Arya I

Her father was late for dinner. He had a council meeting today, but it still took him longer than usual. They had already reached dessert when their father strode into the Little Hall.

"My lord!" said Jory, standing up as he saw Ned enter.

The rest of the guard, about fifty men, quickly imitated him. They all sported new cloaks with silver hand-shaped closures, which identified them as members of the Hand's Guard.

"Sit down" said Eddard Stark. "I see you're almost done. At least there's someone left with common sense in the castle." Arya saw that he looked at them all with a more serious gesture than usual, as if he were worried about something.

"In the courtyards it is said that there will be a Tourney, my lord," Jory said as he sat down again. "In honor of your appointment as Hand of the King."

From her father's frown, Arya realized that he didn't like the mention of the upcoming Tourney the slightest.

"A Tourney!" exclaimed Sansa with her eyes open like plates. "Will we be able to attend, Father?"

"I have to organize Robert's Tourney and pretend I'm honored by it, but I'm not going to expose you to such madness."

"Please, Father!" insisted Sansa. "I've never attended one!"

"All the ladies of the court are expected to be present," intervened septa Mordane. "Further, the Tourney is in your honor, it would be very strange if your daughters didn't come."

"I suppose so" nodded her father resignedly. "I'll make sure you both have a place."

"I don't care about that stupid Tourney!" replied Arya. She knew Joffrey would attend and she hated him.

"No one would want you to go anyway" said Sansa.

"Enough, Sansa" said her father full of anger. "Say one more word and you won't go. You are sisters and I want you to behave as such."

Sansa bit her lip and nodded. Arya, for her part, bowed her head and stared at the cake that had just been served with a sullen gesture.

"I beg your pardon. I have no appetite today" her father told those present and left the room.

As soon as he had left, Sansa began exchanging whispers with Jeyne Poole.

"Do you think the Red Viper will attend?" asked Jeyne to Sansa. "I've heard that two of his daughters are in the capital, so he may be too."

"I don't know, but I hope not. I've heard that he uses poisoned weapons to kill his opponents even if he loses. He's not a real knight" Sansa replied. "Whom I want to see is the Knight of Flowers. They say he's better than Leo Longthorn."

Arya didn't even pay attention to their conversation, she hated them. She hated Sansa, who had lied to the king so as not to blame Prince Joffrey. Because of her, Lady and Mycah were dead. She hated Jeyne, who had told her that the Hound had cut Mycah into pieces and handed it to the butcher in a sack and was said that the butcher had mistaken him for a pig at first.

He was my friend. And now he's dead because I asked him to train with me. Arya noticed her eyes getting wet. She walked away from the table and ran to the door as she heard septa Mordane screaming something to her with an increasingly squeaky voice. She dodged Fat Tom, who was on guard before the Tower of the Hand and climbed the tower's spiral staircase like a twinkle until she reached her room. When she had the door jammed, she dropped on the bed and burst into tears.

Fat Tom called her, and soon after, so did septa Mordane, but Arya did not intend to open the door. Se kneeled and opened the chest at the foot of the bed. There, under many layers of clothing, was Needle, the sword that Jon had given her when they had said goodbye to each other.

"Arya Stark, open the door right now, you hear me?" shouted septa Mordane from the other side of the door.

"Go away! I don't want to see you again!" replied Arya.

"I'm going to tell your lord father!" roared the septa.

"I don't care! Get out of here!" shouted Arya.

Arya heard the footsteps of the septa moving away from the door and lay back on the bed, with Needle in hand. After a while, she heard knocks on the door again, albeit softer this time.

"Arya, " said her father. "Please open up. We need to talk."

Arya lifted the lock from the door. Her father was alone and seemed sadder than furious, which made Arya feel ashamed of her behavior.

"And that sword?" asked her father after entering the room and closing the door behind him.

"It's mine"

"Give it to me"

She unwillingly handed him the sword. She may never see it again. Her father examined it by candlelight.

"It looks like Mikken's work. I have to rule Seven Kingdoms and I can't even control my daughter. How did you get it?" She bit her lip and said nothing. She would never betray Jon. "Well it doesn't matter. Ladies should not play with swords."

"I wasn't playing. And I'm not a lady either."

"And what were you going to do with this sword? Were you planning on impaling your sister?"

"Its name is Needle. I was just trying to learn. I asked Mycah to practice with me, but..." Her father hugged her, and she burst into tears again. "It was my fault, I asked him..."

"No daughter, no. It was the fault of the Hound and the Queen."

"I hate them all. The queen, the king, Joffrey and Sansa."

"Hate those who would hurt us, but don't hate your sister. You're different like day and night, but you need each other. And I need you both."

"I don't hate Sansa." It wasn't entirely true. "Really."

"Take" said her father holding Needle. She looked at the sword and caught it in fear, as if that was but a dream.

"Can I keep it? Really?" she said in disbelief.

"Yes, forever. If I took it, I'd have no doubt that in less than a week you'd have a spear hidden under the bed. But please don't kill your sister."

"I promise you," said Arya as her father left the bedroom.

The next day, she apologized to the septa and Fat Tom. Septa Mordane looked at her suspiciously but forgave her. At noon, her father summoned his entire household, including the guards and servants, to tell them that lord Stannis and his household would come to dinner that night, as he had invited him the day before. He reminded them to behave as expected from the household of the Hand of the King. At first, Arya thought he was saying it for her, but apparently it was aimed at all of them. Arya had not seen Lord Stannis before, but she knew he was the king's brother, and that already made her not like him.

In Winterfell, there was always one more seat at her father's table, and every day someone ate with them. Most of the time it used to be someone from Winterfell, like Ser Rodrik, Vayon Poole, Jory, Septa Mordane or even old Tata. Other times, it was one of her father's vassals. She remembered Great Jon Umber and his thunderous laughter, Wyman Manderly, with his huge belly occupying the same as two men or Roose Bolton, whose gaze always gave her chills. Her favorite visits were those of Lady Mormont and her daughters, warrior women from Bear Island. Once, Arya had asked her father to send her to bear island as a pupil of the Mormonts, but her mother dissuaded him, saying she would never learn to behave like a true lady there. There was nothing Arya loved more than sitting at her father's table and listening to the stories his guests told. But that was in Winterfell and everything was different there. Arya wondered if those guests would now be replaced by Queen Cersei, Joffrey, the Kingslayer or some other member of the large Lannister family. Just the thought that she would have to eat with a Lannister every day made her nauseous.

When the guests arrived, Arya observed that most of Lord Stannis' guard was made up of Dornish soldiers who wore the sigil of the sun and the spear embroidered on their doublets. There were also other guards who wore the emblem of the crowned stag of the Baratheons, although they were very few compared to the Dornish. Some of the latter sat next to her father's personal guard at the tables, but Arya did not see any dornishman sit next to a northerner.

Stannis Baratheon looked nothing like the king. He was thin and had a short beard and short hair. Moreover, unlike Lord Renly, whom she had seen on the Kingsroad, Stannis did not laugh, and his face remained constantly serious. He reminded her of her father to some extent, though Ned Stark did smile and laugh from time to time when he was among his subjects. His wife, Princess Arianne, was quite the opposite. She was not really a princess, her father had explained to her, as she was not the king's daughter, but the Martells were allowed to continue using the title of prince when they joined the Seven Kingdoms. When she entered the room holding onto Lord Stannis' arm, half of her father's guards were drunk looking at her. She was wearing a very provocative tight silk dress that showed all her curves. Poor Jory spent several seconds looking at her and occasionally gave her a fleeting look when he thought she didn't see him. Vayon Poole had his words cut short when he had to introduce her. Arya was so reminded of Queen Cersei that she could only hate her from the very moment she first saw her. Jeyne said something to Sansa about how Princess Arianne reminded her of one of Theon's girls. Sansa let out a giggle, but Arya didn't understand the joke.

Once they sat at the table, Arya was occupied the seat between her sister Sansa and Septa Mordane, while in front of her was Princess Arianne, sitting next to her father. She spent dinner talking to her father, and every now and then she would dedicate some compliment to Sansa and Arya, although she knew that when she spoke well about her, she did so out of courtesy. It's a fake, everyone in this town are liars.

"... she's ugly. She is said to have greyscale" she heard Sansa whisper to Jeyne Poole. She covered her mouth to disguise her giggles.

"What are you talking about?" said Arya outraged. "I know I'm ugly, but I don't have greyscale! Stop making things up!"

Sansa fell silent and was completely pale and suddenly Arya realized that all eyes on the table were fixed on them. Her father was angry, and Lord Stannis looked at them with a grim face.

"I don't think she was talking about you, girl, but about my daughter Shireen, weren't you, Lady Sansa?" said Princess Arianne. She also noticed the anger in her face and tone of voice.

"I- I'm sorry my lady... I di-didn't want to..." stuttered her sister. Arya was somewhat pleased to see her sister so ashamed, though she dared not to smile.

"You didn't want me to hear you, did you?" Her sister paled even more. She was as white as milk. "Solving your doubts, no, my daughter doesn't have greyscale, not anymore, although she suffered the disease when she was younger, and she is disfigured because of it. You shouldn't care so much about other peoples looks, girl, at the end of the day beauty is one of the least important things in this world."

"Apologize, Sansa," her father ordered her.

"I'm sorry my lady, I've been very rude. It was not proper of a lady," said Sansa with a spinning of voice. She didn't speak again for the rest of the dinner and left as soon as dessert was over. Arya left soon after. By then, most of the guards were half-drunk. The alcohol seemed to have reconciled the northerners and the dornishmen and watched as Jory wrestled a muscular and tall woman. Arya was surprised that there were women warriors in the capital, but then she remembered the stories of warrior queen Nymeria and wondered if there would be more like her in the arid Southern kingdom.

Two days later, her father's butler woke her up shortly after dawn and sent Arya to a secluded courtyard behind the Tower of the Hand. There a tall, sturdy man with stiff brown hair tied in a braid was waiting for her. He was holding a spear and had a whip tied to his waist. When he turned around, Arya saw that it was not a man, but the woman she had seen when she had seen in the dinner two days earlier.

"You're late. Tomorrow, I want you to be here at dawn," the woman said with some irritation in her voice. She had a strong Dornish accent, but Arya was reminded of one of the female warriors on Bear Island.

"Who are you?" asked Arya.

"Your teacher. Your father was looking for someone to instruct you in the art of the sword, so my cousin thought it was a good idea to recommend me" she said as she gritted her teeth. "The truth is, I prefer the spear, but your father was convinced. I think he thought I'd be kinder to you for being a woman. I'm sorry to tell you he's wrong, so I hope you're up to my training."

"Aren't you going to give me a practice weapon?" said Arya a bit excited.

The woman let out a laugh. "There'll be time for that, but right now, it wouldn't do any good to give you a weapon if you can't hold it. You're all bones, the first thing is to get in shape."

"I already am!" retorted Arya angrily. "My brother says I can run for hours without getting tired""

"Are you?" said the woman with a mocking smile. "Then you won't mind running a hundred laps in the yard."

"Now? But I haven't even had breakfast," Arya protested.

"You'll do it later. When you fight, the enemy is not going to wait for you to eat and rest, so try to be ready all the time."

Arya tried to continue protesting, but her pleas fell in deaf ears, so she had no choice but to run as her teacher had ordered her. She ran a hundred laps and, from time to time, was ordered to do push-ups or sit-ups. When she finally completed them, she was exhausted and all the muscles in her body hurt.

"Not bad, girl. Most of the people I've trained haven't gone past the first day" smiled the huge woman as she looked at her lying on the ground. "Perhaps I can make a warrior out of you."