A/N: This came about after re-watching the scene with Arya and Hot Pie at the Inn at the crossroads, and Hot Pie tells Arya that she's pretty and she has no idea what to do with that.
This is going to be a series of chapter vignettes. I was initially planning on having this be one thing, but it got too long, so I'm doing them individually.
I saw a post on Tumblr that had a side by side picture of Maisie Williams and the actress who plays Lyanna Stark and the resemblance between the two. I've always been fascinated by the Arya and Lyanna parallels both in the show and especially in the books.
In terms of timeline this mostly takes place before the books/show with the dead characters focuses and post the books/show with the characters that are alive.
This is an AU. Rickon is alive in this because he's alive in the books and that's good enough for me because I need my baby Wilding Wolf, and he deserves better, and D&D can fight me. Also, for reference, this takes place in Season 7 and beyond universe and Arya is the Commander of the North's military and King Jon's second in command military wise. Sansa is Jon's second in command politically, in my ultimate endgame. Also, this follows the books in that Aegon (Young Griff) is alive and was smuggled to Essos as a baby. So yeah, here you go.
PRETTY
Arya Stark had never been good at pretty.
Her sewing had never been pretty, quite the opposite, in fact. Her stitches were large and uneven and she always grew frustrated and lashed out.
The only needle she had ever cared for was not of the sewing variety. Far from it.
Arya had always despised pretty dresses. The long skirts and itchy fabric made it harder for her to run and play and fight. She would much rather nab Bran's breeches and climb trees. Her mother was always cross with her for muddying her dresses and getting tangles in her hair. So, when her lady mother would force her into a dress, they were never the pretty kind. Why waste them on Arya when she would only ruin them within the hour?
She had never been good at pretty words. Not like Sansa. Sansa had always had a talent for smiling and saying exactly what people wanted to hear, even if it was horse shit. When Sansa sang, her voice sounded like little birds, chirping a lovely tune. But when Arya sang, she sounded like wolves howling in the night.
She had never been skilled at pretty manners either. She never knew when to curtsy or how deep. Her dancing was awkward and uncoordinated. And her responses were never right.
She had never been able to just sit still and look pretty.
She was wild to her core, restless, and unable to be tamed.
Even her face had never been pretty.
Arya Horseface, Sansa and Jeyne had whispered loud enough for her to hear, but just quiet enough so her father didn't.
Sansa had warm auburn hair and crisp blue eyes.
But Arya's hair was dark like onyx and her eyes were the grey of storm clouds.
Her lady mother had been pretty.
Sansa was pretty.
But Arya was not.
But now.
But now, people said otherwise.
Her father never talked about her, but she had heard the stories.
Her aunt Lyanna.
Beautiful and willful and dead before her time.
With her crown of winter roses and her indomitable spirit.
The few who were left, those who could still remember, said she had been enchanting. That you couldn't help but be drawn to her, watch her. She was captivating and alluring, like the North itself.
They said the younger Lady Stark was too.
But the younger daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn had just scoffed and rolled her eyes.
Arya Stark refused to believe them. Any of them. All of them.
Because Arya Stark had never been pretty.
But then again, Lyanna Stark hadn't been pretty either.
No, she had been wild and willful and legendary.
Lyanna Stark had been beautiful.
And so was Arya.