To Arya's horror, the sword belt she stole from Jon was too big. There was no time to rush down the corridor to steal another sword belt; she had to make do with this big one.
Making a last minute choice to abandon the large sword belt all together, Arya hurriedly grabbed Needle from her messily made bed, sheathed it quickly in her scabbard and left her room, closing the door behind her. Arya quietly slipped to her assigned spot in a darkened corner of the corridor. She had initially wanted to hide with Jon and Robb nearer to Dany's chambers, but Jon deemed the two of them to be enough and assigned Arya to crouch in a dark corner. "You're small enough to hide there without anyone noticing," he had explained. "You will have a clear view of Dany's room too."
With the final few rays of sunlight disappearing behind the mountains, Arya settled down, grasping the grip of Needle so tightly her knuckles turned white. I hope Dany is not frightened, contemplated Arya. Then again, Danaerys had Lyarra in her room for company. At least Dany wouldn't be alone.
The creaking sound comes near midnight, Dany had said. Arya sighed. There were still at least four hours to wait. She grinned to herself as she pulled out the small wooden wolf from her pocket. She had not played with the wooden wolf since she was four; it was a good toy to play with to occupy the time.
Arya closed her eyes as she tried to sit still. Mother said that when she was a baby, she was like a kitten – so frisky and always mewing for food or attention. It was naught but a faint memory to Arya but she distinctly remembered Mother calling her, "My little kitten." Robb laughed about it for weeks but Jon said that it was sweet and suited her. Arya wondered how Mother thought she looked like a kitten when stupid Jeyne Poole called her Arya Horseface.
Anger surged through her as she thought of Jeyne Poole. Ever since Arya set foot in the schoolroom, the steward's daughter had been nasty to her. Father had often praised Vayon Poole and Arya liked hearing his reports about bread stores, coppers and servants – Vayon Poole was never rude to anyone.
Arya wondered why the other girls called her names like Arya Horseface and Arya Underfoot. What did she do to them? She didn't know what to think of her elder sister either. Lyarra enjoyed hearing about the affairs of the North as much as Arya did, but she was also graceful at dancing and good at sewing. The perfect lady, Arya thought scornfully.
She glanced around impatiently. Oh why wouldn't time go faster! She should have known that waiting was a part of staking out. The thought of the first lesson with a Braavosi instructor excited her. Somehow her father had managed to find a Braavosi water dancer willing to travel to the cold North (she overheard him inform Maester Luwin about it). He must be a brave man, thought Arya. Not many southroners are willing to come here and a Braavosi instructor is willing to come here! She smiled to herself.
Stifling a yawn, Arya closed her eyes. She had been up since dawn, sewing and enduring Septa Mordane's sharp criticism and a rigorous training session in the afternoon. Appeasing Septa Mordane was no easy task. "That stitch is crooked," the hawk-eyed septa would snap. "What is that? A piece of grass? It is supposed to be a flower, Lady Arya. Begin again at once." If water dancing lessons was not on her mind, she would have retorted and slipped away. That morning when the septa reprimanded her for her apparent lateness (it had only been a minute), she repeated to herself, "Think of your future dancing classes. Think of your future dancing classes. Think of your future dancing classes." It had worked – for a few hours. Arya took to gritting her teeth after three hours.
Before she made the agreement with Father, she would flee in the middle of sewing sessions and at times return at the end. For such a sharp-eyed woman, it was astonishing Septa Mordane never noticed her missing every time. Mostly she did but once in a while Arya escaped her watchful gaze. Arya assumed the septa was occupied praising Lyarra as usual.
Determined not to break her word with Father, Arya had resisted the urge to run from the sewing room. For the first time in her life, she sat through the entire sewing session, quiet and obedient – well, more obedient than usual.
Almost as much a hawk as Septa Mordane, Lyarra noticed her change once she set foot in the sewing room. "What are you up to?" she asked, a suspicious look in her eyes. "Is this another one of your tricks?"
"No," Arya had replied. "I plan to be good today."
Lyarra laughed. "You? Good? This is a jape. You are japing yes?" Seeing Arya's serious expression, her violet eyes widened. "By the gods…you're not japing. You are actually serious Arya…" She continued staring at her to an extent that made Arya shift uncomfortably. Lyarra looked at her strangely. "Are you ill? Maybe we should have Maester Luwin look at you. Yes, we should." She grabbed her hand. "We'll go and see Maester Luwin at once."
"No!" Arya yanked her hand away. "I'm fine stupid! Is it really that odd of me wanting to be good?"
"Yes!"
Arya sighed. Why do her siblings have no faith in her? After hours of torturous sewing was over, Lyarra must have told the boys about Arya's plans to be 'good' as Theon confronted her about it, tears of laughter running down his face. It took a great deal of gritting teeth and silent cursing for Arya to supress the urge to hit him or perhaps knock out a tooth or two. As always Domeric encouraged her as a brother would though he wore an expression of bemusement similar to the smile on Robb's face. Jon had ruffled her hair affectionately and said, "The day you win the approval of your septa is the day the Others break the Wall."
Somehow – no thanks to Lyarra – Daenerys discovered it too and gave her a smile. Dany had not smiled in days to Arya's puzzlement. Even in the feast when Cley Cerwyn complimented her, she did not crack a smile or mumble a word of thanks, leaving poor Cley bewildered.
Now Arya understood why Dany had no energy to smile. She hoped Daenerys had the strength to stay calm in her chambers. Once we catch him, he will regret the day he snuck into Winterfell, Arya thought savagely. Father will execute him with Ice – the Northern way. She envied Robb. One day it would be him wielding the Stark ancestral greatsword. If I was born a boy, would Father permit me to grasp Ice? She doubted it. Even now, Jon and Robb weren't allowed to hold it unless Ser Rodrik or Father were watching them.
She scowled as her thoughts drifted to Jeyne Poole. Once a few days she would always end up thinking about mean Jeyne. If she hadn't promised Father that she would be good, Jeyne would wake up one morning in a room reeking of goat and horse dung. Her scowl deepened. "You'll be sent the silent sisters," Jeyne had said nastily once. "No one will want to marry a horse face like you."
Arya recalled punching her in retaliation. Even now Jeyne's nose did not look quite the same as before to Arya's delight. Unfortunately when Jeyne ran off and wailed to Septa Mordane, Arya was sent to her room without any dessert. Mother had even agreed that it was a fitting punishment, especially with raspberry tarts – Arya's favourite – being that evening's dessert.
Missing out one night's dessert was not so bad when leftover raspberry tarts appeared as the next day's breakfast. Arya could not help but snicker quietly. The gods were always on her side…mostly.
Repressing an impatient sigh, Arya silently stood up to stretch her thin arms and legs. She wished midnight would hurry up.
Ignoring Jon's orders to remain hidden in the shadows, Arya crept away to the boys' hideout. Be as silent as a cat, Arya thought. She grinned at the sudden idea of tapping Jon on the shoulder. Scaring Robb and Theon was easy; frightening Jon, not so much. She assumed Domeric would be difficult to frighten too. The Bolton sigil was a flayed man – what would terrify a man whose sigil was a flayed man? Probably nothing but fear itself.
Arya paused as she heard soft whispering.
"If your lady betrothed was here, what do you believe she would think about you hiding around at night with us?"
"If she's anything like Lyarra she would want to help."
"Lyarra speaks of Princess Lyanna in the highest regard." That was Domeric. "I think Princess Lyanna would most likely want to help."
"Why? She hardly knows Dany." Arya rolled her eyes. Typical Theon. "Besides, to a southron princess, Dany is naught more than a bastard. Not everyone is kind to bastards like Lord Stark."
"Princess Lyanna is."
Someone – most likely Theon – snorted. "Please! I know she is your betrothed and all, but do you honestly believe Queen Catelyn Tully's daughter will be at all kind to bastards? Snow, you're a bastard. Were you or Dany even introduced to her when she was here?" He sniggered.
Stop calling Jon a bastard! Before Jon or anyone else could reply, Arya swiftly jumped out of hiding and jabbed Theon in the back with Needle. Theon jumped and yelped like a little girl. Jon snickered before staring at Arya. "Arya!" he hissed at her. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay quiet in your corner! You will be safer there even without Needle! Go! I know it isn't midnight yet and wouldn't be for a few more hours, but be patient Arya! Go to sleep if you want. If you can't sit still for a few more hours, you can always go to bed."
"No!" snapped Arya in a hushed whisper. "I'm not a scared little girl! Why are all of you hiding out here together and I'm on my own?"
Jon sighed. "Theon, go to the other corner."
"It's not time yet!" Theon protested.
"Just go!"
Theon glared at him. "As you wish," he said with a mocking bow. He sauntered off with a bow in hand and a quiver of arrows on his back. Jon glanced at Arya. "I think you should go back to your corner too."
"No!" protested Arya. "Don't send me back now!"
"Why?" said Domeric so softly that he eerily reminded Arya of his grim father, the Leech Lord of the Dreadfort. "You wanted to prove to us you are no shirking maiden, yes?" Arya nodded. "Do you not think you are acting in a manner similar to one of a young child?" Arya stared at him. "I'm not a child!" she said hotly, hurt at Domeric's words.
"Domeric-" began Robb uneasily, but Domeric interrupted. "If you refuse to be a lady and want to pursue swordplay, you have to endure patience by yourself in shadowy places. Understand?"
"We're not at war," Arya complained.
"I know, but you must master patience and silence. Ask Maester Luwin or Ser Rodrik if you want."
Arya sighed and turned to Jon. "Must I go?"
"Unless you want me to carry you to your room…." Arya rolled her eyes. "I'll go back to my corner," she said grudgingly. Muttering quietly under her breath, she stomped away.
By the time midnight finally rolled around, Arya was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She squinted as she silently counted the tiny cobwebs. Usually the servants did an excellent job wiping away cobwebs but they must have missed a few in their hurry. Arya had no problem with cobwebs. In fact, she liked finding a couple of cobwebs here and there. It reminded her of how old Winterfell was and the rich history it housed. Arya loved nothing more than to listen to the maester or Old Nan's stories of Winterfell. She also enjoyed hearing Father's tales in the evening when the whole family gathered in front of the fireplace, the orange and yellow flames singing merrily behind them in the short winters and near the end of the short autumns in her nine years.
Father would sit on his comfortable big chair carved with a wolf's head at the back. He would speak quietly and recall tales of the past, sometimes battles and at times stories about previous Lords of Winterfell. Mother would sit on a purple cushioned chair beside him and squeeze his hand from time to time. When it was a story regarding the tourney at Harrenhal or what was now known as Robert's Rebellion, Mother would chime in her own perspective which was as interesting as Father's view. Robb would sit on Father's right, Jon and Theon beside him, and listen intently. Sitting on Mother's other side would be Lyarra who looked just like her from her torrent of dark hair to her violet eyes. Domeric would be beside her of course, and so would Dany. Arya and Bran would be comfortably on the floor, alternating between asking questions, listening and playing with Arthur and Gwenysse who didn't have the patience to sit and listen for hours.
Arya felt a pang of guilt as she thought of her younger siblings. Due to all the excitement of Lyarra's betrothal and the mystery surrounding Dany, she had not thought much of Gwenysse, Arthur or baby Rickon. Guilt jabbed her deeper when she realised she hadn't contemplated much on Bran either. I am a selfish girl who doesn't deserve water dancing lessons, she thought. She decided to visit the young ones in the nursery tomorrow afternoon.
She wondered if Gwen – she liked calling her Gwen as Gwenysse was a handful to say at times – would be more like her or Lyarra. Visiting lords often said, "Lord Stark, the Lady Lyarra is indeed a beauty and so much like the Daynes while your other daughter the Lady Arya is a Stark through and through." They hardly spoke about Gwenysse – she was still a little girl of five after all. Arya hoped Gwen was more like her. It would be fun to spar with a little sister, even if she had to wait a good four years at least.
Arya almost laughed as she imagined Mother's expression when she sees two of her daughters sweaty from a day of training. Gwen already had the same dark hair as Lyarra but had the Stark grey eyes. She smiled as she remembered Arthur running up to them, crying, "I see them! I see them!", in his boy-sized armour on the day of the royal party's arrival at Winterfell. No doubt Arthur would want to be a knight like his late uncle the Sword of the Morning.
Creak.
Her heart almost stopped. Arya suddenly sat upright and stared at the dark in front of her. Nothing. No one was there.
Creak.
A chill settled over Arya. How on earth would the stone floor creak? As slow as a snail, Arya rose, her fingers grasping Needle's grip so tightly she was convinced her knuckles turned white. Jon had ordered her to stay still, but curiosity got the better of her. As silent as a cat, Arya crept away from the corner, guided by only a slim sickle of moonlight and the sound of this particular creaking. She quickly hid behind another smaller corner to avoid the moon's glare.
Creak.
Her hand shaking slightly, Arya moved and peered from her hiding spot. Her heart thudded as the moon shone against the intruder.
The intruder was on all fours in front of Dany's room. He shifted as if trying to look through the tiny gap between the stone ground and the door. Arya wanted to scream; he was more frightening than Jon's drawing of a grumkin. In a way, a grumkin reminded her of the creepy thing in front of Dany's chambers.
He – or it – was short, probably shorter than Arya herself. He was quite skinny and bits of bone stuck out, sagging skin hanging from it. From his bulbous head were a few strands of hair and his thin fingers scratched against the door and the floor like a feral dog.
Creak.
Her eyes widening in shock, Arya clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away, her heart pounding louder than before. The creaking was coming from the creature's mouth.
Taking a deep breath, she turned around again. Before she could take another tentative step, she heard the zing of an arrow. The creature hissed and bounced towards Arya. Both he and Arya froze as his black, soulless eyes met hers. Arya remained rooted to the spot, partially because of Jon's plan and partially in fear and uncertainty. As Jon kind of predicted, the foul creature bounded towards her, hissing and making that sickening creaking sound. She pointed Needle at him in warning. "I'm not afraid of hurting you."
The creature growled. Arya took a step towards it, Needle at the ready. "I will kill you," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. With a loud snarl, the creature lunged straight at her. Before Arya could stick Needle through what little flesh he had, Jon quickly jumped out from his hiding place and shoved the creature against the wall. He flinched as he saw the creature's face.
Domeric slinked out from his hiding place along with Robb and Theon, a large grin on his face. Arya poked the creature's foot with Needle. "What is this?"
"Looks like a grumkin," commented Theon, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "One drawn by Jon," he added as Arya gave him a judgmental look.
The door opened and Daenerys peeped out, her face as white as snow. Lyarra looked at the creature pinned against the wall. "What is that?"
"Is that thing responsible for the creaking?" said Dany shakily. Robb took off his cloak and fastened it around Dany's own cloak. "Apparently so," Robb agreed, giving the creature a look of disgust. Arya groaned as Theon stepped closer and gave it a hearty kick in the leg. The creature creaked and hissed again.
"Must you?" said Jon, arching an eyebrow.
"Do you think it can speak and understand the Common Tongue?" said Lyarra, venturing closer to it.
"Don't go near it," advised Robb.
"Why? Jon has him – or it – under control." Lyarra instantly jumped back as it snarled and spat at her. Arya wrinkled her nose.
"We should take it to Father now," decided Robb. "We can't keep it pinned to the wall all night and Father will be interested in discovering why this thing had been harassing Dany."
"Is it even human?" inquired Daenerys. She shuddered. "At least the creaking will stop now we have it cornered. I can't believe it was this…this thing lurking outside my door every night."
"Not anymore," Jon informed her. "Lord Stark will have it locked up for a few days in the dungeons and then execute it."
Jon kept the hissing creature pinned to the wall as Robb tied its hands and feet together with a piece of rope he had helpfully brought along. With another piece of strong rope, Domeric tied it loosely around its neck and began dragging it in the direction of Lord Stark's chambers. Arya kept Needle out, slightly hoping to have another chance of tackling it down. She glanced around. Robb had decided to be closer to Lyarra and Dany rather than at the front of their little line with Jon. Theon was behind them, whistling softly as he walked.
"You've done well tonight," Jon said quietly. "When I saw what it looked like, I was frightened. I wanted to run, but you stood there bravely. Well done. Not a lot of people would do what you did."
"I was scared too," Arya confessed. "I wanted to scream and hide. I'm glad that I didn't." On impulse, she wanted to kick the creature savagely. For the rest of the journey to her father's rooms, she was silent. None of it made any sense. Who on earth would send this creature to torment Daenerys? Dany was kind to everyone, even to those who insult her because she was a bastard.
Jon knocked on the door. Within seconds, it opened and Father looked down at them blearily. "What is going on?" he asked, crossing his arms.
Before any of them could respond, the creature raised its head and hissed, a ghastly smile on its face. "Theeeee quiiiiet woooolf…"
The creature was inspired by Gollum from Lord of the Rings. I mentioned Gwenysse, Arthur and Rickon because sadly I kind of forgot about them when I wrote the previous chapters haha. Don't worry. Gwenysse definitely has an important part coming up later in the story - when she's a little older of course.
