Chapter One
Arya
Arya groaned as the curtains in her bedroom opened, letting in the light. It was the morning of Selection and that meant three gruelling hours of hair, make-up and getting dressed. She hated Selection, and the entire Winter Games. She'd only been to one other in her life, but that didn't make it any less awful. Every winter, a new round of The Games was decreed. It had been summer so long that she'd almost forgotten about them, almost. She closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep when she heard Septa Mordane approaching.
"Come on Arya, it's time to get out of bed!" the Septa said fiercely, pulling back the blankets surrounding the tired girl. Arya groaned again and turned over. Septa Mordane tisked disapprovingly. "Your sister has been awake for an hour already and your brothers too. Do you really want to go to Selection looking like something the wolves dragged in?"
"If I'm not selected no one will care what I look like," Arya argued half-heartedly. It was the same thing every winter. Every child between the ages 12 and 17 across the Seven Kingdoms put on their best clothing and filed into the courtyards of their ruling lords. For the Northerners this meant Winterfell, Arya's home.
The last time, only Jon and Robb were of age, and Arya remembered being so scared for Jon who wasn't allowed to be scared for himself because that was weak. And Starks, even Stark bastards, weren't weak. There had been a long gap between those games, and these upcoming ones, but her father had been saying all year that "winter is coming", and he was right. The first flake of snow fell last month, and since then, there had been a flurry of activity throughout the Seven Kingdoms to prepare for The Winter Games. This time around, Arya and Sansa were the only two in Winterfell who qualified; Bran too young and Robb just too old to enter. Jon, over at The Wall, was still 17 and was entered there.
Arya wasn't too worried about what would happen if she was selected. It was customary that the richest houses provided the best training for their children and the Stark's had been well looked after by Rodrik Cassel, Winterfell's Master-at-Arms. Since she could walk Arya had been trained with sword, bow and dagger. Albeit not as extensively as her brothers but she felt confident enough to wield a blade in self-defence.
"Are you going to stand around all day or are you going to get ready?" Septa Mordane's voice rang in her ears, snapping her out of her daydreams. She got out of bed and made her way into the bathroom where a steaming hot bath had already been drawn.
"Call me when you're finished so we can get started on your gowns." The Septa looked her up and down before shaking her head in slight disappointment and Arya swore that she could hear "Sure not as pretty as her sister" being muttered under her breath.
Oh yes, her perfect, pretty, proper sister, Sansa. Sansa, who preferred needlework to swordplay and who always wrinkled her nose when Arya would join the boys in during their training. Everyone loved Sansa. Even Joffrey, the prince, had taken a liking to her when he and his family came to visit Winterfell last year. Sansa was the epitome of the world ladylike, while Arya was often mistaken for a boy.
Oh well, at least she would fend better in the Winter Games than Sansa ever would. She didn't feel bad for thinking this because her sister would never get chosen, she was too lucky for that.
All of her bath musings had made the water grow cold. Arya shouted for Septa Mordane and the two of them began the arduous process of lacing the small girl into a dress of pale blue-grey silk, a shade lighter than her eyes. Arya examined her reflection in the mirror with obvious disgust. The dress had blue roses trimming the bust and sleeves that reached the floor. Very Sansa but not at all becoming of Arya Stark,
"Why with that on you almost look like half a lady!" The Septa beamed proudly but she was met with nothing but a scowl. "Fine then but don't get anything on it at breakfast and we've still got to do your hair..."
With her hair pilled in an elaborate style on top of her head and a final once over from Septa Mordane, Arya was finally allowed to leave her bedchamber and go to the main hall for breakfast. Her long sleeves caught in her delicate slippers and caused her a lot of trouble getting anywhere but she managed to make her way downstairs into the hall only tripping twice.
She was the last of the Starks to arrive at breakfast. Everyone else was there, eating in silence, a contrast from the usually lively meals they shared. Even though no one else was eating she decided that she better get some nourishment; it was going to be a long day. She heard Sansa make a disgusted noise as she stuffed a whole piece of toast into her mouth.
"Wha?" she asked sarcastically, her speech muffled by the toast.
"You could at least try to act like a lady" Sansa said snippily
"Jus 'cos you're so upigh…" she swallowed, "Just 'cos you're so uptight doesn't mean I have to be." Sansa made another disgusted face as she watched her younger sister drag a long sleeve across the table to reach for a goblet.
"Haven't our lessons taught you anything? You don't drag your arms on the table your entire movements should be fluid, like you're gliding! Gods Arya, if you're selected today the Gamekeepers are going to have their work cut out for them prepping you for interviews."
"Oh and of course you've got nothing to worry about because you're so bloody perfect!" Arya replied in a heated tone "Well I hate to break it to you dear sister but you're going to have to kill if you get picked, think you can do that?"
A blush crept up Sansa's pretty face as she half-shouted: "You know I won't get picked! Prince Joffrey told me himself that his mother wouldn't let anything hurt me and she controls Selection you know! I'm to be Joff's queen so I shall not be harmed!"
At the increase of volume from the normally docile Sansa, their father rose from the other end of the long table.
"Girls, calm down," he said sternly, in the same way he talks to the wolves, "I know tensions are running high, but today is a stressful day, for all of us. We Starks have to set an example for the rest of the district and you feuding won't be helping the morale of Winterfell in the least"
Both of them looked down at their plates, ashamed. Satisfied, Ned Stark started walking towards the front hall, and said "Good, we'd better get a move on. The bells will ring soon and we want to get their early, beat the crowds." As soon as Arya was out of his line of sight, she turned and stuck her tongue out at Sansa, and ran out of the room to fetch her fur cape as her sister shrieked "Arya!" and Robb just laughed.
The air outside was crisp and cold and Arya was praying for the Selection business to be over as soon as possible so she could get back to the warm walls of Winterfell. Looking around she saw other children and adults huddled in blankets and cloaks hurrying through the gates into the courtyard of Winterfell. The candidates for Selection were always told to form neat, straight lines in rows of sixteen whereas parents and other relatives had to wait around the perimeter. The names of every candidate were inscribed neatly on a piece of parchment that was then put into a large, elaborate glass vase and mixed around. There were thousands of names in there and were to be only two unlucky people chosen to participate in The Winter Games.
It was Robb's duty, as he was next in line to be Lord of Winterfell, and has just come of age, to pick and announce the names. He walked to the podium, his head held high, but his walk was stiff, as though he was tempted to turn around and run. Arya knew how he felt, it was what every person in the citadel was feeling, the desire to escape, but with no idea how.
Robb stood on the makeshift stage, a glass vase filled with scraps of parchment beside him. In other kingdoms, there were stages for the single purpose of Selection, but Winterfell didn't celebrate the games as some of the more southern kingdoms did. Instead they looked upon it with dread and quiet loathing.
Arya resisted the urge to fidget with her dress or to move some stray strands of hair out of her face because she knew, at that moment, they were being projected all over the Seven Kingdoms; the alchemists' birds doing their work.
When the games were first implemented after the fall of the Targaryens, a method for all to view the Winter Games was invented. Special birds, forged by the alchemists, took in what was happening in one place and displayed it in another. In the town square in each of the kingdoms, the Winterfell Selection was being broadcasted for all to see. This would continue for the entire course of the games, as every minute of the prep and what went on in the arena was captured by the birds.
Robb cleared his throat nervously on stage and started Selection.
"Hello, attention everyone, today we have gathered for Selection, a sacred tradition throughout the Seven Kingdoms to commemorate the victory of King Robert over the Targaryens and to celebrate the start of a new winter. I will draw two names, one at a time, from the bowl, and once your name is called, you must come to the front immediately. If you try to resist, you will be brought by force."
He paused for a moment, as though to prepare himself, and then continued.
"All right then, one of young adults who will be representing Winterfell at the Winter Games this year is…"
He drew his hand into the bowl and pulled out a piece of parchment, and as he read it out, a look of horror crossed over his face, but he had already read it and there was nothing he could do.
"Sansa Stark"