Author's Note: THE STORY HAS FOLLOWERS! Oh my goodness, thank you all, lovely people! I never expected I'd get anywhere with this but now I have the proper motivation to go on. : SO, anyway, here's a little disclaimer: I know I put the story under the TV shows category, but I used the name Jeyne Westerling rather than Talisa. I wanted to type Talisa but I kept on typing Jeyne instead so eventually I give up. Have fun.
2. Arya
Arya had a tub of hot water prepared as soon as she had gone inside the castle. She stayed inside for what must have been more than an hour, letting the warmth of the water relax the knots in her muscles, soothe her scalp and soak her long hair as it spread over the water. After a little while, she had unknowingly fallen asleep, and then she was jolted awake by a knock on the door.
"Arya?" A voice on the other side called. Arya recognized it to be her sister-in-law, Jeyne Westerling. She and Arya had grown close during the girl's time in Winterfell—not at all what Arya expected from a queen. She was more like an older sister to Arya than Sansa ever was, although the girls had grown more civil to each other as they got older.
"My lady? Just let me get dressed." Arya said, stepping out of a tub and patting herself dry with a towel and putting on a simple white cotton dress. She never felt the need to be too adorned around Jeyne. When she was done, she walked over to the door and opened it for the queen. As soon as she opened it, Jeyne embraced her and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. Arya smiled back radiantly and stepped aside to let the girl in.
"Your brother calls for you."
"Does he now? I'd better find my—"
"Oh, hush now he's in no hurry. Come, let me fix your hair for you." Jeyne went inside Arya's chambers and took the hair brush that sat untouched on top of her dresser. She seated herself on the bed, patting the space beside her with a smile as she beckoned Arya to sit next to her. Arya went obediently. They sat in silence for a while as Jeyne ran the brush through her long, damp hair until it was smooth and untangled.
"What does Robb want?"Arya asked, harmlessly enough. She never liked surprises.
"I think it best he told you himself, dove." Jeyne replied with a mysterious tone in her voice. Arya shrugged, and once again it was quiet—what Arya liked the most about Jeyne was that, like her, silence didn't feel bothering to her whereas other girls always felt the need to prattle on and on and on about things Arya didn't care about. She looked out the window listlessly as Jeyne twined her fingers around the locks of her hair, twisting it into one elaborate braid and tied the end.
"There, it's done." She proclaimed happily, hopping off the bed and standing in front of Arya.
"Thank you, my lady." Arya thanked her with a smile and the queen giggled.
"You're much prettier when you smile." She remarked. Arya felt herself blush a little, so she laughed it off instead. Arya never really bought it, especially not with all the things she'd been called in her childhood days—and especially not when all her life she'd been compared to her sister Sansa. Not that it bothered her. I'd rather be ugly than weak, Arya always told herself that and she'd been happy.
"Now, let's go and see your brother." The queen said, looping her arm around Arya's as they descended the stairs.
When Arya and Jeyne had arrived in the Great Hall, they had found Robb sitting quietly on the long table while servants bustled about, bringing in plates of food and drink until Robb had given them a polite dismissal.
Robb—King Robb now, was a man grown. He was tall, standing something around six feet, and during his seasoning as a warrior he had grown noticeably leaner. His chest was broad and hard, the muscles on his arms and legs thick and finely sculpted, visible even from the layer of clothes he wore. He had cut his hair shorter—more closely cropped to his skull, but nevertheless wild and somewhat unkempt. It suited him better that way. His chin was square, no longer covered in peach fuzz but thick, dark and coarse stubble. His overall air assimilated his stature as a king—hard and stern. It would remind someone of the way his father Ned Stark had been. His features, however, changed when he smiled warmly at the two girls upon seeing them arrive. He strode quickly towards them, greeting his lady wife with a quick but affectionate kiss upon the lips. He stopped, examining Arya from head to toe with an amused grin on his face. Then he chuckled and tousled her hair affectionately—as he had always done for as long as Arya could remember. She laughed, and then swatter his hand away playfully.
"Is that how you treat your king, girl?" Robb jested.
"If the king's an arse, yes." She returned, hugging him. Robb was always so busy with his work that Arya hardly ever saw him, and she took the chance now while he had the time for her.
"You've grown, Arya. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that."
"You better."
"Yes—but look at you, stick-thin as ever. They'll say that I am starving my little sister." He said, leading the two of them towards the table to dine.
They supped in good spirits, exchanging all sorts of stories between them over food and the Great Hall was filled with their laughter. Only when the food was cleared away and replaced with wine and sweets to go down with it that official business was finally discussed.
"Arya, I have news to tell you." Robb said, his voice none too serious but considerably more formal, taking one last sip on his wine cup before he folded his hands in front of him. He cleared his throat before looking at Arya with a strange look on his face. Suddenly he felt her insides knot just a little, wondering what it was that Robb had to tell her. She took another sip of wine to calm herself down, hoping that whatever it was, was something good. Finally she put the cup down and straightened her back.
"You're getting married."
It was the worst thing Arya could ever hear from him.
If she had been just a few years younger, what she would have done was leap across the table and run away into the godswood—maybe practice swordplay, archery or go out hunting—Anything but deal with betrothals, marriages and whatnot.
But Arya was old enough now to know she would have to face the problem sooner or later. She was not a weak, and only weaklings and cravens ran away from their problems. Marriage was simply one of those problems, being a girl both and a lady of high stature. Instead she poured herself another full cup of wine, drained it as soon as it she had filled it, set it down roughly—then she threw her head back, closed her eyes and pouted. Robb and Jeyne could do nothing but watch her with blank eyes and raised eyebrows. She let out a sharp sigh, fighting back the urge to leap out of the window and do what she wanted. She looked towards her brother and asked him in a strained voice.
"To whom?"
The last time Robb had placed a betrothal in front of her, it had been to Tommen Baratheon. For the good of the realm, Robb had said. It was the price that came with peace—peace between the Lannisters and Starks. Robb found Robert Baratheon's two younger children more tolerable than the eldest—and more tolerable than the older Lannisters, but he disliked them still nonetheless. Arya violently refused to marry Tommen. Instead, Bran had spoken up and offered to marry Princess Myrcella. Casterly Rock had agreed to the union. Robb had agreed to let Arya refuse only upon the condition that when the next marriage proposal came—one of Robb's choosing, Arya would have to oblige. She only had to look at Robb's eyes to know that it was time to honor that debt.
"Quentyn Martell—I thought you'd like that better." He said. Robb Stark knew how much his sister hated marriage talks, and for that he searched for a match generous both for the welfare of his kingdom and to his sister. Arya felt that. She and Quentyn Martell were friends—he wasn't hard to look at, he had a likable enough personality and most of all, he was a good warrior and ruler as well. But she did not like him well enough to want to marry him.
"Quentyn's my friend, Robb! How do you expect me to marry him?" she said with a raised voice.
"Sansa's already married Loras Tyrell, Arya. She has a nice, settled life and not a lot more to worry about in the future." Arya rolled her eyes at the suggestion.
"Robb—please. Don't act like you don't know that Sansa and I don't want the same thing. Loras Tyrell is still in love with King Renly and I don't understand how she'd settle for Loras's sweet-talking and all that horse manure. I don't want that at all." Robb Stark sighed audibly and rubbed his temples, slightly unsure of what argument to next throw at his sister. It was so hard to get through to her with this sort of thing. Years later and she was still the same in that aspect.
"Arya—we had a deal. It's the fact that Quentyn is your friend that could make things easier. I found you an easy enough match to swallow—would you like to marry to Tommen Baratheon instead, much like the last time?" Robb said quietly. Arya could be hard to reason with sometimes, but patience was a trait Robb had slowly begun to master as the ruler to a kingdom. He paused to refill his wine cup. He took a deep swallow and continued.
"I think I've been generous enough, sister—it's time you upheld your part of the bargain." He said with finality in his voice. Arya had been looking down on the floor the entire time and finally she could take it no longer.
"But you married Jeyne, didn't you Robb?" she covered her mouth as soon as the words had poured out of her. She should not have gone there. Robb's face froze, a vein in his temple throbbed. Silence stunned the hall for what seemed like a lifetime before Jeyne Westerling's laughter broke it. She took Robb's hand in hers and kissed it while she laughed.
"She's your sister true and true, my love." She giggled. Robb, managed to crack a smile, looking down and shaking his head. He kissed his wife's hand before turning back to Arya who still burned bright red from embarrassment.
"Fair enough—you win. Thank the gods I love you far too much, sister. Which then begs the question—if you won't have Quentyn, do you have anybody else in mind?" this time it was Arya's turn to freeze. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened a crack. She bit her lip and looked to her brother.
"W-well… no, I-I… there isn't anyone." She mumbled. Arya enjoyed being a free spirit, and marriage would tie her down and away from the life she now led and loved. She didn't have anyone in mind—marriage was so far off from her thoughts that she never even considered she'd have to do it sooner or later. Her head throbbed and she felt sick. For a moment she wished that she was ten years old again, when she did not have to worry about these things so soon. Her thoughts went back to the present when Robb clapped his hands together once.
"Well then—our deal remains intact, then, if that's the case. Matter settled." He proclaimed in a light tone. Arya could never hate her brother—she was lucky to have him. She suddenly realized how selfish she was. He had taken troubles to find a likable match for her and she had received it with such ungratefulness.
He heaved himself up from his chair with a yawn before stooping over and dropping a kiss on her forehead, her eyes still cast down on the floor.
"Have yourself a good night, Arya. Don't worry about it too much. You won't be married in a year's time or two—the children come even much later on." He said as he walked away from the table, Jeyne beside him. Reality dawned on her the moment the great doors swung shut and servants came in to clear the table.
Arya had stood up from her chair as if a snake had bitten her—so quick that she had startled the servants—and then she ran from the hall and out into the gardens where the twilight had painted the surroundings warm shades of red and orange. Her thoughts came over quickly to the godswood she loved so much, and that was where her legs took her.