Arya Stark

The sweet scent of freshly baked bread was everpresent in the Street of Flour. Arya thought that the smell was sweater than anything she had ever smelt. She clutched a dead pigeon in her hand as she wandered around.

She came across a baker pushing his cart across the street. The sweet scent of the lemoncakes and blueberry tarts. Her stomach let out a low growl.

"Can I have one please?" Arya found herself asking the man.

The man looked down on her with a look of disgust. "Three Coppers."

"Would you like a nice fat pigeon instead?" Arya asked sweetly as she could.

The baker just turned around and started wheeling his cart. If she snatched a tart and made a run for it, she knew that the man would never be able to catch her.

"Don't even think about it, boy?" The man said, reading her mind, "The gold cloaks know what to do with thieving little lads, like you."

Arya then only noticed the two city watchmen who were patrolling the cities. Their cloaks hung almost to the ground, the heavy wool dyed a rich gold; their mail and boots and gloves were black. One wore a longsword at his hip, the other an iron cudgel. With a last wistful glance at the tarts, Arya edged back from the cart and hurried off. The gold cloaks had not been paying her any special attention, but the sight of them tied her stomach in knots. Arya had been staying as far from the castle as she could get, yet even from a distance she could see the heads rotting atop the high red walls. Flocks of crows squabbled noisily over each head, thick as flies. The talk in Flea Bottom was that the gold cloaks had thrown in with the Lannisters, their commander raised to a lord, with lands on the Trident and a seat on the king's council. She dodged the Watchmen and headed into the Street of Silks.

Arya also heard more scarier things, that made no sense. Her father had killed King Robert, she heard from a whore at Chataya's. Another man said that Renly had killed his brother and fled in the dark of the night. Arya didn't know who to believe. The streets in King's Landing seemed to be filled with more gossip than usual in the past few days.

It was then that the dreadful sound rang across the streets. This time it seemed to be less sharp than the bells that rang when Robert I Baratheon. A whore opened her window from the top of a brothel in the Street of Silks.

"Wonder who died know." She said as Arya spied a tall, lanky man rutting at her from behind. Her large melon shaped breasts moved with every thrust of the man.

"Stupid Whore." A fat man called from the bottom, "If a King dies all the bells in King's Landing ring like they did last week. These are summoning bells."

Arya didn't get a chance to listen to the rest of their conversation as two highborn lordlings swept past her and headed in the direction Baelor's sept. She recognized the two, Horror and Slobber Redwyne. Behind them was a large group of peasants who were also making their way into Baelor's Sept. Arya caught hold of a tanner's son.

"What's going on?" She demanded, shaking him to the bone.

"Don't you know? Today's the trial."

"Who's trial?"

The boy distangled himself from Arya.

"The Lord Hand's."

Arya rushed with the rest of the crowd onto Belor's sept to see what the fuss was about. She couldn't see anything as the the human torrent in front of her blocked her view. She looked up at Baelor the Blessed, the septon king. Arya began to climb. She made it up, and wedged herself in between the king's feet. Sure enough her father stood at the elevated platform. But he was not the same Arya last saw him. Lord Eddard Stark had aged almost a decade through the last two weeks. His face was lined with a patchwork of aged lines crossed across his face. His face was lined with pain. Despite all this, he was dressed in a rich grey velvet doublet with a white wolf sewn on the front in beads, and a grey wool cloak trimmed with fur.

The High Septon stood behind him. A fat grey man in white robes, his crown of spun gold and crystal relfected rainbows in his head as he moved.

Arya also spied some other knights and high lords. Joffrey was prominent among them, his raiment all crimson, silk and satin patterned with prancing stags and roaring lions, a gold crown on his head. His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother.

And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy.

Everyone strained to listen as Lord Stark began to speak.

I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King," he said more loudly, his voice carrying across the plaza, "and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men."

"No," Arya whimpered. Below her, the crowd began to scream and shout. Taunts and obscenities filled the air. Sansa had hidden her face in her hands.

Her father raised his voice still higher, straining to be heard. "I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert," he shouted. "I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and seize the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The commonfolk began pelting her father with stones. One hit the corner of his eye and blood spurted out of the gash. The next stone hit him in the chest and the Lord of Winterfell collapsed to the ground. The gold cloaks held him up again. The Queen and Joffrey stood behind the shields of the Kingsguard knights.

The High Septon raised his hands, beckoning the crowd to become silent. He then knelt before Joffrey and his mother. "As we sin, so do we suffer. This man has confessed his crimes in the sights of gods and men. The gods are just, yet Baelor the Blessed taught us that they are also merciful." He looked up at Joffrey. "What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"

King Joffrey stepped out from behind the shields of his Kingsguard. "My mother asks me to let Lord Stark take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." Joffrey smiled at Sansa, "but they have the soft hearts of Women. Lord Stark's son fights my kin as we speak. This shall be my message to him. As long as I am your King, treason shall go unpunished."

There was a sudden silence across the plaza.

"Ser Illyn, bring me his head!"

The crowd erupted into chaos. The High Septon said something to Joffrey but he just pushed the fat man out of the way. Varys came forward rushing and waving his arms. Even Cersei Lannister was saying something to him, but Joffrey just shook his head. Arya dimly saw Sansa let out a guttaral moan and collapse to the floor. She then saw Ser Meryn lift her and step back disapearing admidst the chaos.

Arya leaped of her hiding space, drawing Needle. She was going to cut a bloody path to her father and save him. Just as she was moving, she felt a strong pair of arms seize her.

Unable to move she looked up as she saw lords and knights moved aside as he stepped through, tall and fleshless, a skeleton in iron mail, the King's Justice. High atop the pulpit, Ser Ilyn Payne gestured and the knight in black-and-gold gave a command. The gold cloaks flung Lord Eddard to the marble, with his head and chest out over the edge.

"Here, boy" An angry voice shouted behind her. She could only stare in horror as she saw Ser Ilyn draw a two-handed greatsword from the scabbard on his back. As he lifted the blade above his head, sunlight seemed to ripple and dance down the dark metal, glinting off an edge sharper than any razor. Ice, she thought, he has Ice! Her tears streamed down her face, blinding her.

A hand blocked her vision as she saw Ice swing down and kiss her father's neck.