Her first nephew is a chubby little thing with brown hair and big curious eyes.
She smiles at Sansa, her face is red and beautiful even if she has cried her eyes out; Arya strokes her cheek tenderly.
-Mother would be proud of you, Sansa.-
***
Arya likes Highgarden.
At first she has complained about the hot weather and the steady smell of flowers, but then she finds out where the knights use to practise and the labyrinth.
She loves the labyrinth: a vast garden with hedgerows full of roses and statues of knights and Ancestors. Her favourite statue is the tallest one, made of white and red marble and placed in the centre of the garden. She climbs it easily and she is impressed because she can see everything.
Her days are full of new discoveries. One day she is chasing a rabbit and the other she is swimming in the little lake; Sansa doesn't bother her with lady's duties or sewing lessons. Her sister is happy if Arya holds her little baby and kisses his red cheeks.
-Lady Arya. May I join you in your... exploration?-
Margaery Tyrell is in front of her, her long green dress as beautiful as subtle, her perfect brown hair bounded in some complicated southron hairstyle. She is that kind of lady Arya hates the most: silly, stupid, shallow. But she can't deny her, she is a guest.
-Yes...- she nods, insecure. -Your cousins will join us too, my lady?-
Margaery shakes her head. -They find Highgarden too boring... and I'm the only one intrigued by your wildness.- she giggles.
Arya shrugs, ensure if being called "wild" is a compliment. She doubts it.
Despite her previous thought, she likes Margaery's company. She is wit and amusing and she doesn't care if her wonderful dress gets dirty.
-I saw you on the statue. I'd like to climb it, but I'm not good.-
-It's not that difficult, but your dress is not suitable.-
-Today I'll wear proper clothes.-
***
So the next day they are climbing the statue. Arya helps her pointing the right place for her feet or her hands, Margaery's red and sweaty face makes Arya laugh.
-It's not very polite, lady Arya... I'm trying my best.-
And Arya's expression softens a little, her hand reaches Margaery's and she helps her to sit on the marble horse.
-You're really good at climbing.-
-I don't want false compliments, I'm terrible! You helped me a lot, lady Arya. You're the good one.-
-Don't call me that.-
-Pardon me?-
-Don't call me my lady. I'm Arya. Only Arya.-
-As you wish, so I'm Margaery, only Margaery.-
***
Arya holds her nephew whilst Sansa sews with Margaery and her cousins. The baby is small and he looks like a Tyrell, but his lungs reminds her Rickon's cries at night and Arya knows that this baby isn't totally a Southron thing.
-Lady Arya, is it true that you haven't a betrothed?- Arya's eyes linger on a lady, so ladylike and so boring.
-Yes, my father didn't find a decent man for me.- she replies while her nephew is squirming a little. He senses the tension.
-Oh, he will find someone perfect for you, I'm sure.-
-Yes, a horsebreaker!- someone whispers and Arya feels her cheeks flush. She is about to reply but Margaery stands up and her cross-stitched handkerchief falls to the ground.
-Lady Arya's private life isn't your business, I can't tolerate this behaviour under my roof.-
And Arya smiles because she has never seen Margaery so angry, especially with her beloved cousins.
She flushes a little more, because she is acting like a silly girl.
***
-How long will you stay here?-
Arya turns her face to Margaery, they both are lying on their back, hidden in a glade with fresh fruit and juice.
-Two weeks, I think.-
-You know, I'd like to visit Winterfell.-
-You can come with me.-
-I can't. My father betrothed me and I'll visit my future husband next moon.-
Arya holds Margaery's hand.
-You could speak with your father...-
-I'm a widow, I can't upset my future husband.-
Margaery squeezes Arya's hand and smiles at her stubborn eyes.
-I ill-judged you, Margaery. I thought you were some sort of spoiled girl, so lady and so... fragile.-
-I sensed it. I was intrigued by you, you know?! Sansa used to tell me stories about you and your mischief and your unladylike behaviour with such fondness that I was eager to know you. And I'm happy and envious, you're so free and wild.-
Arya opens her mouth, she can't believe that Margaery is evious of her. She is Arya Horseface who would deserve a horsebreaker as husband, while she is like a blossom, perfect and beautiful and gentle.
-This is stupid, Margaery.I didn't think you could say stupid things.-
***
That nightmare chases her even in Highgarden.
Drops of sweat run on her back and her breath is short.
She is afraid, she doesn't want to sleep because her dream is still knocking on her mind.
She doesn't want to see her father's head rolling on the ground, Ice crusted with his blood and she doesn't want to hear people's screams of happiness, the sound of the blade when it beheads him.
She jumps off her bed and leaves her room.
At Winterfell, she would sneak into Rickon's or Bran's bed but she isn't at home and Sansa shares her bed with Willas so she just wanders through the corridors.
And her feet leads her in front of Margaery's bedchamber.
She wants to knock, but she doesn't want to appear fragile. She closes her eyes and the blade is still crusted with blood.
-Margaery! It's me, Arya.- she whispers.
-Come in.-
And she comes in shyly, her look on the ground as she starts to apologise because it's late and she would be tired.
Margaery smiles and opens her blankets.
-A nightmare?- she asks.
Arya nods and she feels like a child, she feels silly and stupid but when she is on Margaery's arms she feels secure.
And then she flushes because Margaery smells like a rose and she would probably smell like a sweaty animal. She squirms and sighs.
-What's the problem?-
-I smell like a fucking animal, instead you have a good scent.-
Margaery laughs as she sinks her nose on Arya's wild hair, her breath is tickling her lobe.
-You do not smell like an animal, you smell like North and winter.-
-So they do stink.-
They both laugh.
-I'm so sorry.- Arya whispers, their faces so close they can caress each other with their breath.
Margaery's hand is bold, her fingertips are stroking Arya's side and they draws little circles in her stomach.
Arya holds her breath, she likes her touch and she thinks it's a good way to forget her nightmare.
-You don't stink and I like you so wild and free.-
Margaery's lips collide on Arya's. At first it's a light stroke, but then Margaery bits Arya's bottom lip and their tongues begin to play a chasing game.
They starts to roll because Arya is strong, but Margaery is a Tyrell and her words are "Growing strong"; they roll until the older girl straddles Arya and they're both breathless.
-I won and I deserve an award.-
-What kind...?- but her word are suffocated by a long wet kiss.
Margaery's hands fumble with her night's clothes.
-What?-
-My award. You're my award.- she parts Arya's legs to stroke her in her sensitive place.
When Margaery's fingers slip inside her, Arya's nightmare is definitively forgotten.
***
Arya studies Margaery. And, for the first time, she sees her mask.
She hasn't spotted it earlier, but she sees it clearly now and she doesn't like it. She notes her little whispers, her eyes as cold as ice; she notes her ambition and her false silliness and her fake bold look.
***
Her father is angry.
Arya kisses his cheeks and he hugs her tenderly, but he is still angry. Not with her, so she wants to ask but his mood is black and he warns her they'll leave Highgarden soon.
-I will go tomorrow.-
-I'm going to miss you.-
Arya is silent, she strokes her cheek and they kisses.
She isn't in love with her, but she likes how Margaery's lips and tongues and fingers work on her.
Arya knows the Tyrell girl is hiding something and she would like to ask, but what? They are lovers, not friends. Not real friends. They like each other's company, but Margaery is too wit and Arya is too wary.
Their last night is hot, kisses and strokes make them squirm and scream and growl.
Arya is going to miss her warm hands, her cunning look and her boldness. She says it, just to make Margaery giggle.
She is not going to miss her smile because it never reaches her eyes.
***
She hugs Sansa and the baby, gives a bow to Willas and kisses Margaery's cheeks. Sansa is crying because, after all, she is alone and the wolf risks to die when it isn't with her pack.
These words hit Arya like a blow in the stomach and for the first time she would remain.
She can't.
-I will pray for you.- she whispers in Sansa's ear.
So she mounts her horse and waves her hand, until her hosts become little spots.
-My lady, will you miss Highgarden?-
Arya shakes her head. -I'll miss my sister and my nephew. How was the visit in King's Landing?- she asks politely.
-Boring, and hot my lady. There isn't anything good in that town.-
-And my Lord father's business? He looks angry.-
Jory shrugs a little, his face tired. -Not that good, but now we have a new apprentice for Mikken.-
He points a young man with black hair, awkward on his horse.
Arya looks at him a bit longer and he catches her eyes. He smiles and she turns her face.
-He looks stupid.-
***
Arya can't sleep. Her bed is uncomfortable and it's hot in her little tent.
So she wears her clothes and goes outside, the cold air cheers her up and her mind plans a way to explore the woods. But she remembers her father's eyes and she just walks towards the fire, a man is teasing the glowing embers.
-Why you awake?- she asks, sitting besides him. He jumps a little, but he doesn't recognize her, she is wearing soiled and man's clothes. So unladylike.
-Too cold to sleep. I'm going to die in Winterfell.-
-It's not that cold in the castle. Hot waters run into the walls.-
-I won't live in the castle, I will die I know... -
-So why are you here?-
The young man looks at her and Arya feels goosebumps, his eyes are so intense.
-My master sold me like a piece of meat to Lord Stark.- he stabs the embers with a little wood.
-So here I am, my curious friend. I'm Gendry... you?-
Arya avoids the question asking him whatis the content of that bundle near his foot.
-This? This is my first work. A helmet.- he puts the fine work on Arya's lap.
-Be careful.-
Arya arches a brow, she is not five and she is not going to break that helmet.
-You know, you look like your bull.-
Gendry looks at his helmet and smiles. A real smile, the one which reaches the eyes.
She has missed these kind of things.
-So I'm a really good-looking guy.-