Arya, I
Arya was hiding when her father returned.
It wasn't out of fear or sadness, but a touch of boredom. She'd been practicing her needlework and had again been told by Septa Mordane that her work was shoddy. She didn't care. Arya was not like her older sister Sansa, who, for all the world, may as well have been the Mother herself. The praise lavished on her by the Septa, their mother, the whole of Winterfell, was sickening.
Arya had long since given up on the idea of being a 'lady', almost as much as actually keeping her stitches straight for once. It was a touch more interesting to hide from the entire castle as they searched for you, she reflected from her hiding spot. So what if father had said a dangerous group of brigands were on the march, burning and pillaging at will? She had no plans to leave the gates of Winterfell, just escape from her needlework.
Even little Bran was with her. She couldn't climb half as well as he could, despite being two years older. It seemed that she was second in everything to someone or other! But she didn't hold it against Bran. Not him. Sansa, yes, but not Bran.
The younger boy giggled from his spot in the bushes. "We could hide here forever."
"We would run out of food," Arya said. "But I'd sneak us ham and chicken from the kitchens when no one's looking."
Their game was sadly interrupted. A signal was given throughout the castle, one which heralded the return of her lord father and his party. They had gone out only seven days ago, in search of the bandits responsible for killing father's people. Eagerly, she ran and hid behind a cart near the gates, hoping to hear stories but still wary of her mother searching for her.
Maybe Jon would have something exciting to speak of. She loved Jon, possibly more than any of her full brothers and certainly more than her only sister. He looked like her, with dark eyes and hair to match. His build was slender and he was lean and fast, just like Arya. Around Jon, she felt as though she truly belonged.
First came the flag-bearer of Lord Stark's company, carrying the banner of their House; a Direwolf running on a field of ice, appropriately matching their words, winter is coming.
When the entire company was through the gates she looked and frowned. There was a man riding alongside father, one she had never seen before. He looked to be above twenty but below thirty, with raven-coloured hair and a strong posture. He was not as big as father, nowhere near, but he still had muscle and wisdom in his eyes, eyes that were... emerald? That was unusual.
When he dismounted after father, she was able to see the outline of a thin scar upon his brow, shaped like a fork of lightning. The sword at his waist was splendid, framed with jewels and made from silver steel. It looked as cold as the snows of winter, yet more royal than anything she had ever seen. His body was wrapped in a thick cloak, one finely made, and he wore warm-looking boots on his feet. Whoever this young man was, he had money and power. Or was he a famous black brother, come to them from the Wall?
"Young lady, what have I told you about hiding?"
Arya gulped at the sharp touch of her mother's hand on her shoulder. She had forgotten to be aware of her surroundings, too engrossed by the man in black. She looked around, smiling nervously. "Don't get caught?"
Lady Stark narrowed her eyes, but the expression was ruined by a dim smile upon her lips. She shook her head. "Sometimes I wonder what we're going to do with you. Run along, I'm sure you want to see your father. But we will be speaking of this later."
Arya nodded and hastily departed. She ran to meet her father. He was surrounded by the men of Winterfell, such as Jory, Ser Rodrik and even her older brothers. They had a hundred armoured spearmen for company, but she wasn't intimidated. She was too used to being outsized and outnumbered. Idly, she saw her mother scolding Bran in the background and flashed him an apologetic grin. Then, she turned back to her father.
"Arya," he said affectionately, ruffling her hair with a smile. "I'm glad to see you well, child. What trouble have you been getting yourself into?"
"Nothing!" she said quickly, too quickly. Her eyes were drawn to the man in black, who gave her a curious look before turning to speak with Robb and Jon.
Eddard caught her looking. "Tell your mother we have a guest. He's to be given good quarters and clothing, and he'll be dining with us tonight."
Arya raised her eyebrows, but did as she was told. Her father was in a serious mood; it showed on his face. Her mother frowned when she relayed the news, but left to carry out the instructions without a word. Lady Stark ran the household as much as her husband did, but when he was as sombre as such, she knew the matter was one of great importance.
"Who is he?" Bran later asked, looking at the man with awe. The two of them were hiding again, watching as the man in black followed their father into his quarters. "Do you think he's a knight from the capital?"
"No, stupid," Arya said. "Father went north, not south."
"I'm not stupid," Bran grumbled.
"Are too."
"Am not!"
"Stupid Bran," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. Bran growled and dived for her, but Arya was prepared and leapt away from his grasp. He chased her for half an hour through the courtyard and along the walls, until their mother announced it was time to sup.
The table was quiet, save for their father speaking with the mysterious young man in low tones. He stopped abruptly when the children entered and rose to meet them.
"Children," said he, "this is Lord Harry, of House Potter. He is our guest and you will treat him with every courtesy and respect. Do you understand?"
Arya winced as he especially directed the last point towards her more than the others. Nonetheless, he received six nods for his trouble and appeared satisfied. The family sat as one and offered up some prayers to the Old Gods, before beginning to eat. She watched this Lord Harry with interest, noting that he did not seem to know the words for their blessing. He was from the North, wasn't he? She thought most northern lord kept the Old Gods. And House Potter? Maester Luwin had never mentioned them before in his lessons.
"What brings you to Winterfell, Lord Harry?" her mother asked.
The man was well-mannered, at least. He politely swallowed and rubbed his mouth with a napkin before answering courteously.
"I had been hoping to speak with Lord Stark, my lady. I know it may be confusing to you, so allow me to explain."
He took a sip of water and spoke, at her bequest.
"My House is relatively new, my lady. Some months ago I came to Lord Stark with a request; our homes on the peninsula of Sea Dragon Point had fallen into... disarray. We were attacked by a group of bandits, who stole much of our gold and killed the lord in charge. Lord Stark gave me power of vassalage, so that I might rebuild the towns and govern them under his authority as Warden of the North.
"That is what I've been doing ever since, but unfortunately, the same bandits returned only three weeks ago. Rather than allow them to escape, I sent a raven to Lord Stark and tracked the godless bastards – pardon me, my lady – through the Wolfswood with several of my watchmen. We found them and dispatched them in the night after they burned another village. Lord Stark found me on the road the next day, and bid me return with him to Winterfell, so that I could rest and replenish my numbers."
There was a silence as those present digested this tale more so than the food they barely ate. Catelyn frowned.
"How many of your men did you lose?" she asked.
Lord Harry sighed and bowed his head. "All twenty of them. When we attacked we took them by surprise, but they had a second force on the other side of the village, who caught us unawares. Those men were all good fighters, loyal to a point and more honourable people than ever I've known. I was able to bury them before your lord husband found me, but alas... I shall mourn them."
The Lord and Lady of Winterfell exchanged a look. Arya felt sorry for the man; to lose so many friends in one fight, which was to save others, must have been terrible. She didn't speak, but Bran did.
"You tracked them through the Wolfswood?" he asked, awed. "That must have been scary!"
Lord Harry gave a thin smile. "My father taught me to hunt in those woods many years ago, my lord. I have experience tracking vermin. When you put the two together, it mightn't be quite as difficult as you'd think."
"Please," Lord Stark intoned. "It isn't necessary for you to address the children with such decorum, though I appreciate the thought. First names will suffice."
"Very good, my lord," Harry said, nodding at him. "Maybe when you're older, if your father allows it, we can hunt together..."
"Bran."
"Bran," Lord Harry said, nodding. "Brandon is a good name."
The young boy flushed with pride and smiled, returning to his food with renewed vigour. Arya looked down at her soup. She had barely touched a thing, but forced herself to swallow a few mouthfuls and eat a chunk of bread. Robb and Jon were being suspiciously silent. Rickon was understandable – he was too young to care. And she rolled her eyes at Sansa. One look was all she needed to see the prim young lady was smitten. She kept shooting him shy looks, which he either ignored or did not notice.
Arya could have gagged.
"You must be tired, Lord Harry," her mother said. "Perhaps we shouldn't disturb you so."
Lord Harry waved that concern away. "Nonsense, my lady. Your meal is wonderful and some sleep tonight will do me good, but I am not wounded or an inch from death. By all means, ask me all that you like. I don't wish to be rude."
"What was it like killing those men?" Arya suddenly asked.
"Arya!" her mother snapped, glaring. Her father shot her a silencing look, as Robb and Jon winced at the whole situation. She bowed her head in admonishment.
Harry was quiet for a moment and she thought that she'd blown her chance, but to everybody's surprise, he answered after some deliberation.
"Killing is... not something I enjoy. It's not something any sane person should enjoy, even the most veteran soldier in any army. It's disgusting and inhuman and I'd rather it didn't exist in the world."
"Then why do it?" Robb asked quietly, speaking at last. He didn't look awed or intimidated, Arya thought, but seemed to view Lord Harry more like... an equal? That surprised her, since Robb tended to be shy around strangers, especially the highborn.
Harry looked over at him with a wan smile. His eyes were heavy with sorrow. "Because if we don't root out the fires that burn, they'll scorch the world to ash."
"Poignant, yet true," father said. He raised his glass and clinked it together with Lord Harry's. "A man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, yet he who would kill for joy or amusement is the worst type of man. Never take pride in death, but do only what is necessary to preserve peace."
The men at the table all toasted to that, even mother.
The rest of the night passed without major incident; the adults talked among themselves for a time, with Robb and Jon getting involved on occasion. At one point Sansa asked Lord Harry how he had gotten his scar, and he told them quietly he didn't know. It had happened when he was very young, when his parents were still alive. Arya snorted with laughter at how Sansa blushed when speaking, but sobered up at his harrowing explanation.
As fascinating as the man was, as nice as he seemed, she was bored. She didn't like not being involved when mother and father spoke to a guest, even if she did understand why they did so. When the meal ended her mother whisked the younger children off to bed, also excusing Lord Harry to his own chambers. Arya was quite fed up, determining to get her own share of tales.
Arya waited for her mother to fall asleep before making her move. She quietly snuck out of the bedroom, careful not to wake any of her siblings or parents in their romms, and gently pushed open the door to Lord Harry's guest quarters. She would only stay if he were awake, she told herself. But he wasn't. He wasn't in the room at all, in fact. Frowning, she closed it and tiptoed into the courtyard, not bothering to wear shoes or even socks.
She found Lord Harry on a low part of the battlements and climbed up to him, keeping a weather eye for any of father's guards. He did not seem surprised to see her. On the contrary, he gave a smile and helped her onto the walkway, smiling in the moonlight.
"I thought you would come to me, little lady," he said with humour. "It seems you're more insatiable for tales of fighting than even your brothers."
"I only asked once!" she pouted, to which he gave a grin.
"Once was quite enough," he said. "I can see it on your face: the life your sister wishes for is one that strikes you as boring, and you'd much rather be playing with swords than learning how to sew."
"You spoke to Jon," she pointed out.
"I did," he nodded. "But I didn't really need to. I once knew a girl like you. She didn't like the life of a lady any more than you, and would constantly get into trouble for having a bit of fun."
"What happened to her?" Arya asked quietly, as Harry gazed into the dark horizon with a smile on his face and sparkling eyes.
"She died," he said, softer than anything. He shook his head after a minute, leaving her to wonder if she had pushed her luck too far yet again. But for the second time, he surprised her by smiling. "Don't be afraid to ask me questions, little lady. If there's anything I feel you shouldn't know I'll tell you so. Otherwise, you're free to ask whatever you may."
That set off a barrage of questioning. "How old are you? How many people have you killed? Did you fight in any great wars? How old is your House? Do you have family? Do-"
"One at a time," he laughed, holding up a hand. But his eyes danced with amusement. "I'll tell you what: I'll take those in order.
"My twenty fifth birthday-"
"Birthday? Is that what you call your name day?" she interrupted.
Lord Harry hesitated, and she could practically see the cogs turning in his head. It was curious. So much about him was curious!
"Yes, that's what I meant. Some call it differently. To answer your second question... I really don't know how many. Maybe twenty. As I said before, I take no joy in killing... but some men need to die for the world to be a safer place. I guess that links with my next answer – yes, I fought in a war, but I doubt you have heard of it. A madman, claiming to be a god, rose up and found himself a group of devoted followers. They terrorised my home, a land not of Westeros, before we put them to the sword. But their leader escaped, and is still on the run."
"You don't come from Westeros?" she asked with wide eyes. "Are you from Volantis? Or Braavos?"
"...Lys," he said quietly.
"You don't have the skin tone of a man from Lys," Arya noted.
Lord Harry smiled again. "My father was from there, but my mother was born east of the Stony Shore."
"South of where your home is," Arya pondered. "How did they meet?"
"Ah!" Lord Harry exclaimed lowly, laughing. "That's a tale I'd like answered myself someday, but I have no living relatives."
Arya looked at her shoes. How often would she keep putting her foot in her mouth? "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Lord Harry asked. She looked back, to see him screwing his face up at her. "I told you, ask what you will. I came to accept the deaths of my parents many years ago. I live at Sea Dragon Point and never adapted the Lyseni accent, despite travelling back there to fight for a few years. And to answer your next two questions together: I am the last of my House, one that began with my grandparents, who I never met."
"Do you have a sigil?"
Lord Harry gave her an odd look that she couldn't place, before nodding. Silently, he withdrew a folded piece of cloth that she recognised as an insignia and handed it to her. She looked at it, drinking in the details of a banner she'd never seen before. Across a quartered background of red and blue was a snow-white bird, some type of falcon, she thought. Beneath that, in simple runes, were the words:
Flee no Evil.
She repeated them aloud.
Lord Harry nodded. "My House seems to find itself in trouble wherever it goes, so I adopted those words myself. I will never bow to adversity and never run from tyranny, but strike it down where I see it. Do you know the creature in the centre?"
"I thought it might be a... a falcon?" she asked, feeling dumb.
"A good guess, but off the mark," he replied. "It is a phoenix. A bird of everlasting fire," he added, seeing her confused look. "It's a near mythical creature, one pure of heart and soul. Its tears can heal any wound or sickness, but the bird only cries for someone who is equally as pure. When it reaches the time of death, it bursts into flame, before rebirthing from the ashes that are left."
"It can't die?" she whispered. "It sounds as impressive as the dragons!"
Lord Harry snorted, something she wasn't expecting. "It is much, much more impressive than the dragons, my friend. Dragons can be killed, phoenixes cannot. And unlike a dragon, it will never turn on the man or woman it cares for, but aid them in times of need. The bird will literally drive away evil and blackness, and its song – yes, it sings – can bring a bloodthirsty warrior to tears and quell the fighting of thousands of men in a heartbeat."
"You speak as if you've seen one," Arya said, filled with wonder. The phoenix sounded like a beautiful creature and she dearly wanted to see one for real.
To her disappointment, he took the banner back again and moved to help her off the rampart. Before falling to the grass below, he smiled at her.
"I have."
Arya grew accustomed to Lord Harry's presence over the next few weeks. He seemed to have a lot of business with father, for the two were often seen together, talking in hushed voices. Lord Harry even joined him in his business of running the castle and his duties as Warden of the North. He rode with her brothers to see a deserter from the Night's Watch executed, and returned with the handful of direwolf pups they had found. Arya was smiling as Jon placed a pup of her own into her arms, but that redoubled when Lord Harry told her:
"As the sigil of your house, that pup will bring you great fortune and good will. You are very lucky."
She named the direwolf Nymeria.
Lord Harry dined with her family most nights, and every member seemed rather taken with him. Sansa still had her stupid crush, Bran loved hearing stories of the warriors he knew and Robb and Jon took to sparring with him several times a week, occasionally even joining him and father on their serious work. He knew a lot of unusual moves in the yard, flamboyant yet able to withstand the strength of even Ser Rodrik. Jon told her that he must have been trained in the Braavosi style of waterdancing, but he seemed adept in dozens of styles. Once, when Rodrik was able to disarm him and smile triumphantly, Lord Harry had knocked him down with a combination of punches and kicks to what he told her were sensitive areas, such as the liver. He didn't hurt Rodrik too badly, but made his point perfectly clear. He was a deadly warrior.
Even Rickon seemed to love spending time with him, and the babe barely took to strangers, although he began to be less of a stranger and more an uncle not by blood. The Stark children were all close to Ser Rodrik, Jory and Maester Luwin, but Lord Harry was soon staking a claim on such a position himself. When not training or spending a lot of time in the godswood, he mostly talked with Lord Stark, but he still had a friendly word for her whenever she wanted it. They spoke of the great houses, a topic in which he seemed to want to absorb as much information as possible. She reminded herself that he was not from Westeros, so it made sense that his education might be lacking. Still, she couldn't help but wonder...
"Why do you spend so much time in the godswood if you don't keep the old gods?" she asked one day.
He stiffened, but relaxed almost instantly. "What makes you think I don't keep the old gods? Have you been spying on me?"
"No!" she exclaimed. "I just... I saw you seem a bit confused when father said the blessing over dinner on your first night here. It was as though the words were strange to you."
Lord Harry seemed to deflate. He gave a heavy sigh and seemed to deliberate something inside his mind, before turning to her with a nod to himself. "The... truth is, I'm ignorant of the religions of Westeros. The old gods, the seven, all of them. I spend time in the godswood because I like quiet reflection and it helps me to understand the deities your family keeps."
"Not all of us," Arya corrected. "Mother keeps faith with the seven."
Lord Harry nodded. "I see. And what of you, Arya? Do you believe in the gods?"
Arya hesitated. She wasn't sure how to answer that. Her parents would probably scold her for saying she was not a theologian, but did the gods exist? Could she believe in almighty beings that gave Sansa good looks, but not her? That made Jon a bastard, but not Robb? That made her highborn, but not Mycah, the butcher's boy? She didn't understand, truth be told. And at nine, who could blame her?
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Lord Harry patted her on the shoulder comfortingly, before apologising. "It's a lot to ask of you at such a tender age. Oftentimes I'm not sure whether I believe in any god. I've seen a lot of death and pain, suffering you can't imagine. Yet religion would have us believe that comes down to man, not the gods. I mostly choose to trust in myself and the people I love."
"Where are the people you love?" Arya asked suddenly. "Are they here, or back home?"
Lord Harry handed her a strawberry. "The last this summer, the trader told me."
She took a bite, finding it sweet and juicy. Perfectly ripe.
"My family is back home, though most would call them 'friends'."
"But not you?"
"No, not me," he shook his head. "They are family. I love them and they I. I'm making plans for them to join me if your father allows it, but unless they decide to surprise me it won't be for a while."
"Do they surprise you often?"
"Yes," he smiled. "Yes, they do..."
He lapsed into silence, but before Arya could think of something to break the deadlock, Robb came for her.
"Mother and father are looking for us," he said. "Lord Harry, I think your presence is wanted as well."
The three of them left to find the lord and lady of the castle. As it transpired, something major had occurred in the capital. Arya didn't understand why as father chose not to tell them, but the king was riding to Winterfell. And with him was coming the entire royal court – the queen, their children and dozens of knights, musicians and fools.
Lord Harry gave her father a significant look and nodded, before gently grabbing Robb's arm and leading him outside. The younger boy did not protest and followed diligently, and Jon stalked after them as soon as he grew weary of her mother's frosty looks.
One day, she thought, one day I'm going to figure out everything about Lord Harry. I don't have a stupid crush like Sansa, but he has so many enticing stories! And now the king is coming here as well. Urgh, that means mother will have me dress like a ponce and behave sweetly to the royal family.
"Can I be excused?" she asked politely.
Her father waved her off, and she yanked Bran outside with her, determined to spend at least one more day in the mud before the king arrived. She never heard her mother's groan as she fell face first into a mucky puddle, too full of mirth and too eager to chase Bran and pay him back in kind.
:Author's Notes:
- "Interesting, worried that harry may become a lapdog of the Starks but other then that i liked this chapter and now following it can't wait for the next chapter :)"
Ned sees him as more of an equal and soon as a friend. Hopefully Harry doesn't seem too submissive - he's a man hardened by war and has more power than most anyone in the Seven Kingdoms by this stage. And thanks!
- "Interesting first contact between Ned and Harry and at least they come to a rapport. I think they will both work excellent together, they both are honorable and know the loss of loved ones. I cant wait to see how Harry will interact with the other characters and how he will shape Westeros.
I have however some questions:
Will Voldemort support one side in Westeros or will he act on his own?
Where is this chapter in the ASOIF timeline?
And will Harry get his own ccastle with land and a lord titel?"
I'm not going to say much about Voldemort's plans at this moment in time - that's more part of the 'unravelling' that I spoke of last chapter and I wouldn't want to spoil it on anyone. Both chapters are set just before the events of AGOT, although this one moves into that territory with the finding of the direwolves. Something may or may not happen with regards to a castle, but yes to the lordship. Ned trusts Harry and is willing to help him with his deception, knowing how dangerous magic can be (trust me, those two had a LOT to talk about in their three day journey to Winterfell), so he decides to make his position official and vouch for him as Warden of the North. This will also have a lot of unforeseen effects on the plot of ASOIF as we know it from canon.
Thanks all, for your wonderful reviews! Until next week!