Arya was mad. Not only at the stupid embroidery she was working on that wasn't working with her, but at Jon. Well, not at Jon, but she was angry all the same.

It had been days ago, the night of the feast. He'd had another vision, this time about the queen and her brother. They had been talking about father and the king, and how they despised both of them. That made Arya mad, and the next time she had seen either of the Lannisters after hearing of it, she couldn't help the dirty looks she had thrown them.

But what made her the angriest, was that Jon hadn't told their father. He'd had the perfect opportunity to do so, to warn him of everything, but he hadn't. Arya would have done so herself after hearing of it but knew that the lord of Winterfell was less likely to listen to her than he would Jon. All because he was older.

Arya hated it.

But life had returned to normal. Jon seemed to be under closer watch now, though, like all the Stark children had been after he had been supposedly attacked. Not that it was obvious of course. He didn't have guards and sworn Stark men following him through the keep day and night. That would raise too much suspicion, seeing as he was just a bastard. No, instead Arya had noticed the way Ser Rodrik and some of his men would stay close by to him, or cast a glance over in his direction more than would be considered normal.

These weren't things most people would notice. But Arya wasn't most people.

The not-so-quiet whispering off to the side distracted Arya from her thoughts. Looking up, she saw her sister was huddled close to Jeyne Poole and giggling between whispered statements. To Arya, they looked like silly birds fighting over grain the way they were sat.

"What are you two talking about?" She asked loudly. Jeyne and Sansa looked up, both blushing, and giggled. "Tell me," she said.

Jeyne glanced over at the princess Myrcella, who was happily chatting with the Septa and her other ladies, all working on their own stitches as well. Satisfied that the princess didn't seem to be listening, Jeyne leaned forward towards Arya and spoke.

"We were talking about the prince," the steward's daughter blushed. Arya felt herself roll her eyes. Of course, they were.

"He likes your sister, you know," Jeyne continued, looking wistfully over at Sansa, who's own face was dusted with a fine, pretty blush, as beautiful as ever. "That Joffrey. He told her she was very beautiful."

"He's going to marry me someday," Sansa said in a soft voice. "I will be his queen and have his babies."

It took all Arya had in her not to pull a face or to gag.

"What do you think of Joff, sweet sister?" Sansa asked daintily.

"Jon says he looks like a girl," she stated, remember her conversation with him the other day, days after the king's arrival.

Sansa merely sighed in response. "Poor Jon," she said. "He gets jealous because he's a bastard."

Arya felt herself get angry at that. "He's our brother," she said, accidentally raising her voice louder than she had intended.

"Children, what are you talking about?" Septa Mordane suddenly asked. Arya blushed and tucked her chin down in embarrassment, focusing back on her stitches, which were crooked and ugly. Unlike Sansa's, which were perfect. Just like everything else Sansa did. Perfect.

"Our half-brother," Sansa corrected, smiling sweetly. "Arya and I were remarking on how pleased we are to have the princess with us today."

Arya scoffed in response, as quietly as she could though so as not to get into trouble with the Septa.

More pleasantries were exchanged between the ladies in question before finally settling into an awkward silence, everyone seeming to have run out of conversation topics.

"Would any of you ladies like to hear a story?" One of Myrcella's ladies suddenly asked, breaking the silence in the room. Sansa and Jeyne both nodded eagerly, while Arya simply sat glumly and went back to her stitching.

"Alright," the woman started, settling herself into a more comfortable position, setting her own needle down. "Have you ever heard of a greenseer?" A chorus of "no my lady" rang through the room. "Well then," she continued. "There used to be people, long ago, who had the ability to walk in the skins of animals. It was said these individuals were quite rare but revered. And some, among these talented few, could see through trees themselves, long into the past through the roots of weirwoods, as well as the rest of the world, because of the connection the trees had," she said.

"But with time, the gift died out and was lost to the seven kingdoms. It's said that it still exists north of the Wall, but no one has ever gone to find out if the statement holds any truth."

"Perhaps because those who go north come back in pieces," Jeyne said, earning a scared gasp from princess Myrcella and a light cuff from Septa Mordane.

"Do not say such things around the princess, child," Septa Mordane chastised. The girl apologized and went back to her needlework, as did everyone else as the woman continued on with her story. But Arya wasn't listening anymore. Her mind was spinning with the story she'd just heard.

That gift sounded an awful lot like Jon's visions, the ability to see into the past and around the world, seeing things he couldn't have possibly seen before. Before Arya knew what she was doing, she had stood up and her embroidery had fallen to the floor.

Everyone looked up at her, startled. Blushing, she quickly turned to Septa Mordane. "I'm sorry, but may I be excused? I just realized I have something to attend to," she said, itching to get out of there to go confirm her theory.

Septa Mordane, instead of granting her leave, narrowed her eyes and huffed indignantly. "Arya, how impolite," she ticked.

Arya did not have time for this. She knew Septa Mordane would tell her mother about it and she would punish her, but she had more important matters at hand. So, giving Myrcella a small curtsey and a "By your leave, my lady," she fled from the room, ignoring the Septa's protests and she hurried off to the library where she hoped to find more on greenseers.

If there was one redeeming factor of the north and of Winterfell and it's chilly keep, it would have to be its library. It had books and scrolls that were as old as any he'd come across. Upon arriving at the library, he had found more than he thought he would up in the desolate kingdom and was happily enjoying the plethora of books at his disposal. He was in the middle of one such book when he heard someone entering the library.

"If you're looking for fairy tales, they're over there," Tyrion commented idly from where he sat in the library, noticing the young girl enter. He also noticed the scowl she sent him in response.

"I'm not looking for fairy tales," she said sharply, surprising the small lord. He raised a curious eyebrow and set his book down, getting a better look at her.

She was clearly a Stark, as her features showed him. The long solemn face and the gray eyes pointing clearly to that. What surprised him though was the look in her eyes. Steely, and ready for action. Though what sort of action a nine-year-old could do was beyond him.

"Then what, pray tell, are you searching for?" Tyrion asked. "Perhaps I can be of some help."

The Stark girl merely rolled her eyes and went on to search by herself in the library. "I doubt it," she scoffed. "And it's none of your business anyway.

Tyrion felt himself smirk at that, enjoying the girl's blunt nature. It wasn't often he was exposed to it, after having lived in the viper's den of Kings Landing for so long.

"Oh dear girl," he said. "Everything to do with knowledge is my business."

She turned to him. "Are you a maester?" She asked.

Tyrion paused, taken aback. "Well, no."

"Then it's not really your business." And with that, she turned back to looking through the shelves of books and scrolls in search of whatever it was she was after.

Cheeky, Tyrion thought to himself, silently impressed. He continued to watch as she went around the room, looking through the shelves before giving up and sitting down with a huff on one of the many chairs in the room, opposite Tyrion.

"Perhaps now I can be of some assistance?" He offered again, now with a sly grin, teasing the girl who seemed to set against it.

She scowled at him again, unamused. Her expression however quickly changed to one of skepticism, then to curiosity, and finally to pensive as she looked at him. But wait, Tyrion realized. She wasn't quite looking at him. She was looking at the book in his hands, the cover of which was in clear view of the girl.

"What?" He asked.

"That book," she said, pointing at it. "The one you have. That's the one."

Tyrion frowned and looked down at it, inspecting it as if looking for anything that would jump out towards a child to have them want to read it. All he found, however, was a dusty, leather bound book.

"Isn't this a bit much for a girl your size?" He commented, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm taller than you," she stated bluntly.

Tyrion gaped for a moment, before remembering himself and shutting his mouth. "Fair point," he conceded. "But still, why would you want this book?" He asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. During the past few days he'd spent in Winterfell, the Stark children had surprised him more than he thought they would. First was their direwolves, then Jon Snow, the bastard, and now this Stark girl, demanding a book on old myths and sciences of Westeros. Something no child would be interested in. Well, no average child.

Her guarded expression, so very much like all other Stark's before her gave nothing away. "If you must know," she started, staring him down with a cool, level look. "I don't think all myths are myths after all. And I need that book to find out if I'm right."

Smiling in satisfaction, Tyrion closed the book and set it down in pen invitation for her to take it. "Well," he said. "I'm never one to get in the way of the search for information." The girl gave him a faint smile in response. "Go on, you may have it."

"Thank you," she mumbled, going to retrieve it.

"And your name, dear girl?" He asked.

"Arya Stark, my lord." She replied, offering a small curtsy.

"Well then Arya Stark, may you find what you're looking for." She nodded her thanks and quickly left the library, leaving him on his own again. Tyrion stood to go and get another book worth his time, but his mind was with the girl who'd just left. The Stark's never ceased to fascinate and mystify him. He felt a tug in his mind that meant he yearned for answers. And if there was anything Tyrion almost always got, it was answers.

These Stark's were curious, and he was going to make it his point to figure out just what it was that made them tick.