Part One: The Roots
The Crooked Kind
Sansa thanked the gods her lady mother had requested a caravan for them to travel to King's Landing in. It made the whole trip more comfortable and their arrival that much more regal, like when the royal family had come to Winterfell. Though their caravan was much smaller than there's had been.
She glanced out the window at the giant red castle looming over the rest of the city. They were at the highest peak of the highest hill leading up to the city but still the Red Keep towered over them.
"Mother, where will be staying in the Red Keep?" Sansa asked, her eyes wide in awe as she tried to take in the scene of King's Landing. She turned away from the window and went to her mother's side. Catelyn grabbed a brush from the nearby table and began running it through her daughter's thick, Tully hair.
"I suppose we'll be in the Tower of the Hand with your father, while he works with King Robert." Catelyn answered tiredly. She was grateful for Sansa's enthusiasm at arriving in the city. Gods know the child would flourish among the fine society of King's Landing, she only wished she didn't have quite so many questions to which Catelyn had no answer.
She'd been happy to keep herself tucked up safely in Winterfell, away from the politics and aggressive social scene of the court. But their time in the capital could be avoided no longer. It had been inevitable the moment Robert Baratheon had uttered the fateful words to Ned five years ago: "I have a son. You have a daughter. We'll join our houses."
Catelyn could hardly contain a scoff when Ned recounted to her how he'd reminded his old friend that in fact the Starks had two daughters to the Baratheon king's two sons.
It was all well in fine for Sansa, she was a northern flower just waiting to bloom in the heat of such a vibrant southron city. It was Arya who's future kept Catelyn up at night. The girl was restless, and flighty, and aggressive, and wonderfully strong willed. A northerner through and through. So much like...
"Mother, will you braid my hair in the southron way?" Sansa begged her mother, for the fourth time that morning. Catelyn shook away her thoughts and continued brushing her daughter's hair.
"Sansa, you'll have the rest of your life to live like a southron lady, but until then, you're a Stark. And Starks are northerners. A simple braid will do." Catelyn said.
"But it's so plain." Sansa complained. After seeing Cersei Lannister's lavish hairstyles and gowns the girl had fallen in love with the luscious southron style. It upset Catelyn, how quickly the girl would seem to shun her northern heritage for the frills of the south, but she braided her daughter's hair without a word of critique, only encouragement.
"A plain braid for a natural beauty, Sansa. All the complicated plaits and twists of those southron hairstyles just distract from the flaws." She tied the braid off with a green ribbon and patted Sansa on the shoulder. "You'll shine all on your own."
"Queen Cersei doesn't have any flaws." Sansa mumbled as she returned to her perch by the window. "Besides," Her daughter continued as she daydreamed about her upcoming days within the Keep's fiery walls. "It's not my hair we need to worry about. Arya probably looks a complete mess right now."
Catelyn frowned. It was hard to ignore the truth in that statement. She peered out the door of the caravan and looked at the mounted men as they trod on towards the city. Up ahead she could see her lord husband riding up ahead with Vayon Poole. Jory and Rodrik Cassel were a few horses behind them.
"Ned!" Catelyn shouted, attempting to be quiet as the caravan bumped along the King's Road. "Ned!"
A few heads turned at her shouts and her eyes met with Jory Cassel. He slowed his pace until he neared the caravan door,
"Can I help you, my Lady?" He asked.
"I need to speak with Lord Stark." She said, hoping Jory would be able to find her a horse so she could ride over to her lord husband herself. Jory took a different approach.
"Lord Stark!" He shouted over the din of the travelers. Ned, as well as several other mounts, turned around to see the source of the disturbance.
"It's alright Jory, I just need my horse brought round so I can ask Ned if he's seen Arya." She explained quietly. Jory nodded and for a moment Catelyn hoped he might ride around to the back of the caravan and procure her horse for her. Instead he cupped his hands around his mouth and continued to yell.
"My Lord, Lady Stark would like to know if you've seen Lady Arya." He shouted. Ned shook his head and rerouted his horse in the direction of the caravan.
"What are you shouting about?" He asked, staring back and forth from Jory to Catelyn.
"Well, my Lord, I was trying to ask-"
"Ned," Catelyn said, cutting Jory off, "We'll be arriving at the Red Keep within the hour... Where is Arya?"
The men were out riding on their horses, galloping and frolicking and laughing so loudly it punctured through the walls of the stuffy old caravan and Arya was fed up with it all. It was bad enough that she never got to play with her brothers anymore in Winterfell while they all rode around and practiced with their swords while she was stuck inside with Sansa and their septa doing stupid needlework and whatnot. But now she was about to be stuck inside the Red Keep for months with no chance of sneaking out to play while her brothers stayed in Winterell, the home she had never wanted to leave. It would be months of curtseying and cooing about stitching and "Well done, Sansa." and "Yes, that's a lovely gown, Sansa." and "Arya, why can't you be more like Sansa?"
It hadn't even begun and she was already sick of it.
So when he lady mother was resting and Sansa's head was pushed so far out the caravan window it was likely it would be stuck there for eternity, Arya snuck out. She found her horse and rode alongside her father and his men. He didn't seem to mind, he just smiled at her in that sad way he always did, like he wasn't quite looking at her, but at someone else, then he continued about his business.
She guided her horse off the King's Road along the banks at the edge of the forest, she swung her legs as she straddled the horse, trying to enjoy her last few hours in breeches. Arya had managed to escape the confining skirts of a gown for as long as possible but she knew that with King's Landing came those stupid courtly get ups. She could fight tooth and nail but her lady mother was frightfully strong and always determined to get Arya to at least resemble a lady, despite her squirms and protests.
She saw a few men racing ahead and joined them, nudging her horse gently in the sides to get him to shoot off down the hill. She pulled ahead of the others so fast she was sure all they saw were the wisps of her hair as she flew past them. And then she was alone.
A girl and her horse stood, motionless in front of the Gate of the Gods. The gate lay open and waiting for the party that would be pouring in within the hour. After all, this was the day the Sansa would meet her husband, the king. It was a historic day, a great day. Arya scoffed, Sansa could have her stupid song for all she cared. She would've been fine if they'd left her back at Winterfell, but she'd been dragged along on this trip instead, though she'd done her fair share of kicking and screaming.
"Arya Stark," Her mother had said in a tone she used only when scolding her children, or anyone who's behavior she didn't particularly enjoy. "You are a lady of four and ten. You cannot pretend to be a little girl any longer." Arya rolled her eyes every time her mother said this. It wasn't as if she looked it four and ten.
She was still rake thin and hadn't a 'womanly' trait to cling to. She was still as flat and bony as Bran, and he was a boy of twelve. She was pale skinned and horse faced, as everyone so often liked to remind her. Her hair was a tangled, mess of thick brown knots. She mightn't have been a little girl anymore, she was smarter, stronger, faster, but nothing about her was vaguely ladylike. She was stuck in an in-between and no one seemed to have a place for her. And now they were throwing a wolf in with the lions... and the stags.
She was so angry that her father had taken up the king's offer to be the new Hand. Although, according to her sister, who had heard from their lady mother, there wasn't much of a way to refuse the leader of the realm. She was also angry at her brothers, who were allowed to stay home. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Her mother had said, and Arya understood that, but why couldn't she be one of those Starks?
As her horse strolled through the Street of Steel no one seemed to notice or question the solitary girl, trotting through the city. They continued about their daily lives. What did it matter to them if some high lord was arriving with his family and a couple hundred guards? It wouldn't put food on their tables to gawk at every noble who road through past their shops.
She continued until she reached the stables, she tucked her horse away in an empty stall and hid out with her, concealed by hay and hooves until the sun was setting behind the monstrous red castle.
Arya didn't want to meet the king and queen. She remembered them well enough from when they'd visited Winterfell only two years ago. Queen Cersei, so cold and judging of everything Arya loved. Her home, her family, the North. And King Robert, a belligerent drunk. She remembered one night, she'd been leaving the dining hall and she'd bumped into the king. She'd made quick apologies and tried to escape but he stopped her. He'd had this glassy look in his eyes as he stared at her,
"It's unbelievable." He'd said.
"What is?" Arya asked. She remember cringing at the stink on his breath and reeling back as he ran his fingers along a strand of her hair.
"I'm so sorry I could never save you," The King slurred "But I've always loved you."
Jory had found them out there and guided the king back to the dining hall then escorted Arya to her room.
"The king gets too deep in his cups," He rambled as Arya told him what had happened. "Old battle wounds tend to open up when that happens." Jory had told her not to worry and that she wasn't in any trouble and that the next day the king wouldn't even remember what had happened.
But Arya noticed King Robert always looked at her that way. It was like the sad smile she caught on her father's face whenever she laughed with her brothers. King Robert would look at her sadly, or in confusion, or with anger in his eyes. It made Arya certain that she didn't want to be in the same room as him ever again.
No one seemed to want to answer when she asked who it was that the king and her father saw when they saw her. No matter who she asked people would shy away from the answer, or change the subject, or tell her to stop asking so many questions. One day she asked Old Nan and it was the only time that crazy old lady told a story that Arya cared about. It was the only story of Old Nan's that ever managed to give Arya nightmares. But that was stupid, she looked nothing like her dead Aunt Lyanna. She was supposed to be beautiful, that was Sansa, that wasn't Arya.
She waited until the sun had set and the stables were quiet and then, she ran.
Robert watched from the steps of the Red Keep as his old friend and his family walked up towards him. Ned knelt down and bowed his head and the trail of men behind him followed suit. He waved his hand and his friend stood up to face him. He smiled,
"You've got fat." he said. Ned looked him up and down and smirked. Robert laughed, "Come here." He pulled his friend into a hug and slapped him on the back. He looked over to Catelyn and embraced her too, "Cat." He smiled. Then he walked over to the girl with her eyes cast down to the ground. She looked like a miniature Catelyn Tully from her younger days.
"And this must be your Sansa," He glanced back at his son Joffrey. "You've certainly grown over the last few years." The girl was too shy and modest to look up at him. "Beautiful, just like your mother." He said. Only then did she blush and beam up at him.
"Thank you, Your Grace." She said.
Robert stopped and looked around, chuckling. Behind him his family stood in a line, dutifully.
Cersei stood in her usually gowns of red and gold, Lannister colours, as if she'd never married a Baratheon at all. Joffrey stood next to her, his eyes passing dismissively over the Starks, resting for a moment on Sansa before glancing and letting his face rest somewhere between a cringe and a smile. And Gendry stood to his right, standing tall and firm, nodding and bowing his welcome to Lord and Lady Stark. Myrcella and Tommen stood on either side of the ends, silent and smiling.
He turned back to Ned, and glanced at the three smiling Starks, then back at his own brood, then to Ned again, clapping his hands together expectantly.t "Aren't we missing someone?"
She'd spent the afternoon wandering the city. She'd already discovered hiding places and what might've been a passageway outside the city's walls but eventually she overheard some guards discussing 'the missing Stark girl' and knew that it was time to hide.
Now she was tucked under the only weirwood in the Red Keep's godswood. She knew she was in trouble now, she could hear guards rushing around the castle and was sure she would get yelled at by her lady mother later tonight. Arya could just picture Sansa smiling demurely at the dining hall table with the queen doting on her. And her parents smiling proudly at their little queen-to-be. If she'd been there she would've just been a disappointment.
Besides this is what she was meant to do, going on adventures and sneaking and snooping through the streets. Not bowing and smiling and holding her tongue.
She placed her hand on the bark of the tree, feeling the mixture of roughness and sticky sap under her palm. Then she sunk to the ground and stared up at it, so big and majestic, thought nothing compared to the one back home.
She let herself fall onto her back and tucked her knees up to her chest, then she stared up at the stars. She could hardly see them through he heart tree's red leaves. Not like in Winterfell. At night there it got so dark, so cold and quiet, that the stars practically screamed at you. They were begging to be seen and impossible to miss all at the same time. And in Winterfell no one cared if Arya snuck out of the dining hall to practice in the yard or to disappear to the hot springs before bed time. In the North she was free.
"Everyone's looking for you, you know." She tiled her head back and saw a boy standing in front of her. He looked like he was upside down until she shifted herself around and took in the proper sight of him.
He had charcoal hair that hung around light blue eyes. He was covered in dirt and ash and had a leather apron hanging from his chest to his knees. He looked young, she thought, must be the blacksmith's apprentice.
"They've got the castle guards on alert." He said, moving towards her. "They called off the feast and everything. Everyone's been out searching for hours."
"They must not be looking that hard." She grumbled "I've been sitting here all night." She eyed the boy carefully. "Are you going to turn me in?"
His eyes bore down on her, equally as careful. "I don't think I will." He said finally. She sat up straighter,
"Why not?" She asked.
"Because for now I'd rather stay and talk to you." He said, taking a place next to her under the weirwood tree. Arya scoffed at him and stood up to walk away.
"Why?" She grumbled.
"Why'd you run away?" He asked.
"What do you care?" She said, glaring at him.
"I'm curious." He said. And he was smiling at her in this stupid way. It made her uncomfortable. She began circling around the tree, her hand tracing over the bark as she walked and talked. And he stood and followed.
"Who are you?" She asked. She could hear him smirking.
"And I guess you're curious too." He said, not answering her question. She rolled her eyes and answered him.
"I'd rather be doing other things." She said with a shrug. He followed her around the tree, just trying to catch up to her.
"Like what?" He asked.
"Like exploring, or practicing swordplay in the training yard. Anything really. I didn't want to come here to begin with. I'd rather be with my brothers in Winterfell, everything is perfect there. I'd rather be back there right now."
"Things aren't so bad here." The boy said, "I could show you. Some of it might even keep you entertained."
"I could find them on my own." She said.
"Nah you couldn't." He said.
"And what makes you think that?" She asked.
"You had free run of the castle all day and yet you end up in the godswood?" He challenged. She shrugged,
"It reminds me of home." She said, staring up the sky and the tops of the trees. They were harder to see here, but if she squinted she could pretend they were the same stars they had in Winterfell.
"You really miss it don't you?" He asked. She nodded. It was a small nod, but he saw it. Then her eyes averted back to the ground and she continued her course around the tree.
"And I don't want to see the king." She said.
"Why not?" He asked. His tone wasn't judgmental like she thought it would be. But still, she hesitated before answering.
"I don't want to see any of them," She complained. It was a half-truth, "I hate it here, everything in the south is so restricted, from the walls on the city to the corsets on the ladies. Back in Winterfell I can run around like this all day long, not a care in the realm."
"That's hardly the royal family's fault. You blame all that on King Robert?" He asked.
"Yes." She decided quickly. "he's the one who dragged my family down here, making my father Hand of the King, making my sister marry that stupid prince. I don't even know why they brought me along," She said, throwing her hands in the air and pacing around the garden. "No, of course I do." She said, stopping in place. "They're trying to reign me in. To make me different, like her."
"Like her?" He asked, his eyes following every step of the wild girl in front of him.
"Like Sansa." Arya whispered.
"Your sister?" He asked.
"Yeah, Sansa." Arya said, "Everyone says she's perfect, that I should be more like her."
"Oh, I saw her." The boy said, "She was there to greet the king on the steps today." He shrugged, "She was alright."
"You must've been standing really far away." Arya muttered. Everyone always loved Sansa best.
"I had a fairly good view." He said, smiling.
He'd seen Sansa, in all her supposed perfection, smiling at him and his brother as everyone was introduced and reintroduced on the steps of the Red Keep. He'd seen how she pretended to be all innocent and then would sneak coy looks at Joffrey. And they way she gaped at Cersei's every move.
"She's nice enough, but nothing too special." He assured her. As he spoke Arya wormed her way back to the weirwood, resting her palm against the sap covered bark before clinging on and walking around the trunk. He followed along behind her. She scoffed and shook her head, taking no notice of his movements.
"You don't know what you're talking about, stupid." She said and he could hear a slight laugh in her voice. He liked that sound. But she still wouldn't look up at him.
"I know what it's like to have people want you to be someone you're not." He offered.
"They want me to be a proper lady, to wear dresses and speak nicely and sew with needles. But they raised me to be free, and to fight. They raised me to be strong and tough so I could survive the winter, like a wolf. And then they bring me down here to this stifling hot city! I can barely stand it!"
She stopped her steps and turned around, the boy's stopped abruptly behind her and took a step back, it was the only way for their eyes to meet. Too tall to be just a boy, Arya thought.
"What could you possible know about all that? Aren't you a blacksmith?" She asked. .
"I want to be." He said, unable to take his eyes off her.
She pulled her hand away from the bark and wiped them together, laughing as they stuck to each other. She pried them apart and ran her hands along the dusty ash of his apron. He watched her as she ran her hands along his chest, the movement so innocent in her mind, then she smiled at her blackened hands and made a print on the tree between them. He did the same.
She smiled sadly at her small hand print next to his large one. Then her eyes returned tot the stranger's.
"And what do people want you to be?" She was actually looking at him now, and not pulling away. They stood together under the heart tree.
Suddenly, his throat felt dry. "They want me to be King." He answered. He hated how quickly the hint of a smile dropped from her eyes.
"What?" She asked. Her voice sounded so small now. He immediately regretted telling her, or not telling her right away. He scratched his head and stepped out from under the tree.
"They, uh, they want me to be King, one day." He said.
"Arya?" Both their heads turned at the sudden disruption. Ned Stark was standing at the entrance to the godswood staring at his daughter and the prince standing under the red and white tree. It was like being transported back in time, as if he was watching Robert and Lyanna standing under the weirwood at the wedding that never was.
Ned watched as his daughter turned back to the prince, raised her tiny, ineffectual hands and began pounding small punches against his chest. When he smileded at her she spread out her hands and pushed him to the ground, he landed with a thud at the base of the tree and chuckled.
"Arya." Ned said, looking tired but not surprised by his daughter's actions. Arya turned back to her father and ran over to him, leaving the Gendry on the floor of the godswood. "I'm sorry I ran away." She said, then she took off running again.
At the end of the hall, she was reigned in by her septa and escorted to her room and only once she was out of sight did Ned turn back to the prince in the godswood. He offered him a hand to help him up.
"I'm sorry about my daughter." Ned said as Gendry dusted himself off.
"Don't apologize, Lord Stark." Gendry said "She's everything you warned she would be."
"And then some, I fear." Ned mumbled.
"She doesn't know, about the arrangement?" Gendry asked. Ned shook his head,
"Sansa and her mother know, but it was difficult enough getting Arya to King's Landing without the impending doom of marriage hanging over her."
"Impending doom?" Gendry said.
"Her view, not mine." Ned assured him. He clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and they walked out of the godswood together.
"That's good," Gendry nodded, contemplating this fate. "Don't tell her. I'll tell her, when I'm ready, when she knows me better." Gendry decided, his mind lost in thought.
"Am I to assume this means you've made your choice?" He asked as he the prince walked out of the Godswood.
"Lord Stark, I think it's obvious to both of us that choice was never really there."
Ned watched him carefully, unsure of his meaning. But Prince Gendry just smiled at him, as if the great secret was so obvious.
"My father's not always a clever man, but it certainly seems he had this in mind when he first mentioned the idea to you all those years ago. He doesn't talk abut her often but I've heard him mention the name Lyanna-"
Gendry paused as Ned Stark's breath hitched. The two men continued walking.
"Once or twice." He finished.
"You think this was all Robert's grand plan all along?" Lord Stark asked.
"I think it was in his mind. But not only that, Sansa and Joffrey knew each other so long ago, that took away some of the choice, and once I stepped into that godswood tonight... none of the rest really mattered." He chuckled.
Ned's face looked pale as he sighed tiredly and Gendry felt for the man who'd lost two daughters in one day.
"We'll hold off telling her for a while." Gendry decided. "I'd like her to get to know me first, I'd like her to want to know me."
"As you wish," Ned said, "But Prince Gendry,"
"Yes, my lord?"
"Try not to end your next encounter like this one... you have yet to see my daughter with a sword in her hand." Ned Stark warned.