So for the sake of this story, the Seven Kingdoms are all ruled separately. Sansa never went south to marry Joffrey, although she was betrothed to him at one time. More details on that will be revealed later.
She felt like they had been running for days.
Arya Stark, princess of Winterfell, finally allowed herself to stop. Her body rejoiced in the respite. She crouched over, trying to regain her breath, listening carefully for any indication that her pursuers were nearby.
The Goldcloaks. The devoted followers of Cersei Lannister and her psychopathic son King Joffrey. The pair had many nicknames throughout the Seven Kingdoms.
The Golden Lions.
The Tyrants of Casterly Rock.
The murderers of King Eddard Stark.
Hearing no sounds other than leaves rustling in the wind and birds chirping high up in the trees around her, Arya allowed herself to relax for a moment. She knew she could not let her guard down for even a second, but she was exhausted. She would be no help to herself or Nymeria if she was too tired to defend herself.
Looking around at the clearing she had stopped in, she found a tree nearby and curled up against the trunk, settling her sword in her lap. Nymeria crawled up beside her, resting her snout against Arya's leg. Offhandedly, Arya noted the filthy, ragged state of her traveling dress. Sansa would be appalled if she could see her now.
Arya smiled to herself at the thought of her sister. Arya had not seen Sansa since the younger princess had left Winterfell with their father on a diplomatic trip to King's Landing. Every year, the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms met to discuss concerns affecting all of the kingdoms, and Arya had convinced her father to let her accompany him this year.
At only 17, Arya could hardly participate in the talks, but she had always been curious about life outside of Winterfell, and she had jumped at the chance to explore more of the world.
The trip had been a success, from what little Arya could deduce from eavesdropping on Ned's discussions with his advisors. She had sensed some tension between Cersei and her father when the two had bid each other farewell, but quickly forgot about it in her elation about finally leaving King's Landing.
All she could think about was getting home to Winterfell. The excitement of traveling the world had worn off about a month into the trip. Adventures were grand and fun, of course, but nothing compared to the warmth and familiarity of home.
Their traveling party had been on the road for three days when everything went to hell.
Arya was sleeping in her tent, Nymeria cuddled up against her, when loud shouts and the clanking of metal upon metal awoke her. Grabbing Needle, the sword gifted to her by her cousin Jon before she had left, she peered outside.
The night was pitch black, other than the dim light offered by the fire that had been set up in the center of the camp. Her father's men were being attacked everywhere she could see, slaughtered by men in golden armor. The metal glimmered eerily in the firelight.
Arya knew who they followed. She would recognize the lion on their cloaks anywhere.
As quietly as she could, Arya snuck out of her cloth shelter, desperate to find her father and escape. Perhaps if they could just reach the horses, they could leave before anyone noticed their absence.
Nymeria stayed close, determined to protect her friend.
Finally, after a frantic five minutes of tiptoeing from one tent to another, she spotted Ned, dueling one of the Goldcloaks ten feet away. They stood next to the fire, the battle easily seen from even her vantage point. Ned knocked the sword out of the other man's hand, cutting him down before he had a chance to register he had been defeated.
As though he could sense her presence, Ned turned, shoulders sagging in relief when he met her eyes. She was about to run to him when a shadow behind Ned moved. Something in her expression must have signaled her intention to yell out, because Ned shook his head quickly, pleading with her not to give her position away. Arya watched in silent horror as a blade swept through the air, unseen by her father. He offered her a small smile as the sword sliced through his neck.
Be brave, my daughter, it said. Take care of yourself. My fate is in the hands of the gods now.
Arya refused to look away, adamant that at least one person who loved Ned Stark would bear witness to his death.
She stood there, frozen, long after the life had left his body, until she realized the attackers were still searching for survivors. She did not want to think about what they would do if they found her.
Arya sent a silent prayer to the old gods, asking them to take care of her father, and ran into the dark forest, Nymeria at her heels.
They hadn't stopped running since. She estimated it had been two full days since the attack, but she had pushed herself to keep moving. She was scared of being caught, yes, but she was even more terrified of letting her mind rest.
When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the vision of the sword cutting through her father. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get the image out of her head.
Distracted as she was by memories of the last few months, Arya did not notice anything amiss until Nymeria shot in front of her, growling at some as-yet-unseen danger.
Arya sprang to her feet and held Needle in front of her. She hadn't been training for long, but she could hold her own if her life depended on it.
Whoever was approaching, however, made no attempt to conceal their presence. It sounded as though a small party was traipsing towards them, unaware of the young woman and the direwolf directly in their path.
Voices rose in volume as the group drew near, laughter ringing in Arya's ears. She tightened her grip on the sword, bracing herself for the worst.
The young man who walked into the clearing first, however, was nothing like she was expecting.
He was clearly used to manual labor, if the size of his arms and chest were any indication. He carried a large warhammer in one hand as though it weighed nothing.
Arya doubted she could lift it with both hands, no matter how hard she tried.
His attire was more suited to one who lived and worked in the forest rather than a palace. His tunic and pants were a soft green color, and his boots were the cheaper, sturdier sort favored by the common folk.
His black hair blew in the breeze as he glanced around the clearing, taking in a deep breath.
Arya knew the exact moment he spotted her. Or rather, spotted Nymeria, as the direwolf nearly came up to her shoulder now.
He tensed, briefly, until his eyes met hers.
She had never put much faith in Sansa's fairytales, of knights and ladies, and love at first sight. But Arya would have sworn her heart skipped a beat, just like in the stories Septa Mordane used to read to them before bed.
His eyes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen, she thought, captivated.Brighter than the sky in Winterfell the morning after a storm. Needle fell to her side, forgotten.
The rest of his group sauntered into the clearing behind him, breaking up the intense moment. One of his companions, a chubby young man with a genial demeanor, whispered something to him, and the first man cleared his throat.
"Can we help you, miss?" he called out warily, eyeing Nymeria. The direwolf was still crouched, ready to pounce at the first sign of danger.
"It's okay," she comforted the wolf, resting her hand gently on Nymeria's back. Her friend relaxed and began sniffing the air curiously.
Recognizing that the threat was over (for now), the man, clearly the leader, began slowly walking towards them.
Arya moved out from behind Nymeria, stopping when the man was a few feet away. He held out a hand.
"Miss? We mean you no harm. Can we help you? My name is Gendry," he added, almost as an afterthought.
She knew it was a risk. She knew nothing about him or his companions. But something told her she could trust him with her life.
So, she did.
She clasped his hand. Her skin tingled where it came into contact with his.
"Hello, Gendry. I'm Arry."
This is my first time writing these characters, so I hope I did okay. Please leave a review and let me know!