Chapter One
She had to hurry quietly along the walls to remain undetected. If anyone noticed her missing, she would be dragged back to sitting on a stool and being made to sit and gossip with all those stupid, boring ladies. And sew. To Arya, that was the absolutely worst aspect for being forced back into that room. She utterly and completely detested sewing. She was defiantly no perfect lady like Sansa.
But that had never mattered to her. She had always been untameable. She had always had a wildness, an impulsivity that made her more a wild Stark wolf of the North than a refined Tully fish of further south like her composed mother and sister. Even now, Sansa was probably preoccupying her mother with chatter of whether she should wear her light blue dress with white detailing or her white dress with blue detailing for the impending arrival of the royal party. She rolled her eyes again at that thought.
She glanced around the corner she was standing at, peeking to ensure herself that their was no awaiting guard, family member or servant that would spot her immediately and then hoist her back to that insufferable room where she would be forced to meet her mothers disapproving glare.
She looked down the hall and seeing it completely empty continued on her way to the practice yard. She was almost there, the double doors that led out to the yards where her brothers would most likely be, were within sight. She hurried her pace a little, anxious to be out of the suffocating hall.
"And where are you going, my child?" a voice inquired firmly from behind her.
She froze quickly, a deer caught in a trap. Slowly turning, she looked up to see the slightly amused face of her father not far behind her, flanked by Jory.
"Father" she said smiling, "I was just going… well I was just going down to…"
She looked up at her Father, biting her lip.
Arya really had to practice her lying abilities and skills. She never had been an excellent liar, or even a remotely good lair, too blunt and straightforward for the delicate intricacies that lying entailed.
"You, my dear one, were going down to the practise yards to find your brothers" her Father said, looking quietly amused, "Oh Arya, should you not be with your Mother or sister, or perhaps even Septa Mordane?"
When he brought up her Septa, Arya felt herself suddenly become quite desperate for the pity that her father so commonly bestowed on her, anything not to be forced back into the care of that irritating woman.
"No please Father, do not send me back to that hell. It is worse than the deepest of the seven hells. Father, I just wanted to go and see how Bran was doing with the archery that Jon and Robb, and I think Theon, were teaching him. Really, I do not think that anyone will miss me," she fumbled out all in one giant breath, "Also Father, it is more of a danger for you to make me return to the sewing room with those women than in the training yard. I think I shall soon begin utilising my needle as a weapon if I hear of the Kings arrival or a sigh of hope of the Prince's handsomeness once more. Father, I will become a danger to those ladies. Either I will stab them with a needle or I will end myself. Please Father, do not make me return to them."
Her father had listened to her whole speech bemusedly as the twinkle in his eye had slowly increased as she continued rambling incessantly. He bent down so he was closer to Arya's eye level. That was something Arya had always loved about her Father. He always seemed so big and strong, a truly strong leader to the pack that was her family. Yet, he was also at the same time so loving, never making her feel small and irrelevant like her elder sister, and sometimes her mother, constantly did.
"Oh Arya, you are truly wild" he said looking amused, "Go silly girl before I change my mind and call your mother who will soon be looking frantically for you. Go and enjoy yourself"
She looked up at him. Though she had been counting on this being her Father's reaction, it was almost too good to be true. But as he gave her a push in the direction of the door, she did not doubt him and ran towards the freedom he was offering her.
She tried not to question why her father gave her such allowances, but she knew why in her heart. She was a constant reminder of his wild sister, the one who had caused so much havoc throughout Westeros with merely her beauty that rivalled a winter rose and her essence of utterly unrestrainable wildness. But she pushed that out of her mind as her face was touched the mid-morning sun as she reached the gate that led into the practise yard.
Her brothers were duelling. Bran sat watching them, his arrow and bow thrown carelessly behind him, forgotten in the intensity of the duel in front of him.
Their sword kept striking, the steel hissing under the force of the hits. Jon, her favourite brother was the better of the two, anybody could see that. He hit with more precision and strategy. There was a thought behind every move he made, a strategic end to it. Whereas, Robb was slightly more reckless, more carefree. He did not have to prove himself like Jon felt he had to. He was an heir, while Jon was a bastard. He could do no wrong.
Robb brought his blade down, forcing Jon to turn to face her in order to block the blow. His eyes immediately caught her and he laughed, lowering his blade and gesturing to Robb the new presence that they had acquired.
Robb turned and let out a laugh as both boys made forth towards her.
"Good Gods, Arya" cried Robb, "This must be a new record even for you, you normally take a lot longer to escape from sewing practise. How ever did you do it, sister, particularly with the upcoming visit of the Royal Family?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She laughed, rolling her eyes at her borthers question, "Robb, just because you cannot escape Mother's scathing glaze, it does not mean that that same flaw falls to all her children. I simply walked out when her back was turned, praising Sansa for one stich or another," she said languidly.
Robb frowned while Jon let out a bark of laughter at her criticism. She had always been the best at sneaking around, though more specifically it was usually sneaking out that she did, most likely owing to her small and skinny stature.
She always just wanted to be with her brothers, fighting and laughing, not sitting around in a circle on dainty stools with women who were chattering and gossiping back and forth. She wanted to ride from dawn to dusk, go swimming in the Godswood pool whenever she pleased. She wanted to stay with her favourite brother, her bastard brother, Jon.
She looked up at Jon, smiled, and started walking towards him.
Jon looked at her, eyes narrowing in certainty that she was up to some mischief, but he played along, smiling at her, leaning over and ruffling her hair while saying "what are you up to, little sister?"
She smiled as innocently as she could as she leant up to wrap her arm around his shoulder.
"Nothing Jon, I just wanted a hug from my favourite brother" she said as he looked uneasily at her.
Just as he leant down to return her hug, albeit very suspiciously, she moved her other hand down and swiped the practice sword he had been holding right out of his hand.
She turned, forming into a position of a warrior, the practice sword, which was slighty too big for her tiny hands, poised over her shoulder ready to attack.
Robb and Bran laughed, they knew their sister too well, as did Jon while ducking to try and retrieve the sword his sister had stolen from him.
Arya giggled and darted around almost escaping from his clutches but he got her in the end and lifted her up as she laughed.
Suddenly, someone cleared a throat from behind them all, and all four siblings turned quickly to face the storm behind them.
Lady Catelyn was standing there, hands on her hips with an expression of utter distaste marring her usually beautiful features. Slightly behind her left shoulder, hiding from her brothers and sister, was Sansa almost mirroring the expression, though Arya thought while her Mother expression was only disgust, Sansa's was pinched with a slight hint of envy as she gazed on her siblings.
Arya often thought how beautiful her Mother was. Even in her older days, her hair still hung with an auburn lustre envied by young girls and her face remained beautiful, particularly when she laughed, with her twinkling blue eyes that normally shone with either mirth or amusement when directed at her youngest daughter. But that would all change if Jon was present within her eye line. Her visage would curl in utter distaste and an enraged expression followed any of his actions with a deep disapproval. It always angered Arya but she was not prepared to broach the subject whilst her Mother looked at her with that disapproval.
"Lady Arya Stark, what are you doing? I have been searching for you for almost nigh on an hour, I do not know why it did not occur to me to search the practice yards earlier. Where else would ones wild daughter who needs to be disciplined be?" her anger permeated the yard as she spoke.
Arya had been caught by her Mother, now she could do nothing. Had it been anyone else she would have ran to the refuge of the Godswood or the stable to saddle her horse. However, her Mother was just too terrifying in this state for her to run from. So she turned to pleading.
"Mother, please don't make me go back, please. I cannot bear to hear any more gossip or mutterings of the royal family. Please," she begged.
Lady Catelyn frown deepened as she listened, she began reaching out a hand, or claw as it seemed to Arya, to pull her back inside "Arya Stark, you are coming back inside with me now. Do not trying begging again and come along quickly".
With that, Arya felt herself being pulled back into the security of Winterfell in between her Mother and Sansa.
"Honestly Arya," her Mother muttered, "You are an absolute mess. Dirt here and mud there. Can you not keep one dress clean and untorn? The Royal Family will be here any day now and you still insist on running around in unbefitting clothes."
"Why should I be dressed nicely, I am not looking to impress anyone, am I?" she said indignantly, "I am more excited to meet King Robert, he was a very skilled warrior was he not Mother, and the Imp. I want to meet him too, see if I am taller than one person other than Rickon."
Her Mother let out a small laugh of amusement. Looking at her younger daughter, who showed so little of her own features, she said "And what if the Prince or some other wealthy man takes a liking to you. You would not be the first Stark to have a royal seek her hand."
"Don't be silly Mother," Arya chided, "Sansa will be the one that Prince Gendry takes a liking too. She's beautiful and talented at the more feminine arts. I am neither beautiful or feminine, Mother, I merely want to be left alone at Winterfell with my brothers."
Catelyn looked down at her during her whole speech with a look that Arya could only discern as pity and sympathy.
Catelyn reached over to her and stroked her hair, "My love, you are as beautiful as the winter snows that surround Winterfell…"
"Which have mud ravelled throughout them" said Arya as she tartly interrupted.
Her mother gave her a look that silenced her, leaning in she whispered, "Now my child, you must never ever repeat this to anyone, particularly not your sister, but Arya, in my youth when I looked like a mirror image to your elder sister, I had but a duel fought over me. However, in your Aunt's youth, that Aunt who you resemble so closely, well my love, she had a war fought in her honour. Trust me, my girl, you may not think anything of your wild beauty at the tender age of fourteen but one day you will take the world a storm."
Arya looked up at her Mother, looked at her loving face. She was grateful that she said that, her heart filled with an indescribable warmth that she could only think of to be love.
"Thank-you Mother, you are very kind."
"It is true, my darling. Now go, I will let you escape for today. But I have a feeling that tomorrow the King will arrive so view this as your last day of freedom, and enjoy it."
Arya face lit up with a grin and she scampered off back to the practise yards, not heeding how true the words were. This would be her last day of freedom as fate would have its way.