No expense had been spared for the Hand's tourney. King Robert had staged it in her father's honor. High lords and fabled champions had come from all over the realm to compete, and the whole city had turned out to watch. The splendor of it all took her breath away: the field of pavilions along the river with a knight's shield hung before each door, the long rows of silken pennants waving in the wind, the gleam of sunlight on bright steel and gilded spurs. The day was rung to the sounds of trumpets and pounding hooves, and the night would be full of feasts and song.

She was sat between her father and Willas Tyrell, though it was difficult for her to stay in her seat. She was on her feet every time the two horses reached each other, clinging to the wooden barrier as the her heart hammered against her ribcage. Then her father would grab her round the waist and pull her back to her seat and Willas would offer a consoling smile as they waited for the next joust to begin. It was her favorite day in King's Landing by far.

"Your brother is good," she told Willas appeasingly, though it hurt to do so. Jory had won three jousts before facing Ser Loras Tyrell and it had not been a long match.

"As was your man," Willas replied, his voice gentle and kind. "He's a very skilled rider."

"He's even better with a sword," she said, smiling and feeling less sad about Jory's loss.

Her eyes went wide as the largest man she'd ever seen rode out on a black horse. Though the horse itself was quite big, she couldn't imagine how it held up the mountain of a man. His horse came to a stop almost directly before her as he threw his helmet open to pay his respects to King Robert. His opponent did the same, though there was less of note about this man. "Yes, yes," she heard Robert grumble from a few feet behind her. "Enough of the bloody pomp, have at it!"

Arya tried to force herself to remain seated as the two men lined up their horses and began to charge. Her breath caught in her chest as they both raised their lances but only one connected. She could hear her sister's scream and the gasps of the crowd and then a loud thud as the smaller man hit the ground below her, a piece of the other knight's lance protruding from his neck as blood bubbled up and pooled out of his mouth. Her father grabbed her arm reassuringly, but it was Willas beside her who took up her interest.

His entire body had tensed and his jaw had set. His lips formed a thin, tight line and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. She didn't understand the reaction; the dead knight who was currently being dragged from the field was from the Vale. He had no connection to Willas. She placed her hand atop his fist all the same, knowing she ought to. Arya watched the Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed and then forced a smile, opening his hand to take hers, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

"Bring back old memories, my lord?"

Arya glanced over her shoulder to where Ser Jaime stood in his white armor and white cloak, guarding the fat, old king. It was only then that she remembered the last time they'd spoken. Not since Oberyn Martell dropped a horse on him. She hadn't understood what Jaime had meant then, but it was all coming together now. What an ass, she thought angrily. "Why is it you're not fighting in the tourney, Ser Jaime?" she asked when it became clear Willas intended to ignore the man. "Getting a bit old for it?" Her father pulled her back round to face forward but she could hear the king laughing behind them.

Jaime smiled at the back of her head. He could tell she was still fuming just by how she held her shoulders. "Jousting is three-quarters horsemanship," he said, not entirely sure why he was continuing to provoke her. "The only other skill you need is the strength to lift your lance. Astounding that some men can't even do that."

To the many listening in on the conversation, it sounded as if he was speaking of the boy who'd just fallen. Arya knew better and rounded around on him again sharply. "An easy boast to make from the audience," she snapped.

Jaime opened his mouth to respond, something witty and cutting to contribute, he was certain, but both his comment and his smile left him as the cripple leaned in and whispered something in her ear and she turned round to face forward again, her hand still in his. She'd have likely goaded him into joining the joust if they'd gone on for much longer, but it wasn't fun for him now.

The cool morning breeze gave way to the midday sun as the competition narrowed down to two final rounds. Arya might have been sad the processions were ending had that not meant the archery and melee tournaments were next. She thought Willas might tense up again when it came time for his brother to go against Ser Gregor Clegane, but he seemed oddly relaxed.

Ser Loras trotted his young, white mare up alongside them, sending his brother a smirk before offering out a single red rose to her sister. "Thank you, Ser Loras," she heard Sansa say, taking the flower and holding it to her chest as the Tyrell boy rode to take his place. "Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa told her father next, clutching onto his arm.

Arya rolled her eyes as she watched the men line up and the horses charge each other again. She thought the pair looked almost like a battle between good and evil, with Ser Loras in his white armor atop his white horse and Ser Gregor all in black. This time when lances met, it was Ser Gregor who fell, crashing into the wooden barrier and landing with his horse atop him. The crowd cheered so loudly the sound of Clegane calling for a sword was almost drowned out. "Why does he need a sword?" she asked her father.

Ned had no answer for her and could do little but watch as the massive man unsheathed a greatsword and brought it down on his horse's neck. Arya's mouth fell open as the horse's head dropped. The poor beast took a few more steps decapitated before finally succumbing and she thought she might be sick. But then Ser Gregor turned his sword on Ser Loras, swinging so hard he knocked the boy off his horse. Loras did will enough to defend himself from the ground, but by the second hit even his shield had split in half.

Arya whirled around, eyes finding Jaime precisely where he'd stood the last time she'd looked at him. She waited for him to move, to unsheathe his own sword and stop the great oaf from killing Willas's brother, but instead he watched on with disinterest. "Leave him be," another of the Kingsguard growled, and it was Sandor Clegane who came down to meet his brother in battle instead.

Arya stayed throughout the melee tournament and the archery tournament, though they lasted the better part of the day. Her father and sister had long returned to the Red Keep to rest, but her father had permitted her to remain alongside Willas.

This had offered her a great advantage at the feast. She bid Willas farewell, telling him she was off to join her father, but it gave her ample time to make a few pit stops before she went to him. That was how she found herself standing before a man with hair nearly as red as the robes he wore. She could only gape at him as he finally turned his attention from his companions to the gawking girl before him. "You won the tourney," she told him. He'd bested over forty other knights with a flaming sword. It was only then that her eyes shifted to the boy beside him, much younger and with darker hair. "So did you!" He'd shot an arrow from nearly 120 paces, striking perfectly in the center.

"Did I?" the boy asked. "How much did I win?"

"Ten thousand gold dragons," she said, watching as he grabbed haphazardly at his waist for a pouch before sitting it on top of the table and trying to count it. He seemed to be struggling, Arya noted, first closing one eye as he tried to focus on the bag, before closing the other to see if that would help him to stop seeing six pouches of gold instead of the one. "You've already spent so much of it." The archery tournament had only ended a few hours earlier. His prize could've fed and housed a large family for two years and he'd well over half of it in two hours.

"Is it enough for you?" he asked, shoving the pouch of gold across the table at her.

"What?"

"Forgive him, my lady," the older man said. "He's drunk and a fool besides. He wouldn't know a highborn girl from gutter rat."

Arya felt herself grow hot as the realization dawned on her. "You're both drunken fools," she said, wondering why she'd idolized these two men not moments before.

"That's quite unkind," the man said. "True, but unkind." He glanced down at her chest and she felt embarrassed again until she realized he was only looking at her sigil. "What are you doing so far from your father, little wolf?"

"I thought I wanted to meet the man who beat the Hound in combat," she said, looking at him with something that could only be interpreted as disappointment. Her father had told her stories of Thoros of Myr when she was a girl. About how he'd been the first to storm Pyke during the Greyjoy Rebellion, leading the attack with that flaming sword of his. He'd told her Thoros was one of the bravest men he'd ever known, but all Arya saw was a drunk. She cut her eyes to the archer boy with equal contempt, finding him now with his arms folded across the table as his head resting atop them as he watched her. "I was wrong."

Thoros hid his smile behind his goblet of wine. "The boy would beggar himself for your maiden's blood and you scorn him?"

"A crueler woman has never existed," the boy mourned.

Arya's only response was to grab an apple from the table behind her and hurl it at them. In spite of his intoxication, the archer boy's reflexes were fast and he had no trouble in catching the apple. He took a bite of it and sent her a wink and she contemplated hurling herself across the table to strangle him.

Instead she gave them both a withering look before marching off to find her father.

War was easier than daughters, thought Ned, gazing over his desk at his elder daughter, who was currently picking at a bit of dirt beneath her nail and looking anywhere but at him. She was angry with him, he knew, and he daren't deny the validity of her ire. She'd been raised far too liberally in the North, treated as if she were Robb's little brother instead of his sister. It had been difficult for her adjust in the South and he had not made it easier with his threats. But he could not deny the actions that drove Arya to avoid his gaze now had certainly borne fruit. "There's news," he announced.

His only acknowledgment from Arya was a heavy sigh.

"It would seem that you've made quite an impression on Willas Tyrell." Arya stopped picking at her nails and glanced up at him. "Lady Olenna has sent an official offer of marriage. She has suggested a wedding in the capital in one month's time, but Willas has suggested postponing the wedding for half a year while you decide if you'd like to have it here, in Highgarden, or perhaps in Winterfell. This is all, of course, assuming you accept."

"If I accept?"

Ned steepled his fingers together and rested his chin atop them. "It is within my power to forge alliances as I see fit with my daughters and my sons," he said. "But it is my duty as your father to permit you a choice. I will not force your hand in this, though I do not think a better match could be made. Do you?"

Willas was kinder than anyone she had ever met. He wasn't boisterous or cruel or old. He made no attempts to control her and even seemed interested in her waterdancing lessons. Or at least he tolerated her ramblings about Syrio without complaining like Jaime always did. He'd told her of how he'd always dreamt of going North to see the great weirwood trees and of how he longed to meet her brothers, even Jon at the Wall. Highgarden and Castle Black admittedly could not be much farther apart, but perhaps Jon could come meet them halfway at the Neck and they could go on an adventure all together in search of Greywater Watch. "No," she said.

The breath caught in Ned's chest as he watched her, waiting for her to elaborate. Was it no there would be no better match or no she would not marry him? He wished Catelyn had been there beside him, witnessing just how close they actually were to finding Arya a husband. He'd never imagined the day would come. Not when she'd been rolling around in mud puddles wrestling her brothers as no more than a toddler. Not when she'd asked for a new bow for her thirteenth nameday. "You agree?" Arya gave him an odd shrug-nod combo and relief washed over Ned in a blissful wave. "He's a friend to you, isn't he?"

"Yes," she answered.

"That is a much better beginning than most are given," said Ned. "Your mother was not fond of me in the beginning, did you know?" Arya shook her head. His daughter had never been so quiet in her life, but she was at least looking at him now and he would count that a blessing. "She was meant to marry my brother Brandon. He was much bigger and more handsome than I was. I expect I disappointed her. But she grew to love me and I grew to love her. The same will happen for you and Willas."

"If the wedding is in Winterfell, will Jon be able to come?"

Likely not, thought Ned. Not so soon after he'd taken his vows, regardless of how short the distance to travel was. But he did not think it would serve him well to tell her so. "I will write to your uncle Benjen and see what arrangements can be made," he promised. At last a smile spread across his daughter's face. "Winterfell, then?"

"In half a year's time," she reminded him.

Ned nodded, knowing that while she may be willing to get married, she would be in no rush to do so. Arya stood soon after that, not intent on lingering around her father any longer than she needed to. It pained Ned to see his daughter growing so distant. There had always been a distance with Sansa, who preferred time with her mother, but Arya was close to both of her parents. Or at least, she had been. She hesitated at his door now, waiting to be dismissed. Ned wanted to call her back in, to ask her about her lessons with Syrio and the odd friendship she seemed to have formed with Jaime Lannister. Anything to get her talking. But his tongue did not form the words and instead he gave her a brief nod and watched as she slipped from his chambers.

As soon as the door was shut behind her, Arya leaned her head back against it, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Half a year was all she had left of her life as it was. Maybe life in Highgarden would not be so bad, but it wouldn't be the life she had now. It had been hard enough to leave Winterfell behind, along with her brothers and her mother and even Theon. But to go at it alone, without her father or even Sansa at her side … A sudden pain in her forehead forced her eyes open and she found the archer boy from the tournament standing in front of her, his finger primed and ready to deliver another solid flick. "I could have your hands cut off for that," she told him.

"You could," he agreed. "But you're not that kind of lady."

He seemed confident enough in his statement, but he lowered his hand all the same. Arya looked him over and let out a groan. "Seven hells," she grumbled. He was wearing her father's colors and standing outside his door. "He made you one of his guards?"

"Your lord father didn't want to let such raw talent slip away, I suppose," Anguy answered with a shrug, following her as she started to walk away from him.

"You're good," said Arya. "But you're not that good."

Arya could hear him let out a stream of air behind her. "And what would you know about it?" She pulled the Valyrian dagger from her hip and twirled it around her fingers expertly, not cutting herself or fumbling even once. "Twirling a blade around doesn't make you a soldier, little lady."

"I know how to do more than that," she answered with a frustrated huff. "I train with Syrio Forel, the first sword of Braavos and Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard." The second part wasn't necessarily true, but Anguy's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the knight.

"Your father lets you train with Jaime Lannister?" he asked, looking dubious.

"Well, he's the best swordsman in Westeros," she told him matter-of-factly. "Why shouldn't I train with him?" Anguy smiled as he trailed behind her now, but said nothing. "What?"

"The best swordsman in Westeros takes time out of his day to spar with little girls?"

Arya gave him a dirty look as she turned on her heel and led the way, determined to show him what an idiot he was for doubting her. It took nearly an hour to track the man down and she found him just as he was following his sister into the chambers of the King. "Jaime!" she shouted, loudly enough to catch his attention before he slipped away from her. Even she knew she couldn't disturb him once he was inside.

Almost doubting that he'd actually heard his name being called, it took Jaime a long moment to turn his head around to find Arya Stark running down the hall toward him, a Stark guard at her heel. "Lady Stark," he returned slowly, glancing to Cersei, still standing in the door frame, briefly, before returning his attention to the younger girl.

Cheeks red and sweaty from running around the castle in search of him, Arya hesitated upon seeing the queen still standing beside her brother. "Your Grace," she said, falling into a quick awkward curtsy. "Ser Jaime," she corrected herself, though she supposed it was a bit late now.

Words escaped her now as she stood before the Lannister twins, each eyeing her with different levels of amusement. She was silent for so long, she could heard Anguy chuckling behind her. "Have you some great need for my brother or did you come all this way to gawk at him like a mare in heat?"

Arya had never really felt true embarrassment before, but it was not a feeling that she liked now. She could feel the bile rising in the back of her throat and she thought herself likely to vomit on Jaime's shoes if she did not move away from him quickly, but her feet were rooted firmly in place. "Afraid it's a private matter, Your Grace," she heard Anguy speak from behind her.

The smug look on Cersei's face crumpled into something even less pleasant, but her eyes never left Arya's face. "So private it must be kept from your queen?" she asked, doing little to mask the threat in her voice.

"To be discussed later then, ser," Anguy answered for her, offering Jaime a rather theatrical bow, before doing the same for Cersei. "Your Grace."

It was only when Anguy had dragged her to a completely different floor of the castle that she felt herself relax. "Shut up," she snapped, shoving him away though he had not said anything since they'd left the Lannisters. "Just shut up about it."

Arya was surprised when Anguy actually listened. She had expected he would talk even more now just to irritate her, but he was uncharacteristically silent. She glanced to him, her anger fading into curiosity, only to find him looking past her over her head. "A private matter, is it?" a voice called from behind her and she felt her stomach plummet. She wanted nothing more than to chase Anguy down and kick him in the shins when he offered Jaime another bow before leaving them alone in the corridor.

Resigned to her humiliating fate, Arya finally turned to face him. "It doesn't matter now." Anguy was long gone and too far away to hear whatever he said.

"So you really did come all that way to gawk at me like a mare in heat?" Arya's eyes rolled back into her head as she turned away from him, desperate to make it back into her room and hide beneath her covers for the rest of the day, but she only made it a few steps before Jaime's hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her to a stop. "What is it, Stark?"

"I'm to marry Willas Tyrell," she announced. It was the only news she could think of to share off the top of her head.

"The cripple," he stated.

"He's not a cripple," said Arya. "He just has a bad leg."

"Yes, that's what a cripple is." It was only then that Jaime realized he was still holding onto her arm and quickly released her, flexing his hand at his side. "Congratulations," he offered. "I'm sure a marriage to the cripple of Highgarden will be thrilling and if not ... well, it's only for life."