ARYA

"Arya was sitting down and doing her needlework as usual. The day was almost halfway through, and only slightly less warm than yesterday had been. Septa Mordane was sitting next to her, in a matronly calm composure, and Sansa on the other side. Their mother was at her chambers and not with them today, but Arya had been doing most of her lessons as she should during the past couple of days since their talk. Listen to me, and listen very carefully, now, my sweet child. First comes work, then comes play, her mother had said, with a serious voice, and Arya had finally felt forced to listen and comply. Now she was doing her stitches in the proper way, and they almost seemed good for once. Not as good as Sansa's, of course, but that was not anything special to worry herself with, she supposed. Sansa was two whole years older, after all, and had had a great deal more time to practice.

"Very good, Arya!" Septa Mordane said, lifting Arya's embroidered felt blanket and praising the work. "You've been making progress". Arya wondered whether she would call her 'princess' too, but apparently this time not. She only did so rarely to her; much more often to Sansa. But she was happy nonetheless. Septa Mordane was right; the stitches did look good, and she had done well this time. The white, blue and pink threads formed a beautiful small flower which Arya felt that she would have loved to have and to hold in her hand, and pet at it, and preserve it in her heart forever, though she did not know its name.

"What's the name of this flower?" she asked the septa.

"Primrose", Septa Mordane said. "Don't you remember them from when you were little, when we used to go up to the Wagontop hill outside the city? They were so beautiful back then."

Arya did not remember, but she trusted that she had indeed seen them when she was little. There was something familiar about them. Sometimes she wished that winter would come, so that spring could come again, and she could see all the wonders of early spring and the beginning of summer, which almost everyone older than her agreed on was and had been the most beautiful time in all their lives. Robb and Sansa remembered, vaguely at least. She had only faint, blurry memories from that time, memories of swaying yellowish-green grass, wild flowers like priestcollar and pink thrift, daisies, bluebells, lady's bedstraw, vale poppy, buttercups and goat's beard, rising up from the dike ways, high reeds and vass flowers, bees and fluttering orange butterflies, the ones that nested on nettles, or whichever kind they were, and her Mother and Septa Mordane and Lady Eresa and Lady Selna going with high strides through the high grass, lifting up their skirts and sitting down on the hill, Arya sitting in the middle, surrounded by every side by Septa Mordane's blueish dress, Sansa's fair reddish hair and slim tall figure, and her lady mother in her red and blue light airy summer gown, along with Lady Wendwater in dark blue and Lady Stokeworth in green with embroidered white sheep. No, not sheep; lambs, as she had learned. When they were little sheep they were called lambs. That she had learnt on that day, as they sat eating lemon cakes and drinking cickory sweetwater, with Ser Jory and Ser Arys keeping close guard around them like two marble statues. How blue the skies had been, how filled with hope and sweetness and something else, something intangible in the air, some distant far-flung smell of childhood and a world that was new, which was far gone now already... At some rare times she thought only for a short while that she felt it, but no, in truth, she was most sure that it was gone now, and had begun to wane almost as soon as she turned seven. Now she was nine and [three moons? Four moons? Five moons? Six moons? Seven moons? Eight moons? ], and only growing older for each day. Summer was hotter than ever. But at least she was finally getting good at her sewing, thank the Maiden or the Crone. Perhaps also the Mother, or the Smith... She wasn't sure.

"Septa Mordane, which of the Seven rules over sewing?"

"It is the Maiden, and the Mother, and the Crone most of all, for she is old and wise to have done it for thousands of years".

"Not the Smith?"

"No, not the Smith. The Smith makes armor and builds ships and makes other large and handy things. But he does not have the woman's touch when it comes to small things such as this."

"But you said that the Smith rules over all things which we make with our hands."

"No, I said all the things that a man makes with his hands; not the things a woman makes."

"So if I were to make a suit of armor with my hands, it would be the Maiden who would help me?"

"Make a suit of armor?" The septa laughed. "I suppose you might try, though even apprentices of twelve and fourteen have struggles with it, from what I understand".

"Where have you heard that?" Arya said. "Do you know any blacksmiths?"

"Well, I have known of them, of course. The great Tobho Mott, for instance. He is the best blacksmith here in the capital, from what I know. He can fashion a suit of armor like other men would fashion something from a crock of butter. And he knows the old secrets of the art such so that your father the King pays him a great deal for his work. And he certainly has the Smith to thank for all of his gifts."

"Did he make Jory's armor?"

"Ser Jory's armor", Septa Mordane corrected.

"Did he make Ser Jory's armor?"

"I do believe so, my child. And he made Prince Robb's silver adorned armor for the melée at his last name day, don't you know that?"

"No", Arya said. Noone had told her those things. Noone ever seemed to tell her anything. She always had to figure out things for herself. And then Septa Mordane would shake her head at her, or talk to her in that curious tone of voice. Arya hated when she did that. She quieted down at last and paid more mind to her sewing again. The pigeons were cooing from outside the window, and the clanking of steel on steel was heard from the inner bailey down below somewhere. It was Ser Aron and Ser Ilyn Payne, no doubt, practicing as usual with Robb, Gerion, Matthys, Quentyn and the rest of them.

She asked Septa Mordane how much time they had left. The septa seemed to think for a while, and then replied.

"It will certainly be a while more. If you really wish to leave, though, princess, I suppose that you may go. You have done fine enough work for today. Far more than usual, at any rate."

"Thankyou septa!" Arya exclaimed happily. She curtsied to her and to the others, took her needlework with her and went up escorted by Ser [Arys? Mernon? ] to her chambers where Ayla sat waiting for her.

"Are you back already, princess?" Ayla said when she opened the door.

"Septa Mordane said I could finish earlier today on account of my exceptionally good work", Arya said, handing Ayla the embroiderment cloth. "I wish to go and watch Robb and the others fighting in the courtyard."

Ayla seemed to consider that, but when Ser Arys inclined his head, saying "I can take the princess, it'll be no harm", she relented.

Arya was overjoyed and ran down the steps as fast as she could in her shoes, with Ser Arys doing his best to keep up the pace. When they arrived at the runway, Robb was beating swiftly with his sword, hacking away at Gerion Buckwell. Arya jumped up on the wooden fencing and called out to him.

"Go Prince Robb! King's Landing! Winterfell! Riverrun!"

Robb looked back to see her, and laughed, in his wonderful big brother smile.

"Well then, what do we have here?" he said, sheathing his sword in its hilt and running up to her. "A little princess who wanted to come and see the game?"

He tickled her hair and neck, and then her armpits, and she laughed and squealed with joy as he picker her up from the fence.

"I was finished early with my needlework today, and so Septa Mordane said that I could come watch you practice! Isn't that great?"

"Did she now?" Robb said, breathless.

"It's true, my prince", Ser Arys said, bowing down to Robb.

"Well then, make sure to have a real good look when I give him another round of it", Robb said, putting Arya down again and running back to Gerion.

Ser Aron Santagar gave the first signal for them to be ready, which was a pipe from a whistle, and then the other, a clap together with his hands, and then they were at it again. Robb made a quick pounce forward immediately, but Gerion parried and stood strong, stepping forth with his left and then his right leg, angling his torso forward to push Robb back with force. Robb groaned and lifted his sword up slightly, trying to angle it in a downcoming motion to come down above Gerion's head, but he held his own sword towards it and slid off Robb's shield with a clank.

Arya stood cheering on, as Gerion and Robb both did their best to try and outmatch eachother. Robb was the better swordsman, but Gerion was strong and stubborn, and Ser Aron Santagar was giving him good advice on how to counter Robb's strikes.

Robb backed off, recalculated his position, changed his technique and charged ahead with a spinning attack, hopping from one angle to the next so that Gerion had no way of seeing which way he would strike next. Robb got a hard hit on his shoulder, then his side and finally he was so close that he finished by bringing his shield down on Gerion's head. He grunted hard, fell down to the ground and yielded as soon as he could. Robb quickly brought him up again with an eager gloved hand.

Suddenly Arya heard the sound of loud footsteps coming from the castle. It was Ser Barristan and the King coming down the sunlit steps of the stairway from the main keep. She had not seen him since the day before yesterday. He had been forced to have his dinner later than usual, but now he was coming to see Robb and the others.

"Father!" she shouted and ran up towards him. He smiled with surprise, waiting for her to come all the way up and then scooped her up in his arms. He laughed heartily and kissed her on the head.

"What are you doing here?" he smiled.

"Septa Mordane said that I could go early from my lessons, on account of my improvement at my needlework. I've done really good lately!" She exclaimed happily.

"The septa said that? Well, you must have done a good job then!" He laughed.

"I can show you later if you want!"

"I'm sure you can. I'd be happy to see it." He kissed her on her forehead, as she giggled, and then put her down on the ground again, planting her shoes firmly on the mud. If it had been her mother, she would have screamed in horror at her muddying her shoes from the dirt of the courtyard, but her father King Eddard barely thought about such things. He barely even seemed to see that she was wearing her new dress either, the first new one she had worn in close to a fortnight. He was only glad to see her there, and to see Robb of course.

"Looking good", he said, nodding at Robb. "Are you getting any better?"

"I believe so.", Robb answered with a dutiful look.

"Good. Which type of beating did you give him this time? Was it a knight's neck?"

"Hardly. He's gotten better with the parrying. I had to go and invent something." Robb laughed somewhat nervously.

"You did?" Their Father seemed intrigued. "Go on then, show me."

"Well... I don't know if I can do it the same again. And if I did, he'd most likely remember it all, and so it wouldn't work the same", Robb explained.

"Ah, don't sweat it, then", Father said. "The important thing is you're learning to think for yourself. Develop your own strategies, and keep them to your own self. That way your enemy can't know how to beat, or have the time to figure it out from you until it's... Well, until it's... too late, I suppose."

Robb smiled at Father at that. He seemed proud.

Suddenly Father got a look of concern in his face, however. He motioned to Robb to come closer.

"There is something else which I need to speak with you about. The both of you, now that Arya's here too, it seems."

Robb and Arya both became worried. Father did not speak particularly much on serious matters. He had enough of that at council all day. Ser Aron nodded at the king, and then took Robb's sword and shield and put it away on the stand next to them. Robb took off his helmet and came closer, standing by the fencing, as Father took Arya by the shoulders and looked deep into both of their eyes. He seemed sad suddenly, as sad as she had ever seen him.

"Now listen. I don't want you to be sad," he said, "but there is something that's happened that I have to tell for you."

"It's Lord Jon, isn't it?" Robb said. He seemed to know something Arya did not.

Father was quiet for a moment.

"Aye."

Arya was going to ask the obvious question, but she was afraid to hear the answer. She took her fathers' hand and squeezed it tight. He was so great and strong that he barely felt a thing of her worries, nor the pain from her squeezing his fingers through both of their thick gloves, she was sure, but just then, as she was beginning to doubt him, he squeezed softly back.

"Lord Jon passed away tonight", he said, with a tone she had never heard her Father use before. He seemed sad, so very sad, but he did his best not to show it. "Pycelle told me before, and I had time to see him for an hour before he went."

"What happened? How was he before...-" Robb started, but didn't finish his sentence.

"He was... Well, he was sick. It came over him suddenly. Pycelle did not know what to think of it. And Jon... Well... He didn't understand it either. He was... He was speaking about lots of things, and we talked, but at the end it was as if he didn't hear me at all. And then..."

Their Father went silent. Arya hugged him closer, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. She soon began to sniff and snurvle all over Father's doublet. Her tears mixed with her snot, and she began snivelling and sobbing into the deep dark comfort of Father's thick silk fabric.

"There, there", Father said. "It's all right, love. Lord Jon is... He was old. He's had many good years behind him. More than most men get."

Robb seemed to stand there somewhere close by. She was unsure of what they were saying, if they mumbled something to eachother. She was in her own world of sorrow and tears. But then her Father took up her head gently, stroked the tears from her eyes and patted her on the head.

"It's all right. Disease can strike down anyone. At least you are all safe."

"No, I'm not. I played with Lord Robert only a couple of days back.", she confessed.

"What, when you were playing in the corridor?" Father said.

She nodded, invisibly, a feeble motion towards the innards of his cloak. Father seemed to sense it.

"That was more than seven days ago, was it not?"

"Yes, but... I played with Sweetrobin and... we broke the glass marble."

Her Father seemed perplexed. He said so to her. "What do you mean?"

She cried even more, shaking into Fathers' waist, fearing that he would cast her aside in anger when she told him the truth of the terrible thing they had done.

"The glass marble with the eagle inside it. The one that Sweetrobin took from his solar. I'm sorry. I only meant...- We only wanted...- We only wanted to play, and have some fun", she managed between her snivelling, her voice crackling and breaking with each word.

Her Father seemed to understand, at last, and stood cold for a moment, staring out at the distance, but then snapped back into his usual self, trying to be calm, and reassured her.

"No, don't you think about that, love. Gifts and trinkets are not the same as any of that."

"But he... He..." Arya began to sob unconsolably. Her Father held her, patted her on the back, and held her some more, while all the tears of guilt in the world flowed down from her snot-covered cheeks and filled her mouth with the taste of salt and a green snivelling mess.

"Arya..." Her Father said, but she was too far gone into her despair to hear him. "A falcon decor globe is nothing to be upset about, no matter how finely crafted. I know it was an accident, Arya. ... Arya... Do you hear me?"

"Arya!" he said again, somewhat angry and stauncher in his tone now, and she finally pried herself away from him and tried her best to steady her tears.

"Now I want you to listen to me, Arya", he said. "This is not your fault. If it is someone's fault, it will be someone who has met with Jon himself. Not you, and not young Lord Robert. Do you understand?"

"Mhm..." Arya sobbed.

"Do you understand me, child?" he repeated again. "One cannot do such things to make someone sick, nor to heal him. That is for grownups, and the gods themselves, to deal with. You have no blame in this."

She supposed that he should be right. Father was right about most things. And she supposed that it would be strange for the breaking of a glass marble to be able to cause the breaking of a man's heart. Just like the tales of Jonquil and Florian the Fool, and the story of how Florian had met upon a magical giant who could not be killed by cutting through his heart, for he had none, and then Florian discovered the giant's secret and cast an egg at the secret spot on a secret tree, and then killed the giant and in doing so rescuing Jonquil. That is only stories for little children, she knew. Florian and Jonquil were not real, or else had not done such strange things as in all the stories. It's only stories for little children, she told herself again, with more certainty this time. But then she remembered that she had been a small child right up until the moment she managed her needlework, and the tears came over her again.

"Now now princess, let's away with those tears, shall we?" Ser Arys said and took her by the hand as they made their way up the stairway into the Red Keep again. Father and Robb were walking beside them, now slightly ahead, but Father did not look back at her; he only looked forward, and so did Robb. She had to swallow her ocean of sadness and try to be strong.

The long legs of Ser Arys took swaying steps across the marble stone of the floor. Step after step... They would soon be approaching her Lady Mother. She could not let her see her like this, all soiled with her dress. Ser Arys sensed what she was fumbling for, and offered her a silk handkerchief. She cleaned her face off with it, once, twice, three times, and then she tried getting the red out from her eyes. Her breaths were becoming slower and slower, as Ser Arys held her hand and patted her slightly across her back with his rough metal greaves.

She finally got her composure back, more or less, and tried telling herself that if they were somehow found to be guilty of Jon Arryn's death, at least Sweetrobin had been on it as well. Perhaps they would be married together, after all, as Sansa mocked, and then forced to live out their lives in the dungeons of the Red Keep, and she would have to bear them as many children as she could, until one of them was small enough to crawl out between the iron bars and help them all out. And then they would go off to live in the Kingswood together, or up North to Winterfell. And she would never see her mother or father again.

She stopped her thoughts when she saw her Mother, Septa Mordane, Sansa and the others all standing up gathered in the [entrance hall/[ ]] and clearly waiting for them.

Her Father King Eddard stood up and walked to his usual standing place in the entrance hall, with Ser Barristan walking up and standing beside him. Her Mother Queen Catelyn stared at them all, but mostly at her, and with a concerned look on her face. She tried looking down at the floor, to cover her sadness. Her Mother ran up to her immediately.

"What is the meaning of this? Why is Arya crying?" she said, as she huddled Arya closely and stroked her hair. Arya began to cry even more at that, feeling the release of a hundred different emotions. Relief, shame, regret, guilt, sadness once again, fear, and then sadness again.

"Lord Jon is dead", King Eddard said. And now he was clearly the king again, ice in his voice and heart, and had no time for nonsense.

"Dead?" Queen Catelyn said shocked, the word echoing through Arya's ears, so close under her mother's mouth. "Did you go to see him?"

"I did. He passed just this morning."

Silence fell over them all, as her lady Mother contemplated on what next to say, how to react. Then she took Arya with her, shielding her from the rest of the world by her arm, and went to the King.

"I am so sorry, my love", she said [beklagande], putting her other hand around him. "Were you with him... in the end?"

"Aye, I was", he said. "I had my chance to talk to him, and say my farewells before he went."

Her father became quiet again.

And then he sighed, deeply, and there was silence for longer than Arya could fathom before anyone spoke again.

"We will need to decide what to do with the journey to Winterfell, my love", her Mother said carefully. "And I will talk to Lysa. She must be heartbroken."

"Aye", her Father said. "I reckon she will be. And the boy too, most of all. I will also try and talk to them. But as regards to Winterfell, we are going. I will need to meet with Benjen, more than ever now. I will make the necessary arrangements."

"As you say, my love", Queen Catelyn said, reluctantly, kissing her husband tenderly on his cheek and brow.

"What will happen to aunt Lysa and Sweetrobin?" Sansa asked. "Will they stay here or will they go back to the Eyrie? Or will they come to Winterfell too?"

"I don't know", their Father said. "I have not spoken to Lady Lysa yet. Your Mother will ask her."

"Yes, I will talk to Lysa. And Robin", her Mother agreed.

"Tell me about Jon", she said again. "What happened to him? How was he before he passed?"

Her Father sighed, and then spoke to her Mother again.

"He was... Strange somehow. As if something had come over him, some madness of the mind or his body. I'm starting to believe it is... was... something more than a fever."

"I am sure we can both talk about this at length with Grand Maester Pycelle, and any others who have met with Lord Jon in the past couple of days. But now, if we are truly to go to Winterfell, all the children will need to calm down from this terrible sorrow, if they at all can, and prepare themselves. It is a long and dangerous journey north."

"Dangerous?" the King frowned. "If it is dangerous to travel to my own home, then I do not wish to know where dangers lie not. Have I not control of my own kingdoms? And your father over the Riverlands?"

"Mayhaps so, but no man, king or commoner, can control the temper of shadowcats or lizard-lions, bogmen and wildlings. I will only pray hope to stay for a while at Lord Harroway's Town before we continue the journey."

"Lizard-lions? Will we see lizard-lions?" Arya said, almost feeling how she became happy again.

"And shadowcats and wildlings!" Bran said, equally – if not more – excited at the prospect.

"We will see such things, and many more, if we are indeed to go up North", their Mother cautioned. "But I will need the both of you to be on your very best behaviour. And if we are to visit your cousins, it would be suitable for you to each bring a gift of suitable quality to them. Arya, you can start work on a scarf or something similar to your cousin Myrcella. One in half Stark grey and half Lannister red would surely suffice."

Arya became mad with those words.

"What? I just finished my flower! And now I'm being punished because we're going to see my cousins! Fine! Just forget it! I don't even want to go then; I might as well stay here in my chambers forever! And marry stupid Sweetrobin! And then die!"

"Marry Sweetrobin? What is she on about?" The Queen asked.

Sansa giggled somewhat from her seat, clearly revelling at the thought that her sister had now accepted her assigned fate.

"Stop laughing, Sansa, it's not funny!" Arya screamed at her sister.

"Quiet, the both of you!" Catelyn yelled. "If we are to go Winterfell, you will need to be on your very best behaviour. That will be no shouting, no crying, no fighting with eachother, and no leaping out of the wheelhouse to look at lizard-lions or bogmen or other such folly. You will stay put, stay quiet, and do exactly as commanded."

"Wheelhouse?" Sansa said.

"I thought we were going on horseback!" Bran protested.

"Yes, Sansa, a wheelhouse", her lady Mother said, straightening out her dress in her lap. "We can not go on horse with such a large party as we will need to be. You will all enjoy the wheelhouse, I am sure. It's quite a comfortable invention which will suit us all quite well during the long journey, I believe."