a/n: Chapter includes: swearing and sexual themes, violence.
The ages for the characters are as listed:
Robb - 19
Jon - 19
Sansa - 17
Arya - 15
Bran - 13
Rickon - 10
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North Winter High School;
A Change of Pace:
Chapter 2: —
A Girl With A Bone To Pick:
Arya woke up in the morning, groggy. And it was as she groaned and realized that she was in her brothers' room, and not her own, that she remembered what had happened last night. She felt anger spark in her, hate, and betrayal. She was a kid, she was supposed to rebel and get in trouble, that was how she learned. Her parents were supposed to reprimand her, send her to her room, take away her phone, and pile on the chores—not send her away! That meant that they were giving up on her, they loved her so less that they couldn't be bothered with her any longer.
She felt tears spark in her eyes. She expected mother to do something like this, she always knew that Sansa was her favourite. Sansa did everything mother told her to do without any questions, but Arya always questioned. She wasn't going to do something without knowing why, and how it would benefit her—that was just who she was. But she never in all the world thought her father would agree to this! She was her father's little girl, she always had been. 'Da' had been her first word.
A suppressed sob shook her frame; she didn't want to cry, but every time she thought of the disappointment that shone in her father's eyes, she felt broken inside. She knew that she wasn't the easiest person to get along with. She was quick to anger, her emotions ran deep inside her heart, and that was what usually controlled her actions. It was part of the reason why she'd been suspended three times, in the one and a half years that she'd been in high school. She never backed from a fight. That was why she seemed to be lax on friends. She was the outcast tomboy with a short fuse. She hated all those self-important little bitches at school who thought they were better than her, just like Sansa. She had hit Sansa for real a few times, when the girl opened bloody her mouth and went too far, but she'd held back as she reminded herself that Sansa was still her sister, and that had to count for something. Though she was rough with Bran on occasion when he'd been listening to Sansa, she never actually hurt him, but she still had to show him who the older sibling was in this relationship.
She didn't move where she lay. It was Sunday so she didn't have to go to school, and she was going to keep to her word. She was going to speak neither to father or mother. See how they liked it.
She never used to be this bad. But that was back when Jon and Robb were still at home. Robb had always been quick to laugh and smile. Jon was quiet and contemplative. And Arya was brash and never afraid to voice her opinion. The three had levelled each other out; Robb learned to take things more seriously, Jon learned that sometimes thinking to much about things made it worse, and Arya had learned when to keep her mouth shut, rein in her hot emotions, and think before she reacted. But when the two boys left for college, she became reckless again, brash, and aggressive—resorting to physical contact. She started to drink, even though it tasted gross, the same went with smoking—and then came the boys…
Now that Robb and Jon were away, no one understood her. Not even her father, who's sister had been very similar. She was alone in the world, and the one thing that she had only really ever known, her home, was being taken away from her.
She drew the blanket over her head, throwing herself into darkness. It didn't matter that it was hard to breath, and even harder when she started to cry, she should get used to it, because this was what it was going to feel like from now on.
Come Monday morning, Arya was showered, dressed, and wore a deadpan expression as she went down stairs to the dinning room. Her long hair was bound tightly in a high pony, her grey eyes framed in black eyeliner and mascara—just about the only makeup she wore. She wore a pair of tight, worn blue jeans, a studded belt, and a red Walking Dead t-shirt marked with bloody handprints. Sansa, Bran and Rickon were already at the table eating breakfast, father would be getting off to work before they left for the bus, and mother was probably tidying the kitchen.
Bran flinched as she settled in her seat across from him and next to Rickon.
She smiled sweetly at her brother, her eyes anything but. "Sleep well, Bran?" She could see him gulp as he avoided her gaze and focused on his waffles.
Sansa looked up from her blueberry porridge, and glared at her with blue eyes. "Why do you have to be such a monster all the time? You're just a big bully,"
Arya glared at her sister. "And you're just a puppet."
Sansa's perfect lips pressed into a grim line.
"Rickon," Arya murmured. Rickon looked up at her. "Cover your ears, will you?" The little red-haired boy did as his sister asked, looking between all his older siblings. She stood up and went behind he brother's chair, putting her hands over his hands covering his ears, to ensure that he heard none of what she was about to say. "Bran told me what you were saying about me," she said, and Sansa shot her brother a look. "You told him that I was a slut, but we both know the truth, don't we? I'm the only virgin between the two of us, aren't I?" She hissed mockingly.
Sansa usual ivory skin turned paler, and she shot a glance a Bran, who was now looking between the two of them in confusion. "Shut up!" She shouted.
Arya smirked. "Does mother know?" She whispered, "Should I tell her?"
"You're a nasty girl," she shoved back her chair back and jumped to her feet, her fists' clenched. Her perfect hair perfect, but her expression not so much at the moment. "A nasty girl!" And she ran from the small dinning room, leaving her half-eaten breakfast.
Arya sat back down with a satisfied smile, her quota filled for the morning. She felt a little better to release some of the anger that she was feeling, and refused to feel guilty. Sansa had spread around rumours of her being a slut first.
Rickon looked at her. "What happened?" he asked.
"Oh, just some girl stuff." Arya smiled softly at her little brother, ruffling his shaggy russet hair.
"Oh. Well, then, I don't want to know about it." He told her firmly, a look of distaste crossing his cute face. "Girl stuff is yucky!" he turned back to his bowl of cereal.
"Good, lad." She murmured, "Good, lad."
Rickon was her favourite little brother. He was smart and cute, and she never fought with him, ever. He was five years younger, and looked up to her. That was why when he was in the room, and angry over-took her like it had a few minutes ago, she made him cover his ears. Bran was a different story, though they were closer in age, they got on like a normal brother and sister. Tolerable of each other, when he wasn't being a complete git, that is. And now that he listened to Sansa like every word she said was true, it was hard not wanting to break his toys for the insufferable things he repeated to her.
"Bran!" Their mother called. "Hurry or you're going to miss the bus!"
Bran ate the last few bites of his waffle in quick succession, before scrambling out of his chair and from the dinning room. Her mother walked into the dinning room. "Arya, I'll be driving you to school the rest of the week." She said.
"What!" Arya jumped from her chair and faced her mother, she knew that she said she wasn't going to speak to her, but this was just so unfair and she couldn't help it. "I can get to school just fine!"
Her mother ignored her and looked at her youngest. "Finish up, sweetie. You have a check-up at ten, we'll drop your sister off on the way?"
"Really?" Rickon asked, excited. "Mum's gonna drive you to school, Arya!" He jumped up and hugged from behind around the waist.
Arya glared silently at her mother. She wanted to say so many hateful things in that moment, but not with Rickon there, never with Rickon there. So she stayed grudgingly silent, and patted her brother's hands clasped around her waist. "Yeah, it's gonna be great." She muttered.
Her mother picked her up after school, too, right on the dot, ten minutes after the final bell rang, all through her final week attending.
The girls that usually had a go at her at school, didn't make such moves for nearly that whole week, it wasn't until her second last day, Thursday, that something happened that would have gotten her suspended, or even expelled if she'd been staying past that day.
It was all Brick's fault, the boy she'd snuck into her room that last Saturday. That stupid tosser. He'd spread the rumour that they'd had sex—which they hadn't. They'd only made-out, and she'd let him touch her breasts, but that toad was saying he fucked her, and not only that, but back-doored her too. She couldn't find Brick anywhere, to beat him up, teach him a lesson about spreading rumours, but he was smart enough to avoid her. But when she passed Hollis, laughing at her as she passed her in the haul, calling her a whore and slut, and how she knew a couple of boys if she wanted to go another round, and snapped.
Arya dropped her bag, and charged at Hollis, tackling the girl to the ground. She was all talk and no bite. Arya had her pinned the ground, screaming as she punched her. She could hear students yelling for a teacher, and a few boys were stupid enough to try and pull her off, she tore from their grasp, and swung a couple of punches their way, but none landed. But it had given Hollis time to try and scramble away, Arya lunged towards her, and that was when it happened—a student from art class had been walking down the hall to the janitor's closet with a tray full of paint jars, brushes, cement glue and paint remover. When she dove for Hollis, she hit into the other kid, knocking him down, and sending the tray flying. Some of the jars broken, splattering her back and hair with paint and cleaner. Hollis got away with a split lip and black eye, but Arya had gotten off far worse.
A teacher finally came, Hollis was sent to the school nurse, and Arya was stuck sitting in the principle's office, this stuff staining and doing Gods knows what else to her pretty hair, as her mother was called. Now that Arya had calmed down from her bout of anger, she felt fear as her mother came into the office, Rickon waiting in the hall. Catelyn didn't even look at her as she spoke with the principle, who she told about the private school and the man believed that this was for the best.
Arya was quiet as she trailed after her mother, her eyes down-cast, she didn't mean to be such a bad girl. Rickon took one look at his big sister, and knew enough not to say anything, but he took her hand. She squeezed it, before she was forced to let it go when they got into the car. Her mother didn't speak the whole way home.
"Rickon, go play." She told her son.
Rickon looked at his sister one last time before he ran off, he could see how angry mum was, and was afraid this was the last time that he'd see her. And in two days, that was going to be true and he didn't even know it yet—no one but mother and father and her, did.
"Go upstairs and wash your hair." Her mother's voice was like stone as she still didn't look at her daughter.
Arya didn't say anything and did as she was told, jumping into the shower. She washed her hair three times before she realized that the paint wasn't coming out, and grew fearful as the ends were breaking between her fingers, like they were brittle.
"It's going to have to come off." Her mother said, barely giving her hair a glance.
"What? What do you mean?" Arya finally spoke. Was she going to end up bald?
But when her mother finally looked at her, she fell silent. She sat stiffly in a chair in the kitchen as her mother wrapped a plastic apron around her shoulders, and started to cut her hair.
Her hair that always got in the way and tangled and was a hassle to brush every morning and put up! But it was her hair, and her mother was chopping it away as casually as if she were weeding the garden. Arya felt tears in her eyes, and she suppressed a sob. Why? Why was this happening to her? She held back the sob that wanted to escape her as her mother cut off all her hair without feeling, speaking softly but harshly to Arya's ears.
"I've tried so hard," she said. "To understand why you act the way you do, but I can't. I just can't. You've had the exact same lives as the rest of your brothers and sister, and yet you're angry all the time, attacking people. Your father's too soft on you, he lets you get away with things. And I've allowed it, it's my fault. You need to learn that it's not all about you, that your problems aren't the only ones in the world—because they're not. You've had everything that any child would dream of; a family, a home, clothes, food, allowance, your own room; but you treat it as if they are nothing. You don't appreciate all the things that your father and I have done for you. You're ungrateful and that's why we're sending you away." Her mother's voice broke as she finished speaking, combing her hair to see if she got all the ruined bits out. "Finished." She sighed, undoing the apron.
Arya slowly got to her feet, feeling as if she might float away, her head was so light. She turned and looked up at her mother, and saw tears in her blue eyes.
"I'm sorry I'm not the daughter that you wanted," Arya told her quietly, her gaze drawn to the long strands of brown hair stained pink and green and purple at her feet. "All I do is cause trouble. I don't want to, but I end up doing it anyway. So I think you're right, sending me away will be better for all of us." She turned from her mother and went upstairs, not stopping when Rickon called out to her, and closed herself in her room.
She leaned against her closed door for a moment, before going to her small desk, and digging around the center drawer for where she knew she had a hand-mirror. When she found it, she took a deep breath, and held it up. What greeted her was not the girl she always saw; fierce, strong-willed, pretty in an average way, nothing as beautiful as Sansa; instead she saw a sad, scared, pretty boy looking back at her. Tears finally leaked from her eyes, leaving black streaks to run down her cheeks. She dropped the mirror and fell to the floor, her knees drawn to her chest, clutching her worn wolf stuffed animal, Nymeria, as she sobbed.
A gentle knocking on her door made her aware that she was still curled on the floor, as the sky slowly darkened.
"Arya?" He heard her father's gruff voice call softly through the door. "Can I please come in? I'm worried about you,"
Arya didn't answer him, not even to tell him to go away, she didn't want to talk. She didn't want to talk to anybody, not after today. Why couldn't any of them tell that she was miserable, that she didn't want to talk. None of them listened to what she was saying, not of them knew how unpleasant she'd felt for such a long time.
"Please, Arya." Her father begged.
Arya felt tears prick her eyes at his tone of voice. She missed him so much, even though he hadn't gone anywhere physically. She missed hugging him, and sitting in his lap while he sat in his Lazy Boy watching TV in the living room, the pecks on her head, when he used to tuck her into bed, when he used to read stories to her.
Almost as if he sensed her feelings, he slowly opened the door and turned on the light. Ned's heart broke as he caught sight of her laying curled up on the floor, tears silently leaking from her eyes, clutching her wolf to her chest, her beautiful long hair cut off. He knelt down next to her, and tucked a short—too short—a lock of hair behind her ear. He remembered the day that he'd given that wolf to her. She'd been such a rambunctious little baby, and it so reminded him of a wolf pup, that when he was in the store and saw the little stuffed, grey wolf, he couldn't stop himself from buying it for her. She never let it get to far away from her since.
"Oh, honey, come here." He whispered, and picked her up, pulling her into his lap and holding her against his chest. It didn't matter that she was fifteen or how big she was.
"Daddy!" She cried, snuggling deeper into her father's chest.
She was the only one who still called him daddy. Sometimes Rickon still did, but only when he was hurt or sick. Arya had never stopped, and she would always be his little girl, not matter how much she grew or got older.
"I'm sorry, Arya," Ned murmured, his lips pressed against the top of her head. "You're beautiful hair. Your mother told me what happened at school today."
"I'm so sorry, daddy!" She said into his chest. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen. It's just sometimes I can't stop myself!"
"But attacking someone, Arya?" He asked. "What if you had hurt the girl worse?"
"They were spreading rumours about me!" She said.
Ned pushed her slightly from him, and looked down at her in confusion. "What rumours?"
Arya sniffed, her tears finally stopped again, and looked away. "Nothing," she said.
"Arya, if that girl was spreading rumours about you—"
"I said it was nothing!" She pushed from his lap.
He looked at her sadly. "Sweetheart,"
"I don't want you to be angry with me,"
"You are my daughter, and I will always love you!" He told her fiercely.
Arya finally looked back at him. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad daughter," she whispered.
"You're not a bad daughter," he told her. "You're just like your aunt."
"She was bad too, mother always says so."
"She wasn't bad, she was just misunderstood." He said fondly, "She took everything to heart, and reacted with her whole heart. She went all the way, or no way. She never let anyone boss her around, and though she was always getting in trouble, it was because she was trying to do the right thing. When she was killed in that fire... there was still a woman inside the building, and her commander gave the order for rescue was over, but Lyanna refused to let that lady die. So she ran back into that building, through the burning fire, and rescued that woman; she didn't care about any danger to herself. And though that fire killed her, she saved that woman—that was all she ever wanted to do. She was a hero, Arya. And I am so proud to be her brother,"
"I'm nothing like her," Arya whispered, feeling worthless.
Ned shook his head, and placed a firm hand on her narrow shoulder. "You are, you just haven't discovered it within yourself yet, Arya. That's what going to this new school with do. You'll learn to control your anger, and you can start new."
She looked into her father's eyes, and believed him. His belief in her made her not feel so worthless. "I didn't mean it when I said that I'd never forgive you," she grabbed his hand.
"I know," he said, hugging her tightly.
"I love you, daddy." She cried.
"I love you," he told her. "You missed dinner," he said, finally releasing her. "You must be hungry." Her empty stomach gurgled at the mention of food, and he smiled at her. "I'll bring something up for you,"
"Thank you," she told him as he climbed slowly back onto his feet, his knees cracking, wiping the eyeliner marks from her cheeks.
"I'll be back in a few minutes," he told her before closing her bedroom door behind him.
-tbc-
********Game/of/Thrones********
Note:
I liked writing Arya and Rickon's healthy relationship, tell me what you think so far.
Thanks for Reading!
y
