A shorter chapter this time.

Honestly, I feel like it's easier getting into Arya's head than Robb's - she's very emotional, acts tough, feels misunderstood, and isn't afraid to hit someone when they need it... or if she just feels like it.

But then, we don't get into Robb's head at all in the books, so...

Q&A

Belladonna007: well, it'll be a while yet, not until the Vale plotline, but I will say this much - you know how Sansa and Arya's relationship is a sort of 'I hate my sister, but only I'm allowed to hate my sister'? Well, that is a small part of the relationship between Tybolt and Tyrion. Tywin's influence means he thinks less of his father than he should, and he focuses on his less respectable aspects - like his whoring and drinking - but, much like Tywin, there is that 'he's family' mantra.

SerGoldenhand: Yeah, I wanted his mind to be a bigger asset, but he's not necessarily 'horrible" at fighting, just the Westerosi 'hack and slash' knightly combat. He isn't as weak as he thinks, but he relies more on talking his way out of trouble (like a certain dwarf he avoids at all costs).

JimmyHall24: the book!adults are in their early thirties, except for Tyrion and Viserys etc. who are in their mid-20s, but I'm using the show ages, so Cersei's in her mid to late thirties. Still, even in the books, during the Walk of Shame people remark on how her beauty has faded... in a much cruder way. It implies that while she still has some of the Lannister looks, it is mainly due to her status - she hasn't aged well.

Again, that very much depends on who he's around - take Tyrion, for example. Compared to Cersei or Catelyn or Pycelle, he's a master of the Game, but put him in a room with the likes of Varys and, well...

Tybolt has his good days and bad days. That's all I'm going to say.

And for the Guests: - well, it's Cersei. She's a narcissist, if not a full-blown sociopath. Also, no. No Dany/Tybolt. Sorry.

- nah, he really is a Lannister: the only Targaryens when Tybolt was born were Viserys, Daenerys and Jon (and possibly Aegon, unless he's a Blackfyre) and Dany was a toddler.

- yes, he is.

Anyway, iPad's running out of charge, so I better upload this now.

Arya I

It has become almost a ritual.

He visits her in the morning, always arrives right before she gets into her dress, always leaves right before her mother knocks and tells her to hurry up. His hair is always mussed in that way that means his designs are nearly completed, or that he has given up and started a new one. He is never properly dressed; always still in his clothes from the day before, crumpled and wrinkled. Arya thinks he looks even more like a girl in the mornings; his dark golden hair is nearly as long as hers, his satin shirt (sometimes red and sometimes gold) barely clings to his slim frame. They talk about all kinds of random things: how Jon did in the training yard, whether Bran actually managed to hit the target that day, what Tommen thinks he will call his next cat, what platitudes Sansa and Jeyne gave Myrcella during the sewing lesson - and how awkward it made the princess feel. How sickeningly sweet Sansa and Joffrey were in between meals and Robb and Theon's drunken antics, most of which took place at the brothel. It felt good to just talk about it all; get all her frustrations out about how she is not allowed in the yard, even with a bow, despite the fact that she is leagues better than Bran, or how she cannot do any of the things she would like to do, just because she is a girl. It even felt good to listen to him go on about how much of a prick Joffrey is, or how much he wants to travel the world, or his latest idea.

It's a nice dream. From his description Arya could imagine herself in the sandy plains of Dorne, imagine the sunshine beating down on her hotter than she knew possible, the rainy, disparate islands of Braavos, with the dozens of faiths and peoples and the Titan bearing over it all. She could even imagine the smoky, craggy, molten remnants of Old Valyria, deadly Stone Men around every corner. She wanted to do that too: just get away from Westeros and all the expectations; she was a girl and he a boy, so she could not wield a sword while he was expected to be a great warrior, even though neither of them could match their respective standards; she was a highborn lady and he would be one of the Lords Paramount, so she had to be demure, quiet, thoughtful and defer to those around her while he had to be proud, loud, quick to draw his blade and dominate the atmosphere of every room.

Tybolt had joked that they were in each other's bodies. Arya had smacked him over the head with a book on Aegon and his sisters, but giggled anyway and whispered, "Mayhaps."

Today, however, they sat in silence on her bed. She does not rest her head on her friend's shoulder, even though she really wants to. They are of a height, so it would hardly be awkward, but something, mayhaps her pride, stops her. Still, he wraps an arm around her, nudges her head with his silently as Nymeria licks both their hands and lays across their feet; Arya likes the comfort it gives her.

Bran fell the day before. He had been climbing the Broken Tower, the one that had been struck by lightning during a fierce storm almost a hundred and a half years ago, when he slipped, fell, broke against the ground under him. The dry dirt was cracked, a jagged scar where her little brother had crushed against it. Now he lay in bed, seemingly asleep aside from how skinny he was, how pale, how Mother would not stop crying or trying to make a prayer wheel, failing, and trying another. They said he slipped, that he fell.

Arya did not believe them.

"He never falls," she snarled, fists curled. Septa Mordane would most like berate her for crushing her skirts; she did not care. "Never."

Tybolt sighed and tightened his grip, holding her closer. "Everything happens at least once," he reasoned, turning to logic as he was wont to do. "We don't even know what happened. A stone could have got loose, he aimed for a smooth one instead of one with a grip, his wolf could have barked, startled him-"

"He never!" she interrupted angrily. "Falls. He's climbed that tower hundreds of times. Snow, rain, hail... he doesn't seem to care; he's just as good on wet stone as dry stone."

"We don't know what happened," he repeated simply. Arya thought that maybe it was all he could say.

It did not matter. She resented him right then, resented his stupid girly face with its stupid logic and everything else about him because he's a stupid Lannister and Bran never falls.

Still, when Tybolt tugs her closer she gives in, leans into his chest and she doesn't cry because she never cries, even in front of Jon, but she can feel herself shaking and when his chin nestles in her hair and tucks her head in she knows it's enough and then his other arm curls around her and he squeezes and she gives up and cries because it's Bran and Bran never falls and Joffrey slapped Tommen yesterday when he cried and the Queen didn't believe it and the King didn't care and Tybolt loves Tommen and Arya loves Bran and he's a stupid girl and she's a stupid boy and she wants the King and the Queen and her brothers and her stupid stupid son to go away because they're cruel and they hurt people and the King said they should kill Bran and what does he know about anything and the prince is going to hurt her sister and she knows it and she wants to hurt him and they should all just go away because everything was fine before they came along and she just can't take it anymore and crying feels good and she knows she's staining his shirt and she says sorry and tries to pull away but he just holds her even tighter and says it's okay and then he's rubbing her arm and kissing her hair and Arya realises he's crying too and she curls up and cries even harder because Tybolt's good and he feels good and it hurts so badly but she doesn't want it to stop-

The knocking at the door shocks them both out of... whatever that was. Arya does not pull away when her father says their absence has been noted at breakfast - what does the opinion of the fat King and the cruel prince matter to her? - but when she mutters that she will be quick she feels hands that are not her own at her eyes. Tybolt wipes away the worst of her tears; when her father's footsteps are absent he adds that he will be quick as well. Father leaves after that. Arya hears a catch in her friend's throat so she reaches up, not moving from her comfortable position, and dries Tybolt's face herself. Her friend murmurs a quiet thanks and for a moment she wants to bury herself in him again, but she just straightens up and sniffles, clears her throat. She checks his face for tear tracks; his bright, mismatched eyes run her own face up and down and she knows he must be doing the same thing.

At the same time they stand and breathe deeply. They turn to each other again as a chirping from outside signals the start of the day. It occurs to Arya for the first time just how short they both are; she giggles, and when Tybolt smiles she knows he was thinking the same thing. Part of her thinks she should feel guilty for laughing when Bran's hurt, when her little brother might never wake up, but she brushes it away because really - has she not cried enough today? Tybolt is warm when she hugs him; she keeps her hands on his arms when they pull away and he grips hers tightly for a second.

"No one hears about this," Arya mutters, glaring heavily at him. Jeyne would never leave her alone after this.

Tybolt, hesitating before perking up slightly, grins. "As you command, my lady of Sta- ow!"

She catches him smiling sheepishly when she sits the book down. War is a heavy subject, Maester Luwin always said.

The next few weeks passed slowly some days, sped by on others. Bran had not yet slipped away from or slumped into the Stranger's grasp, his direwolf had not strayed from his spot outside the window; he returned every time they moved him, Mother had not shifted from his bedside, still trying to make that prayer wheel, and the King's Party still had not left. On the contrary; the King often tried to rope Father into getting drunk with him, staying with him all night and offering condolences. Sometimes his lap was even girl-free. The Queen visited Bran and Mother once or twice; her brother Tyrion was more frequent. Arya had only seen her little brother once, but she heard that Tybolt's father just sat and watched Bran curiously, almost analysing him for something.

Tybolt himself kept his word. Not a word was breathed of her little outburst; in fact, it seemed that her friend was unfazed by her (if she was being honest) breaking down all over him. When she asked him about it he just smiled and said everyone had to break a little sometimes; bottling things up just made it hurt more, so he figured it was healthy to cry once in a while, but only in private. Arya wondered if that was why his eyelashes were so long. They kept up their ritual, the subjects of conversation returning to more mundane things as the mood around Winterfell slowly began to lift. He kept avoiding his family outside of meals, with the exception of Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen, who kept worrying over Bran and asking if he was okay. It was getting on her nerves a little.

Still, the most important news (or at least the most exciting) was Jon's visit. They were all leaving: Father, Sansa and Arya were going with the Royal Family to King's Landing, sans one of the children, who would be travelling with Tybolt to Ironrath and White Harbour, before meeting up at the capital, and Jon was leaving with Uncle Benjen for the Wall. Arya had refused to speak to Jon for two days after she heard; they had not seen Uncle Benjen for years, at least since she was six, and he was only allowed to visit at all because he was very important; the First Ranger tended to hold quite a bit of sway, and since he had volunteered, he was much less likely to risk desertion.

Benjen was one thing; he was her uncle, and that was how it had always been, but Jon? That was... It's Jon! He can't just up and leave forever! But before he went, he had given her the best gift she had ever gotten. She had it tucked at the bottom back, behind a lump of dresses. It was a horrid sight, and the Septa would probably take one look and tell her to redo it; the King's journey would have to wait - Arya Stark's clothes aren't properly folded! - but it was the best she could do.

Nymeria barked before the knock on the door. Arya ruffled the wolf's head, shoving the bags to the side as she slumped onto the bed. "Come in!"

Tybolt must have been about to leave; his riding leathers peeked out under his dark furs; his sword on one hip, long dagger on the other; his sable cloak forgone for a brown wolf's coat. For a flash Arya was jealous; she wanted to travel around in something bar this dress. The cocky grin was gone, replaced by a grimace. Arya did not like that. Still, he closed the door and sighed. "Guess this is it, then," he muttered, walking over.

"Guess." Arya stood up. They stood awkwardly for a time, before Arya grinned. "Look, see what Jon got me!"

"What?" She dashed into the bag, ruffling through the dresses until she found Jon's gift. Pulling it out, she spun and pointed it at Tybolt's nose. The boy let out a sharp squeak as he jumped back, raising a hand to his face. "What th..."

Arya laughed, swaying the gift from side to side. "Needle," she told him promptly, holding it out. "Have a look."

Tybolt had calmed, though he gave Arya a look of warning. "I did not make a sound, you hear me?" that look said, but it was unnecessary. She had no intention of actually telling anyone. Maybe threaten him with it once or twice, but she was not going to tell. Still, he took the gift. Palming the supple grey leather, freshly fashioned, he ran a single long finger gently along the slim bluesteel, mouth slowly dropping. "This is... wow." He made a figure of eight, swayed it on the spot, fashioned three small circles. "This is beautiful." Tybolt smiled at Arya, fingering Mikken's mark, before frowning thoughtfully. "But where's the scabbard?"

"Oh!" That was embarrassing. Forgot I left it right... here! She picked up the length of leather, the same supple grey as the handle. Maybe they were carved from the same beast. She handed it over, watched as he began to slip Needle into it. "Stop," she said suddenly, holding out her hand for Needle, not the scabbard. She sat Jon's gift on the bed, nodding resolutely. "You keep that," Arya commanded, looking him in the eye.

Tybolt's brow rose questioningly, and he made a face. "Keep the scabbard for your s-" Arya felt embarrassment wash over her.

"Never mind," she interrupted, holding out her hand. "It was a stupid-"

Tybolt clutched the leather to his chest, smiling softly. "No, no," he told her. "It's great. It's just..." He nodded to Needle. "Won't you need it? So you don't hurt-"

Arya cocked her head. "I'm not going to be running around the castle with a sword," she said dryly. For such a smart boy, he can really be an idiot sometimes.

Tybolt looked down, turning a little red. "Right," he murmured. "Should've thought of that." When he saw Arya's grin he brightened up slightly. "Here," he rifled through his pockets, "Should have it right- ah ha!" He pressed it into her palm.

It was one of his carvings - funnily enough, she had never seen him carve any. One of those small spinning tops, with the odd writing in some other language. This one was not like the others, however: it was forged from white wood - weirwood, maybe?

"Just finished it today," he told her quietly. Needle's scabbard was placed inside the scabbard for his own sword. "I make them sometimes, when I visit someplace new, or meet someone new." He shuffled on the spot. "Well, technically it isn't finished, so to speak; I haven't written on the other end, but I can't decide what to write there. I guess I just-"

Arya cut him off when she flung herself at him, locking her arms around his neck, grinning. After a moment of shock she felt his arms at her waist. "Shut up, stupid," she muttered. She could feel his smile against her cheek.

"Yes, mila- please don't!"

Arya retracted her hand, leaving Needle on the bed.

Yeah, just a bit of fluff to close up the Winterfell arc.

And yes, that whole paragraph was one sentence - it was the best way I could think of to convey the feeling of everything crashing down. It's hardly the worst thing that's going to happen to any of them, but aside from the fact that the Stark children are just that - children - there is a great gap in magnitude between little brother's accident and daddy getting his head chopped off. Sansa collapses and Arya goes numb; Robb breaks down and attacks a tree and we don't see Bran and Rickon's reactions. We only see anyone a few weeks after Bran's incident at the tower, when they're all about to leave (Jon notes in AGOT that Bran's hand is 'like a claw'. It takes a while to wear down the human body to that extent.

Maybe a few weeks of knowing each other is too short a time to cry in front of each other, I'll just excuse it with this - they see each other every day, talk a lot, relate to each other very much, and it's a very emotional time, so...

Also, yes: I do know what the writing is on the spinning top, and no, I'm not saying.

Poll

Who should accompany Tybolt to Ironrath and White Harbour - Myrcella or Tommen? I feel that if Robert were to agree (translate: override Cersei if she refused) she would only accept sending Tommen - poor guy's basically the spare - but it's up to you.

See you next week!