4
ARYA
"Well thank the Gods we didn't have to present you to Prince Gendry outside," Sansa said exasperated. "Your hair!"
Arya rolled her eyes and allowed them to fix her.
"He is rather handsome, don't you think, Arya?" her sister asked.
Arya didn't say a word.
Her mother chimed in, "He's the spitting image of Robert twenty years ago, almost identical. His eyes seem even bluer than Robert's. Perhaps he gets that from his mother."
"Who was his late mother?" Sansa asked.
Arya pretended not to be listening, but she was curious. I've never heard anyone speak of his mother before. Just his Kingly father.
Catelyn shook her head, "I never knew her. Not many did, honestly. I could not even tell you her name. Some say she was a tavern girl."
"A tavern girl?" Sansa asked, the shock evident on her face.
"Yes, it is not known, though. Robert never spoke of her after she died."
"When did she die?" Arya asked, forgetting that she was feigning disinterest.
Catelyn answered, "In child-bed. Prince Gendry never knew her, like practically everyone else."
Sansa shifted uncomfortably. That topic was sensitive for her. She was a moon or two from giving birth herself.
Catelyn touched her daughter on the shoulder, "You'll be fine, dear. Do not worry. I birthed five healthy babes. Maester Luwin said it was some of the easiest births he's experienced. I would disagree on the easy part, but you needn't worry, Sansa."
Sansa forced a smile, "I'm not, Mother. I am worried about my sister, however."
"Me?" Arya asked incredulously.
"Yes, you. I'm worried that you're going to bungle this whole thing."
"With any luck," she grinned deviously.
"Oh hush, Arya. You almost look presentable. Let's finish this without any fighting, please," Catelyn said.
"You do look rather lovely, Arya. And you fill out that gown better the last time I saw you in it at my wedding. When did you grow breasts?" Sansa asked, laughing to herself.
Arya picked up a brush and made to throw it at her sister before her mother caught her wrist.
"Arya, your sister is with child. Don't throw things at her," Catelyn chided, then adding, "At least not for another few moons."
"Mother!" exclaimed Sansa, while her sister laughed loudly.
Catelyn spun Arya around to re-tie the back of her gown. "She says it true, though. You have quite the woman's figure now, Arya. Usually you're clad in a boy's breeches and tunic and do not give anyone the opportunity to notice."
Arya remained silent. That's the point, Mother. Why would I want anyone to notice that?
There was a knock on the door and Jon Snow entered. He opened his mouth to say something, before he shut it again, gazing at Arya.
"What is it?" Catelyn asked impatiently.
Jon smiled, "My apologies ladies. I'm just not used to seeing Arya looking so feminine."
Arya knew her mother would not object to her throwing a brush at Jon, but she didn't. She just crossed her arms and walked over the window, frustrated with all of the attention her bosom and hips were getting.
"The King and Lord Stark request your presence. They are back from the Crypt and are ready for the feast."
"Where is the Prince?" asked Catelyn.
"On his way to join them. I just called on him, as well."
"Thank you. You may leave."
He bowed slightly and chuckled to himself as he walked out of the room.
Catelyn and Sansa looked into the mirror and tucked in a few stray hairs, flattened their gowns, and put some powder on their cheeks.
Arya watched them primp in unison, noticing for the millionth time how different she was from her mother and sister.
"Sansa, why don't you go to your chambers and bring Willas downstairs with you?" Catelyn suggested.
Sansa nodded and left the room, her skirts sweeping behind her.
"Arya, come. Let's go to the feast."
She turned to her mother and asked, "Just another minute? I'll join you in a moment, I promise."
Catelyn eyed her daughter suspiciously.
"I swear," Arya said earnestly.
"Alright. Just a minute." She walked over to her daughter and embraced her, "I love you."
Arya hugged her back, "I love you too, Mother."
Catelyn smiled and left the room.
Arya flopped onto her bed. If only I was born a boy. Robb has been allowed to refuse four potential betrothals. Yet I am being compelled to marry this flowery, courteous Prince. He probably doesn't even fight with a sword as well as I do. He probably has his guards do his fighting. What does a Prince need to use a sword for?
She got up from the bed, realizing that if she didn't go downstairs soon, her mother would come back and she would be in trouble. Lately, her mother had taken to punishing Arya by forcing her to wear dresses and gowns and confiscating all of her breeches and tunics. What would it matter? I'm already in a gown. I'm already being punished.
Arya caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror before she left the room. I look silly. I don't look beautiful like Sansa or elegant like Mother. She sighed and slowly went down the stairs.
She stood around the corner from the Great Hall and could hear the introductions. Her father was speaking to the King, the Prince, and the Lords and Knights that had come from all over the North to receive the King.
"This is my eldest son, Robb, heir to Winterfell."
"A strong heir like my own! If only I had a daughter to betroth you too, as well. That would further bind our families" the King called out, pleased.
"Thank you, your Grace," Robb replied courteously.
Arya noticed that King Robert didn't object to being called Your Grace, though that man had even less grace than Arya.
"My eldest daughter, Sansa, and her Lord husband, Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. Married the year past."
Arya laughed at the idea of Sansa attempting to curtsy, but her big round belly getting in the way.
King Robert chuckled and said, "May the Gods bless you and your little one and let us hope that your sister is equally as fertile!"
Arya crossed her arms and stomped her foot. I do not like this King. He's old and fat and stupid. Anyone who knows anything knows I won't be fertile. I'll take lives away on the battlefield before I bring new lives in to the world.
She heard her sister reply daintily, "Thank you, your Grace. You are too kind."
Her father continued, "My second and third sons, Brandon and Rickon Stark, King Robert."
"Two more strong wolves, Ned," the King replied.
Ned laughed and said, "Not wolves, just sons. Thank you, Robert."
"I think you're forgetting one, though, my friend. The one we are all here to see."
Arya sighed. This was her cue. She gathered up her skirts and strode into the Great Hall, with all the false confidence she could muster.
"I'm here," she called, before her father could reply.
Everyone turned in their seats to look at her. She felt a hundred eyes upon her and it made her skin crawl. Everyone is looking at me like they look at my mother and Sansa. I should be wearing breeches and a sword belt. Then see how they look at me!
Ned motioned for Arya to stand beside him, "Robert, this is my second daughter, Arya, first of her name."
Arya had been looking at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with the King, or worse- the Prince.
"Yes. Yes, Ned. A vision of Lyanna…" the King trailed off.
Arya looked up at that. She had heard people compare her to her aunt before, but she didn't expect it from the King. She felt odd, knowing how he loved her aunt. It made her feel uncomfortable the way his sad eyes stared at her.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Ned prompted the King, "Will you introduce my daughter to your son, Robert?"
The King seemed to awake from his stupor, "Why yes. Yes, of course." His previous air of humor and joviality returned. "This is my fine son, my heir. Prince Gendry Baratheon, first of his name."
Arya didn't notice until just now that the Prince had risen from his seat when she entered the room. He dipped into a slight bow, not acting too ostentatiously.
I will NOT curtsy. I'm not some little lady that will swoon all over you, Prince.
Arya simply nodded her head. She waited for him to say something, but he never did. She expected him to comment on her beauty or express how pleased he was to finally meet her, but said nothing. This angered her. He doesn't want to marry me either! That boy Prince isn't interested in Horseface Arya Stark of the North.
For the second time she noticed everyone's eyes. They were all looking between her and the Prince, waiting anxiously for some sign of love at first sight.
After a long silence, her father said, "Now that the introductions are through, let's begin our feast in honor of the King and the Prince and their journey to Winterfell."
The entire hall took this as the cue to raise their glasses of wine, ale, and mead, and shout, "To the King!"
Arya climbed the steps to the dais and made for her usual seat. Whenever they had feasts at Winterfell, Ned sat in the middle seat, Catelyn to his left. Her brother Robb sat to his right, and Bran and Rickon to the right of Robb. Sansa sat beside Catelyn and Arya beside her. This left Arya at the end of the table and she would always have to sit beside some visiting Lord. Sometimes the Lords had good stories to share, but most of the time, they were boring and treated her like a Lady.
As she went for her seat, she realized they were not arranged in the usual order. The King sat in the middle, with Prince Gendry to his right. The only seat open on the dais was the seat between the Prince and her sister. Oh Seven Hells, could there be a worse seat?
She rolled her eyes as she climbed the dais and sat down. She refused to look to her left. She didn't want to know if Prince Gendry was looking at her, because she couldn't decide if she wanted him to or not. Poor Prince Gendry, stuck sitting next to Arya Horseface.
She took a sip of her wine and turned to Sansa, choosing the lesser of two evils. Before she could even say anything to her though, Sansa mouthed angrily, "Talk to him."
Arya scowled and turned back to face the Hall. She searched for Jon Snow, sitting on one of the lower tables. I wish I was a bastard so I could sit beside Jon and not this dull Prince. She found him showing a Knight his sword. She looked away, not wanting to think any more about how wonderful it would be if she was a bastard, too.
"Lady Arya, I hear you sometimes like to play at sword training!" the King called out.
This forced her to turn and face him and his son, who in fact was not looking at her, but looking down at his plate.
"Yes, your highness. I train with a sword, but I wouldn't say I'm playing."
Sansa kicked her under the table, to which Arya responded with a kick of her own.
King Robert laughed, "Yes, yes. I'm sure. My son is a fine swordsman. Perhaps even better than I… But no one can best me when I have my warhammer. Isn't that so, Ned?"
Her father agreed, "The King is rather fearsome with a warhammer in his hand."
Arya forced a smile, which she was sure looked more like a grimace, and nodded. She returned her gaze to her plate.
She spent the rest of next hour eating and keeping her focus away from the regal Prince beside her. A singer started singing sweet tunes and she pretend to be deep in listening, avoiding any and all conversation. Just because she accepted that she must marry the Prince didn't mean that she would speak to him.
When Sansa stood up to excuse herself to go make water, which she now had to do every hour, Arya took it as her opportunity to escape. She grabbed Sansa's arm from Willas and declared that she would escort her sister.
Willas smiled and gave his consent to Arya, knowing she needed to have a moment to herself.
She whisked Sansa out of the Great Hall before anyone else could object. She did notice the Prince stood courteously as Arya made her exit. Why did he keep doing that? Doesn't he know anything? Princes and Kings don't have to stand when a Lady stands. He's stupid, too! That is just grand.
Sansa scolded her all the way to the privy and Arya just nodded silently and agreed with her for once. She didn't want to fight with Sansa. She just wanted to get Sansa into the privy and then sneak away. She didn't know where she would go next, anywhere but that stupid Great Hall with that stupid King and his stupid son.
The privy door closed and Arya didn't wait another minute. She bolted, holding her skirts up high to avoid tripping.
She burst out into the yard and stood still for a moment. Where can I go? Where can I go? She took a deep breath and inhaled the cold, crisp night air. The Godswood! I'll go climb a tree in the Godswood and watch them all look for me!
Arya started running around the perimeter of the castle. She thought she heard someone call her name and turned her head at the same time she rounded the corner to the entrance of the Godswood.
Before she knew what happened, she was flat on her back and a large, strange man was standing over her.
"Arya?" he asked.
"Oh Seven Hells…"It's the Prince.