"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you, Lya!" Arya screamed, throwing punches with her fisted hand. She hadn't spoken with me in a fortnight, shutting herself inside her chamber, and sending Nymeria to threaten everyone who'd tried to console her. Now that we were leaving, she'd come out—but it didn't make things better. "You were supposed to choose me. Not Sansa. How could you betray me?" She sniffed like a child and shoved me down to a pile of snow.

I should be annoyed by her persistence, but the mistake was mine. She had been expecting an apology from me and a little attention. I denied giving her that peace. I denied facing anyone who could change my mind in the last fortnight. I denied Arya. I denied Robb. I denied Jaime. And most of all, I denied Lord Stark. I'd shut them out of mind, focusing on the necessary. It wouldn't do any good to retrospect on my decision. I couldn't afford such silliness.

"I didn't betray you. Sansa is older, and she isn't coming to watch melees and tourneys. She will soon send a missive about her newfound love in just a month. Trust me!" I smiled, hoping that might convince the little rat with whom I'd always been close.

"But I want to watch the melees and participate in the tourneys." Arya wailed, her bitten lips trembling. "And… I will miss you." Tears fell effortlessly down her cheek. "It will be empty here." She pointed her finger to her heart and my jaw slacked down. "I don't want to be here without you." She fell on me, hugging my torso tight. "All I need is a basket to get stuffed in. Please, Lya! Please, take me with you."

I laid there in the Godswood, not even uttering a word, my eyes staring aimlessly at the red heart leaves that fluttered in the wind. I felt Arya's pain. It wasn't because she was missing out on the adventurous journey. It was for me. She would miss me. She would miss all the tiny missions in pranking the household, in bearing with the scowling Septa's lessons, in being different together—mostly, in not being perfect. Moreover, I understood how it was to feel being left alone.

"I am sorry," I whispered, my finger circling her back.

"I still hate you." Arya whimpered.

"I know."

"You are cruel. The cruelest than that stupid Jeyne." She spat out her words that plunged right into my heart. "You never came for supper. You never attended the Septa's stitching lessons. You never even existed here beyond speaking with Jory and Sansa. And… you never even told me you were leaving." Arya held the collar of my new woolen dress, clutching it tightly with venomous anger spilling from her tone. "I learned it from Jeyne. I learned it when they called me horse-face and told me I wasn't welcomed in their journey. I didn't believe it. Robb didn't believe it. Even Bran told me they were lying to tease me. No one believed because you never said a word to us. Do we mean nothing to you?"

"It wasn't like that. I didn't mean to hurt anyone of you." I sat on the sinking snow, protesting to her like I was the child and she was the adult there.

"Oh, you didn't mean it!" Arya rose, looking down her boots. "But you hurt us, anyway."

It was her silence that spoke louder than her words. I stumbled, trying to form cohesive words that were lost before it reached my tongue. How do you console a person in pain? Could pain ever be erased? It was one thing I learned — the harshest lesson. We could not send the writhing pain away or make it disappear. We just find a way to live with that pain, bearing the scars in every wake of our life. And me, the Lyarra that my little cousin grew up with, would always want to remain a snowflake in her life.

It took time to console Arya, but it wasn't difficult as I suspected. She forgave me for my crimes and took promises of sending a missive every week and returning to Winterfell in two years' time. I gave away the promises, like giving away snow candies that I and Robb had made as children. I'd no plans for this journey. I'd no idea when I could return or if I could return—more precisely if I would be welcomed when I return—after all, I was never welcomed here, to begin with. There was no point in returning, and that would be utterly weak of me to do so.

Hazed in my worries, I helped Jory assemble the reluctant party of fifty Northern guards, who'd more scowls on their jowls than any resemblance of regard for me. If it was up to me, I would strand everyone here—including Jaime, and take my horse and Ghost, with a bow and arrow, a gilded sword in the hip, and enjoy the adventure to meet my father. As the count of the party increased, my shoulders kept sunken in with the weight of responsibilities for all the fifty men—who probably would want to slit my throat, my sweet cousin Sansa, the two troublesome maids.

I was restless every time the guards questioned me. I was angry at not being able to make them just follow me, rather than question my own existence.

"And why does your father want to see you now?" A burly guard of fifty spat to the ground, sharpening his fine steel of a hunting knife when I passed by him. He had spotted skin and a bald head, with wisps of long gray hair flying out from his ears like banners carrying sigils. He screamed of danger with his cold gaze, and colder steel in hand. "Is the Lord exchanging prisoners? 'Coz, my cousin was lost in the river. I heard your father keeps him in the dungeon."

I am not a prisoner; I wanted to scream. But the blunt little finger, which was sharpened once by a man like him, made me cower a bit. The northern men had a unanimous trait. Being stupidly brave, just like my sweet old uncle. And this man would see me dead rather than think what would happen after he'd killed me.

Yet, the proud dragon in me surged with brewing anger of being insulted. "My father is your King. You have to give him the reverence—"

He spat to the ground once again, at the mention of reverence, and my body went rigid. "Your father better have my cousin alive." He warned, returning to sharpen his blade.

I moved to the stables to bring my horse out, silently contemplating the way to run away, leaving everything behind. I couldn't wait to reach King's Landing. My King Father had written back to me, "The Princess can come home when she feels ready."

It was a singular line, but it'd made me yearn for home—a home where I wasn't considered a prisoner, or a cursed Princess, rather a family of their blood and bones.

"We run in the pack! We howl for the pack—"

Robb's rumbling voice disturbed the sand-castle that I began building in my dreams, and I was jolted into the old memories of our childish reveries when I turned around to find his messy auburn curls wildly flying across his eyes.

I picked up the rest of the song. "We fight together as a pack! We are the strength of our pack! And as long as we stay together—"

"We survive as a pack!" He ended.

It was the silliest song we'd made before raising wooden swords to fight against each other because we'd never agreed on being in the same pack. While I would drag little Arya in my pack, he would take little Bran in his, all the while pretending to be the hunting wolves in the wild, attacking the territories of each other. Because we both had the same goal. We both had wanted to be the head of the pack.

I smiled, thinking back at our own farce as children. Robb smiled too, but with a lace of sadness to it. This… was the exact reason why I'd avoided giving goodbyes. It was devastating. It was beautifully tragic. For most of my childhood, I'd roamed wearing Robb's clothes, chopping off my hair to look like him, trying to sneak into his chamber so I could sleep next to him, imitating his fancy words, fighting and rolling in snow and mud, playing dangerous games challenging each other, making ice castles by the frozen lake when Lord Stark would take us for teaching hunting. Even after we'd grown up, for the longest time I remember, Robb'd still sneaked into my chamber, before he'd finally understood that my honor as a maid would be questioned if anyone would notice him.

"It is a long journey." He filled in the silence, his voice croaking with a mist of longing in it, while his fingers traced my horse's mane.

"Longer than the Wall." I cheered him, remembering the time when we'd thought the Wall was the end of the world.

"Longest, Lya! Longer than White Harbour, the Bear Island, and anyplace we have known." He agreed.

"I will be the one to win then. I am the first to go the longest." I raised my brow, controlling the urge to not let the tears spill. If I'd cry, then he'd find it easier to convince me to stay. And I didn't want to be convinced.

"I wish I can go back in time and never challenge you." His tone was no more soft, no more kind, no more polite, no more proper like the boy I'd known before. It was aggressive, like how Ned Stark had been when he'd found me in his secret hoard holding out the truth. "Is this what motivates you to go all up to that rat hole? Our silly childhood challenge? They are our enemies, Lya. All our enemies are there in the capital. Tell me you are no mere fool—"

"Don't act like the pretentious butt, that you always are!" I snapped back, my voice just resonating with his own.

"Great! Now blame me for every whimsical decision of yours."

I clenched my fingers and my teeth together, counting on my self-will to not knock him down, and break his teeth as a parting gift.

"Have you ever cared for anyone here?" He chuckled, his mockery evident with the way he evaluated me. "Do you know the last time Father had spoken properly at the table? Do you even know how the children feel about your decision? Do you regret—"

"Well, I regret it!" I screamed, slamming my fist into his chest. He stumbled back. "I regret so much, Robb. I have a life filled only with regrets. Did your beloved father ever tell what he'd done? Did he?" Robb was obviously confused, clearly not knowing what'd happened to me. And even in my insanity, I wasn't going to tell how I felt betrayed, used, and even abused, living here. Because as rough and harsh life had been for me, I had got equally good memories to live with. Even if they had tried poisoning me, threatening me, trying to cripple me, I'd come to love them—love these coldhearted people. "Every time you call them as our enemies, had you ever thought even once that they are my family?"

Robb stilled, his stance rigid like mine had been. "But — They aren't — Lya! You can't think that way. We are your family."

"Yeah?" I chuckled dryly, untying the reins of the horse. "How many times have you wondered about why I wasn't attending the feast with you, Robb?" I wanted to spell out more. The miseries of growing up as the enemy's unwanted bastard child, the pain of being an outcast. But I didn't want Robb to carry the guilt of the entire North on his shoulder. It wasn't his mistake that I'd been unlucky and born to parents out of sin and brought death to their door. "I was never a part of this pack! I always knew that. I am all by myself."

His soft blue eyes moistened at the old memory, and he pulled me into his embrace. "You are the stupidest in our pack, Lya. The stupidest fool!"

I tried to retaliate, but I liked the sound of his warm heart against my cheek. Even if we fight, even if we despise, all it took was just a second for us to come around. For a moment, when I snuggled into his chest, I doubted my decision once again. This could go wrong, in all possible ways. I could be killed, smuggled, raped, beaten, imprisoned, or worse, let to live as a laughingstock in the capital. Here, with Robb next to me, I could be safe. For a moment, just a flicking, freaking, selfish moment, I let myself wonder about what Lord Stark had offered when we were in a rift.

"You will wed my son and learn your duties!"

Would Robb be too disgusted by the idea to wed me? Probably not! He was a northerner. And I was his cousin. To admit, at times, I'd seen myself in Lady Stark's place of power. To control the entire North, to make the people who'd hate me with all their blood to bow before me, and my son after me. I needn't carry all the burdens if I had power—if I had wealth—if I had a husband who'd be loyal to me and treat me with reverence. And Robb was everything and more. But that was just the foolish me, daydreaming about raising above my standard.

Lady Stark would poison me before I hold her son's hand. Some random guards would slaughter me in sleep. Besides, I could easily buy power, but I could never buy love and respect. And after me, my child would still carry my sins—to carry my burden on his shoulder, like I was carrying my parents'.

"Don't get killed there!" Robb whispered. "Then there will be nothing that stops me to end your other family!"

I chuckled. "I will try."

We walked out to the gates, where freedom and hope for the future were waiting for me. For best or worse, this was the choice I'd want to make for myself. To meet my father and get to know him. To meet my siblings and learn about them. After that, if they'd consider me worthy of a knight, I could pledge my sword to my brother—to be like Aemon the Dragonknight to Aegon. If not—

I paused, taking a long breath and turning around to see my uncle, in a few feet distance, his partially overgrown grey-bearded face, and his gray eyes telling a thousand apologies that no words could ever convey. I wanted to drop this ego that hung on my shoulder. I wanted to hug him once. And tell him that I'd forgiven him. A part of me knew he was feeling terrible about what'd happened, but I wanted him to remain in pain, as I'd always lived. I wanted him to experience the hollowness of how it felt to be rejected of an apology—to not be forgiven.

I climbed on my horse, trotting it close to Ser Jaime, with Ghost padding next to my horse.

The glow that decorated my pale face when we had started off from the North slowly began to drain when we crossed the Neck. Some strange humming noises echoed in my ears to run back to the safety of the familiarity. And for every night we camped, I woke up drenched in sweats and nightmares.

My nightmares had a pattern. One night Lady Stark came behind a shadow and smiled wide with blood dripping down her canine long teeth. I tried to shrug off that dream, but when she opened her palms, which held my heart that was still beating, I'd screamed and woke up to find the place of my chest still covered with thick skin.

Other nights were even scarier. And in all the dreams I was being murdered, in horrible, horrific ways. What seemed to be a quest to unite with the family that I lost, soon was turning out to be my own mission to fast death. If this wasn't giving any comfort, Mya's constant whining about how she hated the sunrays, and Sansa's persistent complaints about how Jeyne and herself weren't faring well in the wheelhouse all alone, and how she missed Lady—obviously, Lady Catelyn felt a proper lady wouldn't roam with feral creatures—was enough to give me troublesome migraines.

I was bringing three girls who knew nothing of the world, to some viper's nest, that my uncle warned not to set foot. Mostly, I worried about Sansa.

I might be impulsive in nature to think with my heart more than my brain, but I knew Lady Stark wasn't sending Sansa to be my companion. It was most likely that the Tully woman was seeking a southern alliance. The worst of all this was, Sansa was already dreaming about finding her perfect knight—a task of truth that I would need to break down to her one day.

It was almost a fortnight when we reached the Darry's land, and even when I wanted to move forward without a break, the Lord of the land had sent his men to welcome us to his abode—if you could call a hundred armed soldiers with swords and bow and arrow in their hips as a welcome party. So far, in the North, no one had interfered with our journey—and that was to my aid because most of them would rather feast on me than feast me.

Now, though, after crossing the Trident where the major victory battle between my father and rebellers had occurred, a strange mix of fear stirred in the pit of my belly. I had to be cautious of the path I trod. My survival didn't just depend on me, but on the girls who'd come with me.

For every decision, small or big I made, I approached Jaime, who was obviously cursing me for growing up and doing daring decisions that he didn't agree with. Of course, Jaime agreed with me to grace the Darry's castle, but I doubted his genuine intention. It was most likely that he wanted a strong heroic fight and was hoping to get one from the rivermen.

The girls were elated, especially Sansa—although she had completely forgotten that the Darrys replaced the Tullys as the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and were now filthy rich. The Lord Darry didn't forget though and his appreciation to Sansa's presence was sour and scowling, whereas to me—he was polite, even if I dared to say, I could call it partly welcoming.

Once the feast was over, we were escorted to our chambers.

I was given an extravagant chamber in his newly extending castle, with five maids to tend to my needs. The walls were decorated with Myrish portraits of fire-breathing dragons chasing each other playfully above the clouds, and the floor was swept with rich, red, fringe filled carpet. The bed was huge for five to rest and made of sandalwood that I could even smell the sweet scent by simply rubbing my fingers. There were golden cups with the ruby-encrusted jewel, filled just below the brim with wine, fruits, and hot delicious food available on another ornate table. When I opened the door that connected to what seemed to be a parlor for high-born women to pamper themselves, I almost lost my ability to speak.

It was too much. All these were too much. The woolen clothes that I wore made of lambskin and the leather boots that went up to my knees made me look like a pauper than a Princess. And I couldn't see myself belonging to this propriety. This chamber was custom made for the Royal guests. But I felt lost.

"This… This…" Sansa was standing at the entrance gaping just like me. "This is the chamber they allocated for you?" Her voice rattled.

"Yeah!" I answered, still struggling to accept this grand gesture. Had the Lord Darry forgotten I was a bastard? "It's huge. Very huge. I guess it would fit five guests in!"

"Five?" Mya wailed. "I say fifty." She leaped on the seven layers of cushion on the bed, rolling from one end to another, giggling like a child. "Oh Seven, save me! The only good thing that happened is you getting this chamber, Lya!"

"I don't understand."

"Don't try to understand anything when you can just enjoy it!" Mya plopped fruits into her mouth, before rushing inside the parlor, and almost screaming at its monstrosity.

Sansa didn't move from the place she'd stood. And her eyes welled. I didn't understand her reaction. Soon, her curling lips got soured, and she burst out from the chamber.

What happened? Did Sansa finally realize what it was meant to lose in a war? Probably, she was feeling sick to see how her family's wealth had got exchanged. The Darrys were still expanding the castle.

"Uh uh!" Mya eyes followed Sansa's trail too. "Poor girl! The chamber they gave her was—well, it wasn't appropriate. It was small, like—like a maid's chamber."

"What?!"

By the time I thought of confronting the Lord, Ser Jaime knocked on my door, still in his golden armor and golden plate, as though he was ready for a battle.

"Lord Darry has sent two guards to escort you." His cutting green eyes were unapologetic, more enthusiastic to fight them both, just for the thrill of a kill.

"I had been meaning to meet him myself"

I ignored Jaime's pleas and walked with the guards towards the Great Hall, where the Lord had hosted a feast not just two hours back. The hall was messed up with ale and wine spilled all over, and there were no maids or servants cleaning the mess.

I had been furious over his treatment of Sansa, that I almost forgot that the Lord had commanded me to arrive at his disposal. Not until I found two rugged Northmen—Pate and Walys—tall as giants, standing with blood oozing out from their faces and body, did I realize I was in… trouble. Jory barged into the Great Hall with ten more Northern men at his side, but they weren't injured or beaten up.

"My lady!" The Lord Darry still sat on his tall chair but appeared to exhibit respect. "Please take a seat next to us."

My hands were shivering, and I had to flex them tight, before directing my gaze towards the two burly scowling faces. I'd expected this to happen, but only after reaching King's Landing. Not too soon, and especially not in a place where the majority of small folks' loyalty lied with a dead man in Trident.

"The loyal knight, our beloved Ser Davis, had been butchered inside the castle when he was manning the battlement." The Lord Darry announced, clutching his gold-ringed fingers. He turned to me and gave a perfunctory glance to Ser Jaime behind me. "My guards on the battlement found these two men from your party with a rusted sword of blood in their hand."

I had all these days assumed the Northerners had hatred only for me, but their vengeance for the South and anything that belonged to the crown was much worse than I'd imagined. Indeed, Pate and Walys were the ones who'd killed. Their murderous evil smile was all the proof that was needed, even without the obviousness that they had been caught red-handed.

"Aye, I killed, and Walys held him down to the throat!" Pate shrugged, rubbing his beard. "He boasted of killing my brother in the Trident. Ain't my duty to serve justice for my dead brother?" Pate laughed—more like a maniac than a human.

"Ser Davis had been a knight of honor." Lord Darry addressed me with simmering rage in his authority. "In the Trident, he brought down ten of those barbarians." His finger pointed at my Northern men and I was extremely displeased. They weren't barbaric.

What was the Lord trying to extract from me?

"My Lady! I would order for the death of these two as justice, but they are your men and you have brought them with you. So, I leave you to give away justice."

Oh, that! I couldn't for my life's reason kill them both, without earning the wrath of the rest of the guards accompanying me. And if I observed closely, the Lord Darry was testing where my loyalty lied. He'd given me a pleasurable chamber to rest, maids to serve, and now he wanted to learn of my own loyalty. In the North, my uncle never played such games with sixteen-year-olds. He gave them just sentences as he'd found fit, but then this was no more North.

"Let them take the Night's Watch! The Wall needs every man possible to protect and even our King will agree on that." I smiled with newfound confidence, although my thumb vigorously rubbed on the lost head of my little finger. "Of course, the court is yours, my lord. And your judgment will precede mine."

Lord Darry gave a lop-sided, troubled grin before looking at the burly Northmen. "I concede with the Princess's judgment. The men will be sent back to their rut to man the Wall, taking lifetime celibacy."

The crowd disappeared soon, meanwhile; I instructed Jory to send eight more men to escort the culprits—especially the ones who were possible to bring more trouble. Jory was abashed and ashamed of the recklessness from the men he'd chosen for the journey, apologizing to me a hundred times for not being attentive.

It was fine. I managed to survive here.

No, that was unreasonable. I actually felt powerful enough to make judgments.

It felt good to be in a place where I commanded respect, although I'd been worrying I would be denied of even the smallest pleasures that I got in North, fate had its way to prove me wrong. When I'd asked Lord Darry about his treatment of Sansa, he easily apologized and did the needed to make her feel comfortable, as though my words mattered. Of course, it mattered to him. And that was a privilege to me.

That night I'd slept dreaming again. But there were no nightmares in my dream. It was all about my family, of how they looked, of how they would treat me, of how I would be welcomed. And the dream was simply perfect.

For the two days' stay in the castle, I had the privilege to sit with the Lord on his table, attend his court, and I truly relished in the comfort measures he took to provide me. Many lords and ladies arrived to see me—to speak with me. The Lord himself was well in his forty and had five children—four sons and a daughter—most of whom were already wed. The last girl was older than me but was desolate and deranged in her looks. The maids gossiped a lot and there were rumors about the lady's extra-activities that eventually led her to become unfit to wed. But the girl was polite and even spoke cordially to me. Sometimes, she took us to her gardens and involved us in the stitching lessons, and even enquired about my family in the capital. Had I known at least one of them, I would have been eager to tell her, so I maintained a smile throughout.

Lord Darry was the first man to treat me to the worth of my station—with respect and reverie.

On the fourth day, replenishing our food supplies, we were about to carry on the journey, when the Lord found me brushing out the dirt from Ghost.

"My men were terrified of a Direwolf, my lady!" He chuckled, pointing to Ghost.

"She doesn't harm anyone." I maliciously lied, because Ghost wasn't someone to be controlled. She was a free spirit.

"Well, the kennel master says otherwise." The Lord offered his hand, taking me for a walk, and Ghost padded behind us, as though he would attack the man's throat anytime I wanted him to. "I should be apologizing for how I treated you and your men."

"You shouldn't be, my Lord. They misused guest's rights."

The man laughed. "They didn't. My Maester tells me that the two men didn't even drink a cup of water in the feast. I guess they were prepared to pick a fight, and it wasn't your fault." He sighed voluntarily. "It is just… a while ago, your family had visited us."

I squinted, not understanding who he meant. "You mean my father?"

"No…" The man shook his head. "The King isn't coming anytime soon. It is my wish he does, so the rebel Lords know who is in the power. Rather, the King had sent your brother and your uncle with a Dornish lord and a bastard here."

I assumed it was about Prince Aegon and Prince Viserys. It was so odd to hear them addressed as uncle and brother because I had no idea if they were truly were one to me.

"Pardon me for putting it bluntly, but the household was terrified of hosting another Royal member under our banners. Not to mention the sudden death of Ser Davis…"

"I understand…" I smiled, although I didn't understand.

"We took the lands and titles from the Tullys, and all I expected was support from the crown—to inspire the people to follow the crown. But those—" Lord Darry's chin trembled. "I was a loyal servant to the crown. I am still loyal because I fought and bled in the same river that feeds us food. But I don't like my loyalty tested. And my Princess, I want you to convey this to your father."

I gaped at his changed demeanor—at the blatant threat he was passing to the King through me, but I simply nodded, not wanting to ruffle his feather. Something happened here in this castle and my uncle Viserys and his companions, probably with the crown prince, had messed up with the man's pride.

We had set on to our journey, but my mind and heart were oscillating. At the end of the moon, we finally reached our destination.

There were too many questions in my mind, but most of all to my father. As we stood by the hill, overlooking the city of Red Keep, Jaime approached me. "I don't see the appeal of this rotten place."

"You told the same about Winterfell, Ser Jaime."

"Did I now?" He smirked, holding his horse's reins tight as Ghost prowled and pranced about us. "I hate that dog of yours." Jaime offered me a serious tone in my direction. "Listen! I don't care for who sits there on that barbed chair. I have killed one whose ass was muddying the throne and I am ready to kill another one too. But I want you to be safe and alive. If you even guess you are in danger, you will come to me."

It was odd to feel that comfort, but I liked it, as though a savior was always next to me to protect me. I smiled wide like a child. "Thank you, Ser Jaime!"

"Don't cry and make this sappy. You are like that dog to me. I hate you, but I can't let anyone hurt you." He mused awkwardly and rode off before I caught his smile back.