Eddard Stark stood on the bridge above the training yard, watching as Robb and Theon practiced, yet his eyes kept landing on his youngest daughter Arya. She was sitting on a bench on the side lines, head leaned up against the wall with her eyes closed. If he had to guess, he'd say she'd fallen asleep. Jon walked over to her, said something and got no answer. After a frown he reached for her, and gently touched her shoulder. In a heartbeat her eyes were opened, one arm gripped Jon's as the other instantly flew to her empty hip.
"How's Robb doing?" his wife's voice drew his attention, she had little Rickon wrapped around her neck.
"He's good" he muttered glancing back down at Arya and Jon, wondering what they were speaking of. More often than not they'd be smiling when they were around each other, but not this morning. Ned guessed it was because Jon was catching on to Arya's odd behavior as quick as he was.
"What's troubling you love?"
"Arya" he confessed, "she's been acting strange."
"Yes, Septa Mordane says she's been attentive during her lessons, she even cleaned her room and made her bed last night without being asked. Other than the incident at the feast, she's been polite and Lady like, not to mention I haven't seen a spec of dirt or mud on her in nearly two days. Two days, Ned."
"She's been quiet and distant." He corrected "I think she's hiding something."
"She's nine years old, what kind of terrible secrets could she possibly have?"
"I don't know." He muttered, "She was reading these old books last night..."
"Arya? Reading?" Cat laughed, "You shouldn't be worried, if anything she might finally be growing up."
"Most children don't do it over night Cat."
"Arya's never been most children." she reminded him with a fond smile. "She's alright Ned, just give it time. I'm sure she'll come back covered in dirt tonight."
Catelyn was wrong, Arya hadn't come back covered in dirt that night; she'd come back soaked in her own blood.
When Catelyn Stark came to wake Arya it seemed as though she'd only closed her eyes for a few minuets. The rest of her day went by in a blurry haze, breakfast and stitching lessons passing by like a day dream. Madysen's diary was tucked under her cloak along with the small dagger she'd taken from the armory. She was planning to visit the Godswood the first chance she got, and she probably could have during her brothers training session, but she'd been so tired. Momentary she closed her eyes and let the music of swordplay act as a lullaby.
"Arya?" she jerked awake, grabbing Jon's arm and reaching for a non existent sword.
"What are you doing?" she breathed, letting go of his arm and sitting up.
"What am I doing?" he repeated, "You were sleeping. And why did you grab me?"
"You startled me." she accused.
"Did you not sleep last night?" he pressed confused, and wearily she shook her head.
"Not much."
"Is this about that dream you had, be-"
"It's not about the stupid dream." she snapped, her father had thought the same thing. It's because I'm trying to keep you all from dying horrible deaths. "I'm sorry." she whispered, rubbing at her eyes. She'd been dreaming when Jon woke her, dreaming she'd told him and her father about what she'd done. They thought her as mad as Nathar thought Madysen, and cursed. Locking her in a cell and finding some red priest to expel the demons from her soul.
Jon sat down beside her, dark eyes so much like her own, full of worry; she was sick of seeing that expression on him, him and her father. No one else seemed to notice anything had changed drastically, only Theon sent her a cold glare when they caught each others eye now. "Why couldn't you sleep?" he asked quietly.
"I was just reading." He gave her an odd look with the hint of a smile, "What? Bran's not the only one who likes reading."
He raised his hand's in mock defense, "I didn't say anything."
"Your eyes said plenty, trust me."
There was a long silence before Jon spoke again, voice as soft as a summer breeze. "You can tell me anything, you know that right?" he said. "Whatever it is, you can trust me. I promise."
Arya's throat tightened at his words and her eyes stung, she'd missed him so much. The only brother she'd ever willingly let see her cry, the brother she'd never hesitate in telling the whole truth to, the only one she knew would accept her for all the terrible things she'd done...well almost all of them. "I know" her words were hardly a whisper, because she knew if she tried to speak, her voice would crack and she'd risk breaking down right there and then.
"Jon!" Ser Rodrick called, causing them both to look up.
"Coming!" he shouted back, giving Arya one last smile, Jon reached over and mussed her hair. "I'll speak to you later Little Sister."
Arya nodded, not letting the tear fall down her cheek until Jon had his back to her. Sighing she pulled Madysen's diary out, gently turning the pages with the tips of her fingers. Arya found the part her father had opened this morning, the one where the weirwood took up half the page and it's red leaves hung over the passage in the center. "They say all a man needs do is bleed before the Gods, bleed as deeply as their ancient faces are said to." Exactly how much was she expected to bleed?
Arya looked up at the sound of Bran bounding toward her, cheeks rosy from running or maybe climbing. "What are you reading?" he asked.
"I'm not" she gestured to the words. "It's written in High Valyrian."
"Really?" his eyes grew round as he looked over her shoulder, "What do you think it's about?"
"I think it's a diary." she pointed to the numbers at the top of a few pages, "You see? These look like dates."
"How old do you think it is?"
"At least a few hundred years." Arya glanced at the foreign numbers. Time was measured differently in Westeros since Aegon the Conqueror, in B.C. and A.C. (Before the Conquest and After the Conquest.) Evidently these terms wouldn't have been used before Aegon was even born. Whoever Madysen was, she would of died hundreds of years ago, and how her journal had made it this far north was still a mystery. Arya closed the book and put it away.
"Do you want to come help me make snowballs? I was thinking when Robb and Jon were done-"
"Yes." Arya knew exactly what her little brother was thinking.
The entire afternoon was something Arya would've traded her life for once. Bran and Arya had ambushed Robb and Jon on their way back from the training yard, nearly two dozen snowballs prepared in advance for each of them. Bran had climbed up onto the roof of a building and Arya had placed herself behind a fence; a decent cover if Jon and Robb happened to throw some ammo of their own. They'd caught them completely unawares.
Nearly all of her shots hit the mark, her fingers still recalling years of throwing knives. Robb had ducked for cover and Jon had picked up a shield from the yard, holding it up as he tried to build his own weapons made of snow. Her offensive didn't last as long as she had hoped, she'd been too focused on getting past Jon's shield, she nearly didn't notice Robb sneaking up behind her. She landed a shot right in his chest before he bent over and threw her over his shoulder like a toy. She laughed and shouted, pounding his back with her tiny fists as he ran into the yard, all the while feeling as though she were in a dream.
"Game's over!" Robb yelled to the rooftop. "I've got your partner in crime, come out now or I'll show her no mercy!" Arya could hear the grin plastered on his face.
"Don't do it Bran!" she yelled.
"We got a brave one here Jon, stupid, but brave." Robb teased.
"Put me down and I'll show you stupid." she threatened and they both laughed. Her threats ended up being empty ones. Her training had prepared her in the arts of swordplay and assassinations, not snowball fights against two boys twice her size. With Bran's refusal to surrender, she found herself buried in a small mountain of snow.
When they returned to the castle her father and mother were there to witness them walk in shivering and covered in snow. Her mother had shook her head at them but Arya didn't miss the amusement in her Tully blue eyes, nor the subtle whisper that was directed to her father. "I told you so." she muttered before directing Arya to go and change her clothes.
Once she was dressed and dry and warm, there was about an hour before dinner. It would be enough time to visit the heart tree she decided, and after the small war with her brothers; she was wide awake. Keeping to the shadows to be sure no one would follow her, she made her way to the Godswood. She almost pinched herself to ensure she was really awake, that she was really here. The oaks and ironwoods reaching up from the earth were half-forgotten friends, and when she found where the heart tree sat in the center of the untouched forest, it's scary face wasn't so scary as it used to be. It seemed more lonely to her if nothing else.
Arya bent down beside the dark pool of water that rested next to the weirwood, between the giant white roots that were bigger than her thighs. Now what? Arya pulled out the dagger she'd stolen, but she wasn't exactly eager to cut herself just yet. Putting it aside she placed a hand on the tree's pale face, running a finger over the bloody tears.
"Tell me what to do" she whispered, "Tell me how to stop it." she sat and she waited, and waited, but the dark red leaves whispered no secrets to her, showed her no answers. She had learned patience in another life, but it was wearing thin. Sighing she stood up, clean steal glimmering in the light of the setting sun, she opened her palm. "As if you haven't taken enough." she scolded the tree. Tenderly she gripped her right palm around the sharp blade, hissing through gritted teeth as she ripped it from her wrapped fist.
Arya held up her cut hand, clenching her fist tightly while warm drops of blood fell and splattered the roots under her feet. "Tell me what to do." she muttered again. Nothing happened, nothing but the stinging fire that was now her palm. Arya glared at the tree, "Is it not enough?" she growled. Desperately she brought the blade back to her hand, wincing as she cut herself once more. Why are all the gods so damn greedy? Her fingers were slick with red, as was the snow at her feet, yet nothing happened.
Arya wanted to scream at the Gods, but thought better of it. It'd been her that had been stupid enough to think this would actually work after all. Her who'd been stupid enough to mutilate herself because of a story a girl had heard hundreds of years before. Leaning down by the pool she dunked her hand under the water, "I don't need the Gods for this." she told herself, "I'll save them myself." She gave the tree one last glare. "You failed them before, but I won't." she vowed.
Arya had only stood up a moment when she heard a rustle in the trees, ducking down and holding the roots to steady herself as she scanned the undergrowth, and the world spun. The trunks of the trees around her curled into themselves, and their leaves blurred together. That was when she saw it...
Who'd contrived their fates before, how she could change it, and what would happen when she did... right down to her own funeral.
Jon watched as the servants brought out dinner, listened as Sansa told Bran about how Jeyne had a crush on someone they both knew, and furthermore went on to explain what a crush was. Everyone was here, even Theon, but not Arya. His father walked over to him, "Do you know where Arya is?" he asked, reading Jon's mind.
"I haven't seen her since the snowball fight." He said, it'd only been a couple hours ago, but if Arya wasn't running off somewhere with him or Bran, then where was she?
"I'm worried about her." Jon turned his head at his fathers confession, though Ned Stark was staring at something he couldn't see.
"Me too." His father gave Jon a sad smile.
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who's noticed...could you go look around before Catelyn sees she's not here?"
Jon nodded, warmed a little by the trust his father had in him. Maybe it was the grey eyes they all shared, but there almost seemed to be an understanding between him, Arya, and their father. Eddard had always treated him fairly, more fair than most men would their bastards. And when Jon was with Arya it was easy to forget they weren't full siblings, she always treated him as she would any of her brothers, if not better than. As far as he knew, Arya had never crawled into Bran or Robb's bed after a nightmare, never went to them with her fears, or for a shoulder to cry on.
It took him longer than he hoped to find her, meaning her mother would notice she was late and Arya would get in trouble. He searched almost the entire castle to no avail, she wasn't sneaking snacks in the kitchen, or hiding in her room. She wasn't in the library either (not that he would've even checked if not for their earlier conversation) nor was she in Jon's room. Grudgingly he put on his cloak, walking out into the cold he started searching the yard, the armory, the kennels, anywhere he could think of. Just when he was about to give up, deciding she must have went to dinner by now, he saw her.
Arya had her back to him, standing outside the Winterfell crypts as still as the wolf statues on either side of her. "Arya?" he called but she didn't move. She can't be sleeping again, she was standing up this time after all. " Arya."
Jon grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him, his heart falling when he did so. Her face was ghostly pale and her hands were covered in what had to be blood. Her eyes almost seemed to have trouble focusing on him, "Jon" she breathed his name, blinked as if surprised he'd be there.
"What the hell happened?" he was not in the habit of swearing in front of her, but his nerves were getting the better of him.
Arya blinked a few more times, as if waking up from a daze. She looked at her bloody hands, one holding a bleeding fist. "Oh..." she glanced back up at him, eyes widening "I-It was an accident." she said weakly.
"An accident?" Jon reached for her hand but she pulled it back.
"It's nothing, really-"
"Arya there's blood all over your sleeve!" he grabbed her tiny wrist, pulled her toward him. She half pleaded his name in protest as he untangled her fist, but he didn't stop, not until he found himself staring at the bloody "x" that was carved into her palm. Jon's grip loosened when he saw the cut, and in turn Arya tore her hand back to her chest. The way she glared then gave him pause, "Are you mad at me?"
"Don't grab me like that."
"I'm sorry, I-" he shook his had slightly, trying to be calmer "What happened?"
His little sister looked down and opened her hand, whatever momentary anger she felt forgotten. "I..." Jon noticed then the pink rimming her eyes, the way they were slightly swollen underneath, as if she'd been crying. "It was an accident" she breathed once more.
And it seemed as the night went on, that was the only excuse anyone was like to get. His father's eyes had grown as big as saucers when he'd seen Arya in Maester Luwin's chambers, and Lady Catelyn had been frantic until Arya had managed to convince her she wasn't bleeding to death. Jon waited on the edge of the room, ignoring Lady Catelyn's glare as he did so. He was too concerned to care, Arya's eyes were still as clouded as when he'd found her. No tears filled them as her mother berated her, none even fell when Luwin began stitching her hand. She sat in sullen silence, her storming glare focused on the floor as if it had somehow wronger her.
"You can go now." Lady Catelyn addressed him with hardly a glance. Luwin was pulling out wrapping for Arya's hand.
"I want him to stay." she said, gaze still glued to the floor.
"He's not needed here, and never was." her mother chided.
Arya's head snapped up at that, a fire in her eyes he hadn't seen in days. Somehow the fierceness burned hotter than it ever had...or maybe colder. "He's my brother." she stated, voice made of steal.
"He's your half-brother." she corrected, frowning.
"He's just as much my blood as Robb or Sansa, and I'm sick of how you treat him!" she snapped.
"Excuse me?" Lady Catelyn was incredulous.
"He never chose to be a bastard, and you treat him terribly all because of your stupid pride." Arya said it as though she were disgusted.
"Mind your tongue" her mother hissed, "You'll understand one day, when you grow up, he's not your brother, he's-"
Arya cut her off, anger flaring "He's more of a Stark than you are!" she shouted.
The room went quieter than the Godswood at night, quieter than death itself. Lady Catelyn had grown as still as stone, her blue eyes deprived of her heart. The two stayed locked in each others glares, mother and daughter wearing winter flames in their eyes, burning from confrontation. They stayed like that, Arya's knuckles turning white as she gripped the bed she was siting on; for a moment or maybe an eternity. He looked to his father but Eddard Stark was as lost for words as Jon was. Lady Catelyn never tore her stare away from her daughter as she addressed Maester Luwin. "When you're finished you can escort Lady Arya back to her chambers, she won't be needing dinner tonight."
The Lady of Winterfell turned and stalked out of the room, heavy oak slamming behind her. As the door's slam shook the room Arya's eyes closed, her chin falling slightly as she exhaled. The silence hung heavy as Arya angrily wiped a tear from her cheek, until Luwin spoke, soft enough Jon hardly heard him. "Lady Arya...your hand." he gestured tentatively to her grip on the bed. She brought up her hand, fingers shaking, leaving the wooden edge smeared with her blood. From where he was standing he had to guess half of Luwin's stitches had just come apart.
"Jon" he looked up as his father called him, "You should go, you two can speak in the morning." Jon nodded and made his way to the door, glancing once more behind him. Arya held up her arm as Luwin picked up the needle and thread once more, and their eyes met as he pulled open the door.
Jon and Arya had always finished each others sentences for as long as she could talk, could read each other like books...but the past couple days it was as though she'd been written in another tongue. But as her dark eyes met his as he left, he knew exactly what that soft smile said. "He's my brother." her words echoed in his head, warming his heart. He only hoped she could read the appreciation in his expression before the door closed behind him.