Updated 4/14/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 27

Arya I

Arya tried to lean to get a better view from the tower window of Jon's party as he, her uncle, and father led a party of five hundred men out beneath the gate at Riverrun. Anyone looking at her face would find her remarkably stolid, but there was turmoil raging inside of her.

He is Jon. He will always be Jon. I will not call him Aemon, she thought, but her insides squirmed. He wasn't quite Jon either.

She had noticed something different about him ages ago. As the one in the family who knew him best, she could tell he had changed...somehow. It had been small and barely noticeable, but it tickled at the back of her mind. She could not quite place her finger on it and ultimately dismissed it. Whatever changed him had made him better. Normally he was the one trying to keep her out of trouble and to do that he often indulged in her desire to learn swordplay, though he was hardly a teacher.

But after the change, he actually began to help her. There was simply no way she would've gotten the sheep shit into Robb's bed if Jon hadn't distracted her brother. While Theon had been in Winterstown with Ros, they'd taken the opportunity to saw halfway through all of his arrows. When Theon had cursed up and down Winterfell about his arrows being worthless, Jon had stepped forward and taken the blame. Their father - or her father only now - had punished Jon with two days mucking the stalls, but whenever she'd caught his eye he'd merely grinned and winked at her.

Next they had sabotaged Sansa's lemon cakes with pepper. Arya couldn't help but howl with laughter after Sansa bit into the lemon cake and cried at the confusing flavors. She'd received a lemon cake in the face and time in her room without supper, but it had been worth it.

She liked this Jon. He was less serious and more fun. While he had been fun before, he'd always shrunk under her mother's glaring eyes, but after he barely paid her mother any attention. And that's how it should've been. She loved her mother, but it always frustrated her how unnecessarily cruel her mother could be in regards to Jon. He was about as threatening as a kitten.

But fun Jon hadn't lasted long. He had gone back to his usual cowed self when the king arrived, acting like a servant who was to be seen but not heard. It greatly annoyed her that others couldn't accept him the way she did. He was still her brother, whether nobly born or not.

And he will always be my brother, she stubbornly insisted.

Things became strange when Ser Barristan and the Kingslayer began taking notice of him. At first she was excited that people were finally recognizing the value in Jon. But once he became a squire to the Kingslayer, he sucked up most of Jon's time with chores and training.

She complained to her father about it and he had said, "Ser Jaime has given Jon a rare opportunity. You mustn't spoil it for him."

She grew to hate the Kingslayer. The king had yet to leave and she already felt her brother drifting away from her. She at least took heart that Jon would be heading south to the King's Landing with them, so they'd at least get an opportunity to talk on the road. She was itching for him to impart more knowledge to her of swordsmanship. Even as much as she hated the Kingslayer, she looked forward to learning some of his moves through Jon.

And then the incident between the Kingslayer and the Queen happened and suddenly both were to be executed.

Arya had initially been excited for the execution. She was not allowed to attend the ones her father did for deserters of the Night's Watch. Only the boys went. Hearing that she would be forced to attend to see the king's justice done made her giddy, but her happiness deflated like a pillow that lost all its feathers upon seeing the way Jon acted.

He had a row with their father, snapped at Robb, and moped around even worse than he had before. She could tell that he had respected Ser Jaime and even liked him. He'd also insisted that Jaime was innocent of the crime the king had condemned him for and it made her heart quail. She understood fairness. Her father had constantly impressed upon her the importance of being just and fair, yet here was his best friend, the king, being unjust and her father was doing nothing to stop it. In all likelihood, he couldn't stop it.

The day of the execution, her heart was in her throat. No one seemed to be happy about this. Even her own mother and father had been grim, but while Jon looked just as a grim, there was a new air about him and she thought it felt like determination. It scared her even more than the execution.

It seemed her fear had been justified when Jon ran out to stay the execution. She had known it was a death sentence and she was a hair's breadth from crying when he had openly declared himself king. Her fear had been immediately replaced with confusion. As Jon stepped into the kingship her confusion turned into flabbergast. Her father had lied to them about Jon's identity. She was reeling for the rest of that day, trying to come to terms with what happened and the prevailing emotion at the end of the day was anger. Anger on Jon's behalf.

I can't believe father wouldn't tell Jon about about his heritage for so long! He deserved to know, she thought with a terse frown. At the same time, though, Jon grew even more distant. Being king left him busy. He had even less time for her now.

Then one day she was running around the godswood with Nymeria when he called her over. She happily ran to him and hugged him. Nymeria playfully snapped at Ghost who nipped back at her. If her mother had been, she would've been scolded for not greeting the king in the appropriate manner, but Jon just laughed.

"Come. Let's go back to your room, I have a surprise for you," he said.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's not a surprise if I tell you," he said back to her as he turned to walk away.

She and her wolf skipped after him. The wolves continually ran ahead and ran back, pawing and yipping in excitement. When they finally reached her room, she opened the door and stopped short with a gasp. A new sword was propped against her bed. She eagerly reached for it, running her hand over the soft brown leather of the grip. It had silver inlays on the handle to give it a little Stark color, but otherwise it was plain. She cracked the sheath to see the shining metal. Based on the length and width of the sword, it could only be a short sword.

"Is this for me?"

Jon smiled. It didn't seem to quite reach his eyes, but he nodded and Arya ran back to hug him.

"Does this mean that I will get to train?"

"I'm still trying to smooth things over with uncle. It's important that you be prepared for what's to come. There may be a time when we all need to fight, not just the men. I'll feel better if you're prepared for it," he said.

Her smile fell from her face. "What are you talking about?"

"Never mind that now. I have something else to tell you. Call it good news and bad news. The sword was the good news and this...this is the bad news."

"Jon," she eyed him warily. She hated being left out of important things because she was young or a girl. I thought you had my back, her expression screamed.

"We're preparing for war, Arya. As king, I have to unite the Seven Kingdoms. I need all the allies I can get."

"Why do you have to be the king on the Iron Throne? You could stay and rule here," Arya pleaded. She did not like the idea of her family heading south.

He merely shook his head against her protests. "Only a Stark can rule from Winterfell and I'm a Targaryen. Besides, it is important that the Seven Kingdoms be united. It's the Gods' will."

"How can you know that?"

"Because they gave me a vision. A vision of what is to come and one of those visions included me sitting on the iron throne."

"You're a Stark and you'll always be a Stark," she protested.

He smiled sadly. "I'm relieved you think that. I may need someone to remind me from time to time." He paused again the smile dissipated. "I need allies, Arya. I've proposed betrothals for Robb and Sansa to marry into the Tyrell family."

Her frown grew deeper. "You didn't…"

"I have proposed nothing in regards to you, however a potential betrothal between you and the Prince Tristayne Martell of Dorne is on the table. I thought you should know."

Arya's mouth dropped open. Her father had told her of what falling into an icy stream felt like and at that moment she could claim she knew that feeling. A biting cold swept through her and she could feel the vicious pinpricks of the icy water on her skin.

"Arya?" Jon reached out for her and she abruptly pulled away.

"How could you?" She whispered. Her heart pounded wildly. Like a cornered rabbit, she looked for a place to run, but this wasn't a physical threat. This was not something she could run from.

"I haven't sent the Martells anything about a marriage. I'm just informing you that it's on the table. Please, Arya, I don't want to do this anymore than you. If you recall, Dorne doesn't mind training the women there to fight. You'd be right at home."

"But that's not my home! I'm a wolf in the North. I belong here!" she cried, gripping the sheath of her short sword so tightly, her fingers were white. Nymeria whined and put her head in her lap, but Arya paid her no heed. "You know I don't want to marry! Why are you doing this?"

She could see the hurt building in his eyes, but he remained stoic, determined. "Because I have to. Westeros must be united."

Tears were building up in her eyes and her lips were trembling. I will not cry. I will not, she thought, but the first tear slid down her cheek.

Jon continued to stare at her and wiped her tear away with a gentle nudge of his thumb. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her.

"GET OUT," she shouted.

He grimaced and nodded. "I hope you'll see fit to forgive me someday," he said. Then he closed the door.

Clack! The sword, hilt and all, crashed against the door as she threw it after him. No longer able to contain her sobs, she grabbed Nymeria into a fierce hug and sobbed into her fur.

That had been nearly four months ago and she had yet to say a word to Jon since. Her father had come to her and lectured her about doing her duty to her family and to her king.

"The next time I hear you shouted at your king, there will be punishment," her father had said with eyes as hard as stone.

Thankfully, she hadn't any need to talk with Jon, not that he hadn't tried. He would never, however, order her to speak to him, so she took advantage of that and remained mute in his presence. She knew it hurt him. It wasn't difficult to see the weight he bore seeming to get heavier and heavier, but she didn't care.

He is my brother and my family and he betrayed me, she thought with gritted teeth and clenched fists.

"Arya? There you are," Sansa floated into the room with a disapproving frown on her face. Her hair was up in an intricate southern style and her dress was blue to honor her Tully heritage. "Why weren't you there to see King Aemon and father off? You can't just hide away during ceremony. Father has commanded Septa Mordane to punish you as she sees fit."

"I don't care," she declared. "There's nothing she can do that will change my mind."

"I'm getting married too and you don't see me throwing a fit like a child about it. It is our duty as ladies," Sansa lectured, staring down her nose at her little sister. "When will you grow up?"

"When will you grow a brain?! Weren't you barely four months ago mooning over Joffrey?"

Sansa's mouth fell agape. "I was not mooning over Joffrey!"

"Yes, you were! You'll moon over anyone with a pretty face!"

Her sister's face bloomed scarlet and she bit back, "You'll sooner sleep with dogs. I never heard of a noble house that wanted a wildling savage for a bride."

"Good! Maybe I'll do that then," Arya replied, rushing over to grab her sword.

"Where are you going? We have sewing!"

"Well, I have swordplay to learn from Dacey Mormont. You know, a woman warrior! No one tells her what to do!"

"King Aemon does. Because she knows her duty," Sansa said with a huff.

Arya ran from the room, her face contorted into a snarl. There was that word again: duty. She hated it. Why did the reputation of House Stark lie so much on that one word?

I will never marry! Never, she screamed her internal frustrations. If she was so certain, why did the words feel so hollow?