Author's Note: This is my shortest chapter by far. I got a little bit stuck on a few details, so in the meantime have this.

Chapter 4: Arya

As soon as she had arrived, Arya pulled the band that secured her braid. She felt most comfortable with her flowing free. She then sat down on the soft forest floor of the godswood, resting her arms and her head on the spot her lord father had been so fond of when he was still alive. She raised her eyes up to look at the face carved into the weirwood's thin and pale white trunk: distraught—grotesque, even, but Arya had taken to worshipping the same gods her father had. It was a place she had grown to find solace in. It was the north in her, she supposed. Of all Eddard Stark's children Arya resembled him the most—more Stark in her and hardly any Tully at all. It was no surprise she would have a sort of unconscious inclination to worship the Northern gods just as well.

The face in the tree had been somewhat of a friend to her each time she came back to that very same place in her time of need. Now was one of those direst times. She rested her cheek on her arm, cherishing the quiet air of the godswood while she attempted to clear her thoughts—to no avail. Instead she buried her face deeper in her arms, hoping she would fall asleep and dream her favorite wolf dreams and her dreams of adventure and wake up to a different life.

Her head shot up at the sound of foreign footsteps, soft and light, crunching gently against the fallen leaves upon the ground. It was Jeyne Westerling. Arya buried her face in her arms again while Jeyne proceeded to take a seat close to her. She laid a comforting hand on top of her head, gently caressing her hair with her thumb.

"I'm so sorry, Jeyne. I never meant to." She said, her voice muffled as she still could not bear to look at her sister-in-law. Jeyne answered her with a chuckle.

"Arya, look at me. Look at me." She beckoned gently. Arya finally turned her head with a pout.

"It's alright—there is nothing to be ashamed of, neither from you nor from me."

"But what I said—"

"—Was the truth. That, however, I believe—is one of the sides I love most about what happened to your brother and I." her eyes were brighter for a moment, her smile radiant, as if she was calling into mind a private, distant and cherished memory of her and Robb.

"Besides—you hit Robb where it hurt the most, did you not?" she continued with a grin. Arya couldn't help but laugh.

"I think I did." And then the two laughed together. They were silent for a few moments before Arya finally spoke.

"I don't want to marry Quentyn—I don't want to marry anyone."

"What is it about marriage that frightens you so much, girl? Besides childbirth, of course—that is to be expected." Jeyne replied with a smile, simply to keep the air between them light. Arya had never herself understood exactly what it is about marriages that frightened her so much, but she could at least name a few reasons.

"I don't want to stay put in a castle and try on dresses and sew all day—I don't want to wait for my husband to come home and the only thing I'll ever be useful for is to please him with stupid chitchat and use me to give him sons like hens give eggs to farmers. I don't want that." Arya almost yelled. Jeyne pondered Arya's reply for while, her eyes distant and her face frozen in a thoughtful expression. Then she turned her head and smiled slyly at Arya.

"Not if you marry the right one. He won't let you live a life you don't want. If you told Robb there was someone else you wanted to marry, he'll permit it."

"Yes, I know."

"Tell me—have you ever been in love?" the question caught Arya off-guard. Not only had she never been interested or needy in that subject, but she had never really had close enough lady friends to bother her with the question. Arya snorted, her face twisting into such a ridiculous look that Jeyne could not help but laugh. Arya laughed with her.

"Come on, you can tell me." She urged on.

"No—of course not. What a waste of time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"You mean there's no one?"

"No."

"None at all?"

"None."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

"Not even a certain tall, lean and dark-haired young man my lady seems so fond of?" Jeyne retorted, her lips curled up into a smug smile and her eyebrows were raised in twisted amusement. That made Arya stop for a while, leaving her mouth slightly agape and her face slightly flushed. Her wits came back to her only when Jeyne broke out in laughter.

"Gendry's my oldest friend." She replied acidly, slapping her forehead with her hand. This wasn't the first time anybody had tried to put two and two together where her friendship with Gendry was concerned. She never understood why. As far as she was concerned, Gendry was the biggest and dumbest bully she had known the longest. And as far as he was concerned, Arya was a man who put on skirts from time to time.

"I never mentioned Gendry." Arya's face brightened even more. She rolled her eyes and gestured vaguely at Jeyne's accusations. Stupid and pigheaded and bully that he was, he was one of her closest friends.

"Seven hells. Anyone but the bull. I'd pick Quentyn Martell any day."

"Alright, alright—if you say so. You best be quick about it, though. That one's never short of admirers."

"I don't care." Jeyne Westerling laughed.

"But I know I'm not a child anymore—I made a promise to Robb, and as a Stark I have a duty to live up to. Nobility has its price and though I never chose this life, I love my family—so I guess I have to pay it. I don't love Quentyn that way and I'm sure he doesn't love me that way, either. It was Sansa he was in love with. But if I have to marry Quent, then I will." She paused, her tone suddenly serious.

"As for holing up in the castle and expecting me like some weak princess—I trust I'm capable enough to beat him up if ever he decides to subject me to it." She said with a wicked grin.

"That's the Arya Stark I know." Jeyne answered with a grin of her own.

"It's getting dark, now come along." She beckoned to the younger girl as she stood up and tugged at her arm gently as they walked away from the weirwood and back to the castle.

"It doesn't have to be Quentyn, though."