Chapter 22 – Arya

The entrance to the dungeons smelled musty and there was little to be seen except piles and piles of crate after crate, filled with barley, wheat, wine or unopened dragonglass shipments. Arya cautiously made her way around them and edged her way through. But when she made her way into the far end of the dungeons, she was surprised that all she could hear coming from the cells was… singing. A male voice, high and sweet, with only the slightest hint of a Fleabottom accent. A jolt of recognition went through her. It couldn't be

A dozen men were grouped into two cells. As Arya moved closer, the singing stopped. Then –

"Hey, it's you!"

Arya looked into the cell. Surely enough, the group of youths she had sat with that evening in the Riverlands were the same ones sat before her. She inwardly marvelled. How could this be? Yet it was. The one with the dark hair fiddling with the fraying fabric of his shirt. The round faced one drinking something from a wineskin. The red-haired one looking directly at her.

"It's me." She said simply.

"Who are you? I don't remember seeing you with us. Were you brought here too?"

"I live here," she told them. "I'm Arya Stark. How did you lot end up with Jaime Lannister?"

But her question was drowned out.

"Arya Stark?"

"You here that, lads?"

"We got to sit with Arya Stark?"

The dark haired one moved closer to the cell door to look at her. "I'm going to guess you weren't joking when you told us you were going to kill the Queen."

"No," Arya replied. "That was me, alright."

She was surprised to see that the soldier looked… impressed. "When we got back to Kings Landing, she was… gone. Everyone said she was dead."

The round-faced one came closer too. "Well, here's to," he said, raising the skin. "My little brother and two of my cousins were killed when Cersei blew up the Sept. I can't pretend to be sad that she's gone."

Arya nodded sympathetically. "She conspired and helped to kill my father, mother and brother," she told him. "I can understand how you feel." She looked back at the others. "How did you end up travelling with Jaime Lannister?"

"There aren't many of us left," the red-haired one answered. "Only those of us who were sent to keep the peace at the Twins are what remains of the Lannister army; the rest went and bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen, or so I heard. So it's only us that have come here. More are on the way."

"Why did he come here with an army?" she asked them.

"We don't know," the round-faced one said. "Just got told. We heard all sorts of things but we don't know what's right. All I can think of is my dad on his boat all alone again."

"You saw him again?" Arya asked.

"Yes," he replied. "He was overjoyed that I was alive. I joined him for a few days, and brewed some more blackberry wine."

Arya smiled. "And you?" she asked the dark-haired one. "Your wife… boy or girl?"

He seemed touched that she had remembered. "A little girl. Someone to look after me when I'm old. If I live to be old."

She nodded. "What's her name?"

"Nymeria, but we'll call her Nym for short."

Arya grinned. "That's lovely." She stood up. "I'll try to get you out of here. The dungeons are horrible, and you deserve better."

"Thank you, m'lady," the red-haired one said.

She grinned at them. "I'm not a lady." She walked straight out purposefully, and made to go and find Jon. She only knew the few in the cell, but she assumed the others would be just as innocent and lacking in information.

As she left, she remembered something the round-faced one had said when they met before. You should always be kind to strangers, then they'll be kind to you. They had given her food and wine, the heat of a small fire and the first friendly company that Arya had had in, well, years. She decided she would be kind to them.

She found Jon in the yard, watching a group of children practice shooting. Lyanna Mormont was among them, and despite her age and stature, she was doing better than all the others combined. Arya smiled to see her, being reminded of her own covert target practice as a child.

"Little sister," Jon greeted her, hugging her and pressing a kiss to her temple, before mussing up her hair. "Did you find out anything?"

"They're clueless," Arya said. She then decided to tell the truth. "Jon, I met some of them on my way to Kings Landing, in the Riverlands."

Her brother's eyebrows shot up. "How? Why?"

Arya grinned at his surprise. "Near the Kingsroad. A group of them invited me to sit with them. They shared their food and wine with me. They were nice."

Jon looked at her carefully. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Certain."

"In that case, I will give the order for them to be given rooms," Jon said, and moved over to a guard. Arya continued to watch the children, and it wasn't long until her brother came back.

"It is done," he said seriously. Then he relaxed a little. "Up for a bit of sparring practice?"

Arya grinned back. "You're on!"

Both moved to one side of the courtyard and drew their blades. Confident that Arya was accustomed enough to his fighting style, she went straight on the offensive, but Jon parried her sword strokes with ease. They carried on fighting and it was just so easy to Arya; Jon was so honourable when he sparred with her and Arya barely had to adapt. But a few minutes later, Jon's extra height, and size of blade got the better of her, and a particularly violent block from Jon's sword had Needle spiralling off into the air. Arya thought about it. She could easily take out a dagger and continue the spar, while dodging far back enough to pick up her sword. But Jon started looking concerned, despite his victory.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, looking at her left wrist. "Did you get cut?"

"Course not," she scoffed. "I consider this one-all, brother."

"But you didn't win last time!" Jon argued.

"Only because Daenerys stopped us before I could!"

"I didn't get there in time today, then?" they both turned to see the silver-haired queen walking towards them.

"Hello," Arya greeted her innocently. "Your turn?" She expected her to refuse, since Jon was so close by, but to her surprise Daenerys pulled Dark Sister from the makeshift belt at her hip. Arya picked up Needle again and readjusted the blade, prepared to go a lot easier on the untrained Mother of Dragons.

Their spar only lasted a couple of minutes and was fairly slow, as Jon and Arya both shouted advice to Daenerys.

"Keep your chin up!"

"Don't go where Arya leads you!"

"Don't lunge so much!"

"Try to only keep the sword in one hand!"

"Stop looking at Jon so much! That way you'll be able to block better!"

By the time they had finished, Daenerys looked exhausted, but she still held a look of steely determination in her eyes.

"You're doing good!" Arya told her encouragingly.

"How does anyone manage to do that?" Daenerys demanded, panting.

"Years of training," Arya responded calmly. "And Jon started learning what you're learning from the time he could walk. Sword-fighting takes time."

"Think how much you've improved just over the last few weeks," Jon said to Daenerys, who looked dispirited.

"Exactly!" Arya added. "Back at Dragonstone, you were struggling to hold it. You're far stronger now."

The Queen gave her a small smile. "That's true."

"I think it may be time for dinner," Jon told them after a few moments. "I don't know about you but sparring makes me hungry." Arya laughed and the three of them headed to the Great Hall in search of something to eat.

During the meal, Sansa tentatively asked her if she wanted to spend time together that evening. Arya accepted at once, still keen to get to know this new Sansa Stark, as well as tease Bran. She knew she had also promised to go and visit Gendry again, but decided she would go later in the evening, at the end of his shift.

Therefore, after dinner, Arya found herself in the solar with Sansa and Bran.

"Is Jon coming too?" Sansa asked.

"No," Bran replied. "He is with Daenerys."

Sansa rolled her eyes and sighed irritably. "Of course he is." She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I needed to speak to both of you about something."

"Go on then," Arya said, annoyed at the slight dig at Jon.

Sansa lowered her voice. "Have any of you noticed that Littlefinger has been… quiet, lately?"

"Yes," Arya responded straight away. "Almost like he's wondering what move he's going to make next." Her mouth wrinkled in distaste. "He's pathetic. What does he even want?"

"To sit on the Iron Throne," Sansa replied with certainty. "With me by his side." Arya made an exaggerated noise of shock and disgust.

"Exactly," Sansa continued with a grimace.

"It's ridiculous!" Arya said, as she recovered. "How would he do that? He can't fight, he doesn't have an army – the Knights of the Vale are more loyal to you than they are to him from what I've seen and heard."

"By manipulation and pulling strings at the right time and place," Sansa said. "He's the best liar there is. But I agree, it's ridiculous. He frightens me, and I want him out of here. But I don't know how to do it."

"I'll happily kill him if you want," Arya offered. "And wear his face for a laugh."

"We can't," Sansa said, scandalised. "We might lose the Knights of the Vale…"

"No we won't," Arya argued. "They'd struggle to get back to the Eyrie now anyway, and they probably wouldn't survive the winter if they did, meaning they might as well stay here and help fight."

"The Knights of the Vale are loyal to Sansa," Bran said monotonously. "But Littlefinger, I cannot be sure."

"What else do you know about him?" Arya asked, intrigued to the extent of her younger brother's knowledge. "Anything else Sansa doesn't?"

"He killed Jon Arryn," Bran spoke. "He gave our Aunt Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. Then he got her to write to Mother, telling her that it was the Lannisters that did it, which she believed."

Arya seethed with anger. "So this thing," she said. "This whole thing with the Lannisters, the war, Father, Mother and Robb's deaths – this was all because of him?"

Bran blinked. "He certainly set the chain of events in motion. And as for Father, he betrayed him. When our men were slaughtered in the Red Keep."

"I remember that," Arya said, twisting her mouth in anger. "I ran away. Meryn Trant killed Syrio. Then I went and found Needle."

"So you did," Bran replied. "Sansa ran away too, when Septa Mordane told her to. You also killed the stable-boy. And Meryn Trant, later on."

Arya nodded. "I did."

Sansa gaped at her. "How did you kill Meryn Trant?"

"Messily," Arya said, shrugging. "You don't want to know." She gave Bran a sharp look. "She doesn't."

"I do," Sansa said, her voice like steel. "He hurt me, in Kings Landing. On Joffrey's orders. He was awful, so I do want to know how he met justice. Another time, perhaps." Arya marvelled again at the change in her sister.

"Littlefinger also held a knife to Father's throat," Bran added, changing the subject back. "Then he told him – 'I did warn you not to trust me.'"

Arya looked at Sansa with fury. "That's definitely enough evidence against him," she hissed vehemently.

Sansa looked very troubled. "I didn't know," she whispered. "About Father."

"I know you didn't," Bran reassured her, in his deadpan sort of way. "But now you do."

"He needs to pay for what he has done," Arya demanded. "And he doesn't care about anything or anyone other than himself, meaning his punishment should be death."

"I agree," her sister said icily, looking back to Bran. "You?"

"I can't see the future," Bran said. "Only the past. But his past makes me fear for his future. Should he survive the Long Night, he would be disastrous." He looked at Sansa. "Cersei made him swear that the next time he saw her; he would have your head on a spike at Winterfell. He barely hesitated."

"That settles it then," Arya said calmly, though she felt excited and livid in equal measure. "Sansa, he hurt you the most out of the three of us. Father used to say that whoever passed the sentence should swing the sword. He's yours."

"I can't," Sansa said. "I wouldn't know how."

"It's easy," Arya told her eagerly. "You just –"

But Sansa had put her hand up. "I'm not killing him. You can do it, or Jon, or Bran, or even Daenerys for all I care, but I don't want to do it."

"Alright," Arya said. "You sentence him, I'll do it."

"How, though?" Sansa mused. "And when?"

"Tomorrow," Bran said simply. "Everyone who should know about his treachery either already does or is in Winterfell anyway. And we don't know how long we have before the Night King surpasses the Wall."

"What do you predict?" Arya asked.

"About three weeks," Bran replied. "Enough time for the Nights Watch to pull back and us to march to the Wall."

"Tormund is on his way," Sansa said. "Then I suppose we will be too."

"Most likely," Bran said, with the tiniest inclination of his head.

Sansa began to have doubts again. "Perhaps we should have a second opinion," she said very quietly. "Whatever else he is, he's a good manipulator and strategist. And it's in his interest to help somehow in this war…"

"He would never be able to manipulate the Night King," Bran said with a certainty.

"I know that," Sansa said with a wave of her hand. "But –"

"Sansa," Arya said, as gently as she was able. "You know what he's done, why are you so hesitant?"

"I'm worried about what Jon will think," Sansa said honestly. "He's King in the North, it should really be his decision."

Arya scoffed. "Jon would always support whatever we went with," she said. "He's Jon."

"I think Jon would agree," Bran said ominously to Sansa, his eyes expressionless. "Before he left for Dragonstone, he slammed Littlefinger into a wall in the crypts, and said that if he so much as touched you, he would kill him himself."

Arya grinned. "Good old Jon."

"Alright," Sansa said. "Tomorrow."

"Bran? Where actually is Jon?" Arya was grinning again. Sansa leaned in, also looking curious.

"With Daenerys, doing some dragon-bonding with Rhaegal. After what happened at White Harbour, I'm sure you'll agree it's a good idea."

"Oh, seven hells," Arya swore with a laugh.

"What happened at White Harbour?" Sansa asked patronisingly and Arya laughed as she relayed the events.

They then changed the subject to lighter topics, recalling childhood memories that were bittersweet-tinged. After about an hour Jon and Daenerys joined them, and Arya was pleased to see the distinct lack of snide comments and glares exchanged between her and Sansa. Nothing friendly, but nothing not-friendly, either. Sansa told Jon about their plans for Littlefinger, which he heartily agreed with, and Arya began to feel more satisfied about the day to come.

A/N: Thank you for reading again everyone! The next chapter will be in Daenerys' POV but I can't make any promises as to when I'll be able to upload next, since it is that lovely/awful time of year of mock exams and stress. I'll do my best though!

Don't forget to let me know what you think.

Until next time.