Stark Raving Mad
This is written somewhere in the current season (7) with a change up here and there, not following a specific plot point from the show just keeping mildly with the timeline, I have changed certain things to suit me. Also the tone does not follow with the tone of GOT times in terms of language and clothing. I'm just writing for fun to get this story out of my head. I have also included background characters like guards or right hand men whose names I have made up as they are not integral to the story. I've also kept Robb Stark alive because in no form of media, book or television should he have been killed and it still bothers me that it happened. Suffice it to say that there is some semblance of a plot albeit a jumbled one in terms of GOT, the plot of this story is intact because I don't believe in not having a storyline but in terms of the show, there is reference to characters and places but that is about it for similarity. Disclaimer - I do not own Game of thrones or any characters associated with it and I mean no disrespect to the original writings in my decision to change things.
Arya
There is a stone stuck in my shoe. I can feel it rolling around scraping my foot with each step. I should remove it, I want to but it's so cold and I'm really starting to worry that if I stop moving I might just completely freeze over, become a statue or a white walker. It is a white world around me as I walk, or trudge, I think trudge is a better word for the despondent lope of my uneven gait. The snow has fallen deep, even the brown bark of the trees is all but hidden beneath thick blankets of snow sticking to their craggy old trunks and branches. The faint glimpse of brown is all the colour I can see for miles. Even the sky is a deep grey, a promise of more slow. Winter wasn't coming anymore like everyone thought, it was already here. I had no idea where I was going; I'd made the decision to return to Winterfell but a few miles in that direction and I'd changed my mind again. There was nothing left for me at Winterfell, it wasn't home anymore, I didn't have a home. I'd thought to resume my earlier plan of playing judge jury and executioner with the queen but then I thought of the rumours I'd heard, rumours of the Targaryen queen and justice in the form of war and fire breathing dragons seemed a lot sweeter than a slit throat or a sword in the gut. So I was now somewhere in between, off course and aimless. It felt good; I was probably nine kinds of lost but for once I didn't care, it felt good to just walk, for that moment to be weightless, no plan of revenge no sorrow no loss. It wasn't true and if I allowed myself to think on it I probably would turn right back around but I wanted to forget, at least for a while. The stone was really starting to aggravate me now, or painful again a better word and I'd just decided to risk stopping and take it out when my skin prickled and I felt a shadow loom over me. I was fast but I'd been caught off guard, something I wanted to kick myself for, my aimless wanderings had just cost me. A hand clapped over my mouth and I was lifted off my feet. I struggled, kicked and thrashed anything to avoid being touched. I hated to be touched. I even bit what skin I could reach with my teeth but my captor was a grown man and strong, strong as the very Mountain I'd sworn to kill. A brief thought that it was The Mountain crossed my mind but I figured I'd be dead already if it was. Another equally as fleeting thought entered my mind, somewhat humorously, that at least I didn't have to worry about that dam stone in my shoe anymore. It was my last thought before I was flung over a shoulder and all I could focus on was the jarring gait of the man and the impact of his back with every step, steps that caused my heart to pound and fear to claw at my skin at the contact with another human body and the potential of what could happen to me… again. My captor hadn't even bothered to speak which only angered me further, briefly sending the panic away and making me resume my useless struggles.
"Easy, I'm not taking you to your death girl," came a simple but gruff command.
Oh he speaks, I thought furiously but I obeyed the order even though it chafed at me. I would do myself no good by exhausting myself against a captor I had no hope of escaping. My energy was best left intact for when I had an opportunity to successfully escape.
"Where are you taking me?" I had to clear my throat to speak properly; my voice was rusty from disuse and laced with a healthy dose of fear.
"To the king."
"The king is dead."
"To the new king."
That shut me up; he had to be taking me to Kings Landing but who had managed to usurp Cersei? Her sons were dead there was no longer a true heir, not that her sons had been true heirs anyway. My captor did not walk long before reaching something that stopped his tracks, my upside down vantage point allowed me little in the way of sight but I realised he had arrived at wherever he'd intended to go. Definitely wasn't Kings Landing then I thought absently. I heard doors swing open and the sound was so familiar that I almost cried, almost. I'd stopped crying a long time ago. I refused to believe what my ears told me, that we were at Winterfell. Suddenly I was angry again, I didn't want to be here, my earlier aimless wandering now seemed stupid. I needed to be in Kings Landing, I needed to kill Cersei Lannister, she was still a Lannister to me, she would always be a Lannister to me; not that the name Baratheon garnered any more respect from me, after all it had been a Baratheon king that had bowed to the evil whisperings of his wife and sentenced my wolf to death for a crime she'd only committed in defence. I was only supposed to come home when it was over, when every last person that had affected my family had been killed.
"No, you can't bring me here, it isn't time, I can't be here," I wailed at him pummelling my fists against his back, kicking my booted feet against his chest. He harrumphed but it was the only response I got. Now I didn't have to be able to see to know where I was going, this land was as familiar to me as my own reflection, well, as my reflection had been, time and toil had taken its toll and I no longer recognised myself from who I used to be. Gone was the baby face of innocence and happiness, now I had dead eyes and pale cheeks, gone was the exuberant boisterous child I had once been, in its place I was hard, scarred, ruthless even. I had no room in my life for love and laughter, for family and friendship. I had lost too much, been tortured beyond what my body could endure beyond what my child mind could endure. I had pushed the memories of the family I'd once loved away, deep down where they couldn't hurt me. It left only bitterness, hate, fear and panic. We were going up stairs now, he was taking me to the banquet hall where no doubt Ramsey Bolton would do as he pleased with me. My age, my size would matter little to him. It was warm when we entered but I refused to let myself enjoy it not that I would have had time anyway, mere seconds later my captor lifted me from my post on his shoulder. I was manhandled around to face the head of the room, to the seat where my father had sat as we broke fast and supped. It rankled that that fool Bolton now disgraced the halls. I lifted my chin and glared in his direction, I would be defiant until my last breath. The man sitting on my father's chair however, was not Ramsey, it wasn't any Bolton. It was a face I had buried deep, one of the many faces I'd buried deep and I suddenly understood that I was in more danger than I would have been if it were Ramsey Bolton. Physical hurt I could bear the hurt of the heart and mind I had already born too much, I had no room left to hurt.
"Arya?" the voice as familiar as it was unfamiliar rang in my ears; it was the last thing they heard before the overwhelming force of emotions sent me careening to the floor.