Dead To Me
Since she was nine years old, Arya had caused people to die. Most of the people she killed were men. Most of the men she killed were killers. Most of them deserved to die. Now Arya was eleven years old, approaching maidenhood, and she had neither a mother nor father. Eddard Stark, her father and The King's Hand was murdered by King Joffery himself, and her lady mother was murdered by the Freys. Arya's oldest brother died with her. Bran and Rickon were dead too, senselessly slaughtered by Theon Greyjoy, the new master of Winterfell. Bran and Rickon, her sweet, innocent, and younger brothers, were only eight and four when they died. Arya vowed to avenge all of them. She knew that she had bloodied her hands enough. Nine people were dead by her hand, and she wondered when she would stop. Her lady mother, her lord father, and even her bastard half-brother Jon Snow wouldn't approve. Arya didn't know how to stop.
Her first kill was simply self-defense. The stable boy had wanted to kill her. It was only by pure luck that she was able to fatally wound him. He had died at her feet, without knowing her name. She remembered being a prisoner of the Wailing Tower, and the despair, rage, and fear that had almost engulfed her then. Only the names calmed her. Only the names reminded her of her birthright, and what she must do. "Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei, valar morghulis." Back then, Arya didn't know what valar morghulis meant. She didn't know that the words translated as all men must die. She smiled then, faintly. Yes, she thought. All of them…all of them must die for what they did to me and my family.
Joffery was also on the list that she whispered at night, as was Tickler and the Hound. Arya hated them with every fiber in her body. She meant to kill them as they killed a part of her with every breath they took. She didn't know how she felt when she heard that Joffery was dead. She felt…relieved almost, as if a burden had been lifted off of her shoulders. She remembered the exhilarated feeling of killing the Tickler, stabbing him as if he was nothing but a hunk of meat. It felt good. Somehow, killing became a second nature to the eleven year old girl. Perhaps that was because she was surrounded by death. "Do you remember where it is, girl?" Arya shuddered despite herself. She remembered his scarred and hideous face as he spoke those words to her. The Hound had wanted to die, mysteriously, for reasons unknown to her. Perhaps it was because he realized that he would not be able to kill his brother, Gregor, dying by the river of Trident. It was common knowledge that Sandor Clegane despised his older brother with murderous fury, something Arya could relate to. Or maybe he had lost his will to live. He had lost everything he had lived for. She had wanted to kill him. The Hound had killed her only friend, a thirteen year old boy named Mycah. She remembered how her father had looked away from her eyes when he told her how he died. Mycah had been slaughtered and butchered like a boar. As time passed, his voice and faced faded. She couldn't even remember why she had asked to play swords with him. He was innocent from folly, and now he was dead.
Arya wondered if she was any better than the Hound, or any men that she murdered. The Hound had murdered and killed countless people, and even admitted that he enjoyed killing, seeing the dark red blood seep out from the flesh. Arya found that she enjoyed killing too, and the names and faces of those she killed were becoming a blur. Was she no better than him? He had wanted to die at the end, begged for it. He sobbed, asking her to end it. "…The little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white coat, and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that drawf." His raw agony and pain in his voice echoed in her ears. Unlike him, she had no regrets. She hadn't wanted to save her only surviving sibling, her sister. She couldn't cry and she had no one to love.
Arya Stark only wished that someone would save her before she turned Needle onto herself.