Chapter 13: Arya

Arya found herself wandering through the woods. They'd made camp here for some reason or the other. She'd heard that the Queen had demanded that they stop here, wherever here was, because she was tired, or because Princess Myrcella was tired. Whatever the reason, they'd stopped and set up camp. Father had gone off with the King to discuss some business or the other, and the Queen was holding court with her ladies, which had left Arya and Sansa and the other children of the court free to do as they pleased.

Princess Myrcella was unwell, and so was abed, whilst Prince Tommen was reading something somewhere. Sansa had gone for a walk with Prince Joffrey-accompanied by his Hound-leaving Arya alone. She wished she wasn't alone, but she didn't get on with the other girls at court. They were all older than her, and thought her odd. She'd heard them laughing about her when they'd thought she hadn't been listening.

Gods, she wanted to go home. She didn't want to go to King's Landing. She didn't want to be a lady. She wanted…she wasn't sure what she wanted, but she didn't want to be here, that was for sure. And yet, here she was. Wandering around a forest in the Riverlands, missing Winterfell, missing Bran and Rickon and Jon. Jon, she wondered what her older brother was doing. He'd gone off to White Harbour around the same time that they'd left Winterfell, he was apparently heading for Essos.

It wasn't fair. She wanted to go to Essos as well. Surely that would be far more fun than being a lady in King's Landing! But no, she had to go south. Mother had insisted on it, and then Bran had fallen and Mother had spent every waking hour with Bran and had forgotten all about her and Sansa and anyone that wasn't Bran.

She could understand that she supposed. Bran had fallen and he never fell. That was something that they all knew. Bran never fell. Never. And yet he had. Arya wasn't sure how he could have fallen and she was half convinced he'd been pushed. But she didn't know who to tell that to.

She sighed, and Nymeria, her direwolf looked at her.

"What are we going to do?" She asked the beast.

Nymeria huffed in response, and Arya stroked the beast's head. Nymeria truly was her only friend in this party. Everyone else either hated her or wanted her to be Sansa, and that was something she could never be. She could never like sewing, knitting or dresses. She preferred running around, getting muddy and dirty, even if Mother didn't like that.

Arya started walking again, passed trees that leaned drunkenly to one side. She did wonder if Mother would love her more if she was more like Sansa. If she wore dresses, could sew properly and could knit properly. If she said her sweet words and smiled at the right things. If she wasn't close to Jon.

Jon, Mother hated Jon, hated him. Arya couldn't understand why. Jon had done nothing wrong, except be born. It wasn't like he'd asked Father to bring him back to Winterfell. It wasn't as if Jon demanded anything either. And yet Mother hated him. Absolutely hated him. As did Sansa.

Sansa. Her elder sister thought she was in love with Prince Joffrey. She simpered around him. She fluttered her eyelashes and blushed. It was disgusting. Prince Joffrey wasn't even handsome. He looked like a toad!

Nymeria whined then, prompting Arya to look at her. "What is it girl?" She asked.

Nymeria whined and ran towards a group of trees. Arya hurried after her, wondering what it was that had caused her to whine. Her wolf stopped just short of a set of trees that had a small gap in the middle. Nymeria whined again, low and worried.

There was an answering whine from nearby, Arya turned and saw Lady, Sansa's direwolf lying on the ground.

"What's the matter, girl?" Arya asked Lady.

Lady whined in answer, and Arya took one step toward her when she heard her sister's voice.

"Please, stop, you're hurting me!"

Sansa sounded scared. Sansa never sounded scared. Arya moved back to where she had been and leaned forward, peaking through the gap in the trees.

She couldn't see much, but what she did see scared her. Sansa was lying on the ground, and there was a figure-it looked like the Prince-towering over her, his trousers were down by his ankles.

Arya wasn't sure what he was doing, but Sansa yelled. "Please, Your Highness, you're hurting me!"

The Prince didn't respond, but the look on his face scared Arya. She looked at Lady. "Stay here."

She turned and then ran, ran as fast as she could. She needed to get someone, anyone, she needed to tell them that the Prince was hurting Sansa. Why was he hurting her? Why? What had Sansa done? Nothing. Sansa would never do anything to justify that. And where was the Prince's Hound? Why wasn't he there?

She stopped running when she ran into something solid.

She looked up and saw the Kingslayer standing before her.

"What's got you in such a hurry, girl?" The man demanded.

Arya looked at him and blurted out. "Please, you have to help, please. The Prince is hurting my sister."

The Kingslayer looked at her as if he wanted to laugh, but he must have seen something in her face for his expression changed to one of seriousness. He turned her around and said. "Lead the way, girl."

Arya didn't need to be told twice, she took off the moment the Kingslayer had finished speaking. She just hoped she got there before something terrible happened.