CHAPTER 42 | THE LONG WALK

FREYA slept for a long while. She woke up in the carriage, her head throbbing from sitting on the wood. She pushed the mountain of covers off, her eyes squinting from the light. Their horse was stopped, and when she looked to the right, she saw the Hound and Arya Stark sitting by a small fire.

She carefully jumped down from the carriage, her bones continuously aching. Freya didn't know if it was from her uncomfortable sleeping arrangement or the memory of what happened last night. She wanted to believe that it had all been a dream, but that would be denying her reality. Robb was dead. Catelyn was dead. Everyone was dead.

She had been so fucking lucky to find Arya at the time she did, or else she would've been raped and killed. But, if she were being honest, Freya didn't exactly mind the inevitability of her own demise at the moment. She almost wished for it, because what else was she living for now?

Freya walked over to the duo, trying to stretch out her arms. Sandor looked up at her, grumbling, "Gods, I thought you'd never get up."

She tried rubbing the dirt from her forehead, but to no avail. She sniffled loudly. "Where are we?"

"The Riverlands," Sandor answered gruffly.

Arya played with her fingers before staring up at Freya. "What ... what did you see last night?"

"Everything you saw," Freya answered bluntly. She hesitated then. "I ... I don't know. It can be hard to pay attention to things when everyone is trying to kill you."

"You got out of there, didn't you?" Sandor seethed.

Freya sent him a glare.

"Why did it start?" Arya blabbered on, almost in anxious stammers. "Were you married to my brother?"

Freya sat down in the mud beside them. She didn't care too much about the quality of her dress anymore. "It all started when my father refused to send Robb ships to sail to King's Landing," she explained. "In the process, he practically took my brother away and I haven't seen him since he went to visit the Iron Islands. Roose Bolton suggested that Robb and I marry out of spite towards my father, even though Robb was already betrothed. Now I know it was the Boltons betraying us all along. The rest is simply Robb and I acting as immature rulers." Freya looked at her hands. "I was thrust into the life of being a 'Queen' so quickly that I didn't understand it. I wasn't meant to give orders to people or to rule. I wish I never let those greedy lords pressure me, or else we wouldn't be here."

Sandor's eyes only flickered over to her. Arya's vision went narrow. "So the deaths of my brother and mother ... are your fault?"

Freya viewed up. Her eyes went wide.

Arya stood, stomping her feet in the ground. "If you hadn't married Robb, he would still be alive!" She cracked her knuckles, causing Freya to stand. "Gods, I hate all you Greyjoys! You take and take until there's nothing left!"

"Listen," Freya snapped, pointing her finger at the smaller girl, "I may have played a part in the reason they were killed, but it was not my fault fully. Lord Bolton tricked all of us. The Northern lords put us in positions of power that we weren't ready for. All of our history has done this to us, and we can't do anything about it. Do you understand?"

Freya's teeth clenched, but Arya stood her ground. "I loved your brother," she continued, straightening her back. "As hard as it is to believe, it happened. We grew to love each other in our marriage, just as your parents did. I did everything I could to not let Robb die. Gods, I threw myself in front of him in battle too many times! I was loyal. Don't you dare pin my husband's death solely on me, Arya Stark."

Arya rolled her eyes. "You still left him. You left him at the wedding without anyone."

"How was I suppose to know that Walder Frey was going to start a massacre when I went to piss?!" Freya threw her arms in the air, staring at the girl angrily. Eventually, she huffed and wiped a spare tear from her eye. "I won't stand here and let someone blame me."

Freya adjusted her sheath on her belt and began to walk off, into the heart of the Riverlands. Arya walked forward a little, shouting, "Where are you going?!"

"Away!"

"I'm your best bet at finding any living family!" Arya screamed. "You can't just leave!"

Freya turned, frowning towards the child. "Watch me."

•••

She had walked for days. The Riverlands provided a nice landscape to see, but Freya had no idea where she was going. She thought a lot when she was on her walk, or a walk that would never end.

Freya wondered where she'd go. She wondered when this walk would be over. She didn't exactly plan to walk all day and sleep in trees at night for the rest of her life, but maybe that was how it had to be now that everything was taken from her. She was an Ironborn; she took what was hers, and yet, she was nothing now.

Her father would never take her back. It wasn't like she could get back to the Iron Islands anyways. Her brother was most likely dead, wherever he was. Balon wouldn't have cared about his status anyways. Her sister didn't care about her whereabouts. All the Starks must hate her, or what was left of them. They would never take her in.

Her whole body hurt. Her heart hurt the most, and she hated thinking that. She hated being so depressed that she felt weak. Sometimes, she'd just start crying out of nowhere. She would begin to think about Robb's decapitated body being paraded through the Twins, and suddenly, she felt the tears flow. Maybe Arya was right; it was all her fault. It was her fault for loving the boy that she was meant to hate.

"May the Young Wolf take me," Freya said once, "and so he did."

She had to learn to be alone now. Freya didn't have a husband, or mother-in-law. She didn't have Selene. She could never have a child. She wasn't a true Greyjoy anymore, according to her father. The Starks, and the Freys, probably wanted her dead. What good was she alive?

Freya thought about killing herself a lot during the past couple days. She thought it could be so easy. There were a million ways. She wanted to do it, but ... again, it was easy. Freya never liked to take the easy way out, although here she was, questioning suicide.

She didn't do it, regardless. She just walked forever and forever. She hadn't had real human contact in days, but that wasn't until today.

Freya trekked through a small forest clearing. The wind moved the river to her right over the edge of the grass. She stopped for a moment to clean off her sword, of which the dirty smell was starting to bother her. She cleaned the sword with the hem of her skirt, staining the dress red.

She was humming to herself and tried to keep her mind off of everything plaguing it. She moved the fabric back and forth on the weapon, until a sound startled her. It was footsteps, she presumed, but they were closer.

Freya's feet wobbled. Every bone inside of her ached, so her movements were slow. She looked around with her sword out. Fear exuded from her like a stench. She had a sword in her hands, and yet, she was so vulnerable.

"What're doing with that sword, little lady?"

Freya jumped back, twirling around with her sword. She almost sliced the man in front of her, but she didn't seem to care. Not that she cared about anything now too. She stared at the small man, who was clearly balding at the scalp and had a long beard to match it. He wore rags, as well as his companions, who held long, stitched-together flags.

"What do you want with me?" Freya barked back. "Leave me alone."

"I'll tell you when you put away that fucking sword."

Freya frowned, "No."

Another man, who had been sitting on a horse, marched forward. He had an eye patch on one eye, and wore rags like the rest of them. His hair was shorter, but he was also taller in height. He reminded Freya of a large troll she heard about in stories.

"You don't want to fight us, girl." The man smirked. "I got a flaming sword on my hands."

Freya lofted a brow, beginning to piece together who these men were. She looked at the flag again and slowly lowered her sword. "You're the Brotherhood," she thought out loud, shoving the sword in it's sheath. "The Brotherhood Without Banners. Outlaw group working for the Starks and against Lannister interests."

"Why do you care?" One of them asked, revealing his loss of teeth.

Freya lifted her head a little. She ran a hand through her knotted braids. "I fought for Robb Stark in the war. I was his wife." She watched the realization dawn on their faces. "I'm Freya Greyjoy-Stark."

"Name's Thoros of Myr, m'lady," the first man kneeled. "I serve the Red God and your husband. We heard of the recent news. He was a good man."

The other man held out his hand. "Lord Beric Dondarrion, Your Grace." He introduced as Freya shook his hand. "I know it is rude to skip small talk, but might I ask how you are alive? I heard the massacre at the Crossing was insane. Lord Frey said they killed every last Stark."

"I escaped," Freya shrugged. "I don't know why it happened for me and not my husband, but I'm still here. Although, I have no family left. Most of the Starks are gone, and the Greyjoys have disowned me."

Thoros felt honored suddenly. He began to shake her hand roughly, causing Freya to become uncomfortable. "We will continue to serve you as Queen in the North. You're still here, and thus your rule will live on."

"I'd hate to refuse, but I don't tend to rule anymore. I don't know how to." She watched Thoros and Beric share a look. "I trust anyone against Lannisters, Freys, or Boltons at this point, but I cannot continue ruling any longer. It got my husband killed." She sat on a large rock as sap dripped from the tree above her. "Ned Stark created your Brotherhood, and now he's dead as well, because of the actions of me and my husband."

Freya sighed. The two men didn't answer her, and she continued to crack her knuckles. Her veins flooded with anger. It was there now; and she couldn't stop it. She felt like she was going to explode. She stood again, her hands forming into fists. "Gods," she whispered, "all I want to do now is ... is to kill everyone who betrayed me and my husband. All of them. Every last one."

A grin formed on Beric's face. "We don't do this often, Your Grace," he said, "but we'd be honored if you would travel with us."

Freya scrunched up her nose. "Excuse me?" Her brow lifted in surprise. "You're called the Brotherhood for a reasons, my lords."

"We make exceptions for those we serve," Beric replied. "You said you have no family left. Where will you go but us?"

Freya frowned. They had her there, but was she ready for another new way of life? It seemed whenever she ventured into strange places, they left her blind and vulnerable. She didn't know if she ready for something new. The wounds in her heart were not healed, and she wondered if living was worth it all. Maybe she needed another reason to live.

She stood then, her hand falling on the hilt of her sword. She rubbed away the sweat on her forehead. "Why would you want me to venture with you anyways?"

"You're a dangerous person, Your Grace." Thoros smirked. "We like dangerous people."

"If I do join you," she asked, "would you be committed to killing all men associated with my husband's murder?"

Beric looked back at his men. They all nodded towards each other, and almost instantaneously, they all kneeled in the grass before Freya. Their heads fell down, and Freya didn't know if it was in honor of her or Robb's death. "Nothing would excite us more, Your Grace," Beric answered.

She smiled big. "Then, I accept."

Freya lifted her chin as she stared down at the Brotherhood kneeling before her. She breathed out a sigh of relief, though her heart burned with a desire she'd never have again. Nevertheless, her life was going to start anew.

END OF BOOK III