Mareena makes a decision that could potentially anger her mother.
Note: This chapter takes place well after chapter one, unlike the previous chapters; the characters have aged about six or so years since then.
Special thanks to magnus374, who, after more than 3,200 story views, remains my only reviewer. It is much appreciated. :]
Mareena peered at herself in the surface of the little pond, looked at the red leaves surrounding her face in the water, and frowned. She reached a hand up and tugged at her long red locks. Ever since she'd met her aunt Arya, she'd been unsettled by her own reflection. Arya had short hair, a tiny body; she wore tunics and pants and sparred with her nephews in the training yard. She was so unlike any other woman Mareena had ever seen. Mareena herself was just like her mother: curvy waist, now that she had flowered; long, sunset-colored hair; dresses and needlepoint and manners.
She didn't want all that. She wanted her sword. She wanted pants. She wanted to be free like her aunt.
Mareena wrapped her fingers around the dinner knife she'd discarded in the grass and pulled a lock of her hair forward so she could look at it. She'd still look like her mother–everyone always told her she was beautiful, and she did like hearing it–but she'd be more like Arya, look a little bit more like her. Maybe she'd be able to wield a sword without disapproving looks from her mother and without teasing from her brothers.
She took that lock of hair in a firm grip and sheared the knife clean through it. She dropped the long strands in the water and watched them sit weightlessly on the surface. She grabbed another fistful of hair and sawed that off too, adding it to the rest, repeating these steps until there was no hair lying against her neck, no hair long enough to brush away from her face and behind her ears. Mareena dropped the knife and scraped her fingers through her newly shorn locks, reveling in the second it took to reach the ends. Her mother was going to be furious.
Sansa's eyes flitted up as Mareena entered the dining hall. She was completely prepared to chastise her for being very late for dinner. What she wasn't prepared for was that Mareena may look like a son rather than a daughter. Her spoon clattered into her nearly empty soup bowl as her eyes finally drank in her daughter, the young girl slipping into her chair beside her brothers. Robb and Ned were also looking at her wide-eyed and speechless.
"What have you done with your hair?" Sansa demanded, rising from her seat to get a better look at Mareena's butchery.
"It was heavy and got in the way," Mareena responded, pulling Robb's abandoned bowl toward her so she could see what it contained. She wrinkled her nose at it. "So I cut it off. Even Aunt Arya said she kept her hair short because it was easier to fight that way."
"And why exactly do you feel it's important for your hair to not get in your way when you fight? Do you expect to be getting into life-threatening sword fights, Mareena?"
The hall was silent. Sandor was sitting beside her chuckling to himself. Sometimes his wife reminded him of her mother.
"If the girl wants to cut her hair, make no fuss about it. Hair grows back," he said, sipping wine from his horn.
"She looks like a boy!" Ned teased, mussing her hair and laughing as she slapped his arm away.
"I can still look like a girl! Aunt Arya looks like a girl! Why else would Gendry kiss her all the time?" she said angrily, punching her brother hard in the shoulder. He only laughed harder.
Sansa sighed and collapsed back into her hair, shaking her head.
"What am I going to do with that child?" she asked, clearly exasperated. Sandor laughed again and drained his horn.
"You do nothing and let her run her course. You didn't have that kind of freedom at her age; you should let her enjoy it while she can."
Sansa looked over at her husband with one eyebrow raised. He met her gaze with a knowing look.
"You and your wisdom," she murmured after a long moment, turning her attention back to her children.