Once she tried to follow Bran up the battlements. The stones were rough and hard under her fingers, her feet scrabbled for holds; her eyes followed her brother as he made his own way up, easy as breathing.
"Wait up," she yelled. He only stopped long enough to grin and put a finger to his lips, a reminder to be silent lest their mother find them.
Arya reached for another crack, pulled; suddenly her feet slipped under her, and then she was falling, hands holding on to nothing, breath in her throat and—
"Got you," Jon said, and held her.
