Arya I
This bored her to near tears.
She had seen Robb, Theon and Bran as they left to participate earlier. Robb had been impressive on the joust, despite his more limited experience than these southerners, while Theon had been rising high in the archery competition, annoying as he was, she conceded, he was amazing at archery.
Even her own dreams would have been better. She, Bran and Rob, together would run amuck through the forests and rivers as their wolves. Racing and hunting down dear, ferret and rabbit. Blood on teeth and the taste of metal on her tongue. They had done so for years since they each received their pups. Half a year in, they – along with Jon - had each confided that when they dreamt, they could enter the bodies of their wolves.
They had all agreed that it was best to not let anyone else know, trusting only themselves. Not even their father, or mother. Though it was unclear as to who Rickon may have let it slip to.
After the initial fear and excitement, it had now become normal for her and her siblings.
Bran would be participating in his first joust today. He was still too young to be entered in the main list, but he would fight in the tournament for the younger boys – squires and pages - to gain experience. As envious as she was, she could not help but feel happy. His excitement was infectious to all, father, their brothers and the rest of her father's lords had cheered him on as he spoke during their travel and at the tables of the feasts. Mother remained quiet and but had been opposed to Bran participating. The arguments had gone back even before they had left Winterfell and had flared up last night as she snuck around the keep with Nymeria. They had both found their way to the outside of her parents' room when she overheard the yelling, which surprised her as she could never recall her regal and lady mother ever losing control.
"He's still too young, Ned! He could get hurt or worse, I will not allow it, you cannot do this to my baby boy, please Ned, just another year or two."
Even outside and unable to see, she could sense her father's mood. Something he slipped into when in a situation like this. She could picture his long face now, even more reserved and gloomy. She could not recall them being in such a state. They had always been happy and communicative with each other.
"He's no longer a boy, Cat, he has to participate as any of the other lads will, here in the North or in the south. If you coddle him and forbid him from this, it will do him no good. I may not like these southern events and their pomposity, but both Robb and Bran will represent the North."
"He's just a small boy, Ned. Robb is the heir to Winterfell; surely house Stark is already represented enough."
She heard her father sigh.
"I will hear no more of this, my Lady. This is what Bran wants, and it is also mine."
From that night. Her mother and father had slept separately, And many nights afterwards.
This had been just the first of many things that had soured her against the South and its people.
Stuck in that carriage for nine months with Sansa, Mother and lady Wylla, it was only the stops at the countless inns and keeps that had kept her sane.
Her sister had been chatting non-stop for two months before she had seemingly gotten bored as the journey went on. She had grown to like Lady Wylla, her elder brother, Robb's betrothed and future lady of Winterfell and liked being in her company. She had first arrived as a potential bride for Robb some years ago and out of all the daughters of the Northern lords that had spent time in Winterfell, Robb liked her the most, and she had soon learned that the girl with the garish green hair returned the feeling, maybe even more than Robb.
In the days before she came as their new ward, Robb did everything to avoid the topic, even as Theon went out of his way to annoy her brother however he could.
"This little Mermaid girl… I bet she's slippery in more ways than one." He spoke one day at the feast hall.
They all understood what he meant – her, Robb, Jon and Bran – of course, that was not enough for the Ironborn.
"Especially between her legs."
Jon then slapped him in the ear, Robb did it immediately after, while they all laughed.
She smiled when she thought back to Winterfell; she, Bran and Rickon would often tease and make disgusted noises when they would spy and follow Robb and Wylla when they walked through the Godswood and Robb would chase them away throughout the castle while Wylla, mother, father and the whole of the castle, even Jon, held their sides in laughter.
Those were better times then, better when Jon was around. The brother she had been the closest with.
"I won't be coming." He signed but forced a smile, "You know why I can't." he spoke before she could respond. Her brother had looked depressed as he gave the words. His stuff was packed as the mayhem of the alive keep of Winterfell was bustling with household servants frantically moving to get everything ready for the upcoming long journey down the King's Road.
Jon had been quit, which was normal for him, but there was something in his eyes that she could not place her finger on. It had not even entered her mind that perhaps the journey he was preparing for was not the one the rest of the Stark family was.
She was no longer a small girl anymore and understood that her mother had never fully accepted Jon as family and would not allow him to come with them to the tourney, in fact, she had now convinced father that it was time for Jon to move on and find his own way.
When she had confronted mother who was with Sansa, she had yelled and cursed and had told her that she would always hate her for what she had done. Jon would now be fostered at Hornwood for lord Halys and lady Donella, their son and heir, Daryn, and his wife, lady Alys, formerly of house Karstark. There, he would be placed to find a role within the household in whatever role suited him best, a captain of the guard or even a steward.
It had taken a private talk by a passing Uncle Benjen of the Night's Watch that had persuaded him from taking the black so soon. For the time being. He would take at least a year as a ward for house Hornwood before making a final decision. If he still wanted to take his vows after his time was complete, then none would stand against it.
Of course, it did not bring her much happiness. Why could he not be a guard or steward here at home where he lived and belonged? Despite herself, she could not bring herself to feel any more comfort from Jon's letters since, claiming he had been treated well by the Hornwoods, and since then, just lady Donella and lady Alys, who was now pregnant for a second time and the new-born daughter, Hollie.
She remembered that last hug nearly a year ago. He had given her Needle, the blade she had kept hidden for the entire journey.
Even though she was now a woman and had her first flowering – which while painful and shocking when she saw the mess when she had awoken at an inn they had stayed at, it did not scare her as badly as she remembered her elder sister spoke of it being, or the stiff advice she vaguely remembered Septa Mordane telling her about.
She found the journey a mix of emotions. She loved the many occasions when she was permitted on the quieter roads to ride freely on her own horse. It was said her aunt Lyanna was half a horse herself when she rode. It had been that and the company she had found in the Mormonts.
She first saw lady Maege at Winterfell, she was unlike many women she had ever seen; a wide stocky woman who went around wearing chainmail, and laughed, japed and trained like any other man.
She was the lady of Bear Island, just off the coast of the Wolfswood. She wielded a massive, spiked club that she carried on her back, and by the way many of the other lords, proud and unashamed to state their opinions openly, they all seemed to hold her in respect and a certain level of intimidation.
She had brought two of her daughters along, Lady Alysane was a younger vision of her mother; short, stout and as bawdy as any man she had ever heard, something the lady was not shy about; much to the amusement of all the men and clear disapproval of her mother. Like Maege, she was called the "She-Bear" by many, some as an insult, others as a name of endearment.
The heir to house Mormont and Bear Island was Lady Dacey Mormont, who was the opposite of both her mother and sister. She was a tall woman, taller than the average man and she too took on the martial apparel of her family and people. She was fair of face too, but a fierce woman that had many compare her to "Black Alys" Blackwood.
She was taken by them immediately, spending as much time as she could with the warrior women. First coming to them during a time when the two sisters trained while the matriarch of house Mormont watched and critiqued. They had only recently passed the Neck at Moat Calin, an old Fort she had loved to explore, and as the women kept to themselves with a few of their men-at-arms, she approached with her massive Direwolf at her side. The contrast between her and her beloved companion must have been funny to all and was with the expressions she had seen on many of the faces of the people she had passed.
The Mormonts, tired and their head sticking to their head and neck in sweat, suddenly noticed as they all bowed their heads respectively:
"Lady Stark." They all said as one.
She remembered her curtesy and did the same.
"What can we do for you, Lady Stark?" Alysane inquired.
Arya took a moment before she answered.
"I wanted to watch you spar, my ladies."
Lady Maege gave a gruff, almost manlike laugh. It made Arya frown.
"If you'll forgive me, little lady Stark, it is not that often I ever find any girls or women coming up to watch the prowess of a Mormont." A smile still spread upon the She-Bear's old features.
"Most girls don't come from Bear Island" Arya answered.
Lady Dacey gave another smile.
"Aye, that they don't my lady." She looked for across the stream with a frown, where Theon Greyjoy was riding with a local tavern wench upon the front of his saddle. No doubt it gave him much access and he whispered in her ear things that made the girl giggle and bite her lip.
"Your father's ward's people made us as we are. We've never had the security the rest of the North possess. The Glovers have the Wolfswood, the Flints keep watch from their cliffs and Torrhen's Square is more than capable of holding off the Krakens with sufficient time. On Bear Island, we have only to fend for ourselves. King Rodrik may have won our freedom back from the Ironborn king, but we have still had to fight to keep it."
Arya was unsure. She knew her history with Maester Luwin and what the Ironborn were, and while she never liked Theon, she could not imagine him ever betraying Robb. They were friends.
"Theon is not like that. He's stupid and not as good as he thinks he is. But I have faith in him."
Lady Dacey kept her emotion neutral at her answer. "As you say, my lady."
Not wanting to waste time, she came back to what she wanted to ask but had been nervous to inquire about for days.
"My ladies… would you allow me to train with you, I have my own sword, Needle I call it."
Maege stroked her chin while her daughters looked to her.
"Lady Arya… your mother will no doubt be unwilling to allow this."
"Yes but I want to!" she stopped herself before she went too loud. "I will be a good student; I can be better with a sword, better than I ever will with an actual needle for sowing. "
It was Alysane who spoke up next. When Arya had arrived, the two sisters had taken to sitting down upon the grass, worn from their long duel, Alysane stood to her stout height which still toward over the smaller and skinnier Arya.
"You should not dismiss the womanly arts, lady Stark. They serve well in war and winter. How else do you stitch a wound after a fight, or make an extra layer of a coat when it gets colder than your body can handle? Me and my sisters have learned it as necessary for day-to-day survival as wielding a sword is for defending yourself."
As Alysane came near here, Nymeria gave a growl, she seemed to almost be sizing up the stout warrior woman, who's step now became more hesitant. Even as big of a woman that the She-Bear was, she still looked a small girl next to the huge wolf.
No sooner had she stepped closer, Nymeria seemed to relax, circling and hugging Arya who petted her head.
"Improve your needlework, Lady Stark… and we'll give you some training on how to properly use that blade."
From then on, Arya worked to improve her needlework. The day after her conversation with the Mormonts, she went to work as best she could. Inside the keep of the Twins, where they would stay for a few days, she practised hard that even Septa Mordane took notice. The Twins of the Crossing truly lived up to their name, they were identical in almost every way, even when she would go around and explore if there were any actual differences, while there were some, they meant nothing as they were so minor.
Lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey, was said to be the oldest man in Westeros, now ninety and four, an incredible age for such a disgusting person. He had a hundred descendants: sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters, not including his bastards and the bastards of his children. He looked like a near hairless finger, with only a few pieces of white hair, and his head had many spots on it. His head lay to the left, and he drooled, his words were jumbled and made no sense. When he seemed to approve of something, it was a repulsive and ugly chuckle that he could not keep up for long – worse when he did so when looking over her and Sansa's chests when presented.
By all accounts when she spoke to Ser Aemon Rivers, the keep was now the quietest it had been for some time, many of the Freys had already left to go South for the Princess' name day Tourney, yet she could only imagine what this place would be like when fully packed.
"It can be very hard, my lady." The young knight stated, very honestly and with seemingly nothing to hide. "Here… you can only really trust your full-bloodied siblings and even then, it's not a guarantee they're that reliable either. I dare not imagine what will become of us when grandfather passes. The lordship of the Twins is on the line and any relations could go out the window."
Despite his status as a household knight, he and his family were held in low regard in the Twins, with the massive army of Freys that had accumulated over the years, standing out was hard, as a bastard, it was even harder. But she liked Aemon, even if his features were unsettlingly close to his lord grandfather's, thin cheeks with a long nose. The idea of killing and fighting one's own family sickened and shocked her, but she kept it to herself – who was she to comment after all? When the old lord died, she hoped her family would not be here when it did.
When she first presented a neat picture of the Crossing, Septa Mordane was at first, inclined to believe she had somehow bribed one of the Frey girls for their work to pass of as her own. A stupid conclusion since Arya had never gone out of her way to impress her Septa, and there was no reason to begin now.
"My goodness, Arya, this might truly be the best work you've ever done." She spoke with a smile that was usually reserved for Sansa, and made Arya want to roll her eyes but decided against it.
"I thought it was past time to apply myself, Septa Mordane. Make myself a proper lady." She hated saying the words, but the Mormonts had told her that was the simplest explanation.
The attention she started to receive then on was extremely positive, Sansa and Jeyne even started getting jealous while Wylla was happy for her.
She would picture and imagine she was stitching a battle wound, either or own, or someone else's. To her surprise, it helped a lot and her improvement ended up being positive news to mother, who made clear her approval.
"Mother?" she asked as the party had stopped at the Green Fork to rest and restock at a local inn, the weather was fair and warm enough. Lady Catelyn sat alone with some guards at a distance, she held something in her hands which, as Arya approached, she could not make out, but it soon became clear.
"Arya." She recognised the cloth in her mother's hands, she had made it months ago. It wasn't her best work, in her opinion, but certainly not her worst.
Her mother had tears in her eyes.
"This… this is beautiful."
It was Winterfell. Her stich had encompassed the entire castle, and she had made it resemble her home as best she could from her memory, it had truly been that long since she had seen it.
"Septa Mordane gave it to me. She says you have improved so much, in fact, you're one of the best she has ever seen."
That was a shock. When it came to praise from the Septa, it had always been Sansa who had been the one on the receiving end. Not Arya, Arya who looked like a horse, Arya who hated dresses and preferred her riding breeches and the use of swords to sowing.
Her mother engulfed her in a hug, as warm as her mother's fiery hair.
"I'm so proud of you, my little Wolf."
She could not help herself from shedding a tear.
In King's Landing, her father and brothers did all the fun stuff, she was stuck, stuck with these annoying girls and this stupid, dress that was itchy and tight. What she would not give for her riding clothes to and join her father and brothers who had gone on a hunting trip with the Prince and King.
Sansa loved it all of course. She had been showering princess Layla and the Queen with praise and gifts and stories. It was all painful, and even the princess herself seemed to only be paying half-attention to her older sister.
The Princess was not as uptight or arrogant as she had envisioned, and truth be told, it had surprised Arya – she liked the silver girl over her father, mother and brother, of which the incident when they had first arrived was still fresh in her head. The Queen just had a sneer on her face and was more interested in showing off whatever new dresses or jewellery she had, just to put every other lady to shame.
"Lyanna…" the fat king had breathed as he approached her upon her and her family's presentation to the King. From her point of view, he looked like a hungry giant like in the stories Old Nan had told her, ready to kill her and squeeze out her organs into a blood paste to mix with his porridge. She did not know what she'd have had not yelled at him – in that moment, she did not care if she would get in trouble, but as luck would have it, all who were present had preferred to pretend it had not happened.
Robb had been right about his namesake, King Robert looked nothing like the stories their father had told. She had expected much more, and when he had looked at her with something resembling a mix of sadness and lust, it made her freeze on the spot. She wished she had Needle then, or Nymeria at her side to help her. It seemed to be lucky that they were in front of so many people, including her father and the Northern bannermen.
Regardless, she had made sure to stay as far away from the King as she could, but whenever he was near, she could always see him not so suitably glance her way.
The gruff voice of father came:
"King Robert sees Lyanna in you… he loved her with all his heart, and for him to see you so close to womanhood… please forgive him, Arya." Her father had later pleaded to her on the King's behalf. She had just nodded brusquely.
That had been the explanation before she had gone to bed that night after supper, having asked her for a quiet word alone.
While the crown prince did not emulate his father in making her uncomfortable, she had found herself disliking the arrogant young man very much. Even if he was courteous to her father and other high lords and was handsome, she saw how he and his friends would act when alone alone. They would taunt and act cruel to the squires and servants mostly but would not hesitate to pick on whomever they felt like. She had seen servants be attacked in anger, or as just some jest. One young knight who had stood up to one of them, mysteriously had his pavilion set on fire that night and lost most of his possessions, while another had his newly made, expensive armour stolen and thrown into the Blackwater while he slept.
"The prince is still a young boy; give him time and he'll be a good man and king like no other." Father had told her and Robb when her brother had privately voiced his displeasure at the prince's behaviour. It did not seem to occur to Father that the prince was ten and eight, some of his friends, even older to still be allowed to act as they did.
Bran and Rickon acted more like grown men than the prince and his group did, yet even Bran, who was seemingly never not entranced by the knights and tourney, seemed to think the prince was as perfect as can be, as did seemingly everyone else but her and Robb.
"Did you see the prince? He rides like no other, with that armour, and those antlers on his helm like King Robert did at the Trident!"
She could not bring herself to challenge her little brother's enthusiasm at any point of their stay, and he did not speak of any ill treatment, so she saw no real reason to do so.
She missed the Mormont sisters, but they were otherwise engaged in the tourney or as Lady Maege, on some business, and with so many eyes, training was impossible. It would be scandal.
With so many ladies, she eventually decided that the princess would not care if she slipped away, and Sansa and Jeyne were too enthralled to notice as she spoke. The Lannister girls would not stop chattering with their Crakehall cousin, while lady Tyrell, dressed in green and gold, had something about her that made Arya dislike her. Lady Myranda Royce – a maiden and cousin of the other Royces - was the funniest.
She took the gamble and asked the princess to be excused. Having been quiet almost the entire conversation – all the heads at the table turned to her – the princess looked over to her on the far side of the table, left of Jeyne and Sansa, and nodded her head with a polite smile.
"Of course, Lady Arya."
She dipped a curtesy before she made her way out of the room and out to the hall. The guards and the white cloaked King's Guard outside the door nodded their heads to her, which she returned.
"Thank you for letting me get away from this boring waste of a day."
She wanted to feel the grip of Needle in her hand again, which made her want to rush faster towards the small corner where she had managed to hide her beloved sword.
She knew it had been utterly stupid to take her sword with her, she knew if she was caught with a hidden blade in the presence of the princess and her companions, she would be in trouble that she couldn't even imagine – and that was if the princess's King's guard did not cut her down first.
She knew, but Needle to her meant everything, she felt vulnerable without it close by, she was rarely without it, and it was not as if anyone had paid much attention as she shuffled with the sword in its scabbard under her dress and had hurriedly tucked it around the corner on one of the lower floors as they passed, miracles, nobody had noticed.
She felt the hilt in her hand, grey steel, with a black grip and the blade being so thin, she sometimes wondered if she could go through an ant.
"Mikken's finest work." Jon had told her. Even now, she missed Jon every day, his smile and hair and the way he'd tussle it. She had cried before, on and off for the first few months at Winterfell and on the travel south.
When she held Needle… it was as if she had a small piece of home again.
She tried to run down the hallway, wanting to feel free again as she could with the Mormonts or with Jon, but the dress she wore, a blue woven fabric that hugged and suffocated her, forced her to waddle more than run. She held the scabbard all the way, feeling weightless in her hand.
"I pray to the Gods, nobody sees me…" she thought.
She wanted to go down the Northern encampment, let Nymeria out of her cage and perhaps continue her training with one of the Mormonts, or find Bran or Robb. Maybe Father would have time, he cannot spend all his time laughing, drinking and eating with the King all the time. Mother would most likely be with aunt Lysa, and she was a strange woman, only her son being stranger.
It all came to her then, how she could possibly leave the Red Keep, father and mother would not be impressed with her abandoning princess Layla, and the commander of hers and Sansa's escort guard would make it known to her parents if she took her horse from the castle stables and left. She would rather not have the awkwardness over her head when they all left in a week.
She decided she'd entertain herself. She carried on making her way through the hallway.
For the next two hours or so, she went all around the castle, from the inner bailey to the Tower of the Hand, where all sorts of scandalous and dark deeds had been committed over hundreds of years. Eventually, she made her way to the empty throne room, a rare sight, with the King taking many of the royal court on a massive hunting trip in the King's Wood.
The stories did not do the throne justice. It was a massive thing in the vague shape of a chair on top, the size of a house – she estimated that to reach the top alone, would be like climbing two flights of stairs at least. Hundreds of blades from across the realm, jutted out like sharpened tongues, most were bent, while some were straight as before they were reforged into the throne. It was said Aegon the Conqueror, the Targaryen who founded the Kingdom, burned the blades as they melted into the Throne with his massive Dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, as he said that a King should never sit comfortably.
A stupid belief to her, people are much more likely to be in a better state of mind when not worrying about being slashed open.
She was disappointed that there were no Dragon skulls. The King had them all put away when he took the throne. Instead, he had replaced them with tapestries showing men hunting and fighting in battles. They lined the walls all over the room.
She took some comfort that no Northern blade, Stark or otherwise, were a part of the mighty chair.
By the time she was done, sight-seeing, she became immensely bored. She wondered if anyone had noticed her disappearance by now, or even cared. She heard some commotion down the hall, immediate she went to the side of the wall to hide herself.
"Alyn" she recognised. One of Father's main household guard and in charge of the retinue to transport her, Sansa, Wylla and Jeyne to the Red Keep.
"Arya!" he called out. Two other guards flanking him to his side.
"Sansa must have told" She thought. That angered her, she clutched her fist tight. Why couldn't Sansa leave her be, she was not bothering her, she could have the stupid princess and the stupid ladies. She just wanted to be herself.
"Arya come on. Your father won't be angry with you, let's just get you back to the ladies."
He and his men were coming straight down the hall to her direction. She couldn't run away, not in this dress. She quickly took note of the big heavy door in the gap she was in. She knew she had no option, so quickly dashed and got it open and closed it.
The interior of the room was nothing special. A simple fireplace stood at the far-right side, the middle contained a big wooden table and some expensive furniture circled around, it also had three big pillars to the far end, she could not have found her, so she took cover behind the pillars, just waiting for Alyn and his men to come in. she could still here the mumbling from outside. The door creaked open, with a bald head pocking in, he gave a quick look around but did not stay for long, she could hear something said to the effect of them moving on. The man nodded and the door closed with a thud.
She still waited though, she had no idea when they would leave, laying against the pillar. She eventually drifted off.
Thoughts of Nymeria, her beloved wolf, and of Winterfell came to her…
Smoke of poultry, meat and laughter filled the air of the massive banquet hall. Banners were erected from all over, from the furthest reaches of the Wall to the furthest southern houses of Dorne. The royal house of Baratheon higher than all, followed by the six of the seven principal houses.
Massive clumps of meat and poultry had been cooking for hours by the riverside by the kitchen boys. Fresh Bread, strawberries, apples and other delights were laid across the tables. Wine and mead were served to the older people, while for her and the others still considered too young, sweet lemon water was the given drink of choice.
Music filled the air. There were performances by fools and mummers. The royal jester danced, sang and jested towards everyone present. Although he was fat and not young, he moved around and did cartwheels.
She overheard Sansa say that she could not believe someone would say such things, and Arya had to agree. He couldn't such an idiot as he was pretending to be.
Everyone found him funny, even his songs about the King, and she found herself laughing until tears were in her eyes.
She had managed to get away with what she had done, mostly at least. She played it off that she had gotten lost, and it seemed that her excuse had been believed. Despite stupid Sansa trying to say she had intentionally left. Father had given her his glare and instructed her to not do it again, while mother had scolded her for hours and as punishment. Restricted her from playing with Nymeria or watching Bran.
Tomorrow would be the final day of the tourney. In truth, she would miss it in a small way, King's Landing had so much to explore, so much to wonder about, all the sights and warrior women she had encountered. She supposed it was nice to have met Lady Lysa, her cousin, Robert, and her Uncle, Lord Edmure too.
Robb had been happy for Theon who would be in the final archery tourney, while everyone was rooting for Domeric to win the joust.
Even if he was a Bolton, he was still representing the North.
All day night, the servants came and went, refilling drinks and answering requests from the guests. Despite the noise, she still felt like going to sleep – even with the King always loudly laughing and cheering when he wasn't talking with her father, who seemed just as tired as her as the King talked of tomorrow's tourney and how he's still capable of fighting as he did twelve years ago despite what anyone said. The day had been long. Bran had his second day of jousting and he told her he was having the best time of his life. Prince Rickard had even come to him after his fourth victory, and offered his congratulations, as well as saying he would make one of the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms one day.
As had become the normal seating routine, the King and his family sat atop the highest dais, with her family sitting next to them at a lower position. Apparently, this was meant to be an honour.
The King suddenly rose to his feet, though it was more of a stagger, his gargantuan weight almost flipping the table; she couldn't imagine that the wine was helping. She had rarely seen the fat king not drunk. The Queen had remained calm and dignified all throughout, a complete contrast with her husband.
The gathered lords immediately rose and raised a toast to their king, "Long live the King!" they chanted.
"Aye! Long live the Kings ya shits!" he gave off a disgusting laugh which the men joined in with.
He cleared his throat, which drew all eyes to him, and it became quiet almost instantly.
"Tonight, I announce the betrothal between the ruling house Baratheon and house Stark of Winterfell!"
The quiet turned almost immediately to loud chatter of shock, joy and she thought could read some faces in outrage.
She felt pity for Sansa, who sat with Jeyne to her side, as she blushed in happiness, hands on her face.
A life of living as Queen. No privacy, constant obligations and even less freedom.
It all changed with what the King said next.
"My son and heir, Rickard, will wed the lady Arya before the end of the year. On my word and authority, and by the authority of the Gods, this betrothal will remain by royal degree until consummated!"
The entire room erupted and all eyes on her. The prince looked at her, eyes blazing with shock, but swallowed and made no protest. She just stood and looked on blankly.
She wanted to run. She wanted to tear her hair out. She wanted to escape. Go aboard a ship and be anywhere but here. Ride off into the night with Nymeria and never come back.
She was to be married. To be Queen, and she did not know what to do.
Notes:
18/08/2021
Well
This embarrassing.
The fact that I only recently seen and rectified this mistake I made in Chapter 5, when I referred to Loras as "Willas" when describing the former jousting and riling up Rickard.
Willas had his leg crushed in a jousting accident with Oberyn before the events of ASOIAF, so probably isn't going to be tearing up the pitch.
I suppose now is a better time than ever to open my inbox to anyone willing to act as my proof-reader. Someone who'll look over a preview chapter before I release it and check for errors or continuity issues. Trust me, I'm always eager and excited when I finish a chapter and want to release it as soon as possible as I'm sure you guys are, meaning I do make mistakes. No doubt I'll make a few even here.
So, if you're experienced – have some previous work under your belt – and willing to look it over and let me know of anything I missed or misspelt, please let me know and I'll respond. Thanks.
My work has been noticed on Reddit's r/TheCitidel page!
r/TheCitadel/comments/ow80j2/house_of_the_high_stag_by_housedaynelover4ever/
I would like to give a special thanks and mention to Redditer, Podvelezac, for taking the time to promote my work on that platform and to all those who've commented their enjoyment and criticism so far. Happy you're all enjoying and I'm having a lot of fun with the premise and characters.