ARYA VI

"Her bed was shaded in dark from the tall curtains above hanging down from the baldaquine, but the black night sky outside was lit up by the white of the full moon.

Arya dreamed of blood. Of running on fast paws in the forest, of hunting after her prey, feeling the smells of pine needles and moss and soil and soft brown dirt of the forest, as she ran and ran and howled up at the moon. She was herself, as much as she ever always had been, and yet it was not entirely her. She was different, but she was the same.

She had a mouth, a jaw full of sharp fangs, and her feet tore at the ground and felt the hardness of each stick and stone as she hopped forward, running, hunting, picking up the trail of a scent, losing it in the soft dullness of the lapping, lashing fall of rain for a while but then finding it again soon after.

...

Ayla stood by the feetside of her bed. The air outside smelled of fresh air and sea. Seagulls were screaming from outside the window by the harbour somewhere beyond the walls of the Red Keep.

"Good morning, princess. How are you feeling today?"

Arya sat up and took a couple of breaths, to try and adjust herself to the air inside the bedchamber. It was so different from the forest she had left behind, but still there lingered a familar smell somewhere, something of wood and timber, of bark and deeper roots of senses as well...

"I'm fine", she replied, as fast as she could. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Ayla seemed to look strangely at her, but then let it go and went to the small breakfast table.

"No reason", she answered. "What would you like for breaking your fast today, princess?"

Arya sat up slowly, rubbing the weariness out of her eyes, as the heavy blanket made its best effort to drey her left in the ragged grey waves and tumblyness of her pine-smelling dreams. The fur of her as a wolf had been just like the grey of the blanket, yes, just like that... She harkled herself.

"I don't know. What is there?"

Ayla looked at her strangely, once again.

"Bread, fishbread, eggs, sausage, blood sausage, capers, wheatcakes, porridge, honey and milk, olives, figs, cheese, some roast haddock, cod, kippers..."

"I hate kippers", Arya said with a frown. Sansa was the only one who liked kippers. She called them boecklings, as well. That was even stranger, Arya thought, for that type of food.

"I'm only telling you what there is, princess", Ayla said, as she prepared the table with a humming tune in the back of her dark-haired fall of hair. She had her usual white and grey dress on, Arya saw.

Ayla Seffrey combed her hair as she tried her best and sat still looking numbly at the wall beside the windowframe panes. The city outside was as bright and sunny as ever, but in her mind's eye and heart the wondrous shadows of the murky woodland remained, slowly fading with every passing minute as she grew herself waned to the morning. It looked like the Riverlands, she thought.

Ayla put her comb away and helped to clean her while she dressed herself in her simple grey silk dress with golden and silver inlinings in a neat band around the waist. She put her usual rosettes in her hair as well, and braided it neatly in the Riverlands style. Then she put her tiara on. Arya did not always enjoy wearing it, but for now she accepted. It did give her a strangely soothing feeling from the tin and silver of the metal which svalkened her head in the morning warmth of pressing day.

She went down the stairway and headed into the Great Hall, where the day had already begun without her. Seeing as their many guests still remained, they did not have their usual lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle.

Lord Robert and Lady Cressina sat next to eachother on the red elaborately painted throne-like high-chairs on the dais in the gallery, holding a type of mock court over the hall while Father was away in the throne room listening to petitions for the early hours of the day as usual.

Lord Robert was looking as great, strong and powerful, fat, jolly and burly as ever, his bushy black beard and white smile of teeth beaming broadly with laughter, and wearing a mantel cape of Baratheon yellow and a type of red that somehow fitted in strangely perfectly with the walls behind him. Lady Cressina was looking as elegant and beautiful ever, her natural wisdom and sharp eyes looking one second green, the next brown in the light of the room even as her long dark hair lined itself down along her pale swanlike neck and vaguely nestled itself around the edges of her teal green collar cravatte. She was wearing a green and brown dress trimmed in Baratheon yellow that defined her austerely dignified figure, as well as a large cloak of yellow Baratheon gold to match her lord husband, though she also wore a large green brooch with the green turtle of Estermont on her chest. The sign was one of Arya's favorite sigils, and Lady Cressina wore it proudly even as the lady of Storm's End.

Beneath and around them sat Robb, in the place of Father, nodding courteously to Lord Robert's japes and comments about something she could not quite make out from that far away, along with a smiling Gerion, a goblet of red wine in his outstretched hand, an unusually demure yet similarly silent Quentyn, a redly coughing Lord Gyles, Lady Tanda, Lollys, Ser Gylbert, Ser [ ], Lady Selna, Wynafryda, [ ].

Moon Boy was juggling a fivesome or sixtance of the blue fabric balls, the ones that looked like giant blueberries ever since Winterfell, and Lord Robert sat watching his old favourite fool as he had surely done a hundred times before, at times dying down with his mirth, resting his chin on his great elbows on the chair [ ], and then bursting into hilarified laughter again when Moon Boy accidentally dropped a ball or two on the floor. Arya could not tell whether the court jester was doing it on purpose or not. Moon Boy always had a certain quality about him, sometimes foolish, sometimes genius, that constantly kept one guessing, Arya thought as she watched from afar.

"Good day, princess", Ser Arys greeted her with a bow and a smile.

"Day? It is still almost morning", Arya said.

"Certainly", Ser Arys agreed.

He was never the one to argue unnecessarily, and always agreed with what Sansa said. And now so he did for her as well.

She soured when she thought about it. She did not want to turn into someone just like Sansa, and have knights fawn over her. She looked around.

"Where is Father?"

"His Grace is in the Throne Room, hearing petitions", Ser Arys said.

"Now? Today?" Arya was incredulous.

"Yes, indeed. You know your royal father. He takes his duties seriously, even in times of festivity."

Arya frowned. She did not want to stay here, and have to speak with Steffon and Eldyn. They were mean boys still. She went up to the

"When will he be finished?" She asked as she tugged restlessly at the back of Ser Arys's cloak, even though Septa Mordane had told her a hundred times that it was most childish, unladylike behaviour and unbecoming of a princess.

"I cannot say for certain. Perhaps in two hours' time, for a late luncheon, I would suppose."

"Two hours?" Arya groaned.

"Yes, my princess." Ser Arys smiled down at her, doing his best to ignore how she was dragging out his white cloak as if it were her own hair.

"Would you not like to stay here in the meantime? Moon Boy is quite on the run today, it seems", he joked.

"I wanted to try and juggle myself, but Septa Mordane would not let me", she said.

"Surely it can be just as fun to watch?" Ser Arys suggested.

"No, it is not. And it is only unladylike to wish to do anything fun, Septa Mordane says. And most things that are ladylike are dreary. Boring."

She quickly corrected herself. Septa Mordane and Sansa used the word dreary. Jory said boring, and Mycah did too. Boring sounded better. Dreary still sounded silly and altogether too ladylike, she thought. If she could not use her sword, at least she would use her words to show herself apart from her sister.

"I suppose you might be right in that", Ser Arys admitted. "Though you've certainly done a good job of keeping away from trouble so far. I would not wish to see you break it today on account of boredom alone. You do not still play with that butcher's boy, do you?"

"Mycah", she reminded him, less than gracefully, as she finally let go of his cloak. "No, I don't. Father says I am not to see him anymore. And Mycah's father says the same to Mycah."

Ser Arys gave an improxable appearance of his face for a moment, seemingly confused or with an unreadable expression of some sort, before shifting up into a bright smile again and staring into the red brick wall of the room far above her head again.

"Your Father is very wise to not let you carouse with troublemakers, princess", he said. "Most boys are not good playmates for highborn girls. I know that I myself went into loads of trouble in my youth, despite the many warnings of my maester", he confessed. "It did not stop until I found my calling, I fear."

"Your calling?"

Maester Pycelle had mumbled the word a couple of times before, she was certain, but she still did not truly know what it meant. Perhaps she did not want to know it Perhaps she chose to not understand it, feeling the vague adult grotesquity of it all. She hated the way adults spoke sometimes. It was so ridiculously stupid-sounding.

"Indeed. The noble calling of my heart, a call of large duty to serve and to protect you and your royal father and all of your brothers and sisters with my sword. That is my calling, princess Arya. In time, your friend Mycah will find his. Although I suspect it will be a calling with the meat-cleaver, much like his father."

"I wanted to make him a squire, so that he could become a knight one day, but Ser Aron would not let me! And neither would Father. Robb would not even listen to me! Even though Father had promised to let him become a knight! He always promises things but then it takes ages before he does them!"

Ser Arys said nothing. She sensed that he was tired of the conversation, as he simply stared along, doing his best to keep a straight face. Perhaps he just did not wish to say anything ill about the king, and so he said nothing at all to her irritated speech. She soured again.

"Fine. Don't say anything."

She turned her heels and began walking towards the exit, into the adjoining hallway to the throne room.

"Princess, just where are you going at present?" Ser Arys turned to ask her.

"My Father won't see me until two hours. So... I'm going in to hold a petition to the king", she declared. "Are you coming?"

...

The throne room was as vast as usual, but full of people crowding in a long line of petitioners and many more spectators, all wearing the clothing of common people, fishermen and petty lords alike. The high lords who had wanted an audience with him during the Tourney of the New Hand had all gotten their way days ago, and so mostly it was the commonfolk of the city that she saw. She was thankful for it. She felt as though she was out in the streets again, but reminded herself to compose herself all the same. She still needed to appear as the princess in here, she knew. And Ser Arys would not show her the same resigned acquiescence as Jory if she did anything other than that.

She corrected herself into the back of the line, patiently waiting for her turn as all the others before her. In front of here was a large bald man with a hayfork that the door guards soon grappled from him before he could protest. There were no weapons allowed in the throne room except those of the crown and the king himself, and the thousand melted blades of King Aegon's old enemies that he sat on, Arya knew from ever since she was little.

Ser Arys was already making eye contact with Ser Barristan and Ser Marlon, who stood on each side of Father at the very front of the Iron Throne, she saw as she looked up at the kingsguard. His blueish green eyes looked troubled, as he attempted to convey some hidden adult meaning to his brothers in arm. She soured, for the third time. Not even in this she was allowed to be an adult.

"You don't have to accompany me if it is that much of a trouble for you", she said. "There are no weapons in here, and I trust my people to not hurt me. Father will see me soon."

Ser Arys looked down on her, a frown on his vaguely tanned forehead framed by his golden locks.

"I very much do need so. If anything happens to you or your siblings, I will have failed my duty. Jory might find it fun to let you all run around like forest sprites, but not I. I take my duty alwarely."

"There are even more people up there, close to the throne", she said and pointed, even though that was most unladylike as well. "Father will need you up there."

"Please, princess. If you truly wish to see your royal father while he is holding court, you need not make it more difficult for yourself or for me. I will not leave your side for any reason."

Arya crossed her arms, and said nothing. She hated him. She already regretted telling him of her plan. That, and his stupid flowery perfume stank even worse than the pig's shit and filth from the farmer in front of her, as ever. He thought it smelled nice, but it was a strange and intense smell, like candles. She had felt her sense of smell becoming stronger lately. She did not fully understand why that was but she suspected it somehow had something to do with her nightly wolf dreams.

"Do you feel particularly ladylike with that perfume on you?" She said, angling her gaze up to look at the ancient murals of the Targaryen kings. Jaehaerys the Concealor, Maegor the Cruel, the fat and evil one, the one with the books, the one with the boyish face who had married into Dorne, Daemon the second or Daeron the second, she was sure... And he had married Daenerys of Dorne... Or was Daenerys his sister? She was not sure.

Ser Arys said nothing back at her improper question. He was used to her, as they all were. He knew she was only testing him out of boredom, but he was also prickly and proud, prouder than Ser Marlon even. Perhaps she could get to him in time by teasing him.

"You know that Sansa's stupid boys all wear perfume. Ser Loras, Ser Dalt, Timeon, [ ]... Even Joffrey Lannister. Is that why you do, too? Do you want to marry her some day? I wouldn't want to marry Sansa if I was a man. She is far too boring. No. … Not boring. … Dreary."

Ser Arys clenched his mouth together.

"I believe that most men could benefit from a little clean-keeping. And I will never marry anyone, as you know, princess. My sword is my bride, and the white cloak is her bride's veil. Until I die."

"But you never even use it", she complained. "At least you could have done so when we were close to the mountain clans. But we only stayed inside the carriage all the time. We went past the Vale but we never even went in on the highroad. What was the point to travel so near if we did not enter?"

"A true knight does not seek out danger for the sake of the fight. He protects only when he needs to. Besides, we took the shortest way up to Winterfell. It was not by design to travel close to the Vale."

Arya yawned. She saw two more peasants joining in behind them, lining themselves in with plucky eyes, a man and a woman, who she suspected were married but looked as if they could be brother and sister. Or perhaps they only had the same disease to their eyes.

Perhaps they had grown up in a dark cave, she mused, and that was why their eyes looked strange. Like the hallways at Harrenhal, or the broken old wall in the Wolfswood. She whirled at the thought, and imagined them there, scurrying around like moles in the darkness.

The first petitioner she saw approaching spoke in a very hushed tone, but the rest of the crowd quickly toned down as much as they could and she tried listening as best possible. The echoes of the throne room made the peasant man's voice reverberate, thankfully.

He was petitioning to get some of the king's soldiers to help him with thieves and poachers on his land who had felled his deer and taken his goats. Her royal father asked the man where he lived.

"Whiteplate, up and on towards Rosby, your kingly Grace.", the man mumbled with his head down. He was wearing a simple greenish coif for a hat, along with a humble brown leather [ ].

The king asked why he had not come to his own lord for protection. He said that the guards had sent him away when he tried approaching the castle, and told him that Lord Rosby was not present.

King Eddard listened intently while he spoke before giving his reply.

"That is true. Lord Gyles Rosby is serving here at my court. His cousin-in-law from House Frey is castellan of the castle in the meantime. Though perhaps his guards should have told you that. I am sorry if they did not inform you thusly."

"They did not, my king. I swear it upon the Crone, they told me nothing, only to get away before they would hurt me.

Please, your Grace... The thieves are taking my goats from me each half-moon and whole one. And they are clever. They do most of their hunting at night, when I am asleep in my cottage. I have put my sons out to guard as well, for eight nights in a row, but so far they have not seen them."

King Eddard promised to speak with Lord Gyles on the matter, and further decreed that a small force of four soldiers would accompany the peasant back to Rosby to carry a message. He welcomed the man to wait in the alcove until such time that Lord Gyles could be summoned. The man thanked him and bowed deeply in gratitude, kissing the floor of the throne room.

After that there came a knight from The Riverlands who wanted to know why word had not been sent to Riverrun regarding the Tourney of the Hand. He came from the lands of House Whent, apparently. Arya was suddenly reminded and came to think of their visit to Harrenhal again.

"He is from Harrenhal!" She told Ser Arys excitedly. "Do you think he has also seen the river monster, like the old fisherman had?"

"I do not know, princess", Ser Arys replied. "I would not bet on it, if what the old man said was true."

She supposed that he was right. The knight was not even as old as her father. He would not even have been born yet when the monster had come up from the God's Eye lake and been fished up by the brave man. He had risked his life for it, and his companion had died, but in the end they had brought the entire beast up onto the shores of the God's Eye in front of the enormous castle. Arya still found that she had never ever heard of anything more exciting before. Perhaps the knight had at least heard about the story himself, just as she now had. She promised herself to go there one day, and to try and fish for another monster, if there was a second one to be found. But she would not kill it, only look at it. She hoped, and prayed to the Old Gods and the New that there was.

Then came another knight, this one from The Vale, who had a similar grievance. The two knights had apparently met up in the days before, like some latecomers did, and been angered that they had missed out on the tourney and its many chances for glory, renoun and prizes. Their lords had told them to go before the king himself if they dared, and so they had done so.

After them came some fishermen asking about the taxation of their catch by the guards down by the docks. Arya still did not understand much about taxes, but it was a constant boring thing that the king had to listen to. She did not know whether she should be on the side of the fishermen or the guards.

...

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity standing in the crowded line next to Ser Arys's tall and alert figure, the line had moved forward so much that she could see her father more closely. King Eddard saw his daughter at last, then looked up at Arys and waved him forth to him.

"Come, princess."

"Wait, we are not finished standing in line! We are almost half the way through."

"Your royal father is beckoning us to come up to the front.", Ser Arys said.

"But he does not have time for me. That is why we are waiting in line here with the common folk!"

"And yet now it seems that he does", Ser Arys broke in. "Come along, Arya."

She streated against him, but only for an instant, as she saw the peasants, fishwives, hedge knights and others turning to vaguely look at her. She had hoped to know their stories as well, had gotten more interested as the hearings went on, but finally she relented and let Arys half drag her, half escort her all the way along the line up to the throne where Father sat, stern of face and still of arm.

...

"What is it, Arya?"

She looked up at him, [

"When will Mother be back?" She said, so quietly that it was near to a whisper.

Father looked on her with a face that finally seemed to soften somewhat, as he took her into his arms and held her over her head.

"I do not know, love."

"It has been three moons since I saw her. I miss her.", Arya said quietly, turning her dress sleeves in and out as she tucked her head in beneath Father's bearded chin.

"Your Mother cannot travel until Bran is well enough. We have spoken of this, several times, have we not?"

"But he must be well now! It has been so long! And he has his wolf with him. He has Summer. Summer will make him strong. I know that he will!"

"We cannot know such things, Arya. We can only hope, and in the meantime pray that they are doing well."

"Did you get a letter from Uncle Benjen and Lady Cersei?" Arya asked.

"I did", her father confirmed.

"What did it say? Why did not Mother write to us herself?"

"I do not know." Father sighed. "Perhaps she is feeling tired. She has been having a hard time, I am certain. She was sad that we had to leave so soon."

"We did not leave soon. We stayed forever at Winterfell! And Bran still did not wake up until we were gone from there."

"I thought you liked Winterfell", Father said. "You seemed to fit in like a stone in the mortar, playing with your cousins, and the horse riding in the Wolfswood..."

Arya bit her lip.

"Well... At first I liked it but... Then I just wanted for Bran to wake up. And then he never did. And then I didn't want to leave him. But then we did. And then he woke up! And Mother and Bran and Rickon still haven't come back! What's taking them so long?"

"Calm now, Arya. I am sure that there is a good reason for it. Perhaps Bran has gotten some new ailment, gods forbid. We cannot force them to return before they are ready for it. Your Mother will know better than anyone when it is time. I am certain that they will be back before winter."

"Before winter?" Arya was practically screaming, as she jumped up from Father's lap and shouted. "That's an eternity away from now! It is summer!"

She could not handle it anymore.

"I want them back now! Now! I am Princess Arya of House Stark and I command my uncle Benjen, Lord of Winterfell, that they return!"

"It is your Mother that you should command. It is her decision. Benjen is doing what he can to help. Now you must calm down, Arya."

Arya breathed quickly, jitteringly, as she stood hopping up and down, trying to make Father understand. She knew that he was always frozen and kingly when he chose to be, but that he could care so little about Mother and Bran and Rickon... It was simply not possible to believe it. Arya could not, at any rate.

"Very well... Forget it then", she said, as she slid away from his anticipating grasp.

"Your Grace", she curtsied with a smile and then bolted for the exit door. She did not want Father to see her cry.

"Arya!" he called after her, but only for a moment, before once again burying his face and brow beneath his huge hands with a worried face, pretending like he cared, but not caring enough to get up and actually chase after her.

Uncle Benjen would have. Her cousin Jon would have. Bran would have. But none of them were here. Only Jory, and he was off guard at the moment, she was sure.

Arya puttered down on the chair next to Eldyn and Steffon again, and Sansa's stupid accusing face.

"You know that Mother won't come back faster because you are pestering Father about it", she said.

"You know that your dress makes you look like an inlaid salmon roll, princess", Arya said in her prettiest voice and extended a lipeing tongue at her sister.

Sansa blinked stupidly for a moment, before catching hear of the insolence, and then almost reached for her nettling roll to throw at her, but Septa Mordane grabbed ahold of Sansa's arm just in the nick of time and prevented her from straying more than two eye-blinks' moment from her role as the perfect princess. Arya laughed.

"See? You can't even throw something back at me! You are stuck! Stuck inside that dress, just the same as Bran is stuck in his bed up at Winterfell! Well I hope that Bran hops up on the back of Summer and rides down here by himself. Then I'll at least have a wolf of my own to play with again!"

She tossed her sewing box aside and went speeding for the main corridor, passing by Ser Arys again at the back vault of the Great Hall.

"Leave me be!", she said.

"I don't think so, Princess", Ser Arys retorted, grabbing ahold of her gently but firmly, and setting her down on the floor. "What are you doing? What have you done to your royal father now?"

"Nothing!" Arya screamed. "I just wanted to go away for a bit."

"So the council session was not that very utmost important after all...?"

"I... I just... Shut up, you flowery fool!"

It was Jory who had taught her the words. Ser Arys did not look happy upon hearing them.

It was the first time that she had ever dishonoured him in name, if not in action. Jory she had japed around with hundreds of times, picked on him, tugged at his cloak as he chased her around, ever since she was little. But Ser Arys... No. He did not like it, he could tell. But neither did he say anything of it. He merely resumed his stance, cleared his throat somewhat and then turned to face her again.

"My Princess Arya...", Ser Arys said patiently, heaving his large cloaked shoulders up and down so that the golden oak brooch clasp on his chest moved slightly, shining in the sunlight from the tall windows. "I would much appreciate it if you told me what is going on."

"Ser", she forced herself to say, although she hated the titles. "My good ser", she repeated, trying to sound like Sansa for the briefest of moments. "I do say that I have urgent business upstairs with my dear chambermaiden, the Lady Ayla Seffrey. And I shall not be in a position to tender here for long. Upon the morrow, my good ser."

Then she ran all the long way upstairs, with Ser Arys following slowly behind somewhere like a lingering white and greenish shadow. She hated him for it. She only wanted to be left alone. Especially not be bothered by someone as stupid as Ser Arys, who always talked down to Jory about him smelling bad and being "a northerner through and through", as if that was somehow a bad thing. Ser Arys might look like one of Sansa's perfect knights, but he could only defend her from the pricks of the roses in the castle garden, Arya was sure. Jory was the stronger sword, and the tougher fighter, she was sure, as Lord Robert had once congratulated him at winning a tourney on Robb's name day some years back.

Arya went to bed thinking of tourneys past, and of her Mother again, and of how Lord Robert like Jory more than Ser Arys. Lord Robert was the best fighter in all the land, so he should know who was the better knight to protect someone.

Speaking of Lord Robert and Lady Cressina, and Eldyn and Steffon, they left the very next morning, taking their carriage out the River Gate and heading back south as Father and most everyone else waved them goodbye from the castle walls. Arya was there, as she had to be, but she did not enjoy it.

Eldyn and Steffon shot out some final rude glances towards her, as she promised herself that she would smack them with her wooden training sword the next time they met. If only that did not take too long...

The sky was bright, and the city began to come alive more and more for each hour. But Arya went back in to her bedchamber as soon as she saw the Baratheons' carriage rolling out on the brick-tiled road of the River Gate.

Arya of Houses Tully and Stark, The youngest princess and second daughter of King Eddard Stark and Queen Catelyn Tully in the Red Keep, went up to her bed, sat down and cried for her Mother to come back to her."