Below the gray-blue sky, which was thick with heavy clouds, the earth awoke from its morning shower. Raindrops glittered on newly formed buds where the sun shone. The ground was slick with mud, making travel difficult. It had been the third rainstorm that week and the little warmth that had been building for three moons fled.
Inside the Twins, the women were in a frenzy preparing for the king's arrival and the upcoming wedding. There were candles to be placed, decorations to put up, cleaning to be done, dresses to be mended. Tremendous pressure to impress their king weighted on everyone. The last time King Robb had been at their castle, he claimed Lady Roslin as his wife.
Hostella Frey ran through the great hall with a ragged doll clutched in her left hand. Her dark hair had been styled into a knot, but it was flying down her back as she swayed between her relatives. A hand caught her by the sleeve.
"Hostella, you must stop behaving like that." her older brother Alyn said firmly. He was more humorless than a nine year old boy ought to be.
"I wasn't doing 'nything!" she scowled shaking herself loose.
"You were running around like a wildling." Alyn professed, "You can't behave like that when the king and princess come. You'll shame the whole family and Elmar will never forgive you for embarrassing him in front of his bride."
The little girl burst into tears. Her face scrunched up with dread; her lip curled into an unpleasant downward bow; fat tears streamed down her her cheeks and chin. Hostella cried loudly, causing several of the ladies and servants to give them both dirty looks.
Their mother, Ryella, clumsily weaved through the crowd. Her hair was slipping through its net and she breathing heavily. "What's the matter now?" she quaked. "We're very busy."
Her daughter pointed angrily at Alyn, "He said I'll shame the family!" she screamed.
"Alyn leave your sister alone." Ryella huffed, "Hostella stop crying. If your not gonna help, get out."
Still crying, Hostella stormed out the room. Alyn scowled and looked at his feet, a gesture that often softened his mother. Instead she ignored him and went back to checking the supply of candles.
"Has anyone seen Arya?" Lady Catelyn asked from atop her mount. "She was riding behind me a moment ago."
"I'll fetch her my lady." Big Walder Frey, one of her wards, called. She nodded, and he turned his horse around.
Big Walder looked for a dark haired maiden in a green traveling gown, but did not see one. There were 250 people in the king's party, give or take, but the princess had never been one to blend into a crowd.
A sliver of steel pressed against his back. He stiffened.
"Your not very good at finding people are you?" Arya said from behind him.
He turned his neck to see her smirking at him, a long dagger in her hand. He said in a gruff but polite tone "Your lady mother requests you ride with her up front; we're nearing the Twins. You ought to put that away before we get there."
Arya grimaced and sheathed her blade. As she dismounted, she called, "Lyanna! Hold my weapons?"
"You'll get mud on you dress." Big Walder stated.
The youngest of Mormont sisters rode to them and dismounted as well. She had blades of her own, as the women of Bear Island didn't take any chances of having to be protected by a man. "Of course Princess."
Arya gave Lyanna her belt and sheaths and remounted, this time riding side saddle as a highborn maiden should. "Whoever created the idea of women riding this way ought to have been stabbed in the eye."
There were a large party in front the Twins to greet the royal family of the Northern Kingdom, party due to the Late Lord Frey's habit of taking many wives; in his ninety-four years, he had sired twenty three trueborn sons. Elmar was elder only to one-little Darros Frey, who was born last fall and had only seen five namedays. The grip of winter was loosening, but nature was still damp, dim, and dreggy. Elmar noticed none of this. He kept his eyes to the steadily approaching party, waiting for a first glance of his princess.
It came to him in the form of a beautiful girl riding behind the king with an older woman. She was slender and elegant, comely in her green traveling gown. Her dark hair was braided in the Northern style. According to his brother Olyvar, the princess was of an age with him, five-and-ten, and she far fairer than any girl he knew.
With great affection Elmar imagined them at Moat Cailin. A princess needed a castle, and his grace was happy to give one to his new goodbrother. She would blush happily when he present the castle to her, sew by the fireplace with many beautiful dark haired babies at her feet.
His nephew, Lord Ryman, greeted the party (to put in kindly) when they arrived at the gates if the Twins. Elmar exchanged his pleasantries with the king and Lady Catelyn, but he only had eyes for his princess. She was even more beautiful up close, but there was a wildness in her he had not expected.
When she offered her hand, he kissed it. "My princess," he said smiling widely.
She did not smile back, "I am honored to marrying you my lord." she responded tonelessly.
Elmar looked into her eyes. They were gray and cool. For a second, he was confused by the looked she gave him, but she looked away quickly.
Arwyn looked at the high table from behind her hair. Her lips thinned at the sight of Roslin putting her hand over the king's.
"Not hungry?" her sister Shirei asked.
Arwyn stretched her lips forcefully, "I'm fine dear." It was the best meal she had ever eaten at the Twins. Ryman had pulled all the stops on this wedding. After all, his king had come down.
Again Arwyn's eyes turned to the Young Wolf. He was exceedingly handsome, even more so than when she had been brought before him five years ago. When he had chosen to make Roslin his queen. She looked away to Elmar and Princess Arya. He panted after her like a puppy with a new toy but she looked more like a wild animal that found itself trapped in a cage.
She resisted to urge to roll her eyes at the thought. There was nothing she'd like better than a marriage. Arwyn had reached her twentieth nameday with two failed betrothals. Her heart sank remembering the whispers of her parentage, the rumors that her mother had slept with Black Walder, that she and her full-blood siblings were bastards. She folded and unfolded her hands under the table. The king had brought several northmen with him and she a bit comely...
"Look at him making a fool of himself at his own wedding." Bryan grumbled under his breath just loud enough for her to hear.
She smirked bitterly, "At least he has a bride."
"And castle. The little shit hasn't even fought in a war."
"Well he can't give her nothing." Arwyn snapped, "He's not going to inherit anything, so he has to have a holdfast for her. Beside, Moat Cailin is ruin."
Bryan just shrugged and continued to eat his leg of lamb, but Arwyn could see hurt in his eyes. He was older than Elmar and had ridden into battle, but the king had not granted him as much.
Princess Sansa, King Robb's other sister and King Renly's goodsister, came to their table. "May I have a dance with you ser?" she asked Bryan. He blinked in surprise, but quickly said yes and led her to the floor. Had Sansa's husband, Willas Tyrell, not been a cripple, it would have odd, but the princess needed someone to dance with and she had her pick. Arwyn searched for the Lord of Highgarden. He watching his wife spin in her grandnephew's arms with a queer look on his face. It was possible he had to told her to dance someone to make her happy because he could not do so himself.
She swiveled her heard to see if any men were looking in her direction.
He kissed her and she never kissed back. Even when they made love, she gave him nothing. She had lain beneath him like a stone made of flesh and blood and hid her face. Elmar sat on the bed and watch Arya dress herself in a shift. She stood in front of the fire with her back to him. It was silent.
"Aren't you coming to bed dear?" he asked at last.
She didn't respond immediately. "No. You go to sleep without me."
"Are you alright?" Elmar didn't know how women behaved when they were wed and bedded.
When he got out of bed to go to her, she flinched at the sound of him getting up and turn around startled. To his shock Arya's face was full of tears. He put his arms around her and pulled her close but she struggled out of his grasp.
"No." Arya growled, "Get away from me." She gave him a hard shove and he stumbled back. "Forgive me my lord," she said through gritted teeth, "I didn't mean to act out."
After a moment, Elmar recovered from his shock "Yes you did." he shouted. He slapped her.
Her head came back slowly and she glared at him with the most hateful set of eyes he'd ever seen. The shadows on her features made by the room's candles were almost demonic. There was a darkness in her that made his knee weaken. No, he was a man grown; he would not be afraid of a girl.
"You mean to frighten me." she lulled, "A slap here, a hit there, and I'll be your perfect little princess." Elmar stepped away from her. Arya walked toward him. Her gaze was cruel and sad. "I meet you once before, but I don't think you remember."
"I only met you this morning." he stammered.
"And yet you claimed the right to my maidenhead? No we met in the war, at Harrenhal. I was Roose Bolton's serving girl and you were his squire."
"What? That was a common girl called-"
"Nan. And when we first met you asked me to help you push a barrel of sand to clean Lord Bolton's mail."
Elmar turned pale. "Why didn't you tell anyone you were Arya Stark?"
"I didn't trust you, or Lord Bolton."
"He's your brother's bannerman."
He was taller than her; she had to raise her head high to look into his face. The bruise from his slap had colored an unpleasant red-purple. Clad only a thin garment, she stood a hair's breath away from him. Despite his uneasiness, Elmar felt a wave of desire.
"He doesn't matter. I thought Bran and Rickon were dead and I shared that with you. Do you remember what you said?"
"That no one cared about a serving girl's brothers. How can hate for saying what was true?" Elmar raised his voice, "I wouldn't have offended you if you had told me you were highborn."
"You still haven't learned." she shook her head in disgust and turned away. Arya sat by the fire.
Elmar stood over her. "What was I suppose to learn? To be nice to scum?"
"Smallfolk, bandits, whores, servants; they're beautiful. More than the lords sitting they're castles plotting wicked schemes, turning their coats, killing everything that stands between them and power."
'His grace has given me a madwoman for a bride.' Elmar thought "Your brother was one of those lords. And now he's a king. I don't think that's too-"
She slapped him. "Don't you dare speak about my brother that way." she hissed quietly. Elmar felt a thick, dark gloom engulf his heart. "Now we have bruises to match."
Rymana Frey looked up from her needlework. Her lady mother had stopped embroidering, as she always did. She never understood why her lady mother never finished her work, which, if she had to be perfectly honest, was not very good. Rymana had learned the womanly arts from Septa Hester and the various aunts, cousins, nieces that flowed into Moat Cailin from the Twins.
Lady Arya was looking out the window again but Rymana didn't know what was so interesting. The sewing room overlook the swamps and wilderness of the Neck. Rymana hated it. She wanted to go south, to the capital of the Southern Kingdom, King's Landing, where summer had come early and King Renly held tourneys full of gallant knights and charming ladies that would be her friends. Her home was a rebuilt ruin, where the walls did not meet evenly and the smallfolk were only just coming back.
"Mother," she asked stitching another flower onto the hem a skirt, "Will we be going South this summer?"
"What is there for us in the south-oh, Sansa." Lady Arya's eyes turned to her firstborn, a girl of nine "You really liked Highgarden the last time you went there. But we'll go North first, to your uncles and grandmother. They'll be happy to see Tomas, when he's old enough to travel."
Rymana bit her lip, "What about King's Landing?"
"What about King's Landing?" Arya asked sharply.
"I want to visit the capital. Wasn't it beautiful when you went there." the instant the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake.
Her lip trembled. "I don't remember much of King's Landing. But you've heard a lot about it, haven't you?"
It was challenge, Rymana knew, "Yes."
"What happened the last time the Starks went to King's Landing?"
"Uncle Robb won a great victory over the Lannisters and rescued Aunt Sansa."
"And why did Robb go to King's Landing?"
"Because Grandfather had been murdered." Rymana's voice dimmed.
"And I saw it."
Rymana gasped, "You never told me that before."
Lady Arya bit her lip, uncertainty in her eyes. Finally she explained, "I was your age, a little older or younger, and I was with my dancing master Syrio Forel when the queen's men came to take me. Syrio fought them to help me get away, and I never saw him again. I ran outside and found my sword Needle and shoved it into a stableboy who was going to sell me to the queen." Rymana's squeaked in shock. Lady Arya chuckled and continued "A man of the Night's Watch found me; he was a friend of my father. He protected me when they brought him out. Sansa was there when they..." Lady Arya's eyes glazed over and sank, "They killed him with his own sword. They made him lie and say Joffrey was a true king. Sansa... she was... she screamed so loudly."
Lady Arya snapped out of her memories and looked at her daughter. Rymana had gone pale, her sewing needle clutched tight in her tiny fingers. "What happened next?" she whispered.
"I shouldn't have told you that story."
"What happened next?"
"Nothing your pretty little ears ought to hear."
"You said you were my age and lived through it."
Lady Arya laughed bitterly and hung her head, "I didn't live through it-I survived it." her mother raised her head and locked eyes with her, gray against brown "That was not life."
"But father saved you, didn't he?" she asked.
"What gave you that idea?" Lady Arya said inquiringly.
Rymana chewed the inside of her cheek, "He was knight during the war. Isn't that how you met? He saved you, right?"
Lady Arya scowled, "You father was Roose Bolton's squire, and a terrible one at that. He didn't do any fighting or rescuing, no matter what he told you, at least not for me. Beside I was always better with the sword, before he forced me to give it up."
"You shouldn't have a sword, mother," Rymana interrupted, "You're a woman."
"The sword doesn't care who wields it or who it cuts down. Your father made me stop because he was afraid of me. He's an oaf and a drunken fool; I'd rather marry a blacksmith." she stopped, as if she realized she'd said too much. She saw the surprise on Rymana's face
"Didn't you marry father because you loved him?" she asked, wondering why her mother had never told her any of this before.
"I was promised to him, a girl for a bridge crossing. Robb was part of the deal; it's why he married Roslin Frey. Otherwise I'm certain he would have married his lover, the Westerling girl."
"No, that can't be true. People get married when they fall in love; that's how it goes in all the stories," Rymana protested, "And Uncle Robb would never take a lover. He's too honorable to dishonor his queen."
"Honor doesn't get you very far, little one. My father was so honorable he got his head cut off."
"Mother, you're frightening me." Rymana paused her needlework and shrank back against her chair.
Lady Arya sighed and twisted her unfinished needlework in her fingers, "Good. The world is a frightening place. You're so like your Aunt Sansa." she crossed the room, knelt in front of Rymana and cupped her hand in her cheek, "You need the understand that the gallant knights and fair maidens in your stories exist only in stories, not the real world. Life is not a song my little one." her mother rose, "I must see your brother."
Before she got out the door, Rymana asked one more question, "If father didn't save you, who did?"
Arya turned and smiled, "I did."