The Queen was the first one to react. Her face became white, and just for once in her life, she lost her composure.
"My love, the night is old. We should return to our chambers for the night." Cersei laced her hand through the King's, trying to fake affection and drag him out of the feast.
"No. Don't you dare take me away from Lyanna. I will never leave her again." The King stared at Arya as he addressed her dead aunt. His eyes stared and searched Arya hungrily, and Arya felt sick to her stomach. Ned put an arm on his daughter's shoulder, and his lips formed a thin line. When Arya looked to her sister and mother, Sansa looked scandalized and glanced at the king as if she couldn't believe he would do such an un-honorable act. Her mother, on the other hand, only frowned.
"The woman you see is not Lyanna, my sweet, Lyanna Stark died years ago. You are looking at Arya Stark." Cersei whispered into the King's ear, further trying to calm his craze.
But the King looked anything but unfazed. Before he could reply, my father went up to the King himself and placed his hand on his oldest friend's shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, Arya could see Cersei glancing at her brother. Without a second to lose, Jaime Lannister was at the King's other shoulder, and together, the Lord of the North and the Kingsguard escorted the intoxicated King out of the feast. Arya's mother didn't waste any time to gracefully excuse herself and follow her husband. Lords and ladies that attended the feast whispered and gossiped nervously amongst each other.
All Arya could do was stay planted in her spot, with her fists clenched in fury. How dare they… she thought, How dare a drunk King declare my future for me. I will not marry the Prince because a drunk bastard told me to. I am staying in Winterfell. I will never marry. I refuse to.
Arya could see Sansa and Margaery talking to each other in a hushed fashion, until Sansa finally stood up and went to where the King was standing. The crowd instantly hushed themselves in Sansa's presence. She raised her head up confidently and straightened her posture.
"My friends, let the feast continue! For the night is young, and the King was only sent off to get more ale. Let the music continue and the feasting last all night and all day." Sansa's words were like sweet honey. The attendants cheered, with the event of the King momentarily forgotten. Sansa smiled with satisfaction as the lute players continued to play, and so did the singers. The already drunken lords needed no more words of encouragement to just keep doing what they were doing. The ladies continued to gossip amongst themselves until Margaery came to them with a smile on her face, and got all of them to dance and sing merrily. But when Sansa looked to Arya, her eyes turned from kindness to bitterness. She narrowed her eyes down at her little sister and frowned as if Arya has done something wrong.
And that's when Arya realized. Sansa was born to be a Queen. In her eyes, her own little sister was going to be granted the future that Sansa can now never have, but has always dreamed of. All the kindness Sansa has dared to show Arya earlier this day was forgotten. Now, Arya Stark was an enemy.
The next morning, Arya and Sansa and Catelyn broke fast together in silence. They were all gathered in Catelyn and Ned's temporary chambers, and Sansa's temporary handmaiden while she was staying at the Red Keep, Shae, served the Stark women their food. None of them dared to speak a word about the catastrophic feast that transpired the evening before. That is, until Sansa opened her mouth.
"It isn't fair." Sansa growled. When she wanted to be, her bite was as terrible as any of the other Starks.
"Sansa…" Catelyn started, but Arya shut her mother out.
"Sansa, the King was drunk. It was an empty promise without any meaning. You are truly stupid." Arya snapped back in return.
"Arya." Cat was sharper with her younger daughter, but Sansa continued.
"It isn't fair that you get to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms when you never even wanted to be queen of anything! It isn't fair how you will marry the Prince, and I'm marrying a Lord. I am the eldest daughter, and I deserve a better match than the younger daughter." Sansa barked in retaliation. Both Arya and Catelyn looked to Sansa with shocked expressions. This was nothing like Sansa at all.
"Sansa!" Catelyn shouted between her daughters.
"Oi, what happened to all those songs you sang about how Renly Baratheon was 'my one true love!'" Arya put her hand over her heart and sing-sang the words Sansa used to so frequently repeat.
"Arya!" Catelyn's voice was like thunder now. Both daughters didn't dare to continue. "Both of you are acting like small children! Even Bran and Rickon don't act like this. They would be laughing at you both with the way you're acting." Cat then turned her head to her eldest daughter. "Sansa, I cannot believe how childish you are acting. You are to be married soon, and that is that. Your father is talking with the King as we speak to sort out what exactly happened last night. Both of you are grown and old, and you are still giving me more of a headache than Rickon."
Sansa had the nerve to stare at her younger sister still, until she finally put her napkin on the table. "May I be excused," She spat out less as a question and more as a demand.
"Go ahead." Their mother put her hand on her forehead as if she had a terrible impending migraine. Sansa pushed back her chair and stormed off, most likely to confine with Margaery. Before Arya could excuse herself as well, it was her turn to be yelled at this time. "Arya, even ifit was an empty promise from the King, it is high time you are to be married anyways. Sansa was two years younger than you when she was promised to Renly, and Robb was the same age when promised to Margaery. Your father and I were even considering to start finding Bran a match by now. You can't put off your marriage forever."
Watch me, Arya thought. "But I don't want to marry! I want to stay in Winterfell with Robb and Bran and Rickon."
"I am sorry, my daughter, but we women must make do with what we have." Cat smiled weakly. "Do not worry, your father and I will find as best of a match we can. We will never let you marry someone unworthy."
Arya frowned. Why does she expect me to be grateful for her choosing a "good" match? I shouldn't be in a situation where I need to be "matched". After silence, Arya sighed as well. "May I be excused?"
Her mother looked as if she was about to protest, as Arya has barely touched her food, but she only nodded and went back to rubbing her forehead.
After leaving her mother's chambers, Arya honestly did not know what to do. She has already seen the dragon bones the previous day, and that was all Arya was truly looking forward to. Arya definitely didn't want to go to the gardens. And why would she? Arya would only be laughed at and gossiped about right in front of her face by the ladies of court. So all Arya did was stay and sit on the bed of the chambers she was temporarily given. She felt like a caged animal ready to be butchered.
There were two dainty knocks on the door of her chambers. Arya's back straightened, and she craned her neck as if she was trying to look over the door. There were only two people that would knock on her door and be that graceful about it. It would either be Sansa or… "May I come in?" Margaery's voice sang through her walls.
"Come in, the door isn't locked." Arya answered, baffled. Why in the world would Margaery want to talk to Arya? Margaery opened the door and smiled to greet her younger sister-in-law. She wore a loose emerald green gown, contrasting with all the other Highgarden styled gowns she usually wore. This one was much more of a Northern style. It grazed over her swelling stomach beautifully, giving Margaery the perfect image of a healthy woman. One hand unconsciously went to her stomach and rubbed where her child was growing, and her smile grew wider.
"I thought I would find you here." Margaery came closer to Arya, and sat on the chair next to her featherbed.
"Why aren't you with Sansa?" Arya didn't mean to sound rude, but she was only curious.
Margaery smiled to herself and looked out the window of Arya's room. The window had a beautiful view of the bay, Arya had to admit. "Lady Catelyn is talking with your sister." Arya nodded, not sure what else to say to Margaery. She never really talked with the wife of her brother much, so why try now? Finally, Margaery spoke to end the silence. "Your sister told me of your troubles."
"Oh," Arya sighed and slouched back down on her bed, not quite up for another conversation about the drunk King's proposal.
"I understand how you must be feeling." Margaery spoke again, and placed her hand back on her stomach. "But you must understand, Arya. You don't know what this might turn out to be. Some women like ugly men, pretty men, pretty girls… most women don't know what they like until they've tried it." Margaery then got up from her chair and went to the side of Arya's bed, and held her hand in hers. "Us women must learn to make the best of our circumstances." Margaery smiled again, truly trying to reach out to the young Stark. "I know that when I was told I was to marry your brother, I wasn't quite in the best state, but look at me now. I'm in love, and I have a child in me. Things might not turn how you expect."
But this is different, Arya thought, you've always wanted to be married. You dreamt of being Queen one day, and that's what you got. I don't want to be married at all. But Arya didn't want to voice her thought aloud. Margaery's smile was contagious, and Arya couldn't help but only bring the corners of her lips up the slightest. Not wanting to discuss things with Margaery any more, Arya tried to sound as if Margaery has helped her state of mind. "Thank you, Margaery."
Margaery smiled again. "Come to me any time you wish, Arya. After all, we are sisters."
"Of course," Arya tried to return the smile. She then fake yawned and frowned sympathetically. "Forgive me, Margaery, but I am still feeling quite tired from last night."
"No need to ask for forgiveness." Margaery was already on her way to the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned to Arya one last time. "Perhaps when we return to Winterfell, we can go riding together."
"Yes, perhaps." Arya's smile was quite genuine this time, and she was fond of the idea of riding with Margaery. Or maybe she just missed Winterfell too much. Or maybe she was just grateful that Margaery didn't ask to embroider together with Arya, like she did with Sansa. With a final smile, Margaery exited the room as gracefully as she entered.
Alone again, Arya huffed and dropped herself back onto her bed. I King's Landing, Arya thought. I never should've visited; I should've stayed in Winterfell.
It wasn't long before Arya was summoned to her mother and father's chambers again. When she arrived, she wasn't expecting the crowd she was granted. Her mother and father sat together on a chair. Sansa sat on the edge of their bed with excellent posture, but her expression showed she hasn't quite forgiven Arya. Margaery sat next to Sansa on the bed, only giving Arya a smile of encouragement. On the other side of the room, the King and Queen stood next to each other, and the Prince sat on the chair next to them. As soon as Arya realized Gendry was in the same room, she looked at anywhere but him. She wasn't sure why, but for some reason her anger correlated with him as he's a bull-headed idiot, that's why.
When King Robert laid eyes on her, however, his focus was only on her.
"The King and I have been discussing this issue all day." Her father addressed her. His expression wasn't happy, but rather stressed, as if he's been arguing with the King all day and night since the feast. "We have come to a conclusion that the betrothal isn't official, but the offer is still standing. We both agreed that you should get to know the young Prince better, and if you still disagree with the match then… we'll come to an agreement."
But Arya knew that was impossible. It was already decided for her. The King would never allow otherwise.
She is going to be Gendry's bride, and there was no escape.