Late September, 298 AC

Arya would not speak. Arya could not speak.

Sansa sat beside her, her hands clasped as she whispered prayers to the old gods, then to the Seven. Lord Eddard Stark lay on his bed, his face pale and drawn. An awkward lump was visible under the blankets where the stiff cast covered his broken leg. Alyn and Desmond stood by the chamber door, and two more Stark men guarded the passageway as they had for five days.

Yesterday, Sansa had quietly asked Vayon why Lord Eddard would not wake. Vayon said it was natural for him to sleep so long, that it was a side effect of milk of the poppy. Arya didn't believe him. Something was wrong. Her father was Lord Hand, and Jaime Lannister dared kill Stark men in the street?

"May I pray in the godswood?" Sansa murmured, interrupting Arya's thoughts.

With Jory Cassel dead, Alyn had taken over as Captain of the Guard until Father woke. Since the attack, Alyn and the others watched them like hawks. Sansa and Arya went nowhere without at least two guards. Arya had tried to sneak to the kitchens early in the morning, only to be taken by the ear by Desmond and gently dragged back to Sansa's room.

"You may," Alyn said finally. "Desmond and Varly will escort you."

Sansa rose, dainty as ever, and smoothed her skirts. She glanced at Arya, but Arya shook her head. Sansa could tend the weirwood without her, as she had since Father's injury.

When they brought Father back to the Tower of the Hand, some days past, Sansa and Arya had been nearby. They'd seen the bone jutting out, blood dripping sluggishly from the wound. Grand Maester Pycelle had come to tend to Father, and the girls were let in as soon as he was finished. It was Sansa who'd noticed the bloody cloths left behind, and Arya who had wrapped them in an old rucksack and hidden them under Sansa's bed. Arya wasn't sure how or when Sansa had smuggled them to the godswood, but they weren't under the bed anymore.

Arya wanted to see the weirwood sapling, truly- Sansa had whispered that it was now as tall as Arya, crowned with leaves. But Arya could not go. One of them must stay with Father. Arya had hidden Needle under the mattress on the second day, when Alyn was distracted talking to Vayon Poole. If the Lannisters came for Father, she'd be ready. She wanted to hurt them, to cut them down like they'd cut down Jory and Wyl and Heward.

Arya hated the Lannisters. She hated Joffrey for attacking Mycah. She hated the queen for demanding Nymeria's death and having Lady killed instead. She hated the Kingslayer for attacking Father and having Stark men killed. She hated the Imp for sending men to kill Bran- what had Bran done to him?

And she hated Tywin Lannister most of all, because the morning after Sansa's dream, Varly had told her the Mountain was a Lannister bannerman. Lord Tywin had ordered the murder of Targaryen babies and the rape of Princess Elia. Arya shuddered, her rage briefly overcome by horror.

Arya stared at Lord Eddard, thinking of how she could get revenge, until the candles burned down and Sansa returned, her finger wrapped in a bandage.

Dinner was brought to Father's solar and Arya chewed her food without tasting it. Septa Mordane blathered on about the Seven Pointed Star, Sansa nodding politely as she picked at her food.

"May we retire to bed, Septa Mordane?" Sansa finally asked. The Septa nodded, and they returned to Sansa's chambers.

Jeyne was already there, a book open on her lap. Arya wrinkled her nose, but kept her silence. Ever since the nightmare they had slept with Sansa as her bedmates, one on either side of her. Thankfully Sansa had not woken screaming again, though sometimes she would stare into the distance, her eyes haunted.

"I wish we had a guard in our chamber," Sansa said quietly as Jeyne helped her undress. Arya shrugged.

"Is there enough room to practice water dancing in here?"

Arya stared at her sister, completely taken aback. She'd thought it risky to tell prim, proper Sansa about the water dancing, sure she would run to Septa Mordane and beg her to put a stop to it. Now Sansa was encouraging her? Sansa must have seen the perplexed look on her face, as she hesitantly continued.

"Good Queen Alysanne had a sworn shield who was a woman. Jonquil Darke. She protected her queen in places men couldn't go. I'd... feel safer if you practiced."

Arya stared at Sansa for a long moment, waiting to see if this was a cruel jape. Sansa's eyes were sad and solemn, as solemn as Father's as she met Arya's gaze. Arya turned to look at Jeyne, expecting to see mockery in the older girl's face. Instead, Jeyne glanced at Sansa, then reached under a pillow and brought forth Arya's wooden practice sword.

Sansa took the sword from Jeyne, and offered it to Arya, holding it out with two hands like a lady in a song. Arya rolled her eyes. Of course Sansa had to make it dramatic. But there was something special about seeing Sansa hold out the sword, her head held high like a Queen, her red hair flowing down her back against her white shift.

Arya took the sword.