one belongs to the Hound's brother,” Sansa had confided when they passed the black dogs on the yellow field. “He's even bigger than Hodor, you'll see. They call him the Mountain That Rides.”
And the woman stood up. The edge of a sword, driven by the brute strength of he Mountain That Rides had . . . left a welt on her bare skin. A few drops of blood could be seen, but that was all. She nodded toward her opponent.
The Mountain had obviously recovered from the shocking impossibility faster than Arya and charged the outlandish demon woman. And she disappeared into thin air. A load bang from behind the huge knight revealed her location as an inhuman punch knocked him forward. Then she was at his left, his right . . . and the mountain crumbled.
Even from behind she could tell that the woman was young, with a messy mop of brown hair. She was clad only in a short jerkin and tight britches, the only concession to modesty a length of cloth draped loose around her hips. And she'd walked towards the armed men in the village with a blind confidence that astonished Arya. The idiot seemed to think she was in one of Sansa's stupid stories.
“Another wrecked village. You guys hunting whatever did it?”
The men didn't bother to answer, beyond obscene descriptions of their plans for the woman. Two of them approached, towering over the short woman who'd casually wandered into a village of armed killers. They reached to grab her, but others kept a watch out. Arya could only hope they didn't spot her.
“Oi. Hands off, jerks.” Somehow the woman had grabbed the wrists of the two men and shoved them back.
Arya could see the angry snarl on the face of one one of the men under the shade of his helmet, until his vicious backhand had been pre-empted by a shove that had left him on his back several feet away.
The men's laughter and obscene suggestions faded away as they armed themselves. Soon the lone woman was facing some twenty armed men.
“Sounds like you're a bunch of scuzzy bandits. I guess it's you who've been attacking the villages around here.” Arya could see metal gauntlets on her hands that hadn't been there before, which rang as she clashed them together in front of her. “In that case, I'm bored and angry, so bring. it. on.”
Arya had seen things that had shaken her to her core before. She had felt like she was looking through a transparent wall as if the world had turned on its side and “this can't be real” before. So when the woman jumped nine feet in the air and a kick had unleashed a burst of yellow light that tore into the ground and scattered grown men like a thrown ball had scattered Bran's wooden knights, for a moment she could feel the square outside Baelor's sept under her feet.
Landing among the shocked men she lashed out with wide sweeping blows that hurled men to lie broken on the ground. For a moment Arya remembered Syrio's precise movements and disdain for wide flashy blows, but this demon woman had strength and speed enough that she could fight like this. A bearded man was thrown into a hut wall here, a crossbow bolt was batted out of the air there. In a matter of moments there was nothing moving, the armed men cowering or fallen.
It was then that the door of the largest village house burst open and a gigantic armoured figure stepped out.
“So trash enough mooks and the boss appears. So Mr. Bandit Chief, are you going to fight or make a speech?” The woman looked over at the gibbet. “I'm not in the mood for talky rationalisations right now.”
The huge armoured figure charged. A massive sword swung down. And the woman deflected it with one armoured fist. She stepped forward and, with a noise like a blacksmith's hammer, drove a series of punches into the breastplate and jumped back to avoid the backswing.
“You are already dead.” and she laughed and stepped forward again. However the next swing of the massive sword was a feint and the giant figure grabbed one thin arm and threw the woman in the air. With both hands on the sword he chopped into her bare midriff and sent her body flying into the wall of a hut. And Arya recognised the crest on his surcoat. The night of the tourney at King's Landing, all the knights had hung their shields outside their pavilions. “That one belongs to the Hound's brother,” Sansa had confided when they passed the black dogs on the yellow field. “He's even bigger than Hodor, you'll see. They call him the Mountain That Rides.”
And the woman stood up. The edge of a sword, driven by the brute strength of he Mountain That Rides had . . . left a welt on her bare skin. A few drops of blood could be seen, but that was all. She nodded toward her opponent.
The Mountain had obviously recovered from the shocking impossibility faster than Arya and charged the outlandish demon woman. And she disappeared into thin air. A load bang from behind the huge knight revealed her location as an inhuman punch knocked him forward. Then she was at his left, his right . . . and the mountain crumbled.
![[+]](/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler