ARYA

"This is boring." What Arya had thought was one of the Mad Prince's rubies, gleaming beneath the water, turned out to be nothing more than a glimmering stone. She flung it into the river with a loud splash.

"M'lady," Mycah wasn't having much luck either, from what Arya could see. Instead of rubies, Mycah was content with amassing a small pile of stones next to him. "I swear they're in 'ere someplace!"

"They aren't." Arya crossed her arms, glaring out into the rushing waters. Something bumped into her side, and she saw Nymeria there, head tilted to the side as her Direwolf let off a questioning whimper. In spite of herself, Arya felt a small smile appear on her face, and she reached down to scratch her friend between her ears. Looking upwards at the clear sky, she saw nothing but a single, lonely bird lazily circling overhead.

This is still boring, though. Arya thought. She had come out here with Mycah to get away from the Royal Caravan, away from Sansa, from Septa Mordane, and the Queen. None of them were any fun and the Queen...

She didn't like the Queen. She wasn't afraid, she told herself, but she didn't like the Queen. Arya didn't want to be anywhere near her, and when she was there was always the urge to get away, and quickly.

Bringing her thoughts back to the river, Arya knew she had a plan, though. Behind her on the tree were two swords (made of wood, and originally broom handles.) Picking up both, she turned around to Mycah, his hands submerged in the water. "Mycah!" She called out, the butcher's boy turning to look at her. "Catch!"

Mycah fumbled around with the stick when it landed in his hands, getting a grip as Arya advanced. "M'lady?"

"How about we play at swords again?" She stopped, already imagining who she would be this time.

The butcher's boy looked at her for a moment. "If'm Duncan the Tall." He said, lifting his stick like it was Father's sword, Ice.

Arya smiled. "Then I'm Visenya." She pointed her sword ahead and charged.

As they clashed blades, Arya thought that she could win easily if she just swung her sword and bashed Mycah. It wouldn't work too well with Needle, though, so she challenged herself to win only with parries, followed by a thrust. She thought it was how Visenya and Nymeria would've fought.

Spotting an opening in Mycah's parries, she lunged forward-

And yelped, her now-empty knuckles flying to her mouth as she spied a small grin form on Mycah's face.

It disappeared when she heard a cruel, familiar laugh from behind her. She turned around to see the Prince on his horse, with her sister beside him. "Arya?" Sansa called out.

Eyes welling up from the pain, she responded. "Go away. What are you doing here? Leave us alone."

Joffery looked between the two. "Your sister?" When Sansa nodded, he turned to look at Mycah, and Arya felt a pit form in her stomach. "And who are you, boy?" As if Mycah wasn't a year older.

"Mycah," her friend said quietly, looking at the grass. "M'lord." He added.

It got worse from there. Joffery arrogantly sauntered over to Mycah, holding a sword to his cheek even as Arya said they were just playing.

"Arya, you stay out of this," Sansa's words, as always, rebuked Arya for doing anything fun, or unladylike. She readied a reply-

"I won't hurt him." Prince Joffery said, and Arya saw a smile grow on his pale face as Mycah began to bleed from where Joffery held his sword to his cheek. "Much."

She made her decision then. She rushed forward, making little sound as she lifted the leafless branch above her head, ready to smash Joffery's-

Nymeria's sudden barks shattered her concentration, and she stumbled. Quick on her feet, she stopped quickly and looked up, freezing when Joffery's emerald eyes met her own. "Ungrateful little bitch!" He began, a sneer spreading across his face. As he glared at Arya, Mycah hesitantly stepped back. In that, Arya spotted an opportunity.

"Mycah, run!" She screamed. The boy froze for a second, as did Joffery, whose hate-filled eyes turned away from her and back to the butcher's boy as he began to sprint into the woods.

"Stop!" Joffery began, following close behind her friend. "Stop!" He repeated, kicking Mycah's knees and knocking the boy on his back. Before he could get up, Joffery planted his sword on Mycah's throat.

"Stop," he began again, moving around Mycah to look at both him and Arya. "Or I will cut your throat."

"You can't do this!" Arya screamed out, yet with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

"Arya, do as he says," Sansa came riding up behind her, as Arya felt her lightly kick at her shoulder. "The boy shouldn't have hit you."

Arya opened her mouth when she heard something in the distance. A deep, loud, rumbling noise, like an earthquake, but she didn't feel the ground shake beneath her feet. Joffery tilted his head to where the sound was coming from, the Kingsroad as it passed over a small hill. Arya stepped back when a line of green carriages nearly flew over the hill, wincing as they began to screech, slowing down and turning towards her. When they stopped, Arya stared.

Each of them resembled the Queen's wheelhouse - but only superficially. The gray-green carriages sat much lower to the ground and had much smaller wheels. None of them had horses to haul it, and Arya wondered if they lost theirs before the wheelhouses began to move on their own, four inching towards her, the other four turning around to face the opposite direction. She stepped back until they also stopped, and she noticed the passengers.

On top of each of the wheelhouses were men with black ballistas, pointing it at her and the others there. Inside of each, there were small, glass windows, revealing four more men in each vehicle. 20 in total, Arya noted, as they exited the wheelhouses, all but one, who held a black box to their mouth and ear.

She first noted their faces and figures. Some were normal, with hints of blonde, red, or black hair. Some of them, however, had skin that was as black as the night or as brown as the dirt. She began to remember the tales of the Summer Islanders before she noticed with a start that some of them were women - their slim faces and figures distinguishing them.

They were strangely dressed, to her eyes. Their clothes were a mix of greens, browns, and tans, like the few Crannogmen she saw on their way through the Neck. She noticed that their left shoulder had some heraldry on it, but she could only make out a lightning bolt crossed over on top of something else. On their right shoulder was a small, rectangular banner: red and white stripes, with a blue field and white stars in one of the corners. She didn't recognize which lord had those colors.

They were soldiers, though. The way they walked, the way they held themselves, it was so much like Father's men. She was confident they weren't bandits, but there was a sudden nervousness in her chest that stopped her from talking or asking them. She gathered up the courage to look one of them in their eyes, only to see concealing, black glass covering them.

The soldier she looked at was the first to talk. "The fuck?"

"Who are you?" Joffery demanded, and Arya noticed he was pointing his sword at the soldiers.

It began to waver and shake when all of the soldiers looked at him, nearly at once. Another soldier, this one with what looked like a small crossbow at their hip, walked forward, ahead of the rest. "We are Americans." He said, after a moment. Arya never heard of anything 'American.' "And soldiers in the United States Army. Who are you?"

Joffery's face grew red. "I am the Prince!" He shouted. "Son of King Robert, heir to the Seven Kingdoms! You should be honored to be in my presence!"

The soldier's face twinged in annoyance. Instead of saying anything, he turned towards Arya. "Is he?" He asked.

"His grace is correct," Sansa said before Arya could answer him, "Who are you?" She asked.

"Captain Zoeckler." He replied. He looked back at Joffery for a moment, before turning back to them. "Is he cleared to negotiate on behalf of seven kingdoms?"

"The King isn't too far from here," Arya spoke quickly, lest Sansa interrupt her again. She ignored the slight kick in her side and Sansa's hushed Arya! "And father, too."

"And who is he?" The Captain asked.

"Our father is Lord Stark, Captain." Sansa cut in, again, and Arya couldn't help but feel cheated. She should be talking to these people, not Sansa. "The Hand of the King."

The Captain nodded, his eyes unreadable behind that dark glass. "Can you take us to them?"

Joffery snorted. "You will come with me," he said, stomping over to his horse was, next to Sansa's. Captain Zoeckler watched him walk off with a neutral expression before his head turned towards Mycah with a frown.

"You hold on for a moment." He said, and the boy stopped in his tracks. He then turned to the soldier next to him - Arya remembered him as the soldier who spoke in the beginning. "PFC Lee, get the first-aid kit out. We're not going to leave him bleeding."

The soldier nodded, walking back to the wheelhouse. "Yes, sir."

"Ser?" Sansa asked her full attention on the Captain. "Would you be a... Knight?" Arya didn't think so - he looked nothing like the knights they were riding with.

She couldn't help but smile when the captain shook his head. "No. It's a term of respect for a male in America, or in this case, for addressing a superior officer. We don't have knights in America."

Joffery sneered, sliding on top of his horse. "Then you shouldn't have the title." The captain shrugged at that, not saying anything in return as the 'Pee-eff-see' Lee returned from the wheelhouse, a box with a red cross atop a white square in his hands. "And what are you waiting for?"

Lee cracked open the box, full of bandages and scraps of material. "This boy's bleeding, in case you haven't noticed." Mycah flinched as the soldier examined his bleeding cheek closely, wincing as he poured out water from a container, rinsing off the blood. Lee had just finished putting a scrap of material on his face - somehow staying on without being tied on - and was standing back up when he noticed the Prince glaring at him, his face as red as his clothes. "What?"

"Didn't your lords teach you to respect your betters? I don't know what you gave that butcher's boy, but I demand you remove it this instant!" The soldier turned to face Joffery directly, his expression reminding Arya of how she must have looked like when she was trying to tolerate her sister. She remembered then how the soldier didn't address Joffery as 'Your Grace,'

"We have no lords in America," The Captain said, his head alternating between looking at the Prince and the soldier. "As for the boy, we noticed he was bleeding, so we stopped it. If you want to argue about it, then let's go to the King. Your Grace."

Joffery glared at them for a moment longer. "You will regret this, peasant," He promised, turning his horse around with a huff as he began to ride back to the camp. Sansa took off after him, shooting a backward glance towards Arya, before leaving her with the Americans.

She turned to Mycah. "Come on," She said, untying her horse from the tree and climbing on, helping to pull Mycah up as Nymeria walked alongside her. Mounted, she turned to the Americans, who were climbing inside their wheelhouses. "It's not too far! Just follow me."

Despite starting ahead of them, the wheelhouses caught up quickly, letting her ride side-by-side with them. She didn't mind it much, though: it let her see inside the wheelhouses the Americans had. She soon puzzled out that it was guided by a wheel inside, but she couldn't figure out what was moving the wheelhouse itself. Magic? She thought, excitedly. It would be like one of Old Nan's stories come to life.

"That's a nice dog you have there." The soldier, Lee, was in the back of the wheelhouse closest to her. "What's his name?"

"Her name," she corrected, "It's Nymeria, and she's a Direwolf puppy."

"A puppy?" The soldier looked back at Nymeria, reaching up to the horse's legs. "How big do... Direwolves grow up to be?"

She smiled. "My brothers said their mother was the size of a pony."

The soldier shook his head, though Arya could see the small smile on his face. "Hope you have a big house or a big yard for her to play in, then."

She thought of Winterfell, with its towers that scraped the skies, and the huge godswood nearby. "The biggest," she said, as the soldier began to laugh.

Soon enough, though, they arrived at the Inn at the Crossroads, where the Royal Caravan had rested for the day. Already, she saw there was a mass of soldiers forming in front, standing behind them was a crowd of smallfolk and courtiers, watching with wide eyes as the Americans moved their horseless wheelhouses closer to the Inn.

In front was Father, standing there grimly as he watched the Americans inch closer. Though Arya couldn't miss how wide his eyes were, comparatively at least. "That's a big fucking sword on his back," Lee said, quietly, looking at Ice. She quickly rode up, hoping to catch up to Sansa and the Prince before they could start talking.

"Who have you brought with you?" He asked immediately, "Are either of you hurt?"

"They call themselves the Americans," Joffery said, "and they so desperately wanted to meet my father." Father's eyes flicked over to Arya, a question on his lips before someone else interrupted.

"Would you be King Robert or Lord Stark?" Captain Zoeckler asked. Turning around, Arya saw that he, and all of the soldiers from earlier, were standing behind him, their hands on the crossbows they carried around.

Father's eyes turned towards the Captain, as hard and cold as the North. "Sansa, Arya, your Grace, behind me." He ordered. Arya quickly rode ahead, as did Sansa, but Joffery merely smiled.

"I'm not afraid of these cravens." He said, "Not a sword on them." That was true: none of the Americans seemed to carry anything larger than a knife.

Father didn't react. "I am not King Robert." He said, finally, turning his attention towards the Captain. "I am his hand, Lord Eddard Stark. Who are you, and why do you want to meet with his Grace?"

"As I have told your girls, I am Captain Zoeckler of the United States Army." If the Captain was annoyed by how Joffery spoke of him, he didn't show it. Arya did see a few soldiers who seemed angry, though the dark glass over their eyes made it difficult to tell what they were angry about. "I, myself, have been sent with my unit to scout out this area and see if we could make contact with local authority. My leaders would like to meet with..." He paused. "His grace, and negotiate with him."

"His grace is currently indisposed at the moment," Father said. "As the Hand of the King, my words are second only to his. What do you want to negotiate for?"

"There will be no negotiation," Joffery cut in, "These cravens need to be taught respect. They've refused my commands and have treated me like I was a smallfolk!"

Father's eyes flickered to Joffery for a moment, before turning back to the Captain, wordlessly demanding an explanation. "When we arrived, we saw that Mycah, here, has a cut on his face, inflicted by the Prince. Since we had bandages to spare, we didn't think anything of it until the Prince demanded we remove them. As for why we did not obey the Prince, the fact that he is not our leader should be self-evident."

Joffery's fingers gripped the sword hilt at his side until they turned white. "That boy was assaulting the sister of my betrothed!" He pointed at Arya, "And after I rescued her, she had the gall to try and attack me!"

"Liar!" Arya shouted out on reflex, even as the murmurs increased from the crowd. "Me and Mycah were just playing together - like we always do!"

"Both of you, quiet," Father said, and Arya shut her mouth, feeling as if a river of words were pressing up against her lips, trying to break out and be heard. "We will deal with this later. I will repeat my question, captain: what do you want to negotiate for?"

"It would be better to discuss it with my leaders," The captain said, brushing off the question. Afterward, he turned towards Lee and said something quietly. They nodded and walked back to the wheelhouses where another soldier remained with a box held to their ear. "But mainly, it would be for us to understand who we're dealing with."

"Your leaders..." Stark began, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Where do you come from?"

"The United States of America..." The Captain trailed off, tilting his head. "My Lord?" He asked, the words foreign to him.

Father scoffed, quietly. "I am not your Lord. Lord Stark or Lord Hand would suffice," The Captain nodded, as Father continued, "I haven't heard of a place called America."

"I haven't heard of the Seven Kingdoms either, Lord Stark," The captain replied, "would we still meet, regardless?" At that moment, the soldier the captain sent out earlier returned. He whispered something and stepped back. "...tomorrow, at noon?"

"Your leaders are certainly interested in meeting us soon," Father noted, "why not now, then?"

Captain Zoeckler shook his head. "We need at least a day, Lord Stark. Besides King Robert currently being indisposed at the moment, a day would give us at least the bare minimum of time to make a decision as fast as possible."

"So be it," Father said with a nod. "Will you be staying here until then?" Arya blinked, looking at the sun. She hadn't realized it had gotten so late to be late in the evening.

"No, we'll be back tomorrow. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"

Eddard Stark was quiet for what seemed like a long while. "No," he said. "If you want to wait for you leaders to talk, then there is no point in talking to you."

"Understood," The Captain said. "I will see you tomorrow." With that, he turned around and walked back to the horseless wheelhouses, climbing in with the other soldiers. Arya wondered how they would be able to travel in the dark when, one by one, infernal lights shone from within the carriages, causing all who were witnessing it to mutter, speaking of black magic as the vehicles turned around and rode back the way they came through the wood.

When the last one vanished, her father turned to her, Sansa, and the Prince. "Get off your horses, and into the Inn." He ordered. "I want to hear everything."

Author's Note: America in this story is set in a very minor AU, where the president (and current politics in general) are replaced by generic figures. This is in order to comply with item #4 under the "Entries not Allowed" portion of the site's rules (which prohibits non-historical and non-fictional characters in any story.) Thank you.