Arya II

She found it so odd how people didn't notice her here. Back in Winterfell, her home (because this place, despite what Sansa might think, would never be home), all the servants had called her 'Arya Underfoot'. No matter how sneaky she'd tried to be, they'd always managed to spot her. She'd hated how Bran had been able to climb about and sneak and slink through the entire keep, never noticed by those that moved about Winterfell. With her everyone always seemed to spot her and shoo her away. She was always in the wrong place and not doing the right thing.

Back then it had annoyed her but now that she found herself seemingly invisible it drove her mad. All of her father's men, who Arya knew by name and had spent time with them, either weren't around due to other duties or ignored her until she caused too much trouble for them not to get involved. Even then, that rarely happened, as she almost never ran into anyone of note anymore. She'd been told that the Red Keep was larger than Winterfell but no one had told her how empty it seemed. Even if there had been ten times the people in the Keep as there were at home the halls would still have felt utterly quiet and still. In Winterfell there was always someone about, doing something more interesting than the dumb needlework the septa wanted Arya to learn. But here in King's Landing there never seemed to be anyone around save for the glorified nursemaid that was forever chasing her around and telling her how horrible she was compared to her sister. Arya hated that woman with a passion and more often than not envisioned her during her training with Syrio.

When she did find someone more often than not they didn't notice her. Arya had stumbled onto more than one conversation that she shouldn't have heard without any of the speakers ever realizing she was there. She had heard stories about King's Landing, how everyone was so clever and cautious, but it seemed that caution only applied to adults. No one bothered to keep an eye out for a small girl. Just a few days ago she'd stumbled upon Ser Barristan Selmy discussing with another of the Kingsguard his worries about the Red Keep's sewers and how they weren't secure. A day after that she'd heard the king's youngest brother mention something about a man named Phyllup and wasted gold. And the day before last she'd heard one of the queen's own handmaidens gossiping about something or other that Arya hadn't been able to make heads or tails of.

But it had been a conversation she'd accidently heard between some knight she'd never met and a cook in the kitchen that had her bouncing up and down in excitement.

If only Sansa would stop acting like a spoiled brat and listen to her…

"Why must you make up such stories?" her sister asked, giving a haughty sniff before carefully taking up her knife and fork. Arya watched from her end of the breakfast table, staring in disbelief as Sansa actually cut her toast into tiny little bite-size pieces. "It is undignified to tell such lies as if they were truths."

"They aren't lies," Arya complained, grabbing a handful of bacon from the plate in the center of the table. Her sister looked at her like she were some filthy little goblin but she didn't care. It didn't matter if the bacon had been left out for her father and she was expected to make due on bits of sweetbread and fruits like a good like lord's daughter; Syrio said that warriors ate meat to put meat on their bones and Arya was determined to lift her wooden sword with ease and not tremble like a bent twig as she tried and failed to do so. "I'm not making this up. I heard about it from a knight."

"What knight?" Sansa pressed.

"…I don't know his name but he said it to the cook! You know, the one that made those lemon cakes, the ones you eat all the time?"

"I do NOT eat them all the time," Sansa said. Arya merely leaned over, eyeing up her sister's side. Sansa didn't realize it yet but her time in King's Landing had caused her to get a bit soft. When they had been in Winterfell their mother had watched over them and their brothers, making sure they ate only a decent share. Even their brother Jon was given what Maester Luwin use to call a 'balanced meal' and their mother couldn't stand Jon. But here in the South mother was nowhere to be found and the castle was always filled with treats. Arya had Syrio, who stressed that one could not survive on sweets alone and who helped her work off any sugary confections she might rarely indulge in. Sansa had no one and it was clear to Arya that her sister had gained a few pounds since their arrival. Nothing too noticeable but if she continued as she was Arya couldn't help but pity Prince Joffrey, as he'd most likely be crushed to death on their wedding night.

Her mind flashed to Micah and instantly she wished Sansa was as fat as the king and dropped upon Joffrey… preferably from a very tall tower with the Queen standing next to the blond little twit-

"You shouldn't make up stories," Sansa complained, reaching for another piece of toast only to think better of it, her hand lightly trailing along her side. Instead she selected a glass of apple juice and took a dainty sip. "It isn't proper."

"What isn't proper?" their father asked as he came down the stairs and moved towards them. He leaned down, kissing first Arya and then Sansa on the head before taking a seat between them. He glanced at Arya's plate of bacon but never said a word, causing Sansa's smug smile to fall a bit.

"Arya is telling stories, father," Sansa said, his voice a touch too snide for Arya's liking.

"I am not!" Arya complained. She was thankful their septa wasn't around, as Arya was sure she would have scolded her for speaking so loudly… just as she scolded her for everything else. "The Iron Man is real!"

"The Iron Man?" Sansa complained. "A knight who can fly and shoot magic beams out of his hands? Does he hunt woopers and grunkles?"

"You use to believe in woopers and grunkles," Arya said sullenly.

"But I have grown up and know they are childish, just like you." Arya let out a huff and Sansa turned towards their father. "Please tell her to stop telling these stories before everyone in King's Landing thinks her mad, father! Prince Joffrey can't have his Queen be related to a crazy little girl."

"Arya," Eddard said, looking at her with a critical eye. "Just who told you about Iron Man?"

Sansa smirked, believing that their father was preparing to scold her, but Arya knew differently. She'd grown use to her father's different tones when he was preparing to discipline her… and this wasn't one of them. She looked at him with wide eyes and rather than answer his question (and admit she'd been spying on people) she asked, "You've heard of him too?"

"Yes," her father admitted. "I imagine by the end of the week all of King's Landing, if not the majority of Westeros, will know of him."

"Then… then he is real?" Sansa exclaimed. "There truly is a flying knight in golden armor who attacked a lord?!"

"Gold and crimson," Ned admitted; it was clear to Arya that he didn't want to tell them but with the cat out of the bag he had no choice. "Arya, tell me exactly what you've heard."

She grinned and launched into the tale she had heard the day before. "They say that Lord Oaker was holding a feast when a 10-foot tall magical knight appeared before them in a flash of light and began to shooting out spells at everyone and declaring that he would hunt them all down before he flew away!"

Her father let out a sigh, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I would say you were embellishing but compared to some of the other stories I've heard that was practically tame." He looked at the two of them, considering them both, before speaking, "I suppose, since the tale will be on the tongues of all soon enough you deserve to know the true story." With that their father launched into the events of Lord Oaker's feast and the arrival of the mystical knight known as Iron Man. Both girls had listened with wide eyes as their father retold the account he himself had heard the day before as presented to the king and the Small Council. Their father took plenty of time to stress to them that they weren't to share what they were hearing with anyone, at times interrupting his story to reissue the warning. Sansa and her nodded in agreement, both knowing they were lying and wouldn't be able to do anything but share every word.

By the end of it Sansa's frown, which she seemed to wear more and more since coming to King's Land, had turned into her second default expression: a dreamy smile. "Oh, how magical! A dashing hero defeating the wicked and defending poor maidens!"

"Did you miss the part where the poor maiden was sold off?" Arya asked. "Doesn't sound like he defended her that well." Even though she scoffed at her sister's fluffy take on the Iron Man Arya thought of the knight and beamed. Her father's story was so much better than the tale she had heard the chef and knight discuss, because this story was real. As magical as it sounded Arya knew it was real, else her father would have never told her or Sansa. It had been Old Nan that had told them stories, never her father; he was too stern and rigid to indulge in false tales. No, the Iron Man was real and she was wonderful.

'Yes, she' Arya thought to herself, utterly pleased with herself that she had figured out the truth about the knight. From the way her father had described the knight it was clear that it was a woman under the armor, pretending to be a man. Arya would have done the same thing, purposely allowing all of the Seven Kingdoms to believe that she was a male so they would never realize who she truly was. The way the Iron 'Man' defended the honor of a woman he had never met also spoke that it was someone close to the lost lord's daughter… a female friend, perhaps… who sought to do what no man was willing to do…

Sansa merely rolled her eyes at Arya's comment. "He sounds so amazing, father! It's like a tale from a storybook only it is real!" She let out a happy sigh, tilting her head up as she spoke. "I wonder if he is like my beloved Joffrey and is kind and fair-"

"If he's anything like Joffrey we are doomed," Arya muttered before turning to her father. "Will the king reward the Iron Man for what he has done?"

Ned shook his head, his brow furrowed as he stared at the two of them. "Girls, I want you to understand… this isn't a fairy tale."

"Father?" Sansa said in confusion. "Why are you upset?"

Lord Stark sighed. "It is true that Lord Oaker was a vile man who did vile things, and it is true that he must be punished for his crimes… but this Iron Man had no right to do what he did."

"But… but-" Sansa stammered, Ned holding up his hand to stop her.

"Sansa, he attacked a Lord of Westeros and brutally hurt him without leave of the king."

"But you do the same thing!" Arya argued, not liking that her father was claiming that the Iron Man deserved punishment for doing the right thing. "Jon told me you cut that man's head off, the one who deserted the Night's Watch!"

Her fathered scowled and Arya gulped, realizing that she probably shouldn't have told her father that she knew that. "I did that because it was part of my duties as Warden of the North. The men that captured that boy did not pass judgment on him but rather brought the news to me. The same is true of Iron Man… he should have gone to his lord, whoever it is, and presented the information he obtained so that this could have been handled properly. As it is the king is now deciding what must be done about this false knight."

"Please father, tell him to not kill him!" Sansa said, tears in her eyes. "He is good and heroic and just and deserves nothing but praise! All the knights told in the songs and tales would have done the same thing as the Iron Man… we at least have a man in our lives to match those of the Age of Heroes and we can't let him be hurt!"

"That is not for me to decide," Ned said simply, patting Sansa's hand.

Arya had a different concern. "He did nothing wrong! Lord Oaker was disgusting and should be punished!"

"And he will… by Lord Tyrell. Not the Iron Man," Ned said.

"But Lord Tyrell wouldn't know if Iron Man hadn't acted! Nothing would have happened! The Queen is probably his best friend and would have told the king that Lord Oaker was innocent and he would have believed her!"

"Arya…" Ned said, his tone becoming sharp.

She, however, paid no heed, shoving herself away from the table. "It is just like with Micah! You let them kill him when Joffrey was to blame! And now you want to kill the Iron Man just because the Queen doesn't like him!"

"The Queen has nothing to do with this," Ned snapped in frustration. "And this is nothing like what happened with the butchar's boy-"

"That was his own fault for hurting my Joffrey," Sansa said quickly.

Arya trembled with rage. "LIAR! I wish the Iron Man would kill your precious Joffrey next!"

"Arya!" Ned roared, standing up. "That is enough!"

"NO!" Arya yelled back, shocking her father with her fury. He always did this, siding with everyone else other than her. Even when she was right, like with the Iron Man, he still found an excuse to not listen to her. It didn't matter if he had only met someone within the last hour… her father would take their word long before her's. "You're just like them! You're no better than the Hound! You just want to take away everything! I hate you! I hate you both!" She whipped around, tears in her eyes, ignoring her father's bellows for her to return and her sister's gasp of shock as she raced out of their dining room and down the steps. She stumbled past a few of her father's guards, not bothering to apologize for crashing into them, and hurried along as fast as she could go. She didn't stop running until she was safely inside her 'dancing hall', her heart pounding in her chest. Arya knew her father wouldn't follow her; her mother would have, screaming at her and demanding she behave like a proper lady, but her father never had a stomach for catching her. He preferred to let her return to him, fear twisting her stomach as she wondered what punishment awaited her, while he sat silent and stern while waiting for her to apologize. She didn't even bother to make any vain promises of denying him of her hurried apologies, as she knew she would give them the moment she saw him. She always did, everytime. And she hated herself for that.

Arya took a breath and walked into the dancing hall proper, Syrio standing at the ready with his hands clasped in front of him, the pommel of his sword held loosely between his fingers. She moved automatically, grabbing her wooden training sword from the rack and holding it in one hand, just as Syrio taught her. The moment she did, however, she found that the grease from the bacon she'd grabbed was still on her fingers and the sword fell from her grasp, clanging against the floor.

She winced, waiting for Syrio to lecture her. But her dance instructed surprised her, coming over and taking hold of her hands.

"What has you upset, boy?" he asked. He'd never asked her that before and she suddenly wished he was yelling at her. She could deal with yelling, as it seemed to be the only way anyone talked to her anymore. Kindness was a knife, hot and cruel, twisting in her stomach until tears leaked from her eyes. "It is clear that something has happened. What has this stern strong student so upset?"

Arya rubbed her eyes with her free arm. When it became clear that Syrio wasn't going to drop the line of questioning Arya began to yammer on, unable to stop herself. "It's Sansa... and father... and the Queen and Joffrey and the King and the Hound... I hate them all and I told father he was a killer and I wished the Iron Man had killed him, or maybe I said I wished he had killed Joffrey, I can't remember, but I don't really wish that because he's my father but he never listens to me except about my dancing lessons and you are the only one that understands me and I wish we could just leave and you'd take me to Braavos and show it to me and leave everyone behind-"

When she finally took a gulp of air Syrio politely reached forward and placed on his fingers against her lips. "I believe I would understand better if you began at the beginning... and took your time speaking."

Arya grimaced, realizing she'd been prattling on like Sansa about her future marriage to Joffrey and the cute chubby babies she'd squeeze out of her womb. She took a breath before starting over again, her words measured and steady as she spoke. She told her instructor everything: about growing up in Winterfell and how everyone always focused on Sansa and compared her to her sister; her father taking her south and how Sansa had lied about what Joffrey had done and her father hadn't done anything to stop her and he'd claimed Sansa had to side with Joffrey even though they were family; about how her friend Micah had been killed because of the Hound and the Queen while Joffrey and Sansa received no punishment; of their arrival and how Arya wished she were home and the only one that made her feel wanted was Syrio; and finally the tale she had heard about the Iron Man and how her father wanted him dead even though he had only done what needed to be done and Sansa once more only cared about Joffrey.

Through it all Syrio merely listened, a smile on his lips. It wasn't the condescending smile so many wore when she spoke, or the one full of humor as they took delight in seeing her as a fool. No, Syrio's smile reminder her of Jon and she briefly wished Lord Antony had taken her with him as well. Anything was better than being with her father or, gods forbid, her mother.

Arya realized as she finished her tale that Syrio had guided them to a small bench and sat them down, swords resting on their laps. She licked her lips as her dance instructor leaned back, his eyes drifting towards the ceiling.

"I have found," he began, "that there are three types of people that walk along the lands. The first kind, like your father, are unable to comprehend anything other than their own existence. Anything that does not fit in with what they know is treated as either not possible or, when there is no way to deny it for a second longer, is met with fear and hatred. Tell me... what would your father say if you or even someone like myself, Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos, told him that there were in this world people who could call upon an iron sword that was across a room with merely a wave of their hand? Or ones whom could change their skin so that it looked like yours or mine or even something never seen, like a shade of blue more deep than the sea? What would he say?"

Arya frowned, her feet kicked out as she swung them back and forth. "He'd say that that was just a mummur's jape or some tale Old Nan would tell."

"And yet we know that there exists things strange and wonderful in this world. You told me of a stableboy, so large that only the Mountain would look over his head. What was his name?"

"Hodor."

Syrio nodded. "Yes, Hodor. If you were to tell someone in this city of this Hodor they would not believe you because they had never seen him. Yet that does not make him any less real. Now, what if I brought before your father one of my blue skin-changers. How would he react?"

The young girl frowned. She could practically hear her father say the words. "He would say that such a person had too much power and fear what they would do with it?"

"And what say you?" Syrio asked, studying her carefully.

"I like the color blue," Arya said.

Syrio chuckled. "I meant about this person's ability to change."

"Oh. I... I suppose it would depend on the person?" When her teacher merely raised an eyebrow Arya elaborated. "Will this person hurt me? Or my family? Because if they do..." she trailed off, gripping the pommel of her sword. "But if not, why would I want to make an enemy of them?"

Syrio nodded in approval. "A wise thought. Now, the second type of person is one that can believe that such things exist and think of them in wonder... but do so only because they are too boring or too stupid to ever understand what these things truly are."

"Like Sansa."

"Your words, not mine, boy. Would not do for your father to hear me speaking ill of your sister."

Arya giggled at that, truly feeling better since the entire ordeal at breakfast. "You said there was a third type?"

"Can you not guess it?" Syrio said. "The final ones are those that are special. It is they that possess great gifts and are beyond the rest of this world. If the rest of the world is simple then they are superior."

"Then what am I?" Arya asked in confusion. "I'm not my father and I'm not my sister... and I'm not special."

Syrio stared at her, brow furrowed. "And whoever told you that?" When Arya shrugged he reached out and gave her such a hard shake she felt as if her teeth might rattle out of her mouth. "Do you think Syrio Forel would teach just any lord's child? I was the First Sword of Braavos! I do not select any random child to learn my secrets. No, boy... you are special. I have known it even before your father came to me. There is something within you, waiting for the right moment... it is different for everyone what triggers it... but a time will come when you will reveal yourself, like a flower blooming after the long winter, and you will be blessed and cursed."

"Because some will love me and others hate and fear me," Arya said.

"Clever, boy… very clever." Syrio stood up and motioned for her to do the same. "Now, ignore your pains. The world will heap enough onto you so there is little need for you to add to them."

"I'm just worried… my father-"

"Will rant and rave and punish you for how you acted?" Syrio asked, swinging his sword. "Let him. Do not fight back, do not protest. Accept the punishment… but never the blame. Let him think you see things his way while in truth you know him to be a fool who can not see that the world is full of wonders… and you are one of them."

"How do you know that?" Arya asked as she got into position for the water dance. "And how can you be so sure I am special?"

Syrio merely smiled before attacking her, Arya smiling inside as she fell once more into the comfort of the dance. It would only be honors later when she realized he'd never answered her.

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: First, a comment concerning reviews. If you are a guest reviewer or anonymous, I can't answer your questions. I don't want to do them in chapter, as they might have spoilers and I don't want to ruin it for everyone. I do thank you guys for reviewing; nearly every review has been super positive.

Someone asked me why, on some responses to reviews, I write a ton while others only getting a single line… or nothing. The answer is I give back as much as I get. If you take the time to write out a well thought out paragraph or two about the story with ideas, theories, suggests, or criticisms, I'll comment in kind. If all you do is say 'good read' there isn't much to respond too… and if you only write one line with vague whining I'm not going to respond at all. If you want more information or to open a dialogue with me then meet me halfway and give me something to comment on. People can tell you I love to discuss these stories and my process but only if the other person works with me.

Oh, and being rude and cursing, as some do in my other stories, ensures that I won't respond.

Now, onto the chapter. In my original notes this chapter didn't exist but I felt like we needed to check in on Ned at King's Landing sooner than I planned. The problem is that I couldn't move the chapter that I original had for Ned up so instead I decided to touch base with Arya and see how she was doing.

If you can't tell by now… I REALLY don't like Sansa. I find it funny that, of all the Starks currently alive, she inherited the most of Ned's "I Make Bad Decisions" Gene. Plus she is just so utterly annoying. I know in the books she is a child and the show aged her up by a few years but still she walks around with her head in the clouds and can NEVER learn a damn thing. It annoys me to know end. Don't get me wrong, Arya also has annoying habits, but I can live with those. If it weren't for Robb's stupid little "I am going to break my word to Walder Frey" decision Sansa would be the dumbest Stark of the whole group.

This chapter is interesting because it is what I refer to as a 'Second Read' chapter. Basically, after I complete this book you guys will go back, reread this story, and suddenly see tiny clues I seeded in here that totally make you go "Holy crap, he was telling us about this twist and we never realized it!"